Newth II (A Time of Change)

By Paul G Mann

Newth II Synopsis

Henry has one ship, one ship to fight a race that has hunted mankind for thousands of years, and even with the inventive genius of Eric, a fellow captive he has to get back to Earth for their help. But where is Earth? He needs an astronomer, but even then will an astronomer know where they are displaced in space light years from Earth? Everything is a battle that not even his emerging powers can help. Orna refuses to restore the memories of Jo and Mary, forbidding Alec to intervene, Henry must learn by himself if he is the answer to the Pathosian prophecy. Time is running out, they need Earths help in forming a navy capable of repelling the Hunki hordes, but in the time they have what can Earth do, what can he do. Even with the inventive genius of his friend Eric, he knows whatever they do, they will be pushed to the limit to survive.

A reckoning is coming but who will be the victors, his ill equipped small force, or the vastly superior armed enemy, with a fleet of over a hundred ships? A battle is looming, one that will be decisive in maintaining ,mankind's existence, not just on Earth and Newth, but those scattered across the Galaxy on planets like Newth, the hunting grounds for the Hunki warriors who feed on the flesh of their kills.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul G Mann
• Release date: Nov 28, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311843814

Paul G Mann

Writing never came easy to me, even at school but somewhere inside me I always thought I had a story to tell. Before word processors and spell checks the bringing up of a family and out working to support them took precedence over such things as writing and as such setting my story down on paper was the least of my priorities.Things changed in 2007 when I suffered a heart attack which effectively ended my working life. My first computer back in 1988 was an old Amstrad word processor that allowed me to take work home from the office without the need of a ream of paper and white correction fluid. All I needed was a small three inch disc that fitted quite nicely into my pocket. It made letter writing so much easier and renewed my interest in writing although at that time I didn’t pursue it.I have had a large and varied working life to give me inspiration. I was a seaman for three years in my teenage years; I worked as a bus conductor on leaving the sea to raise a family before training as a plasterer and working in the building industry. A telecommunications factory offered better pay and conditions so I moved into the production of telephone exchanges for six years until securing a job in BT for seventeen years until made redundant in 1992. Ultimately I worked as a private hire taxi driver until illness forced me to stop.I am twice married with 3 children of my own (all grown up and flown the coup now) and 3 step children (also flown away). My present wife Gillian is a rock to me and who without her support and encouragement these books may never have been finished for publication. So if you don't like them blame her not me.The heart attack changed my life. I had to find something to occupy my mind and soon decided the best thing I could do was write. I readily admit I am not and probably never will be the most gifted writer in the world but as an exercise in keeping the old grey matter in working order it cannot be surpassed.All my work is ready for reading in e-book format from Smashwords and Paperback from http://www.Feedaread.com (cheaper at smashwords}

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Published by Paul G Mann

Copyright 2011 Paul G Mann

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book 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 purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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Acknowledgement

To my wife, Gillian whose unceasing support and encouragement gave me the determination and the will to finish and publish this work.

www.pixabay.com for the cover artwork

www.wirralwriters.co.uk for the critiques and advice

By the same Author

The Magic Of Christmas

Newth II

(A Time of Change)

Newth III

(Inhanth & Hive)

Newth Federation

The Early History

Earth 1890 to 2030 – Newth 01

Book 1

The Newth Archives Book 2

A Time of Change

Preface

1904 AD

Alec Bradley hated the Inhanth. They were a nasty race with an imagined, superior air around humans that they could never live up to. Here on one of their ships bound for Earth, the close quarters he enjoyed with them annoyed and irritated him. ‘The sooner we get to Earth the better,’ he grumbled to himself.

He was worried about his granddaughter’s Mary and Jo. He had left them defenceless on Newth, against his better judgement and at Orna’s insistence, that they must fend for themselves while he travelled back to Earth to retrieve Orna’s ship. Both girls were still locked in the memories he had placed in their heads nearly ninety years ago, and without him or Orna to look after them, they remained vulnerable to the dangers Newth posed. Orna had reasoned that as they had remained undiscovered by the Higher Mental Authority (the HMA) for all these years, it was prudent to leave them as they were, until they had the full facts and knew the present situation regarding the HMA and the Huricanas. Besides, her predictions had always indicated to her, that a hundred years would pass before Jo would be needed. The longer she remained hidden from the HMA the better.

