It’s Joseph Culpepper’s fault

The rain drummed wildly on Harrison’s car roof. He cast a glance at the dashboard’s petrol gauge and blinked. It was showing red, emptier than a Politician's soul. He drummed his fingers lightly on the driving wheel. Scanned the mirror, then squinted through the car's front windshield. The next thing, his vehicle coughed, spluttered, and slowly slackened speed until the wheels rotated at a mere snail's pace, then stopped. Harrison growled a few blue Anglo-Saxon curses. An eruption of feelings, thoughts, and memories suddenly arose within him.

Pulling open the car door, he was only half out when met by a sharp foul wind whipping his head. He lifted his hand, unsuccessfully, to shield it from a sudden abrupt deluge of rain that trickled down the nape of his neck. The sky was crying and full of tears. Then, standing up with shoulders hunched, a gust of wind lifted his cap and blew it away to become lost in the purple-blackness. The wind made queer sobbing sounds. The deluge increased, becoming heavier, noisier, and more cinematic than a second-rate Hollywood movie.

Harrison’s hair was sopping wet, his face was soaked to the skin, and he felt like a drowning rat as he traipsed to the rear of his car and opened the boot, hoping his spare can of petrol was full. It was empty. At least he found there a heavy coat and some waterproof overshoes. The nightmarish blackness of the night hung over him, darkening his soul.

Poor Harrison, his red Rover car had already skidded twice when all at once the vehicle slithered and pirouetted across the road, ending at a standstill balanced just yards from the cliff edge and its fatal vertical drop. Any further slip would have plunged him into the wild churning seas, huge cascading fierce waves, and cruel death. He shuddered, gripped by fear and a sinking feeling. Harrison realised he was on an unknown, lonely road in the worst storm he had ever seen.

Thunder growled, a deep rumbling warning. Then, looking around through the falling downpour, he saw in the far distance, just about discernible, the outline of a building and a gleam of light, suggesting occupancy and shelter, he hoped, a light like a shining beacon.

He stood in the rain. A biblical deluge was beating down upon him, breathing deeply, sucking in, and expelling air in slow rhythmic cadences. Then he marched towards the light, with his spine straight, shoulders back, chin in; there was nothing to be done but go forward and battle through the gale towards human habitation.

The night was crying tears. A howling wind-driven rain pummelled him with fury as a melancholy descended over him. It was as if the night was weeping buckets of tears. His eyes widened as a vivid flash of lightning sparkled, and thunder rumbled a posthumous threat.

Harrison saw a track that followed the contours and ran downwards and around towards the light. Slithering and sliding along the uneven path, the torrential rainstorm had turned it into a surging stream, in places, a mire of wet, soggy, muddy bog, a quagmire.

Their body bent double fighting the threatening storm, and a sudden cloudburst beat down on his face, soaking his clothes. Three times, he slipped and tumbled, getting wetter and wetter; the second time, he fell to his knees, hitting his head sharply upon a stone. A few minutes later, he lost his footing and found himself sitting in a pool of water. His flesh prickled with icy cold. Arising, dripping, he felt a thin drool of blood at the side of his mouth and chin.

The sky was an ominous shade of raven black, and another brilliant bolt of lightning ended with a loud clap of thunder. Then, gradually, and cautiously, he made his way towards the light. Another sudden blast of wind knocked him sideways. Streaks of lightning played over the sky, vaguely whitening it up. In the semi-dimness, it revealed a gate dangling heavily on its hinges. Beyond that, a meandering trail appeared as if it led to the house. He halted in stillness, a quiet only broken by the intermittent reverberations of thunder.

Another crack of high-voltage lightning lit up the ground. The earth shuddered as thunder boomed. Harrison Clark cringed for a second, the noise reverberating in his ears. Then, through half-closed eyes, he saw a farmhouse, red-bricked, timber-framed, and old, 'probably Tudor ', thought Harrison. It had tallish brick chimneys with narrow shuttered windows. Beyond it, to the left, was a dilapidated-looking Dutch barn, empty.

The freezing wind swept over Harrison. It was a ferocious, ill-humoured gale, gaining in power all the time until it screamed over the house and beat like a fist against the walls of the Farmhouse. Bedraggled and wet, he reached the front entrance, where he stood shivering, running a hand across his face again, wiping away the rainwater dripping down from his drenched hair. Then, after a few minutes, the door opened.

A girl squinted at Harrison standing at the door. Then, her forehead creased, the girl burbled, “Oh my goodness…who are you?"

Harrison entered. She looked startled. Her eyes flashed, brows furrowing into one; she appeared uncomfortable, uncertain.

Harrison peered at her, at her cloud of auburn hair, which gathered around her face. He gave her a rueful smile. "I beg your pardon," he said, the corners of his mouth twisted.

The girl glanced at him squarely in the eyes, unblinking; her eyes were smoky grey and moved over Harrison's face. Harrison thought it was a good face with a kind of delicacy and fragility.

"I slipped…in the mud", he said, touching his unshaven cheek, "I couldn't see anything in this rain, im soaked right through to the skin. "With an unsure expression, he gazed at the girl with a hint of curiosity.

"My car, damn thing…ran out of petrol…I hope I'm not intruding". He gritted his teeth, "Can you give me shelter from the storm, please. "

"Of course. Please come in", Beth responded lazily; her eyes flashed open, and her lips twisted into a friendly half-smile.

The girl shuffled across towards the Welsh kitchen dresser, eyes downcast, fidgeting with a fraying hem. Then, leaning against the kitchen cupboard, she took out freshly laundered towels.

Sitting upon a wooden chair, Harrison unknotted his grey tie, untied his muddy, drenched shoes, and slipped off his saturated woollen socks. He stared, twisting and squeezing them, watching the water dripping water upon the kitchen floor. Beth peeped at him with a scrunched-up disapproving face.

The minutes passed, and only the ticking of a grandfather clock sliced through the funeral silence. Speechless for a long moment, she did nothing but stare at Harrison, who pulled away from her as he studied her face. He swallowed hard and glanced at her again. It occurred to him abruptly that her open demeanour was an act that perhaps masked her behaviour.

Then, the girl extracted a cigarette from its pack. Harrison supplied a light. She inhaled and exhaled; Beth's face was enclosed by a fog of smoke that soon parted, twirling up in coils towards the ceiling. Harrison stared into her smoky eyes. She flicked ash in an ashtray, then leant back and inhaled again, letting her breath out in soft sighs.

"I suppose we must wait here…out of this biblical storm", she said quietly, guardedly, "Until it abates."

Her mouth loosened into a relaxed smile, "It's a coincidence we have both", she said, giving him an honest, innocent look, her hair spilling and falling over her shoulders in soft curls, "Found sanctuary in this dry, empty house."

"Is it empty? "Responded Harrison, running a hand through his dripping wet hair.

"Uh-huh, oh, yes…quite empty," the girl replied, pensive for a moment.

"Are you quite sure, "Harrison asked, looking around the room and then back at the girl, "What's your name?" he said, gesturing with a hand.

"Beth, Beth Chester, "she murmured, stubbing out her cigarette and then massaging her neck. She got up and left the room, returning almost immediately. Harrison, l hot under the collar, admired her black stockinged legs leaving and returning.

She tilted her head and gave Harrison a sidelong look, a desperately worried look that Harrison thought slightly half-crazed. He shivered. The look made him feel uncomfortable.

"Beth," he said, bobbing his head, "What a lovely name…my name is Harrison…Harrison Clark". Then he reached out and shook Beth's hand.

A faint smile drifted across his face." Tell me, who are you?" Harrison asked, drumming the tips of his fingers together, "And why are you here?"

"I live in the village beyond, "Beth retorted," Over the hill…in the valley not far away down yonder…my father is the innkeeper …the Red Lion Inn, and I 'do" the houses.” she lit another cigarette, “You know, for second homers". Slowly, her hand fell to her side; she gave Harrison a look as if she were exhausted.

Yawning, "You know, "she said, toying with a lock of hair, "I keep em' clean and make sure nothing goes wrong …I sort of look after them…maintain them, you know the sort of thing". Her voice was low. There was a kind of delicacy, fragility, to her.    

Harrison Clark made a quick step towards the door. "Listen!" he cried, a flame burned abruptly in his eyes, "What was that?" The next minute, he slapped a hand over her mouth". That noise...it wasn't the storm; I think someone is upstairs".

Beth Chester outstretched a hand that began caressing her cheek and listened intently, but the only sounds that met her ears were just the beating of the rain against the windows and the wind whistling mournfully around the old house. "I hear nothing," she said.

Harrison sat down at the table. The next minute, he jumped up in alarm, "Shush," he cried. Harrison went quiet then croaked out of a parched throat," Who…what the hell was that?". He leant forward, gripped the arm of the chair, directing the full force of his eyes on Beth" Listen…listen", he said as his shoulders sagged.

"Er…mister, I don’t think it was anything," she touched his arm, and he glanced up, leaned forward in her, mouth gaped open, a hint of worry sat on her wrinkled brow, "These old houses creak, and groan have a way of creaking and groaning in a gale,"   Beth responded.

Stillness dropped between them, then Harrison said, "Perhaps," shadows covered half his face, "But I thought, "he resumed, "That somebody was moving about the house."

Harrison's eyes Swiftly became dark as he peered at her with a puzzled expression. "That noise came from the upstairs rooms," he muttered, then blinked twice, pressed each finger together, thumb to thumb, index to index and stared into the distance.

