Chapter 15
James walked back through the din and chaos of the street, weaving between the various revellers without taking notice of them. The night was alive with laughter and merriment, despite the rain. He smiled politely when anyone approached him, but his generally somber attitude kept most of the people away.
Climbing the stairs back to his apartment, he struggled with the vision of the future he’d caught a glimpse of in the park. He had no illusions that it would be an easy task to plan for the future, but he could feel the need for it in his soul. The vision was incomplete, he knew, but it was a beginning.
He paused as he approached the door to the apartment, suddenly uncomfortable for no apparent reason. Something wasn’t quite right. He opened his mouth slightly, clearing his ears. Outside the laughing and singing continued, and inside the apartment he could hear the television, the news anchor still droning on about the ‘historic’ signing of the treaty. Still, he felt a growing sense of unease in the pit of his stomach.
Shaking his head, he laughed softly at himself. “Jumping at shadows,” he whispered.
He opened the door and froze, his knees growing weak. The room was in chaos. Broken plates lay on the aging carpet, the small wooden table had been overturned and lay on its side in the living room. The vase that Alyse had kept when they moved from the house to the apartment had been shattered, pieces of crystal glittering like diamonds on the floor.
He felt bile rise up in the back of his throat. “Alyse?” he called out softly, but he knew he would get no answer. Along the far wall, a dark red stain marred the fading paint. Swallowing hard, James took a hesitant step into the living room.
There was no movement. Only the sound of the television, which had been knocked over but was still working, broke the stillness.
It was the broken plates that made him look toward the kitchen.
Alyse was lying face down on the kitchen floor in a puddle of blood.
With a ragged cry, James rushed over to her, cradling her in his arms. The front of her blouse was drenched with blood, and her head lolled lifelessly as he held her to his chest. Sobs wracked him as he wordlessly stroked her hair. She had been shot.
He didn’t know how long he knelt there, weeping, holding his adoptive mother in his arms, but a scream from the doorway finally made him look up to see Brigitte, her eyes wide, staring at the horrific tableau.
“Mama?” she shrieked, racing over to kneel in the pool of blood beside James. “Mama!”
Slowly James lowered the body back to the floor. Tenderly he reached a hand out towards Brigitte, but she cringed away. “Don’t touch me!”
“Brigitte...” James began, but she shook her head and reached out to caress her mother’s face. “Brigitte...”
“Shut up!” she screamed at him. “Shut up! It’s your fault!”
James recoiled as though struck. “Brigitte, I found her like this! I didn’t have anything to do with it!”
She glared at him with cold, dark eyes. “Nothing to do with it? Why couldn’t you leave well enough alone, James? Why?”
Confusion filled his eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“Graeme! Graeme Palliser!” she wept. “You wouldn’t just let it go. You had to go and be all heroic. Well, are you happy now? Graeme’s dead, and now Mama’s dead...”
James stared at Brigitte in horror. “You think that Colonel Palliser...”
“Why do you think I’m home so early?” Her eyes gleamed wetly in the harsh fluorescent light of the kitchen. “He sent me this at work...”
She pulled a crumpled letter from her pocket and hurled it at him. Reeling, he leaned back on his heels and stared at the paper.
“You took something precious from me. You were the last one with him. Now I’ve taken something precious from you. I.P.”
James felt something inside of him snap. He stared at the note in his hands blankly, not noticing as his hands crumpled the paper, crushing it into a blood-soaked ball. Slowly, as though he had suddenly become an old man, he rose to his feet, his eyes icy.
“I never want to see you again, James,” Brigitte whispered. “This your fault. This is all your fault.”
James barely heard her. The sound of the television, the joyous chanting and singing outside, the sound of Brigitte’s sobs as she knelt beside the cold body of her mother on the kitchen floor... all of it seemed to fade into a muted buzzing in his ears.
With jerky movements, he staggered into the bathroom, dropping the note as he lurched across the room.
He leaned against the sink, staring into the tiny mirror. The face that stared back at him was a stranger’s: haunted, cold, detached. He stared into the blue eyes staring back at him, an icy rage building inside him.
Someone was going to die tonight.
*
He had been to the house before, but even then it had been hauntingly familiar. He had been too distracted to place it before, but he recognized it now. It was the house he’d grown up in, the house the government had taken away from Alyse after his father’s death. He knew the layout of the house, the yard...
