Monorail

‘…So, I'm in a queue, in a bank. A very long queue…

‘…do people still do this? Didn’t they invent ATM’s so that we DIDN’T have to do this?’

I am Position #11 in the queue. There are three teller windows, but one of them has an ‘OUT TO LUNCH’ sign up (at 10.47am!?) The two customers currently being served are obviously in NO rush whatsoever. The customer on the left is a sixty-something male whom it seems cannot grasp the concept of ‘3’ pieces of identification. ‘Three different’ pieces of identification, the teller has requested on more than one occasion as the older gent sifts through his doorstop of a wallet. Old receipts and expired ration coupons litter the floor at his feet as the teller’s gaze catches mine. Her slightly raised left eyebrow and her pursed lips convey what the silent majority of us are thinking:

‘…oh, my f…ing GOD!’

The customer at the middle window is a shrivelled husk of an older lady, probably aged well into her second century of life. Struggling to even reach the teller’s ledge, she has her chequebook out and seems to be disgruntled over ‘an illegible stub from 1992…’

‘…don’t banks get robbed anymore? Please, someone, for the love of GOD, rob this bank…’

My eftpos card cuts into my left hand as I realise that I am channelling my angst through it. The reason that I am even here; the BANE of my entire morning; my card that for reasons unknown REFUSES to work in the ATM outside. Sure, it inserts; takes my PIN; takes me through the entire digital rigmarole, only to inform me after a small ETERNITY that there is an error with my account. An error? Don’t give away too much information will you, you multi-national hoarding thieving BASTARD.

The guy in front of me shifts his stance to his other foot…

‘…omg, did he just fart?’

I curl my nose at the phantom stench that now lingers around the back of the queue. Great! No doubt Position #12 thinks that the odour emanated from my behind. I exhale heavily, instantly regretting losing that much untainted air. The first teller disappears into one of the ‘back rooms’ to no doubt get some reprieve from ‘Mr Identification.’ I close my eyes and ponder my existence as time turns to sludge…

A sharp rap on the glass next to me snaps me out of my daze. A bedraggled twenty-something male is stood on the street outside the bank’s window, board wobbling. Whatever he is advertising can’t be that exciting as the throng of mid-morning madness seems to be passing him by without interest. I crane my neck in a vain attempt to view his board without losing my prestigious Position #11…

‘NEXT, please…’

Oh, happy day! Those two gorgeous words inspire renewed vigour and signify that Teller #3 has returned from their lunchbreak. Position #1 eagerly steps up to the window as the rest of us shuffle forward the polite and obligatory distance. I am now Position #10 and the space I occupy is now more pungent than ever…

A sudden gust of wind outside sees ‘Mr Wobbleboard’ lose his composure for a moment and I manage to catch a lucky glimpse of his wares.

---FREE MONORAIL TICKETS---

---TODAY ONLY---

Two or three years ago the sad, cesspool of a city that I live in had decided, against popular opinion, to construct an inner-city monorail system. I, like many other disgruntled taxpayers, had thought that our illustrious government dollars could be better spent fixing the CURRENT tragic public transport system, but alas; in true government style, they did as they pleased, constructing a three-mile loop of rail two storeys above our shitty, overcrowded potholed streets. It had opened to the public about a year ago, and after the parade of politicians and other polished privileged persons had passed through, it now circled our once great city like a 21^st century ghost train, thanks primarily to its exorbitant fare cost. Dubbed ‘The Bullet Train to Nowheresville,’ its only contribution, really, was to guarantee that the current government’s tenure would be its last.

‘Mr Identification’ stooped to pick up his pile of pointlessness and the queue’s attention perked up. This was short lived, however, as once the old man had shuffled away, Teller #1 put up her ‘OUT TO LUNCH’ sign. Yet more proof that ‘customer service’ really is a total and utter fallacy. I glanced again at ‘Mr Wobbleboard’ and felt an incoherent inner rumbling becoming a reality:

‘…Northside Plaza has a massive new bank branch AND five new ATM’s. I don’t think I’ve EVER seen a queue over there…’

As the hobbit at Teller #2 continued her chequebook complaints, I decided that now was the time to become Queen of my own Destiny. I bravely stepped out of the queue and turned to leave, much to the astonishment of the patrons behind me. Position #11 eagerly absorbed my place in line, so with no turning back I held my head high, declared bravely that this was ‘ALL BOLLOCKS,’ and headed for the swishy doors.

I was greeted by a cocktail of carbon monoxide mixed with subtle undertones of burnt toast and dog shit as I exited the branch. I turned right and as I approached ‘Mr Wobbleboard’ my inner sceptic screamed out:

‘WHAT’S THE CATCH?’

But I engaged with him anyway. With no obligation and no hidden T’s or C’s, Mr W politely assured me that the ticket would be ‘valid until midnight’ and that I could travel ‘indefinitely.’ Resisting the urge to point out that it was hardly indefinite if it expired at midnight, I thanked him, took my free ticket and proceeded to walk the one hundred metres to join the escalator that would take me up to the monorail station.

Arriving on the platform I was astounded; firstly at the cleanliness and secondly at the silence. It was deserted, eerie, quite reminiscent of a George A. Romero movie. I didn’t know what to expect next; chirping crickets or zombies…

‘…shit!’

The monorail appeared out of nowhere almost causing me to have a little wee. Not like a normal train which you can usually hear coming five minutes before it actually arrives, this gleaming white shuttle snuck up on me in subdued stealth mode. Its doors swished open efficiently, exuding…

‘…is that lavender?’

With no-one in sight to accept my hard-earned free ticket, I stepped cautiously inside the second carriage.

‘…are they called carriages on a monorail? Feels more like a space-pod…’

Taking a seat by the left side window, I glanced down. Two storeys below me, the city’s congested street bustled with grime and aggression. A street vendor was gesticulating wildly at a taxi driver as his passenger casually vomited out of the cab’s rear window. Had I been down there I would have been my usual, disgusted self but from where I sat, all alone, I felt almost euphoric. The floral scent and shiny new ‘whiteness’ of it all, made me feel like I had won a vacation. I was a freaking rock star; a VIP in a brand-new limousine floating above the filth that was just that. The filthy, unbearable working-class matrix.

After the pulse of three soft warning bells, the pod’s doors closed, cocooning me within her idyllic ivory bosom. Silently and effortlessly the monorail slid away from the platform and as we exited the station, it felt as if I was in a spacecraft being ejected out into a new, uncharted expanse.

My life thus far had been far from extravagant. I think the most luxurious thing I can recall doing, ever, was having a tank full of tiny fish nibble the dead skin from my feet. Now that I say it out loud it has quickly gone from being luxurious to…Ewww! But you get my meaning. Luxurious as in, not the everyday kind of thing. But this experience? Well, it really did feel quite out of this world. There was no feeling of acceleration, no real motion whatsoever; just a silent and sublime ride comforted by the overarching fact that this was indeed free. Finally, I had reached the Nirvana of actually BUCKING this goddamned system, albeit ever so slightly…

The corner of my eye captured something, and I quickly glanced to my right to see that we had just overshot the next station. A calm then settled over me, an almost nonchalant air of…

We zipped through another station as I looked around my pod. I couldn’t see a bell or a buzzer anywhere.

‘…err…how do I get off?’

Something deep inside my soul began to coil a little tighter as I stood up and really looked around this capsule that I was in. There were plenty of handles to hold if you had to traverse whilst the monorail was moving, but the absence of a familiar ‘NEXT STOP’ button was now quite eerie.

Adjacent to the door where I had entered there was a panel which glowed with a soft blue luminescence. As I reached out to touch it, it turned red, causing a small LCD screen to light up abruptly on the wall next to it. This time, a little wee did escape me. A pleasant female face appeared on the screen informing me:

“Please do not be alarmed. Your Akash is currently being accessed.”

