Session 19 - Marcus Journal

We had been reading non-stop.  It was time to move.  We were all hurt, injured and bloody, as we had been reading, it was Will who had also been cataloguing and packing many of the books and transcripts we had been reading for travel.
We all aided him after a little while, taking our leave one by one from the table of knowledge, the discussions turned to what was to be done about Granny in the corner.  Barely speaking or eating, she knew she was alone in the world.  After several mentions of death and leaving her here, Will and I remembered the Spanish missionary we had encountered outside Loweman’s house.  Surely he would take her.  With no better option, it was decided, we would take her to the mainland and I would see her to the mission.

We loaded all of the books we desired onto the boat Will, Tom and Frank had arrived in, almost at tilting point with all of us on board, we began our return to the mainland.  Loweman was clearly devastated at the death of Savitree, barely moving or lifting his head to anything done or spoken.  He was a phantom, a ghost in human clothing laid bare at the sight of the blaze we had created within the mansion as we left.  No knowledge left in the library would survive, it was too dangerous, no matter how trivial.

As the sun peered through the gloomy sky over the open water, another boat similar to ours was travelling in the opposite direction, towards the island.  All of us glanced at it as there was not another vessel in sight.  To our surprise and horror, Thawi, the old man who ran the fighting ring, three thugs and another bundled up and bruised passenger on board.  The stare of Thawi was keen, immediately turning his boat and coming up behind us some distance away.

We would not outrun him, our boat loaded with books was heavier on the draft, we were not going to get away.  Tom decided to take charge, having more reason than anyone to want vengeance on Thawi, he ordered the boat slow so that they could come closer.  He threw the bag of our equipment in front of us, I pulled out one of the shotguns while Tome took the old hunting rifle.  Will, Frank and Carter all readied their pistols as the pursuing boat crept steadily closer.

Tom took aim of the rear of the boat, I hunched next to him, waiting for them to come within range of my shotgun.  Looking at each of us, we were a mess, Carter was bug eyed and pail, Will was tired, his arm still swollen from the wounds of the fighting pit.  Tom was seeping through his shirt, the thought of revenge the only thing stopping him from falling over, and I was still a mess from the prison cell on the island.  Frank was the only man among us with any clear direction, and he was steering the boat.

Tom’s first shot rang out, a scream from the pursuers as they all took cover.  Within moments I saw the head of one of the thugs peer over the bow of the boat, only to be let by a second shot from Tom, a thin red mist spraying into the air as it disappeared from sight.

The boat kept coming closer, as it was a mere few meters away, still no signs of movement, they were intent on boarding us, that much was certain.  We call moved to the far side of the boat, if they were going to come across, they were going to be met with violence.

As the hulls of the two boats clanked together, two of thugs brandishing machetes leapt into sight, followed closely by Thawi, the orange ooze of nectar emitting from the corners of their mouths.

We all fired together, my shotgun and Carter’s pistol catching one of the thugs in the chest as Will and Frank’s pistols took his head off, falling in between the boats, a slurry of mangled flesh.  Thawi leapt across, both machetes flailing wildly, to our surprise he went straight for Frank.  Slicing and carving, a large slither of blood glided through the air as he caught Frank’s arm with a wild lounge.  Dropping my shotgun, we all fired with our pistols at Thawi, under the intense barrage, his body twisted and spun as he was hit several times in the torso and head, falling to the floor, smoke rising from the barrage of holes left in his corpse.  Turning our attention to the last remaining thug who had also followed Thawi in Frank’s direction, he paused as he saw Thawi drop, all the time we needed to ensure he met the same fate.

Will and I both made our way to Frank, compressing his wounds and bandaging him up as best we could, while Tom threw bodies over the side of the boat.  Once our vessel was clear of the invaders, Carter and Tome jumped to the other boat to investigate the man bound and gagged.  Xuc.

Carrying the broken and beaten Xuc to our boat, Tom kicked the second boat away, sending it drifting into open water.  The small cabin of our boat providing little shelter, yet some warmth as all of us sat inside, breathing deeply as the adrenaline of the fight subsided.  It was Frank who drew our attention to Loweman, still sitting outside at the edge of the boat.  We knew we couldn’t let him roam free, we had little choice.  Who was going to do it, Frank held in front of us a fist full of straws, it was the only way.

It was Frank himself who drew the shortest.  We all sat in silence as he left the cabin and stood at the doorway.  He was a stone. Not moving, while everyone tried to put the thought out of their minds, I followed Frank, placing a hand on his shoulder and moving past him to Loweman.  I sat Loweman on the edge of the boat and began to pray.  No man, no matter how evil deserved any less. I walked back to Frank and asked if he was able, if not, I would do it.  He brushed me off and moved to Loweman, I closed my eyes as I heard the splash of his bound body hit the water before Frank made his way back inside the cabin.

