APN: hey all! Wow, I can't believe it's been such a long time since I
posted the last chapter! I really MUST apologize for that—RL's been
waaaaaaaay too busy the past few weeks, and I haven't been able to have any
leisure time to myself to do the things I love . . . writing fanfictions,
for one!
Before I go on with the story, I just want to warn you: there are probably a LOT of spelling/grammar mistakes and errors. Also, the dialogue and storyline in this chapter is really crappy, since I've been rushing to get the darn thing done! So, if this whole thing seems stupid, please forgive me! I promise I'll improve it . . . as soon as I have time!
Just a few comments on some reviews I received:
Evil Irish Eyes: OMG, I can't believe I'm finally typing your name right! LOL, thank you for being so patient with me! I really appreciate it! I don't have much to say here, since I usually say everything else in ~my~ reviews for ~your~ story—which is coming along so awesomely! Keep updating those chapters! I can't wait to read the next one! And thank you for reading my story from the beginning—you're the best!
LOL, one last thing; thanks for fixing that weatherman for me! You must have done something . . . whatever it was, it really fixed the problem! The weather is so nice and warm and sunny . . . LOL.
TLWROX: You don't have to apologize for not reviewing! My chapters are updated so slowly . . . so it's mostly my fault! So don't worry about it! :- ) Your question will be answered in this chapter, I promise!
Jaclyn: Aaaah, I'm glad you're still reading and reviewing this fic! You're also the best! Hehe, thank you so much! And wow . . . that was a really good idea you had; maybe I should have used William instead! Why did I think of that?! Hehe, you should have mentioned it sooner! Oh well, that's okay.
Your story, Severed, is coming along awesome! Keep working on it; hopefully, your next chapter will come up soon! Can't wait for it!
Audrey: LOL, glad you like the name "Brett Jenkins"! Yeah, it does sound kinda evil, doesn't it?! And don't worry . . . Roxton will have his chance to beat him up—but it won't happen until later. Looks like you'll just have to wait! Hopefully, you won't get bored and stop reading before that happens! LOL.
And to everyone else: THANK YOU SOOOOOO MUCH!!! YOU'RE ALL THE BEST AND I LOVE YA!
~sighs contentedly~ Anyways . . . I won't waste anymore time! May I introduce . . . chapter eleven!!!!
Chapter Eleven—A Thousand Moons and a Thousand Waves Ago
Sadness. Confusion. Angst. Fury.
Lost and forgotten emotions swirled around in the mind of John Roxton as he stared down at his old-found enemy. This was the man who, in his earlier years, had crashed into his life like a blazing comet. . . .
This was also the man who John had allowed to worm his way into John's friendship and trust. And that was the biggest mistake that he could have ever made in his whole life.
Roxton looked deep into this man's eyes. Memories of deception and betrayal seemed to radiate from them, causing his mind to cloud up with darkness.
This was the man who had caused him—and his family—so much pain.
Brett Jenkins. He was here on the plateau . . . alive?
But how?
"No," Roxton whispered deeply, shaking his head, "it can't be." He refused to believe it. "You died. I saw you die, you soulless bastard!" he screamed, his eyes suddenly growing wide with anger. His aching voice echoed in the silent air.
Brett narrowed his eyes, which seemed to bore into Roxton's soul. "Don't believe everything you see, Lord John Roxton," he hissed amusingly.
"No. . . ." whispered Roxton again. "No!" He suddenly closed his eyes. Veronica, Challenger, and the whole jungle seemed to fall apart and melt away. The whole present time began to disappear . . . as the past took its place. It overwhelmed Roxton and surrounded him and Brett like a cold mist.
The past had come back to haunt him.
A thousand moons and a thousand waves ago. . . .
"Yah! Come on, Arod! Yah!" He cried, leaning forward. He gently pressed his heels against his horse's sides, urging the noble steed to go faster. "Yah!"
Horseback-riding . . . other than attending hunting trips, it was his most favourite thing to do. He loved the feel of the wind in his face, and he loved how the scenery would quickly flash past him as he rode on.
Sometimes, when he was feeling really adventurous, he would get up during pre-dawn hours, quietly sneak out of the house, and head towards the stables. When he got there, he would take his favourite steed, a purebred Palomino named Arod, and saddle him up. Then, he would mount Arod carefully, and would whisper gently in his ear. Arod would then set off, first starting with a slight canter and then speeding up to a full gallop. And he and his rider would ride off into the countryside, while the darkness in the sky was beginning to be overcome by the pink and yellow colours of early morning.
The song of the nightingale would end, as the song of the mockingbird would take over. And the sun would rise. It would begin to peek over the horizon, and would slowly soar upwards, beginning its usual journey across the sky.
