The Power of Artefacts

By Jenny Paliska

Joseph is beaten senseless by thugs, not once but twice. The second time leaves him battered, destitute, homeless and in dire circumstances with little choice but to accept an invitation to a mysterious address. He is astonished to find he has become the new Master of an Order, an ancient society who has spent fifteen years scouring the earth for one such as himself. As recompense for his services he is bestowed a mansion and untold wealth. After signing the contract he realises it is enduring and only death will allow him to escape.

Joseph is shocked when his new home, controlled by artefacts, notifies him of his impending death by the Order’s arch enemy - the League. With his life hanging in the balance, the members of the Order reveal their true selves. Joseph is surrounded by those skilled at repairing the timeline and incapable of death. All of this is overwhelming and with his death imminent and dominion of the Order challenged, they must journey to a castle in Germany to avoid his demise.

At the castle, the battle for supremacy of the artefacts erupts. The League’s actions are devious and they are one step ahead of them at every turn compelling Joseph and William, a time traveller, to abandon this century. They take a perilous journey in a time when swords are the weapons of choice and life is rarely valued. Their quest: to locate lost artefacts to avert the Order’s annihilation and the League conquering the world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Jul 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9781524562120

Jenny Paliska

Jenny Paliska grew up in Victoria, Australia. After living in New Zealand for three years she became a Chemistry and Physics teacher in South Australia. She began her writing career with her book ‘Programming Computer Games’. She is now a full time author and her first series: Witty Tales from The Unique Detective Agency, engages the reader with humour, fantasy and the odd dead body. The Survivor Series draws the reader into a world where humanity is in peril and its salvation is not of this earth and with many more dead bodies. The Power of Artefacts Series lures the reader into a world of incredible exploits where nothing is what it seems and yes, there are still more dead bodies. Jenny Paliska lives in Adelaide, South Australia – a place worth living.

Book preview

Copyright © 2019 by Jenny Paliska.

ISBN:              Softcover              978-1-5245-6196-3

                        eBook                   978-1-5245-6212-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 07/09/2019

Xlibris

1-800-455-039

www.Xlibris.com.au

649820

CONTENTS

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Also Written By Jenny Paliska

Three Times Dead

Counting The Bodies

Surviving

Survivors

DEDICATION

To Anjelia

I have been very fortunate in life to have students as friends who were willing to read and provide feedback on my novels. I especially would like to thank Anjelia. You thought as your teacher I was inspiring and motivating. Sometimes students forget how much they motivate and inspire their teachers. Thank you Anjelia for your kindness in reading my books and especially for enjoying them.

CHAPTER 1

I ran. I kept running. I dared not turn around. I didn’t want to know what was following me, but I could sense there was more than one from the sound of their footsteps. The noises suggested many, but it wasn’t always clear. At other times the sounds were indistinct, muffled by the puddles they tro d in.

It was two o’clock in the morning and this time of night held great fear for me. I remembered childhood horrors that made my stomach churn and ache and now, at this moment, the ache was working its tortuous way through my body. I was visibly shaking from fear as I ran.

My head throbbed and my legs longed to stand still. My breathing made more noise than I wanted it to and I sounded like a steam train. I felt sure I could be clearly heard. I was actually facilitating them knowing my whereabouts and I knew I would be set upon at any moment. I shook my head in disgust at my inability to move soundlessly. I wanted it to stop. I wanted to be elsewhere, somewhere safe.

It was exceedingly cold and the chill of the night air caused me to shake even though I was sweating like a pig. I tripped and stumbled on the uneven bitumen surface of the alley, lacerating my leg. As I stood, I could feel my trouser leg dragging across an open wound and becoming damp, soaking up the blood as it flowed down my leg. I wanted to know the damage but I didn’t have time to look. I had to move as they were nearly on me. I ran as best I could.

I travelled a few more paces and knew this wasn’t going to work. Blood was oozing down my leg, my sock soaking up the blood and I knew I had to stem the flow. I was leaving a blood trail behind me and even in the part light of the alley, my blood would act like a beacon, pointing out my location.

I could sense them gaining ground on me, moving closer and I feared there were many more than two. How could I survive the violent endeavours of three or more? I was about to die. Oh god! My heart raced and I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my body. Suddenly, my leg became a secondary consideration, staying alive was my priority. But I had to rest. I had to stop, but where? I had to find a place to hide and take stock of my leg. Maybe I would be lucky.

As I ran, partly dragging my leg, I searched the alley until I saw a recess in a brick wall that lead to a door, no doubt allowing me to go nowhere fast. I had little faith left and doubted any action would keep me alive. When I reached this shadowed location I paused, pressing my torso against the door and its frame, hoping beyond all hope I had disappeared effectively into the shadows and wouldn’t be found by those men hell-bent on shortening my life. I stopped breathing for a few moments to ascertain what I could hear. It wasn’t easy. My body was screaming for oxygen.

I didn’t know exactly what they wanted but it wasn’t going to be enjoyable for me. Why chase me if they meant well? I desperately wanted a way out. I could hear their noises and they were fading away and hope was with me.

