I wandered back to my villa.

It was in darkness.  I was sure I had left several lights on, especially over the door, so I could see to unlock it.

I looked up and saw that the globe was broken.

Instant alert.

I went to the first hiding spot for the gun, and it wasn’t there.  I went to the backup, and it wasn’t there either.  Someone had found my carefully hidden stash of weapons and removed them.

Who?

There were four hiding spots, and all were empty.  Someone had removed the weapons.  That could only mean one possibility.

I had a visitor, not necessarily here for a social call.

But, of course, being the well-trained agent I’d once been and not one to be caught unawares, I crossed over to my neighbour and relieved him of a weapon that, if found, would require a lot of explaining.

Suitably armed, it was time to return the surprise.

There were three entrances to the villa: the front door, the back door, and a rather strange escape hatch.  One of the more interesting attractions of the villa I’d rented was its heritage.  It was built in the late 1700s by a man who was, by all accounts, a thief.  It had a hidden underground room, which had been in the past a vault but was now a wine cellar, and it had an escape hatch by which the man could come and go undetected, particularly if there was a mob outside the door baying for his blood.

It now gave me the means to enter the villa without my visitors being alerted, unless, of course, they were in the vicinity of the doorway inside the villa, but that possibility was unlikely.  It was not where anyone could anticipate or expect a doorway to be.

The secret entrance was at the rear of the villa, behind a large copse, two camouflaged wooden doors built into the ground.  I moved aside some of the branches that covered them and lifted one side.  After I’d discovered the doors and rusty hinges, I’d oiled and cleaned them, and cleared the passageway of cobwebs and fallen rocks.  It had a mildew smell, but nothing would get rid of that.  I’d left torches at either end so I could see.

I closed the door after me and went quietly down the steps, enveloped in darkness till I switched on the torch.  I traversed the short passage, which turned ninety degrees about halfway to the door at the other end.  I carried the key to this door on the keyring, found it and opened the door.  It too had been oiled and swung open soundlessly.

I stepped into the darkness and closed the door.

I was on the lower level under the kitchen, now the wine cellar, the ‘door’ doubling as a set of shelves which had very little on them, less to fall and alert anyone in the villa.

Silence, an eerie silence.

I took the steps up to the kitchen, stopping when my head was level with the floor, checking to see if anyone was waiting.  There wasn’t.  It seemed to me to be an unlikely spot for an ambush.

I’d already considered the possibility of someone coming after me, especially because it had been Bespalov I’d killed, and I was sure he had friends, all equally as mad as he was.  Equally, I’d also considered it nigh on impossible for anyone to find out it was me who killed him because the only people who knew that were Prendergast, Alisha, a few others in the Department, and Susan.

That raised the question of who told them where I was.

If I were the man I used to be, my first suspect would be Susan.  The departure this morning, and now this was too coincidental.  But I was not that man.

Or was I?

I reached the start of the passageway that led from the kitchen to the front door and peered into the semi-darkness.  My eyes had got used to the dark, and it was no longer an inky void.  Fragments of light leaked in around the door from outside and through the edge of the window curtains where they didn’t fit properly.  A bone of contention upstairs in the morning, when first light shone and invariably woke me up hours before I wanted to.

Still nothing.

I took a moment to consider how I would approach the visitor’s job.  I would get a plan of the villa in my head, all entrances, where a target could be led to or attacked, and where there would be no escape.

Coming in the front door.  If I were not expecting anything, I’d just open the door and walk in.  One shot would be all that was required.

Contract complete.

I sidled quietly up the passage, staying close to the wall, edging closer to the front door.  There was an alcove where the shooter could be waiting.  It was an ideal spot to wait.

Crunch.

I stepped on some nutshells.

Not my nutshells.

I felt it before I heard it.  The bullet with my name on it.

And how the shooter missed, from point-blank range, and hit me in the arm, I had no idea.  I fired off two shots before a second shot from the shooter went wide and hit the door with a loud thwack.

I saw a red dot wavering as it honed in on me, and I fell to the floor, stretching out, looking up where the origin of the light was coming and pulled the trigger three times, evenly spaced, and a second later I heard the sound of a body falling down the stairs and stopping at the bottom, not very far from me.