They stood quietly, both listening intently. "It was nothing," Beth said as she touched his arm again, "Just the wind sighing about the house," Suddenly, Beth Chester sprang to his feet, hearing a loud crashing noise emanating from the bedrooms above.

Their eyes met, but Beth broke it off. A nervous expression crisscrossed her face; she opened her mouth then hesitated, seeing Harrison's sour appearance.

"There is someone in this house," he barked, face hardened in concentration, "And I'm going to find out who…or what it is …you coming…Beth?"

The girl halted; briefly, her eyes scanned the room, then she moved across to the wall and switched on a low-voltage ceiling light. Harrison walked out of the kitchen into a hall. The girl followed and switched on a weakly powered ceiling light. On the right was a library. It had an air of cerebral activity and smelt of leather and whiskey. On the walls were abstract paintings and Levant rugs spread across the wooden floors. Left and right books were stacked floor to ceiling, and, at an angle, a mahogany desk and leather revolving chair were in the corner.

Beth halted briefly; her eyes scanned the room then she followed Harrison towards the staircase. He spun back" You are coming…let us investigate", he said, ascending the flight of stairs.

Eyes narrowed to slits, "I'm coming…I'm coming," she grumbled in an agitated tone.

Harrison answered, "Now let's see what," his brows bumped together, "Or who... made that noise?"

He turned away and then back in time to see her jaws snap together and a dark scowl cross her face, "Yes, okay...good," she responded in a tone that gave lie to her spoken words.

Harrison jogged up the stairs two at a time, arriving at the bedroom corridor landing there he hesitated and briefly peered at Beth. Minutes later, together, they entered a bedroom, it had a bare wooden floor, and against the far wall stood a made bed. The whole room had an air of poverty, old furniture, almost ancient. A tall boy stood in the corner looking forlorn. The windows shuttered uptight, although Harrison could feel a cold wind seeping through its various cracks.

He walked over to the bed and laid a palmed hand upon it, "It's cold, Beth," he said frantically, waving his arm. "Nothing here, this room looks as though it's not occupied for a thousand years," He stood stiff-legged and immobile, then said, "Let us try the room opposite."

A sullen, sorrowful graveyard quietness descended upon the Farmhouse, a thick, velvety silence only broken when Beth half twisted away and replied in a voice and tone oddly quirky, eyes dancing with suspicion. "I'll lead the way…let's look over there," she pointed with an outstretched arm, "In that room."

She was the first to reach the door of the opposite room. The room was dark. Beth pushed the door open and fumbled with the light switch. The next moment stepped inside and saw a man lying in bed, his head fallen forward, nestling upon his chest. She was standing stock-still. In horror, Beth gasped. She opened her mouth several times, but nothing came out, no word nor sounds.

"Look…blood", said Harrison, running a hand through his blonde fast, thinning hair. He reached out. His left hand felt the man's pulse, "He's dead," he said, his face a picture of despair. Clark touched the man's arm, patted his pockets, and, without any warning, The dead body slithered slowly to the floor, lying face down. It was then they saw the dagger sticking in his back. The death hung grimly over the place, enveloping it like a lethargic fog.

Harrison drew in a deep breath and put his hand in his pocket. Then, after a moment, he said, "He is pretty dead…who is he?".

Gazing in confusion, eyes thin and narrow, Beth's face turned white as a sheet, looking as if she'd not lost the strength to scream out.

Beth remained silent for what seemed like an eternity to Harrison, with her thin, frightened eyes darting all over the room.

Minutes later, she responded in a scared voice, twisting a lock of her hair. "But why on earth?"

There was another pause; she closed her eyes as if shutting out the world, then opened them again, dropping her hands to her sides.

Beth’s face creased as she turned to look Harrison in the face. "Good Lord, “Beth whispered, pursing her lips, “Why Harrison, why. “She waved a gesturing hand, “Good damn why? Oh, dear…Lord above."

Eyes dull and fearful, Harrison nodded his head lethargically.

"It's Joseph Culpepper," Beth Chester, her voice cracked, sounding dour, "What the devil has happened? What's this all about?". She smoothed a hair away from her face, "Wow…Joseph dead …how shocking ". Her eyes narrowed to slits, and her mouth knotted.

"Huh…I knew him well… too well, “Beth exclaimed, “I feel as though a cold hand has grasped my stomach and squeezed it hard",

Sucking in a deep breath, "Dead?" she said, then repeated", Dead".

After a few minutes, she lowered her head slightly, murmuring, "How dreadful…how appalling." Fright flared in her eyes, her features clustered together and pink drained from her face.

Bent over the corpse, Harrison ran his hands over the dead man's body and patted his pockets. Then, having found nothing, thin-lipped, blank, eyed, he took hold of the man’s body lying prone on the floor and rested it upon the bed.

Beth said in a pained, thin, delicate voice. 'What, what, why?" The next moment, she appeared hurt, as if bereaved, and Harrison saw panic flame all over her face.

Peering at Beth quizzically with lips clamped together firmly, Harrison loosened his collar. Stepped away and went silent.

A long hush followed. In silence, Harrison and Beth could only hear the driving rain unmercifully whipping the windows.

Harrison glanced at her; his eyes were wide with suspicion, studying her intently, "You look more horrified than surprised," he said. "We must phone the police, Beth" The corners of his mouth drooped wearily. "Beth, please."

"Can't'", she responded.

"Can't why, Beth," Harrison replied in a questioning tone.

"Why ...simple, sorry, but the telephone doesn't work",

She gazed away from Harrison, then shifted her attention back to face him, "I imagine the storm has brought down the telephone wires, “her eyebrow twitched as if she were nervous. "It happens all the while, around here, when we have bad storms". Harrison clicked his teeth in annoyance.

"Who is Joseph Culpepper, " Harrison asked, his face lined and tired.

The next minute, he threw his arms up, "God…oh dear God in heaven…I think the man's been killed horribly,” he said, drumming the tips of his fingers. "A wicked murder… is dead - murdered and somebody’s responsible.”

Harrison felt a sharp stab of fear tingle his spine. Sitting down, he rubbed his temple, then rumpled his hair with one hand. Scanning the room, he looked down at the floor with a vacant stare, then at the corpse.

 Beth, squinting, replied, throwing her hands in the air, “He’s a lecturer and author …he sorts of lives here …on and off…comes down here to edit his manuscripts…he inherited this place years ago…from his grandfather." She rubbed the side of his veined nose. " I saw him yesterday…told me he was going to London to see his Publisher."

Beth turned slowly, "He was furious, " she said with a look that was crazy and tortured with wide eyes and a gaping mouth". She flipped her chin with a curled index finger.

"He told me, she said, " she paused, lifted a finger, "He told me that he was expecting guests soon, and I was to put the house in order and make sure fresh linen and food was available." Then, she stopped, rubbed her hands together and sat down.

Harrison collapsed into the chair beside her." Did he say who he was expecting, “he asked, fingering his unshaven cheek. “Who were these, Guests? "

"Murdered, Harrison…why? " She whispered dismay in her tone. Eyes closed, speechless, after a few minutes, she tossed her head and petulantly paused, gazing at him with a suspicious stare. He walked away with one hand on his head, forehead ribbed.

Part Two

The hairs on Harrison's neck rose, feeling a whisper of a hazy wind, a soft, light-footed shoe shuffle, and an inopportune creak of the wooden floorboards from behind the other side of the bedroom door. He stole a look at Beth, noticing her Bambi-like brown eyes for the first time. Returning his glance, she put a hand on his sleeve and moved beside him.

Without warning, the door opened, and a man with a fearful look stepped in. He swayed side to side with a sailor's gait. Turning up his overcoat collar, Harrison glimpsed at the man, his worn-out shoes, and worn-out cuffs. His tough hands, thick fingers. The man’s nose was sharp and veined. His ears stuck out like car doors; he had a weathered look with a maze of hairline wrinkles; it was the look of a rightly cautious man...

He just stood there, tapping his nose. The girl just stood, staring, uncertain. She shot a quick glance at him. He gawped at her. She moistened her lips, tossing back a curl of hair away from her eyes. The man clicked on the light; the slowly glowing lamp hung above Harrison's head from the ceiling. It drew his eyes to it, and he squinted at the man, realising the man, whoever he was, looked troubled.

Frozen to the spot, stiff-legged and immobile, Harrison fought off the shock and kept a beady eye on the man as he traipsed in. The man’s clawing hands reached out towards Beth. She moved towards him, making a welcoming I want your motion; her face broke into a wide smile as she edged closer; the lovers met and embraced, hugging one another warmly and sharing passionate kisses. Beth Chester gazed into his eyes, feeling, and appearing proud, and stood alongside him, arm in arm.

"Who are you, "Harrison asked.

Breaking off from his cuddle, the man walked at a snail's pace. It was a ‘sailor’s walk,’ more of a rolling gait, a lumbering lurching swagger; his shoulders, head, and jaw were thrust forward at an angle as if braced against a wicked North Sea gale and braced by his legs slightly apart. Finally, the man stopped and stood in front of Harrison.

His nostrils quivered; as his eyes moved over Harrison, he leant forward and proffered a flask to Harrison with a casual wave. Harrison’s eyebrows rose a notch, and he declined the offer by waggling his head from one side to the other.