And he and Arod would be there to watch it all. They would stay on the grassy plains of the countryside until the skies were completely lightened, and orangey sun fully rose above the horizon. And then they would swiftly make the journey back home.
Of course, these early journeys were hardly kept secret, as the rider's mother would usually be waiting for him by the stables as he rode back. She would be crossing her arms, tapping her left foot, and be gazing at him sternly. And just as she was about to give her son a good, long lecture . . . he would dismount his noble steed and present her with a lovely bouquet of wildflowers that he gathered from the countryside. And then she would smile knowingly, and would gladly accept the beautiful flowers.
"You must come inside now," she would say quietly, "for if your father finds out that you've been sneaking out at night. . . ."
Her son nodded. "I know, Mother," he said, smiling and giving her a small hug. "I know. Thank you."
And mother and son would happily walk together back towards their great mansion, as another day began once again.
John Roxton smiled contentedly, as these thoughts ran through his mind. He closed his eyes, feeling the warm spring breeze pass by him.
Life was so good.
He opened his eyes. He and Arod were now approaching the beloved countryside once again. This time, however, it was early afternoon, not early morning . . . and they weren't the only ones there.
In the distance ahead of them, another man on a horse awaited. Noticing John and Arod's approach, the horse and rider slowly cantered towards them. The rider's hand waved madly in the air as he came closer.
John gently tugged on the reins of Arod, bringing the steed to a stop. He quickly dismounted and stood beside him waiting to greet the man, who had also stopped their horse.
The rider dismounted. He stood a few feet across John, a huge grin on his face. He was literally tall, dark, and handsome. His eyes were forest green, and his hair was as black as the midnight sky. His face was cleanly shaven and smooth, and his skin was darkly tanned.
John grinned as well. He laughed cheerfully and patted the man on the back. "Good to see you as usual, Brett!" he cried.
"And you too, John!" replied his good friend Brett, pulling John into a small embrace and patting him on the shoulder. "I'm so glad you could make it!" he paused. "How's the family? And how's that brother of yours? Still getting into your silly squabbles like you usually do?"
Brett Jenkins and John Roxton—they had been the best of friends for years. They had met each other in boarding school as adolescents, and finding they had much in common, quickly became good friends.
Both were sons of rich and important people of England; John's father was a Lord, and the father of Brett was Sir Ian Jenkins, a personal friend of the Royal Couple, knighted by the King himself.
John shook his head. "No, William hasn't been around much for us to fight—he's much too busy for me, apparently. Lately, he's been travelling all over England with our father, going to those 'important business meetings' of his." John rolled his eyes. "Important business meetings indeed!"
Brett shrugged his shoulders. "Ah well. Older brothers—what can I say about them?" He made a face. "They think they're soooo important, just because they're older and get to inherit daddy's fortunes once the old crow kicks the bucket!" To be dramatic, Brett kicked a nearby tree in anger. "Stupid old blighter."
John chuckled. "I see you haven't been getting along with your older brother either."
Brett sighed. "What else is new with Thomas? Seriously, he acts like a perfect little son around our father all the time. You'd probably expect the old man to see through the act, but does he really?" He paused to chortle. "Of course not! No, he falls blindly into Tommy's trap without a single suspicion!" He fell silent for a moment. "Stupid blighter," he added again.
John laughed. "Cheer up, old boy. Trust me, I know exactly how you feel."
Brett slowly looked up into John's face and smiled sadly. His sad smile bent down into a dismal frown, as the tone in his voice changed. "I know you do, John. That's why you're my only friend right now—because you're the only one who knows how I feel." He suddenly looked down to the ground. "And . . . you're the only one who can help me now." Brett looked back up into John's face. "Will you help me, old friend?"
John jerked his head back at the sudden change in his friend's attitude. But after a while, he nodded. "Brett, of course I will," he said supportively. Suddenly, he paused. "But that all depends on how I can help you."
"Oh, John." Brett sighed. "It . . . it's happened again."
"It?" repeated John, narrowing his eyes. "What's happened again?"
Brett shook his head. "You know what I'm talking about, John."
After a slight pause, John frowned. "You've been gambling again," he said, his voice lowering in disappointment. "And you've lost your all bets, haven't you?"
Brett nodded. "John, I feel—so ashamed." He titled his head down so John couldn't see the embarrassment his face.
If only John had known that Brett's embarrassment was a ruse.
"As you very well should be!" came John's angry voice. "Brett, how could you do this again? You promised me that you stopped your gambling addiction!" He glared at the man stooping in front of him.
Arod, standing a few feet behind the feuding men, snorted loudly and stamped his hooves on the ground. He swished his tail nervously, as he watched the situation between his rider and his friend immediately begin to tense.
