Chaper 4 finished

Chapter 4 is done, and I've even thrown a bit more action in to heighten the excitement a bit. The next few chapters are action heavy so hopefully all the background and build up pays off here.

Enjoy.




- 4 -
Part 2 of 2

Ray Douglas stood, his legs trembling. His hands shook violently but he took a deep breath and they steadied slightly. It would have to do, for now.
Jack woke up that morning to the dull idle of Ray's Kingswood outside his window. There was a low knock on the door of his room, followed hesitantly by another.
Jack sat up in his bed, “Ray?”
“Yeah.”
“Come in.”
The door creaked slightly and Jack saw Ray's face peer through the crack.
“Heading off?” Jack raised his eyebrows apprehensively, he wasn't sure if he had gotten through to Ray, or if Ray had figured things out by himself.
“Yeah,” Ray mumbled.
“Okay Ray.”
The silence between them was heavy with regret, the fringes of which flickered with sparks of excitement. Jack could see an energy in Ray's eyes and he knew where he was going.
“Jack?”
“Yeah, Ray?” Jack shifted in his bed, Ray still stood outside of the room, only his head visible.
“Help me Jack.”
Jack let out a deep breath. He had hoped Ray wouldn't ask him, he was hoping the kid had too much pride to ask. The corner of Jack's mouth curled into the faintest smile and he looked away from Ray and out of the window.
“You have to do this by yourself.”
“Okay.” Ray's head dipped a little and he knew that Jack was in no state to go rushing around, dragging his old arse all the way back to Adelaide. Jack had given him more help than he could ever have hoped for. Jack had certainly helped him more than he deserved.
“I'm going now.” Ray's face remained in the doorway.
“Then go.”
“Jack... why?” Ray's eyes were now focussed on the window too.
Jack let out a tired chuckle and wiped his forehead, “You remind me of myself, Ray. Helping you felt like... It felt like I was helping myself.”
“I understand.” Ray nodded, he knew exactly what Jack was thinking.
“Goodbye, Jack.”
“Hell, Ray. You'll be back.” Jack's voice trembled and he cursed himself under his breath for allowing Ray to hear that.
Ray nodded, “Sure.” He didn't know what was going to happen but he knew it would involve trouble. If Jack was right, it could be a set-up. An old friend of Burgess trying to get even once the heat had died down. It could have been Cook, that guy had it in for Ray.
It could have been Richardson, Ray thought.
He shuddered suddenly and closed the door to Jack's bedroom leaving the old man staring out of the window.
Standing in the hall Ray's hands shook violently at the thought of Detective Nicholas Richardson. He closed his eyes and a trickle of sweat rolled down his brow. He said a quiet prayer to whoever would listen that Richardson wasn't involved and then left the house, possibly for the last time.

The roar of the haggard V-8 echoed through the desolate countryside. Ray admired the simplicity of the flaking white paint, revealing patches of old rust. He admired the lines of the road ahead of him and the simple nature of the drive.
Within a few hours silent Ray, on his silent drive, had reached the coast.
The engine, heated and worn finally gave up as Ray drifted through a small isolated town. He parked at the beach and let the car rest. A quick walk through the town and Ray returned to the Kingswood just before sunset with a bottle of bourbon, hiding in a paper bag, in his hand.
Ray started the car and despite a painful squeal from the fan-belt got back on the road. He was only a few kilometres from society when he turned off the road and drove down onto the beach. Being careful to keep the Kingswood from the water at first, Ray got a shot of energy from the liquor and gunned the beast as hard as it would go.
The wind ripped over the dust-flecked windshield and Ray pushed his monster up to just over one hundred kilometres per hour. The flat white sand held comfortably under the old tires and Ray felt confident he could avoid being bogged.
Pink tinted clouds stretched along the sky capturing Ray's gaze. He swigged bourbon and pushed the car gently.
He spent the night on the bonnet of the car, looking up at the stars again. His mind was clear this time, and he didn't even feel like finishing the bottle. His body however urged him to complete what he had left and he was a slave to its desires. He dropped the bottle off the side of the bonnet before finishing the last drink.

