Good Novel
Chapter 66
Chapter 66
Five Years Ago - Chad
Chad checks the door number against the address on the letter, then knocks. It’s a good building in a
good area. An apartment here would not be cheap.
The door opens, and he strides across to the concierge, a tall, slender man of perhaps twenty-five or
so. He has golden-brown skin, eyes like rich, dark coffee, framed by long lashes and a well-formed
expressive mouth.
“Yes, sir. What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for Jennifer Bennett. Is she in?”
The concierge shakes his head. “I’m sorry, we have no-one of that name here.” His gaze travels up and
down Chad; tall, well-muscled, with corn-blond hair and cornflower-blue eyes.
“How about Jenny Conners?”
“Oh, that Jenny, the red-haired girl. Yes, I know her. She's a stunner that one, isn't she?” He hesitates.
“If you go for that type of course…?” The question hangs in the air.
Chad isn’t sure how to reply, and after a moment, the concierge, sounding slightly disappointed,
continues. “No, she's not here, sir. She moved out a few weeks ago. She said she'd found a cheaper
place.”
“Did she leave a forwarding address?”
“I’m sorry, no she didn’t. It’s a nuisance because I have some post for her, a letter.”
“Just one letter?”
“Yes, she was only here a few days. The letter arrived a week or so later.”
With a sinking feeling, Chad says, “Could I see the letter please.”
The concierge blinks large, liquid eyes. “I’m sorry, sir but I can’t just give you someone else’s post.”
“I only want to see the handwriting. I think it might be from a mutual friend. If his letter didn’t reach her,
he will want to know.”
“Well…. I suppose that’s alright.”
The envelope is addressed in a firm careful hand, a hand that Chad has known from boyhood.
“Is it from your friend?”
“Yes, it is. He’ll be upset that it didn’t reach her.”
The concierge pulls a face then, “Look, I’m only supposed to keep uncollected mail for a couple of
weeks, then throw it away. Why don’t I give this to you? If you find your friend, you can give it to her.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.”
As Chad turns to leave, the concierge calls after him. “If there’s anything else, just ask for me. My
name’s Kristoff.”
Chad pauses on the thresh-hold, then turns back. “Thank you, Kristoff. I might do that.”
*****
James
There is a voice….
…. A female voice….
I should know who you are….
…. Darling, a true lady takes off her dignity with her clothes and does her whorish best. At other times
you can be as modest and dignified as your person requires….
Or am I listening to my own thoughts?
Who are you?
But it is dark and there is no reply.
*****
The voice returns, echoing out of the darkness.
…. A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship,
design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take
orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyse a new problem, pitch manure,
program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects….
I puzzle, or try to. But it’s hard. My thinking is woolly….
…. I hurt….
Why do I hurt?
…. Never try to out-stubborn a cat….
Why would I try…???
*****
The darkness fades a little, blinking into green and red fog…. This is property © of NôvelDrama.Org.
Where am I?
?
?
Who am I?
“Michael! Michael!” The voice echoes….
I do know you….
…. I think….
A different voice. “What? Charlotte? What was that?”
“He opened his eyes. He’s waking up.”
But the multi-coloured mist swirls and darkens to blackness once more…
*****
…. Do not confuse "duty" with what other people expect of you; they are utterly different. Duty is a debt
you owe to yourself to fulfil obligations you have assumed voluntarily. Paying that debt can entail
anything from years of patient work to instant willingness to die. Difficult it may be, but the reward is
self-respect….
*****
“…. The way to live a long time—oh, a thousand years or more—is something between the way a child
does it and the way a mature man does it. Give the future enough thought to be ready for it—but don’t
worry about it. Live each day as if you were to die next sunrise. Then face each sunrise as a fresh
creation and live for it, joyously. And never think about the past. No regrets, ever….”
The darkness lightens and lifts….
White….
Everything is white….
Thirsty….
The dark returns, but almost immediately vanishes again….
Whiteness….
And it comes to me….
A ceiling….
Awareness congeals around gummy eyelids….
Ah, jeez…. My head….
Thirsty….
The voice again. “Master? Master? Can you hear me?”
I do know you….
Something invades the whiteness, blurred, indistinct, orange around green….
Vaguely, I try to see more clearly. Something cool and comforting pats at the fire, dampness on lips
puffy with desiccation. Then, my head lifting, supported from behind, the coolth penetrates, water
trickling over my tongue.
“Master? Is that better?”
And finally, my vision makes sense. The orange and green blur resolves into flaming hair and deep
green eyes.
Jade….
“Charlotte?” My voice, my greatest effort, is only a whisper. I wonder if I actually speak the words, or
merely think them.
But she smiles, lacing her fingers with mine. “Yes, it’s me. I’m here, Master.”
“That’s good, Charlotte. That’s good.”
And there, behind her, standing with thumbs hooked into his pockets, is Michael, also smiling.
My friend….
?
?
Where am I?
I can barely move. The smallest effort, even turning my head, saps me. But I try to make sense of what
I see.
Screens….
…. Medical equipment….
And rolling eyes down my arm, a drip, taped into position.
Am I in a hospital?
Have I been ill?
Michael tosses his head at me. “Back in a minute.” He strides out, “Nurse! He’s awake….”
*****
“What am I doing here?”
The nurse looks up from where she is fussing over something to do with my leg and over the top of her
half-moon glasses. “You were shot, Mr Alexanders.”
Shot?
She straightens up, looking down at me. “You don’t remember?”
“No,” I say weakly. “I don’t”
I can still barely lift my head and can’t even consider sitting up. Michael stands over me, arms folded.
“How are you feeling?”
My skull aches abominably and I still can’t think straight, thoughts dancing away If I try to concentrate
on anything. As I squeeze the bridge of my nose, trying to relieve the pressure a little, Charlotte strokes
my fingers.
“Err.… terrible, actually,” I say. “I’ve never felt so knocked out.”
“Mmm….” Michael purses his lips. “That’s a good sign actually.”
“It is?”
“Ah-ha. It means you’re alive.”
I was shot?
I still can’t believe it.
“How long have I been here? I feel dreadful.”
“Four days,” says Michael. He presses the tip of a forefinger to his lips. “You don’t remember what
happened? At all?”
“Um…. no, not really….”
I try to think through the screeching headache. Memories bob like apples in water, surfacing only to
vanish again.
Charlotte…. Naked….
…. Drawing them on to her….
Fear….
Pride….
…. Anger….
“…. I was blasting Charlotte for behaving like a maniac….” She stirs next to me wearing that ‘I’m-sorry-
but-not-really’ look of hers….
Screaming….
Michael, tackling…. someone….
“…. Then…. er…. it’s a bit hazy after that.…”
Michael sits, then his voice falling quiet, says, “Corby was there, with a gun, aimed at Charlotte. I tried
to get to him, to stop him from firing, but I couldn’t move fast enough. I only knocked his aim off. You
grabbed Charlotte and shielded her with your body; took the shot instead.”
I let him shoot me?
?
?
“I did?”
“You did….” Michael tilts his head. Charlotte squeezes my fingers. “…. It was either the bravest or the
most stupid thing I’ve ever seen. You dropped like a stone, and I think you were unconscious before
you hit the ground. The bullet severed your femoral artery. You lost a lot of blood. You’re very lucky to
still be here, to be able to complain about how you feel.”
I almost died?
I almost died….
Jade-Eyes?
Were you hurt?
“But Charlotte wasn’t hit?”
“No, Master. It didn’t touch me. I’m fine. And even if you don’t remember doing it, thank you. I’d be
dead if it weren’t for you; for the two of you.”
*****