Two assassins.

I’d not expected that.

The assassin by the door was dead, a lucky shot on my part.  The second was still breathing.

I checked the body for any weapons and found a second gun and two knives.  Armed to the teeth!

I pulled off the balaclava; a man, early thirties, definitely Italian.  I was expecting a Russian.

I slapped his face, waking him up.  Blood was leaking from several slashes on his face when his head had hit the stairs on the way down.  The awkward angle of his arms and legs told me there were broken bones, probably a lot worse internally.  He was not long for this earth.

“Who employed you?”

He looked at me with dead eyes, a pursed mouth, perhaps a smile.  “Not today, my friend.  You have made a very bad enemy.”  He coughed, and blood poured out of his mouth.  “There will be more …”

Friends of Bespalov, no doubt.

I would have to leave.  Two unexplainable bodies, I’d have a hard time explaining my way out of this mess.  I dragged the two bodies into the lounge, clearing the passageway just in case someone had heard anything.

Just in case anyone was outside at the time, I sat in the dark, at the foot of the stairs, and tried to breathe normally.  I was trying not to connect the dots that led back to Susan, but the coincidence was worrying me.

A half-hour passed, and I hadn’t moved.  Deep in thought, I’d forgotten about being shot, unaware that blood was running down my arm and dripping onto the floor.

Until I heard a knock on my front door.

Two thoughts: it was either the police, alerted by the neighbours, or it was the second wave, though why would they be knocking on the door?

I stood and immediately felt a stabbing pain in my arm.  I took out a handkerchief and turned it into a makeshift tourniquet, then wrapped a kitchen towel around the wound.

If it were the police, this was going to be a difficult situation.  Holding the gun behind my back, I opened the door a fraction and looked out.

No police, just Maria.  I hoped she was not part of the next ‘wave’.

“You left your phone behind on the table.  I thought you might be looking for it.”  She held it out in front of her.

When I didn’t open the door any further, she looked at me quizzically and then asked, “Is anything wrong?”

I was going to thank her for returning the phone, but I heard her breathe in sharply and add, breathlessly, “You’re bleeding.”

I looked at my arm and realised it was visible through the door, and not only that, the towel was soaked in blood.

“You need to go away now.”

Should I tell her the truth?  It was probably too late, and if she were any sort of law-abiding citizen, she would go straight to the police.

She showed no signs of leaving, just an unnerving curiosity.  “What happened?”

I ran through several explanations, but none seemed plausible.  I went with the truth.  “My past caught up with me.”

“You need someone to fix that before you pass out from blood loss.  It doesn’t look good.”

“I can fix it.  You need to leave.  It is not safe to be here with me.”

The pain in my arm was not getting any better, and the blood was starting to run down my arm again as the tourniquet loosened.  She was right, I needed it fixed sooner rather than later.

I opened the door and let her in.  It was a mistake, a huge mistake, and I would have to deal with the consequences.  Once inside, she turned on the light and saw the pool of blood just inside the door and the trail leading to the lounge.  She followed the trail and turned into the lounge, turned on the light, and no doubt saw the two dead men.

I expected her to scream.  She didn’t.

She gave me a good, hard look, perhaps trying to see if I was dangerous.  Killing people wasn’t something you looked the other way about.  She would have to go to the police.

“What happened here?”

“I came home from the cafe and two men were waiting for me.  I used to work for the Government, but no longer.  I suspect these men were here to repay a debt.  I was lucky.”

“Not so much, looking at your arm.”

She came closer and inspected it.

“Sit down.”

She found another towel and wrapped it around the wound, retightening the tourniquet to stem the bleeding.

“Do you have medical supplies?”

I nodded.  “Upstairs.”  I had a medical kit, and on the road, I usually made my own running repairs.  Another old habit I hadn’t quite shaken off yet.

She went upstairs, rummaged, and then came back.  I wondered briefly what she would think of the unmade bed, though I was not sure why it might interest her.

She helped me remove my shirt and then cleaned the wound.  Fortunately, she didn’t have to remove a bullet.  It was a clean wound but it would require stitches.

