Time to begin

The Return

a new novel

This is the sequel to my first novel, "The Crossing". It is set in Ethiopia, South Sudan and mostly in Australia and follows the lives of Tim, Gabriel, Cat, their families and friends about fifteen months after the events depicted in "The Crossing".

Janus is the Roman god of beginnings, gates, transitions, time, duality, doorways, passageways, frames and endings. He was uniquely Roman, not borrowed from the Greeks. Ceremonial archways were used to symbolise a passing into a new existence or life. Unlike Roman gods of the time, Janus had strongly human characteristics (as with the Greek gods) and so he appealed to most Roman citizens.

He is depicted with two faces, facing opposite directions. The twist in his story, however, was that you never knew which face he was using.

THE JANUS INCIDENT

 He felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle. 

    A tingling, like the effects of an unknown drug, crept up and around his scalp as he shifted his position and pulled the balaclava down over his face.  He’d been waiting in the cold and dark for over thirty minutes and his frustration had begun to invade his consciousness. He began to doubt that his information was accurate. 

    His short-bladed knife was secure in its pouch at the small of his back, just in case. Not that he enjoyed using the weapon. He was dressed for the moment - dark sneakers and black stretch jeans, securely belted; black tight-fitting garden gloves, a dark polo shirt and a charcoal denim zippered jacket. And, of course the balaclava. It seemed ironic to him that despite these precautions, his skin was black.

    On the point of having to take the abortive action he had been ordered should things go wrong, his senses sharpened. A squirt of adrenalin erupted into his muscles - not much but enough for him to feel himself coil for action. He felt his heart jump to a sudden, insistent beating; but he knew this feeling and it didn’t worry or distract him.

    A figure approached his place of concealment at a brisk walk. He couldn’t make out the features but he could tell who it was. Right height and weight. The unique, loping stride and the loose hang of the arms and tilt of the head were a giveaway. This would be totally unexpected. Easy money. Apart from the timing, his information had been correct.

    His target hugged the edge of the path close to the rock wall that bordered it along this part of the coast near the casino. This was a wise precaution but one that Maniyel had prepared himself to negate. From his hidden position in the thicket of coastal melaleuca where the path divided, towards the beach one way and back towards the houses the other, he had calculated he would have the element of surprise and his target would be more in the open and vulnerable.

    All it took was two quick steps onto the path, a slap across the face and a pause for the surprise to register, the agh, and then one, hard jab to the throat with the second row of the braced knuckles of his right hand. His completely unaware victim coughed once and fell backwards onto the hard path, clutching at his throat. 

    And also totally unexpectedly, Maniyel could see his face, now contorted and turning red with the exertion of trying to drag some air into his lungs. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old. This gave him strong reason to pause but he said nothing. He stepped back before deciding whether he would carry out his order to its expected conclusion.

    The boy was also black but with a lighter hue. He had expected that. But it was his youth, his probable inexperience, his wide and terrified eyes that had given him pause.

    He pushed the doubt down to where it made little difference. Two thousand dollars was no small sum and he could not afford to cross his employer, something he had not done for a long time. Not since the early days of his life in Australia. Not since that first job. Not again.

    And not this time.

    Maniyel stepped back over the boy, his legs planted on each side of the torso. His victim was beginning to find his lungs again but was still dazed by the suddeness and ferocity of the attack. A whisper of breaking waves washed over the darkened path. The man in black bent down slowly and took that head with the frantically spluttering mouth and those now terrified eyes and, in one, economic and violent twist, broke the neck of his target.

    No need for words. No need for a knife. And no need for regret or sadness.

    Maniyel again stepped back. He checked his surroundings. Clear. No one nearby. An empty path. The evening was too cold to attract most walkers: they would be in their homes, their false sense of security about the real world safely in place.

    He turned and walked back the way he had come, towards the main road that led south and away from the city that straddled the wide river, towards his recent and new home. It was cold and it was late and he wanted the warmth of his own modest flat and the woman who waited for him there and who wished to know nothing except safety, pleasure and the means to them both.

    He didn’t look back, didn't need to.  He didn’t notice the tall, strongly-built figure that breasted the steps leading from the beach, who stood like a stone, head turned towards his disappearing back, dark eyes fixed on something unrecognisable.