The Cult of The Enemy: The Dark Places Trilogy

by S. G Mark

  “We couldn’t bare the decor,” she said, leading him through to the kitchen.

  Jack followed, waiting for her to wage her anger at him. It was coming, he could feel her intense brooding.

  In the kitchen she immediately put the kettle on and set about gathering cups and teaspoons. Jack watched her from the side, knowing all too well that it was best to keep quiet until she next spoke.

  Her hair had grown since he’d last seen her. It was nearly down to her breasts and she’s styled it today: wavy and curly. From afar he admired her yellow maternity dress and the way it flowed over her features. It brought out her eyes, and more uniquely her rage, and Jack couldn’t help but smile at the idea of falling in love with her all over again.

  The kettle boiled and she made them both tea. Sliding his cup over to him along the worktop, she suddenly snapped.

  “What the fuck do you think you are doing coming back here?” she said sharply, not shouting but struggling to do so.

  “I came to see you,” he said.

  “Where is he?” she said, determinedly not looking at him.

  “He wouldn’t come,” Jack said, “I tried, but he didn’t want to.”

  She looked up sharply at him, her eyes narrowing.

  “You know Alex,” he continued, “You know no one can get him to do anything he doesn’t want to.”

  “You promised me,” she shouted, her tea erupting from her mug in all directions.

  Jack reached over for a cloth and dabbed the area dry. Their bodies were inches from each other. He smelt her perfume, could see her tacky, sweaty skin shine in the stray light.

  “Thank you, I can clean my own kitchen,” she said, grabbing the cloth from his hand and throwing it at the kitchen sink.

  “I saw your video,” her head bobbed with anger, “I was even bloody touched by it. But here you are! Two months fucking later and still unable to keep a fucking promise!”

  Jack reached out to her, but she stepped back.

  “Get away from me!” she swiped his hand away, “Every time I think you’re going to be there for me… you’re not.”

  She backed into the corner cupboard and a solitary tear ran down her cheek to her chin.

  “The worst thing is, you know what this feels like!” she sobbed, “Every night when you were a teenager, waiting for Jess to come home. And maybe you heard stories of a body found or sighting in some place or another and your hearts would soar or fall at the beat of a fucking news bulletin, but you spent the time between sleep and dreaming praying that she was still alive. So don’t you dare tell me he didn’t want to come, because I can’t accept that my brother would want to leave me all alone like this.”

  “I’m sorry, I tried to tell him,” Jack knew better than to advance forward, no matter how much he wanted to hug her, “I came back because I promised I would.”

  “With him!” she said, “I don’t want to see you without him.”

  Jack bit his bottom lip and was lost for words. He grabbed his tea and sipped it consolingly. Eliza mirrored him. If she wanted him gone he would have left by now.

  “Do you want to know something?” he said, psyching up the courage to recite the speech he’d spent weeks forming in his head, “Since I last saw you, I’ve killed a friend to save her from torture. I’ve executed eighteen minor bombings on infrastructure. Ninety-two people died at my last count. I’ve escaped death far too many times to count. And you know what? It doesn’t bother me anymore. I don’t care how many people it takes to overthrow this government, this society. You think I’m the monster? Take a look outside. The streets are saturated with them. Watching their televisions, absorbed in their fashion, their celebrities and their love lives. Who do you think the real enemy is, Eliza? Is it me? Is it the government? Is it some man orchestrating it all from behind the scenes? Or is it them? Is it you? Who is this enemy you’ve been trained to hate, and are they really worth your time when there is already so much disdain for life. You don’t want me dead. Society does, in the same way that it wants you dead. For letting me into your home, for making me a cup of fucking tea. And they want us dead because we symbolise a threat to something they love more than anything. Themselves. So you see I can’t ever feel guilty about killing them, because they’d never feel guilty about harming you. And so long as there is a person on this planet that feels that way, I am going to hound them down and murder them like the dogs they fucking are.”

  Her eyes pierced him from across the room. Crystal sparkling in the truest form. She was crying, but he was not sure why. Happiness and sadness were too familiar these days.

  “Jack,” she said weakly.

  Like a magnet he was drawn across the room and his lips were pulled into hers by some force he could not reckon with. Their mouths locked together, Jack clutched desperately around her neck and cupped her hair in his hands; silk running through his fingers. She was gasping; he pulled her in closer, tighter.

  “Jack,” she gasped for air.

  He kissed her deeper, stronger.

  “No, Jack,” she said, pushing him back gently. Her eyes were glazed like marble, “My waters have just broken.”

  He jumped backwards, seeing the puddle of liquid at her feet, dripping down her legs. She was clutching the sides of the kitchen units, her knuckles were raw white.

  “Oh god,” he said, his mind a frenzy of emotion.

  “Jack, please help me,” she said, gasping for breath.

  “Do you feel contractions?” Jack asked, sure that it was the right thing to ask.

  She shook her head, “Not yet. I just… I feel funny.”

  “Have you had this before? How funny do you feel? I mean is it bad, is it…?”

  “Do I look like I’ve fucking done this before?” she yelled.

  Jack crouched down at her ankles.

