Million Dollar Gift

by Ian Somers

  ‘No, Romand!’ Cathy screamed. ‘Stop it! You’ll die!’

  ‘I’ll die anyway …’

  ‘Romand,’ I shouted, ‘do as they say. Stop before it drains you too much.’

  ‘I don’t take orders from teenagers.’

  I turned to look at him. His face was ghostly white and his eyes were glazed over like those of a mannequin. He tilted his head slightly and there was a hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth. He knew that cloaking the car would surely kill him, but he wouldn’t listen to us.

  ‘Keep them safe,’ he said to me.

  ‘Romand, don’t do this!’

  ‘Now you know the meaning of a true gift, Ross.’

  ‘Romand!’

  He didn’t speak again. His head slumped against his shoulder and his eyes became totally lifeless. The cloak faded and the car was visible once more, but he’d given us enough time to escape. The police wouldn’t be able to catch up with us before we reached the Williams home.

  June shook Romand; there was no response. Cathy squeezed his hand and screamed his name, but he was gone and I knew it. My mentor, protector and friend was dead.

  The Atkinsons cried for the entire journey and it was difficult to even get directions from June. It took a little over an hour to reach the tall metal gates of the Williams’ place and it was the worst hour of my entire life. I felt so helpless. I couldn’t do anything but drive that stupid car. I couldn’t do anything for Romand. I couldn’t even comfort my friends.

  Peter Williams, a tall, elderly man, was unlocking the gates and pushed them open for us. He waved me on and I drove up the driveway and stopped outside the house where his wife was waiting.

  I jumped out as soon as I killed the engine and helped the others to lift Romand from the back and lay him on the lawn. We crowded around him, looking for any sign of life, hoping for some sort of miracle.

  ‘Let me take a look at him,’ Peter Williams said. ‘There may still be time.’

  The old man crouched down and placed his hands on Romand’s forehead and it looked as though he was trying to transfer energy from his own body into Romand’s. I had a feeling it wasn’t going to work and Mr Williams’ face confirmed my suspicions.

  He shook his head and wept, ‘He is gone.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT -

  Funeral for a Friend

  They told me I collapsed soon after arriving at the Williams house and that I’d been out cold for over thirty hours. Someone dressed my wounds while I was unconscious and Cathy helped me into some fresh clothes when I felt strong enough to stand.

  ‘Where’s the manuscript?’ I gasped. ‘It was in my hoody.’

  ‘Mr Williams took it.’

  ‘He has no right to take that. It belonged to Romand!’

  ‘Ross,’ Cathy said calmly as she placed her hands on my shoulders. ‘That manuscript is very important and Mr Williams can keep it safe. Just relax. The people here are all friends. Romand’s paper on the true gifts needs to remain under their protection, not ours. Do you think Romand would have let you keep it anyway?’

  ‘He might have…’

  ‘Forget the manuscript for now. Come on, there’s some people who would like to meet you.’

  She led me downstairs and to the dining room where there were over twenty people sitting around, drinking tea or coffee and looking sombre. They all seemed to know who I was, which wasn’t really a surprise, but I hadn’t a clue who they were.

  Cathy introduced most of them and apparently they were all gifted and part of the network of friends that June had told me about. I didn’t need to be told they had all known and loved Romand, the grief painted on their faces told me that much.

  I sat by the double doors that led to the kitchen and listened to them sharing stories about my fallen mentor. It felt surreal that they were talking about Romand in the past tense. It still hadn’t sunk in that he was dead. It showed how vulnerable we all were, when someone as strong as Romand could fall so easily.

  I felt such intense hatred for Marianne as I watched June’s frozen face. She was sitting on the opposite side of the room and gazing out the window at the front lawn. It seemed like something inside her had died with Romand. She didn’t speak once or even acknowledge anyone’s words. I felt so sad and fought the need to cry.

  After three long and depressing hours I was told that Romand would be buried later that day, in the grounds of the Williams’ estate. Apparently they were waiting on six more mourners to arrive before they could lay him to rest. I spent the rest of the afternoon wandering the estate with Cathy. We didn’t speak much but there was very little to say. I simply held her hand and we both drew strength from being close to each other.

  I eventually asked the question that had been playing on my mind since I woke. I felt somehow guilty and selfish for asking, but I needed to know the answer.

  ‘What has become of Marianne?’

  ‘I don’t know, Ross,’ Cathy said nervously, as if the mention of the name had made her blood run cold. ‘Nobody does. Mr Williams knows some people who are close to the authorities, but apparently she was never brought to a hospital, a police station or a morgue. It was all covered up. What happened at our house wasn’t even mentioned on the news.’

  ‘Do you think she survived?’

  ‘I don’t know. Do you?’

  ‘That bullet blew a hole in her the size of an orange. I doubt anyone could have survived that … but I guess Marianne isn’t just anyone …’

  ‘I don’t want to think about her again, Ross.’

  ‘I know.’ I put my arms around her and held her tight. ‘Neither do I.’

  ‘I’m afraid of her, Ross. I don’t want her to come back. Ever.’

  ‘She won’t.’

  We held on to one another for what seemed like hours. We hardly spoke a word, for words were not what we needed; we needed only each other’s presence. When Cathy finally spoke the sky was growing dim and the air was cooling rapidly. It was the first sign that the summer was drawing to a close.

  ‘We should get back to the house now,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to leave Mum alone for too long, she’s hasn’t taken Romand’s death well.’

  ‘Has anyone?’

  ‘No, but Mum is acting very strangely. It’s like she’s lost part of her soul or something.’

  ‘She still has you.’

  ‘Us.’ She grasped my collars and stared into my eyes. ‘She still has us, Ross.’

  We walked back to the house to find the six mourners had arrived. I’d expected them to be like the others at the house, older people who had gifts and had probably spent most of their lives hiding from the rest of the world, but I was wrong. The six looked more like soldiers who had returned from a tour of duty; they looked rugged and dangerous. They seemed powerful and well-used to using their gifts in combat, just like Romand had been.

  Cathy introduced me to them before we returned to our seats. First were Angela and John Portman who nodded politely. Standing next to them was Linda Farrier who was in her mid-twenties and, disturbingly, reminded me a little of Marianne. Her eyes were intense and she showed that same sharpness of movement when she shook my hand.

  Then there were three tall men wearing long, black coats. They were the toughest-looking people I’d ever seen and their faces told of violent lives.

  ‘Ross,’ Cathy said, ‘this is Jim Sterling, Dominic Ballentine and Mike Huntington.’

  I shook their hands and nodded to each, but Huntington, a tall man in his thirties with a stern face, held my hand firmly for a moment longer than was necessary and his stare was hard to endure.

  I said nothing to him and tore my hand away.

  Everyone gathered at the rear of the house as the sun finally began to disappear and we walked to a tall oak with a patch of dirt in front of it. It seemed like a fitting headstone for such a great man. Romand had deserved something more than just a slab of stone that would weather over time and he got it, the tree looked robust enough
to stand for all time. The same wolf’s head logo I’d seen on some of Romand’s papers was carved into the bark of the tree. It appeared out of place at first, but the more I thought about it the more it seemed fitting for Romand’s grave.

  We gathered round the grave. Most of us held old-fashioned torches that gave the scene a warm yet eerie atmosphere. Everyone but Ballentine, Sterling, Farrier and Huntington seemed grief-stricken. They remained serious, but very composed, as all around them sobbed.

  Mr Williams said a few words then placed a rose on the grave.

  ‘He was strong when the rest of us were weak. He preyed on evil while the rest of us fled from it. He will be greatly missed. Would anyone else like to say a few words?’

