by S. G Mark
“For me,” she said, “For your wife.”
Jack’s body fell limply to the floor. Jonathan had released him, but at the same time all the muscles in his legs had failed him. Wife. Somehow that was more final than anything.
“What’s he said to you?” Jonathan asked, his figure towering above Jack.
“He’s alive,” she said, “Alex is alive.”
“It doesn’t matter, he’s still leader of that organisation. He’s killed people. We’re incriminating ourselves every second we don’t report him.”
“Please don’t arrest him,” she said, “Please don’t put me through that.”
“He ruined your life. He took away your family!”
“He didn’t!” she snapped, “We only thought he did. But Alex is alive and Jack knows how to find him. You can’t deny me my own brother, please.”
“How can you be sure he’s not lying, Liz? The man’s a terrorist, a murderer,” Jonathan said, pointing a finger sharply at Jack, who was lying still upon the tiles.
“Because I’d never lie to her,” he whimpered, clutching his bruised side.
“But you already have. You lied about who you are,” Jonathan said, “How can anyone trust anything you say.”
“I believe him,” she said, “Not about everything, but that Alex is alive.”
“He’s taking you for a fool -”
“Then let him!” Eliza shouted, “If there’s the slightest chance my brother is alive, then you fucking let him!”
“And what about me? Surely you must know what kind of position you are putting me in? Or don’t you care?”
Tears were streaming down Eliza’s cheeks; her face glistened in the low light.
“I’ve never asked you for anything,” she said softly, “And I swear I will never ask you anything ever again if means you help me right now.”
Jack pushed himself gently against the kitchen cupboards, nursing his groaning stomach. Blood trickled down his chin.
Towering above, Jonathan seemed to nod gently.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Get Jack out of the city,” she said, “Take him somewhere and leave him.”
“Liz, that’s huge, that’s -”
“That’s what I’m asking,” she said, “Nothing more. If he didn’t kill Alex, then give him this chance to prove it.”
“But he’s still a terrorist,” he said, “He’s still a murderer.”
“Maybe,” she said, “But I don’t care about that right now.”
“Do you have any idea how dangerous this could be?”
“Then use your contacts, call in favours,” she demanded, “Do what you need to do for the sake of your wife and your child.”
“I can’t ask anyone at work - the second they know, it’ll be all over for us. By law, we’re already criminals for not turning him in yet. Do you have any idea what they would do to me if they found out I’d aided not only a terrorist, but him of all people?”
“Christ sake you are fucking head of CRU in this city, if anyone can get him out it’s you! Just do it!”
Instinctively, Jack crawled backwards. It couldn’t be. Jonathan turned and glared down at him.
“Please,” he begged, “You of all people will know what they’ll do to me if you take me in. Look me in the eye and tell me that a man who can love such a beautiful, perfect being as Eliza can also condemn a man to certain death? I’m fighting for my country, for my right to survive, for my right not to be tortured for wanting more from life!”
Jonathan looked between Jack’s pathetic body and his wife, shivering with intense emotion on the other side of the room. Her eyes were locked on to Jack’s. A triumvirate of fear infested the kitchen. The next few minutes could determine the rest of his life; certainly the duration of it. After all he’d been through, after all the narrow escapes he had had: he never thought he’d be backed against a wall, pinned down like this. Eliza’s husband, head of the CRU for Edinburgh. He couldn’t stomach it. Not only had he lost her, but he’d lost to her to him.
“We leave within the hour,” Jonathan spat, “But if you ever return, I will goddam kill you myself.”
He marched from the room, slamming the door behind him. Eliza was as white as fog. Clambering to his feet, Jack wanted to hold her, to comfort her. But something stood in his way; something more tangible than a two year absence.
“You need to go with him,” she muttered over her silent sobbing.
“He’s your husband?”
Eliza nodded, crashing into terrible grief. Jack wanted to throw his arms around her, but he couldn’t risk it.
“He’s dangerous,” he said, “You have no idea what that organisation do.”
Brushing her hair out of her moist face, she smirked, “And what makes you so sure you know what’s really going, Jack? He’s right. You have killed people - all in the name of what you think is right. Have you ever stopped to think if you’re wrong?”
“Yes,” he said, his answer seemed to take her aback, “Every day. I’ve had friends die over what we believe. But here’s a question… why do we need soldiers on the streets if we’re the only mad ones who believe it?”
He brushed against her as he opened the door and made his way into the living room. There he found Jonathan, hands clasped within each other, as he stared thoughtfully into the distance. The light wasn’t even on; only the stray streetlight offered faint visibility. Jack shut the door gently behind him and sat on the edge of the sofa.
“Why did you come back?” he said, “You could have stayed away, left us alone.”
“I never intended on returning,” Jack began, “I had no choice. And when I did come back, I knew I couldn’t leave without seeing her.”
“You must know what you are putting her through - what you are putting us both through?”
“Yes,” he said, “I know you want to lock me up. I know you’d rather I was dead. I know what you might think of me, but I’m not that monster.”
“You killed the Home Secretary, and that other one, yesterday,” Jonathan said.
