Authors: Paul Burston
Tags: #Thrillers & Suspense, #Suspense, #Military, #Crime, #Mystery, #Thriller & Suspense, #Thrillers, #Fiction, #Thriller
Would I ever go to a theme park again? Would we add more paintings to the fridge? I searched for hope, for understanding, for an answer.
Last night my old boss, Tom Gillespie, who was leading Joe’s case, had attempted to skew the statistics. As if giving a different slant on a list of numbers could give me hope. He’d tried hard to say something positive, as he would have done easily with any other victim’s mother, but I wasn’t convinced, and neither was he. I saw it in his eyes.
‘Are you staying home today?’ Liam’s voice was tight and weary.
I hadn’t heard him come through the patio door. His honey-coloured hair was uncharacteristically unkempt and tufts jutted out from the top his head. His deep blue eyes seemed sunken and the skin taut over high, triangular cheekbones. He’d been nowhere the past week, only to see Tom. I knew he hadn’t seen
her
, whoever she was. Now, I didn’t care about her and I suspected Liam didn’t either.
‘I guess so,’ I said, noticing the stubble that was growing into a beard. It had taken six days to transform him. He wasn’t wearing Joe’s scarf, and had probably left it in the den. ‘Still reporters camped out at the bottom of the street. Tom managed to move them from the front of the house.’
‘I know. That’s good,’ Liam said.
‘I wish they’d piss off.’
He stood behind me and rubbed what felt like tangled metal wires in my shoulder muscles. ‘They’re just doing a job.’
I pushed his hand away. ‘I know.’ Turning my head, I looked up at him. ‘How’s the new painting going?’
‘It’s not.’
‘You shouldn’t be working.’ I said it automatically; Liam would work and paint through a nuclear holocaust.
‘We have to talk,’ Liam said.
‘About Joe?’ I watched the face of a man I’d loved since my twentieth birthday and forgot, for a moment, the other woman inside our marriage.
‘Of course about Joe. We’ll find our son. You have to believe it.’
He pulled me towards him and I resisted.
‘I know that’s what you want to believe. But we have to face the truth,’ I said.
He let go of me. ‘You deal with it your way, and I have to deal with it in mine.’
‘Liam ...’ We did have to talk, and not about Joe.
He was already heading towards the patio door. I wanted to tell him I still loved him, but could not. It would help him. But not me.
‘I love you,’ he said.
Liam returned to his den.
As I spooned coffee into the filter machine, my breathing became shallow and too quick. I listened to the grumbling of my empty stomach. How could I be hungry? My son was God knows where and my body told me it needed food. I pushed my fist into the flesh beneath my protruding ribs, pressing hard until it hurt. I stood doing nothing for long minutes, not wanting to feel the sickening hunger. I wanted to feel nothing.
I picked up the jug of freshly brewed coffee and threw it onto the floor. Liquid and shards of glass covered the kitchen and, as a strong smell of Arabica diffused through the room, I finally felt some sort of relief. But it was short-lived. I sank onto the cold tiles, into the pool of coffee, and watched as Joe’s picture fell downwards, like a leaf floating from an autumn tree. I wanted to catch it, save it, save Joe, but I could do nothing.
Only watch the falling suns.
To find out more about The Black Path by Paul Burston
and Falling Suns by J.A Corrigan
go to www.accentpress.co.uk
Published by Accent Press Ltd 2016
ISBN 9781786151223
Copyright © Paul Burston 2016
The right of Paul Burston to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Accent Press Ltd, Ty Cynon House, Navigation Park, Abercynon, CF45 4SN
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty