Experiment With Destiny by Stephen Carr Page B

swayed for a moment before toppling down the steps with a scream. Marcus knew at once it was the night watchman. He was still alive…Marcus had not killed him.
                  “Thank God!” he grinned.
                  “What?” The policewoman started, changing her poise and reaching for her stun gun, alarm obvious in her expression.
                  “Thou shalt not kill. I didn’t kill him,” explained Marcus. “I thought I had.”
                  “You’re under arrest!” she barked.
                  “No. No, I have to go now.” Marcus turned and began walking toward the driver’s door.
                  “Stop!” she ordered. Marcus ignored her, too weary to argue. He pictured the riverbank, the boat, the grass blowing in a gentle breeze and the warming sun. The policewoman lunged and tried to press the stun gun to the side of his neck…but a sudden gust knocked her off balance and the blow sizzled harmlessly in the rain beside his ear. Marcus saw the blue sparks and felt her full bodyweight crash hard into his back.
     
                  Marcus lay on the sodden tarmac, winded, the policewoman on top of him. He gazed up into her pale skin and dark eyes, feeling the intimacy and warmth of her body pressing down on him. She was not looking at him. She was reaching for something on the road nearby. He was dimly aware of her voice, shouting warnings and threats, and the noise and splashes of the traffic passing just feet away. But he could also see the sunlight through the trees, hear the whisper of the breeze and the lapping of the water. He felt her hot breath caress his face. Her mouth was open, inviting. His desire was stirring.
                  “Misty.” He reached up and kissed her, pressing his tongue against her lips. His arms closed around her and he pulled her down until he felt her breasts resting on his chest. His loins stirred against the dampness of his flannels, against the weight of her smooth body. Suddenly she was fighting, squirming free from his embrace, the stun gun on the road forgotten. He clung tighter, sensing her panic, trying to stall her struggle. “Misty, no! You’ll fall in! You’ll tip us over!”
                  “Let go of me!” she screamed in the rain, and rolled. Marcus felt the boat tipping. The sunlight faded and the breeze began to whip him cruelly.
                  “No! The basket!” His head spun round. He felt her body lift from him, as though it had been stolen away. He tried to find the basket but all he could see was tarmac. “You’ve knocked it overboard! We need it!” He crawled on his hands and knees, searching, gasping for air between the rain. “Help me!” he implored.
     
                  Marcus watched her stagger to her feet. He saw her, silhouetted against the brightly lit museum fascia. He saw the angry sky, the neon streetlamps, the pot-holed road. She was a police officer. It was all over. It was the end of his life. It didn’t matter…his life wasn’t worth living anyway. Marcus kneeled, smiling through the downpour. She was bending, reaching for something on the road. In the corner of his eye he saw a flash of white. It happened too fast to warn her.
     
                  Marcus Smith watched the blood seeping from her wounds and, mixed with oil, dirt and rain, flow into the gutter and away through the drains. Her dark eyes were empty and her mouth gaped hollow, as if emptied of a last scream. There was something not quite right about the shape of her head, or about the way her body lay twisted and buckled on the road. Marcus turned to watch the lorry’s rear lights fade from view. Clearly the driver had no intention of stopping. He glanced across the road to see the night watchman slumped on the bottom step in front of the museum, cradling his head. In the distance he heard a siren wailing and