"John, please!" cried Brett, bringing up his face. His eyes held a look of desperation. "You have to understand! Gambling is not an easy thing to quit! Especially after your own family's been doing it for years like mine has!"
"That's no excuse for lying to me, Brett!" shouted John. "You said you quit when you were really gambling all along!" He snarled. "How long has it been now, Brett? How long have you been keeping this behind my back? You said we were friends! Well, friends don't lie, Brett! And not only did you plain out lie to me—you played me like a fool!"
Brett clenched his teeth as John's angry voice echoed through the calm country air. "As I had good reason to!" he yelled back. "I knew this was the way you'd react! How can you blame me for being afraid of that?!"
"Afraid!" John cried, completely furious. His livid voice boomed throughout the air. Arod whinnied and reared onto his hind legs.
"Afraid, were you?" bellowed Roxton. "If you were so afraid of my reaction, why did you do it in the first place? You're a bloody fool, Brett!"
Anger flared up in Brett's eyes. He clenched his fist behind his back. You bastard, he thought silently, you dare to call me a fool? I'll show you, then! His fist shook madly, but then . . . it went calm again, as Brett unclenched it and relaxed. No, he thought, no. At least not now. I need something from him first.
Brett sighed. "You're right, John," he said quietly, his voice feigning innocence, "you're right about me. I am a fool." He looked into John's fire-laden eyes. "I lied to you John, and I broke our promise. I did great wrong . . . and now, I'm paying for it." He smiled sadly. "Please John, don't be angry at me."
"I have every right to be angry at you!" exclaimed John.
Brett flinched. "Yes, you do. I know. And . . . I'm sorry."
"You're sorry." John chortled. "Right. And how to you expect me to believe that you're really sorry?"
"I can't expect you to do that. Not after what I did. I broke a promise John, and I really regret it. I truly mean that. And not only did I break our promise . . . I broke your trust, as well. Perhaps I can never replace it again."
John silently stared at Brett, his fists clenched at his sides. The fire in his eyes had begun to die down.
Brett continued. "John, you have to believe me now when I say you must forgive me and help me!" At the sudden jerk of John's head, he added, "I'm not saying that you have to regain your trust—I understand that it'll take a long time, if at all, to be gained back. And your help is the last thing I deserve right now. But John, please, at least in spite of our long friendship and whatever dignity I have left—please, help me! You don't understand the trouble I'm in!"
"It's you who put yourself in that trouble, Brett," came John's calm voice, "and maybe you're the only person who can get you out of it."
Brett madly shook his head. "No John, I can't! You see, the money I lost is not what most concerns me— it's the money I owe."
"The money you owe to whom?" John suddenly asked, narrowing his eyes. "Your father?"
"No," Brett replied in a whisper. His voice trembled as he answered, "no . . . the money I owe to the Newman Gang."
John sighed and closed his eyes. "God dammit, Brett."
The Newman Gang—they were a mob of gangsters, crooks, drug- traffickers, and murderers who were famous throughout England for their crooked deeds. A hundred times, the authorities had tried to arrest them—but apparently, the Newman Gang knew how to cover their tracks well; any evidence of a crime whatsoever an affiliate might have left behind was always taken care of by their fellow members. Murder weapons were taken away, and were either hidden or destroyed. Dead bodies were buried, cremated, or hauled over into the ocean far away. And any witnesses or enemies who dared to tattle were shut up—permanently.
John shook his head in disbelief. "The Newman Gang!" he exclaimed. "Brett, how could you—WHY would you do such a thing?!"
"Because I had no choice!" Brett cried, throwing up his hands. "There was no other way to get money! I knew that you wouldn't lend me any money since I had promised you my gambling had stopped. My father wouldn't do it either, since he needed it for himself to gamble away! Same thing with my brother! So, since one of their members used to be a good friend of ours—Simon Boyd—"
"Simon Boyd!" cried John, who recognized the name of his former friend, and closed his eyes and sighed.
"Yes, dear old Simon Boyd—I went to him for help. He talked to the boss of the Newmans, and came back later with plenty of money—and news.
"He said I could take the money and do whatever I wanted with it—as long as I could pay it all back within a month's time. But if I didn't do that—there'd be trouble to pay."
John clenched his teeth. "And let me guess—you took the money, and gambled it all away. The deadline's approaching and you have none left to pay them back."
Brett nodded sadly. "Yes."
John exhaled greatly. "Well Brett, you've done it this time. You've gone up the creek without a paddle, and now, you'll have to go along the rapids on your own." He turned and walked away to mount Arod.
"John! Wait!" cried Brett, running to catch up with him. He put his hand on John's shoulder. "John, don't you see? My time's run out! I've got until tonight—TONIGHT—to pay them back! And if I don't pay them back by that time. . . ." he gulped, "I'm dead."
