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The Hypogeum Ch. 02-03 free porn video
CHAPTER TWO
‘The death of a dear friend, wife, brother, lover, which seemed nothing but privation, somewhat later assumes the aspect of a guide or genius, for it commonly operates revolutions in our way of life, terminates an epoch of infancy or of youth which was waiting to be closed, breaks up a wonted occupation, or a household, or style of living, and allows the formation of new ones more friendly to the growth of character.’ – Ralph Waldo Emerson
As was usual, the front door of 42 Welby Drive in the sleepy Wiltshire village of Morton Abbas slammed shut and Jonathon climbed behind the wheel of his beloved Peugeot 307. He turned the key in the ignition, slipped the car into reverse and drove backwards off his drive and into the road. Selecting first, he pulled smoothly forwards and began his usual commute into Salisbury.
Jonathon never noticed the small lake of dark fluid that had pooled on the surface of the drive that had a dim rainbow patina in the harsh morning light. He was rather preoccupied this morning due to his impending search for new employment and didn’t even notice the dark blue Mercedes pull in behind him as he left the country road that connected his village to the A345.
As he approached the slip road onto the major road, he increased speed to match the already impressive mass of traffic.
The small nick in the break line continued its ceaseless dripping as fluid left the system and spattered on the road in tiny droplets. The first Jonathon knew about the problem with his brakes was when he hit the build-up of traffic as he approached the West Harnham area of Salisbury. He applied pressure to the middle pedal and it took him a moment to realise that he was not slowing down.
He started to panic as he could see the break lights on the large articulated lorry in front of him shine red. Jonathon had time to stamp ineffectively on the brake pedal one last time before the little car slammed directly into the back bumper of the lorry. The crumple zone did its job and Jonathon stared in slow motion horror as the scene in front of him played out. The bodywork of his car crunched harshly as it contertina’d backwards, the radiator and its mounting took the brunt of the impact and sheared backwards into the engine block. The front wheels moved sideways and skewed as the shockwave travelled backwards towards Jonathon. It seemed like years, but was only an instant as the airbag in the steering wheel deployed. The plastic casing flew off and up towards the windscreen that was cracking and splintering.
Jonathon jolted forwards and his face embedded itself into the rough canvas, then he snapped back sharply to sit in his seat. He blinked and watched as the airbag, its job done, deflated almost as rapidly as it had deployed.
Dimly he could hear the shouts and cries of alarm of the other road users and looked from side to side. He vaguely registered a dark car slip silently past him, but could not see the passenger in the back seat press a button on the casing of a small, black plastic box. The tiny explosive package attached to the fuel tank exploded and ignited the petrol it contained, the fireball engulfed the car and Jonathon briefly registered heat, pain and then he died.
The passenger in the Mercedes made a call on his mobile phone and said, ‘Part one accomplished,’ before replacing the phone in his pocket and indicating to the driver that they should be elsewhere before the emergency services arrived.
It was mid-morning when Alma heard the front door bell ring as she was washing up. She glanced at the clock and wondered who it could be while she quickly dried her hands on a tea towel and walked to the front door. She opened the door and was surprised to see two uniformed policemen on the step. The taller of the two, removed his hat and asked, ‘Mrs Baines? Mrs Alma Baines?’
Alma ran cold, ‘Yes… What’s happened?’
Her expression turned from mild worry to dread as the officer answered quietly, ‘May we come in?’
The dark shadow of doubt and worry started to fill her mind as she led them inside and into the kitchen. She didn’t know why she led them in there, rather than in the living room. It was as though she knew they had bad news and she didn’t want to hear what they had to say, she wanted to get back to the washing up and continue normally as if they weren’t there.
Sadly though, she couldn’t.
Again, she asked, ‘What’s happened? Is it Johnny?’
She waited as the policeman gathered his thoughts and then told her, ‘I’m sorry Mrs Baines, but I’m afraid your husband has been involved in a traffic collision this morning in Salisbury.’
A cold shiver ran down her spine, ‘What! Is he okay? Where is he?’
The policeman held his hat in both hands in front of him, turning it slowly in his hands as he responded in as gentle fashion as he could manage, ‘I’m afraid he’s dead. He died at the scene… I’m so sorry.’
