You can run from the blood you shed, not the blood you share.
After suffering extensive nerve damage to his right hand, Luca knows he will never be whole again. Forgoing all additional medical treatment offered by the British Military, he is release...
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Manchester, England March, 2008 . . .
Deep in the suburbs of Didsbury, Samantha Whittaker arrived on the doorstep of her son's abode at a quarter to six.
Her nose crinkled the very moment her heeled feet graced the pavement. Pollen swirled rampant in the air, the pungent perfume of spring making her sneeze and sniffle. She snapped out a silk handkerchief and dabbed beneath her watering eyes. Oh how she loathed the country.
She would have given the diamond studs adorning her earlobes to be assulted by the nippy stench of London's streets. Exhaust and secretion were mandatory for her function in every capacity. The smell of unpolluted air came as a shock to her senses, stunning her immune system into a stupor.
She huffed in annoyance, scowling at the pristinely cut grass, the trimmed rosebushes and flowerbeds lining the walkup, as if the greenery in question had offered her some personal offence. Rapping her knuckles against the hardwood, her gaze flickered about in all directions.
The street was lined with large detached Victorian homes. Perfect doll houses with perfectly groomed lawns, surely inhabbited by perfect little families.The picture-perfect scene looked hand-plucked from a cartoon. Too flawless to exist within the margins of reality. The entirety of it gave her the scratch. She knew far too well that perfection was simply a mirage the optimistic painted, and the naïve believed.
Her gentle knocks became a harsh pounding when the air threatened to clog her sinuses. And even though it was beneath her, she opted to raise her voice in a call. Yet, no one came running or shouted a reply. She twisted the knob and was mildly surprised when it gave way. Nevertheless, she surged ahead, adamant that today she would not be ignored.
○○○
"James you better answer your phone!" she clutched the device in shaking hands as she attempted to redial, "James for the love of God, pick up."
She was getting desperate now. Her blood pressure had spiked the minute she'd stepped through the front door. The perspiration she was currently swimming in could attest to her dire distress.
"Mother?"
"Did you do this?" she managed to sound both pleading and commanding at the same time, "Tell me you didn't do this."
He was vastly more calm,"Do what?"
"Don't you dare play coy with me boy!" She snapped, "Did you kill her?"
Silence answered her. It was enough.
"Sweet Jesus, James why?" She put a hand in her hair, tempted to rip the blonde strands from their roots.
"You haven't been upstairs yet, have you?" He enquired in a flat voice.
Her eyes clenched shut and her hand left her hair to clutch her forehead. She kept the phone at her ear and marched up the steps. Her heart hammered in her chest and a sense of foreboding washed over her. At the top of the landing, she took a right down the short corridor to the only open door. She froze in the doorway for a full minute before crossing the threshold.
