Chapter 74

Part 1

20th of July 1925 (Monday)

The time was past 1am in the morning.

A spear of bright silver light stretched over the calm dark waters of the bay. Most people were fast asleep in Castlebay by that time. All but police officer Michael MacRae who despite the late of the night, and having the advantage of the full moon, walked with a steady quick pace, like a boat sailing through the nocturnal stillness in the dark quiet roads of the town. There weren't any gas lamp posts there, like the ones lighting close to the harbour. He did not pay any particular attention though. He knew the streets like the back of his hand. And he was in a hurry. A big hurry. The graveyard shift had officially started at Castlebay Police station. The Chief of Police was waiting for him. In fact, the whole police force of the island was on alert, since that morning.

That particular Sunday was not what they -at the police station- had been used to consider, as a "usual" Sunday. Officer MacRae failed to remember any other day being even remotely similar, on all the years he had been part of the police force on the isle of Barra. Having someone on the island, on the trail of a couple from London, on orders of a famous gang leader, while the police had to wait for him to "act" following their orders directly from Scotland Yard, none other... certainly this case hadn't been anything but "usual".

They all had got the phone call from their Chief of Police, Constable James Barrach, early in the morning. Everyone had to assemble at the station, he had something important to announce.

So here he was in the middle of the night. Coming back-

-Correction-

Running back-

To the station, where he was heading, to report the "act" everyone had been waiting for. He was the "lucky" one. The thread of his luck had started earlier inside Duncan's pub, when he saw and spoke to the lad from London, Terence Graham.

After having been briefed by their Chief of Police, officer MacRae who under normal circumstances would have been off duty, had spent the entire day being on edge. Being on alert with the possibility of catching something or somebody that was suspicious, out of place, blinking like the red light of the lighthouse at the edge of the harbour.

After having wandered about, on civilian clothes -

(that was directive given by the Scotland Yard officer, Detective Constable Robert Shaw, not to wear the uniform while on duty that day)

he had ended up in the pub.

Not to raise the brow of his fellow islanders, even if he knew the rules of staying dry during duty, he ordered half a pint and nursed it for as long as he could while he observed everyone else. The person who had drawn his interest was the tall man who was sitting at the end of the bar, drinking alone.

What was, that actually made officer MacRae to take notice of him, was that he hadn't the look of a man who had stopped by for a few drinks before heading home. Instead he was sitting there, staring at the bottom of his glass with his shoulders hunched, and a lot of load on them by the sight of him. The police officer tried to strike a conversation with him. The man wasn't rude, he wasn't a talker either. He shared some information however, and its nature was such, the officer had to take leave. He headed to the police station, greeted his two colleagues at the front desks and walked straight to the Chief's office.

"Sir, about us 'aving r' eyes peeled... with the couple from London.."

"What about them?"

"Well, Sir... there was this lad getting royally pissed at Duncan's pub. I happened to be there and I tried to talk to him a little. He's the Londoner, Sir. Terence Graham, his name."

The mention of Terry's name had been enough for Chief Barrach to prompt him to stand up. He closed the distance between him and his officer. "And the woman? Was there a woman with him?"

"There was no woman sitting by him, Sir, no."

Who would have thought that officer MacRae would have ended up witnessing what looked like an abduction outside the Burns cottage, while he had been sent immediately by his boss once he had told him of his little encounter with Terrence Graham, on a fairly tricky surveillance task:

To see and not be seen - Strict Orders of the Highest Importance.

He had driven as fast as he could, without turning the headlights on. His wife would have given him a well-deserved bollocking for his daredevil behaviour and she would have all the good reasons for it. But time had been of the essence. Not that he knew what would have taken place, but there was a hunch he had and could not shake, once he saw Terry at the pub, alone.

Others could also have seen him there...

He went past the cottage, while having noticed the lights were on. He did not stop but kept going on the main road till there was a turn that marked the beginning of Traigh Mhòr, the very long stretch of sandy beach which was also used as the Barra Airstrip. He drove another hundred meters or so, once he had taken the turn, and then stopped. He then returned back to the cottage on foot.

It was a night straight out of a painter's canvas. The sea, the skies, the land, all his surroundings were various shades of blue. He had found a spot behind a big enough rock for him to hide, while he took the binoculars out. The moment he saw the man enter...

Dragging the poor girl out...

He cursed his Chief, the bloody detective from London and the orders he had to follow.

He would never forget that helpless feeling, to be told only to watch the "act" without doing anything. When he heard the engine start, it was like a sprinter's gun shot. Office MacRae sprang into action. Came out of his hiding, run back to the car. Counted up to ten, hoping to God the man would not disappear into thin air, but he had to give him enough time to drive away, so that he could follow him in relative safety.

Headlights off.

His eyes were glued to that moving large dot in front of him. He drove as silently as possible, which was a fine act between turning himself visible and hiding behind the cloak of the fine summer night, under the shine of the full moon.

Like in most Hebridean islands, trees were pretty much scarce in Barra. The ocean gales blew so strong over the land, they pretty much had flattened the ground over time. Sure, it had been pretty challenging for officer MacRae to keep himself hidden from view, but the same could be said for the abductor. Even from a long distance, he was visible. They had reached Castlebay. The houses on the village weren't concentrated in one spot. The village spread over the slope of the biggest peak in Barra, overlooking the bay, Heaval hill. The slope ended at the bay which served as the natural harbour for the fishing boats and the commercial boats that came from Oban.

The abductor's car did not head towards the harbour area but rather towards the high end of the slope, where the houses became scarcer and far away from each other. With the moon looking over the bay, the police officer had to stop. He took out the binoculars, in an attempt to follow the car from afar. There weren't that many houses left towards where he was heading.

And then, he realised. The house of Jim Duffy. That was where he headed with the girl. The house had been empty for some time. Jim, its owner, had been of ill health. His daughter had taken him to Glasgow where she lived with her husband and children, just so to be near the doctors he had said. How did that stranger know and was staying there, it seems... That was definitely where they were heading. Officer MacRae put all the rest of his thoughts aside. He would have time to find out whether Jim knew or not.

The police officer left his car and approached on foot, but from a distance. Saw them come out the car. The girl didn't seem to struggle like she did back at the cottage. They went inside. For a moment, Michael thought of breaking in, but if something went wrong... No this wasn't a decision he could make, just to play the hero.

So he came down the slope on foot and had started running when he was among a denser part of the village. By the time it was already 1am, he was nearing the Police Station.

Sarah Burns and her husband were sleeping the sleep of the just when, a frantic knock rattled the front door of their house. Unlike her better half who remained undisturbed by whomever was knocking in such way that threatened to bring the door down, Sarah being a light sleeper herself, jumped upright in an instant. With one foot already out the bed, she shook her husband.

A second round of knocking followed. Same as its predecessor.

Urgent.

Ignoring completely the late of the hour.

"Mrs. Burns, please open up." Terry's voice sounded hoarse, rough.

Desperate.

Her eyes lit up. Shook her husband a second time, managing to wake him up.

"It's our English tenant, husband."

"What does he want?" He asked a question which prompted his wife to shrug her shoulders in ignorance. Of course she did not know and he was annoyed. It was after all one hour past midnight. They both threw their robes on and came down the stairs. Mr. Burns a couple of steps ahead, with Sarah following steadfast behind him.

When they opened the door, Terry stood there with a glint in his eyes that made Sarah's heart leap inside her chest.

"Is there something the matter Mr... ?"

Terry did not wait for the man to finish his question. "I apologise for the late Mr. Burns-"

He looked past the husband, locked his stare on Sarah behind him who approached closer, having realised something must had been terribly wrong, even before Terry asked them.

"Is my wife here by any chance? Has she contacted you at all during the evening?" He asked straight away without dressing his worry with a lot of words and explanations.

Mr. Burns having heard Terry's question, opened his mouth but remained lost for words; the fact that he had woken up abruptly only a mere five minutes ago not taken into account. Sarah pulled her robe tight on her body, having understood more than her husband. While Terry looked straight at Mrs. Burns, waiting for an answer, he followed suit and turned to look at his wife too.

"Mr. Graham, I-am-very-sorry, but your wife is not here; nor have we heard from her since the wedding reception last night..." She said, having stopped right next to her husband, who was listening to her with the same attention as Terry did.

Terry did not add anything in return. In fact, the voice in his mind already had told him;

it was a waste of time visiting the Burns but when he left their house, in an absolute state of meltdown, with the pub lord driving him back to Castlebay, the old man had asked him at the time, if he had any idea of where perhaps his wife could be.

Terry already had been too distracted; feeling the jagged edges of the porcelain piece inside his hand, having closed it tight, tight enough for the porcelain to dig hard against his skin, he had only said:

"The Burns."

