OK
SO here is the first chapter of the final part of Written in the Stars. Its complied from notes and random scribbling that my sister left me to use. It may be crap, because I am writing it, but please be kind, it was her baby, and I promised I would finish it for her. It will be in two parts, this one and the second, which will explain the first (if that makes any sense whatsoever!). I hope you like it.
Kuala Lumpur
The end, when it comes, is very quick. Armed, uniformed guards line the narrow corridor, and a priest stands silently, waiting to perform his grisly ritual. The sound of keys and muted commands echo down the hall, and at once, the two unblinking, impassive guards outside each cell stiffen in anticipation of the arrival of senior officials. A faint sobbing is heard from one of the cells, but no one in the corridor shows any signs of emotion. The footsteps, faint at first, echo thinly in the hot oppressive air. No windows are open, and the air conditioning is struggling to cope with the sudden increase in the population of this cement block.
Inside a minute, the place is all activity. The small crocodile of officials, silent and emotionless, pauses outside one of the cells. A sharp command, and the two guards positioned outside march in and there is rustling and the sound of leather and metal clips. In ten seconds, they emerge from the firs room, between them is a thin man in his 30's with a fair wispy beard, blue eyes wide and afraid, but mouth set in a grim determined line.
Another command,and the second two guards carry out the same task. This time there are weak protests from the prisoner, and sobbing. No matter, fifteen seconds later, the trio emerge as the others did. The prisoners hands are tied behind their backs with thick bands of leather, fastened with sturdy metal belt clips. Their feet, already manacled with cuffs and two feet of tungsten chain, rattle slightly as they stumble between their captors.
Another staccato burst of Malay, and the crocodile begins to retrace its steps down the hallway. The second prisoner is still sobbing, and the words "No" and "Please ...stop" are heard through the tears and choking sounds. This captive is a bigger man than the other, grown fat with inactivity and pale from lack of sunlight. The officials ignore his increasingly frantic pleas, and propel him steadily towards a set of double doors, half way along the corridor
As they reach the doors, the bigger man catches sight of what is inside and begins to wail in a thin desperate voice.
"N...no. Please, this is wrong. Tell them Johnny, tell them this is a mistake. They can't... they can't"
The other man regards his companion with thinly veiled contempt and growls at him.
"Be a fucking man, Cook, for once in your life. Don't let these slant eyed fucks have the satisfaction of seeing you break"
He turns his head away as the other man continues to plead, snot running down his nose as he loses all control. His voice is the only sound in the entire block until the head of the prison fixes both men with a icy glare and recites something from a thick piece of paper with an official stamp on the top. It takes a minute or two and neither prisoner acknowledge what is to them, an unintelligible stream of Malay.
Finished, in a brisk way, he folds the paper and returns it to his pocket. The small, suited man then steps back and another two men step forward. Both in black one piece uniforms, with identikit faces, jet black hair and impassive oriental features. They issue a terse order together, and the four guards holding the arms of the prisoners urge them forward into the room. A plain room, painted institutional green. No window in the high walls, just a thick rolled steel joist across the ceiling about ten feet up, hanging from which are two thick hemp ropes, with a thin leather covering surrounding the nooses below.
Again the bigger man begins to plead, but he is ignored as before. They are placed on the trap door below the ropes, and the priest steps forward.
"Do you wish to make confession?" he says quietly, but the smaller man just regards him with an amused stare and doesn't answer. Realising he is wasting his time, the priest steps towards the other, younger man. He repeats his question.
"Do you wish to make confession, or say anything, my son?" he says kindly.
The younger man gulps down some spit and starts to talk really quickly.
"Stop them doing this Father" he pleads "It's a mistake. We were set up by that bitches brother Tony. I only came over here to help Johnny. I don't want to die, please...please help me!"
The priest shakes his head slowly at the pointlessness of carrying on with his ministry and steps away, murmuring the last rites, despite the ignorance of his charges.
Another quick fire burst of Malay and most of the people crowding the doorway are cleared away. The doors clang shut and the prisoners stand on the trap door silently. There is just enough room for them and the two narrow planks which bestride the closed trap. Their reason for being there will soon become apparent.
The two men in black step forward again and slip thin white hoods and then the nooses over the men's heads, tightening them under the left sides of their jaws and ignoring their frantic breathing. They step back and nod briefly to the senior official. He takes one last look around the room and raises one eyebrow to the priest, who stops his murmuring and crosses himself.