John took his foot out of Arod's stirrup and turned to gaze at Brett. "You should have known better."
Brett sighed and nodded maniacally. "I know, I know!" he cried. "John, please. I'm in so much trouble right now! I might not even make it out alive! But if I do—" he paused and looked into John's eyes. "If I do, I promise . . . I PROMISE . . . that I will never do such a stupid thing like gambling again. EVER."
"Brett, I've heard this from you before. . . ."
"But this time I'm being truthful!" he shouted, completely upset. A tear even emerged from the corner of his eye. "You can't abandon me, John! Not now . . . not in a time of desperate need like this!" He paused, as the tear strolled down his face. "You . . . you don't want me to die . . . do you?"
John sighed. He looked down at his desperate friend . . . and smiled sadly. "Of course I don't want you to die!" he softly said. He offered a friendly hand on his shoulder.
The single tear strolled down Brett's face. He stared directly into John's eyes. "Then why won't you help me?" he asked softly. "John . . . all I'm asking you for is some money. Just lend me the money I need, and I—"
John sighed and shook his head. "Brett, you've asked this same favour of me for years. I've always lent you money whenever you needed it . . . and you've hardly ever paid me back. . . ."
"I'll pay you back!" cried Brett. "I promise, John! I'll give you the money back as soon as possible!" He paused to wipe the nervous sweat off his forehead. "John, please! Just lend me the money! My life is on the line! Don't you see that, John? Don't you see that if you don't lend me this money, I'll die? The Newman Gang will have me butchered like a cow! Don't you even care?" He walked over to John and put his hands on his shoulders. "John, I'm asking you one last, desperate time . . . please, for the love of God, lend me the money that I need!"
"Brett." John's face went completely serious. "You know that I care. And . . . it's because I care that I won't lend you the money."
Hearing this response, Brett's jaw dropped to the grassy floor. "What?"
"You heard me, Brett. My answer is no. I'm not going to lend you money."
Brett's mouth was still open wide. He began to gasp in deep breaths of air. His face went pale, as his head went light. He staggered back and gripped a tree for support.
John frowned sadly as he looked at his friend in despair. "I'm sorry, Brett."
"Sorry. . . ." Brett sighed, as his the fire in his eyes raged once again. "Sorry . . . you're sorry?!" he bellowed. He clenched his teeth and scowled. "You're going to turn your back on me . . .just like that?!" His fiery eyes narrowed in disdain. "You called yourself my friend . . . but you're nothing but a traitor!"
"I'm a traitor?!" cried John, stepping forwards. He walked over to Brett and looked down upon him, his eyes glaring at him furiously. "I'M a traitor?!! You called yourself a friend to me . . . and yet you lied to me! And you broke your promise to me as well!" He clenched his fists. "Don't you DARE accuse me of not being a good friend to you! I did everything I could to help you out! I gave you money when you needed it to repay your debts—even though you hardly ever paid me back—out of my own pocket! I gave you comfort when you needed it—I stayed behind you when your entire family shut you out! I always backed you up! And not one time . . . not one damn time did I ever hear you say thank you!" He gasped angrily and pointed an accusing finger. "I gave you everything you needed! And all you did was take . . . take . . . and take!"
He and Brett stood face to face. They gazed into the others eyes, sending their anger and fury shooting out wrathfully. "You used me, Brett! Dammit, you used me all these years! YOU are the traitor here!"
Brett opened his mouth to say something, yet no words came out of his mouth. He averted John's livid gaze and stared at the ground. His rage and fury began to build up in his head, blocking out all the friendship and good times he and John ever had.
It was over. Their friendship was finished.
Brett voiced this aloud to John. "You're no longer a friend to me," he said, his deep voice full of contempt. The fire in his eyes fire raged even more. "Get out. Now."
John scowled. His face was fierce, as he uttered his final words: "Gladly."
He stayed one last second to continue glaring at his former friend. Then at last, he turned around and strode towards Arod. He put his foot in the stirrup and lifted himself onto his steed. "Yah!" he cried, steering him around and sending him off into a quick canter.
And so John rode away from the countryside without a single glance back. He was completely furious . . . furious at Brett and himself as well.
Brett watched in anger as John turned his back on him and rode off without another word. He continued to glare wrathfully at him as he rode off into the distance. At his sides, his hands were gripped into heavy fists that shook with hate.
Large grey clouds rolled across the former clear blue skies. The light breeze began to build up into long, heavy gusts. The air grew colder, as the skies began to turn purple. Thunder sounded in the distance, as lightning flashed across the sky. Brett's horse reared onto his hind legs, and screeched as he galloped away in fear.
