by Jim Jennings
Laurence and Wesley burst through the fire exit, flew down the flight of stairs and sprang away like deer toward the sound of a slow and steady drum beat. It was dark outside now, cooler, with a slight breeze running through the air and blowing Laurence’s hair into all sorts of untameable fashions. The bright spots in the sky that pierced the sheet of night guided them on their way, so too did the enormity of their desire, on Laurence’s part to save Brigitte, on Wesley’s to stop Randall.
They came to a large set of rocks, which were positioned together to give the shape of a prism. The pair huddled around these rocks and looked down below at a deep ditch where a large congregation of people had assembled. Some were sitting on wooden chairs right at the very back, only a few feet below Laurence and Wesley; others were on their knees in a stance of supplication and worship, chanting rhythmically and waving their arms like palm trees caught in the midst of a tropical storm. Before them were seated the same suited persons who Laurence had earlier observed inside the conference room, save for the detained Bernadette and the dead Gomes. They too were singing aloud, though rather unenthusiastically compared to their kneeling counterparts, to a raised platform which had four pillars, one on each corner, a large stone altar in the centre and behind it, a long wooden pole about ten feet in height. Standing next to the altar, basking in all the glory he was receiving, was Randall Johnson in splendid linen robes. He walked around the long wooden pole, dispersing grain around it as he went round. After he had done this, he raised a small bucket of water. At this moment, the great throng of people dispersed and four formidable men approached from the back of the crowd to the platform, carrying a stretcher on their bulging shoulders. Strapped to this, furiously struggling against her bonds was a beautiful woman who was shrieking and pleading with the people around her. ‘Brigitte!’ Laurence shouted, or would have shouted, had not Wesley covered his mouth as soon as he noticed he was about to speak.
Brigitte was lifted off the stretcher and brought to the pole. The men forced her head into the bucket for a few seconds and when she came up again her face was drenched and her finely braided hair was dripping. The chants began again, faster but less loud this time. Brigitte’s waist was tied around the pole with a long stretch of rope; her arms were raised above her head and tied with cords round the back of the pole, while her feet were forced together in a similar fashion. Randall then tipped the remained of the bucket on himself; the harsh cold of the water making him gasp and shiver. Laurence looked out to Brigitte; her hair flowed long and lustrously down her back; around her neck was shimmering golden necklace; her white dress was cut low on the chest but fell to her ankles. She wasn’t wearing any shoes. Her ivory skin was as pale as the moon in fright; the look on her face suggested she was looking into the brink of death itself. From his basket of grain, Randall produced a long, thin knife that glinted in the moonlight. He held it high and the crowd of people cheered. Brigitte began to cry uncontrollably. She tried to form words to shout out for help or to plead for salvation but none were forthcoming. On the stone altar Wesley could see scrolls of parchment, no doubt containing the words Randall would read to ordain the opening of the box.
‘Right, this is the plan.’ He turned to Laurence, but Laurence wasn’t there. He looked further along the curve of the crater and saw him, darting along the steep decline, clambering over and under rocks, trying to remain silent and not alert anyone to his presence. He quickly came to behind a boulder that was level with the front of the platform. He looked to his left; all eyes were on Randall who was by this time stood with his hands aloft to the heavens and shouting until his lungs were empty in ancient Greek. His tone was demanding and expectant rather than one of worship. The men of the conference room looked uneasy as Randall’s delivery became more frantic; he seemed to revel in the performance.
Then he stopped suddenly. The atmosphere changed. The torches that were lit around the area flickered with concern and the sky seemed to grow darker. Silence reigned. From the back of the crowd five men stood up and made their way slowly to the platform; they were clearly struggling carrying a heavy object. When they had reached the steps they heaved their luggage onto the platform before the altar. Randall stooped over the object and let forth a great cry of joy. So here it was! Finally, Laurence could see it. Its exterior was that of any clay pot. It was half the height of a man, of a murky orange colour, with a slender neck and round body, about the width of a football. On it was depicted a young girl bending over and lifting the lid of a similar looking vase, from which a dark cloud was emerging. Next to the girl’s slender frame, in tiny, almost unreadable lettering, was the name ‘Pandora.’ So this was what everyone believed to be Pandora’s Box. To Laurence, it looked like just another amphora. Yet, as in many things in life, it was what was in inside that mattered. The vase was treated with tremendous care by the men, who were especially careful not to let the lid fall off before the appropriate time in the ceremony came for Randall, his face a picture of childlike delight, to open the box. He now turned to Brigitte, whose own face was mesmerised by the sight of the vase. The men removed themselves from the platform and Randall lifted his blade high into the air. It was now or never. Seizing a handful of sand, Laurence leapt, gazelle-like, onto the platform.