Two soldiers stood in front of the door at stiff attention, wrapped in heavy rain coats despite the fact that the rain had finally stopped. Their eyes were focused on some imaginary spot across the street. James huddled in the shadows of the spruce trees at the edge of the yard, careful to make no noise. It appeared that the colonel expected something.
Moving with cat-like stealth, James edged around the tall wooden fence, along the driveway separating the colonel’s home from the neighbors’. He paused, peering through the wooden slats at the window that opened into the dining room. There was a great deal of motion inside, people coming and going through the rooms, grabbing objects and stuffing them in boxes. One was obviously the colonel himself – James could hear his voice calling out every so often. The other appeared to be a woman in her mid-fifties.
The back door of the house was not guarded, but a motion-sensitive light hung above the door, a sensor his father had installed before the War. James smiled grimly and picked up a stone. He knew how much light that detector cast. He’d played in this yard more times than he could remember. He quietly climbed the fence and stood in the thick shadows beside the gate, slowly drawing the knife he had tucked under his belt. With an underhand toss, he threw the stone across the field of view of the sensor.
The back light flashed on, casting the yard into a weird pattern of light and shadow. There was a muffled exclamation from the two guards at the front door, followed by the patter of footsteps as one of the guards hurried over to peer over the gate.
“Do you see anything?” the guard still at the front door demanded.
“Nothing,” the guard at the gate replied. “It was probably just that fucking cat again.” The man hesitated. “I’m going to check it out.”
“Right. If it’s the cat, kick the little fucker for me.”
The second guard laughed and opened the gate.
He never had time to make a sound. James let him get a single step past him, then rose up like an avenging angel, covered the man’s mouth with one vice-like hand and slit the man’s throat. He held the man upright until he stopped struggling, then lowered him to the ground, stripping off the dead man’s hat and rain jacket and donning them himself, pulling the hat down low over his forehead. He grabbed the soldier’s rifle and side arm, turned and called out, “It was the bloody cat again.”
Keeping the knife in his hand, tucked up tightly against his arm, James walked calmly around the corner of the house and up the steps. The soldier turned to speak to him and his eyes widened momentarily as he realized James wasn’t his partner, then the blade flashed again and the man staggered backwards off the steps, coughing and gurgling softly in the darkness.
James ignored the quiet sounds, turning and gently testing the door handle.
It was unlocked.
Taking off the bulky rain coat, James took a deep breath. Slowly, very slowly, he inched the door open. He had to pause as the woman walked past, heading away from him and calling out to the colonel. “Ian, do you know where I put the...” her words were lost as she rounded the corner into the kitchen, but the voice had been oddly familiar to James. He struggled to place the sound for a moment, but then Palliser stepped into view at the edge of the living room.
James froze, waiting. While the colonel wasn’t facing him, if he turned he couldn’t help but see the open door and the crouched figure peering inside. Holding his breath, James prepared to charge across the distance, but Palliser shifted out of sight. Silent as death, James glided inside, pressing himself against the wall as he inched towards the kitchen.
The voices receded toward the back of the house, toward the bedrooms. Seizing the opportunity, James crept into the kitchen, crouching down against the wall at the corner of the hallway. There he waited, his heart pounding.
The woman stepped out first, walking past him without noticing him. She was talking loudly over her shoulder about what Palliser needed to get from the bedroom closet. Again the voice sounded vaguely familiar to James, but he ignored it and crept down the hallway as soon as the woman busied herself at the kitchen sink.
The light in the master bedroom was on, and James could hear muffled cursing coming from inside. Moving with infinite caution, he edged down the hallway and peered into the bedroom.
A dresser sat against one wall, adorned with a huge mirror. Clothes and other items were scattered across the bed, and in the reflection James could see Palliser rummaging around in the closet, obviously looking for something specific.
James stepped into the room, his feet making virtually no noise as he took one, then two steps towards the crouching colonel.
He was within striking distance when Palliser stood up and turned around. “Lisa, where is my...” he froze and his eyes grew wide. “You!” he hissed.
James struck, the knife slamming into the colonel’s stomach. The man grunted and tried to fend James off, but James pulled the knife out and slashed it across Palliser’s face and neck.
Palliser stumbled backwards, arms flailing, and James stepped in close, jabbing the knife in under the older man’s armpit. “You chose the wrong person, Colonel,” he whispered. “You should have come after me.”
There was a flicker of motion as the older woman walked around the corner. “Ian...” she began, but then her eyes grew wide as Palliser collapsed to the floor and James spun around, knife raised.
