The Bolt from the Blue (Working Title)

Chapter 18- Veronica

Chapter 18- Veronica

Veronica screamed. John roared. She tried to slam the door, but he was too fast: he rocketed through, smashing it open with his shoulder. She bolted down the corridor, screeching, and he rushed after her, bellowing. She turned her head a fraction and limply waved a hand- a jar fell from a top shelf and feebly smashed against John's head. He didn't even feel it.

She sprinted into the living room and came up flat against a wall and turned to see John pelting towards her; she raised both her hands and screwed her face in concentration. John felt something akin to a brief gust of wind against his chest. There was barely any resistance; she might as well have been blowing bubbles at him. He stopped though, mostly out of bewilderment.

She glanced up at him and saw that he was motionless. She panicked and looked around for something to move- she settled on a glass on the table, jerked her hand in John's direction and it diligently flew at him. It glanced off his arm and then dropped pathetically to the floor, where it failed to even break. John made to make a move, but Veronica raised a finger in objection, "I have been given a full pardon by the government; this is a complete violation of my rights as a citizen to a peaceful-"

John's brain caught up with his muscles. "You were given a pardon?!" He wanted to burn the country to the ground, starting with the department of justice.

"Yes." Her voice was harsh and broken, her breath ragged. "And if you don't leave my house right now I will call the police."

"I am the police." He took a step closer and she screamed. "And you're nothing but a murderer."

"I still have rights!" Her voice was loud, but shaky; none of the callous bravado he'd imagined her to have.

"What's going on?" Sam's voice, by contrast, was light and quiet. It sounded unbelievably pure given the violence coursing through John's veins at that moment.

"Get out of here." John just about managed to stop himself from shouting.

"Why?"

"This is Veronica." John didn't dare turn to look at him- he wasn't going to give her an inch to escape.

"Who's he?" Veronica asked, pointing; she was trying to distract him.

"Don't talk to her." John warned him, "Just leave and get help."

"Help for what?" Sam asked.

John couldn't believe his ears; it was like Sam was trying to be obtuse. "She's a murderer." John reminded him. "She needs to be locked up."

"She was pardoned, John."

Here, John had to turn to face his boyfriend. "She killed Benji." His voice cracked as he said it. He could barely finish the sentence.

Sam's face gave nothing away; his expression was stony, unyielding. "I'm sorry." He said.

"Get out." Veronica spat, "Both of you."

"You're going to jail." John said, but his voice wasn't as strong now- he'd lost his footing.

"Leave. My. House." She pointed at the front door, miraculously still on its hinges.

John couldn't believe it, but he turned to leave. His brain screamed at his feet to stop what they were doing, but he found himself exiting her flat, Sam behind him, making sure he couldn't go back. They walked back to Sam's flat in silence and then Sam went into the kitchen and lit some candles for light, then went into the kitchen and rummaged around for the chordless kettle and John sat staring at the wall. She'd been pardoned. Her. The woman who killed Benji. The woman who killed his captain, who tore his team apart. Not even six months later, she was walking around again in the world, the world she'd denied to Benji. She was allowed to live and eat and breathe and walk and feel the sun on her skin and a million other things that Benji would never do again because Veronica had shot her in the heart and stolen her away from everybody. The darkness at the edge of John's mind suddenly grew large and engulfed his thoughts, turning them into an endless, indistinguishable carousel of violent images and vast emptiness. When Sam came in with the tea, he was lying on the carpet in a foetal position.