I had finished my shift at Parrillo’s Pizzeria and it was late and the weather felt as if it should snow, though that level of cold wasn’t commonplace here. It had been a long night and when I saw some of my customers enter the Pizzeria, my blood ran cold causing the hairs to stand up on my neck. They loitered far too long and there were three of them. They were large men, far larger than me and it wasn’t so much their size that I took issue with but they didn’t order a pizza and leave like other customers. They lingered longer than the norm. They sat at one of the three tables in the place and kept calling me over for small orders. A coke, then garlic bread, then they ordered some pizza and after awhile more pizza and I was certain they were casing the place. Watching! Checking! Planning! I should have called the police way back then. Why didn’t I? The look in their eyes had been enough for a phone call.

Just before closing they eventually left the premises. That was when I was sure I was in for it. I had wanted to call the police but they don’t respond to hunches. Instead of locking up and fleeing by the front door, I chose to leave by the back door and use the darkness of the alley to hide my departure. I was sure I couldn’t be seen but they must have been waiting for me, anticipating I would change my usual behaviour. Maybe they had been watching me far longer than tonight. It didn’t matter now.

As I left the premises I turned off the outside security light and when I left the doorway, stepping into the alley, I soundlessly placed the key in my pocket in readiness for a fast exit. I could hear breathing and it wasn’t mine. It could only be them. They felt close but it was a moonless night and the light in the alley by the Pizzeria was all but non-existent. I had made sure of that. Even the main street lighting hadn’t made its way into the alley. I moved stealthily away from the door, stepping slowly and quietly. I doubted they could see me but something was alerting them to my presence. I thought I had moved with agility and even I was hard pressed to hear the sounds of my own footfalls. I could not endure being attacked again.

And here I was cringing in the shadows with tears streaming down my face, remembering the pain of the last time and terrified it would happened again. It was less than two months ago and I had been left bruised and broken, hanging onto life by a thread and I could not allow that to happen to me again. I took a long, soundless breath, rejecting the idea of being a victim again and I ran faster than I had previously run before. I ignored the throbbing pain in my leg for at least, if I could feel the pain, I was alive.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so confident that I could outrun them. In hindsight it was possibly the worst decision I could have made. Hiding in the shadows would not have delivered me to my apartment door unscathed but I couldn’t bear to hear them breathing again causing me to recoil in fear. Their breathing reminded me of all the worst, devil-incarnate films I had ever seen and it assaulted me to the core. Instead I was now hearing my own footfalls as they banged hard against the cracked bitumen and concrete as I surged forward to my apartment. I suddenly felt some measure of hope as it wasn’t far, only a few streets away.

As I ran I could hear them chasing me and I knew they were fast behind me. I knew they would be onto to me and I was right. Judging by the sounds that followed, I reasoned they would be upon me within seconds.

I sped along the darkest section of the alley and came across a door that shouldn’t have been ajar. Luck was finally on my side. Someone had been thoughtless and it was that one careless action that could save my life. Pain shot through my damaged leg when I stopped abruptly, spinning myself in one rapid movement through the doorway and with my right hand I tugged at the door, pulling it closed behind me. I listened intently. I heard them run past the door then the noise stopped and I imagined they had ceased chasing me. I sensed they were waiting, listening for any sound that would alert them to my position but it didn’t come. They weren’t fools and began to retrace their steps. I could hear them yanking at door handles and knew my time was running out.

I was trapped, hiding like some caged animal in an outside toilet, waiting, hoping for a miracle but none had ever come my way before so why should one come now. I had no weapon. I hadn’t thought to remove a knife from Parrillo’s for protection. Though if I had, I was sure the three of them would have overpowered me and used it against me but it would still feel nice to know I had a weapon or two.

The horror of the thoughts racing through my mind began choking any rational thoughts; a knife slicing through my flesh made my skin crawl and I could visualize the attack all too clearly. I shook these sickening thoughts from my mind. I looked around and only found the usual items found in a toilet and I doubted a toilet roll would protect me.

I ceased moving, expecting that moment when all is lost. The cold continued creeping into my legs and back and my head ached from the cold’s slithering vice. I wanted to breathe deep but knew I would be found. I wanted to bend over, rest my body and let my lungs drag in air but I knew this would guarantee them finding me. I wanted many things and the one praying on my mind tonight was staying alive at all cost. Was it even possible? Had that moment come in my life when I knew all was lost and these were my last moments alive?

Their footsteps became louder. I could hear them stopping then walking and I could sense the hesitation in their actions, uncertain as to where I was hiding. My mind and body exploded with adrenalin. They couldn’t find me, I was anticipating my prayers might be answered. Again I could hear them moving with doubt. Then they stopped, just like my breath.

One gravel voice whispered outside the toilet. Do you know where he went? I can’t tell.

There wasn’t an answer.

I wasn’t one for prayer generally but I could hear my mind praying for my life. They were too close.

The footsteps abated. I was alive. They were gone and I could only assume it was back along the way we raced into the alley. I gently opened the door without a squeak of the hinges disturbing the silence and quietly left the toilet in the direction of my apartment. It was so close I could nearly see it.

As I left the toilet the drizzling rain found purchase on my body, adding further to my misery. I looked around and they were not to be seen. I breathed a sigh of relief. I could sense the fog building but it hadn’t yet established itself and I knew at this time of the year, the drizzle could quickly become fog. I prayed it would happen swiftly as it would be the perfect cover on the off chance they were lying in wait as I made my way home. I dragged in a lungful of cold air and waited for the pain to pass and I don’t know why I thought I had escaped them as I could suddenly hear them returning. It really wasn’t fair. None of my life was fair. I remained motionless in the half shadow then the unthinkable happened.