‘Randall!’ The shout was full of anger and confusion, but it did not come from Laurence’s mouth. It came from a member of the crowd, who was pointing to above the crater, where the sound of a motor engine was coming. A second later the source of the sound became apparent, as a yellow Ferrari bellowed up into the air and came crashing down into the crowd of people who were immediately screaming and flooding out of the area in blind panic. The car stopped only a few millimetres short of the platform; Pandora’s Box rocked to and from but then steadied itself. Laurence was immediately behind the rocks at the back of the platform, but knew it would be suicide to untie Brigitte just yet. A stroke of luck was what he needed, and it came in the form of Giorgio Carraciolo. A roaring noise came from behind the audience and though many were confused, the source of the noise became clear very quickly. The twin bulbs of the Ferrari’s headlights shone into Randall’s cruel eyes and lit up the stage like a theatre spotlight. From the car emerged Giorgio Carraciolo and Ruby Holland.
‘Stop this madness, Randall!!’ Giorgio shouted as he closed the car door behind him. He raised his right foot onto the platform. Randall flashed a cruel smile at him and brandished his ravenous knife once more. He glared at Giorgio with spite and vengeance in his eyes.
‘You can’t stop me this time, Giorgio! You’re too late! This time, I win!’ He grinned like a demon and delivered a vicious kick to Giorgio’s face, sending him off the platform and onto his back. Ruby rushed over around the car and to his side. It was then that Laurence rushed forward and stood before Randall and his prey, Brigitte, whose face was hopeful. They looked at each other in the eye. Randall laughed menacingly, ‘Oh please!’ He walked straight towards Laurence, who he expected to stand aside. But Laurence instead threw the sand he had in his hand at Randall. Tiny grains lodged themselves in and around Randall’s eyes, which he immediately closed, but too late. He staggered about the platform like a drunkard, swearing and cursing and waving his knife blindly at things. He lost his footing and crashed into the altar, which fell from the stage and onto the bonnet of Giorgio’s car, causing it to shatter into random, meaningless fragments. Randall screamed; he didn’t have to have eyes to know what he had done. Meanwhile Laurence raced over to Brigitte and began to untie her from her bonds.
‘Hello Brigitte!’ He greeted her as innocently as if he had just met her for the first time. Before Brigitte could reply, she noticed Randall getting to his feet and her face was once again full of alarm. Giorgio called out to Randall,
‘Stop this, old friend!’ He was on his feet again and was joined by Wesley, who had clambered down the rock face and was now aiming his gun at Randall, whose teeth were bared and gritted as if here were a guard dog about to bite an intruder. He began speaking
to himself in Ancient Greek; he was finishing the prayer to the Gods!
‘Mr Johnson, it’s over! I advise you not to make any sudden movements. Give yourself up!’ Stern concentration in his face was matched by his voice and stance. Two of the stretcher bearers returned to their senses following the blind panic; one of them lifted Wesley into the air from behind, forcing him to drop his gun, and tossed him into a row of seats that collapsed onto the ground. The other guard charged into Giorgio and surely would have killed him with his gun but for Ruby, who, with incredible alacrity, seized the attacker’s left wrist and, with sterling strength that belied her tiny frame, pulled him through the car’s driver’s side window.
By this time Laurence had finished untying Brigitte and he was now holding her hand. He would have rushed off then and there to help Wesley and get Brigitte to a place of safety but Randall had other plans; he had finished muttering to himself and, with less pomp and circumstance than he would have liked, lifted the lid of Pandora’s Box.
‘No!!!!’ Brigitte, Laurence, Giorgio and Ruby called out simultaneously, and they all four of them jumped to the floor in anticipation of what would then happen. Wesley would have joined in the cry of despair were he not already on the floor and being throttled by one of Randall’s men. The lid of the box crashed to the floor and the sound seemed to echo around the world.
The following seconds felt like they were whole years. Nothing happened, and yet it seemed as if everything around them changed. A shadow crept over the platform, the viewing area, over everywhere. Through the gloom a scream was heard; it came from out of the box and it penetrated the air, sending the assorted group into the depths of despair. Then the light of the moon shone clear and proud over them and it lit up a most horrendous and awe-inspiring scene. Popping out of the box came smock; thick, black, blinding. It rose and rose and spread out all around them so nothing could be seen. Nothing could be heard also, for a deafening high-pitched wail that seemed to stand for thousands of years of hurt and pain erupted from the box and all who heard it reached to cover their ears in a vain effort to blot out the sound. The noise pierced their ears. The shroud that preceded the noise formed a mass thundercloud above them, like an island in the sky, which rumbled and grumbled with anger and fury. Lightning streamed out of the box and into the cloud, and then shot out all around, narrowly missing everyone but striking nearly everything else. Flames roared all about them.