No one said a word until we were in sight of the mainland, the fisherman Tom and Will had bought the boat from was like a silent statue, it was Carter who had the idea of what to do.  We handed over wads of cash to the boat owner if he would take Xuc and the grandmother off our hands, we had no room for dead weight.  He was reluctant, but we didn’t have to deal with them so it was a sigh of relief, guilty relief.

We all walked briskly to our hotel, we were not staying, we would pack and make for the plane in the morning, we needed to get out of here as soon as possible, everyone knew it, especially me.  I rose in the morning to find Tom reading a newspaper, he had been walking around town early and discovered that a large explosion had rocked the mainland.  An explosion based in the district of the Fragrant Honey Shop, was this the aftermath of the death of Savitree?

None of us payed it much mind, we were done here in this place, we had no reason to worry ourselves with what was left, all we thought was that if it stopped the children fighting in the streets and the nectar from flowing, we had done all we could here.  Guilt filled sentiments, but sentiments none the same.

The flight to Hong Kong was bumpy, I had already begun missing our usual method of transportation, every turbulent moment in this craft was like sand rubbing against my bones, scratching and biting at me.  I couldn’t wait for it to be over.

Hong Kong was different, somehow stranger than I remember, it could have been that the last time I saw it on the way to Bangkok, I was mostly whole and without injury, now it seemed darker and more overbearing, like everyone was watching, everyone and no one.

When we reached our hotel, Frank and Carter got on the phone to Janet, Frank discussing how were all in bad shape, Carter discussing Edgar Job and the safe removal and isolation of him from Savannah.  Carter was sure Job had some part to play.  Myself, I payed him little mind, I had met the man, interviewed him, he was a nobody, amounting to very little, no signs of promise at all.  If he had, I’m sure he wouldn’t find himself in his current situation.  I denied the urge to talk to Janet, usually Carter would rant and rave, I would be the voice of reason, but after the last time of calling to orchestrate our removal from the Sanitorium, only to find myself in there for another month, I knew my words meant little anymore to that woman.

Two days of rest and recovery, hardly enough to heal the wounds we had all suffered, no doctors, especially for Carter, he knew that the mere sight of his hand would be an immediate imprisonment, and after his night in New York, he wasn’t keen to go back.  Frank finally came to us all with a change in plans, we were to go to France, bound for Marseille.

Something we were not prepared for, but apparently something Janet thought best, I had given up trying to uncover her reasoning, even her motives for continuing to send us into the breach so willingly, her resolve was admirable, even though I could not help thinking that each and every one of us was replaceable when the time comes, if the time comes.  She reminded me of Savitree in that regard, her numerous expeditions, deaths of participants and replacements within days.  It must we a female thing.

The Flight to France was like going home, our familiar plane, our familiar seats, every bump in the air felt like nothing next to the trip to Hong Kong.  I had no idea about Tom however, filling the back of the plane with smoke as he and Carter indulged in opium picked up in Honk Kong.  Their way of staying calm confused me as they were already back in luxury, sleep and rest came easier, however this extra boost seemed unnecessary, to Carter however, I could sympathise.

Landing in France was difficult, I had not been back to this country for so long, everything had changed.  War long done, the people were calm, almost happy, yet in these circumstances, I could not say the same for myself.

Frank had booked us into a relaxing hotel, instructing us to wait and rest until we heard from Janet.  Back on solid ground, the opium taking strong effect, Carter and Tom disappeared into their rooms, not to be seen for the rest of the morning, afternoon and evening.

The morning came late, sleep felt like it had taken hold for an eternity, not that I was complaining, my wounds and those of my compatriots had all taken a toll.  My whole body felt like a boxers sparring bag after being hit all day.  Moving downstairs, Frank had already packed all of our belongings, Carter, Tom and Will were all standing in the Foyer waiting for me.  Carter let out some jest about my late rising.  We were going to Nice, another town where, according to Frank, Janet was waiting for us.

The drive was good, pleasant, no one complaining, we were going to get help, medical help, rest and recovery, or at least that is what we had been told.

We arrived at a nice looking home, a mansion of sorts, grounds and courtyard, two storeys of French design, beautifully crafted to house at least a dozen people, if this belonged to Janet, was this her European retreat? 

We entered the house where Janet waited for us in the pleasant surroundings of the sitting room.  She explained to us that this was to be our centre of operation in Europe, New York had the penthouse, Europe had the mansion.  Everything matched Janet’s particular style, this was another home she had purchased recently from the look of the interior, the smell of polish and freshly applied paint occasionally flowed through my nostrils.  She had done this for us, to continue her father’s work.  She explained that all of the books we had brought from Bangkok were here, being added to the library, we were free to roam the grounds or the nearby township, we were here to rest, recover, gather ourselves for what was to come.

