The Days Beyond

By Wayne Roux

When Lionel Hesse awakes next to the body of his dead wife, Jackie, bleeding profusely from a knife wound, he has no idea how he got there or what happened! Accused of her murder, and suffering from amnesia which covers a two and a half year period, he escapes from police custody after an assassination attempt on his life goes wrong! On the run from both the law and an unknown and sinister enemy, he finds himself teaming up with a strange woman. He has to prove his innocence and find those guilty of his wife's murder! He soon discovers that everyone he cares about is in danger, and when they start dying around him, he realizes he has to fight back! However time is running out, and as the truth about his missing past is slowly uncovered, he soon realizes that time, and a strange metal object he nicknames "The Eye" may be his only ally! Set in modern day South Africa, this rollercoaster of an adventure will entertain, frighten and have you cheering the unlikely hero as he transcends the boundaries of time in an effort to clear his name and save his loved ones!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wayne Roux
• Release date: Jul 8, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301247394

Wayne Roux

I've always had a crazy imagination... I guess that's something you either bury or embrace. In my case I decided to embrace it with open arms, and worst of all - to share it with others! If you're expecting to download one of my books and enjoy a pleasant love story, or a tale of horses and handsome cowboys, I'm afraid you're in the wrong place. My inspirations are King and Koontz, but I probably go one step further than they do... pushing the boundaries of imagination until you find yourself completely, and believably immersed in my tales. If that sounds more like something you'd like to read, even if it's out of your comfort zone, then please grab a copy of one of my books! I'm sure you will not be disappointed!So yes, I'm new. And yes, you prefer authors who are famous... but there's no harm in checking me out by purchasing one of my books! You could one day say you were there before I made it. :) Be a star and support a humble and appreciative Indie author, and I may just take you on the most fantastic journey of your life.Love to you all! Wayne.

Book preview

Chapter 1

I was punched in the stomach and had my wind knocked out in 6th Grade by David Macintyre. It was in Mr. Leroy’s home class. I remember it as clear as day, even though it was 28 years ago. I don’t remember the reason for it of course, it may have had something to do with the fact that I thought I was better looking than he was, although I’m just guessing, and am probably biased. What I do remember is how it felt. It fucking hurt! I remember collapsing to my knees, struggling to breathe, this ball of pain rolling around my midriff like a runaway marble spinning top, as my lungs struggled to inflate to a point where they could ingest oxygen again. I remember tears coming to my eyes, and that probably hurt the most because the classroom was full of other children, most of them laughing. I was by no means the most popular kid in school either, in fact, I was way too small for my age, I had coke-bottle thick spectacles, and greasy hair parted to the side, Face from The A-Team style. David Macintyre was twice my size. He had Greek features, beautiful hair, lean and tanned and he was a First team Rugby player, even though he was a year too young, but I think even the teachers at President Primary weren’t going to tell him that to his face!

It was also the first time I’d been in a fight, if you can call it that. When only one punch is thrown it’s more like an ambush, I guess. I was in a couple more after that, mostly on the losing end for a couple of years, until I grew a small pair. However, it was the punch from David Macintyre that I remember the most. In addition, it was particularly relevant right now, as I lay on the floor again, clutching my stomach, struggling to breathe. The only difference this time was the blood pulsing through my fingers as I lay holding my ruptured stomach. Blood has a weird smell, have you noticed? It’s similar to the smell of a rusted piece of metal up close, and for some reason it reminded me of watermelons as well. It’s also stickier than you’d think. Unlike the few moments of excruciating pain I experienced thanks to my primary school classmate, the pain I had now was not subsiding.

I guess I was fading in and out of consciousness, because there were moments of darkness during which I don’t recall thinking any thoughts. As I’d fade back into reality, akin to walking through a fine African morning mist, the blinding headache would return. The sensation of the blood soaked carpet under my head seemed to press into and right through me, as that awful blood smell would encase me once again.

