To Listen on audible: http://www.audible.co.uk/pd/Sci-Fi-Fantasy/Labyrinthine-Audiobook/B011N0QVN0/ref=a_search_c4_1_3_srTtl?qid=1445681627&sr=1-3#publisher-summary
The old woman glanced at her watch; she had two miles to walk to the designated position. She felt tired and weary, just old. Admittedly, there were other ways to travel, it was just she should not influence anything and definitely not talk to anyone. “This one will be perfect,” she croaked.
Olivia was late, “This is so strange. Why would that happen?” She took a seat at her large, mahogany desk and pulled her sketchbook from a drawer. Click. The lead in her pencil was ready. What was it? Connector, time frame, eyes and Retina Blue, she scribbled. There was no obvious connection.
Leaning back in her chair, Olivia gazed into space. Her head swooned. The image of the being’s eyes haunted her. Carefully she drew the Connector’s eye. Were they green or turquoise? Clear? Was there a pattern or was it missing a pattern? With a loud sigh she rested her head in her hands, she felt exhausted, ill, weak and insane.
“Where’s Max when I need him? I need his rationale,” she muttered.
It was too much – too weird! Olivia took a deep breath; it had not intended to kill her. It? Was ‘it’ mutated or some kind of clone?
Olivia paused mid-sketch; its eyes weren’t human. What does that mean? She chewed her pencil and attempted to retrace the previous events. What had happened before she woke up? When had she been beaten? Why couldn’t she remember? Olivia pinched herself out of courtesy. She had done that many times as a child. Yes, she had experienced visions before. Usually stress triggered them. Nevertheless, they were just kid’s visions - they happened with over-active imaginations.
Olivia rested her head in her hands; it was happening again, the creativity was taking over. When she was young, she would get so involved in her inner landscape that she could get stuck. Hours and hours of daydreaming enabled her to travel through ornate mental labyrinths, the source of her inspiration. Of course, she never told people where she got the images, they would never understand and she certainly could not show them. Olivia huffed, it was there again, the events that took place when she was thirteen. That was when the labyrinth had become the place to escape and hide. The door was opening and it was calling her. If she went in again she feared she would never return. She had almost died there once and she did not intend to allow that to happen again.
Something sparkled from amongst the shag pile. Olivia dashed over, picked up the tiny ornament and stared at it. “It’s empty - but it’s real.”
Within a second, the ornament shattered and disintegrated in her hand. A glittery substance remained.
Max strolled along the promenade next to Bournemouth beach. It was a warm summer’s day, so tourists clustered in droves close to the pier. On the edge of the beach, Max found himself the perfect view of sun-lotioned, glistening bodies and bikini-clad breasts. It was beautiful. From such a vantage point, he could select a variety of potential conquests to prey upon. With his hotel just two minutes away, it was perfect. The sales conference had finished two days ago and he was simply enjoying the view.
In a matter of weeks, when he completed his contract, he would be free of her, the drain. He could have whatever he wanted - whoever he wanted. Max began the stroll back to his hotel and glanced at his reflection in one of the pier shop windows, he looked shattered. He wondered how much more emotional support he could provide Olivia. It was draining, but he was close to the payout.
A raven landed on a post close to where Max was admiring himself. It squawked but was ignored.
Max smoothed his hair; he had the image, but certainly did not have the collateral. He posed in his lavish car, chosen purely for sex appeal. He dealt in cars; he needed the best - of course. Admittedly, it was not his own, he could never afford such a vehicle with all his debt. Max turned his back to a group of giggling girls and watched them in the mirrored window. One particular petite blonde caught his eye and smiled back. He intended to ‘have’ her by the end of the day.
He glanced at his mobile phone, Olivia’s number was on the display ready to dial. He shook his head; Olivia was business, the blonde, on the other hand, was potentially unadulterated pleasure.
Olivia assembled her sketchbooks and shoved them into her green corduroy bag. She checked herself in the mirror and adjusted some of her dark ringlets. She searched her scalp for cuts - nothing. Why did she feel so bruised? She paused by the mirror, she’d changed so much of late. At least she was recognisable now, rather than the withdrawn skeleton she had been through her years of ‘escape’. The mind is a powerful tool, Olivia, but your body still needs to function. She rearranged her hair, picked up her bag and made her way out of her apartment.
Descending the remaining steps into the garage, Olivia clicked her car key. Her purple Peugeot sat waiting. It had been a birthday present from Max. She often wondered how he had raised the money.
Turning the key in the ignition, Olivia revved the engine and drove off at speed. The events of the morning spun through her mind. Some lively music would distract her. That was exactly what she needed: a distraction.
To make it to the Tate gallery in Pimlico, Olivia had to cross the Hammersmith Bridge and it was nearing rush hour. She was already late and the traffic would not be kind. What’s more, when she arrived she would have to deal with a sweaty, angry maniac. Olivia unconsciously shook her head. How do I explain?
Guy resembled the statue of David, but in the flesh, albeit David’s male appendage. He did, however, have large feet and strong hands. In his early thirties with dark hair and sky blue eyes, he struggled with the perfect white female statuette he had carved. He admired her perfection as he wrapped her carefully in some thick, cream canvas and took one last glance at his beautiful sculpture. He hated parting with her after so much time and effort.
He climbed onto his motorbike and wedged the statue by his heart. He adjusted his leather riding jacket and left just the head poking out. Guy looked down and smirked. The small head peering from the jacket looked ridiculous. Smiling to himself, he kick-started his bike. He had to cross London in rush hour. I hate it. London drivers - God help me!
The old woman reached the meeting point and paused. I suppose I should sit down and wait until it happens- it’s nearly time. She adjusted her tatty floral skirt before she sat on some cool, marble steps beside a series of traffic lights. Someone will have to calm the traffic. Out of boredom, she examined her overgrown, curling, toenails. They were aggressively poking out of her worn, leather sandals. They need cutting.
She was early, she hated that. It meant people would witness her presence before the incident occurred. At least she had time to rehearse her lines. “The eye is the gateway to the soul - not very original... Okay... The eye is the gateway to the soul, the eye contains all information - it is not to be tampered with, and it will change everything when discovered.”
The old woman coughed a phlegmy cough and wiped her mouth. “The eye is the gateway to the soul. Time and instance are reflected within it. Within the eye is the divine - oh shit, I always forget that bit!” she said gruffly and scratched her neck. That’s why being old is such a bloody conundrum. When you finally have knowledge, you cannot bloody remember it for the life of you. What you do bloody remember you repeat. Oh to remember…To understand.
Ivy glanced at the dolls, “what are you staring at?”
A passer-by threw a coin sympathetically at the old woman. It bounced off her head and spun on the ground. “She thinks I’m bloody mad and now she’s upset the balance. How am I supposed to do this properly if the rules constantly get broken?”
The old woman looked up; before her stood a figure dressed in black.
“Give me the coin -,” said the powerful, sexless voice.
The old woman passed the coin obligingly.
The figure spun the circular metal piece into the air.
She watched the coin arc and land before the passer-by. The coin pinged as it collided with the ground and compelled the passer-by to pick it up.
The old woman looked up at the figure. “I thought it was about time you showed up,” she said huskily.