Welcome to issue 3 of gaZet. Enjoy.
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Contents
Poetry
Inside : Richard Browne
Untitled (Themed) : Paul Morran
Tanka : Neca Stoller
Dreamer (Song) : Richard Chaff
Candle : Shaun Allan
Why? : Stanley Worthington
Perfect Shot : Mark Johnson
Advancing Front : William C. Burns, Jr.
Fiction and Prose
The Road To Heaven and Hell (Themed) : Karen Mossman
The Rock : Debbie Panks
Sheldon's Ghost : Richard Browne
Serial
Down by the River - Part 3 : Karen Mossman
Inside
The evening draws out,
Longer than day,
And all that can be heard,
Is less than I say.
The silence hangs,
Like a veil,
A blanket of snow,
A dying whale.
It is so quiet,
It causes pain,
But once it has started,
It shall always remain.
And as I sit,
The silence surrounding,
Only my thoughts,
Can be heard resounding.
That's the thing about silence,
You cant hide,
It is just you,
And what's inside.
Richard Browne ~ 
Untitled
Stetched out on the hard uneven earth
arms numb that are folded under head for a pillow
hair a kind of dead black grass
that the wind makes play with
Body still and cold this half an hour
picked over by random breezes
rocked in a sudden gust
Empty head that was full of thoughts and schemes
caught up empty with the rioting leaves above
strewn amid the treetops on a ground of sky.
Paul Morran ~
Tanka
tall, stone chimney
amid the weeds and briars
standing alone-
I wonder,
Do you remember me?
Neca Stoller ~
Dreamer
In the morning light when blackbirds call the tune
the night a memory that vanishes so soon
the day breaks clear and cold, to drive all my dreams
away
away
The half-drunk coffee-cup,the bottle on the floor
they are like wasted ground and the trash outside my door
they are realities, come to drive all my dreams
away
away
........only the night can save me
get a drink then sleep, and maybe
Drea............ea ea..eam
Drea.............ea ea..eam
They're falling one by one,my castles in the air
and like the wedding guest, I only stand and stare
the day holds me like the old man's eye, trapped without my feast of dreams
I'll die
I'll die
So like a shrunken thing of daytime life I'll be
wander dreamless through the years until eternity
releases me from my prison clay then nothing, no nothing will drive all my dreams
away
away........ay............ay
Richard Chaff ~
Candle
I crouch to the candle,
my hands almost touching the flame,
but its heat washes past,
avoiding my sore, cold fingers.
I bear it no grudge.
Who am I to pass judgement
on a spirit as free as the fire.
The flame is company.
The flame is a friend.
Even though it denies my necessity,
the flame is a comfort yet.
The candle burns slowly.
I watch the melting wax
running down the side,
anxious to escape
the flickering feast.
I shudder.
I can see my breath.
At least I know I'm still alive,
unfortunately.
The wind howls beneath the door,
a thousand wolves fighting to gain entrance,
fighting to reach me.
I should open it.
I should give them what they want.
Me.
But, of course I don't.
As worthless as I feel,
as strong as the impulse is,
I don't.
I still, uselessly,
sit with my hands to the flame,
and wait.
I don't see the room about me,
it disappeared long ago.
Vanished along with my will.
My world is now the flame,
and my hands held before it.
I shudder again,
and I cough.
I can taste blood,
again.
The shadows whisper,
dark, sinister notions,
but I pay them no heed.
Their insights are no darker than my own.
I feel tired.
My eyes feel heavy.
I'd close them,
but I know that, in time,
I'll open them again,
to another morning,
to a dead candle.
The desire is too strong,
and I sleep,
but I was wrong.
I don't open them again.
At last.
Shaun Allan ~
Why?
Through the burning embers red,
Naked feet so slowly tread.
No pain shows in eyes of steel,
Burning coals leave no weal's.
Struggles hard through desert heat,
Stoutest heart sees no defeat.
Blackened, bruised, fights off pain,
Hardened spirit never wanes.
Fights deep oceans' raging foam,
Battles elements, alone.
Aching body, racked with pain,
Claw through lashing waves again.
Climbing sides of mountains steep,
Blistered hands that bleed and weep.
Why must he battle on this way?
Because his lady loves "Milk Tray".
