| 24. Whisper Dark Words |
New Years Day 1939
“So, we have no control over the events that take place, but we are able to assist the living and others like us who delay from entering the light?”
Stanley and Archie were sitting beside the glowing fireplace in the red reception room at RoYds.
“It's all about balance,” said Stanley. “Try to think of it this way; if one lived in a dimension where all was light and happiness, what would ever truly be experienced and learned? How would one know right from wrong and appreciate the difference? Within both life and death exists choice. There are those on the dark side , who also desire the continuance of light. It is why the world of the living is so attractive to them in the first place.”
“I see,” muttered Archie. “So who or what causes the problem?”
“There have always been those who wish for total darkness, not only in their own realm but also in that of the living. They whisper dark words and thoughts. Poison and plague so that only darkness can be seen everywhere and in everything. Here at RoYds we like to do our bit to ensure that the balance is maintained.”
“I see,” repeated Archie.
Stanley contemplated exactly how much to impart to Archie. He did not want to overburden him at this early stage. Thinking back to the time of his own crossing, he remembered how difficult it was to accept that there was no going back to the old way of existence.
“Oh, no need to worry about that, old chap!” said Archie gaily. “There never was much of an old life for me, you know. I think that is why I delayed in the first place; I couldn't see what could possibly be waiting for me on the other side of the light. Then I saw you and my choice was made there and then!”
Stanley laughed lightly, “That’s another thing I meant to tell you, but you will no doubt pick it all up as you go along. We have different abilities on this side. There are those who can read thoughts, others feelings. There are those who can do both and much more besides. It all goes to make life, or perhaps I should say delay, more fun!”
Archie gave a great big belly laugh and reached over to tap his old friend on the shoulder. “Can’t tell you how much I missed you, old pal! Good to have you back!”
“Same here!” replied Stanley before continuing in a more serious tone. “As you would expect there are downsides too. Although we can frequent the world of the living, walk amongst them and interact as one of them, we cannot return to our old way of life. Apart from extremely rare occasions, we either appear as strangers to the ones we love or not at all.”
“I’m sorry, old chap! That way with Edwardina, is it? Must be hard…,” Archie lowered his eyes. Stanley knew Archie was aware of how deeply his old friend loved his wife.
“She's never once acknowledged my presence, although she senses I am with her in some way or another,” Stanley confided. “I spend every night with her; I know how afraid she is of the dark.”
For a while, both men remained silent and then Stanley announced, “There are others here too, Archie, those you may have only read or dreamed about. Every kind of being that has ever existed in the minds of men. Some are even members of our own small group!”
“Like what?” Archie enquired, sounding fearful.
“Ah! That would be telling,” sighed Stanley. “Tell you what though. Why don’t you try to read my mind?”
Prologue
Part 1
Part 25Labels: 1940s, Billy, Fiction, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Stanley, Web Fiction |
posted by Miladysa @ 09:07  |
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| Billy Part 23 - Choices |
1940
Peg and Hughie stood between the edge of the dell and the sloped gardens of Heyleigh Hall looking up towards the grand stone facade of the present day Georgian building.
“What does she want with me?” Peg whispered just in case there was anyone or anything loitering in the dell behind them.
“I’ve no idea Peg. I wouldn’t like to disappoint her, though -– she’s rather used to getting her own way,” replied Hughie, moving on in the direction of the hall.
Peg followed. “Is she now? Well we’ll just have to see about that! I’ve had enough of being pushed around all my life -– I’ll be damned if it’s going to continue now!”
Hughie threw his head back and let loose a great big belly laugh. “That’s the way to go, lass! Up and at ‘em! Mind you, she’s best handled with a bit of tact is our Lady Mabel. I’ve known her for years, ever since I knocked around in the grounds of the Hall as a kid. She’s frightened the living daylights out of me umpteen times. There’s far worse about than her, though!”
Peg shuddered. “Like the figure at the fire station?”
“Aye,” Hughie replied solemnly, looking behind her into the dell.
“What was it?”
“Hard to explain, lass. And if I’m honest, I don’t fully know m’self. You know how the Living shimmer to us?”
Peg nodded.
“Well them things are attracted to that light -– the energy of the Living -– whether it’s human or not. They preyed on us when we were alive too, only we didn’t know ought about it at the time. All those negative thoughts you had over the years and the wrong paths you went down? It were partly their doing. Some of it, mind you -– not all. Can’t blame them for all our own bad choices. They were there though, whispering and nagging -– I’ve watched ‘em at it while I’ve been hanging around like. Seen them at your Billy last night when you...er...”
“Died?”
“Delayed. Aye. That’s not all, either.”
“What else?”
“Those of the Living who have, what you might call, a foot in both camps -– thems that are familiar with both the Living and the Delayed?”
Peg gulped. “Go on,” she encouraged, though with a touch of apprehension.
“Well, you could say they’re a bit like a beef steak to a lion. Those things hang around them all the time -– never give up like.”
“Good grief!”
“Yer can say that again! Mind you...they look out for them at RoYds. Lady Mabel and her like. If she meant any harm, she wouldn’t have sent me along to meet you when you passed over would she? Shows how caring she can be at times.”
“But what about all those stories about her being a devil worshipper, selling her kids’ souls, and one from each generation of her descendants being...cursed? Why would people make up stories like that? There’s no smoke without fire, my mother always said.”
“Aye, mine too. I’m sure you’ll be able to see the good in her if anyone can, Peg. Perhaps that’s why we’re here? So, coming?” They had arrived at the grand entrance to the hall. Hughie placed his foot onto the first of three stone steps leading up to the front door and held out to his hand to her.
Peg laughed. “Just let anyone try and stop me!” she grinned, taking the offered hand and leaping into the hall beside him.
PrevLabels: 1940s, Hughie, Peg, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Web Fiction |
| posted by Miladysa @ 14:00 |
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| Billy Part 19 - Supply & Demand |
1946
“Staibey Nayes?”
“That’s right. They’ve moved out lock, stock and barrel. Heard say now the war is over there’s other places more suited to what they need. Heard they didn’t much like it anyways, spooked by the dell. Its inhabitants more like -- after all those scare-stories we’ve been spreading round!”
Raucous laughter spread throughout the pub like wildfire. Billy looked at his cards. He could win this round. Switch, the twenty stone King of Crime, was in a good mood for a change. Billy put out his cigarette and took a sip of his pint.
“It’ll work out well for storage and also be a good place to hang out when the heat’s on. That swine Allen’s still got a face like a bulldog licking piss off a nettle despite all the readies we’re bunging him. Heard he has quite a grudge against you, Billy -– been shagging his wife or summat?” Blade asked, throwing a ten shilling note into the pot of coins and notes already on the table.
The infectious laughter echoed around the room and Billy joined in. He didn’t mind being the brunt of it, not tonight anyway. Not when he was on a winning streak. He placed his aces on the table. “Not yet!” he said coolly and lit a fresh cigarette.
Switch studied him keenly and then burst out laughing. “Not yet! Not bloody yet! I like his style!” He pushed the money in the pot over to Billy and then continued in a more serious tone, “What’s he got against you, Billy? Apart from the fact that you are a lying, cheating little shit.” Switch leaned in and held Billy’s gaze a fraction longer than necessary. “But then again -– aren’t we all?” he quipped, leaning back and pulling his braces forward.
The room exploded once more.
Billy casually collected his winnings off the table and put them in his inside jacket pocket. He made a mental note to give Ann a bob or two of it to spend on herself and the kiddies. That was if he had any left after he had finished paying his dues and put aside what he needed for his fags, beers and bets next week. He drained his glass and passed it to the vivacious Cora who, as usual, was hovering enticingly nearby.