A small light illuminated the alley with a dull glow and I became clearly visible and so did my attackers. In those ensuing few seconds, a toilet flushed and the light disappeared but not before three large men, who had continued searching and hadn’t given up the chase, could clearly see me in the brief but disastrous light. They were looking directly at me and I could have sworn they were smiling before the light went out.

A foreboding descended upon me. I knew this was it. I froze for that brief moment when you know your life is at an end. It was a game to them and I was the prize. In front of me stood a small group of neighbourhood desperates who knew how they made others feel - desperate - and that was exactly how I felt at this moment. They were not the men at Parrillo’s. This was another group of people with nothing to do but terrorise innocent people. They walked towards me in no great hurry. They were just another group of thugs who enjoyed inflicting pain on others, gaining pleasure from it. This gang of thugs knew something and by their smile I knew I wasn’t going to like it. I knew I was in more trouble than at any other time in my life. At this moment, the best I could hope for was keeping my life and with this thought in mind, I did what most would do and attempted to escape. I moved quickly to avoid them as best I could with my wounded leg and ran into the chest of another rather large man who was waiting behind me. He pushed me backwards and by the size of him I should have been grateful he hadn’t hit me.

His muscles bulged and even though my muscles weren’t small, I was not a fighter or that street smart and fighting for my life wasn’t a skill I possessed. It was obviously too late to learn it. There were four of them now and the realisation that even if I was a fighter I was still going to die removed what little breath I had left. All I could do was panic fully and perhaps save myself. The dread of knowing I was in more trouble than thirty seconds ago wasn’t helping me think. The best I could hope for was a small injury, one that wouldn’t stop me from going to work or I would be in even more trouble. The things you think of when you know there is no escape: most of them stupid ideas that get in the road of thinking your way out of danger. When your mind clears you begin to worry about how much it will hurt and the panic returns. It’s not called pain because it is pleasant. Perhaps the adrenaline that was coursing through my veins would keep me safe. Perhaps not! I didn’t have much to hope for and then they advanced towards me.

I screamed but doubted anyone would hear the pitiful sound I was emitting. Even the person who used the toilet must have heard the screams from all their other victims. I took out my wallet with difficulty since my hands shook greatly from fear. They watched. They laughed when I threw what little money I had at them and it suddenly became quite clear to me; the money meant nothing. They didn’t even look at it as it lay in the puddle. They were addicted to the thrill of inflicting pain on others and the panic and fear they caused. I could see their pleasure by their smiling mouths. They enjoyed the chase. As I stood looking at them, mouth wide open, drool dripped from my mouth. I wanted to appear brave so they didn’t enjoy this as much as I knew they were going to. I wasn’t feeling very brave though. I wanted to run but my legs wouldn’t move and I stood shaking as droplets of mist continued to saturate me. My world was now a hell hole.

The smallest of the men, who appeared to lead them, advanced forward and with a deft swing of his right fist he connected with my head and I think I saw stars as I fell onto the freezing bitumen in that damp and wintry alley. They all raced at me and I felt a searing pain from a kick to my back and another to my left and suddenly and thankfully I never felt another thing.

CHAPTER 2

I t doesn’t matter where the thoughts come from, but when you are in a coma there are thoughts. These can be random with the occasional pertinent one, but mostly useless thoughts. I concentrated on thinking about my life, my loves and my family. Why I thought of them was unclear to me since I don’t have much of a life. I remembered a girlfriend from a long time ago, a very long time ago and a family I hardly saw. As for the rest of my life it seemed to be one large debt. Truth be told, my life has been one extended experience of going to work, coming home and paying the bills. I don’t have sufficient money left over at the end of a week and I’m lucky to come out even most weeks. I’ve tried doing overtime and it seems I just pay more taxes and whatever extra money I earn, disappears rapidly. I have become tired of being tired! I am tired of working to get nowhere. But I am not that stupid to knock back the overtime and I still do it as it gives me the chance to eat better. Those extra sixty dollars a week do make a difference even though it is small compared to other people’s incomes. I wish I had another life and not the one I am tied to. I work sixteen hours a day and get six hours sleep. I leave my bed late in the day and ready myself for another long night and when I return home, I shower and crawl into bed with another day done and dusted. What a sad little life of nothing ness.

My thoughts continued to review my insignificant life and it didn’t take long at all. No-one told me what my life would look like if I didn’t complete school. Well, they did tell me but I didn’t listen. Why would I? My family paid for everything and I had few responsibilities so why would I believe my future would be any different. I ignored my mother and father when they said they worked and studied hard and that was the way to make it. I didn’t believe a word they said but now I do.

My parents have a modest house and are growing old doing what they’re been doing for the last thirty years. I envy them because they are happy but I don’t want their life. I want excitement. I want freedom and that is exactly what I’ve got; freedom. Only trouble is I don’t have any money or time and the excitement in my life is dictated by the couple next door who fight long and hard and not just verbally. The police, who are inclined to rock up any time of the day or night, occasionally still their vocal insults by taking one of them to the cells for the night. I suppose the greatest excitement in my life will be when one of them picks up a weapon and I get to be a witness in a court case. But I wanted excitement.