When she’d finished, she said, “Your friend said one day this might happen.”

No prizes for guessing who that friend was, and it didn’t please me that she had involved Maria.

“Alisha?”

“She didn’t tell me her name, but I think she cares a lot about you.  She said trouble has a way of finding you, gave me a phone and said to call her if something like this happened.”

“That was wrong of her to do that.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not.  Will you call her?”

“Yes.  I can’t stay here now.  You should go now.  Hopefully, by the time I leave in the morning, no one will ever know what happened here, especially you.”

She smiled.  “As you say, I was never here.”

…

© Charles Heath 2018-2022

For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way.

Whilst I have always had a fascination with what happened during the second world war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war.

And, so, it continues…

…

Leonardo was a fool, not that any of those who followed him would say that to his face, but all of them knew it and accepted that he made the best leader.

The reason for that, they all knew if anything went wrong, then the leader would be the first to be held accountable.

They all also knew that what Leonardo had done to Martina and Chiara, and the cold-blooded murder of the villagers, justifying it by saying they were collaborators, was also wrong, and had refused to take part in it.

Leonardo just thought they didn’t have the stomach to do what was necessary, failing to realize he was committing a crime, war or not.

Alberto, arguably the next man to take over the resistance group if anything happened to Leonardo, was nominally second in command and was there because he had the respect of the men, far more than their current leader.

He was the one who suspected there was something wrong at the castle, that the British soldiers there were not quite doing what they said they were there for.  He had seen, even directed, Germans seeking sanctuary in England in exchange for information, come, but not go.  Not like they did in the beginning.

And that man called Atherton, the one who arrived just before the paratroopers, he was British, and they had captured him.  The talk was that he was a German collaborator, but Alberto wasn’t convinced.

But, not having the full allegiance of all the resistance fighters, he could not say anything or try to organize the men to be more careful in their approach to those at the castle.  Leonardo still held sway with them. 

For now.

.

The Italians had their own section of the cells in the dungeons where they stayed, Leonardo, deeming it not safe in the village.  Alberto agreed because he had made several forays down there, only to discover that Leonardo would be shot on sight if he showed his face there again.  Some resistance they made, he thought, where they didn’t have the confidence of their own people.

Leonardo was up supping with the devil, as Alberto had been known to say, put of Leonardo’s earshot, and several of the men were resting.  The others, more loyal to Leonardo were in the cellar cell drinking their way through the wine stock and were most likely drunk and passed out.

Alberto didn’t care for the vintage, a subject that he was well versed in because before the war he had worked for the family of winemakers.  The wines stored, he had recognized when they’d first discovered them, as being of inferior quality, and had been left there rather than throwing it away.  Leonardo would not have known the difference.

“Something is not right.”  A voice from the corner, belonging to a man named Bolini, broke his reverie.  The truth was, he was tired and wished it were all done with.

“What makes you say that?” He asked.

“Killing the villagers.  What did they do wrong, other than just trying to survive?  It’s what we’re all trying to do.  It’s not our war.”

“You know what it’s like, stuck in the middle.  It’s a bit like the in-laws.  You don’t want them, but you’re stuck with them.”

“In-laws.  Don’t get me started.”  The other, a man named Christo, weighed in.  

“You do realize we may be held accountable for what happened back at the village,” Bolini had obviously been thinking about the repercussions.

“We brought the only witnesses here, and they sure as hell aren’t going to last long.  Not after what Leonardo did to them.”

“That’s possible, but we all know what happened.”

“But there are others outside who also know what happened, and if we want to keep out of trouble, we are going to have to take care of them,” Bolini said.

Alberto hadn’t quite got through considering the ramifications of what Fernando just did, and the fact they’d helped him.  Bolini was right, even if they hadn’t been as reckless, they were still going to be tarred with the same brush.

And Atherton was still out there.

The trouble with trying to clean up a mess is that eventually there’s a bigger mess to deal with.  Maybe it was time to get rid of Fernando.

The man called Wallace, the one who seemed to be in charge, came around the corner and stopped when he saw Alberto.

“Where’s your leader?”

Alberto pointed his head in the direction of the wine cellar.