“A few year back I gave his mother one,” replied Billy in a deadpan manner, inhaling deeply on his cigarette and blowing a smoke circle into the room. Switch actually looked like he believed him. “I’ve no idea,” he added quickly with half a smile. “He’s just a nasty piece of work.”
“You can say that again,” said Gorgeous George from where he stood, leaning against the bar leering at Cora as she walked past with her hands full of dirty glasses. Billy ogled Cora too.
Been there
“Right, gentleman! Time to say good night and thanks for donating to the House of Lawrence. Same time, same place, tomorrow.” Billy kicked his chair back and stood up.
“Not tomorrow,” Switch looked up at him. “I want you to deliver that last load down to the Nayes. Have it there for 10:00 p.m. Mark my words now, lad.”
Billy nodded and walked away, stopping briefly on his way out to have a quiet word and squeeze with Cora at the bar. The opportunity to mark his territory was too tempting for Billy to resist.
***
The road leading down to Staibey Nayes was accessed from the far side of town. It was tree lined, had no street lights and was wide enough for only a single vehicle to manoeuvre at any one time. The road continued for about three-quarters of a mile and to a stranger would seem to come to an end in a wood which appeared on the horizon beyond. A local, however, knew that just before the end of the road was reached, it branched off to the right and opened onto a building complex.
During the war, the entrance to the complex had been barred by a gated sentry box which had been manned by two fully armed security guards at any one time. Tonight, though, the gate was open and the chain and padlock were tossed to the side of the road.
The buildings had existed centuries before the war. For a period of time before war broke out, they had served as a depot for the engines which carried the stone through the dell from the quarries above. Prior to that, they were warehouses for the cloth made in the cotton mills close by and before that still, a local wool merchant had built his mansion here. Ever since records began, there had been buildings in the location of Staibey Nayes. Billy had learned that at school when they had been taught about the Doomsday Book.
Billy expected to get a good cut from tonight’s load. He had no compunction about fuelling the black market. After all, they were only supplying a demand and someone had to do it. If it wasn’t them it would be someone else.
Billy had expected to see other vehicles in the empty quadrant. He pulled up and parked the stolen lorry, and then checked his watch: 21:55. There was still time for a cigarette. He opened the cab door of the lorry and stepped outside into the cold night air. After transferring his cigarettes and matches into his trouser pocket, he threw his jacket and scarf back inside the cab despite the chill.
The wind blew up and whistled through the trees, carrying the sweet scent of night blossoms and the call of an owl. Billy tried to decipher which part of the dell the sound had come from. The silhouette of the leafless trees against the raw black and twinkling night sky caught his attention and he leaned his head back and tried to decipher his favourite constellation, the Plough. The moment was spoilt when the door of the building to his right was opened and Gorgeous George waved him over.
Both men worked up a sweat carrying the cargo from the lorry into the building where Gorgeous had been waiting. Billy also worked up quite a temper. He was raging that no one else had been there to help them. He wasn’t anyone’s freaking monkey! Switch should know better than to waste his time and sweat on shifting this crap.
Eventually, the job was done and Billy followed Gorgeous back into the building to collect his earnings for the night’s hard work. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on that wad of cash!
Gorgeous walked through the former office where they had stacked the goods and into the one beyond, where Billy could see a black holdall resting on a makeshift desk. Billy lit himself a well-deserved cigarette and as he waited for Gorgeous to get the money together, he walked over to the window to continue his earlier aborted search for the Plough.
Freak
He threw his cigarette on the floor and stomped it out viciously. Standing against a dry stone wall near to the parked lorry below was a young woman in a red coat, looking up at him. Shocked, he watched dumbfounded as she turned and seemed to be intent on something that was happening in the dell beyond. Billy turned to let Gorgeous know about their unexpected visitor and felt the impact of a heavy metal object. Billy fell to the ground and into a vicious kick from the boot of Gorgeous George.
“Not so freaking handsome now, are you, Billy Boy?”
***
Billy was in the water, Charlie was crying out in the distance. Billy swam out to meet him.
again and again
Peg stood between Billy and Michael, her eyes wide and pleading. Billy lifted his rifle and pulled the trigger.
again and again
Cora moaned softly into Billy’s ear, her breasts pressed tightly against his chest. Anne walked in and caught them.
again and again
Billy treaded water as the incendiaries came down and screams echoed around him.
You’re going to Hell, Lawrence
“I’m already freaking there!” He screamed.
PrevLabels: 1940s, Billy, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Web Fiction |
| posted by Miladysa @ 12:25 |
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| Billy Part 17 - Hoppers |
1946
The safe job had been easy enough. Billy was aware that the police suspected he had been involved somehow. He also knew that if they could, they would fit him up for just about anything. The newly promoted Sergeant Allen in particular was a nasty piece of work.
Takes one to know one
Switch had been fair with Billy up until now, so he had no complaints. He had initially misjudged Gorgeous George and Dan the Man -– they were a bit barmy, mean to be sure, but not bad with it. You knew where you were with them and the consequences of crossing them, he could handle that. So far, there had been the one explosives job, a few lorry heists and a huge amount of black market profiteering.
His little side job with RoYds was proving to be a good number too -– money for old rope. He wondered what they had in store for him this time as he walked up to the now familiar open oak door and stepped inside.
“Afternoon, Mr Lawrence. Dark out isn’t it?”
Wilfred never changed. Billy wished he would take the stick out from up his arse and cut the brownnosing.
“Stanley in?” he asked, throwing Wilfred his coat and starting off down the passageway.
“As a matter of fact, Sir, Lady Mabel would like a word with you this morning. You will find her in the office, Sir, first door on the left.”
Lady Mabel! He had yet to have the pleasure! He whistled merrily to himself as he continued down the opulent cobalt blue-decorated corridor and waltzed into the more practical office, usually reserved for unsuspecting members of the Living who required the services of RoYds.
***
“You want me to what?” Billy snarled, closing the distance between them. “Where the hell do you get the idea that I would do something like that? What do you think I am -– your lap-dog?” He was furious.
Jumped up little tart
Billy stopped thinking when his back slapped against the wall behind him and his head smashed up against the ceiling. A split second later the door slammed furiously open and shut leaving him alone in the room.
He looked down, the view was just like he suspected it would be from this angle -– not that he had ever given it much thought, mind you. He would probably break a bone or two if he just fell to the floor and said a silent prayer that whatever power was keeping him up would let him down slowly.
Tashriel appeared in the room below and Billy found himself standing by his side.
“Silver.”
“What?” Asked Billy exasperatedly, brushing the plaster from his made-to-measure navy suit and exercising his neck in an attempt to ease the newly acquired crick in it.
“Silver. Offers no protection against your own kind, but if you carry some on your person, Lady Mabel -- and other factions -- will not be able to harm you. I doubt Lady Mabel intended you any real harm. You are still breathing.”
Smarmy pretty boy
“And who would you be then?” Billy replied sarcastically. “Someone she just mistook me for?”
“I could always put you back up there if you prefer,” Tashriel volunteered, looking up at the space Billy had so recently occupied.
Calmer now, Billy considered Tashriel’s offer. “Er...no thanks!” He pulled a packet of cigarettes from his inside pocket and helped himself to one before offering the packet to Tashriel.
“I know that Stanley enjoys a fag,” he said hesitatively.
Tashriel politely declined. “What was it about Lady Mabel’s request that enraged you?”