In the midst of the chaotic atmosphere stood Brett, all alone. He stared furiously into the distance, lifted his face to the sky, and shouted in rage. "This isn't over yet, John Roxton!" he screamed insanely. "This isn't over yet!!"
Before I go on with the story, I just want to warn you: there are probably a LOT of spelling/grammar mistakes and errors. Also, the dialogue and storyline in this chapter is really crappy, since I've been rushing to get the darn thing done! So, if this whole thing seems stupid, please forgive me! I promise I'll improve it . . . as soon as I have time!
Just a few comments on some reviews I received:
Evil Irish Eyes: OMG, I can't believe I'm finally typing your name right! LOL, thank you for being so patient with me! I really appreciate it! I don't have much to say here, since I usually say everything else in ~my~ reviews for ~your~ story—which is coming along so awesomely! Keep updating those chapters! I can't wait to read the next one! And thank you for reading my story from the beginning—you're the best!
LOL, one last thing; thanks for fixing that weatherman for me! You must have done something . . . whatever it was, it really fixed the problem! The weather is so nice and warm and sunny . . . LOL.
TLWROX: You don't have to apologize for not reviewing! My chapters are updated so slowly . . . so it's mostly my fault! So don't worry about it! :- ) Your question will be answered in this chapter, I promise!
Jaclyn: Aaaah, I'm glad you're still reading and reviewing this fic! You're also the best! Hehe, thank you so much! And wow . . . that was a really good idea you had; maybe I should have used William instead! Why did I think of that?! Hehe, you should have mentioned it sooner! Oh well, that's okay.
Your story, Severed, is coming along awesome! Keep working on it; hopefully, your next chapter will come up soon! Can't wait for it!
Audrey: LOL, glad you like the name "Brett Jenkins"! Yeah, it does sound kinda evil, doesn't it?! And don't worry . . . Roxton will have his chance to beat him up—but it won't happen until later. Looks like you'll just have to wait! Hopefully, you won't get bored and stop reading before that happens! LOL.
And to everyone else: THANK YOU SOOOOOO MUCH!!! YOU'RE ALL THE BEST AND I LOVE YA!
~sighs contentedly~ Anyways . . . I won't waste anymore time! May I introduce . . . chapter eleven!!!!
Chapter Eleven—A Thousand Moons and a Thousand Waves Ago
Sadness. Confusion. Angst. Fury.
Lost and forgotten emotions swirled around in the mind of John Roxton as he stared down at his old-found enemy. This was the man who, in his earlier years, had crashed into his life like a blazing comet. . . .
This was also the man who John had allowed to worm his way into John's friendship and trust. And that was the biggest mistake that he could have ever made in his whole life.
Roxton looked deep into this man's eyes. Memories of deception and betrayal seemed to radiate from them, causing his mind to cloud up with darkness.
This was the man who had caused him—and his family—so much pain.
Brett Jenkins. He was here on the plateau . . . alive?
But how?
"No," Roxton whispered deeply, shaking his head, "it can't be." He refused to believe it. "You died. I saw you die, you soulless bastard!" he screamed, his eyes suddenly growing wide with anger. His aching voice echoed in the silent air.
Brett narrowed his eyes, which seemed to bore into Roxton's soul. "Don't believe everything you see, Lord John Roxton," he hissed amusingly.
"No. . . ." whispered Roxton again. "No!" He suddenly closed his eyes. Veronica, Challenger, and the whole jungle seemed to fall apart and melt away. The whole present time began to disappear . . . as the past took its place. It overwhelmed Roxton and surrounded him and Brett like a cold mist.
The past had come back to haunt him.
A thousand moons and a thousand waves ago. . . .
"Yah! Come on, Arod! Yah!" He cried, leaning forward. He gently pressed his heels against his horse's sides, urging the noble steed to go faster. "Yah!"
Horseback-riding . . . other than attending hunting trips, it was his most favourite thing to do. He loved the feel of the wind in his face, and he loved how the scenery would quickly flash past him as he rode on.
Sometimes, when he was feeling really adventurous, he would get up during pre-dawn hours, quietly sneak out of the house, and head towards the stables. When he got there, he would take his favourite steed, a purebred Palomino named Arod, and saddle him up. Then, he would mount Arod carefully, and would whisper gently in his ear. Arod would then set off, first starting with a slight canter and then speeding up to a full gallop. And he and his rider would ride off into the countryside, while the darkness in the sky was beginning to be overcome by the pink and yellow colours of early morning.
The song of the nightingale would end, as the song of the mockingbird would take over. And the sun would rise. It would begin to peek over the horizon, and would slowly soar upwards, beginning its usual journey across the sky.
And he and Arod would be there to watch it all. They would stay on the grassy plains of the countryside until the skies were completely lightened, and orangey sun fully rose above the horizon. And then they would swiftly make the journey back home.
