Read The Sons Of Cleito (The Abductions of Langley Garret Book 1) Online
Authors: Derek Haines
The Sons Of Cleito (The Abductions of Langley Garret Book 1) (15 page)
I sprinted across Place Pury, dodging the traffic and bicycles, racing passed the Gucci shop and avoiding those walking begrudgingly to work, and then turned right into a side street. Then right again, left, right, left, then left and right again turning into any street that appeared in front of me and in any direction. My heart was ready to exit my body through my throat as I looked back over my shoulder and gained a little hope in not seeing any ill-fitting suits behind me. I looked ahead and realised I was back on Place Pury. I ran straight ahead and took the next narrow street on my right and slowed down as I thought I had successfully lost my new Tuesday friends. I leant against a wall and sucked in huge gulps of air to help my lungs, which were crying out in pain. I looked right and left as I did, but there was no sign of my pursuers.
I walked up the street slowly, still trying to catch my breath, then turned either left or right at each intersection and ended up going around in circles until I turned into rue de la Treille, and hoped that the cafés, terraces and numerous people having a coffee before work would deter my friends from doing anything if they stumbled upon me again. I took a seat on the pavement terrace of an Italian café and sucked the cool morning air into my lungs. My legs sent me one thousand thank yous for taking a seat. Shaking, but at least starting to breathe more easily, I ordered an espresso and a large glass of water from the waiter. He must have noticed my heavy breathing and sweat on my brow as a few minutes later when he returned with my order, he'd been thoughtful enough to add some ice cubes to my glass of water. I looked down towards either end of the street and was relieved in not seeing any suits wandering around in search of someone they had lost.
I started wondering if I was becoming paranoid. Maybe they were simply lost or perhaps visiting businessmen and didn't know their way around Neuchâtel. It was probably me, with a newly developed nervous reaction to cheap off the rack suits. I sipped my coffee and tried to convince myself I was being stupid. It started to work, as no one seemed to be looking for me. I waited another half an hour and ordered another coffee. Just to be sure.
Finally I knew I had to move on, overcome my fears and get on with my life. There was no one chasing me, or wanting information from me anymore. It was only my fear and imagination playing tricks on me and my over-pessimistic internal organs. I took a deep breath, stood up and decided it was time to go home. I walked slowly through the streets, as my legs were in no mood at all to get home in a hurry.
After twenty minutes of ambling, I turned left into rue du Basin, with only one more turn before my street, walking slowly and giving myself a good talking to about being so stupidly paranoid. I was interrupted mid-sentence however by an eerily familiar voice.
'I've been looking for you Soter.'
I spun on my heels and turned towards the voice, which came from behind me. I felt the blood drain from my head and my face turning white instantly as I focused on the woman, wearing tight black denim jeans, leaning on a wall with her ankles slightly crossed, in the shadows of an arched stone doorway; her long blonde hair resting across her shoulder and draping over her left breast. Her face was wearing a warm half smile. She uncrossed her ankles and stood, brushing a little imaginary fluff from her green woollen sweater before taking a few steps towards me.
'Chara?' I said, with my feet now riveted firmly in fear into the cobblestones.
'I told you I loved you Lang, and we do have things that were sadly left unfinished.'
I stood like a statue, in disbelief and panic, with my internal organs just for once, paralysed and incapable of sending one solitary iota of their habitual dark and foreboding clairvoyant speculation.
The End
But the story continues in
The Few
…..
Also by Derek Haines
Septimity and The Blood Brotherhood
March – A Tale of Salmon and Swedes
Derek Haines is an author of quite a number of books, however, he spends most of his time blogging, making technology go horribly wrong, and being a rather senior ESL English teacher.
Born in Australia, but now living in Switzerland with his wife and his black Cocker Spaniel, he passes many hours, trying to make technology work again, after inadvertently breaking it. It's a painful process, yet it’s such an effective self-study method in acquiring new technological skills.
As I’m a writer – I can change adroitly from the third person into the first person, and say that I love what I do and where I live, and also, that I am a Douglas Adams fanatic, bordering on a tragic. So much so, that by some spooky coincidence, my street address is 42. That’s so much more impressive than simply owning a towel and having ready access to peanuts and beer.
However, peanuts and beer are extremely important, as they provide essential sustenance during my bouts of obsessive writing, which although rare, usually take place in a horizontal position. I should mention here that I am very fond of acronyms, anagrams, allegories and alliteration, also.
In addition, I quite like commas. The Oxford type, or otherwise. However, quite perversely, I am not enamoured by quotation marks. I use them, singularly if possible, but even then, only under sufferance. As for semicolons; who really knows how to use them?
Aside from my never-ending punctuation conundrums, I enjoy life, good food, wine, beer, and I take each day as it comes – thankfully.
