The Realignment Case - Softcover

Dearden, R. J.

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1782796991 ISBN 13: 9781782796992

Verlag: Roundfire Books, 2015

Inhaltsangabe

Geneva, 2012. Disgraced lawyer Daniel Athley starts a job with a shadowy international organisation that has a secret it will kill to protect – the past can be changed. Working for the enigmatic Counsellor Winter, Dan’s role is to defend the status quo. Discovering a plot that could unleash chaos in a disordered future, he must choose a side in a murky world where the fate of the dead is decided.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

R.J. Dearden is an MA post graduate from the University of Sheffield and lives in the seaside town of Whitstable with his wife and son. He won the RSA Ethical Future Short Story Contest and works as a Project Manager for Europe’s leading provider of IT infrastructure services. He writes in his spare time and is a member of Whitstable writing circles.

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The Realignment Case

By R. J. Dearden

John Hunt Publishing Ltd.

Copyright © 2014 R. J. Dearden
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-78279-699-2

CHAPTER 1

The ambush failed. Victor Holovoko had been outfoxed by Lillian Peschura's erratic nature. She'd hitched a ride home with one of her research students instead of taking the train. Now Victor lurked outside her apartment building, uncertain of his next move. His jaw was ground tightly shut; air streaming in and out of flared nostrils. The collar of his leather jacket was turned up against the pelting rain, though by now his jeans and black hair were drenched. A sensation of light-headedness returned, as if he were drunk on a brew of bitterness that had been rotting in his guts for days. Nothing has been decided, he kept telling himself – nothing has been decided. Gripping the steel pipe in his inside pocket, he began whispering the mantra aloud; as if saying it could make it true. 'Nothing has been decided.'

Inside Lillian's apartment, the fug was cosy and warm, though she would have failed any good housekeeping test. Books lay strewn across the coffee table and floor, and a half-eaten chicken curry balanced precariously on the summit of a pile of scientific publications. The small television which she rarely used was covered in a layer of dust. "DONNA SAYS CLEAN ME," had been scrawled across the screen, weeks ago.

Lillian's face shone, illuminated by a laptop. A wisp of chestnut hair had fallen across her eye, and pursing her lips strategically, she blew it away with an updraft of air. She snuggled into her favourite jumper, the baggy offspring of a union between a zebra and a cheetah; the jumper's sleeves were frayed, the elbows holed.

On the screen, an ocean of minute letters were arranged neatly row after row, page after page, spelling out a genetic sequence that had been captivating her attention all night. A thought on the cusp of her mind was beginning to form. Whistling the first bars of a ditty, she picked up a ballpoint pen, suspending it in the air like an orchestral baton until finally, inspiration struck and she began scribbling notes in the journal at her side.

Nearly an hour passed before she paused and listened to the sound of drumming rain. Stay-awake juice, she thought, I need coffee.

Circumnavigating the mine field of the apartment floor, she found safe passage to the kitchen. Must tidy that tomorrow, she chided herself. She studied the rivulets of water running down the window pane and failed to spot the lonely figure on the other side of the road. Filling a battered kettle, she switched the gas on. Several seconds passed before she remembered to press the ignition. A whoosh of blue flame shot up, making her jump back.

'Cooking on gas,' she muttered aloud. The water began to heat up.

Victor zeroed in on Lillian immediately, staring at her. His legs vibrated, excitement pulsed through his loins. He bathed in the sight of her, rejoicing in the vision of his lover. Still teasing me, My Lady? Was there a chance she could still be his?

His trembling finger pressed the speed dial on his mobile, and he listened to the line ringing and ringing. No answer. His jaw hardened with each ring; each electronic pip of rejection. By the time it went to voicemail, he was grinding his molars together like a mortar and pestle.

'Why, hello there,' the message sang breezily. 'I am unreachable. The following is the correct protocol for the situation: a beep will sound then you will leave a verbal memorandum stating the purpose of your call.'

Victor spat and hung up without leaving a message. He clenched his fist around the mobile phone as anger surged through him. Screen my calls! He punched redial, letting it ring four times before hanging up.

A growl erupted from his chest and he experienced a moment of clarity: being here was futile. He should go home, lick his wounds. He stomped off down the road, moving in the opposite direction to Lillian's apartment. But a car's side mirror dared to get in his way, highlighting his rejection. He lashed out at the mirror with the steel pipe, leaving broken glass and dangling electronics. The car alarm shrieked and Victor's face turned crimson, burning with a shame that wouldn't go away.

Lillian doodled pictures of chromosomes on The Observer, waiting for the kettle to boil. Little squiggles next to little squiggles, followed by more little squiggles. The thought was forming on the cusp of her mind like a buzzing bee; a brainwave that could change everything.

'We're cooking on gas!' she said to herself, rushing to her laptop. She began whistling the ditty again, her fingers drumming at lightning speed on an email to her friend and mentor.

Too engrossed to hear the first few rings of the phone, the noise finally registered, and she eased herself up, carrying the laptop like a waitress handles dinner plates. The colour drained from her face as she recognised the number. Please go away, just leave me alone. She slumped back against the wall, sliding down until she could balance the laptop on her knees and began typing again. Her voicemail kicked in.

'Why, hello there. I am unreachable. The following is the correct protocol for the situation: a beep will sound then you will leave a verbal memorandum stating the purpose of your call.'

She shook her head. Time to change that message, no excuse for geektronics! She held her breath, waiting to hear Victor's hoarse tones but he hung up. She sighed deeply; experiment terminated!

The phone rang again and she groaned. Returning to the email, she kept typing until the sound of a car alarm made her jump. Unnerved, she put the laptop down and tiptoed back to the kitchen. Switching the light off, she peered out of the window – nothing. She checked the door was locked before returning to her email. No, surely a coincidence; nothing to worry about; that man just made her jumpy.

Victor's retreat ground to a halt at the junction. He glowered back down the road as the red traffic lights cast an eerie hue over his blunt features. He hurled his mobile against the asphalt; the phone cracked in two, spilling its contents. He stamped on the components as if he was killing a rodent while the car's mocking alarm reverberated in his ears.

HONK! HONK! HONK! HONK!

You pathetic moron – you make me sick! He cuffed his face in self-reproach as a battle raged inside him. Why should he be the one running away? She'd started it; led him on; chewed him up then spat him out! But she'd eluded him earlier – wasn't that fate giving her a second chance? No, she had to be his; she was his; there could be no other. He wouldn't stand for it. The traffic light turned green, illuminating his features in a goblin-like glow.

Somewhere in the apartment block, the architect Carl Rogers half stirred from a deep fuzzy sleep. He'd sunk three bottles of Pinot Noir that evening, celebrating with his ex-wife on their daughter's report card. Somehow that had led to a carnal collision before they passed out. Now, her elbow jabbed him in the ribs.

'Sounds like your car?' Claudine said.

He grunted.

'That your car?'

'What?'

'Go check.'

'I could do.' He snuggled up to her warm flesh, enticed by a lingering scent.

Her body tensed, making her bones jut out, inhospitable as a mountain ledge. 'Go check!'

He groaned, remembering that tone, and stood up unsteadily, swaying in the dark before staggering towards a chest of drawers. He grabbed his car keys, slipping on a...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Roundfire Books
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2015
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 1782796991
• ISBN 13: 9781782796992
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 359
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar