Chapter 13: Till Death Do Us Part

As humans, we are the most unique creatures on the planet. In our wedding vows, we forsake all others and promise to stay with each other forever. 'Till Death Do Us Part'. Lobsters mate for life, but as humans, we do not keep this vow. It is rarely death that is the cause of separation. Affairs, secret spouses or even addictions pressure us into divorce. Appleby Street was full of unhappy marriages, but nobody dared to break that sacred vow, in a vain hope to keep their marriage alive...

Florence's marriage was one of those rare occasions when death was the cause of separation. However, in her unique case, it was her who had killed her husband.

Florence stood in the kitchen, horrified. Her recently deceased husband, who had been buried under the oak tree in the garden, now lay in her kitchen covered in soil and dried blood. At first, she couldn't believe her eyes. Then, she remembered the bloody sheets and the words on her door.

"I know." said a voice, almost reading her mind. Bobby was stood behind his mum. Florence quickly snapped out of it, and went into survival mode.

"Honey, go phone 999. Your father has been murdered. I'll get him some clothes." she said, but stopped after seeing Bobby's young face so contorted with rage.

"You won't do anything if you know what's good for you." her son said. "I know you killed him." Florence stopped dead. What did he mean? Was this simply a dream?

"You killed my father" Bobby spat, fuming. He smacked her across the face, leaving a large red handprint imprinted on her face.

Florence was instantly reminded of Sam's violent behavior. "How dare you hit me!" she said, struggling to her feet.
"If I was you, I'd do exactly as I was told, or I might accidentally..." he produced the phone from behind his back. "...tell someone."

Florence paused. What else could she do?
"Good girl. Now, you're going to do just as I say..."

---

There was a gentle jingle as a customer entered the shop.
"Hello," Mrs. Johnson said her voice as melodic as the wind chime hung above the door.

"Hi, do you have any cornflakes?" asked the blonde-haired woman.
"Any particular brand, Mrs.?"
"Bourne. And how did you know I'm married?" Amy demanded.
"Your wedding ring, dear." Mrs. Johnson said. "Any particular brand?" she repeated.
"Just ordinary, please." Amy Bourne replied, some-how alarmed by this woman. She seemed so mystical and bizarre.

Mrs. Johnson fetched a box from the top shelf. "That'll be 90 pence, please." Melissa replied.
Amy handed the woman a pound coin.

"10 pence change. Thank you." Mrs. Johnson said.
"What's your name?" asked a quizzical Amy.
"Melissa. Melissa Johnson."

Amy frowned, trying to place that name. "Goodbye." Melissa bade her, as she left the shop with a gentle tinkle of the wind chime.

"That one's dangerous." said Sean, emerging from the back of the store.

"Indeed." Melissa replied, sighing deeply. "How troubled she is. And yet, so young."

---

Ellie sat in the Living Room, opposite her Aunt. "You appear in good health."

"I am." Maria replied shortly.
"I hope your travel was comfortable." Ellie mumbled.
"It was." Maria replied.
"Do you...?" Ellie wondered where to begin. Up until today, she'd believed the woman to be dead. It was very scary. Ben returned with two steaming mugs of tea, one for his wife, and one for Maria.

"Here you go," he said, politely.

"Let's cut the chit-chat." Maria said briskly, sipping her tea then putting it down. "You two are feeling guilty, are you not?"
"What do you mean?" Ben wondered, looking coldly at the woman.
"Let's see. To start, you tried to kill me."

"You're still breathing, aren't you?" Ellie sniped.

"After your attack, it's a wonder." Maria replied. Ben looked amused. This woman was an older version of his wife, no doubt.
"I'd hardly call it an attack." Ellie said, looking cool and in control. However, her hand holding her tea was shaking so much, that she had to put the cup down.

"You tried to bludgeon me with a candlestick." Maria snapped.
"You were threatening our family." Ben said, standing up for his wife.

"I knew something that no one else did, and that was reason for attempted murder?" Maria said, looking furious.
"You were talking lies!" Ellie said, standing up.
"No I wasn't! Because Charlie is not your son!" Maria screamed smashing her fist against the table.

"What are you on about?" Ben asked, as Ellie sank into the sofa, shivering.

"Ellie has a little dirty secret, which nobody else knows." Maria said, smiling evilly. "Charlie isn't your son, Ben. Didn't you notice that she didn't want you with her when she gave birth?"

Ben hesitated. She was right.
"Ellie's sister, Tanya, died in childbirth. Giving birth to her son." Maria continued, her pupils becoming tiny. "The baby that Ellie stole."
"Get out!" Ellie screamed.
Maria obliged, putting her tea down and pulling on her jacket, slowly. "Get out of my house!" Ellie shrieked, and Maria left, quickly. Ellie sank against the wall, sobbing gently.

---

Emily sat in her conservatory, rocking back and forth on a chair that had belonged to her grandmother. Her conservatory had been used very little for lounging in the sun. Piled high and covered in vast amounts of dust, it was more of a storage room than anything else.

In one corner, she'd rescued all of little Jay's baby stuff. Cribs, playthings, and much more. She'd even found his favourite blanket, which her blonde-haired son had quickly wrapped himself up in.

Rocking back and forth, this was a perfect chance to relax, and reflect. She'd never had a proper marriage. How could she play the doting wife and mother, if she had been used to being doted upon?

Dylan walked into the room, and Emily signaled to him that Jay was asleep. Nodding, Dylan took Jay from her arms, and put him in the crib.

"He's a bit big for that" Emily said, quietly.

"Yeah..." Dylan replied. "I guess he is."
"Dylan...I'm sorry I left you." Emily said, bowing her head. She could feel real tears stinging her face.