It was not a view Alec concurred with, but as Orna was a powerful telepath and precognitive, he knew only too well it was foolish to ignore her or her advice. To Orna, they were playing a waiting game; waiting until the time was right to launch a full-scale assault on the HMA or the part of it that had been corrupted by the Huricanas. A lot of work and searching lay in front of them before they could help the objective and eradicate the Huricanas once and for all.

His own mental abilities could not be ignored; not as powerful as Orna, but adept in mind control and shape shifting, he could sway the entire population of a planet if he so decided, or take the form of any living creature he wished. The dozen or so Inhanth on board this ship posed no real threat to him, and it was through Orna’s remarkable abilities now reinforced by his own that he had enticed the captain of the ship to transport them to Earth. In his own Pathosian form the Inhanth trembled with fear at his mere presence, assuming he was one of the Inhanth masters leading them to a slaughter of humans. The slight alteration he had made to their minds instilling even more fear into them, amused him, and was his only source of comfort on the journey.

Never the less, Alec Bradley was worried and for the tenth time that day, projected a thought to his mate, asking her to check on the girls and make sure they were safe, only relaxing when she replied for the tenth time that both were safe and well. In turn, she was exasperated with him, and his constant worrying and vowed not to contact him again, wishing at times they were both still oblivious to the situation back on Newth, and posing as Jo’s Mother and Father without the memories of how they came to be here.

Contact with Armoanie had allayed some of their concerns, but it was clear the Huricanas were making inroads into the HMA and the Review Council. The whole of the HMA security arm, six known precognitive members and at least four members of the Review Council were now under Huricanas control. It had only been Armoanie and a select group of telepaths working against them, that had stopped the corrupted part of the Pathosian ruling body, unleashing the Inhanth horde against humanity in force of numbers. How long this could last for was becoming increasingly uncertain, and Armoanie was more than grateful that both Alec and Orna were once again able to help. How? Orna didn’t as yet know, she needed more information and time to see the steps Alec and her would have to take. Information and time, two commodities she was not sure of getting; she could only plan and wait, with what she already knew in the hope that time had not run out.

Chapter One

2015 AD

He often wondered over the years why he could cure other people’s ills and injuries, but never his own; not even his mother could explain it, and she knew everything, or so she took pleasure in telling him as he grew under her loving care. Hobbling into the kitchen on his sprained ankle to make a cup of tea, wishing for the hundredth time that day he could summon his healing power to fix his ankle, the phone rang.

‘Hello,’ he said answering it, wincing with pain.

‘Good Morning,’ a crisp upper-class voice replied. ‘May I speak to a Mr Henry Carter please?’

‘Speaking,’ said Henry.

‘Oh good; my name is Wainwright. I am a solicitor from the firm of Smith, Carson and Wainwright based in Wrexham. Can I confirm that you are Mr Henry Carter recently involved in an incident in North Wales, when two young ladies were attacked?’

‘Erm, yes,’ said Henry tentatively. ‘Why, how can I help you, are the two girls ok?’

‘Oh yes, thanks to you, both are doing extremely well and are on the way to making a full recovery. Both are very upset and traumatised of course, but should be fine given enough time.’

‘I’m glad,’ said Henry. ‘How can I help you then?’

‘Would it be at all possible for you to attend this office in person? We have been instructed by our clients to ask if you would attend, so they can thank you in person for what you have done. They apologise most profusely for not contacting you before this to offer thanks, but events, especially with Tracy have, well, they hope you understand.’

‘Of course, I understand,’ said Henry, ‘but I really don’t want thanks. The fact that the girls are both going to be ok is enough thanks for me. My only regret is I wasn’t there sooner. I might have been able to stop the attack.’

‘Mr Carter, you do not have to regret anything. Both families involved wish to offer you their thanks, and the two girls would be overjoyed if you would come and see them.’

‘I don’t know Mr Wainwright,’ Henry replied; memories of the media circus his rescue provoked fresh in his mind, ‘I would like to see them, but I think things should be left as they are; as I said the only thanks, I want is the fact they are both ok.’

‘Please Mr Carter,’ Wainwright simpered, ‘with all the girls have been through, they really would like to thank you in person. Not seeing you to thank you properly will be a huge disappointment to them. Would you please reconsider, it would mean so much to them?’