My horizontal view from my position on the floor was of the front door of my house. It was early morning; I knew that from the sliver of light trying to creep in beneath the door. I’m not sure exactly what day it was today, which is weird, because I’m usually intently aware of things like that. I heard a car being driven by in the street outside, it sounded like my neighbor’s beat up old Mazda Soho with the hole in the silencer… Hard to miss! Which meant it was probably a weekday, because that lazy shit wouldn’t be out of the house at sunrise on a weekend unless they were giving away free chicken at KFC. Therefore, that narrowed it down to somewhere between Monday and Friday. I could be related to Sherlock Holmes!

As I focused my blurred gaze away from the front door and along the floor towards me, my eyes stopped at a small object lying on the carpet about six feet away from me, near the leg of the sofa. It was round and silver, like a ball bearing, only much bigger, with two finger-sized indentations on either side. I tried to make sense of what I was seeing, but all I could wonder was what the hell an oversized ball bearing was doing lying around on my lounge floor? My wife would have a…

Then it hit me like a ton of bricks. Jackie!

Oh Jesus!

My mind started flopping about like a fish fresh out of the water, trying with all its might to get back into the ocean and breathe, breathe, breathe! The image of her face was as clear as daylight suddenly, her long flowing black hair, green eyes that turned grey when she was in a certain mood, that smile that had the ability to grab my heart and twist it into a pretzel in an instant. I could remember the day we met, the day we got married, the day we fucked like spring rabbits after getting high on some quality weed at her sister’s 21st… it was all there. For some reason I just couldn’t remember what we did yesterday or maybe even the day or week before today… and even more frightening, where she was right now while I was bleeding out on the living room floor! I forced myself to roll over, and it was the hardest thing I had ever tried to do in my life! My muscles were not responding, refusing to react to the messages from my brain. Even the slightest movement of my torso sent a piercing slice of pain through my stomach, and I could feel the darkness creeping in around the edge of my blurring vision as my head tried to change its view of the doorway. Then it closed in completely. The darkness.

* * *

I crawled back into the light again a while later. This time the room seemed brighter, which meant some time had passed, enough time so that the sunlight had reached the windows and entered the house. It also appeared that in my attempt at changing position I had managed to change my view of the front door to a view of the ceiling. My throat was dry. So dry. That didn’t matter right now though. Jackie was all I could think about. I shifted my hand into position at my side, to give myself some leverage to turn over again, and I felt the cold hard steel of an object lying next to me. I traced my fingers over it, and they quickly sent the recognition via touch to my brain… a knife. Long triangular blade, handle shaped to fit comfortably in the palm, sturdy and professional. Even though I could not see it, I recognized it as part of the collection of Arcos kitchen knives I’d bought for Jackie a couple of years ago. This was the biggest of them, a butcher knife.

As my fingers followed the trace of the handle, my hand touched something softer. It felt strangely familiar, yet somehow different. As I moved my hand over it, an ice cold, sinking feeling enveloped me, running from the base of my neck down my spine and to my motionless legs, and along with it a combination of fear and utter despair. It was the shape of a human hand.

Her hand. Ice cold.

I knew she was dead before I even looked. I could feel it in the texture of the cold skin of her hand, so motionless and lifeless. Not at all like the hands that used to clasp my neck tenderly when we would kiss, standing on her tiptoes, or like the hands that would curl over my sleeping chest at night, pulling me closer to her. Not those hands. Not these hands now. I couldn’t stop myself from letting out a choking gasp, and a tear welled up in the corner of my eye and then traced a wet and warm path down the side of my face. I wanted to believe that when I turned my head to look, it would be somebody else’s hand attached to somebody else’s lifeless body, but I already knew that wasn’t going to be the case. It was another sensation in my stomach… not the pain from the bleeding wound, or the memory of a bullying fist… it was almost transcendent and unnatural… a certainty that had wrapped itself around my every cell and was banging on the walls of my stomach cavity and soul. Intuition. A gut feeling. I just knew, without any doubt, before I even turned my head…

She was still beautiful. Her hair had fallen across her face, gently resting on the bridge of her nose. Her eyes were closed, seeming peacefully at rest. The once graceful curve of her neck flowed down into her open nightgown, a stark pale grey against the bright pink of the gown, yet the thick black belt pulled so tightly around it seemed completely out of place. One of her breasts were exposed, beautifully curved and shaped to fit my hand, her nipple, once a playground for my mouth, now just a dark reminder of life no more. Jackie Melissa Hesse, thirty-three old, a confident, beautiful, charismatic self-employed dressmaker, a devoted wife to Lionel James Hesse – a thirty-nine year old nerdy mathematics lecturer at the University of Fort Hare who now lies in a pool of his own blood, stabbed in the stomach by… by whom? The only logical thing I could think of right now was that she had stabbed me, but that seemed like a crazy man’s thoughts. Why would she have? What about the belt around her neck? Was that my doing? It seemed impossible; yet looking at the two of us laying here on our living room floor it seemed to be the only logical, yet insane, conclusion.