‘…Akash? What the hell…?’

“How do I…?” The screen flickered and then repeated the same message. Then it went blank again as my stomach sank into my bowels. The monorail careened through another station, now it seemed, it was picking up speed. Visions of old action movies on buses started to flash through my mind.

‘…is this thing unmanned? What the hell is going on?’

I tried to look out the window, but the speed we were at was now causing my field of view to distort. Nausea and fear gripped me as I sat down. Hard. After a small eternity, the screen flickered back to life and the smiling woman stated, calmly and robotically:

“Akash access complete.”

I stared at her painted expression incredulously as we bulleted through another station.

“How the hell do I get off this thing?” I heard myself ask.

“The monorail will stop when you decide your next destination.” This matter-of-fact attitude was only compounding my confusion.

“Seriously? I wanted to go to Northside Plaza, but…”

“Your planet’s geographic locations are not considered as valid destinations,” the woman replied.

“You must decide the next destination for your corporeal self.”

With utter confusion levels now at maximum, I stared open mouthed as the image on the screen changed to an aerial view of the city. The view panned down until it was a bird’s eye view of the bank I had been in earlier. Red and blue lights were flashing everywhere and as I watched, I could see two paramedics tending to a body on the floor. Every time they activated the defibrillator, the monorail’s cabin lights would flicker…

‘…what the hell?’

“Is this purgatory? Where am I?” I heard myself whisper.

The screen flickered back to the woman who started to calmly explain: “This monorail is your mid-station. Your corporeal body has suffered a severe cardiac event, but your Akash states that in this timeline, it is not yet your time to pass over. So, I ask again. What is your next destination?”

The words hung in the air like a frozen carcass in a meat locker. I stared at my hands, then back to the screen. Tears started to stream down my face as the reality started to set in. Outside the pod was now just a blur; reminiscent of the USS Enterprise when it hit warp speed. I just shook my head and cried out:

“Oh…my God…I want to live! I just…want to…go home…” Another small eternity pause, then:

“Destination; accepted. Akash; updated. New Primary Lessons; uploaded…” Then the screen went blank. Again.

“What do you mean, new primary lessons?” I cried out. “What…?”

The monorail’s lighting became extremely bright, so much so that my senses went into overload, but as I went to cover my ears and scream, everything went black…

*

I could hear a faint beeping sound mingling with ambulance sirens and as I opened one eye, I could make out the face of…

“She’s back!” somewhere a voice proclaimed. As I struggled to breathe, a gorgeous man came into view and carefully placed an oxygen mask over my mouth. I gulped greedily at the cool air as I heard him say:

“Welcome back ma’am. You almost got away from us, but like I told my offsider here…we ain’t losing anyone today; not on my watch.” His gorgeous face smiled down at me as he gently wiped the tears from my eyes…

Twenty-four hours later the gorgeous paramedic (whose name was Chase btw) came to visit me in hospital. As it turned out, I had suffered a massive heart attack in the bank queue that day. Chase informed me that they had worked on me for forty-five minutes and that for three of those minutes I was clinically dead.

I see everything in life so differently now. Nature smells so much fresher and sweeter; animals look and feel so innocent and beautiful; and people? Well, the crazy thing is, I now LOVE all people! Every one of us is the exact same after all right? We all breathe and bleed the same and we all love and cry the same. I have an overwhelming urge to just HELP others to see their life the way I do now. I guess that’s what the monorail woman meant by New Primary Lessons. There is one thing I cannot shake though, I must admit. I just CAN’T go near any form of public transport again. Like, ever.’

 

Excerpt from 'Altered Phase'

Copyright © 2024 MRDS Books

Queensland, Australia

The Chrysalis

Holly Taylor had been given a second chance. A second chance at this life, but also, a second chance with love…

As she signed the hospital discharge form, a butterfly floated across her field of vision. A stunning black and blue Monarch lifted her gaze from the clipboard as she tracked its' flight across the reception desk and out towards the foyer entrance. It hovered in time for a small eternity before the door suddenly swished open. The building inhaled a mother and her small child whilst simultaneously exhaling the butterfly. Feeling a sharp pang of sadness, Holly looked down at her completed paperwork.

"All good then?" the beaming receptionist asked, dragging Holly back into the now.

"Err, Yes. Yes, thank you again…" Holly trailed off as she handed over the clipboard and pen. She gazed back towards the hospital's entrance.

"Do you need me to call anyone? A taxi maybe?"

Holly grabbed the handle of her tiny wheeled suitcase.

"No thanks, it's just me…"

Suddenly overcome with what appeared to be grief, Holly's legs gave way and she collapsed onto the reception floor as the door swished open again, inhaling the butterfly back inside…

*

"As I explained before, this is how it has to be now…"

Holly opened her eyes, but she wasn't in a hospital bed. In fact, opening her eyes meant absolutely nothing as she saw exactly the same when she closed them again. She was suspended in a cloudless blue sky with nothing above her, or below her. As she felt the sensation of opening her eyes again, alarmingly she realised that she also had no physical body.

"Don't panic, you've been here before," a calming voice emanated across her presence.

"Where's here?" she heard herself say.

"You have been returned to The Chrysalis," was the reply. As the words echoed in her mind, thousands of past images flooded through her consciousness. Within a moment, she could remember her life; her past lives; her origin…

When Holly's consciousness was first brought into being, she had been inserted into a project animal species on Earth. Life as a cephalopod in a European lake over fifteen thousand years ago had been her first physical experience. The intelligence that had created her, monitored her and hundreds of others from a space craft in the moon's nearby orbit. She was monitored and documented as she travelled her journey through a thousand lifetimes in a thousand different forms. Every time her host animal expired, Holly's consciousness was returned to The Chrysalis for upgrade and maintenance. At the time, the intelligent beings were still novices at 'Life creation and Consciousness transfer,' and it took many attempts with many different creations for them to achieve a balance on such a diverse planet.

Holly had been inserted into her 999^th incarnation by Felix, her consciousness handler onboard the spacecraft. As part of 21^st century Earth as a human female, Holly had been reunited with Vincent, her soul mate throughout the ages. A consciousness who was also in his 999^th, or second last form. The couple were meant to create the baby girl Astral, who would eventually lead humanity out of its' darkness and into the New Age. But, unfortunately, a rift in their timeline had seen Vincent removed before Holly could fall pregnant…

Felix was desperately trying to uncover the anomaly as Holly's consciousness hung in the limbo of The Chrysalis' transfer station. With Vincent's voice now recognised, Holly blurted out eagerly:

"Are we together now? Have we completed our Karmic Contract?"

"Not yet my sweet," was the reply from the artificial sky. "There has been a little hiccup in our plan…"

"What kind of a hiccup?" Holly asked tentatively as Felix's voice interrupt them both.

"Holly 17 Alpha and Vincent 17 Bravo, this is Felix at Chrysalis Control. Please do not be alarmed. We have encountered an anomaly in your timeline and we are currently rectifying. Please remain in situ until notified further."

"A timeline anomaly?" Holly asked. "That doesn't sound very promising…"

"I can tell you what I've already heard," Vincent's soft voice whispered. "It seems that my physical form was removed from Earth randomly and before its' time. We were meant to create a baby girl before our car accident…" Vincent's voice trailed off. As the memory of the moments before the crash replayed across Holly's mind, she realised the full gravity of their situation.

"Oh Vincent, does this mean we are lost from each other? Again?"

"There does seem to be a solution in the works my sweet, but it is a bit…strange…"

"Vincent 17 Bravo. Disengage."

Felix's command froze the consciousness that was Vincent, leaving it in total limbo. Holly cried out into the void:

"Leave him be! What are you doing?"

