The Conduit

By Melissa Barker-Simpson

James Pearson is a man with a secret, a secret he buried so deep he hoped it would never see the light of day. Until a series of events forces his hand and he learns that nobody can hide forever.

The catalyst for change comes in the form of an interpreter who is recovering from a personal tragedy. Laura Kane is about to discover that nothing in her life is what it seems. She is at a crossroads, and she must choose wisely. Otherwise, she could lose the one thing she treasures the most, her relationship with lifelong friend, Nicholas Carey.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melissa Barker-Simpson
• Release date: Feb 28, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311402783

Melissa Barker-Simpson

I've been writing since, well...since I was knee-high to a grasshopper. I often look back on those earlier stories, and apart from laughing at the heavy-handed drama, or cringing at my inexperience, I am reminded that I have always lived in other worlds. My first novel was published in 2008, and I love nothing more than working on a new project. The voices inside my head invariably pull me in different directions, so although I try to work on one thing at a time, those who know me would tell you it doesn't always work! I have a full-time job which, though does not involve writing per se, incorporates my love of language. As a British Sign Language Interpreter, I get to translate information between two languages which is (mostly) fun. I have two beautiful daughters who bring me great joy. They also keep me grounded, because otherwise I would have my head in the clouds permanently!

Book preview

The Conduit

Copyright 2016 Melissa Barker-Simpson

Smashwords Edition License 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 enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Contents

Preface

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

About the Author

Other books by this author

Connect with Melissa Barker-Simpson

Preface

James stared out of his office window, blind to the early morning sunshine and to the view that normally soothed him. His thoughts were scattered, his headache lethal in its intensity. If it had not been for the shrill sound of his phone, he might have continued in his silent vigil. As it was, the dull tone brought him back to the present, and the letter he was trying to avoid.

He turned from the window, ignoring the phone, and his gaze tracked to the bin beside his desk, to the balled up scrap of paper. James didn’t need to retrieve it to know what it said, the words were burned into his brain.

Laura

I don’t know if you will get these letters, but I just wanted you to know that I cherish every word you write, and the time you spend sharing your life with me. I miss you. I miss everything about you: your humour; compassion; generosity, and most of all, your warmth. Thank you for taking care of Sophie. It was sweet of you to go to her first production, and I know it meant the world to her.

Until the next time, my love,

Forever in your heart,

Matt

James rose from his chair in a burst of movement that made his head spin. He was tired of sitting, tired of questioning his sanity.

At first, when he read the words, he had merely stared at them with a mixture of horror and morbid fascination. James often joked that the pen took on a life of its own, channeling something from deep within. He no longer saw the funny side. The simple fact of the matter was he had almost no memory of writing the letter.

Now it was all he could think about because each time he sat down to write an article, unfamiliar words tumbled onto the page. He knew what it meant, despite his cynicism, and every one of his journalistic instincts. He was merely a vessel.

It wasn’t the first time James had experienced preternatural tendencies, though his memories were locked down tight; where he liked to keep them. The only time he allowed them to come to the surface, was when his twin forced his hand. He had not told his sister about the letters, not yet. Danielle saw too much, and their bond made it impossible to hide.

Pushing aside the desire to call her, James returned to his seat and switched on his PC. Waiting for the archaic machine to boot drove him to distraction; so instead, he began to pour over his mail. At the bottom of the pile, he found an envelope containing shots from his latest assignment. Spreading the photographs across his desk, he scanned them with a grim expression. It would be a miracle if he found a good image from the entire bunch.

Still, his gaze drifted from one picture to the next, hoping to find something appealing to the eye. His attention came to rest on the dark-haired beauty who had facilitated the interview, Laura Kane.

Laura.

It hadn’t escaped his attention that the letters were addressed to someone named Laura. He might have dismissed it as a coincidence if he hadn’t started writing them days before they met. The name hadn’t even been on his radar, since the original contact was Phoebe Saunders. For hours, he had tortured himself by trying to recall every person he had met with the name Matt or Laura. It was a short list, and none of the connections made sense.