The man snorted, paced backwards, and stared at Harrison as if to size him up. A minute later, maybe more, time seemed to move sluggishly, "I could ask you the same question, " he murmured in a stern tone as he spun away, head down.

The next moment, he glared up at Harrison. Tensing the man's jaw protruded, tense shouldered, he flung an arm in the air growling, "My name is Rupert Rickerby, "he smiled, it was more of a smirk, "And who are you", he declared with a hint of curiosity.

Rickerby gaped at Beth, opened his mouth, and closed it again. Then, he covertly signalled her with his hand; he grabbed Harrison's shoulders with a sudden flurry of movement.

With an alarmed, fearful expression across his features, Harrison jumped up in alarm as Rupert’s large, weathered hands pushed him powerfully downwards. The next moment he writhed, slipped, then fell back as he struggled to slip out of Rupert's grip. The struggle didn't last long. Straightaway, Beth, his accomplice, slipped a wooden chair from behind as Rupert levered him harshly upon a seat. Beth twisted his arms back and tied a rope roughly about his wrists; bending down, she kneeled on the carpeted floor, tethering his ankles, nice and tight.

Tied up, slouching, trussed in his chair, Harrison studied Rupert's rough scar-seared face just a few inches away, "Do you think this necessary?" he declared in a tone he hoped sounded Cary Grant cool, “Rupert, old bean…I think you owe me an explanation ".

A flicker of pain rained up and down his arms as he desperately, furtively, curled and uncurled his fingers, striving to tease apart the rope's taut twisted strands.

"I assume you've got something", Harrison eyed him suspiciously, "something to do with that dead man, "he shook his head, "The dead man over there!"

Wide-eyed with apprehension, Rickerby stepped back and spun to glance at the corpse and proceeded to stare for a while, soundlessly opening and closing his mouth, saying nothing. Then, finally, he swivelled away and then back. The next minute, he shot out an arm, shutting the corpse’s open eyes with surprising, unexpected gentleness.

He stood up straight, eyes closed and quoted snatches of a Dylan Thomas poem," And death shall have no dominion…" he uttered, “Dead men naked they shall be one…Twisting on racks when sinews give way," his voice became a brittle whisper.

Rickerby paused; a flame of scarlet crept in a swift diagonal across his cheeks, and his voice developed a tremulous tone as if he were thinking about a lost friend.

Rupert's nose flared, "Break in the sun till the sun breaks down…lift its head to the blows of the rain…." A faltering cough interrupted his flow. He took in a deep, sobbed sigh but, in an instant, corrected his sermon, saying, "And death shall have no dominion. Rickerby dipped his head, wiping away tears with jerky movements. He whispered, 'Amen'. Then, stepping back and aside, he threw his head back and, in a fever of turbulent enthusiasm, laughed loudly. It was a rolling, evil laugh.

Beth gazed at Harrison. A shadow passed over her as she stared at Rupert, watching his ministrations with grim and shuddering fascination. Then, a minute after, Beth gaped back at Harrison with an expression that conveyed a mix of fear and success. Beth stepped towards her lover with arms outstretched as if she was demanding an embrace; she laughed, a light laugh and entered his arms, returning his urgent kisses. She laughed again. Well, it was more of a grating guffaw threaded with strains of vengeance and delight. It reminded Harrison of the Dickens and the old nags beside the guillotine delighting in watching men's heads sliced in half. Beth broke the embrace and walked away without a word, pulling a stool to sit next to Rupert.

Harrison watched Beth closely, noticing the shaking hands and sweat on her brow. She appeared frightened, out of her depth. He smiled; she didn't return the smile.

Rickerby, with an astonished expression, turned back to face Harrison, whispering, "It's the Lord's work and the Lord's schemes." His fingers crossed his chest," Are often confusing, mysterious. "A single tear streamed down his cheek. "And not always pleasant…oh well ".

A wave of helpless anger simmered in Harrison; his thoughts were circling and tumbling like the seagulls over seaside day-trippers. He gawped intently up into Rickerby's tangled, malevolent eyes. His mouth felt open; a mix of dread and terror and stunned disbelief blurred his features.

 "Im sorry you're here…it does cause us a bit of a problem. But nothing we can't resolve".

"Who is he? "Harrison asked, "The dead man…in the bed".

Rickerby rolled his eyes, "His name is Joseph Culpeper, " a minute later spat out a stream of obscene words".

"Why," asked Harrison, "Why?"

Rupert retorted, in a tone getting edgier and edgier. "I ask the questions…mate…okay. "

"Tell me your story…warts and all", Harrison inquired, feeling his face heating.

Rupert retorted, "It's not a pretty story", staring straight into Clark's eyes,

"Rupert…murder never is", Harrison replied, lifting his eyebrows, then smiled faintly. "Im not really surprised by that".

Rickerby stood up; his expression seemed relaxed but displayed deep, worried wrinkles around his eyes. He seemed almost to vanish as he twirled back to stare at Beth with an ear-to-ear smile.

The telephone rang noisily. Rupert eyed it suspiciously. Beth stood very still for a moment with a troubled look on her features, which suddenly cleared, "Shall I answer it? "She said.

Rickerby's expression clouded with a slight show of annoyance; the next minute, he reeled away, " Goddamn…No…leave it, Beth, " he murmured, waving a hand, " Let it ring… goodbye."

Rickerby glowered at Harrison, and Harrison did the same, both uncomfortable, unsure, and a bit scared.

"But you have to understand he killed my younger Brother, "Rickerby snarled, "It was because of him … it's why Simon committed suicide…he was so young".

Rupert's lip curled, age lines streaked across his cheeks, " What a tragedy". His appearance became a noticeable mix of anger and disgust. He scowled, and his forehead crenelated. " You asked me why the man was wicked …why he even raped Beth, my Beth".

He stopped, a grey leaden tinge mottled his cheeks," It happened a while ago, just a month before I met her, " he squinted and sniffed, "Which makes it eleven months and three days ago when he had his wicked way with her.

" In that bed! " He uttered, pointing where Culpepper lay dead." Yes…that very bed".

"An' you believe her?" Harrison smirked, a vague shadow of a smile.

" Of course, "a grin broke across his face.

"I killed him…isn't that enough… murder is so really easy". Harrison shrank back slightly before Rickerby's glower.

"Culpepper published his book…under his own name".

"Simon's book "?

"Yes".

"Stole it, the rat…what a terrible thing to do. "

"It was a huge hit...a Hollywood studio has purchased the film rights ...and I mean Hollywood U.S. A…not Brum...and paid him a lot."

"Plagiarism...wow, naughty man, "Harrison replied, shaking his head.

"And that's enough to kill?" Harrison asked.

"As the Bible says…an eye for an eye…etcetera and etcetera."

"In my eyes,” mumbled Rupert. "Yes, “his appearance became a glistening white, “It’s enough to justify what I did".

"Have you never loved a woman?" asked Rickerby.

Harrison answered quickly, "No…no."

"I feel your grief, "retorted Rickerby," You're missing a lot of mates!"

"I believe you, Rickerby", said in an unconvinced tone.

"What happened,'" Harrison enquired.

Ricketts explained he'd received unpleasant letters from Simon detailing the behaviour and belittling he'd received from his Tutor from the first day how it got worse at every opportunity. Notably, when he marked Simon's work, it became progressively even worse. Culpepper continually found faults and errors, large and small.

"I'm a sailor…I have been all my life. So, when I came home and docked in Southampton, I visited Simon's college.” Rickerby gave Harrison a wounded, sad stare. “I spoke with his then-girlfriend, name of Lois, and fellow students, Harry and Greg.” Rupert closed his eyes for a second or two. Then, opening them, he continued, “Who’d met him in the Pub....on the day he died.

Rupert propped his chin in his hand, “They reluctantly told me, “He said, “About what had happened, all agreed he was being bullied by Culpepper".

Rupert stood leaning back, staring at Harrison with an expression grim and taut. Then, for a moment, he just sat there staring at Harrison as though he was waiting for him to respond.

Rickerby crinkled his eyes and creaked, "It was easy to see where the blame lay…so I visited him in his rooms and confronted him! "Then he ran a finger along the edge of his chin.

"Did he own up?" Harrison asked in an almost mute voice.

"Oh no…the bastard laughed in my face, "Rickerby covered his eyes, "That's when I decided to get even".

Rupert's gaze travelled across the room, and let out a long winding sigh. Afterwards, he lit a cigarette, the smoke twisting into the air, turning it a desolate blue.

"Look, mate...I fought in the war, "he placed the back of his hand hard against his mouth. The next moment, he jammed his hand into his trouser pocket.

"I sailed on the Arctic convoys,” his forehead corrugated. Hands clamped tightly together, head leaning forward, knuckles white, “Saw a lot of good men die, "tight-lipped frowning with a far way look, he mumbled, "And not well, not well at all …God, it was cold".

Beth suddenly looked concerned, with worry lines traversing her face,” Oh damn. I think I’ve left the kettle on; pardon me while I take it off the heat.

"Oh good...Beth darling, “Rupert murmured," Whilst there, can you rustle up some grub…I’m peckish and am sure you're hungry," He paused to glance around, “Oh, and from now wear gloves. Okay, and ensure you clean anywhere you…we… have touched. We don't want this …err…incident pointed at us...do we, honey".