Wallace shook his head, knowing what that meant.  “Tell him he’s got another pickup.  Two hours in the village.  A family, with two children.  Tell him to sober up, and if he doesn’t in time, you have my permission to shoot him.”

Surely the man wasn’t serious.

“Well, what are you sitting around for?  Get moving.”

Wallace cast a disapproving glance over the three, shook his head again, and left.

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2021

Here’s the thing…

Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.

I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature, but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.

But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.

Once again there’s a new installment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.

 

The passage heading towards the marina was littered with fallen rocks, timber beams, and roofing material. Much of the damage was in this wing, where the marina had started falling apart.

It was a problem with the foundations. A long and costly investigation had found that the marina’s foundations had been inadequately built on a shifting base, made worse by the seasonal water flow.

It was interesting to learn that the event that caused the start of the problems had not occurred in a hundred years, but had been noted in an early newspaper report, and only that it was a phenomenon, 

No one at the time had any interest in building there, and it was understood when the navy built its marina, there was no mention of anything untoward happening that would preclude the construction.

And, over the life of the project, nothing had happened. It was why, when the mall was being touted, no one really knew anything about flooding because it hadn’t happened in living memory.  That only came later, after the damage was done.

We reached the end of the passageway and found the stairs leading up to the walkway around the marina was closed off. Someone had pulled a board away and we could peer through the crack.

There was daylight beyond, and we could see the large cracks in the staircase, and along the walls either side.  There were two sets of stairs up both at the end of a mall passageway, and, in between, there were steps down into the carpark.  To one side of that was an elevator lobby, but the elevators would not be working.

But, just out of curiosity, I pressed the button.  The light came on, but nothing happened, and, a second later, it went out again.

I looked up, but Boggs had not moved from the top of the stairs.

These steps were not blocked by a barricade, but there would be some difficulty stepping over masonry that had fallen from the roof, which now had a gaping crack and a few pieces of concrete missing.  I could see the steel reinforcing and it was rusting.

A few years, all of it would eventually come down.

“You sure this is safe,” I asked.

“Been here a few times.  I reckon it hasn’t changed much in years.”

He was looking at the map again, and I peered over his shoulder.  The stairs were there but looking down we could only see as far as the landing.  There were cracked and broken tiles everywhere, and the handrail had been bent severely out of shape by a boulder now wedged in the rail.

Boggs put the map in his back pocket and said, “Follow me.”  He started walking slowly down the stairs, flashing his cell phone light ahead so we could see if there were any hazards.

At the landing, we looked further down the stairs, and these were cleaner.  Also, the wall which kept the marina out had a crack in it, and it was damp which meant water was seeping in.  The smell was of mold, and I wondered if that could be good for our health.

I followed him down to the first level of the carpark.  In the distance, looking back towards the front entrance of the mall, way in the distance was the slatted entrance gates, light seeping in through the cracks. 

Between us and those gates were several cars, crushed by a huge concrete beam that had fallen on them.  I remembered, then, that there had been a husband and wife in one of the cars at the time and they’d been killed.  Their children had been luckier, the youngest had to go to the restroom, and that minute delay had saved them.

Still, it would not be good seeing your parents killed in front of your eyes.

“This place is giving me the creeps,” I said and shuddered. 

They said there were ghosts, and I now believed them.

“What are we looking for?: I asked.

“Evidence of the underground river.”

“That would be long gone by now, since they built this lot over it, and some of it falling into it.”

“We shall see.” 

He then went down the next flight of steps to the bottom carpark, and I followed.  There was less debris on this level, but it was much darker down here, and with only Boggs’ cell phone light, we couldn’t see much else.

“That’s strange,” Boggs said, having taken a dozen or so steps to the right.

“What is?”  I wondered what his definition of the word strange was.

“There’s supposed to be an open section here where the wall fell away, pushed by the water flow last time it flooded.  The report said that a section here wasn’t anchored properly with formwork, hence the ease in which it was moved.”

I looked at the wall.  It seemed to be still intact to me.

Boggs pulled out a pocketknife and tapped it against the surface.

The false concrete chipped and fell away, and a closer inspection showed stippled plaster over plywood, very damp plywood.  Boggs extracted a knife and worked on the wall, clearing a foot square, the damp plaster easily peeling away.