“I’m no cold blooded murderer!” snapped Billy in reply, removing the lit cigarette from his mouth. “Seems to me that witch is quite capable of doing the deed herself!”
Tashriel sighed, “As I said, keep something silver on you at all times to prevent it happening in future. Better still, try to get control of your temper.”
Something about Tashriel’s tone brought Billy to his senses. “Aye. Suppose you’re right.”
“Besides, you are simply being asked to contain a situation,” Tashriel remarked casually. “The real John Sweeney is already dead -– your role is merely to evict the entity that is squatting in his body.
***
It had been drizzling all day, perhaps all week, he couldn’t remember. Billy wondered if it would ever stop and, upon further consideration, whether it was possible for an entire town to weep. Personally, he had no time for tears. As far as he was concerned, they would not serve any purpose and only distract from the job at hand.
He buttoned up his navy overcoat, pulling the collar up as far as possible as he did so. Casting his eyes down towards the grey flagstone pavement, he took the identity of a grey man amongst other grey people. The house was straight ahead.
It was not his first visit here; he had recce’d the place on several occasions at various times of the day and night. He knew exactly where he was heading -– some would say straight to Hell. He had no doubt that he would be on the guest list if such a place existed.
Nearly there now, he unbuttoned his overcoat, turned off his wandering thoughts and went into autopilot mode. He knocked on the door and it was answered almost immediately. Billy put his full weight into it, pushed the occupier backwards and into the hallway. Slickly kicking backwards he closed the door in one fluid movement.
Looking into the target's eyes, he saw fear and savoured it for a moment. The anticipation of what he was about to do almost managed to break through the ice encasing any emotion that still existed within him. He washed it back down with a blink and advanced on his captive.
“Who are you? What do you want? The...there’s no money in the house.”
His weapon, of limited choice, was a Webley revolver, but on this occasion it would remain inside his overcoat. “Upstairs.”
“What? There’s no money upstairs either... I don’t have many possessions...”
They were at the bottom of the stairs so there was nowhere his prey could run but upwards, herded expertly by Billy like a Collie dog at a sheepdog trial. When they reached the top of the stairs he speedily herded his quarry into the bathroom and half-filled the bathtub with cold water.
“Get in the bath.”
“What?! I... I don’t understand.”
“Get in!” Billy’s voice, although barely raised above a whisper, was commanding and did not broker refusal.
“Now look here...”
Billy pulled the revolver from his overcoat and snarled in the direction of the bath. The message was conveyed without argument this time as John Sweeney shed his fleece and sat down in the water. Billy returned his revolver to its resting place within his overcoat then lowered the wooden toilet seat and sat down.
Sweeney, or what was left of him, frowned and then looked away, clearly unsure whether or not he should make eye contact.
Billy reached into his pocket and took out a silver ring. At last, Sweeney made the move Billy had been waiting for and reached urgently for the bath plug. Billy leaned forward and threw the ring in the direction of the bathtub. They both watched as the ring flew through the air and descended into the water.
The water fizzled and so did the body sitting in it. Out of its mouth flew a dark shadow no larger than a small moth. It flew to the light of the closed window and banged against the pane.
Damn hoppers
Billy made his way down the stairs and buttoned up his navy overcoat pulling the collar up as far as possible as he did so. He exited through the back door and casting his eyes down towards the grey flagstone pavement he took the identity of a grey man amongst other grey people.
The clock of St. Birch’s told him it was 8 pm. It would be at least a further hour and a half before the body of John Sweeney would be discovered. Billy did not want to think too much about the fate that had befallen its original occupant; those kinds of thoughts might lead to madness.
PrevLabels: 1940s, Billy, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Web Fiction |
| posted by Miladysa @ 22:00 |
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| Billy Part 13 - Switch |
1946
Billy Lawrence caught sight of his image reflected in the mirror behind the bar and smiled. He looked very dapper today, even if he did say so himself. He prided himself on always being smartly dressed; a desperate man could not afford to be otherwise. Rummaging in his overcoat pocket, he gathered together the few coppers huddled there and handed them to the barmaid with a wink. Not quite the right amount but she had a fancy for him and would let him get away with it. Most likely overcharge the next customer; it wouldn’t be the first time.
He held his breath as he passed through a heavy nicotine cloud and made his way towards his usual table beside the main door. A glass partition above the upholstered seating bay shielded him from the gaze of anyone entering the bar from the street and the position afforded him a full view of the main lounge area. He couldn’t be taken unawares here and he could easily slip into the street outside should the need arise. It was second nature these days to be prepared for any eventuality.
The dark brown liquid in his glass tasted bitter; the first mouthful always did. He reached into his pocket and ceremoniously placed a cigarette packet and box of matches on the table. There was only one fag left. He would have to make it last, seeing as he had just said goodbye to his last penny.
From underneath the brim of his hat he searched the shadows of the room, acknowledging those the strict protocol of such a place demanded he should, whilst remaining completely oblivious to the odd one or two that it was in his interest to pretend did not exist. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the accommodating barmaid as she patrolled the room collecting empty bottles and glasses. He leaned back into the cushioned seat and leisurely ran his eyes over her body as she approached his table grinning encouragement.
“You’re a bad lad, Billy Lawrence!”
“Aye. Just the way you like ‘em an all, Cora.” He held back from slapping her backside this time, he would save it for the next time the opportunity arose. He had a bit of business that needed taking care of first.
The rumble of the high street invaded the space between them as the main door opened and a number of dark-suited men entered. Cora blew Billy a kiss before sauntering back to the bar all lipstick and bravado. Billy reassuringly touched the weapon he carried with him and then took another sip of the beer which tasted much better this time. His luck might just be changing.
Frankie 'Switch' Blade was not a character to mess with. Billy knew his place. He waited quietly until one of Switch’s men approached him and invited him to join them. For someone with any sense at all, these were dangerous men to be getting involved with. Billy never claimed to have much sense anyway -- he had always been more brawn than brain.
Macca, a heavyset bruiser with a nose as flat as a pancake and ears to match, indicated with a grunt and a nod where Billy was to sit, a little to the side of those who were already seated. Billy took his place and waited patiently while Switch continued in whispered conversation with the small group gathered around him. Macca was Switch’s piece of muscle. The other two, Gorgeous George and Dan the Man, were known thieves and criminals of the lowest order. Billy had morals when it came to thieving; he’d rob anything from anywhere yet sticking up an individual was out of the question. Gorgeous George and Dan the Man had no morals whatsoever.
Billy couldn’t get a good look at Switch for the screen of smoke that surrounded him -- all five men, including Billy, were smoking roll ups. This, and the various hand and knuckle tattoos the men bore, indicated to any interested parties that it was a meeting of former jail birds. Billy adopted a casual air and tried to sneak a look at the other men’s lips without it looking too obvious what he was doing. Anyone with experience of working in a Lancashire cotton mill had the skill to lip read. Billy had worked as a card room doffer from the age of twelve until fate led him into a less salubrious way of life. He was only able to work out a couple of words before all activity stopped dead and Switch’s steel grey eyes cut towards him.
“Now then, Billy. Word’s reached me that you’ve got a quite a bit of experience with explosives. Do I hear right?”
Billy gulped down the mouthful of beer he had just taken and used it to quell the cough germinating in his throat. He hadn’t been expecting that. This was a bit deeper than he had been led to believe.
“Aye...a bit. From the war.”
“Heard you were a handy lad with it. Heard you could be just what I need to help me with a little job. Heard you were looking for work.”
Billy’s stomach tightened and he fought to keep his face a blank mask. Switch scared him all right. Not what he could do to him, but what he wouldn’t hesitate to do to Anne or the kids if things didn’t go his way.