She hesitated for several moments, shooting him a look and then a smile. Finally, she twisted to stand in front of the doorway and ran a hand through her hair. Then turned away and departed, evading Rickerby's eyes as she undulated past him towards the kitchen.

Rickerby moved his left shoulder in a half-hearted shrug, stared at Beth as she left the room, and turned back to look at Harrison Clerk. Harrison stared back at him, opened his mouth to speak, and closed it. A slight shudder ran through him as he turned his head away.

"Now look at us, " burbled Rupert, his cheeks paled, " The Country has gone to the dogs".

He paused and beamed, "But things are looking up; I've now met a wonderful woman…Beth".

"They're all wonderful at first", Harrison grated with scorn. "A veritable Shangri la…a Paradise on earth, but remember …even paradise has its dark side".

"The Police will find you, " Harrison said in a voice more loudly than he meant, fright flared in his eyes, "Then it's the rope for you…both! "

Rupert answered, his eyes becoming cold and hostile, angry-looking, “Nothing will happen to us. "His hand made a slicing motion in front of his neck like he was telling Clark to 'shut up.’

Rickerby pouted and scratched his ear" The only person they will find…is you. " The hard lines of his mouth loosened into a slow smile.

"They're going to discover no sign of us...I've left no fingerprints…no sign of me...us.” Rickerby’s left cheek ticked, “Nothing will be found…mate!"

Harrison's expression scrunched up, " What about your car? "He asked.

"Shanks's pony...I walked...I was staying at Beth's dad's Inn, lovely place, "Rupert resumed, "That's where we met…I came down here to see Culpepper and met Beth".

Feeling awkward, Harrison nodded and smiled back at him. Then, ignoring Clark, Rupert renewed his rant in a sorrowful tone, “And she told me about what he did one night...I made up my mind to get revenge…and boy oh boy did I get it...with knobs on".

Splotches of angry colour heightened his cheekbones, "When I walked in here yesterday...death was already here...just Culpepper never saw it."

Harrison, surprise in his eyes, blew out his cheeks and sighed, "Rickerby, but what about the body?".

"I might feed to the pigs…next farm down the road, "he replied, "But better still...leave it here…that will drop you right in it" Rickerby tapped the right side of his forehead, above his eyebrow, in a sign Harrison interpreted as 'make sure that you remember that … and don't forget '.

Rupert laughed". No one saw us arrive, and no one will see us leave…will of the wisp…like".

"Did you fight?" Rupert asked.

"Yes, " Harrison nodded, " I was on Gold Beach, " the muscles in his jaw bunched together.

"D DAY…very rough, "Ricketts mumbled. The corners of his mouth drooped wearily.

Harrison's expression was unsmiling. Worry lines framed her mouth and tugged at his eyes". Yes...I have scars...mental…and physical "his deadpan guise changed, becoming bitter, and his lips curled. "It's a cruel world, "he said.

"Tomorrow, we leave for Southampton, "Rickerby spoke in a tone that took on a posh but cockneyfied style.

Rupert closed his eyes and rocked on his heels. Opening his eyes, he softly murmured in a prideful tone, "Tuesday, we get married, and Wednesday, we sail to Sydney, Australia…my ship is waiting for us. Beth is going to be the second chef.” He paused, “And I…the Chef and Medic …a damn good Medic too, and when we get to Oz…we disappear…my mate has offered me a job…to become a fishing trawler man, miles away from anywhere", there was a tinge of triumph in his inflexion. "Culpepper deserved to die...he's no real loss, "

"You will never get away with it, "Harrison replied, "You'll pay for it…one day…in the bitter end...everyone pays".

“Not us, “responded viciously, “No say sunshine.”

Harrison’s wrinkles on his forehead deepened, hearing the sound of footsteps treading along the bedroom landing; then he saw Beth Chandler, mouth a little open, eyes pale, standing at the bedroom doorway looking at Rupert with a look of perplexity mixed with fear. She coughed slightly, and Rupert and Harrison stared at her; Beth blushed and then wandered inside and stood with her shoulder leaning against the bedroom wall, watching both men warily.

Rickerby strolled and stood in front of Harrison with an expression completely blank.

Harrison continued in a quieter, guarded tone, "It's the rope for you.”

"I ...I... I don't think so...not in a million years, "Rickerby stuttered, scowled in a slow, deadly tone, as a sickening smirk spread across his expression.

"As Oscar Wilde said", chortled Harrison, 'Murder is always a mistake."'

"Oscar, who? "Responded Rupert.

Harrison's eyes strayed over Rupert. He noticed the backs of Rickerby's hands were creepy and mottled with age spots.

"The only Oscar I know of is Oscar Romero, the jazz guy …why get so worked up about a little murder!" Rickerby laughed. It was a shrilly kind of laugh.

Harrison's eyebrows curved upwards, "You're a tough-talking guy, “he said, "I'll give you that".

"You have to be, "the murderer responded, "It's my life, and I'll do what I want …you know how it is…some time you act tough, some time you act crude". He leant forward; he spoke with intentional emphasis. "It wasn't the first time…Harrison, are you scared of me…yes…no."

"Yes, "replied Harrison, "And more than a bit…a lot more".

"Good…look, Harrison, don't squander your time trying to escape…you won't…just accept it." His hands squeezed into fists, and his voice became flat, without tone. "I know a thing or two about killing ".

Hands trembling, Rupert lifted his shoulder in a half shrug, "In my opinion…there seems three lots of people involved".

Staring at Rickerby, "Three, "uttered Harrison, who? Why? “

Letting out an almost quiet sigh, Rupert grunted, turning a cold stare on Harrison. "Yes, three. "

"Three…who are the three?"

"The killer…the witnesses...and the dead ", replied Rupert, " it's sad, sad, "he rubbed his temples as if he had a migraine, "Death is so final".

"That's a kinda' of an odd belief…and illogical...to my way of thinking", Harrison replied in a faint voice, shoulders rocking to and fro.

Rupert stepped closer, hovering menacingly over Harrison,

Rupert replied, giving the impression of being unperturbed, "It's easy…whoever said murder never solved anything".

Rickerby asserted with a sharp-edged pitch, " They don't know a thing! "His appearance soured, "And sometimes they get what they deserved ". But then, his expression morphed, and he appeared a little less relaxed.

Eyes quivering, Harrison shot a glare back at his tormentor, then his eyes coloured with clouds of death and lost love. Then, swearing silently to himself, a terrible thought crossed his mind, realising that Rickerby was revealing horrible things, and by the look on his face, he'd enjoyed it.

It was a road to Damascus moment for Harrison, watching Rickerby, the very picture of madness. He sat there, feeling the blood drain from his appearance. Tears spilt over his cheeks. A fiery ember of outrage burned up in him.

"Remember", Clark gasped. He coughed and lingered to inhale a deep breath. "Murder is a wickedness…and once you're married".

Rickerby's appearance became worried. He glowered at Harrison with scornful eyes, wrinkling his forehead.

Harrison resumed taking pains to speak very clearly, "You're stuck with each other…and that malice will follow. "He tilted his head to one side, " They will track you and capture you both…in the end. "

Tersely Beth's voice called out, "Darling…grub up! your food is ready…come down …let's eat here in the kitchen…hurry up…I'm hungry …for God's sake, let's get out of here…soon…while there's time… I can't stand it anymore!"

Rupert wiped his forehead with the palm of his right hand and bellowed, with flaring nostrils, "Okay... coming darling, yes we go…leave…and soon", in a cold, crisp but brooding voice. Then, halfway through the door in one motion, he stopped, lips almost colourless, turned and retraced his steps to stand behind Harrison's chair. He wet his lips with the tip of his tongue and slipped his right hand inside his shirt; Rupert's hand closed around an intravenous needle, then lunged towards Harrison, gripping his shoulder.

"You know I said I was the medic…on board ship", Rupert declared with a sudden exclamation of anger and soundlessly inserted the hypodermic needle.

"Don't worry, “Rupert murmured, “It won't kill, but god, it will hurt."

Rickerby’s face whitened. Staring at Clark, one hand leant against his right temple, creating a gun shape with an expression mean and harsh, then he turned away and started for the door.

Clark glanced up at the needle, pausing in mid-air, and then the scene exploded into a hellish fire and darkness.

Harrison flinched as the sharp, dripping needle pierced his skin. He felt intense jagged pains as though a thousand porcupine spines were stabbing him in the arm. He put a hand to his throat, cringing, gasping for breath, eyes closed tightly shut, then tried to block out the torment by curling his fingers. His sharp nails punctured his palms, pooling his fingers with blood. The pain, numbing suffering, cut through from his toes to the tip of his skull.

A swaying feeling enveloped him. Then, a whooshing white noise reverberated through his brain. Like medieval torture, the serum exploded inside him with alternating waves of agony and numbness. Gripped by convulsive epileptic seizures, his chair scraped a violent screech; head lolloped forward, arms and legs jolted.

Feet paralysed, spasms of hellish pain washed over him unforgivingly, each wave becoming ever more severe. Then, finally, he fell unconscious; so intense was the suffering, incoherent thoughts wheeled around his mind and dipped like the hungry seagulls swooping over seaside day-trippers then he tumbled, trapped in a nightmare, into a deep black hole labelled oblivion. His crowded mind was troubled by a thousand memories, incidents, and visions, not all of them wanted or desired.