It was a far off chance Candy would be there though. He knew it, but he had to eliminate every possible option before he turned to the police, which he had no idea where it was, or whether there was anyone policing this remote island. Certainly for the time they were there, he had not caught the sight of anyone dressed in police clothes...

Even if the hope had been small, and the anticipation of hearing what he didn't want to hear, high, it still hit him hard. Terry's face darkened. He dropped his eyes down, pressed his lips, his jaw tightened. Hell would have been easier to handle, but he had to keep it together. He hadn't the luxury of allowing himself to have a breakdown.

It was after all his impulsive behaviour which had led them to that point...

"Well, thank you both. I apologise for waking you up." Terry said, the tone of his voice so low, it was barely heard by the dumbfounded couple who stood at their door.

Without saying anything else, he turned his back and started walking to the car where the owner of the Castle was waiting for him. Terry felt guilty for dragging the old man in the middle of the night for something he had no involvement whatsoever. He thought to send him on his way too, once he had asked him of directions to the police station of the island.

The Burns looked at Terry walking away. Sarah glanced at her husband. "We should help the poor lad, husband. Whatever happened, it happened in our property, and we should also know what happened." She told him.

He looked at her, nodding in agreement. "I can get dressed and go with him, if you don't mind. You only have a few hours of sleep till you leave with the Fifie* (*Scottish fishing boat)

Mr. Burns already knew his wife had made up her mind about finding what could have taken place at their beach house. Even before saying "You are right, wife", he heard her calling their tenant.

Terry stopped midpoint from reaching the car and turned back to see Mrs Burns rushing towards him. "Mr. Graham, please allow me five minutes to get dressed. Let me help you with your search."

Terry opened his mouth, ready to say something. There was no need to involve more people to what it was a personal matter. He never learned, never had allowed anyone to help him. Even with Candy, in the past, despite having realised later the importance of her help when she opened up the long road of reconciliation between him and his mother, he had thanked her in the end but had also accused her of meddling in his life when it was not in her place to do so. That was a lifetime ago, and wounds were still open. Terry prided himself for having moved forward and yet, he really had issues of letting others help him.

Mrs. Burns did not wait for him to say something. Already she was back on her way to the house. Terry walked back to the car, informed the old man, Mrs. Burns was to join them.

"I really did not want either of you to bother..." Terry said. "If you were to point me to the direction of the police station-"

"Sometimes my lad, we need the help of others, you know." The man said before Terry finished what he was saying.

Terry's eyes fell square on the man's honest face. Yes, he could trust that man. As well as he could trust Sarah Burns. At that moment in Terry's life, a truth he had fought against for a very long time had started gaining meat in its bare bones.

Having no idea of how he would find Candy, not knowing...

Not knowing a lot of things he daren't even think, not even contemplate even the tiniest thought, whether Candy would be-

He just had to find her. This time, he simply could not do it on his own. He had to trust the help of others...

Duncan Sinclair, the "Castle" pub lord, who was still behind the wheel of his car, pulled over in front of the police station. On the road, not much had been said between himself, Sarah Burns and the young man at the back . Even when she asked Terry when it was he saw Rose last time, he just muttered "I have to find her."

Duncan looked at him coming out of the car. It was pretty obvious that the head of the young man and his body were not following one another. His movements were all mechanical and that glazed over stare on his face confessed to the man that Terry was almost at the brink of losing it completely.

"Here's the police station." Mrs Burns said.

Terry turned to face the pub lord. "Thank you for everything. You don't need to-"

"Nonsense, lad!"

The dry crisp sound of steps on the cobblestones was heard. A man was seen running towards them. All three fixed their eyes on the man's figure as he was approaching them fast. He may had his more than fair share of alcohol that night, but it was Terry who first recognised the man. He had spoken to him at the pub. He walked towards him with Duncan the pub lord just behind him while Sarah Burns was waiting at the entrance of the police station.

"I'll be damned." Duncan muttered before he raised his voice a bit. "What are you running for like that, Michael?"

Terry turned to look at the pub lord. "You know this man?"

"Michael? Yes! He's a police officer. Michael MacRae. He had been at the pub earlier. You two talked for a bit. Don't you remember?" Duncan turned to reply to Terry.

