Read Murder Path (Fallen Angels Book 3) Online
Authors: Max Hardy
Murder Path (Fallen Angels Book 3) (28 page)
Chapter 42
Zeros and ones. On or off. There or not there. That’s what we all start out as. That’s probably the only thing that Adam got right. Whether we were created by the cosmos, or made by our maker, it all comes back to either being there, or not there. It’s where we started with Jacob. All I saw in his beautiful emerald eyes was nothingness and desolation: the emptiness of forever. That started me on a journey back to my own childhood, my own rickety rooms and my own fear of being alone. But then in amongst a world gone mad all around us, he dilated a pupil, all by himself. There wasn’t just a zero any more, there was a one. There wasn’t just and off, there was an on. There wasn’t just nothing, now there was something. Something to live for.
And now there isn’t just zeros and ones. He can now control the length of his dilation and as a family, Rebecca, Jacob and me, we have learned Morse Code together, and we can communicate. He loves the water, we know that because he tells us. We are in the water now, in the clear blue, gently lapping shallows of Lake Garda, a cloudless sapphire blue sky wearing a dazzling golden sun encompassing our horizon. Jacob is floating on the surface, his body ululating with the waves, his pupils dilating madly, as his eyes tap out ‘…., .-, .--., .--., -.---‘ spelling ‘Happy’. Rebecca smiles radiantly. Her own hair is growing back and the scars on her body are starting to subdue. I am healing too. My arms came out of their casts just yesterday and the fingers are nearly there. Healed enough for me to paint at least. And lord, how I have painted. Every single conceivable view from the beautiful gardens of Eden out over the lake, to the mountains in the distance. My dark period is over. Now it is all light.
‘Time to come out now little angel.’ Rebecca whispers, leaning over Jacob so he can see her lips.
‘-., ---‘ , ‘No’ he replies.
‘Oh yes young man, you’ve been in here more than an hour.’ Rebecca chastises, light-heartedly. We float him into the shoreline and lift him out of the water and into his wheelchair. Rebecca grabs a towel from the back of the chair seat and starts drying him down.
We have told him about his family. About the Fallen Angels and where he comes from. He is inquisitive, and wants to understand, so we tell him as much as we can. He absolutely adores his other family as well. Especially because they bring him presents. Jeremiah and Gaynor have visited four times now in the space of a month and stayed for long weekends each time. Most of that time they have spent with Jacob, but we have made time to catch up on how the investigation is wrapping up in the real world, away from our heavenly haven.
Rebecca has had her conviction for murdering Michael overturned. Both of us have had charges for perverting the course of justice dropped. The Crown Prosecution Service concluded there was not enough evidence to charge Rebecca with the murders of Desiderata Bentley or George Darrie. All of the deaths got washed up in the wake of the Fallen Angels. All of the exposed murderers have now been convicted and are awaiting trial. Dozens of families have finally been able to lay their dearly departed to rest. It’s a closure, of sorts. It doesn’t stop Jerry and I grabbing a bottle of rum and speculating into the wee hours of the morning though. We are detectives. There’s never really closure. Our minds will always question and investigate and want to know more. What we are investigating at the moment is if there are any other branches of our family left out there alone in the world. We have searched all the Ennis files, and ones we found at Henry’s home, as well as those we found here in Eden, but so far, we haven’t found anyone else. We seem to be the last Angels alive. And because we are the last alive, we inherit all the family assets. Including Eden. When, and that is when, not if, we find others, this will be their sanctuary, as it is for us. A place to rest and recuperate, to experience the beautiful things in life, like floating on the lapping waves and seeing your son’s eyes smile, and to know that it is those things, that mean more than anything.
We reach the long patio outside of the villa and lift Jacob onto a laid out blanket, under the midday sun. I tuck Ian Bear into the crick of his neck and run a finger tenderly down his sun tanned arm, to his little hands.
