Dusk swept over the tree-lined sky like a stealthy assassin as the car wound its way into the countryside. The nights seemed to come in quicker than the tide, Kip thought, cursing softly to himself as a car travelling the opposite way flashed his lights at him. The angel eyes of the car shone into life with a quick flick of a switch. His thoughts followed suit, rapidly flashing back those last twenty four hectic hours. One moment you think you've got all the time in the world, the next... those sounds and smells haunted his senses still. How could someone knowingly plan to do that to other people? What made someone choose, of all places, a teeming, busy restaurant with mothers feeding their children, with lusty teenagers and limping widowers all enjoying the atmosphere in Greenwich park? Moments after the bomb had exploded, Kip found himself sprawled over a young boy clutching hold of a model Cutty Sark he must have purchased at the nearby souvenir stand. And all he could hear in the midst of the terror and confusion were the boy's ragged whimpers, accusing him of breaking his model ship. Kip remembered thinking, hey, pick your battles kid. Pick your battles...
The foghorn of the truck instantly brought Kip back to the present. He had drifted over to the other side of the road in his thoughts, and with a wrench of the steering wheel he manoeuvered the car back to safety. In the rear-view, the truck was still braking, blaring its horn in defiance. 'Get a grip', Kip mused, giving himself a wry smile in the mirror. He should have got someone to drive him up here, maybe even sent someone else to investigate the whole matter; his mind wasn't switched on. But the psychologist in him was too attracted by the mystery of this case to put it in the hands of some recent post-graduate who knew everything about the mechanics of a brain, but next to nothing about the secrets of the mind.
No comments:
Post a Comment