Ray woke to the sounds of gulls flapping around above him, the sun rising over the land caused their shadows to spread across the beach. He was lying on his stomach on the sand, next to the car. Ray stood shakily however his head didn't ache as he thought it would. His body was returning to its old ways.
The last of the bourbon lay in the sand next to him and he managed to get the last of it down. It would ease the shakes that he felt coming on.
Rachel didn't need him to be drunk, but if was going to do anything to help her, he would have to have a drink. Just a little one.

The sun beat down on the car as Ray pulled back onto the road and headed for Adelaide. The day went quickly and Ray had to stop at another town to inquire about the date.
Standing in the rural deli at nine in the morning, Ray realised he looked out of place. His white shirt was crumpled and stained with sweat, not to mention coated in sand. His navy trousers looked the same and he sighed as he looked down at his shoes, which were hidden under a thick layer of dried crusty sand.
The shopkeeper watched him as he brought the newspaper to the counter.
“Dollar-fifty, mate.”
Ray fished through his pockets and dragged out a few coins. He placed them on the counter, determining how much money he had as he went.
“You're forty-five short there,” the shopkeeper, a grey elderly man in a worn maroon cap, said as he counted the change.
Ray stood motionless, feeling the morning's drink warming his body.
“Couldn't let me get away with it?”
“Sorry mate, dollar-fifty.”
Ray's hands began to tremble and he cast a quick glance around the store. There was nobody there on a Friday morning.
“How far would you say I am from Adelaide?” Ray changed the subject, folding the paper in half and placing it under his arm.
The shopkeeper scratched his head, raising the maroon cap and revealing his balding scalp, “Fair way still. Probably get there by night if you're quick,” he said, eyeing Ray.
Ray pulled the blood-spattered not from his pocket and re-read the details to himself;
'Ray. I regret to inform you that Rachel may be in a bit of a tricky situation. If you want to enjoy her company again, you might want to be present at the following address by Friday night. All the best.'
The sight of the note made the shopkeeper shift uncomfortably and he scratched his head again.
Ray shrugged and flipped the note over nonchalantly, “we'll have to see how I do then, eh?”
“Sure.” The shopkeeper had stepped back from the counter, he wasn't sure about this strange man and his quick movements made made him nervous.
Ray nodded and began to walk for the door.
He was almost there when he heard, shakily, over his shoulder, “dollar-fifty for the paper.”
Ray froze, he had almost gotten away with it, but he was caught.
He felt a wave of nausea rise in his stomach and he turned to the shopkeeper.
His hands trembled and he stared at the man. He wanted to walk over to him, he should walk over there.
Ray dropped the paper on the floor of the deli and marched to the door as fast as he could.
“Hey!” Ray heard the call behind him and slowed his pace, he had to stop.
Ray's head began to swim, his balance became undone and he grabbed the handle of the door.
The glass door was covered in stickers and signs advertising everything from soft drinks to petrol and motor oil.
Ray was about to turn around when one card stuck to the door caught his eye. He saw a young woman smiling as she held a bottle of some brand of lemonade. The card must have been fifty years old but the dark sheen of the girl's hair and the soft warmth of her grin brought images of Rachel into Ray's mind.
He threw the door open and ran to his car.
When the Kingswood was finally started Ray roared out of that town as fast as he could.
He would be in Adelaide before nightfall.



For any curious readers, this is a picture of Ray's car. It is a photo of a car my parents bought before I was born. So this can aid in imagining the driving scenes for anybody that wants that.

A bit of Ray

This took a fair bit of work to get done. I've decided to split chapter 4 into two parts because I've already posted this week and I'm running low on creative juices.

Again it's backstory heavy and I feel it's time to just jump into some action, so the next part will be fairly speedy. I think overall, once I've finished the story, I may have to rearrange some of these opening chapters as my initial layout is pretty lax on action. But that's all part of the learning experience.

Hope you enjoy.