Stanley Worthington ~
Perfect Shot
Sitting quietly,
Safe on my screened-in condo deck,
Sipping a secret bourbon
And waiting for the girl by the pool
Not to call some more,
I spot a big, dancing color TV
Through a way-off window
Across the dark, palm-fronded yard.
Why is my first (or maybe second) thought
That with the right rifle
And a good scope
I could make a clean, silent kill?
Mark Johnson ~
Advancing Front
From seeming nowhere
Thunderheads appear on the horizon
Seeking to blot out the late-summer sun
The clouds are ripped
In a brutal crosswind
And the forms of mystic dragons
Are severed from the cloud mass
The dragons leap for the Sun
Across a rainbow bridge
Their eyes ignite
As they wolf down the light
I can see the Sun
Slide down the throat of the beast
Thunder is his laughter
Lightning flashes are his joy
I witness the quenching of the Sun
In the belly of the beast
The cold touch of Fear raises the hair on my neck
But Reason whispers in my ear
"Fear not
It is merely an advancing front
It is not the end of Time
It will pass....."
William C. Burns, Jr. ~
The Road To Heaven And Hell
Robert came to a stop at the sign post. He looked at the bold black
lettering, one side said Heaven, the other said Hell. He looked in
each direction but there was nothing to see except clouds. He looked
again at the sign.
"Is tha' lost, lad?" asked a voice directly behind.
Where had he come from? thought Robert, jumping slightly. "Er..."
but he was still bewildered to find himself here. He gave the man the once over.
Short back and sides, ear ring, well worn woolly jumper, jeans and hobnail boots.
"Where would thee like to go?"
"To heaven," said Robert.
"Ah, but is thee worthy?"
"Well, I er..."
"Have you done nowt wrong?"
"Well," said Robert, again, glancing at the sign post.
"I'll check for yer," the man said, suddenly producing a
clipboard. "By the way, the names, Pete." He took a pencil from
behind his eye and made a few notes.
"I want to go to heaven," said Robert.
"I have to check what it says on me board first," but Pete was
looking puzzled as he licked his finger and went back a couple of sheets.
Robert looked at him expectantly. "Can we go?"
"Na, you have to tell me why you think your worthy enough. Come
and sit down, lad."
Pete made his way to a park bench. Robert hadn't noticed it before.
He watched Pete sit and pull out a packet of cigarettes. He tapped
the box, one came up and he drew it out with his mouth. "Smoke?"
"No thank you," Robert said, sitting next to him as he struck a match.
"So," said Pete, "Have you done anything in yer life that was bad,"
Robert's eyes misted over slightly. He still found the last few
months hard to come to terms with. "I killed my wife, is that bad?"
"Aye, I reckon it is, you must be down for hell, then." He started
looking at his notes again.
"But, I....." began Robert.
"That's murder, so you must be....ah, here'yar, bottom of page,
Robert, Hell....damn, there is a page missing. I thought there was!"
"But...." Robert protested again.
"Follow me," Pete said getting up, his cigarette dangling from
his mouth. This way to Hell."
"But I wasn't, I didn't...."
"Don't argue wi' me, lad, y'haf t'pay fer yer sins."
The gates of Hell loomed high in front of them. Smoke drifted out
and the fires of eternal damnation roared from within. Robert thought
of his wife and broke down in tears. Pete, who was about to pull the
great bell, turned with surprise.
"Hey, lad, what ails you?"
"It's my wife, she's in heaven."
"Well, lad...."
"Don't call me lad, my names, Robert, I'm hardly a lad," he said,
wiping the tears from his chubby cheeks.
"Just a figure of speech, Robert, no offence intended."
Pete looked at his clipboard again, it says here, Robert, Hell,
so that's where I'm takin' yer."
Robert thought of the wife he loved so much and broke down again.
This could not be happening. But it was. Then there was a bolt of
lightening and Pete almost cowered. The thunder that followed was
deep and rumbling. It took Robert a moment to realise, it boomed, "Pete!"
"God!" gasped Pete.
"Why is this man at the gates of Hell?"
Pete was flustered as he looked again at the sheet in front of
him, the papers falling to the floor. "It says, here, Robert, Hell."
"You stupid fool!" God roared. "His wife is Hellen. Robert nursed
and cared for her, it's all on the chit."
