Chapter 60

When he entered the Blind Beggar and met with the stench of sweat, cigarettes and ale, time slapped him hard on his sore cheek. A wave of goosebumps tickled his skin when the memory of him,

delinquent sixteen years old teenager with anger and regret running through his veins,

materialised inside his mind. He'd been in this pub before. He had been dragged out from by Albert. He had found himself after that, bloodied and drunk, in Candy's room.

Fucking irony laughing in his face

He looked around him, at the punters having a good time. Most were men, hard grafters by their looks, all of them.

He sat on a stool by the bar, asked for a pint of Guinness and untied his tie. Took it off completely and shoved it in his pocket. The heat made his skin flush. He took his jacket off and rolled his sleeves up. He brought the pint of ale to his lips the moment the bartender served him. Savoured the bitterness of it on his tongue. A flash of nostalgic wickedness passed through his eyes. One thing was for sure. He wasn't going to be thrown out of that pub for drinking too much. Lit a cigarette, took a drag, wishing for the nicotine to calm down the storm raging inside him.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

The moment he had staggered out of her house, he came to realise it. He had taken too long to act. Open his heart to her. He had acted like an observer since he had entered her life again. So what if they had kissed three times? He never followed with something more meaningful. He waited till that damn party to give her

A fucking ultimatum.

And she turned him down. He had played the jealousy card. He even had tried to persuade himself that it wasn't meant to be. He could let himself have a good time with any other woman. But not with her...

Like a compass pointing to the North, he thought of his life always leading towards Candy. When he abandoned all rationale and reason was left at the bottom of the glass, he let his ego smash that compass altogether. He loathed what he had become. What he had done only just a little while ago to the woman he was supposed to love with every inch of his being. He hated the power she had over him. The anger, still burned like a star in his eyes. It was that anger that led him to ask the taxi driver on his way to the Blind Beggar to take a detour.

Everything outside the car windows had become a continuous line, unravelling under his dark stare while the taxi was speeding towards the police station. He fell back to the car seat. Behind the closed eyes, he knew. He had hesitated going to the police, even if the thought had been carving circles in his mind. The only thing that had stopped him was Candy. It would destroy her to find out that Christian had been living another life, hidden from her. His breathing had turned heavy. Despite the slowness of his movements, inside his mind, the thoughts were gathering, following one after the other in quick succession.

The crushed cigarette butts inside the ashtray in front of Terry, had started resembling a cemetery made of ash and memories. Time was ticking away inside empty glasses of whiskey. The pub was getting busier and rowdier.

Next to where Terry was sitting, a tall dark haired man with ice blue eyes and a voice sounding like the words were dragged on hard gravel, ordered a pint of lager. Terry had followed him with his stare when he seemed to appear from some stairs which came up from a basement hidden behind the bar. For some reason, this casual in all other circumstances appearance of the man, who he was sure he was unknown to him, felt like ticking a dark box in his mind. A shorter guy, lean like a beanstalk came, took a stool right next to the man.

"The painter came to see you?" Terry heard him asking.

"Yes, he did." The other man replied. "You were too late Billy." He added. "What's the point of me giving orders when nothing's done - can you tell me?"

Terry could hardly hear. Just by catching the word "painter" - even if it may had nothing to do with Christian, it was enough to draw his attention back from the bubble of desolation he had closed himself into.

"I'm sorry boss" The guy named Billy, said. "It hadn't been easy to start with."

The "Boss" said nothing back. Terry could not see his face as he had turned his back to him but he could imagine the nervousness of the poor guy who had been on the other side, facing the "Boss's" stare.

He lit a cigarette, feeling all the more curious about the discussion that took place between the two men.

"Anything you want me doing now?" He asked. Terry picked the obvious hesitation in his voice. The other man laughed but there was nothing funny about his laugh.

"That's rich Billy! Nothing you can do now. He has my Alice."

Silence

"Are you serious?!"

Silence

"Black Feathers has Alice? Does he have a death wish? He's crazy."

The "Boss" shushed him. "Keep your tongue in... you imbecile, or you'll end up not having one."

The name of Alice fell like lightning in Terry's ears, lighting up the darkness. Pulled from the bottom of his consciousness, a memory took life behind his eyes.

"Our darling Christian is involved with London gangs, Terry..."

"...he went with a guy to Blind Beggar and went to some secret room at the back of the bar."

Adrenaline coursed inside his veins.

"The man, Terry, who was with Christian, is one of the henchmen of Charles MacDonald, the most notorious gangster in London, Terry."

