Safe Haven by Artinian Christopher

Author:Artinian, Christopher
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: na
Publisher: Headless RAM Publishing
Published: 2018-04-06T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TEN

Fry was propped up with his back against one of the walls. He had been cradling Juliet's cold body ever since he had found it. The candles had long since extinguished and all but one of the lanterns had finally choked on their last drops of paraffin. He could just make out the silhouette of The Don's head. The thought of his eyes daring to look in the direction of himself and Juliet infuriated him.

"You think this is funny? This doesn't change anything. This doesn't change anything." There was no frailty in his voice, only resolve. "It doesn't change anything, does it sweetheart?" he asked looking down at his beloved Juliet.

He lifted her head and kissed her mouth, ignoring the lifeless frigidity that greeted his lips, ignoring the sticky trails of blood that streaked her face, ignoring the gory hole where her soft, supple cheek had once been. He pulled back and held her head between his hands.

"This doesn't change anything." He looked across the cellar floor and noticed the chunk of flesh that had been torn from Juliet's cheek before looking back down at her and gently stroking away an errant hair. He shuffled to his knees and carefully laid her body down on the ground before walking across to the workbench. He pulled the drawer open and grabbed a handful of candles. Fry lit them one by one, letting the melting wax drip onto a saucer and then he pushed the candle ends onto the molten wax, glueing each one into place. He carried them across to where Juliet lay and placed them around her in a wide semi-circle before returning to the workbench. He opened the bottom drawer and removed a purple sewing pouch, unzipping the rusty fastener to reveal a hotchpotch assortment of needles, and threads. Fry removed a bobbin still full with black cotton and a needle that glistened in the flickering light before picking up the fleshy remains of Juliet's cheek.

"Well darlin'," he said lifting her head onto his lap as he spread his long legs out in front of him and rested his back against the wall. "This might sting a bit, and you're probably going to have a bit of a scar. But as a young friend of mine once said, we've all got scars."

Fry unwound a long strand of black cotton from the bobbin and doubled it over before threading it through the eye of the needle. His actions were those of a man who was about to darn a pair of old socks, somebody who was just engaging in another part of his working day. When the needle was threaded, he put it in his mouth and carefully lifted the torn flesh up to the hole in Juliet's face. He pressed it into position, squeezing misshapen edges into place where he could and then skilfully pushed the needle into the necrotic tissue of the torn cheek and weaved it back up forming his first stitch.

When Fry was a boy, his family had been poor, but Christmas had always been special.

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