With my head twisted round, to stare at her body, my throat wanted to close up, and I coughed violently, spewing fine drops of scarlet mist. This must be it. The end of Lionel Hesse - a man who never really amounted to much, except wife killer. I curled back over to my side, fetal position, staring once again at the gap under the front door. It seemed fitting that I would die in a pool of my own blood, that it would be a deserved reward for killing the only woman I had ever loved - strangled to death with a R25.00 rip-off leather belt I had bought at the flea market three months ago. There was no more pain. No more burning sensation from my bleeding stomach. No more head-stomping migraine. The darkness flirted around the edge of my vision again. I stared beyond the out of place silver ball bearing, beyond the creamy field of carpet fibers, beyond the brightly lit gap at the bottom of the door, stared out into the world beyond, as that darkness crept closer, closer still.

Shadows were moving out there, distant muffled voices as if played back on slow motion tape recorders, the knock knocking of imaginary fists on wood… I closed my eyes and welcomed the escape offered by death… come in my friend! The fading sound of the voices and imaginary knocking sound again…

Fuck you, David Macintyre, I whispered, just before it all went away.

"You hit like a pussy…

Chapter 2

The beeping was driving me crazy. In the darkness, I heard it. At first it was very faint and far away, but slowly it became closer and louder. The complete darkness had also started fading into a grey black hue, and small flashes of maroon behind my eyelids were keeping time with the incessant beeping. I was going to Hell, I realised, in the back of a truck, driving in reverse. The noises got louder, a whoosh of sound that seemed to pour into my skull like liquid. There were hushed voices, telephones ringing in the distance. The sound of cars on a road. The click clicking of a ceiling fan. Then there was that beeping noise which matched the tempo of my heartbeat exactly, filling my inner ear cavities with a warm pressure, weighing my body down, as if gravity had just realised I wasn’t tethered to anything and decided to grab me before I lifted off.

I was on my back, in a bed, that much I was sure of now. I could feel the soft pressing of a mattress beneath me, could smell the crisp freshness of sterilized sheets, and the gentle hug of a blanket over my legs and torso. My arms felt stiff and heavy, and I tried moving them, but I must have been too weak, as nothing happened. My eyelids felt as if they were sealed together with superglue, and it took a fair amount of will to force them open. The light was so bright it actually hurt, so I scrunched them closed again, only to part them slightly, allowing the light to filter through in stages, until it could behave itself inside my cranium instead of throwing shards of glass at it. The white became grey, and the grey became a blurred pastel blend of colors. These seemed to dance around and through each other, fast at first, and then slowly coming to a standstill – a silent musical chairs game. These colors became shapes, which became objects. A doorway. The foot of a bed. A blue curtain. A washbasin. Then there were people. Three of them.

The faces took a moment to become clearly visible, and when they did I realised I did not know any of these people. A tall, middle-aged man, in a white coat, stethoscope around his neck, cleared his throat, and I focused my gaze on him.

Mr. Hesse? Can you hear me?

I nodded. My neck was stiff, and the motion seemed to pull at my stomach muscles in an unnatural way, as if my spine were attached to my internal organs somehow.

Excellent! he said. My name is Dr. Venter. Do you know what happened to you?

Where… I had to swallow several times in an attempt to lubricate my parched throat, so the word was almost a whisper. Dr. Venter reached towards my bedside, and lifted a glass of water to my lips.

Small sips. he said.

I swallowed some water with difficulty, and it was the best thing I’d ever tasted in my life - sweeter than I’d ever known water to be. It coated my mouth and throat and the cold of it was unbelievably soothing.

