

Comatose

By Graham Saunders

    When life clings by a fragile thread it seems that nothing is impossible. Even reality can fracture and send a girl to a place beyond imagining where she may even stumble upon an unexpected romance. While back in the everyday world life goes on, crimes and plots unfold and the comatose are left to the care of the merciless... Unless a man can overcome his disbelief and save her.

***

Copyright 2017 Graham Saunders

A Smashwords Edition

### Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

About the author
Prologue

It had been the coldest winter in fifty years, the rivers had frozen and the birds had fallen from the sky when the invading fleet from the north beached their feared longboats on the coast. They carried with them a precious cargo bundled in furs: the chief's wife was ripe with their first child. They made camp some miles inland and rested by chance next to a place long held sacred by the Britons. They lit fires on the ridge and prepared to defend their position but no fighting men came to desecrate the hallowed place. Ingrid's labour was hard, the wise women gathered to her aid but it was to no avail, the child did not live to see his second sunrise and the horns of anguish rang out across the valley.

Wise council was sought and the seers cast their runes and chose a place in a shady grove. The site was cleared and made ready, they called it Heilagr – the holy place. It was a place for the infant to rest. It took fifty men fifty days to haul the great stone up from the valley floor. They carved the stone with their ancient mystic symbols to keep the child forever at peace in this foreign land. They then lay it over the sacred resting place of the first-born infant. The sea mist settled over the guardian stone and the mists of time flowed on like a deep dark impenetrable river.

Centuries later when the stone had sunk from sight beneath the fertile soil, and the invaders and the invaded had become one, the place was still revered as holy. It had been chosen well for the site marked a point of intersection of the three great ancient monoliths of the district. A focal point of the energy that was thought to link the earth with the turning of the heavens. As time passed closer to the present, such superstitions were lost and the sacred memories faded. Forests grew and were cut down. The land was farmed and left fallow until the foundations for a humble cottage were dug and the ancient stone was rediscovered. The meaning of it's sacred carvings were lost to time and the massive stone would not move. Not by the muscle of men nor by the straining team of six great shire horses, so it was left to rest. Left to make a substantial foundation stone for the humble structure.
Chapter 1

Somehow already into her twenty second year, Emily Wilcox sat quietly in front of the picture window of her small white walled cottage. The slow movement from the violin concerto filled the room with its mournful melody as it resonated from the stereo and lulled Emily into a state of reverie. Her view spread out across the small walled garden to the wind blown dunes and out beyond to the distant horizon. On a clear day a narrow ribbon of blue stitched together the landscape with the ever changing sky. Today the sea was not visible. A heavy sea-fog had rolled in from across the temperate autumn water and enveloped the cottage in a blanket of stillness and quiet. There was hardly a breath of wind yet to stir the tranquillity. The old apple trees loomed out of the fog; the remaining russet brown leaves dripped with heavy dew from the saturated air. Closer to the window the unmown grass pulled the moisture from the heavy air. Emily watched as the drops slowly formed and pooled on the leaves, occasionally catching a flash of light as the fog momentarily let a shaft of early morning sun filter through and sparkle against the liquid prisms. The fog had brought with it a quietness to the landscape and to Emily a contemplative mood.

The scent of espresso coffee and buttery toast still hung in the air. It was not yet cold enough for the crackle of an open fire, but the fog was an early sign of the irresistible change of season. The season of heavy coats and rubber boots, of muddy paths and hot soup. On the side table were Emily's riding hat and gloves. The keys to her classic blue Citroen 2CV, the Deuxche as her French born mother called it lay alongside her riding helmet.

Emily worked as a veterinary nurse at the local clinic. She had always had an instinctive empathy with animals and seemed gifted with a magic touch, able to calm and comfort the most troubled of them with the gentle touch of her slender fingers. Although she loved all animals, it was without undue sentimentality. Beyond her working life, her special fondness was reserved for horses. She had earned something of an enviable reputation for her equine empathy and was thought of as the closest that Hegfold had to a local horse whisperer. Emily, with her natural modesty, dismissed this; all most animals needed was patience and kindness and it would usually be returned in the same way. Emily knew it sometimes needed to be tempered with firmness, but there was no secret, no mystic knowledge. Her reputation with horses had happily given Emily a welcome opportunity to work with Margaret Jenkins who ran the local riding stables.

The flamboyant owner of the riding stables had bought, on an overly optimistic whim, a dark chestnut bay gelding. He was almost black in some lights; majestic but brooding. Juno was a magnificent animal, as proud and wilful as he was powerful. As highly strung as he was beautiful to watch as he paraded around with head up and high tail flowing and dancing in the air. The flash of his eyes challenging any one to tame him.

Emily had accepted the challenge. Margaret soon discovered that Juno was completely useless for any but the most experienced riders. His purchase had been a mistake; Juno was simply not at all suitable for her establishment. It was a business from which Margaret derived her income and as such needed to attract riders of all abilities not leave them running away in terror from flailing hooves. But Juno was such a magnificent creature that she had asked Emily to see what she could do to calm him so that he might eventually earn his keep with the more experienced of the weekend riders for whom she cheerfully catered. Both Margaret and Emily thought there was slender chance of success but the effort, before bowing to the inevitable and selling Juno on to someone who could handle him was surely justified for such an animal. Emily soon developed a rapport with Juno and she put his wild temperament down to earlier ill treatment by some unsympathetic owner in the horse's early life.

The foggy dawn had risen on an autumn Saturday and Emily had arranged to take Juno out for exercise. He needed the exercise to maintain his fitness and to accustom him to being ridden. She had made some progress with the animal and they now shared a mutual confidence but only she and Margaret were able to ride the horse safely and even Margaret, a skilled horse-woman in her own right, was still a little nervous when in Juno's saddle. Emily was unconcerned by the morning fog, riding in the stillness and muffled countryside of a foggy morning was not without its charm. The fog provided isolation and privacy from the world at large gave vent to one's imagination. Somehow the bond between horse and rider was strengthened by the seclusion.

Dressed in jodhpurs and an old ex-army khaki sweater complete with leather elbow patches, Emily looked every inch an experienced young horse-woman. The sweater had been left behind by a long forgotten admirer whose eventual disappearance, painful at first, ultimately scarcely troubled Emily. He had been a mistake and the error was soon recognised by both parties who parted precipitously but amicably All that was left of him was the sweater which she wore occasionally perhaps to remind herself to be more careful in the future. It was of course was rather too large for her but its comfortable bulk was unable to disguise the attractive form of the young woman beneath its masculine cut. She had her long hair tied back in a soft knot, from which unruly wisps escaped across her slender neck.

As Emily sat gazing out onto the morning stillness she sipped the remains of her rich coffee and watching the fog gently swirl to the languid air currents. Her thoughts were drawn back to her childhood. The cottage, had been owned by her paternal grandparents; as a child it had always been a haven for her, an escape from her rather turbulent home life. Her mother Suzanne was originally from France and was now alone with no other family apart from her two children. She had never fully disclosed her previous history, and guessing that it had been a painful one, she was rarely pressed for more details. Suzanne had been working as a waitress while also trying to cope with an infant boy when James Wilcox, Emily's father, had rescued and married the attractive but rather troubled French woman who already had a young son to an absent father. Emily had never really known her father; he had died tragically when his Norton motorcycle had encountered a patch of damp swirling leaves on a morning not unlike the one that spread before her through the window. The front wheel had lost its grip on the slippery surface, there was a speeding lorry coming the other way... No one was really to blame, a coincidence of space and time that sent its ripples out and changed the world.

The accident was another burden for Suzanne who found herself alone again. Alone but now encumbered by two children. James' parents, Mary and Bill, did what they could and helped to raise Emily. Tony, Emily's half-brother was a difficult child and spent his early years clinging to his mother. He was never really able to accept Mary and Bill. Maybe he saw them as intruders into their life and he grew increasingly hostile to them for reasons which no one, not even Tony, could reasonably fathom. It was not really surprising that the cottage had been left to Emily when the time came. Not surprising perhaps, but it angered Tony that he only received a few thousand from his grandparents' will. In fact what Tony inherited was, in monetary terms, little different from his sister's inheritance but he would never accept that. He spent his inheritance quickly and frivolously and then looked towards his sister's cottage with growing envy and festering resentment.

As Emily drained her coffee mug, her thoughts drifted to a conversation she had had with her grandparents. Emily had been sitting quietly and stroking her grandmother's affectionate old cat which they had named Bozo in a moment of quixotic humour. As Bozo purred with contentment on her lap, the old couple told her of how they had met over fifty years earlier. That they had found a lasting love which they shared together in the cottage. They had been instantly captivated by something in the humble building, it was all they ever really wanted. Somehow they had stumbled on the secret of a happy life, contentment with sufficient material comfort rather than finding frustration in striving for an excess. Bill and Mary touched on how, over the years, their mutual love had grown even stronger. It was with a tearful eye that Mary confessed to Emily that the prospect of living without Bill was one she dreaded and could hardly contemplate. In the event Mary died first and it was only a few weeks later that Bill followed her.

Emily became the owner of the cottage. Mary and Bill were gone now but their presence, at least from Emily's perspective, lingered in the cottage filling the place with a feeling of warmth and safety. Somehow Emily felt that her grandparent's memory and love was absorbed into the fabric of the building. She knew that she could never leave this cottage; she owned it but, in many ways, the cottage seemed to own her. She felt spellbound by something that drew her to the place. As if she had become part of the fabric of the cottage as much as the stone walls of its construction. She was grounded in the place and found everything entrancing: the squeak of the garden gate, the flowers and fruit trees of the garden and the lingering memories that stretched back to a time beyond mortal memory.

Deep in her reverie Emily had let the time slip by unobserved. Suddenly aware of the wall clock, she was pressed into a rush. Leaving the breakfast dishes unwashed and her well thumbed book of poetry still open on the sofa, she let the door clack shut on its lock and raced out into the damp still air towards her little car.

There was no time to look back she was gone.

Emily sped off with the all the eager power that the two cylinder Citroen could muster. She steered the car down the tree lined lanes winding through the swirling mist to the riding stables with a contented heart. The Deux Chevaux, balancing and leaning on its long suspension and narrow tyres was soon crunching up the broad gravel pathway which curved round a stand of tall lindens and up to the stables. Emily could already see Juno, his head peering over the stable door. The horse watched the familiar figure walk towards him. There was a recognition in his dark eyes; he now recognised Emily as a friend. Margaret Jenkins also spotted a friend.

"Darling, hello. Can you be an angel and saddle the beast yourself? I've got a bunch of teenagers due any minute and Kate hasn't turned up yet... probably out partying last night." She suggested with a wink as she hurriedly kissed Emily on both cheeks and disappeared across the muddy stable yard without waiting for an answer.

Margaret could be a little overwhelming for some, always in a hurry, always with a loud and expansive voice she appeared in a flurry of blond curls, red lipstick kisses and often left as quickly as she had appeared through a trailing cloud of cigarette smoke. Emily liked Margaret. She liked her straight forward, no nonsense personality; her generosity of spirit, her unwavering loyalty. But like many others, she appreciated Margaret in small doses. Her friendship, once given, was resolute, steadfast in quality but the quantity was to be savoured, to be sipped like a fine wine from time to time; too much was apt to give you a hangover. Margaret's three ex-husbands would all attest to a somewhat similar conclusion.

Recovering from the whirlwind encounter, Emily greeted Juno in a much quieter way.

"Hello handsome, how are you today?" She gently slapped his neck and rubbed the sensitive base of his ears. Then brought her fingers up to the soft velvety warmth of his muzzle. Juno sniffed in the scent of her skin, he would follow her, be led by her to the ends of the earth. The sweet smell of the horse, a mixture of musky sweat and grassy breath was something almost primal; compelling, like a lingering memory from a time when domestic horses and people were reliant on each other for their mutual survival. She put her nose close to Juno's head and breathed in his scent. As she smiled at the sensation she could feel Juno's response and see the hint of a nascent kindness growing in his once wild eyes.

By the time Emily had brushed Juno's dark coat to a glossy sheen and saddled and bridled him, the watery sun had started to shyly peek though the clearing fog. Juno nuzzled Emily's pocket in the expectation of a piece of apple or carrot. He was never disappointed by her and today he accepted a piece of sweet green apple. The rattle of his bit and curb chain could be heard as he crunched while Emily led him in a slow clopping walk onto the forecourt. She could hear the excited gabble of the teenagers now and wanted to be gone before they upset her nervous mount. Margaret's commanding voice could be heard directing her young charges with her usual overwhelming enthusiasm. They were coming this way at a rate of knots; it was time for Emily and Juno to be gone.

Swinging up into the saddle in a single effortless motion, Emily found her stirrups and urged Juno into a sedate trot along the bridle path and out through the lifting mist towards the bottom meadow. Once through the gate and onto the smooth grassy surface, using a barely perceptible nudge of her calf, she pushed the horse into a slow loping canter. Emily rode well without conscious effort; there had already developed the beginning of an understanding between the horse and rider and they moved together effortlessly like a single being. Emily described a wide figure of eight using most of the field, the gelding changing legs at the crossover flattering to deceive that he might one day aspire to become a dressage horse. Emily had no such expectation, Juno had a long way to go before he could even be unleashed on the most confident of the casual riders that frequented Margaret's stables.

Juno was breathing more heavily now, he was warmed up and the still humid air was turned to steamy breath as the horse exhaled into the cool morning. Emily watched his relaxed yet alert stance, ears forward enjoying the workout. The oiled leather of the saddle creaked softly with each roll of the canter and she found the repetitive sound of the languorous gait almost hypnotic. Emily was growing increasingly confident that Juno may not be a lost cause after all. He was definitely worth the trouble and she would spare no effort to turn him into a gentle and relaxed member of Margaret's stable. It would be achieved with kindness and gentle persuasion so that his spirit would remain intact. Emily took a deep breath, inhaled the sweet air and smiled to herself at the prospect and the undoubted progress already made.

Out across the fields behind the old stone wall built five generations ago, a speeding shape darted, flashing white against the vegetation. Badger, the neighbouring farmer's fox terrier was out sniffing down rats. Through the gorse hedge he caught a glimpse of the loping horse and rider as they approached along the fence line. He instinctively crouched down in the long grass waiting with flailing short tail for his moment. There was no malice in the dogs mind, it was a game, it was what fox terriers did. Emily leaned forward taking the reins in one hand and patted Juno on his neck.

"Good boy." she said easing him back into a sedate trot.

At that exact moment Badger made his move and rushed from his cover, barking with excitement as he ran alongside the horse. Juno reared, snorting with panic, twisting sideways to avoid the dog and then, harnessing all the speed that his powerful body held in reserve, he bolted at a full gallop.

Emily lost one of her stirrups which beat against the horses flank. Fighting to regain her balance she leaned forward in the saddle which only urged Juno on faster. Badger kept up the chase barking with joy at the sport. Juno's ears were flat against his head and the whites of his eyes flashed, spittle spayed from his mouth and nostrils, the horse sank deeper into panic as the loose stirrup still beat against his side. Badger was left well behind now as Juno cleared the fence into the farmer's land. Emily was just a passenger; she had no control despite sawing with the reins her mount was still galloping in blind terror. Down the field towards the water course he charged, the ground becoming slippery with folds of mud and slick long grass. Then Juno turned sharply, Emily could still hear the dog's excited call as they headed back up the rise. She saw with growing horror the barbed wire fence ahead. She leaned her weight back and pulled the horse with all her strength, she had to slow him, but all she achieved was to unbalance him into an awkward stumbling gait. They were closing in on the fence at speed now, Emily tried to turn her horse but he was still blinded by a terror that had its roots in some ancestral memory of primordial predators. Juno's eyes flashed, he stumbled for an instant, slithering sideways, legs scrambling in the soft earth, so that when he leapt at the fence he was out of step, the angle was too acute; he was never going to clear the savage barbs of the wire.

Brendan Smith was grubbing out ragwort, an unwelcome and poisonous invading weed that seemed to regenerate as fast as he could deal with it. This was a job which should have been completed long before autumn. Badger's incessant barking although off in the distance was starting to annoy him. He stood up and stretched the ache that was starting to develop in his lower back. It was truly backbreaking and tedious work and not what a farm manager should really have to do but labour was short and expensive these days for a subsistence farmer with just a few acres from which to scratch a living. He dragged his sleeve across his brow looking up towards another sound, a sound far more disturbing than badger's bark. It was the unmistakable scream of a panicked horse, a horse in deep distress, a horse in pain. It was in the near distance and he dropped his spade and ran without thinking to the source of the anguish. The sight that met his eyes was heart wrenching. The pitiful animal, bleeding from deep gashes to its flanks and neck was trapped by a hind leg entwined in the strands of the fence. It clearly had a broken foreleg and was unable to stand. From the amount of blood an artery must have been ripped open. The sight was bad enough but the worst part was the sound the horse was making, a scream of pain and terror. A sound that would wake Brendan in a cold sweat for months to come. He pulled out his phone and called the emergency vet number. He ended the harried conversation with the plea through a barely controlled voice:

"Please hurry, and Ken I think you'd better bring your captive bolt gun."

The second call was to Margaret Jenkins.

She arrived, out of breath and flustered within seconds of the call and sank to her knees at the sight before her eyes.

"Oh no Juno my handsome boy, what have you done to yourself?" Margaret was in shock, the blood drained from her cheeks as her shaking fingers wiped the sudden tears from her eyes. Then with an aching realization she called out to Brendan in renewed panic. "For God's sake Brendan, where's Emily?"

Brendan had not even thought about a rider; the sight of Juno's distress had been all that had held his attention since stumbling on the shambles.

Margaret ran along the hedge calling for her but there was no reply. She looked up back towards the stables. All she could see was a nervous group of teenagers, shocked into unaccustomed silence, unwilling to come closer but unable to avert their eyes. Margaret found no sign of Emily. it was Brendan who spotted her broken body first, she had slid roughly along the side of the hawthorn hedge to the right of Juno and only her polished boots black and shining were now visible. The young woman was not moving.

Regaining some of her composure Margaret staggered closer to her friend. She knelt in the mud, closing her ears to Juno's agony. Brendan had taken a pace away, he felt out of his depth, the blood had drained from his face, he wanted to be sick. Margaret called to him to ring for an ambulance. He had already done so, but could hardly remember what he had said. It was an instinctive reaction to an emergency; he thought they had told him to remain calm... He closed his phone just as Ken's Land Rover slewed to a stop. He had been driving not far away and had made a rapid diversion taking only minutes to arrive. As the vet pulled his six foot frame from the driver's seat and caught sight of the chaos, his worried face looked as grey as his prematurely silvered hair.

"Can you look at Emily first Ken?" Margaret asked, her voice quivered with an uncharacteristic tremor. "I don't know what to... I know it's not your field of expertise Ken... We've called for an ambulance... Oh God... Oh God."

On hearing the name Emily, Ken suddenly became even more anxious.

"Emily... Emily Wilcox, Oh no I didn't know she was involved, let me see her."

Emily was a friend and colleague who worked with him at his veterinary practise; Ken was visibly shocked as he saw the girl's unmoving body under the hedge.

He made his way past Juno who was still in distress but was quieter now, as the loss of blood had sent the horse into deep quietening shock. The animal lay trembling and breathing heavily the blood still gushing. Ken made eye contact with Brendan and nodded, without needing words, a confirmation of the need for the humane killer.

As he reached the prostrate and desperately familiar shape of his young assistant he pulled back the hawthorn branches from her head and shoulders, and saw with deep concern that her neck was bent at a grotesque angle. A finger held against her carotid artery showed a thready pulse but there was no response to his voice nor his touch; her pupils were dilated and her open eyes registered nothing.

"Emily can you hear me?" There was nothing, not even a flicker of her eyes. Ken turned to look at Margaret "I don't want to move her I fear she may have a broken neck, but at least she's still alive." He took off his jacket and laid it over her to keep her warm until more help and equipment got there.

"Brendan, there's a blanket in the back of the Rover, could you grab it for me." When Brendan stumbled back with the soft blanket Ken placed it over Emily's pale and broken body with the delicacy of compassion that could only have come from a close friend. He gently stroked her cheek in a futile but somehow needed gesture and then quickly turned his focus to the things he knew about, to the suffering horse.

He had no need to examine the gelding; there was only one humane thing to do. He took Margaret's cold and shaking hands in his own firm grip.

"You know what I have to do." He said to her.

For once Margaret was unable to speak; no words would come and she just nodded as her eyes filled again with stinging tears. She looked away into the distance at the eternal but ever changing sea as it lay visible through a dip in the rolling green landscape. In a hollow a stand of oak trees seemed to float on a lake of mist that still swirled in the chill air. It was still a beautiful place but the view could do little to bring her peace in this tragic moment. Margaret jumped visibly at the crack of the gun when it finally came. It seemed to all of them, as the echo of the shot finally faded that the world was suddenly filled with oppressive silence. Margaret allowed herself finally to fully answer the call that her emotions were demanding; to weep for her horse, for her young friend and for herself.

After an eternity they heard the distant wail of the siren echoing across the valley as the ambulance raced to the scene of the accident. Slowly the sound got louder and somehow more insistent until, as if reaching reaching a climax, it suddenly fell silent as the vehicle left the road and turned up the farm track at the bottom of the lane. The sudden silence leaving a vacuum which was almost as disturbing as the wail it replaced. They watched the ambulance make its slow bouncing way across the rutted fields. A police car followed behind allowing the ambulance to reach the scene first. The medics were proficient and professional in assessing the situation. They worked fast but without rushing and soon had Emily immobilized and secure on a stretcher. They messaged back to the hospital with details for the intensive care unit, and an alert for the spinal department consultant. It was evident to all the onlookers that the situation was grave and as the ambulance finally made its way back at a much reduced speed, they wondered if they would ever see Emily's smiling face again.

They had to contend, through confused thoughts and emotions, with questions from the police. They wanted to know of Emily's next of kin and collect the names and addresses of the witnesses and the first ones on the scene. Margaret was able to give them details of Emily's mother. Her address and where she worked. All too soon Suzanne Wilcox would be drawn into the unfolding nightmare.
Chapter 2

As the police car rolled away across the field, Margaret had managed to take a brittle grip on her emotions. She felt suddenly cold and shivery, then as she turned her face away from Juno's still warm body, she saw her forgotten group of teenagers still standing chilled and huddled in bewildered silence at the top of the rise. Still not daring to approach nor to withdraw. Margaret put on her brave face, the one she used when she could not allow the world to see the depth of her fragility, and marched up to them exuding false confidence and control.

"Come on now you lot, there's nothing more to see here." She somehow managed to enfold all five in a maternal embrace.

"Let's go and get some coffee, I guess we could all use a warm drink." There was no voice of dissent as they marched slowly arm in arm back across the wet grass to the stables. Margaret studiously avoided looking at the empty stall which waited open doored for the horse that would never be returning. She averted her eyes from the funny little pale blue car that waited forlornly for the return of it's pretty young owner.

The teenagers had found that the idea of a day's riding had suddenly lost its appeal. It was time for them to go home. Margaret had to agree, what she really needed now was a stiff drink or two and maybe the comforting arms of one of those husbands that she had unaccountably let slip through her fingers. Only the gin and tonic however was forthcoming as she sat alone rocking gently with her thoughts.

Suzanne Wilcox, in her early forties, slim and petite and still hardly less attractive than her young daughter, had suffered a frustrating morning dealing with unresolved problems at Barker and Barker the real estate firm where she worked. Suddenly those petty irritations evaporated into meaningless trivia compared to the nightmare that confronted her now. She sat red eyed and trembling in the back of a police car clutching at an inadequate and already sodden lace-trimmed handkerchief. She was desperate to get to her beautiful daughter but terrified by what she may find. The pale sun had finally broken through the mist on that eventful morning, but to Suzanne the streets were grey and bleak; the shops and houses that flashed by the car's window had no colour, no enticement to linger; there would be no sunshine in her day.

Tony had his phone turned off, an annoying habit he had fallen into lately. It was as if he wanted no contact with his family or anyone. Suzanne suddenly felt desperately alone in the world, Emily was the one constant in her life, the one she could rely on in an emergency. Bringing Emily into the world was her one true source of pride. Now that she was grown Emily had become her anchor, someone to turn to for help in moments of stress. Where was she now?

Emily had been floating in darkness, caressed by an overwhelming stillness. In the distance, through the vagueness she could sense a muffled sound, somehow alarming; a screaming sound that threatened to wake her. There was a brush against her cheek it was a comfort, but why? She need no comforting, she just needed to sleep, to drift away... Then there was nothing for a while just silent peace. Emily knew that she was dead or at least dying and the knowledge was accepted without concern. She could not understand how she had come to this state, if she was still possessed of emotion then it was confusion not fear. Through the veil of her existence there was a loud sharp bang, as of a car back-firing and then as the screaming stopped her world dissolved back into silent nothingness. Emily felt warm and comfortable, sleepy and unconcerned as the darkness enveloped her again.

Then she could hear the distant hum of maybe a far away engine, or maybe the drowsy drone of contented bees. None of it made sense to her but led her thoughts down a lazy path to a summer's afternoon scented with, new mown hay and the aromatic sweetness of ripe strawberries. Emily knew that she was dreaming but it was not her usual type of dream. This was more confused and yet at the same time held a harder edge of reality. The dream ended and she was sleeping again... Nothing stirred in her floating darkness for a long, long time. Then she was roused by jostling and voices, she was aware of pain hovering like an ominous thunder cloud and felt the need to bring comfort to whomever was in distress. She could make no sense of the voices and let them go, finding contentment in sleep and the warmth of her cocoon.

The Ambulance pulled slowly to a halt outside the main doors of the Accident and Emergency Department. Emily was transferred smoothly to a trolley and rapidly wheeled up the ramp and through the main doors which burst open to reveal a brightly lit corridor. From there she was moved past the bewildered faces of strangers who were too closeted in their own problems to notice the pale young woman clinging to life by nothing more substantial than a spider's thread. Along the corridor they raced, past vacant trolleys and hard metal framed chairs designed for durability more than comfort. Already a grave faced doctor was checking her vital signs. Finally she arrived at an assessment room where a flurry of activity quickly came to the conclusion that although her life was under no immediate threat, her future was far from assured. Emily was breathing with shallow fluttering breaths, she had a thready pulse and her blood pressure hovered on the brink of dissolution. There was extensive bruising and superficial scratching. Her concussion was a major concern, and she was still unresponsive to the urgent questions the medical staff posed.

"Emily, can you hear me? Emily can you open for eyes for me? Emily... Emily... Are you there Emily?"

Emily was there but the effort of responding was beyond her, the questions lost behind a wall of silence. For the medical staff the main concern was her neck injury which needed immediate attention. She was taken for scanning but was unaware of any of this as she found herself dreaming again, her floating world was starting to crystallize into something that she could somehow draw a little meaning from. The interpretation was vague but now the velvety blackness had evolved into an amniotic universe of pastel colours, swirling around her as she floated weightless. Astonished by this Emily still felt unexpectedly at peace, safe and warm, but without the clarity of thought to quite question what she was experiencing. Her world seemed to have two distinct poles. In one direction something was attracting her with a strange familiarity, drawing her towards it. In the opposite direction was something other. Something that belonged to some antagonistic place where occasionally sounds, voices and memories were weakly calling for her attention. She ignored the calls and enjoyed the floating sensation and the colours which seemed to be coalescing into recognisable shapes. Then she fell dreamless again wrapped in comforting darkness.

Suzanne had been waiting for news of her daughter for over an hour now. No one had been willing or able to tell her anything. Her feelings of being alone and helpless were overwhelming. Tony was still not answering his phone. She rang Margaret Jenkins and found her comforting, sensible words a help but she was not family. Margaret was still mired in her own sadness and after putting on another mask of confidence and speaking words of comfort to Suzanne she sank into her armchair, looked around the lonely room and quietly wept.

Finally a doctor came. He led Suzanne to a small room and indicated with practised kindness for her to sit. He smiled in a studied compassionate way, his voice relaxed almost casual in an attempt to put Suzanne at her ease. He was wholly unsuccessful in this.

"Mrs Wilcox. I'm doctor Partington. I'll be caring for Emily for the next few days."

Through her subtle but still recognizably French accent Suzanne asked:

"How is she, can I see her?" Suzanne's questions were fired with an obvious worried concern that Mark Partington was all too familiar with.

"Please don't worry Mrs Wilcox, your daughter really is in good hands, we will do the very best for her I promise you that. But I must warn you that her injuries are quite serious, we can take nothing for granted." He lay his hands gently on Suzanne's in a gesture of compassion which only increased her concern. "Emily is not in any immediate danger but we have taken X rays and she will need surgery to correct a broken neck and she is still in a coma so we won't be able to give you a realistic prognosis until..."

The doctor kept on talking but Suzanne had lost focus on the words he was speaking, she just heard the frightening disjointed words broken neck and coma and felt the room spin; she wanted to vomit but placed her hand over her mouth and swallowed down the acidic fear that bubbled in her throat.

"So do you have any questions?" The doctor asked. Suzanne had a million questions raging away in her mind but in the moment she could form none; all she could do was look blank. She simply shook her head and the doctor nodded with wisdom born of years of talking with shattered family members.

"I think it's best if you go home now," he said "The surgery has been scheduled for later this afternoon and when Emily is back and tidied up we'll give you a call and you can see her then."

Doctor Partington stood and taking Suzanne's arm directed her to the door. She found herself in a stark brightly lit corridor, the sterile whiteness seemed overpowering as she stood hardly knowing what had just happened to her. She had the feeling that she had been simply dealt with, another box ticked off in a busy day. The doctor, she couldn't even remember his name, wanted her out of the way. Clearing the decks so that he could get on with his job. She couldn't blame him, but she was in no condition to deal with any of this. Go home the doctor had said.

In a flurry of conflicting thoughts, trying to make sense of what she had been told Suzanne found herself doing what the doctor had suggested. She wanted desperately to see Emily and hold her, to make her better with a kiss... it had always worked when was little. Instead she struggled her way along the labyrinth of corridors until finally she stumbled though a door marked Exit and found herself outside in the glare of harsh daylight looking bewildered.

"You need a taxi love?"

Suzanne looked up.

"A taxi... Yes" She said. "Take me home."

Emily was dreaming again. Her world was slowly becoming a real place for her; the blurred features were staring to become familiar, starting to make some sort of sense. Still floating, the colours were more vivid now; she found she could move around her small universe and search for meaning. None of it fitted with what she had known before, but she was content to observe and immerse herself in the experience. Emily had no idea where she was nor how she had come to this place but it felt strangely natural as if this was where she had always lived... or died.

Emily was taken for her surgery. As the anaesthetic took hold, her dream world faded and she slept in silent darkness again.

The surgeons found the fracture of her neck at the fifth cervical vertebra. Her spinal cord was not severed but there was bruising and the concern about potential loss of function remained. Emily's neck was aligned, the damaged vertebra was pinned and then a brace was fitted across her shoulders and down to a belt. It was attached to a metal halo across her forehead which was screwed into her skull. The arrangement allowed no movement of her neck until the bones had repaired themselves. The procedure was completed successfully and Emily was returned to Room 12 and connected to the monitors with their ominous and repetitive beep. There was still no sign of her coming out of her coma and the prognosis remained stubbornly uncertain.

As the anaesthetic wore off Emily returned to her dream world and was starting to explore her surroundings. Things were beginning to feel familiar as her confidence and ability to explore her bizarre world grew. She held the notion that if this was death then it was not an intolerable state.

The next morning before the Sun had raised its pale face, Suzanne was woken by the insistent ring of her phone. She took a moment to focus her mind; her sleep had been fractured and when she finally drifted off she had overslept and was now feeling groggy. Turning like a pain in her stomach, the previous day came back to her in a rush. Fearing the worst she fumbled with trembling fingers for the phone that sat on her bedside table.

"Hello, Susanne Wilcox." Her mouth was dry and the words were hard to form from the confusion of her thoughts.

It was an administrator from the hospital. "Good morning Mrs Wilcox, this is Jeanette from Biddenfield General. It's just to let you know that the operation on your daughter, err..." Suzanne could hear the woman leafing through papers. "Err... yes Emily... the operation went well and if you would like to come in she is well enough for you to see her."

"And is she awake yet?" Suzanne asked with a fragility of voice that had Jeanette rustling her papers again.

"It appears that she is still unconscious I'm afraid, but don't worry, that is often the way in cases like this." The administrator spoke with authority but the words were intended to comfort rather than be an expression of informed opinion.

The call was ended with the usual courtesies. As soon as Suzanne put down her phone it rang again making her jump with nervous tension. Suzanne's emotional state was raw, her disturbed night's sleep had done nothing to re-establish any trace of her normal composure. It was Kenneth Havers, respected vet and Emily's well thought of boss. As such Suzanne knew of him, mostly good things, but they had never actually met. Emily had described him with tongue firmly in cheek as quite fit for a man of his age. Suzanne had built a mental image of the man and now the confident and caring voice on the phone did nothing to dispel her opinion.

"Mrs Wilcox, It's Ken Havers. I'm sorry to disturb you. I know you must be going through hell at the moment... I just wondered if there was any news yet."

"Nothing really, I've just taken a call from the hospital and Emily is still not conscious, but they have operated on her neck and it seems to have gone well... they say its early days yet. Oh and Ken, I want to thank you for caring for Emily at scene of her fall. Margaret told me how good you were."

"I only wish there had been more that I could have done I count Emily as a dear friend." He paused unsure of what else he could say. "OK Mrs Wilcox, thanks for the update, I won't hold you up, but if there's anything I can do... anything at all, please give me a call. If I may, I'll ring back in a day or two and see what progress there has been. I'm sure Emily will be back with us soon, safe and sound."

"Thank you for your kindness Ken, and please call me Suzanne, Emily spoke so often about you that I feel that you are already a friend."

"I feel that too, I'll be in touch Suzanne, and don't worry, these things have a way of resolving themselves for the good."

Suzanne found Ken's calm words comforting and she sat unmoving for a while on the edge of her bed. Her mind seemed to have slowed to an idle and she gazed out onto a new morning with unfocussed eyes through the filter of gently billowing lace curtains. Despite watching the world go by for more than an hour, nothing of interest crossed her field of view.

She had intended to call in to the office, explain what had happened and ask for the day off when she remembered through her fog that it was a Sunday and the office was closed. Instead her thoughts drifted inevitably to Tony, she desperately needed him. If she could not wrap her mother's arms round Emily then at least she could hold her troubled son and find some shared comfort there. Her persistent calls had been studiously unanswered but she tried Tony's number again. She could hear it ringing on the other end of the line but also echoing along the corridor from her son's room. Suzanne assumed that he must have crept home during the early hours during one of her brief spells of sleep.

"Yeah, What?" He said, his voice thick with sleep and annoyance at being woken into the throb of a hangover.

"It's Mum, are you home?"

"Yes where are you?"

"I'm home too."

"So what the hell are you doing ringing me in the middle of the night."

"It's morning nearly nine thirty actually darling I've been trying to reach you since yesterday, hold on I'll come to your room."

After slipping on her dressing gown Suzanne tapped on Tony's door and went in, not waiting for an invitation.

Tony still lay in his bed, the duvet pulled over his head, just a streak of tousled hair peeking up from the covers.

"Where were you?" She asked. "I really needed you yesterday."

"Why me? You normally ignore me and go straight to my perfect sister when you need anything. Ask her if you need something." His hangover was throbbing across his temples and some vile creature seemed to be gnawing at his stomach from the inside. He pulled the covers tighter trying to shut out the world.

"There's been an accident... Oh Tony."

She couldn't help the tears despite her best efforts, despite knowing that Tony hated coping with her emotional outbursts.

Tony sat up; he saw that something was really wrong this time. As his mother approached his bed he put his arms out to her and sinking to her knees by her son's bed Suzanne held him tight and without speaking they hugged.

"What is it?" Tony said regretting his earlier curtness. "Tell me what's happened."

Suzanne let it all spill out; grateful at last to have someone close to share her nightmare with.

"OK, Mum, don't worry, let's get dressed and we can go to the hospital together. We'll find out how she is, you know our Emily, she's totally unbreakable."

Suzanne dressed and made a half hearted attempt at preparing breakfast. Neither of them were interested in food but they both needed coffee and Tony needed paracetamol – a large dose. Paracetamol seemed to have become a staple of his diet of late. While they were drinking instant coffee from steaming stoneware mugs, Suzanne took a call from Margaret who was seeking more news of Emily. Suzanne repeated what she had told Ken and promised to keep in touch as she found out more. By ten thirty they were on their way to Biddenfield and eventually came upon the rarest of endangered species – a hospital parking spot.

At reception they asked the rather disinterested woman if they were able to see Emily.

"Second name?" She asked as she she scanned the computer files.

"Wilcox... Emily Wilcox. She was admitted yesterday."

They were eventually told, after multiple phone calls, that the doctor would like a word first.

"Take a seat over there. Doctor Partington will be along soon." The receptionist said with a smile that might have been born of irony. Neither Suzanne nor Tony were in a position to notice but the news that the doctor wished to speak to them slid Suzanne into panic mode again. At least, she had the consolation of not being totally alone today she took Tony's hand. It felt warm and clammy, she hoped he wasn't sickening for anything. When the doctor came, he simply wanted to update them on Emily's condition and also warn them not to be alarmed by the contraption that was immobilizing her upper spine.

"The operation went extremely well." He said as if it were a matter of his personal pride and not the life of a young woman that hung in the balance. "We managed to put her back together again quite satisfactorily. We've also fitted a halo."

"I know my daughter is an angel, but a halo?"

Doctor Partington laughed as if he had not heard the joke a thousand times before.

"Let me explain; we have to keep Emily's neck immobilized so that the spinal column will be secure until the bones can heal. It looks a bit horrific but in fact it's not a big deal at all. In a few weeks we'll take it off. Our concern for your daughter is that, as you must know; spinal damage can lead to paralysis... the higher up the spine the injury happens...well the more widespread the potential paralysis will be. In Emily's case although the trauma was indeed high up the spine, we are optimistic that things will be satisfactorily resolved. Until she regains consciousness the extent of her problems are hard to tell but I can tell you that her spinal cord was definitely not severed. I think we can afford to be optimistic."

"Why has Emily not woken up yet?"

"The simple answer is, we just don't know. Your daughter sustained a severe concussion when she fell from her horse, this often results in unconsciousness for a short period. In her case we might have expected her to have woken by now. But I have to say, after a severe trauma to the brain, it is not infrequent for patients to remain unconscious for several days possibly even three or four weeks without there being any subsequent long term negative implications. Longer than that and we may start to become concerned. But in Emily's case we are still a long way from that point. She may even be rousing as we speak."

When they finally got to see Emily, they were both shocked at the sight. Emily was ghostly pale, her skin waxy and grey and the scaffolding screwed to her skull made her look more like a Frankenstein monster than a beautiful young woman. Suzanne's instinct was to gather Emily up in her arms and squeeze her tight. She made do with kissing her gingerly between the bars of her halo and then holding her hand. Tony had an ambivalent expression, there was concern certainly, but the wheels of his calculating brain seemed to be whirring faster than usual. A cynic might conclude that he was looking to find an angle through which he could turn the situation to his own advantage. Tony had his own problems, in his case they were largely of his own making and while he certainly wished his half sister no harm, should she not recover then the inheritance she would leave him would ease his own anguished life. One thing was certain; Emily had not woken up yet and from Tony's inexpert perspective it looked as if she may never do so.

In her dream world Emily was vaguely aware of a compassionate presence but it lay far away through some impenetrable membrane that she could make no sense of. In fact as she swirled in oblivion the actual existence of her mother was something beyond her present understanding. The message her mother was sending was however quite clear. In her dream world Emily floated and felt the waves of love and smiled.

The next day Suzanne turned up for work as usual and explained, in as much detail as her fragile state would allow, what had happened. She was immediately given the genuine sympathy that might be expected and told that she should come and go as she pleased until Emily was better. Suzanne was grateful for that but decided that she would try and keep her life as close to normal as possible. There were however practical things that needed doing. She needed to see Margaret Jenkins in the afternoon and collect Emily's little car and then make sure everything was OK at the cottage. Other than that she planned on doing a normal morning's work. Her first appointment was with Mr and Mrs Deakin. They were unhappy with the progress being made with the sale of their house and were threatening to withdraw their business. She pulled up outside the Deakin's house. It was a rather shabby place, but at the right price offered an opportunity for someone willing to invest a little time and money in its rehabilitation. But the Deakins, driven by overblown media reports of surging house prices, had insisted on putting the absolute top price on the property. As she walked up the pathway Suzanne sighed and was starting to regret that she had not taken the day off. She noticed that despite her advice, the front garden still resembled an assault course and the front door was still presented with a patina of cracked and flaking paint. First impressions were everything. Adam Deakin, recently retired from a disappointing life as a travelling salesman, opened the door. His sharp featured wife Hilda stood at his shoulder and eyed Suzanne with apparent distaste. It was Hilda who opened the tirade.

"I don't know what you think you've been doing since we gave you our business but we've not seen a single viewer." She said before adjusting her statement to more closely resemble the facts. "Well, apart from the young couple with the baby, and the strange bald headed man with that funny limp." She suddenly appeared to have remembered two of the several clients whom Suzanne had recently brought for a viewing.