The instant he met Phoebe’s replacement at the interview, James felt a blast of recognition, and that was before she introduced herself. Since then, he hadn’t been able to get Laura Kane out of his head, and worse, he hadn’t been able to write anything besides the damn letters.

Had the circumstances been different he might flirted with her a little, despite the fact Laura’s barriers were stronger than a fortified castle. She certainly hadn’t relaxed around him.

James dipped his head, studying her image. The photographer had captured her in a positive light. Caught unaware, Laura’s posture was relaxed and she looked stunning; pale blue eyes, full lips formed in a wry smile. Yes, he would have pursued the attraction, if he hadn’t been thrown of his game by the letters.

Get it together, Pearson. His voice echoed around the silent room, anchoring him. It was time to get back to work, a sure fire way to still his unruly thoughts.

Turning his attention to the computer screen, James opened his mail account and almost groaned at the number of messages in his inbox. With a trained eye, he picked out the ones that needed his immediate attention. A subject line jumped out at him, and he knew who the sender was before he opened it. Barry Fielding, his colleague and friend, had a way of popping up, just when James needed him. Shaking his head, he pulled up the message.

To: james.pearson@momentintime...

From: barry.fielding@momentintime...

Subject: Your ass is mine!

Hey, J

You owe me big time, my friend. I expect to see you Friday with your hand in your pocket. It’s your round!

When are you going to grace us with your presence?

Later,

Baz

James pressed the reply button, grinning at his own immaturity.

To: barry.fielding@momentintime...

From: james.pearson@momentintime...

Subject: Tea for two!

Hi Barry,

Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy spending the afternoon sipping tea and swapping knitting patterns. I’m sure you were a complete hit, the only members of the female race who would put up with you for more than an hour!

I do owe you, though. See you tomorrow – I’ll buy you an expresso.

Yours in debt,

J

Feeling lighter, James replied to his other emails before starting work on the article. His editor was incredibly patient when she felt the piece was worth waiting for. He wasn’t under any illusions that this was favouritism, her patience was wearing thin, and she would expect the article on her desk by morning. It was the reason he’d wangled the favour from Barry, switching assignments so he could meet the deadline.

That’s if you can write anything productive.

James put his fingers on the keyboard, cleared his mind of everything but the assignment, and began to type.

My moment in time this week took me by surprise, and gave my cynical heart a little boost. Enough, dare I say, that one moment in the lives of my subjects was not quite enough…

He looked back at the words, relieved when he saw no mention of Laura or Matt. Settling in, James lost himself in the writing, as he always did. The next time he reviewed the text, he gave a satisfied smile.

Chapter One

Dear Matt

I wish I had stayed in bed this morning. If my day had been a series of pictures, or in the written form, I would gladly rub it all out and start again. If you were here, you would tell me to curl up with a glass of wine and my favourite movie, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

So, as I have nothing else to report, I’m going to keep this short and sweet.

Until tomorrow,

Goodnight, sweet man,

All my love,

Laura

Laura put down the pen, and leaned back in her chair. A sign escaped her as she thought of the words still clouding her mind; the things she wanted to say, but couldn’t. She loved sitting at the worn wooden desk that once belonged to her father. Though battered around the edges, it was her favourite piece of furniture; it held many family secrets. Now it was her turn to sit beneath its solid oak frame and gain strength from the memories it contained.

Every day, she would sit and write her letters, cocooned in the familiarity of it. She had been writing to Matt without fail, for a little over a year. Her counsellor convinced her it was a good source of therapy, and it did make Laura feel better. Matt used to perch at the corner of the desk and watch her work, sometimes. If she closed her eyes, it wasn’t hard to picture him laughing down at her.

