…”
“Just hang on, lad. The drugs will cut in soon and you won’t feel so bad.”
They travelled along the M3, heading south-west towards Winchester. On the outskirts, they waited forty minutes in a hidden lane for a contact to arrive. Then, after receiving further instructions, they headed into Dorset via every lane and back road imaginable.
“We’ve been to this lane before. We’re going in circles.”
“It just seems like it, Tom. Close your eyes and try to relax, and let me do the driving.”
Tom felt sceptical until he spotted Noah pointing towards an increasing brightness through the front windscreen. With an effort Tom raised his head just enough to see the sign for Romsey glowing in their headlights.
“This is it. We’re nearly there, lad.”
Tom felt dizzy and disorientated as they headed down another obscure road, north towards Salisbury. Fifteen minutes later, they drove down a boggy driveway and arrived at a farmhouse, surrounded by enormous English Elms.
After helping drag some of the group’s gear into the house, Tom slumped into a chair beside the kitchen table. He looked up at the whitewashed walls and dark timber ceiling and then across the table at Noah.
“You promised me the truth once I became committed, Noah. Well, I can’t get any more committed than this … Can I?”
“It’s late and we’re all tired, Tom.”
“Can I, Noah?”
“No … I suppose you can’t.”
“Then tell me. You seem to know more about my life than I do.”
Tom saw Noah’s face scrunch and crease with concentration. He looked anything but happy.
“Alright, Tom. Your father’s discoveries started this whole godforsaken business.”
Noah looked away from Tom and softened his voice.
“And your mother … Well, she’s still one of the most wonderful women I’ve met. Everyone loved her.”
“That’s great. Where is she, Noah?”
“She’s gone, Tom. They’re both gone.”
“Gone? What do you mean?”
“They’re dead. They’ve been gone from us for many years now.”
Tom detected the sudden change in the room. Everyone’s attention centred on him. Presumably, to see how he handled such devastating news.
What are you all looking at?
“You should’ve told me this before, Noah. At least give me their names.”
Tom noticed the apprehension in Noah’s expression; a hesitation punctuated by darting eyes and a nervous fluttering of his lashes.
“Katherine and Alexander Fox.”
“ The Alexander Fox?”
“Yes.”
“We’re talking about Professor Alexander James Fox?”
“Yes.”
Tom’s brain throbbed with an increase in blood flow. His eyes lost focus as did his ability to understand his feelings.
“Alexander Fox, the Satanist?”
He tried to remember how the Church described him.
“The Antichrist. The Devil’s entrepreneur. The modern-day Hitler. That Alexander Fox?”
“Yes.”
No … This can’t be true. Even little children knew this man as Mr Evil.
“Is this what you dragged me here for? To tell me my mother’s dead and my father’s a monster.”
“There’s more to this. Much more, son.”
“I’m not your son. I’m no-one’s son.”
“Tom …”
“No. You conned me. You made me think …”
The room began to swirl and Tom felt like he might vomit. He jumped to his feet and sent his chair tumbling over the polished wooden floorboards. He heard the sound of glass breaking, but he didn’t understand what that meant.
He staggered backwards as his mind began to spin round and round; a black vortex sucking him in.
“Tom … Tom … Tom.”
He heard someone calling his name, but it receded and vanished, as he plummeted into a black pit of unconsciousness.
The abyss.
Chapter Nine
T wo accidents in one morning brought traffic on the Sydney Harbour Bridge to a halt. An hour and a half later, Isobel reached her office; a journey that normally took thirty-five minutes.
Perspiration trickled down her spine, as she walked from the car park. She
“Just hang on, lad. The drugs will cut in soon and you won’t feel so bad.”
They travelled along the M3, heading south-west towards Winchester. On the outskirts, they waited forty minutes in a hidden lane for a contact to arrive. Then, after receiving further instructions, they headed into Dorset via every lane and back road imaginable.
“We’ve been to this lane before. We’re going in circles.”
“It just seems like it, Tom. Close your eyes and try to relax, and let me do the driving.”
Tom felt sceptical until he spotted Noah pointing towards an increasing brightness through the front windscreen. With an effort Tom raised his head just enough to see the sign for Romsey glowing in their headlights.
“This is it. We’re nearly there, lad.”
Tom felt dizzy and disorientated as they headed down another obscure road, north towards Salisbury. Fifteen minutes later, they drove down a boggy driveway and arrived at a farmhouse, surrounded by enormous English Elms.
After helping drag some of the group’s gear into the house, Tom slumped into a chair beside the kitchen table. He looked up at the whitewashed walls and dark timber ceiling and then across the table at Noah.
“You promised me the truth once I became committed, Noah. Well, I can’t get any more committed than this … Can I?”
“It’s late and we’re all tired, Tom.”
“Can I, Noah?”
“No … I suppose you can’t.”
“Then tell me. You seem to know more about my life than I do.”
Tom saw Noah’s face scrunch and crease with concentration. He looked anything but happy.
“Alright, Tom. Your father’s discoveries started this whole godforsaken business.”
Noah looked away from Tom and softened his voice.
“And your mother … Well, she’s still one of the most wonderful women I’ve met. Everyone loved her.”
“That’s great. Where is she, Noah?”
“She’s gone, Tom. They’re both gone.”
“Gone? What do you mean?”
“They’re dead. They’ve been gone from us for many years now.”
Tom detected the sudden change in the room. Everyone’s attention centred on him. Presumably, to see how he handled such devastating news.
What are you all looking at?
“You should’ve told me this before, Noah. At least give me their names.”
Tom noticed the apprehension in Noah’s expression; a hesitation punctuated by darting eyes and a nervous fluttering of his lashes.
“Katherine and Alexander Fox.”
“ The Alexander Fox?”
“Yes.”
“We’re talking about Professor Alexander James Fox?”
“Yes.”
Tom’s brain throbbed with an increase in blood flow. His eyes lost focus as did his ability to understand his feelings.
“Alexander Fox, the Satanist?”
He tried to remember how the Church described him.
“The Antichrist. The Devil’s entrepreneur. The modern-day Hitler. That Alexander Fox?”
“Yes.”
No … This can’t be true. Even little children knew this man as Mr Evil.
“Is this what you dragged me here for? To tell me my mother’s dead and my father’s a monster.”
“There’s more to this. Much more, son.”
“I’m not your son. I’m no-one’s son.”
“Tom …”
“No. You conned me. You made me think …”
The room began to swirl and Tom felt like he might vomit. He jumped to his feet and sent his chair tumbling over the polished wooden floorboards. He heard the sound of glass breaking, but he didn’t understand what that meant.
He staggered backwards as his mind began to spin round and round; a black vortex sucking him in.
“Tom … Tom … Tom.”
He heard someone calling his name, but it receded and vanished, as he plummeted into a black pit of unconsciousness.
The abyss.
Chapter Nine
T wo accidents in one morning brought traffic on the Sydney Harbour Bridge to a halt. An hour and a half later, Isobel reached her office; a journey that normally took thirty-five minutes.
Perspiration trickled down her spine, as she walked from the car park. She
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