Lucien
He stared at the still figure of the boy, the blood roaring in his ears. there was just one thought going about in his head as he looked at the inert figure lying motionless at the bottom of the ravine, How would he break the news to his wife, he thought, his fists clenching. How?
Beston and Piers, led by Philippe and a few of the men, had already scrambled down the slope, slipping and sliding but uncaring in their haste to get to the prone figure of the youth at the bottom of the crevice.
All the while, Lucien stood, unmoving, his blood boiling as he realised that the boy had been deliberately targeted. This had been no accident. Paddy was someone who revered his bike; he enjoyed gliding along the roads and Gaston had seen him, a beatific smile on his face as he rode by, lost in the moment.
He would never have rashly driven his beloved bike into the woods in this way; would never have taken this path which was not a path at all.
Someone had chased him, forcing him to drive madly into this part of the woods which was rough and uneven, with the ravine yawning ahead. it was not as if Lucien Delano had any great love for Paddy. No, he was a member of the large, sprawling family he had sired, albeit an adopted son, a child he would never have accepted but for his wife’s earnest pleas. When she had implored him, her great brown eyes begging him, her soft body pressing into his chest desperately, he had not been able to refuse her.
Hell, he thought his breath coming raggedly, he could never refuse her anything! But the boy had proved to be gentle and well behaved; above all, his Woman adored the boy, a feeling which was heartily reciprocated and that was all that mattered to him.
Lucien started as a shout, hoarse and urgent, rose from the men at the bottom, standing precariously in the small area below.
Piers, his son, was yelling,
‘Pappa, Pappa, he’s alive. There’s a faint pulse, Pappa!’
The young man’s voice broke as he almost sobbed in joy.
But Lucien had no great hope. Paddy might be alive but he could continue to be in a vegetative state. He turned and roared,
‘Get a f*cking ambulance, NOW!’
Schwartz, the rain dripping down his bright blonde locks which were now almost brown as the water droplets clung to his head, said grimly,” it’s here.’
The driving rain fell about them, but he was lost in his thoughts as he watched the awkward manner in which his Capo and his son, along with Beston, were trying to make a makeshiftLucien had shelter to protect the young man from the rain as best as they could.
Schwartz who stood beside him, shouted,
‘Don’t move him, for f*ck’s sake; he might be badly injured.’
Philippe turned and roared, to make himself audible over the rain,
‘No bullets, Sir. Looks like he was hit and lost control when he was being chased.’
The two men stood, watching as the people below tried to create a rough cover for the youth as he lay, oblivious to his surroundings.
“We will get him to the hospital.’ said Schwartz. And then, he turned to look Lucien Delano squarely in the face as he went on, his voice choked with emotion.
“But mate… how we will tell…her???’
*
Proserpina
I sat, my eyes closed, concentrating on my breathing, the way the Mother at the monastery had taught us.
Breathe in, breathe out.
And then the sound of the front door opening burst into my consciousness and I was up and running to the door, down the corridor, where I collided with my husband, a hard wall of muscle. Wet, dripping wet. His face grave, he reached out and gripped me, his large hands painful as they dug into the flesh of my upper arms and I met his eyes wordlessly. His grey-blue gaze was sombre, his face haunted and I saw the expression on his grim face.
“Paddy…’ I whispered and then I was sagging against him, as he held me to his big body, his coat still wet , his hair damp. I shuddered and he growled, into my hair, his face buried in it,
“Don’t, Woman. We have shifted the boy to a hospital.’
I raised my head to his, the dark face still wet with the rain and I whispered,
‘You are…is he alive?’
Over his shoulder, I saw Schwartz. He looked wretched for Handsome James had a tender heart. I knew he was fond of the autistic youth who had become my son in more ways than I could name. He nodded.
‘He’s hurt. But alive.’ I took a deep breath and straightened but Lucien would not let me go. He held me anchored to him, my belly with our growing child, pressed against his crotch.
‘I want to see him.’ I said, breasts crushing against his muscled torso and seeing the harsh look on my husband’s face, I shook my head vehemently,
“No, Lucien. Please. Don’t try to stop me…’
‘You are carrying my child.’ He snapped, jerking me to his chest fiercely.
‘There is no way I will let you outside…’
‘Lucien Delano,’ I pleaded, “I am begging you, please… he is my son!”
The tears were falling now in earnest as he held me, I could see the struggle in that powerful body as he tensed, the hands holding me hurting me with the intensity of his passion.
“Woman…’ he groaned and then, swearing coarsely, he grunted,
‘Right, I will take you there. But I will bring you back at once.’
I nodded and made to move from him for I needed to fetch my coat.
‘The f*ck are you going?’ he snapped and I stopped.
Turning to Ria, he growled, ‘Get warm clothes for your Mumma.’
She scooted out immediately and returned in a flash, holding my timelessly elegant Brunello Cucinelli double beaver cashmere peacoat. As she helped me into the beige-coloured garment, it felt warm and cosy and I noticed Lucien’s eyes run over it as I cuddled into it. My hands were like small blocks of ice and I felt a deep unease as I stepped to my husband. He took my cold hand in his large warm one and we walked down the corridor, out into the rainy night.