A false wall, one that no one would think twice about if they were not looking for it.

Boggs then scraped sideways until the blade hit metal, then he scraped around it until a gate-type bolt was exposed.  It didn’t have a lock.  It was rusted shut, so Boggs found a rock and hit it a few times, shaking it loose.  He opened it, then tugged on it.

Was he expecting a door to open?

“Give us some help here.”

We both pulled on it, and it gave way, showering us in plaster pieces.  At least we weren’t smothered in dust.

As it opened, light flooded in, almost blinding me.

I let Boggs open it the rest of the way while my eyes adjusted.

Then I tentatively looked out.

From where we were standing, we could see the two levels of the marina walkway, broken away at this end above the doorway, and a big hole in the side wall of what was the marina pool.  We could see, and smell the seawater, and beyond, the ocean.

Looking down, there was a sheer drop of about 30 feet, and under us, there was an opening.  At that 30 feet was flowing water, and through the water, I thought I could see clothes.

“Is that a body down there?”

It looked like one.

“No.  Don’t think so.  Someone probably threw a clothed dummy down there for fun, once when this was open.  I’d say it was closed up to make the place safer. Anyway, we’ll soon find out.  We’re going down to have a look.”

© Charles Heath 2020

There’s something to be said for a story that starts like a James Bond movie, throwing you straight in the deep end, a perfect way of getting to know the main character, David, or is that Alistair?

A retired spy, well, not so much a spy as a retired errand boy, David’s rather wry description of his talents, and a woman that most men would give their left arm for, not exactly the ideal couple, but there is a spark in a meeting that may or may not have been a setup.

But as the story progressed, the question I kept asking myself was why he’d bother.

And, page after unrelenting page, you find out.

Susan is exactly the sort of woman to pique his interest.  Then, inexplicably, she disappears.  That might have been the end of it, but Prendergast, that shadowy enigma, David’s ex-boss who loves playing games with real people, gives him an ultimatum: find her or come back to work.

Nothing like an offer that’s a double-edged sword!

A dragon for a mother, a sister he didn’t know about, Susan’s BFF who is not what she seems or a friend indeed, and Susan’s father, who, up till David meets her, couldn’t be less interested, his nemesis proves to be the impossible dream, and he’s always just that one step behind.

When the rollercoaster finally came to a halt, and I could start breathing again, it was an ending that was completely unexpected.

I’ve been told there’s a sequel in the works.

Bring it on!

…

The book can be purchased here:  http://amzn.to/2Eryfth

…

For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way.

Whilst I have always had a fascination with what happened during the second world war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war.

And, so, it continues…

…

It didn’t surprise Johannesen there were about twenty prisoners down in the dungeons, though he was surprised to find that the dungeon area was quite large, and in several sections. The fact they smelled of wine told him that once, the cells were used at storage areas for bottles of wine.

Several of the cells that were furthest from the downstairs entrance, and recently boarded over caused several overzealous resistance fighters of Leonardo’s to start smashing walls looking for it.

Johannsen tried not to think about Leonardo. He was the very worst of men, a pig even by German standards.

Martina had been put in a cell not far from Leonardo’s wine cache. There was purpose in that, he could get drunk and then take it out of the woman who had made him look stupid. Come to think of it, he thought, it wouldn’t be too hard for a ten-year-old to do that.

The cell door was locked, but Johannsen had a key. He had meticulously gone through all the keyrings and loose keys that had been found and those that didn’t have an immediate use had been stored in the dungeon guardroom.

Matching keys to locks had been one of his secret tasks, under the disguise of being given the job by Wallace to match keys to locks for them. There were a few short in the end, keys to rooms, and cells that seem to serve no purpose. One had become Johannessen’s hideaway.

It was part of a plan he had been formulating, one where he could take prisoners and hide them. Of course, it wouldn’t work for the moment because the prisoners had to be moved on as soon as possible, and staying in the castle, even if the others didn’t know where they were, would invite a microscopic search. It would need Atherton’s knowledge of the castle, and whether there was another escape route they could use.

It was another of his works in progress, one that was highly likely to fail.