  June took a step forward, but burst into tears and couldn’t manage to say her piece. Cathy hugged her and they both wept hysterically. I thought about stepping forward to talk briefly about what Romand had meant to me in the short time we knew each other, but I was beaten to it by Huntington.

  He stood next to the grave and raised his burning torch above his head as if it were an ancient ritual.

  ‘I’m not one for speeches so I’ll keep it short,’ he announced in a thick Scottish accent. ‘He wouldn’t want me getting all emotional anyway. Romand and I faced many dangers over the years and he never took a backward step and never lost his nerve. We even searched the world for the Kematian, something few would even contemplate, and he never once spoke of caution or hesitation. He was always ready to put his life on the line for the safety of others.

  ‘He was my friend. A man who had seen the worst evils of mankind, but kept his honesty and integrity and would always remain on the side of good. A man who knew the true value of life and never surrendered to greed. He was without doubt the bravest person I’ve ever known.

  ‘When we had a meeting in this very house only a few short weeks ago about …’ Huntington glanced at me, ‘… Ross Bentley and how we could rescue him. We knew it was a task that could cost lives. Romand was the first the step forward to volunteer and I will always admire him for that. I regret now that I allowed him to do this alone. I regret that I was not there to save him.

  ‘He was a good friend to all here, a brother to the Atkinsons, a rock for our community and a hero to all. A hero in life and in death. May he serve as an inspiration to all those who knew him. I will miss him greatly.’

  Huntington nodded to the crowd, threw another glance at me, then strode away from the gathering and returned to the house. There was nothing more to be said.

  I stayed by the grave long after all the others had gone. I felt so guilty. My stupidity had caused Romand’s death. If I hadn’t called Dad and Gemma that night none of this would have happened and I’d probably have been sitting down for dinner with Romand and the Atkinsons at this moment.

  The guilt was unbearable, but I was also afraid. What would the others say if they knew I was responsible for Marianne finding our location? Would Cathy hate me? Would Huntington kill me? He seemed to have a beef with me anyway and he had the look of a killer.

  I leaned against the tall oak and wept. My only comfort was that I had admitted what I’d done to Romand before he died, and that he had not judged me. For a moment I considered telling everyone at the house about the calls I’d made from the Atkinson farm, but I thought it best to keep the secret to myself, at least for a while. What good would it do if I told them? It would only cause more sorrow. Romand’s death was something I would have to try to live with. Some day, when I came to terms with what happened, I would try to tell the others and then deal with the consequences.

  I eventually returned to the house when my torch went out. I would truly miss Romand and I already felt lost without his guidance. I had no idea what was to come next. Where was I to go now? That question would be answered quicker than I thought.

  The house was very quiet the next morning as I got up. I went downstairs to find only Cathy, Mr Williams and Mike Huntington in the kitchen by the table.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I asked.

  ‘We’re discussing what should be done next,’ Mr Williams answered.

  ‘What should be done next?’

  ‘It’s too dangerous for you to remain here,’ Mr Williams told me. ‘My contacts in the police service say that this entire area is being scoured for you. And there are other undesirables lurking about.’

  ‘Undesirables?’

  ‘Most likely Golding’s people.’

  ‘I see. Where can we go?’ I asked Cathy.

  ‘I have to stay here with Mum, Ross. She’s been getting worse since that night … her mind is—’

  ‘She must stay here,’ Mr Williams interrupted, ‘I can help her with the pain plaguing her mind. Cathy will be able to aid me, so she will also stay.’

  ‘It won’t be forever, Ross,’ Cathy said, touching my hand.

  ‘Okay,’ I answered. ‘I’ll go back to my dad’s place until it all blows over.’

  ‘No,’ Mr Williams said. ‘You can’t go back there. They will come for you if you return to your home, and they will almost certainly kill your father. You must remain under the protection of the guild.’

  ‘The guild…?’

  ‘What the old man is saying,’ Huntington interrupted, ‘is that you have to stay with one of the more … active members of our community.’

  ‘Who might that be?’