"It's O.K." Dylan said, soothingly.

"I'm a horrible mother" Emily sobbed quietly.

"No you're not. We're going to start over. And this time, you'll be great."

---

Matthew and Amy looked around the dusty room that was called an office. They were here to see a divorce lawyer, along with Charlene and Andrew.

Mr. Trevor Edwards had been a divorce lawyer for fourteen years. He had a prominent grey moustache, with small, beady, blue eyes and very little hair. He wore a dusty brown suit, which made him look a lot older but he was only in his fifty's. He'd granted many strange divorces, but he would about to learn that his job wasn't so easy.

"Matthew Bourne, Amy Hunt, you are here to request a divorce, on what grounds?"

"He's seeing some floozy!" Amy said, glaring at Charlene.
"What a load of tripe. He left you because you're a pathetic woman with no ambition." The other woman sniped.

"I can tell this is going to take some time." He mumbled. "Barbara, cancel all my other appointments today."

"Yes Sir" Came the crackly response of his assistant over the intercom.

---

Brad sat in the moth-eaten armchair, hidden in the darkness of the study. The study was a small, square room, plastered with photos, which held a computer, a bookcase and a desk in the corner. Brad looked through the photo album, which he held tightly, wondering what had happened to his little girl. Then, he remembered the fire…

Kissing her on the forehead, Brad bade his little girl Sophie goodnight, before retiring to bed with his wife Terri. However, in Addams Close, nobody ever used his or her real name. It was a street known for vandalism and thieves. Brad had promised his wife that, one day, they would live on Appleby Street. Appleby Street was the ideal street. "One day…" he told her, as the two drifted off to sleep.

The smell of filthy smoke woke Brad that night. Raising a hand to his sweaty brow, he tried to wake himself up. When he saw the grey smoke seeping under the door, he leapt from under the sheets. Terri stirred. "What's wrong Brad?" she mumbled.
"The House is on fire!" he said, and Terri sat up.

"Get a jacket, and some clothes. I'm going to get the children," said Brad, pulling a white shirt and a pair of jogging bottoms on, before leaving the room.

The whole of the bottom floor was ablaze. Brad saw the blackened walls, and knew there would be no way down. They would have to jump. The House shook. Brad swore. The supports for the first floor were weakening. Gathering his thoughts, Brad rammed open his son's door. "Stewart! Get up!" he coughed, the smoke now entering his lungs. "Put on a jacket and come on!" he said, shaking his drowsy son.

Leaving the room quickly, he felt the house give another lurch. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Terri guiding Stewart to their bedroom, where a large window, leading out onto the Kitchen roof, would be their escape route.

Brad pushed the door open into his daughter's room. Already there was a ghostly woman, covered by smoke. "Take Mary, I'm getting Sophie ready!" she told then. Brad nodded as his youngest daughter coughed loudly. His little girl had green eyes, and blonde hair. It was the last Brad ever saw of her.

He took his daughter onto the landing, when the floorboards began to snap. Looking down, he saw a large hole through which the flames were rising from, their ghostly shadows licking at Brad. He took a breath, picking up his oldest daughter, Mary. He exhaled, and then flung himself across the gap, landing uncertainly on the other side. Gaining his balance, he ran into his bedroom, where Terri and Stewart had already escaped through the large window.


"Pass her to me," Terri said, and Brad lowered Mary down to his wife.
"Where's Sophie?" asked Stewart. Brad swore again, turning around to go back and fetch her. As his eyes watered from the smoke filled room, he saw the landing was ablaze. The smell of burning entered his nose, and heard a loud crunch. The whole first floor was collapsing. He would never see his daughter again.


"Sophie!" he yelled, coughing. There was no reply. "Sophie!" he yelled again.
"Jump daddy!" cried Mary, and Brad heard another crunch. The floor beneath him was crumbling. He lowered himself out the window, landing on the kitchen roof. Then, the family climbed down into their garden, watching their home slowly burn down. The sirens wailed loudly in the distant but for Brad, it was too late. He had lost his little girl.

Brad shook himself, returning to the present. Nobody knew the exact reason, but within moments, the Wilkinson's house was ablaze. Police suspected vandals, but with no evidence, it remained a mystery. Brad hated himself for abandoning his daughter. Now, he would lose his wife, just as Sophie had vanished.

However, if Brad had listened a second longer before leaving, he would have heard a small cry. A cry could have prevented years of worry and heart break: A little girl calling for her father.

'Daddy!'

---

Terri lay in bed. She was weak, and crippled. This battle of life and death was weakening her. Nobody knew the murderer.

What could she do? In her position, there was very little.

Brad had not visited, and Terri suspected there were greater callings for husband. Her children were safe, she could tell, but as for Sophie's well being, Terri was unsure.

It had been years since the fire, but nobody knew the fate of her little girl.

---

Several men in dark outfits climbed through a broken window into the Bourne residence. These men were 'friends' of Matt, and had only one requirement: the cocaine they'd sold to him.

Treading carefully, they searched the house, looking for the small bag. They'd found it tucked in his sock drawer, with a photo of his family. The lead man, a tall dark skinned man, with a black outfit on, pocketed the bag, and then tore apart the photo. Matt had better be careful what he did from now on.

These men were onto him.

Marriages were meant to last forever. As the human life flickers and eventually fades, so does a marriage. No one will ever truly understand a happy marriage. There can never be a perfect relationship. Humans will never attain enough purity. People may get close, but never shall there be perfection. There will forever be a light at the end of the tunnel, but who will protect the weak when the lights go out?