Hero & Heroin by Phil Beale - HTML preview

21 Coda To A Dream

The statues smirk silently, they knew all along

It’s not for them to tell what’s right and what’s wrong!

Lucy was lost; not in the vast complexity of our synthetic society, but in the forests of her conscience, which were the downfall of all who ventured through it. She was alone, in the automated constituency of tomorrow’s misfortunes. Lost like a goddess in search of vengeance. The red clouds of marmalade ecstasy had vanished from the swollen skies she was falling deeper into the abyss of night watched over by the peering eyes of the marmalade tree. Outside in the street the children were playing she could hear their yells and it annoyed her spinning head. Lucy got annoyed easily these days. Her headaches were getting worse; they had been for weeks now. She could see stars, and planets for that matter, without the use of a telescope.

The semi-drugged serpent slowly slithered downstairs to the sweet aroma of breakfast, which lay waiting on its white carpet. (Except that, it wasn’t breakfast but dinner) The kitchen revolved around her hungry eyes and Sunday sneered beneath its mask. Yes, today was Sunday! She hated Sunday, and once she had abandoned the depths of her daydreams and sacrificed the soft euphoria of bedtime, she could begin to pluck the fruit from the over laden branches, which hung rhythmically from the ceiling of her room. Lucy Simpson stared into the swirling coffee and once more her thoughts were on a journey in her blanket of dreams……….

She leant over towards him and Michael responded in kind as best he could. She could hear his dull moans as she cupped her hands and stroked his tortured brow. His hands started on their journey over her upper torso his perfunctory technique crude in its baseness. She didn’t care and moved position slightly to assist him and allow access to her shirt buttons. She smiled as she unclipped her brassiere, and then leant back over his broken body. She kissed his dry lips. They were cold. He was cold. Michael was dead! Lucy screamed and Bob came rushing to her aid as fast as his wheelchair would allow him. “What’s up what’s the matter pet?” he cried

“It’s only a dream. A nightmare” She said and went back to sleep………

The arrival of Virgins’ finest at Newcastle station was supposed to herald a new dawn for Bob and Lucy. Bob was excited at the prospect of returning to their little house at Attercliffe St. he assumed that once home things would return to normal, well as normal as life could be when you were confined to a wheelchair. Unfortunately, life has a habit of kicking back particularly when you are already down, and things rarely pan out the way they are supposed to. Bob reminded himself of his mother’s favourite saying: ’If you want to give God a good laugh, then tell him about your plans’. Well, He had certainly put a damper on Bobs plans Lucy became very ill; her depression never really went away and became much darker. Her appearance changed, she became gaunt and withdrawn. She was eating less as well, and found it hard to hold down a job. Since returning home and moving back to her old position at the hospital, Lucy had been in trouble twice for coming in late and insubordination. Eventually, she was dismissed for losing her temper with a patient, something she would never have done before. Her headaches began to get worse and cause her problems with vision. Bob encouraged her to go and see an optician. Lucy claimed it was just overwork. Her frequent visits to the Big Market only served to compound the situation, and although puzzling to Bob, she did always return happier and more ready to assume her responsibilities. He put it down to alcohol, particularly in view of the glassy eyed vacant expression on her face whenever he asked her where she had been.

Turning, turning ever more, the world spins madly on

The future catches up the present and the past is all but gone

D.S.Tatton picked up the phone and the operator said there was a call for Inspector Twford from Mr Van Helsing from Rotterdam

“Who?” Jack asked “Never mind I’ll take on the intercom”

“Mister Twford” the man emphasised the word ‘Mister’. He spoke excellent English, but with a distinct foreign flavour. “Congratulations on your promotion, well deserved in view of your recent arrests, but I fear you may have won only the battle and not the war. You will never stop it Jack. Life goes on. It always will” the phone went dead

“Damn him” said Jack “Damn damn damn that was Forman”

“You think so?” queried Derrick

“I know so” Jack replied “I worked closely with for the best part of a year and before that I was working on his case. He knew this number, he knew about my promotion. He even knew I would be here. Do you see what we are up against here, Derrick?”

“I could hear most of it through the speaker” Derrick reminded Jack “Is he right?”

“Of course he is, but that doesn’t stop us trying does it? If I thought for one moment that operation Bullfrog was a waste of time I would have resigned by now”

“Don’t let him get to you, Sir You’re above all that now. Don’t take it so personally.”

“It is personal; anyway I miss the leg work, Derrick. I do so hate the desk job, but I guess you have to think of the pension when you get to our age. This job was yours by right, you know that”

“Too many gaffes I’m afraid and mud sticks. Jenkins was my sergeant for two years. I taught him everything he knew. Doesn’t say much for my judgement does it?” D. S. Tatton argued

“You’re a good copper Derrick, always will be

…………………………………………………………………………………………..

“Are you really going to leave it there?” Sarah-Jane said when she finished reading the manuscript.