Rickerby eyed Clark, seeing his panic and pain enflame his expression, then, uncaring, he exited. Harrison Clerk never heard any sounds of Rupert retreating along the stairs, noises that gradually faded away until the bedroom was silent, except the bedroom was Harrison’s medieval torture chamber.

Entering the kitchen, Beth poured tea into a rather fancy willow patterned China cups, then passed, to the love of her life, a plate of bread and dripping and a smidgin of cheese. The only noise heard was Rupert’s false teeth, and the gurgling sounds he made slurping his tea was the grandfather click’s loud tick-tock.

“I heard you say you; Beth murmured, “You have murdered before, “she had a  thin, beseeching look on her appearance, “ Like to tell me about it?”

“If we’re gonna’" Beth waved a hand in the air in a haphazard manner, “Get married. We shouldn’t have any secrets between us…darlin’…don’t you agree.”

"Oh yes …you were there in the room when I told him,’ “he paused, “

“It was during the war, Rickerby replied, screwing up his expression, “I think it was when I signed up for the Harlech…or was it, Corfe Castle …you see, I sailed in both ships…on my first and second stint and both were named after castles, “Rickerby lifted his hands, “Heaven knows why?” He stopped again, and his cheeks began to twitch nervously. The next moment, he mumbled, “It was the 'Corfe Castle'.”

Beth studied his expression gravely, feature by feature, “Well…what happened? “

“We docked Liverpool, “he mumbled, “It was our first port of call, “ he touched his cheek gingerly, " After the Arctic Convey…we’d sailed to Murmansk and back.”

“Liverpool? “ Snarled Beth, scrunching her face tight, “ Why did I think it happened in Ireland? “

“Not Pool, “Beth barked, “tell me what happened in Ireland. “

“God, it was a terrible journey … Apart from Nazi warships, submarines and Luftwaffe aircraft, there was the weather …it was threatening, rough …temperatures below freezing point …most of the time. And the seas that flowed overboard…wickedly… froze, almost solid, and become top-heavy …makin’ them likely to capsize.” Rupert closed his eyes, recognising his sins.

He lifted his head and opened his eyes, “God, it was scary, “he declared, “ then Rickerby stifled a sudden sneeze, “ We lived on cigarettes and hot cocoa. It was so bloody cold, too cold to sleep...and we were wet all the time."

“The captain was a good man …name of Wise…Frank Wise, “Rupert’s gaze explored Beth’s expression, “Even if he was a Geordie…but I can forgive him for that …and half the crew were killed or injured ...I lost my best friend …Gordon Parker.” He frowned; his appearance now became sullen.

Rickerby mumbled, “We got attacked by Nazi bombers just off Copenhagen, “he lingered and gaped at Beth for a moment, then uttered quietly,” One minute Gord’ and I were chatting, then next he was struck by a direct hit and exploded in a thousand pieces.” Rupert ran a hand through his hair, paused and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Blood and gore, “ Rickerby barked, continuing his story; his eyes displayed pain simmering deep within him.

“All of his body parts splattered all over the deck…the only thing untouched was the small diamond ring he wore on his little finger.” His voice trailed off vaguely.

Chewing her bottom lip nervously, “A diamond ring,” Beth exclaimed, face curdling.

“Yes, “declared Rupert, his face looked grey and weary; he halted briefly, staring into space. Seconds later, he continued," Does that mean,” Rickerby shut his eyes tight then opened them abruptly, “Do you think, “ he spoke in  a fearful worried voice, “ Gordon was a left footer?”

Then he smiled faintly, “A few days later, we sailed to Ireland ...the port of Dún Laoghaire.”

“There we took on stores and various bits of machinery,”

Silence fell between them, then Rickerby murmured, “I left the ship. I was depressed and went," he waved a languid hand, " And found the nearest pub to sorta’ drown my sorrows.”

Rickerby’s gaze wandered over Beth’s expression, “Anyway, I was sitting in this tired, drab public house. Rickerby felt an avalanche of anger; he shook his head and eyes narrowed, “It was almost empty. So, I sat alone in a booth kinda’…opposite, “he dropped his arms and turned away then back, “Opposite the khazi….an’ had a few Guinness’s.”

His eyes blinked, and he raised a hand to scratch his left eye, then twirled back to face her, “  I hate Guinness, “ he burbled, “ It tastes crap.”

Rupert's muscles tensed as he gazed at the ground in contemplation, then stared at  Beth with a quizzical expression, “He-he-he," Rickerby stuttered, "He was a mean-looking man… red-haired, eyes dark as night …an’ smelt of whiskey. "

Rupert stopped as if he‘d had lost his train of thought, then searched in his pocket, sniffling,  found his handkerchief blew his nose; minutes later, he recontinued, “ With rat-like look ...no, not a rat…a weasel .”

Rickerby tilted back his head, raised his eyebrows, and then looked at Beth, ” He started bad-mouthing me, “ Rupert said in a harsh cry, “ The old git’ smelt of whiskey, he seemed heartbroken, deep pain in his eyes… full of wounds.

Next minute he tole’ me he hoped the Germans beat us into dust and one day, “Rupert’s face flushed crimson, “The Nazi flag would be flying from the roof of Buck House.” Beth caught her breath.

Rupert's eyebrows waggled, and he murmured,” The man went on and on about the famine, “he hesitated again as he touched his chin,  a chin scruffy from a couple of days' growth, "What famine,” I said to him, “ Heaven only knows what the old guy was going on about.”

“You say, “Beth dipped her head and took a step back,  “  That the fascist-loving dead man, “ she uttered in a firm tone, “ Was from Ireland.“ Rupert nodded. “Rupert darling…don’t worry, “ her right eye twitched anxiously, “ The idiot must have been awfully thick…anyway, forget about the Fenian duck egg...just ignore him.”

Rickerby gave a half-smile, “What am I going to do with you?” Rupert asked in a husky tone.

“Rupert, “ I..I…I," she stuttered, “ I  don’t know, but I’m sure you’ll think of something.

"Tell me," Beth …how?”

"Well," she smiled hesitantly, "I suppose I’d begin telling you what a fine man you are."

She studied him through narrowed eyes, eyes shining, “How do I know that once we're in bed, you know? " her smile slipped “ You, won’t you?”

Rupert replied, “And turn into a raging brute…unable to control myself?”

"Just so," she breathed, eyes closed.

Rickerby smiled with triumphant bright eyes, “Love you,” he whispered gently. “I’ll soon return to show you how much.”

She gasped: “Is—is anything wrong?”

Rickerby shook his head, looked away and lit a cigarette, returning his lighter to his pocket; he gazed back at Beth with a sudden flashing grin... “Honey,” he declared, “ Everything is just right."

Part Three

Harrison Clerk, asleep tied in his seat, was bewildered by a maelstrom of visions and past voices surrounding him. A tempestuous Pandora’s box of hallucinations, with real-life revelations shocking long-forgotten memories that made Harrison wince. All blended with a mishmash of incidents and accidents that sort of coalesced together in an imaginary Super cinemascope movie, a haphazard rapid succession of images and colours, with a soundtrack of white noise and buzzing sounds. These squealing noises echoed painfully around his head. A goodly proportion of the visual sensations and memories were painful, and several were unforgettable, particularly those he’d deposited hidden in the very dark recesses of his mind. The very thought of them opening made Harrison cry out in anguish.

This accumulated montage of strange scenes, revelations and spectacles included Stuka bombers dropping bomb upon bomb upon long lines of frightened people, young and old, and some babes in arms fleeing. These vistas are juxtaposed with a doomed merchant ship's scene, turning turtle, and sinking with drowning sailors saturated in diesel oil. A storm of emotions cascaded around Harrison Clerk’s mind, a hotchpotch of fear, surprise, dismay, embarrassment, and the lost excitement of boundless once hoped-for achievements.

Unexpectedly, Harrison heard the sound of a foghorn; then, as if a stage curtain had opened, he saw the clear, jagged outline of Blitz-damaged buildings festooned with bloody bodies and large beaked black crows picking at the corpse’s eyes. Horrifyingly, right next to them were brief silhouettes of shadowy hooded wraiths picking through the pockets and handbags of dead bodies. Then appeared a young girl dancing and a woman, in shadow, disappeared into trees and replaced by nothing except a single set of footprints in sand and the aroma of chocolate.

The next minute the footprints and aroma faded, replaced by white horses with the blood streaming from their eyes. This dream transformed smoothly from one image to another, now appearing as Berlin after the war, with its horror, decay, and agony.

The revelation showed a semi-naked young civilian woman, half-hidden amongst almost demolished buildings and rubble; she was prostituting herself with two frustrated Soviet troops, and all for a slice of bread and a smattering of rancid sausage.

Suddenly there was a flash, and Harrison saw a brief likeness of Bologna cathedral and its fresco revealing the Devil, with an open salivating mouth, feeding upon a long winding line of sinful God damned peasants.

Harrison fell back in his chair and shuddered; the chair swayed backwards and forwards until balancing its back legs precariously, then slowly straightened up, and Harrison found himself seated slumped at half-mast inclined sideways at a peculiar angle. He felt a severe pain as the tethers around his hands and feet became distinctly tighter, and the binds turned into blood-stopping painful tourniquets.

Harrison Clerk had the distinct impression that time was behaving too many different rules of physics, very un-Einstein-like; the flow of time had ceased to move and now stood statuesque still.

