The lone figure toddled along the street; the warm night air was like poison to his troubled soul. He dragged his left leg along and grunted with each painful step. His hunched shoulders were home to a coat, which hung on his gaunt frame like shredded shrouds. His small, beady eyes were still sharp and bright. He moved slowly but surely towards St Michael’s Church. When he neared the church, he glanced wearily at the bronze figure of Archangel Michael, which stood at the portal of the church conquering the devil but the image merely intensified his uneasiness.
He stiffened at the horrible thought that crossed his mind, ‘is any of the Leonhards still alive? If so, my soul be damned.’ At the ripe old age of 81, Bernstein Joel Bonnke believed his bones would not rest in his grave until he has seen an end to the last descendant of the cancer of Germany. His shaky head glared at the picture in his right hand, it was the picture of a beautiful dark-haired woman, her features were lovely, but as far as he was concerned, she carried in her genes, an evil so potent, it must not be allowed to sprout. Bernstein gritted his teeth in quiet anticipation, if things worked according to plan, then his meeting at Santum Close would be successful.
Gordon’s car glided smoothly into the driveway, he killed the engine and opened the door of his Aston Martin. He closed it loudly for emphasis and muttered under his breath,
‘I’m still angry!’
He strode towards the door and stopped short, a creepy feeling slowly made its way down his spine. A worried frown crossed his taut face. He couldn’t place it but suddenly, he wanted to hold Linda in his arms, his earlier anger evaporated instantly.
He opened the front door and met a full house.
His mother and sons sat with glum faces while three police officers stood sentry close to the kitchen, whispering to themselves. Gordon’s heart sank; he knew something bad must have happened to Linda.
‘Hey mom,’ he croaked out, there was a stubborn lump on his throat.
His mother, Bertie stood up. She was a plain Jane, round, matronly but with the sweetest smile ever. She sauntered to where her son stood sheepishly, looking like a cat caught stealing a neighbour’s milk and held him close.
‘Linda didn’t make it to the office.’ Bertie whispered sadly, her eyes brimming with tears.
Gordon moved away from his mother’s embrace and faced his sons, they didn’t utter a word, but their accusing eyes spoke volume.
The police officers approached cautiously, their faces, deadpan and serious.
Eliza stood up and went to his room; Gordon stared at his retreating back and knew he has lost his son. He watched the police officers as they approached him and the knot in his stomach tightened as they inched closer.
They told him the news he had dreaded since stepping into the house.
One thing I’ve realised about relationships is this, we tend to jump to conclusions quickly. Suspicion and mistrust kills love faster than unfaithfulness and you know what I’m going to say next – Live well and love well.
The next part of this story would be next Wednesday, I appreciate your comments!
I write like Jeffrey Archer, I don’t plan my stories, I just write as the pen leads! I love you guys, and do enjoy the rest of this great week.
NP: There’s one thing though – I’m having problems commenting on all the blogs I visited yesterday, it’s like been banned from speaking to your friends! :( I do hope WordPress would fix this!!
Much love, always!