Of course, these early journeys were hardly kept secret, as the rider's mother would usually be waiting for him by the stables as he rode back. She would be crossing her arms, tapping her left foot, and be gazing at him sternly. And just as she was about to give her son a good, long lecture . . . he would dismount his noble steed and present her with a lovely bouquet of wildflowers that he gathered from the countryside. And then she would smile knowingly, and would gladly accept the beautiful flowers.
"You must come inside now," she would say quietly, "for if your father finds out that you've been sneaking out at night. . . ."
Her son nodded. "I know, Mother," he said, smiling and giving her a small hug. "I know. Thank you."
And mother and son would happily walk together back towards their great mansion, as another day began once again.
John Roxton smiled contentedly, as these thoughts ran through his mind. He closed his eyes, feeling the warm spring breeze pass by him.
Life was so good.
He opened his eyes. He and Arod were now approaching the beloved countryside once again. This time, however, it was early afternoon, not early morning . . . and they weren't the only ones there.
In the distance ahead of them, another man on a horse awaited. Noticing John and Arod's approach, the horse and rider slowly cantered towards them. The rider's hand waved madly in the air as he came closer.
John gently tugged on the reins of Arod, bringing the steed to a stop. He quickly dismounted and stood beside him waiting to greet the man, who had also stopped their horse.
The rider dismounted. He stood a few feet across John, a huge grin on his face. He was literally tall, dark, and handsome. His eyes were forest green, and his hair was as black as the midnight sky. His face was cleanly shaven and smooth, and his skin was darkly tanned.
John grinned as well. He laughed cheerfully and patted the man on the back. "Good to see you as usual, Brett!" he cried.
"And you too, John!" replied his good friend Brett, pulling John into a small embrace and patting him on the shoulder. "I'm so glad you could make it!" he paused. "How's the family? And how's that brother of yours? Still getting into your silly squabbles like you usually do?"
Brett Jenkins and John Roxton—they had been the best of friends for years. They had met each other in boarding school as adolescents, and finding they had much in common, quickly became good friends.
Both were sons of rich and important people of England; John's father was a Lord, and the father of Brett was Sir Ian Jenkins, a personal friend of the Royal Couple, knighted by the King himself.
John shook his head. "No, William hasn't been around much for us to fight—he's much too busy for me, apparently. Lately, he's been travelling all over England with our father, going to those 'important business meetings' of his." John rolled his eyes. "Important business meetings indeed!"
Brett shrugged his shoulders. "Ah well. Older brothers—what can I say about them?" He made a face. "They think they're soooo important, just because they're older and get to inherit daddy's fortunes once the old crow kicks the bucket!" To be dramatic, Brett kicked a nearby tree in anger. "Stupid old blighter."
John chuckled. "I see you haven't been getting along with your older brother either."
Brett sighed. "What else is new with Thomas? Seriously, he acts like a perfect little son around our father all the time. You'd probably expect the old man to see through the act, but does he really?" He paused to chortle. "Of course not! No, he falls blindly into Tommy's trap without a single suspicion!" He fell silent for a moment. "Stupid blighter," he added again.
John laughed. "Cheer up, old boy. Trust me, I know exactly how you feel."
Brett slowly looked up into John's face and smiled sadly. His sad smile bent down into a dismal frown, as the tone in his voice changed. "I know you do, John. That's why you're my only friend right now—because you're the only one who knows how I feel." He suddenly looked down to the ground. "And . . . you're the only one who can help me now." Brett looked back up into John's face. "Will you help me, old friend?"
John jerked his head back at the sudden change in his friend's attitude. But after a while, he nodded. "Brett, of course I will," he said supportively. Suddenly, he paused. "But that all depends on how I can help you."
"Oh, John." Brett sighed. "It . . . it's happened again."
"It?" repeated John, narrowing his eyes. "What's happened again?"
Brett shook his head. "You know what I'm talking about, John."
After a slight pause, John frowned. "You've been gambling again," he said, his voice lowering in disappointment. "And you've lost your all bets, haven't you?"
Brett nodded. "John, I feel—so ashamed." He titled his head down so John couldn't see the embarrassment his face.
If only John had known that Brett's embarrassment was a ruse.
"As you very well should be!" came John's angry voice. "Brett, how could you do this again? You promised me that you stopped your gambling addiction!" He glared at the man stooping in front of him.
Arod, standing a few feet behind the feuding men, snorted loudly and stamped his hooves on the ground. He swished his tail nervously, as he watched the situation between his rider and his friend immediately begin to tense.
"John, please!" cried Brett, bringing up his face. His eyes held a look of desperation. "You have to understand! Gambling is not an easy thing to quit! Especially after your own family's been doing it for years like mine has!"
