SHACKLES
By Dianne J. Wilson
Copyright 2018 Dianne J. Wilson
WiW Edition
“Then you will know the truth, and the Truth will set you free.”
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- Table of Contents -
Chapter 1 - Stirrings
Chapter 2 - Dreams and Curiosity
Chapter 3 - Awakening
Chapter 4 - Movements
Chapter 5 - Two Steps Forward
Chapter 6 - A Princess, a King and the Saints
Chapter 7 - Confession, Flattery and Unlocking
Chapter 8 - A Quandary and an Answer
Chapter 9 - Fathers and Parents
Chapter 10 - Fleeing and Finding
Chapter 11 - On the Run
Chapter 12 - Strange Allies
Chapter 13 - Crossed Paths
Chapter 14 - Honesty and Sweat
Chapter 15 - Moms and Visitors
Chapter 16 - Digging and a Pizza
Chapter 17 - The Boss and his Servant
Chapter 18 - Close but not Enough
Chapter 19 - Pursuit and Success
Chapter 20 - Stone of Stumbling
Chapter 21 - A Prophet and a Hundred Rand Note
Chapter 22 - A Boat and a Log
Chapter 23 - Memories and Meetings
Chapter 24 - Of Daughters and Divine Meddling
Chapter 25 - Abduction
Chapter 26 - Desperation and Peace
Chapter 27 - Homecoming and Hotel Rooms
Chapter 28 - Hogsback
Chapter 29 - Fear and Faith
Chapter 30 - Freedom
Chapter 31 - Resolutions
Chapter 32 - Truth
Chapter 33 - An Old Song
Chapter 34 - Beginnings and Endings
Chapter 1 - Stirrings
Bathed in frosty moonlight, the farmhouse slumbered uneasily in the grip of African winter. Icy radiance found a gap in thick curtains and slipped through to caress the restless form of a sleeping woman. Finding no peace, her body curled fetal as her eyelids twitched at the onslaught of images—
…she stood on a storm-swept cliff. Below, the sea hurled itself viciously against ragged rocks. Above, lightning danced between clouds, illuminating a sullen sky. The precipice called to her, beckoning; daring her to take the step – the step that would end it all. Heart pounding, every fiber screaming for release, she desperately clung to sanity –
Then the dream changed. Through the clouds bolted a shining figure. Defying rain and lightning, it spun straight toward her. Balanced on nothing but air, the creature unfolded itself. Hardly daring to breathe, she peered through trembling fingers at the dazzling being. Then, with tenderness beyond this world, the creature took hold of her hands…
“Dear one, fear not me. Fear not the night. For you are one much loved.” The warmth of words and hands flowed over her, enfolding her in unshakeable peace. Locking his eyes with hers in grave intent, the creature spoke again, this time his voice quickened by urgency, “Rebecca, you need to wake up now. Wake up and get out of the house. Run. NOW.”
Shooting bolt upright, Rebecca gasped awake. All was black around her, lit only by the faintest sliver of moonlight through a gap in the curtains. Breath coming in short gasps; she tried to breathe, to swallow. She heard the familiar creak of the wooden floorboards outside her bedroom door. Eyes wide and heart pounding, she slid out of bed. The words from her dream thundered through her brain “—get out of the house. Run. NOW.”
Moving quickly in a half-crouch, she crossed to the window. She was on the second story with nothing to climb down. Just perfect. Swinging one leg over the window sill, she balanced for a moment, caught in indecision. Glancing back, she saw her bedroom door handle arch downward. “Oh God, help.” Not daring a second look, she half leapt half fell out of the window, her pajama leg hooking on the window catch. The soft material ripped, and she crashed down head first, landing on her right shoulder. Blinding pain shot through her body. Biting back a scream, Rebecca forced herself upright. Her breathing formed clouds in the bitter July air. Fighting a wave of nausea, she pushed herself to her feet. Dimly aware of the creak of her bedroom door opening, the words echoed again “—Run. NOW.” After casting one final glance to the window above, she did.