"Holly 17 Alpha. We are working on a solution to this anomaly. This solution will require total ignorance by your current consciousness. If you do not comply, then the solution cannot be processed." Felix explained.

"Of course I comply, just please, let me talk to Vincent…"

With her decision registered, Holly 17 Alpha was inserted back into her physical form on Earth; the year 2022.

*

Groggily, she opened her sticky eyelids. This time she was indeed in a hospital bed and hooked up to a heart monitor. A nurse at her window pulled the curtains to block out the searing sunset, before turning back to face her patient.

"Welcome back Holly, you nearly escaped us, but not quite," she joked. Holly was disorientated, memory-less and clueless.

"Escaped?" she managed. "From where?"

"I'm only kidding honey," the nurse replied as she checked Holly's monitor. "You blacked out in reception as you were being discharged, remember? I guess Junior wanted another night of room service."

"Junior? What on earth…?"

"Your baby was in distress, but you are both doing fine now. We shall monitor you until the morning and if you are still doing well, you should both be able to go home," the nurse explained gently.

"My baby?" Holly's sudden confusion was compounded by a soft voice that seemed to be in her head.

"Let her leave, my sweet. Then I shall explain…"

"Explain what?" Holly said out loud.

"I'm sorry?" the nurse looked at her quizzically.

"Tell her you are still tired, and that she may leave," the soft voice instructed. Feeling as though this were a very weird dream, Holly heard herself say:

"Sorry, I'm still quite tired. Can we talk again later?" The nurse smiled reassuringly.

"Of course we can honey. There's fresh water in this jug and if you need anything at all, your buzzer is located on this control." She handed a remote to Holly which also raised and lowered her bed head.

"Thank you," Holly smiled as the nurse jotted some figures onto her clipboard before leaving the room.

"Well done my sweet."

"Vincent?" she whispered. "Where are you?"

"I am in your head, lovely, but don't worry about that. The good news is? You are indeed pregnant."

As Holly lay in her hospital bed, Vincent gently explained what he could to her. A strict script of instructions that he couldn't deviate from in any way. The completion of their Karmic Contract depended entirely on how Holly handled her new found pregnancy; and her new found mental health condition…

She sobbed as she realised that her physical partner was no longer with her. She asked many questions, most of which she received no answers to. The confusion started to mount as Vincent was instructed by Felix to be silent for a while…

"Are you there? Am I going crazy? Oh my god, what am I supposed to do now?"

Left alone with her racing thoughts and her growing daughter, she sobbed well into the night…

*

"Well, the good news is, everything seems fine," the Doctor explained as he removed the monitor's adhesive tabs from Holly's body. "Baby is healthy, your iron levels were a bit low, but after last night's top up, you are good to go Ms Taylor. Do you have any questions?"

Holly had at least a hundred questions running through her mind, but she remained silent. Then, managing a thin smile she said:

"When do you need to see me next Doctor?"

"I'll have your nurse schedule you an appointment at the front desk. Barring any further blackouts, we shall see you again in four weeks. Take care."

The Doctor took Holly's file and exited the private room. As Holly dressed herself, she cried out internally again for her lover, but to no avail. Descending alone in the lift, she whispered his name out loud, and received nothing. Rubbing her belly and still half believing that this was all a dream, she entered the reception, feeling a massive wave of déjà vu as she did so.

*

"Inserting Vincent 17 Bravo into host Monarch 379 in 3,2,1…"

The black and blue butterfly flew past her and headed straight for the entrance. Holly quickly signed her discharge paperwork and proceeded to the exit, almost on auto-pilot. She had to, no, she needed to follow that butterfly…

Once outside, the sting of the midday Sun temporarily blinded her as she fumbled in her handbag for her sunglasses. She put them on and as her vision returned, she scanned around, looking for the butterfly.

"You have thirty seconds Vincent 17 Bravo; do NOT deviate from instruction." Felix's voice emanated softly through Vincent's antennae as he landed gently on Holly's shoulder. Telepathically, he spoke to her in a soft, calm tone.

"You have to believe, my sweet. Believe that there is something bigger than this life."

"You died in that crash and now I'm pregnant?" Holly cried out loud. "And I'm hearing dead people? How am I meant to cope without you? And why are you still with me? ARE you a butterfly now? Or am I going crazy?"

"Just believe in the Universal Path. Believe in Divine Purpose. And believe in our child. She is the key…"

"The key?" Holly asked, now even more confused. "The key to what…and how do you know it's a girl?"

The butterfly flew off erratically, before disappearing totally from view.

"Vincent 17 Bravo, disengage."

As Vincent's consciousness returned to The Chrysalis, he spoke out:

"Why can't I inhabit another human? Why can't we raise our child together?"

"Vincent," Felix's soft voice echoed, "Holly needs time alone in this insertion before she has to fulfill one of her final obligations."

"Obligations?" Vincent asked, now confused himself.

"For you both to pass over successfully, a number of obligations must be fulfilled. We have found another host human for you, but insertion will take a little time." Felix explained rather cryptically.

"But, if she doesn't hear from me again, she'll believe that she IS crazy, and…" Vincent was cut off sharply.

"Vincent 17 Bravo. Disengage."

*

Eighteen months had now passed on Earth and Holly and her baby daughter Astral were at her apartment with her good friend, Emma. Packing up after hosting Astral's 1^st birthday party, Emma closed the door as their final guests departed.

"Are you sure you don't mind watching her?" Holly asked as she placed a sleeping Astral in her crib.

"Not at all babe, how long is your appointment for today? Still with the hunky Ted?" Emma asked.

Holly glanced at her watch. "I should be back here by 4.30 and yes, it is with hunky Ted. Want me to pick us up some dinner on the way home?"

"Sounds good to me, how about those vegan burgers from Joseph's again? They were delicious."

"So, you don't want to cook either?" Holly winked at her flatmate.

"Hun, I'm shagged. Entertaining mums and bubs really takes it out of you. I'm happy with takeout and a bit of a Netflix binge, you?"

Holly nodded. "Definitely. I shall do my civic duty and go to my 'circle of grief', then it's home for food, baby cuddles and episodes of sexy vampires…"

"Cool, I'll clean up this mess and hopefully Lady Astral will sleep blissfully through all of it. Oh, and bring hunky Ted back if you like hun…"

Holly smiled as she picked up her handbag and pocketed her phone. She kissed her sleeping daughter's forehead and then hugged Emma.

"You're a deviant, but I love you. See you soon."

The 'circle of grief' that Holly had referred to, was her weekly visit to a grief counsellor. Since losing her partner Vincent in a car accident eighteen months ago, she had found that talking with this group of people who had all suffered in their own way, somewhat therapeutic. Initially, it had started as a one on one session suggested by her pre-natal clinic, but after Astral was born, that had morphed into a group counselling session every Wednesday afternoon. Holly knew the majority of the people that would be there quite well, but this particular Wednesday there was to be a new member joining them…

*

"So, Jerry, why don't you start by telling us a little bit about yourself and why you are here today?" Ted, the hunky grief counsellor asked. Today's group of ten people were all sat in a circle at the YMCA centre. Holly switched her phone to silent and then turned her attention to the group's latest newcomer.

"Err, yeah, hi. My name's Jerry and I guess I can say now that I was an alcoholic…"

There was an awkward pause before Ted spoke up:

"That's great to hear Jerry, congratulations! How long have you been sober?"

"Two weeks now. I was in hospital for most of that, so I'm still going cold turkey I guess…"

Holly eyed the newcomer suspiciously. Something wasn't sitting right and her inner senses were suddenly on high alert.

"OK…" Ted paused. "You do know that this is grief counselling right Jerry?"