He agreed of course, his curiosity getting the better of his more natural instinct to shrink into the background, but he wondered as he replaced the phone in its cradle, why after nearly two months, was this taking centre stage again. Who would have thought, he mused, as his mind wandered back to the day he met the two young women?

It was a walk he had taken many times over the years; quiet and peaceful it was one of the few places he liked and relaxed in. To him it was best of a night when the other walkers and hikers had long gone to enjoy their evenings elsewhere; the light pollution of the major towns and cities nearby didn't invade this far into Wales, as the hills and mountains obscured the glow of the city lights from view. Only the lights of Mold four or five miles away would at times brighten the darkness hiding the myriad of stars that wheeled across the ink-black night sky.

It was a January afternoon; a few hours of daylight left before dusk would settle and encompass the countryside. A beautiful, bright, crisp winter’s day had found Henry strolling along a tree-lined path at the side of the River Alun near to Loggerheads. He came here often; loving the place for its natural beauty, especially at this time of year when it was quiet with only the odd rambler encountered along the way. An ideal place for a young man to seriously think away from life’s distractions, and remote enough for mobile phones to have no signal; perfect peace. All the summer tourists were long gone; no longer to be heard with the shrieks and cries of the children, replaced by the lonely call of a bird, or the bark of a dog in the distance.

At night, he liked nothing better than being here on his own, lying on the grass where the winding river created a small peninsula that had been turned into an impromptu picnic area. He would look at the heavens between the sparse-leaved-trees. The heavens fascinated him. He didn’t know any constellations or names of stars, apart from the more well-known ones, Orion and the Big Dipper; his studies never took him in that direction, although once at college he did consider a course in astronomy, but something came up to distract him, most probably a young woman, and he never bothered again; the young lady now long forgotten. Stargazing, he would often make plans to go to night school, or maybe a course at the Open University to learn about the stars, but once away from their never changing gaze, his interest would soon wander elsewhere, and he would only think about them the next time he turned his head skywards on a clear dark night.

As a child, he had spent many a summer playing along this walk, splashing in the cool shallow mountain river with his mates, and his thoughts often strayed back to those balmy summer days of yesteryear when he spent his time here, happily playing and camping without a care in the world. ‘strange,’ he thought, ‘that a peaceful place like this could be the setting of so much horror.’

He had enjoyed the walk and his lunch, and with a long sigh he picked himself up, packed away his flask and his remaining half-eaten sandwich. It was time to go home and get ready for the evenings fun, and work the following day. Setting his pack tightly on his back he decided to run the two miles back to his car and hopefully, get there before dusk fell and the park closed for the day. Nearing the car park, he thought he heard a woman’s scream. It sounded far off and muffled by the rushing waters of the Alun. He was unsure. He stopped to listen, to pinpoint the sound, or find out if it was a scream he had heard, or something else, less sinister, but hearing nothing, and with a shrug of his shoulders, he jogged on until he reached the small stone bridge that spanned the river, leading into the gardens.

The scream came again. Louder now, very loud and high pitched; a scream of terror sounding off to his left, up a small and rarely used path, even in the summer; it was mainly a small short-cut used by walkers between the path he was on, and the main road. It also led upwards towards the base of the cliff that overlooked the picnic area. Obviously, someone was in trouble. He dropped his pack and began to run towards the screams, pausing for a moment when he heard a man’s voice yelling, ‘Make another sound and I’ll kill you.’

‘Jesus,’ he thought. ‘What the hell’s going on?’ Quieter now, he moved swiftly along the path trying not to make a noise, his senses on full alert. He felt the power in him begin to stir. A young woman’s pleas to be set free, could now be clearly heard over the sound of the river, rushing by not two yards away from him. Then he saw them through the trees, the two young girls he had passed earlier. A blonde girl lay very still on the ground, naked with blood stained clothing scattered and torn in disarray around her. The other looked as if she had been beaten. Blood, a lot of it was running down her legs from a gaping wound in her lower abdomen. She was tied by her hands to the trunk of a tree while a man; naked from the waist down was wielding a very large knife. He was brandishing it in front of her eyes taunting her; like her friend her clothing from the waist down had been cut or ripped off and the knife wielding maniac not caring if he cut flesh or cloth was cutting the remaining clothing from her upper body with the wicked looking knife, slicing across the top of her breasts as he did so, her scream of terror and pain pierced his soul.