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“You really should have been more careful setting your alarm, dearest. You know how unsafe it is to travel in the dark. Your eyes aren’t what they used to be, you know. At our age, all one’s traveling should be done in daylight.”
Pete Goodwood reached across and patted Doreen’s leg. “Yes dear.” They’d had this self-same argument countless times in their 44 years of married life. So often, in fact, that he had long ago given up arguing. “Why don’t you try and get some sleep, love? It’s been a long day.” The tenderness in his tone took all the fight out of her.
Doreen sighed and shook her head. “And what if you also fall asleep?” It was her final attempt at having the last word.
“In the fifteen odd years we’ve driven between Stutterheim and Randburg to see Marietjie, have I ever fallen asleep? Dear?”
With a small chuckle, Doreen conceded defeat. “I get the point, I’ll stop nagging.” Her warm hand settled in his, and he gave it a quick reassuring squeeze. With a smile, he turned his attention back to the road. He loved driving through the country at night. The darkness blanketed everything in a thick cloak of mystery that tickled his imagination.
The headlight beams blazed ahead, cutting a pathway through inky blackness. The light threaded briefly through pockets of mist collecting in the dips and hollows lining the road. Winter had arrived with a vengeance.
Settling back into the rhythm of long distance travel, Pete sang one of his favorite hymns — How Great Thou Art – softly to himself, launching into the chorus with great gusto as he rounded a bend.
His insides screamed “WATCH OUT!” and his foot hit the brake pedal. Doreen gripped his thigh as the car veered sideways and slid with sickening certainty towards a figure frozen in the middle of the road. The person stood rooted – as if hypnotized. Pete threw his full weight on the steering wheel and felt the vehicle jerk violently and swing the other way. The tyres lost traction and the vehicle spun out of control. There was a screech of rubber on tar, a thud, and a scream that cut off almost instantly. With a bone-jarring crash, the car connected with a tree.
“Oh God, what have I done?” Hardly daring to breathe, Pete tried to open his door. It was badly buckled and pressed up hard against the broad trunk that had stopped their spin.
Wordlessly they slid out of Doreen’s side, gingerly avoiding shards of shattered glass. Shaking and bruised, they approached the limp form.
It was a woman, roughly in her mid-twenties. Long black hair lay fanned out across the gravel. Peace painted her features and she appeared to be deeply asleep. They noticed a jagged cut slashed across her left temple, bleeding profusely. Pete’s hand slipped to her jaw line, searching for a pulse, as Doreen checked the inside of her wrist.
They found the faint pulse at the same moment.
“She’s alive!” Pete closed his eyes and raised his face heavenward, “Thank you, Lord.”
Working together, they tore off a strip off the woman’s already ripped pajamas and bound the wound. Doreen’s e
yes widened as she realised they were stuck along the most deserted stretch of road this side of Jamestown.
“What are we going to do?”
Pete looked up at the naked hills surrounding them. Moonlight bathed the landscape in cold light. They were surrounded by remote farmland with no lights hinting at human habitation – not even an animal stirred in the darkness.
“We need to find her home. One of these roads must lead to a farmhouse. She must live around here. Let’s go knock on some doors. Once we’ve returned her to her family, we can leave knowing she’s in good hands.”
Doreen was shaking her head before the words were even out his mouth. He saw a familiar stubbornness set in her shoulders.
“She’s injured and she needs to see a doctor.” Pete started to answer but she cut him off. “We could spend the rest of the night getting lost on these farm roads, or we could take her to the hospital in Queenstown. As it is, I hope her condition is stable enough to make the journey on the smooth tar of the road. Imagine the damage we could do taking her up and down on those rutted dirt roads? Once we’re in Queenstown and she’s been seen to, we can decide what to do next.”
