Cry Darkness by Hilary Bonner

Author:Hilary Bonner [Hilary Bonner]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severn House Publishers
Published: 2020-10-22T23:00:00+00:00

PART FOUR

Our consciousness rarely registers the beginning of growth within us any more than without us; there have been many circulations of the sap before we detect the smallest sign of the bud.

George Eliot

THIRTEEN

It was all Jones could do to muster the strength to climb out of the cab. She paid the driver from her stash of dollar bills, then stood still for a moment trying to be sure that she had control of her body.

The rain, thankfully, had eased, because Jones’s grey plastic raincoat, now badly torn, was likely to provide even less protection than before. She still felt extremely shaky and her left leg almost gave way when she tried to put her full weight on it. She took a step sideways and reached out to hold on to a water hydrant to steady herself.

Passers-by were glancing at her curiously, then quickly turning away. She wasn’t surprised. She was a mess. But even in her state of shock she was aware that most of the blood that had been splashed on her had landed on her torn raincoat. She shrugged herself out of it, scrunched it up, and tucked it under one arm.

Moving as quickly as her injured leg would allow, while also trying to be inconspicuous, she made her way up the station steps, past the line of pavement cafes, and into the cavernous central hall, where she stood at the top of the steps overlooking the concourse and glanced anxiously around for the nearest public convenience.

There was a pronounced police presence. Two machine-gun-toting soldiers, wearing fatigues and flak jackets, stood just to Jones’s left, fortunately facing away from her.

Involuntarily Jones took a step backwards, but reminded herself that this was, of course, normal in America. And had been since 9/11.

Nonetheless, she retreated through the imposing gateway from which she had just entered. Then, standing outside, she remembered The Campbell Apartment, an unlikely cocktail bar to which she had been introduced on her last visit to New York, and headed for the heavy wooden doors which she knew led to it. The Apartment had been leased in the 1920s and 30s by a businessman and alleged bootlegger called John W. Campbell who transformed the thirty-by sixty-foot room into a reproduction Florentine palace which he used both as an office and for entertaining. Or actually, some said, for storing and selling his illegal hooch.

Jones knew the bar would be closed that early in the day, but hoped that the exterior doors would be open. They were. She hurried across the tiled ground floor lobby, from which a short flight of steps led to The Apartment itself, and ran up them as fast as her battered legs could carry her. At the top was a ladies’ lavatory. To her relief, that was open too. And it was deserted.

Once inside, she studied her reflection in the wall mirror. No wonder people had been looking at her curiously. There were splashes of blood on her face. Her right cheek still bore

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.