He stood back from the door and looked at the crumpled heap on the floor that was once the leader of the resistance. Leonardo had interrogated her before bringing her back, half-dead, to the castle, and in doing so had made it impossible for anyone to interrogate her further. Had that been the reason why Leonardo had bashed her senseless?

He saw a hand move by her side, and a low groan.

He spoke quietly, in English, “Are you able to come closer to the door?” He knelt down, trying to get a better look at her injuries. Abrasions, and bruising. Swollen eyes, possible broken nose, blood spatter everywhere on her clothing which remarkably was relatively intact. He had suspected Leonardo of doing a lot worse and may still have.

She lifted her head slightly, “Who are you?”

“I could be a friend.”

She laughed, then coughed, and blood came out of her mouth. Broken ribs possibly, and a punctured lung. She might be too injured to move.

“There are no friends in this place, just Tedeschi.” She lowered her head and closed her eyes. Her breathing was irregular and shallow. Definitely broken ribs, he thought. And not likely to survive another interrogation. Not if Jackerby was going to conduct it.

“I’d like to help you if I can.”

“Everyone in here, we’re beyond help. You know that because you’re one of them.”

“Some of us care what happens to people.”

She pushed hard to move around slightly to face him, laying her head on the side to face him. “Which one are you?”

“Johannsen.”

“Yes, Johannesen. Atherton mentioned you. As untrustworthy as the rest. But for me, I’m all but dead, but I’ll humor you. Get me out of here and away from that bastardo Leonardo, and I might believe you.”

Atherton. This might be an opportunity to find out how he could get in contact with him, knowing of course, she wasn’t going to tell him where Atherton was.

“If you want to get away from here, we need Atherton. He’s the only one who knows this place inside out.”

He could see her shaking her head, as painful as that might be.

“He’s not.”

“Then is there anyone who does?”

“There is.”

“Who?”

Again she laughed and it sounded like the death rattle of her last breath. “You think I’m that far gone that I would tell you anything?”

“If you want to escape, I can only get you so far.”

“There is no escape. Believe me. If there was, I would be gone. Save your trickery and lies for someone who might be gullible enough to believe you. I’m quite prepared to die, the fact I’ve lived this long is what some would call a miracle.”

With that she turned away, coughed, and went silent. She wasn’t dead, but death wasn’t far away.

When Johannesen reluctantly left the cell, he only made it to the turn towards the steps up when he ran into Jackerby.

Had Jackerby been somewhere near and overheard their conversation.

“You have a rather interesting interrogation technique,” Jackerby said.

Johannesen groaned inwardly. He had heard.

“Sometimes it’s better to try and infuse hope in the subject rather than resignation. I was trying to get her to tell me where Atherton is.”

“And did she?”

“What do you think. After what Leonardo did, she’s not likely to tell us anything. I’m sure if we had taken a different approach…”

“Yes, softly softly. Doesn’t work. Just leave the heavy lifting to us, and don’t bother coming down to revisit the prisoners. Otherwise, I might believe you really are trying to help them escape.”

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2021

It could be said that of all the women one could meet, whether contrived or by sheer luck, what are the odds it would turn out to be the woman who was being paid a very large sum to kill you?

John Pennington is a man who may be lucky in business, but not so lucky in love. He has just broken up with Phillipa Sternhaven, the woman he thought was the one, but relatives and circumstances, and perhaps because she was a ‘princess’, may also have contributed to the end result.

So, what do you do when you are heartbroken?

That is a story that slowly unfolds, from the first meeting with his nemesis on Lake Geneva, all the way to a hotel room in Sorrento, where he learns the shattering truth.

What should have been solace after disappointment turns out to be something else entirely, and from that point, everything goes to hell in a handbasket.

He suddenly realises his so-called friend Sebastian has not exactly told him the truth about a small job he asked him to do, the woman he is falling in love with is not quite who she says she is, and he is caught in the middle of a war between two men who consider people becoming collateral damage as part of their business.

The story paints the characters, cleverly displaying all their flaws and weaknesses. The locations add to the story at times, taking me back down memory lane, especially to Venice, where, in those back streets, I confess it’s not all that hard to get lost.