There was a moment of tense silence, and James waited for the woman to scream. Instead, all of the blood drained from her face. “James?” Lisa McLeod, the woman who had abandoned him so many years before, gasped, staggering sideways and clutching at the wall.
Climbing the stairs back to his apartment, he struggled with the vision of the future he’d caught a glimpse of in the park. He had no illusions that it would be an easy task to plan for the future, but he could feel the need for it in his soul. The vision was incomplete, he knew, but it was a beginning.
He paused as he approached the door to the apartment, suddenly uncomfortable for no apparent reason. Something wasn’t quite right. He opened his mouth slightly, clearing his ears. Outside the laughing and singing continued, and inside the apartment he could hear the television, the news anchor still droning on about the ‘historic’ signing of the treaty. Still, he felt a growing sense of unease in the pit of his stomach.
Shaking his head, he laughed softly at himself. “Jumping at shadows,” he whispered.
He opened the door and froze, his knees growing weak. The room was in chaos. Broken plates lay on the aging carpet, the small wooden table had been overturned and lay on its side in the living room. The vase that Alyse had kept when they moved from the house to the apartment had been shattered, pieces of crystal glittering like diamonds on the floor.
He felt bile rise up in the back of his throat. “Alyse?” he called out softly, but he knew he would get no answer. Along the far wall, a dark red stain marred the fading paint. Swallowing hard, James took a hesitant step into the living room.
There was no movement. Only the sound of the television, which had been knocked over but was still working, broke the stillness.
It was the broken plates that made him look toward the kitchen.
Alyse was lying face down on the kitchen floor in a puddle of blood.
With a ragged cry, James rushed over to her, cradling her in his arms. The front of her blouse was drenched with blood, and her head lolled lifelessly as he held her to his chest. Sobs wracked him as he wordlessly stroked her hair. She had been shot.
He didn’t know how long he knelt there, weeping, holding his adoptive mother in his arms, but a scream from the doorway finally made him look up to see Brigitte, her eyes wide, staring at the horrific tableau.
“Mama?” she shrieked, racing over to kneel in the pool of blood beside James. “Mama!”
Slowly James lowered the body back to the floor. Tenderly he reached a hand out towards Brigitte, but she cringed away. “Don’t touch me!”
“Brigitte...” James began, but she shook her head and reached out to caress her mother’s face. “Brigitte...”
“Shut up!” she screamed at him. “Shut up! It’s your fault!”
James recoiled as though struck. “Brigitte, I found her like this! I didn’t have anything to do with it!”
She glared at him with cold, dark eyes. “Nothing to do with it? Why couldn’t you leave well enough alone, James? Why?”
Confusion filled his eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“Graeme! Graeme Palliser!” she wept. “You wouldn’t just let it go. You had to go and be all heroic. Well, are you happy now? Graeme’s dead, and now Mama’s dead...”
James stared at Brigitte in horror. “You think that Colonel Palliser...”
“Why do you think I’m home so early?” Her eyes gleamed wetly in the harsh fluorescent light of the kitchen. “He sent me this at work...”
She pulled a crumpled letter from her pocket and hurled it at him. Reeling, he leaned back on his heels and stared at the paper.
“You took something precious from me. You were the last one with him. Now I’ve taken something precious from you. I.P.”
James felt something inside of him snap. He stared at the note in his hands blankly, not noticing as his hands crumpled the paper, crushing it into a blood-soaked ball. Slowly, as though he had suddenly become an old man, he rose to his feet, his eyes icy.
“I never want to see you again, James,” Brigitte whispered. “This your fault. This is all your fault.”
James barely heard her. The sound of the television, the joyous chanting and singing outside, the sound of Brigitte’s sobs as she knelt beside the cold body of her mother on the kitchen floor... all of it seemed to fade into a muted buzzing in his ears.
With jerky movements, he staggered into the bathroom, dropping the note as he lurched across the room.
He leaned against the sink, staring into the tiny mirror. The face that stared back at him was a stranger’s: haunted, cold, detached. He stared into the blue eyes staring back at him, an icy rage building inside him.
Someone was going to die tonight.
*
He had been to the house before, but even then it had been hauntingly familiar. He had been too distracted to place it before, but he recognized it now. It was the house he’d grown up in, the house the government had taken away from Alyse after his father’s death. He knew the layout of the house, the yard...
Two soldiers stood in front of the door at stiff attention, wrapped in heavy rain coats despite the fact that the rain had finally stopped. Their eyes were focused on some imaginary spot across the street. James huddled in the shadows of the spruce trees at the edge of the yard, careful to make no noise. It appeared that the colonel expected something.
