Under a Violet Sky by Graeme Winton - HTML preview

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Chapter Twenty one

 

Johnny walked through the large, grey stone arch and on up the drive past two sides of a rusty iron gate which lay discarded on either side each step producing a crunch from the rough gravel.

The dry tangled weeds in the unkempt garden on either side of the drive rustled in the wind and a bird screeched in the distance making Johnny glance from side to side.

The house was a Gothic behemoth, built of the same grey stone as the arch. Turrets reached up from each corner and were silhouetted against the starry sky. The lower windows were of the Gothic arch type and the black paint of the frames was flaking. The upper windows were oddly circular and were latticed. No light spilled out from any of them.

Johnny climbed the few steps up to the oak double door, which lay under an ornate portico and tried the handle. The door was unlocked, so he pushed the right-hand side, which swung easily into the dark. As he entered, he heard a wail which made him shudder, but he proceeded on into the claustrophobic black.

The wooden hallway floor was covered with threadbare carpeting and the worn floorboards creaked with every step Johnny made. Through the gloom he could just make out a big staircase at the back. He heard another wail as he nervously opened a door to his right. The room was full of the ghostly white shapes of furniture covered with dustsheets. He jumped when he saw his reflection in a large mirror on the wall behind the door. Then, as he hurried out of the room, he heard another wail, which sounded like someone calling: “Dad!”

He moved to another door on the left and noticed that it was ajar and that an eerie red glow was creeping through the gap. Another wail filled his head: “Dad, dad!” My God, he thought, it sounded like his children; no, it was Caitlin and Brad. He pushed the door open and crept into the room.

A large chair sat in front of a roaring fire and the glow was pushing the darkness away. A head bobbed above the back of the chair and Johnny realised someone was sitting in front of the fire. He moved forward as the cry of his children came again: “Dad, dad, help us!”

Suddenly, as he reached the chair, a figure jumped up and turned to face him. “Oh my God!” he cried. Standing before him was the figure of the Dark Angel. He could make out the tall, black clothed body and the dirty shoulder length hair, but the face… it was Veronica’s!

Johnny sat upright in the dark. He was sweating, and he wondered where he was. Gradually, however, remembrance descended over him, when he saw Veronica sleeping next to him.

He jumped out of bed and rifled through his clothing until he found his mobile. he pressed in the number for Sue.

“Hello,” said a sleepy voice.

“Sue, it's Johnny.”

“Johnny! What do you want at this time of the morning? You been drinking again?”

He looked at the digital clock on the bedside cupboard; the red numbers read: three- twenty.

“No! Look Sue, is everything all right? Are the kids all right?”

“Yes, goodnight; or should it be good morning!”

The line went dead, and Johnny threw the phone on top of his clothes then climbed back into the bed.

The next morning he drew back the curtains and marvelled at the sight before him. Princes Street Gardens in all their green loveliness stretched along the opposite side of the street. The Gothic Scott Monument stood in the upper gardens like a stone version of Thunderbird Three, and the Castle, perched on its volcanic plug, looked glorious in the rising sun.

“Time for breakfast.” he announced as Veronica turned over in the bed and pulled the top of the duvet up around her shoulders.

After breakfast Veronica did a little shopping before they crossed Princes Street and walked along the side of the stately Royal Scottish Academy building. Buskers were setting up for another day’s performance as the pair passed the pillared building of the National Gallery.

“Okay! Where are we going?” Veronica asked as they climbed the steps, which would take them to the top of The Mound.

“We’re going to the headquarters of The Bank of Scotland; I phoned an old friend who will put the diary in a special safe deposit box.”

When they reached the top of the steps Veronica stopped and turned around to take in the view. Johnny, however, kept on walking with eyes wide, for coming skipping toward him was Caitlin!

“Baby, what are you doing here?”

“Hi Dad, I’m here with Mum. We saw you climbing the stairs. Mum’s over there in the car,” she said, pointing over to the road.

Johnny glanced along the parked cars, but couldn’t see Sue’s car.

“Did you bring me a present back from your holiday? What’s that under your arm?”

“It’s…”

“Oh, can I have it Dad?”

Johnny took the diary from under his arm.

“No!” Veronica screamed as she ran toward them.

Caitlin snatched the diary when Johnny’s attention was focused on Veronica. “No Caitlin… What?”

The young girl suddenly grew in size and her skin became pallid and wrinkled. The Dark Angel then threw the diary to two men standing beside a green Audi before she vanished. Johnny recognised Menzel and Schroeder as they climbed into the car.

He ran up and slapped the side of the Audi in frustration as it sped away. Menzel looked out of the rear window and gave him a ‘Hitler salute’. Johnny then slumped to the ground and sat on the pavement with his head in his hands. “How could I’ve been so stupid,” he groaned.

Veronica sat down beside him and put an arm around his shoulders. “Don’t blame yourself, all of us would have done the same thing in your position.”

He looked up at the sky. “I was suspicious when I couldn’t see Sue’s car, but when I looked at her; it was Caitlin–it was my baby!”

A man in a pinstripe suit carrying a briefcase walked past them and then descended the stairs. Johnny stared at him for a moment and then said: “Well that’s it! How did we ever think we would escape from them?”

“Come on now John, don’t get despondent.”

“What do we do now?”

“Well let’s get away from here for now,” she replied.

As they climbed down the stairs, Veronica said: “These dimensional tests are held somewhere in the Mojave Desert–right!

“Yeah.”

“Right, let’s get back to the hotel and book two seats over to the States. We’ll go to Washington first; I have to touch base with the paper, then we’ll go over to the West Coast.”

“How are we going to find out where exactly these tests are taking place?”

“You leave that to me!” she said with a smile.