Sometimes, when I look back over my short life of twenty-four years, I wonder where the days have gone. I wonder where the years are going. I don’t think, I know. I can’t imagine this to be the rest of my life and this is all there is but I know it to be close to the truth. Parrillo’s Pizzeria has been my steady income for five years and even though I have the status of ‘The Night Manager’ and can have overtime as I am the boss, the money still sucks and the hours are no better.

How I arrived at this exciting life is easy. I hated school and it hated me. I couldn’t do anything right but then again I wasn’t doing anything right in return. I didn’t want to. I hated doing homework and I couldn’t stand sitting in class listening to teachers who thought their subject to be the most exciting of them all and couldn’t understand how we didn’t love it like they did. How awful was that?

I was the one who wanted excitement and a life. Taking the odd school day off for my own indulgences served many purposes; least of all knowing I had gotten away with it. This went on for years and now all my school friends have great jobs and money rolling in but not me. I wonder how many of them are laughing behind my back. Too many I suppose and I don’t really want to know. I am embarrassed by my life and they seem to have everything. I dread the day one of them decides to enter Parrillo’s and order pizza from me. I wish I had made some sort of effort. I wish I had understood. I bet none of them would have anything to do with me now. Their loss! Not really. My loss! I’m a loser.

My thoughts travelled back four weeks when my life took a nasty turn for the worse. Why can’t I remember good things about my life? Maybe there aren’t any!

I remember arriving home from work having completed another shift of overtime and removed the mail from the mail box situated in the front foyer of my apartment complex. As I climbed the stairs I sorted them in my hands, preparing for my usual bills but instead there was a letter from a law firm? Well, I didn’t open it. With certainty I knew it had to do with the next door neighbours and I had no inclination or interest to find out what they had gotten me into, this time. It wasn’t enough I lost countless nights of potential sleep but I couldn’t afford to lose any income by going to court and I knew from the ongoing racket in their apartment, this court case couldn’t be that far away. After I entered my apartment I tossed my mail onto the counter and imagined I would face it early in the week when I had time to sit quietly, read it and then afterwards take a jog to rid myself of any frustration. I didn’t want to attend court. I didn’t want to divulge all the disgusting abuse they hurled at each other. It was sufficient I had heard it once. They were foul mouthed tenants with a death wish in the way they baited each other and were as bad as each other. And to think they had a small defenceless child.

I sat on my couch mentally damning the neighbours until I couldn’t stand being in my small apartment any further. It was a day sitter and the saying you couldn’t swing a cat didn’t adequately reflect the true size of my apartment. It was cramped and at times it required a talent to walk about it when the bed was opened out. But as it did have a shower, a toilet, some cooking appliances and my foldout bed, it became my haven away from the rest of the world; a place to put my head during the night or day, depending on my shift.

It was a noisy neighbourhood and since the larger apartments in this neighbourhood heard the same sounds at night, it was easier to live frugally and dream of a larger apartment with a bedroom and never having to sleep in my lounge room again. But there were better apartments a few suburbs away. More than likely my old school friends lived there. Huh! I had to find a better way to make more money.

It was the wrong day to have had enough. Everything around that day was negative. I changed my shoes and clothes and took off out the door before I realized it was the wrong day to go jogging.

It was well after the usual pack of joggers circled the neighbourhood together for protection. It was hard to mug a group of joggers, but a solitary jogger was an obvious target and I had a momentary lapse of judgment when I took off out the door with my water bottle safely attached at my waist, my phone zippered into my trouser leg and music blaring in my ears; alone. It wasn’t dark but it would be soon and I really needed to get the thought of that letter out of my head. I was angry. I didn’t want to open it. I jogged. I walked awhile. I jogged some more. Maybe it was time to move away from here. Maybe it was the right time to change jobs. I mentally cursed the neighbours and when I thought of them, my jogging turned to running. Those neighbours had been problematic from the start but I didn’t have the money to move from my austere abode. It was as if I couldn’t make any changes to my life because lack of money prevented me every time. How could I possibly afford to move? I must find a way and I spent my time jogging and thinking of ways to triumph over my wretched life.

I don’t remember much after that. That was the first time I was assaulted. Beaten senseless was a better description but the police report preferred a brief description so it was called an assault. I spent two days in hospital and that was four weeks ago.

It’s funny what you think of when your mind is trying to make sense of the world. Back then when I woke up in hospital; phoneless and without my source of music, I wondered why they would stoop so low as to take my water bottle. But that was then and this is now. I was lying in a room and I could sense I was lying down and wasn’t cold but that was all. I wasn’t even sure if I was asleep or awake.

Then I woke. I didn’t move for some time, attempting to piece together what I remembered of my life. I searched the room through foggy vision and it took some time to recognise the familiar hospital equipment and realise I was in a bed. At last it made sense: I was a patient. My brain struggled for the reason for my hospitalisation and as I lay there feeling rather blissful about my reality, I tentatively knew I had been beaten and I wanted to move but was too scared in case it was painful. You don’t forget pain easily. It had a hold on my thinking and I wouldn’t have ended up in hospital if I wasn’t seriously injured. I lay there scared to breath heavily or move a limb. I wanted to be asleep again but here I was in another hospital bed and I just knew I wasn’t as lucky this time.