‘Johnny? Dead? No! You’re a liar! I saw him this morning…’
Alma looked from one policeman to the other and back again as she desperately tried to make sense of what she had been told. She was desperate for them to start smiling as though it was really a joke and her Jonathon was coming back to her. Then the reality hit and she staggered, dropping the tea towel onto the floor, she took a step forward and tripped on the towel, as she stumbled, Alma reached out to steady herself on the nearest thing to hand, which was the kitchen stool.
Horrified, the policeman nearest to Alma reached out to grab her as she fell heavily on top of the collapsing stool. Her head hit the corner of the kitchen worktop and she grunted as pain exploded through her skull. She saw bright lights against a black field and slipped into unconsciousness. There was a loud crack when the leg finally snapped off completely and he could only stare at the small figure lying face-down on top of the broken chair and saw a pool of thick red fluid seeping from underneath her.
The sight of blood spurred him into action and the young policeman knelt down next to Alma. He could see a large mark on her forehead just above her left eye that was slightly scratched and little droplets of blood were beginning to form along its length.
His partner was talking rapidly into his radio, requesting an ambulance as a matter of urgency. But he took no notice of that as he gently moved Alma onto her side. He could see that short length of wood that had been part of the leg of the stool had split into a sharp point, which had embedded itself into the side of her abdomen. He was tempted to pull it out, but then his training kicked in and he left it where it was, as he knew that even though it looked bad, it was probably helping to seal the wound and was stopping Alma from losing blood a lot more rapidly.
He felt helpless because all he could do was watch and wait for the ambulance to arrive.
* * *
Alma was walking through a forest. It was a bright sunny day and light was twinkling through the lush green leaves that formed a canopy high above her head. She could hear the gentle twittering of birds high in the trees, going about their daily business and when she came near to a babbling stream, she watched as a Roe deer stared at her nervously guarding a fawn that was gulping down small mouthfuls of the clear, cold water.
Alma backed slowly away from the animals in order not to frighten them away and turned off along another path that wended its way between the trees. Even though she was in such a peaceful and calm setting, Alma was puzzled and a little bit frightened, she had lost something and she needed to find it.
She stopped suddenly as a sharp pain stabbed her in the stomach. She almost cried out, but as quickly as the pain had, it had gone and left only a mild, dull ache in its place. She rubbed her stomach lightly and then continued on her way.
Suddenly, Alma came to a clearin
g. She could see a small, brick-built cottage that seemed rather modern and somewhat out of place in such a picturesque setting. A small tilled area of land lay at the western wall of the house and Alma could see lines of small green plants stood in it.
She walked up to the front door, but before she could knock, it opened and a very old woman stared at her. Alma asked, ‘Can you help me? I’ve lost something, but I don’t know what it is… I only know, I’ve lost it.’
The old woman studied Alma’s face for a long moment before she answered, ‘I think you’d better come inside, child. I have the kettle on the go, so we can have a nice drink and you can tell me all about it.’
Alma followed the old woman into the house uncertainly. Once inside, her fears dimmed somewhat. The inside of the house was a single room that was mainly given over to a cross between a kitchen and what she would imagine a medieval alchemist’s laboratory would look like. To one side asset of rough-hewn steps led up to a platform that contained the sleeping quarters. The whole affair was more in keeping with the aesthetic of the forest than the exterior of the house, which seemed to be far too modern and austere.
The old woman waved toward a finely carved wooden chair, ‘Sit down, child. Make yourself comfy and I’ll get you a drink. Do you drink Camellia?’
‘What’s Camellia?’
The old woman laughed to herself and then answered, ‘I be forgetting myself. You call it tea I’m thinking.’
‘Oh, yes. Yes I’d love some tea please, Miss…?’
The old woman turned and looked Alma full in the face, her blue eyes that had seemed dim and misty now shone with inner fire and her face took on a disapproving aspect, ‘Oh don’t be calling me Miss or Mrs or Madame. Taika, I be called with none of your fangled titles and such.’
Alma shrank back in her chair with an involuntary shudder. There was a power in this strange old lady that she did not understand and it scared her. The fire died in Taika’s eyes and her expression returned to a welcoming, friendly smile, ‘Be of no mind young Alma. I’m old and some things irritate the old folk like perhaps they shouldn’t.’