Eight spidery eyes watched Billy intently. Everyone knew it was a done deal. Billy rose to his feet and took a last gasp from the cigarette he was smoking. Leaning forward, he pinched out the glowing red tip and dropped them both into the tin ashtray on the table in front of Switch. He looked down at the bald man sitting before him and stared confidently into his cold calculating eyes.
“I’m yer man. What’s the job?”
PrevLabels: 1940s, Billy, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Web Fiction |
| posted by Miladysa @ 00:01 |
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| Billy Part 9 - Choices |
January 1946
Billy fiddled with the card in his overcoat pocket. He turned it over and over, his eyes never leaving the building opposite. He had no idea why he was waiting. The stranger had said he had a choice. The fact was, there was no choice at all, not if they were to keep their heads above water anyway. Anne had been insistent. Today was the day. He couldn’t delay any longer.
Billy didn’t know what to expect. He could prepare for most things, anything life could throw at him in fact, but not this. He knew that any minute he would flick into autopilot mode. Instinct would kick in and he would go with the flow. He surmised that dealing with the dead was just that little bit edgier than dealing with the Living. On second thoughts, perhaps not.
He hardly hesitated when he reached the main entrance and searched for the doorbell or knocker. When there were none to be found, he knocked firmly on the solid oak door with the heel of his hand, the hackles on the back of his neck raised and ready. It was opened immediately by a small, slightly balding man who reminded him vaguely of the barber who had made a poor job of cutting his hair whilst he was in prison.
“Good afternoon, Mr Lawrence. My name is Wilfred. Welcome to RoYds.”
So, they were expecting him. He laughed nervously; he’d suspected they would be. It would have been naive of him to have underestimated them in any way.
“May I take your coat, sir?”
Why not? He may as well be as comfortable as possible. He unbuttoned his overcoat while making a note of the number of doorways, staircases and windows. Observing at the same time that there were no locks or bolts on the door he had just entered, he looked at Wilfred.
Your move, pal
“Mr Birch is waiting for you in the red reception room, Mr Lawrence. Down the corridor and first door on the right.”
Billy made his way to the red reception room counting each step along the way as he did so, and as expected the door was open. Stanley Birch walked towards him, right arm extended and hand ready to greet. “Ah Billy, nice to see you again! Much pleasanter circumstances than last time. Please do come in.”
As they shook hands Billy took in the details of the room itself. One doorway to his left and no other visible exits.
The barber entered carrying a tray containing a tea pot, crockery, cutlery and what appeared to be a plate of rich tea biscuits.
“Please do take a seat and join me in a brew of tea.”
Not likely
“I appreciate your caution; it would not be in your nature to be anything but. There is no need, however. No harm can or will come to you here. We are on the same side,” Stanley said reassuringly.
I’m on the side of me
Billy was a good judge of character, at least when it came to the Living. If the same set of rules applied to the dead then he had the impression that Stanley was actually a decent sort and that they would get along just fine. Relaxing his hackles a bit, he reached for the cup of tea poured for him and took a good mouthful. It was lovely and sweet, just the way he liked it.
No rationing here then
“How are Anne and the children?” Stanley asked. “Settling into their new surroundings?”
“They're the reason why I am here.”
Stanley nodded.
“What's the score?” Billy asked before taking a further mouthful of tea.
“It's a long story,” Stanley replied, offering Billy a cigarette before lighting it and then his own.
“I have all the time in the world.” Billy smiled.
“Come to that, so do I,” laughed Stanley.
***
Billy relaxed further into the leather armchair; it was warm and comforting like the crimson eiderdown his mother would wrap him in when he was a child. He had always enjoyed a coal fire and Stanley’s voice was quite hypnotic.
“The living have a lot of bizarre ideas concerning death,” Stanley remarked. “It's assumed that after death we have no choice at all as to what happens to us. Why should that be? Throughout our lives we have choices, so why not in death?”
“I've never given it much thought, to be honest,” said Billy, helping himself to a biscuit.
“Well, I can tell you this,” continued Stanley. “Although we may have no choice about how or when we die, we do have a choice about what happens to us after the fact.”
“Go on,” said a preoccupied Billy, now suspiciously trying to figure out why his mug or Stanley’s glass never emptied. He’d definitely drunk as much as a normal mug this size would hold. He peered into the steaming mug of tea and Stanley continued.
“What I am trying to tell you is that some souls choose to remain close to the Living and each of us will have our own reasons for delaying.”
"Why did you...delay, Mr Birch?”
Stanley paused briefly, “It was love that delayed me at first,” Stanley said, seeming to struggle to find a beginning to his tale. “I was always an adventurous child; I loved playing on the moors, swimming in the reservoirs and exploring the quarries. It was a wonder I did not meet an even earlier death!” He started to chuckle, a loud contagious joy of laughter, and Billy found it hard to resist smiling and laughing with him.
“I met my wife when we were children. She was such a fey creature I fell in love at first sight, there was never anyone else for me. We were married in April 1914, five months before war broke out.
“I was one of the first to volunteer. Edwardina was furious with me and seemed to think that I had chosen the war over our life together. I remember she declared that I would be killed and lost to her forever. I thought she was just being hysterical, that the pregnancy was making her behave so, as she was carrying our son at the time.”
Stanley put his glass down for a moment and ran a hand through his thick wavy brown hair. He lifted his head and his glass before turning again to face Billy.
"What happened?" asked Billy with genuine concern.
"There was nothing I could do to reassure her. In my letters home I told her how much I loved her and how wonderful our life would be once the war was over. I was certain that this world would be a better place because of the war we were fighting. Isn’t that why all men go to war, Billy? To make their world a better place?”
Billy shrugged, uncertain how to answer.
“I was such a bloody fool! Our son was born on Christmas Eve 1914 while I was in France huddled in a trench and surrounded by death. It wasn't until weeks later that I received Edwardina’s letter informing me of his birth. I was overjoyed at becoming a father and even managed a celebratory drink with my dear friend Archie.
“On 1st July 1916 Archie and I faced a blood bath. Forty thousand men died that day. Four days later, the two of us were still fighting in what later became known as the Battle of the Somme. And then on the evening of the fifth day, Archie was declared insane by his commanding officer.”
“Damn,” Billy commiserated. “It must have been a bloody nightmare!”
“It certainly was,” answered Stanley solemnly. “I think it was far worse for him, though, because he was as sane as you or I at the time.”
Curiosity got the better of Billy, “Why did they think he was mad then?” he asked.
“I think the clincher was when he recommended me for the Victoria Cross due to the part I had played in that day's actions,” proclaimed Stanley.
Billy frowned, “What was so strange about that? I’m sure you must have deserved the recommendation,” he declared.
“Perhaps,” whispered Stanley. “The problem was I had been one of the ones killed in the massacre on the afternoon of July 1st, four days earlier!
***
Billy took a drag on his cigar and held the smoke in his mouth for a few seconds before exhaling. The quality was superb, he could get used to this. He suspected that being dead could hold some previously unforeseen advantages. This Stanley bloke was growing on him.
Stanley followed Billy’s leave and took a drag of his own cigar before continuing their conversation, his words darting in between the clouds of cigar smoke.
“Your mother-in-law, Peg, had the ability to see the very best of a person -– alive or dead.” Stanley paused, giving the information time to gel in Billy’s mind.
Billy took another sip of tea and pondered what Peg had seen in him. If in fact, she had ever seen any good in him. He found himself again questioning how Anne could still love him knowing that he had killed her own mother. He eventually regained eye contact with Stanley, “Go on.”