Thank you. I whispered a little less raspy this time, before clearing my throat. Where am I?

St Dominic’s Hospital The good doctor replied, and then added East London.

I nodded. I knew the hospital. It was one of the flagship hospitals for the Life Group in my home town of East London, South Africa. St Dominic’s was a private hospital catering for high care and trauma patients, with a collection of specialists in residence around the building and adjoining parking lot. It had won several awards for service excellence in the Eastern Cape Province, as well as a national award from the South African Department of Health. I had no doubt I was in good hands here.

Is he strong enough to answer questions yet?

The voice was very masculine, a thick South African accent wrapped around the words as they were spoken. I turned my head to the left, and the second person in the room was a giant of a man, wearing a button up pale blue shirt, navy blue tie. There were sweat stains under his armpits, and his expansive belly pressed against the buttons of his shirt, as if the slightest bit of pressure or movement was going to send them rocketing off into someone’s eyeball at any moment. He was holding a flip up notepad, and on his belt, I could see the familiar badge of the South African Police Service. His hair was cut short, right to the skin, in an effort to hide the fact that he was balding quickly, I guessed. A uniformed police officer stood a few paces behind him.

Not yet Dr. Venter replied. Give us some time to examine him first. He’s been unconscious for three days. I would need to run an MRI as well

The giant grunted, and snapped his notepad closed.

Mr. Lionel Hesse, you have been charged with the first degree murder. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say, can and, will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be granted to you by the state. Do you understand you rights?

An ice-cold rush of fear travelled down my body, as I remembered the bloody carpet and my dead wife, which I had almost believed to be a distant faded dream, and it all suddenly clicked into place. Images of Jackie’s lifeless body flashed briefly before me, and a sense of utter despair came over me. I nodded.

The large man gestured to the uniformed police officer who approached the bed with a set of leg irons. He promptly attached them to my ankles, locking them in place. The giant leaned over the bed, bringing his face to within inches of mine, staring into my eyes. I could smell faint traces of garlic, and a persistent stench of sweat.

I’ll be seeing you later then, Mr. Hesse. He said, and the tone of his voice left an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. My name is Detective Sergeant Coetzee. I have some questions that still need answering. I will be leaving a uniformed police officer outside the door to keep an eye on you. Don’t go anywhere. the Detective said, with a grin that was unpleasantly non-friendly. He turned to Dr. Venter. So I can come back when?

This evening around 7pm should be fine.

Coetzee winked at me before gliding out of the room, and it was strange to see such a big person move with such grace. Dr. Venter closed the door behind him and the uniformed officer and then came over to the bed. He lifted a clipboard, with a ballpoint pen attached to it on a string, off a hook on the wall above me and proceeded to make some notes.

What day is it? I asked him.

Thursday

Fuck me! I noticed the lifted eyebrow of the good doctor at my cursing, and smiled. Sorry. Habit

Do you know what happened to you, Mr. Hesse?

Please, call me Lionel. Mr. Hesse was my alcoholic father. And no, I have no idea.

You sustained an injury to your abdomen which ruptured your appendix and spleen, narrowly avoiding several major organs and arteries along the way. You’re very lucky to be alive. Aside from that and a minor concussion from a bump on the head, you’re going to be fine.

Injury? I asked in trepidation.

A knife wound. Deep.

The realization that it wasn’t just a bad dream fell like a satin sheet over me. I was almost too afraid to ask the next question, but I had to know for sure.

He lifted my eyelids with his fingers and shone a small pencil light into my eyes. Are you experiencing any headaches or blurred vision?

Yes. I replied. It’s a constant headache. Not the vision, though, that’s fine. Did she… suffer? My wife?

I’m afraid I can’t answer that. The Medical Examiner did the autopsy. I could hear shortness in his voice, which was to be expected, I guess. Having to answer the questions of a murderer was probably not high on his list of daily priorities. What about any other side effects, aside from your abdominal pain?

Not really. Just the headache, I guess.