  “Don’t you dare fucking look!”

  “I have to!” he peered under her skirt but saw no blood. “It’s fine. You’re clear. C’mon, lie down on the floor.”

  “No, it doesn’t feel right, I need to stand,” she said, raising her voice at the end, “Arrgh!”

  Eliza doubled over in pain - Jack reached out and grabbed her arm to steady her.

  “Breathe, just breathe,” he soothed her, stroking her shoulders, “In a minute we’re going to move you away from here and I’m going to get some cushions from next door for you to lie on. Okay?”

  “Call an ambulance,” she said, “Please. Just call it and go.”

  “I’m not doing that, I’m not leaving you alone.”

  “Jack, the baby is coming! I don’t want to give birth at home!”

  He hovered by her side, but the decision had already been made.

  “You think I break my promises?” he said, “Well I told you I’d always be there for you - so if you think I’m going to walk out on you right now, then you have another fucking thing coming.”

  Jack rubbed her shoulders and squeezed them affectionately, but was only met with a returned stare of open loathing.

  “I’m going to get some cushions now, okay?” he said, “I’ll be gone a second, that’s all.”

  He left her and rushed into the living room, grabbing anything that looked vaguely comfortable. Returning to the kitchen, he piled it into a mountain near the door and away from the mess she was standing over. Stepping over the obstacles, Jack clutched her hand and helped her over to the cushions, gently lowering her down.

  “I fucking hate you Jack Blackwood,” she said, “Or whatever the fuck you call yourself these days.”

  “Have you felt another contraction yet?”

  She shook her sweaty head, “No. Not yet.”

  “Okay, keep breathing,” he said, “Isn’t it all about the breathing?”

  “Arrrgh!” she screamed, “I want Jon here!”

  Internally he punched a wall.

  “We can’t think about that right now,” he said, “Just breathe, you know like this -”

  He demonstrated techniques he�
�d seen in films but she just burst out laughing.

  “Thank god you’ll never have to do this!”

  “I know, we just get the fun part,” he said, holding her hand tightly as he nestled down beside her on the hard floor, “Every time you feel a contraction coming on, you hold my hand as tight as you can. Right?”

  “I’ll pretend it’s your fucking neck,” she seethed.

  Her makeup was smeared all over her face, and she was as beautiful as ever.

  Another three contractions came within fifteen minutes. Jack had no idea what that meant and neither did Eliza. She was so focussed on her breathing that she had turned pale, almost transparent. He had no idea if he could give her anything, even a drink of water. As they lay together on the floor, holding hands tighter than they’d done ever before, he realised quite how departed he was from life. A whole child had grown in a blink of the time that he’d made his secret plans, had barked his orders at his comrades and killed so many lives. It was strange to now think that after ninety-six he’d finally be returning one.

  “Aaarrrrgh!” she screamed and squeezed his fingers so tightly they nearly snapped, “I can’t do this! I can’t do this! I need Jon, I need Jon…”

  He stroked her hair, now sodden with sweat, “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I’m scared, Jack!” she yelled, “I don’t… I don’t know what I’m supposed to do…”

  “You’re going to be fine,” he said, stroking her hair.

  “What if…” she winced in pain, “What if I do it wrong…”

  Jack cupped her head in his arms, kissing her forehead, “Honey, you could never do anything wrong… Just keep breathing, and squeeze my hand when you feel another contraction.”

  Several minutes passed and sweat rained down her temple. Eliza screaming from the agony, Jack was sentenced to watch her but offer no meaningful comfort. Neither of them knew what was happening. The contractions were becoming more frequent and that was their only point of reference. The baby was coming and there was nothing either of them could do to prevent it.

  “You’re doing great, Eliza, you’re doing fantastic,” he held on to her hand as he lay next to her, trying to establish a connection with her in an effort to make her feel less alone. Of course he couldn’t take on the burden of her pain, but it was at least something.

  “Please, I don’t think I can do this,” she whimpered.

  For a while now her energy levels were wilting. Jack saw this moment coming, but he was adamant that he wasn’t going to relent. Calling for an ambulance would mean certain death for him, and though he could run and leave her in the kitchen by herself, there was not a chance that he was going to do that.

  “Please,” she said, her grasp on his hand loosening.

  “You have to keep going!” he said, though he himself was struggling to find his own motivation.

  “This could go on for hours… Please… I need my husband... I need Jon....”

  Jack winced at hearing the man’s title. He was right here, helping her deliver her first child into the world in the house that they’d grown up in. How could she possibly think of him right now? After the kiss? After all they’d been through?

  “I’m… I’m just going to check,” he said, “Okay? I’m just seeing how far along…”

  “What? What are you doing?”

  But he had already lifted her dress up over her hips. Her pants were round her ankles and at first all he could see was an explosion of skin and blood. It took him a few seconds to realise what he was actually seeing was a baby’s head. One hand on her knee, he parted her legs farther apart gently, and looked at her, gasping for breath, as he grinned.

  “I can see the head,” he said.

  “Oh god! Oh god!” Eliza yelled, attempting to move as if to wriggle herself free from the child, “I can’t do this in here, I can’t! Please! I can’t do this!”

