Demons: JOURNEYS INTO THE HEARTLAND, #2

By Marina Gerrard

Jorna witnesses an act of gratuitous violence. The wanton evil in the act unlocks the Pandora's box full of undeniable, unforgivable experiences that have ravaged her own life.

Will she survive the confrontation with her personal demons?

Out running for reasons of her own Jorna narrowly misses being hit by a drunk driver. A blind boy is not so lucky. The driver deliberately swerves and knocks him flying into a canal. This unleashes a cold killing rage. Jorna dives into the canal and saves the boy from drowning.

Afterwards she is assailed by cruel memories of similar acts of disrespect perpetrated against her. It brings her to the brink of insanity. Only her staunch refusal to give in to fear and despair keeps her from tipping over the edge. Her descent into hell comes to a surprising end when she discovers she is not the only one with demons to battle.

Demons is the second book in a miniseries of three psychological thrillers on the theme of recovery from trauma.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marina Gerrard
• Release date: Apr 30, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386631330

Book preview

I. ‘LIKE FLIES, LIKE NOTHING’

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Jorna slept. She dreamt. Dreams. Everyday dreams. Dreams like thin air. Dreams that faded and fled when she touched them. Dreams that were not particularly much of a dream. They rose from the depth of her mind and evaporated when they reached the surface. There was nothing to them.

Then that changed.

Gradually the dreams gained substance. They joined, merged and became one. On the empty screen of Jorna’s mind an image formed; one that she had seen before. She stirred and became restless. Then her focus shifted and she slipped into . . .

Moonlight. Rippling silver over a seamless sea. Geese flying black against the velvet expanse of the night. Dolphins playing. In the distance, almost lost against the vast horizon, a boat, its lantern a beacon high up on the mast . . .

Beauty of a piercing kind. Oh, it made her heart ache. She wanted it to stay forever, caught in a magic spell that none could touch.

In the boat a girl. In her hand a flute. The girl raised the flute to her lips. Suddenly sweat poured off her.

‘No’, she whispered hoarsely. ‘Don’t blow. Don’t-’

She raised her hand to ward off the danger but already the tune danced out over the water. Jorna groaned in her sleep. Her hand fell back and began to pluck the blanket. In her dream the enchantment died.

The moon grew fat and bloated. On its face purple blotches appeared that swelled and broke, turning the silver light into pus. Under its touch disease spread and the world began to smell. Birds fell putrid from the sky, their bodies mingling with those of fish that no longer found air to breathe in a sea as thick as oil. Against the rampage of death only the little boat sailed on, untouched, taking its bright light with it, shedding music wherever it went . . .

Jorna watched, knowing, knowing what would happen. Her hand flailed the bed, futilely. There was nothing she could do. She dreamt the dream but was not of it.

And so the stars went out and the sea fell dry. A cold wind came and swept all signs of life away. Only the moon remained, casting shadows on the sand. On the horizon sailed a little boat, balancing its music and its light against the emptiness around it.

Then the music died and the boat fell off the edge of the world. Its light winked out and the world was no more. Where it had been there was a blackness, an utter emptiness where nothing moved and nothing stirred. Only the moon remained, stark so stark.

Beauty of a bitter kind that made her soul contract.

A tidal wave of sadness, anger and despair rose like bile inside her. Jorna cried out. It was unbearable. Then the emptiness came down like a ton of bricks and crushed the life out of her. The wave of feeling crashed into the emptiness and began to pile. Suddenly it was herself that was dying.

She fought for breath but there was none. There was no air. Her mouth gaped, her lungs burned. Her eyes popped. She screamed but not a sound emerged. She woke to find her husband pumping away on her, his eyes glazed and unseeing, his mouth closed over hers like a leech. She lay paralysed, suffocating inch by painful inch.

Inside her the pressure was rising, rising. Panic released a surge of adrenaline to which her body responded, betraying her and leaving her in shock with herself.

When he finally rolled off her into a deep and instant sleep, every ragged breath she drew made her feel more ravaged, more bitter and betrayed. She could not bear it. She wanted to kill him, kill herself, kill something.

Unable to contain her distress she struggled up out of the bed and rushed into the bathroom where she puked her guts inside out. But it did not help. Nothing helped. She felt sick, so sick and she could not get her breath back. She wanted to kill and she wanted to die but she could not. She could not get her breath back. There was a bubble of pressure building where her gut sat. It squeezed out the air as soon as it came in and she knew she had to get out. Get air. Do something, before it was too late.

A feeling of urgency came over her. It drove her out of the bathroom, clothes in hand, down the stairs and into the kitchen where, incredible even to herself, she still did the dishes, made the tea, prepared his sandwiches, because she knew what would happen if. Then out into the hall. Dress. Drag a comb through her hair in one movement, grab her coat and handbag in another. Out of the door and go. Into the morning twilight, running, running, somewhere, anywhere . . .