"It's just not good enough is it Adam?" She looked to her husband for support. Adam mumbled an unconvincing "No dear." Confrontation was not really his style and he fidgeted uncomfortably as his wife let fly.

"And what's more, the photograph you're using just doesn't show the house off to its best potential. We told you we wanted a quick sale and it's been four weeks since the property was listed."

"Have you considered my suggestion of lowering the asking price a little?" Suzanne said trying to slide a word of her own into the conversation. "You may ultimately have to meet the market."

"Lower the price, meet the market. Call yourself a saleswoman; you might think the best way to make a sale is to give the house away I certainly don't. You should be ashamed to call yourself a Real Estate agent. If that's the way they do things in France then you should go back there young woman."

Suzanne hadn't been prepared for how irrationally angry Hilda had become, nor was she in any emotional state to cope with this sort of thing at the moment. She burst into tears, not because of Hilda's outburst which she would normally have taken in her stride, but of course for Emily who was central in her thoughts. She ran back to her car without responding to the inflammatory words and drove off leaving the two retirees open mouthed and feeling unexpectedly a little confused and possibly even a little guilty.

After escaping the scene of the confrontation Suzanne drove along the coast road by the soft dunes to the beach. Usually deserted at this time of year, it was no less attractive for that, Suzanne walked along the sand for a while until she felt a little recovered. The bracing air and crash of waves managed to lift her spirit as she kicked at the hard wet sand and drew breaths of the fresh sea air. As she walked she could feel the sand squirm and squeak in a satisfying way beneath her feet. She spent a few moments watching the gulls engaged in aerial gymnastics wheeling across the blue flecked sky, turning and diving, squabbling amongst themselves over a scrap of food as the wind tugged at their feathers. The gulls flew in effortless command of their environment. Suzanne felt almost covetous of their carefree existence, of how they could carry on as if nothing had happened. Did they not know that the world had changed, that her daughter, her sweet Emily, lay close to death? When Suzanne returned to her car she felt a little revived; but the leaden weight of her worries were still hovering not far away.

She made a call to Margaret who immediately invited her over for coffee and a chat. After hearing the latest news Margaret asked what she could do. There was really nothing anyone could do. Suzanne accepted Margaret's offer to drive Emily's car the short distance to her cottage and then Suzanne dropped her back at the stables and took a short detour to Hegfold where she bought some rather expensive imported blue freesias with an exquisite perfume. She wanted to leave them in the cottage as a kind of talisman, her idea could hardly be expressed in rational words but the flowers were meant to somehow draw her daughter home; to make the cottage look lived in and welcoming. Suzanne could not bear the thought of the old family cottage being abandoned. She rummaged through the cupboards and found the white porcelain vase that she had bought for Emily one Christmas not so long ago when the world was still a normal place.

With intense concentration and delicacy she arranged the flowers in the vase as if Emily's recovery depended on it. Suzanne placed the vase on the polished mahogany table that Emily's grandmother has spent a lifetime waxing. She then carefully wiped away the drops of water that had dripped like minute polished lenses onto its varnished surface. Suzanne made an earnest wish that Emily would be back home to see the freesias before they faded. Reluctant to leave the peace that the magical cottage always seemed to bring her, Suzanne found and washed the hastily abandoned breakfast dishes that still lay where Emily had deserted them so recently. Then she spent an hour lost in the simple task of dusting and tidying Emily's home. It felt good to be doing something for her even if it were only a little mundane housework. The freesias were already filling the room with their fragrance and Suzanne sat for a while She picked up Emily's book of poetry the page was open where she assumed her daughter had been reading. She read a few lines from the Tennyson poem:

Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,

Tears from the depth of some divine despair

Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,

In looking on the happy Autumn-fields,

And thinking of the days that are no more.

Not really a poetry person, the verse touched Suzanne delicately vulnerable as she was in her sadness. She lingered longer than she had intended in the happy room. Somehow she felt closer to Emily here; closer even than when she was at her sterile hospital bedside. Finally as the shadows lengthened and the distant dunes took on a honeyed glow she pulled the front door closed behind her, checked that it was locked securely and went home cheered and troubled in equal measure.

At the Biddenfield General the alarm had suddenly started wailing. Emily's monitor had detected that she had, quietly and without warning, stopped breathing. The crash team arrived within seconds. Damage to the spinal cord so high up is well known to compromise the breathing function as the signal from the brain is lost or disrupted. What the doctors feared most had happened. They had been prepared for this and Emily was quickly stabilized. A life support system was now the only thing that held a tenuous grip on the young woman's life. She remained stubbornly in her coma.

Emily had been roused from deep sleep to her dream world by a sudden feeling of alarm. It was as if she were drowning. She pushed towards the strange membrane that separated her from the voices. The colours of her world started to fade to an ominous darkness and she felt a chill run though her. Then as rapidly as it had started the feeling was over. She was relaxed again and her world blossomed back into colour but now things were clearer than before, something had changed. Behind her the strange membrane was now faintly translucent but impossible to break through but in front of her she could now feel something that seemed to draw her towards it, a point of focus. She could understand none of it but the focus seemed somehow to be the source of the energy that brought her universe to life. It seemed linked to things of the distant past and the vital mystic energies of creation.

As she approached the point of focus Emily started to see the vague outline of a door. Slowly she navigated through the greens and browns of her universe until she was up against the doorway. It looked somehow familiar yet she knew that she could never have seen it before. She pushed against it and the door felt as if it might yield to her, if only she could muster all her dormant strength from where it was hiding. Her invisible fingers wrapped around the door knob and she could feel the coldness of metal. She tried to twist it but her grip seemed too weak. Emily felt that she needed to get through, to find what lay beyond the door. Yet somehow, in a recess of her vacant memories, something told her that she already knew what was waiting for her across the threshold. She pulled away, still floating as if gravity did not exist in her strange new existence. Then she drew close again drawing strength from the energy until she felt growing strength fill her vague shape. She rushed back towards the door, twisting and pushing with all her might in full certainty that she would succeed.

Emily stumbled through the suddenly yielding opening into a bright room; her energy spent, she no longer had control of what was happening to her. There was sudden unaccustomed weight for the first time since arriving in her cocoon, but her energy spent by the effort of breaking through the door, her legs gave way and she stumbled in towards the floor like a collapsing sand castle.

Through the brightness as Emily tumbled as if in slow motion, she caught the sweet scent of flowers. Then she saw a white porcelain vase of blue freesias standing in a pool of light on a round polished mahogany table.
Chapter 3

While still a young woman there had been a total collapse in Suzanne Gaillard's relationship with her father. The disagreement had been a matter of little consequence in the scheme of things, but stubborn pride on both sides resulted in Suzanne abandoning her family home, her university studies and her comfortable middle class lifestyle and starting a new life as far away and out of reach as possible. After leaving her native Brittany as a young and pretty but painfully naive woman, Suzanne found herself alone in a foreign land. She was competent in the language but had few other assets and was desperately in need of someone to care for her. Easy prey to the charms of a handsome older man, she had been swept away in a brief encounter. She found that the man filled her needs. He seemed kind, gentle and caring at first but when he discovered that she had fallen pregnant, he disappeared from her life without a word, showing himself to be less of a man than Suzanne had hoped. Thus Tony Gaillard came into the world fatherless, with an impoverished mother and to an uncertain future. By now any hope of Suzanne's returning to France was also lost as following her relationship and pregnancy, her father had finally disowned his errant daughter completely. Suzanne struggled to earn a living and put a roof over her head. Each twist of her life dropped her further from her upper middle class roots she had enjoyed in France and as she sank into poverty, she could see no end to the downward spiral. The infant had been immersed in his mother's worries from a time before he was born and developed into a nervous and distrustful child. As he grew older he became withdrawn and egocentric.

Salvation for Suzanne came in the form of James Wilcox. James was totally different from Tony's father. He was younger and had an unbounded enthusiasm for life. He fell hopelessly in love with Suzanne and they married after only a few months. After a year they had a child together, a sister for Tony. James' Parents welcomed Suzanne and Tony into their family and were overjoyed when Emily was born. The unaccustomed family happiness gave Suzanne a new perspective on life. She was starting to grow confident that this normal family life would bring Tony the security and confidence he desperately needed.. It may well have done so but in a cruel twist of fate, James was tragically killed in a motorcycle accident while Emily was still an infant and Suzanne's world crumbled apart again. Tony was plunged back into his nervous isolation. As Tony grew older his half-sister Emily, despite her best efforts was no comfort to him. She seemed to him to have things handed to her on a plate. She was successful and popular while he was not. She spent a lot of time with her grandparents who doted on her while he felt isolated. His world was caught in a vicious spiral which led him, as he moved through his teenage years to seek escapism, led him to the pitiless world of drugs and to the people who made money from the suffering and weakness of others.

The one thing that kept Tony sane was his passion for cars and fast driving, he could usually be found with his nose in a motoring magazine or dreamily gazing through the windows of a car showroom. One day he would have a car to be proud of. He told himself.

Tony was two years older than Emily but by the time they were in their teenage years he always seemed the younger of the siblings. Skulking about, head down, he talked in a mumbling tone without making eye contact. He looked younger and behaved younger than his sister and as Emily started to embrace life as a young adult, Tony was left behind, less mature, less able to cope. He found Emily's big sister attitude to him patronising and intolerable. Emily had no comprehension of this; she felt she was only trying to help her brother. At school Tony had been average at best and left as soon as he could. He worked for a car dealer, cleaning and preparing used cars for sale. He left home at eighteen after finding a flat that he could afford. Tony finally got a break when he was offered a job as a junior salesman. His personality was not however well suited to the bonhomie required of that profession but he managed to keep his head above water and did just enough to hold on to the job. The used car yard an adjunct to a larger dealership which sold expensive machinery that Tony could only dream of owning, but he was at least moving closer to the life he wanted.

Gradually Tony started to emerge from his shell and could have made a modest success of his life. If not for one millstone which still hung round his neck. By now he was a regular cocaine user. This was an expense that he could barely afford and in order to smooth his cash flow, started selling whatever he could get from his underworld contacts to punters who were even further down the food chain than he was. He did a reasonable trade selling ecstasy to the weekend party crowd who would pay over the odds to get a buzz for a night of raging. There was always demand for coke, as he knew only too well. Even LSD still had a following. As for the really heavy stuff, he tried to stay clear of that scene. Even Tony could see that heroin and methamphetamine use was the fast lane to self destruction. He wanted to keep his feet off that particular slippery highway.

Jimmy Costard was the underworld man who offered Tony what seemed ti him at the time to be a life-line. Accepting Costard's help was another of Tony's life-choice errors. Jimmy's lifeline was securely fastened around Tony's neck... with a slip knot that pulled tighter the more he tried to withdraw. Jimmy Costard was, without overstating the case, psychotic. Built like a wrestler, he had once, in his youth, been passably handsome but his lifestyle was etched in his now rugged and scarred face. Jimmy found money easy to come by; just turn the handle of his little enterprise and watch the punters dance. He had an easy flow of money but no morals. He saw himself as a big time villain and had no qualms about what he did. At forty he would easily pass for ten years older and had already spent five years behind bars for his use of an iron bar to convince a client to pay what was owed. He fully knew that he would never breathe the air of freedom again if the true record of his activities was ever fully revealed to the authorities. For Jimmy Costard, Tony was just another looser, a pair of hands that he could utilise for his own ends, buying and selling a little of his merchandise. Costard had however noticed Tony's aptitude with cars. A competent wheel-man was a potential assent in Jimmy's line of business so the observation was noted and filed away in a corner of his malevolent brain.

Tony was now beginning to see Jimmy Costard as someone he wished he had never met, but Jimmy could supply what Tony wanted – what Tony needed.

There had been a rough patch when Tony found that after spending the bulk of his pay on Jimmy's merchandise, he could no longer afford the rent on his flat and feed himself as well. He reluctantly moved back home with Suzanne and his sister. This was not good for his self-esteem and instead of being grateful for his mother's help, he was resentful of his situation.

When Emily's grandparents Mary and Bill died, Tony was left a tidy sum of money, saved because his grandparents had little need nor inclination to accumulate material possessions. Suzanne also got a nest egg which she more sensibly put away for a rainy day. Tony paid off his debts, got a lease on an upmarket apartment and indulged his passion by buying a fast Subaru WRX sports saloon which he drove faster than he should have but discovered that his passion for fast cars was matched by a natural driving ability.

Tony could have used the money to give himself a second chance and get himself together. Instead he found that he could now afford to fund his habit and fell deeper under the spell of his narcotic mistress. Around this time pretty Michelle moved in with him. She liked the lifestyle that Tony was enjoying now and swore undying love to him. Less than a year later when his inheritance was all gone, so was she. So was the apartment, so was the car. Only the drugs remained. Michelle moved on, older and more cynical. Tony moved back in with his mother again. This time he was openly resentful. He was jealous of Emily's cottage and her success and easy mature confidence, he had no tolerance for what he saw as his mother's nagging advice and hated the feeling that he was condemned to keep going round in circles.

After an argument which had threatened to break up the family, Emily agreed, in an attempt to placate her troubled brother, that she would leave the cottage to Tony in her will. She saw it as little more than a gesture, confidently expecting to outlive her brother anyway and if she had children, then the will could easily be amended. Tony realized all of this but it was something of a rare victory for him and he was temporarily appeased.

Tony was however unable to turn his back on the drugs and soon found himself having to go to Jimmy who was happy to draw him back down into the dangerous and ultimately dead-end life of a part time street dealer. It went OK for a while but he found that he was using almost as much as he was selling and he now had a debt which threatened to bring him down all together. He would wake up at night in a cold sweat after seeing himself in a dream trying to claw his way with bloodied and torn fingernails out of a shallow grave in the woods. The tales of what had happened to Jimmy's defaulters were legendary among those who moved in his orbit. Whether there were actually shallow, leafy resting places for those who had got on the wrong side of Jimmy was uncertain. But Tony knew of several familiar faces which had suddenly disappeared and were never spoken of again.

On the day that Emily had fallen from Juno, Tony had been trying to dodge a couple of unsavoury characters who were intent on collecting the debt which he had managed to run up. These were not people who forgave a debt; there was no legal recourse to claim debts owed for their particular wares; they made their own arrangements. Their methods were painfully direct. Far more severe – far more successful. Tony was in genuine fear of his life and was keeping as low a profile as possible until he could come up with the cash they wanted. He wanted to broach the question of a loan with his mother but then Emily stole the focus of his mother's attention once again by falling from her horse. He was not completely heartless... he would have to bide his time.

After the hospital visit with his mother Tony had kept his head down. The following day was spent in self pity. Despite knowing that drugs were the cause of all his problems, he was feeling the growing need for a little taste of something when the house phone rang. It was the hospital. He listened as a sympathetic voice told him that Emily had suffered a relapse and had now been placed on life support. Suzanne was not home, he was not sure where she was. Normally by now she would be preparing the evening meal. He called her number with conflicting emotions spinning in his head. The ring-tone echoed in his ear just as he saw the headlights of her car pull into the driveway. He went out to meet her and through the fog of his own troubles, blurted out the words in a matter of fact staccato without really considering how his fragile mother might react to the news:

"There's been a call from the hospital... Emily's had a relapse... They want us to go in to see them."

An icy hand gripped Suzanne's heart, just when she was starting to feel a little hopeful after her afternoon at the cottage; the bad news had assaulted her like a physical body blow.

"What do they mean by a relapse?" She said. Tony just shrugged and looked incapable of offering any support. " Do we need to go straight away?" Her words spoken breathlessly, calling for some thoughtful advice; the sort of advice that Emily would have given her. Already her fingers were trembling as she got out of her car and stood in the cold evening air with the strands of worry tight across her chest.

"Something about her breathing..."Tony said. "I'll get my jacket." He turned away from his mother's panic and went inside to collect his things. He was gone longer than Suzanne expected; she waited impatiently, nervously drumming her fingers on the roof of her little Peugeot. The orange glow from the street light flashed on her wedding ring still worn after more than twenty years of widowhood and only a fraction of her life spent as a wife. When Tony finally came out of the house, he was rubbing his nose and sniffing in an action that Suzanne mistook for a sign of emotion for his sister. She took her seat and gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles showed white. As Tony got into the car she turned her face to him and patted his arm.

"Don't worry, love, Emily will be fine."

The words were directed at her son but were intended as much for herself. She jerkily reversed out of the driveway into the path of an oncoming tradesman's van. The driver swerved violently and blew his horn for a good five seconds, not in warning but in an irrational burst of outrage. He made an unnecessary obscene gesture and swore at Suzanne before driving off into the rapidly falling evening with a crunching of miss-timed gear changes. The incident hardly registered on Suzanne's consciousness. As she accelerated down the road in the direction of Biddenfield General her thoughts were already at Emily's bedside.

They burst into Emily's room with an apprehension that was exceeded by the reality of what met their eyes. Emily was encased in a mass of tubes and wires. There were monitors everywhere and the steady beep of her pulse sounded above the ominous rhythmic gasping of her ventilator machine. The equipment was both alarming to see and beyond the comprehension of Suzanne and her son. Their arrival had been observed and soon a woman doctor whom they had not yet met came into the room.

"I know it looks frightening but Emily is not in any immediate danger." She said. "Don't worry about all the wires and pipe work, it's just there to support Emily's breathing and so that we can feed her and keep an eye on her condition."

The reassurance sounded almost as bad as the sight. Emily seemed to have disappeared under a mountain of technology. Suzanne wanted to know what was going to happen. The answer, when the jargon, and consoling words were stripped away was that they simply did not know. Suzanne tried to unravel a meaning from the words that the doctor had spooled out; she understood that Emily was still in a coma, she thought she had heard the words: vegetative state, unable to sustain her own respiration, unable to feed herself, prognosis uncertain, Still reason to be hopeful. How could you be hopeful? Suzanne thought when your daughter looked like this? But she held on to those five precious words Still reason to be hopeful as if they were a talisman, a spell that if chanted often enough would surely come true. She took Tony's hand.

"Still reason to be hopeful." she said to him but Tony's focus had drifted away from his sister's prognosis, and had settled on her dainty but valuable little cottage. The wheels in his drug befuddled brain had turned and locked onto the obvious conclusion. If his sister were to die, then the cottage would be his to sell, his problems would be over. He could make a new start; get things right this time, his sister's death would not be in vain. He could not smile at the prospect, he still had some dignity, was still far from the amoral personality of someone like Jimmy Costard. But while his mother's despair had become more profound, his own depression had been eased by the visit to the hospital.

They stayed at Emily's bedside for an hour and then returned home. There was nothing either of them could do for Emily. Once back home, in an uncharacteristic act, Tony made sandwiches and mugs of sweet tea. Suzanne smiled at the kindness but only ate a couple of bites. What drove Tony's actions lay less in compassion for his mother than for his own self inflicted trouble. He needed cash urgently and he knew all too well about his mother's nest egg... It would only be a loan until he was back on his feet. He knew this was the worst time to trouble her with this... but it was also the best time when her defences were down. It was time for Tony to make his play. He needed to make it sound, matter of fact, a normal request that any son might reasonably make.

"Mum," he said, as he bit a chunk out of the last cheese and pickle sandwich, trying to sound casual "I know this might be the wrong moment with Emily and everything... but I've got myself into a bit of debt..." He wiped the corner of his mouth and then added as if it was an idea that had just occurred to him... "I don't suppose you have any spare cash at the moment. Just a few quid to tide me over."

Suzanne looked at her son blankly, hardly understanding.

"What?... yes... of course, how much do you need?" His mother would have agreed to anything from the depth of her worries, not that she had the slightest expectation that her son might take advantage of her at a time like this.

"Could you manage, oh I don't know, a couple of thousand, make it three if you can, it's just a matter of time before I can pay you back... I've got deals on the go that should pay off any time now. Irons in the fire, you know."

Suzanne stood mechanically and found her cheque book.

"Three thousand you say... Will that be enough?"

"Let's call it four then... Thanks Mum. I appreciate this."

Tony folded the piece of paper and secured it into his wallet. He finally allowed himself the faintest of smiles as he rested his hand on his mother's in a comforting way.

"Trust me Mum Emily's going to be fine, don't worry."

"Still reason to be hopeful..." She replied. The incident of the loan had already passed from her thoughts like a fly seen out of the corner of an eye that had been swatted away, of no relevance against the magnitude of her real worries.
Chapter 4

Emily struggled up from the floor, the sweet scent of the freesias still swirled around her, stimulating her senses with their heady presence. Her legs seemed a little stronger now as if they had quickly become accustomed to this new environment. Even so Emily felt compelled to retreat back through the door to the place that was a haven of comfort for her. It was as if the emotions in the room were too strong for her to bear, threatening to strip apart her strange new existence like a gust of wind might drag apart the falling petals of a wilted rose. She turned and stepped back towards the door pushing with arms that were now becoming visible to her. She found herself in the familiar surroundings of her garden looking at the apple trees, everything close was in focus now but the distance retreated into the familiar swirling colours that haunted her strange cocoon. For the first time Emily's small universe no longer felt like a dream. She did not understand any of it but it did not matter, she was unaccountably happy. Emily closed her eyes and she was quickly drawn back to sleep drifting at peace, exhausted by her recent exertion.

~o~

By the afternoon of the following day Suzanne was back at Emily's bedside. Doctor Partington looked in through the door of Emily's room as he was passing. He paused and then overcoming his initial reluctance entered and sat next to Suzanne. He wished there was more he could do for both Emily and her mother. He knew the importance of not becoming emotionally involved in situations like this but Mark Partington was a man who took the responsibility for those in his care very seriously and all too often found himself breaching that self-imposed restriction.

Suzanne turned her eyes towards him, they shared a delicate smile that was more an expression of acknowledged sadness.

"Mrs Wilcox," he spoke slowly and carefully. "I'm afraid Emily is quite poorly. As you know we are monitoring the activity of her brain and although there is quite a lot of low level electrical activity, very little of it conforms to what we might normally expect to see."

"So what does that mean?" Suzanne said.

"We have never seen anything quite like this before so I'm afraid we don't really know... Then there is the problem with her breathing, without the help of the life support system I'm afraid we would lose her very quickly."

Suzanne knew this but the sound of the words, coldly stated, made her gasp. She put her hand to her mouth and closed her eyes blinking away the tears. She swallowed hard as if she were trying to force her grief down.

"What exactly are you trying to tell me? That she is beyond hope now."

"There is always hope Suzanne. All I want to do at the moment, is make you aware..." He paused searching for the best words, but there was no good way to say what he had to.

"We may have to face the prospect of turning off Emily's life support and letting her find her peace. But nothing will be done without your agreement and we are some distance from that point yet."

Suzanne's tears fell silently, there was no hysterical outburst; she just felt numb. To lose a child is an unbearable pain, but to be placed in a position of having to choose the time when this would happen, by your own consent, was beyond what she could contemplate.

"How long before we... before I, have to make a decision?" She asked, her red rimmed eyes searching those of the doctor's, looking for a glimmer of hope.

"Not yet, it is still possible that Emily will recover, but her coma is very deep. They say that the voice of a loved one can rouse people from a deep coma, talk to her, hold her hand, read to her... We can keep Emily alive for as long as we feel there is still a good reason. But you must consider the fact that whatever Emily is experiencing at the moment cannot be considered as a life. I hope you can understand that."

"I know what you are saying Doctor, but in my heart I don't feel that Emily is gone yet... I know she is still in there somewhere just waiting for the right moment to come back to me. I have to believe that Doctor, please keep her alive."

The doctor knew that as the weeks and months ran on, the pressure to resolve the issue would mount. From a purely financial point of view, spending resources on an unresponsive patient would only be allowed to go on for so long before the decision was taken out of their hands. Unless Mrs Wilcox had her own substantial financial resources, unless Emily made a miraculous recovery, the end for this young life may already be tragically counting down.

Suzanne stayed for a while longer but the sterile, harsh room, the bright light focussing on Emily's inanimate frame, the dread that the alarms would suddenly start sounding again, made her want to run away and hide. She decided to go back to the cottage and find one of Emily's books. She could read to her as the doctor had suggested. That would be easier than trying to make up a meaningless, one sided conversation while staring at her daughter's slow descent into death.

Suzanne went back home to take a shower and attempt to revive her sagging spirits. As she was dressing, the phone rang.

"Hello, it's Ken... any news?"

"Nothing good!" Suzanne replied a little curtly, she regretted her tone almost as the words left her lips; she knew that Ken was only capable of kindness.

"I'm sorry, Ken," she continued. "The doctor gave me his rehearsed speech a while ago, the one I have been dreading since Emily was put on life support."

"What did he say exactly?"

"Well, you know, he gave me no deadline..." she paused at the unintended bitter irony contained in the word deadline.

"He didn't say when, but reading between the lines, it's only a matter of time before... What do they say... the plug will be pulled."

"Oh Suzanne, I'm so sorry to hear that, do you need a shoulder to cry on? At times like this a stranger is often easier to talk to than someone really close."

"I no longer think of you as a stranger Ken, but actually, yes. I'm desperate for a shoulder to cry on... Would you like to meet me at Emily's cottage? I need to collect something from there. I'll make us some tea and we can have a chat if you can spare the time."

"When should I come?"

"Could you make it in about an hour?"

Without a moment of hesitation he said he would. As the conversation ended, Ken made a call to the clinic to rearrange the remains of his afternoon; work could wait for once. His heart was heavy, if the worst did happen, he would miss Emily's cheerful presence and skill with animals more than he had realized. Even more than her professional competence, he would miss her as a friend.

Suzanne arrived at the cottage and let herself in. The flowers still looked good but she changed the water and then put the kettle on to boil. She had brought a date and walnut cake, not home baked, she had neither the time nor the enthusiasm for baking at present. The cake still looked tempting when placed on one of Emily's blue and white willow pattern serving dishes. She found forks and plates and matching cups and saucers. It could almost have been an ordinary, casual afternoon tea; the sort she used to occasionally enjoy with Emily.

Suzanne stepped into the garden to get a breath of fresh air, and here in the stillness by the leafless apple trees, she suddenly felt strangely calm and at peace, as if Emily were safe and happy, close at hand and not in a hospital bed with a clock ticking her hours away. Suzanne breathed in the damp autumn air, full of the scents of the garden: the musty leaves which had fallen from the apple trees, the sea air drifting from across the wind-carved dunes and, though she knew it could only be her imagination, here too was the scent of her daughter, unmistakeable. There was no doubt, this was a special place.

She heard a knock at the front door which dragged her from her reverie. Suzanne walked quickly to answer it, suddenly a little nervous at the prospect of meeting Ken for the first time. Suzanne had wondered how his appearance would match Emily's description and her own mental image. In fact he was slimmer than she had expected, and younger. From what Emily had told her, Suzanne expected Ken to be rather elderly. In fact he appeared only ten years or so older than herself. Then she realized that to Emily's eyes she was probably now seen as an elderly woman herself. The thoughts about Emily's perspective caused tears to prick at her eyes; she wanted to keep her composure in front of her visitor and sniffed them down.

"You must be Suzanne." Her visitor said holding out his hand.

"Hello Ken, it's so good to finally meet you in person."

She ignored the outstretched hand and kissed Ken on both cheeks.

"Come in... I've got cake." she said lost, for words.

Suzanne linked arms with her visitor and led him to a seat at the table. Her usual shy reserve had been sequestered by the knowledge that Ken was a friend of Emily's, and as such was, by default, her friend too.

Suzanne poured the tea and cut the cake which crumbled at the edges as she lifted generous slices onto the plates. The initial small talk and pleasantries were taken care of as they got to know each other. They then talked of Emily, long into the late afternoon. As Suzanne opened up, she readily confessed that the cottage was a place where she still felt close to her daughter, as if she might have just slipped out for a moment. Ken could not help agreeing that that the cottage did seem full of her presence.

"I love this place almost as much as Emily does, but I hardly have the time to look after it, and I could not bear to let it get run down."

"It's not really my place to offer you advice, but, have you thought of renting the cottage – just on a short term basis, then it would still be a lived in home for when Emily needs it again, It would save you the worry of looking after it and at the same time raise a little income for Emily."

"Please give me all the advice you can Ken, you have my full permission. Actually I don't know why that idea hadn't occurred to me, especially as I work in the real estate industry, the company I work for actually runs a rental service and, for a modest sum, takes care of all the day to day worries... you know acting as a liaison between the owner and renter."

Suzanne glossed over the fact that she had in fact already thought of the idea, but somehow it seemed like a betrayal of Emily to put a stranger in there; like a mercenary acceptance that Emily would never be back. Now that the idea had been raised by someone else; someone she was coming to trust, the idea no longer seemed quite so terrible.

"I think I'll discuss the idea with my son Tony; you could be on to something Ken." She allowed her fingers to brush briefly against Ken's hand, an expression of gratitude and of a growing confidence in his friendship.

Ken checked the time, the afternoon had flown by. He smiled at Suzanne and shrugged his shoulders while tapping the face of his watch.

"I have to go," he said "but I've enjoyed this afternoon despite the sad circumstances. Look Suzanne, if there's anything you need, please call me."

As they stood Suzanne hugged him for just a brief second and said she would keep in touch. The afternoon had been a pleasant interlude and she felt sufficiently restored to be able to face the bleakness of the hospital again.

Suzanne tidied up the cottage and collected the well-thumbed book which Emily had left open before dashing off to take Juno out for exercise. The evening was already falling and as Suzanne turned back by the door for a last glance, she imagined she could almost see Emily smiling at her from the shadows. She drove home and finding that Tony had gone out without leaving a message, she made herself an omelette and then gnawed at a crisp apple as she drove the increasingly familiar route to the hospital on her own.

Nothing had changed since earlier in the day but Suzanne felt better able to cope after unburdening herself to Ken. She also had Emily's book of poetry which gave her something to do. She spoke a few words of welcome, told her daughter that she loved her and that she was going to read to her. She felt surprisingly unselfconscious at talking to her unresponsive daughter and made herself as comfortable as possible on the hospital chair.

Emily roused from her sleep. She was still in her garden; the light was growing dim as evening drew down. In the distance through the membrane she could hear the soft sound of a voice, the words were difficult to understand, but she knew the voice or rather she knew that she knew the voice even if she could not quite place who it belonged to.

Suzanne read a verse from a Shelly poem:

Art thou pale for weariness

Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth,

Wandering companionless

Among the stars that have a different birth,

And ever changing, like a joyless eye

That finds no object worth its constancy?

The imagery was almost too much for Suzanne to bear, she saw Emily as the moon, lost in a world where she could not be reached. The familiar tears welled in her eyes. While Emily smiled content in her world, somehow safe in the knowledge that she was loved.

~o~

The days rolled into weeks, and although the dreaded words brain dead were never spoken, they hung over Suzanne like the heavy blade of a revolutionary's guillotine. Meanwhile Tony had used the money from his mother to buy himself some time. He was free of debt but was still using cocaine and his situation was already starting to slide away from his control. He clung to the obstinate hope that he would soon get his hands on the cottage. As the time went by Emily's recovery seemed to become less and less likely.

When Suzanne spoke to him about his sister, he had at first tried to appear supportive. But slowly by subtle degree he had changed his stance. At first suggesting that they should consider freeing Emily from her suffering, he was now openly advocating letting her go... pulling the plug. His arguments were based around saving Emily from the distress that she must be in and that it was not really living at all being in her state. It would be the humane and kindest thing to do he argued. His views, although with a completely different set of motives, were also starting to be supported by the medical staff. Suzanne was still not ready to say goodbye to her daughter. Only Ken seemed to offer support to Suzanne's position that Emily was too precious to let go without a fight. Even so Suzanne was starting to accept that she would inevitably have to say goodbye to her beautiful daughter and let her spirit fly free of the troubles of this world. But not yet... Please, not yet.

~o~

It was early evening, winter was fast approaching and the nights were starting to draw in. Tony had just finished an unrewarding day at work; he slipped out of the main showroom, where he had spent a few idle moments admiring a newly delivered Porsche 911. After the warm showroom, the cold air bit against his shoulders and pulled his thin jacket tighter round his skinny frame. He looked around, just in case any of Jimmy's lads were in the vicinity, he had already started to get back into debt with them and was keen to avoid any contact until he could come up with some more money. He ducked down the shadowy alley between the showroom and the bank. The street lights which had just come on, cast a beam of reflected light down the narrow walkway. It shone on the damp concrete highlighting the small puddles from the afternoon rain. As Tony took his first steps into the half-light, the pad of his feet echoing against the walls, he saw a figure in front of him, he knew the face and did a quick about turn. Unfortunately for Tony he had been followed down the alley by a large and dangerous looking character. It was another of Jimmy's heavies.

Darren cracked his pocked marked face with a sneering smile.

"Going somewhere Tony, old son."

Tony tried to make an ineffective run for it but a heavy hand with a grip like steel grabbed the scruff of his neck. His head was banged against the wall, not too hard, just enough to emphasise the trouble the young defaulter was in.

Tony wiped the back of his hand across the blood which was trickling from his nose. He looked at it in astonishment.

"Guys, guys, no need for rough stuff, I've got another check from the old girl, just waiting for it to clear."

The lie sounded reasonable to Darren and Kev, but they had no interest in cheques, cleared or otherwise.

"No mate, don't worry about no cheque. See, Jimmy would like a word... He thinks you've been avoiding him. Jimmy don't like that. Know what I mean?" Darren squeezed his vice like grip on the back of Tony's neck. He winced as his neck muscles cramped. Darren's weight sank Tony down to his knees wetting his trousers from the puddled walkway. The two emissaries hauled Tony back onto his feet.

"Let's take a ride." chuckled Kev. "The boss is waiting; he gets a bit mental if he's kept waiting too long, know what I mean?"

Tony was pushed into the back seat of an E class Mercedes, silver still with the new car smell. He heard the central locking click shut and noticed the child locks on the back door. There was no chance of making an escape so he sat back and looked around. The car was opulent, way too good for thugs like these or even for Jimmy Costard. He felt sick when he realized that the money he had spent with Jimmy could probably have bought the car. They made an unhurried U turn and headed out of down. Tony had expected that he would be taken to Jimmy's warehouse in the industrial centre and as the car made its way towards the deserted woodlands down in the valley, he remembered the rumours about shallow graves and started to panic. A moist sparkle of nervous sweat joined his already blood smeared upper lip.

~o~

Emily had been sleeping a lot, but when she was awake she had tried to push against the membrane which tantalized her. The voices were important; she felt that she would learn a lot from them if only they were louder and clearer, if only she could break through. But it was difficult, the membrane remained impenetrable. However she had now found the strength to enter the cottage and could stay there for longer and longer before feeling the need to retreat to the garden. Despite the real world now held in winter's grip, Emily was always warm and relaxed in the garden. She never saw anyone, but sometimes had the feeling that someone had visited her world. How very strange she thought.

~o~

The Mercedes bounced down a deserted track and pulled off into a wooded area. Up ahead, lit by the bright blue-white of the car's headlight, Tony could see another car. It was Jimmy Costard's Range Rover. He'd had it decked out with special alloys and extra fat tyres. The front of the car was adorned with heavy duty chromed bull bars bolted to the front as if the owner might sometime wish to use the vehicle as a battering ram. With it's gloss black paint and darkly tinted windows the Rover was as menacing as it was unmistakable.

"Out!"

Tony did as he was told, his knees buckled as his legs took his weight and he had to fight to keep his self-control.

Kev opened the boot and pulled out a shovel. He tossed it to Tony, who caught it awkwardly banging it painfully against his shin.

"You might need this, you skinny wanker!"

"Oh Jesus..." Tony muttered under his breath, he guessed the rumours were right after all.

He felt a push in the small of his back and stumbled forward, he was directed towards the Range Rover. A light from a powerful torch shone into his eyes blinding him. Tony raised a hand to shield his eyes and squinted to see the figure that emerged from the car, but he knew who it would be.

"Tony... you look a bit under the weather. I hope you ain't sickening for anything." There was a muted chorus of laughter from behind Tony's back.

"We need to 'ave a little talk, I might be able to offer you a way out of your predicament. Get in the motor!" It was an order not a suggestion and Tony had no option but to acquiesce.

"Kev, take that spade off the boy, I don't think he'll be needing it after all, what do you say Tony, you up for a bit of business?"

Jimmy directed his next words to his two heavies:

"OK lads, you two can piss of home and get your teas. Tony and me is going to have a little chat, I think he'll be happy to shake hands on it, what do you say Tony?"

Tony had no idea what Costard was talking about but the relief that he wasn't going to be topped out here in the woods was enough for him to agree to anything. Jimmy may not have had much of an education, but as well as fully taking advantage of his psychopathic tendencies, he was also a natural psychologist.

"I want to expand my business into another area Tony, one that gives a faster turn over. For that, I'm going to need some fast cars from time to time. As you know Tony, being in the trade yourself, these days cars are not that easy to lift what with all them immobilizers and alarms and all that kind of shit. But someone in the trade could get hold of the keys and help themselves from a showroom and Bobs your uncle... You work in a showroom don't you son?"

"Yes but..."

"No buts Tony, I've told you too much now, me and my big mouth." Jimmy laughed. "I hope you ain't going to need that spade after all..."

Tony could think of nothing to say.

"Here's the deal..."

Jimmy held up a bag of Tony's favourite nose candy, enough to keep him going for a long while.

"You can take this, and I'll wipe your slate clean. Just as long as you agree to liberate the odd set of fast wheels. Or... there's the spade option, but we don't want to get ourselves all muddy do we?"

Tony's words of protest would not come; he could think of a hundred reasons why Jimmy's idea would only end in prison or worse. But his options were nil. He just nodded.

"Good one son, I'll drop you back 'ome, the lads will be in touch in few weeks when the plans are sorted."

When Tony got back home he rushed to his room and quickly stashed the parcel of cocaine, into the false bottom of the old wardrobe that sat in the corner. He piled the stack of magazines back on top and looked round the room furtively as if someone might have been watching. The coke had cost him no money... just his soul. Walking back to the kitchen Tony found his mother standing over the cooker preparing some sauce for the pasta that was already bubbling in a large pan. Everything looked so normal and safe to him after the surreal events of the last few hours. It was a relief to be back in his normal world, or what used to be his normal world. He felt that his choices had been eroded bit by bit until none were left. All he could see was being dragged down into the mire of an underworld that, until now he had been able to skate over, hardly getting his feet dirty, now he was up to his neck in it and sinking fast.

"Hello Tony I'm glad you've made it back in time to eat with me, how are you love?"

"Yes I'm fine I guess... Usual hassles at work are doin' my head in a bit. One of these days I might just take off and disappear into the wild blue yonder." He made it sound like a joke when in reality disappearing might soon be his only remaining option... But for that he needed the sort of money that might be realised from the sale of a cottage.

Suzanne turned and looked at her son with concern, despite his all too obvious faults she still loved him.

"It can't be that bad Tony...Pour yourself a glass of wine love." She said indicating the newly opened bottle of red on the table.

"Yea, thanks, I could really do with a drink."

"Will you be coming to the hospital with me tonight? It's been a while."

Tony groaned internally at the thought but his words, spoken quietly did not betray his true feelings.

"Yes, OK I should come with you for a change. How's your day been?" He asked as he gulped more from his already half empty glass.

"Well I've been thinking about Emily's cottage..." Tony's ears pricked up, The cottage was starting to become central to his own salvation and anything regarding that piece of real estate was of considerable and urgent interest to him.

"Yes, go on... what about the cottage, you know it will be mine if Emily..."

"Yes of course." Suzanne jumped in, not letting Tony finish the sentence, not wanting to hear him commit his thoughts into words. Once spoken words could never be unsaid and in this case, she felt, might precipitate something terrible.

"Listen Tony, I was wondering if we should put the cottage up for rental, until the situation is you know sorted, what do you think love?"

Tony wanted the situation sorted in his favour as soon as possible, he didn't really want the property encumbered by a tenant who would inevitably be a problem when the time came to make a quick sale. On the other hand there would be an income from the cottage in the meantime.

"Do you think, that's what Emily would want?" He asked, playing the ball back into his mother's court.

"We have to do the best for everyone concerned, darling. I'm sure Emily wouldn't want the cottage to be a burden to us, and at the moment, looking after it is an extra worry that I don't really need."

"Let me think it over then... So, how long will dinner be? I'm starving." In fact Tony had very little appetite for food at all but helped himself to another glass of wine.
Chapter 5

Now that a few days had slipped by and Tony was still alive and untroubled, he had slipped back into a state of foolish complacency. Costard was a maniac and Tony wished he had never set eyes on him, but after the frightening confrontation, the man and his ambassadors had been consolingly absent from his life. He had with modest success pushed most thoughts of their inevitable reappearance deep into a locked corner of his mind. On an even more positive note he now had an unexpected and handy supply of cocaine which he was determined to ration out to himself with absolutely no binging. He had no debt now and since their visit to the woods, even Darren and Kevin had faded from his immediate thoughts. The prospect of having to liberate a car for the villains was still hovering over him however and was the regular prompt for an unpleasant ache that twisted his insides when his guard slipped and he allowed the prospect to rise to the surface of his thoughts. On the whole though, and thanks to Jimmy, he was able to medicate the worst of his worries into oblivion.