“Well I was planning to” answered Mark petulantly “Why what’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing, darling, it’s beautiful, but it does seem to end rather abruptly, you know not satisfactorily resolved”

“Life’s like that, it doesn’t always come in neat little packages. You’ve been watching too many TV dramas” Mark laughed and ran his fingers through Sarah’s hair “anyway there is still a chapter left on the computer, but I don’t know yet I may discard it. But never mind that, what do you think?”

“Is nice, great but..”

“But what” Mark interrupted Sarah digressions She continued

“Was I really that far gone?”

“Yes Babe you were” He looked over to little Josh and Amy “If it wasn’t for all the doctors and a month in the Lakes those two wouldn’t be here now” The two children were playing in the back room. Josh was two; Mark had started the book when Sarah was three months pregnant. They had been married for three years. Amy was one, a beautiful child with wild dark hair and hazel eyes. She was a miniature version of Sarah and a constant reminder to Mark of when he first met Sarah –Jane.

 Edna Sullivan loved her grandchildren and was pleased that Sarah and Mark had decided against moving away from Chesford. Mark still worked for the council and detested commuting. The traffic in Chesford was worse than ever: Too many cars and not enough road; too many buses not going anywhere and that frightful Ring road. The council continued to demolish the past; sometimes buildings were knocked before they had even finished being built. The city was in grave danger of becoming a permanent building site. All in all Mark decided to rent a small house on the outskirts of town. It was a short bus ride away for Edna, handy for baby-sitting and support for Sarah, his wife. ‘Wife’ the very word conjured up feelings of warmth inside Mark. They had known each other for so long and been through so much in their short lives and now here they were bringing two others into the world to start their own adventure. Mark always looked on life as an adventure and he had had more than most. He kissed Sarah kissed and she responded, “Have you heard from Bob and Lucy lately,” he asked his smiling companion.

“Not since the card they sent at Christmas, I think Lucy is quite ill, Bob says its nerves”

“Yeah she wasn’t that well when we saw them last year. I am glad we didn’t take Josh - she looked quite frightening,” Mark added

“Yes” said Sarah “But Mum was happy to have him, you know that. Do you think Lucy’s all right Mark - you know what I mean - I mean really all right,” She added

“I know exactly what you mean,” said Mark in reply” and no I don’t think she’s is, and what’s more I don’t think Bob has any idea of what’s going on.”

“Anyhow are you going to resolve anything about Bob and Lucy in your book, what’s in this last chapter? Why so secretive?” Sarah enthused playfully tapping Mark on the arm

“Its no secret, but I may rewrite some passages I’m not sure about parts of the story, but I don’t necessarily have to resolve anything about Lucy do I? -after all, it is only fiction!

It was much later after Bob’s death that Mark put the finishing touches to his book. It had been such a public affair, the media had dragged up all the old Sands case and the ’Carer from Hell’ headlines reappeared. Even the Chief Inspector Jack Twford admitted the similarities between the cases were uncanny. D. S. Tatton, went up the funeral just to nose around with his coppers instinct. He still believed her guilty of Jonathon’s murder and Bob’s death only served to feed the notion. He hoped to find some clues but was disappointed. Lucy, by this time, was well known to the local police as a heroin addict. They had been called to the house on Attercliffe Street on several occasions to quell domestic squabbles. Bob, exhausted from his efforts to win over his wife and the eventual realisation that he would never walk again become violently depressed, and as a result reverted to type. Unfortunately, Lucy was no longer the wallflower he married and she responded in kind. It was partly police testimony, but mainly the evidence of the doctors that persuaded the jury that Lucy was not fit to stand trial and she was committed to a psychiatric hospital.

Ex Sergeant Pete Jenkins was charged with conspiracy and was sent down for a very long time. There was always a suspicion that he became the scapegoat for others but of course, nothing was ever said. Even when new forensic techniques came along no D.N.A. samples were ever matched up to enable a conviction for the Jonathon Sands murder. The coroner had recorded an open verdict, but most people believed Jenkins to be the killer. Most people that is with the exception of Derrick Tatton he still had nagging doubts and spent a great deal of his free time trying to piece together different snippets of information to build a case against the ‘Wheelchair Killer’

Van Helsing continued to prosper, working from his base in Holland. He started an Internet Book company, distributing worldwide. The ex Chief Constable George Evans was the sales manager.

I am constantly amazed at what one can find in a book these days. All human life is there and sometimes a lot more than you bargained for. Larry continued driving after he left the Ink factory, for a small bakery. He still saw Mark and Sarah; in fact, now that he had retired he spent a lot of time with the children. ‘Uncle Len’ constantly amused Josh and Amy with his stories, Mark was amazed how he could come up with so many adventures but was never entirely sure which tales were real and which were pure fabrication. It did not matter to Josh and Amy. After all a story is a story.

 THE END