"Oh yeah man, the grog's part of that though. A lot of bad shit had to go down before I realised what a mess I'd made of things. You see, I was a cab driver for twelve years and, well, I lost my job 'cause of the grog…"

"You're here because you lost your job mate?" One of the group piped up. "Boo friggin' hoo, shit happens…"

"Let's be civil Arthur," Ted chipped in. "We were all here for the first time not so long ago. I'm sure that Jerry, like every one of you here, has his own reasons for needing our help." Ted turned his gaze back to Jerry and said pleasantly:

"Please, Jerry, go on."

Jerry shifted in his seat as he caught Holly's eyes on him. He cleared his throat and continued, suddenly quite nervous.

"I… had an accident a while back. I'd swapped with a mate to do an evening shift, but I'd had a couple of schooeys that arvo at the TAB, so I wasn't gonna do it, but his kid was sick and, well, they couldn't swap us again at short notice…"

"Accident? So you crashed your cab whilst you were drunk Jerry?" Ted asked gently. Jerry nodded.

"Yeah, I wasn't pissed, but I reckon I'd have blown over, so I scarpered. That is, I drove my cab to a mate's who fixed up the body damage off the books you know?"

"Was anyone injured at all Jerry?"

"I dunno man, as I say, I fled the scene, didn't wanna be on one of those dash cam things…"

Holly had a sudden image flash through her mind of the night of her accident. The vehicle that had hit them going through the intersection, was a silver taxi…

"I'd clipped another car, but, hey, this really shook me up right? I guess my drinkin' got a bit heavier after that, I tried to be under the limit when I drove, even bought one of those home breatho things you know?"

Holly felt sick, she felt her throat constricting. She picked up her water bottle and took a large drink with a very shaky hand.

"So, how did you recently end up in hospital Jerry?" Ted asked.

"They started breatho-in' the guys before their shifts, an' I was over a couple of times. When they finally let me go, I went on a bit of a bender…four or five days maybe? I don't remember much, I just know I woke up in Saint Vinnies two weeks ago. This sweet nurse reckoned I was a miracle; shoulda been dead with that amount of grog in me she said…"

"I'm still missing the 'grief' aspect of all of this…" Arthur piped up again, but before Ted could placate him, Jerry said:

"Hey man, I am grievin' and it's not about the bloody job either. I had, I dunno, some clarity in hospital? Being off the grog showed me what a selfish prick I was an' how I had hurt so many people over the years…"

Holly felt like the walls were closing in on her. She had to get out of there; fast. She stood up quickly, causing her chair to tip over behind her. Embarrassed at the sudden noise, she mumbled:

"Sorry, Ted, I've got to go, just remembered…Astral's formula…"

"Ok, Holly? You alright?" Ted raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, fine, I'll see you all next week…"

Without another word, Holly grabbed her things and leaving her upturned chair, she exited the YMCA as fast as her trembling legs would take her…

*

"So, you think he was the guy?" Emma asked that evening. Holly just fondled her burger, her appetite having long since disappeared.

"I really don't know hun, it was the weirdest feeling though. I was sick, then flighty, then…it was almost like a déjà vu thing…and something he said…"

Emma finished her burger and stood up to clear the table.

"Well, I guess you'll just have to go back there next week and confront this guy, or at least confide in your counsellor. He's walking around scot free and he could be the guy that took Vincent from you…oh, I'm sorry babe…"

Holly had started to sob, large tears streamed down her face, causing Astral to wake up crying too. Emma left the dishes and collected the baby from her crib. As she soothed the child she also held her friend as she wept.

*

The following week had its' share of challenges, but try as she might, Holly couldn't put her counselling experience behind her. Any time Astral was asleep or if she took a break from her computer, even later on when she'd mute the ads on the tv, she found that her thoughts kept drifting back to that 'Jerry' guy. He had made her uncomfortable, scared and excited all at once and she couldn't for the life of her work it out. Was he the guy that had crashed into her and Vincent? She tried again to recollect anything from that night…

The sudden vibration of her phone made her almost jump out of her skin. The caller ID showed that it was Ted, the hunky counsellor. He rarely called so, curiously, she answered.

"Hello?"

"Holly? It's Ted from the YMCA, how are you?"

"I'm hanging in there Ted. What's up?" she asked warily.

"I have to cancel this afternoon's session I'm afraid. There has been…an accident near our building and…"

"Is it Jerry?" Holly suddenly blurt out.

"Err, yes it is, how did you know?" Ted's voice dropped to almost a whisper as Holly's heart started to race.

"I need to see him, is he in hospital?" she asked.

"He is back in Saint Vinnies; a car hit him on the footpath near the YMCA and…"

"I shall see you there Ted." Holly hung up, wondering why she felt exhilarated.

The front door opened and Emma walked in, home from work.

"Hey hun, how was your day? You off somewhere already?" she asked, seeing Holly grabbing her things.

"Emma, that Jerry guy? He's been in an accident, he's in hospital. I have to see him…"

"Ok? Is your session still on?" Emma asked, a little taken aback.

"No, Ted just called to cancel. Astral needs a feed when she wakes up, thanks babe, I'll call you from the hospital…"

"OK, hun, what's for dinner?" Emma called after her, but she was already gone.

*

Jerry lay in a hospital bed bandaged, battered and bruised. As he had been ordering a coffee from a street vendor, a teen in a stolen car had lost control and careened into the stand. The vendor wasn't hurt, but Jerry had been hit from the side, bouncing off the windscreen before being flipped over the car. His unconscious body had laid in the street for seven minutes before the paramedics had arrived. With multiple injuries, he had been rushed to Saint Vincent's, where he now lay in bed after emergency surgery on his back.

*

Ted brought over a coffee for Holly as the two of them sat outside Jerry's room. Feeling a bit weird, Holly decided to come clean with Ted about her motivation for being here.

"I realise I reacted a bit strange on the phone…" she started, but Ted was quick to placate.

"No need to explain, I am a GRIEF counsellor; I totally realise that it moves in mysterious ways…" he smiled kindly at her, before burning his lips on his coffee.

"Ow, ow, ow," Holly couldn't help but smile at his comical handling of the situation. She took the lid off her coffee and started to blow on it.

"I thought last week that Jerry…might be the guy who crashed into Vincent and I…"

"He just may be," Ted replied as he too started to blow on his coffee. "If he was, what would it change?"

"I've wondered that all week," Holly said quietly. "If he went as far as to confess it to me, what would I do? Tell the police and have him locked up? Be, most likely, the reason that HE eventually dies in some horrid, lonely place? I'm not that person, Ted."

"I know you're not Holly," Ted smiled at her with kind eyes.

"Every action has an equal and opposite reaction, but you already know that. And, I think you already know the answer to your dilemma. Your initial reaction to Jerry may have been wrong, but that doesn't matter. It all hinges on your action with Jerry; what you do next." As they both blew on their coffees simultaneously, Ted's phone began to vibrate in his pocket. Almost spilling the hot beverage on himself, Ted stood up to take his call.

"Sorry, I need to get this," he said before walking off down the passageway. Holly sat there, totally lost in thought for a moment. She thought back to her initial reaction that day, and to something that Jerry had said:

"…this sweet nurse reckoned I was a miracle…"

Now maybe it was female intuition. Maybe it was Felix interfering. Or, maybe these two had agreed on a co-conscious codeword a dozen lifetimes ago. Which ever it was, Holly suddenly realised what she had to do. She stood up from her chair and walked over to the door. With no-one around, she entered Jerry's room and approached his bed. Hooked up to a ventilator and definitely unconscious, Jerry lay there peacefully, his heart ticking away at a steady eighty two beats per minute. Holly placed her coffee cup next to the monitor and leaned over the bed carefully. She then kissed Jerry lightly on the forehead and whispered into his ear:

 

 

"I forgive you Jerry. I forgive you for everything."