With his attacker now rolling around in agony, Wesley reached for his gun, though the effort it took was immense. A most terrific wind howled and swirled above their heads. Giorgio and Ruby placed their arms onto one of the platform’s supporting legs; Laurence and Brigitte followed suit. Wesley fired four bullets into Randall, who was clearly overjoyed. The natural phenomena around him were not affecting him in the slightest. Indeed, where they seemed to attack and hurt the others, they seemed to engulf themselves around him, into him, through him. The bullets flew into him. A beam of pure white light, vibrant and blinding to look at, shot out of the box and into his face. He began to rise into the air, and lightning fired out of his fingertips. Giorgio struggled to look up; the intensity of the light was so startling he could not stare at Randall for longer than a nanosecond. Around Randall a crimson glow began to appear, his arms stretched out as shadows, ghost-like and formless, ran into his body. Wesley’s bullets went in his direction but did nothing. They flew through his body! Wesley felt retribution as a huge gust of wind came his way, throwing him back against a rock face, knocking him unconscious. A deep gash formed on his head. He lay motionless and Laurence turned his head away from the box and toward his friend. The noise of the screams grew louder and ever more terrible; it was a sound of horror and despair. Randall’s eyes became enflamed, so too did his hair, and yet he displayed no signs of pain. He cackled with delight. Laurence had to stop this, and fast.
Above the whirling wind and whipping tornado that began to form, sucking in the chairs and the car and other items that lay about the place, he shouted to Brigitte, ‘Hold on and don’t ever let go!’ She didn’t hear him but nevertheless her grip didn’t loosen for a second. He, on the other hand, let go. He feared he would fly straight into the tornado, but it was not so. Getting to his feet, he staggered onto the platform, crawling up and over the edge and then along the planks of wood. The power of the wind and the strength of the cries pushed him back but he kept going. The bolts of lightning started to fire straight out of Randall’s eyes. Behind them, the majestic triangle shaped building, the headquarters of Randall’s new order, was hit by several streaks of lightning and exploded upon itself. Glass scattered itself all over the site and over those still remaining. Randall was being raised into the cloud itself, which roared at its freedom from the box with the snap of a thunderclap.
Something strange was beginning to happen to Giorgio’s face; where his skin had been fair and smooth, now it was becoming covered in wrinkles and lines. His hair was beginning to grey and thin as well. He felt strength fading from his body. The affliction started to happen in Ruby and then Brigitte, and then Wesley, and now Laurence, who was edging ever closer to the lid of the box. His blonde hair was now white as snow, his face withered and his skin saggy and thin. He felt weaker and weaker in body, but his mind was unaffected by the box. With a great effort he seized the lid of the box tightly and began to raise it over the box. A terrifying sound came from above him; it was Randall, but not Randall. His entire body had now become one shining white light amid the gloom of the thundercloud. He had no arms, no legs, just two eyes and a vague form resembling a body, but was essentially just a bundle of light. Laurence took the lid, and slammed it down where it belonged; over Pandora’s Box. As the lid fell, everything fell with it. The thunder and lightning, the shadows and shades, the screams and shouts fell to a murmur and all became one swirl of dense cloud which descended deep into the vase. The darkness diminished and so too did the effects of the box; as the cloud grew less and less, so too did the results of ageing recede on their bodies; Ruby and Brigitte returned to their former beauty, Giorgio’s hair was as smooth and glossy as ever, and Laurence’s hair retained its Golden Retriever like colour.
There was one sound left however, and that was the scream of Randall Johnson as he cascaded from the top of the cloud; he was certainly being brought back down to earth with a bang! He plummeted unceremoniously onto the box itself; it cracked into innumerable pieces.
‘No!’ Giorgio shouted, though it was not clear whether he was shouting about the destruction of the box or the fate of his former friend. For a few seconds there was pure, joyful, beautiful silence. Then the weather altered. Bright sunshine shone around the place and calm resonated proudly. Brigitte threw herself over Laurence who lay exhausted on the floor and began to weep over him, kissing his bruised and battered face all over. Ruby and Giorgio embraced and Giorgio lifted onto the platform to check Randall’s pulse.
‘Brigitte, I’m okay. I’m not dead!’ He said to her in happiness. She smiled with unadulterated happiness and kissed him straight on the lips. He jumped to his feet from the platform and surveyed the surrounding area. A wondrous event had happened here today; Laurence had been kissed by a really attractive girl! But more than that, Pandora’s Box had threatened to wreak devastation on the whole of humanity, and he had saved the day!
‘Is he?’ Laurence gestured towards Randall.
‘Yes.’ Giorgio answered solemnly. Randall Johnson was dead. He lay at peace with his beloved Pandora’s Box. Suddenly Laurence’s mind rushed to another possible fate.
‘Wesley!’ He ran over to the rock face and found Wesley, who was clearly in a great deal of pain, breathing calmly on the floor. ‘Are you alright, Wes?’
‘Aye, I’m alright! You did it! Now get me a bloody ambulance!’ Wesley said through the pain barrier and Laurence smiled.
Chapter Eleven
Goodbye?