Laura often wondered at the power it contained, the ability to anchor her in times of need. Often, she could almost hear her younger self, laughing as she dashed beneath the desk to hide from her friends. When she had lost her husband eighteen months ago, she lost a big part of herself. Her best friends, Jo and Nick, were convinced that by keeping him alive through her diaries, she would never fully recover from the loss. She didn’t want to accept that. She clung to her letters like a lifeline. Laura would never admit it to them, but just for a moment, sitting at the old desk, she could pretend he was away somewhere, and she didn’t feel as lost.

In reality, although she derived great comfort from her journal, her friends were the ones who had helped her through the dark days following Matt’s death. Nick was her guiding light. Even now, he called her each night so she could talk to him about the little things; important things she needed to share. Nick would listen as she relayed her day, laughing at the added drama. It had always been that way between them.

Laura opened the desk drawer, which threatened to spill its contents onto the floor, and replaced the journal. She thought briefly about sorting through the mountain of paperwork on her desk, but she didn’t really have the energy, or the inclination, to start such as task. She glanced at the magazines she had pushed aside, balancing precariously as though they might topple over and bury her in her own chaos. The growing number of publications she had put down to ‘read’ when she had the time; some were almost a year old and she still hadn’t opened the front cover, let alone checked out that all important article.

The surrounding area wasn’t any better. Her lounge was a clutter of things she never got time to look at, or had no idea where to file. A number of books were piled in front of the skirting boards, some even doubling as a doorstop. The only item in the room without any amount of disarray was the couch. Laura had spent a ridiculous amount of money on the purchase, and most of the time it was worth it. It had the kind of material that moulded to the body like a second skin. She especially liked the way it enveloped her in the folds of its fabric. It wasn’t as effective as it once was, mainly because she didn’t beat the cushions into submission, as the sales rep had told her to do.

Laura looked across at the couch and decided she would spend the next few hours in her comfy-cocoon. She walked over to the closet and began to fight her way through a series of boxes to get to her duvet cover. She was knee deep in her own attempt at organisation when the doorbell sounded, startling her. Cursing under her breath, Laura stumbled back towards the living room and out to her unexpected visitor.

Hey, Blue, Nick said, as she pulled back the heavy door. He filled the space. Tall and broad, he was just like his father – a bear of a man.

Laura smiled in spite of her mood, standing aside to let him in. You’re lucky I like you. I was about to send any unwelcome visitors packing.

Are you sure I’m safe? he asked, planting a kiss on her cheek.

She wiped off the damp, raising her brows at his dark hair, slick with rain. Barely, it’s late and I’ve had a bad day.

Nick held up his offering with a grin. Why don’t you help me eat this, and you can tell me all about it.

Don’t you have anything better to do than bug me? Laura asked over her shoulder, already walking to the kitchen to grab some plates.

No. My sole purpose in life is to torment you!

Walking to the wine rack, he reached for two glasses and joined her on the couch. This was something of a ritual; one of the reasons Laura had managed to keep her head above water for the last twelve months.

I didn’t expect you tonight. I thought you had a hot date? she said, as they dished Chinese onto two plates in unison.

I was stood up. Nothing new on that score, though I don’t know how they keep resisting the Carey charm. Nick grinned. The smile lit his deep blue eyes with a spark that shone from within. It was never far away.

You’re giving off the wrong signals. Laura ruffled his hair. The divorce was harder on you than you admit.

Nick pulled a face. Let’s not rehash my relationship with Zoe. I think we talked that to death.

Fine. I don’t want to talk about you, anyway.

Of course, you were going to tell me about your day.

Laura settled back against the cushions and regarded him thoughtfully. He always seemed to be there, exactly when she needed a friend. The man had a gift.

Come on, Blue. I don’t have all night, and your food is getting cold.

Must you always call me that? She rolled her eyes, just for affect. He had used the nickname for years.

I refuse to call you anything else. It’s retribution for scarring me at a young age.

She laughed as she recalled the day she’d earned the name like a badge of honour. It was during her blue phase in the first year of Infant school. Everything she owned had been blue. Her parents received numerous paintings symbolising the ocean or the sky on a summer’s day. Nick followed her around back then, generally getting on her nerves as he played one childish prank after the other, until one day she