Tom was the first to move, taking one of the bicycles from the garden outside, this was his therapy, he would ride for hours around the quiet French countryside, breathing in the air and sampling the local produce.  Will, well he was a strange one, electing to review and read, his knowledge ever growing as he seemed somewhat desperate to believe in everything we had seen and experienced, his time in Bangkok had clearly taken a toll, he would need to be watched.

Carter also did little, keeping mainly to himself, breaking from his solitude only to reassure others that his hand was fine.  We all had access to the medical staff, Janet had brought in trusted physicians to care for us.  After a couple of days, my wounds slowly healing, I made my way to the church at the end of the long and winding street.  It had been weeks since taking prayer in the house of God, I needed to be there, I needed to keep strong in faith

I rose to the sound of a small bell, my room here in this house was comfortable, everything was always fresh, the linen, the water, the sunshine.  Making my ay down to breakfast, I was greeted by Janet who explained we would all be having visitors arrive shortly, we shared breakfast in the usual fashion, eating quickly, yet controlled, even after days of leisure, we still all seemed to eat as though we did not expect to again for some time.

As we finished our meal, three cars pulled into the turning circle in the courtyard outside.  The four of us and Janet all made out way to the front steps as the doors of the vehicles opened to reveal the most wonderful surprise.

Zoey, my darling wife stepped out to greet my eyes followed closely, hand in hand with my beloved daughter Chloe.  I ran to them, unable to contain my relief at their safety.  Taking my daughter in my arms, she wrapped hers around me, embracing me without hesitation, quite contrary to last time I saw her, my face bruised and broken, she knew who I was, her eyes filling with joy.  Meeting the gaze of my wife, she looked nervous, scared almost, but taking her hand in mine, she knew everything was not as it once was.

They stayed with us for five days, Carter’s son, Tom’s Dog, Will’s wife, they all came to visit, we were all so happy, however while the others were all laughing and enjoying the company of their loved ones, the conversations with Zoey were all about reconciliation.  We sat and spoke for hours, hours and days.  The photos, the threats, the behaviour, the way truth of it all.  Most of the truth, the Yucatan, she has no need to know, nor could she comprehend.  In the end, I know that all of the evil that has befallen myself and my family, has been my doing.  She knows it too, even if she did not speak it, her eyes betrayed her thoughts, she blamed me, for everything.  I could not deny it either, my actions since receiving the letter from Janet, and every step since had invited danger and evil into our lives, something I thought I could do alone, be responsible for alone, face the consequences alone, yet men are wicked, they always find that which we care about most, and make us pay for it.

As our time with our families drew to a close and we waved them goodbye, we all had a breath of fresh air, a hope and goal to keep us going, no more so than Carter, his face had changed, his spirits lifted, his son Carl had done that, he had forgotten about his hand, his perils, his broken bones.

We sat down to dinner to a beautiful meal of red meat, all of us in good spirits after the week of family time.  We began our discussion regarding the journey to Malta, it would be dangerous as the only lead we had to the organisation there was a scrap piece of torn paper listing Montgomery Donovan as the man in charge.  Was he another Brookes? Or merely the Walker?

Carter rose from his chair, buckling slightly at the knees, Janet and Frank both watched him as he slurred his words and his eyes flickered shut.  He fell to the floor only to be almost instantly joined by two physicians who entered from the next room.  Within moments Carter was carried to the study, Tom, Will and I all in a line behind him.  The study had been converted into a mobile surgery, not unlike those I had seen in the war.  Standing at a large table was a surgeon, Janet had arranged it, Carter’s hand was a problem, he had used it on someone, something that could not be allowed.

Carter was strapped to the table, his hand exposed, Will, Tom and I were all summarily marched out of the room, I beckoned for the surgeon to try to remove it with his hand still intact, although how possible that was, I had no idea.

The night was long, I woke in the hallway outside the study to see the surgeon standing over me, the clock chiming four in the morning.  I asked what had happened, only to be told the mouth was gone, nothing more.  I entered the room to see Carter lying on the table, still asleep, his hand, a freshly bandaged nub, not a hand at all.  They had taken his hand.

Carter woke some hours later, cursing and writhing, he was angry, he wanted there to be another way, he knew there wasn’t, but he cursed and screamed it all the same.  I stayed with him, praying my silent prayers and consoling him where possible, his anger turning to tears and sorrow before returning to rage.  Three days of mixed emotions saw Carter back on his feet, his head somewhat sitting on his shoulders correctly again.  He had resigned himself to the truth, now all he could think of was how to turn this stump into a weapon to use against those that would try to take his other.