Not much later, Harrison, gradually becoming unconscious, slowly opened his eyes. He was surprised, catching sight, a brief fuzzy view of Joseph Culpepper sitting in Bologna cathedral, at the foot of a medieval painted fresco, staring up at Beelzebub as if he were the messiah, then without warning, it all became dark, very dark. Harrison struggled in his chair to free himself from these supernatural apocalyptic disclosures.

Harrison heard a loud chime of a grandfather clock ringing out midnight, the witch’s hour from a far distance. He felt disturbed and frightened, and then abruptly, he let out a stream of Anglo-Saxon curses.

His body recoiled, and his eyes closed shut as he felt wave after wave of electric shocks that pummelled his brain without mercy. Clerk's fingers curled into a ball, his fingernails bloodily penetrating the palms of his hands. Harrison's mouth dropped open between his white, spittle, unclean lips lolloped a grey, pink tongue. His bleeding hands shuddered, and legs jerked spasmodically, and his right foot kicked out as if he were taking a penalty.

After a moment or two, the images became clouded by a thick, ever-deepening fog until nothing until it transformed into another, which Harrison recognised as Konrad Adenauer's post-war Berlin. It showed the first time Clerk had been to Berlin when he'd travelled to Germany on a train from Paris. He was studying in France and fell asleep on the train, waking up later to the sound of the German language spoken over the loudspeaker and a conductor calling out the names of the next stop. Berlin was so different after the war; post-forty-five, it was just a big slum and smelt of despair.

Harrison could see two men, joseph Culpepper and a Russian army officer, very distinguished, with a military bearing, standing in the middle of a bridge. He, the army officer, must have been high ranking, as burly war-weary soldiers seemed to scramble quickly out of sight or treat the Russian with Czar-like deference.

Through the fog of Harrison’s mind, he thought the Russian had smelt of vodka and cabbages and almost certainly K.G.B. The Russian was dull grey-eyed, with eyes that seemed to sink deep into his skull. He couldn’t tell what colour they were but noticed they were wet and sombre. The K.G. B. man looked like a cross between a Roman emperor and a Russian bear. Clerk recalled staring at him just long enough for Harrison to know he was starting to bug him.

The Russian lit up a cigarette the next moment, and the cigarette paper and tobacco crumpled into dust and fell to the floor in a cloud as he inhaled. The dust reminded Clerk of autumnal leaves descending, and he laughed out loud; Culpepper shot him an evil look and Clerk, embarrassed, covered his mouth with a gloved hand.

The sound of a grandfather clock’s chimes cut through Harrison's mental disturbances, and he heard once again the twelve clock bongs indicating it was the midnight hour.

Joseph tossed the Russian an unopened pack of Marlboro cigarettes; the Soviet apparatchik smiled and nodded his head in acceptance and thanks. Culpepper leant across and touched the Russian's arm twice, then turned on his heels and around to face Harrison, standing right behind him with one arm leaning against the bridge wall whilst idly watching the dirty river below. Joseph had a look of embarrassment.

They gave the impression that they knew each other well, very well; Culpepper looked furtive as if he’d been caught out; in hindsight, it was exactly what occurred. Abruptly, the Russian grabbed Culpepper and marched him backwards until they went beyond the middle bridge wall plinths upon which stood two marble statues. It marked the centre of the Bridge, and both stopped to stand on the wrong side of the centre of the Bridge, Soviet territory.

The Soviet officer's cold eyes stared at Harrison. Then, finally, their eyes met; the Russian gazed away and threw his burning cigarette into the water below. A sudden wind blew Harrison's hair astray over his face; he smoothed it back, then shifted and took three steps back and rearranged his woollen scarf, undid his tie, then put a cigarette to his lips, thought better of it and returned it to its packet. He turned away then back and saw Culpepper handing the Russian a small brown paper package, and the Russian quickly hid inside his large overcoat.

The Soviet military man’s eyes narrowed, “Culpepper,” he said, “Everything will happen soon.” His voice was composed.

“Soon? “Culpepper replied, sounding surprised. Joseph’s eyes and nose puckered into a vacant, wearied frown.

Harrison stared towards the other side of the Bridge, the Russian zone; a grey yellowish fog had a green tinge chaperoned by a smell of starvation, detritus, and disease. Everywhere was all in darkness except for the occasional guards standing stiff to attention or hiding in corners out of the wind grabbing a crafty smoke, all outside large, red-bricked, half-demolished buildings. There were spots of weak light powered by diesel generators, power failure being a regular daily occurrence.

In the buildings, Russian military personnel were all working to further the Red Revolution and topple over their hated enemies – anyone and everyone, the whole world and its wife.

The Russian pinched his nose, sneezed loudly, and leaned forward conspiratorially, “I have a joke, “he said to Culpepper, “You will like it. Stalin visits one of the collectives…wants to see how they’re getting on with the latest Five-Year Plan.”

The officer’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, “Tell me, comrade, how did the potatoes do this year?... Very well, Comrade Stalin, replied to a farmer…if we piled them up, they would reach God.

But God does not exist, Comrade Farmer replied to Stalin.” The Soviet bared his teeth in a smile.”  The farmer answered nor do the potatoes.”

They laughed; the Soviets shook hands with Culpepper.” Goodbye, “he said, “Until we meet again…Comrade.” It was then that Harrison realised Culpeper was a traitor.

All of a sudden, a jeep, flying the stars and stripes, roared up the Bridge and parked with a squeal of brakes just feet away. A man got out.

“Mister Weatherspoon, “said the Russian, “What an honour to be visited by the head of U.S. Berlin intelligence.”  Was Weatherspoon, his name Clerk, had asked himself. It could have been a non de plume; Weatherspoon was a big, complex, bony man with flat, cruel eyes flanked by a sharp nose and shrunken cheeks. His clothes needed brushing and pressing. The man stared at the Russian as crimson surged into the other man’s face.

“Your star has just risen in the firmament, “he told the Soviet.

“What do you mean…sir.”

Weariness seemed to settle on the man; he grimaced and glanced away and back at the driver, signalling something with his index finger. There was a moment of silence, and the driver's face turned a pale white.

Then red.

The American whispered, but not quite enough for Harrison’s ears, “We’ve received reports that Stalin has died.”

“Died, “the Soviet replied, blinking quickly. His face dissolved into a series of worried lines, and he fidgeted on his feet, then stared up at the stars, closed his eyes and took in a deep inhalation.

“And you’re going to be ordered back to Moscow,” the Yank said in a tone that held the thread of triumph. “Your time has come…enjoy it.”

“Why, “the Soviet responded, “Are you telling me this?”

“God only knows,” the American replied; his manner was neither restrained nor effusive.

"I’m Just carrying out the Ambassador’s order." The man paused in the act of lighting a cigarette, “Come direct from the top…way beyond my pay grade.” He smiled a weak smile, and his smile grew grimmer.

The jeep’s horn honked and loudly the American swivelled on his heels, returned to the vehicle and a minute later, they reversed and drove away.

That was the last time Harrison was ever in Berlin.

Clerk eventually awoke gradually, not pleasantly, his lips screwed uptight, feeling a sickening bile on the back of his throat. He lay in the darkness. It was unsettling, with a daunting blackness, full of shadows and sporadic screeches and crackles. A freezing, shivering wind blew. It seemed unnaturally dark, as if emptied of all light.

He puffed out his cheeks, lolling sideways, his body slunk upon his chair at a strange, uncomfortable angle; the bedroom shook with a toccata and fugue of thunder accompanied by the tumultuous roar of pelting rain ricocheting of the Welsh tiled roof.

Looking across the bedroom through the Whitby jet-black darkness, Harrison saw odd shapes, flashes of movement and strange squeaks. Moments later, he realised Rodents were on the prowl and just feet away. He shuddered as he attempted to run a hand over his tired eyes, discovering his wrists were bound tight.

Stomach groaning, throat parched, Harrison's fingers began to pick at the rope fibres, hoping against hope to free himself. Then, lifting his head, it felt like a ton of bricks. He stared in the direction of the dead man, seeing only an outline in the darkness, and assumed lying there was Joseph, and still slow, not being Lazarus.

Out of the darkness echoed an asthmatic wheeze. The bedroom door opened, and he heard the sound of slippered feet padding towards him. There was a prickle across the back of his neck. Then, he saw a flicker of movement. A light shone in his eyes; there stood Beth, her face white but composed. She held a torch in her hand, shifting the beam from side to side, its fading light blinking on and off as if the batteries were almost empty.

She glowered at Harrison, but neither spoke, blinked a few times, gawped intently at the floor, then glanced back at him questioningly, her manner intimidating, curt.

Harrison tensed and let out a thin sigh, 'Wha…what do you want," he said, feeling a jolt of a fear lance through his gut. Then, tensing, he inhaled sharply, fear registering in his eyes for the first time.

She clicked her teeth in annoyance. Then made an unclear finger motion, "Well, then," she said, making an impatient gesture, " Oh sweet Fanny Adams…who are you?"

Harrison opened his partially shut eyes; a slight shudder ran through him. Then, he snorted, "I told you…I…" he stammered, his face red."  I'm a commercial traveller."

"No, you're not", she said, looking steadily at Harrison; a second or three went by. Beth moved closer with caution, "Err…look what I found, a pistol," she said, shaking her head in disbelief." Tell me ...what sort of salesman carries one around…you Police? "

He sagged in his chair, silent for a minute, staring blankly at the floor, then glanced up at her, "Not Police, "he said in a quiet tone", I am employed by the government".