His heart pumped with strong thuds against his chest.

"...there was some contact of Christian with Alice Diamond, MacDonald's lover, with her own great reputation amongst the criminal circles."

"Just keep an eye on his "scarlet rose", Bill." The Boss's voice brought him back.

His "scarlet rose"...

Terry shuddered. He had no idea who Black Feathers was, but this had to do with Christian. That was certain. Felt his throat dry. Clenched his teeth. He nodded to the man behind the bar.

"Whatever your troubles pal, it looks like you have drowned them already." The bartender told him when he ordered one more shot.

Terry fixed him with a menacing stare. His voice came out hoarse, stern, not expecting a reply back. "I don't fucking care bartender, just pour when I say."

To the sound of his voice, the two men stopped their conversation. The "Boss" straightened his body beside the bar counter, leaving the stool he had been half sitting on. He faced the bartender who, after a moment of keeping still while looking at Terry, he then proceeded to pour him one more drink.

"Is anyone giving you troubles, Arthur?" The man's question came out loud, with the intention of being heard by everyone close by, especially the rude man who was behind him.

Posh buggers. They swing by, having been lost, wanting to sample the side of London they keep at an arms length, some having knowledge of, only by reading the likes of Oliver Twist and other such novels. Reading about the life of a harder London that makes them curious at best to dip into it, even if it's only drinks in a notorious East end pub or fear it and try to never acknowledge it at worst. Either way, Terry's accent grated his nerves. The cheek he had.

Who does he think he was?

Charlie bet the man behind him was a silver spoon-fed ass, drunk off his head because he had some sort of a lover's tiff. He turned without waiting for a reply from the man behind the bar. Terry lifted his head up. The two men faced each other not saying anything but letting their stares dive into each other's eyes. Terry didn't flinch and that impressed MacDonald. He could swear he had crossed again such a fearless stare.

Same as that lunatic's stare, Christian.

"I came here to drink, not to visit a confessionary, mister." Terry stated and crushed the cigarette that was burning between his fingers onto the ashtray.

Without waiting for MacDonald's reaction, he turned back to his glass.

"It looks like Arthur served me just fine, so why don't you get back to your business and leave me be." He murmured between his teeth, with his fingers clasping on the glass, tightening their grip on the smooth surface, knowing well where this was leading.

It wasn't meant to be to have a quiet drink in this cursed pub. Not only that, but somehow he bumped

- as he thought -

to the man that Christian had business with. He picked the glass up, gulped its contents with a swift move of his hand and banged it down.

"One more, Arthur." He said again louder this time. He heard only his voice in the pub.

All the surrounding noise and banter had died down. He smiled. He thought of it as

divine justice

to be beaten up inside the Blind Beggar.

The amount of anger he was carrying, it would be enough to burn his hands, lighting up the punches he'd throw. But more, he wanted to feel the pain, physical pain, to match the pain he felt in his heart for his previous actions. He shouldn't have attacked Candy, no matter how much she hurt him with her rejection. Not only that, but he also had been an asshole all around. With Marion, his boss too. Everyone in essence. He knew he had started treading into dark paths he had tried for so long not to steer himself onto.

"There is no more drink, you drunk fuck." MacDonald whispered slowly, close to Terry's ear.

His every word dripped restrained fury for having some arrogant rich prick coming and ordering him around inside his pub. He lifted his head up and made a motion with his eyes. Terry felt two pairs of hands dragging him out with force. The stool he was sitting on, fell on the floor. Billy was ordered to follow, to throw him out. Terry wrestled against their grip. Got away from them but stood firm still inside his pub.

"Bored to fight me yourself, MacDonald?" Terry shouted back to the man who looked like as if he didn't believe he was hearing well.

With two strides he closed the distance. Eyes bearing down on Terry. Fire inside the blue ice. "You clearly don't know who I am, because you wouldn't be so fucking foolish otherwise." His voice deepened.

"Don't worry and I know enough to have you thrown to jail together with your "painter"" It was Terry's turn to whisper inside the "Boss's" ear. He took so much pleasure for telling him that, he felt the hair at the back of his neck standing up. The air smelled of electricity.

"Is that right?" MacDonald replied. He turned around.

"Looks like this lunatic here has a death wish and he wants me to fulfil it." He shouted to the punters inside the pub all watching frozen at the edge of their seats.

