Adam's Cross by Wixley Elizabeth

Author:Wixley, Elizabeth [Wixley, Elizabeth]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2014-12-28T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

Adam lazed back in the lounge chair yawned, and made out he was drowsing, not engaging with his mother or it would encourage her to stay up longer. The mosaic of that happy night when all the pieces of his relationship with Mark had come together constantly occupied his mind. Adam hated the thought that the picture of their future was no longer perfect and that it was inlaid with hate and pain.

Eventually the couple retreated up stairs. For some time Adam listened to his mother and Stan moving around in their bedroom. Adam rose stiffly, took the gun from under the seat cushion and moved his weary, sleepless body towards the hallway. He lifted his black oversized hoody and scarf off the hook. Wrapped the lower half of his face with the thin material, zipped the jacket, and covered his head with the hood. As quietly as possible, he opened the door and stepped out into the night. This time he would take the long walk to the town of Oak Hill.

The route was familiar to him as every day he had followed the same ritual of boarding the village bus or walking to the hospital to sit with Mark. His friend had gained conscious but was still a long way from recovery and struggled to talk. Adam had described to Mark how he despaired of the Police’s inactivity and how they didn’t seem to have the will to catch the perpetrators.

“They’re just not interested, even though I gave them good descriptions,” he’d told Mark. “I even know where they hang out. I could take them straight to them,” he whined picking at the scab that had formed on the back of his hand. “They just say that I must leave it all to them, and they’re on the case.”

Adam didn’t say that the obvious injustice was burning holes in his brain and that he wanted to ensure they suffered an equal amount of pain.

“Adam they’re right, leave it. I don’t want you to change,” Mark had whispered in a scratchy, small voice. “Don’t become hard.”

Patiently, Adam had followed the gang, learnt their routines and had tracked them down to a certain pub. He had already had several attempts at assassinating the main culprit, the man with the teardrop tattoo, but he had been, thwarted at the last minute by the sudden appearance of a friend or other unforeseen circumstance. There, could be no more rehearsals. Tonight he must succeed.

As Adam approached the pub where he expected his adversary to be, he saw a group of people smoking and drinking outside. He slowed his pace, as he didn’t want to be noticed. He glanced at his watch and saw that it was nearly eleven.

Adam slipped into a churchyard, a location he’d selected days earlier, as being ideal to carry-through his plan. He crouched down, his back pressed against the low churchyard wall, a barrier between him and the street.

Patiently, he waited, holding the gun at the ready between his legs that were, pulled tight against his chest.

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