"That's no excuse for lying to me, Brett!" shouted John. "You said you quit when you were really gambling all along!" He snarled. "How long has it been now, Brett? How long have you been keeping this behind my back? You said we were friends! Well, friends don't lie, Brett! And not only did you plain out lie to me—you played me like a fool!"
Brett clenched his teeth as John's angry voice echoed through the calm country air. "As I had good reason to!" he yelled back. "I knew this was the way you'd react! How can you blame me for being afraid of that?!"
"Afraid!" John cried, completely furious. His livid voice boomed throughout the air. Arod whinnied and reared onto his hind legs.
"Afraid, were you?" bellowed Roxton. "If you were so afraid of my reaction, why did you do it in the first place? You're a bloody fool, Brett!"
Anger flared up in Brett's eyes. He clenched his fist behind his back. You bastard, he thought silently, you dare to call me a fool? I'll show you, then! His fist shook madly, but then . . . it went calm again, as Brett unclenched it and relaxed. No, he thought, no. At least not now. I need something from him first.
Brett sighed. "You're right, John," he said quietly, his voice feigning innocence, "you're right about me. I am a fool." He looked into John's fire-laden eyes. "I lied to you John, and I broke our promise. I did great wrong . . . and now, I'm paying for it." He smiled sadly. "Please John, don't be angry at me."
"I have every right to be angry at you!" exclaimed John.
Brett flinched. "Yes, you do. I know. And . . . I'm sorry."
"You're sorry." John chortled. "Right. And how to you expect me to believe that you're really sorry?"
"I can't expect you to do that. Not after what I did. I broke a promise John, and I really regret it. I truly mean that. And not only did I break our promise . . . I broke your trust, as well. Perhaps I can never replace it again."
John silently stared at Brett, his fists clenched at his sides. The fire in his eyes had begun to die down.
Brett continued. "John, you have to believe me now when I say you must forgive me and help me!" At the sudden jerk of John's head, he added, "I'm not saying that you have to regain your trust—I understand that it'll take a long time, if at all, to be gained back. And your help is the last thing I deserve right now. But John, please, at least in spite of our long friendship and whatever dignity I have left—please, help me! You don't understand the trouble I'm in!"
"It's you who put yourself in that trouble, Brett," came John's calm voice, "and maybe you're the only person who can get you out of it."
Brett madly shook his head. "No John, I can't! You see, the money I lost is not what most concerns me— it's the money I owe."
"The money you owe to whom?" John suddenly asked, narrowing his eyes. "Your father?"
"No," Brett replied in a whisper. His voice trembled as he answered, "no . . . the money I owe to the Newman Gang."
John sighed and closed his eyes. "God dammit, Brett."
The Newman Gang—they were a mob of gangsters, crooks, drug- traffickers, and murderers who were famous throughout England for their crooked deeds. A hundred times, the authorities had tried to arrest them—but apparently, the Newman Gang knew how to cover their tracks well; any evidence of a crime whatsoever an affiliate might have left behind was always taken care of by their fellow members. Murder weapons were taken away, and were either hidden or destroyed. Dead bodies were buried, cremated, or hauled over into the ocean far away. And any witnesses or enemies who dared to tattle were shut up—permanently.
John shook his head in disbelief. "The Newman Gang!" he exclaimed. "Brett, how could you—WHY would you do such a thing?!"
"Because I had no choice!" Brett cried, throwing up his hands. "There was no other way to get money! I knew that you wouldn't lend me any money since I had promised you my gambling had stopped. My father wouldn't do it either, since he needed it for himself to gamble away! Same thing with my brother! So, since one of their members used to be a good friend of ours—Simon Boyd—"
"Simon Boyd!" cried John, who recognized the name of his former friend, and closed his eyes and sighed.
"Yes, dear old Simon Boyd—I went to him for help. He talked to the boss of the Newmans, and came back later with plenty of money—and news.
"He said I could take the money and do whatever I wanted with it—as long as I could pay it all back within a month's time. But if I didn't do that—there'd be trouble to pay."
John clenched his teeth. "And let me guess—you took the money, and gambled it all away. The deadline's approaching and you have none left to pay them back."
Brett nodded sadly. "Yes."
John exhaled greatly. "Well Brett, you've done it this time. You've gone up the creek without a paddle, and now, you'll have to go along the rapids on your own." He turned and walked away to mount Arod.
"John! Wait!" cried Brett, running to catch up with him. He put his hand on John's shoulder. "John, don't you see? My time's run out! I've got until tonight—TONIGHT—to pay them back! And if I don't pay them back by that time. . . ." he gulped, "I'm dead."
John took his foot out of Arod's stirrup and turned to gaze at Brett. "You should have known better."