“Peg loved you, Billy, and I know that she will never stop loving you. Peg thought you were worth saving; do you?”
Billy fought with his thoughts again on this statement. “Depends what you mean by ‘saving.’”
PrevLabels: 1940s, Billy, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Web Fiction |
| posted by Miladysa @ 16:20 |
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| RoYds Part 22 - Gloved Hand |
December 1945
The view of the moors from the window was amazing! How nature had managed to squeeze so much breathtaking beauty into one place was unfathomable. Anne breathed in the scene as she snuggled into the window seat and tucked her legs beneath her.
Normally, she would have been taken by the various green depths of the trees and rushed away on the twinkling of the brook as it skipped over the pebbles and reed bed below. On this occasion, it was the ochre burn of the setting sun on the sky-scraping heather hills above that captured her attention.
She cast her gaze for a moment towards the figure lying face downwards on the white cotton sheets of the rumpled bed. A fit of nervous giggles almost possessed her as the broad masculine form shifted and then slumbered on like a furless bear rug.
“What are you thinking?” It was more of an accusation than a question.
Anne focused her mind on composing her answer and smiled with a confidence she did not own. “I was just thinking how lucky I am to be here with you and have you safely back home.”
He reached over and lit himself a cigarette, pinching it to his mouth with his cupped hand as if the world was about to take it from him.
An explosive silence prowled the outskirts of the room and Anne watched as his mind struggled to digest her answer. She prayed inwardly that the old Billy would win. The prayers went unanswered.
“How many men have you been with while I was banged up in that hell hole?”
The menacing calmness with which he asked the question ignited a welcome beacon to the sinister shadows lurking in the dark corners of the bedroom. She considered rising and walking towards him and then decided to remain where she was. The world outside the window was within her reach as long as she held on tightly enough.
“I haven’t been with anyone else, Billy. You know that, don’t you? There’s only ever been you for me and that’s how it always will be.”
She leaned over and patted the paisley patterned cushion beside her. “Please come over here and join me.” All her energies were concentrated in making her request a warm invitation rather than the demand she knew he might perceive it to be.
Eventually, he broke and snuffed both the cigarette and silence out. “Can’t tell you how much I’ve missed that view. I remember me Ma telling me once that you could get lost in time on the moors. When she were a lass, a young ‘un went missing and turned up twenty years later without ageing a day!”
The shadows receding again, Billy arrived on the seat beside her. Anne wrapped her arms around him and kissed him joyfully on the lips.
“I love you, Billy!” she cheerfully announced to the room.
“Aye... I love you an’ all that.”
Anne held him close as she stared over the expanse of his shoulders and into what little future they had left.
***
So much had changed over the past few months that Anne had no idea where or how to start. Christmas had never looked bleaker. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to turn and she knew that they could not stay here forever. It had been kind of her aunt and uncle to take them in but they needed to find a place of their own.
Tears pricked her eyes and to avoid them she turned her attention back to the young priest sipping his tea opposite. She stifled a giggle. The situation was so bloody desperate it was almost laughable. She wanted to scream out, "Oh yes Father – you can help all right! You can start by telling all those sanctimonious swine who call themselves good Catholics to stop blanking us and judging our children! You can tell them to help in finding us somewhere to live rather than refusing to rent us a house! You can tell them to go to hell!”
Instead, aware of the fact that Father Bailey was a good, kind man and a true Christian who did not deserve her bile, she swallowed the words and her bitterness with a mouthful of tea. He was no more responsible for the actions of a few of his parishioners than she was for those of her husband and father.
“So, Anne, the Church and myself are here for you whenever you need us. I will keep my eyes and ears open and let you know if I hear of anyone who has a few rooms spare. I am sure we will be able to sort something out. Now, work for Billy could be a problem but I am sure something will turn up.”
“If not, I should be able to find work,” she managed to say with a smile.
A short while later, a continuous blanket of snow was falling as Anne showed Father Bailey out of the small terraced house and watched him walk away down Market Street. The oldest three of her children were huddled together on a patch of spare ground some distance away from a much larger group of rough looking and sparsely clad children who were building a snowman. Anne assumed that as usual they had not been invited to join in.
Gathering together a handful of snow that had fallen on the window ledge she moulded it into a snowball and threw it in the direction of her children and shouted, “Give me five minutes to get ready and I’ll join you for a snowball fight!” Her heart soared as she listened to their delighted screams; it felt good to learn she still had a heart, no matter how broken and bruised she felt.
“Mrs Lawrence?”
Anne turned to face a lady she assumed to be in her thirties and who was dressed head to toe in grey. She wondered how on earth she had failed to notice her when Father Bailey left.
“Yes?”
The lady extended a gloved hand. “Mabel. I am an associate of Mr Birch, the gentleman who represented your husband at his trial.”
“Oh! Yes...” Anne wiped her damp hand on the fabric of her tweed skirt and reached for the one that had been offered to her.
“Do you mind if I come in for a minute? I won’t keep you long. Only, Mr Birch asked me to call and advise that there is a situation vacant within our organisation which may suit Mr Lawrence. It offers the benefit of living accommodation and he...”
Anne interrupted, “A position with rooms?”
“Yes,” Mabel smiled encouragingly. “Mr Birch wondered if Mr Lawrence might be interested?”
“What kind of a situation?” Anne asked suspiciously.
“General office duties. A few telephone calls, greeting and meeting people – that sort of thing.”
Anne’s heart grew heavier. "I’m afraid Billy has no training in that area. Why would Mr Birch think that he did?”
“Well,” replied Mabel. “There is no training, really, that would ready him for a position with RoYds – none other than life experience that is...”
Prev
Soundtrack: James Morrison - You Make It RealLabels: 1940s, Billy, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Web Fiction |
| posted by Miladysa @ 00:01 |
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| RoYds Part 18 - Reflect |
December 1944
Billy knocked, entered the dark cell-like office and scoured the floating dust particles in an attempt to make out the figure on the other side.
“Welcome... Welcome, Lawrence. Please take a seat.”
Billy was unsure whether to sit or not. Friendly officers and welcoming committees had not been his experience of prison so far.
He selected the scruffiest of a duo of mismatched Victorian chairs -- the only furniture in the room. Sitting bolt upright, Billy skipped his gaze between the stranger standing in shadow and the distant view of the unfamiliar city offered by the criss-cross taped and barred metal-framed window.
“How is life treating you these days?”
Billy automatically snapped to his feet. The bloke was standing right beside him and he hadn’t even heard him cross the room! He must be getting slow!
“Life?”
“Please sit and relax,” directed the older man.
It was obvious from his clipped vowels that he was a former army officer of some kind -– Billy had enough service experience to be certain of that. He felt edgy. There was something not quite right here. He had known it from the off this morning when he received the order to report on this wing. They had something dire in store for him alright. It had been on the cards from the moment he had told that sadistic screw Price to back off.
Billy followed the instruction he had been given and sitting stiffly, tried to avoid eye contact and unwittingly provoking the stranger.
“I’ll not beat about the bush,” said the older gentleman, absentmindedly rubbing his chin. “I have no doubt that you have done a lot of thinking over the past four years. You’ve certainly had the time to reflect on the direction your life has taken so far. Am I right or am I wrong?”
Was it a trick question? Billy was unsure how to answer and before he could, the stranger continued.
“You have experiences, skills and temperament that the organisation I am a part of will make good use of.”
“Me?” asked an incredulously Billy.
“There is a job waiting for you upon your release. It will entail grave danger. However, in the long run I believe you will consider it to have been worth it.”