---

The road was deserted. It was too early for traffic in these outskirts of town. In the far distance the lonely figure of a blind man tapped his baton along the kerb. The water in the canal babbled and clucked, black against the grey of dawn. But none of this registered. None of this mattered. Jorna ran. Lungs pumping. Heart thumping. Flying high as a kite on the need to be gone. In the morning silence the sound of her feet ricocheted against the sleeping houses. She heard nothing. She ran. Her blood was boiling. Her mind was on fire but she was ahead of despair, the pressure was down and she was gaining ground. She was covering miles and making time, making space. Getting her breath back.

The noise of a fast approaching car drove into her mind. She moved aside, automatically. The vehicle brushed past her at a hair’s breadth. The face behind the wheel leered at her but she did not see. She ran on, free and easy. The car lurched directly into her view, swinging from kerb to kerb. Her eyes followed it when suddenly it accelerated and headed directly, point blank, for the blind man. Blink. Image of a blind man, stopping and turning. She ran on, nearer. Blink. Image of a man. Blink. Boy. Blind boy. Lifting his baton. She ran, nearer, ever nearer, then into it, at the precise moment the car swung onto the pavement and hit the boy.

Time leapt. She recoiled. The impact of reality broke her speed and brought her to a dead standstill.

She stood where only a second before the boy had frozen in his futile pose. The car was a tiny black dot in the distance and the boy was a head without a body, sinking slowly below the surface of the canal. His mouth made a black hole from which a scream crept forth out over the clucking water. The scream reached Jorna’s ears. Then the head went down. The scream bubbled and disappeared. The water was black and empty. The boy did not come up again.

The evil of it! The wilful, wanton malice!

Jorna gaped, her mouth unhinged with shock. She could not believe it. She just could not believe it. People did not do things like that. There was no reason.

Then the feelings she had outrun caught up with her and piled on top of shock. They told her that she had to believe it, because it had happened to her too and there was nothing either she or anyone else could do. They showed her the crazy, leering face behind the wheel, the glazed unseeing look in her husband’s eyes and made her realize that it was not even personal. That they had not even been there, neither her nor the boy. That they had not even been seen. They had just been there. In the way. Like flies. Like nothing.

Despair hit her stomach like a sledgehammer, while outrage burned and betrayal pierced her heart. She felt sick to the core. The feelings bit and fought and grappled with one another until she could not take it anymore. A terrible headlong howl burst out of her. It jumped. She followed. It was the only thing she could do . . .

---

The water was cold and slimy and it stank. It slipped up her clothes and clung to her skin. Indefinable things slid past her legs and unseen objects grabbed her feet. She would have died with disgust if she had been aware but rage fuelled her actions and pulled her along, wading and thrashing, over to the spot where she had last seen the boy.

They could not do this. She would not have it. She’d show them. She’d sock it to them. She’d-

The water unexpectedly gained depth and a current sucked her legs out from under her. Suddenly she was struggling to stay afloat. She kicked her legs out and fought against the current.

Leave it be, it said. What can you do, it said. You know it’s all a waste of effort. Why kick against the pricks. It’s too late, it said. You don’t stand a chance, it said and pulled at her. Just let it go. Just let it . . . go.

She denied it, she defied it. She gave it hell. She refused to knuckle under. She’d get there in the end.

She did. She got there and she dived. Straight in, straight down, searching for a blind boy in a blind world that knew no mercy and refused to care.

As she dived a shaft of early sunlight struck the murky water. For a moment the water became transparent and she caught the pale shape of the boy shimmering against the greenish underwater graveyard of objects and obstacles far over to her left.

Christ, he was not moving!

Then the sunlight went and she could not see a thing but she was already battling the current to get over there.

I don’t know why you bother, it said. He’s better off dead, it said and dragged at her feet.

She kicked off her shoes and swam till she was forced to come up for air. Lungs bursting she worked her way up, took one gasp and was down again.

Damn it, time was running out. There was no time to lose. There just was no flipping time. She had to get there. Simply had to get there. She refused to be too late.

Blindly she followed her intuition that told her where. She was rewarded by a glimpse of the boy, now directly in front of her. Again she had to come up for air. Cursing she kicked her way to the surface and down again.

The body of the boy had snagged on the remains of a bicycle. Jorna took one look and was there. One god-almighty thrust of her legs and she was there.

The boy’s eyes were closed and his face was a pale green shade of blue.

Flip-flaming-fury, she couldn’t be too late!

She reached for the arm that had lodged under the handlebar and tugged. The body was inert and unwilling. She tried again to get it dislodged but the current was against her and her breath and her strength were running out. Already the boy was crossing over to the other side. She sensed it and she would not have it.

DO NOT GIVE UP!

With all the power that was in her mind she drove her will into his and gave the inert body a massive heave. It came unstuck and they shot upward. At that moment a beam