Her heart swelled as she felt it all fall away. The suspicion, the anger, the hatred, the countless hours of wasted energy that she had invested in wanting answers; wanting justice. None of that mattered anymore, she just felt the love. She felt, freedom. A few moments later, Jerry's monitor started beeping as it flatlined. Before anyone on the hospital staff could react, Holly's unconscious body dropped to the hospital floor beside Jerry's bed…

*

She already knew that her eyes weren't closed, but she imagined the darkness anyway, for just a little while longer. Taking a deep breath, which she wasn't really doing either, she opened her non-existent eyes to be greeted by the blue expanse of The Chrysalis. Her consciousness beamed as she felt the nearby presence of her soulmate.

"Aren't co-conscious codewords just divine?" Vincent's voice emanated through her. She felt her human remnants dissolving as she radiated her love for him.

"It was your 'sweetest' idea yet my love, but what will become of baby Astral?"

"Holly and Vincent, congratulations." Felix's voice drifted softly through. "You have both reached your final incarnation, your Karmic Contracts are complete. The Obligation Levels of Acceptance and Forgiveness were met. You may ascend dimension at any time."

"What about Astral?" Holly asked, to which Felix replied.

"She is already a seventeen year old leader of the Resistance on Earth. Her current obligations are being fulfilled and she grew up believing Emma and Ted to be her parents. This was a necessary part of her psyche expansion. The two of you have completed everything that you needed to in the physical form."

"So then, finally I can ask. Where do we spend our eternity my sweet?" Vincent's voice asked, slowly becoming more thought than voice. Holly felt the burden of her physical lives finally dropping away as her consciousness became void of weight, memory and emotion. All experiences just simply dissolved into her new, creamy existence. Holly 17 Alpha and Vincent 17 Bravo's souls intertwined, finally letting the spirits take them. As they ascended, she heard herself thinking:

"This time, my love, why don't we let the Universe decide…"

Excerpt from 'An Alternate Perspective'

Copyright © 2024 MRDS Books

Queensland, Australia

Cherchez La Femme

She's at her most distant,

Upon the new moon,

I toil in testosterone:

'Please return soon…'

Her antics are foggy;

Distant,

Dreamy,

Sold as a fantasy,

Entwining inside me,

 

Coarse hair prickles,

Reminding the host;

It's a double-edged sword

This body we boast,

 

Trinkets, toys,

Scents and more,

Scattered all over,

My senses; and floor,

She is still me

And I am still her,

On that proud fact

We both do concur,

But it is now lonely,

This far apart;

A moon sized hole

In our tiny heart,

 

At our weakest?

-Beast shifts in his seat-

Not common knowledge,

But I WAS easy meat…

 

Shifting through phases

Always running,

Heartbeat thumps as I

Feel minions gunning,

 

Gunning for us, every day

Leaving out tools,

Hoping we'll play,

The eternal pounding

Of forehead and rock;

Keeping at bay,

Whilst taking stock,

 

Of all the good

That we do together,

Phases apart

May stretch our tether,

 

But whilst it holds

We are conquering them;

A brave little boy

With his shadowy femme,

 

Stuck in the host

Of a grey, aging man;

Can we pull this off?

You know that we can...

Excerpt from 'The Dead End'

Copyright © 2024 MRDS Books

Queensland, Australia

La Chameleon

The chameleon carries

Her identity chest;

Gossamer shields,

At her behest,

 

Alters, covers,

A different peel,

A layer of acceptance

That’s not really real,

 

Appropriate façade,

Diction and tone,

Nickname,

Accent,

Believed to the bone,

 

Character created

She mingles with ease,

A sweet combination,

Chocolate on cheese,

 

Convincing,

Conniving,

Cannibalistic;

Seductive creature,

Opportunistic?

 

Entity blending,

Hidden in sight,

Experience gathered;

Return,

To the light,

 

‘Why is it so,

That a being such as I

Can adapt in a moment?

But take eons

To cry...’

 

With new mask adhered,

A blink and she’s gone;

Identity dissolved,

La chaméléon...

 

 

Excerpt from 'The Dead Drop'

Copyright © 2024 MRDS Books

Queensland, Australia

 

 

Chapter 2

Lieutenant Commander Michael ‘Mick’ Willis was in a fantastic mood. Not only had his ship returned from deployment a week early, but he was also about to embark on two weeks shore leave. The guided missile frigate, the H.M.A.S. Valour, had been on deployment in the South China Sea area for the last six months, so some rest and relaxation were just what the doctor ordered.

“Leave. Leave to all personnel not required for duty from now until zero seven three zero hours Monday July thirty, twenty twelve,” the Quartermaster's voice droned through the Wardroom loudspeaker, but this time it was music to Michael’s ears.

‘Two weeks off, no action stations, but plenty of action,’ he thought with a grin as he stuffed his belongings into his backpack. Michael had served with the Royal Australian Navy for twelve years and was the Principal Warfare Officer on board the Valour, a job he had held since his promotion three years prior. He was the go-to man when it came to any form of electronic warfare operation, but as of thirty seconds ago the job was the last thing on his mind. He was looking forward, with great anticipation, to spending some long overdue quality time with his wife.

“Slinkin’ off without sayin’ goodbye Mick?” Remmi drawled as he appeared through a port side hatch.

“I thought your insatiable thirst had already spirited you away Remmi.” Michael’s head remained buried in his locker.

“Three words bro. Teach. Mick. Pool.”

Michael popped his head up and closed his locker.

“I have one-word for you Remmi. Ciao.”

“One game mate, one beer?” Remmi implored comically.

“How do I say this, so you’ll understand? Janette has no clue about our early mark, you feelin’ me bro?” Michael mimicked his shipmate’s Illinois drawl. “Surprise the missus and score. Isn’t that something you’d be doing; if you had one?”

“Yo man, every port we hit I surprise my missus!” Remmi started to gyrate his hips. “I got da moves like Jagger…”

“And…there it is…my cue to leave. Thank you, Lieutenant, that will be all.” Michael threw Remmi a mock salute with his middle finger.

“Carry on dawg,” Remmi laughed as he returned the gesture. “BBQ at your place then, Sunday?”

“After the last time mate, I wouldn’t expect a repeat performance too soon,” Michael said. “Janette was pissed.”

“Ain’t that the idea? Nuthin’ wrong with a bit of nude cricket!”

“In the backyard, maybe. It wasn’t really cul-de-sac viewing though, was it?” Michael raised his left brow at Remmi.

“I saw ya viewin’ my cul-de-sac…” Remmi grinned and gyrated again quite well then he dug Michael playfully in the ribs.

“West Indies man! We were on da rum!”

“Easy fix, next time I’ll keep the cricket bat hidden.”

“Ah hah,” Remmi said, “so there will be a next time? We don’t like cricket, no no…we love it!”

“More singing?” Michael groaned. “Enjoy your happy hour old mate, I’m off home for some genuine jiggy jig.” Michael knew exactly how to divert his fellow officer. Remmi looked at his watch.

“Shit; dollar pots, gotta scoot dawg!” Remmi exchanged his latest hand gesture with Michael.

“You stay outta trouble brother,” Michael started, but Remmi was already away.

“Not a chance in hell!” Remmi called back as he disappeared up the ladder that led from the Wardroom to the main deck. Lieutenant Rembrandt ‘Remmi’ Carlisle was one of the quirkier members of Michael’s Ops crew. Chicago born Remmi was a self-confessed ‘two metres of black attitude,’ but he knew his job when it came to all things weaponry. A good offsider and an even better friend. Michael took one last look around the mess deck. Most of the crew had already stepped ashore. He slung his backpack over his right shoulder, put on his sunglasses and ascended the ladder.