Billy turned his attention away from the brewery chimney he had been focussing on and toward the older man, concern clearly written on his face. “Do I have a choice?”
“Always.”
“Why me?” asked Billy, becoming more and more restless with each passing minute.
“Why not? You are a convicted murderer as well as an accomplished thief and liar. All talents we can use. In return, we offer you an opportunity to make amends whilst you are still alive.”
Alive? Had he just been threatened? Billy suspected he might have been. A white card with RoYds embossed on it was thrust in front of him and he took it automatically. The lettering appeared to glow. Billy rubbed his eyes with his fingertips. He must be more stressed than he thought.
“Think about it. We will be in touch.”
Footsteps echoed on the landing outside the room; the thud, thud, thud, of steel toecap and disciplined leather. Like the other inmates of HMP Strangeways, Billy could decipher the prison officer from his gait.
Price!
The stranger stood upright and Billy automatically followed his example.
“Goodbye, Lawrence. And whatever path you take, I wish you well.”
Billy put the card into his pocket just as the door opened behind him.
“Stop piss-farting about, Lawrence and follow me back to A Wing! Whoever thought it was a good idea to let bleeding murderers roam around at their own frigging will wants a bloody good taste of what we’re serving up to Hitler!”
Billy hesitated. Should he stay where he was or leave with Price? He looked to the stranger for guidance -- the room was empty. Billy’s mind was made up for him and he made a sharp exit!
“I would be proud to join ‘em too, instead of being locked up here babysitting Nancy boys and murdering scum,” Price bellowed down the landing behind Billy.
Billy wished he would just shut the freak up. He wished all the other voices would shut up too. If it came down to it, though, he would take the voices, the beatings and being locked up over conversations with weird strangers any day of the week!
Labels: 1940s, Billy, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Web Fiction |
| posted by Miladysa @ 00:01 |
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| RoYds Part 12 - Help Yourself |
1940
Billy found himself face to face with the solicitor who had been appointed to represent him at his trial. He looked on absently as Stanley Birch brushed an invisible fleck from his immaculately pressed grey flannel trousers and then pushed a packet of cigarettes and a box of matches across the wooden table between them.
“Help yourself.”
Billy, taking a cigarette from the packet and placing it between his dry lips, shook out a match from the box and struck it; as much as he hated accepting charity he accepted that beggars couldn't be choosers.
“I know about the Lancastria,” Stanley announced.
Billy glanced up at Stanley and made eye contact with him for the first time.
“It must have been a terrible thing to have lived through. I can't say I've ever experienced anything quite like it myself. I can only relate to my experiences of the Somme during the Great War.”
Billy remained silent.
Stanley continued , “There is no doubt that you fired that shot, no doubt whatsoever. What is arguable is whether that shot was intended for someone else.”
Billy started coughing violently. Retching and spluttering, he tried to stand up but tripped over the legs of his chair and fell to the floor.
Stanley rushed forward, helped him up and took him back to his chair. Retrieving the lighted cigarette from the floor where it had fallen, Stanley stubbed it out in the ashtray and offered Billy a pristine white handkerchief to clean up the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
“I suspect that you’ll be suffering from the damage you sustained that day for the rest of your life.”
Billy took the handkerchief and wiped his mouth. "Thanks," he muttered begrudgingly.
Stanley smiled. “We need to prepare for the trial. Even if you don't want to save your own neck, there is still your family to consider.”
“I didn't mean it for her!”
“I understand." Stanley seemed to be trying to sound reassuring.
Billy bowed his head. “I’ll never forgive myself for killing Peg! Never!”
***
Five years’ hard labour! He had thought he would hang for sure. Part of him felt the death penalty would have been an easier sentence. Still, he had done well getting away with murder -– crying shame he had shot Peg instead of Michael.
“Never fret, Lawrence. We’ll get you one way or the other,” sneered the police officer guarding him. “You get five minutes with your Brief and then five with the lovely Mrs Lawrence. I’d lay money on her not going without for the rest of the war!” he grinned lewdly.
Billy clenched his fist and his stomach snapped tight. “Bastard! If it wasn’t for these bloody handcuffs I’d kill you,” he raged.
“No doubt you’d love to, Lawrence. But then I’d just be another one to add to your list now wouldn’t I?”
Billy kicked out violently with his foot and toppled the chair in front of him.
Stanley Birch entered and discovered Billy and the middle-aged police constable glaring at one another. He could have cut the tension in the atmosphere with a knife.
“Five minutes, sir,” stated the constable to Stanley as he prepared to leave the lawyer alone with his client.
“Constable Allen, isn’t it?” enquired Stanley.
“Yes, sir. Have we met before? I thought you were from out of town?”
“I’m sure one day I’ll have the pleasure, Constable,” replied Stanley sarcastically. Constable Allen stared back quizzically and then left the room.
Stanley turned to face Billy and gestured towards the wooden table and chairs in the middle of the room. Both men sat down across the table from one another.
“Thank you, sir,” said Billy sincerely.
“I was only too willing to help, Corporal Lawrence,” replied Stanley. “When the jury returned the manslaughter verdict I had hoped that the judge would have been merciful.”
Billy seemed to be avoiding Stanley's gaze and kept his eyes aimed down at the table’s rough surface. “I don’t deserve to go free, Mr Birch. I'll never be able to forgive myself for what I've done. It'll haunt me for the rest of my life!”
“Only if you let it,” replied Stanley. “Imagine that Peg is here in this room with us now. What would she say? Do you think that she would forgive you?”
“Yes,” answered Billy, wiping away an escaped tear. “She was a good woman was Peg. The best I ever met. She did not deserve to die like that.”
“Then you need to learn to forgive yourself,” declared Stanley, standing up and offering his hand. “Goodbye and good luck, Corporal Lawrence. Perhaps we’ll meet again one day under more fortunate circumstances.”
Billy came to his feet quickly and clasped Stanley’s extended hand with both his own. “I owe you a great debt, Mr Birch. I am very grateful to the Army for sending you to help me.”
Stanley walked towards the door then halted and turned to face Billy with a twinkle in his eye. “It wasn't the Army who sent me, Corporal Lawrence.”
“Well if it wasn’t the Army that sent you, Mr Birch, who did?”
“Peg!” replied Stanley over his shoulder as he left the room.
Labels: 1940s, Billy, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Web Fiction |
| posted by Miladysa @ 00:01 |
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| RoYds Part 10 - Blossoms in the Dark |
July 1940
Peg was surprised to see the number of people out and about in the early hours of the morning until it struck her that most of them were dead like Hughie and herself. She wondered if she would bump into anyone else she knew.
“I shouldn’t think so,” said Hughie. “It’s not been my experience anyways. It's no coincidence I was at yer home tonight. It’s not like I’ve been hanging around there these past few weeks. I knew you were going to bite the bullet.” He couldn’t resist a gentle snigger at his own pun. “I was doing someone a favour by being there when it happened.”
Peg stopped in her tracks, half her attention taken by Hughie, the other half by a figure partly submerged in the shadowy entrance of the fire station.
“Who?”
“What?” Hughie’s concentration had also been distracted by the figure.
“Who asked you to be there? Was it my mum?” Peg asked eagerly.
“Nay, it was Lady Mabel.”
“...Lady Mabel?“
“Yeah.” Hughie took hold of Peg’s elbow and steered her past the fire station. “She's helped me a few times since I delayed. Let’s go to the cemetery. It’s always very pleasant there in the wee small hours.”