As for the cottage, it remained central to his long term escape plan. His mother's insistence that it be rented, was not what he wanted. But despite his best efforts, he could find no reasonable argument to stop her plans. Suzanne had been quietly vetting prospective tenants that came into the office and she had one particular potential client in mind. A young man who seemed eminently suitable. Now that Tony had finally if grudgingly agreed with the cottage being rented she was ready to contact the prospective tenant. Although it represent progress of a kind, it was not what Suzanne really wanted... What she wanted was Emily back there safe and well as if none of this nightmare had ever happened.

Alexander Havers, in his early thirties with soft blue eyes and short sandy hair, pinched the bridge of his nose. He then replaced his wire framed glasses and hung up the telephone receiver. He had just taken a welcome phone call from the real estate office. Barker and Barker had been trying to locate a suitable rental property for him for some time and finally they had found something that may well fit his needs. Modest yet comfortable, located in a quiet spot and importantly to Alexander affordable, it sounded promising. Alexander was not naive enough however to take the hardly disinterested opinion of a real-estate agency at face value. He needed the see the cottage with his own eyes before getting too excited. The office had made an appointment with him to see Suzanne Wilcox, a woman who at least on the telephone with her delightful trace of a French accent, sounded entirely genuine. She would drive him down later that afternoon to a place that would, they told him, undoubtedly exceed his expectations. The proof of that particular pudding lay in the eating but Alexander was hopeful.

The description that he had been given along with a photocopied photograph did nothing to diminish his interest. It seemed that the cottage had been recently given a sympathetically modernised interior, all amenities with two small bedrooms and a living space that gave a glimpse of the sea. It was apparently situated so that it was at once isolated and yet within easy access to the charming village of Hegfold. He built up a mental picture of what he might expect and if the reality came close, he would be likely to accept the lease. The prospect of moving on from his present accommodation came as a welcome relief. He looked round the room. The décor screamed 70s. the faded wallpaper, peeling at the corners, jarred with the heavily patterned curtains. He gazed at the thread bare carpet and worn furniture and shuddered. His eyes lifted to the damp patch that was creeping ominously mildewed from the corner of the dingy ceiling. Alexander wondered how he could have put up with this place for so long. But his recent past was a blur of tragedy, anger and sadness, he could probably have lived in a pigsty and hardly noticed.

It was hard for him to imagine now, but a little over a year ago Alexander's life had been verging on the idyllic. He had been recently married to Jane, a lovely young woman with whom he shared not only a deep and mutual love but a true life partnership. He had a perfectly satisfactory job and a good middle class home with an affordable mortgage. The only worm in his apple was a rather uncomfortable relationship with his wife's mother, Alice Bentley. She rather tended to avoid Alexander, having taken an instant and unwarranted dislike to the man who was courting her only child. Alexander was happy not to have to see Alice, but it did pain his young wife that they could not get on. Jane had hinted that her mother was starting to behave irrationally and she was getting a little worried about her health. Jane tried to discuss it with Alexander but he found he had little sympathy for the woman who treated him so poorly for no reason. He had worked hard at making friends with Alice, but he had been rebuffed so often that he had finally given up trying. A silent but brooding truce would have to suffice.

Only six months into the marriage things suddenly fell dramatically apart in Alexander's comfortable world. It happened one late summer evening coming like a thunder bolt from an angry god, a god that Alexander didn't even know existed. They were still in the first flush of their love for each other and Alexander had fought his way home through heavy traffic eager to be back with his wife. He arrived home a little later than usual as he had been tied up all day with a rather intense sequence of meeting at one of the companies more remote branch offices. Alexander worked as a financial manager for a security systems company. His competence was highly regarded and his future success seemed assured. His father-in-law Frank Bentley was a director of the company and it was through him that he had met Jane.

As he entered his home on that fateful evening, there was no sign of Jane. He called out to her, but there was no response. Normally Jane arrived home from her nursery school position well before he did. She would usually be waiting and would come out to meet him, taking his arm and walking her new husband back inside. Feeling just the slight intimation of disquiet, Alexander called her name again but there was still no reply. He wondered if she had told him of some appointment that had slipped his mind. He was sure she had not so he went up stairs to their bedroom. The room looked normal, there was still the faint lingering odour of fresh paint following the recent decoration. He noted that the sliding door to the balcony was open allowing the curtains to billow out into the evening air. He walked out onto the balcony and called her name again... He thought she may have gone down to the far end of the garden beyond the willows. But there was still no reply to his increasingly urgent voice. The cool air wrapped itself around him and he shivered slightly, feeling a little stupid at being so easily alarmed. But then he looked over the rim of the low glass retaining wall, his gaze drifted down to the gravel path and the neatly planted rockery, there on the ground, below the balcony twisted and broken he saw her. She had somehow fallen backwards over the glass partition and lay there caressed by the cool breeze of the evening, eyes open staring up into the darkening sky, unmoving... clearly dead.

The police were called. Eventually Jane was taken away and Alexander was left feeling empty. His grief did not really take hold until the next day when the events finally came into painfully sharp focus for him. He should have been able to give and receive consolation from Jane's parents but the animosity shown to him by Alice had only been increased by Jane's death. Alice, bitten by her own grief which showed itself as anger as much as sadness, wasted no time in launching a viscous attack on Alexander. As he turned inwards as a way to cope with his loss, Alice seemed to gain her version of solace from becoming enraged, she needed something, someone, to blame. This all came to a head with Alice eventually making the outrageous claim that Alexander had actually murdered her daughter and despite having no evidence to support her position, had made a sworn statement to the police to that effect. Alexander was taken into custody and spent an uncomfortable and harrowing night in the police cells. There was no evidence to substantiate Alice's allegations, and there were plenty of people who were able to corroborate Alexander's account that he was in meetings half a county away when Jane had died. Alice was not surprisingly further outraged when her son-in-law was released without charge.

On the day after Jane's funeral when Alexander had started thinking a little more clearly again, it occurred to him that one of the security cameras which his firm had installed was placed to catch sight of anyone attempting to make an entry via the balcony. He wondered if the video had captured anything of the accident. He found the appropriate time-coded disk and placed it in the player. With more than a little reluctance he scanned forward to the time of the accident. Before his incredulous eyes he saw what had happened to send Jane toppling over the edge. Clearly it was an accident, Jane was not pushed and nor did she jump; it was a tragic and unhappy thing to watch his wife fall so pointlessly to her death. He tossed the disk into a box with a mix of disgust and sadness and promptly chose to forget what he had seen. He spoke to no one about the images on the disk and tried to shut the whole business away in a dark recess of his mind.

Alice, however, did not give up her vendetta, she demanded that Alexander pay back the money that she and Frank had given the newly-weds towards their home. This was a substantial sum, amounting to half the value of the house. Alexander was forced to sell the property into a sinking market in order to pay back the money. Not satisfied with this, Alice also contacted Alexander's insurance company, claiming that he had murdered his wife for her insurance. The insurance company soon realized that there was no foundation to the allegation, but took the opportunity to delay paying out on the accident. They even investigated the possibility of suicide before finally honouring the claim after a protracted and harrowing period of acrimony. The final blow came when Alexander was told that, after a lengthy director's meeting, the company no longer required his services. Alexander thought of making a claim for unfair dismissal, but his position at the security firm was becoming untenable with Frank as a director and he hardly had the strength, or will for the battle. He decided to make a clean break and found a room to rent where he spent some months grieving for Jane, and licking his wounds. He was still not yet financially destitute but finding a job was proving to be more difficult than he had expected.

In his student days Alexander had been fortunate enough to have some articles published in a technical magazine They were of a rather obscure financial nature and of little general interest but it had left him with an urge to one day try his hand at fiction. There had been a book humming away at the back of his mind for years. He was completely aware that breaking into the world of published authorship was not an easy thing to do, let alone making a decent living from it. But now, with the money that was left over from the sale of his house, the severance pay which the company was contractually obliged to pay him and Alice's life insurance pay-out, he had enough to support himself for at least a year. Now divested of responsibilities, he decided to plunge into the unknown and finally attempt write his novel.

If he could get it published all the better, if not it would be a healing process which he knew he would never regret. He needed a quiet and affordable place to live, somewhere without distractions and especially, well away from the orbit of his mother-in-law. She had apparently run out of ideas on ways to attack Alexander and had been missing from his radar for some time now. Alexander had absolutely no wish to change that situation.

Alexander's novel was based very loosely on the medieval romance of Tristram and Isolde, brought up to date and set against a background of the conflict between global business and environmentalism. There was a lot he still had to work out in developing the plot and characters but it was a challenge that might just pull the fraying warp and weft of his life back to a meaningful purpose. He dearly wished that Jane could be at his side to help with the book, be there to bounce ideas off and give the moral support which he so sadly missed. After a year he no longer wept when he thought of Jane, but the pain of her loss was still as raw as ever. But it was time for him to move on.

~o~

Emily slept long through the silent hours but when awake was growing stronger in her private universe. She found that the cottage no longer overwhelmed her with emotion and she was free to roam its rooms as she wished; the garden, as always was a joy to be in. She found her world both perplexing and familiar; strange but normal. Only the membrane was still opaque; obscure for her and defying her reason. She wished that she could unlock its secret and discover what it meant. Her life was now confined entirely into this small environment. There was nothing beyond the cottage except the garden and there was nothing beyond the garden but the strange membrane. Emily needed nothing more for the moment. She was like a new creature, born to this strange universe; this was all she knew, it was all she needed and all she wanted. It was hers and hers alone. From time to time, catching her unaware, there were vague thoughts, distant memories, which drifted like wind-blown thistle down unread across her mind. But nothing was able to disturb her simple contentment, except perhaps the whispering disquiet of the world beyond the membrane which sometimes called to her with a mournful beckoning and the occasional fleeting memory of a memory.

~o~

Suzanne and Alexander arrived at the cottage. There had been a frost overnight and in the shade under the trees, away from the watery sun, a frozen dusting of whiteness still held its grip on the garden. Opening the wrought iron gate with its glossy paint black brought a familiar squeal from its hinges. They crunched up the path and Suzanne held open the sturdy wooden door for her client.

"Go in and have a look around Mr Havers, I think it could be just what you're looking for, but remember, it is only available on a monthly lease and you may have to quit at short notice."

"Yes I know, I can accept that; it really won't be a problem. If you could see the run down place I'm living at the moment you might understand."

Suzanne smiled with feigned understanding but she did not understand. What she saw in Alexander was a handsome young man, blue eyes that seemed to draw her into them. He was clearly well educated and articulate, dressed casually but elegantly and she would have assumed, from his appearance, for him to be in a financially secure position.

Alexander crossed the threshold and felt a strange surge of emotion as he entered the cottage. It was uncannily like he had expected. Exactly what he wanted. He instantly felt at home as if this place was meant for him as if it had been waiting for him. The front door had opened from a small square of terracotta tiles which were edged green with a little invasive growth of moss. It revealed a home, not just a dwelling. The low ceilings giving a feeling of intimacy and every window held a view that might make you catch your breath. He wondered how long the cottage had stood here unmolested by the twenty first century.

"Since the mid 1800s I think, certainly well before the First World War. I think it was originally built as a farm worker's cottage. As you can see it has been lovingly maintained." Suzanne said to his question. The only problem Alexander could see was that if he did have to quit at short notice, it would prove to be another wrench which would be hard to take after his past year. The contrast with the dingy and shabby room he had been reduced to living in was profound. This was a home; it felt almost like a homecoming to a place once loved and half forgotten. This thought of coming home triggered an unwanted image of Jane and he was momentarily caught off guard. He sniffed hard and turned away from the agent.

Suzanne gently touched his arm. She sensed something but was not sure what it might be.

"Well, what do you think Mr Havers?"

"Call me Alexander" he said "Well... What can I say? It's perfect... And the rental is what we discussed? I hadn't realized it was fully furnished."

"Yes, it is for rent as you see it fully furnished, at the modest price I quoted, there is even crockery and linen, everything you need, just move in and enjoy. The owner has no need of the cottage at the moment but may return at any time without notice. The rent has been set to reflect that we... that is the owner, can attract someone who gives us confidence that the cottage will be treated with respect."

"There is no doubt of that, I would take the greatest care of this place Suzanne."

"I think I can see that." Suzanne replied. She was relieved that Alexander seemed to have fallen so easily under the cottage's spell, just as she had done all those years ago when Bill and Mary still lived there.

Alexander knew instantly that he would be moving in, it was as if he had no choice in the matter, it was a compulsion he could not resist. By the next evening he was gazing out at the view across to the dunes with the glimpse of the sea shining golden as the sun sank behind the low clouds. It was same view that Emily loved so much. Alexander's laptop, word processor open, was already on the table in front of him and the title of his book was already typed. The blank pages were hungry for the completion of The kiss of the Moon.
Chapter 6

It had to happen, finally Tony's luck, his free ride was over. The inevitability had been there festering at the back of his mind, catching him at unguarded moments with a twist of panic. It was Jimmy Costard himself this time, waiting in person like a leering grim reaper. He stood across the road from the car showroom looking menacing despite the smile... maybe because of the smile. He was dressed in a suit; off the peg from the fit, with a camel overcoat across his shoulders. On his wrist was a massive gold watch which was almost matched in size by a heavy signet ring which Jimmy was twisting impatiently. As he saw Tony he gestured with a quick flick of his head for Tony to come over. Tony drew his head tortoise-fashion deep into the shell of his coat and muttered a mild expletive under his breath; he thought momentarily of making a dash for it down the alley but quickly saw the futility of that course of action. He crossed the road, dodging a noisy, rubble filled builder's truck which left concrete dust and acrid diesel fumes swirling into his eyes.

"Hello Jimmy," he said with feigned brightness "I guess you'd like to talk about... this car thing."

"That's on the money, old cock. You're obviously smarter than you look. Let's take a drive."

They got into Jimmy's recently valeted Range Rover and cruised slowly away to a spot that offered more seclusion. Jimmy stopped the car and looked across at his nervous passenger. He tapped the side of his nose in a knowing gesture that Tony could make little sense of.

"Next Wednesday." he said. Tony looked blank not sure what Jimmy meant.

"What about, next Wednesday?"

"That's when I'll need the motor, wake up Tony. I get the feeling your heart's not really in this."

"Look Jimmy, I..."

"Next Wednesday, so probably you'll need to find something suitable and do the business before Tuesday at the latest. You can bring the motor round to the warehouse for safe keeping; I've already got false plates sorted, so no need to worry about that." Jimmy said as if he were lifting a burdensome weight from Tony's shoulders.

Tony sighed; he knew there was no point in trying to talk his way out of this. He had already taken Jimmy's coke and now it was payback time.

"OK what sort of car do you need?"

"Like I said, something fast but with a low profile. We don't want to be caught by the plods but we want to blend into the traffic as well, invisible like."

"So maybe a fast Merc or Audi, that sort of thing, not a Porsche or anything too flash... what about seats?"

"Oh yeah mate we'll 'ave seats in it." He laughed a slightly wheezy chortle, the accumulated result of years of cigarettes and blended scotch. "No, I know what you mean Tony. A four seater, there'll a driver and two maybe three passengers. We don't want anything too big, it needs to be nimble; four doors would be better than two. Oh yeah, and room for a large bag with Swag written on the side." Jimmy was enjoying himself and slapped Tony on the shoulders, only in fun but with enough force to make Tony wince. He would hate to be on the receiving end of a slap from Jimmy that wasn't intended to be playful.

"Got any problems with that?" Jimmy had suddenly lost his smile. His question was posed with an edge in his voice that made it almost sound like a threat.

"No Jimmy, I'll see what I can do."

"Good lad, now, you don't mind walking back do you... the less we are seen together the better."

Tony was glad to get out of the car despite the two mile walk back to the car yard where his ageing Fiesta was still parked. The walk back gave Tony the chance to clear his head. It was becoming more urgent that he got his hands on the cottage and made his escape before Jimmy dragged him down to a place from which there was no return.

Tony was one of the used car salesmen from the yard attached to the Brinkman Motors showroom. His job was to quickly sell on the trade-ins from the customers of the main show room. A lot of the cars were disposed of through the trade, but the better ones were tidied up and sold directly from the yard. There was nothing in the used stock that could pass as a getaway car. The only thing that came close was a well-used Golf GTi but that was past its best and would probably break down if it was pushed too hard. It was going to a low end dealer on Monday anyway. Tony had no access to the showroom cars, but he had been thinking over the problem and had a possible solution. As well as selling cars, Brinkman's had a busy service department and there were always plenty of cars in for minor repairs and servicing. The nature of Brinkman's trade was that many of these were high performance vehicles. One of the mechanics was a mate, maybe to call him a mate was overstating the strength of their relationship, but they would occasionally go for a pint together after work. When business was slow, Tony would often drop in on Barnsey for a chat. He knew that the cars in for service were often kept overnight and the keys were kept in a safe. Hardly able to contain his laughter, Dave Barns had once told him after a couple of drinks that the car keys were kept in a locked safe, but the key to the safe was kept in a wall cupboard with the safe's combination number typed on the key tag. Barnsey thought it was hilarious what the management considered to be adequate security. Of course no one in their right mind would steal a car from the servicing department when next door was a showroom full of brand new stock. That is where Brinkman's main security systems were focused.

Tony spent an anxious weekend. He used more coke than he should have and was feeling decidedly twitchy when Monday rolled round. Monday was always a slack day and he wandered across to have an innocent chat with Barnsey. Jimmy had not left him much time to lift something and he needed to see what might be on offer.

"Hello mate, fancy a pint after work?" Tony said in his most casual manner.

"I'd love one Tony but I'm under orders from Julie, we've got tickets for something, can't even remember what..."

"Oh not to worry, just a thought. Got any interesting cars in at the moment?" He asked as if just making conversation.

"Depends what you call interesting, haven't seen anything exotic for months but there's a tasty M3 in tomorrow for brakes and new tyres... the engine's been chipped, the owner only had new tyres fitted three month ago he must give it a bit of stick. He reckons it'll do 0 - 60 in four seconds"

"Yea and the rest." Tony said "In his dreams maybe."

"Well whatever the numbers it's well fast, I should enjoy test driving it tomorrow if I can find a bit of clear road somewhere. He won't be picking it up until Thursday... seems he's away on business so it'll be cluttering up the workshop for a while. Then there's the Cayenne, if you like that sort of thing; in for fluids and a wing mirror needs replacing. There's a wait on for parts for that one. Of course there's Samantha Vincent's Cayman... that needs a tune up." He pointed at the silver Porsche over in the far corner of the spacious and spotless workshop and gave Tony a knowing wink. Samantha Vincent was the daughter of one of Brinkman's biggest customers. She was a babe, with her eyes focussed on an acting career which had yet to eventuate. Still just eighteen with seriously rich parents she was well beyond the reach of a humble mechanic or a junior salesman, but you can't stop a lad dreaming.

Tony wandered over to look at the sports car, pretending to have no interest in the other cars that Barnsey had mentioned. But it sounded like the M3 was the favourite as long as it came in when expected. If not it would have to be the Cayenne, fast enough but too bulky to be ideal for what Jimmy Costard had in mind.

~o~

As Emily woke it was no surprise for her to find herself in her garden. She felt contented and twirled a pirouette like a floating ballet dancer as she crossed the lawn to the door of the cottage. She entered smiling and then stopped suddenly as her eyes fell onto something very unusual. There was a stranger in her room, a stranger sitting at her window table as if he had every right to be there. She ducked down unsure quite how to respond. This was the first person she had seen since finding herself in her personal universe. The man, she was sure he was a man, sat with a notebook computer in front of him. This was an unaccountably strange event and she felt a twinge of anger that an intruder was invading her space, her private world. She stood and moved a little closer to the figure. Suddenly drawing confidence from her indignation she raised her voice.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" She called.

The figure did not move, it was as if he could not hear her, as if he were completely unaware of her presence. Emily made an attempt to correct that situation, she tried to pick up a vase and throw it at him but somehow she could not quite get a grip on the solid object. Then as quickly as it had arisen, her brief flirtation with anger subsided, this was just one more strange event in her life, she laughed at the stupidity of trying to throw a vase.

She moved closer again until she was standing at his side. A few dust motes caught in the light from the window danced before him and she watched as he pulled off his reading glasses and lay them on the table. As he leaned back in his chair and stretched the stiffness from his back Emily thought that he looked attractive, handsome even. A distant urge, almost an ache seemed to fill her but quickly dissipated.

"Who are you?" She said in little more than a whisper "Don't you know that this is my place... what do you want here?"

The man still gave no response even when she brushed her hand across his cheek. In confusion Emily retreated to the garden to muse on this latest peculiarity. As she roamed the landscape between the cottage and the membrane, there was a change. Maybe precipitated by the shock of finding a stranger in her cottage, the memories that had been drifting across her mind, almost unnoticed, started to come into focus. Emily was starting to remember who she was and with the remembrance came a deeper intensity to her presence in this bizarre universe.

Alexander had been typing the outline of the story of his book, working out the sequence of events in the way that an artist might make a pencil sketch before applying the oil paint. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the vase on the table topple and fall onto the floor. It was saved from breaking only by the cushioning of the soft carpet. It was such a strange thing, solid objects just do not fall off tables on their own. As he stood to pick it up he thought he felt a slight draught across his cheek and had the strange feeling that a shadow had passed somewhere behind him but when he turned there was nothing.

~o~

Tuesday morning arrived with Tony's stomach in knots. It was the day when he had to steal the car and he had psyched himself up to complete the job as soon as everyone else had left for the evening. He knew that he had to keep his head clear, once the car was taken he would be finally off the hook and could turn his attention to the cottage. Tony arrived at work earlier than normal, driven from his normal routine by the growing nervous tension. As the morning rolled on, he kept a constant watch for the BMW arriving at the service department. At a little after nine thirty a tyre kicker entered the used car yard his attention held by smart Volkswagen beetle – "something for the wife" the plumply ageing man had mumbled.

"I'll get the keys... you can take it for a spin." Tony said pretending to be interested. As he walked back inside the M3 finally made its appearance. Tony could hear the rasp of its racy exhaust note as it made its way down the access road to the service department. As Tony had hoped, it was as invisible as an M3 could be. In a metallic silver grey colour, it looked standard. Only someone interested in cars would take it for anything other than a normal three series. The owner had not customized the look of the car in any way, it was a real sleeper. Tony allowed himself to relax a little; things were falling into place nicely. The hard part was still ahead but at least the car he wanted was there waiting to be lifted. At lunchtime he popped in to see his mate and was pleased to see the work had already been done and the car was parked in the zone reserved for customer pick-ups.

There had been just the one sale by the time that the clock had ticked round to knocking off time, Tony made himself appear busy writing up his records. Soon everyone else was gone from the offices and he made his way through the internal passage that linked the sales offices with the service department. It was in darkness. He put on a pair of gloves, went down the four stone steps to the workshop and saw the M3 still where it had been earlier. He found the wall cupboard without difficulty, opened the door and using a torch brought along for the purpose, discovered the key to the safe hanging innocently on a hook. As Dave Barnes had said, the combination was printed on the tag. He soon had the safe open and found the set of keys he wanted. He walked over to the M3 to make sure everything was in order and unlocked the doors. All he had to do was open the roller door and drive off. He would be home free. This was going far more easily than he had expected. As he grabbed the door catch, Tony suddenly heard voices and footsteps coming this way. He froze and then ducked down below window height. He quickly slipped inside the car closing the door so that the tell tale interior light was extinguished, he lay flat to avoid being seen. If the lights to the workshop were turned on, the game would be up. He held his breath but he felt sure the pounding of his heart could be heard across the entire workshop.

The unmistakeable sound of a young woman giggling as they passed the M3 made Tony sneak a peek. To his astonishment it was Samantha Vincent and, he could not believe his eyes, Dave Barnes was walking alongside her with his arm around her waist. You sly old bastard. He thought, not without a twinge of envy. In the dim light he saw them slide into the service manager's office and close the door. It was clear that the couple had sought seclusion to pursue a moment of passion. Conformation came when Tony finally heard Samantha in the throes of passion calling out 'yes, yes, yes' with ever more urgency as Barnsey went about his carnal business The young woman was obviously enjoying her bit of rough trade with the mechanic. Tony was starting to ache from the uncomfortable position he was crouching in but dare not move. The whole sordid encounter lasted little more than five minutes and then Samantha walked carefully out of the office; smoothing her designer skirt and flicking her hair back to shape. She left the way she had come in, back up towards the main showrooms. The click of Samantha's heels faded and a few moments later Barnsey followed her out of the office but let himself out of the side door which opened into the access road and the used car yard. Tony was sure he could hear, above the constant hum of the passing traffic, the faint sound of the mechanic whistling as he walked away, presumably back to his unsuspecting wife Julie.

Tony waited, listening for a while but everything was quiet. He got out of the car and followed the path that Barnsey had taken. The was no sign of anyone in the yard. He returned and cautiously opened the roller door. With his heart still pounding Tony slowly inched the M3 out into the access road and then closed and locked the door. A quick check that the coast was clear and Tony made his way out into the evening traffic. He drove down the High Street checking his mirrors for any sign of the police. He turned up by the brightly illuminated supermarket and at the junction had to stop for a red light. Some comedian on a Ducati pulled up along side him. He must have noticed the M3 badge and looked across at Tony. He made a gesture that Tony understood only too well. The rider was clearly up for a drag away from the lights. Tony nodded an acceptance of the challenge but when the lights turned green he trickled away like a granny in a Micra. The Ducati screamed away pulling up onto its rear wheel. Tony just smiled.

It was already eight o'clock and Tony assumed that he would have to phone Jimmy to come and open up. He continued to drive carefully and slowly, well under the radar, to Jimmy's place. When he got there he saw the building was still lit up. He parked the car in the front area next to the Mercedes in which he had recently enjoyed a brief trip out to woods. He tried to forget the incident and knocked on the rattling metal door with the last dregs of his confidence now exhausted.

Kevin and Jimmy, together with some dangerous looking stranger were obviously enjoying an after work drink.

"It's the boy, boss." Kevin called over his shoulder as he opened the door.

"About fuckin' time. Bring him in, Kev."

Tony found the lights harsh and bright after the darkness outside and shaded his eyes from the glare. He had an uneasy feeling as he edged into the warehouse like a lamb being drawn into into a lion's den. The warehouse was filled with boxes. There was booze of all types, cases of cigarettes and much more stored under tarpaulins, probably electrical goods but there was nothing Tony could readily put a name to from a quick glance. Clearly Jimmy Costard was into much more than just drugs.

"I hope you've brought something for me Tony." Jimmy's voice sounded a little slurred as if he had overindulged in his favourite tipple.

"Yes... it's out here, want to take a look?"

Jimmy followed the young man back outside into the brisk evening air.

"Shit, it's going to be cold tonight." Jimmy said rubbing his hands together; feeling the urgent need of another warming glass.

"A BMW... M3 is it? Good choice Tony, you done well. That will do the business just perfect."

"Shall I leave it here or drive it inside for you?" Tony said, hoping he might be able to just slink away into the night and forget the whole unpleasant business.

"I think you can see, I'm a little over the limit for driving tonight, you better bring it in..." He turned back and called into the lozenge of yellow light that spread out from the open warehouse door. "Kev! Get the main door open will you." Jimmy's bellowing voice echoed across the car park and up into the night air. A dog started barking somewhere in the distance. Soon the whine of an electric motor could be heard as the heavy roller door edged its way open. Tony wasted no time in getting the stolen car inside. He parked it in a corner where a space and been cleared for it. Kevin and the other man already had a tarpaulin ready the cover the M3.

"Now Tony you gotta stop for a drink, we've got plenty to spare as you can see" Jimmy gestured to the stockpile of stolen liquor with an open arm.

Hanging around in that company was the last thing that Tony wanted, his plan was to put space between himself and Jimmy as fast as possible and forget that any of this had ever happened.

"No better not, I need to be somewhere. I have to say I'm glad that's over; I've been bricking it for the past couple of days."

"You hear that lads, the boy's got 'imself all worked up... Tony my son, that was just the easy part. Oh no it ain't over for you yet, didn't I say... I've got you pencilled in to be our designated getaway driver. I've been watching you wheeling them used motors round the streets like an F1 driver. No Tony, you ain't done yet old son... not by a long way."

~o~

Lulled by the comfort of the cottage, Alexander slept late the next morning. Only his second day there and he was already feeling that he had at last found were he belonged. He hadn't felt as relaxed as this since before Jane's tragic accident. His initial impressions had proved correct; this cottage was ideal for him. Only the strange unaccountable feeling that he was not quite alone gave him a slight unease. The vase falling off the table; the feeling of the shadow passing by was strange. But during the night he was roused by an absurd feeling that someone was prodding him. It was a little unusual to say the least but he put it down to the stress that he had been living through over the past months. For a fleeting instant he almost wondered if Alice could somehow be behind it, having found a new way to annoy him. He quickly dismissed this explanation as unreasonable. For one thing his mother-in-law had no idea where he was living and the events were too strange to be caused by an angry woman, even one as malicious as Alice. If Alice were after him she would be more likely to set the cottage on fire than to use sleight of hand or conjuring tricks to bemuse him. No, the explanation was far more mundane; after the stress of the past months, he was clearly losing his mind.

The thought made him smile; losing your mind in this fashion was a surprisingly untroubling thing. He rather hoped that being mad would not stop him writing his novel. Alexander had just decided to accept this hypothesis, until more salient facts were at his disposal, when the phone rang. He answered it with the self-deprecating chuckle still detectable in his voice.

"Hello, Alexander Havers."

"Good morning Mr Havers, this is Suzanne Wilcox. I was just ringing to see if everything is all right with the cottage."

"Yes, Hello Suzanne; it is just what I wanted. I have settled in rather well and feel as if I've lived here for years... There's just one thing, has anyone else remarked on any slightly, err... strange things happening in the cottage?"

"What sort of thing do you mean?"

"Well... this is going to sound a bit off the wall but..." Alexander hesitated to use the word but it summed up what he was trying to say better than anything else he could think of "Err... poltergeist activity."

Suzanne choked back a laugh.

"No, certainly not, the house has a friendly atmosphere. What exactly has been happening? I know there is a band of semi wild cats that sometimes make a nuisance of themselves in the garden."

"No it's nothing like that, I had a vase fall off the table for no apparent reason, and I've had some funny feelings that I can't really explain... look Suzanne, I wish I hadn't brought it up now I'm making myself sound stupid, it's probably just me settling in."

"I'm sure that's all it is, if anything else happens let me know. In the meantime, everything else is OK?"

"Yes perfect, this cottage fits me like a glove."

Alexander shuffled into the light of the blue and white painted kitchen and started thinking about a nice leisurely breakfast. He decided on poached eggs and opened the fridge to rummage through its contents. He suddenly had the strange but now familiar feeling bristling at the back of his neck that he was not quite alone. Alexander turned quickly, dropping his eggs onto the stone tiled floor as he twisted round.

There, sitting cross-legged on the slender oak dining table and looking curiously at him with her head cocked over to one side, was the unmistakeable if vague image of an attractive and impishly smiling young woman.
Chapter 7

Alexander looked at the apparition with nothing less than complete astonishment. His eyes drifted down to the sticky spreading remains of what was to have been his breakfast. He was not quite sure what to focus his attention on first. On balance the image of the ghostly woman was the most compelling. He felt sure that his mental state was getting worse and blinked his eyes in order to realign his vision with what he understood to be reality. She was still there... even so what he was seeing in front of his eyes was not, could not possibly be, a reflection of the reality of the situation. He looked at the woman intently. For an instant, as he studied the vague features, there was the thought, the hope even, that it was somehow Jane standing there smiling at him. But really he knew it could not be. If his wife was there, he would have no doubt of it; his sense of her was still too strong. Whatever the apparition was it was nothing to do with Jane. His wife was sadly gone forever; existing only in his fond memories. This woman was unknown to him, her form was vague, she appeared to be wearing no clothing but her appearance was almost sexless and merely suggestive of a real woman. But so strongly suggestive that he could not ignore what he was seeing.

"Hello I hope you are making yourself at home in my cottage." She said in a soft almost ethereal voice.

The words were clear enough and oddly seemed to come not from Alexander's thoughts, but from the girl as if she really existed independently of his imagination. The words were clearer than her image which seemed to shimmer be a like coalescence of dust in the air, caught in the light and made coherent by some unknown force.

Emily looked at her visitor with curiosity; he seemed stunned by her sudden appearance.

"I didn't mean to frighten you." she said, and then added as if the encounter were perfectly normal. "Don't you think you should clean up the mess?"

Alexander should have been reduce to some form of panic but strangely he remained calm. Whatever it was that was talking to him in such a matter of fact manner, did so with no trace of malevolence.

"I suppose so..." He said looking again at the oozing eggs. "If you don't mind me asking... Who exactly are you?"

Alexander picked up a cloth from the sink and turning his back on the strange young woman, began to wipe and scoop up the eggs. Emily pondered his question as she watched him and found that she could not quite answer such a specific question. In truth she was not yet sure who she was, not exactly.

"This is my cottage." Was all she could think of to counter his question.

"I don't think so, I have it on good authority that the owner is away at the moment and I am paying rent... You, on the other hand must be just a figment of my imagination. Which at best would make it our cottage."

"I most certainly am not a figment of your imagination." Emily replied with indignation. But the suggestion had suddenly toppled her self-confidence – could she be the figment of another's imagination?. The idea was no more strange than any of her other hypothesis.

"Why do you say that? I know I'm real, I've been here long before you came and invaded my cottage."

"If that's the case then you would know all about the cottage, know more than I do."

"Yes of course."

"So tell me something that I could not possibly know."

It was a reasonable thing to ask. If Emily was not a creation of the stranger's mind, she would know things that he did not. But her memory which was starting to return was still a confused mixture of vague images with no lucid thread running through.

"I do know things that you don't, I'm certain, but I just can't bring then to mind at the moment."

"Well that sounds pretty conclusive then, of course you can't remember anything; that just proves my point."

"No not at all, if I'm a figment of your imagination, then you could simply make me disappear... Go ahead try it." Emily suddenly regretted the challenge she had issued because this stranger may well have the power to make her disappear for all she knew."

Alexander snapped his fingers like a stage magician.

"By all I know of the reality of the universe... Be gone."

Emily blinked. Alexander watched... She was still there as insubstantial as ever.

"OK touché, but that proves nothing." Alexander suddenly felt foolish arguing out loud with a woman that his mind had created out of thin air.

Emily was hardly more able to cope with the argument, her mind was not clear enough. The situation was beyond her understanding so attempting to defend her position with logic when there was no logic was simply too difficult. She retreated into the garden to ponder the encounter, turning just briefly with a wave and a subtle smile on her semi-transparent lips.

Alexander watched her go and felt a mild disappointment; he hoped she might be back soon. Whatever magic she wove, he was already starting to be entranced by it. His rational side however knew that she could be nothing less than the manifestation of the early stages of a complete mental break down.

After the encounter, Alexander was left a little unsettled; he just could not concentrate well enough to work on his novel. The sudden appearance of the woman was there at the back of his mind, it worried him like the niggling of a mild toothache that you feared would develop into something more serious. Instead of working, he dressed in layers and took his bike out into the autumn air for a ride to see if a fresh breeze would wash the apparition from his thoughts. He cycled along the narrow lane that wound down towards the coast passing a well presented riding stables with a broad gravelled entry and a glimpse of horses lazily grazing in the watery morning sun. He followed the line of leafless trees, their branches clawing at the sky already expectant of the distant spring renewal. Alexander continued over the dunes following the road and stopped to admire what lay before him: the silvery hill road with the beach at the bottom, and the sea that caressed the edge of the sandy beach. The tide was high and the smell of the brine was strong; he could taste the salt in the air, feel the bite of wind against his face. He rested for a while to enjoy the tranquillity, to watch the crash of the waves and the clouds rolling across the sky. He blew warm breath on his chilled fingers to bring back the feeling. Out here everything was normal, no apparitions to disturb his sense of balance. The earth was still under his feet and the sky still lay above his head. But no matter how he tried, his thoughts were drawn relentlessly back to the young woman. It was true that she did appear to have an existence separate from his own; he had no control over her. She certainly had an independence of disposition. But if she were not a manifestation of his own mind, then what was she? Alexander had no answer, he had never believed in ghosts... Until now.

The road started to climb and leave the coast so Alexander decided to turn back and retrace his path to the cottage, to home. When he got back inside he was welcomed by the usual warm atmosphere but there was no woman sitting impishly on the table; ghost or otherwise. He felt another twinge of disappointment; maybe it was relief, he was no longer sure.

Emily had spent the time trying to come to terms with her own existence. Until she had spoken with the stranger, she had taken her existence for granted; she could think, she could react to things, she had memories of a sort. There was no question that she existed. She was no figment. Satisfied that her little existential crisis was over she felt the need to sleep. There was still much to understand about her situation as her fractured memories swirled just out of grasp. But all that could wait... There was no hurry. She looked towards the strange membrane, that was where the answers would be found she thought as her eyes closed and her universe disappeared.

~o~

Suzanne's office phone rang. She was trying her best to be professional, but her personal problems were never far below the surface. She sighed involuntarily as she picked up the receiver.

"Good morning Suzanne Wilcox speaking, how may I help you?"

"Hello Suzanne, its Kenneth Granger, remember me."

The sound of Ken's voice lifted Suzanne's flagging spirit.

"Oh Ken; don't be silly of course I remember you... What can I do for you?"

"Well... since we met at Emily's cottage... You've been in my thoughts quite a lot. God I'm sorry Suzanne I feel like a silly teenager. Look, I'll get straight to the point... So...would you like to go out for dinner some time?"

"I'd love to, but I spend most evenings reading to Emily. I don't know if she can hear me but I know it helps me to cope."

"Well, if you like, maybe I could come along with you to the hospital. I tried to get in to see Emily shortly after her accident but they were only allowing family in, maybe if I went with you it would be all right. We could perhaps go on somewhere after."

"That would be really nice, Ken. Actually I would welcome your sensible opinion. The hospital has been hinting that I need to make a tough decision about Emily and the contemplation of what they are asking me to do is breaking my heart. Maybe a clear dispassionate opinion, one not too cluttered with emotion would be just what I need to bounce my own thoughts off."

"I'm not sure how dispassionate I am when it comes to Emily but I'd be pleased to be of help if I could. So can we say that's a date then?"

"Definitely, and Ken thank you so much for thinking about me."

"I'll arrange something for later in the week and give you another call, see you soon."

Although far from central to Suzanne's thoughts, Ken had not been totally absent from her mind since their meeting at Emily's cottage. The phone call had stirred some unexpected and long absent emotions for her.

~o~

Emily woke again in her own little world. Since her encounter with the stranger things had become different. Emily had been pressured into confronting her situation by the brief conversation with the stranger. She needed to clarify, for her own peace of mind, just what was happening. She pushed her hands against the membrane as hard as she could and felt a slight softening of the resistance. But it was still far from yielding.

She listened and could hear something. It was a sound which made no sense to her a rhythmic pulsing with an overlaid regular beeping. But there were voices and now she could make sense of some of the words. There was a woman's voice, a stranger, and she was talking about something important in a soft and quiet voice. Emily realized that the woman was talking to her. But it was not directed through the membrane, the woman was talking to her as if she was somewhere else. On the other side of the membrane. Emily heard the disjointed words and struggled to make sense of them: "Just another... and your halo will... there, that must be easier... it's really time you woke up sweetie... before... too late."

Emily spent a long time in contemplation of what she had heard. She paced around her garden as the darkness slowly fell. She had to talk to someone about this and there was only one other person in her universe.

Time had little meaning for Emily in her strange world and as she crossed the garden and went into the cottage she realized that it was already late. Her stranger was already asleep in bed. She had prodded him before in his sleep before they had spoken but she had not managed to rouse him. Now she really needed to talk.

Alexander was dreaming and the insistent stabbing against his cheek was incorporated into his dream; it was the peck of a seagull, a seagull with a girl's body, a perfectly normal thing to experience in a dream. In a dream the most bizarre of situations are rationalised into normality But as the pecking intensified he was suddenly awake.

"Wake up, stranger, I need to talk."

"Oh no Jane, not at this time of night." Alexander's mind slowly came back into focus and he realized his mistake and was stopped dead at the realisation that Jane was gone. He turned on the light and the other woman was back; sitting weightlessly on top of him.

"Who is Jane, Is that my name?"

"No... You are definitely not Jane, I'm sorry... I'm not awake yet... what is it... are you a ghost?"

"No I am not a ghost...but I might be an... an angel! An angel with no halo."

Alexander sat up. He no more believed in angels than he did in ghosts.

"Why have you woken me up at this god awful hour with more of your nonsense?"

"I need to find out who I am, what I'm doing here."

"Can't this wait until the morning, we need our sleep."

"I get plenty of sleep."

"You can only sleep when I do..."

"No, no, no... You don't still believe that I'm part of you imagination do you?"

"Give me a better explanation."

"Give me time and I will. But I need, really need to talk."

Emily looked and sounded troubled. She spoke with such passion and longing that Alexander was suddenly gripped by an unaccountable feeling of compassion for the troubled creature that was sitting uninhibitedly astride his waist.

He fumbled on the bedside table and found his glasses. He sat up quite unable to believe any of what was happening.