She grabbed a small handful of dried leaves from a glass jar on a small shelf next to her open fire that had an old fashioned cauldron full of bubbling water set above it and crushed them with her hand as she sprinkled them into a wooden mug. Taking a ladle that hung next to the shelf, she carefully spooned some boiling water into the cup, a quick stir with the other end of the ladle and then she handed the mug to Alma. ‘Have a care now, child. It be hot,’ she warned.
Alma gratefully accepted the drink and took a cautious sip. Taika was right, it was very hot, but also very tasty, just this side of bitter, but with a sparkling after taste. Then a thought struck her, ‘How did you know my name? I never told you it.’
Taika had filled a mug of her own with Camellia and sat down opposite Alma, she ignored the question but posed one of her own, ‘What you be searching for, here in The Forest?’
The younger woman could almost hear the capital letters that Taika used when she referred to the forest and answered, ‘I… I don’t know. I just know I’ve lost something-‘
Again she felt a stab in her belly and this time the pain made her double over. She cried out and dropped her mug on the floor where it clattered and bounced and spilled its contents all over the reed covered stone flags, and once again, the pain disappeared just as rapidly as it had attacked. Alma could feel her eyes fill with stinging tears as she whispered, ‘I’m sorry, I’ve made a mess.’
Taika hadn’t moved, but she responded kindly enough, ‘Pay the drink no mind, Alma. And think not for now about what be lost and what you be forgetting. It’ll come to you in time, I have no doubts.’
She glanced out of the window and noted, ‘The sky be darkening and I’m sure I smelled a thunder storm coming in.’
Taika reached into a pocket in her voluminous skirt and handed Alma a small handkerchief, ‘Dry your tears, Alma. Now be not the time for grief, no matter what you think… Or will be thinking soon. Now be the time for hope as well as happiness and love, or at least the beginnings of it. But only if you be strong and believe in yourself. Lose hope and lose all as they say. But as to who ‘they’ are I wouldn’t know, but ‘they’ do have their share of common sense.’
Alma dabbed her eyes with the piece of soft cloth. She had a thousand questions for this strange old woman, but couldn’t ask any of them. It was as though she had been struck dumb.
Taika stood up and took Alma’s hand, ‘Come child, time for sleeping I think.’
The young woman allowed Taika to lead her gently up the steps to the sleeping area, which turned out to be a huge pile of soft furs. Alma let Taika cover her as she lay still with her eyes closed. The old woman lightly stroked her forehead and whispered a mantra in an unknown language. Alma drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.
* * *
Countless hours later, a loud noise woke Alma with a start. She looked around and found herself in a metal-framed bed under a crisp white sheet. A machine off to one side had a screen showing her heart rate and blood pressure. There was a night table on the other side of her bed upon which stood a plastic jug of water and a small glass. The sound that had woken her was a large trolley being pushed along the hospital ward by a volunteer selling a selection of sweets, drinks and magazines.
Somewhat bewildered, Alma wondered what had happened to Taika and the calm forest… And then the memories flooded back in. The policeman… falling… the sharp pain in her head. Thankfully that had gone now as she discovered when she pressed a finger lightly to the area just above her eye. She couldn’t even feel any scarring. And then a further realisation hit her! Jonathon was dead. Her Johnny with the sunny, boyish disposition and the charming grin was gone forever. She started to cry as the grief filled her to the marrow. She had lost her love, her husband and the father of her child. Her stomach exploded in pain and she grimaced.
Automatically, she reached down to cradle her baby as it slept in her womb whilst the pain subsided and looked down in horror when she didn’t feel the familiar large tummy of a heavily pregnant woman. Her bump was gone. Her baby wasn’t inside her any more!
She screamed!
A nurse appeared at her side and tried to calm her down, gently pressing Alma’s shoulders back onto the mattress and whispering words of meaningless comfort. A doctor came to the other side of the bed, took a quick glance at the monitor and then slipped a syringe into the drip feeder that was bandaged into Alma’s forearm.
As the drugs took a hold, Alma calmed down and began to slip back to sleep. The doctor had to lean over Alma to hear what she was muttering as she slipped away again, ‘My baby… Where’s my baby gone?’