A lightbulb was turned on, inside Terry's mind, right after he heard who that man was. They had talked only briefly at the pub. At this late hour of the night, seeing the same man he'd spoken to before -and being a policeman at that- running full speed toward the Police Station, meant only one thing...

Officer MacRae stopped as if he had seen a ghost. He hadn't expected at all to see people in front of the Police Station and Terrence Graham being one of them.

"Mr. Graham!" He exclaimed without managing to refrain his surprise, which on hindsight he realised it had been a mistake to show his feelings so openly. The dangerous glimmer inside Terry's eyes was more than obvious when he grabbed the police officer by his jacket's lapels and pulled him towards him.

"Where is she?" He asked straight on. The tone in his voice wasn't leaving any doubt that he wouldn't hesitate to use force to get to the information he wanted.

Both Duncan and Sarah tried to calm Terry down who had gone deaf to any other voice apart the one coming from officer MacRae.

"You know, don't you?" He asked him again and shook him, having tightened his fists further.

Officer MacRae could have fought against Terry. At any moment now, his colleagues would come out to see what was the situation. And yet he did nothing. He had been held captive by those light coloured eyes which bore down to him as if they had swallowed the moon behind a temper that was as equal as the gale winds were when they blew over the island.

"Please..."

Then this word came straight from the lad's mouth... pleading. It has been so quiet, that it existed only between them. A secret, a lone man to the other, with his despair naked as a bone, and the hope so raw, it bled inside Terry's voice. Hoping the owner of the information would understand him...

Officer MacRae remembered the moment the girl was dragged to the car. How the critical held her by the waist, her feet kicking in the air. And he had done nothing to stop him. The orders were orders. He had to follow them.

There was no power on earth to hold this man down, the one that faced him right at that moment, waiting for an answer with a patience that was running out, as quick as trying to hold sand with your own two hands.

His eyes turned to Duncan. "They're up to Jim Duffy's place. The lone white house, high up on the slope."

He then turned back to Terry. "They're there for about an hour now." He said, while he calculated how much time it took him from the moment he saw the man parking the car, till it got him to descent the slope down and reach the police station on foot.

He felt straight away the release. Terry relaxed the grip on his jacket.

"Let's get the Chief of Police on board and we can all go together." Officer MacRae said to the group and they all headed towards the entrance of the Police station.

To the sound of the car's engine, they all turned back towards the road, looking startled.

"I have to find her." Terry shouted from behind the wheel. The tyres span on the cobblestones before he sped on the streets of Castlebay, hoping, only hoping Candy would be ok.

Jim Duffy's white washed cottage shone under the moonlight like a dove having taken refuge for the night up the slope of Heaval hill, higher than the rest, on a nest of verdant grass and blooming heather. It was impossible to miss it.

Terry gripped the wheel tighter. Changed the gears, pressed the pedal down. His eyes focused on the road, his gaze was bloodshot and wild. When he drove around the corner and reached the last house of the village, he stopped. He had to go the rest of the way on foot, if he wanted to reach the cottage where Candy was held, without being noticed.

He came out of the car. All the senses of his body were heightened. To walk straight up the hill, he couldn't do. There was nowhere for him to hide his ascent. He'd have to take a lateral path. He had to stay away from the view from the windows.

Tom Duffy had long been hanging with the wrong crowds, as his mother would shake her head in shame and admit it, because he had frequent run-ins with the police and he never seemed to get his act together, despite the numerous ultimatums she had given him. She never understood him. He was going to be someone one day. People would stop and take notice when he spoke. They'd respect him, fear him. It was only a matter of time for the right opportunity to show up.

One night, the previous week, such an opportunity had showed up, found him in one of them pubs at the Clyde waterfront. Those well-dodgy places where a lot of shady deals are struck. There was that man, stuck out like a sore thumb the moment he opened his mouth to order a pint. For he had an East End London accent. English bastard. He drew a lot of dark stares from the punters around him.

Being more intrigued than annoyed, Tom sat by his side. The two men got talking. Little by little, both realised their good fortune brought them together on that dark lit pub. The man from London had come on orders of none other than the gang leader of the Elephant boys.

Glasgow had their own gangs of hardened, violent criminals. It was a city which had even a special kind of "smile" named after it. The Glasgow "smile". You'd see the scars on the faces of men. Carved with broken bottles, a line on each side of the face, following the curve of the lips. Some times, only a wrong stare was enough to get such a "smile" on one's face. Yes, Glasgow had its own impressive history of violence and crime but MacDonald and his Boys, their reputation had broken the borders of the London Boroughs and had travelled as far as cities like Glasgow too.

The man had come all the way up north, following a couple. Only that they had left for Barra and although, there was nothing stopping the man to go there, he recognised it was a small place and in such small places, strangers, specially coming from the south of the British isles... he was bound to make stares turn, tongues wagging.

Tom Duffy was not the brightest tool in the box but he was clever enough to realise when an opportunity showed up on his path. His grandad was a Barra man, born and bred but his mother had brought him to Glasgow. He'd been ill for quite some time. His liver was dying, according to the doctor. He'd been living with them and his cottage up on Barra was left closed. He could have gone there, find 'bout the couple, being the eyes of the Londoner while he stayed in Glasgow.

When he got the phone call from MacDonald himself, ordering him to catch the girl, at the first chance he got, he had not denied it. His belly became full with knots. He did not show it when he replied "Consider it done Mr. MacDonald."

He'd be awarded handsomely, of course. Perhaps, a placement in MacDonald's gang in London... or even he could position Thomas as Charlie's representative in Glasgow. Become his man up north. A valuable position, what with the booze smuggling. Whiskey, gin and the likes, all shipped to Prohibition US. The roads would open for him once he successfully brought the girl to the man in Glasgow.

And so it happened. He'd been there since Thursday evening. Had found the Burns cottage and kept an eye on everything that took place while he waited for further instructions. Saturday evening and while most of the Castlebay was on that wedding reception, he kept himself to himself at the "Castle". The phone call came...

He couldn't believe his luck when on Sunday, he saw that posh cunt drinking himself to the bottom of the glass, inside the pub. He had no idea what had transpired for him to be there, feeling sorry for himself - perhaps the girl realised what a twat he was, English fucking snob, didn't deserve to have that beauty for a wife.

Thomas had acquired a crush on the girl, even if it had been only for few days, that he had observed them. All the women he had known up till then, were those hookers he'd meet in quiet lanes, at the Clyde waterfront. He'd been with a few. Once they saw the money, they let him do whatever he wished with them. They were disgusting, that's what they were. But no decent woman would have turned to look at him. Once he'd get the power and the money, things would change.

This girl for example... he'd never met anyone who looked so innocent and sweet and at the same time, could turn the mind of a saint into that of a sinner, because he only saw her once and he...

God almighty! He had to push the carnal thoughts away. It didn't help watching her frolicking in such an open way with that bastard. But he had to keep a cool mind. He'd been there on a mission. If he managed to be successful with it, a lot of doors would open for him.

When they arrived in front of his uncle's cottage, he turned to her.

"You are not a bad person." Candy had told him.

He looked at those wide green eyes of hers. Marvelled at how big they were. How clear, honest they were. How they captured the light of the moon. He felt bewitched as if they were drawing him inside them.

"You can let me go..." She had whispered, taking advantage of his silence.

He had clicked his head sideways. Said nothing. Stretched his hand forward, reached her face.

She flinched backwards...

He paused. He pushed a curl back, tucked it behind her ear.

"Please... let me go."

Her move had broken the spell. Decided to handcuff her, despite her pleas that she'd be quiet and she wouldn't leave. He had brought her in the house. His uncle's place was modest. It had been enough for an old man. A small living room with a kitchenette area on the corner. A wood stove, a sink and a table. An armchair by the window. He put her to sit there but her presence was making him nervous as heck.

Those green eyes of hers... pierced through his soul. She tried to make small talk. Where was he from? He didn't look old. How old was he?

Twenty

Twenty three

Twenty five.

"There is time to make it right..."

"What is your name?"

He felt suffocated.

"Lass, one more word from you and I won't be as nice." He said to her.

He paced around the room. Pulling the curtain on the side, to look outside. All looked quiet. Within the silence, the distant sound of a car was heard. It was coming closer and closer. Till it stopped. Tom's ears were fixated to all kinds of noises made. Cricks, cracks, the song of a lone nightingale, the wind passing through every nook and cranny of that old cottage. If he managed to pass the night... the ferry was leaving early in the morning. He'd take the girl down to the harbour. One of the guys in the ferry, he'd be already bribed, he'd let them up with no questions asked.

Had he heard noise outside?

With the corner of his eye, he saw the girl, tensing on the armchair, hands tied in front of her. She had heard the noise too. Their stares met.