“See you in sixteen days old girl,” he whispered, patting the bulkhead.

Brilliant sunshine blinded Michael as he walked out onto the main deck. The ship was berthed with the starboard side to the wharf, which was already packed with people heading off on weekend leave. The Navy Band had made an appearance, welcoming back all the ships that had been travelling in company with the Valour. Strains of 'We are sailing' drifted across the dockyard, whilst sounds of happy children eating ice cream on the wharf punctuated the diesel fumed air. Michael arrived at the gangway area and moved his name peg across into the ‘long leave’ column. As he gazed out over the azure harbour the band completed their piece to staggered pockets of wharf applause.

‘Superb,’ he thought and with a brisk salute he crossed the ship's gangway and re-entered his civilian life.

*

The 2010 white Saab Aero convertible sat patiently on level five awaiting its owner. Six months of dust had settled on it and it was slowly turning a nice shade of beige. Michael clicked his key as he approached; the indicators flashed their approval.

“Hey baby, you missed me?” Michael asked as he opened the boot of his beloved ride, but as usual he gained no response.

“I think we need to blow the cobwebs off,” he said with a smile. His backpack stowed he climbed into the driver’s seat and sighed as he wriggled into the contours of the plush leather interior. With the ignition keys in, the first button Michael pressed cracked open the roof. Within six seconds the odour of diesel infused dust filled the car. He then pressed the ignition button. Instantly the two-point eight litre V six roared into life. Michael plugged in his mobile phone and put the car into gear. It was habit more than anything; nobody would be calling him today. The crew would be on their third beer by now and Janette would still be at work, not expecting him home until the end of next week.

Michael and Janette had married three years ago in the winter of ‘09. Back then, Michael was a twenty-seven-year-old Lieutenant who was posted to the Defence Training Academy in the ACT. He had met Janette eighteen months earlier and they had moved to Canberra together at the end of ‘08. That was back when Janette was a twenty-five-year-old travel consultant for Travelplanet and was lucky enough to find work wherever Michael was posted. They had married in Canberra and then honeymooned for a week at the Snowy Mountains. Upon Michael’s promotion to Lieutenant Commander in December '09, they had moved to Sydney’s North Shore and bought their current residence; a modest two-bedroom house in the affluent suburb of Waverton.

Michael drove out of the Garden Bay Defence parking facility and joined the expressway that would take him through the Sydney Harbour Tunnel. The MP3 player selected a soothing Norah Jones tune and Michael took a deep breath. He felt himself really begin to relax for the first time in ages. He glanced at his surroundings before entering the tunnel. More buildings, more cranes, more scaffolding than there had been back in January. Everything was still drenched from the storm that had begun last night off the coast and hadn’t really abated until an hour ago. The Sun was now at its peak as it threw blinding reflections from the glass and steel structures of Sydney’s ever-growing business district. Michael only had a few seconds of this before the Saab plunged him into momentary darkness. His eyes soon adjusted to the dimly lit tunnel and with Norah crooning in the background, his thoughts drifted to his wife.

He had debated just turning up to Janette’s Pitt Street office and surprising her with flowers and the like, but then decided against the idea. If she was in with a client, or worse still, out to lunch, then the advantage would be lost. He had decided that going home, cleaning up and getting a delicious meal ready for her five-thirty entry would be much more beneficial. He would check the freezer first and, if the ingredients weren’t forthcoming, he still had plenty of time for a bit of shopping. Glancing at the blue digital readout on the MP3 player, Michael saw that in civilian time it was ten past one.

‘Ahh,’ he thought dreamily. ‘Shore leave on a Friday; it does NOT get better than this.’

Exiting the tunnel, he indicated left and turned off the expressway. He weaved the car through a myriad of streets with the ease of a Formula One driver, until he arrived at number 5 Harbourview Crescent. Pressing the garage remote, he drove up the steep driveway whilst the double panel lift door creaked and slowly climbed on its track. He parked on the right side of the garage; the left side was reserved for Janette’s shopping trolley, a 2000 model Honda Civic which she refused to part with.

Michael killed the engine and stepped out of the Saab. Above the rooftop of the house over the road was the glorious Sydney Harbour, but it was something much closer that had caught his eye. His mailbox was full.

Walking somewhat cautiously down his driveway, Michael saw that the mailbox was stuffed to overflowing. Glossy brochures were scattered around the garden, along with a couple of envelopes and various vouchers shouting:

2 FOR 1 PIZZAS!

The daily newspaper, normally rolled up and lobbed by a teenage cyclist early every morning, was a wet pulp in the flowerbeds, but not just one, there were over half a dozen. His chest tightened as something in a dark recess of his mind began to surface. He picked up a paper, '25th July!' it screamed at him. He picked up another, '23rd July', was barely recognisable. The dates pierced his heart as the truth dawned on him. Today was July 27th. It was all suddenly clear. The house had been burgled. Janette had discovered the intruders. They had killed her and escaped in her car. Janette, his darling Janette had been lying dead in their house for over a week. Michael was gripped by a surreal feeling that he was overworked. He had just come off an eight-hour watch in the Ops room and he was back in his bunk having a nightmare. Then the action alarm went off, but it wasn’t the alarm, it was a ship’s horn; a ship sailing under the Sydney Harbour Bridge.

He snapped back into reality. Suddenly feeling quite nauseous, he dropped the newspapers and turned sluggishly back towards his house.

“JANETTE!” he screamed and raced up the driveway. His legs, that were jelly a moment ago, had now found enough strength to propel him back up the driveway. He entered the house through the internal garage door and ran into the kitchen.

“Janette!” he yelled again, but now his brain was catching up with him. She would have heard him by now; if she could hear…

He tried slowing his mind down as he surveyed the kitchen. The blinds were closed, and a selection of dirty dishes were piled in the sink. A musty smell told him that this room hadn’t been aired in quite a while. A mixture of acid and bile was creeping around the back of his throat, threatening to show itself at any moment. He swallowed as he walked slowly through his lounge room and then started to ascend the staircase.

“Janette?” his voice quivered. His legs were now aching with too much lactic acid and the only sound he could hear was the deafening drumbeat of his heart. He reached the top of the stairs and glanced into the spare room. It was empty, with no sign of a struggle.

He almost tip toed past the bathroom and then paused at the door to his bedroom. He listened, but couldn’t hear any sounds of:

‘does congealing blood make a sound?’

“Oh shit,” he said aloud and with his heartbeat on his tongue, he turned the handle and slowly pushed open the bedroom door.

 

 

Excerpt from 'MICHAEL'

‘J.A.D.E. – The Serial Thriller - Part 1’

Copyright © 2024 MRDS Books Queensland, Australia

 

 

Chapter 3

Lawson's day was getting increasingly worse. A dead suspect in custody and now his main subject had disappeared. Video surveillance had Mullins driving out of the car park not long after the fake female lawyer; what was wrong with these people? And what was so important that Price had to die for it? As the paramedics took away Price's body, Lawson sat back down at his desk. He looked at the notes he had taken whilst he had interviewed Mullins. The last thing Mullins had told him was that the two Chiefs had held a hard drive each and that he himself held the decryption key. Price and whoever he worked for obviously wanted the whole Project for themselves to sell to the highest bidder. Could this woman that had walked in off the street, be the assassin that had killed four, now five people? With all these thoughts spinning around his head, he nearly missed his phone ringing.

“Homicide, Steed.”

“Yeah, Laws, it’s Pete. I’ve done some digging on your friend, Michael Willis. After the visit to the bank, he did indeed head south. We got his make of car and rego and tracked him going through the Snowy Mountains Tollway at five past seven Friday night. There's no way he got back to kill Callaghan and his wife.”