She was drenched in blood from where the knife had cut her. Blood covered her face and her left eye was almost closed, swollen from a blow received, almost certainly from a punch. Henry went cold, his blood boiled and throwing caution to the wind, he felt his powers surge within him as he ran screaming at the man to leave the girls alone. Taken by surprise, the man turned towards Henry and threw the knife at him. Henry ‘caught’ it with his mind. It stopped dead; a foot from his face, and fell silently to the grassy floor.

The man startled at first, panicked and turned to run. Without a moment’s hesitation, Henry used his mental ability to lift him off the floor to a height of about twenty feet, the man screamed in a terror induced panic as he was raised off the ground, his body twisting and turning in mid-air, his legs and arms waving in an uncontrolled frenzy, trying to find something tangible to give him purchase; all the time screaming and shouting to be let down. Slowly he rose; until at the highest Henry could lift him, he let him go. The man crashed to the floor, the sickening sound of a leg or two breaking as he landed was music to Henry’s ears. The screams of the attacker stopping as his head struck the ground. He lay there, bent and twisted like a discarded rag doll.

Henry rushed over and bending over the girl on the ground he looked to see if her chest was rising and falling. Thankfully she was still breathing, but covered in blood. She looked a mess and near to death’s door. He quickly gathered her clothing and covered her naked body as best he could. He turned to the young woman tied to the tree. By now she had stopped screaming and was sobbing her heart out, totally incoherent. Her clothing had been cut or ripped from her. Blood from her chest wound and a dozen small nicks or cuts from the knife either ran down her body or had been smeared across her naked breasts. He looked her over and saw in seconds that the wound in her abdomen was life threatening; unless dealt with she would bleed to death.

He struggled to undo the knots in the rope that bound her until abandoning caution altogether, he unbound her hands with his mind. It was easier. For a fleeting second, he had considered using the discarded knife and nearly picked it up to cut the bonds before remembering that the police would probably want the knife for evidence, fingerprints, DNA or whatever else they did.

Once released she fell into his arms sobbing, he supported her in his right hand and arm while running his left hand down her body to the gaping wound low on her abdomen. He released his healing ability closing the wound and repairing the internal damage the knife blade had caused. A large gash was open on her torso, starting at her right shoulder it ran down and across her breasts; while not deep or life threatening, it was bleeding profusely, and Henry knew coupled with the blood she had already lost, unless treated she would, in this wintry weather almost certainly die. Once more he ran his hand down her body, from her shoulder across her breasts and down to a point under her arm midway between armpit and waist. As he did the healing energy closed the wound enough to stop the flow of blood while leaving evidence of the maniacal attack she had suffered.

Lowering her gently to the floor he covered her with his coat and turned to her friend. She was in a bad way; apart from dozens of superficial nicks and cuts she too had been stabbed in the lower abdomen, but this time the knife had been twisted and dragged across her body three inches below her belly button. He never hesitated, despite the fact that healing the dark-haired girl had sapped the energy out of him. He placed his hand over the wound and as before let the healing energy flow out of him until internally and externally no sign of the murderous attack could be seen. Next, he examined the rest of her body. He ignored the bruises and cuts to her face; instead concentrated on the slashes and gashes to her upper body. It was a wonder she wasn’t already dead; her left breast had been slashed, the wound about two inches deep and ran from her cleavage, over the top of her breast and finished just under her armpit. It looked like the maniac had tried to slice her breast off. Pulling flesh to flesh his healing power fused the tissue together and to make sure the police knew just what the maniac had done, he left a gash only half an inch deep and twelve inches long that the paramedics or doctors would have no trouble in treating.

His administrations had drained him, but these two young women were not out of danger yet. The blood loss they had suffered and the cold of a January afternoon would kill them if they didn’t receive help quickly. He retrieved his phone from the coat he draped around the dark-haired girl. Thankfully this close to the road he had a signal and called the police and ambulance to the scene. While he waited, he pulled the two girls together, piled the torn and shredded clothing they had over them and lay down next to them using his own body heat to keep them warm.

He lay there, immobile holding the girls on top of him, mercifully they were now unconscious and his mind had wandered back to his childhood and more pleasant times he had spent here.