"But," spluttered Pete, "He said he killed her."
God tutted and Robert felt a spot of rain. "Why can I not find
the contractors these days!"
Outside the Pearly Gates, Sir Peter met them. "Pete," he said,
"You're fired, go to hell!" He turned to Robert and smiled. "Hellen
is waiting, she has told us all about you and how you released her
from the pain, come in, my son......"
Karen Mossman ~
The Rock
As Jamie dug deeper to unearth the multi coloured rock, he had no
idea that it would signify the end of his life.
Jamie had become an only child three years ago when his twin brother
Alexander died. He was four then and since, had spent a lot of time
alone, unable to make friends. Living in his solitary world he had
created for himself, he would often wander off with his thoughts.
It was on one of these wanders that Jamie found the rock. He pulled
the earth away with his hands. Pulling it from the ground he studied
it's shape and beautiful colours. He had never seen anything so
precious and polished it carefully as he carried it home.
As he walked home he saw Thomas trudging towards him. His image was
imposing and Jamie began to tremble. He quickly pushed the rock into
his pocket.
"What you doin Squirt?" said Thomas in his deep bullying voice.
"Nnnnothing. Just Walking" Jamie stammered nervously, hanging his head.
"Who said you can walk on My Street?" Thomas bellowed giving Jamie a shove.
"I, I, I'm s.sorry, I'm going!!" Jamie said apologetically.
Jamie was used to Thomas' taunts, and remembered the bloody nose he
had received only a few days back. He began to walk more quickly.
"Well don't let me see ya around ere agin!"
When Thomas arrived home his mum shouted to him from the kitchen. "Is that you love?"
"Yeh, I'm goin up to me room." He ran upstairs and shut the door
behind him.
Sitting on the bed he pulled the rock from his pocket. It was stuck
but a tug released it. Turning it over in his hands Jamie was
fascinated by the colours and the intricate patterns. Its exteria
smooth to the touch yet uneven. The sunlight glistened, reflecting a
rainbow of colour around the room. He stared at it's shimmering
light, entranced by its mystical images.
Suddenly the Rock spoke in a quiet echoing voice.
"Hello Jamie."
Jamie dropped the rock to the floor and backed away. He was trembling
but at the same time curious.
"It's OK Jamie" said the voice. "It's me."
Jamie thought that it was the voice of his brother, but that was impossible. "Alexander?" he questioned.
"Yes it's really me!"
Jamie felt confused and afraid. He stared at the rock, his mind
filled with questions.
"Where are you?"
"I'm here Jamie." The voice emanated from the rock. "It's OK Jamie, everything is OK. I'm here for you now. To be with you."
"I've missed you Alexander, where have you been?" Jamie said
nervously with tears in his eyes.
"I've missed you too. The light took me to a magical place, so clean,
so white and peaceful, with beautiful streams and slue skies and I
have a lot of friends but I missed you. I have come back to be with
you." Alexander's voice sounded so excited to Jamie, so happy to be back. Jamie was happy too.
"That's great Alex, we can do so much together, wait till I tell Mum!" Jamie ran to the door.
"No!!" Alexander shouted. "You mustn't, this is our secret!"
"You won't go away will you?" Jamie felt insecure and could not
understand why his brother did not want his mum to know he was there.
"No I won't, but you mustn't tell mum or dad. Promise!!"
"I promise" said Jamie feeling confused still, but he had always
trusted Alex. Jamie's mum rattled the door handle and entered. Jamie's
face was pale and guilt ridden.
"Are you all right? Who were you talking to?" said his mum.
"Nnnno-one" stammered Jamie.
"Get washed up now Jamie, it's teatime." Jamie could tell by his
mother's face that she was worried but was relieved that she did not
pursue the matter.
As his mother went downstairs Jamie carefully placed the rock in a
box explaining to Alex that he would be safe there and he would be
back later. Thinking that he would have to be more careful he put the
box under the bed.
From the day that the rock was nearly discovered Jamie carried the
rock everywhere. It was just as if Alex had never died. Jamie began
to have fun again and longed for the weekends when he would spend the
time with his brother. They passed the time climbing trees and
fishing by the river bank talking to each other for hours. They were
blissfully happy. Until one evening, three weeks after Jamie first
found the rock Jamie heard his parents talking.
