LABYRINTHINE
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
CHAPTER 10
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.
CHAPTER 11
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.
CHAPTER 12
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?
CHAPTER 13
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.
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