Jack shook his head, “I left him alive and well. Though, yes, I did kill Quentin. But how would you feel if you knew what he was planning? Maybe you already do. Head of CRU for Edinburgh, I suspect you already do.”
“Don’t play games with me,” he spat, “You won’t turn me. You won’t convince me with your… your propaganda.”
“No,” Jack sighed, “I don’t convince anyone with that. I tend to find the truth is more persuasive.”
Glaring at him, Jonathan rose to his feet and swept from the room; leaving a cold draught circling like sharks around Jack’s ankles.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jack was leaning against the door to his old bedroom. The mattress had been taken away, the floor cleared and Alex’s bed made. A framed picture of him stood on the bedside table. All trace that Jack had ever lived there was gone. Five years of his life, virtually vanished. As if a leaf in the autumn wind, it was but decaying on some foreign ground, a whisper of a past quite unknown to him. The last time he’d slept in this bed, he’d not taken Eliza’s virginity. The last time he’d been in this room, he’d been ignorant to who Alex really was. The last time he’d leant against this door, he’d not murdered anyone. He wasn’t on the run. He was blissfully unaware of where his future would lead him. Not for a single second on his last night with Eliza did he ever imagine he’d find himself where he was today.
Downstairs he heard them bickering. A fragment of his broken heart was pleased, but that was all that he felt. Suddenly the world seemed so much farther than he’d remembered; so much more remote and challenging than he could recall. Numb. Numb to all hurt, all pleasure, all pain; except one.
Could he have left The Resistance when he wanted to, when he’d planned his escape and Emma had stopped him? Jack could blame circumstances and regret, but he knew deep down inside that he could never have left. Returning to her at that point was not an option. He knew that
then and he needed to remember that right now. Being here was putting her and her baby in danger.
Maybe he was every inch the monster than Eliza and Jonathan had dreamed he was. There was no denying he’d killed Quentin Robson, and others too. How much did semantics have to offer two years of absence and betrayal? So he hadn’t signed up to the organisation immediately, did that justify the path he’d taken to now be named as Leader? Did it matter in the end who saluted him, who feared him, and who he believed barked the orders? Alex was King, but Jack had played a part much bigger than he’d ever anticipated. He’d organised the riot. He’d taken advantage of the kidnap. It was his face against his own ideas. Who was to say he wasn’t the Leader against this powerful enemy?
The Enemy. It was downstairs arguing with the love of his life. They wore wedding rings to signify each other's endless love. Eliza carried its child. It lived in the only house Jack called home. Suddenly the war seemed a muddier, bloodier version of the neat little utopia in his mind. Us and Them - that’s what Alex had said. All this time Jack had believed himself to be fighting Them. The CRU, the Nightstalkers, the Government, the Army and the society who supported them. But downstairs there was a little unborn child whose father was Them and his Uncle was Us. How far could those blurred lines stretch? What did definitions matter anymore?
If there was one thing for sure, Jack had lost what he had been fighting for. When he’d seen Eliza pregnant last night, he just never expected to find another reason so soon, if at all. This war was so much bigger than a two week love story cursed for the history books.
Jack turned and stood at the top of the landing. As his feet hit the creaking floorboards, the arguing instantly stopped. Though he couldn’t make out exactly what they had been saying, he knew he was at the centre of it. At the bottom of the stairs, Jonathan came out of the living room, his eyes swollen and red.
“Time to go,” he said, unlocking the front door.
Meanwhile, Jack approached the living room and caught Eliza sobbing into a tissue.
“I’m leaving now,” he said softly, “Remember what I said.”
She looked up abruptly and jumped to her feet. For a second Jack thought she was going to race across and embrace him, but she stood quite still where she was.
“Thank you,” he said, “For everything.”
Gently, he pulled the living room door shut and followed an impatient Jonathan out into the frosty night air.
In slow motion he seemed to drag himself from the house. Ahead of him, Jonathan opened the passenger door to a CRU emblazoned car. Solemnly, Jack got into it. Only as Jonathan climbed in the other side did Jack realise what trust he was bestowing Eliza and her husband. After two years of secrets and lies, the niggling voice at the back of his head quietly festered with mistrust.
“This car gives me clearance anywhere both around and outside Edinburgh, at any time,” he said, “I don’t want to know where you are heading to, so just tell me where I can drop you off.”
Jonathan was staring ahead, his tone curt and professional.
“You’re really going to help me?” he asked.
“Not you,” Jonathan said, “Liz.”
He turned the key in the ignition. The headlights burst into life, casting bright circles on the road ahead.
“Take me to Berwick,” he said.
Jonathan turned the car into the road as Jack watched number forty-two shrink in the wing mirror. A two year build up to a visit too short. He imagined Eliza watching them disappear from the window. There were tears in her eyes as she realised she’d let him go. It was all a dream; a silly little dream he’d used to occupy his mind.
“How long have you been married for?” he asked, unsure if he ever wanted to hear the answer.
“None of your business,” he snapped back.