"I'm worried about Jamie" said his mum.
"Whats he been up to know?"
"Nothing. I've just heard him talking to Alexander a
lot. He's not making friends and his work is suffering."
Jamie watched through the crack in the door. He could not see his
parents but continued to listen to them talking.
"It's been hard for us all honey!"
"Yes I know, but Jamie was there when Alexander was killed and he has
never talked about it. He's just so lonely."
"What can we do? Do ya wanna get me to call a shrink. Jamie's not mad." His father sounded angry.
"I never said he was mad!" his mum retorted. "I just think he needs
some help to come to terms with Alex's death."
"So you do think he's mad."
"I never said that!" Jamie's mum sounded angry too. "I'm just so worried." Jamie heard his mum start to cry as he stood by the door.
"It's alright Alice," said his dad with a hint of compassion in his voice.
"I'll get it sorted. If you really think he needs it."
"Hes not mad, he just needs to talk," she said as if trying to
convince herself too.
Jamie ran up to the room and hurriedly pulled the box from the bed
and snatched out the rock.
"Alex, Alex!!" Jamie called with panic in his voice.
"It's ok Jamie I'm here, what's wrong?" Alex's voice was calming.
Jamie explained his parents intentions.
"Don't worry Jamie. It's OK to talk. But don't tell them about me." Alex's voice was soothing and Jamie felt relieved.
"All right," he said. "I won't." Jamie wiped the tears from his eyes
and got ready for bed.
Two days passed and Jamie had his first appointment at the
psychiatrist. A private consultation. Jamie was still unhappy about
going but felt reassured by Alex. He pushed the rock into his pocket
for moral support as he left for school that morning.
"Come on Jamie we'll be late!" yelled his mum.
"Coming!" he called as he ran down the stairs to the car.
Silence prevailed on the journey to school.
"Don't forget to give the note to Mr Mortimer, I'll pick you up after
break for your appointment."
Jamie was worried and unsure of what to expect. During registration
he handed in the reminder note as instructed. He sat in the room for
the first time wishing that break would never come.
As Jamie walked to assembly his mind was filled with fear and
imagining what was going to happen later that day. He whispered
quietly talking to Alex, telling him want was happening and
expressing his fears.
Thomas thumped him in the back.
"Hiya Squirt, you as mad as the teachers say you are? Talking to y'self agin?"
Jamie tried to ignore him but couldn't as Thomas made another dig.
"Got no friends so ya have to talk to y'self."
"What you talking 'bout?" Jamie retorted finding a strength he had
never had before.
"Jamie's Crazy, Jamie's Crazy!" Thomas shouted loudly. The other
children stared at Jamie there eyes seemed to burn holes into his
jumper as they gathered around him.
"Jamie's crazy, Jamie's Crazy!" Thomas repeated as he realised he had
his audience. With tears welling in his eyes, Jamie felt alone, the
children seemed to be enjoying the show and some started to echo Thomas'
chants. The moment seemed to last forever but in a moment the deed was done.
Jamie had heard Alex's voice instructing him to take a chance. With
all the strength that he could muster Jamie had lashed out, thumping
Jamie in the stomach. As Thomas stood doubled before him the cold
realisation that he had just hit the school bully struck him and the
fear returned.
Jamie took the only option left to him he turned and ran. Behind
him came the bellowing voice of Thomas.
"I'm gonna get YOU!"
Jamie ran from the school looking back he saw Thomas taking up chase
behind him he ran faster out of the building and down the road. On
and on toward the river and the forest. Jamie pulled the rock from
his pocket as he ran.
Panting, his chest hurting, Jamie stopped briefly. Thomas was still
following his obesity making it a difficult struggle.
"Alex, Alex what do I do now?" Jamie cried.
"Go down to the river," Alex said, "and over hollow bridge."
Jamie started to run again as he saw Thomas getting nearer he grasped
the rock tightly as he ran. He quickly reached the river but forgot
it's dangerous wooden frame would not withstand much weight. He was
trapped with the river too deep to swim and Thomas looming up behind
he had no alterative but to cross the bridge.
He slowly walked onto the bridge Thomas came nearer and Jamie's
stepped quickened and then the board beneath his feet cracked. As
Jamie fell he put out his hands to save himself and dropped the stone
right at Thomas' feet.