Potential pain was everywhere. As I gingerly moved my body, the pain overwhelmed me and I began to imagine how lucky I was being beaten the first time. I pushed that thought out of my mind. I would have to be the unluckiest person on the planet to be attacked twice in one month. The nurse who had entered, whilst I pondered my condition, walked around the bed and by her manner and demeanour as she quietly conducted her duties, indicated she agreed with me. She stepped close to the bed and then I slept. This time it was without thoughts clouding my mind or confusing me. No past or present, just sleeping peacefully.

A few days later I woke again; this time fully alert. I think it was the nurse from my first awakening who walked into the room and helped me prop myself up. I looked down at my broken leg and thanked god I didn’t remember how painful my leg breaking must have been. I hadn’t bothered to ask for a mirror as I figured my face must be pulp. I still saw a fuzzy world as I could barely see out of one eye and I imagined it still must be quite swollen. It felt pulverized and I didn’t want to move my eyes too quickly since that also seemed to cause me some issue. I would have put my hand up to have gently touched my face but my arm seemed to be in plaster and didn’t bend the way I intended. I wasn’t prepared to try my other arm. I already knew enough. A revolting thought crossed my mind. Going to the toilet was going to be difficult, assuming I could get to the toilet. My future looked bleak. I felt forlorn and downtrodden.

The next nurse to enter the room was joyous yet she couldn’t allay my deepest thoughts and fears with her good humour. But she was good to look at with my one viable eye, even if my vision was blurry. At any other time, in any other place, I may have made a play for her but where my idle thoughts may have been willing, my body was in too much pain and I was too tired to care. She busied herself taking my pulse, respirations and I had a distinct impression she may have lingered over taking my pulse. Maybe when I’m not in such a pitiful state I would pursue her. At this moment though it felt like a pity party but it could be worse; she could be fifty, ugly and touching my arm.

Joseph, how are you today? she enquired.

I looked at her in disbelief. How on earth did she expect me to feel? I couldn’t speak and I didn’t want to. I could hardly see her and I wasn’t sure how many bones were broken and I wasn’t game to move too much of me anytime soon.

She didn’t wait for an answer and continued talking.

Joseph you are indeed unlucky. Her comment was spoken in a cheerful voice but whereas her comment was optimistic, my comments, should I ever be able to talk again, would be tainted with sarcasm and misery.

I still couldn’t speak. I wanted to but it wasn’t going to happen.

The door to my room opened and a doctor joined her. He moved towards the bed and flashed a light across my good eye. I could tell what was happening but that was all. It felt as if I was still in a dreamlike state and it was happening to someone else. I knew the doctor was checking my brain function and my brain had no thoughts about it either way and in my immediate future it was not going to be convinced that all was well or that I would heal quickly.

Are you feeling any pain? asked the doctor.

I was tiring of these inane questions. Surely it must be obvious to everyone around me that I was in pain. Of course I was feeling pain. Or was I? I had hardly moved from fear of the thought of possible pain but I hadn’t checked that I was actually in pain. Maybe I had healed whilst in my not too unpleasant coma. Maybe my coma had continued for many weeks. I moved my leg imperceptibly and felt the pain. I was right to fear it.

The nurse was doing something and I wasn’t sure what it was and I sank further into my bed and allowed the nausea and pain to overcome me. I winced a few times then felt the morphine kicking in and I was back on cloud nine without a care in the world. At least I felt happy now. Much happier than in the last ten minutes! I think I wanted to speak.

The doctor continued his vocalizations and I was at a loss to understand why the doctor would talk to a sick and apparently severely injured man and expect him to comprehend the enormity of what his body had been through. And then there was the issue of the morphine making my existence euphoric and I had little inkling of what should feel painful. I was on cloud ten and quite happy to be there.

I listened to his interminable conversation about what had happened to me and slowly a reality presented itself with as much clarity as was possible in my blissful state. Apparently I had been found by the police who had been contacted when a man, in the middle of the night, heard a scream and apparently I was also lucky the police responded speedily. The doctor and I shared conflicting definitions of lucky.

The doctor continued to explain. I had been in a coma for two weeks. Oh! I thought. I suppose I am lucky I slept through the first two weeks if the pain is this bad when the morphine wears off. As his voice droned on, the severity of my wounds and the enormity of my injuries were trickling like slow running water into my mind.

In my morphine induced state I pondered my fate. The two weeks of being in a coma didn’t worry me as I didn’t know about them at the time. The current pain I was prone to feel, when the morphine was low, preoccupied my time and current thinking. Apparently they were very pleased to see me return to the land of the living as it wasn’t expected I should survive. Well I showed them! I think I showed them. If this is what you look like and feel like when you show somebody, I had better review my thinking.

I was appreciative they both left the room. It was hard to think with them filling my head with information and her joyous spirit was now very tiring. People shouldn’t be so happy in the vicinity of the injured. No different to telling jokes at a funeral. Unnecessary and not needed! But the doctor did give me much to think about when my mind would allow critical thinking.

I waited the days out and like all hospital stays you are grateful they are saving you. Then you are aggravated they won’t let you go home and then boredom takes its toll. All I could think of was how much I wasn’t making and how much the rent was and if memory served me correctly, and this was suspect as my memory was severely affected, I should now be four weeks behind in the rent. I would be evicted shortly and this was disconcerting.