You are recovering well, Mr. Hesse. We have had you on a catheter and an intravenous drip. I’ll get one of the nurses to come and take them out a bit later. We’ll start with some solid foods at dinnertime tonight. I'll also run some more tests tomorrow just to confirm that everything is okay, and then a few days bed rest before you can go home… He paused, then almost embarrassed, added Well, you know what I mean.

I nodded. There would be no home for me. Except for prison, I guess.

I’m not a bad person, you know.

The doctor shrugged his shoulders. It’s not for me to decide. I’m going to give you something to help you sleep. You need the rest.

I turned my head to the side and closed my eyes while Dr. Venter filled a syringe with some clear fluid. I tried to remember what had happened at the house. The closest memory, aside from waking up on the floor, was having lunch with Andre North, one of the lecturers at the University. That was a Thursday, a regular tradition for Andre and I. So, if I had been asleep for three days, and I was found on the Monday, what the hell happened between Thursday and Sunday? My mind was a complete blank.

Is it normal to have memory loss? I asked, as Dr. Venter injected the syringe into my intravenous line.

A few days memory loss is quite normal. He replied. How far back can you remember?

My last memory was Thursday last week, and then a blank page until Monday morning.

It’s quite normal. Your memories should return in time.

I nodded, as the drugs started taking effect I could feel the darkness creeping in around the edges of my vision. 2010 has been a fucked up year, doc.

Dr. Venter came closer to my face, and turned his ear towards me. Say again?

Sorry. My bad. It’s been a bad year. 2010 has been a bad year I really needed to control my foul mouth!

Mr. Hesse. He paused, as the medication kicked in and darkness closed in and cuddled me as a child cuddles his favorite black teddy bear. From what seemed to be a long, long way away, he added, I’m sorry to tell you this, but its 2013, not 2010…

I wanted to respond to the ridiculous statement, but it was too late for that, and for some reason I didn’t seem to care… I had already started hugging Mr. Darkie, and he had covered me in his shaded teddy bear warmth completely, while in the distance the rest of the doctor’s words faded into silence.

Chapter 3

I started coming around from my drug induced coma sleep sometime later in the afternoon. The transition from oblivion to reality was a lot smoother and clearer than my previous awakenings, and I guess this meant I was feeling better, what with not losing all my blood and everything. At first, I thought the hospital was drifting free from its foundations, but then I realised that it was my hospital bed that was moving. As I opened my eyes the ceiling lights of the hospital hallways passed by overhead, and it was a calming, almost hypnotic sight. I looked up and back at the Porter who was wheeling me through the sterile halls, and he was intently focused on whatever music was playing through his iPod. I could just barely hear the high-pitched cymbals and tapping of some or other house or hip-hop music coming from the in-ear phones he was wearing. It was good to hear music, even though it was barely audible. I couldn't remember when last I had listened to any. There seemed to be a lot I could not remember lately!

I raised my hand to get the Porter’s attention and he looked down at me, pulling one of his earphones out.

Aaah, you’re awake! He said.

Hi. I replied. Tell me buddy… what year is it?

The Porter chuckled. Ha-ha. It’s the year of the Snake my man… at least that’s what the Chinese believe!

Seriously dude?

I’m only kidding my man! It’s 2013 of course! Nigeria just won the African Cup of Nations 1 - 0! Do you watch much soccer?

I closed my eyes. I had heard Dr. Venter correctly then. How on earth could it be 2013 already? My last clear memory dated back to 2010, so how have I managed to forget almost three years of my life? Everything I thought I knew about myself has either changed or was completely wrong! As far as I’m concerned, I am working at Fort Hare University as a Mathematics Lecturer. I am married to Jackie Melissa Hesse, and have been for twelve years. I have no kids because Jackie couldn’t have any, and I was okay with that. I drive a 1998 Volvo V40 Station Wagon, which needs a service and new tyres. We live in a house in Beacon Bay, overlooking the Nahoon River Valley. I have very few friends, because there just really isn’t time for more than a few. My closest colleague and friend is Andre North, who also lectures at the University, and I hang out occasionally with my brother in law, Alistair, who loves fishing. My wife is a dressmaker and runs her own business altering and making wedding dresses. That is who I am and what I know!

