Book TRK
Chapter 50
Chapter 50
Five Years Ago
The farm stirs to life. Cocks crow. The horses champ. Farm-hands pull on rough working clothes and
from the farmhouse, the scent and sizzle of bacon emerge.
Brett makes his way to breakfast, but as he passes the stables, pulls up short. “Chad? What are you
doing? That’s Jenny’s job. Is she ill?”
Chad tosses the fork into a straw bale, taking the handles of a wheelbarrow destined for the muck-
heap. “Jenny’s gone.”
“Gone? What do you mean gone?”
Chad puts the barrow down, grief on his face. “What part of the word ‘gone’ don’t you understand?
She’s left.”
“She won’t be coming back?”
“No. She won’t.”
Brett digests this then, “She didn’t say anything, didn’t say goodbye to everyone, but you knew?”
Chad shudders a sigh, only a heartbeat from tears. “She wanted to go. She didn’t want to make a fuss.”
Brett lays a hand on his shoulder. “Chad, I…. Don’t know what to say. I know the two of you had
problems but….”
“Leave it,” he snaps, then, “Sorry Brett. I’m upset. Do me a favour would you. Tell everyone else for me.
I don’t think I can face it.”
“Yeah, sure. Of course. Would you like me to bring some breakfast out to you?”
“No, I couldn’t stomach it right now. But thanks.”
Brett vanishes into the farmhouse to relay the news.
In the background, Tom, unnoticed, pulls back into a barn. “Christ. Oh, Christ….”
And dropping onto a bale, he sits, rocking, his hands covering his face.
*****
James
And once more, unbearably, we wait.
And it is excruciating.
My Green-Eyes. My beautiful Jade….
What does it take to stop these bastards?
I don’t want food and left to myself, would survive entirely on coffee, pacing the room, muttering to
myself….
Until Michael pushes something at me, a sandwich.
“I don’t want it.”
“You’ll damn well eat it. You’re stressed to hell and wired on caffeine…. And you’ll be no use to her if
you make yourself ill.”
He’s right of course, and I choke the thing down, then wash it on its way with more coffee.
Michael looks ill himself, forcing down a sandwich with me, I think mainly to make the point. His face is
normally…. I think a woman would call it ‘chiselled’. Right now, he looks gaunt.
Guilt?
They were with him when they were taken….
…. Not his fault….
No point saying anything. We need to get them back….
Richard endlessly checks his phone. And when he’s not looking at it, he sits with it on the desk, one
hand in contact….
In case it vibrates?
…. the other drumming endlessly on the desktop.
It rings and Richard snatches at it. “Yes?” His eyes light up, “It’s Will,” he says, then starts scribbling
madly on a jotter.
“Yes… Yes…. What! We’re on our way. How long before you can get there? Is that with back-up?
Right!”
The light of challenge in his eyes he knocks off the mobile, already heading out.
“Come on. We’re going. We know where they were taken, and it’s not far away. Can you believe it?
We’re almost on top of them. It’s an old abandoned farm. I’ll tell you on the way.”
Now to finish it….
*****
Five Years Ago
The deep dark of the winter night: huddled figures lie in the hard, narrow beds, each fully clothed and
with a single thin blanket wrapped tightly around against the blistering cold.
The windows, such as they are, are unfriendly eyes into the night, decked with webs from long-dead
crawlers. The glass is opaque with dirt, but on the inside, frost traces its lacy filigree over the muck.
And despite being on the third floor, they are securely barred on the outside. Thick steel plunges into
brick and concrete.
And the dorm is silent. The occupants know better than to make noise at night.
There is a tapping sound. This is property © of NôvelDrama.Org.
The occupant of the nearest bed startles, jerking fearfully and peering out from under her blanket….
Not me….
Someone else… please….
But as she looks out along the narrow aisle between the rows of beds, there is no-one there. No adult
come to threaten or intimidate.
The tapping noise comes again, and now a voice as well, low and careful. “Is anyone there? Can you
hear me?”
The girl sits up. Small for her age and painfully thin, she shivers in her threadbare clothes.
“Who is it?” Her voice quavers. But now, curiosity is biting. And the voice doesn’t sound threatening,
not like most of the adult voices she hears. As she rises, moving to the window, other bodies stir from
their beds. Nothing so interesting as this has happened in a long time. Other girls, small to teenager
gather around.
“I'm looking for someone,” says the voice. “Have you got a girl called Katy in there?”
There is a lot of shuffling and muffled, hushed whispers.
“Katy? Yes….”
“Katy….”
“Where’s Katy?”
A girl of twelve or so pushes her way through. “Tommy? Is that you? Tommy?”
“Yes, it's me,” hisses the voice. “I've come to get you.”
She scrabbles at the window. “Tommy, I can’t get out. The window’s barred.”
“I’ve found you now. You be brave. I'll be back.”
“Tommy? Tommy! Come back….”
The plea is panicked but quiet. Hope kindled then disappointed. But the voice comes no more.
Excited voices whisper around her.
“Who’s Tommy?”
“Who is he?”
“He’s my brother. I knew he’d come.”
“But he’s gone again.”