Deadlines by Fabian Black

Author:Fabian Black [Black, Fabian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter eleven

“You can’t leave, you can’t! I don’t want you to…” “Jude…Jude!” The name repeated like an echo…

The red car with the white stripe down the side was stationary by the side of the road, but then all of a sudden it began to move, slowly at first then faster and faster, a blur of red and white that soon disappeared into the far distance...

The scream of a train whistle pierced Michael’s sleep, startling him awake. He sat bolt upright in bed causing the book he’d fallen asleep over to crash to the floor. His heart was racing. It raced harder still as Joseph burst in to the bedroom. “What happened, why were you screaming like that?” Joseph moved quickly to the bed reaching for Michael, pulling him into his arms, uncertain as to whether it was he or Michael that was trembling.

Michael spoke though a mouthful of the tshirt he was in danger of becoming a logo on, “I wasn’t. It was a goods train going down the line. It woke me up, in fact it scared the shit out of me, and you’re crushing me.”

“Language,” chided Joseph automatically, slackening his hold. He was sceptical of the train claim. He knew the difference between a human scream and the screech of a train whistle. The latter had sounded after the first. “Did you have a nightmare?” Michael shrugged, “not that I can remember.”

Joseph picked up the garishly jacketed book of grisly real life murder stories that Michael had been reading, a look of disgust spreading across his face as he did so. “No wonder you have bad dreams, reading this kind of sensationalised sickness. I don’t know what anyone gets from reading such vile details. I warned you last night. It can join that tacky tshirt of yours in the bin.”

“That tshirt cost me the best part of thirty quid and the book isn’t mine, it’s Pete’s and I don’t think he’d appreciate you trashing it.”

“Then you can give it back to Pete at the first opportunity, and I don’t care how much the tshirt cost. It’s in the bin and that’s where it’s staying.”

“Dragon,” muttered Michael as Joseph left the room and went back downstairs. Folding his arms he leaned back against his pillows, a little of the anxiety he thought had been vanquished returning. It deepened when for some reason his mind replayed the incident when he’d almost driven into the back of a van, supplying a detail he had forgotten. Prior to it happening he had seen a car flash past in the opposing flow of traffic, a red car with…he squashed the memory before any more details could emerge, forcing his mind back to that morning and the fox, picturing it. His spirits lifted as he heard footsteps on the stairs.

“Chamomile tea with honey,” Joseph placed a mug on Michael’s bedside table, “it calms the nerves.”

“A tot of Glenmorangie would work better, not to mention taste better.”

Ignoring the comment and the accompanying grimace Joseph began to strip off.

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