Beth held up her hands, looking startled, then bewildered, "Oh my goodness," she said, giving Harrison an incredulous look, " Pft…you don't look dangerous ", she exclaimed, "Not exactly Dick Barton are you."

Clark complained, "That is a make-believe radio programme, get real". A look of distaste crossed Harrison's face as he drew in a deep breath, then shrugged listlessly and nodded.

"Culpepper," he said in a disgusted tone, "Works for the Russians… he's a traitor, its Cambridge thing. "Harrison glared down at the floor and shook his head without looking up.

"Surprise, surprise…you're a spy…a secret agent? Why? " Beth snapped. All her facial muscles twitched in synch.

“Oh…the usual,” he replied, “Err, the ecstasy of success and the suffering of defeat.”

 “Sweet Fanny Adams, which sounds a lot like bullshit, “Beth replied in a caustic tone, “If you don’t mind me saying…and if you do, I really don’t care.”

Harrison’s mouth gaped open, “Beth, don’t spare my feelings, “he replied, “Well, nobody's perfect…It is what it is.”

There was a fleeting pause for a second or two. Then, Harrison continued in a steady tonal inflexion, "He's a traitor...a long with a few others I could mention…he goes to Moscow often" The beginning of crow's feet played at the corners of his eyes.

"I work for the British government, actually Military Intelligence". He grinned coldly, hesitated, shifting his feet, "Intelligence... that covers a multitude of sins…but I suppose, yes…in a manner of speaking, I am a spy...But I'm no James Bond. "He wet his tongue. ".

The word spy is such a short, ugly word. I would instead call it espionage. "He leant back in his chair, licking his lips again, "I have seen scenes …witnessed terrible things, things you cannot imagine". He stopped; his head stiffened at an odd attitude. There was an almost palpable silence".

Beth glared at him, turned away, then slowly back again, looking startled and worried, " Sounds exciting, huh, “she retorted scornfully.

"Are you shaken, not stirred, "Beth smiled. It was the weak excuse of a smile. That’s the way it is.” Her eyes didn't blink for at least forty seconds. At least.

She sighed," Pooh…you're not my idea of James Bond".

"He's not real…Beth…think of us being the G.P.O. but with spies," Harrison replied, moistening his mouth, "Imagine me as a sort of licensed troubleshooter."

Beth's scowling eyes bored into Harrison's. She started to speak but pressed her lips together instead.

"In Moscow, "Harrison said, his eyes going slate grey. " Culpeper attends meeting arranged by the Union of Soviet Writer…fierce passion struck fire into his voice". Where he passes on Government secrets."

A determined look painted on his face." It's game to them… a game of deceit and double-dealing deceiving colleagues, families, and their country". He cocked his head left. His face became dark-looking and very troubled.

Then said quietly, guardedly, "We've arrested the guy who passed the secrets on him…in all honesty, Joseph was a mere courier...but a very dangerous courier".

He squared his shoulders, A muscle twitched in his cheeks, "Let's be honest," he said, shuffling his arse side to side, then lifted his head a few inches and squinted at Beth with his mouth slightly open". I was ordered to arrest him…or dispose of him if things got ugly."

"Rupert killed the man…murdered him, and you, Beth, you're an accessory… the way I see it is you'll both end up swinging from a rope...but I can help you. "

"Hung…err, how can you help?" Beth responded with her mouth pressed together and confused, with a slight frown on her face.

Harrison replied, "Things change when you're not in danger anymore". He stopped, glanced away, lost in thought, his head stiffened at a strange slant. "I have a suggestion, "Harrison said, glancing at Beth, "A proposal that may save your skin".

Staring at him blankly, "Uh-hu, an offer, hey", she murmured, twiddling her hair into curls.

Harrison fixed Beth with a hostile stare, "Take it or leave it, Beth… it's no skin off my nose, "he said, sucking in a deep breath. "Reject it, and you will find there is no other way out…listen to what I offer…friend".

Making a dismissive gesture, "I'm no friend of yours, Harrison", replied, half choking.

"Grasp this opportunity, Beth …where is your courage…there is a way out…for you both ".

There was no pause before she answered, "Huh…you are kidding me; how can I trust you, “then sneered loudly, “Can I trust you?". The steel in her eyes sparked," How…tell me how."

Harrison sat tilted back in his chair and grinned at her with his head on one side, "Get it over with," he said, "Take it easy for heaven's sake, Beth, "he purred, smiling, narrow taut laughter line creased his face.

"You're a wild one…a little difficult …a bit gypsy… you are enough to drive a saint mad to madness or a king to his knees". He shook his head, looking at Beth, trying to suppress a smile but failing miserably.

A brief, awkward silence ensued.

He gazed at Beth with solemn eyes, "Look, honey, what's done is done. "She glowered at him, then folded her arms.

"As Mae West said, muttered Harrison, " 'You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough, and I think this is your once".

Deep in thought, Beth stared into the distance and then back at Harrison.

"Grasp this opportunity…where is your courage?" Harrison declared, "At times, the questions are complicated, but the answers are easy… Let go, leave. "

His gaze burned into her; she held her breath". Beth, you, and your lover are in deep cows' dung".

The seconds ticked; there was dead silence. Neither moved a muscle. Then, finally, Harrison shifted his weight in his chair, glowered at Beth and murmured, "Well, Culpepper is a traitor, and you've saved me from assassinating him, so I suppose Her Majesty's Government is in your debt".

He moved slightly in his chair, giving Beth a withering stare. Then, his left leg jerked out," Beth," he said, "Leave…and leave soon… go to Australia."

Beth gnawed on her lower lip, her features clustered. She gave Harrison a disgusted look". "All my daydreams, "she said, "Have dissolved into nightmares".

Beth crossed her arms and glanced away. From somewhere deep inside her, fluttered thoughts of hope and escape. Her face was pale and white. She shuddered. Her eyes appeared to Harrison like dark clouds. Troubled with alarm and terror.

The next minute, she brushed her hair back over her shoulders, and she spoke; her words were slow and deliberate, "We could kill you, "Beth said, staring at, with a cursory look ", Harrison…why not? Sounds cool, "

Her stare deepened into a fierce and annoying glare," And escape…you'll be silent forever, and we'll be gone…free, thousands of miles away...out of reach. "She broke into another grin and made a rude sign with her index finger.

Brow puckered, "Frankly, my dear", Harrison spluttered, sighing with spiritless impatience, "I don't give a damn…to kill someone on behalf of the Government, like me, you get dubbed a hero…but to kill, for your sordid reasons…as you are suggesting, is called murder… But do that, and you'll get hunted down. " Harrison paused, then shot Beth a smile, “And " he continued, " Both of you end up hanging from the end of a rope…and you have such a beautiful neck ".

Squinting at her gravely for a brief instant, she glanced away again, then back, "You wouldn't stand a chance".

He brought a hand up to his head. A finger scratched his left ear. He rocked back in his chair and made a face at the ceiling. His eyes became thoughtful, shocked, his blurred eyes. He leant back and gazed away, grimacing, then glanced around.

"How are you both for money, demanded Harrison."

"We're both almost skint," Beth replied. They exchanged glances. She blushed a little. Then she giggled, and the lines under her eyes seemed to crenulate.

Harrison glanced away again, then squinted over the room, a smile twisting the corners of his mouth. "This is probably a mistake…but we could arrange," he said, "For a sort of bonus to be paid into your bank…in Oz. "He wrinkled his nose, "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth. "

Beth touched her forefinger to her lips very carefully with the tip of that tongue. Then she cast Harrison a sceptical eye, clasped her fingers and laced them together, then put her fingers upon her head.

"Yeah…It's a tough world," said Harrison, with cold, evil eyes and face. "Life's a bucket of shit, and sometimes the world is a dangerous place…go to Australia…it'll be your garden of Eden, no gates or barbed wire ".

After a slight hesitation, he leaned forward, stretched out a hand, mouth dropped into a sour smile, "What's the matter with you? Come on... come on... I'm waiting for an answer".

Putting a hand to her mouth, Beth hesitated, then replied, in a voice soft but icy, "Okay…it's a deal," she smiled, then her eyes narrowed, and her face broke with sullen, worry lines that ran across her brow.

The next moment, Clark sat up, "But you have to keep quiet and don't ever return".

She drew a fingertip slowly along her cheek, replying. "Whoopie-de-doh…Err…what happens if we do come back? "

Harrison twisted in his chair, screwed up his mouth, "You'll get thrown to the wolves", he replied.

His forehead furrowed, giving Beth a thin smile. He swallowed twice as if to lubricate his strained throat, "Can you untie me, please."

Beth hesitated. She crinkled her eyes as if about to cry. Then, dry-eyed, Beth moved her head side to side in a tango-like tempo. Finally, she twisted around abruptly, stepped back, and walked towards the wall, then retraced her steps and stood hovering over Harrison.

The colour trickled out of her face when she peered, looking at Harrison up and down. Then stared at her hands, focusing on her nails. They were red, chipped, and raw. She raised an eyebrow, bent down, and gently touched my knee. Then groped at the knotted ropes binding his wrists and ankles and unravelled the knots.

Half closing his eyes, Harrison stood up unsteadily, rubbing his wrists, a cold rage kindling in the pit of his stomach. His eyes blinked and opened slowly, focusing on Beth. He caressed his nose with one little finger, broke into a smile, and then sat down brusquely with his two hands on his knees.

