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PAUL EDMUND NORMAN: DAYLIGHTS The mist — what was it, and why was it here? She couldsee that it was not mist. She could make out shapes in it, and she thought she
knew what those shapes were, remembering, half-remembering what Richard had
told her. She shuddered. Something had occurred to trigger it off. Something
had happened, something bad had happened in Sharringford, something Richard had
not anticipated. At last the Discovery came out of the mist and into
the grey rain. Ahead of her, the Manor House loomed large and comforting. But
now she was frightened. She wished she had told Mike Thompson what she knew,
but he would only have laughed and sent her packing. In actual fact she wished
she could have brought Thompson back with her to the Manor House. He made her
feel safe. And there was something else about him. She parked the Discovery and
went into the house. A telephone call would satisfy her curiosity, assuage her
nervousness. She picked up the handset and pushed the buttons
gently, dialling a Norwich number. Nothing. She frowned. The lead was secure into the wall. Yet
there was no dialling tone. Something she normally never checked for, just
picked up the handset and punched the buttons. But now she did check, and there
was no dialling tone. There was a mobile phone in the car. She ran back out to
fetch it, pulling up the arial and pushing the buttons. For a moment it sounded
right, a ringing tone, but abruptly it went quite dead. Tossing the phone onto
the seat she picked up a pair of binoculars and started a panoramic sweep of
the village. The Manor House was the highest point of the village. As far as
she could see, there was the mist. To the north, she knew, the fields and the
roads were under water, as was the section of road she had just come in on. No
way out, then. It had started. But who had started it? There was no doubt about it. Someone had called up the
mist. Someone had interfered with the telephone lines. Someone in the village
had the power to do that, and it could only be one person. Joanna Robertson.
Somehow she had got wind of what was going to happen to her, and she had got in
first. Called up the mist to protect herself. Alison knew she thought she was
capable of doing that. Whether she could or not was a different matter.
Something had caused it, and it was no ordinary mist. In Richard's study, the study he had never occupied,
because he had died before the move, she started up the computer and began to
read his files. There was a file on every person in the village, he was that
thorough. There was even a file on Danny Robertson, the son. Time to read about them. Read about them all. If it
was going to happen today, she needed to be prepared. For anything. She knew
some of what she had to do, they had gone over it very carefully. She switched
on the modem and started to send the files down the line to the only other
computer in the village. A momentary panic caused her to look up, wide-eyed, as
she realised that the telephone lines were apparently not working, but the
transfer was going through all right, and after a short while there was
confirmation that the files had reached their destination. Her theory was
correct, then. There was no possibility of contacting anyone outside the
village, but within the village — anything was still possible. - -Twenty - As Joanna walked up the drive she saw that Frank was
standing in the doorway. He was still there. He had stayed. Well, he couldn't
leave now, could he? Now that she had made her plans, started things in motion.
She smiled to herself. It was transparently obvious that he did not recognise
her, thought he could take control of the situation. He would start to throw
his weight around, show her who was boss. She was only a woman, after all!
Maybe it would be necessary for her to play along with it for the time being,
while things started to take shape. At least until the others turned up in the
evening. It was inconceivable that she had allowed him to do
what he had done to her. Just a few years earlier she would have had the power
to make him stop. Before Danny came along, she could have kept him where she
wanted him just like that. She was out of practice, that was all. The group had
met four times in the last three years, and on each occasion all they had done
was to say some invocation to get one of the members a new partner or a
beneficial hearing from the bank manager. Stupid, simple parlour tricks that
involved little more than hypnosis and propitious times. Nothing serious.
Nothing to change the course of history. These rural Satanists were really not
up to much. Nevertheless, she believed in herself, believed that she had real
power, real power — the mist had worked, hadn't it? If she had not caused the
change in the mist, who, or what, had? 'Any luck?' 'No, I went as far as the shops, but the
lines are dead, all dead.' She took off the raincoat and hung it on the hook
below the mirror in the hall. The rain dripped off it onto the carpet. She
glanced at herself in the mirror and ran her tongue over her lips, moistening
them. 'I've made some coffee. Come on. After
I'll run you over to your friend's place if you like.' She followed him into the kitchen and
took the mug of coffee with both hands, looking directly at him. 'Why are you doing this?' 'What?' He frowned. 'You force your way into my house, then
me, you eat my food, you're drinking my coffee, now you want to help me. Hardly
consistent, is it?' Frank sat forward. 'I want to make amends.' He was lying
through his teeth. He was simply awaiting the opportunity to get the upper
hand. He would drive her out of the village, rape her again, given half the
chance, then probably kill her. Only this time he wouldn't get the chance. She
was in control. And didn't she just love being in control? 'Why?' she persisted. 'You must have some
motive.' 'You have a husband, I suppose?' 'Yes.' 'You didn't mention him. Just this other
guy. What was his name? Jack?' She nodded, lifted the coffee cup to her lips and
drank. 'And does he treat you good? Your husband? Or is that
where Jack comes into the picture?' 'I don't know what you mean!' She felt her colour heighten, knowing that he would
take this answer for a 'no'. He moved away from the worktop, aware of her eyes
following him all the while. She knew how attractive she was to him, and that
he didn't really want to leave without having her again, whether she agreed to
it or not. He looked out of the window. She could read his mind, almost. The
old way was the best way, for him, she could see. He wouldn't change. Not now.
Take what you want, by force. 'I thought not,' he said. 'Otherwise you
wouldn't be worrying about some other fella who was supposed to show up as soon
as hubby was out of the way. I know I raped you. Maybe I should have introduced
myself first. Doing things by force is my way. That doesn’t lessen my enjoyment
of it any. And I’ve had a mighty hard smack on the back of my head for my sins.
Now I don’t know if that makes us equal or not. All I know is I like you and if
taking you out to your fella’s place puts me in good with you, then let’s go.’ ‘At least you’re honest.’ ‘You want to go, then?’ ‘I don’t think he’s ill. He was all right
when we spoke earlier.’ ‘Was he driving?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Maybe it broke down. Ran out of
gas.’ ‘He would have walked or come by
bus.’ And so it went on. Everything he
suggested she countered with a reason why it could not be. She did not want
Jack to come. Not today. Jack had blown it. Things could never be the same
between them. If he came now, it would only complicate matters. For what she
had to do, she needed to be alone with him. With Frank. With Frank Hartford.
And the others. Joanna got up to take her mug to the
sink. As she passed him he caught her hand and pulled her against him. Neither spoke. They just looked. Then he kissed her. Gently. Silently they went back to the bedroom
and undressed. They made love. It was long and slow. And good. It was the way she wanted it to happen, this time. Now
she was totally in control. For Frank it was a new experience. Outside, in the yard, by Frank’s car, more birds were
arriving. Seven starlings, three sparrows, a blackbird and a thrush. They
dropped from the sky and died as they landed on the gravel drive.
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Gateway is published by Paul Edmund Norman on the first day of each month. Hosting is by Flying Porcupine at www.flyingporcupine.com - and web design by Gateway. Submitting to Gateway: Basically, all you need do is e-mail it along and I'll consider it - it can be any length, if it's very long I'll serialise it, if it's medium-length I'll put it in as a novella, if it's a short story or a feature article it will go in as it comes. Payment is zero, I'm afraid, as I don't make any money from Gateway, I do it all for fun! For Advertising rates in Gateway please contact me at paulenorman@yahoo.co.uk Should you be kind enough to want to send me books to review, please contact me by e-mail and I will gladly forward you my home address. Meanwhile, here's how to contact me: paulenorman@yahoo.co.uk |
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