"Alexander!" he shouted.
"Talking to a rock eh? You're madder than I thought."
Jamie was enraged by Thomas' words and once again scrambled to his
feet finding the inner-strength to lunge at Thomas grasping for the rock.
Thomas brought up his hand and held the rock above his head. The look
in his eyes was one of rage and his expression mocking. He pulled
back his arm and swung it forward, knowing that the rock was important
to Jamie and it was his best weapon. He propelled it through the air and
off the bridge into the water.
Jamie had one thought only on his mind as he scaled the wooden
bridge and dove into the merky water. He has to save Alex.
As he hit the water it was icy cold and he sunk deep below the black
surface searching for Alex his mind calling out to him. Jamie
realised where he was. Like Alex he could not swim. He thrashed around
in the water, girgling and blowing bubbles as he tried to shout for help.
Suddenly the water cleared and was a bright blue and there before him
was Alex. "It is fine now come with me Jamie." This was not the rock
but Alex himself.
"I've come for you. We can be together forever now."
As Jamie grasped his brothers hand he remembered how he had tried in
vain to save Alex from the water, the day he died. They were together
now and that was all that mattered.
Debbie Panks ~
Sheldon's Ghost
Harlington High School is a normal high school, at the moment. It was
not, however, several years ago. A pupil, a 14-year-old called
Sheldon Harrison, had tried to stand up for himself and been stabbed
for it, a heinous crime by some standards but, to Peter Willis, it
was a God send.
Sheldon had been a tormented kid, his father died when he was 7, his
mother had left him in the care of his aunt when he was 10. The
latter had been for the better, or so he had been told, because she
had become a chronic alcoholic. Sheldon's mind had dark corners into
which he could go if ever he felt the need to, or if he was pushed
far enough. One day his dark corners spread across his whole mind and
he decided that he must do something about it.
His bully, some punk called Harvey Johnson, had been saying something
about his mother. When Sheldon had replied that Harvey's mother must
have worked in a brothel, Harvey started to get wild. He put one hand
firmly on Sheldon's shoulder and held him while, with his other, he
knocked the wind out of Sheldon. Sheldon doubled over and he
proceeded to knee him in the face until his leg was covered with
blood from Sheldon's broken nose and burst lips. That was the time
that Sheldon finally lost his rag. He had tried to fight back, taking
a swing at Harvey's groin. Harvey made a high-pitched sound, while
reaching back for his knife. He pulled out the butterfly knife and,
before Sheldon could move, he had opened it and stabbed Sheldon in
the side. He stabbed again, higher up, and again, high still. Sheldon
slumped back onto the floor, his will to live broken by his easy
defeat. Harvey made a sharp exit.
Several days later, on the day of Sheldon's burial, Harvey was picked
up by the police. He had tried to run and, when he had felt the heavy
hand on his shoulder, had tried to fight back. He received a broken
nose, a burst lip and a five-year sentence in the juvenile facility.
Peter Willis, a 15-year-old from Bradford, leaned against the brick
wall at the school's gate. He was waiting for a friend of his, Hamid
Kasdan. They were best of friends, having known each other for 5 or 6
years. Hamid had, many a time, witnessed the torture of Peter, seen
him beaten, badly, by the "men" of that school. Mind you, the men
were not much men at all, more sad little kids that hid behind a
tough exterior.
Peter saw one of them walking towards him, Harvey Johnson's brother,
Ryan. He was 15 also, lean and fit, and intelligent as well. That was
the down side. Peter was intelligent and he had, if nothing else,
always managed to out-think the previous ones. But Ryan was
different. He was fast in mind as well as in body. There was no way
that Peter felt he could win. As Ryan came closer, he shouted
"Waiting for your friend again, eh? Skiving for sex again?"
All Peter could think to say was "Piss off."
Ryan moved up to Peter, only a few inches separated their faces.
"Come on. Tell me to do that just one more time, and I will," Ryan
said sarcastically, really meaning that if he said anything like that
again he would hurt Peter, and hurt him bad.
But Peter did say it again. He added something as well; "And Ryan,
when you're in the toilets smoking your fags, just remember the friends
dick you were sucking last night."