As a victim of crime I was allowed some monetary compensation and when I looked at the paperwork I realised I didn’t have the information and couldn’t fill it in. But it did keep me amused for two days whilst I attempted to gain the relevant information and eventually I was able to hand it in and wait out the time for the money to arrive. As with all bureaucratic organizations it would take six months to pay me. It would be too late I imagined for my current needs but I would still need the money then so it was worth the effort. Part of me was grateful the apartment would no longer be mine but the other part of me detested the thought of change and finding another room. I knew the landlord had a strict policy on non-payment of rent and even without making the relevant phone call, I knew my belongings would be stored for one month in the basement of the building. As to how I was going to pay the rent to retrieve my belongings was becoming quite a nightmare. What to do? And then I remembered I had parents; people who had once allowed me to use one of their bedrooms. It wasn’t so much a plan hatching but a desperate intent to have a roof over my head so I asked the hospital social worker to ring them. The request would be so much more important if someone other than their son made the phone call. I was terribly desperate and then as time would tell, I would wish I hadn’t asked the social worker to assist me.

The social worker reported back to me that they were obviously distraught at my incredible poor luck. Especially when they found out this was the second attempt on my life this month. Not that I saw this as a change of good to bad luck; more likely a continuation of bad luck as I didn’t consider the life I was living was anywhere near lucky. But like all good parents they decided to pay the last month’s rent for me so I could retrieve my belongings and then they informed me it was extremely poor timing as they had rented my room out to an international student; someone from Sweden. They couldn’t turf him out with nowhere to go. In their thinking I had friends and would be able to stay with them.

This didn’t make me feel any better. My own parents didn’t want me. To hear them talk you would think they cared but I think the Swedish guy was a better deal than me and so being as distraught as they were with my suffering, they came to the hospital, in a rush, to ensure I was actually alive. Mothers do this to you every time you are in pain. She attempted to kiss and hug me and or at least the parts that didn’t hurt and my dad being kinder had waved to me before he sat in one of the available chairs and zoned out. My father had told me a long time ago that mothers were better at illnesses and he let her take centre stage. Along with them was a rather dashing fellow with blonde hair and the physique of an athlete with the name Bjorn and I deduced wisely that he was the international student.

My mother took pictures of me as I lay in bed as a permanent reminder of how lucky I was and all I could think of was how unlucky I really was. After ensuring I was safe, my parents and their new playmate, Bjorn, left the room telling me they were preparing for their holiday cruising around the Pacific. I hinted at staying at their home but the last time I did this, it was never the same between us and a greater level of trust was required by them, and that was near impossible as the costs of repairs had made a significant dent in our relationship. My mother ignored my request and dad shrugged his shoulders. To make it final, my mother said they wouldn’t be leaving for at least two weeks and they had much to prepare for their journey and they were rather sorry they didn’t have time to visit me again before they left. Mum gushing with verbal love, Bjorn smiling and dad waving whilst he shrugged his shoulders again as if he didn’t have a say as to where I would end up. I knew at that moment I had burnt many bridges growing up and my parents were still wincing from the agonies I caused them. It was obvious I should not ask again to stay and I greatly doubted mentioning the fact I was nearly homeless would make any difference. Any thoughts of my mother relenting and letting me rest for a few weeks at their house would fall on deaf ears. It was an awkward goodbye and as I was on the verge of collecting sufficient courage to ask them, on the off chance, they left in the blink of an eye allowing me to lapse into self-pity.

I lay in the hospital bed and wondered how many friends I had who had a bed and if I stuck up my bird finger, I would have been close to answering my own question. I had one friend left that I didn’t owe money to. The overtime had been instrumental in keeping this friend as I had paid him back all that I owed him and in a timely fashion in readiness for my next disaster, and here it was. I would need this friend desperately and so I made an awkward call. I could sense his outright hesitation and because he was a good person he had no choice but to offer a friend a hand and a bed. I settled into the task of healing.

It was a shame the nurse cooled towards me in those last few weeks, especially as I remembered seeing her elation when I first woke. But as I healed and realized the time was coming for me to leave hospital, she became a distant memory. I wondered if the hospital deliberately placed beautiful nurses in wards to give men courage to keep fighting to stay alive. If they did, it had worked.

Boredom finally took its toll on my wellbeing and eventually I was able to leave the hospital after some swift talking to anyone who would listen to me. My one remaining friend - Jack - hadn’t let me down and was waiting at the kerbside as I was wheeled out the front door of the hospital. It was an uncomfortable moment as the nurse wheeled me towards him as Jack didn’t greet me with the usual embellishments of friends. Come to think of it, he hadn’t visited the hospital either. It had become a strained relationship and he was all I had.

I carefully removed myself from the wheelchair and again the nurse disappeared, with the wheelchair, in the blink of an eye. Jack hadn’t and that was the most important thing.

It was good to have a friend who was letting me stay with him but I was beginning to doubt Jack felt the same way. He appeared obligated because he was a kind-natured person. I was forlorn that Jack was my only hope and thought there was little I could do except appreciate that he was willing, even if he was reluctant, and I would have a bed for the time being. I was desperate and Jack knew it.

As Jack didn’t have a car, we boarded a bus and made our way to my ex-apartment to collect my belongings or what remained of them. Carol, a friend of Jack who had a car, was waiting for us in the foyer to take me and my meagre possessions to Jack’s place.

