| Chapter Twenty Two - Zachariah |
|
Another explosion reverberated around the dingy, Spartan looking basement room which shuddered dramatically, dislodging a trail of dust & plaster which tumbled down to the already dusty floor, impacting with a damp thud. The sole occupant of the room barely noticed. Breathing shallowly, he lay on a battered divan before a plain oak table upon which sat a tray with a small lamp, a long pipe in his hand.
"They would see" he thought with feverish zeal. He would convince all of the truth of his words, although he knew many did not. No matter. Their crude, ill considered tirades against him and his children were a spur to him and renewed his conviction - the world must be saved and he would be at the forefront. His thigh muscles twitched with a deep seated pain causing him to squeeze his eyes shut. Lights flashed before his eyes and when they opened he saw a different basement in his minds eye, felt a terrible strain on his legs and arms feeling them stretched almost beyond toleration. His body convulsed with pain as the burly, sweating and masked brute strode toward him purposefully. He swung and the gnarled twisted cudgel he grasped battered his legs, grazing skin and bruising his muscles & bone which hadn’t yet had time to heal from the last time. Surely it wasn’t evening already? he considered dully, in a small part of his mind which wasn’t screaming in pain. He took a long deep breath though the pipe and the visions eased, that was past but he had to ensure it didn’t come back. A booming explosion disturbed the night air and abruptly he was running along a ruined section of Bombay dockyard, a golden relic in his arms, laughing brashly at the familiar figure running before him, hurtling towards their waiting vessel, its sails flapping in the wind and straining at its mooring rope. He giggled boyishly, imagining the chagrined look on James' face when he passed him. "I'll cut the mooring rope first so he has to jump" he giggled. Impact abruptly threw him sideways like a rag doll, pain erupted in his side and the blackness of the water enveloped him... The lamp in the cellar dimmed with his mood, his subterranean thought chamber fuelling his reverie as much as the vapours he inhaled. The conflagration outside the building was abating, the regular booms of explosion gradually being replaced only by the crackling of the fire and the scratching claws of the rats which shared his dank habitat. He rolled his eyes around to the fireplace, watching the gentle flames licking the rear of the alcove. The noise of the rats became his father's pen, scribbling a missive. Mother sat opposite him at the kitchen table, excitedly clutching a letter with an Indian postmark. They were immediately replying to it. He may as well have been a worn, worthless bread knife for all the attention they paid him. "Never me. Always him. HIM!!, his soul is tainted but they DO NOT SEE IT!!!" he bellowed, spitting at the flames and collapsing back onto the divan, his body twitching. He closed his eyes. "Too much, too much - must be still. Focus. There must be focus." his fevered mind spoke to him. "They will hear, ALL will hear - or perish by the hand of the children." they continued. Blackness. The passage of time was interrupted by a rough shake to his shoulder. He sat up and struck like a cobra. "Father, you must come quickly, there is a......" the voice changed to a gurgling rasp, the grip oh his shoulder releasing. He saw his minion's eyes rolling up into his head and watched the free flowing blood causing a rapidly advancing crimson stain down the man's rumpled, once white shirt. He followed the tide back up to the ruined throat from which his opium pipe now jutted and the realisation struck him that he now supported the wretch’s weight with it. Twisting the pipe, he savagely withdrew it, the corpse slumping the floor. "I told you to knock." he said distractedly, wiping his pipe with a handkerchief... |
 Previous Chapter Chronologically |
 Next Chapter Chronologically |
| William's Profile | Back | Return to home |