"Very well angel, talk to me." He said.

Emily finally had someone she could talk to and she unburdened everything that had happened to her in a continuous stream of emotional outpouring, gasped the last few words and then sat on the edge of the bed like a wide eyed school girl waiting to be given the answers to her questions.

Her story was told in such a way that it sounded, if surreal then also, so almost feasible. Alexander realized that he really had no option but to be drawn into Emily's strange world. Perhaps his own sanity depended on it. Whether Emily existed outside his imagination or not, he felt that his own salvation now rested on solving this angel's problem. In the moment still fogged by sleep and emotion, he decided that he would treat this entity as a real person, accept that there futures were inevitably entwined... until his sanity finally left him completely and they took him away to the sanatorium.

He inched his way up the bed and adjusted his pillow.

"OK let me sum up what you have told me, it looks as if you have recently arrived in your world which is just the garden and cottage but there is some sort of portal to another place. In the other place someone or maybe more than one person talks to you as if you are with them. But you can't talk back to them. You have memories which are vague, but getting clearer, of a life before the one you have now. Is that more or less right?"

"Yes, I can see that for one like you, who lives in a larger world, it must sound strange. Believe me, it is strange for me as well. You see I have a vague understanding of things outside of my small world, as if I had experienced them in a past which is now lost to me. The very fact that I can speak to you in English means I must have had a life before when I learned to speak. I can read, but in my world I have never learned to read."

"There is of course the answer that you exist only in my mind, so obviously you would have all my experiences to draw on. It would mean that you don't actually exist except in my thoughts."

"I cannot accept that, I just feel that I am real, separate from you. I was here before you came. What I think is: I must have had a normal life, like you, but have been split in two. Part of me is here, this is the place where I want to be. Part of me is beyond the membrane..."

Emily stopped short having suddenly had a revelation.

"Wait... my body, the normal me, is beyond the membrane but my... spirit, for want of a better word, is here in my cottage. This is where I want to be and somehow I am disembodied here a... I don't know what... some kind of a spirit being."

"OK angel, what you have just told me, is an exact account of what a ghost is; your body is dead, somewhere else, and you are here in the place you loved but now as a ghost."

"I don't believe in ghosts..." and suddenly pulled up short. "How do I know that?" She said.

"Now you're asking me to psychoanalyse my own imagination... This is becoming weirder by the minute."

"No no no... I am not part of your imagination. I am real, not a trick of your mind and certainly not a ghost they are just a mythology left-over from our pre-scientific, superstitious past."

Alexander could feel her becoming agitated. Whatever she was, real or imagined, he wished her nothing but kindness.

"OK let's accept what you say for just a moment... Can you come up with a more convincing explanation of the facts than the ghost hypothesis?"

Emily stared at her companion her ghostly eyes flooded with tears.

"No... no I can't... I'm sorry to have disturbed you stranger, I had this vain hope that we might have become friends, it's been lonely here on my own for so long."

"Whatever the truth turns out to be, I can say angel that I welcome your company. I have been alone for too long myself. Now dry your dusty tears and... go away, I need to sleep. But Angel... come back tomorrow won't you... Please."

Emily withdrew to the corner of the room and sat for a long time watching her stranger, he had brought her no answers but he had brought her a little contentment by finally listening to her. Already she had already half convinced him that she was real, just another half to go.

As Alexander fell back to his sleep he still could not be sure whether the woman was real but knew that if she permanently disappeared, he would certainly miss her.

~o~

Suzanne linked arms with Ken and marched up the now familiar corridor leading to Emily's room. There was no one to suggest that Ken could not go in with her. As they entered the small room where Emily was being kept alive by the constant pulse of technology, Suzanne noticed that the metal framework, her halo, had been removed. The respirator and all the horrific tubes and wires were still there but Emily looked more like a person again. Suzanne kissed her daughter and started to chat to her as she had now got used to doing. This was the day, the instant, when Emily finally heard her mother's voice through the membrane. The day when she remembered who her mother was. The sound of the words caused a cascade of memories to flood back to her. Emily was desperate to talk back to her mother, but could not. She wanted to give her mother hope, let her know that she was happy, but she could not. All she could do was bask in the warm love flowing through the membrane as her body lay still and pale and unresponsive. She heard her mother talk about letting go, not being ready just yet. About an accident, about her brother Tony that her mother was concerned about. Much of the references where unclear, like coming in late on a half finished conversation. But she had learned a lot about who she was. When her mother said goodbye and left her, Emily had an overwhelming need to tell her stranger what she had discovered.

Rushing back from the membrane and into the cottage, Emily found her stranger tapping away at his laptop keyboard. She sat playfully on the table next to Alexander's computer.

"Guess what, stranger, I've just heard my mother speaking to me, and I'm pretty sure I'm in hospital, I think... in a coma or something of that sort. It seems there was some kind of an accident."

Alexander leaned back in his chair.

"Really, well that does fit with what we know, and it means that maybe you're not a ghost then."

"Well I told you I was no ghost, in the next few days I should learn more about my situation, I feel as if this might start to make sense after all." Alexander looked up from his screen.

"I hope so because I really don't want to be going insane."

"Believe me, stranger, you are no more insane than I am."

"That's what worries me." Alexander added with a soft laugh.

Emily punched his arm playfully. Alexander hardly felt the ephemeral punch but got the message.

"What are you typing?" Emily asked.

"Well I'm trying to write a novel, it's something I've wanted to do for a while. Now I finally have the opportunity."

"That sounds exciting, what's it about?"

"Well to put it simply, it's a love story, it may have a tragic end I don't know yet."

Emily looked into her stranger's eyes.

"I've been watching you... One day when you feel able, will you tell me your story, I feel there's a tragedy of yours in there somewhere."

Alexander smiled at the woman in front of him with a non-committal expression.

"Maybe one day.... Angel... How would you like to help me with my novel?"

"What do you mean exactly, be a sort of ghost writer?." She laughed softly with the voice of an enchantress that filled the room with its magic.

"No, not a ghost writer, but you could be my muse."

Still not anywhere near certain that she was real, Alexander wondered if his mind had created her for just that reason.

"Yes, I will be your muse." Emily said and then slept peacefully, fading from Alexander's view as she closed her eyes.

~o~

For most of her life Suzanne had been forced into self-reliance. There was the brief period when she had been married to Emily's father, when she had someone to care for her but it was usually Suzanne who had needed to do the caring. Now with Ken emerging as a significant friend, she felt that there was someone on whom she could rely. She sat looking into his eyes as they finished their dinner at an Italian restaurant. She had drunk slightly too much Chianti and was feeling relaxed; the most contented she had been for a long time. Suzanne wondered if the attention Ken had been showing her was just because of Emily, or because he felt sorry for her. Or did it go deeper. The message she got from his eyes was of kindness but she could be sure of nothing more.

"Suzanne, I know you have been battling with what course of action to take with Emily." Ken spoke slowly, deliberately, selecting his words with care.

"All I can say is that after seeing her today in the hospital, despite all the technology keeping her alive, I saw a young woman with a life still ahead of her. Don't let anyone pressure you into acting rashly. In my view Emily really is too precious to let go without a fight."

All the advice Suzanne had been given to date was to let Emily go – in her mind a euphemism for nothing less than killing her. Let her find peace. Tony had said and she was starting to be swayed by the arguments. Now finally, Ken's words resonated with her own feelings; at last she felt that she had an ally. Unable to speak for the moment she linked hands and smiled at Ken as her eyes filled with tears.
Chapter 8

Tony's office phone rang. When he answered it he found himself talking to the irrepressible Jimmy Costard; his heart sank. It seemed to Tony that he had spent the greater part of his life avoiding people, pretty much all people and now here was someone he could not escape from. Tony was already on edge, Brinkman's had been crawling with police after the theft of the M3. Fortunately for Tony no one had linked him to the theft, it was assumed that he had left the premises long before the car had been taken. It looked as if Dave Barns was the chief suspect, he had been seen on the premises after hours by an accountant who had been working late. The mechanic was unable to satisfactorily explain himself. His preposterous story, that he had been with Samantha Vincent was given no credence by the police, especially when young Samantha had laughed the suggestion off as quite out of the question:

"Barnes is just a greasy mechanic, what would I possibly see in a boy like him?" She had said with an innocent smile. There was no way Tony was going to put himself in the frame to provide an alibi for his mate but consoled himself with the thought that nothing about the missing BMW could be traced back to Dave Barnes and that ultimately he was bound to be cleared. His thoughts were drawn back from Dave's romantic encounter and from the sexy young Samantha and her callous duplicity by Costard's gravelly voice bellowing down the wires.

"Tony, get round to the warehouse at about two this afternoon. I want to do trial run, you need to learn the route."

Tony's pulse rate rose to a dangerous level.

"I'm at work Jimmy, I can't just drop everything at a moment's notice, be realistic."

"Tony, Tony... you don't seem to grasp the situation you're in, you owe me big time. When I say jump, you jump. If I say two o'clock that's what I bleedin' well mean. I hope I don't have to come round there and give you a smack."

"OK, I get the message. I'll make some excuse, how long will it take?"

"It'll take as long as it takes... tell your boss not to expect you back."

The line went dead. Tony felt as if he had become a fish, hooked through the lip and being mercilessly played for Costard's pleasure. He hated the feeling of helplessness, as much as he hated the man who was twitching the line. Tony's desire to escape from his predicament grew stronger with each unwanted encounter with Costard. He needed money and the sooner the better.

He arrived at the warehouse ten minutes early and parked his wheezy Fiesta in the front yard of the building next to an overflowing rubbish skip. The side door to the warehouse was ajar and Tony entered cautiously. The warehouse smelled strongly of cigarette smoke and stale alcohol fumes. Tony's eyes fell on the BMW that was standing in front of the roller door ready for its mission, the tarpaulin had been removed and a set of false plates fitted.

"Here's the boy... on time as I expected. Come in Tony, you know Kevin and Darren, this is John Mason... you may have seen him the other night."

John held out his hand which Tony shook. Tony found him to be, on first acquaintance, in a different league to the others. More intelligent perhaps, certainly quieter in manner, better spoken, but there was an underlying menace which said that you would be well advised not to get on the wrong side of him. He spoke with an educated accent and had a military bearing, officer class rather than squaddie which seemed to give him a natural authority.

"John 'elps me out from time to time, on a contract basis... if you know what I mean. He's ex SAS so don't go ruffling his feathers Tony."

Tony was feeling increasingly out of his depth, this was not his world at all.

"Come and sit down for a minute, I'll fill you in with a few details."

All five of them took chairs and sat around an old Formica topped table, golden hits from the eighties were playing from a tinny radio somewhere; it was the sort of music that tended to give Tony nausea but that was the least of his worries. Costard pushed aside an overflowing ash tray, clearing a space in the middle of the table and exposing brown rings where coffee mugs had left their dribbled impressions. Three of the men were relaxed, at ease. John Mason was wary and alert as if expecting trouble at any minute. As for Tony; he found he couldn't stop his knees from shaking. Jimmy nudged Tony to attract his attention.

"Tony, I've decided it's time for me to retire, I think I've pushed my luck with the law as far as I can. What I'm going to do is pull off a couple big jobs, get some serious money together and then head for the Costa del Crime. Start enjoying my ill-gotten gains. Tony..." He looked at the young man with a message that was meant especially for him.

"If anyone gets in my way or spoils my plans... or stuffs up, they won't be forgiven, or forgotten. My plans don't just involve me; I've got others, people who have stuck by me over the years, to think about. I need you to do your part or there will be consequences. You get my drift?"

Without lifting his eyes from the table Tony nodded. He knew all about the consequences that Costard had in mind and if he did not know in exact detail what Costard had in mind, he could imagine very adequately indeed. Darren and Kevin nodded their silent complicity; Tony soon found out why the two clowns were so attentive.

"I'll be handing over my business interests to this pair of criminal masterminds. If you're lucky they may have some driving jobs for you in the future."

Tony's shoulders sank even lower; he could feel the first ominous pounding of a tension headache.

"OK, listen up... all we're going to do today is drive the getaway route; just nice and slow so you can get the feel of it. Practise makes perfect." Jimmy stood and went into the small office built awkwardly in the far corner of the warehouse like an ill-considered afterthought. He returned after a few seconds clutching a map and opened it on the cleared space of the table.

"You can see, Tony, I've drawn the route out. When we drive over it, you'll see it twists back and forth passing lots of side turns. Any one chasing would lose sight of us on each corner and not know for sure which turn off we had made. We then pull into this driveway..." Jimmy indicated the spot with the dab of a greasy index finger. "From there it's up the drive and into a garage. The doors will be closed behind us and we will be invisible. I got an acquaintance to take a short lease on this place a few weeks back; he gave a false name of course so we'll 'ave complete access. When we drive in, with the doors closed the cops, if they're still following, will just drive on past... Job done."

"Sounds easy when you say it like that Jimmy." Tony muttered the words without enthusiasm.

"Just keep your cool, and with your natural driving talent it will be a piece of piss."

As expected, the low speed run went off with no problem. They drove over the route three times so that Tony could memorise the turns and get familiar with any potential hazards. Tony had to admit that the route was well planned. Any police following would have to be right on their bumper or they would constantly lose sight of the M3. With the performance of the BMW, that was unlikely to happen. Then the idea of pulling into a garage by the side of an unassuming house, with someone waiting to close the doors behind them was a master stroke, certain to lose any chasing car. Only a helicopter could keep track of them and there would be no time nor any real motivation for that to be organized. Tony had some experience of being chased by the police; he and a school mate had occasionally done some joy riding in their youth. He had never been caught and on balance did not rate the driving skill of the average plod. If there was anything in this enterprise that Tony felt confident about, it was his ability to out-drive the police... especially when he had a far faster car. However, driving a route at low speed was one thing, doing it for real, in the heat of the moment, was another thing entirely.

As it turned out it was not long before Tony's natural skill behind the wheel was finally put to the test. It was a Tuesday evening with dusk not far off, maybe half an hour before the rush hour started in earnest. Tony drove John and Jimmy up the high street and stopped outside the Southern National Bank. The weather was grey and cold but the roads were dry. The pedestrian traffic passed gloomily by without giving the illegally parked car a second look.

"Just keep the motor idling, son. John and me 'ave a little errand to run." John was carrying a large leather bag and walked through the door to the bank behind Jimmy. They walked at a casual pace and chatted as if they were just everyday customers. You might have taken them for a bookmaker and his minder coming in to deposit the day's takings.

Tony could feel his body reacting to the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He twitched nervously and scanned his mirrors for signs of police cars. It looked fine; the traffic was still light; in half an hour it would be packed with commuters trying to get home. Through the rear-view mirror, in the distance he saw the ominous shape of a traffic warden; she had just written a ticket and was looking down the street to where the BMW sat in blatant contravention of the parking laws. The icy fingers of panic grabbed at Tony's heart, squeezing as if he was on the verge of a cardiac arrest. He put the car into gear and blipped the engine, felt the power rock the car.

Despite spending all her working day walking the streets, the warden was a little overweight, her progress, in a rolling gait, was at plodding speed but inexorable. Tony's eyes were fixed on her reflection in the rear view mirror. She checked her watch and then looking up seemed to notice for the first time the BMW straddling the double yellows. She walked closer, not fast but steady her destination irrevocable.

"Come on hurry up... Christ." Tony twitched nervously... It was no good he would have to take off and leave them to it; he would face the consequences later. He turned his head back for a closer look, the warden was even closer than he thought...

Suddenly his two passengers re-emerged from the bank, walking at a brisk pace now, very brisk. John threw the bag onto the front passenger's seat and the two men slid into the rear, quickly doing up the seat belts.

"Gun it Tony!"

He didn't need telling twice, Tony revved the engine and let the clutch drop. The BMW stalled. Tony was flustered for a moment, he turned the engine over and when it caught, he gave it too many revs in compensation and the car surged off in an acrid cloud of rubber smoke. The traffic warden already had her ticket pad out but had not quite got to the point of recording the car's number. She shrugged, her shift was almost over any way, and her feet were killing her.

Weaving through the high street traffic with the engine racing at the top of its power band, the car squirmed on its new tyres. The passengers were hurled back in their seats as the car accelerated down the carefully selected route. Turning the first tight corner Tony held the BMW in an opposite lock drift feathering the throttle, and then flooring it when the car was balanced again, he powered down the short straight letting the engine scream against the rev limiter before making each up-change; the tyres squealing in protest as the clutch bit. By the corner shop Tony set the car up into a sideways slither with the handbrake and exited down the next straight with the car at full power. They hit eighty miles an hour on the short straight before the left turn and then Tony slammed on the brakes, savagely hurling the passengers into their seat belts but slowing the car before the speed hump. The car bounced over and landed squarely, just needing a touch of correction on the wheel before zig-zaging through the S bends with the unloaded front wheel pawing the air as the rear tyres scrabbled for grip. As they crested the rise at the top of Bingley Lane the BMW was approaching ninety. All four wheels left the road momentarily and the car crashed heavily on its suspension as it landed. Tony checked his mirror; there was no one behind him and he allowed a fleeting smile to cross his face. He scrubbed off speed on the next corner and powered through the hard left which took them directly to the waiting garage. It was over almost as soon as it had started. Jimmy's plan had been to keep the getaway route as short as possible so that there was no time for any nonsense like road blocks to be set up before they were safely tucked away out of sight. The garage door was open and Tony skidded to a halt a shaved whisker from the hard concrete of the rear wall.

Kevin closed the doors behind them and then Darren drove an old camper-van that had been waiting in front of the house, down the drive in front of the garage doors. It was a piece of slight of hand that would have impressed any stage magician.

Inside the garage, Tony turned off the engine and it was suddenly and shockingly silent. All three men in the car suddenly realized that they had hardly taken a breath since the drive had begun and gasped in lungs full of air. John still managed to look unflustered but wary as he always did. Jimmy Costard looked unusually pale. He sat uncharacteristically silent for a long moment, mouth slightly ajar, not quite sure that his stomach had caught up with him yet or if it still lay somewhere by the speed hump.

"Fuck me." Jimmy finally said, as he let go of of his breath. His eyes were wide in astonishment, all other words temporarily lost to the ravages of adrenaline. Tony was just glad it was over. He had to admit that the drive had been exhilarating.

The two other men joined them in the garage, Darren giving a thumbs-up sign and Kevin punching the air. "Sweet as a fuckin' nut!" he called out "You should have seen the speed you were doin' down the road."

"Yeah... we was in the car in case you hadn't noticed Darren." Jimmy said, his face still white. He got out of the car and found his legs were surprisingly wobbly.

"Jesus H Christ!" he said, holding onto the car door for support. "That ran as smooth as clockwork in warm honey. I knew you could drive Tony, but that... bloody fantastic... I think I need to go and change my fucking underwear."

Kev and Darren laughed in appreciation and even the dispassionate John Mason appeared suitably impressed by how well the run had gone.

"Well lads if the real run goes as smooth as that, then the bullion job will be a piece of piss. Come on indoors and let's have a drink, I know I need one after that!"

Tony was knocked sideways.

"What do you mean? Bullion job, real run?"

"Tony mate, we had to test you out under pressure, we had a little wager going that you would bottle it, but my money was on you coming up trumps... and I was right." He pointed a finger at Darren.

"That's a tenner you owe me Darren." he said though a lopsided grin.

"Anyway Tony old son, you didn't think I'd be robbing the high street bank where I do my everyday business and everyone knows my face. Have some sense."

The men made their way into the house and bottles and glasses were soon produced. John chose not to drink and had orange juice. Although it was not Jimmy's style, he respected John's position and never pressed him to anything stronger. Tony had a couple of beers and as the others slowly sank under the weight of a half bottle of recently liberated single malt each. As the scotch drinkers became mellowed, Tony engaged John in conversation, his voice low so as not to be overheard:

"It's not my place to say John, but I can't really see how you got mixed up with a crowd like this." He nodded in the direction of the three comrades who were now laughing and joking about trivia that they would struggle to remember in the morning.

"My life's been a complicated story Tony. As Jimmy told you I was in the forces, learned a certain trade that has little legitimate use in civilian life and drifted away from my, mostly, honourable past to where you find me now. I worked overseas for a time, spent a couple of years with the Bartoili family who ran a few business activities in Corsica. Let me tell you Tony, that was an eye opening experience."

"Bartolis... weren't they in the papers a while back?"

"They pushed their luck a little too far but I was long gone by the time they started taking out the judiciary. Jimmy Costard is a pussy cat compared to those people."

"I'll have to take your word for that John, I've never thought of him as a pussy cat."

"No maybe not... you should have known François Bartoli... on second thought maybe not... even I felt a little vulnerable in their company. But I earned a lot of money for doing what others can't. My disreputable profession sometimes means that I have to associate with people that... well, I may not have a lot in common with. I think maybe you find yourself in a similar position with Jimmy's gang... maybe for different reasons."

Tony nodded. Despite his lifestyle drifting beyond the bounds of the law, Tony still did not consider himself to be a real criminal. He had found himself in this deep hole primarily because of his cocaine problem. Tony felt however, that the similarity between himself and John Mason was superficial at most; he could see that John Mason was an altogether more formidable and darker person than he ever could be, or wanted to be. He rubbed his finger round the lip of his half empty glass and looked for a moment at the fine stream of bubbles forming in the golden liquid. He had another question which he was reluctant to pose but fortified by the larger did so anyway.

"Are you saying that... you're you know... some sort of a hit man?"

John smiled. It was the first time Tony had seen the man smile. Instead of softening his features it seemed to Tony's eye, to increase John's look of menace.

"I do contract work Tony, and I have no boundaries. Jimmy Costard has employed me because of my reputation, my ability to eliminate obstacles. That's something that he prefers to farm out to a specialist when he needs to. He heard of me though contacts that we have in common. Frankly when this job is over, I doubt I'll be seeing his team again; their organization is just too undisciplined and amateur for my liking."

"It went well today."

"Yes it did Tony... But you know the old story, if you give enough monkeys enough typewriters... eventually they'll strike it lucky."

Tony couldn't help the chuckle before he became more serious again. He took a deep pull from his glass of lager.

"So... Just asking... If someone wanted to take advantage of your particular skills, how much would they have to pay?" Tony's interest was partly academic, but not entirely.

"Why, are you thinking of putting out a contract on someone?"

"No... no way. I'm just curious."

"It depends on what they wanted, the greater the risk, the bigger the fee. But I don't come cheap."

Tony felt chilled by the conversation. Here was a man who seemed on the face of it a decent, thoughtful person but who apparently had the ability to turn off his moral scruples at will. He had no doubt that he was talking to the most dangerous man he had ever met.

Outside, the dusk was thickening and as Tony made his way home still buzzing from the getaway drive he was desperately disappointed that it had only been a trial run and the ordeal was still not over. There remained the actual hold up hanging over him, twisting at his stomach. He felt in more need than ever to get out from under Jimmy's grip.

Tony let himself in and found his mother waiting. She wanted to talk and he was understandably not in the mood.

"Hello darling, you look a little flustered, is everything all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine" He smiled innocently, with not the slightest desire to reveal what he had been doing.

"Tony... can we talk for a moment? I was out with Kenneth Granger, you know the vet, Emily's boss. I talked with him about Emily. I know he's not a doctor, but he does have a lot of medical knowledge... anyway, he managed to lift my mood a little. He told me not to rush to a decision about Emily; he thinks there may still be a chance for her."

This was not what Tony wanted to hear. Suzanne caught a fleeting shift in his expression as he made a half hearted attempt to escape to his own room. He wanted the money from the cottage and his need was getting more desperate by the day.

"That's not what the doctors and I have been saying." Tony was suddenly caught by anger born of the two soul destroying emotions: frustration and desperation.

"That damned Granger man should mind his own business; giving you false hope like this is just cruel. There is only one way this will end and if you're honest with yourself, you know it too. You just can't face up to the truth... by prolonging it you are only increasing everyone's suffering, including your own and Emily's. Let her go for God's sake, do what the doctors have been telling you."

Suzanne was shocked by the outburst; she had hoped Tony would come to see her point of view or at least show a little sympathy for the agony that she had been enduring over the past weeks. She tried to hold his eyes as she spoke but Tony let his gaze drift down to his feet.

"Tony, all the doctors are not in agreement, you know very well that opinion is divided on your sister's prognosis. Nothing in this life will last for ever, but that doesn't make their time with us any less precious. You may be right in the end but I am not ready to give up on your sister yet. I wouldn't switch your life support off any more easily if the situation were different."

Tony shrugged he had no real counter argument, no real desire to hurt his mother. But Tony's words, spoken with a bitterness that Suzanne could not understand, cut into her like a scalpel.

"What I see is that you'd rather listen to the advice of a complete stranger than to your own son."

He left the house again and pulled the door shut with a slam as if he were still an angry teenager. In many ways, emotionally, he still was but through his turmoil he had come to the conclusion that he could no longer wait for his mother to do what was necessary. He now realized that he would have to take matters into his own hands.
Chapter 9

Alexander was starting to make steady progress with his novel. It was no work of literary genius but he felt it had sufficient merit to be worth persevering with. Aided by his newly discovered muse, they were bringing the vague story line that had been fermenting in Alexander's mind for so long, into a solid and believable narrative. There was still a lot of work ahead of them before the book would be finished but his own efforts were being matched by those of his ghostly companion who had found a new purpose to her strange existence in the pages of her companion's work of fiction. Her ideas were usually in accordance with his own, as Alexander would expect if, as he still thought, she was a projection of his own mind. If her ideas did not exactly match his own, he found a symmetry of meaning that gave the combination of ideas an impact greater than the sum of their parts. Alexander found it surprising how quickly he had got used to the presence of a disembodied woman about the place. In fact, not only was he now unworried by her presence, he was starting to enjoy their exchanges and miss her cheerful companionship when she was not there. Each day made it feel increasingly more normal to be holding in-depth conversations with a woman that, on the balance of probabilities, did not exist outside his fevered brain. He remained determined to tell no one about his muse just in case the legendary men in white coats were summoned to take him away for his own safety.

Suzanne continued to make regular phone calls to "Ensure that everything in the cottage was all right." Alexander found it a little unusual for her to take such an interest in the welfare of a rental property and wondered if there could be an ulterior motive; he was unable to deduce a reasonable one however. Alexander found Suzanne to be a pleasant woman and they were now firmly on first name terms. It was her friendly voice again this morning as he answered the call.

"Hello Suzanne, yes everything is still fine here, as always."

"No more poltergeists?" she asked. Alex laughed and, in an act that almost felt almost like an act of betrayal, determinedly denied the existence of his muse.

"No, I think that must have been an over active imagination, we budding novelists are known for that."

"So I'm led to believe Alexander."

Alexander heard a sniff on the end of his line.

"Is everything OK with you?"

"Yes I just have the start of a head cold." she lied, and then changed her mind when the need to confide just a little of her worries overwhelmed her.

"Well, actually I have some family troubles that have been getting me down a bit and my son is not supporting me as I would wish... but I don't want to burden you with my problems."

"Well, Suzanne, I know I'm still just a stranger, but if you want to talk anything over..."

"No, no. I appreciate the kindness, thank you Alexander but I have to work through this myself."

"OK Suzanne, but if you find yourself in the vicinity, drop in for a coffee any time."

"Thank you I will, I certainly will. So if everything is fine there, I'll let you get on." Suzanne ended the brief conversation and Alexander was left none the wiser for why she had actually called. Not that it was a problem for him, he found the woman with the subtle French accent to be easy to talk to, affable company for a man who had none save for the musings of his troubled mind. But on consideration, he suddenly realized that if Suzanne did come to the cottage, she would either see his apparition if it were real, or if she saw nothing, it would be another nail in the coffin of his sanity. Despite his desire for Suzanne's company, he suddenly started to question the wisdom of the invitation.

"Who was that?" It was the voice of his muse echoing from across the room, she had been silently watching him for some time, caught in a dream world between her present reality and her uncertain future. Alexander smiled at the sound of her voice, and turned to look at her, still only the shadow of a person but with recognizable features that Alexander was starting to appreciate.

"And good morning to you too."

"Sorry, my sweet stranger... good morning. Now... who was that?"

Alexander took a bite from his slice of toast which he had allowed to get cold and washed it down with the last of his morning cup of Earl Grey taken with a splash of milk rather than the proscribed lemon.

"Oh just a woman I know, we talk on the phone from time to time."

Emily felt a strange emotion, not exactly jealousy, but she rather took for granted that she had her stranger to herself. It was odd to feel that he had another woman in his life. As Emily mused on this thought, it became apparent to her that she did indeed see herself as a woman, not as a ghost or anything remotely like that. Her self-image, she realized held scant connection with how she was now manifested in the world. The contradictions made her head spin, gave her aching nostalgia for something that she could no longer remember.

"Stranger," she said "how do you see me? As a person, or something less than that?"

The question was one that had troubled Alexander since first encountering his muse, and he still had no satisfactory answer.

"Does it matter? I feel that you are real, and treat you that way, the truth is I have no idea what you are. I'm not sure that I can separate my ideas about your reality from my hopes." It was an honest answer but not one that gave Emily any greater understanding of her situation.

Her ability to hear through the membrane was improving all the time and she felt it was only a matter of time before things started to make sense to her. The writer and his muse had got used to their unlikely alliance surprisingly quickly and had developed a good working relationship with each other. Alexander would type and Emily would read what he was putting down and had developed an uncanny ability to see where he was going with an idea. She would often interject with suggestions or alternative threads that Alexander usually found to be an improvement. At other times when the writing had dried up, he was able to discuss the hold up in the plot with his muse and they had always managed to get the story back on track. In fact if Alexander were honest he would have to admit that the novel owed as much to the apparition as it did to his own struggling efforts.

"Have you remembered what your name is yet?" He asked her. "I'd like to be able to call you something, Muse seems a little impersonal."

"No, not yet, but I expect that it will happen at any time, I can hear quite a lot of what people are saying across the membrane now and they are bound to use my name soon. But now you have raised the subject of names, you haven't told me your name either, why is that?" Alexander looked thoughtful but he already knew why.

"It's because, if you are not real, if you are a part of me, then you will already know my name because it will be our name. I was waiting for you to use it without me having to tell you."

"I don't know your name. What do I have to do to convince you that I'm real? Maybe YOU are just a figment of MY imagination." The frustration in her voice was clear for Alexander to hear. She was growing to form an affection for her stranger but his lack of belief in her felt like treachery. Alexander truly regretted distressing her by continually questioning her existence. Her suggestion that he could be a figment of her mind, with all the arguments he could bring to counter it, suddenly gave him a perspective on his muse's situation. What she had just proposed could in theory be true; he could equally be her figment; a creation of her mind. But he knew he was not and now he saw that his muse, equally, knew that she was not a figment of his imagination. Alexander lifted his hands in defeat.

"OK you're making my brain ache now; let's declare a truce on that issue shall we?"

"You mean if I stop thinking of you as a figment of my imagination, you will do the same?"

"I'll try if you will."

"It's a deal... This might sound odd, but why don't we think of a name for me until I discover my true identity. We could choose something that fits with your novel."

Alexander had never had to name a friend before and it opened up all sorts of possibilities, and potential pitfalls.

"I think it's time we started calling the book "our" novel," he said "but to answer your question, I suppose giving you an invented name sounds just about mad enough to fit our situation. Do you have any suggestions?"

"Well... yes, there's the implication in the novel, that the main characters are linked in a mythological way to the Sun and Moon. How about calling me Artemis, she was the Greek moon goddess."

"A goddess no less, talk about a big ego... So do you think I am worthy of befriending a goddess?"

Emily let her gaze rest on her stranger for a long moment before answering.

"Oh yes I think so, especially if I am the goddess in question."

Alexander had never been flattered by a ghost before and was not sure how to take it. He knew that he was not displeased. This woman, real or not, was becoming more important to him than he dared admit.

"My name is Alexander." he said, finally yielding his secret to her. It was a leap of faith for him that she was real, he wanted to believe that.

"Alexander... yes I like that, it's better than what I've been secretly calling you."

"You have a secret name for me?"

"Well yes... of course." There was a coyness wrapped with humour in Emily's reply.

"Well, what is it?"

Emily chuckled and then revealed the name.

"Bozo."

Alexander feigned a hurt look before bursting into laughter.

"Where did that come from?"

"Actually I don't know, maybe it was the name of someone I was fond of in some past life."

He shook his head not sure what to make of it.

"Are you sure Artemis is the name of a Moon goddess? Are you sure it's not Bozo."

Emily was pleased that Alexander shared her sense of humour and laughed as she replied to his question.

"Look it up if you don't believe me, when I was a girl I had a fascination with Greek mythology." Emily stopped suddenly. "How did I know that? The memory just came out of nowhere."

Emily was suddenly excited that the prospect of discovering who she was could be getting closer and the words she spoke ran from her ghostly heart.

"My memory's coming back, soon I'll know who I really am and soon you'll know that I'm real... my darling Alexander."

It is interesting how a relationship can pivot on the unintended slip of a single word. One that betrays feelings that have gone unexpressed. Alexander took the word darling and kept it safe, as a gift. The gift held promise but was not ready to be unwrapped yet. Maybe it never would be.

They worked on the book together for most of the day. Alexander was tiring and decided he needed a break. Emily watched him preparing his evening meal. She would have helped but her ghostly form prevented any real physical interaction with the material world. At best she could feebly push things around over short distances but she had very little control. She was quick with her opinion however on the best way to prepare a pasta sauce, but would not be able to share the meal. Emily never felt hunger but the missing pleasure of eating and enjoying a meal, was felt as a loss. She told Alexander of all her inner feelings and it was impossible for him not to develop a deep empathy with his strange Artemis and her troubled existence, devoid of corporal reality.

As the sauce was simmering, Alexander took a moment to check the internet for references to Artemis. There it was: The Greek Moon goddess, she had been right. Alexander was certain he had not known that, there could only be one explanation: she must be real. It was a pleasure to at last have some hard evidence that she may not be a creation of his own mind and not only because it meant his sanity was intact.

"What are you looking up?"

Emily was peering over his shoulder.

"Oh just looking up a reference to "Bozo", it seems he was a mighty Greek warrior, who captured the moon goddess and kept her locked away for his own pleasure."

Once the laughter had subsided, Emily became more serious. She found she needed to know more about the man she lived with.

"Alexander, you once told me that someday you would reveal your past to me, I think we know each other well enough. Now you've told me your name, tell me who you are."

As he sat at the table eating his pasta and sipping a glass of New Zealand Savignon Blanc, Alexander revealed, in précis, his life story. He told his newly named Artemis of being orphaned, of growing up in foster homes, of study and work success and of Jane and how he had loved and lost her in such a short space of time.

"Do you remember your parents at all?" Emily asked, becoming drawn readily into Alexander's world.

"I have an impression of my mother; I remember her eyes, big and brown and there was the smell of her hair that sometimes still catches me unexpectedly. I was so young; nothing much remains. It may sound crazy but I still miss her."

"No that doesn't sound the slightest bit crazy to me." She said softly seeing that Alexander had lived a turbulent life with more tragedy than most and yet he had come through it all as a decent and kind man. She wanted to hold him, but for that she needed real arms.

Alexander steered the conversation back to the book, he felt his life story was running the risk of becoming overly sentimental a little too emotional.

"There's something in the death scene that we need to get right..."

"Yes go on."

"Well, I've been trying to think of a way to express the feelings our two lovers are going through when Kalista is lying close to death, it needs to express the tragedy of the situation obviously, but also have a glimmer of hope concealed in there somewhere."

Emily nodded.

"I know, I've already been thinking about that. It needs to express a hope that might be fulfilled after an eternity... I thought, as Andrew held her close on that quiet night, he might say, as she faded into the arms of death:

I can't say goodbye to you, tell me there's a hope for us.

Then then she whispers her last words... this may be too sentimental but we can work on it... something like:

Believe me, as the stars continue to forever shine in the heavens, we will meet again... but not until the Sun and the Moon kiss over the misty mountains.

Emily paused for a moment to gauge Alexander's reaction. Alexander considered the imagery of the impossibility of the Sun and the Moon kissing and yet in a future reality as the gears of the universe turned... it held the prospect of hope. Lovers could wait for an eternity to be reunited, if there was hope.

"I like it... " He said futilely holding his hand out for her to take. "It suggests that they can and will wait an eternity to be reunited and it does tie in rather well with the working title we've given the novel. It has a real mythological feel to it, as if we are part of a cosmic pattern that even death can't defeat. It's just what I wanted to express."

Emily allowed a smile to cross her face.

"Good, maybe we can massage the exact words a little, but I think the sentiment is right." She was pleased that he had liked her suggestion, somehow it was becoming important to her to have Alexander's blessing. She looked into his eyes and then studied his face trying to read his thoughts. It was a thing she liked to do for quiet moments when he wasn't aware that she was there. Although there could be no physical contact, she could imagine herself enfolded in his arms safe and happy.

"I think you look tired," She said. "I'm going to listen at the membrane for a while and see if there's anything new to discover, I'll see you later... Get some sleep Alexander."

Emily disappeared and Alexander realized that she had started to fill a void that he thought would remain with him forever. It was a good feeling to know that she would be there in the cottage when he woke in the morning. He knew that he would always love Jane and could never forget her, but he had discovered that he could also care for another, even if she was a woman who did not exist. The question that he could not answer was why was he falling for a creature that was so inevitably unattainable? How could he express his feelings for a ghost, how could he quench his desire to kiss her when she had no body. How could he tell her that although Jane would always be in his heart, so was she? It was madness, but such a sweet madness.
Chapter 10

Tony sat in his room, the door closed tight against his mother. He had no confidence that she would ever be able to pull the plug on Emily. He was angry, depressed and frustrated with the irrational optimism that his mother continued to cling to. As his mind juggled with his few options, he finally came the realization that if his mother would not act, then he would have to do so himself. Tony had spent some long hours engaged in an internal conflict about what he had decided to do. In the end he had managed to convince himself that ending his sister's life would be nothing less than a kindness; it could in no way be seen as murder; Emily was effectively already dead. He would be bringing this turbulent time for himself and his mother to a swift and gentle end for all concerned. Emily would be left to rest in peace, his mother could get on with her life, and he could get the money he needed to make a new start far away from the likes of Jimmy Costard. It was all clear in his mind and he approached the practical details with a clear conscience.

Having taken care of salving his worries about the morality of what he intended doing, the rest was relatively easy. He was left only with the mechanics of how to do the deed. When he had visited his sister in hospital he had watched and been mesmerized by the steady pulsations of the respirator which kept her alive. He had seen how the power could be easily turned off. The only problem was to get into her room, do his duty for the family, and escape without being seen. His solution revolved around using a simple disguise and selecting a time when there would be the least people around. Tony was aware that during the change of shift there would usually be a period of controlled chaos which he could take advantage of. An easily obtainable white coat, glasses and a surgical mask would take care of the disguise. In fact Tony was growing so confident in his plan that he felt a disguise was hardly needed. He ran over the plan in his head. He could find no flaw. Once Emily's breathing had stopped, she would have only minutes before finding her peace. He would not wait for the end but walk briskly down the corridor, out into the night air and be gone unrecognised. Once Emily was dead, the hospital could be left to try and uncover what had happened; there would be nothing to connect the switching off of the respirator to himself.

Tony collected the things he needed for his disguise and packed them into a small canvas bag. Suzanne had spent the late afternoon with Emily and would not be returning to the hospital again until the next day. By now there was a twitch of nervousness at the prospect of what he had decided to do. Tony concluded that this evening would be the ideal time to complete the task. The sooner the deed was done, the better. Emily was in a small room alone and she should be receiving no visitors other than himself. He arrived at Biddenfield General carrying his bag. There was no need for him to feel nervous at the moment; he was just visiting his sister as he had done before. Despite this, his heart was racing as he entered Emily's room. There was no one else around and he took the opportunity to examine the corner closet where his sister's clothes were kept. This was where he would hide until the shift changeover which normally took place at ten o'clock. The small closet was adequate for Tony's purposes, if a little claustrophobic but if someone were to open the door when he was inside, it would take some quick thinking to explain himself. Tony placed his hopes on the reasonable view that no member of the hospital staff would need access to Emily's things during the night. It seemed a reasonable risk to take and he tried not to ponder the possible scenarios that might foil his plan as he sat by his sister and watched her. There was no sign of life from Emily, no flicker of her eyes, no twitch of her lips. He knew that he had made the right decision; it would bring the best outcome for everyone.

The time ticked slowly by. He glanced at the book on Emily's side table but found it of no interest to him; poetry was tedious and meaningless for him. Eventually the normal visiting hours were over and Tony slipped inside the cramped closet and waited. There was a single routine visit from a nurse who spent only a few seconds in the room and although Tony was uncomfortable waiting, he encountered no problems. As he heard the activity of a new shift coming on duty, he left his hiding place and quickly donned the hastily organized disguise. Turning off the respirator took only a second and Tony then marched briskly down the corridor towards the exit trying to appear like an official. The young, white coated man went unnoticed by the two or three people he passed. By the time he pushed through the swing doors and started to move to his car, an alarm in Emily's room had already started beeping. Without looking back Tony drove away down the quiet streets feeling a wave of relief wash over him. It had all gone according to plan with no problems at all. He stopped briefly at a roadside skip to discard the white coat and then drove home as if he had just been out for a quick drink.