"HELP!" She shouted on top of her lungs.

He turned, surprised. Feeling betrayed. Had he treated her badly? Ungrateful bitch. Without thinking, he flung his arm up in the air, and the back of his hand hit her hard across her face. So hard, her head flung sideways, its back hit the wall with a thud. She fell forwards like a limp flower in a vase, having lost consciousness.

His eyes widened.

No, no, no... Don't die on me!

Stupid fuck, Tom!

He gritted through his teeth, in panic. He lifted her head up. Her eyes had rolled inside their sockets. Her nose was bleeding. He pulled his sleeve and wiped her nose up. Put a couple of fingers on her neck and leaned down in the hope to hear her breathing.

A pulse

A breath

He sighed with relief. Pulled from his jacket a small bottle with a dropper. It contained laudanum. A couple of drops the man had said, to calm her down, if she'd been anxious. He used three. He squeezed her cheeks together to force her mouth open while she was still out and gave her the liquid that would keep her out for the rest of the night. He had enough drama from this woman and he needed his wits about him, if he wanted to complete this job as he had said he could do it.

Terry was only a short distance away from the cottage when he heard Candy's cry for help. It froze the blood inside his veins. He had no time to waste. Harried his steps. Only when he reached a few strides away, before he put himself in plain view to the man who was inside the house, he stopped. Ruffled his hair, untucked half his shirt off, raised the collars of his shirt, unbuttoned a few buttons, rubbed dirt on it.

Then he started walking, dragging his feet on the earth.

For he was drunk...

Very drunk...

He wasn't Terry any longer.

He shouted in thick Scottish accent, his voice made to sound gruff, slurred for he had dipped his tongue into several glasses of whiskey through the night. Jim Duffy's pub friend, Graeme he was.

"Hey Jimmy!"

"Jimmy!"

Tom Duffy heard the man's voice. Had seen a dark figure walking unsteady, almost ready to fall down, approaching the cottage.

Who the fuck was that man?

He could not tell. Certainly wasn't anyone he recognised.

Terry fell heavy on the door. Started banging on it.

"What the fuck, Jimmy. Open up the door."

His grandson didn't respond but kept standing behind that door. He held the door handle. Whoever that stupid drunk was outside, he was starting to make a ruckus, loud enough to be heard to the houses further down.

"Aye! Ya bastard! Ye borrowed money from me. Ye think am daft and don't know what's goin' on? Ye hidin' ya bastard!"

Terry kicked the door.

"I'll get everyone up, Jimmy ye twat!"

That was it. Tom Duffy turned the door handle. He had to silence that old fool who was risking everything for him. He opened the door. His eyes fell on Terry's face. They expanded with sheer shock, realising.

"You-"

No more words came out of the mouth of the young delinquent. Terry fell on the man like a juggernaut. Took advantage of his surprise, the inaction from his part and he steamrolled him with significant ease.

It is true what they say-

In an all-or-nothing moment, when all your future or its lack thereof depends on whether to act or not, a decision that will shape everything in your life, a decision that carries the weight of the tallest mountain and the depth of the deepest ocean-

This is a moment, you feel blessed with supernatural abilities. In Terry's case, the man despite young, was of significant built; and even if in feet they were of the same height, in stones they were not. Terry had muscles. This man had bricks for said muscles instead. And yet, Terry pushed him back as if he was blowing a leaf.

He pushed him to the wall, following the path of the moon's light; like a knife's blade it crossed the room through the open door. From the corner of his eyes, Terry caught Candy's lifeless figure on the armchair. Her handcuffed hands. A huge chasm opened up in front of him. Blind rage in the middle of the night, an abyss that threatened to swallow him whole. The man in front of him disappeared. He wasn't a living person any longer. He was his fucking fate, for which his hate was absolute and complete.

Terry punched Tom Duffy's face with a few powerful, lethal jabs. The man had been caught so unprepared. He never had considered that sad, pathetic figure of a man, who was consuming at the pub the whiskeys with such a selfish thirst, alone, of posessing a strength so overwhelming and imposing, fed by the flames of vengeance, so much so that he had rendered Tom Duffy helpless and completely incapacitated, unable to defend himself while he tried to make sense of what happened. He realised he had acted without taking the Englishman's feelings for the girl into account. The girl who was lying unconscious just a few feet away. Tom Duffy realised that he would die if he wasn't going to act.