The Porter had reached my room, and wheeled me in past the bored looking uniformed black police officer who had taken residence on a chair outside my door, set my bed up, and puffed my pillow. He took the clipboard from the foot of my bed and hung it up on the wall again.

Chill, Mr. Hesse. Doc will be in to see you in a couple of minutes.

Thanks. I replied, and then added. Hey, can I get a newspaper?

Sure thing He said then left the room.

I took the opportunity to study my accommodation. I was in a private room. A window to my right had heavy blue curtains, which were pulled back allowing warm sunlight to brighten the room. The walls were painted a pale blue color, and there was a door to my left, which I’m assuming, led to the bathroom. On my bedside was a table with a jug of cold water and an empty glass. There were no flowers or cards, as you’d expect to see at the bedside of a hospital patient. I found this strange, as surely Alistair and Naomi, Jackie’s brother and his wife, would have come to see me by now? But then again, I did supposedly murder his sister… and what about Andre North from the University?

The Porter returned with a newspaper. Would you like anything else?

I’m good. Thank you.

Okay. He shrugged and left the room.

The local newspaper was The Daily Dispatch, and I folded it open so that I could read the headlines and date. There it was, in black and white. February 14th, 2013. Valentine’s Day. The headline was: MASS ACTION AGAINST E-TOLLS. What the hell were E-Tolls? I wondered, as I read a bit of the story, and discovered that the South African Government was attempting to install micro-chips into vehicles that would be scanned as they passed certain checkpoints along the South African highways, and once scanned would automatically charge the vehicle owner a toll-fee. This was designed to fund the maintenance of national roads. Public opinion on it was that it was unfair as the general public had not been given a chance to review or give feedback on the system, and they were now holding mass actions across the country, blocking roads and marching to Provincial Traffic offices.

I folded the newspaper with one hand, and tossed it down towards the foot of the bed. Resting my head back in my pillow, I closed my eyes and tried to force any sort of memory of the past two and a half years out of the recesses of my brain. I clearly remember having lunch with Andre North on that Thursday. I clearly remember going home after work and Jackie had made macaroni and cheese for supper. I clearly remember eating on the couch with her, while we watched an episode of Dexter Season 5, where Dexter was dealing with Rita’s death and Quinn’s irritating inquest against him. I clearly remember Jackie and me heading to bed after that episode, and making love before falling asleep in each other’s arms. Those are my memories. After that, I can’t seem to remember anything, except from the moment that I woke up on the floor with Jackie’s dead body beside me. Anyone trying to convince me that there were almost three years between that Thursday night with Jackie and the Monday morning waking up covered in blood would have a hard time doing so. Yet here it was staring me in the face. It was 2013. I was chained in a hospital bed recovering from a stab wound, inflicted by my wife Jackie, who I had apparently murdered by strangling her with a belt. Moreover, I had no idea why.

A noise at the door had me open my eyes to see Dr. Venter approaching the bed. He took my chart off the wall, pulled up a chair, and sat down, crossing his legs.

Mr. Hesse. How are you feeling?

Okay. I shrugged. Confused

Confused about your memory loss? He asked as he shone a penlight torch into my eyes, holding my eyelids open with one hand. You made it sound as if you believed it was 2010 before you passed out earlier. Do you remember that?

Yes I replied, Because that’s when I thought it was. My last memory is from Thursday the 16th of September 2010. I was having supper with my wife. I was watching Dexter on TV. You said a few days memory loss could be expected… do a few years memory loss seem normal?

He shook his head. No. It’s definitely not normal. I sent you for an MRI scan earlier but will only have the results back in the morning. If this does not turn out to be medically related I would suggest, in fact, emphasize, that you see a psychiatrist. Often the shock of a traumatic incident, such as the one you have recently experience, could cause some confusion, which could translate into temporary or long term memory loss.

It makes no sense, doc. I replied. Three years?

Well, let’s hope we can get to the bottom of it soon then. He smiled and patted me on the shoulder. How about we get you something to eat? Pea soup?

Sure I nodded. He stood up and left the room, returning a few minutes later with a bed tray.

Now take it easy at first he said, It will get you up and around in no time. Dr. Venter excused himself, promising to pop in later.

The soup was delicious. I spooned in mouthfuls of it with utmost care, trying to