The Gadget: The Rondon Chronicles Book One V. Timlin (mobi reader .txt) 📖

“Tomorrow, Owen, and in my letter box,” Anouk repeated then turned to go.

“Anouk, please,” Owen lamented.

She spun on her heels. “You walked out of my life, so stay out of my life. Got that?”

Owen stared at her, his eyes wide. A few people walking past gave them curious looks. Without waiting for Owen’s response, Anouk stormed down the street.

How dare he? Anouk gritted her teeth so hard her jaw hurt. How dare he act as if nothing had happened? Did he really think she would welcome his meagre attention? He hadn’t even texted her any messages of condolence when her mother died after losing a year-long battle with cancer.

A sharp blast snapped her to the present. Dazed, she looked at the car—she had walked into traffic and almost got run over.

“Sorry!” She waved an apology to the driver and hurried across the road in embarrassment. The engine roared as the car sped off.

Tears were still welling up as she reached Hanwell cemetery. She shook them off.

“I’m through crying over that bastard,” she muttered. Taking a deep breath she walked under the old arched gate before passing the Victorian-gothic church and administrator buildings.

Continuing along the path lined with old Victorian graves, she absorbed the serene atmosphere that oozed within the walls of the graveyard—a calm timeless haven under the canopies of huge oak trees, where sorrow was accepted and expected.

She loved this old cemetery. Even before laying her mother to rest here, Anouk had enjoyed taking strolls around the grounds now and then. It had all started when she was a Goth in her wild teenage years, seeking thrills from midnight walks through graveyards with her friends. Her mother had been horrified by her ‘hobby’, but it had been harmless, really; most of the time they ended up screaming at every sound or their own shadows. She snorted at the recollection of their antics—once she had even peed in her pants.

She made her way to her mother’s grave in the newer part of the cemetery, at a leisurely pace.

“Hello, Mum,” she greeted the grave. “Fresh flowers as promised.”

She replaced the battered roses and poured water from the bottle she carried in her bag into the graveside vase. After gathering the dead plants and paper wrappings into a neat bundle and tucking it under her arm, she stood looking at the carving of her mother’s name, the dates and the short poem she had chosen for the white tombstone.

What we have once enjoyed we can never lose.

All that we love deeply becomes a part of us.

– Helen Keller

Tears threatened to fall… this time she let them.

“I miss you, Mum,” Anouk whispered. She leaned over and kissed the stone. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

She left, taking the same route, letting her gaze wander around the old graves, marvelling at the Victorian aesthetic of death and wondering how could anyone become inured to such beauty? Grey and weathered gravestones and statues displayed the regard of the deceased. Names and years on the headstones made her question how the lives of those people might have been in the nineteenth century. She stopped in front of a carved stone angel and looked up at its sorrowful face, contemplating how much grief the mourners must have felt.

An ear-splitting boom shattered the silence.

Instinctively, Anouk dove behind the statue, her mind racing with thoughts of the cause. It had sounded like an explosion that had emanated from close by. The recent terror attacks sprang to Anouk’s mind. But why would anyone launch such an attack at a sleepy cemetery where most people were already dead?

She risked a peek from behind the angel and scanned the line of graves. Yes, there… just a short distance from her hiding place, a Victorian sarcophagus was indeed missing its cover, yet otherwise intact. Judging by the loudness of the explosion, it should have been in pieces, if not gravel.

A human-like figure clad in a dark jumpsuit rose from the stone coffin. Every single hair on Anouk’s body stood up, and a scream escaped from her lips. The figure spun to look in her direction, a mixture of surprise and anger danced on his hard, but healthy pink face. He pulled something from his hip and pointed it at her.

Oh, shit! Anouk darted in the opposite direction. A gunshot rang out, and she dove behind the closest headstone. The bullet whistled over her head. Shit, shit, shit! She kept crawling down the gap between graves searching for better cover. Call the police, her terrified mind screamed.

She hid behind a huge Victorian cross. Her heart was beating so hard she was sure the shooter would hear it and come to finish her off. She fumbled for her mobile phone in her handbag, her hands shaking like jelly during an earthquake. After what felt like an eternity, she found the phone but dropped it a couple of times before managing to hold it. She pressed the power button on the side, but nothing happened. She pressed again, harder, but the screen remained black.

“Fuck,” she cursed under her breath. She had had the phone on mute the whole day and forgotten that the battery was low. Now it was dead… she needed to avoid a similar fate.

Straining her ears, she tried to listen over her raspy breathing and hammering heart for any other sound that would reveal the shooter’s whereabouts. The only things she could hear were the hum of distant traffic and wind moving the leaves. She got on her knees and peeked behind the pedestal of the cross. He was nowhere to be seen. Her gut wrenched. Where the hell was he? Then she spotted him running away down the path towards the cemetery gate.

With a sigh of relief, she collapsed against the foot of the cross, watching the man disappear out of sight.

Anouk waited a little while longer to make sure he didn’t return before daring to rise. Her whole body trembled with the