The men grabbed Terry once more and carried him out. Their boss followed them this time, together with Billy. He could bet that this must had been the actor, the guy who Christian had befriended as of late, since he had arrived in London. Together with Alice, he remembered, having watched him on his way to the party of Sir Lewis. He had stopped and stared for quite some time the mansion of Lord Grandchester. He definitely had been a weird case but the way things had turned out, himself and Alice hadn't the opportunity to look into him.

The grip of the two thugs on Terry's arms was stronger this time, too strong for him to fight against it. He wasn't without blame. He could have said nothing. Numb his tongue the same way his mind was. He let himself surrender to his fate. Perhaps that was the solution he sought for all his life.

Surrender to fate

All the while, he had fought against it. If not by actions, the struggle against his fate was within him. If he had surrendered to his fate, he would have stayed in New York and none of this heartache would have taken place. Candy would have stayed this pure memory in his mind. Forever young, forever innocent, forever loving him. And he should have tried to be happy away from her. Fulfil his promise to her, just as she - by the looks of her life - tried to do on her own. He could not fault her of that.

Billy followed MacDonald with his head down, hiding his concern for his boss's actions. They entered an alleyway, so narrow it was, it looked like a ribbon of road and dust between the tall buildings on either side. Though some light filtered through, the place was dark, dirty and smelled of piss.

The two men stopped and so did Terry, who didn't wait for his fate but like a coiled spring he lunged forward and swung his arm with speed, managing a rather strong punch on MacDonald. Taken completely by surprise, the man's face followed the trajectory of Terry's arm. He stumbled a few steps back, trying to find his missed balance.

He turned immediately, nailed Terry's face with a killer stare. Blood shone on his lips. His reaction was just as fast as Terry's punch. So fast that Terry missed Charlie's drawing move and came face to face with the barrel of his gun while the familiar cocking sound hit his ears. The muscles on Charlie's jaw twitched.

Terry stared down the darkness of the barrel. It could have been his life he was staring at. His breathing was shallow and despite the alcohol he had consumed, on that instance, he felt his wits being sharp as a knife. He knew, this could be his last moment. He lifted his eyes to face his killer's stare. Billy whispering in his ear. Terry could hear a string of faint sounding words. The more Billy whispered, the angrier MacDonald's face was turning. He would have enjoyed planting a bullet inside the chest of that posh prick. Instead, to Terry's big surprise, he lowered the gun. His two men grabbed Terry's arms once again, before he had any time to think or move.

MacDonald came close and with wicked satisfaction flickering in his eyes he punched him hard and square in his stomach, knocking the air out of his lungs. Terry groaned and doubled down, feeling the dull pain of his opponent's fist. Before he even had time to take a breath a second punch hit him on his side. He groaned harder this time. His heart came up to his throat along with spit and bile. He tasted its bitterness. He spit to the road. Beads of sweat prickled his forehead.

He turned his head up. Wet his lips with the tip of his tongue and his mouth curled up in defiance. "Am I too much of a risk as a corpse to you and you decided to beat me to a pulp instead?" Terry managed to say, sounding out of breath.

MacDonald punched him twice more. Terry pushed down the vomit that burned his throat. His body hung from the arms of MacDonald's henchmen. MacDonald grabbed Terry's hair and pulled his head up to face him. "You have nothing on me, you sick fuck."

"You're mistaken." Terry replied, in a calm voice sounding certain of the things he already knew. "I know you and Christian are in business together. It's not difficult to suss out what's going on. He's your man in high society? That's how you burgled that mansion? You keep in the shadows and he feeds you what you need to know. Things got awry and someone from your people stabbed him. Alice...your Alice stabbed him. That's enough information don't you think?"

The blood rushed on Charlie's face, making it turn red. The veins on his temples popped out, like blue snakes under his skin. It was enough he had to deal with Christian but this crazy, unhinged, suicidal lunatic in front of him who pushed him, egging him on to snuff him out, the actor friend of Christian - there was no doubt that must had been him - he had expected nothing from him.

He wasn't even figuring in his plans. He couldn't kill him. Such a murder would have drawn attention and with a little bit of digging, it wasn't going to be difficult to pin this back to him. He could make him disappear altogether but even a disappearance - the headlines - the police searching... No, anything that had to do with killing that bastard in front of him would create too much heat and heat was something that definitely he didn't want, right at that moment.

"Don't worry and when I finish with you, you won't be able to say nothing else." The gangster hissed back. His fists landed on Terry's face. Two hooks, fast, one after the other, cold, calculating, right, left. Made Terry's head spin. Warm blood came down his nostrils. Tasted the metallic taste in his mouth. He spat again. The blood landed on MacDonald's loafers.