Ryan nutted him without hesitation, immediately causing an eruption
of blood Peter's nose. He punched him in the stomach, winding Peter,
then kneed him in the groin and pushed him to the ground. He was out
of there in an instant. Hamid had, as always, seen the last part. He
was always around when it happened, by some twist of fate that Peter
was glad for. Hamid dropped Peter a hand, and Peter took it with one
of his blood covered hands.
"That son of a bitch," Hamid said in a slightly Arabic accent. "Why
don't you just smash him?"
"Oh come on," Peter protested. "We've been over this before. I don't
like to fight. I don't want to hurt him, that much. Well..." Peter
grinned under his hand, the blood from his nose.
Hamid put a hand on Peter's shoulder. "Let's get that crap off you."
Later that day, Peter was leaving the school, alone. As he passed the
gates a cold rush passed over him. As the resultant shudder work
through him he felt a hand drop on his shoulder. Somehow, he knew who it was.
"Ryan," he said, turning slowly to face Ryan.
"Someone told me that you blagged. You know what I do to blaggers,"
Ryan said, raising his hand and holding Peter's nose, tightly.
Peter's cold rush suddenly turned hot. He immediately had an anger
inside that could not be suppressed. He quickly shot his hand out and
hit Ryan's nose. Ryan, slightly stunned by Peter's hasty reaction,
stood back for a moment and lifted his hand to his nose. There was a
small trickle of blood that ran down over his hand. He stared at his
hand for a moment, then back at Peter.
Oh God, Peter was thinking. He had not done that for a reason. He had
not even done that of his own accord. The next time his eyes settled
on Ryan, Ryan clasped a knife in his hand.
Ryan lunged forwards and Peter spun sideways, feeling the knife tear
at his jacket. He forced his hand down on Ryan's arm, put his other
hand round Ryan's shoulders and pushed him forward. Ryan, when
straight again, took in Peter's posture with an astonished look.
Peter looked afraid, his eyes were wide and his breaths came rapidly
into his lungs. Ryan saw his blood on Peter's hand and that filled
him with rage.
Peter watched Ryan for a moment, then noticed the onlookers that had
encircled them. There was no easy way out of this one.
Ryan lunged again, catching Peter unaware. The knife cut deep into
Peter's back. Peter staggered backwards for a moment, then stood
straight again. He felt the heat within rising. Ryan feigned forwards
then lunged and Peter, much to his own surprise, caught Ryan's hand,
without cutting his own on the knife. Ryan was stunned again, at how
this kid, who had never before put up a fight, was managing to take
this even with a deep wound in his back.
Ryan looked up into Peter's eyes. He saw them, glassy and dry.
Something about them made him pause for a moment. The next thing Ryan
saw was the hand flying towards his face. The impact caused him to
stagger backwards. Ryan's nose pounded from the inflamed wound.
Peter struck him again, then again and Ryan fell back onto the
ground. Peter pulled the knife from Ryan's hand and held it to his
throat. Ryan's face turned from red anger to fear. His eyes were wide
and his breathing became shallow as he looked at Peter, the victor.
Slowly the heat in Peter died away as he held the knife at Ryan's
throat. He relaxed slightly. He lifted the knife up and jabbed it
into the ground, from which it stuck prominently, two inches from
Ryan's ear. Before Peter stood, he pulled his hand back and, with all
the energy left in him, or all the hate that slowly seeped away, he
struck Ryan one last time on the nose. Ryan slumped backwards, unconscious.
Peter stood up, over Ryan's limp body, and looked at his right hand,
the palm of which had Ryan's drying blood on it. He heard claps
coming from around him. His ovation grew to a crescendo then slowly
died away as people left the scene.
In his head, he heard a voice. It was not his own, neither any that
he recognised, a kid's voice, light and friendly but stern, "Nice one
kid." And then it was gone, the anger that he had felt was completely
gone and would never, he knew, return again. He had done what was needed.
Richard Browne ~
Down By The River
The town was angry, they wanted blood. Why hadn't the Sheriff charged
Ricky? He was guilty, they said. Didn't he kill his mother and her lover?
Shelby slept in her old room that night. Grateful to be alone and to
weep for Mary-Jo.
"The police are biased, they have always hated him," Shelby told her
Pa the next morning. She was sitting on the edge of the table. He was
hand washing his socks, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. "I know
what everyone thinks, but Ricky didn't do it."