Back at the cottage Emily had been waiting for Alexander to return from his evening walk. It was something he enjoyed, breathing the crisp air under the starlit sky. Emily was unable to accompany him, her cottage confined her but she never felt like prisoner, it was her universe and where she wanted to be. Without any warning Emily suddenly felt strange, she felt herself fading for an instant. Then, just as quickly she was back to normal. It made no sense to her, but that was not unexpected... few things in her world made much sense to her. In the hospital room Emily's respirator had automatically switched to battery mode and the alarm had been started to warn the medical staff of the problem. There was general confusion as to what had happened. There was clearly no fault in the machinery but the main power switch had been found turned off. The status quo was soon re-established and the situation was back under control. Emily had suffered no ill effects from the brief disruption but an inquiry would have to be held to try and discover what had happened.

Suzanne was still up watching the end of a slow moving television drama when Tony got back. She was sipping a cup of hot chocolate and Tony declined the offer to join her. He felt guilty, as if what he had done was tattooed on his forehead there for his mother to read. He found himself blushing as his mother looked at him and made his excuses and went to bed. Tony waited expectantly for the phone to ring. It should do so at any moment to tell his mother that Emily had finally gone. There was nothing before he heard Suzanne going to bed. He struggled to go to sleep but he felt just too wired to drift off. He stared at the reflected car headlights bouncing around his room and listened to the distant sounds of the night and the sound of gentle rain against the window. By two in the morning there had still been nothing. He finally fell to sleep no longer sure that he had been successful. At eight when Suzanne made her regular call to see if there had been any change in Emily's condition, Tony's fears were confirmed. Emily was still alive, her condition unchanged. He bit his lip in frustration, after the nervous energy he had wasted, nothing had been achieved. He realized that switching off Emily's life support was not as easy as he had expected. He was back to square one, do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars... Do not collect a cottage.

~o~

Emily found Alexander looking out at the garden through the window, his reflection in the glass smiled back at her. Then she saw her own reflection there, for an instant the two images seemed to merge.

"Alexander, I'm not sure why, but I feel that I need to be by the membrane today... I don't really know what it is, just a sixth sense... Maybe something I vaguely heard but didn't quite register."

"That's OK moon goddess, do what you must. Does your sixth sense tell you what sort of thing to expect?"

"No, it's just a vague feeling that something is about to happen, it's probably just my imagination."

None of Emily's existence nor the relationship he had developed with the strange apparition made any sense to Alexander, this was just another example. The most amazing aspect was that it all felt quite normal to him now. Emily caressed his cheek with her hand, an action which neither of them could really feel but it made Alexander smile.

"I'll be back in a while." She said softly with a hint of sadness as she slid from one part of her world to where she felt the need to be. At the membrane she strained to hear and pushed against the unyielding resistance. The mechanical sounds were still there unchanging but she could hear no voices yet.

As evening fell, Suzanne made her routine visit to the hospital. Before going in see her daughter, she was called to a meeting. The sombre medical staff had finally decided to formally recommend that she allow Emily to die. The words, though she had expected them for so long, were no less easy to hear.

"There is no need to make an immediate decision, but you should start to adjust your thinking to what we now feel is inevitable... The end for Emily will be gentle, there will be no distress for her, she will just fade peacefully away."

The words were spoken with kindness and sympathy but they still cut deep. Suzanne's hopes for her daughter were finally dashed. There had never been anything Suzanne could do but wait for a miracle, and now the miracle would not come. The experts had given up and she must do the same. She felt defeated, everyone seemed to be pulling her in the same direction and she finally did not have the strength to resist.

Suzanne went into Emily's room and looked at her daughter. Now that the halo had been removed she looked beautiful again, as if she were just sleeping and could be wakened by a touch or a soft word. As she spoke to her daughter the tears flowed down Suzanne's cheeks without embarrassment or any desire to hold them back.

"Emily my darling, the day that you fell from your horse was the worst moment in my life. I feared the worst – that I was going to lose you but you seemed to be fighting to live and I held onto my hopes for such a long time. Emily you are the most precious thing in the world to me, but the doctors tell me the time has come when I have to say goodbye to you darling, my worst nightmare has come true. Let me read a little to you, let the words express my feelings."

She picked up the much used book of poetry. There was a verse where, in the margin Emily had made some pencil notes. It seemed she loved the poem. For Suzanne, Shelly's poem about the Moon had little to do with Emily other than she seemed to love it but somehow its poignancy seemed to hold all the emotions that pulled at her heart, all that she felt about the sadness of the situation seemed crystallised in the few lines. She knew it would be the last poetry that she would ever read to her daughter.

And like a lady, lean and pale

Who totters forth, wrapp'd in a gauzy veil,

Out of her chamber, led by the insane

And feeble wanderings of her fading brain,

The Moon arose up in the murky East

A white and shapeless mass

The few lines were all she could manage before her faltering voice broke into tears. She took her daughter's hand and held it tenderly against her cheek.

"Darling, sleep tonight and tomorrow I will tell them that you are ready to sail away for a new harbour. Though it breaks my heart, you must make that journey on your own and leave me behind. My love will always be with you wherever you are." She kissed Emily's warm delicate hand and breathed in the still familiar scent of her daughter's pale skin. She watched her child's for some flicker of consciousness but there was nothing. Suzanne sniffed back the salty tears, placed the book of verse on the side table as if it were made of the most delicate gossamer and, unable to bear the situation any longer, ran from the room.

Emily had heard everything that her mother had said and understood at last. Gripped by the emotional words of her mother which tore at her heart, finally she understood.

~o~

Tony knew nothing of any of this, his plan had failed and now he felt that he was left with little alternative than to take even more drastic measures to ease his sister's departure. There was only man he knew who had the capacity to undertake the task that Tony had failed at. He contacted John Mason and asked for a meeting. The night had fallen and few shoppers were still about as the two men sat in Tony's car in a supermarket car park. The Fiesta was parked away from the lights, shadowed by a wall and a cluster of evergreens. What they had to discuss, should not be overheard and despite being enclosed in the Fiesta, they spoke with hushed voices. It was a sombre meeting and when Tony explained what he needed, he was left feeling as if he had finally sunk deep into the criminal underworld, as if he had let slip the last pretence he had of belonging to decent society.

"I have no money John, but if you are successful, I will inherit a property which will give me what I need and enough to cover your fee. I know it sounds like a risk for you but I swear it will work out as I have said."

Mason's dark eyes seemed to sink further into his skull.

"This sounds like a heap trouble I don't need Tony." He looked at the young troubled man. What he had asked was possibly not so terrible, just expediting the inevitable end of an effectively already dead young woman's life. He had done much worse, for the assassin there was no moral conflict, his hesitation was in accepting a commission from someone who was so clearly out of his comfort zone. Tony was the sort of person who would collapse in a heap if he ever fell under the inquisitive glare of the authorities. If he did then Mason had little confidence that Tony would keep quiet about his own involvement. In all the contracts he had accepted in the past, no shadow of suspicion had ever fallen on him... His record was unblemished and he wanted to keep it that way. Tony was less than an amateur, hardly a player in the game that he was proposing to enter. "I'll make you no promises Tony but take me to see your sister and I will come to a decision. But you must know that that my own anonymity will be my primary concern. If I think there is the slightest chance of me being traced... for any reason, then I'll walk away."

"Yes, yes I understand that... So can you come and see her now?"

The dark assassin nodded and slipped out of the car. He walked round to the passenger's side and leaned his gloved hands on the Fiesta's roof. He spoke through the open side window.

"I'll find my own way to the hospital Tony, it's better we don't travel together. I'll pick you up at the main entrance and follow to your sister's room."

Tony drove straight to the hospital but as he walked up to the main entrance he saw that John Mason was already there waiting. He was holding a motor cycling helmet and looked as unflustered as ever. Tony marched along the corridor towards Emily's room. He turned back to make sure that John was still there and slipped silently into his sister's room. His mother was long gone, running off in her sadness after saying her last farewell.

John looked dispassionately at the situation and quickly summed up his options. His instinct was screaming at him to not get involved in Tony's half baked plans, but he could see that the girl was beyond hope. He noted her intravenous tubes. He could easily inject a fugitive poison into the drip and be gone in seconds; his personal risk would be minimal.

"You're asking a lot mate. You want me to end this young woman's life, make it look like natural causes, and trust that you will pay me after the settlement which may take months."

"She's already dead John and you're my last hope, I need to get the money and make a new start or Costard will eventually drag me down."

"You're not planning on decamping before the bullion job are you? I'd have serious issues if you were."

"No... I'll be there for that, trust me."

Mason hoped that he could trust the young getaway driver and he fully accepted his opinion of Costard; his own, unexpressed, feelings about the man were hardly any different. The difference was that John held a loyalty to those who paid for his services. His own moral code meant that he would not betray Costard but he was realistic enough to know that others did not share his view.

"OK this is against my better judgement, but I'll help you out this once."

"You're a life saver John." Tony said. The irony of the words did not escape the notice of either man. "I need to establish an alibi for myself John... I thought long and hard about this and think I can engineer a minor traffic accident that will put me miles away from the hospital at the time that.... you'll be doing your thing. Could you do it tomorrow afternoon at about two? Emily should be alone at that time, my mother visits her in the evenings."

"It's short notice Tony but it shouldn't present a problem... You want to know how..." Tony stopped the man before he could finish his sentence.

"No, no way... The less I know about the details the better."

"OK... I know some people can be a bit squeamish. Look the exact time will depend on when I can find the target alone but I'll make it as close to two as possible, but don't let me down with your end of the bargain; I can be quite unforgiving you know."

Tony nodded... He did know. They left Emily's room separately. Once more Tony had some hope and was feeling confident despite John's veiled warning. John was not his problem, there was no way he intended getting on the wrong side of John Mason.

Across the membrane, Emily had heard a lot of what was said. The voices were muffled she could not recognise the voices but the words were clear enough, these people were going to end her life. She was still reeling with sadness and worry from her mother's words; and now this. It was such a shock that someone would want her dead that as the words swam in her mind, she shuddered and then seemed to collapse inwards like an implosion as she felt her body go into an involuntary spasm. She needed to tell Alexander, he was the only one who could interact with the outside world... The only one who could save her. But as she retreated from the membrane to tell Alexander, her movements turned into a slow motion dance. She was fading, the colours were turning to grey, darker and darker until she could see nothing feel only the strange energy that came from under the cottage. Unable to navigate, unable to move Emily floated, barely conscious in complete darkness. The overheard words had precipitated something significant, a fundamental shift in her existence.

In Artemis ward, room 12 the alarms had started again. Not because of a system malfunction but because the young woman, so close to death, had suddenly and unexpectedly gasped her own breath and was breathing by herself again.
Chapter 11

Suzanne was at home, she had taken the afternoon off and was steeling herself to make the journey to the hospital and tell them that she had finally accepted the need to let her daughter go. She wanted Tony with her but he was not to be found. She was contemplating sending him a text message but it seemed such an impersonal way of giving him the news. The sudden ringing from her phone made her start, drawing her back from the thoughts of Emily. The happy times when she was just a child, the times when she had grown and proved to be such a support to her. She looked down and saw that the call was from Biddenfield General. Despite her current intentions, the call still held the ability to sent her a shiver of panic.

The message that Emily no longer needed the respirator came to Suzanne like the answer to a prayer. Just when she had given up all hope, here was a reprieve. Not only was Emily breathing again but there was finally evidence of renewed vital electrical activity in her brain. Suzanne took the news with trembling knees, forcing her to sit while tears of relief ran down her cheeks. She could hardly bring herself to believe what she had been told, Emily was not dead. There was reason now to look to the future without the overwhelming dread that she had carried for too long.

The fact that Emily was still not awake seemed, in this new context, like a minor problem, something that would surely be soon resolved. She tried Tony's number again to give him the joyous news but his phone was still turned off. So she rang Ken who had been so kind to her and had given her hope when everyone else seemed focused on the negative. Kenneth Granger took the news with almost as much joy as Suzanne. He felt a sudden overwhelming desire to drop everything, to rush to her side and hold her close. So despite his natural inhibitions, he did just that. He stood at the glass entry door peering in and when Suzanne opened the door he kissed her. It was a brief visit in his busy day and he could only spare ten minutes but it served, beyond the expression of happiness over Emily's improvement, to firmly establish the foundation of a growing relationship.

In the universe in which Emily was still trapped she was absorbing the tumult of the changes that had happened to her comatose body, she floated in the darkness once again. The shock of what she had heard across the membrane had jolted her like a bolt of electricity, resetting her dormant breathing response but sending her into a deep recuperative sleep. When she eventually roused it felt different, as if she no longer belonged to this place. She felt that she was being drawn away from her cocoon into a harsher reality. Emily just wanted to relax and enjoy the tranquillity but it seemed that she was being rejected by her strange world. In a distant recess of her mind, she felt there was some important information gnawing at her, trying to bring a memory of something back to her. It seemed to her that it was vitally important, something she had to do, something urgent. Her brain was reorganizing itself; re-establishing the neural pathways that made her who she was. It would take time, but Emily did not have much time.

Alexander had been expecting his muse to reappear but there had been no sign of her all morning. She had warned him that she needed to be at the membrane – whatever that was. He wished he understood what it all meant, but it was just part of the strange entangled reality he found himself immersed in at the present. Hopeful, but still not yet fully convinced that the phantom girl was real, there was nothing he could do to invoke her presence and so he continued his work on the book. Essentially the story was now complete. Thanks in no small measure to his muse, the work had progressed quickly and quite satisfactorily, but there was still the long job of converting the story into a readable novel. There were things he would like to discuss with her. There was also a vague disquiet that hung over him which had nothing to do with the book. Something that he could hardly put into words; it was as if he were somehow needed by his muse.

He went out into the garden to see if by chance she might be there, he had often felt her strange presence there. The garden had a mellow damp climate all of its own filled with smells of winter decay and softened by the ever present tang of the sea. He called her name but there was nothing. He looked to the distance beyond the almost hidden church spire past the gorse bushes to where the grazing cows could be glimpsed on the rising fields. He looked up to the sky as if his muse might be hovering up there among the scrolling white clouds, but there was no sign of her. It was calm and still in the garden, but the showery morning had brought a chill to the air and despite the quiet there was a frisson of something which brought a shiver to Alexander as he felt the small hairs on the back of his neck pricking from some unknown anxiety. He could do no more than put the feelings down to an over active imagination and returned to the warmth of the cottage.

Inside, Alexander felt safe as if the cottage were a haven where no harm could befall him. But he was still unable the shake his concern about where his muse had vanished to. It was not something that he would readily admit to but he missed her and had no way of getting in touch with the ghostly woman. It was she who controlled when she would appear to him. He would have to wait until the moon goddess was ready. Unless something had happened to her and she was unable to get back. He found the idea distressing and Alexander chose to let the thought rest, not examined too closely. She would come back to him when she was ready. She must do, he needed her; he needed her inspiration, her sense of humour, the balance she had brought to him. He simply needed her at his side.

Emily was roused slowly from her sleep. How long she had slept she had no way of knowing. Trapped in her own universe time had little meaning... Even so she knew there was something about time that was important. She knew that her situation had changed in a significant way but was she unable to understand clearly in what way it had changed; she just felt different, more vital. The urgent need to get back to the cottage and discuss things with Alexander had returned to her after the restful sleep. But she was still trapped in the dark formless world that no longer seemed to want her there as if it was pushing her back into the real world. The images that she had grown accustomed to were now blurred and indistinct; the cottage and the membrane were lost to her now in a swirl of muted colours.

It was something to do with the time, this urgent matter. She knew that. Time, what was this strange thing called time? Was it merely the flow of stacked instants? Could it be turned back or speeded up or slowed down? She felt that her mind was too fogged with confusion to think clearly, too fogged... Too... no not too but TWO... Two o'clock... two o'clock... suddenly the memory cascaded back to her. She remembered her mother's farewell and the plot that had shocked her, changed her. Alexander was the only one she could speak to, he was the only one who could help her. It was a matter of urgency but she had no idea what the time was, how long she had left. The whole concept of time, now so vital to her had little internal meaning in her enclosed universe. Only in her cottage was she kept in touch with such mundane concepts. Emily strained to focus on the colours that now swirled before her. She was sure that the shape in the distance was the door she needed. She swam towards the nebulous shape and as she approached it seemed to come into focus. It seemed to be the door she knew so well; the door to her salvation. Emily thrust herself at the portal. At first it would not yield but as Emily persisted it finally opened and she fell inside the cottage and into the arms of Alexander who stood astonished at what he saw.

Emily had become more solid, more real. She was still far from having the form of a normal person but her features were now clearer, her face like a sketch on canvas, beautiful. He could almost feel her in his arms and as he looked at her, he realized that not only was his muse possessed of a beautiful nature, her appearance was equally beautiful. He gazed at her naked form with the unacknowledged love that had been there for weeks; love and now a tangible desire for her.

"Alexander, thank God! They're trying to kill me!" Emily's words were gasped with a panic that Alexander had never seen from her before.

"What do you mean...? Who's trying to kill you? Calm down, and explain exactly what has happened." Alexander was already becoming infected by Emily's distress and was beginning to feel a wave of panic roll over him by what was happening. Almost unable to contain herself Emily explained what she had discovered. That she was indeed in hospital in a coma. That she was being kept alive by the pulsing of a respirator and that her desperate mother had been on the point of allowing the doctors to turn off her life support because she thought there was no longer any hope.

"But there's worse Alexander... some murderer is coming to end my life."

"End your life? Why?... When?"

"I can't be sure why... it makes no sense to me but the 'when' is clear enough. Alexander it's set to happen at two o'clock." The words came out in a rush and Alexander had trouble in taking in what she was saying. Beyond this was the question of just how true her story was. He had absolute faith that he could trust her not to lie to him, but he was far less confident that she was fully in touch with the reality of this impenetrably strange situation –How could she be – how could anyone be?

"Are you sure about this, it all sounds more like a bad dream than anything. Are you sure it's not just a nightmare?"

"No no Alexander, you must believe me. I can remember a lot of what has happened to me now now, I am real, my name is Emily Wilcox and I was hurt when I was thrown from a horse. Alexander if you don't help me I will be dead by two o'clock. Alexander glanced at his watch it was a quarter to one, only a little over an hour left. His mind was working in overdrive; he had no idea what he should do or indeed what he could do.

"Do you know where you are? Where your actual body is?"

The frail form sobbed and shook her head.

"No, no; I only know that I'm in a hospital room, Alexander help me... please."

Emily's cry for help was a pain Alexander could hardly stand and there was nothing he could do. His mind raced over what she told him. A murderer coming to kill her surely that could not be true.

"Wait, did you say that your name is Emily Wilcox?"

"Yes, why? Does it mean something to you?"

"I think maybe this is starting to make some sort of sense, at least a weird sort of sense, hold on."

Alexander was already dialling his phone.

"Hello Suzanne Wilcox."

"Suzanne, Hello. It's Alexander Havers, This may sound strange... but do you have a daughter called Emily?"

For a brief moment there was no answer, just a slight sharp intake of breath.

"Yes, why, what do you know?"

"We don't have time for me to explain in detail yet, but is she in hospital in a coma?"

"Yes, yes, how do you know that?" the tone of Suzanne's voice had changed from curiosity to urgent alarm.

"I am pretty certain that she is in danger, we have to get to her body, I mean to her, to her bedside as soon as possible. What hospital is she in?"

"She's in the local hospital, Biddenfield General, look this makes no sense Alexander. Explain to me what this is all about."

"If I tried to explain on the phone it would make even less sense Suzanne, I... we have to get to her room. Someone is shortly going to make an attempt on her life."

"What? That's just insanity."

"Suzanne just trust me on this, it really is a matter of life and death and we have very little time left."

"All right Alexander I have no good reason to disbelieve you... Look I know you don't have a car, the cottage is only a short diversion on the way to the hospital, I'll pick you up in a few minutes." The phone went dead. Suzanne rushed out to her car and drove towards her daughter's cottage as fast as she could.

Emily put her arms around Alexander, despite the ethereal sensation, it almost felt like a real embrace to him.

"Thank you for believing me Alexander, I was... I still am so frightened."

Alexander could see the fear in her ghostly eyes.

"Don't worry, now that I'm certain that you are real, I will move heaven and earth to save you. I couldn't stand to lose you now." He ran to the door to wait for Suzanne and before going outside he turned to look at Emily's ghostly incarnation for an instant.

"Emily – I think I love you." He said. Emily watched his face but how could she answer him? That she was suddenly overcome by a crippling shyness, here in the midst of her lost world when her life hung in the balance? Alexander turned away before she could reply, he left the cottage unsure that he would ever get to meet the living form of the woman who had touched his heart.

He ran down to the road to meet Suzanne's car and they raced off together at a speed testing the bounds of sanity. As the car screamed down the road Suzanne passed Alexander her phone.

"The number of the hospital is stored on this, call them and tell them what you know."

As always happens at times like this, it was a poor line and when he finally made them understand his words, the car had already travelled almost half the distance to the hospital.

"I need to get a message to the ward that Emily Wilcox is on, it's very urgent."

"Emily Wilcox, ah yes that's the Artemis long stay ward, I'll put you through."

"Artemis ward! What other messages has she been subconsciously sending me?" Alexander wondered out loud.

The phone on the Artemis ward rang and rang and rang. Then Alexander ultimately heard the dreaded words "I'm sorry no one is available to take your call at the moment, if you would like to leave a message..."

He swore under his breath and then stuttered a gabble of barely comprehensible words into his phone.

"Emily Wilcox is in grave and urgent danger from an intruder. Get security to station someone in her room... This is most urgent, please hurry."

He looked across at Suzanne who was driving like a demon, threading her way through the traffic with sawing arms and generating an alarming amount of tyre squeal from her little Peugeot.

"I could only leave a message; I hope they check the calls often."

Suzanne nodded but had hardly heard what Alexander had said, after what she had gone through over the past months there was absolutely no way she would let Emily be taken away from her now. With all her mother's instincts heightened she felt able to face a pack of ravenous wolves if it meant saving her daughter. All she could do however was drive faster than she had ever driven in her life before. As she turned across the busy junction, flailing at the wheel to avoid an elderly pedestrian who looked up at her with an astonished expression, the sudden blare of a siren made her jump. Her eyes darted to the blurred image in her mirror; she saw the flashing lights of a police car. The driver was clearly and forcefully expressing the desire that she pull over.

~o~

Tony was on the other side of town blissfully unaware of his mother's predicament. He was also unaware that Emily was breathing on her own again. By now even that piece of vital information would have been unlikely to dissuade him from the course of events that he had set in motion. He was driving along Church Street, officially taking one of the trade-ins to a down-market dealer who would dispose of it to some poor unsuspecting customer. In fact he had a subtle plan of his own to enact. What he really wanted at the moment was a cop and as usual they only seem to appear when you don't want one. He gave himself five minutes and if there was no police car about he would enact his plan with the aid of a hapless driver... the effect would ultimately be the same. Narrowing his eyes he searched up ahead through the line of traffic and finally saw exactly what he wanted, a police car on routine patrol easing out of a side lane into his stream of traffic. He accelerated briskly, forcefully overtaking until he was directly behind the police car. The traffic slowed for a red light, Tony braked just a fraction too late and bumped, at less than walking speed, into the back of the police car.

"Step out of the car please sir."

"I'm sorry officer, It was my fault entirely. I think the brakes on this old banger are faulty. I work for a used car dealership and was just delivering it to another dealer who sells this sort of thing." The policemen was unimpressed.

"Can I see your licence please sir?"

Tony glanced at his watch; five to two. " Shit is that the time, two o'clock..."He said making sure that the policemen was fully aware of the time. "I'm going to get a bollocking over this." Despite having just driven into the back of a police car which may well end in a modest fine, he allowed a fleeting smile of relief to cross his face.

~o~

Alexander called out to Suzanne over the roar of the engine: "Ignore the siren we can explain later. Just keep on going; we don't have time to stop for anything, including the police." Suzanne did not reply, she had absolutely no intention of stopping, not for anyone. With the blaring siren behind their car, the other traffic was making way for them, opening up a gap which Suzanne took advantage of by increasing her speed. There was just a right hand turn to make at the roundabout and it was a straight road to the hospital entrance. Looking far ahead, Suzanne had already committed herself to her line when another car unexpectedly pulled out in front of her. Suzanne had none of her son's natural driving talent and after braking heavily her car bounced over the curbing and balanced on two wheels crossed the centre of the traffic island. They clipped the plastic bollards sending one flying into the stream of oncoming traffic. Struggling to regain control Suzanne eventually resumed the path she had intended taking. It was a close call. It could all have ended in tragedy but, for once, luck was on their side. The police driver had not expected the sudden turn and lost control of his own car. He skidded sideways, over-corrected and ended by snaking up the wrong exit road. By the time he had got his car under control and on the right road again, Suzanne was disappearing over the crest of a rise in the road. The hospital building was now in sight but they still had to negotiate the busy entrance gates. Alexander looked across at the wide eyed woman who was leaning forward and gripping the steering wheel so hard that her fingers were squeezed white and bloodless, he held on to the sides of his seat and closing his eyes willed the journey to be over.

John Mason walked up the entrance stairs to Biddenfield General with a casual gait. Just an acquaintance come to visit a friend no one could possibly expect anything else. He eased through the swing doors and up the brightly lit corridor that led to Emily's room. At this time of day there were plenty of people around. Mason knew that invisibility was best found in a crowd and he welcomed the throng of busy jostling visitors. Without difficulty and unimpeded, he found his destination. The door to Emily's room was closed but the glass observation window showed him that the young, unconscious woman was alone and exquisitely vulnerable in her nest of wires and tubes.

Silently he slid into the room. He looked down at the pretty face, the innocent life about to be cut short and felt pity for her. But still he searched his hand into the inside breast pocket of his leather jacket and withdrew a steel tube. He unscrewed the cap and slipped out a syringe of poison with a deadly, razor sharp needle waiting to inject the last moments into the young life. It was a poison chosen to act quickly and then break down rapidly so that it would be extremely difficult to find any traces of it if an autopsy were to be called for. In this case, since the target was expected to die at any moment, Mason knew that it was unlikely that the cause of death would be the subject of any serious inquisition.

Mason could be a violent man, but only when his situation pressed him to be so. Now with gentle gloved fingers he squeezed the fluid in the intravenous bag as if he were intimately caressing a loved one. The bag's contents were slowly being fed through a needle in the sleeper's arm directly into her blood stream. His face was expressionless as if he were engaged in some trivial every day task. He was completely disassociated, a state of mind rather chilling but one that he had mastered as a necessary aid to maintaining his stance as a dispassionate professional assassin. He held the syringe up to the light, the transparent glass refracting the sun from the window into a ray of light that danced and flashed across the white painted walls of the room.

"May flights of angels sing thee to thy rest." He said and meant every word.
Chapter 12

Finally Suzanne saw the welcoming gates of the hospital just ahead, saw the wandering pedestrians and meandering drivers looking for somewhere to park. She pulled the car at speed through the corner, balancing between the need for caution and the more pressing need to be at her daughter's side. She drove past the parking area across the juddering speed humps straight up towards the main entrance which was the closest access point to Emily's room. The sound of the police car was still wailing in the distance behind and judged by the increasing volume, was rapidly closing in on them. Suzanne pressed her car on again at gathering speed, squealing up towards the entrance before braking heavily as her destination was finally achieved. The car skidded to a juddering halt but not before mounting the footpath and grazing the edge of a rubbish skip that had been left precariously just a few metres from the entrance. As she turned off the engine and looked up, Suzanne noticed the 'No Parking' sign just over where her car sat balanced half on the road, half on the footpath but it was good enough. Alexander did not wait; he leaped from the car and rushed round to the driver's side. Taking Suzanne's arm he dragged her after him up the entrance steps.

"Which way, which way." He called

"Straight ahead... the last door on the right... Room 12." She gasped.

Alexander let go of Suzanne's arm and sprinted up the corridor. Suzanne was still dressed for work in heels and a tight skirt and was hardly equipped for sprinting but she did her best to keep up.

Mason heard the sound of running feet along the corridor, he could hardly imagine that it was anything to concern him but he turned towards the door for an instant. The protective cover from the needle had already been removed and he had just pressed the sharp point against the intravenous bag when the door burst open and Alexander fell into the room gasping and out of breath. Seeing what was about to happen, he lunged at Mason with a scream of anger that came from deep within his being.

"Stop that you bastard."

With flailing arms and more luck than dexterity, he knocked the syringe from the murderer's gloved fingers. It was a triumph of passion over competence as Alexander was in no way a match for John Mason who had been momentarily unbalanced by Alexander's precipitous entrance. Almost at the same moment a security guard burst into the room. With his army style leather boots and navy blue jumper, with swinging identity tag round his neck, he looked the part. But looks can be deceptive. On the wrong side of fifty with burgeoning plumpness, the security officer was not used to action, his duties mostly involved making his quietening presence known and occasionally escorting malleable, if rowdy, inebriates from the premises on busy weekends. Confronted by the two men he found himself ill equipped and unsure of which one to try and constrain. The message he had been given had hardly alerted him of any prospect of danger:

It's probably just a hoax call Raymond but just slip along to Artemis ward and see if there's anything amiss in Room 12.

He was certainly not expecting to have to engage in a fight. John Mason had already decided to speedily withdraw, his mission would have to be temporarily aborted. With a single blow he felled Alexander, the punch was delivered, mid chest, with enough force to briefly incapacitate the stranger without causing any lasting harm. Alexander, who was by no means a fighting man, doubled up and was caught briefly unable to breathe. He sank to his knees and turned his eyes to the security guard. He was of heavier build than Alexander but posed little difficulty to Mason. As the man rushed him, Mason side stepped his swinging fist, caught Raymond's arm in a lock and then with minimum force, chopped the side of his neck. The guard fell momentarily stunned, his overweight frame hitting the floor with a muffled thud and a gasp of wheezy exhaled air. John Mason made his rapid exit from the room, face covered with a hastily retrieved cap having already picked up the dropped syringe. He walked along the busy corridor at a brisk but normal pace with his head lowered while making the syringe safe again in its tube. Merging seamlessly into a group of animated visitors he passed a woman who was slithering along the corridor in stockinged feet, her shoes clutched precariously in her hands. She did not notice the man the in the leather jacket, her focus was desperately held on getting to her daughter.

What caught Mason's attention was the sprinting policeman. Tall, mid twenties, the man looked fit and potentially a threat. The retreating assassin prepared to defend himself but he suspected that the sprinting policeman's interest lay elsewhere. The policemen was gaining on Suzanne again and it had now become a matter of personal pride for him not to let the dangerous driver escape. Mason crouched to supposedly retie his shoe lace. A position from which he could readily launch an effective counter attack should that be necessary. It was not. The policeman took no notice whatsoever of the crouching man as he slithered up the polished floor of the corridor. Mason slipped away unnoticed through the entry and vanished into the afternoon bustle.

Suzanne finally caught up and burst into Emily's room not knowing what to expect. Despite the urgency she could still not really comprehend what any of this had been about, but on sinking by the side of Emily's bed she saw that her daughter appeared to be unharmed. She still seemed to be sleeping peacefully, still in her coma but now she was breathing without any assistance. Suzanne looked across to Alexander.

"Are you all right?"

"There was this guy, he had a syringe..."

"Oh my god Alexander... What happened?"

"There was a bit of a tussle... but I managed to stop him injecting whatever it was."

"It was that close... If we'd got here just slightly later... Her eyes flooded with tears, tears of relief. She held out her hand to Alexander and he moved closer and took it. "Thank you Alexander, thank you so much... I still don't understand how you knew about this but I think you've just saved my daughter's life."

She had more to say, a thousand questions to ask but her words were cut short as the policemen burst into the room. Suzanne looked up at him with her eyes still full of trembling emotion. The officer saw the prostrate guard the anguished woman crouched by the young woman's bedside. He assumed they were mother and daughter and quickly took the view that what he had been drawn into was much more than a simple traffic violation. There may have been scant excuse for the way the woman had been driving but he could see that there had clearly been a good reason. He held up his arms in a signal that he posed no threat, that he had some sort of an understanding of the situation. He turned away and made a call for back-up. There was soon a presence of nurses and doctors on the scene. The security guard who had taken a heavier blow than Alexander was quickly taken care of by the medical staff. Alexander, who was now mostly recovered from his brief encounter with John Mason, stood over Emily. Her mother was holding her hand, looking relieved but still confused about the events of the afternoon. All she was certain of was that Emily was safe and from her perspective, little else mattered.

Alexander's breath was taken away again by the sight of Emily in her hospital bed. There was absolutely no doubt that this pale fragile woman was the muse he had grown to know so well but now made flesh and blood. It was a shock to see her as a real person but also an indescribable joy. In her pallor she was truly beautiful to his eyes and overcome by the desperate emotions of the past hour, could not help bending over the unconscious woman and tenderly kissing her lips.

Emily's ghostly incarnation had returned to the garden and made her way to the now nebulous membrane desperately hoping that Alexander would get there in time. She was vaguely aware of a man in the room but could not tell what he was doing, could do nothing to help herself. Then there had been the sound of fighting, followed by the sound of her mother's voice. What followed next was hard for her to describe, it was the most exquisite moment in her life that jolted her out of her private universe for ever. It was like a powerful but painless electric jolt arching through her entire being, pulling the fragmented parts back into a coherent whole. Once again she found herself turned inside out; her consciousness was suddenly shocked into animation by the emotion of nothing more profound than a kiss. The membrane shattered into a million shards of scintillating nothingness and the living breathing Emily Wilcox was back in the world.

As Alexander's kiss fell on her lips, as their breath mingled and the warmth of their skin touched, the sleeping woman's eyes suddenly opened. Awakened from a deep sleep as if she had been an incarnation of some sleeping beauty from a half remembered childhood fairytale.

Emily had opened her eyes, and everything had changed again. The memory of herself as an apparition had evaporated as if none of it had ever happened, her last memory was of slowly cantering across the fields on Juno's back, a misty day filled with contentment and happy expectation. Suddenly she was thrust back in the real word, the world where ghosts do not exist. The world where she did not know, and had never met anyone by the name of Alexander Havers.

"Emily, darling you're awake..." Suzanne was trapped between panic and ecstasy as she struggled to believe what she was seeing.

"Mum... where am I... what's happened?" Emily's words were slurred but distinct enough.

"It's all right darling, you're safe. You have been unwell but now you're safe again."

Emily looked up at Alexander, she saw kindness in his eyes... maybe something more than that. It tugged for an instant at her fragile emotions but was soon lost as she gazed at a face she simply did not know. Instead of the recognition that Alexander had hoped for, he was shocked to see only bewilderment in her expression. Despite everything they had shared, she no longer even knew who he was. The realisation hit Alexander like another punch and he fell back against the wall stunned into silence.

Emily's doctor had been crouched examining the security guard, checking for signs of concussion. The man seemed to be fine, if a little shocked but would need to rest. The doctor's attention was suddenly diverted by Suzanne's excited voice.

"Doctor Partington... It's Emily, she awake."

The doctor quickly pulled the curtain screen around his patient's bed and excluded everyone except Suzanne from her room. Alexander found himself shifted from the centre of the action to the periphery. There were by now a group of police officers taking statements but even they appeared uninterested in him. Suzanne was understandably occupied with her daughter and no longer had need of his help. His mood had shifted from extreme anxiety and nervous excitement through a transient moment of joy to sudden and total deflation. He was left feeling like an uninvited guest at a party. As was his nature, never wanting the limelight, he sidled away unnoticed, left the hospital and took a taxi back to the cottage.

The cottage was unchanged, still as inviting as it had ever been but now it was empty. His eyes scanned the rooms and the garden but he knew he would no longer find his muse. In saving Emily, he had killed his Moon goddess, his Artemis, the one who had been at his side through every stage in the creation of their book. He opened his laptop and read the prose that she had gifted to him and grieved for her until the afternoon turned to evening and the lights of a car flashed along the narrow, hedge lined, lane and stopped outside the cottage. A police detective knocked on the door, he simply wanted to hear Alexander's version of the events. Alexander had expected that he would be questioned but found that he had little enthusiasm for constructing a believable explanation of the events that had unfolded on that momentous day. Whatever he told them, short of lying, was likely to have him certified and committed to an institution.

He invited the detective in offered him a seat, which he accepted, and a cup of tea which he declined.

"Now sir, you are Mr Alexander Havers?"

"Yes that's right."

"Could you tell me in your own words what happened this afternoon?"

"Well I knew that Emily Wilcox was in danger, someone was trying to kill her. I called her mother and we drove to the hospital. I was able to stop the killer who ran off and then the policeman arrived... I guess you must know the rest."

"The difficulty we have sir, is that you are the only witness who claims to have seen this anonymous killer."

"What about the security guard? He must have seen him."

"I'm afraid the security guard is under the impression that it may have been you who hit him, he claims not to have seen anyone else."

"But he was knocked unconscious..."

"Exactly sir." He looked at Alexander with an unsettling expression.

"We also are having some difficulty in understanding how you knew that Miss Wilcox was in danger in the first place."

"Err... It was just a sixth sense, I just had a feeling."

"You had a feeling that a young woman you had never met was in danger. And you just happened to know her mother."

"Yes."

"I think you can appreciate that your explanation appears a little incomplete sir. I wonder if you would accompany me to the station. This matter really needs to be followed up in greater detail."

"Are you arresting me?"

"No sir, not at this stage, but we would appreciate your cooperation in helping us with our enquiries."

Alexander found himself in a dingy formal interview room. There were two officers, both detectives. The senior was a man of forty years, a sergeant with a world weary look in his eyes. Alexander felt that whatever he said, this man had probably heard it before and would automatically assume it to be a lie until there was some independent evidence to support it. His colleague was a young woman constable, still fresh faced and as naive as she was eager. Alexander had a dilemma. If he told the police the truth as he understood it, they would either not believe him or assume that he was in need of psychiatric care. Either option was not what Alexander wanted. If he chose to lie then he could start digging a hole for himself from which there may be no way out.

"Now sir, you understand that the interview is being recorded?"

"Yes."

"I wonder, now that you have had time to consider your position, if you feel able to clarify what happened earlier this afternoon."

"What I told you earlier was the truth. I can't explain how it happened, but there was some, I don't know... Let's call it a telepathic link to the woman in the hospital. She told me that she was in danger, she told me who she was but not where she was... So I called her mother and we rushed together to the hospital. Suzanne Wilcox was the agent from the agency that arranged my lease on the cottage "

"And the cottage actually belongs to Emily Wilcox?"

"I discovered that later, but yes."

"Go on Mr Havers."

"When I got into Emily's room, there was a man, clearly not a medic, who had a syringe of what I assumed to be poison and I managed to knock it from his hands before he could use it. Then he punched me, hit the security guard and left. That's all I really know."

"And who was this man with the poison?"

"I have no idea, I have never seen him before, I honestly just don't know."

"And this syringe of poison... What became of that?"

"The man hit me and I was out of action for a moment. I can only assume that he took it with him."

"And can you offer any motive for the attack sir?"

"No none at all."

"Would you be able to recognize this man if you saw him again?"

"I really don't think so he was just average looking sturdy, my height. It all happened so fast, I only got a quick glimpse of him. Believe me sergeant, I want this man behind bars as much as you do... more so. Look we were chased most of the way by a patrol car, the police driver must be able to confirm that we had only just arrived at the room."

"We have Constable Thatcher's evidence... We still feel, there's something you are not telling us Mr Havers."

Alexander shook his head.

"We have spoken briefly to Miss Wilcox, and she claims not to know who you are and that she certainly did not warn you that she was in danger."

"OK I have to accept that but, apart from the dangerous driving, and the assault on the security guard, there has been no crime committed. What do you want from me? I have told you all I know. Unless you have some evidence against me..."

"We just want the truth, Mr Havers and I don't feel we have heard it yet."

The officers left the room and then a few minutes later the young woman constable returned.

"You are free to go Mr Havers, at this stage there are no charges we wish to bring against you at present."

What they did not reveal to Alexander was that the security footage, which had just been viewed, clearly showed that another man had been in Emily's room; in fact what it showed clearly corroborated everything that Alexander had told them about the events in Room 12. The man caught on the security camera however, was not clearly visible and could not be identified. It was clear to the police that the actions of Alexander Havers had no overt criminal intent and had almost certainly saved the young woman's life . His fanciful explanation of what had happened was clearly an attempt to conceal something, but at this stage that appeared to be his own business and they had more important enquiries to worry about than a young man's dalliances with a comatose girl.

Alexander turned away from the offer of a ride home and took a taxi back to the cottage. As he walked through the familiar door, he felt that he could no longer call it home. The cottage seemed empty without his muse and Emily would soon have need of it herself. He had taken the lease on the understanding that he may have to leave on short notice but the events had unwrapped themselves so suddenly that he was cast into a depression by the situation he now found himself in. He tried to eat some leftover pasta. Slightly charred from inattentive stirring, he found that he had little appetite. As he sat at the table with his head in his hands, he realised that their book with Emily's significant contribution was the only tangible evidence that he now had of their time together. The past months of shared companionship had simply vanished as if they had never existed.