Jack’s demeanour was moody and uncharacteristically morose and I was beginning to wonder if Jack had drawn the short straw in our friendship. I knew he had but wondered if Jack really felt this way as well. All his actions and lack of conversation indicated Jack felt rather trapped in our friendship but still he was assisting me. I wondered if this change in our relationship was going to cause long term issues and I prayed it wouldn’t. I had nowhere else to go.

I didn’t know what I hoped to find when I arrived at the apartment complex. I knew my apartment was already leased and I would need to make my way to the basement in the hope my boxes were still in the building. I had heard a rumour, and suspected it was more than a rumour, that my belongings had been tossed into the hallway and in doing so allowed those lower on the food chain the opportunity to pilfer my belongings. My first stop would be to check with the maintenance man. He would know exactly what had happened to them. I had so little left and I could feel my hand clenching onto the rest of the overdue rent money in the hope my most prized items were still waiting for me and I could reclaim part of my life. At this time, it was all I had left.

Jack helped me up the stairs, into the building and towards the maintenance door on which I tapped quietly. I found it difficult to pretend I was confident that I would regain possession of my worldly goods. This was indeed a difficult moment as I stood waiting and leaning on Jack for support. The hospital had lent me crutches to use but they required a little more stability than my broken arm was capable of. What were they thinking of when they gave them to me; the idea they would come in handy soon? What a joke! I had a broken arm and leg and felt useless.

The maintenance man opened the door and looked at me, then looked me up and down before he spoke. They trashed you man, he said in a staccato manner.

The maintenance man was young but his outlook on life was of the elderly and his body looked thirty years older than it should be. His teeth were rotten, many missing and skin hung off his bones. Even his brown hair had thinned and was wispy and I recognized a man who had been trapped by the use of drugs. I wondered how he had made it back from the depths of his drug despair. It was a good thing the maintenance man’s father owned this building as no other would hire him, at least not in his current state.

I actually believed I was in a better shape than the man who stood before me and I was grateful but I did not appreciate that thought. I was irritated by his comment since it was more than obvious my life had hung on by a thread and I was well beyond trashed.

I’ve come for my belongings, I stated in a tired voice as I clung to Jack and my crutches.

Glad you did. I was going to throw them out. Again another matter-of-fact statement I felt irritated by. Couldn’t this man show any compassion for me? Me, who had recently found the pearly gates of heaven and for some inexplicable reason was spared from entering.

With the general lack of chatter between us, the maintenance man headed in the direction of the basement. Jack and I followed. We were having difficulty keeping pace; Jack not so much but I was definitely struggling. The stairwell appeared before me and I was not going to be denied my property by this obstacle. I would make it to the bottom in one piece.

I winced in pain with every step until we finally reached the bottom of the stairwell. We followed the maintenance man towards the recycling bins. My world was now resting in garbage bags. I peered into the bin and there they were: bags of clothes and bedding with two boxes of assorted crockery, cutlery and the last box had papers in it. Nestled neatly atop this box was that damn letter from the lawyer. I looked at it with frustration knowing it still existed and hadn’t been stolen like some of my possessions.

That damn letter had caused me more inconvenience and distress than any other letter I had ever received. I imagined that if I hadn’t received that letter, due to those wretched neighbours, I wouldn’t have gone for a run and I wouldn’t have been set upon by those thugs. I went to move forward to pick it up and toss it into the recycling but my body objected to this level of movement and I thought better of it. Jack collected my belongings and stacked them onto a two wheel trolley the maintenance man had loaned them and escorted them to the lift.

I became enraged. Every step I took going down the stairs had been taken with great difficulty; beyond painful. Why didn’t we use a lift before? I uttered in astonishment behind the maintenance man’s back.

The maintenance man turned and looked at me with a frown across his face as if he had been asked a trick question. You didn’t ask to, he responded with a certain amount of shock.

I raised my eyebrows in disbelief, wincing openly and walked to the lift door. In all the times I had been a tenant in this building, the lift had rarely worked. Was it any wonder I thought that it was still faulty. I entered, not checking to see if Jack was following which was one of many mistakes I was making with our friendship.

Jack speedily wheeled my meagre belongings in behind me, just as the lift door closed. The look on his face wasn’t pleasant. I think that was the moment he truly lost heart at having offered me a bed. I looked at my belongings and wondered why they hadn’t significantly diminished when they were put out in the hallway for the vultures to feast on. Obviously I had little taste or my neighbours had better taste.

The maintenance man looked at my belongings and spoke rapidly. I don’t think you have much do ya? I tried to make sure the vultures upstairs didn’t take too much. He nodded at me and I had to give the man his due. He had actually protected my possessions sort of. I now thought better of him and was equally pleased to be leaving the apartment block forever. It had not been an easy connection.

It isn’t simple to step into a small car with a broken arm and leg but with help I managed it and we headed off to Jack’s place. All my belongings were crammed into the boot of the car and the fact we could close the boot door surprised us all. My crutches were jammed across the front passenger seat angled into the back of the vehicle. It was a quiet ride as doom and gloom descended on the three of us. Occasionally Carol attempted to make light of my situation and that word luck sprung forth again to my displeasure.

