All the Birds of the Air: Stories of Life, Death ... And a Little Revenge

All the Birds of the Air

Stories of life, death … and a little revenge

DEMELZA

This is an IndieMosh book

brought to you by MoshPit Publishing

an imprint of Mosher’s Business Support Pty Ltd

PO BOX 147

Hazelbrook NSW 2779

http://www.indiemosh.com.au/

Copyright 2017 © Demelza

All rights reserved

Licence Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the author and publisher.

Disclaimer

This story is entirely a work of fiction.

No character in this story is taken from real life. Any resemblance to any person or persons living or dead is accidental and unintentional.

The author, their agents and publishers cannot be held responsible for any claim otherwise and take no responsibility for any such coincidence.

Dedicated to the memory of Peggie

who encouraged me to write one page at a time

until it became a story

and one story at a time

until it became a book.

Chapter One:

The White Room

Who killed Cock Robin?

I, said the Sparrow.

With my bow and arrow,

I killed Cock Robin.

I opened my eyes. Strangely I was unable to move the rest of my face or any other part of my body. A drip attached to a pole hung above my left arm. I lay on my back on a bed in a room. The room was white. The ceiling, the walls, even the curtains that half surrounded me, were white. The floor, I could not see. This, however, did not concern me. What did concern me was my inability to move.

Think, Sparrow, I urged myself. Where am I? Where was I? And why can’t I move?

I could see two figures standing one each side of the double doors on my right. If they had been speaking I may have thought them doctors by the white clothing they wore. As it was neither of them spoke. They stood like sentinels guarding the entrance of a tomb. Why were they there? Were they guarding me? And if so, from what?

My thoughts were interrupted by a commotion that pushed through the doors, knocking the guards to the ground, landing them beneath my view. Their two assailants each grabbed an end of the trolley bed I lay upon and proceeded to push me through the doors.

Screams lay silent in my unopened mouth as we sped along a narrow corridor, heading for who knew where. Bright lights flashed above me as the wheels skidded sideways around a corner – my body partly leaving the bed. It was at this point I realised handcuffs were preventing me from falling off. My thoughts spun wildly as we raced along. What is the sense of this? What motive do these people have? I felt sure whatever was happening was not running to plan. As my vision blurred, I perceived an ominous tilt and the bumping of stairs beneath me. My abductors disappeared from view as my body toppled over the handrail. An excruciating pain shrieked from my lower arm to my shoulder as the needle ripped from me. An oxygen tube wrenched itself from my nose and a drip with a pole sped past my eyes, crashing at least three stories below. The handcuffs attached to the trolley, on the other side of the rail, prevented me from following. It was at this precise moment I realised the fluid in the drip was not only immobilising me but protecting me from insufferable pain.

My silent screams gained voice and issued forth in a state of panic. Subsequently I passed out.

I woke pain free but once more immobile, again in the white room with the two sentinels standing guard as before.

Was I thankful for this white room with no pain, or had a plan to free me been thwarted? Was this white room my prison? And was I, for that matter, a prisoner?

Think, Sparrow, think, I pushed myself again. This time there were no interruptions to my thoughts and I turned back in time to a forest, a lush green place, thick with trees.

An arrow rested on my right thumb as I gently pulled back on the bow string with my left hand, testing the strength of the wood. My target, if any, was not to be seen. But there were vague voices beneath my thoughts. Merry or serious I could not perceive, but an air of excitement gripped them.

Yes, of course, a prisoner! Why else the handcuffs? But was the stairwell incident a rescue or a failed attempt on my life? I could not tell.

In those few moments hanging there from the stairs, my body had sprung back to life. One thing I knew for sure was pain. It was more than just in my arm. My head throbbed and my chest exploded with a sensation so intense I thought my lungs had been replaced with boiling tar.

The room seemed less white now. I could vaguely make out a picture of a meadow with distant hills on the wall opposite the end of my bed. The curtains had grown shadows of greenish hues. Shapes and patterns were becoming more apparent. As I relaxed I could hear the tick of a clock behind me, and other rhythmic sounds. An image of monitors and tubes drifted through my thoughts. The drip was less than a quarter full. I determined to stay awake to witness its emptying, to see what, if anything, would happen.

Consciousness came and went. How often I do not know. Sometimes I could hear a male voice; it seemed familiar but not a comfort. At times I awoke disappointed to find the drip nearly full. My goal seemed further away than I had hoped and still I had not viewed my captors. A sense of failure was growing inside me.

I awoke again, my hearing registering more each time. A female in white, perhaps a nurse, adjusted tubes and drips, as a male in a grey suit entered the room. Instantly I recognised him as Rob Sherwood, Premier of Nottingvale. The familiar voice. My heart rate quickened. At last something was real to me.

‘So this is the would-be assassin? We finally meet.’

I shuddered, his voice unnerving my soul. He spoke as if we were unacquainted. But I was sure I knew him – everything about this man was familiar. His face. His clothes. His voice. Even the movements of his hands. How could this be? The media? My work? No, our connection, I felt, had to be more intimate than that.

My thoughts jumped back to the scene in the forest.

From my leafy perch I could see the happy party meandering through the woods. Music and mirth flowing freely through the trees. People dressed, like me, in period costume, fitting of the thirteenth century. I remembered a vague conversation. Was I to wait ahead of the party, perhaps up a tree?

‘It’s a shame the patient is not recovering,’ the Premier said to the nurse. ‘How long before life support is removed?’

Shock screamed in my ears. I did not hear the reply. Why couldn’t I have waited for the answer before panic engulfed me? To know the hour of my termination seemed exceedingly important. But really … did it matter? What was the time now? What was the day? The year? How long had I been here? No, there were questions far more important to me than the ones about time. Why was I here? What was my crime? Could my situation possibly change?

I perceived a thin smile upon Rob Sherwood’s face as he leant closer towards me, stating, ‘This may be the last time I see you, Sparrow.’

Was he not aware I was conscious? Did terror not show in my eyes? Can’t you see me? I screamed helplessly in my head. How can you stand there pretending you don’t even know me? Can’t you help me? What is it I have done?

Frustration and anguish took up their place beside failure as Rob turned and left the room. There was so much I didn’t understand. If Rob and I were more than just recently acquainted, what was our relationship? I could detect no malicious thoughts toward this person. Something was stirring deeper in me. Something important. What is it, Sparrow? Preciseness continued to elude me. Vague memories were beginning to take shape. One thing I did recall was my role to protect this man. Not as an ordinary bodyguard as seen by the public, but as part of a private, elite team. A team unknown to most of his entourage, often travelling incognito as part of the crowd or catering staff. If this was my only connection, why take the trouble to farewell me?

A bird with a flaming red breast lit upon a branch less than fifty metres from where I was perched. My gaze shifted from the frivolous scene below and I found myself fully focused on the scarlet feathers. The bird was either unaware of, or unconcerned about, my presence. Perhaps even showing off as he pirouetted seemingly in time to the music. There was a slight chill in the mid-day air as the bird flitted enticingly from one branch to another.

I remembered the last time I had spoken with Rob Sherwood. It was late one night and he had slipped away from his staff. We were in a laneway behind a bar. Time was precious and Rob spoke impatiently. I recall an argument, a threat maybe, but no details. Definitely he was angry. Did I know something I shouldn’t have or had I done something to tick him off?

I awoke with a start, my next visitor nervously adjusting equipment around me. She looked so similar to the nurse that her identity nearly fooled me.

‘We will get you out of here,’ she said.

On hearing her voice I recognised her as Jenny, one of my team. But she spoke too quickly and I was unable to follow her every word. When she left I felt sure she had not brought me the comfort she intended.

‘The truth,’ she said. ‘They should know the truth.’

What truth? The truth still eluded me. Why was I being held in a drug induced coma? Why had Rob ordained my death? Why had he threatened me? Or was it me who had threatened him?

Stronger thoughts of my relationship with Rob were emerging: frequent visits to his residence, meetings at odd times, voices hauntingly familiar yet vague and unreachable. There was so much I needed to know.

Without thinking I pulled the arrow back towards me with my thumb and first finger, the bow bending slightly as the feather from the end of the shaft brushed my cheek, the tip of the arrow following the red feathers that beckoned me. Tension mounted in the bow, waiting for release. My concentration was broken by shouts. I glanced down to see people scurrying in a multitude of directions. The Premier was pointing up at me through the trees. Shots rang out. I was hit and began falling, pain piercing my descent, the bow still in my hand.

If my role was over why not just sack me? Why such an elaborate deception to bring about my demise? What was the truth? To end a relationship without questions? Without more conflict? Why was I so important as to bring about such a deception? Was I not just a pawn or knight protecting his lord? It seemed too complex for me. Something was missing.

My dreams were filled with scarlet feathers, drifting aimlessly in a warm sky, mesmerising, enfolding me with their softness. I lay floating, oblivious to everything as each feather caressed my face with a sense of wellbeing. Only peace and comfort surrounded me. With a slow, deceptive movement the feathers melted, each one changing into a drop of blood. The blood dripped – no, rained – furiously from the sky with increasing power. Pressure pushed in on my body, covering me in blood and pain, crushing me, choking me, drowning me, scarlet blood and feathers merging together. My vision ended in panic and darkness.

The white room had somehow become mine; oddly, a place of peace. Time was still fractured between dreams and memories, my bed now the secure place between confused realities. Occasionally I had thoughts of Jenny who, disguised as a nurse, had offered hope of my escape. Sometimes I was aware of people entering and leaving my room. At times I was aware of my fate. I wondered if I would ever know the truth. Would my demise be determined without me being consciously aware of it? Time itself became my prison, trapping me between the same events playing over and over in my mind. I began to welcome the end, an escape from my timeless existence. Could death be worse than perpetual torment? Mostly I lay in limbo, wrapped peacefully in my scarlet dream. Always unaware of its terrifying end.

My rescue never transpired.

The day of revelation eventually came. I was conscious at the time. I wish now the truth had been kept from me. To experience the reality of my decisions and know the pain my death would bring was unbearable.

The truth hit me as Rob and his wife walked into my white room. She stood there next to him, at the end of my bed, crying, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her head was bent forward, shoulders shaking as she silently sobbed, her lush auburn hair half covering her grieving face.

Time stood still. Realisation overwhelmed me. Rob was not relinquishing an indulgent love affair, but rather my death was hers – an elaborate punishment to silence infidelity.

The room gradually changed from light to dark as the machinery around me slowed. The rhythmic sounds of life started to fade.

As I slipped away, I saw an arrow pierce the robin’s flesh.

Chapter Two:

A Matter of Timing

Who saw him die?

I, said the Fly.

With my little eye,

I saw him die.

‘You’re mad, Jake. To think you can get to the airport and back in an hour is foolish. What if the meeting finishes early and the boss sees his ute gone?’

‘Aw, chill out, babe. Max’ll give me three hundred bucks to