Moving with cat-like stealth, James edged around the tall wooden fence, along the driveway separating the colonel’s home from the neighbors’. He paused, peering through the wooden slats at the window that opened into the dining room. There was a great deal of motion inside, people coming and going through the rooms, grabbing objects and stuffing them in boxes. One was obviously the colonel himself – James could hear his voice calling out every so often. The other appeared to be a woman in her mid-fifties.
The back door of the house was not guarded, but a motion-sensitive light hung above the door, a sensor his father had installed before the War. James smiled grimly and picked up a stone. He knew how much light that detector cast. He’d played in this yard more times than he could remember. He quietly climbed the fence and stood in the thick shadows beside the gate, slowly drawing the knife he had tucked under his belt. With an underhand toss, he threw the stone across the field of view of the sensor.
The back light flashed on, casting the yard into a weird pattern of light and shadow. There was a muffled exclamation from the two guards at the front door, followed by the patter of footsteps as one of the guards hurried over to peer over the gate.
“Do you see anything?” the guard still at the front door demanded.
“Nothing,” the guard at the gate replied. “It was probably just that fucking cat again.” The man hesitated. “I’m going to check it out.”
“Right. If it’s the cat, kick the little fucker for me.”
The second guard laughed and opened the gate.
He never had time to make a sound. James let him get a single step past him, then rose up like an avenging angel, covered the man’s mouth with one vice-like hand and slit the man’s throat. He held the man upright until he stopped struggling, then lowered him to the ground, stripping off the dead man’s hat and rain jacket and donning them himself, pulling the hat down low over his forehead. He grabbed the soldier’s rifle and side arm, turned and called out, “It was the bloody cat again.”
Keeping the knife in his hand, tucked up tightly against his arm, James walked calmly around the corner of the house and up the steps. The soldier turned to speak to him and his eyes widened momentarily as he realized James wasn’t his partner, then the blade flashed again and the man staggered backwards off the steps, coughing and gurgling softly in the darkness.
James ignored the quiet sounds, turning and gently testing the door handle.
It was unlocked.
Taking off the bulky rain coat, James took a deep breath. Slowly, very slowly, he inched the door open. He had to pause as the woman walked past, heading away from him and calling out to the colonel. “Ian, do you know where I put the...” her words were lost as she rounded the corner into the kitchen, but the voice had been oddly familiar to James. He struggled to place the sound for a moment, but then Palliser stepped into view at the edge of the living room.
James froze, waiting. While the colonel wasn’t facing him, if he turned he couldn’t help but see the open door and the crouched figure peering inside. Holding his breath, James prepared to charge across the distance, but Palliser shifted out of sight. Silent as death, James glided inside, pressing himself against the wall as he inched towards the kitchen.
The voices receded toward the back of the house, toward the bedrooms. Seizing the opportunity, James crept into the kitchen, crouching down against the wall at the corner of the hallway. There he waited, his heart pounding.
The woman stepped out first, walking past him without noticing him. She was talking loudly over her shoulder about what Palliser needed to get from the bedroom closet. Again the voice sounded vaguely familiar to James, but he ignored it and crept down the hallway as soon as the woman busied herself at the kitchen sink.
The light in the master bedroom was on, and James could hear muffled cursing coming from inside. Moving with infinite caution, he edged down the hallway and peered into the bedroom.
A dresser sat against one wall, adorned with a huge mirror. Clothes and other items were scattered across the bed, and in the reflection James could see Palliser rummaging around in the closet, obviously looking for something specific.
James stepped into the room, his feet making virtually no noise as he took one, then two steps towards the crouching colonel.
He was within striking distance when Palliser stood up and turned around. “Lisa, where is my...” he froze and his eyes grew wide. “You!” he hissed.
James struck, the knife slamming into the colonel’s stomach. The man grunted and tried to fend James off, but James pulled the knife out and slashed it across Palliser’s face and neck.
Palliser stumbled backwards, arms flailing, and James stepped in close, jabbing the knife in under the older man’s armpit. “You chose the wrong person, Colonel,” he whispered. “You should have come after me.”
There was a flicker of motion as the older woman walked around the corner. “Ian...” she began, but then her eyes grew wide as Palliser collapsed to the floor and James spun around, knife raised.
There was a moment of tense silence, and James waited for the woman to scream. Instead, all of the blood drained from her face. “James?” Lisa McLeod, the woman who had abandoned him so many years before, gasped, staggering sideways and clutching at the wall.