He steered their way to a wooden bench under a cherry blossom tree and they sat down together. “I’ve always thought blossom smells best in the dark,” said Hughie, taking hold of a bough above his head and pulling it down to savour. “Champion, eh?”
Peg smiled in return. “It’s lovely, Hughie. Now, tell me more about Lady Mabel.”
***
Stanley Thomas Birch shuffled the papers on his desk and took a deep breath before running his fingers through his coarse hair and lighting a cigarette. There was a light knock on the door and his associate, Wilfred, entered the room with a cheery smile and a tray of hot tea and biscuits.
“Thought you might be in need of these," he said, putting the tray down and making his way back towards the open door.
“Perfect timing,” Stanley declared as the door handle clicked back into place.
Although he had never been able to read Wilfred's mind fully, Wilfred always had a good idea what was on his. If only he could see deeper into the mind of Billy Lawrence. There was only one thing he knew for certain at this point, the soul of Lawrence had been a fatality even before the unfortunate shot had been fired.
Stanley’s fingers repeated his earlier actions, shuffling papers and combing through his hair, pondering the situation. It might be possible to save Lawrence from the hangman. Thankfully, there were a couple of witnesses whose evidence would help to support a defence and he was certain that he would be able to provoke an unsavoury response from at least one of the prosecution witnesses.
His train of thought was suddenly derailed by a firm knock followed closely by Wilfred carrying his overcoat and a black umbrella.
“Time to leave for your meeting, sir. It’s getting late.”
“Thank you, Wilfred. What would I do without you?” Stanley asked with a grateful smile as he buttoned up his coat. His thoughts once again turned to the case at hand and he wondered idly if any of the Living were concerned about the welfare of Billy Lawrence. Somehow he doubted it.
***
Billy gasped for air. The roaring planes had returned, their machine guns blazing and cracking. He wanted to cover his ears and block it all out but he needed to keep one hand on the piece of debris that was keeping him afloat and the other free to ward off the desperate hands reaching out and clutching at him.
Incendiaries fell like bats diving from the sky and he realised the enemy was trying to set fire to the thick oil blanket covering the surface of the sea as far as the eye could see. Mesmerised, Billy stared ahead to where a crest of bodies had gathered and were performing a macabre dance in the waves. He clung desperately to the debris and then recoiled in horror as he realised he was clutching Charlie’s corpse.
Demons screamed at him from all directions.
You’re going to hell, Lawrence!
“I’m already bloody there!” he screamed back.
Suddenly everything went dark. Something was crawling on top of him, smothering him with its weight, pushing him under the surface of the freezing water. A silent scream erupted as he clawed frantically to free himself.
Sitting up with a start, Billy scanned the shadows of his cell and realised he had been dreaming.
Labels: 1940s, Billy, Peg, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Stanley, Web Fiction |
| posted by Miladysa @ 00:01 |
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| Royds Part 8 - Shimmer |
July 1940
Billy had no idea how many were onboard the S.S. Lancastria, but he knew for sure there were far too many. He glanced at his watch: 15:38. Only three minutes since the last time he’d checked. His childhood friend Charlie was mercilessly teasing a couple of young RAF lads who were vying for a few inches of the deck. A gentle breeze smoothed its way across the ship as her engines began to chug their way out of the harbour.
“Hey, Billy!” He looked up to see a smiling Charlie bearing down on him. They had both been wearing similar smiles all day. Nothing could take away the joy they felt at the prospect of going home, not even the advancing enemy. The unexpected sounds of approaching aircraft quickly changed everything.
Billy’s awareness came crashing back to the interview room when a boot smashed into his ribs for a second or third time.
“Christmas has come early for me, pal! I can’t wait to see you hang!”
He looked up at the policeman and felt his chest tighten, he needed more air.
“Right, let’s get this done properly. Don’t want you wriggling off that rope, now, do we?” The Inspector began to half-chant the memorised lines he was required to say. “Do you wish to say anything in answer to the Charge? You are not obliged to say anything unless you desire to do so; but whatever you say will be taken down in writing and may be given in evidence upon your Trial.”
“I have nothing to say.” Billy gasped and coughed the words out as best he could.
Somewhere in the distance the cell door slammed shut.
***
Peg felt a little uneasy about walking away and leaving everyone to it, but then grudgingly accepted she wasn’t going to be much use to anyone staying put.
“I’ll go get my coat.”
Hughie started laughing again. “It’ll not do you much good. You can’t wear it, putty brains! Look, I’ll show yer how it’s done now. Yer just think how yer would like to appear and Bob’s yer uncle, Fanny’s yer aunt!”
Peg watched in amazement as Hughie’s army uniform transformed into full evening attire complete with monocle and silver-handled walking stick. “Just imagine yer coat and it’ll be there!” He informed her, giving a twirl in the process.
Peg closed her eyes and imagined wearing her green wool coat. She opened them and looked down, amazed.
“See! Benefits or what?” Hughie chuckled.
His laughter was contagious and Peg joined in. Feeling guilty she checked herself and stopped. Hughie frowned for a moment and changed back into his uniform.
“No matter how daft this may sound, Peg, life goes on. Or rather death does! Nowt yer can do for ‘em now by being all bloody miserable like. They can do that for themselves. I’m sure if we feel brighter, they do too. It’s how I look at it anyways.”
Strangely enough, it seemed to make sense to Peg. She took in the scene behind her and was astonished to discover that the members of her family gathered in the house appeared to be shimmering ever so slightly.
“Yeah... lovely to see isn’t it? It’s their life force I think. Leastways, it's how yer make out the Living from the dead most times. It’s if they’re darker than dark and lurk in the shadows, yer’ve problems. I’ll tell yer more about them later.”
Peg shivered. “I don’t think I like the sound of that.” She looked down at her coat, thought of something a little more fashionable and expensive looking and smiled brightly when it appeared.
They both started laughing, and following one last lingering backwards glance, made their way out of 24 George Street and into the world beyond.
Labels: 1940s, Billy, Peg, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Web Fiction |
| posted by Miladysa @ 00:01 |
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| RoYds Part 6 - Veil |
1940
There was a whooshing sound and Peg floated towards the ceiling. She noticed a cobweb in the corner of the fanlight above the front door and a ray from the streetlight outside crept its way in through one of the glass panes. A finger-like beam reached towards her and instinctively she edged away, tilting forward erratically and hovering above the heavily congested hallway below.
Her body on the floor was the next thing she noticed and then Anne on her knees beside it, sobbing as Billy rushed down the hallway and out of the house. The finger of light hummed softly, its intensity increasing steadily. Above it, she could only just make out a distant cacophony of shouts and sobs amidst the rage that was Michael.
There was blood everywhere; thread-like streams trickled in the grouting between the patterned floor tiles as others navigated the heavily embossed Lincrusta wallpaper.
The light was persistent. She refused to turn and face it and instead pushed down towards her body in a failed attempt to rejoin it. She tried again, concentrating all her effort into moving away from the ceiling, but merely ended up shooting off through an open doorway landing forcibly on the bedroom floor beyond. The startled baby witnessed her arrival and ceased wailing. Peg smiled at her reassuringly before picking herself up off from the floor and rejoining the others in the corridor beyond.
I must be dead
“I’m afraid yer assumption's correct,” remarked a young soldier sitting on the stairs smoking a rolled up cigarette.
“Is that you, Hughie Nuttall? I thought your Millie said you'd been taken prisoner following Dunkirk!” replied an incredulous Peg.
“Aye, most likely she did, but as yer’ll have gathered by now, the bloody pen pushers got that bit wrong an’ all.”