He pushed Terry back. "English cunt!" He mumbled and tasted the blood inside his mouth. He spat on the floor. His opponent may had surprised him and gave him a few punches that made him dazed for a few minutes but he had the last word. Pulled the gun from the back of his trousers where he had kept it tucked.

"Do you think I'm afraid of dying, you daft fuck?" Terry said back to him, with a voice sounding like it was dragged over gravel.

He did look unfazed to the image of the gun pointing at him, in such a way that unnerved Tom. His hand with which he held the gun started to tremble. Truth be told, he hadn't killed anyone yet, even if he always felt like he could do it. When faced with the real possibility however, it was a different kettle of fish altogether. Especially when his opponent looked as unhinged as the crazy bastard who stood in front of him. Challenging him with a stare equal to that of devil when he welcomes you to hell.

"So go on then." Terry shouted. "Fucking pull the trigger or else, you won't come out from this hole alive."

In the seconds that followed, while Tom tried to overcome his hesitation, a hesitation which had turned significant, given Terry's dare-the-devil stance, with the suicidal, crazed glint in his eyes, Terry's senses had been sharpened like a knife's edge. He grabbed Tom's hand by the wrist and pushed it back, away from pointing at him. Banged it hard against the wall, trying to loosen his grip on the gun. Tom passed his free arm around Terry's neck, grabbing him in a head lock. With Tom on Terry's back and his face close to his cheek, Terry felt his opponent's forced breath on his damp skin. Both men held on each other. They shuffled across the room, grunting, gritting their teeth in a power struggle.

Terry knew he hadn't much time. He felt his strength depleting fast. He had to unarm the man. With one last attempt, he knelt forward, took all the weight of the man on his back and flipped his body over him. Tom crashed with his back on the floor. The gun slid across the room. Terry didn't lose time. He pounced on the fallen man, punching him on the face. He would kill him.

He hadn't heard of the police arriving. Two more cars stopped in front of Jim Duffy's place. The police officers run inside. Pulled Terry away from Tom. Blood, sweat and saliva glistened on his beaten up face.

Terry broke away from the officer's grip and run towards Candy. He held her to his chest. He found it hard to breath, seeing her void of any life. He shouted her name, held her face between his hands. The blood from her nose had dried up on her cheek. He put his hand under her chin in a hurried move, pinched her neck, desperate, needing to feel a pulse. "Please Candy, don't leave me..." He whispered close to her, breathless, his eyes stinging from the tears that had started flooding them. "I love you... Freckles..."

Behind him, the officers managed to immobilise Tom. Passed the handcuffs to him. The Chief of police came in with a doctor. Walked towards the couple.

"Mr. Graham, please, let the doctor to have a look."

Terry reluctantly left her. "I think I felt a pulse, but I'm not certain." He said while feeling no oxygen left in his lungs, not much strength remained to hold him upright.

"She's not dead, Mr. Graham." The doctor said to Terry while he was checking Candy. He took from his bag a small bottle. Opened it and put it under her nostrils. The sharp ammonia smell made her flinch and let a weak groan.

The relief that washed over Terry's body when he saw Candy react to the smelling salts was so overwhelming that while oxygen run back inside his depleted lungs, his knees gave way; he knelt down the floor like a puppet with his strings cut. Without attempting to stop them, a stream of thick tears run down his face that was glimmering with sweat.

"Apparently her abductor knocked her unconscious and gave her laudanum to keep her out. We found the little bottle in one of his pockets."

6.30am in the morning

The darkness of this dramatic night - perhaps the most dramatic night in both their lives - had come to pass. It dissipated within the light of the new day.

Everything

Everything comes to pass

Even when it feels without end.

Both knew however, despite their time in Barra having ended, and with it a dream which had been born there and perhaps that too had died before given a chance to grow, but their ghost would remain for the rest of their lives.

Once Tom Duffy was arrested and brought to the Police Station, the Chief of the Police let the rest to go to their homes for the night. Of course he wanted to speak to Terry but they could do that on board of the Chieftain, the steam boat that would take them to Oban.

Mr. Duncan, the pub lord had driven the couple, together with the Doctor and Mrs. Burns back to their cottage. Terry could not have thanked those people enough for their generosity and help. He never had accepted help from anyone and yet, at the time when the events overwhelmed him, those people -like angels- showed up and had given him help without any questions asked.