Although Emily had been brought back to life and Alexander could never for an instant regret that, she was lost to him, dead to him. He stumbled to his bed with an empty feeling. It should have been a day to look back on with pleasure, the day he had saved Emily's life. Instead it had left him as a person of interest in a crime in which his part had been completely innocent.

The next morning he was woken by a phone call from Suzanne. Her mood was the opposite of Alexander's. She had been given the gift of her daughter's life, pulled back from the abyss. She wanted to thank Alexander for what he had done the day before, but more than that she wanted to know how he had known about the danger that Emily was in:

"So Alexander I still have no understanding of how you knew about what was happening, or why anyone would want to hurt Emily."

"Can you come to the cottage Suzanne? I'll try to explain, but it's a story that you will have trouble believing. I can hardly believe that any of it it happened myself."

A short time later they sat together in Emily's cottage drinking coffee and eating doughnuts that Suzanne had brought. Alexander told her his perspective of the events of the past winter months. Suzanne fell silent as Alexander told his tale. It was not an account that made sense to either of them but Suzanne, unlike the police, chose to believe everything that Alexander told her. How else could he have known about Emily unless she was somehow there with Alexander?

"Thank you for telling me all this Alexander... It rather clarifies your early concerns about poltergeists. I can see it was as strange to you as it sounds to me. I've talked to Emily and she remembers very little of her time in the coma. The memories may come back in time... She does remember dreaming about the cottage but nothing else yet. The cottage was always a special place for her... Maybe in her coma she managed to find a way to get home, back to the place that she loves." Suzanne took Alexander's hand and could see that he was as confused about what had happened as she was. "I feel that the world has many mysteries which we may never be able to make sense of Alexander, we just have to accept that this is one of those strange things that does does not fit in with our understanding of how the world works." Suzanne held her daughter's saviour in a long embrace and then before she became overcome with emotion left him alone to face the silence and solitude.

He still found the cottage a pleasant enough place to be living in, but it was no longer as welcoming as it has been. He had no hope, now that Emily was recovered, that he would ever see her apparition again and accepted that he may simply be destined to spend his life alone. His promise to Emily that he would save her and that they would be together again was only half fulfilled. The memories bound up in the cottage were now painful to him and offered no comfort. It was with sadness that he booted up his computer, and instead of working on his novel, started a search for rooms to let. At least he still had the book, a joint effort between himself and Emily which he could finish and cherish. The Kiss of the Moon would keep Emily's memory alive for him for the rest of his days; until perhaps the Sun and Moon might finally kiss somewhere close to the edge of eternity.
Chapter 13

Tony was completely unable to come to terms with the twist of fate that had conspired to turn his world upside down again. He already knew that John Mason, the professional the infallible assassin, had failed in his mission. But now he had discovered that his sister had come out of her coma and was now expected to make a full and rapid recovery. He thought of Emily, their half shared childhood, the way they seemed to have drifted apart. He remembered the time he had inadvertently burst in on her in the bathroom. She would have been hardly yet a teenager, naked under the folds of a towel. The door lock had never worked and she turned to look at his shocked face, innocent with her budding breasts speaking of the woman yet to blossom. He could already feel, even then, that she was leaving him behind. He felt sadness that he had never quite been able to accept her. There had always been a divide... He saw now that the divide was of his own making.

He showed outwardly all the expected emotions that might be expected from a brother at his sister's recovery. But Tony felt like a fraud... Emily had no idea who he really was, what he was capable of. Even from her hospital bed, she still gave him the sisterly love that he felt unworthy of and could barely return. The practicalities of his troubles would not let him rest. His hopes of finding an easy source of money had been snatched away with such a suddenness, a suddenness matched only by sister's unexpected recovery, that he had been left stunned and groping for a new solution. He hated the mixed feelings towards Emily that tore him apart but could not be suppressed. He knew well enough what a normal person should feel towards a sister but was incapable of being that normal person. In his own way he did love his sister but the lost opportunity, the money from the sale of the cottage still gnawed at his bones each night as he tried to sleep.

Tony carried on, what else could he do? But as the days passed he slowing shrank deeper and deeper into himself. He kept a low profile, not only from Costard and his thugs but also from his mother and especially his sister who's eyes he could barely meet as she smiled at him with sibling love. His connection with the attempt on Emily's life, although he had a cast iron alibi for the time, was still enough for him to fear the tread of the police. As for the impending bullion job the weight of that, now that he could see no escape, was folding in on him, tighter and tighter until he felt in danger of being crushed out of existence.

Dark, dark thoughts were swimming in his mind as he slinked back to his car after a depressing day at work. His boss had called him into the office telling him to smarten his ideas up if he wanted to keep the job. Tony had let too many easy sales slip through his fingers lately and did not seem to have his mind on the job. As he walked through the late afternoon, barely aware of his surroundings, he felt the need for a hit of Costard's medication to ease his pain. These days he seemed to need more and more just to keep him on an even keel, there was no longer any pleasure to had from his white mistress. He was living one day at a time, each day without encountering Costard and his gang of thieves was seen as a victory. But he knew that each day only drew the inevitable closer. He scuttled along the footpath with head down and hands in pockets trying to be invisible. But it was bound to happen... A strong grip on his elbow pulled him into a dusty, graffitied side alley.

"Tony... been keeping your phone turned off? You're a hard man to find these days." The voice spoken with menacing softness into his ear came from John Mason.

"Yeah, you know how it is John..." Tony sniffed his head bobbing nervously. Mason nodded – he did know how it was.

"I know all about keeping my head down." Mason said. "Look Tony I don't have to tell you that things turned to custard with that small enterprise I was undertaking on your behalf."

"No, I kind of noticed that... it was a pity."

"Let's walk for while... We can go down here."

Mason indicated a route down the narrow wind-blown alley which led to Somerville Park where they could walk unnoticed and their words would disappearevaporate into the wind.

"You know I was reluctant to take the job Tony. It's always complicated when these things involve family members, too many connections that can come back and bite when you aren't expecting it. I still don't know what went wrong; I was seconds away from..." There was a brief pause as Mason found the appropriate words.

"From delivering my package, when some guy burst in and I was lucky to walk away unseen. Someone must have let something slip about the operation."

The implication was clear in Mason's tone of voice.

"It wasn't me John, why would I risk spoiling my own plans... There's no one I could tell anyway."

"But Tony, the only two people who knew what was happening were you and me... Am I right?"

Tony shrugged.

"I swear, I said nothing."

"OK, There's no point in making a big deal about this, let's just put it down to an unfortunate coincidence."

They had reached the edge of the small lake and crunched along the gravel path that wound around the water's edge passing the empty benches and flower gardens bursting with spring bulbs. There was the children's playground just ahead and an ornamental bridge that crossed over a narrowing of water-lilies. Mason led the way over the bridge that crossed to a small artificial island with its decorative plantings and the large carved-stone sundial. They stopped for a moment to watch a young mother and her child as he timidly fed the ducks. The delight in the infant was plain to see, even for a man like John Mason. He nodded towards the scene.

"That takes me back to when I was a kid Tony, I used to love feeding the ducks with my sister... watching them squabble over the scraps of bread... Where did all that innocent pleasure go to?"

There was no reply from the troubled young man; his own innocent youth had also vanished, in his case thanks in no small measure to a certain toxic white powder.

"Tony, I have a level of professional pride. I never let a job go unresolved, that's really why I found you. Do you want me to complete the contract? Do you still want your sister dead?"

The words sounded harsh and callous when spoken out loud... Do I want my sister dead? No I never really wanted that... I was just taking advantage of the circumstances. he thought trying to convince himself that his decency had not entirely deserted him. Tony had not even considered this being a possibility any longer and now the temptation was offered again. It had been easy to convince himself that aiding his virtually dead sister to find her peace was a fine, possibly even noble thing to do. But now that she was well again... No the idea was a step too far he thought as he was filled with a sense of overwhelming self-disgust. He did however ponder the question for rather longer than Mason had expected before answering.

"No John, I don't think so... not now that Emily is recovering I couldn't have that on my conscience, I couldn't... sink that low."

"No... well it's your decision Tony. Let me know if you change your mind. I guess we can call the whole thing a mistake." He looked at Tony with his dark eyes issuing a warning that Tony understood well enough. He should never reveal what had happened at two pm on that particular afternoon. Tony raised his hands.

"My lips are sealed John, if I said anything, I would put myself in the frame."

"Tony... Mate... Understand this. It's not the police you would need to worry about."

Tony felt suddenly sick.

"I'll see you later Tony." Mason turned on his heel and started to walk back across to the gravel path. The vibration of his footsteps on the bridge were echoed in the lake and caused Tony's reflection in the dark green water to ripple and blur. After a few paces Mason turned round and said, as if it were an afterthought:

"By the way; Jimmy would like you to call him... Make it today Tony, you know he's short on patience."

The message cut into Tony like a scalpel. He looked back at the idyllic scene, the spring sun was starting to set pink and gold in the western sky and the pretty young mother, clearly devoted to her child, was enjoying the moment that would probably linger long and cherished in her memory. Tony could only see the fall of darkness in the sunset, his eyes shifted to the distance and focussed on the dark lake water where it was deep and still. For a moment, as a crow disturbed the silence with an ungodly call, an image of himself floating face down among the reeds flashed across his eyes... He wondered from his depression if that might be an easy way out. He found no answer to his question and pulling his jacket tight around himself against a sudden chill that had blown up from somewhere he returned slowly to his car and reluctantly made the call to Jimmy Costard.

"Tony, thanks for calling old son. I want to bring you up to speed on the job; get yerself down to the warehouse at eight tonight, we can have beer or two and relax up before the big day."

Once again Jimmy Costard had pulled Tony's strings and he had no option but to jump.

Tony arrived at the warehouse a little later than Costard's invitation had proposed. He stopped just beyond the open gate, getting out he leaned against the side of car and breathed in the cool night air, the Fiesta's cooling engine was still clicking its tongue to itself in complaint. Reluctant to go in he looked up at the warehouse. Caught in the street lights he noticed for the first time a sign fixed high above the door. 'Biddenfield Trading Ltd' it said. as if the premises could lay some claim to legitimacy. From inside he could hear a radio playing some sugary country music and the occasional sound of voices raised in laughter. Eventually he gathered his courage and went inside with nothing remotely approaching enthusiasm. There appeared to be an atmosphere of general jollity fuelled, no doubt, by the expectation of an imminent big pay day.

"There you are Tony, come on in. Hope you've been keeping your driving skills honed... It's all due to kick off any time now."

The usual gang were all there including John Mason and a face he did not know that belonged to an attractive woman, elegantly sophisticated, dressed in white furs and pearls. She looked stunning, completely out of place in this company and Tony knew instantly that he could never have seen her before. Nor could he imagine what she was doing there. The woman had the bearing of a well to do business woman dressed for a night out. When she spoke, the illusion was not shattered.

"Tony, pleased to meet you at last. I understand you are quite the accomplished young driver." She held her manicured fingers out to him. Her smile was completely disarming. Surely she's not flirting with me Tony thought. He just nodded self-consciously to her as he took her hand, feeling himself squirm slightly. He noticed that the BMW was still in the corner draped respectfully with the tarpaulin, it occurred to him that at least he would not have to lift another car. A small mercy.

"Get the boy a beer Kev... pull up a chair and make yourself comfy Tony."

It felt like being invited in out of the cold to the comfort offered by a pack of hungry wolves. The idea of making himself comfortable among this collection of disparate faces might have provoked laughter if the balance of his mood had not been tipped so far in the other direction. He gulped down a long draught from his beer eagerly seizing whatever opportunities came his way to take the edge off his senses.

"Now, Tony, the plan – and this is the real deal – no more dry runs so listen up... the plan is to hold up Millers Coin and Bullion Exchange at the top of the High Street, maybe half a mile up from the bank that we did over the other day."

Kevin laughed: "Yeah you wish." But Jimmy ignored him.

"You must know the place Tony." Tony looked blank but Costard continued: "So the escape route will be more or less the same as the one we did the other day... Yeah good driving on that one by the way, pity it was just a dress rehearsal."

Costard smiled at Tony, for an instant Tony almost mistook it for genuine warmth, the smile of friendship, but the feeling soon left him, a transitory misunderstanding. Costard's smile when you examined it more closely did nothing but reveal the horns that sprouted from his receding hairline.

"I've got some inside information that there's a large delivery of them Krugerrands and gold bars due. The place sells to well off investors who like the idea of holding gold rather than letting the bank play with their cash. Mostly villains I bet... But so are the fucking banks for that matter."

He paused to allow his band of merry men to laugh. They obligingly took the cue. Mason kept his non-committal expression and the femme-fatale re-crossed her slender legs and adopted what Tony took to be a somewhat superior smile.

"The delivery will be on Friday afternoon in two weeks' time, we'll saunter up a little while later and unburden them of the heavy load."

Emboldened by his third can of larger Tony found the courage to make a comment. On balance he wished that he had held his tongue: "So how are you going to convince them to hand the gold over? A place like that must have top of the range safes and security systems."

"I like a man who can ask an intelligent question Tony. Nice to see you're taking an interest. That's where the lovely Annabel comes in. She's a woman of many talents... Comes from a real posh family so best behaviour Tony." He winked at the young man who flushed noticeably. "Annabel is a high class... well... let's say she's an actress and I've convinced her to play the part of an innocent customer... Let me explain."

Costard revealed his plan with a level of overconfidence that verged on smugness. Costard's apparent idea that this was going to be a walk in the park gave Tony no confidence at all.

"OK this is how it will go: Annabel will enter the bullion traders and using her natural talents, engage the salesman in conversation. She'll distract them with a flash of leg, show a bit of cleavage, you know the thing. She's well good at that." He paused for a chuckle. Annabel raised a disdainful eyebrow. "She'll let it be known that she's interested in the purchase of a decent quantity of gold. John and me will burst in with a couple of sawn-offs and demand that our cases be filled with the yellow metal. Now, and this is the good part, just to make our intentions well clear, we are going to act out a little play. Annabel is going to get on her high horse and start slagging us off like some rich bitch who's used to getting her own way and is not frightened of no villains, shotguns or otherwise. So John will let her have both barrels in her tits and she'll fall dead, covered in blood. Of course Tony, it will all be a set-up... No way would we top Annabel." He looked at her with one of his killer smiles. "Would we Annabel?"

"No darling I dare say not." Tony wondered just what hold Costard had over her.

"So the shotgun shells will be blanks and Annabel will have her own exploding fake blood strapped under her coat. The staff will be shitting themselves by now and will hand over the gold as quiet as mice."

The plan was that once the gold was taken all three would escape with Tony doing his thing as the driver. This time they totally expected the full Monty: alarms and police by the squadron They would almost certainly be chased but with Tony at the wheel the getaway would be as easy as a steak and kidney. It all sounded simple but Tony was unconvinced, he could already see the prison bars and an eternity of incarceration stretching before him.

The rest of the evening was taken up with the business of serious drinking. Annabel, who seemed to have a fondness for younger men drifted across to Tony and managed to take him to one side and engaged him in conversation. Tony guessed she would have been ten or fifteen years his senior, late thirties maybe but had lost none of her youthful charm. There was possibly the hint of a dominatrix about her demeanour and he felt himself like a moth throbbing before her candle-flame. Under other circumstances Tony may well have allowed himself to take advantage of the offer she had clearly laid before him. Annabel pouted her seductive lips in disappointment when Tony made his excuses and was finally able to slip away from the pleasures and pains that Costard's warehouse contained. Bursting into the dark chill of the night felt like an escape. He breathed in the crisp air, but the escape was nothing more than a brief stay of execution.

He was now more convinced than ever that the job would end in disaster. He considered his pitiful options. It was a choice between to equally unappealing evils, go along with the plan and end up in prison, or take to his heels and risk his chances with Costard on his tail for the rest of his days. Ultimately he chose the latter course; Tony had always run away from his problems in one way or another. But with little money and nowhere to run his plan was tissue thin. He still had a few days up his sleeve before the job was due to take place and he made the decision to be far far away when the call to arms was finally made.

As was usual, Tony's finances were in chaos, all he had was a couple of weeks worth of pay in the bank and his car which was not worth much; less than he had hoped when he tried to make a quick sale. The next morning he took the Fiesta round to one of the dealers he knew and accepted the paltry offer. It was less than the car was worth but he was desperate. Revealing his plans to no one, he collected a single bag of clothes and his few personal things and caught a train; destination north, a long way north.

~o~

Suzanne was back to her cheerful self. She was fully occupied with watching Emily edge day by day back to the young woman she knew. When not at her daughter's bedside she spent time preparing for her imminent home coming. Tony's absence was not unusual, he often did not come back home at night and when she took the call from Brinkman Motors Suzanne was shocked to hear that her son had not turned up for work for the past three days and was not answering his phone. She confessed her ignorance of where her son could be and promised to get back to Brinkman's with some information as soon as she had anything to tell them. They warned her that his job would not be held open for him unless he contacted them soon.

Suzanne checked Tony's room and found it to be in its normal chaotic state. However it was clear that much of his clothing was missing as was his cheap nylon overnight bag. It was obvious that he had gone somewhere and had done so without letting anyone know. There was pain for her in that realisation, that her son could not disclose to her why he had disappeared nor where he had gone. She remembered that Tony had complained of being in debt and wondered if his disappearance was connected to that. She sat on her son's bed, looked around the room. The posters, the music player, the scattered collection of trainers all spoke of an adolescence that her son should have abandoned long ago. This was still the room of a teenager. The contrast between her troubled son and his sister was starkly displayed for her and she wondered what more she could have done for him.

It was a short email sent from an internet café that went part way to putting her mind at rest:

Mum don't worry I need to lie low for a while. I'm safe and well, don't worry. I'll be in touch soon.

– All my love Tony.

It said far too little to convince Suzanne that she had no need to worry but at least she knew he was alive and apparently well.

Since his childhood, all Tony ever really craved was to be concealed and protected; to be able to burrow down into a place of undisclosed warmth and huddle there, hidden from the sky's pitiless gaze and the harsh night air. What he found on his first night of exile was far removed from that dream. He spent an uncomfortable night shifting between pacing the streets and snatching brief spells of sleep on a park bench. Kept from freezing to death by little more than the last remaining strands of his primal urge for life. He shivered uncontrollably as a cold Glasgow mist settled over him.

He took refuge in the inviting warmth of café as soon as the early risers could be seen waking the dark city from its slumber. He filled up with fried food and cups of steaming sweet tea drawing warmth from the steamy atmosphere of the greasy spoon. He cadged a paper from an old timer who himself had come in from the biting wind for a cup of dark brown tea. Tony scanned the listings for somewhere cheap to stay. He had sunk low before but now he was down and out in the absolute sense of the word. The places he found in the paper that had any appeal were costly enough to exhaust his cash reserves within a few weeks. He had no idea if or when he could find work. In the end he answered an advert for a room to let. The building was dilapidated with crumbling brickwork and flaking paint, the room small had minimal appeal and the landlady appeared as trustworthy as a starving dog in a butcher's shop.

"You up from the south?" She asked hearing the accent and watching his face with the darting eyes of a magpie.

"Doncaster." Tony said, how easily lying had become second nature to him.

"Doncaster is it? Well you settle in dear and there'll be a cup of tea waiting downstairs when you're ready. It's two weeks in advance by the way."

The price fell within Tony's meagre budget and as an alternative to being discovered stiff and lifeless on a park bench, he reluctantly took the room. As he sat on the hard unyielding mattress of his narrow bed and looked about him, his thoughts drifted back to the recent memory of Somerville Park. The lake, the golden sunset and spring flowers... But from some dark place came the chill sound of the crow taunting him again. Out there across the dingy rows of terraced houses was the flow of a cold black river... Once the home of a major ship building industry and an endless font of employment. They say that drowning is the most peaceful way to die... but how do they know? How could anyone know?
Chapter 14

Emily had now fully recovered from her coma and had suffered no appreciable harm from the months she had lived in unconsciousness. Her broken neck had healed a long time ago and it was only the months of inactivity which were holding her back. Emily's body which had lain unmoving was weak and she had to spend many tedious hours in physiotherapy, slowly cajoling the strength back into her reluctant limbs. She now was only confined to her bed for sleeping and was able to walk for short distances along the corridors and into the hospital grounds with her endurance and muscle tone increasing each day. The months she had spent in the coma were simply missing from her life. She fell asleep in autumn and woke in spring. She had no memory of the time in hospital before waking and certainly she had no memory of her existence as an apparition. Everything, Alexander, the book, the rescue, were all lost to her. Only Alexander was witness to and able to remember the strange events of those days. The loss of his companion continued to be felt as a sharp sadness and he felt he needed to get away from the cottage as soon as he was able so that he could make an attempt on yet another fresh start. Only one thing drove Alexander and that was completing the book.

Emily struggled to explain to her mother the strange feeling that something was missing from her life, something that was important but something she could not remember. Suzanne tried to rationalize the feelings that her daughter was having as being nothing more than a reasonable response to the trauma she had been through. Even so Suzanne had a suspicion of what these feelings were related to but felt uneasy about telling her daughter what she knew of the strange affair. She could not burden her convalescent daughter with unbelievable stories of Emily's insubstantial existence at the cottage while her body lay still and unresponsive in the hospital. Suzanne was convinced that such a shock, may well tip her daughter back to somewhere that her mother's love could not reach again. At the very least such an implausible revelation might seriously delay her emotional recovery. She consoled her daughter by bright thoughts of the future when she would be home again and encouraged her to try and put the disquiet from her mind. Emily tried to ignore the strange longing, confident that her mother was right and that in time her emotional state would return to normal just as her body was slowly doing. Emily tried, but the unexplained desire for something unremembered would not be silenced.

On his last morning before moving out of the cottage Alexander sat looking through the window into the garden it was something he had grown accustomed to doing. He seemed to find inspiration in the view, there was nothing that linked directly to the book but somehow it freed his mind, let his thoughts wander until they coalesced into a stream of consciousness that he could capture and reproduce at his keyboard. This morning, filled with the sadness of having to leave the cottage, his attention was caught by the industry of a garden spider, spinning close to the window frame, engaged in the intricacies of constructing a web, catching the spring light in its silken threads, catching Alexander's thoughts in its labyrinthine net. He made a wish that one day he would return to the cottage and find Emily again.

It was only two weeks after Emily had woken that Alexander found a new place to live. It was back uncomfortably close to his old haunt, but at least it was familiar territory and the flat he had found was pleasant enough and would not put too great a strain on his limited financial resources. In truth it was almost too close to the property that he had shared with Jane but, he tried to convince himself that he was over the acute pain of that particular grief by now. As pleasant as the small flat was, it was not the cottage that he had grown to love, nothing would match the contentment he had felt during his too brief months in that humble yet magic dwelling.

Alexander once again set about the task of putting flesh on the bones of the novel that he and Emily had written. As he worked it seemed to bring her close to him again. Each remembered phrase she had offered, each good natured argument they had worked through became vivid, alive, in his memory. He found himself turning to where she used to stand at his shoulder, seeking confirmation that the words he had typed were worthy of their story. But she was not there...

Approaching midday and completing another chapter he stretched his back and finding himself drawn back into the present, felt the rumbling of hunger pangs. He realised that he had little food in the flat, his intention of making a shopping trip last evening had seemed a bridge too far at the time. He and Jane had sometimes dined at the local pub in a life that now, as he let his mind wander back to those days, seemed almost lost to another existence. He decided that he would venture forth and take lunch there. So he strolled out into an improving day, the earlier grey rain had eased into a misty drizzle and then vanished as the emerging sun brought warmth to the spring day. Alexander felt an odd sense of lightness as he paced along the High Street. The wind was fresh again, seeming to clear his head. He had always found his mood to be strongly influenced by the vagaries of the climate; in his childhood he had found sleepy comfort in curling up with a book in front of a fire as a storm raged outside. Or on a spring day he would be energised as the pale sun brought warmth to the air fresh and vibrant with rain.

As he entered the Duke of Wellington he could smell the hoppy aroma of beer and the savoury spiciness drifting in tantalising waves from the kitchens. The subdued lighting added a welcoming quietness to the quaint old pub with its exposed oak beams that had soaked up generations of local history. But as his eyes adjusted to the soft light he was stopped suddenly by the sight of an all too familiar face. It was unexpected and unwanted, a chance encounter that stretched the laws of probability. He was on the point of turning round to avoid any confrontation when Alice Bentley, his ex mother-in-law, head turning by the sound of a new customer entering the pub, saw and recognised him. She stood, quivering with emotion and without any warning pointed an accusatory finger at him.

"It's him." she yelled. "The murderer, he killed my daughter." Her voice was raised beyond anything normal, hysterical, neurotic.

All the faces in the Duke turned to look, firstly at the deranged woman with alarm and then at Alexander with suspicion.

Alice had turned from a normal wife having a quiet lunch with her husband into an enraged and psychotic madwoman within seconds of seeing Alexander. It was not the behaviour of a rational woman who might be expected to have control of her emotions. Alexander saw now, possibly understanding for the first time, that Alice really was ill. He remembered Jane becoming increasingly worried by her disturbing behaviour and saw that things had significantly deteriorated over the months since he had last seen her. He backed away into the wind and brightness only to be followed out onto the street by the flailing demented woman. She rained her fists onto his chest in an outburst which was far worse than anything Alexander had seen from her before. Frank Bentley followed his wife and was soon on the scene. With some difficulty he distracted and calmed his wife down and took her back inside the pub.

Alexander's best option was simply to walk away which was what he had already started to do when Frank caught up with him. He called out in a voice filled with confusion, distress and anger: "Alice has been fine these last months without seeing you, what do you mean by coming back and stirring up all the trouble again?"

Alexander looked shocked at the irrationality of the accusation. From Alexander's perspective the outburst only confirmed his opinion of Alice, it was not really unexpected from her, but her wild accusations seemed to have blinded Frank to the distressing truth. Maybe Frank could not bring himself to accept what lay before his eyes.

"Frank, the last thing I want, or need is to get into a street brawl with Alice. Look, you must see that Alice is seriously unwell and needs professional help."

"I see no such thing... How dare you say that?... How dare you?..." Frank seemed to hesitate for a moment as if Alexander had provoked an acknowledgement of something too painful to accept. Still he tried to rationalize his wife's behaviour. "I admit that Jane's death has been stressful for her and left her nerves on edge... I always took you to be a half decent sort of chap. Maybe Alice is right about you after all."

Alexander hesitated for a moment. His life had been in turmoil for too long and he really needed none of this. But in the end he decided that what he was going to do was for the best.

"Frank there's something you should see, for Alice's sake. Can you come round to my flat this evening?... On your own would be best." Frank looked at Alexander with suspicion.

"What is this, what do I have to see?"

Alexander wrote the address of his flat down on an old business card that he still had in his wallet and handed it to Frank. "It's up to you Frank, your decision. You can believe me or not, you can come or not. To be honest I hardly care either way. Make it after seven if you come." He turned and walked away leaving his father in law bewildered and with nothing else to say.

It was dark when Frank Bentley's Mercedes pulled to a stop outside Alexander's flat. It was exactly seven when he entered. Alex felt no enmity towards him, a man always full of bluster and self importance that belonged to a different time, Frank now looked ragged, tired from coping with Alice. The two men shook hands though there was little warmth in the exchange, especially on Frank's part. His opinion of his son in law had been poisoned by his wife to such an extent that he now was being drawn to the view that Alexander must have somehow been culpable for the loss of his daughter.

"All right, what's this all about Havers, I warn you I have no time to waste on this if you just wish to engage in a vendetta against my wife."

Alexander shook his head in disbelief, here was an intelligent man who could not face up to his wife's illness and would rather make irrational assumptions than accept the truth.

"I have no vendetta against anyone Frank. Jane's death had been as painful for me as anyone. You can believe that or not but it's true. Look, can I get you a drink surely we can discuss this matter like two reasonable men."

"I chose, with some care, those with whom I wish to share a drink. Just get on with whatever nonsense you have to tell me."

Alexander shrugged."OK if that's how you feel... Look I retrieved this video disk from the security system on the day that Jane..." For an instant, a quiver in his voice tested his steely decision to maintain his composure. "When Jane fell... to her death... I discovered it on the day of her funeral and at the time could see no point whatsoever in sharing it with anyone or making it in any way public. The fact is I tossed the disk into a box and it's only by chance that I still have it."

Alexander slid the disc into his video machine and pressed the play key. The two men, still standing, watched in silence as Alexander scanned forward to the exact moment when the wife and daughter was lost.

The video clearly showed Alice raving wildly at Jane. There was no sound the words and meaning were lost to the past. But the anger was clear, the irrationality, the insanity. Alice suddenly rushed forward trying to grab her daughter and as Jane backed away from the onslaught she came up against the safety glass partition and as Alice advanced on her again Jane overbalanced and fell. You could see that Alice stopped dead for a moment like a clockwork toy suddenly out of energy. She rocked gently back and forth, her hands pulling at her hair. She had made no attempt to go to her daughter's aid, never called for help but stood there, her body quivering, now ranting to herself before finally turning and running off. Somehow over the following hours through her disordered mind she must have convinced herself that it was somehow all Alexander's fault.

Frank sank onto the couch stunned, his head in his hands. He could no longer fool himself that Alice's condition was just bad nerves, something that would pass with time. Finally with a wet film across his eyes he spoke.

"Alexander, my boy what can I say. You knew this all the time and still suffered Alice's slanders – and my own damn it, without speaking a word in your defence. My God we hounded you out of your possessions, out of your job. I treated you as a pariah, turned the other directors against you and all the while it was Alice who was to blame."

"Alice was not to blame Frank. She is unwell, you must see that, as I see it Alice has been ill for a long time, Jane told me that she had been becoming increasingly worried by her behaviour. What happened was an accident but Alice needs help, she is capable of anything."

Frank nodded.

"I will get Alice the help she needs, I promise you that. I also swear I'll do my best to put things right for you. I am truly ashamed of how I behaved. I was distraught at losing Jane and with Alice's accusations... I suppose I needed someone to blame. I'm sorry Alexander. If I may I'll take that drink now. Something stiff if you have it."

There was another handshake as Frank left, this time it represented the start of a genuine reconciliation.

~o~

Emily was now just days away from being discharged from the hospital. The events of the morning of her accident were still not clear to her, she remembered being on Juno but little else and the whole period before waking, the months she spent in the coma were still a closed book to her. But occasionally, as if caught in her peripheral vision and only half seen, there were flashes of disjointed memory which made little sense to her but held the promise that her memory may slowly come back. She was having some vivid dreams about a tragic story involving lovers who were parted by death. It was like a novel she had read and somehow become a part of. The dreams seemed so real to her that she mentioned them to her mother to see if they made any sense to her. Emily told Suzanne what she could remember of the story that emerged in her dream. She found her daughter's story moving but she had never heard it before.

"Maybe you just made it up when your mind was lost in the coma; you have always had a good imagination. I liked the part about the Sun and Moon kissing. Perhaps you should become a writer like the guy who was staying in your cottage."

The words resonated with Emily. A writer... It meant something and was an irritation for her not to know what.

"Mum, there are plenty of things I don't remember, things I don't understand, I guess that's to be expected. But I feel there's stuff about what happened that you are not telling me. Who, for example, was the man at my bedside when I woke up? And why hasn't Tony been to see me for so long?"

"Well you know your brother Emily, he's always in some trouble. He's got himself into some debt I think, and has taken himself off to keep his head down. I got an email from him telling me not to worry and I'm trying not to. I'm sure he'll be fine."

Suzanne was careful not to share her true concerns over her son with Emily; her daughter had enough on her plate with her own recovery.

"Oh my poor Tony, he always needed me to look out for him and I haven't been there."

"I know you still think that Emily, but he's a big boy now, we should let him make his own mistakes. He knows we are here for him when he realizes that he needs us."

"I suppose you're right..."

Emily sighed for her brother who had never been able to truly find his place in the world. "And my other question?" She prompted.

"There is a lot to tell you darling, but I wanted you to be fully well before trying to explain because... Well because it's hard to believe. Can we leave it a few more days until you are back home?"

"Hard to believe, what do you mean?"

"It's a long story and you might find it disturbing. Please Emily just wait until you are back home and fully recovered."

"You've told me enough to intrigue me. I have to know what you mean by saying it might disturb me, you can't just leave it like that Mum."

"Oh Emily, I should have kept my mouth shut. Are you really sure... you may struggle to make sense of it."

"You can't just leave me dangling now... whatever it is I'm well enough to cope."

"All right, this is against my better judgement but here's the short version... The man who was at your bedside was a man called Alexander Havers; he rented your cottage while you were ill, I wanted your cottage to be looked after, lived in while you were unwell and renting it was the best option I could come up with."

"Yes, that's fine I understand that... Get to the point Mum."

''OK... The rest of this crazy story is mostly from what he told me and I can't really be certain just how true it is. But what happened in reality does fit perfectly with his story... I guess I believe him... I can't come up with a better explanation of the facts. So... Alexander took the cottage as a retreat so that he could write his novel. Shortly after moving in... he met... you."

"What do you mean he met me, I was in a coma in hospital."

"Yes darling I know that only too well... let me continue. He met you as some sort of a ghost."

"Mum please..."

"I know, I know. I felt just the same when he first told me. In fact he kept it all to himself until he needed to save you... He told me that at first he thought your appearance at the cottage was the symptom of a nervous breakdown but I can say this Emily, Alexander Havers is the most level headed person I know and he truly believes what he told me."

"OK go on, what did this level headed person say next... Alien abductions?"

"Do you want to hear this or not?"

"Sorry Mum, go on."

"Well it seems that this ghost did not quite know who she was; just that she owned the cottage. It seems that the ghost and Alexander eventually got on well and they cooperated in writing his novel."

"A novel... that rings a distant bell. This is starting to get spooky Mum."

"You don't have to tell me that Emily. Anyway, as time went by, the ghost started to understand her situation and in the end discovered that she was in danger at the hospital and also what her name was."

"What do you mean in danger?"

"I don't know why, but someone was trying to harm you."

"Now I know this is a fantasy!"

Suzanne gave Emily a, shut up and listen, expression.

"May I continue? It sounds insane, I know, but the ghost... you in some kind of out of body state, told him that she was Emily Wilcox. That she was in a coma and in grave danger. it seems that you were panicking, and you drew Alexander into your troubled state... It seems that you had become rather close over the months... So he knew my name was Wilcox and rang me in desperation, to ask if I had a daughter called Emily."

"Oh god Mum... this is making my hair stand on end."

At this point Suzanne who had been struggling with her composure broke down with emotion, she held Emily close and drew her daughter to tears.

"It was a terrible desperate time when we raced to the hospital to save you."

"Oh Mum.."

"The thing is there really was someone attempting to inject something into your intravenous line. Alexander saved you darling; he saved your life."

Although Emily struggled to believe what she had just been told, there was no doubt in Emily's mind that her mother did believe what she had just revealed to her. Suzanne wiped her eyes. "Sorry darling this is just so emotional for me. Without Alexander and his interaction with this ghost, I may have lost you forever."

Suzanne had been right; the story was disturbing. Emily felt her blood run cold as she tried to take in what she had just heard. It was an unbelievable story but there were things in it which seemed to mesh with the vague memories and feelings that Emily was experiencing. They were things that made her start to doubt her own common sense and belief in the rational. "So what became of the attempt on my life, what was behind that?"

"The police took Alexander in for questioning, I think they suspected that he had something to do with it at first, but that was never going to stand up to close examination. Alexander was the one who saved you. The police did get some security video showing the man in question but it was not clear enough for an identification. The police could find no motive and I think the enquiry has lost its priority. The last I heard the police were coming to the view that it was a case of mistaken identity, and that it was not you who was the intended victim."

"This is all too much to take in Mum, I almost wish I had taken your advice and waited until later to be told all this."

"So where is this man...Alexander, did you say? I need to talk with him."

"He moved on when he realised that you would be moving back into the cottage. Stupidly I never took a forwarding address At the time my emotions were raw and my focus was on you."

"I have to find him Mum."

"I know... we will."

Emily looked emotionally drained and Suzanne was concerned that the stress of what she had told Emily might tip her back into a relapse. She need not have worried, Emily was now well on her way back to being unstoppable as her brother had described her.

A few days later Emily was discharged from hospital and returned to the welcoming security of her cottage. Suzanne had wanted Emily to stay with her until she had fully recuperated, but the pull of the cottage was too strong. Emily wanted... needed to be back home. She did not understand why but the pull of the cottage was so powerful but she seemed energised and at peace when she was back inside it's comforting walls. Her mother was a constant visitor, bringing little gifts: a silk scarf, a pair of gloves, a box of muffins to share. But mainly what she brought her daughter were words of encouragement. Suzanne watched with devoted pleasure at the steady progress her daughter was making now that she was back home and felt that her prayers had been answered.

Her days of recuperation would give Emily time to contemplate her future and more importantly try and make sense of the story she had been told about Alexander Havers and their bizarre shared life. As she settled in to the embrace of her cottage, she was happy again but there was something missing. It was akin to the feelings of having lost a loved one, like expecting to see a familiar face but just finding just emptiness. Emily had no doubt now that this feeling was linked to the man called Alexander Havers whom she had apparently met and grown close to while she was in a coma. Even this certainty did nothing to aid her memory, as she tried to conjure up the image of his face she found nothing.

Curled into the softness of her easy chair as the evening fell, it came as a shock to Emily to realise that if she were to pass Alexander Havers in the street she would not know him and that sad realisation seemed to be nothing less than a tragedy.
Chapter 15

She walked with delicate steps along the sandy cove, her legs still struggling to support her weight. The eternal sea swelled and sent small waves creeping over the hard sand and filling her trailing footsteps. The seabirds called and swooped, she felt they were excited to see her again after all those missing months. As she stood with the bracing wind wrapping itself around her she felt more vividly alive than she had ever done before, alive but with something still painfully unaccounted for. As Emily stood on the shore with her eyes stretched to the horizon, the sights were familiar and yet somehow strange. They had told her that time would heal her, make her whole again... be patient her mother had said, let your guardian angels take care of you. If Emily had ever believed in guardian angels, then they had deserted her when she was lost in her coma, but coming back to her cottage under a warming sky with the winter months lost to the void of her memory, maybe those winged messengers were hovering close again. Despite her improvements there was still the shadow of sadness from something unremembered.

A more tangible sadness was brought by the continued absence of her brother. Emily had tried many times to call Tony but it appeared that his phone service was unavailable. An unpaid account Emily guessed, or maybe he had simply abandoned his phone in his desire to completely drop out of sight. Tony had gone missing before but never quite so completely, never for so long.

Emily, as was her nature, wished that she could do something to help him. Whatever trouble he was in would best be solved as a family, she was sure of that. Even just knowing that he was well would be something, but Tony had managed to slip away from her and her mother completely. Since waking from her coma Emily had only seen her brother a couple of times, both times had been confined in the harsh, antiseptic atmosphere of her room on Artemis ward. The hospital seemed to be a place that made Tony uncomfortable. Even then, when he should have been happy at her recovery, she felt him to be distant as if his mind was trapped elsewhere. Emily had never really had the opportunity to talk to him seriously since the accident and she felt an overwhelming need to do so. There were things in her own life that she wanted to share with him. Emily remembered how she used to boss him around when they were children, cajole him into going along with her ideas, now she just wanted his company on equal terms.

As she slowly regained her former strength, Emily was starting to get a few callers drifting in to see her at the cottage. Ken Granger called in quite frequently, he would sometimes come with Suzanne with whom an easy friendship had developed. Often he would simply drop in for a quick chat if he was in the vicinity. He told Emily that he would find a position for her at the clinic whenever she was ready but Emily was aware that there was hardly enough work in the small practise for her as well as the new girl. A solution presented itself when Margaret Jenkins dropped by on one of her whirlwind visits. Despite spring being well advanced, the weather was still chilly when Margaret arrived unannounced and dressed in a heavy parka.

"It's so good to see you looking well again Emily... I can't stop, I just called in to give you this." She held out a small gift wrapped parcel, gold paper and curled ribbons.

"Oh Margaret you shouldn't have... What ever can it be?"

"It's just a trinket sweety... just to say how sorry I am about what Juno did to you. I've been racked with guilt over pressing you work with him."

"Oh Margaret you should feel no guilt. I wanted to ride Juno, he was coming along fine. If not for the overexcited dog panicking him none of this would have happened."

"So he was spooked by a dog, I never really knew what had happened... Was it Badger?"

"Yes but he meant no harm... dogs do what they do. In don't want you you to blame anyone. Especially yourself."

"No, I'm sure you're right Emily thank you for being so understanding sweety...Go on open it up." Emily carefully untied the ribbon and found a delicate silver bracelet.

"It's beautiful Margaret... I love it but there was no need."

"There was a need... maybe just my need to make sure our friendship was still intact." They exchanged a warm hug.

"Of course our friendship is still intact... Look there's some wine in the fridge will you have a glass?"

"It's tempting, really tempting but I've got a busy afternoon... Bank manager busy."

"No problems I hope."

"Quite the opposite, the business is doing rather well at the moment... In fact... I know it's early days but..."

"Go on, spit it out."