Peg blinked, at least she felt like she blinked, “I’m not dreaming then?”
“Nope,” said Hughie. “Sorry, Peg. Bloody terrible way to go too! I mean, I expected to get shot but no one would have guessed anything like this would happen in yer own home.”
Peg moved aside to let her sister Catherine pass. She noticed a smear of blood on her cheek and splashes of it on her dress. She looked down at her own; there was none to be seen. She half expected to see the wounds evident on her abandoned body and was relieved to discover she was whole, or at least gave the impression of being so.
“Can’t work out why that is either,” said Hughie, standing up and walking towards her. “I had one of me legs blown off and half me face missing but yer would never have guessed it looking at me. The police'll be here in a minute, I should imagine. Looks like yer staying, then? The light’s gone.”
“The light?”
“Yeah, it came for yer. Don’t yer remember?”
Peg shook her head, “The street light?” She looked up at the fanlight above; there was only a dim glow now.
“It’s something else, that light, Peg. I’ve seen it loads of times now. Comes for yer when yer die, it does, but I never fancied going with it meself. Most people do though.” Hughie bent down to adjust his puttees and then straightened up.
Peg couldn’t take her eyes off her family.
I can’t leave them like this
Michael banged his fist on the wall and cried out. The baby started to wail again and in an attempt to pull herself together, Anne made her way over to the cot.
Above the baby’s cries, Peg just about managed to make out that her family were communicating verbally with one another and yet the only things she could clearly hear were the baby’s cries and Hughie’s conversation. The world of the living was gradually muting, and something else was happening; everything appeared to be turning grey and had a slightly washed out appearance.
“That’s what some people call the veil, Peg. Don’t worry, though. Yer’ll become accustomed to it after a while and hardly notice it’s there at all.”
The front door opened and Billy rushed in accompanied by Dr Lord and his black leather medical bag.
“Fat lot of use that'll be now,” remarked Hughie grinning. Peg looked at him disapprovingly and he shrugged his shoulders. “Well, if yer don’t laugh there’s nowt left to do but skroike, lass,” he said putting his arm around her comfortingly.
Peg hadn’t felt any real emotion up until that moment and the reality of it all hit home at once. Sobbing, she leaned against Hughie resting her cheek on the shoulder of his jacket. Almost immediately she pulled back and looked up at him. "Why are you here, Hughie? What’s all this got to do with you?”
“Look, lass, it’s going to be a bit like Piccadilly Station in here for a while, so what say we go take a stroll and find somewhere a bit more peaceful like? I’ll do me best to explain things as we go along. How’s that sound to you?”
Labels: 1940s, Peg, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Web Fiction |
| posted by Miladysa @ 00:06 |
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| RoYds Part 2 - Something Snapped |
July 1940
There was no escape from the almost constant stream of voices which whispered in the corners, nooks and crannies of the building. Not even outdoors -- they followed him wherever he went, travelling on the wind, the slightest breeze or the fog. Things had become so bad that even the alcohol had lost its touch. That didn’t stop Billy from wanting another drink, though. He glanced again at his watch. Nearly lunch time; the pubs would be opening soon. He didn’t know what he would do for money, but something would turn up. It always did.
Thoughts of his wife Anne crossed his mind, but not for long. It occurred to him that he probably wasn’t the only one who was feeling tired and frayed at the edges these days. Looking after four young ones was certainly taking its toll on her. Perhaps a night out would do her some good? He would try to arrange something once he got paid. Leaving the downstairs bedroom, Billy emerged into the hallway and discovered his bubbly mother-in-law, Peg, waiting for him.
“I was just on my way to see you!” She smiled and held out a single £1 note. “Here’s a pound, Billy. Why don’t you and Michael nip down to the pub for a few drinks? Anne and I will join you later.”
His prayers had been answered! The only problem now was that he would have to take Michael, his bloody awful father-in-law, with him. He reached out somewhat grudgingly and took the faded note from Peg. He didn't feel good about it. He disliked taking charity from anyone, but he took it anyway.
***
The pub was full. Everyone was a mate enjoying a pint and a cigarette. Even his father-in-law was a mate here -- there was a war on after all. Billy looked across at Anne, expecting to see sadness in her green eyes, and was surprised to see her smiling. He stiffened, though, when he caught sight of the lecherous pub landlord looking at her. His stomach tightened. He quickly finished his drink and ordered another one. Did that make eight or nine now? What did it matter? Perhaps he would sleep better for it tonight.
The taxi arrived soon afterwards and Billy's mouth began to water as the savoury aroma from the hot pies they were taking home tickled his nostrils. He was feeling a bit more positive again, and starting to believe that things would look brighter in the morning. That was, until Michael started to bully Anne about the children making too much noise in the house, and then he turned his attention in Billy’s direction.
“The Navy is the top dog, always has been and always will be! All the Army is fit for is running away!”
“Shut-up, Michael, and keep it shut!” Peg spoke the words Billy had been thinking.
***
Billy glanced at his watch and fidgeted with the smooth brass bullets in his pocket. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Michael chatting with the babysitters: Peg’s sister Catherine and Catherine’s husband Thomas Clark. Anne and Peg busied themselves arranging supper.
It wasn't long before Michael stopped being civil and settled on his first target. He fired a round of abuse directly at Anne, unnecessarily finding fault with the way she was laying the supper table. The Clarks shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Billy, hand still in his pocket, continued to roll the ammunition quicker now, the heat from his fingers warming the metal cylinders. Michael’s comments were about to make him boil over. He made eye contact with Anne and her furtive glance in his direction begged him to stay quiet. He bit his tongue.
Anne placed the last supper plate on the table and without sitting down to eat, made her excuses and left the room looking exhausted. She was headed to bed and Billy decided that it wouldn't be too long before he joined her. He took a bite of meat pie and chewed thoughtfully as he poured himself a glass of the beer they had brought home with them. Every now and then he reached into his pocket, feeling the smooth bullet casings, glad of the peace of mind of knowing that the bullets were out of his children's reach. He had seen the damage bullets could do. He had seen enough damage to last him a lifetime. God, he needed to forget! He needed to forget it all!
“I said you’re no good! You never have been! I’m the one keeping your bloody wife and kids! Me!”
Billy realised it was his turn in the firing line again.
“The only reason you joined the bloody Army was because you are too bone idle to find work! You’re a good for nothing layabout!”
Billy cringed as the voices stirred. Above the din he managed to hear Peg say something to Michael and grasped the opportunity to escape the kitchen and join Anne in the sanctuary of the room next door. He took off his jacket and threw it a bit more forcefully than necessary over the back of a chair before walking towards Anne. They stood together, facing each other, listening to the raised voices from the kitchen beyond. The baby stirred uncomfortably in her cot. Anne was the first to speak.
“Do you think you could try and get my Dad to go to bed?”
Billy considered Anne’s request for a moment and then, with a hesitant nod, he reluctantly returned to the battle front and entered the kitchen to witness an enraged Michael towering over Peg. The voices in his head all screamed as one and something snapped in Billy.
He sped from the room and grabbed his Lee Enfield rifle from its resting place behind the baby’s cot. He was aware that he was shouting but had no idea what he was saying, his voice was just a far-off whisper in a storm of rage. He only vaguely noticed Anne’s presence close by as Michael stormed down the hallway towards them. With one swift movement, Billy departed the bedroom and centred himself in the corridor, simultaneously levelling his rifle at Michael. A single shot reverberated throughout the house and a body hit the hallway floor with a dull thump.
Labels: 1940s, Billy, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Web Fiction |
| posted by Miladysa @ 00:02 |
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