He was balancing precariously on a razor's edge and yet he seemed not to have any regard for his life. He made it a struggle for MacDonald to keep a cool head and not blow Terry's brains out. His fists plowed on his body who was resisting less and less, with each blow being harder than the next. After a while, he wasn't even groaning. There was only the dull thuds of MacDonald's fists landing on the young man's flesh.

"Boss, that's enough..." Billy's voice was heard just about so, in order to put a break on Terry's beating, only to avoid having to drop the man to hospital.

Charlie turned to Billy. He had that lost look about him, as if he wasn't all of him there. He had been in an auto pilot, his killer instincts having taken over, where logic and restraint were turning more and more into ghosts. He was out of breath, Terry's blood, warm, bright red smeared all across his knuckles. He took his handkerchief out his breast pocket. Terry's body hung like a rag doll between Charlie's men. The man wiped off the blood from his fingers. He took a few steps towards the entrance of the alleyway. Terry raised his head. He felt it would split into two. Heavy like a bag of bricks it was, pain was pounding between his temples.

"I'd be counting the days if I was you..."

Terry's words, tired and croaked, stopped Charlie on his tracks. He didn't turn to face him. He'd have to kill him if he did. He passed, instead, his hand over his hair, smoothing them over.

"Finish him off and throw him in a ditch, will you?" He ordered his men.

The two guys let Terry fall on his knees. He hadn't strength to stand up. Billy looked at them with increasing worry. Without knowing why he had to save him - but he had to do so. Not only he thought that this man must had been more important than just a mere actor, Billy also thought that he was just an innocent bystander who happened to find himself at the wrong place, the wrong time. Terry fell to the ground. One of the guys kicked him in the stomach and he curled his body forward.

If he was to die, so be it

There was no much of thinking going on. The beating had erased everything, everything apart from her face. The breaths came out into sharp groans, the pain was searing, blood from his eyebrow, was gushing down his face.

"Guys, let me take him out." Billy shouted all of a sudden.

The two men stopped and looked back to Billy. They didn't really argue with him. It was Sunday after all and they could have been inside, enjoying their pints of ale, than beating up some random guy. They shrugged their shoulders. One of them spat down at Terry.

"Serves him right for talking back to the boss." He said in a rough voice. Billy had his car close by. He left Terry as he was, not moving, not talking. Not long after, Billy's car appeared at the entrance of the alleyway. He came out and approached him on the ground. He tried to pull him up. Passed one arm beneath Terry's arm. Held his hand by his wrist over his shoulders. Prompted him to get up.

"Stand on your feet, pal, will you?" Billy asked a half-conscious Terry, his voice straining under his weight. He heard Terry groaning when he grabbed him by the waist. The two of them stumbled towards the car.

"Leave me be." Billy heard Terry saying.

"I hear nothing." Billy replied when he opened the door and shoved Terry in who fell like a heavy sac on the back seats. He looked at him for a couple of seconds, hoping he'll keep up till he took him someplace to fix him up. Rushed to the driver's seat, turned on the engine and left the Blind Beggar behind. One man was now in Billy's mind.

Where Christian would be?

Within the quiet space of the basement of the National Gallery, Christian was examining the various paintings, stacked in storage, the works of artists he admired immensely. The way things had turned out, he doubted whether he would be able to paint again. He wasn't even certain whether he would make it out alive.

Since the stabbing, the rate with which events took place grew so, that he was outpaced in such a way that he kept running behind consequences without being able to stop not even one. Everything that had to go wrong, went spectacularly wrong. It didn't matter what he did; to the point he was becoming convinced he was just an extra, inside a badly written play that was supposed to be his life.

He took a deep breath. Closed his eyes. He rubbed his face with both hands. Gritted his teeth. He was tense if nothing else. He hadn't the time to feel happy and accomplished following his success. Nor the time to feel fear after his stabbing, nor did he have the time to feel anger towards Terry. Hope of finding his parents, or bitterness that a relationship he had invested so much wasn't meant to be. In the isolation of the basement, for the first time, he came face to face with all those feelings he hadn't allowed himself to indulge in before. They came rushing in, filling every nook and cranny inside him. Battling over his attention. Overwhelmed him so, for a moment he couldn't breathe. He paced with fever in his steps. He was drowning. Released the first few buttons on his shirt. Took the tobacco out his pocket and rolled him a cigarette. He lit it and took a long drag. Focused on steadying his heart beat which felt like a locomotive colliding head on against his chest.