Terry, Mrs. Burns and the doctor had stayed by Candy's side for the rest of the night, looking for any signs of a concussion. She had managed to come round and open her eyes around five thirty in the morning. A big bruise had started forming on the side of her face where the Duffy lad had hit her.

She would be ok to travel, the Doctor had assured Terry.

The boat trip would have taken no less than ten hours, so by the time they would have reached Oban, Candy would be fit to travel with the train back to London.

At the harbour, Candy could not contain her tears. The two women said their goodbyes. Mrs. Burns hugged Terry. The group of people who took care of them waved them good bye.

They boarded the boat. The same boat Tom Duffy boarded. He too was escorted by Chief PC James Barrach and a couple of police officers. Among them, PC Michael MacRae, who had been the one to lead Terry and the rest to Tom Duffy in the first place.

The boat cabin where Terry and Candy could rest for the duration of their journey was very modest. Two bunk beds, facing each other. A sink, a porthole window with an ocean view, a tight lavatory space. But it was enough. They did not need much. Especially after what they went through. To be alive and together, it was enough for the both of them. The thought of losing Candy made Terry sick in the stomach.

The signs from the struggle were evident on his face too. After his fight against Tom Duffy and the fright of having lost Candy, while waiting for her to open her eyes, no sleep came to him. He had smiled to her when she did come round. When she saw him, sitting on the chair next to the bed where she was... her eyes overflowed with tears. Her voice had been hoarse, her head heavy, throbbing pain at her temples. She tried to apologise...

"Shh..." He made a quiet sound and came close, touched her lips with his finger before feeling her forehead for the sign of a possible fever. But she had been cool. "No need to talk now, Freckles." He had said to her softly.

They came out at the deck, just in time to wave one last time to the people left behind. They pulled the anchor up and the boat started its journey. Billowing black smoke raised to the sky. They passed Kisimul Castle. Candy stared in silence at this face. At his sunken eyes, with the dark shadows round them. The light that shone in them while they sailed on board the Dreamer, was not there anymore. Her heart had broken in thousands of pieces. She remembered the porcelain vase she had tried to glue together. Her fight with Terry. His explosion of anger. The man chasing her. Her cry of help. The punch at the cottage. A chill unfurled up her spine.

She bowed her head. She was not feeling well. Like a tidal wave, the events that took place the previous day threatened to overwhelm her. Her muscles round her back and her waist tensed to the point of finding it painful to breath.

"Terry..." She said his name. He turned her way. "I need to go to the cabin." She started trembling. He noticed her discomfort.

"Something's wrong, Candy?"

The tone in his voice... He worried. Reality never felt as fragile as right there, at that moment between them.

"I feel tired. That is all. I need to lie down." She said back to him. "There is still laudanum in my blood."

"Of course." He said immediately. "Let's go back." He gave her his arm to hold. The moment she passed hers through, the memories after the wedding flashed in front of her eyes. When, under the stars, they had walked back to their cottage, feeling like the happiest people in the world. She stopped walking. Closed her eyes. He wouldn't know, but she had done that, just for a moment to keep that memory playing. She pushed the tears back. Opened her eyes.

"Thank you." She said to Terry.

He did not comment. They walked back to their cabin. He helped her undress down to her linen camisole. She lied down and he sat at the only chair that was inside the cabin.

"Won't you sleep a little?" She said to him.

He said he was ok, as he was.

"Don't feel you need to stay here, if you want to walk a little at the deck..."

He stared at her, making no attempt to turn his face away. Did she expect that after what happened, he'd leave her, or he'd want to leave her? The familiar sense of frustration arose inside him.

"I am ok where I am, Freckles." He said to her without adding anything more.

The moment she closed her eyes and was drifting away into a deep sleep, his stare darkened. Something told him that whatever had started yesterday with the discovery of the letter, Christian's identity, MacDonald's men having reached them on the isle of Barra... was not over.

They weren't out of the woods just yet. And that was just the backdrop on a decision he had to take that would affect the rest of their lives. But for now, he had to wait. Take time to think. He also had to meet with the Chief PC Barrach. As they boarded, the Chief of Police asked him for their cabin number.

Cabin No. 9

He'd knock soon enough to take him for questioning.

As for talking with Candy. He would leave her recuperate from last night's turmoil. The guilt... it was something that kept eating him inside. They had plenty of time to talk and reach a conclusion on their relationship while on the train back to London. Where he also would have to come face to face with Christian Blake. His twin brother.