For a few minutes, he sat quietly, eyes downcast, a tired look on his face, then his jaw tightened his hand made a small, weary gesture. Then, standing up again, he staggered across to the table and sat down with a heavy, weary bang. His chair shuddered and groaned. Standing upon the table was an empty glass carafe, a white cup, and an ashtray printed the 'Widdecombe Fair' lyrics on the outside. Leaning his elbow upon the tabletop, he put his head in his hand and sighed deeply, meaningfully. Then, with his other hand, he played with a handful of sugar cubes he'd discovered in the ashtray.

"Eh, what about Culpepper? "Beth said in a slight rural brogue, her eyes bored into Harrison, her mouth tightened, then the look on her face became dark and brooding, then unexpectedly a tiny smile raised the crook of her mouth.

Gazing at Beth, Harrison's face fell with a troubled expression. He hesitated a moment before answering. "Don't worry", he said, "We have experts…we call them janitors," Harrison's breaths quickened as he shook his head, stared away, and then back at Beth.

Beth surveyed him gravely for a brief split second, then touched the side of her face with her fingertips. Harrison replied a minute later, "They clean up all the mess…all Bristol fashion and ensure no one pushes their nose in. "

Beth Chester's nostrils flared; a dull, loathing light glowed in her eyes. Harrison gazed piercingly into Beth's face. Her mouth tightened. Then he stood up, leaned forward, yawned, then spoke softly in a grave voice that was little more than a whisper. "Don't worry, time moves on, "he steepled his fingers, "In next to no time", his teeth flashed. "It will all become ", he lifted his head brusquely, "Just tomorrow's chip paper."

Suddenly, the bedroom crashed open with an earth-shattering noise. It all seemed to Harrison like a scene out of a John Wayne cowboy film.

Rupert limped in, slouching to one side with a hunchback of Notre Dame countenance across his corrugated face, wearing a grubby t-shirt beneath an orange and green robe.

"You look hurt", Clark said.

"Uh-huh…yes", he replied, rubbing an eye". The bastard put up a fight".

"How inconvenient, retorted Harrison" Oh dear, I wonder why…I imagine attempted murder does bring out the worst in people. Don't you think"?

A nervous spasm sparked through Rickerby. His elbow shuddered and jolted. He seemed tired as he clumped towards Beth and Harrison. His hair was a tangled mess, his look not helped by his dark five o'clock shadow that tainted his jaws as he stood there fingering his tangled hair for a moment. Finally, he leant down, rubbed a knee, and took a sly slug from his hip flask. Then, looking up, he glowered at Harrison and Beth through thin, troubled, suspicious eyes.

Rupert snarled, "You…whoever you are…you despise me, don't you?"

"No", responded Clark", Not really…If I had any, any, idea who you are…and why you are here, I probably might".

Minutes passed, and neither said anything, anything at all. Then Rupert bellowed, " Goddamn…what the hell is going on…what‘s all the Kerfuffle, “then he went suddenly quiet, the muscles in his cheeks did not move, and two white spots appeared on each side the outcurve of his nostrils.

"Err, Beth, err, why is he untied," he said, staring in confusion through his redraw eyes; he made a restless movement and began to rub his hands together, still staring at Beth.

Rickerby took one step back, his face broke into a hangdog expression, "Why…why? “He said as anger shone in his eyes, “I never gave the order, “he grunted, “Never, never…Beth, Beth Chester, tell me…why…this is mutiny.”

Rickerby shook his head, put a handout, snorting, "Give me the flashlight…uhh". Beth took a long look at him; it was a troubled look; the blood went out of her face. Then, reaching out, she put the flashlight in his hand.

Rupert's eyes seemed to move in all directions at once. His tone of voice was a metallic snarl deep in his chest. He took a step towards Harrison and dropped his right shoulder. His lips curled into a sneer, little eyes glittering. He peeped down at the floor, then up at Harrison, then Beth. He nodded earnestly. His hair was surging forward along his cheeks. He put his left hand up, pushed it back, and then rubbed his temple with one finger.

Quietness descended as Beth's breathing became shallow and ragged. Then, unblinkingly she looked into Harrison's eyes, lit a cigarette, and let her hand fall gradually to her side as if she was suddenly drained, then gazed away. Hand trembling, she stared closely at Rickerby, placing her white upper teeth across her full lower lip with one hand against the side of her face. She smiled at Harrison, then back at Rupert. There was no warmth in her smile. No one broke the quiet with words. Beth smiled once again, face now a glistening white. The corners of her mouth drooped wearily.

Rupert's hands clasped together and moulded into a prayer shape. His body was stiff and disapproving. He frowned in exasperation, a deep frown. His mouth tightened, and brows drew together.

Beth fixed her eyes on Rupert, "Rupert, darling", Beth mumbled, "We have to go...and".

"Leave…go...why?" Rickerby interrupted Beth loudly.

"Yes...but we need to depart, right now, we have to “, Beth said, "I will tell you all about it when we leave…Harrison is not a commercial traveller…oh no", she reached out and touched Rickerby's arm grinning, "Darling," she said, "He's something much more dangerous…full of darkness and danger."

"Once you go…I doubt whether you'll hear any more about it. "Harrison burbled," But if you do and need help, let me know". He made an impatient gesture with one hand.

Beth bit her lip. Minutes after said, "How…err, Harrison? "A startling light came into her eyes.

"Just whistle," countered Harrison in a low voice.

"For Christ's sake…why leave now, right now? "Rupert snarled, "What has happened? "

"I will tell you all later, darling…everything is okay," Beth responded, her eyes suddenly becoming wary.

Rupert nodded and looked hurt. His features dissolved into a worried frown that knotted his face, making it look older and smaller. Then, finally, he stopped his head drooping and bristled. He held both hands palm up, spread them apart, turned them over and let them fall to his sides. His eyes looked moist with unshed tears.

Pointing at Harrison, shaking his head gradually from side to side, the lines of his forehead set themselves into rugged ridges. Then, finally, Rupert bellowed, "I, err, don't like the cut of your jib.".

Raising her eyebrows a little, "If we leave now", Beth said arm in arm with Rupert and manoeuvred him to walk together towards the bedroom door. "We will be able to" she stopped, ran a finger over his open palm and looked into his eyes, "Catch the bus to Southampton." Rickerby made a swift, indecipherable noise in his throat.

Beth resumed, "Let's go now…there's Nothing to worry about … it's all plain Sailing, "The skin at the edges of her eyes crinkled. "I have good news to tell you".

Rupert raised an arm and glanced at her blinking. His tongue licked his lips. Then, finally, he flinched, and a watery smile appeared.

"No, nothing to worry about," said Beth. She tightened her arm about Rupert.

Wetting his mouth, Rupert mumbled: "Uh-huh…but I think I do."

Beth resumed, "We just have to batten down the hatches," she lowered her eyebrows, "Were abandoning this ship…man the life rafts, Rupert." she said.

"Rupert," Harrison said, clearing his throat, "Don't ever forget the only way to get a good crew is to marry one. "

"Grinning impudently, Harrison's face lit up, "To quote", he said, "John Masefield, I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky. And I only ask a tall ship and a star to steer her by"'.

"I don't suppose, "Harrison said, eyes crinkling. He shot Beth an amused partial smile, "You have any Scotch…do you? "Beth turned her face away from him. A flush crawled up her neck and hid behind her eyes.

Rickerby shot Harrison a rebuking look, like that of a teacher with an unruly pupil.

Beth Chester's chin twitched as together they turned and walked away. Pausing at the door, she made a quick convoluted half-turn, clasping lacing her fingers tight, took a couple of deep breaths and gazed down at her hands, then said to Harrison smiling ", Never underestimate a woman." She placed the tip of her finger on her cheek, “Oh, give my love to your err, err...miss Moneypenny. ".

Rickerby looked dumbly at Beth. The blood went out of his face. The next moment, Beth, with a humph, rushed to the door, yanked it open and walked out. She practically ran down the corridor. Rupert paused before leaving, swivelled to face Harrison's hands curling into fists, then strolled into the corridor and vanished.

Harrison waited and listened but didn't hear their steps going down the stairs. He closed his eyes and sighed, recalling the day's events, expecting his kidnappers to return. He waited and waited, they never did, and eventually, he opened the door and glared out. Everything seemed quiet and empty.

Harrison gripped the telephone in his left hand; his eyes became thin and grey-coloured. Then, finally, he gasped, "Beth lied to me…the phone is working", then he dialled a number.

In a clear tone, he spoke distinctly, clearly, and dryly, "Password is ...lord above, is why worried now?" Harrison winced, "Who on earth thinks up these names, eh?" he shut his eyes as a drained feeling overwhelmed him.

"The code is zed victor two; I repeat code zed victor two. "His cheeks began to twitch nervously. "We urgently need the janitors…pronto…okay". He opened his eyes and yawned.

The voice replied at the end of the line; Clark pursed his lips, answering, "Yes? Uh-huh...okay." He stifled a sneeze with an index finger under his nose. "I'll let you know," a smile twisted the side of his mouth. Then, with the telephone in his right hand, he nodded and peered back and forth quickly. The tone was sombre and sharp, almost pained.

Harrison snapped, "Target no longer has a heartbeat…right." He returned the telephone to its cradle, made for the door, and left.