“C’mon, Jonathan,” Jack rested his head against the passenger window, “You know who I am, you know what I can do. You reckon I won’t be able to find that out somehow?”
“You clearly didn’t know we were married,” he retorted.
“Yeah, well,” he inhaled deeply, “More fool me.”
The city lights cascaded by in a waterfall of sepia and tonal black. As the miles ranked behind them, he grew less interested in anything the world had to offer. Sadness washed over him. It rained like a monsoon; he bathed in it as if it were glacial pools on a hot summer’s day. As they passed from the city and into the countryside, the vibrant world turned to murky grey. The deep black beyond their headlamps was riddled with questions he couldn’t bear to answer.
At his side, Jonathan sat, wordlessly as he drove. Jack had no energy for conversation, least of all with this man. He embodied everything he hated. The CRU, ignorance, a rival for Eliza’s affection: he was the epitome of Jack’s enemy and yet was the same person risking his life to save him. It was all a facade; Jack knew the man’s actions were born of duty to Eliza and he knew he’d be dead if Jonathan had any say in the matter.
“If you ever hurt her…” Jack’s voice broke free.
“She’s my wife,” he said, “And you have no right to question that. I’m saving your fucking skin right now. I could hand you in if you’d prefer?”
“It’s tempting,” he said, “At least I’ll die knowing that she’d hate you forever.”
“You’re… you’re some childhood friend she lost touch with. A childhood friend that turned nasty. That’s all. You were nothing to her then and you’re nothing to her now.”
The revelation dawned on Jack. All this time he’d simply assumed.
“You don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?” Jonathan glanced over, panicked.
“What has she told you about me?” he was laughing to himself, “C’mon, Jonathan you might be older, but you are not senile. Do you really think she’s this upset because she thought I killed her brother? Do you really think that I came back just to see my friend’s kid sister?”
“I know,” he snapped, “I know what you felt about her. It’s wrong. You were a guest in Maggie’s house and you sought to take advantage of her.”
“Take advantage?” Jack was laughing now, streaks of lightning flashing across the sky, “How old are you? Maybe you really are fucking senile, or just blind.”
“Shut up,” he yelled, “I am fucking saving your skin. Now shut the fuck up!”
Jack chuckled quietly to himself, the satisfaction spreading into a wide grin. In all the time they’d been married, after she was carrying his baby, Eliza had never told her own husband the truth about her relationship with Jack. What was to hide? The shame that she’d been duped by her brother’s supposed killer? No. His heart soared. What else was there to hide? She still had feelings for him.
Another half hour passed. Jack’s grin had not subsided and nor did he want it to.
“How do you feel, doing the job you do?” he asked.
Jonathan glared at him from the corner of his eye.
“It’s a fair question,” Jack through his arms up in protest, “Eliza said you were head of the CRU for Edinburgh. How does it make you feel, processing all those false arrests?”
“False arrests, what are you talking about?”
“All the people who grass on their neighbours, snitch on their ex boyfriends out of revenge? It must drive you nuts,” he asked. “But I suppose the new target system you have doesn’t help either. Gotta get them in jail and all.”
“It isn’t perfect,” Jonathan said through gritted teeth, his knuckles whitened on the steering wheel, “But what system is? At least I’m not a terrorist.”
“Who have I terrorised, exactly?” Jack examined a splinter on his finger. He must’ve obtained it from the lorry journey.
“People are scared to go out of their homes because of you.”
Jack shook his head, “Nope. People were scared before I came on the scene. I was asking you what I have done to terrorise people?”
“I… I... Quentin Robson’s murder. That other guy’s ki
dnapping.”
“Quentin - fair enough, it’s maybe a bit of a shock that he died, but he was trying to kill your brother in law. And the other guy? Well I left him alive and well.”
“You still caused terror. How many other politicians are fearful of going home at night, knowing you’ve taken out two of their colleagues?”
“Ask yourself why them? Why do we go after specific people, protest and riot about certain things, when the DD and the GD target randomly? They target the public.”
“And you guys haven’t? I remember September. I lost my cousin in that explosion. You killed just because you fucking could.”
“It wasn’t us.”
This time it was Jonathan who scoffed mockingly.
“Yeah, I completely believe you,” he said.
“I’m not asking you to believe me,” Jack said, pressing his head against the back of the chair and stretching his legs a little, “I’m asking you to question everyone else.”
Keeping his eyes on the road ahead, Jack could see Jonathan was in contemplation. His mouth uttered a few silent words, but he quickly suppressed the urge to retort back.
“Ten more miles until Berwick. Then you’re out of our lives for good,” he said. “Until then, shut up.”
Smiling to himself, Jack lay back in the seat and absorbed the warm blast of air radiating from the heater. Quite where he was going after Jonathan dropped him off, he had no idea. It had just turned one in the morning. Curfew would be in full swing. It was mid-summer though - camping out underneath the stars was not out of the equation.
Arising from the horizon were twinkling lights. ShutDown was hours ago though.
“Get in the back,” Jonathan ordered, sharply, “Get in the back now.”
“What’s happening?”
“Get in the fucking back now and stay low,” he said.