He glanced up at her. "That boy has a bad reputation."
"Maybe, but he loved her."
"He's a bad `un. He did it all right."
Shelby looked at him strangely. He was still sober and he had not yet
looked her in the eyes. It was odd.
"He didn't, I know he didn't," she repeated.
"Mary-Jo was a beautiful girl. That boy took advantage of her."
"I think he misses her." She put her fingers to her forehead. "I
can't believe she's gone!"
"You were the only friend she had. Everyone else just called her a
simpleton. She missed you." He wrung out the socks, pulled the plug
and went to the yard to pin them out..
"I let her down didn't I?" she said following him out. "If I hadn't
gone, she might still be alive." Tears sprang easily to her eyes.
Her father's face softened slightly. "It's all right, child, you go
right ahead and weep." He squeezed her shoulder gently.
"Y'know, pa, I like you when you're sober," she told him tears fell
down her face.
She wished he had been sober that night a year ago. She needed him
then and he had let her down. But it was Rawden Hughes who had
driven her away.
Shelby knew she should go and see Mary-Jo's family. Her mother was an
old witch and Mary-Jo's two sisters treated her like a servant. But
instead she went down to the river and found herself at the spot
where Mary-Jo's body had been found.
Lying back on the grass Shelby closed her eyes. She could feel the
spirit of Mary-Jo and sensed fear, shame too. Goose pimples prickled
as the past tantalised her with images she could not focus on. Ricky,
so angry, so hurt. But there was something else: something she could not see.
"Little Shelb," came a voice from behind, snapping her out of her
dream. Rawden Hughes smiled. "Fancy you coming here - to this exact spot."
"Why shouldn't I?" She got to her feet quickly. Hers voice unnaturally high.
"Poor dumb Mary-Jo, eh?" he said and Shelby swallowed nervously
stepping away from him.
"Mary-Jo wasn't dumb. You know that," she told him.
Rawden smiled again. "A year away from this place has done you good.
You look prettier than ever."
She hated the way he looked at her; hated the way his belly squeezed
into his trousers. "I couldn't marry you, Rawden. You know that."
"I always live in hope."
"Blackmail is a dirty game," she reminded him.
"Blackmail? Come on," he tutted. "Blackmail is a dirty word, little Shelb."
She looked around hopefully, but they were completely alone. It was
un-nerving. She did not trust him. He was capable of just about anything.
"My Pa was sober when I went home," she said changing the subject.
Her heart thumping wildly in her chest.
"The loss of Mary-Jo hit him badly," said Rawden and she was not sure
what he meant. Mary-Jo's death hit everybody.
"What about Ricky? Have you charged him?"
"Not yet. He'll crack. His type always do."
"Not if he's innocent, Rawden."
"Even if he's innocent, but he isn't. He did it all right." Rawden
Hughes was confident.
"I don't think he did," she argued. Somehow it felt important to say that.
He stepped forward and took hold of her chin. Recoiling, she grabbed
his wrist to pull him away, but his podgy hands were firm.
"Why are you sticking up for him? What do you know?" he demanded.
Somehow she pulled free, "Leave me alone!" she cried running up the
embankment to the sound of his laughter.
Mary-Jo's home was in mourning. Her mother's face was blotchy and red
with crying. Her elder daughters were tearfully fussing round. They
all acted like they cared but it was a pity they had not cared more
when she was alive, thought Shelby.
"Help yourself to coffee," Mrs McDonagh said.
"Thanks," said Shelby doing just that.
"We heard you were back," said Maureen, the elder of the two. "How's
yer Pa?" There was an inkling of sarcasm.
"Fine," said Shelby refusing to be riled.
"Have they charged that son of a bitch yet?" asked Patricia.
"I don't know," said Shelby savouring the rich dark drink. "You think
he's guilty then?"
"Hell, yes!" Both girls spoke at the same time. "Don't you?"
"No," she said, quietly.
"Oh, by God, there's always one," scoffed Maureen. Shelby glanced at
Mrs McDonagh, but she did not look as if she were listening. "Mary-Jo
was a fool!" added Patricia.
"Gullible," put in Maureen. "That boy saw her coming a mile off."
There was no point in arguing the matter. She finished her coffee and left.
Karen Mossman ~