Authors: MAYNARD SIMS
HIS OTHER SON (25 page)
At
the far end of the room another cloud of mist was beginning to form, but there
was no one breathing here. It was as if the pale, shimmering cloud was
emanating from the wall itself. Slowly it billowed into the room, rising and
falling, twisting and turning in on
itself
, all the
while growing more and more dense, more and more solid.
When
it was the height of a small child it began to shift across the floor towards
the two men and Meg. Crawford and Stein had stopped chanting and were watching
the cloud approach, something close to awe on their faces.
Once
it reached them the cloud rose into the air and stretched out, moulding itself
to Meg’s naked form, and gradually, so slowly the movement was almost
imperceptible, it started to sink into Meg’s body.
Finlay
Crawford gave an almost exhalant cry and raised his
fist in the air in triumph.
Gareth
screamed, ‘No!’
Finlay
Crawford
wheeled on him. ‘Too late!’ he said. ‘It’s done. My daughter has returned to me
and there is nothing anybody can do about it. Not you, not
Narina
, not that
fool
Martin. And now I’ll deal with you the way I dealt with them!’ Walking across
to one of the alcoves he reached in and picked up the mahogany stave he’d used
to club Gareth earlier.
He
took a step forward and Clifford Stein stepped out in front of him. ‘So you
broke your word,’ he said to Crawford, his voice shaking with emotion.
‘I
had no choice, Clifford. They betrayed us, betrayed the Brotherhood. There was
no possible way I could allow them to go unpunished.’ Crawford spoke calmly and
reasonably, like a vet telling an owner why he’d put their favourite cat to
sleep. ‘You
do
see that, don’t you?’
‘You
broke your word,’ Clifford Stein said in a curiously flat voice. ‘You killed
Martin.
My son.
You killed Martin…’
Crawford’s
face twisted into a mask of fury and he lunged at Stein, knocking him to the
floor. He towered over him, wielding the stave threateningly. ‘Do you honestly
think I gave a damn about your son and that
Dressler
woman.
They were nothing but extras, Clifford; walk-on
parts… bloody
spear-carriers
. So they were in love, but you know what
they say, “all fair in love and war”. Napoleon had a phrase to describe war. He
called it “the
business of barbarians”.
We
are the barbarians,
Clifford, and
this
is war. A constant war against the passing of time,
against the ravages of age, against death itself
, conquering
death. That’s why the Brotherhood was formed and why it’s been so successful
for so long. And tonight we’ve begun a new chapter.
The
resurrection of the dead!’
He turned to Meg and grabbed her hand,
patting it, trying to revive her, trying to bring her, or rather his daughter,
back to consciousness. He was convinced the transfer had worked. He knew Marie
had waited so long to be reunited with him, and he’d seen her aura, her spirit
enter the body of the unconscious girl. But he had to wake the
vessel
;
he had to be sure that the eyes that looked up at him were the eyes of Marie
Elise, his daughter.
Clifford
Stein sat on the floor with tears pouring down his cheeks. He was grieving for
his son, but he was also grieving for himself and the part of him, the good and
caring part of him, that died when he’d first made the pact with the
Brotherhood. Crawford was right. They
were
barbarians, and what had
transpired here tonight was truly barbaric. It
had
to end. And here
tonight it would.
He
pulled the gun from his waistband and pointed it with a shaking hand at
Finlay
Crawford. ‘
Finlay
?’ Stein
said.
Crawford
turned and Clifford Stein shot him four times in the chest, watching as the man
fell to the floor next to him. Then he turned the gun on himself, placed the
barrel against his temple and pulled the trigger once.
At
the sound of the final shot, Meg Johnson opened her eyes.
Finlay
Crawford felt the life oozing out through the holes
in his chest as he tried to stem the flow of blood. He inched across the floor
towards Gareth, reaching out with a bloodied hand. He grasped Gareth’s knee and
pulled himself up until his face was within inches of the younger man. ‘This,’
he hissed through a grimace of pain and triumph, ‘
This
isn’t the end.’
Then he slumped forward and died.
Meg
Johnson lifted herself from the podium and walked unsteadily across to where
Gareth sat. He watched her approach, watched the expressions on her face
shifting and changing, unable to settle. There was a glazed look in her eyes
and it wasn’t until she got to within feet of him that a spark of recognition
lit them from within.
She
crouched down behind him, untied his bonds and then stood, looking first at the
body of
Finlay
Crawford and from him to Clifford
Stein.
‘This
will take some explaining,’ she said.
He
squeezed her hand. ‘No it won’t,’ he said. ‘We were never here.’
He sat in the front row of the stalls, smiling broadly
as the audience around him got to their feet for the ovation. For the entire
performance he’d sat next to the theatre reviewer for the
Evening
News
, watching while the man scribbled down his critique by penlight. He’d
not managed to read all of the review but odd phrase jumped out at him.
…Meg Johnson is a welcome
addition to the West End Stage
… ,
…the purity of her
singing voice lifts an otherwise mediocre score to the heady realms of opera… ,
…the assured performance by Meg Johnson as Claudia put this reviewer in mind of
the late Marie Elise at her best…
As Meg Johnson took her bow their eyes met and he
flashed
her a
smile, allowing himself a small thrill
of parental pride as he joined in the applause with the rest of the audience. A
middle-aged woman sidled up to him, holding out her programme and a pen.
‘Would
you mind awfully?’ she said. He dragged his eyes away from the stage, and
looked at the woman vaguely. She narrowed her eyes. ‘You are him, aren’t you?’
she said, almost suspiciously. ‘You
are
Gareth Barker?’
Gareth
Barker
– the name sounded alien to him still, but he knew he’d get used to
it, as he’d gradually become used to
Finlay
Crawford
and before that Oswald Bryce.
It was only a name.
He smiled and took the pen and programme. ‘Yes,’ he
said. ‘Yes, I am.’
The end