Coming from Liverpool he enjoyed the school trips out here staying in the educational camp at Loggerheads. A mix of boys and girls used the camp throughout the summer months and Henry had fond memories of the place and the times he had spent there. He looked up at the cliff towering over 200 feet above him and remembered with disbelief the times he and his mates had climbed up the face. It was an easy climb of course. Wide ledges, more like giant steps or stairs made the ascent easy for an eleven-year-old. But now in hindsight, he wondered how the hell he had never killed himself climbing it.

At the age of eleven, Henry met his first girlfriend in the camp. Backed by his mates for courage, he had been caught in the act of trying to sneak into the girl’s dormitory in the middle of the night, and had been severely admonished for his actions. He hadn’t cared, the object of his affections had noticed him and the last week of the holiday was spent in the innocent bliss of a childhood crush. He couldn’t remember the girl’s name now, or even what she looked like or where she lived. Just a vague memory of dark hair cut neatly on her shoulders lurked in the back of his mind. The long ago made promises of undying love and affection, and the tears of parting were soon forgotten once back home and out playing football with his friends. Those were the days he thought. Not a care in the world.

His loneliness, was not from choice but from necessity. The inherited powers from his mother’s side of the family began to manifest in him when he was very young, maybe six or seven. As they had begun to develop, they frightened his school friends turning him into a social outcast. No one would play with him, and for a six-year-old, it was the end of the world, (well he thought so at the time) and eventually he withdrew himself from the other kids for his own self-protection.

His powers were weak, to say the least. But he had enough control over them to be able to move small objects about, causing consternation and frustration among his fellow students, as pens, books, reading glasses and a host of other things went ‘missing,’ only to turn up in someone else’s desk or the teacher's staff room. To Henry, it was a game. It was funny and very occasionally, revenge against someone else for a minor indiscretion committed against him. To everyone else, it was a nuisance, not that Henry was ever caught in this misbehaviour. It just appeared odd to everyone, that the strange things only happened when Henry was near to hand, and never to Henry.

His Mother was the only one who could control him. Endowed with powers herself, she had little difficulty in keeping his powers contained within the family. A sharp ‘stop it’ was usually enough to have him tremble with fear. His Father of course, was different. Henry would often ignore his Father’s words of warning, and carry on doing whatever he was doing until totally exhausted by Henry’s antics, his poor dad would have no other choice but to threaten him with his Mother, a fate Henry was very careful to avoid.

It wasn’t until he changed schools at the age of eleven when the family moved from the Wavertree two up two down, house he was born in, out to the more affluent area of West Derby. Mellwood Drive to be precise, near the football training ground where he used to spy through a hole in the fence at the players as they trained. It was then he learned how to control his abilities that little bit better. Only then, by learning from his past mistakes and bad behaviour did he begin to be accepted by others. Even so, he remained wary, keeping a firm rein on himself and his abilities. The friends he did make, he kept at arm’s length not letting anyone into his little world. It was lonely, but it was safe, and at least he now had friends of a sort to talk to, play football with and do all the things that eleven and twelve-year-old lads did.

One of the girls moaned in pain, breaking into his thoughts and bringing him back to the present, and the events earlier in the day. It was a two-mile walk from Loggerheads along the path at the side of the Alun to a small ravine named years ago by an enterprising person, ‘Devils Gorge’. It was a quiet place at the best of times, a huge cave left by the old Victorian mine workings dominated the gorge, with the lack of natural light instilling a feeling of gloom that could suffocate at this time of the year. Only the brave stayed overnight, or judging by the evidence of cold bonfires, empty bottles and beer cans, the drunk and incapable.

He had been surprised to hear the sound of human voices laughing somewhere ahead of him dispelling the solitude and tranquillity of the day. As he walked on, the two young women he now held desperately off the ground in his quickly aching arms, came towards him. In their late teens or early twenties, they walked to him with arms interlinked, one dressed in jeans with long blonde hair. The other, wearing a skirt, had short dark auburn hair. Engrossed in their conversation, laughing and giggling between themselves, they only saw Henry as he neared them, his ‘sudden’ appearance making them jump, which in turn made him smile.

As they crossed each others path, Henry gave a curt nod of his head, smiled and without too much of a stutter said, ‘Good morning girls.’