His life had been in a constant flux, with nothing remaining as it was. All he was aiming for was to get out of this tunnel he had found himself into and start anew. Somewhere, somehow, somewhat. Conditions didn't matter. What mattered was to make it in one piece. And to protect Rose. She wasn't a part of this life of his, despite being the only constant in it. She had created space for him to dream.

He heard the door opening behind him. He turned on the spot, though he was safe there.

"You shouldn't smoke in here, Chris." Nicholas remarked, seeing the lit cigarette hanging between his fingers.

"I'm sorry." He apologised forthwith. "Couldn't help it." He added while he walked towards a small room, which was situated off the side of the big storage space, and the employees of the National Gallery were using to brew their tea and have a break during their shifts. Took an ashtray and crushed the remaining of the cigarette in there.

"It's quiet down here and I got stressed." He excused himself, with a sheepish smile on his face.

"No worries, man." Nicholas said back, sounding understanding to his friend's reaction.

"Thank you for your help this morning Nicholas." Christian said right away. "How did she take it?" He asked him with a wicked glint in his eye. "Your little trip to the countryside?"

"Alice? She's fire on legs." Nicholas told his friend and started laughing.

Christian met his laugh with a questioning stare. "It's not fair Christian, you know." He said once he stopped laughing. "You get surrounded by all those beauties. Rose, Alice, what was the name of your ex? Audrey!" He exclaimed as he remembered her name.

Christian laughed too this time. "You are incorrigible. It could be the end of the world and your mind will always be at women." He said to his friend.

"Is there anything else in life more worth thinking about?" He teased Christian, acting silly, partly attempting to take Christian's mind off the seriousness of the situation. Seeing how he had stopped fidgeting and moving about, his little mindless banter must had worked.

"So when you'll be joining Alice the Malice?" Nicholas asked him when the laughing died down. "Be careful how you enter the cottage by the way. She'll probably will be plotting a hundred ways to end your life while you keep her there."

Christian lifted his eyes from the floor and stared at his friend, raising his brows. He thought about it, and Nicholas was right. He had to go prepared for a volcano eruption. "Wednesday noon. I've got things to do." He said back and straightened his body, suddenly feeling the weight of what was happening stacking up on his shoulders.

"Will Rose still go to Barra?"

"She has to. I've got something in mind." Christian said.

"Man..." Nicholas sighed. "Be careful, ok?"

Christian nodded.

"I don't know how things became so complicated, and I know you won't tell me - the less I know the better, you'll say but still..."

"Don't worry...thank you for everything you've done for me, Nicholas. I mean it." Christian said and it felt very obvious in the tone and warmth of his voice of how grateful he was for having someone to be there for him. The two men shook hands and hugged, patting each other on the back.

"I need to stay at home tonight." Christian said, "And from tomorrow, will stay..."

"Here." Nicholas ended Christian's sentence. "I've got you covered for those last couple of nights."

"Fine, thank you." Christian replied.

The two friends said once again their goodbyes and Christian came out on the road. Needed to go home. There was one more letter to write, one more piece on his plan to be put in place.

"Candy"

"Candy!"

"CANDY!"

The shouting of her name and the continuous, insistent, loud knocking at her front door managed to slip in her heavy slumber. Her eyes moved behind the closed eyelids, responding to the noise that was pulling her to the present. She didn't want to move. She hoped whoever was at her door to go away. Her eyelids opened up, just a sliver. She moaned. Fumbled with the sofa throw, pulled it over her head wanting for the man on her door to go.

"I know you're in there, there's light coming from upstairs." The man shouted while glancing once more at her bedroom window. He could definitely see a light on.

No matter how much she tossed and turned on the sofa in her living room, there was no turning back. No hiding in her sleep. She sat upright and she winced by the shooting pain she felt in her head. She pushed her hair back. After Terry left, everything became a blur. She remembers the tears and the sobs going on without restraint till her insides dried up, crawled from the floor onto the couch where she ended up falling asleep, wanting to wake up and all of what she had gone through to be just a nightmare.

She got up. She felt drained. Stared at her torn dress. She hadn't even changed. She felt a spasm in her stomach when the images flashed in her mind, being pressed against the wall by him. His eyes keeping hers captive. His mouth, kissing her. His fingers on her skin. Anger, hurt in everything he did, every move, every word.

Had she brought all that?

She was tired even to think. The knocking at the door stopped her going circles in her mind.

"I'm coming." She said. She picked up a robe from her bedroom and rushed towards the door.