“So, he's gone to the snow? Magnificent work Pete, we still need him for questioning, but hey bigger fish. We nabbed a guy called Price who reckons he was linked to this killer. Prior to interrogation, a woman posing as his lawyer came into the precinct and … killed him.” Lawson couldn’t really put it any other way.

“Holy shit, it wasn't Martin Price, was it?” Pete asked, pen in hand.

“It was mate, did you know him?” Lawson feigned interest.

“We've had him in a couple of times for petty stuff and Defence brought him in once on a suspected espionage charge. Nothing stuck. He was the Commissioner's son in law you know, a real slippery gypsy.”

“Thanks for that info Pete, albeit a little late. I also had my mate the Navy Chief in here. He, allegedly, holds a decryption key for two Navy Project hard drives. Combs and Callaghan were killed for their info, I don’t see why this guy will be any different. Anyway, I digress, Price. He was going to tell us who killed them but alas, he was chopped first. Now the Admiral has shot through to places unknown and I have to deal with a dead suspect in custody.” Lawson explained with a dry tone.

“The Navy Chief, that's Mullins, right? So where is he right now?” asked Pete, taking notes.

“Places unknown Pete, that means I don’t fucking know. I’m putting out a KALOF on this Tracy King fake lawyer bird and then, well, we’ll see hey?”

“Well, if it's any help, I can put traces on mobile phones and try to pinpoint where everyone is.” Pete was scribbling furiously.

“On ya Pete, your technical wizardry knows no bounds. Any known connections of Price's would also be received with immense joy.”

“Not a problem Laws, chat to you soon.”

As Lawson hung up his phone, Superintendent Frank Gordon poked his head out of his office.

“Steed, a word,” he commanded gruffly.

‘And... here we fuckin’ go,’ thought Lawson.

*

Lawson emerged from his boss’s office thirty minutes later. Obviously, the death of the Police Commissioner's son-in-law in custody wouldn't reflect well on the squad. He didn't need it repeating five times. He certainly hadn't planned it. He decided to review the footage from the holding cell to see if any clues were forthcoming.

The woman wasn't stupid. She had kept her back to the camera most of the time and had spoken only briefly. She had said just enough to find out that Price hadn't spoken to the police. Once that was established, she had disposed of Price quickly and efficiently. It was, without a doubt, a professional hit. There was a moment when the woman had faced the camera and Lawson froze. Those eyes; those deep, swampy green, gorgeous eyes…

The beeping printer snapped Lawson back to reality.

Retrieving the scan, he took the picture down to processing to issue a Keep a Look out For.

Arriving back at his desk, he decided on his next course of action. With Willis no longer the threat, the focus had now shifted to Tracy King. Price had been disposed of, so Mullins was obviously the next target. He literally held the key to this whole JADE drama. Lawson needed to find him and fast. A few taps on his computer and he had Mullins' number. He dialled it, but the number dropped out.

“For fuck’s sake,” said Lawson under his breath. He picked up the phone again and this time he dialled the AMD. Jack picked up.

“Good afternoon Australian Maritime Division, Jack speaking.”

“Afternoon Jack, Detective Steed from North Sydney LAC, I was in there a couple of hours ago talking to Price and Mullins.”

“Yes Sir, what can I do for you?”

“I wanted to check and see if Vice Admiral Mullins had returned there since we spoke, I’ve lost track of him,” Lawson explained.

“Negative Sir, I haven't seen or heard from either of them since they left with you,” said Jack.

“OK mate thanks. Call me on this number if Mullins shows up, will you? It's very urgent.”

“Sure, will do Detective.”

“Thanks mate, bye.” Lawson hung up. He was rapidly running out of leads and the bodies were piling up. He tried Mullins' home number, but it went to an answering machine.

“Where the fuck is this guy?” Lawson growled.

 

 

Excerpt from 'JADE'

‘J.A.D.E. – The Serial Thriller - Part 2’

Copyright © 2024 MRDS Books Queensland, Australia

 

 

Chapter 5

Officer Colby Boston smacked the left side of his neck, squashing yet another blood draining parasite. Already sporting eight large welts on his neck and hands, it was taking most of Colby’s willpower not to scratch himself raw. His four prisoners stood waiting, heavily shackled, as the door to the aging prison transport bus hissed and swung open on its rusty metal arm. The short bus ride ahead was the final leg in a journey that would see these prisoners delivered to the Goulburn High-risk Unit. A new, high-tech separate compound to the prison, the GHU was located eleven kilometres from the main complex. This Supermax facility was set up specifically to house Australia’s most notorious inmates, many of whom were sent there, never to be released. Colby’s automatic weapon hung from his right shoulder as the group of inmates were shuffled along from the holding enclosure to the front of the bus. As they began to board, Colby succumbed to the bite on his left hand, scratching at it furiously.

‘Fuck this mozzie pit.’ Cursing under his breath he tore at the skin between his left thumb and forefinger. His shiny new watch showed twenty past one. ‘Forty minutes ‘til shift change, bring that shit on.’ he smiled as he imagined his plans for the evening; his second date with Caitlin and hopefully tonight he would get to see her secret tattoo...

The man shuffled toward the front of the queue. His hands were shackled in front of him, with a chain connecting these shackles to his ankles. Dressed in orange prison overalls, the older man was the last of the small group to board the bus. The man had a rugged expression; the lines etched into his face were more from high living as they were from hard working. Colby glanced from his mutilated hand to the man, who took a step onto the bus and then turned to face Colby, enjoying the height advantage.

“Get on the bus, convict,” Colby said. The scratching stopped as he slowly brought his weapon to the ready status. The man smiled and sniffed the air.

“Ah, you smell that Officer? That’s fresh, that’s exciting! That’s mother fuckin’ freedom right there!”

Colby aimed his weapon at the man’s head.

“All I can smell is your bullshit convict. I won’t ask you again.”

After another long inhale, the man exhaled loudly, turned and boarded the bus. He took a seat on the left side, diagonally back from the driver. The driver angled his rear mirror and their four eyes locked momentarily. Colby shouldered his weapon and boarded the bus. As the door hissed behind him, sealing them all in, he leaned in to shackle the man’s chains to the seat. The man looked at the driver’s reflection again and then, closed his eyes.

The driver planted the accelerator. This was his cue to drive, fast. The man’s eyes flew open and as Colby lurched towards him off balance he pulled his hands up sharply. The previously weakened shackle that had confined him sheared off and he stood up, grabbing Colby and wrapping his wrist chains around his neck. He pulled the weapon from Colby’s shoulder and jammed the barrel into his back. The bus took out the boom gate as the other three prisoners, who were already shackled to their seats, started cheering loudly. A barrage of gunfire peppered the left side of the bus as it raced away from the terminal and headed left onto the highway. The man held Colby tight as he faced the other Officer onboard.

“Toss me your weapon, or Mr Boston here gets one in the spleen,” the man said, calm but firm. Officer Tyrone Meggs, who was sent flying when the bus took off, stood up in the aisle at the back of the bus. His weapon was still hung along his back and twenty feet away, or so, a psycho had a gun to his partner.

“I shoot him, then you. Or. You give me your weapon and sit down. Simple maths, Mr Meggs!” a psychotic squeak was uttered, almost inaudible. The man was getting excited.

Thirty-three grand a year before tax just wasn’t enough for Tyrone to be a hero. He knew on his first day ever holding a weapon at the range that he had a problem with depth perception. This would only go on to be the undoing of this young man. He knew, deep down, that he could empty his magazine at this psycho, but at this distance? This crucial distance? Ten to thirty feet was Tyrone’s lost zone. His chances of hitting either man from here were practically zero.

“You’ve got nowhere to go,” Tyrone stated meekly, relinquishing his weapon. He placed it in the aisle and pushed it gently. Colby’s face remained solid, even though he was quietly relieved that his bog eyed partner hadn’t sprayed half his magazine at them.