Pete still looked around doubtfully, as if expecting someone to pop out of the trees that lined the road and lay claim to the girl. Seeing the look, Doreen broke in,
“Oh, Pete. The Lord doesn’t often speak to me clearly, but when He does – I know that I must listen. He wants us to do this. I don’t know why, but I’m sure He will show us what we need to know.”
Pete searched his heart. There it was, like the peal of a silvery bell on the edge of his consciousness, a delicate impression that said ‘yes’. Cupping Doreen’s face in his hands, he kissed her forehead. “Okay, love. Let’s do this.”
Painfully aware that the young woman might have injured her spine, they said a brief prayer and shifted her body to the back seat. Using Doreen’s jacket for a blanket, they tucked her in gently. With another screech, Pete managed to maneuver the car off the tree trunk and back onto the road. Traveling as fast as the damaged vehicle could manage, they headed toward Queenstown, praying and calling out to God for His mercy and intervention.
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A young man watched the car leave and turned away; kicking the tree he’d been hiding behind and cursing his luck. Insatiate passions coursed through his veins as he glanced back and scowled at the car’s taillights fading into the distance. He spat on the ground and swore. “I will find you, Rebecca. I will find you.”
___________________________________________________
Enshrouded in the deep blue waters, the skeleton of the ship lay half buried – hidden from casual glance. Jason felt a familiar thrill of excitement tingle in his belly. Each visit to the wreck seemed to heighten the rush. Clutching a crowbar in one hand, he aimed himself through a man-sized hole torn out of the side of the hull and into inky blackness.
The faint light from his head lamp forced back a circle of murky darkness. Working entirely from memory, he navigated his way through narrow corridors, past cabins and ever deeper into the heart of the ship. Driven by something more than curiosity, he was determined to find what he had stumbled upon the previous day. He’d snagged a flipper under a loose floorboard, and while trying to work it free, his fingers had found something cold and hard beneath the wood. Some sort of box.
Shaking away the memories, Jason realized he’d made a wrong turn. My own fault for daydreaming. Focus, Halloway, focus. Retracing his path through the seaweed-infested tunnel, he peered through the gloomy water. His heartbeat doubled briefly as he recognized the cabin door to his right. It hung on one badly rusted hinge, swaying slightly in the shifting water current. Squeezing through the gap, he quickly found the floorboard and went to work with the crowbar.
Working weightless proved to be a real problem. Getting the crowbar wedged in was easy enough, but as soon as he pushed down on it, he floated off in the opposite direction. Aware that each second of inaction was a second of wasted oxygen, vile words paraded through his brain. I should have thought this through. Me – of all people.
His mental tongue-lashing was cut short by the calmest thought slicing sideways across his mind. Look around you.
Too surprised to argue, Jason began carefully scanning the room. Much of what he saw could be found in any bedroom. This lot had obviously not taken kindly to being under water for so long. There was a half-rotten chair, with a table to match. A small cupboard, a bed. Jason shrugged and shook his head. The only difference from a normal bedroom was that each item in this one was securely bolted to the floor. It hit him like a slap to the face. Bolted to the floor—of course.
The bed was closest to the offending board. Moving quickly, Jason slipped his legs under the frame and reached for the crowbar. As he pushed down, his legs jutted up against the metal frame of the bed – just the resistance he needed. The rotten board yielded to his attack and floated free. Reaching in, he yanked the metal object loose. It was a box, rusted but intact.
Clutching his prize clumsily in the crook of an arm, Jason headed out the ship and towards the surface, disrupting a school of tiny fish. Too exhilarated to notice, he left them swirling in his bubbles.
Back on board the rubber duck, Jason peeled off his wetsuit, ran fingers through his unruly black mop and sat down to examine the chest. It looked like an old-fashioned, severely rusted, petty cash tin – roughly the length of his forearm, but narrower across the width and slightly longer than his palm. It was going to be tough to get inside without doing permanent damage to both the tin and its contents. Stowing his find carefully in a canvas bag, Jason caught sight of his cell phone. Two missed calls. Then he saw the time. Late for my lecture. Not bothering to listen to his voicemail – undoubtedly some over-conscientious student wondering where their lecturer was – Jason fired up the engine and aimed the duck shore-wards.