  ‘Take a wild guess.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Now.’

  I only had an hour before I had to leave the house. I wanted to contact Dad and Gemma, but they told me it was too much of a risk, and after what had happened at the Atkinsons’ house I agreed. I’d write each of them a letter giving them some form of explanation once I reached my destination. I really felt bad about forsaking Dad, but it was for the best. I couldn’t risk his safety. I was never going to put my loved ones in danger again.

  I barely had time to say farewell to June and I had only a brief moment alone with Cathy while she gathered some spare clothes for me from one of the upstairs rooms.

  ‘It’s not going to be forever,’ she said sorrowfully. ‘I’ll wait for you. We can be together again soon.’

  ‘I hope so. I … er … I do like you a lot.’

  ‘I’ll say it even though you’re afraid to. I love you, Ross Bentley.’

  ‘I love you too.’

  I kissed her and held her as tight as I could. I wanted to stay with her forever, but our time together was running out. Our paths were leading in different directions but I felt confident they would converge once more, in the near future.

  ‘I know the address where you’ll be staying,’ Cathy told me. ‘I’ll write you letters every week.’

  ‘Emails?’

  ‘No, we can’t communicate like that. We’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way.’

  ‘Cool. I’ve never gotten a love letter before.’

  ‘You will soon enough.’

  I gave her one last kiss before I left the room. I was about to take to the staircase when I heard voices from the hallway below.

  Peter Williams was following Huntington down the long hallway. The old man had to jog to keep up with the younger man who strode purposely towards the front door.

  ‘Hunter!’ Mr Williams called. I figured this was Huntington’s nickname, but that it might have a double meaning. ‘Hunter, damn it, slow down!’

  ‘What is it, Peter? I have a long drive ahead of me.’

  ‘Go easy on that boy while you’re in hiding.’

  ‘Why should I?’

  ‘There’s something you’re not aware of.’

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘I examined Romand’s injuries and also listened to June Atkinson’s account of that night before her mind closed up. It is my belief that Romand’s physical injuries were not severe enough to kill him, which means the boy’s intervention, in taking the fight to Marianne, would have saved your friend’s life. Bentley is not the reckless kid you think he is.’

>   ‘How did Romand die if not from his injuries?’

  ‘He extended himself too much during the escape from the authorities. He sacrificed himself for Bentley, but he was only returning the favour. The boy had saved Romand.’

  Huntington didn’t respond. He patted Mr Williams on the shoulder and paced out into the garden.

  Huntington had ignored the old man’s words, but they had an effect on me. They made me feel a little better about myself. Romand hadn’t simply died from the injuries Marianne had inflicted. I had in a way saved him, given him a chance to survive the debacle that I had caused.

  I had still caused it though …

  I plodded down the staircase into the hall and headed for the garden. Mr Williams was standing just outside and stopped me as I passed.

  ‘Huntington isn’t all bad when you get to know him,’ Mr Williams said. ‘He was Romand’s best friend. He’s just upset.’

  ‘He blames me for it … and maybe he should.’

  The old man put his hand on my shoulder and stared at me intensely. ‘Listen, young Bentley, whatever happened that night, or will happen in the future, I know when it really mattered you didn’t hide. You came out fighting and put your life on the line for Romand and the others.’

  I had the feeling that somehow he knew that I had led Marianne to the farmhouse. Tears welled up in my eyes and my mouth went dry.

  ‘Listen, Mr Williams, it was because of me—’

  ‘What happened is not because of you or anyone on our side. It was because of Paul Golding’s greed. Nothing else. Put any guilt you have aside. You need to be strong and you need to stay safe. Romand gave you another chance at life, I suggest you don’t waste it by drowning yourself in guilt.’ He smiled and nodded at the house. ‘There’s a remarkable young woman in there who cares a lot about you, and needs you to overcome this and return here as the same young man she fell in love with, not a young man who has been crushed by remorse.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Williams. Thank you for everything.’