The doctor stood up and checked the readout again, ‘She’ll be out for another two or three hours at least. Erica, could you page Dr Magnusson please, he’ll want to be here when she wakes back up.’
The nurse nodded and hurried away to comply with his request. When Alma came back round, she opened her eyes and discovered that she had been moved to a smaller room set apart from the main ward. She shook her head to try and clear the muzziness and then she saw the middle-aged man dressed in old-fashioned tweeds sat in the cheap armchair across from her. He spoke with a soft Scottish accent, ‘I see you’re awake Alma. Good afternoon, I’m Hamish Magnusson. I suspect that you have some questions for me.’
She was still a little confused and muttered, ‘Doesn’t sound like a Scottish name.’
He laughed briefly and answered, ‘Och no, Mum was a Scot, but dad was Icelandic although I was raised in Scotland… What gave it away? Was it the tweeds? People always notice th
e tweeds.’
Alma couldn’t help but laugh. Until the cobwebs cleared a little more and she remembered why she was here. Tears rose unbidden to her eyes once more as she recalled that Johnny was gone forever. She glanced down at where her stomach was under the sheet and where her baby should have been. ‘Where’s my baby?’
Dr Magnusson sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb before speaking, ‘I’m sorry Alma. When you fell, you were injured quite severely. A sharp piece of wood pierced your abdomen and hit the wee man. I’m so sorry. There’s no easy way for me to tell you this. But I’m afraid you lost your child. We tried. God alone knows how we tried tae save him, but… I’m so very sorry.’
Alma was numb. She felt cold. Her world had collapsed and she was beyond crying. There were not enough tears in the world that would be enough to grieve over her lost husband and now her lost baby. She looked directly at Dr Magnusson and asked, ‘I was carrying a son?’
‘Aye.’
‘I see.’
And then the tears did come.
Alma lay in the bed and wept. She didn’t cry out, she didn’t scream. She just wept.
Silently. Her hands were tightly clasped together, one balled into a fist inside the other, and slowly she began to sob, louder and louder and louder until she released a scream, ‘NOOOOOOOOO!’
The older man came to stand next to her and tried to take her hand. He could see that her nails were digging into the palm and blood was beginning to flow.
Gently but firmly, he broke her grip and took one of her hands into both of his. Unable to say anything to soothe the poor young woman who had lost everything, he merely held her hand and waited patiently for the grief to run its course.
It was two weeks later that Alma was able to leave the hospital and return home. The taxi dropped her off outside her front door and she stood silently in front of it, unsure that she ever wanted to enter the house again. It no longer seemed like the home she had known and loved.
There was a twinge of intense pain in her stomach, but as usual, before she really had time to react, it had gone leaving the usual dull ache in its place. It was the spur she needed to dig her keys out of her handbag, the policemen who had been with her at the time of her fall had retrieved it from the house and left it for her at the hospital.
She placed the key in the lock and took a deep breath before turning it and pushing the door back. It swung wide open, but still she hesitated. Alma wasn’t sure that all of her tears had been shed, or that she would be able to handle seeing the house again, especially now, without Jonathon and her son to make it a home.
She turned and looked around at the street. Several curtains were twitching and she knew that the jungle drums were already signalling to each other as the local gossips passed the news of her return. She could see the streetlights were beginning to switch on as the late afternoon turned into early evening.
Across the road, almost directly in line with her drive, some workmen were digging up the road. Although as far as she could see, not a lot of work had taken place.
They had set up a red and white tent that she supposed covered a manhole or something and one of the men, the youngest looking, swung lazily at the surface of the road with a pickaxe. However, two other men stood leaning against shovels, drinking tea and chatting quietly together.
Both of the idle workmen were tall, one stood at about 6’2′ with a serious demeanour and a solemn yet darkly handsome face. He had longish black hair tied back in a ponytail.
The other tea drinker was something else, He looked like he was nearer 7 feet tall with massive shoulders and huge arms that were making the fabric of the donkey jacket he was wearing bulge and show real strain.
Seemingly none of the men had registered her arrival, but she still felt a shiver down her spine as she got the impression that they were watching her.
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