"May God have mercy on your poor souls" he says sadly and turns his head away from them as they stand alive for the last time on this earth.
There is brief silence as even the terrified Cook stops crying. Everyone in the room now knows that the time for pleas and hope are over for ever.
There is a quick glance at the clock from the two men in black, and as it clicks onto 9 am, then they spring forward as one. A pin is removed from the levers at each end of the scaffold, and the men place themselves on the cross planks. They pull in unison and the doors to the trap spring open, hitting the sides of the hole with a crashing thump. Instantly the prisoners are propelled downwards, the rope above them straightening with an audible crack as the rope reaches its limit. The rope quivers for a second or two, creaking gently at the load, but no other sound is heard until the warden nods in satisfaction and turns to his assistant and gives him a tight smile.
The only other man in the room, apart from the participants steps forward and shakes the wardens hand.
"Nasty business, sir" he says in an educated English voice "I will inform their families, of course. But thank you for being so... efficient with this" he waves his hand at the slowly spinning ropes "Unfortunate necessity. But drug traffickers know what's at stake here, don't they?"
He is answered with a curt nod and small bow, which he returns. The British Vice Consul then leaves quickly, as the double doors are opened and the dead men are left to hang for the next hour. A ritual totally unnecessary, given the efficiency of the hangmen, but still observed since Colonial days.
In just under an hour, the two prisoners families are advised that the sentence of the court has been carried out, and that these two English drug traffickers will be going home in coffins to them.
Back in Bristol...
Effy puts the phone down and turns to Katie, who is staring wide eyed at her girlfriend. She nods at her and then comes over to give her a hug of comfort.
"They're gone Katie" she whispers in her ear "You need to speak to Emily now. Cooks confession is with the Consul, and the Home Office will be receiving a copy of it by email this afternoon. She needs to talk to Naomi"
"It's really over Eff?" Katie says in wonder "Naomi can come home to Emily, and we can start our lives over again?"
"Yeah" Effy nods, pulling back to look at her girlfriend "The nightmare is really over, for all of us. I'd better give Tony a call to thank him. Coffee?"
Katie smiles and squeezes Effy hand before leaving the other girl and walking quickly into the kitchen. She sighed as the kettle boiled. It was over...finally.
She picked up her mobile as she waited for the kettle, thumbing a text rapidly
"Ems" it said "Effy says it's done. Naomi's brief needs to contact the Home Office right away. Looks like its lezzers at large all round, bitch!"
A few miles away, Emily Fitch frowned as her mobile buzzed its warning. She had just finished her rounds, and was hoping to get a coffee before the next meeting. She pulled it from her suit pocket and opened the text. After she had read it, she allowed her face to break into the biggest happiest smile she had given herself for months and turned back from her door. Walking quickly along to the library, she opened the door and regarded her secret girlfriend fondly as she reached up to put some books back on the top shelf.
"Be with you in a minute" Naomi said in a cheerful voice
"You'll be with me a lot longer than that babe" Emily said, causing an instant start and the descent of the reluctant fat volume down onto Naomi's toe
"Jesus Ems" she spat "What the actual fuck...that hurt?"
"You're going home baby" Emily laughed, unable to keep her good mood inside a second longer "Cook's confession is on its way to the Home Office and you'll need a private phone call to your solicitor. I have a feeling life is going to get a whole lot more interesting over the next day or so"
Naomi forgot her throbbing toe and enveloped her Wing Governor in a suffocating hug.
"Really?" She smiled "They're really gonna let me go home?"
"Home to me, honey" Emily laughed "We have a lot of time to make up for"
Naomi smirked at the obvious intent of that sentence and cheekily squeezed Emily's bottom with both hands
"I don't know what you mean Miss" she dead panned "You wouldn't take advantage of one of your inmates, would you?"
"Several times a night, and twice on Sundays" Emily giggled. "You have no idea how much energy this petite frame contains"
"I have a rough idea" Naomi grinned "How about you start right now..."
Thats the first one guys. The second one will be longer, and give all the events that lead up to this some actual meaning. Sorry if its a bit arse about face, but that's how Nancy wanted it...and its her story after all.
Reviews? (remember its her you're reviewing, not my sorry arse!" Ha ha ha