‘Good Morning,’ they replied in unison, smiling at him, and bursting into fits of giggles as they moved away.

He had walked on, looking back at the girls, not helping but admire the dark-haired girl. Her face framed by her hair had lit up as her eyes shone with her laughter. She was beautiful, and Henry gave a silent wolf whistle wishing he had the nerve to turn around and ask her out for a drink, or maybe dinner.

The sound of their chatter had soon receded into the distance. As they walked away, it became muffled by the sound of the stream in its unrelenting march towards the sea and soon faded away completely, leaving behind a heavy silence. Henry sighed another missed chance, and not for the first time in his life he cursed himself for being such a stupid coward where women were concerned. Pulling his collar up around his neck, he walked the remaining few hundred yards to his destination.

At 25, Henry considered himself to be in his prime. He was not bad looking, even if he did say so himself. His nose admittedly was a bit on the big side but he was fit from years of playing football. Only in the Sunday leagues of course. He was an amateur, and knew he was not talented enough for a professional side; he could have used his powers to better his football skills but reasoned that was cheating, and would only draw attention to himself if he became a football star. He enjoyed football and had made more than a few friends and acquaintances over the years playing the ‘funny old game.’ The trouble with Henry, Henry mused sipping his coffee, many of his friends knew he was a loner and left him do his own thing, rather than invade his privacy or invite him anywhere except for a few drinks in the pub after a match. It suited him to have them think like this. It kept them from asking any awkward questions, but it did not detract from his loneliness

Henry’s other major problem was women. He loved them; enjoyed being around them, but his lack of any social skills where they were concerned led him to become tongue-tied and shy when trying to make conversation with a woman he was meeting for the first time. At times, his nerves even made him stutter. It had even been known for Henry, (Henry knew), to run if he thought a woman was about to speak to him.

He was single. His last relationship had lasted the better part of two years before ending in a screaming match in the local pub, all because he had forgotten the anniversary of when they had first met. Called a weirdo and told what to do and how to do it in best Anglo-Saxon terminology, he decided to do just that. He went to their home, packed his bags and was back living with his parents within the hour.

He never looked back, despite the histrionics from her to go back and try again. He had decided that he had had enough and was better off on his own. Now he had his own little flat above a shop in the village of Neston on the Wirral. He went to work each day, played football at the weekend and enjoyed a pint when it suited him. Overall, he was happy, his only real problem was of course; he was lonely, very, very lonely. His one or two close friends were always on his back to get a girlfriend, even setting him up a few times in the pub or taking him out and about in the town centre with some girl or another on a blind date.

He admitted to himself that all the girls his mates had tried to get him to go out with were good looking, and seemed nice enough people, but he always felt something was missing. He could never think of anything to say, or stutter, and once he even degenerated all together, in a blind panic, he began to splutter and ramble on about football. As he spoke and stuttered his way through the football facts, he knew the date was doomed. He knew she would make an excuse to grab her bag and leave at the first chance she got, and she did. Tonight, would be no different he thought and contemplated any number of half believable excuses to get out of going.

The sound of sirens brought his mind back to the present. Healing both girls completely would have taken time and led to questions, questions he did not want to answer. The amount of blood they had both lost was already too much for the wounds they now had, and he hoped against hope that whatever doctor they saw didn’t start asking awkward questions. It seemed to take forever. The cold of the ground was seeping into his body and he was shivering and worried about the women he was trying to keep warm. Another couple of minutes dragged by before the emergency services rushed down the path. Quickly he stood as the paramedics reached them and pulled the girls off him. Their blood covered his chest and upper body.

Explaining as best he could through chattering teeth to the paramedics and the police, what he had done to try to save them (Leaving out of course the bad wounds to their stomach area), he pointed out to them where they had been wounded, where the knife lay and which was their clothing, which was their assailants and which was his.

The rest of the day was a nightmare. He went to the hospital with a blanket around him to make sure that he himself was all right and treated for slight hypothermia. The police questioned him in the hospital wanting to know what had happened, where it had happened, how it had happened, what was he doing there at that time of year, where did he live, did he know the girls. A host of questions that had his head in a spin, culminating in a long session in the local police station where he had to give written statements and go over the whole sorry story again.