All in all, a thoroughly entertaining story with, for once, a satisfying end.

…

Available on Amazon here: https://amzn.to/2Xyh1ow

…

Here’s the thing…

Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.

I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature, but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.

But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.

Once again there’s a new instalment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.

 

A shiver went down my spine, and I took it for the omen it was.

Nothing good came of being in a place where you were not supposed to be.

I shook it off.

“Does that look like someone we knew, once?”

He looked at the mannequin, then shook his head.  “No, should it?”

“Seems odd they didn’t come back to collect their stock.  I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as this when the cracks first appeared.”

“Here it was.  Walls crumbled, and in places the roof collapsed.  Two shop staff got hit by a falling beam.  One later died.  There was a long court battle over that.”

I did not remember much of what happened.  My mother said it was just another tragedy brought on by greed.  It was probably why I had such contempt for the rich.

Boggs did a rotation with his light, and in the direction of the marina, there was a central square over which was a skylight, only it was dirty and little light was getting through.  It was just enough to see that the plants had all overgrown and taken over, and it was strange to see pylons covered in creeper, and shrubs growing through seats.

There had been a pond in the middle of that square, but it was probably empty now, and if it had water, it would be contributing to the smell.

In the other direction, there was darkness, the mall heading towards the front entrance.

Boggs started walking towards the square.

That was when I realised he had brought an old map of the shopping centre and had been looking at it when I joined him.

From the square, there were elevators and steps up to the second level where there were restaurants and entertainment areas, as well as the entrance to the multiplex cinemas.  The stairs went down to the carpark.

There were two levels of carpark under the main building, and it was the lower car park that had occasionally flooded.

When we reached the square, it seemed lighter than I first thought, but that was because my eyes had adjusted to the semi-darkness, making objects clearer.  We had to brush past some of the tree branches to reach the pond.

I was wrong.  There was water in it, and it was reasonably clear.  I guess without man to pollute it, nature had taken over.  Here the aroma was more like a park after the lawns had been mowed.

Boggs had turned off his light as we approached the pond, and it was fortunate he had.  We both heard the sound of a brick, or rock, hitting the floor, and a moment later, the faint glow of torchlight.

Other people exploring the wilderness.

“How many people know about that entrance?”

It sounded to me like they were coming back from the marina.

“I don’t know.  I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here if that’s what you’re thinking.”

It wasn’t.  Not my first thought, anyway.

He headed towards the stairs next to the elevator lobby, remarkably clear of rubble and undergrowth, and started walking down the stairs, into the darkness. I followed, reluctantly, and inwardly sighed in relief when he stopped on the first landing.  There was a rumour that there were ghosts down on the car park levels.

We went just far enough down to be hidden from the other visitors.  Unless they decided to use this particular staircase.

The light was less intense as it approached the square, and then we saw two figures.

At least one was a male, tall, and smoking a cigarette.

“God knows why the boss wanted us to check this hell hole.  There’s no one here but us.”  It was the tall man speaking.

He waved his torch around, including once in our direction.  At the distance they were from us, the light had no effect.

“You know the boss, he has an active imagination.  Perhaps if he hadn’t buried the bodies down here, it wouldn’t be an issue.  Come on, this place gives me the creeps.”

Another man, and, now, I could see they were dressed in what looked like security guards’ clothes.  Why on earth would anyone want to keep an eye on this place?  And who was their boss?

Another wave of the torches and they continued their way towards the front of the mall.

“So,” Boggs said with a curious inflection in his tone, “there are bodies buried down here.”

“A figure of speech,” I said.  “No one would be that stupid to bury bodies down here.”

“Why not.  No one comes here, except adventurers like us, so it’s a perfect place for either the Cossatino’s or the Benderby’s to hide stuff down here.  How many people do you think either of them has killed over the years?”

Allegedly quite a few.  It was, when I thought about it, quite a good place to hide a body.  I just hoped we didn’t find one.

We waited another five minutes, just in case they came back, but they didn.t.  I followed Boggs up the stairs and we headed towards the center of the square.

“Where are we going?”

“To the Marina.  Got to check something first.”

…

© Charles Heath 2019-2026