“Mr Meggs, I can go wherever I choose; do you know why? Because I’m free. My extraction escapades will leave you astounded, have no fear!”

The man released his choke hold and pushed Colby to his knees.

“Sit where you are Mr Meggs, Mr Boston was about to unshackle my feet, weren’t you my good man?”

With the muzzle now pushed underneath Colby’s left ear, he reluctantly removed his keys from his waistband. He removed the man’s ankle shackles and then tried to stand.

“Ah, ah, not yet,” the man poked the weapon against Colby’s head.

“Pass me that weapon. Slowly and butt first of course. Ha! Bet that’s not the first time you’ve heard that, hey Colby?” The man grinned with confidence at his innuendo.

Colby was still catching his breath as he reached slowly for Meggs’ discarded weapon.

“Stay on your knees and slide it, slowly.” The man smiled again dementedly as Colby slid him the weapon.

“There’s nowhere to go out here, you’ll be surrounded within minutes,” Colby attempted, but was cut off.

“My friend, I’m counting on it! What’s the point of a performance without the punters?” His face bore a look of pure evil as Colby unlocked his wrist shackles. He ushered the two officers to the rear seat of the bus, past the trio of shackled criminals who started with their taunts.

“Shoot the pigs, don’t fuck around mah nigah!” shouted one.

“Let me slit his throat, I want him to bleed!” begged another.

Ignoring their tempting badgering, the man kept his sight on Colby whilst he shackled himself to the seat. Tyrone, who was about to sit, thirty-three grand or not, had a rush of blood and he turned and grabbed at one of the weapons from the man’s hands. With a look of astonishment on his face, he pulled the weapon free and tried desperately to turn it as his right hand fumbled for the trigger...

The man discharged his remaining weapon into the centre of Tyrone’s torso. The five millimetre round shattered four ribs before exiting explosively out through his liver. Tyrone’s body slammed back into the side rear window with such force that he shattered the ageing reinforced glass. As Tyrone’s dying eyes implored, the man simply elevated the weapon and fired the second round directly between them. The force of the head shot sent him through the shattered window and plunging to the highway below, still clutching his weapon.

“Any other heroes?” the man asked, turning to face his prisoners.

“Let us loose, boss man!” shouted the burliest of the detainees. The man smiled again, seemingly quite unhinged.

“Sorry, my corpulent friend, but I’m afraid that’s not part of the plan...”

*

The pilot adjusted course to his final heading, on approach to the rendezvous point from the east. A wet, half chewed cigar stump was pinched between his lips on the left side of his stubbled mouth. The cigar end glowed dimly as he approached the final rise before pickup. Two kilometres ahead the road forked, the road heading south would deliver you to the GHU. Continuing straight ahead to the west would be quite fatal for all on four wheels, with the road coming to a rather abrupt end at the bottom of a seventy-foot gorge. It was time to act. The pilot puffed and then pulled back on his yoke, hard. The two-seater Dynali helicopter pitched up and cleared the hill in front of it by only a few feet. He was now in the open, crossing over the main road and closing rapidly on the bus’s location. He leaned across the passenger seat and pushed a short rope ladder out of the door. It uncurled silently, snaking its way towards earth. With the authorities closing in from the east and the south, the bus accelerated, gaining momentum as it raced down the hill towards the gorge.

*

“You can’t outrun them; they’ll intercept you before we reach the gorge. What the hell is your plan?” Colby demanded.

“My plan is to make a clean and spectacular exit. The plan for the rest of you is... not as appealing,” the man looked around almost wistfully, then opened the door.

The warm air rushed in as he stood at the entrance with his weapon aimed down the aisle.

“What are we using to wedge the accelerator?” the driver asked as he undid his seatbelt.

“Superb idea Mr Young!” the man declared, and accurately placed a single shot into the driver’s left temple. With the right side of his skull colourfully removed, his body slumped forward with his foot flat to the floor, accelerating the bus past 80 km/h.

“Are there any other requests, no? Last stop, hell, then!” the man grinned as he took a step down into the foot well. With his weapon still focused on Colby, the man reached the open doorway. With the helicopter now just fifteen feet above the bus, the rope ladder had appeared, dancing erratically just within reach. The man secured the weapon over his right shoulder, turned and grabbed hold of the bottom rungs of the ladder. Realising that he only had one chance at this, Colby reached for his ancillary piece, a thirty-eight special which was strapped to his right ankle.

“Adios, see you fuckers in another life!” the man announced as he jumped from the bus.

Colby produced his weapon and fired into the doorway, grazing the man’s right calf as he was hoisted away. He looked up to see the bus careening unmanned towards the gorge. He fired his weapon again, releasing himself from the shackled seat. With three petrified prisoners screaming at him to save their lives, Colby bolted down the aisle of the bus to the driver’s seat. He tried desperately to apply the brakes, but the aging transport was out of control, braking only causing the back end to slide. There was no way to stop before the barricade so, with his shackled prisoners’ screams ringing in his ears, Colby leapt from the open doorway, his body bounced and rolled on the hard gravel shoulder before being flung like a rag doll into the long brush grass. The bus smashed through the highway barricade and plummeted at speed into the gorge. The man climbed the ladder, as the bus containing the three condemned criminals disappeared below him. The now decommissioned transportation slammed into the rocks below, ripping every person’s torso from their shackled limbs a split second before it exploded, exuding a dramatic fireball. The police cruiser that had been chasing from the east came to a rapid halt after viewing Officer Boston throwing himself to the roadside. The wreckage smouldered whilst Constable Burns called in the carnage over his radio:

“We need medics and fireys at Gilbert’s Gorge, ASAP! It’s a disaster zone!” Colby lay in the scrub just before the smashed barricade. With a broken left leg, a broken jaw and five broken ribs, he was very lucky just to be alive. A kilometre to the east, however, the mangled remains of his ex-partner weren’t so lucky. Tyrone’s torso was strewn across eighty metres of highway; most of his recognisable features had been permanently removed. As Colby drifted off he thought:

‘I’m a shoe in for that tattoo viewin’...’

He passed out with a smile on his face as the wailing sirens converged on the scene of devastation…

*

As he was being dragged through the air, the man looked down at what he had caused. Police cruisers arrived at the junction of death as thick black smoke drifted up from the chasm. Feeling light headed from the climb and the loss of blood, the man reached the door of the helicopter and opened it; just as the pilot banked sharply to the left. The man dropped his weapon and fell inside the cockpit, sprawling onto his seat. He sat up, ready to give the pilot a serve.

“Dexy the midnight runner, how’s tricks?” the pilot exclaimed above the rotor noise.

“Desiree the bald bitch. What took you so fuckin’ long?” Dexter shouted back as he closed his door.

“Surely you mean, thanks for saving my arse, again?” Desmond grinned, still chewing on his cigar stump.

“Yeah, nice one, nine days? Do tell...” Dexter’s brow raised.

“A; you’re lucky to still be alive, and B; we’re runnin’ things to my timetable now.” Desmond glanced across. “And guess what?”

“C; you’ve lost all your pubic hair as well?” Dexter quipped.

Desmond smiled; their forty years of sibling rivalry had been quite intense back in the day.

“No, Dexy, but the Bunker is ready to wreak havoc and you, my snuffling sibling, stand to earn yourself a large supply of the devil’s dandruff...” Desmond handed Dexter a small plastic bag.

“A taste of what’s to come; happy birthday, brother.”

The helicopter flew north into the amber outback as Dexter cracked his first real smile in over a week.

 

 

Excerpt from 'JET'

‘J.A.D.E. – The Serial Thriller - Part 3’

Copyright © 2024 MRDS Books Queensland, Australia