- 4 -
Part 1 of 2

A hunched figure sat guard on the porch of the old colonial homestead, he sat watch as the sun rose across the plains. Ray Douglas watched the shadows swim across the red earth, moving and dipping through small drifts of sand. The wind moved the sand quietly and the shadows plays amongst the drifts.
Ray looked out, deep into the scrub and bushland that filled the quiet property. He watched as the shadows of the clouds moved along the ground. The orange tinted burn of the clouded golden sky caused Ray to breathe calmly, he felt warmth in the glow of the sun.
The land before him faded in and out of view as his eyes drooped and sprang back open. Sleep didn't come easy to men like Ray. The dangers of sleep were fresh in his mind as he recalled the nightmares his mind would create. But sleep was upon him now and his nightmares burst forth into his waking life.
The dust and dirt of the reddened earth swirled violently and Ray saw droplets of blood in the sand. He trained his tired eyes on an old burnt and dead tree far in the distance. As the sun rose, Ray saw the tree shimmer and sway. The dance of the tree turned violent as it jerked readily under his gaze.
Ray shifted his vision onto a rabbit that appeared near the horizon. The hare stood rigid, petrified at being seen in the light. Waves of terror rolled from the rabbit and Ray absorbed its fear. His thoughts wandered to Burgess and the rabbit darted violently away, dodging imaginary bullets as it went.
Maybe the bullets were imaginary, Ray thought. Maybe they were all imaginary. Burgess would never have shot the kid. Ray had killed him for nothing.
What had he heard about Burgess anyway? Was there any reason to shoot him? Ray knew nothing of the man. He had only spent about an hour with him and they said little to each other in that time.
Burgess had said nothing in the last hour of his life.
Had he? Ray couldn't tell anymore. His imagination ran wild when he remembered anything. His mind ran through every possible scenario hundreds of times every day. He remembered every detail of Burgess but he couldn't trust the memories. There was not truth anymore, there was no real answer. Of the three people who witnessed the scene; one was a drunk, one was never identified and one was dead. There was no justice that night, and no chance of redemption.

Ray released a heavy sigh. He needed a drink.
He had the taste back, after a year sober. For that whole year, when he lived with Jack, working on the farm, he never thought of alcohol. Until everything came crashing down, Ray never even wanted to drink. Now he needed the stuff. It wasn't even a matter of want now, he needed it. How easily his body remembered his old ways.
What brought it back? Ray knew the answer.
It was Rachel.
It wasn't her fault, of course. He could see that, but the memory of her shut him down. But how could he even trust the memory of his sister. He had killed a man, and he had no idea how it happened. Ray felt it impossible to know for sure what Rachel meant to him anymore.
She was always very smart as a child, he knew that. He remembered going to her High School graduation just after he himself had graduated from the Police Academy. She wore a broad grin on her delicate features as she spotted him standing at the back of the auditorium. Ray never got a high school graduation, he was expelled earlier.
Ray held his head in his hands as a flood of bad memories drifted through his head. After being refused bail by his parents for a vicious assault, Ray managed to avoid a jail sentence if he cleaned himself up.
Ray's hands eased off of his head as he allowed the memories to flow, cautiously at first. The court had organised for his rehabilitation. Ray remembered living in a halfway house for juvenile offenders. He spent his eighteenth birthday sober.
The memories and images flowed easily now and Ray invited them in. He completed his certificate of education and his social work certificate. Ray remembered living and working with other kids like himself.
Ray's face twitched and his mouth shifted as he let in the deluge of past experiences.
He hadn't seen or heard from his family for a few years after he was arrested. The halfway house wasn't entirely the court's idea. Ray's parents abandoned him. But Rachel found out where he was and she called him the night of her first day at High School.

Seated on the porch of the old house, in the middle of the countryside, Ray Douglas released a wave of pressure. His shoulders relaxed and he could feel each and every muscle of his body contract and generously release.
Ray's mouth formed the slightest smile as he began to know his sister.
He had always loved it when she called him. She called him asking for advice about High School, there was a new problem every week or so it seemed to him. But the sudden and unexpected realisation made Ray tremble.
Rachel was calling to see how he was. She was scared for her big brother. The issues that seemed so real to Ray at the time were just made up, just an excuse for her to hear him; not yelling, not breaking things, not hurting anybody.
She cared for him.