Chapter 2 – Dreams and Curiosity
Peering into the bubbling pot on the stove, Jason shuddered. Cooking was firmly outside of Shane’s area of expertise. Then again, a hunk like Shane probably wouldn’t be doing his own cooking for long anyway.
“Hey, Halloway. How’d the lecture go?” Shane walked into the kitchen wearing a ridiculous checkered apron his girlfriend had bought him for their roof-wetting party.
“Not great. Quite like your cooking seems to be going.” Jason chuckled as he caught the dishtowel that narrowly missed clipping his ear. “Your aim is rotten, my friend!”
“Not half as rotten as the trash you keep dredging up from that wreck. I saw your latest sitting on the dining room table. You do realize that in two days our flat is going to reek of dead sea creatures. The last time I checked, ladies are not turned on by that particular odour.” Shane shook his stew-caked wooden spoon under Jason’s nose for emphasis. “Your hobby is having a severely negative effect on my social life.”
Dodging flying stew speckles, Jason defended himself, “What can I say? I teach history. Old, dead things fascinate me.”
Shane rolled his eyes and grinned.
Scratching his stubbly chin, Jason’s face twisted in a grimace. “Seriously though, I need your help opening the thing. I’ve got a hunch that there is something important inside.”
“No sweat. Heck, if it means we can ditch the thing once we’ve seen inside, I’ll even cancel my date for tonight.”
When Tim, the redhead, arrived home, he had been recruited into Operation Box Open as Shane had dubbed it. After dinner, the three roomies sat around the dining room table staring at the box. Where Shane was tanned and handsome, Tim was pale and ugly. His combination of allergies and acne didn’t do much for him by way of first impressions. Despite this—or maybe because of it—his insides were solid gold and his brain lightning quick. Jason always reckoned rolling Shane and Tim into one chap, and losing the allergies and acne, would give you something very close to the perfect man.
It was Tim’s brain and Shane’s brawn that got
the lock open. Tim’s locksmith granddad had taught him the basics of the trade and given him a small set of lock-picking tools. Shane’s muscles were useful in persuading the overly conscientious rust to give up. The box was now unlocked.
They sat and stared at it.
Shane cracked first, “Get on with it, Halloway. Open it. Let’s see what’s inside. It’s probably all rotten anyway.”
Jason rubbed his dry palms together and let out the breath he’d been holding. The strangest sensation had come over him as he stared at the box. Deep in his gut he felt as if whatever waited for him inside would change the course of his future. This subconscious notion paralyzed him completely.
Jason glanced quickly at his friends. Both sat drumming fingers impatiently – mouths tightly shut. Then, sideways across his mind came the voice again, full of love and laughter, Jason, open the box.
Puzzlement clouding his features, Jason spoke out loud,
“Just like underwater. I’d forgotten about that.”
Tim commented with a sniff, “Things do tend to go rotten underwater. What’s your point? Actually, never mind your point – open the box. Or I’ll do it for you.”
Shoving the odd voice— thought —aside, Jason reached for the box, feeling strangely light and carefree.
Some rusted bits broke off as he swung the lid back on its hinges. Reaching in, he pulled out a package, carefully vacuum-sealed in plastic. Somebody had gone to great lengths to protect the contents. Removing a clinging piece of seaweed, Jason gently inserted the tip of his Swiss Army knife and sliced it open.
Two separate packages came free, both wrapped meticulously in brown paper. Taking the bulkier of the two, Jason began unwrapping fold after fold. Tim and Shane had picked up on the gravity of the moment and sat staring with bated breath.
Pulling back the final portion of paper, Jason blinked in surprise.
Shackles: The truth will set you free Page 1