The journey to Malta was short by comparison to all other travels we had made, we were there in what seemed like no time.  We were met with a truly beautiful looking city, Valetta, it was rich and vibrant, the city itself resembling that of an old citadel, only remade in a western image.  We were well dressed for the climate, linen suits and clothing, light and vibrant.  Deciding to change from our normal standing, we decided to arrange an up-market hotel rather than our usual mid-range lodgings.  Frank took care of that.

Our first port of call once we had landed and found our feet was to begin our investigation into Montgomery Donovan, Carter, Will and I all made our way to the library and office of public records, hoping to find relatively easy information as the language here was more alien to us than anywhere we had previously been.  Tom made his way alone through the markets, in search of opium, his ulterior motive however, finding someone who deals in nectar.

After a couple of hours of searching, Carter stumbled across some newspaper articles regarding Montgomery Donovan.  He was a local celebrity, charity supporter, high and mighty, rich and powerful.  He owned several properties, a townhouse in Valetta, a yacht in the bay and a warehouse just outside of town.  Interesting locations for someone who was loved by the people.

Taking what information we could, we returned to the hotel to find Tom already waiting for us.  He informed us that besides purchasing a fistful of opium, the nectar dealers are found at night, all over the city, mainly in public parks.  Laying out our plans for the evening, Carter would head to the bay, talk to the locals and identify Donovan’s vessel.  Will and I would investigate the town house, after our success with Loweman’s residence, we seemed the obvious choice, concerned with how Carter would act under pressure with a missing hand, I still knew he would know what to do if there was trouble. 

Will and I made our way to Windmill street, the location of Donovan’s house, it was just off the main road, overlooking a vast and beautiful view of the city.  The house itself, a four storey terrace, darkened to the outside, all blinds drawn except for the top floor where the dull glow of lam light tricked out the window.

We continued our investigation, the laneways veering of Windmill street allowing us access to the rear of the block where a large set of garage doors fed into the garage of the property.  As we made our way across the lane, a beautiful car pulled into the lane from the far end, causing Will and I to move out of sight but still able to see what was going on from a short distance away.  The Garage doors opened as two suited men appeared from within.  The car came to a stop inside the doors where two more men appeared, all in conversation, one however was identical to the newspaper article pictures, Donovan was here.  We watched patiently as the men all continued their conversation for a few minutes before all returning inside the compound.  Convinced we had what we needed, Will and I both took our leave and began our retreat to the hotel.

As will and I returned, Carter was also walking into the foyer of the hotel, nodding at us we all made our way to our rooms.  Carter explained that he had been talking to the locals who occupied the docks.  Donovan had his own private pier, a large yacht on the water, some 50 meters out, yet the locals had not seen Donovan for some time, seldom appearing, his vessel never moving.

We then explained that we had laid eyes on Donovan himself, he was still residing in his terrace house, much to the relief of Carter who made mention of his fear of another Brookes situation.

As we spoke, Tom entered the room, a slight smile on his face.  He had found a nectar dealer, a regular spot for the individual.  He would hang around, take an order, send children to retrieve the vials and return to the man to sell.  Every night the man would be there, every night a new chance to go straight to the source.

As Carter explained the situation with the Yacht, it was the obvious choice for us for an easy target of investigation.  We all dressed in our darkest clothes and headed for the pier around midnight.  Tom, Carter and I would take a small boat out to the Yacht, Will would be our spotter on shore, should anyone arrive unexpectedly.

Tom took the lead in securing a boat, within minutes we were at the steps to the yacht named the “Elegance”, moving to the far side, out of sight of the shoreline, we ascended to the deck, Tom and I taking the lead, our pistols drawn in case of security.  The boat itself was completely dark, not a sound, no lights, nothing, like a ghost afloat on the still water.  Carter appeared behind us as we moved to the doors.  All moving inside, we drew every curtain we could so seal ourselves inside as our flash lights lit up and our search began.  Cabins, gallery and kitchen, all luxuries, like the inside of Janet’s plane.  Looking around every room, something was strange, all the liquor was gone, the food was old and rotting, the carpet stained with various colours.  On the walls, shadows where pictures once hung in frames, all removed, in their place, symbols, the same symbols we had seen at every location we had investigated, these smeared with a familiar orange ooze.

Moving through the vessel, remembering to look through the window for Will, all was quiet.  As we moved to the main Gallery and bedroom, again everything was dusty and unkept.  The wardrobe however revealing signs of a woman and child, children’s books lay in the small shelves, women’s gowns hanging elegantly from hangers. The newspaper article had mentioned a woman, a wife, Portia Donovan, was this her escape from the city? Was this where she brought her child? Are they still alive?

Finding little of value, we decided to withdraw.  What we had found was what we expected, nectar, abuse, fear.  All the signs of Savannah, Los Angeles, Mexico, everything was here, the only question was if we were prepared for what Donovan had waiting ahead.