  “I don’t think you’ve got any choice!” he said clutching on her hands once more, “I don’t think you’re meant to push at this stage…”

  “What do you mean you don’t think?” she snapped.

  “It’s what I’ve heard!”

  “Fucking knew I should have gone straight for the ambulance!”

  “Just deep breaths, c’mon, think of all the good times you’re going to have with this baby - do you know what it is, girl or boy?”

  She shook her head more violently than he’d expected.

  “Okay, you’re going to have to calm down and breathe.”

  “I am bloody well breathing! Arrgh!” she screamed so piercingly that Jack only had seconds to react.

  Launching his body forward, he only just managed to place his arms underneath as the baby squirmed out like a slippery fish in a rush of blood and membranes. Instantly, it was bawling, its poor wee mouth stretched to capacity as it screamed its little heart out - not it, but she.

  The umbilical cord snaked its way into Eliza’s vagina, there almost seemed too much of it. The little tiny girl was all that wrapt his attention though. Feet that fitted into the palm of his hand; a head that barely seemed big enough to contain those bright eyes. She was smothered in blood and a mucous like substance, and her dark hair was matted. He couldn’t comprehend that this little girl had been inside Eliza not five minutes ago.

  Their eyes met; suddenly her pain seemed a pale memory as she outstretched her arms in desperate anticipation. Jack placed her in her mother’s arms and he felt tears roll down his cheeks like rain. And though he was happy beyond words for Eliza, he couldn’t help but think that it should be his daughter.

  Standing up, Jack reached for a knife on the counter and rinsed it under the tap before grabbing the umbilical cord and snapping it. He fell backwards against the dining room table and burst into an exhaustive laughter. Eliza beaming, glowing even. She would not take her eyes off her new daughter.

  “Congratulations,” he exalted, grateful that it was over, but fearful of where he now stood.

  Despite the pregnancy, there was a nagging hope that their love might prevail. Jonathan’s love could not possibly rival his own; but this was something he could never compete with.

  Eliza Franklin: mother. For the first time he even acknowledged that her name had changed. It was more than that though: she was a different person to the one he’d left, naked in her room. Eliza wasn’t an eighteen year old fresh out-of-high-school. Three years she had spent growing as a person, changing, evolving into… a mother.

  Her daughter was in Eliza’s arms, her face crinkled with baby fat but her bright blue eyes stunned through. In an instant, Jack imagined her life - from her first words, to her first steps, through to primary school and puberty, her first kiss, her first day at university, quickly followed by her last, and onwards to her own motherhood, to this very moment that he was witnessing - the day that all lives change, as if a hostage swap. One life for another: gladly given.

  Looking at Eliza, he felt something pulling him away. It was a natural, bittersweet feeling of both relief and grief. Nothing, if it could, would ever be the same again.

  “I have a baby girl, Jack,” she looked up, tears streaming down her face, “I’m a mummy.”

  Internally collapsing, Jack braved a triumphant smile. After everything he’d been through: every death of a friend, every narrow escape from the law; every night he wasn’t sure if he’d survive and every minute he dwelled on those he’d killed: this was by far the hardest thing he’d ever done. Denial was easy, amnesia could be rendered at will, forgiveness could be granted and solace could be found; and in that moment Jack realised that fighting for his life was never the toughest part: it was letting go.

  “I’m going to get some towels. I should clear this mess up,” he said, getting up from the floor.

  “You know where they are,” she said, completely entranced by her daughter.

  As he left the kitchen, mother and child snuggling on the sodden cushions and cold tiles, he only just managed to control himself unt
il the upstairs landing, where he fell against the wall and burst into tears. This was it: the end. No more dreaming, no more wishful thinking. His love story was at an end and there were more chapters now.

  Pain shot through his body and there seemed no escape. His brain was saturated and though he could wipe away the tears, he could never wipe away the disappointment, the pain and the regret. Had he never ran after Alex that night, had he just let him be then all this would be but fantasy and he would have led a normal life, and maybe, just maybe she would have been his wife.

  Downstairs, a crunch of metal jolted Jack. Cheeks stained with tears, he crept to the edge of the landing and peered through the bannister just in time to see the front door opening and Jonathan stepping through.

  “Chris let me go home early!” he called through, “How are you feeling?”

  Silently Jack watched as Jonathan shut the door behind him and walked along the hallway. A moment later and the stillness burst into raucous joy and elation that was more painful than he’d anticipated. But still, he dragged himself to his feet and gently and proudly walked down the stairs. Despite everything he’d ever wanted being snatched from him, he was going to rise above it and respect what could never be his.

  As he reached the last step, he cried the last tear he knew he’d ever have over her. Wiping it away with a single finger, he stepped into the kitchen and erased the love from his heart.

  “Hi,” he said, two parents looking up. Eliza’s face stung with guilt, whilst her husband’s merely incensed with rage.

  “What is he doing here?”

  “Please, Jon,” Eliza said, desperately, “He helped - if it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have been able to do this.”

  But Jonathan had already rounded on Jack.

  “I told you never to come back,” he pinned Jack to the wall. “I told you to stay away.”