Of the two girls, he learned that after his administrations the brunette suffered no more than superficial wounds from the knife, more deep scratches than actual stab wounds, the worse wound was the slice across the chest, but she had a slight concussion from the beating she had taken around the head and was to stay in the hospital for observation. The other girl was in a critical condition, due in the main to unexplained massive blood loss and hypothermia. He was informed by the hospital and later the police, that without his efforts to keep her warm she would in all probability have died, and that at least, gave him a nice warm feeling of satisfaction.

According to the police, his version of events differed from that given by Gemma (The dark-haired girl). She had given the police a tale where Henry had lifted the rapist off the floor without using his hands, and smashed him back down again, then untied her, again without using his hands, before somehow healing all her wounds. He didn’t have much difficulty in convincing the police that at the time, she was overwrought, frightened, concussed and incoherent from her ordeal. All he had done was to shout at the rapist, who had fled throwing the knife away before he tripped hitting his head. How had he broken his legs? Henry couldn’t explain. He was, he said, more interested in saving the two girls.

It was 2.30 am before he was finally allowed home from Wrexham police station, and then he had to wait for his Father to pick him up as his coat was still with the brunette in the town’s hospital along with his car keys and wallet. At least the police had found his pack and returned that to him. Tired, blood stained and brain dead from the questioning, he explained as best as he could to his dad what had happened and eventually got to his home in Neston at about 4.30 am, going straight to bed and sleeping the sleep of the just until noon that day. The police knocking on his door to return his coat and wallet eventually woke him.

Chapter 2

He was the flavour of the month for a while after that, especially in the local press with terms such as hero and saviour being bandied about, all of which totally unsettled him and made him acutely embarrassed about the whole episode. Eventually, with time, Henry lost his fifteen minutes of fame and things began to settle down again. Life returned to normal, well nearly normal. Via the police, he found out that both girls were expected to physically make a full recovery although they expressed concern over Tracy’s mental state after her traumatic experience.

The nasty bit of work that had attacked them came from the Manchester area, and was well known to the police as a drug user who had a long criminal record for earlier attacks on women and young girls. Nothing as serious as what he had done to Gemma and Tracy, but enough to have had him serve a couple of years in prison for his previous offence’s.

Thankfully, when the case eventually came to court he pleaded guilty to the attack via video from his prison hospital bed, and saved the girls and himself from having to attend and give evidence at his trial. He was found guilty of raping Tracy, the attempted rape of Gemma, attempted murder of both girls, and all manner of other sexually related offence’s and received a well-deserved life sentence with a minimum of 15 years in prison before being eligible for parole. Henry would have had him castrated if it had been up to him, but the law and the human rights people would not allow it. He was tempted, though, very tempted.

Life had settled down and Henry returned his customary life of football and work, and the whole episode was mentioned less and less by his friends in the pub. Now it was back, with a phone call asking him to go to a solicitor’s office in Chester.

Three days later Henry entered, still hobbling on his twisted ankle, in to the Chester office of Smith, Carson and Wainwright. After introducing himself to the receptionist he was ushered, with huge smiles and a great deal of growing reluctance on Henry’s part, into Mr Wainwright’s office.

‘Mr Carter,’ said Wainwright standing and offering his hand. Henry gripped it and shook the offered limb. ‘What an absolute pleasure to meet you. Please, sit down, you’re a little early. Gemma and Tracy will be here soon. Will you take refreshments while you wait?’

‘Yes, thanks,’ replied Henry sitting in the offered chair ‘A coffee if that’s ok?’

‘Janet,’ barked Wainwright, to the receptionist who had shown him in. ‘A coffee for Mr Carter.’

The next 10 minutes were filled with inane conversation about the weather and the latest outrage in the Middle East, while Henry, on his best behaviour, did his utmost to drink the bitter tasting coffee without spilling half of it down his shirt. Just when the topics of conversation were becoming farcical, six people were shown into the room, Gemma and Tracy he recognised right away. The other four he didn’t but being older people, he assumed they were obviously the girl’s parents.

Henry stood up and was promptly knocked back into the chair as Gemma threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around him in a female death grip, squealing her delight at seeing him, while everyone else in the room found her antics highly amusing. Everyone except Henry, who could not move or stand on his bad ankle; he was only saved from complete humiliation by the intervention of who was later introduced as her father pulling his daughter off ‘The poor man.’ Henry was forever grateful, his actions and rescue from Gemma enabled him to start breathing again. Once back on his feet and with Gemma restrained by her father, Tracy came to Henry, put her arms around him and with tears streaming down her face, said with a great big smile, ‘Thank you.’