"Well I was wondering if you might like to... When your fully recovered... if you might come and work for me at the stables. I really need someone around the place that I can rely on... I appreciated your help before the accident and I miss you and your good sense about the place. I was thinking of something more formal with a proper salary."

"Well that sounds fantastic Margaret... Ken has promised me some work but I'm not sure he will be able to afford to pay me for many hours a week... Could we look at the possibility of me doing a few days with you and a few with Ken?"

"That would suit me well Emily... At least to start with... maybe in the future I will be able to wean you away from our favourite vet. I can't say too much yet but longer term I've been mulling over the possibility of bringing a partner in... someone like you."

"Wow, are you serious... this isn't just your misplaced guilt talking."

"No not at all... I have been thinking about the idea for a long time... well before the accident."

"I'm truly flattered... and more than interested."

"OK darling hold that thought, we'll talk again but for now I really must fly... time and bank managers wait for no woman." She kissed Emily on the cheek and was gone into the cool afternoon. Emily watched though the window as Margaret's Land Rover made a three point turn in the lane and then disappeared up the hill towards Biddenfield. The convalescent young woman was suddenly starting to look forward to her new life, maybe the delicate wings of her angels had indeed settled over her again.

As evening fell and for reasons which lay more in pandering to her comfort, Emily lit her fire and sat reading, curled up on her easy chair with a cup of hot chocolate at her side. As she drew drowsy breaths under the fading light with the words of her book lost to the growing darkness, Emily let her eyes drift to the hypnotic flickering of the flames of her fire. There as she watched transfixed, the flames seemed to form themselves into recognisable shapes. Maybe a sailing boat, a shimmering dog with its legs in the air. As she watched a face seemed to grow from the movement of the flames. She watched as her mind constructed the image from the glowing embers. It was a face that she finally knew; it was the face of her stranger. It was Alexander's face drawn at last from her memory.

The emotion held in the recognition was almost too hard for her to bear. Suddenly as if a switch had been thrown, the memory of her phantom life cascaded back to her. This was no gradual thing, no slow piecing together of a vague jigsaw puzzle; it was sudden and complete in an instant. Shocking and numbing in its detail, each precious moment was held up in front of her. She remembered discovering the cottage door, the strange impenetrable membrane that separated her from her body in the hospital, even trivia like the broken eggs, the flash of sunlight on Alexander's glasses, or the pale almost transparent blue of his eyes as he turned to look at her. Emily remembered Alexander's pledge that he would save her and they would be together again and she remembered the slow but certain path she had followed over the weeks and months which had led her, even as a phantom, to fall in love with him.

The whole insane story was true. Emily sat back on her heels, her arms tight around herself reliving the time when she had known Alexander, the times they had spent together in this very cottage writing his novel. She remembered it all with a fondness and with a passion. The remaining evening light had faded completely now but Emily's eyes were illuminated by the vision of her winter of contentment. Her glorious memory was finally back. But with it came an almost unbearable need to find Alexander again.

Still shrouded in darkness, Emily groped for her phone and called her mother.

"Mum, it was all true, everything you told me. My memory just came flooding back. Mum you have to help me find Alexander."

"Hold on darling, I'll come round and we can talk. Give me twenty minutes."

When Suzanne arrived clutching a bottle of wine, Emily had finally found the light switch and had washed her face and pulled herself back together. The two women hugged.

Suzanne held up the bottle.

"Are you allowed to drink yet?"

"I'll get some glasses, frankly after the last hour or so I could use a glass of wine." Emily headed to the kitchen while her mother set to work on the bottle. As the wine was poured Emily revealed what she had remembered.

"One of the first things that really stands out for me is seeing and smelling the scent of blue freesias when I first burst into the cottage."

Suzanne's eyes welled with tears, the flowers had been the expression of some desperate hope that they might somehow draw her daughter back home. At the time, buying them had been symbolic of her love for Emily but also expressed her faith that her daughter would, one day be back in her cottage, whole and well.

"I had almost forgotten those flowers darling, but it proves that this strange event was all true. I put the flowers on your table and no one else in the world knew of them."

"At the time when I discovered the flowers, nothing much was making sense to me, but somehow I knew the flowers were a symbol of love."

Suzanne held her daughter's hand and smiled at her.

"Go on darling, tell me more."

"I hardly know where to start. You remember the dream I told you about..."

"The tragic lovers?"

"Yes... Well it was the story as I remembered it from the book that Alexander and I were working on."

"Alexander's book... You were working on it together?"

"Yes... sort of."

Wow, well that all fits, he never did tell me much about the book and certainly never mentioned you... not until he needed to. Frankly this whole past winter feels like dream to me... There was really only one thing on my mind."

"Mum, over the winter I think... as unlikely as it sounds, Alexander and I fell in love."

"I think I already knew that darling. Alexander was so concerned for you when he thought that you were in danger, that I felt sure his feelings for you ran pretty deep."

"Did you? Could you see that... that he might have loved me?"

"If ever I've seen a man in love, then it was Alexander during those desperate minutes while we were trying to save you. He kissed you with such tenderness at your bedside that I almost burst into tears. It was that kiss that woke you darling."

Emily fell silent for a moment trying to accept that the feelings for Alexander which had suddenly come back, may really have been reciprocated.

"But then when I woke up I could not even remember him and poor Alexander must have felt totally rejected. I need to find him Mum... I need to tell him that I still feel the same, I want him back in my life Mum. Ever since coming home I've felt that something has been missing and now I'm certain what it is. I want him back so much that it hurts. How could I have forgotten him so easily?"

"If one thing is clear from this, it is that you were in a physical and emotional turmoil that defied all reason. It's not really very surprising that your memory did not behave normally. But I blame myself for letting Alexander slip away. I was so focussed on your recovery, that I blocked everything else out, even Tony's persistent absence. I hardly thought of Alexander at all. But you're right he must have felt totally rejected by all of us. I don't even have a forwarding address, a phone number or anything. I don't know where to start to try and find him anymore."

"There must be something we can do."

"I have recently thought of trying to contact him again but I could find no where to start. He paid all his bills in cash so there are not even bank records to chase up. I'm so sorry Emily, Alexander is probably the most important man in the world to us because of what he did, and what he means to you, and I just let him slip through my fingers without thinking."

"Don't blame yourself; you couldn't have known how I felt about him."

"Emily... there's something else I haven't told you yet... This is hard for me to say."

Emily noticed more tears welling in her mother's eyes.

"Go on tell me... It can't be that bad."

"Yes, it is... It's worse than bad, but I need to tell you. The doctors had finally convinced me that there was no hope left for you and I had made the decision..." Suzanne took a deep ragged breath. "I made the decision to let them turn off your life support... I had already said goodbye to you."

Emily held her mother tight.

"I already know that... I told you all my memories have come back. When you read me those lines from Shelly's poem To the Moon it was the saddest, sweetest moment in my life. You have nothing to feel guilty about my lovely petite Maman."

Both women gave way to their emotions, and when the tears were dried they sat together talking into the night about the future. The bond between them had survived the turmoil of the past months and had emerged stronger for the testing.

The next day Emily busied herself by doing an internet search for Alexander Havers. There were no matches that fitted her particular Alexander. A brief article about a man with that name who had tragically lost his wife but he was a business man, an accountant. There was nothing that fitted the Alexander she knew. So she posted messages for him on all her social network accounts. Surely, she thought, that would bring a response. It was just a matter of time before he looked for her. Unless, Emily thought, he had already forgotten his muse, she hoped that such a thing could not be possible.

~o~

After his reconciliation with Frank Bentley, Alexander felt his spirits lifted. He felt able to get his head down and finish the work on the novel. All that was needed was to draw the threads together and make it look like and read like a polished and complete piece of work. It would take weeks, months, years even he did not know but completing the book was where all his time and energy would be invested until it was complete. Almost constantly he found himself wanting to discuss things with Emily, he would look up from his screen seeking her opinion but she was no longer there. He had to finish the work on his own and he had to do it for Emily. As far as he knew he was still a stranger to her. The thought was painful, and he remembered the lack of recognition in her eyes at the hospital as a pain. That lack of recognition cut deeply and he tried to remember her as the ephemeral muse who had known him and had worked long hours late into the night at his side. Alexander's quest was to finish his novel in a manner that would do justice to the work already completed. He wanted to finish the book for his own satisfaction but he also wanted to finish it for his absent companion. The first thing he wrote was a dedication to Emily. Then he worked with a passion, spending all his hours in completing the novel. It had now taken on more importance to him than any work of fiction might be expected to; it was the only tangible link he had left to Emily and he wanted that connection to shine from its pages.

He emerged exhausted, emaciated from the long relentless months but finally it was complete and he felt that what he had written was the most important thing he had ever done in his life. Being dragged from his own emotions, he doubted that he would ever be able to match it again.

Whether he managed to get the book published was less important to him than the journey of writing it had been. However, he wrote a synopsis of the story and included a couple of the chapters and sent copies to ten different publishers. He sent them off with little expectation. Then he tried to put Emily's memory into a compartment in his mind for fond memories that he could look into when his thoughts turned that way.

Alexander was wholly unsuccessful in this. Emily stayed stubbornly at the forefront of his thoughts.
Chapter 16

In Tony's world it was growing close to the time when Jimmy Costard's entourage were preparing for the bullion job and the young getaway driver was nowhere to be found. Jimmy had asked John Mason to try and locate him but all the trails he followed led to a big fat dead end.

"I'm sorry, Jimmy but Wilcox has gone to ground. Looks like he's done a runner, left his job and his home, there's no trace of his whereabouts. It looks to me as if he's bottled it and run off somewhere far away until the job's over. If we had the time I could probably track him down eventually, but what's the point Jimmy we don't have the time to waste on him. Even if we did get to him, Wilcox would be an unwilling participant anyway. Maybe we should just forget him."

"That little shit could stuff us up completely, I was relying on him for the getaway and we're too short of time to find anyone else. Fuck... I invested time and money in that loser John. What really hurts is that I thought he was one of the team, a bit reluctant maybe at first but I thought he'd come round to our way of thinking. He could have done well out of this."

"He was never one of the team Jimmy, he was just scared for his safety."

"Maybe... but John no way am I going to forget that snivelling bastard. When this is over he's going to pay, mark my words John." Jimmy let fly with an expletive and looked at Mason with a knowing expression.

Mason nodded with an acknowledgement that the retribution Costard wanted to fall on Tony Wilcox would be another job for him. Mason did not dislike Tony but a job was a job... it was what he did.

"This bullion heist is just too sweet to let it slip away, what with all the planing that's gone into it and everything. Tell me honestly John, do you think Kevin would be up to the driving?"

"If you want my honest opinion, I'd have to say no... I'd volunteer myself but I'm going to be busy playing tunes on my shotgun."

"Yeah... I know, there's no way I can spare you from the main action, I need you in the shop with me. What about Darren then?"

"Of the two I think he's more likely to keep his nerve, but I don't have a clue what his high speed driving skill is like. Why not give him a dummy run?"

"Yeah that makes sense, thing is time's not on our side... all that dummy run stuff was supposed to be sorted by now." Costard banged his fist on the table and sent a full ash tray skidding across the floor. "OK we'll give Darren a run, I only hope he's up to this, or we'll be royally screwed. Christ I wish I could get my hands on that Wilcox, I'd fucking wring his neck myself... save you a job."

"Time to move on Jimmy, forget the lad, he's not worth the trouble."

"I'll move on John but this is not forgotten, not by a long fucking way."

Darren was only slightly more willing to be the getaway driver than Tony but he had a lot more to gain from a successful outcome and agreed to try the dummy run. In the event he completed the run about thirty seconds slower than Tony had done but he did not crash and was almost convincing as a fast driver. Jimmy decided that he would go with Darren, his logic was that although Darren was not in the same league as Tony, the escape route had been so well thought out and in any case they should have a good head start. It was still going to be a piece of piss. There was general agreement among the team that the job should go ahead as planned. Basically the Bullion Exchange job looked too much like low hanging fruit to all of them. It would be almost criminal not to take advantage of the opportunity they saw just within their grasp.

On the day of the job Tony, who had managed to pick up some casual work flipping burgers, felt nervous as if he expected Jimmy or John Mason to burst in on him and drag him off. He was suffering from some understandable withdrawal paranoia now that his medicinal supplies had dried up. To say that he was twitchy was an understatement of massive proportions. At least he was making enough to keep a roof over his head now and clutched on to the hope that he would not be discovered. His future was uncertain and for the moment Tony Wilcox was living one day at a time and not trying to think too deeply about anything.

Back where the action was, the players were all fuelled on adrenaline. John was probably the best prepared of the team. He dressed in his urban survival outfit. This consisted of a reversible field jacket; a dark charcoal colour on one side and light green when turned inside out. Ideal for surveillance... or avoiding it. It was equipped with a lot of large secure pockets and there was a hood which, when needed, could equally well deflect rain or watching eyes. John placed a cloth cap in one of the pockets and some spare cash. Its pockets also contained a universal tool, a small torch, a lighter and some electrical ties which were useful as emergency handcuffs. The other part of his survival kit was strapped to his right leg, just above the ankle. It was a sheath knife, slender bladed and razor sharp which he had made good use of in the past.

Of the others only Annabel had taken any special care to dress for the part and concealed herself under a dark wig and more make up than she normally wore. As the time for her performance arrived Annabel took a last nervous drag from her cigarette, double checked her make-up and wig and walked into the Bullion Exchange as if she was an experienced gold investor. Annabel soon had the manager under her spell.

"So you would have no difficulty in supplying say a quarter of a million pounds worth by the end of business today Mr McKenzie." Mr McKenzie tried not to appear too eager, he held his burgeoning grin in check.

"It's a large transaction Madam but it's well within our capacity. We have serviced larger orders in the past."

"Excellent, I take it you can arrange secure delivery... My husband has had a substantial strong room constructed in our cellar, behind the rack of Montrechet... do you enjoy a nice wine Mr McKenzie?"

"I must confess to being a man of the grain rather than the grape."

"Ah, each to his own."

The manager smiled, the commission on a transaction of this scale would be most welcome. He lifted his eyes as he saw two men entering and felt a trace of disquiet about their appearance, maybe it was the balaclava masks that had been pulled down over their faces. Or maybe the disquiet lay more in the sawn off shotguns.

Costard dropped two aluminium cases on the top of the glass display with an alarming clatter. The display, under a soft but sparkling light, held not only, samples of gold and silver bars, but South African Krugerrands, Turkish Republic gold coins, Canadian maple leaf coins, Chinese gold pandas, American Eagle and Australian kangaroo gold coins. There was also jewellery and gold chains offered for sale to the discriminating and wealthy purchaser.

"Fill these with gold and no one need get hurt... bars and coins will do nicely." Costard said through the muffling of his balaclava.

"I simply can not do that." The manager said as he edged closer to the alarm switch.

"Keep your hands where I can see them, we don't want no alarm bells going off to disturb the peace do we?"

Annabel butted into the conversation.

"This is an absolute disgrace... Just who do you think you are you pathetic little man."

"Show the lady who we think we are Tiger." Costard said to Mason. "If you think I'm frightened of your..."

Mason pulled both triggers and the resulting shock wave would probably have been enough to convince the manager to be more cooperative. The spray of blood from Annabel's coat was the icing on the cake as she fell backwards and crumpled in a heap on the polished marble floor.

"Christ almighty, OK OK.... give me a moment, I'll need to open the safe in the back." The man was was pale and shaking, Thoughts of his wife and daughter flashed before his eyes. His immediate survival was the only thing that motivated his actions.

Alarmed by the noise, another face appeared at the rear doorway.

"Come and join the party Sonny." Costard said emphasising his words with a menacing thrust of his gun.

"Do as he says James." Alistair McKenzie said to his assistant."It will be fine if we just cooperate."

As they left the Bullion Exchange, Jimmy Costard and John Mason carried two very heavy aluminium attaché cases and Annabel who had made a sudden and unexpected recovery was close on their heels. Jimmy allowed himself a brief smile as he contemplated being a good step closer to his retirement goals with enough spare to keep his lads bathing in champagne for the foreseeable future. It was now all down to Darren, all they had to do was make a clean getaway and they would be in clover.

As luck would have it a police patrol car was parked just over the rise from the Bullion Exchange. The two officers had been on a routine enquiry and had stopped outside the sandwich bar to grab some refreshments. A practise not strictly allowed but it was a quiet day and anyway, everyone did it. Gavin Williams was the driver, eight years in the job; he mostly tried to keep his head down. His young partner Peter Coles walked back to the car with a couple of cans of drink and a fistful of cling-filmed sandwiches. Peter was new to the job, three weeks new, and had the bright eyed keenness of all recent recruits. His Mum had sent him off that morning with a warning to be careful as she brushed lint from his uniform. Peter told her that he was fully trained and well able to take care of himself. Gavin knew that his partner's keenness would soon be chipped away to leave, if he was lucky, a resigned acceptance that a policeman's lot was not necessarily a happy one.

Darren's blood pressure was through the roof as he waited for the off. He could feel his heart ponding in his chest, the veins in his neck resonating to the same rapid rhythm while his face was blotched scarlet. As he watched Annabel, now drenched in fake blood, get in the front seat beside him, Jimmy's words sang in his ears with an unnecessary urgency.

"Go, go, go."

He floored the throttle and the BMW surged off in a cloud of rubber smoke, the wheels bouncing on the tarmac as the tyres scrabbled for grip.

"Take it easy Darren..." Jimmy called from the back seat. "You've got this... No need to panic."

The sound of alarms were already wailing their call for help as Darren headed for safety at full speed. The wait had been interminable and he was at breaking point as the BMW squirmed down the High street.

The first bites from the policemen's sandwiches had just been taken when they heard the alarm and simultaneously received a message on the radio. It was Peter's first chase and he almost choked on his cheese and pickle with the excitement as the siren and flashing lights heralded the high speed chase. Cresting the rise they could see a metallic grey BMW slithering around the corner in the distance, a shroud of tyre smoke indicating their determination to get away. Gavin was equally determined that they would not get away and accelerated hard.

"The driver's an amateur." Gavin said as he gave chase. "Look he's completely out of control, we'll soon have them."

To Darren's dismay, after having travelled only the length of the High Street, there was already a police car on their tail. This definitely did not fit in with what he had expected. Darren was an adequate driver when he was under no pressure but with the flashing lights gaining on him Jimmy's calming words were lost to him. He took the first turn far too fast and the car slipped sideways and bounced off a parked plumber's van before he was able to wrestle it back under control.

Darren could hear Jimmy's voice cajoling him from the back seat.

"Christ Darren, be careful... Here turn here... Shit... slow down, you're going to miss... shit!"

Darren wound on too much lock, he had already overshot the apex and there was no chance he could make the turn. The BMW slewed completely edge on to the road and Darren was no longer in control of the progress. As the tyres found some lateral grip, a gentle bump in the road was enough to start the roll. The car rolled sideways once, twice, three times spinning in the air and throwing the passengers around like a load of washing in a front loader. As the car lost its inertia it slid along on the road on its side with sparks flying like a firework display.

The container truck had just negotiated the corner at the top of the hill and had accelerated down the slope to a whisker over the posted speed limit. By the time the driver saw the BMW sliding towards him, the closing speed was just too much for him to avoid the collision. He put all his weight on the brake pedal and his tyres locked with a screech of protest. The rear of the articulated truck looked as if it was going to come round on him but the driver managed to keep his rig straight. However, the outcome was inevitable, the car and the truck became one. The front of the BMW ending under the engine of the truck after a violent ripping of metal and smashing of glass. The container truck was carrying a lot of energy and it dragged the BMW with it for twenty metres before finally there was quiet. Only the hiss of steam escaping from the burst radiators and the distant howl of sirens filled the sudden stillness.

John Mason was conscious but his knee had been smashed. He looked at the front passengers. Both Darren and Annabel were clearly dead; no one could suffer that level of damage and still be alive. The sudden realization came to him that he was on top of Jimmy. As he released his seat belt, Mason's weight dropped onto the gang leader and he heard him groan.

"Come on Jimmy we need to get out of here fast, let me help you..."

"No John... I'm fuckin' done for this time; my leg's trapped under the seat I can't move." He looked ghostly pale and his eyes were starting to roll up behind his lids. There was bright scarlet blood on the corners of his mouth. John made one last effort to free Jimmy but he could see it was useless. All the time the sound of the siren was getting closer, Mason could now see the flashing lights reflecting in the blood splattered interior. He heard Jimmy speaking in a whispered wheezing voice:

"This is down to that Wilcox bastard; make sure he gets what's coming to him... Take the gold John as payment for one last contract... I want that snivelling fucker dead."

"OK Jimmy if that's what you want; one last contract; I won't let you down."

Jimmy was fading fast.

"I know I can trust you John." Costard coughed and a spray of blood left his crushed lungs; go on now get out of here; save yourself."

The blood was starting to flow from his mouth and his eyes turned glassy. There was a last gurgling sound from the man as Mason kicked at the door which opened above his head. He climbed out and looked around. The street was quiet apart from the police car which was now almost upon them. The truck driver looked to be OK but was sitting stunned, in deep shock still in his cab. Mason dipped his hand back into the car and withdrew one of the attaché cases.

"I'll keep your share safe Jimmy, best of luck." But there was no reply from big Jimmy Costard.

Mason jumped down from the car and winced with the pain from his knee. He rolled on the road and then recovered his feet and picked up the attaché case. The weight was almost too much for him. They had never intended having to carry it far. Behind him he saw that the police car had stopped but he could hear more sirens in the distance. There were two officers; one was already securing the scene with traffic cones. The other officer was running at top speed towards him. He assessed the situation; the policeman was young, fast; naive. With his damaged knee, John knew he could not outrun his pursuer. He made it to a nearby alleyway and stood, his back against the wall, just past the alley entrance. His hand went down to his ankle and he felt for the knife. Mason could hear the running footsteps getting closer. He could tell the young cop was running blindly without thinking ahead. As the young cop turned the corner, holding onto the edge of the wall to help him swing though his turn, Mason heaved the case to chest height and swung it at the hapless youngster. The full force of an aluminium case filled with gold, smashed into his chest. He stopped, winded, surprised. Mason swiftly stepped behind him, pushed his foot into the back of the policeman's knee and the officer sank down. Mason held the young man's chin from behind with his left hand and pulled upwards exposing the soft flesh of his throat. Flashing the polished blade of his knife in front of the policeman's eyes he then drew it across the young man's neck. Peter felt the sharp sting of the razor edged knife and then the warm flow of blood tricking down his neck and soaking into his newly laundered shirt. Adopting a practised Scots accent as an extra smokescreen Mason issued a warning to the young man:

"That cut should be enough to get you a commendation laddie, don't give me any more trouble and it won't have to be awarded posthumously... Now give us that wee pair of handcuffs."

The young officer did as he was told and felt his ankles being cuffed together. John picked up his case and walked to the next corner. The cut to the young copper's neck was superficial, done simply for impact. Even so the lad felt his vision turning black as he fainted and fell against the cold pavement. John reversed his jacket to show the pale green colour, put on the cap low over his eyes and walked to the next corner, his arm dragging with the weight of the gold. He was now back to a busier part of town and he saw with satisfaction that a bus had stopped and was picking up passengers. Despite his painful knee and the heavy case, John increased his pace and managed to lift himself onto the bus just before the doors closed. Someone had left a newspaper on one of the seats. He picked it up as he made his way to the back of the bus. Taking a seat, he placed the attaché case next to him, opened the newspaper and became invisible behind the financial news. Mason noticed with satisfaction that the price of gold was up five percentage points today.

As the bus continued on its journey the sound of sirens slowly dissolved into the distance until they were barely distinguishable above the general traffic noise. Now that his levels of adrenaline were falling, his knee was starting to throb painfully and as he adjusted his position on his seat he noticed that the scruffy looking teenager who had followed him to the back of the bus was nervously eyeing Mason's case. He knew what the kid was thinking. A nice case like that must have something inside worth nicking. If only the kid knew. Mason was tempted to toss him a Krugerrand for his cheek, but that was never going to happen; the fewer people who knew about the contents of his attaché case the better. Mason raised the bottom hem of his trousers just enough to show the kid a glimpse of his knife.

"Don't even think about it Sonny..." He growled through his assumed accent which had now become Irish.

The young man got off at the next stop and Mason followed him. As they left the bus the teenager took to his heels and ran off down the street.

Mason hailed a taxi and was gone. He knew there would be no more work for him in this town; it really was time he moved on anyway. But there was one last contract that he needed to undertake. There was no anger involved in it for John Mason. It was a matter of professional pride, a matter of honour to the memory of a lost comrade.

~o~

After his shift was over Tony bought himself a cheap bottle of vodka and went back to his digs. He poured a decent measure into a chipped and tea stained cup and gulped a mouthful. Before sitting down on his lumpy bed, Tony turned on his small television that seemed to leer at him from the dusty corner of the room. He sat back on his bed, leaning against the wall. It was the news... What Tony needed was some escapism not more harsh reality. The picture quality was not good but his focus was suddenly held fixed. It was all about the robbery. The Bullion job that he came so close to being involved in. Tony's eyes could not be dragged from the flickering picture. He watched in astonishment the scene of the crushed BMW, and heard with disbelief that three bodies, two men and a woman had been recovered from the car and another man was being sought by the police. After hearing what this other man had done to the young policeman, Tony had little doubt who the wanted man was. Tony did not know how to feel, with Costard gone; maybe he could get his life back. But if John Mason was looking for revenge, the outlook for him was just as bleak as ever. Maybe worse, in fact as Tony thought about it, there was no maybe involved; John Mason really was the most dangerous man he had ever met.
Chapter 17

Constable Peter Coles, in a highly stressful situation, had done a good job. Taken as a vulnerable hostage he had followed the correct procedure and had complied with what his captor asked of him. He also followed the three primary directives of police work, observe, observe and observe. The ugly wound which curved across his neck, had been inflicted to press home his vulnerable position and looked far worse than it was. The medical officer saw to it that he was soon cleaned up and bandaged. He was told that there would be a slight scar but it would fade in a relatively short time. Peter was not overly worried; the scar was almost a badge of honour. It should stand him a few pints among his colleagues, until the novelty wore off. For the moment, now that the initial trauma was receding, the young officer was rather enjoying his brief exposure under the spotlight. Detective Sergeant James Conway and his assistant Detective Constable Megan Oliver took him to be debriefed.

"Now, you're sure you feel up to this lad?" Conway was a middle aged avuncular character with a genuine concern for the welfare of his officers; particularly the new recruits.

"Yes sir. I'm fine now... really."

"Good man, now tell us what you remember."

The sergeant pulled a chocolate bar from his pocket and offered it round for pieces to be snapped off.

"Well sir, we were proceeding down the high street when we got the call to attend the robbery at the Bullion exchange. As luck would have it we were already close to the action and immediately gave chase to the fleeing BMW. It was obvious that they were going way too fast for the road conditions, I think our siren spooked them... By the time we got a clear view of them, the car was already completely out of control. Gavin... that's constable Williams held back a little so that we wouldn't get tangled up in the inevitable accident. As we arrived at the scene, we stopped a little way from the wreckage. The BMW was in a terrible state crushed under the front of the lorry. I saw the man jump from the car and land awkwardly, I think his leg was probably damaged in the accident. He ran off limping and slipped down the alley on the left, about twenty metres from the scene of the accident."

"And he was carrying the attaché case?"

"Yes that's right...It looked almost too heavy for him. I guessed it must be part of the proceeds of the robbery."

"It was the same type as the one we recovered from the BMW?"

"Yes sir, as far as I remember they looked like a matching pair."

"Make a note of that Megan, maybe someone will remember selling a pair of matching cases, that would not be a common occurrence."

Megan licked her chocolatey fingers and jotted the request down in her notebook. She knew it would be a futile exercise, another needle in a haystack job.

"What happened next Peter?"

"Well Sir as I went round the corner to the alley he came at me and caught me off guard. He was a stocky man well built, strong. I guess he must have swung at me with the case and then suddenly he was behind me and I went down onto my knees. Then he held my chin and..."

Peter became visibly shaken at the memory.

"All right, take your time lad."

The young constable took a deep breath before continuing.

"He sliced my throat... shit. " Clearly still distressed by the memory, his hands went to his throat in a reflex action.

"Sorry sir... but I really thought I was a dead man for a while."

"I know son, take your time, what happened next?"

"He took my handcuffs and clipped my ankles together, then he limped off hauling the case with him. He turned left up Kingston Street. A little while later help arrived, by then he had disappeared."

"Yes he did disappear... into thin air. OK that's good lad, is there anything you can remember about the man?"

"Oh yes I was careful to make a mental note about him. He was medium height but well built, dark hair cut short, there were no distinguishing features that I saw. He was dressed in a dark almost black jacket, a bit like an army combat jacket, you know the sort... lots of pockets and he had fawn trousers. Oh and polished brown boots."

"Did you notice which leg was injured?"

"The left one... I think."

"OK... Did he say anything to you?"

"Oh, yes, that reminds me, he was a Scotsman, quite a strong accent. He told me that if I cooperated he would not kill me."

"Did he now, he sounds like a right friendly bastard. We need to bring this man down Peter, is there anything else you can add?"

"Nothing that would pass as a fact, but I felt he had a sort of military bearing, I wondered if he could be ex-services, and I thought he might have been an officer, just from the way he acted, sort of in control of things."

"That's good constable, we'll take a formal statement later when you feel up to it, in the meantime Megan will drive you home. We don't expect you in for a couple of days... get your feet up."

Sergeant Conway stood and finished his fruit and nut. The wrapper was tossed in an expertly executed arc into the waste bin.

"Megan when you've taken young Peter home, see if you can find any candidates who have recently left the services that fit the description. Concentrate on Scot's officers. Then check the local hospitals for anyone turning up with a leg injury, left leg especially." Megan rolled her eyes There must be hundreds she thought; another needle in another haystack.

"Yes sir, I'll get onto that straight away... Come on then Pete, let's get you home love."

Megan's enquiries came up against a brick wall and there were no sightings or security camera images at all of a man in a dark jacket in the vicinity. The wanted man had vanished without trace.

The next day Tony bought a selection of newspapers and read up about the robbery. He was keen to know what had happened but also had a rather smug I told you so feeling; he had a premonition that the robbery would end in disaster and here was the confirmation. There were no names mentioned in the papers but it did say that a quantity of gold coins and bullion had been recovered. The BMW had been reported stolen some weeks earlier and the police assumed, correctly, that it had been stolen with the robbery in mind. They were asking for sightings of the car, finding where it had been kept might be useful. Tony winced at this information and hoped that no one had seen the dummy run. The way he had driven the car would not have gone unnoticed by anyone in the vicinity and his face was well known in the area.

The Police were also looking for a man to help with their enquiries who had assaulted an officer while making his getaway. He was thought to be a Scot of medium height and with short dark hair and had last been seen dressed in a dark, possibly black combat style jacket. Tony assumed the man the police wanted was John Mason but where did they get the idea that he was Scottish? Tony considered the possibility that the man who had got out of the car was someone else entirely. He wondered if Mason could have been one of the men in the car who had not survived the accident, or like himself had walked away from the robbery altogether. He had no way of knowing but it was important to know if Mason was looking for him. After considering his position he decided that he would be safer to assume that he was still in danger. He knew Costard too well, he knew that he would never forgive his disappearing act, that he would almost certainly have put on contract on his head. The man Costard would have gone to with that was John Mason and the thought chilled Tony to the core. It was still too soon to lift his head over the parapet. Now the idea that John Mason was out there looking for revenge, was suddenly central to his thoughts.

Tony's mind turned yet again to his sister's cottage, if only he had managed to inherit it, the money would be enough to give him his new start. He had vague plans of making an escape to South America but for that he needed money. His mind flirted for a brief and troubled instant with his original idea of killing Emily, but it would now be murder; there was no escaping the fact. It was far too dark a place to go. Tony was all too aware that he had a dark place inside him and that he had not yet fully confronted it. He feared that if he ever did confront his demon head on, it may prove be too strong for him, may be able to convince him to do anything. He put the dark thoughts from his mind and instead decided to make a flying visit to see his mother, maybe she would have a little money to put him back on his feet.

John Mason had his knee seen to. He chose a busy time at A and E when no one would pay too much attention to him. He had suffered a cracked patella and it only needed strapping up. He was given the advice to keep off it until the pain subsided. Mason had neglected to shown them the extensive bruising across his chest and arms nor had he told them of the post-accident aches and pains. The emergency room gave him pain killers for his knee which helped, and he went on his way. John Mason kept himself fit and from long experience as a combat soldier, knew that his broken bones healed quickly. As far as he knew no one had connected him with the incident that held centre stage in the local papers. His best plan was to drop out of sight but first he had a duty to his fellow survivor. He made a call to Kevin.

"Mate, I guess you are up to speed with what happened, it's been all over the news..."

"John, yes what a fucking cock up, are you OK yourself like?"

"I'm fine, came away with a stiff knee. Look what I wanted to talk about was your share of the proceeds."

"My share... I wasn't expecting anything."

"I walked away with half the haul Kevin, there'll be a decent pay out for you."

"Really, that's triffic John, most would have legged it with the lot."

"Haven't you heard of honour among thieves?"

"Heard of it yeah, can't say I've seen much of it about though, know what I mean?" He tried a laugh but it was half hearted, for once Kev's sense of humour had abandoned him.

"Well, this will be a first then, look Kevin, it's really best if we aren't seen together in public again. Do you still have access to Jimmy's getaway house?"

"Yeah... The cops have been crawling all over Jimmy's warehouse, there was a lot of loot with my name on it stored there that I won't see again. But they still don't know about the rented house."

"OK, that's good I'll drop your share off tonight after dark, say nine o'clock."

"I'll be there John. That sounds sweet man... I really owe you for this."

"It's what Jimmy would have wanted... Have you got plans for the future?"

"I'm getting well away from the area, probably head for Spain, now you've brought me the windfall... I know some people over there... Will there be enough money to set me up?"

"Easily Kev but as you know it's all in gold, hard to trace but also hard to shift across borders."

"That's no problem, Jimmy already fixed up his contacts. Some banker who works on the edge of what's legal, know what I mean. I can get it converted into Euros and deposited in a bank account in my name."

"You trust these contacts Kevin?"

"Yeah Mate they're well solid... So how about you John?"

"There's one uncomfortable job Jimmy left me to take care of then the name John Mason will disappear for ever."

"Best of luck with that... This job, would it have Tony Wilcox's name on it?"

"I can neither confirm nor deny that Kevin..."

"No... 'nuff said John. That snivelling rat has earned what's coming to him. Anyway, if you'd like me to put you in touch with Jimmy's bankers just let me know."

"Yes thanks, but maybe I'd be safer to handle it myself."

As promised Mason handed over Kevin's share, there was plenty to go round. He then made a quick exit from the rented premises, choosing not to take advantage of the offered glass or two, he noticed that Kevin was already well beyond mellow.

Mason had always thought that the clever thing to do, if you chose to follow a criminal life style, was do one big job and then stop; the chances of being caught would be minimal. Well this bullion theft was a big enough job to give John all he needed. It would not make him super rich but it would make him more than comfortable. That level of wealth was all he wanted; John Mason had no interest in excess. This job was also his first involvement in a robbery, he discounted his other inter-personal activities which were in a different league. Mason took the decision to spend the rest of his life as an honest citizen... After he had completed the one last account that honour demanded be settled. He wondered what Kevin would do. Probably splash out big and let the money slip through his fingers in a couple of years... That was entirely up to Kevin; Mason would not be around to watch what he expected to be a slow motion extravagant train wreck.

~o~

Suzanne was relaxing at home when, quite unexpectedly, she heard her front door open. She twisted her head nervously even though she really knew who it must have been; only Tony had a front door key apart from her own.

"Tony, darling." She hugged him close, smelled the faintly sour odour of someone who had let themselves go. She looked at his dishevelled and forlorn state with the eyes of a concerned mother. Tony had lost weight and seemed grey and drawn, face unshaven, clothing scruffy.

"Hi Mum... can we talk?"

"Of course we can talk, how have you been, and where have you been? Are you hungry? Let me get you something. "

"It's not food I need Mum, I need some real help... I told you before that I was in debt and there were people after me, well things have got worse since then. I think I'm in serious danger now."

"Oh Tony no..."

"Look Mum I have to confess I got in a bit deep with, you know... drugs and stuff. My life has fallen apart."

"We guessed about the drug thing darling, you can't really keep that sort of problem from the ones who love you. But Emily and I kept on hoping that you would see the error of your ways and, what do they say, get yourself straight."

"I've not taken anything for weeks now Mum, mostly I admit because I don't have the cash. But now that I'm off that stuff I think I can make a new start... I need to get away though... a long way away."

"Why go away Tony? You could come back here until you get sorted. This is still your home."

"No it's too late for that. I told you I'm wanted and the man who wants me takes no prisoners."

"Oh Tony, are you saying that your life's in danger?"

Tony put his head in his hands and sat down, suddenly exhausted. "You have no Idea what these people will do." He sobbed "Taking a life is just in a day's work for them." Suzanne felt the blood drain from her face.

"What can I do for you?"

"Mum I hate to ask, but I need money. I need a plane ticket and enough to give me a new start."

Suzanne looked worried, not sure how much of this she could believe. But like nearly all mothers she would do anything for her children. She would fight like a tiger or give her all to protect her children. But she could only give what she had.

"Tony I don't have much left, my savings seem to have evaporated over the past few months. I've got a retirement fund but that money's locked up until I'm sixty. You can have what I've got, I think there's about two thousand pounds left. Now don't worry, I'll make up your bed and cook you something, you look half starved."

"No I can't stay Mum, this house is known to the man who's after me, I need to get straight back."

Suzanne wrote her son another cheque exhausting almost all she had and with his words of affection and gratitude ringing in her ears she watched Tony slink away into the night. She was not the only one who watched Tony slink away. John Mason had found his man but he was in no hurry to act. This contract was different; he had promised Jimmy and he could not betray a dying man's wishes. But Tony was not a stranger, he may even have thought of him as a friend. Turning his feelings off would not be so easy this time.

Tony caught the late train back to Glasgow and as he was rocked by the hypnotic rhythm of the train on the rails, he looked at his reflection in the carriage window. He was shocked by the image he saw staring back at him, it looked like a that of a lost soul and he wondered what he had done to deserve the twists of fate had brought him so low. It was the early hours of the morning when he arrived at Glasgow Central. He hoped beyond hope, that he had not been followed but his paranoia was now as strong a pull on him as his need for a narcotic release. He fingered his mother's cheque, He was not ungrateful, it was better than nothing. It might buy him a ticket to the other side of the world but little else, Tony felt he needed more... quite a bit more He had no cocaine but he did have an unopened bottle of vodka and began on a systematic demolition of its contents. As his thought processes became increasingly disinhibited his demon seemed to grow in strength, settling on his shoulder and whispering dark thoughts into his ear. As the level in his bottle dropped so did his resistance to the compelling words.

In the room, lit only by the yellow glow from a low powered bulb swinging from the ceiling, his moral compass sinking under the anaesthetic haze of cheep vodka, Tony conjured up a malevolent plan to remove the obstacle that prevented him from benefiting from the cottage. He would go and see his sister, maybe take her a bottle of wine, yes... a bottle of wine doped with sleeping pills. As Emily slept, it would be an easy thing to set the cottage on fire. He could conjure up an inferno and his sister would be gone. The insurance pay out would go to himself and he would have the money for a new start in the New World. This way he would get the money without the trouble of having to sell the cottage. It would be a quick, clean and fast resolution to his problems. In his alcohol soaked brain his synapses fired in a chaotic state and it all made a macabre sense to him. His view of reality had switched, like an optical illusion might switch you from seeing the face of a beautiful woman to seeing an ugly hag. He laughed aloud, gulping from his glass, as the dark monster that he had held down for so long at last surfaced and took over his mind.

Tony finished the bottle and finally sank into a deep sleep. A disturbing and ugly grin had transformed his once innocent face as the sun rose on a new day.

~o~

Alexander had, as expected, received a flurry of rejection slips from the various publishing houses he had tried. Of the ten submissions he had sent, eight had already declined to publish. Thank you, but no thank you. A couple of the eight had said the work appeared worthy but it did not fit the current genre of titles they were promoting. Alexander felt that the rest had not even bothered to read the synopses. However as the weeks rolled on the two remaining publishers had asked to see the full manuscript and had expressed, without commitment, a certain modest interest. Alexander felt a boost to his ego by this and allowed himself to hope that the book may yet see the light of day. When he thought of the book however, there was always the sadness of his missing muse. Emily was still a constant presence in his thoughts but Alexander felt that it was preferable to endure the painful memory of her loss than to forget Emily and lose her completely.
Chapter 18

Tony spent most of the next week sinking in and out of a spiralling drunken stupor. The pain of his cocaine withdrawal was still biting. He scratched at the coke bugs, the phantom insects that crawled under his itching skin, and he knew even as he gulped the vodka that he was just replacing one dependence with another. By the time he had pulled himself from his latest vodka binge, his self-respect had almost entirely abandoned him. His mind had been wrestling with the sombre plan to destroy both Emily and her cottage and as a new day dawned clear and bright he found himself standing over the swift flowing Clyde on Bells Bridge. He could not remember how he had got there but as he raised his eyes towards the Auditorium, it seemed to look like a giant silver woodlouse that had taken up residence in the city. He felt its stare, terrible and menacing but through that shuddering menace, that seemed to encapsulate all his real fears, came a misguided clarity to his thoughts. He could see now that he had to go ahead with the plan. It was his last and only hope. Without thinking ahead more than one step at a time, he bought a bottle of wine. Sleeping pills are easy to get if you find a busy and compliant doctor, especially if you present with the symptoms that Tony had: depression, anxiety, sleeplessness. The pills really didn't really help Tony sleep but he still had a use for them. Back in his room he crushed enough into a fine powder to achieve the desired effect. Now that wine bottles came with screw caps it was an easy thing to dissolve his sleeping pills into the wine. He filled another bottle with a less palatable liquid... Petrol. A single bottle was not a lot of accelerant but he had no doubt that it would be enough to start the fire that his fevered brain had imagined. This was not the plan of a clear thinking rational person but that made it no less deadly in the execution.