Brett sighed and nodded maniacally. "I know, I know!" he cried. "John, please. I'm in so much trouble right now! I might not even make it out alive! But if I do—" he paused and looked into John's eyes. "If I do, I promise . . . I PROMISE . . . that I will never do such a stupid thing like gambling again. EVER."
"Brett, I've heard this from you before. . . ."
"But this time I'm being truthful!" he shouted, completely upset. A tear even emerged from the corner of his eye. "You can't abandon me, John! Not now . . . not in a time of desperate need like this!" He paused, as the tear strolled down his face. "You . . . you don't want me to die . . . do you?"
John sighed. He looked down at his desperate friend . . . and smiled sadly. "Of course I don't want you to die!" he softly said. He offered a friendly hand on his shoulder.
The single tear strolled down Brett's face. He stared directly into John's eyes. "Then why won't you help me?" he asked softly. "John . . . all I'm asking you for is some money. Just lend me the money I need, and I—"
John sighed and shook his head. "Brett, you've asked this same favour of me for years. I've always lent you money whenever you needed it . . . and you've hardly ever paid me back. . . ."
"I'll pay you back!" cried Brett. "I promise, John! I'll give you the money back as soon as possible!" He paused to wipe the nervous sweat off his forehead. "John, please! Just lend me the money! My life is on the line! Don't you see that, John? Don't you see that if you don't lend me this money, I'll die? The Newman Gang will have me butchered like a cow! Don't you even care?" He walked over to John and put his hands on his shoulders. "John, I'm asking you one last, desperate time . . . please, for the love of God, lend me the money that I need!"
"Brett." John's face went completely serious. "You know that I care. And . . . it's because I care that I won't lend you the money."
Hearing this response, Brett's jaw dropped to the grassy floor. "What?"
"You heard me, Brett. My answer is no. I'm not going to lend you money."
Brett's mouth was still open wide. He began to gasp in deep breaths of air. His face went pale, as his head went light. He staggered back and gripped a tree for support.
John frowned sadly as he looked at his friend in despair. "I'm sorry, Brett."
"Sorry. . . ." Brett sighed, as his the fire in his eyes raged once again. "Sorry . . . you're sorry?!" he bellowed. He clenched his teeth and scowled. "You're going to turn your back on me . . .just like that?!" His fiery eyes narrowed in disdain. "You called yourself my friend . . . but you're nothing but a traitor!"
"I'm a traitor?!" cried John, stepping forwards. He walked over to Brett and looked down upon him, his eyes glaring at him furiously. "I'M a traitor?!! You called yourself a friend to me . . . and yet you lied to me! And you broke your promise to me as well!" He clenched his fists. "Don't you DARE accuse me of not being a good friend to you! I did everything I could to help you out! I gave you money when you needed it to repay your debts—even though you hardly ever paid me back—out of my own pocket! I gave you comfort when you needed it—I stayed behind you when your entire family shut you out! I always backed you up! And not one time . . . not one damn time did I ever hear you say thank you!" He gasped angrily and pointed an accusing finger. "I gave you everything you needed! And all you did was take . . . take . . . and take!"
He and Brett stood face to face. They gazed into the others eyes, sending their anger and fury shooting out wrathfully. "You used me, Brett! Dammit, you used me all these years! YOU are the traitor here!"
Brett opened his mouth to say something, yet no words came out of his mouth. He averted John's livid gaze and stared at the ground. His rage and fury began to build up in his head, blocking out all the friendship and good times he and John ever had.
It was over. Their friendship was finished.
Brett voiced this aloud to John. "You're no longer a friend to me," he said, his deep voice full of contempt. The fire in his eyes fire raged even more. "Get out. Now."
John scowled. His face was fierce, as he uttered his final words: "Gladly."
He stayed one last second to continue glaring at his former friend. Then at last, he turned around and strode towards Arod. He put his foot in the stirrup and lifted himself onto his steed. "Yah!" he cried, steering him around and sending him off into a quick canter.
And so John rode away from the countryside without a single glance back. He was completely furious . . . furious at Brett and himself as well.
Brett watched in anger as John turned his back on him and rode off without another word. He continued to glare wrathfully at him as he rode off into the distance. At his sides, his hands were gripped into heavy fists that shook with hate.
Large grey clouds rolled across the former clear blue skies. The light breeze began to build up into long, heavy gusts. The air grew colder, as the skies began to turn purple. Thunder sounded in the distance, as lightning flashed across the sky. Brett's horse reared onto his hind legs, and screeched as he galloped away in fear.
In the midst of the chaotic atmosphere stood Brett, all alone. He stared furiously into the distance, lifted his face to the sky, and shouted in rage. "This isn't over yet, John Roxton!" he screamed insanely. "This isn't over yet!!"