‘No thanks are needed,’ said Henry, holding Tracy at arm’s length, ‘I only did what anyone else would have done in the same circumstances. If you must thank anyone; thank God that I arrived when I did, and not 5 minutes later.’

‘Oh, no Mr Carter,’ said Gemma now fully composed.

‘Please,’ said Henry. ‘My name is Henry.’

‘Well erm Henry,’ said Gemma. ‘You may think you don’t need thanks, but I know if it wasn’t for you, at least one of us would be dead, and most probably both of us.’

‘Yes,’ chimed in Tracy. ‘The doctors in the hospital told me that without you keeping me warm, I would be dead. As it was, the paramedics got to me just in time. The 10 or 15 minutes you kept me warm saved my life. I will always be grateful to you for that.’ Tears ran down her face again, and Henry put his arms about her holding her tight while she sobbed her heart out.

‘Henry,’ a bald-headed man said getting his attention, ‘I’m Tracy’s dad. My name’s John and this is my wife Hillary, Tracy’s mum. The thanks she is giving you comes from the both of us a thousand fold. She is our only daughter, and without her, well, I dread to think of what might have happened without you.’

‘That goes for us too,’ said the other man, offering his hand as Henry disentangled himself from Tracy. Henry shook it. ‘My name’s Bob and this is Irene. We’re Gemma’s mum and dad, and while she’s a pain in the neck at times, I shudder every time I think about that day, and what might have been without your intervention.’

‘Listen,’ said Henry. ‘I’m just glad I happened along when I did, and that both girls are doing ok. I did nothing special. I frightened a drugged up maniac away and applied a bit of first aid. Any thanks I may have needed is standing here looking at the two of them safe and well.’

‘That may be,’ said Gemma sliding up to Henry and linking her arm through his. ‘But it wasn’t anyone else, it was you, and anyway, you’re nice. I said that to Trace when we first met you on the path, and Henry, after what you did for us, I want to see if we can be friends.’

‘Course we can be friends,’ smiled Henry. ‘I would like nothing more, but with one condition.’

‘What?’ the two girls chorused.

‘No more of these daft thank you’s. Enough now said on the matter; it makes a person embarrassed.’

‘Done,’ said Tracy taking his other arm. ‘Daddy, ask him.’

‘Erm,’ began John. ‘We usually spend a couple of weeks each year abroad. I don’t like to blow my own trumpet, but Bob and I have our own place on Ibiza, and if you and your girlfriend would care to stay with us for two or three weeks, longer if you have the time, you would be more than welcome.’ He looked at Henry, saw the uncertainty in his eyes and continued. ‘It really would be nice to be able to get to know you better, in more relaxed surroundings. Please, think about it and let me know.’

‘I really don’t know John,’ began Henry pensively, thinking about his powers, and trying to hide them in such close proximity, over a prolonged period to strangers. ‘It sounds very attractive, but you don’t know me. I might be hell on wheels to live with, and I don’t want to antagonise anyone so soon after meeting them. Apart from that, I don’t have a girlfriend, (Gemma sucked her breath in and squeezed his arm with hers), so it would mean just me.’

‘I like you,’ smiled John. ‘Not just for what you did for these girls, but the way, you have come across today; I consider myself to be a good judge of people Henry and I see in you someone I would be proud to know. I won’t take no for an answer, and I don’t think these two girls will either,’ he smiled again at Henry.

‘Well,’ said Henry, looking at both girls. ‘Be it on your own heads. But let it be known, I won’t be going anywhere unless I take the weight off this foot.’

‘Yes,’ said Bob, ‘and we have business to attend to, Mr Wainwright if you would be so kind.’

‘Certainly Sir,’ said Wainwright, nearly grovelling on the floor like a lost puppy that has just found its way home. ‘If Mr Carter would be so good as to sign these papers,’ he pushed four or five A-four sized sheets over towards Henry.

‘What are they?’ asked Henry puzzled.

Wainwright looked towards Bob who nodded his head. ‘It’s a confidentiality agreement. Mr Stubbs and Mr McEwen own considerable