When we arrived, I rifled through my box of effects hoping beyond hope to find something of value. That would have been interesting as I hadn’t recalled having anything of value to begin with and I was searching with hope in my heart that I would find an old forgotten treasure and then I stumbled onto that damnable letter again. I threw it onto the table with some other papers I had the intention of throwing out and hobbled over to the kettle to make a coffee. I didn’t want to see what the letter said. So far it had only caused me trouble and as of this minute, I had more than enough trouble to contend with. I slowly and painstakingly made a drink for myself. Jack and Carol had left for work and now I was left to my own devices.

I sat and watched TV.

Whilst I watched I worried about my future. Not so much the stuff later on in life but my immediate future. Jack had been kind but kindness doesn’t last long if the money doesn’t. What could I do was the question I pondered for hours whilst I watched reruns of reruns.

A week later, Jack did tire of my company. My money had indeed run out, which hadn’t taken that long at all and Jack kindly asked me to leave. Jack had it in his mind that I must have other friends and since we hadn’t known each other for long it seemed a little inconsiderate of me to linger too long.

I also noted that in the time I spent at Jack’s place, his girlfriend spent a lot of time tending to my needs and spent less time with Jack. This seemed to be the cause of Jack’s insistence I should go. I doubted money had anything to do with it. As I left his apartment I heard Carol and Jack arguing and it was nice to have someone care about me. I thought kindly of Carol but knew she was not in a position to offer me a bed either.

Jack had kindly offered to look after the bulk of my belongings for a month and after that time he would put all of them on the footpath for passers-by to claim. I really couldn’t blame him. I should have been much more vigilant about the nature of their relationship.

I packed my backpack not knowing where I would end up. Jack threw my paperwork in my backpack reasoning he would rather have a tidy table with little cause for me to return for anything in any great hurry. He didn’t have to say it. I could see it written in his eyes. The less time I spent with his girlfriend, the better.

Having been hustled out of the door, I sat on the doorstep waiting for a stranger with a kind face to take me in. With nothing else to do I checked inside my backpack for a book or something to read and I came across that objectionable letter. With little to do and not being in any great hurry, I decided it was time to open it. It had come to that point in my life when nothing else could happen that could possibly make my life any poorer, unhappier or troubled. Worst case scenario, the court case may offer me money to attend. I was at my lowest ebb and it felt like it. I wanted to cry and scream all at the same time but I was too tired, exhausted and depressed.

I opened the letter, read it and read it again and wondered.

Could it be real?

Could I finally be having one of those days when the sun shone and I wasn’t standing under a raincloud?

CHAPTER 3

U sing his crutches effectively, Joseph pushed his meagre belongings towards the road edge and raised his hand to hail a cab. He never expected one to pull over for some time and was prepared to wait it out but a cab immediately stopped to pick him up. It was a black and white cab with a smiling driver which was unheard of in this neighbourhood and Joseph had never witnessed one before. Mind you it had been a long time since he could afford a cab and hailing one was an uncommon event. Maybe his luck was changing. He thought it too good to be true but couldn’t decide what was wrong with this picture. Perhaps this was one time he should be grateful and not question his change of fortune. The cab driver alighted from the vehicle and hurriedly helped Joseph into the back seat. His scant belongings were placed in the boot and the driver returned to his seat.

Where to sir? asked the driver.

How refreshing, thought Joseph. No-one had ever called him sir before in his life either. Joseph passed an address to the driver.

How long will the journey take? enquired Joseph.

It shouldn’t take more than thirty minutes to get there. That is one fancy part of town, commented the driver who looked at him in a questioning manner as if he thought Joseph didn’t belong there or the address was written incorrectly.

A little inappropriate, thought Joseph. But under the circumstances he wasn’t going to let this comment prevent his enjoyment of the ride there. Perhaps he was just trying to make conversation as some people tend to do. That was it, he thought, it’s because I look dishevelled, because I don’t have clothes that will go over the plaster easily and I still look obviously damaged and of course there is that desolate look stamped across my face. Of course the cabbie had every right to be concerned. Especially as I don’t belong in that part of town and he could easily wind up being the victim of a robbery on his drive there.

Joseph inwardly chuckled. Was he doing the right thing? Was this some elaborate hoax? Would he be the victim of some nefarious act? He mulled these ideas around in his mind then tossed them aside and settled back into the very comfortable back seat of the cab. He had thirty minutes to enjoy his life before it all crashed down around him.

In Joseph’s hand was a coupon to cover the cab charge. He held it tightly lest he lose it and found himself paying a charge of well over a hundred dollars and he didn’t possess that kind of money. He placed a hand against his trouser pocket and felt the two fifty cent pieces; the remaining money from loving parents. He sneered at his own thought. If this was all a hoax then the cab driver would make short work of him. He was a big, burly man whose biceps bulged against his company shirt. Joseph knew he was healing but he had no capacity to protect himself. That day was a long way off.

Joseph was tall, at least one hundred and ninety centimetres in height and he had brown hair with a slight wave and it rested on his shoulders. At work he had to tie his hair back but it was well worth it since his long hair seemed to attract the young women who entered Parrillo’s. He was twenty-four years of age and had brown eyes complimenting his brown hair and tanned skin, a by-product of long distance running. He was also more than aware that running wouldn’t be happening again for some time. He was athletic and his running ensured he was lean as well as muscular, but not the gym muscular. His muscles were a tribute to his good genes as you