A finger twitches on Jacob’s hand. My breathing stops, and I wait on baited breath, my senses becoming heightened. I check his pulse to see if it is dropping, I listen to his breathing to see if it becomes shallow, I smell his breath for burning chocolate, all in a split second, hoping to sense none of them, hoping beyond hope that this is his first natural movement. Hope is not as fragile as it used to be. I am still disappointed, but not desolate now, as the chocolate smell comes, and his breathing shallows and his pulse drops. He starts to fit.
His arms are shaking and I gently stroke my fingers up and down them, relaxing the skin. Rebecca does the same, measured concern in her smiling face as she looks down into Jacob’s open eyes.
‘Once upon a time, there was an old toymaker called Gepetto….’ she starts to tell him his favourite story, one hand now softly stroking his quivering head. I lie down beside him, gently singing into his ear ‘Go to sleep little boy, go to sleep. Let the sandman come and fill your eyes. Go to sleep little boy, go to sleep. Till the morning time and so to rise.’ over and over again, in a soothing lilting lullaby.
His legs are quaking uncontrollably now, his whole body in spasm, lifting his back off the blanket, spittle forming in the corners of his mouth. I grab the towel from just above his head and delicately wipe it away, still singing softly into his ear.
‘…someday, you will be a real boy…’ Rebecca continues as the apex of his fit hits, every limb fully extended and shaking, his head now lolling uncontrollably, while I continue to sing to him, both of us exuding a calm tranquillity, exactly what Jacob needs.
Slowly, the stuttering starts to ebb, and his limbs stop shaking. His torso stops bucking and the lolling of his head eases, then stops, looking toward me, every limb instantly becoming inert as the fit ends.
‘Hey son. How you feeling?’ I ask, looking deep into his green eyes, anxious to see his pupils dilate. They don’t move. I look over to Rebecca, a slight surprise joining the anxiety. This has never happened after a fit, not since he’s been able to dilate. She scurries around to join me, tucking tight into my side, glaring into his eye.
‘Jacob, are you OK little Angel?’ she queries, stroking his cheek.
No movement. My heart sinks, emptiness chewing on my stomach, echoed in Rebecca’s frantic gaze. My eyes dart all over his body, looking for a sign of injury from the fit, conscious he may have hurt himself. I can’t see any abrasions or bleeding. Then I stop, my chest constricting, my heart suddenly thumping a billion to the dozen. I stare at the little finger on his right hand in utter incredulity.
The little finger on his right hand which is softly tapping an indelible litany.
I nudge Rebecca, and point down to his hand. She looks, and physically shrieks, throwing her arms around me in agitated excitement.
‘He’s moving John. Jesus, he’s moving!’ she screams, tears flowing freely down her quivering cheeks.
The other fingers start to move, a gentle susurration waving through them as Jacob stretches his hand and lifts it off the blanket. I look up to his face, and he blinks. And blinks again, his head ever so slowly moving as a tremor enters his lips, shaking them open.
A guttural gasp escapes through them, a grunt from virgin vocal cords. Elation is overwhelming me. I cannot stop the freakish, wide eyed grin that has overtaken my face, nor the boggle eyes as the balls try to burst out of my head in excitement. Rebecca is holding onto me so tight in breathless anticipation, that she is ravaging my skin with her nails.
Jacob blinks again, and then his eyes move, the whole ball, his gaze darting between Rebecca and me. His timorous lips start to curl up at the edges into a subtle smile, as a brightness fills his glistening eyes.
‘T...’ he spits through dry lips.
‘For fucks sake, he’s trying to speak!’ Rebecca screams.
‘They…’ he got out, his tongue snaking out and licking his lips.
‘Go easy son. You might want to talk, but you may not be able to yet. You’ve never used those vocal cords before.’
‘They put pennies…’ he continues.
Rebecca is shaking me furiously, her excitedly mesmerised glare stares at Jacob’s enlivening features, before she turns to me. ‘He’s becoming a real boy John!’ she whispers.
All I can do is nod, sobbing uncontrollably.
‘They put pennies on my eyes the last time I died, to keep the evil spirits out. It didn’t work.’
Visit my website at
or Facebook at
or Twitter at
e-mail to