John Mason had not been idle; he had done some research and discovered much about his target. His haunts, his current state of mind, what he was likely to do and where he was likely to go. The profession that Mason had found himself immersed in, required many disciplines. There was the physical side but also there was a psychology that Mason found came easily to him. His own psychology, the ability to separate himself from his actions was vital, but so was an understanding of his quarry. This was Mason's last job, maybe his most troubling, but nothing would be allowed to go wrong. It had taken a while, but finally he had the scent. It was just a matter of time, there was no hurry to say goodbye to a friend.

As Tony travelled on the train down to find Emily, the weather had turned to match his mood. He was careful not to search out his reflection in the carriage windows, he could not bear to look himself in the eyes any more; he knew what his reflection would reveal: a monster. Through the window the soft rain gave a melancholic atmosphere to the journey; the drops scribing a diagonal pathway down the window were like a flurry of sad tears. The bottles clinked in his bag as he was jostled by the ride but under his hooded jacket no one took any notice of the insignificant young man on his way to a reunion with his sister.

Tony rode the bus, still anonymous and invisible, from the Biddenfield train station to Hegfold. He chose not to risk being seen by a taxi driver so, constantly looking over his shoulder, he walked through the leaden dusk along the quiet hedge lined lane to the cottage. He stood for a moment in the twilight and remembered the long lost days spent there as a child, the kindness of his grandparent that he could never quite accept, the lazy afternoons in the sandy dunes. There are moments when the past has a weight so heavy that it seems you might be crushed by it.

He looked across to the silver band of the sea and sniffed the air finding a moment of peace, almost finding his sanity, but the rattle of his bottles snapped him back to the task in hand. He barely noticed the gentle rain now, little more than a drizzle which had followed him on his journey. By the time he arrived at the cottage gate the fresh country air had brought a little colour back to his cheeks and made him appear a little more human again. He stood for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest like a sprinter waiting for the crack of the starting pistol. The gate opened with a metallic squeak, as it always had, and he made his way up the path and knocked on the familiar door. He knew what lay beyond the glossy paint: a home filled with distant memories and envious desires and a sister that he was here to kill. He held fast to his determination to follow through with the mission, and avoided thinking of the distasteful consequences. His focus was held steadfastly on the money that he would ultimately receive. He went over the steps he needed to take as if he were an actor rehearsing for a difficult part. Tony was not prepared for the welcome which took the wind from his sails.

Emily had been thinking about Alexander she was studying the place in the kitchen where he had dropped the eggs in his astonishment at first seeing her. She bent down and touched the floor as if just touching the floor where he had trodden might bring him back. There was obviously no trace of the broken eggs, in fact there was no trace of Alexander anywhere in the cottage. As she turned she caught a glimpse of the shape of a man approaching through the rain. For an instant she allowed herself to believe that it was Alexander. There was a strangely conflicting mixture of disappointment and happiness as she opened the door on her lost brother.

"Tony... Oh it's so good to see you." Despite his long silent absence, she still loved him as much as she knew he loved her. Emily wrapped her arms around her brother and squeezed him so tight that Tony felt that his ribs might crack. But it was a good feeling, good beyond words. The human contact that had been missing for so long from Tony's depressing life took him by surprise and for a moment his resolve was tested.

"Come in out of the rain and get dry, you look like a drowning rat." She tried to make a joke of it but her emotions at seeing him after so long went beyond humour. The welcoming atmosphere of the cottage that he had once found cloying, now seemed to embrace him and coax a vestige of the old Tony back from the shadows. Emily tossed him a soft warm towel. He rubbed his wet hair and face, the scent of the clean towel, something so simple and normal, seemed to come from a world he had long forgotten. He took off his wet nylon jacket and placed his bag carefully down at his side. The bottles tinkled together like a siren's song, compelling yet offering no mercy.

"Mum told me you had been to see her, she's been so worried about you, and so am I darling."

She crushed him again with another fierce grip enveloping him in the softness of her plum coloured cashmere sweater.

"Steady on sister, I need these ribs for later." Emily took his hand and led him to a chair beside the hearth. Kneeling down before him, she kissed his cold fingers before letting go of her grip.

"Tea or coffee?" She asked as she headed to the kitchen.

"I've brought wine" he said.

"Let's save that for later."

"Coffee then, have you still got that wild espresso machine? I always expected it to blow up at any minute."

"Oh yes, It's still going strong, I can't start the day without an espresso, you know that."

As Emily busied herself in the kitchen, Tony found himself immersed in the palpable benevolence of the cottage and his primary reason for coming here started to feel less and less conscionable. He looked around at the cottage and wondered what right he had to destroy all this simple enchantment.

"Show me around the cottage, it's been a while since I've been here." He said. Emily shrugged her shoulders and then laughed.

"There not a lot to see and nothing much has changed but come on then." Emily gave her brother the grand tour...all two minutes. Kitchen, living room with the small added conservatory, two bedrooms and a bathroom. Small and unassuming but perfect in its simplicity. As Emily returned to the kitchen Tony found himself engaged in an internal battle. He had come here with a mission to turn this building into rubble and ash and his sister with it. When the plan had formulated itself in his mind, the morality had seemed unimportant; it was his own selfish survival that mattered. Now he found, faced with the stark reality of what he had intended to do, it no longer made any sense. He was not that person, not really; the plan was the spawn of a moment of insanity. Whatever demons had been whispering at his ear were no match for the warm spirit of the cottage and Tony realised that he could never follow through with what his drunken mind had summoned from the depths of his depression. The realization came on him like a shaft of sunshine cutting through the clouds after a storm. He knew now that he would rather face his fate than destroy this place or harm Emily. Face to face with the flesh and blood of his loving and unsuspecting sister he now only felt shame at what he had intended to do. In that moment, Tony finally became a man, but a man who was still burdened by the fragility of his own mortality.

Emily sat on the floor at her brother's feet again, she had not realized just how much she had missed Tony and wanted to stay close to him. Something, an ephemeral shadow that passed across his face, seemed to tell her that this may be her last chance. As they drank their coffee and ate thick wedges of Madeira cake, Emily could see in her brother's eyes that he had become nervous and mistrusting, like a domestic animal returned to the wild and become feral. It was not a sudden change, in fact his whole life had been leading him down the same path. She saw in him a reflection of the distress that she was familiar with in the four legged friends that she had sometimes been able to help. Tony's problems were far more complex than those of a highly strung thoroughbred though. They were beyond Emily's gift to put right.

"Tell me what's wrong, darling. I know you haven't always appreciated my clucking round you like mother hen, but all I've ever wanted was to help you. Mum and I love you unconditionally; let us in to that locked room in there." Emily tapped her brother's forehead.

"I know, I know. God Emily I don't understand what's wrong with me, you can't imagine the thoughts I've been having."

"Tell me then."

"No I can't, I really can't... They don't deserve to see the light of day. I'm just a weak failure, falling into one trap after another, each time sinking lower."

"No Tony, that isn't true, you're my brother, I can see into your heart, you are a good person underneath that shell of armour you insist on wearing. Take the armour off Tony and let the sunlight in..."

"It's not that easy... I don't know why I'm like I am... I wish... I wish I could be normal like you."

Tony was overwhelmed and almost lost control.

"So what can I do to help you brother?" She held his cold fingers.

"Just being here with you for a while has done more than I can say. Emily I've turned away from my family for so long that I'd forgotten what love is, you've reminded me of how much all this means to me. But it's too late now... Emily I'm being hunted, unless I can get far away, I doubt I'll see my next birthday."

"Tony, no... surely it's not that bad." But the look on her brother's face told her that it probably was.

"Tony, darling where would you go?"

"South America, maybe Australia... somewhere far away, the destination hardly matters."

"You need money?"

"Mum gave me a little, I know it's all she could afford, but it's not really enough to set me up."

Emily kissed her brother on his cheek and stood. She found her zippered handbag and after rummaging around for a while returned with a credit card.

"Take this, it's got a ten thousand limit on it and it's paid up to date. The card's due to expire in two months so use it while you can; I hope it helps Tony." Emily wrote down the pin number and handed it to her brother. "If this can save your life Tony then you are welcome to every penny of it."

"Oh Emily... This is not why I came to see you.... Can you even afford to pay off that much?"

"Not in one hit but in a week or so I'll be back working... I'll pay it off in a year or two don't even think about that." Tony was overwhelmed by his sister's generosity, especially as he remembered why, in his feeble desperation, he had made the journey.

"Look, this is too much, I can't take this Emily." Emily gave her brother one of her I will not take no for an answer expressions which used to infuriate him when he was a child. They used to infuriate him but he always did what she wanted and now he found it was no different.

"I'll only take what I need, and when I'm on my feet I'll repay you I swear."

"I know Tony." She smiled at her brother and as he shyly smiled back trying to cover his shame, Emily saw their mother's eyes shining back at her from her brother's face. Those eyes had been hidden under some darkness for so long that she was shocked by the sudden recognition. This sorry figure was her brother and whatever he had done, whatever thoughts had weighed him down, she still loved him.

"Emily, now that I've got enough to get away, I really need to make a move as soon as I can. It's not safe for me to hang around. I'd like to send Mum a message, but I don't think I could hold it together to speak to her on the phone. Can I send an email from here?"

"Of course you can, but wouldn't you rather call in and see her in person. I could drive you over."

"It would be even harder to say goodbye in person and I've taken a huge risk just in coming here Emily. I can't hang around, every minute I spend down here puts me in more danger."

"What danger Tony, is it really that bad?... Look if you're saying that someone is out to... to kill you then we should call the police. We live in a civilised country, not one run by the bloody Mafia or something."

"Emily you are so much wiser than me in almost everything, I always felt under your shadow when we were growing up... But in many ways you are still so naive. Read the papers, people are murdered every day."

"You really are scarred aren't you baby?" Tony's eyes flooded with tears, he used to hate it when she called him baby it seemed so demeaning when they were teenagers, but now his sister's word of endearment was enough to melt his heart.

"I'm not scared Emily... I'm terrified out of my mind." He pulled a sleeve across his eyes and sniffed hard, embarrassed by the emotion that he had let escape.

"OK Tony, but promise me that you'll keep in touch."

"I will, as soon as I'm sorted."

Emily booted up her laptop and left Tony with his thoughts as he composed his message:

Mum,

I'm going to disappear for a while.

Don't expect to hear from me for a long time but don't worry I know I'm going to be fine now.

One day I will make you proud of me.

I love you.

Tony.

The message was simple and to the point but as Emily read it she was moved by the sentiments.

"Will that do?" He asked.

"That's perfect... And Tony, just so you know, Mum's always been proud of you. Now after all that emotion, maybe I could manage a glass of that wine."

"Actually Emily, it was just some cheap plonk. I've been drinking far too much lately to try and keep the demons at bay... In fact, I've just realised, drinking is what opens the door to them in the first place. It might be better if we didn't bother with the wine. I really must be going anyway."

"Oh Tony, will I ever see you again?"

"One day, but not for a long time. This short visit has changed me, I don't quite know how... Maybe it's the atmosphere of the cottage or your warm love, but I need to tell you what I don't think I have ever really told you before... or even quite admitted to myself, I do love you."

"I know."

The brother and sister hugged once more and as Tony strode off into the evening he felt like a different person. He was a different person; a person who had been plucked from the brink of a dark abyss.

Emily was left alone. She knew her brother had gone and, despite what he had said, she felt that it was unlikely that she would ever hold him in her arms again. The two men in her life, those that meant the most to her were now both gone. She curled up in her easy chair and allowed the sadness and the falling night to cradle her.

Tony made the long journey back to his lonely room but the despair that he had felt earlier had retreated, replaced by a real hope for the future and a realization that even though he was on his own he would never be truly alone while he had his family. He would spend one more miserable night in the dingy room. Then he would collect his meagre possessions and head straight for the airport. As Tony slapped together a sandwich his eye was drawn to a half full bottle of vodka standing challenging him to spin off its cap. He did so... and poured the contents down the sink; he was free of another demon.
Chapter 19

There was a letter from Ploughman Publishing; Alexander placed it unopened on his breakfast table. Trying to ignore what the manilla envelope might contain, he buttered another slice of toast and piled thick-cut marmalade on top. Still chewing he took the letter up again, held it to the light. This was the last of the publishers to respond. It had been so long in the coming that he had, weeks ago, assumed that Ploughman could not even summon the courtesy to reply. He could guess the contents, the wording from all the publishers had varied but, the meaning was unequivocal and in each case the same. Thanks but no thanks. Even so there was still a possibility that it was not a rejection and the frisson of expectation, the brief moment of magic, would only be broken when he slit the envelope and read the familiar words gain. Draining his coffee cup Alexander moved along the passage across to what he, tongue in cheek, called his office. A small windowless box room, probably intended as a storage room. In place of a collection of mops and brooms and dusty boxes filled with junk that would never see the light of day again, Alexander had set up a desk for his laptop. There was a row of shelves, mostly empty and he slipped the letter still unopened between a collection of paperbacks and a well thumbed thesaurus that leaned against a heavy earthenware jar of freshly sharpened pencils. He wanted to hold onto his dream just a little longer.

Since finishing 'The kiss of the moon' He had been trying to bring together the threads of another book but found it hard going without his muse to give him inspiration. He knew that his time would be more productively spent in searching for a job. That outcome was inevitable but his time spent pretending to be a novelist had been rewarding, not something he could easily let go. Although not yet destitute, his savings were becoming perilously emaciated, he would need a reliable income before long. With the screen of his computer now lighting up the shadowy room, he looked at what he had already written with dissatisfaction. He tapped out another paragraph and its clumsiness mocked him. His eyes hovered again over the envelope then he took it in his fingers once more, sniffed the paper as a dog might sniff at a proffered bone before taking it gratefully. It had been so long since he had sent the manuscript that he felt certain that the letter contained nothing more than a confirmation that he was no writer, never would be. Any merit in the novel was down to the efforts of his sadly missed muse. He turned the envelope over, read the return address, saw the trace of marmalade that his fingers had transferred to the pristine paper. The urge to know was strong but so was his reluctance to finally kiss goodbye to his dream.

The sound of his phone made him jump, drew him back to the real world where ordinary men had ordinary nine-to-five jobs. It was Frank Bentley.

"Alexander, how are you?"

"Couldn't be better Frank, what can I do for you?"

"Well, you remember the commitment I made to try to put things right for you after... Well the fact is there's an interesting opportunity that's just opened up and I'd like to discuss it with you. I wonder, Alexander if you could be free to take lunch with me on Thursday?"

"I could certainly make myself available Frank, what's it all about?"

"Well I'd rather leave that until our lunch, say one thirty at The Connaught."

"Will Alice be there?" Alexander said with a hint of disquiet that Frank could both recognize and appreciate.

"Alice is in hospital." He said "Thanks in no small measure to you Alexander, she's finally getting the help that she's needed for a long time. I've already started to see signs of an improvement but it will be a long road I'm afraid. I was a fool not to face up to the reality of the situation sooner Alexander. If not for you... well."

"I did little enough Frank and I'm truly pleased to hear that she's in recovery... I only wish Jane could know."

"Yes... We've all been through a torrid time... I'm hoping things might get back to an even keel soon...Well, look I'll see you on Thursday Alexander and I'm hopeful you'll find what I have to say to be of interest."

Suddenly there were two mysteries in his morning. He looked at the envelope again, hesitated for a moment and then slid it back still unopened between the books.

~o~

On getting back to Glasgow, Tony had bought a ticket on line using his sister's card. The destination had finally been selected by little more than the expedient of stabbing a finger at a world map with closed eyes. He found that his destiny lay in Buenos Aires. He was not even sure what language they spoke in Argentina, Spanish he thought. It hardly mattered the only language he spoke was English but he felt he would get by. It was a place he could become lost in, a place far enough away to deter anyone who might bear a grudge. He gathered together his few possessions and his papers. His whole life fitted in a single overnight bag. This was of little concern to him, he did not want weighing down by baggage from his past. What he was about to embark on was a new start and the less he had of his old life to clutter him the better. He looked around the room in which he had spent the last turbulent months of his life. There was nothing here for him; he felt no connection with the place and was glad to be cutting himself free from its shabby sadness. What the future held for him was uncertain and now that the time for him to leave approached, he felt the veil of sadness fall over him for what might have been. If only he could turn back the clock ten years... five years even. He had just seen his mother and sister through a new prism and if he had regrets at all about the path he was forced to take, it was bound up with them, with regrets for deserting them.

Tony realized that he had struggled to find his way when he had the support of his family, now that he was to be alone in a strange country, what hope did he have. The memory of the day in the park; standing on the bridge looking into the dark water came flooding back to him. The call to sink under the black water still echoed in his mind, but at heart he knew he could never summon the courage for that ultimate act of self annihilation. He shook off his dark mood and without looking back closed the door on his room for the last time. He needed to be at the airport by eleven thirty and would take the nine fifteen from Buchanan Bus Station. Modern Glasgow was not without its attractions but he was committed to his journey and would cast the dust of the city from his heels with little regret.

He made international departures with plenty of time to spare and went in search of coffee. He bought a doughnut to go with his cappuccino and wandered over to a table by a window that overlooked the runway and watched the air traffic as it came and went. He was surrounded by thousands of anonymous passengers, each one with a different story to tell. Sipping his coffee he was coming to terms with the prospect of leaving the old Tony behind and was starting to feel the nervous anticipation of a new future spread though his body. Tony checked his watch; it was time to make a move. As he walked towards the check-in he heard footsteps behind him, hardly daring to turn his eyes back, he quickened his pace but the footsteps behind him did the same.

His emotions were mixed: anger, panic, relief... Maybe relief was the stronger.

"Hello John."He said without turning his head. "I guess I've been expecting you."

"Hello Tony."

The voice was familiar, quiet, restrained and all the more menacing for that. Without looking back, without slacking his pace, Tony spoke: "I'm booked on a flight. I'll be out of your hair for ever in an hour."

"I made promises Tony...We both know that I'm not going to let you get on that plane."

"Who would ever know?"

"I'd know Tony."

Tony stopped walking, his shoulders slumped as he turned to face the most dangerous man in the world.

"And what good would it do, another death on your conscience?"

"I have no conscience Tony, I can't afford that luxury. All I have is loyalty. My ethics are simple Tony: give your word and you have to stand by it... there's nothing else."

"Nothing else? What about love?"

"I have no love, no hatred, just duty."

Tony turned his head to the check-in gate, then back towards the entrance... so close. He pushed John with the flat of his hand against his chest and twisted back. Just twenty metres to the check-in... He bent against the inevitable and ran, one, two, three paces but John was already on him swinging him back by his arm. Tony felt like a new born antelope lost in the African savannah, run down and about to be mauled by the jaws of a lion.

"Don't make this hard for yourself Tony." But the fight had left Tony long ago there was nowhere left to run.

"Tony, let's take a walk shall we?"

John Mason's voice was calm; there was no anger just a determination to complete what he had vowed to a dying man. Tony lifted his eyes, he saw the man who might have been a friend if things had been different. A calmness fell over him as he heard again the call of the black crow. Louder this time, prescient and insistent. Maybe, in a way, John was a friend here to see him off. There was no longer any fear in Tony's voice just resignation; he had done his best to get away from his past but the success had eluded him at the last minute. It was the story of his life, why should he be surprised today? His whole life had been leading up to this moment, he saw now the inevitability, the pointlessness of it all.

"You should have stuck to the plan Tony."

Tony shrugged. He found, when face to face with it, that he hardly cared anymore. The call of the crow had never left him, was always hovering close. Oblivion offered the hope of peace that his life never had. He had enjoyed one last moment in the warmth of love. It was enough to sustain him, the final acceptance that his mother's and sister's love for him was real and eternal, beyond even John Mason's reach.

"I've been balanced at the edge for a long time now John, Maybe I'm ready for a rest." Mason nodded; he thought he understood what Tony meant. "There's just one favour you can do for me, make sure my family never finds out what happened to me. I'd like them to think of me playing in the sunshine somewhere far away... I'd like them to know that I might call them at any time. Or appear at their door one day with a story of success."

Mason nodded. "I'll do what I can."

Tony knew he could trust John Mason's word. He discovered that the happiness that had found its way back into his life in the last few hours had not altogether left him and as he walked away with his grim reaper companion all he could see was the image of his sister and mother smiling at him.

~o~

Alexander found his father-in-law already seated as he entered The Connaught. He walked over and took Frank's offered hand. Although things between them had improved greatly, there was still a frisson that sparked and bristled. Although forgiven, the harm done to Alexander could not be so easily forgotten. Alexander bore no grudges but it was a matter of undisputed fact that Alexander had been treated appallingly by his in-laws.

The meal was accompanied by the usual small talk. Alexander broached the question of Alice's health again.

"It's good of you to ask... Alice is in a private sanatorium and getting the best care that she could hope for. At the moment she spends much of her time under sedation, but the doctors tell me they are hopeful of a full recovery, but it takes time Alexander." There was a sadness in Frank's eyes.

"I genuinely hope that she does recover fully Frank, I know that her illness has been a burden for you."

They continued with the lunch and Frank appeared in no hurry to reveal the true reason for the meeting. As he topped up their glasses with the remains of an interesting Saint-Émilion, Alexander thought that it was time to get to the point.

"Well that was an enjoyable lunch Frank, thank you, but I think it's time for you to reveal the purpose of the meeting."

"Indeed so Alexander, as you may be aware, the company has an affiliation with Crossfields. They have been looking for someone with your sort of experience to head up a project. I find myself in a position to be able to recommend someone for the job. If I did put your name forward they would almost certainly accept my recommendation, in other words the job would be yours for the taking. Alexander, the contract would be for five years and the salary on offer is, quite frankly, eye wateringly high."

"Crossfields... aren't they headquartered in New York?"

"Ah, you have put your finger on the salient point. It would require that you move to that illustrious city, but the rewards would be enormous. I don't wish to open old wounds Alexander but... as I understand it; you don't have any pressing ties that would prevent you from moving overseas."

"No, I'm fully aware of that." Alexander said, fighting away a frown. Frank pulled a thick folder from his document case.

"The details of the company and what your position would involve, together with an indication of the remuneration package are all in here. Why not read through the offer, spend a day or two mulling it over and then get back to me at your leisure. In fact there is no urgency; the position will not open up before the late autumn."

"The position is within my capability Frank? I'm not looking for charity, nor for the opportunity to make a fool of myself."

"You need have no fears about, the fact is you are ideally qualified for the post. Despite the difficult patch we went through, I have always held your commercial abilities in the highest esteem." Alexander nodded at the complement.

"Well this is all rather unexpected, and I have to say it's come at a rather opportune moment. As you are probably aware I am currently looking for a position. Thank you Frank, I will certainly look seriously at the proposal. The fact is I have recently come to the conclusion that the writing career I've been trying to develop, may have somewhat foundered on the rocks."

"If you don't mind me saying, I think you would be wise to let that dream fade away. From what I can see, that career path is a road that leads to penury for most."

Alexander took a taxi back to his flat, he got the driver to drop him off a twenty minute walk from his door. With his jacket slung across his shoulder, he marched homeward under a bright sky with white puffs of cloud that had begun to inch their way across from the east. He strolled past the crouching houses, and the busy people, hurrying endlessly, to and fro. In his hand was clutched details of the job offer, he would read it all with care but it was almost certain that he would accept the offer. That certainty gave him confidence... confidence to get on with his life again. The sabbatical, the attempt to write a novel had probably been a mistake. He could see that now as he climbed up to his flat. He pulled a cold drink from the fridge, his thirst raw from the brisk walk and the wine at lunch. Now that it mattered less he felt he could at last face the last rejection letter and wandered to his office.

He tore open the envelope and wondered if it would be a gentle let down or a more prosaic, straight to the point, rejection. It started: We do not normally accept unsolicited manuscripts... Ah a gentle let down he thought. But then as his eyes scanned the page he saw the word 'Congratulations'. It seemed to jump of the page and make a mockery of his lack of confidence. The kiss of the Moon had been accepted for publication it said in black and white. Alexander felt, even now, a flush of pride but without being able to share the satisfaction with Emily, it was tinged with sadness. He thought again of his lost muse and all she had contributed to the book. He knew all too well where Emily could be found, the temptation to trace her was strong but the inevitable lack of recognition would be to hard to take for a second time. Alexander still assumed that she would not remember her part in the book's creation, not remember him, probably take him for a madman. He remembered the look she had given him as she woke in the hospital. The total lack of recognition was like the stab of a sword though his chest.

It was also an undeniable fact, that Emily had made no effort to trace him over the last months – a fact he took to confirm that her memory of the winter was gone forever. Maybe he would send her a copy of the book anonymously once it had been printed. Alexander wondered if reading it would spark any memories for her, he hoped so. As he held the letter, he wished that one day Emily might come to remember their time together despite its bizarre nature. There were times when he wondered if the events, as he remembered them, were just a dream after all and it was his memory that was faulty. Could it really have ever happened? Could a young woman caught somewhere between life and death possibly have come to him and captured his heart. It seemed so improbable yet so indisputable.

~o~

A handful of days later, under a warm lazy afternoon sky, two young lovers walked hand in hand deep into the woods. They were in search of some romantic seclusion under the canopy of nature. They kicked up the fallen leaves and breathed in the scent of the clean forest air. As they stood close together, feeling the keen anticipation of each other's bodies, they gazed up in wonder, the stillness was like a cathedral – almost spiritual. They had stumbled upon a hallowed place where the tall trees reached up for the heavens. The girl, with her long hair caught in the gentle wind, looked up into the canopy. The shafts of sunlight turned green by the foliage filtered down and dazzled her eyes. She wore a white summer dress, long and flowing and caught in the mottled sunshine she might have been mistaken for a wood nymph hovering among the fallen leaves. She laughed with sparking eyes and holding her arms out at her sides span round and round until she became dizzy. Her lover caught her in his strong arms as she lost balance and they tumbled together onto the soft leaf litter. Caught up in the magic of the forest they kissed with a passion and an innocence that only young lovers can know. They made gentle love together on the forest floor and then lay on their backs content and transcendent, looking up at the blue sky that shimmered beyond the treetops, caught in a moment that would last their lifetime.

These two lovers would bring new life to the world, just seeded in the girl's belly under the palpable life force of the forest; the new life would bring a fresh hope for the future as each new generation does. As they gathered themselves together and started to walk away arm in arm, leaning on one another for reassurance, they had not noticed the newly turned soil or the extra deep layer of leaves that had made their love nest. They walked away in contentment and kissed again. The distant sound of a crow brought a sudden chill to the lovers and they hurried off to find the sun again. They left behind them a quiet and peaceful place. A place of eternal dreamless sleep basking in a softly filtered sunlight where Tony had finally found his peace.
Chapter 20

Emily was dribbling water from a small polished copper watering can into the thirsty potting mix of her African violet. It had been a coming home present from her mother. The house plant had defied the odds by, not only surviving but flourishing with a profusion of fleshy green leaves and a never ending display of purple flowers. Her concentration was interrupted by the ringtone of her phone, filling the sunlit room of her cottage with Puccini: the familiar Madame Butterfly aria that Emily had recently, in a capricious moment, downloaded.

"Hi Mum, what's up... actually I've been meaning to call you all morning?"

"OK, you go first then."

"Well, you'll never guess but I got this strange delivery in the mail this morning..."

Suzanne interrupted her daughter.

"So did I... You're not going to tell me it was a gold coin are you?"

"You got one too? And was there a note?"

"It just said: Love Tony."

"Mine to... What does it mean?"

"This must mean that Tony is doing well, well enough to splash his money out on gold coins in any case. He must be back on his feet, gold doesn't grow on trees."

"No I guess we have to take it as good news Mum. But why didn't he say more? A brief message just to let us know how he is... I suppose your letter had no return address either."

"No just a plain envelope, from the postmark it was sent from London. My guess is that he's still keeping his head down. Those people who were threatening him, who ever they were, really frightened him. I guess he's still worried that they might trace him."

"I suppose so... You don't think he's in London do you Mum?"

"Not really, as you said, he talked about South America or Australia. I think he wanted to be as far away from his old haunts as possible."

"So how do you think he arranged it if he's on the other side of the world?"

"I have no idea Emily, there was a lot going on in Tony's life that we never knew about, I'm coming to realise that now. But why send gold coins for goodness sake?"

"I can't imagine... I've been waiting to hear something from him... I know he said not to expect news but maybe we can relax a little now. At least it means he's safe."

"Yes I guess so... "

"Look would you like to come over to the cottage later for dinner?"

"OK I have no plans, that sounds good."

"No plans... not doing anything with Ken?" Emily said with a little probing laugh.

"You just mind your own business young lady. I'll see you this evening."

Emily was still wrapped in concerns for her brother. She knew that her credit card had only been used once to make a purchase from a travel agent. That was something that made perfect sense to her at the time. But following that first use, there had been no more charges against her card and, knowing Tony's financial situation she had started to fear the worse. But if Tony had fallen on his feet, then the gold coin could be a way for Tony to pay them back... but why no proper letter? In the end Emily chose, as a matter of faith, to believe that her brother was safe. She also chose to keep the coin safe to remind her of Tony until they met again. Maybe she would have it made into a medallion. The coin a Krugerrand weighed one full ounce of gold and had to be valuable, she thought. For Emily, its sentimental value was greater than any amount of money to her.

The seasons rolled on, the wheel of the year had turned again to autumn. A full year had passed since Emily's accident. She found herself dreamily peering through her window just as she had been on the momentous day a year ago. She thought how much had changed in the intervening year and yet how much had remained the same, the wheel turning back to the same familiar routines. Emily's days were spent alternately working at the veterinary clinic and with Margaret in her riding stables. Her life was on an even keel, there were no lasting after effects of the accident and she would have been perfectly content if not for the nagging absence of someone special.

The thoughts of Alexander would just not go away. After all the months that had slipped by, the void in her life did not seem able to be filled. None of the messages she had posted for Alexander had been answered and she had finally come the sad realization that he could not be looking for her. Her own searches for Alexander had proved just as fruitless; he seemed to have simply disappeared from the face of the earth. Despite all this hopelessness, instead of her feelings for Alexander fading as time slipped away, she found that she wanted him back with her more with the passing of each day.

As the weather inevitably turned colder, with thoughts of imminent winter frosts, Emily rummaged through her clothing, sorting what she could throw out and what was suitable for the charity shop. She found herself in need of a replacement winter coat, something warm against the winter winds. With this in mind she drove her quaint little Citroen into Biddenfield to browse the shops and see what was fashionable and affordable this season. She had seen, while passing a few days earlier, a stylish coat with fake fur collar and cuffs. It was displayed in the window of the Crossways Boutique and Emily decided that she would like to have a closer look at it. As she walked down the dampness of the cobbled high street, shoulders hunched against the brisk wind, using the sleeves of her too thin Burberry trench coat like a muffler, she passed the Lexicon book shop and her eye was drawn to a new window display. She wrapped her scarf round her neck as she read the poster.

The work of a promising new author. A charming must read page turner. She hesitated not quite able to believe her eyes; a shiver ran down her spine. The Kiss of the Moon, was finished and made real it stood inviting her, demanding her, to buy a copy. There was a moment of hesitation thinking that it could not really be Alexander's book, just a coincidence of titles, but overcome by inescapable curiosity she slipped into the welcoming warmth of the shop. Emily picked up a copy, it felt solid and substantial a real thing, not the illusive book of her recollections that existed as only ephemera floating in her memory. She opened the book and thumbing through the pages recognized the words that she and Alexander had laboured over. It felt like meeting a dear old friend. Confirmation that it really was their book was already there in the author's name but there was more... much more. At the front of the book was a dedication meant for her:

For Emily

Without you this book would never have been completed.

Wherever you are I love you and always will.

The few simple words, if she could hold them to be true, were all she had waited for. Unexpectedly from the chill of an autumn day had come renewed hope of finding Alexander. It now seemed to her to be a real possibility. As she handed over her money with fumbling fingers, the sales assistant looked concerned.

"Are you all right Miss?"

Emily had been quite unaware of the tears that flowed down her cheeks. She wiped them away with her sleeve like a disordered school girl.

"I've never been all righter." Emily said as she ran from the shop clutching her prize.

Dismissing all thoughts of the new coat, Emily returned home and after a brief internet search, found a number for the publisher. With a trembling voice she spoke to the stranger at the end of the line.

"I wonder if you would have a contact number for Alexander Havers."

"Alexander Havers?"

"The author of the kiss of the moon..."

"Ah yes of course. I'm sorry but it's company policy not to give out personal details about our authors."

"This is quite important, I really need to contact Alexander, there must be something you can do."

The receptionist who was taking her call had heard all this before from an uncountable number of fans who would only make a nuisance of themselves by pestering the authors.

"Well I could get a brief message to him if it's really important." She said.

"That's all I ask, please just say: I'm at the cottage if you want to be with me, love Emily."

"Emily... you couldn't possibly be the Emily from the dedication could you?"

"Yes I could."

"Well, in that case I think he probably would like to hear from you, I'll make sure he gets the message. Give me your contact number... Have you read the book? It's a lovely read; you will need tissues."

"Actually yes, and I know."

Emily ended the call and then rang Suzanne.

"Mum, I may have tracked him down..."

"Who, Tony?"

"Ah... No sorry, I mean Alexander."

"Well that's just as good... for you darling, but what do you mean by may have tracked him down? Have you got an address, a number or something?"

"No, not yet. I was in town earlier, a bit of window shopping, but as I passed the bookshop in town, you know the one on by the Prudential corner, I saw our book on display... "

"The one Alexander wrote at the cottage?"

"Of course... Is there any other book in the world?" Emily said "I couldn't believe my eyes. I've got a copy if you want to read it. Anyway the publisher's name was there... well obviously I suppose, and after a google search I came up with a number for them. So they took a message and promised to pass it on to him."

"That's fantastic darling, I hope it all works out for you must keep me in touch, and by the way I'd love to read the book, you've told me so much about it, I can't wait."

This new hope promised to be something polished and lasting, a happiness to grow old with. Emily could not relax, she willed the phone to ring and tingled with nervous excitement. But as the day drew on with no reply to her message she started to slowly lose her effervescence. She went through the process of rationalizing what could have happened. Maybe he had not had time to get back to her, maybe he had lost the phone number of the cottage, maybe they hadn't got the message to him, maybe he had been in an accident, maybe he had found someone else and no longer wanted to see her...maybe...maybe. Emily's mind played with these thoughts and she found herself growing more despondent as the day turned into evening and then into the darkness of night. It was now past her normal bedtime, she took the book with her and read the familiar story, she saw how Alexander had honed their story into something that felt real, believable, full of passion. As she finally fell asleep, her earlier boundless happiness had turned back into a wistful unrequited longing once again.

Alexander had decided to take the New York job. He had agonised over the decision, still wanting to make a success of his writing career but after his first book, which owed so much to Emily, he had found the process more difficult than he had expected. The package that Crossfields had tempted him with felt more like a lottery win than a salary. There was also the prospect of an apartment overlooking Central Park, a car and an expense account. The work he would be involved in also appeared interesting with enough challenge to keep him absorbed. The tipping point was however that he had nothing to keep him from moving overseas, any ties he had made were now all severed by the unkind hand of fate.

As Alexander waited for his flight, he decided to check with Andrea at his publisher's office. He naturally needed to keep in touch with them and wanted to double check that they had the correct contacts for him in New York.

"Yes Alex those details match with our records, I don't suppose you'll have a great deal of time for writing while you settle into your new position. But don't forget your contract; we need another book... another two books."

"I know, I know. I'll have to see how it all goes. I'll probably find myself with some time to kill, being on my own.... I hope to get something done by the end of next year... I'm just waiting to find some inspiration."

"No pressure Honey but a quick follow up to your first book would be sure to sell well... Don't keep your fans waiting too long, they can be a fickle bunch: hard to gather and quick to abandon you if you don't keep feeding them what they want."

"You may be right Andrea but that book was emotionally draining, I'm not sure I'm ready for a sequel just yet."

"Pity, but I won't stop pressing you on the point."

Alexander laughed; it felt good, despite the pressure, to be wanted for a change.

"Well if that's all Alexander... Oh wait... There was something I think... a message for you, the reception desk passed it on to me... just a minute..."

Andrea cupped the phone between her ear and her shoulder as she searched through the papers on her desk. Alexander checked his watch; the flight was due to board any minute.

"Andrea, are you there?"

"Still here Honey."

"Andrea look the flight's due to board at any minute... I should go, you can give me the message next time I call or you could just send me a text."

"OK... Will do... Oh wait here it is, nothing really important. Someone called Emily says she is at the cottage if you want to be with her. Sounds intriguing."

Alexander's world suddenly spiralled around his head. He shivered, not from any cold but as if something had passed through him silent and irresistible. He had to lean against the wall for support.

"Emily? You're sure it was from Emily?"

"Swat it says here Honey." Amanda drawled.

"If I want to be with her, what does that mean?" He said, addressing the words to himself.

"That's all it says. Oh... it's signed love Emily. Is there something you're not telling me Alexander, I thought I had your affections all to myself."

"You wish... Look Amanda this message has knocked the wind out of my sails... Er... I'd better go OK... Thanks, I'll be in touch."

Alexander wondered why Emily had left it so late, just as he was about to fly off to a new life. The departure lounge seemed suddenly to have changed. Almost bigger, brighter more energized. As he looked around him, it seemed that he could see the expressions of his fellow travellers with more clarity. Were they as confused as he?

Across the hum of the airport came the echoing announcement: Passengers boarding for New York should head for gate seven.

Alexander's feet seemed glued to the floor by indecision. He considered abandoning his plans, rushing to the cottage, but what would he find when he got there? Before him stood the opportunity of a lifetime. A fortune to be made and a life of new experiences in one of the most vibrant and exciting cities in the world. It was all waiting for him. Could returning to that simple cottage and taping out silly books on a laptop compete with that? Even if it was in Emily's company. He hardly knew Emily as a real woman, was she even the same person? He was not even really sure what Emily was offering. His eyes looked up towards the flow of scurrying passengers, making their bustling way towards their own adventures. Gate seven beckoned. The internal conflict was soon over, Alexander knew that there was only one reasonable thing for him to do.

With still nothing from Alexander, Emily had phoned Margaret, apologising and saying that she would not be in today. Migraine was her excuse. In fact she just felt like guiltily pandering to her disappointment for a few hours. Possibly a hearty dose of comfort food would lift her mood, restore her equilibrium. Maybe a day spent curled up with a good book... a good book, where could such a thing be found? Despite the chocolate and the indulgent muffins, the day had passed slowly for her. She thought as the shadows lengthened, that it might have been wiser to look for solace in her equine friends after all.

There was a stew simmering in the slow cooker, it filled the cottage with an appetising aroma as Emily settled herself on the sofa with a sigh. She was examining a loose button on her shirt, absently picking at the threads. From somewhere in the distance came the bark of a dog. She looked up into the late afternoon sky as she heard the taxi in the lane. She heard it slow and stop by the cottage. Emily knew that her world had changed forever before she had even opened the door; knew before she even saw him. The squeak of the gate hinge, the cadence of his footsteps still gloriously familiar. The door was open before he could knock and there standing before her was a man she knew and she drew him carefully into the magic cottage lest he should dare to disappear from under its spell once more.

They stood together face to face, for a long time silent. Words difficult to find... unneeded. Both hardly able to believe that they were back together again.

Emily spoke first.

"Welcome home Stranger." She said, her voice soft and compelling.

"You remembered?"

"Oh yes... I remembered... It took a while but I finally remembered... all of it. I've been waiting for you for so long."

"Have you?... So is it all right if I stay for a while?"

"No." Emily said wrapping her arms tightly around him. "Not for a while... I want you for an eternity."

She closed her eyes as Alexander spun her round in an embrace that would never be broken, their destiny was sealed. Nothing else mattered. They were oblivious of everything except that they had finally found each other again. They were so caught in the moment, that even the strange coincidence of events passed by them unnoticed. It was a normal thing in the flux of time and space where planets spin and orbit. Over the distant hills a well anticipated partial eclipse had brought the shadow of the Moon to kiss the face of the Sun.

The End
About the author

Graham was born in England but has lived most of his adult life in New Zealand. When not writing he may be found pottering in his cottage or jogging along the beach or the coastal walkways of the quiet sea-side settlement of Maraetai.

