Murder Path (Fallen Angels Book 3) Read Online Free

local politician is a murderer.’

 
    Chapter 3
    The first thing that twitches is his little finger and for the briefest of moments my heart stops, like every other time.  For that fraction of a second there is a universe of hope waiting on baited breath, wishing that the tiny twitch was a natural movement, praying that Jacob is at last controlling his limbs.  Senses become heightened.  Eyes pick up every nuance of the twitch, looking for an unnatural susurration of the muscles in the finger.  Ears attune to his breathing, listening for the shallowness that forewarns a fit.  Nose sniffs out the odour of burning chocolate that exhales on his last full breath and is so strong you can taste it.  Hand reaches out to touch his wrist and see if the pulse is steady, or dropping.  All in that split second.  Every sinew of my being straining that split second to turn into a full second, then two, then three and for the little finger to twitch naturally. 
    Hope is a fragile thing, even in a universe of it.  This time, like every other time, his breathing falls, exhaling the burning chocolate smell which oozes its agony into my soul, which deepens my darkness, which stretches the emptiness of forever, which means Jacob is starting to fit.
    Unlike every other time, Rebecca is sitting opposite me on the bed, reaching out and feeling the pulse on Jacob’s other wrist.  Her emerald eyes are bloodshot from the agony of all the tears she has shed in the past few hours, yet the irises are alive and scanning his twitching little finger as well.  She looks up to his wide open eyes and scans them intently.
    ‘Does it hurt Jacob?’  Rebecca asks.  I look to his open green eyes as well, watching for the only natural movement his body can complete: dilating a pupil. 
    It dilates once. 
    Once means ‘Yes’.
    My stomach suddenly cramps a screaming hollow, the already emotional maelstrom flying around my mind from the previous night’s revelations being absolutely trumped by the instant knowledge that our son is about to go through sheer agony.  The hell I suddenly feel is also painted across Rebecca’s face as she looks across at me imploringly. 
    ‘There’s nothing we can do Rebecca, we just have to let him see it through.’ I answer, feeling totally inadequate and superfluous.
    ‘There is always something, even if that something is just comfort.  You may not have known it before John, but you know it now.  It hurts him when he fits.’  Rebecca answers with a steely determination entering her previously broken voice. ‘We are here for you Jacob.  Snuggle Ian Bear in and try and make your mind relax.  Once upon a time, there was an old toymaker called Gepetto…’
    His hands are shaking now, hard enough for the buzzer and alarm on his Pinocchio motion sensor watch to go off.  I press the button on the side and switch them off.  His arms start to twitch frantically and the length of his body starts to jerk sporadically.  Ian Bear drops out of the crook of his chin were Rebecca has seated him and she picks the small stuffed toy up and holds it back there, her other hand stroking his quivering arm as she softly recites his favourite story, looking lovingly into his frightened eyes.
    It is hard to believe that just a moment ago Rebecca was lying on the bed a broken woman, lost in the contemplation of what happened last night, or possibly trying to forget it.  It’s hard to tell which, as she hadn’t said a single word since we arrived back at the apartment after the revelations in the underground cave.  After she had stabbed Dessie Bentley.  After Fenny Bentley had killed himself.  After Eve had exposed Pastor Bentley as a murderer.  After Eve told us that Jacob was also Rebecca’s son.  After Eve killed herself as well.  I guess I had been the same, trying to rationalise everything, just lying on the bed opposite her, our son in between. 
    Our son.
    I can see now why Adam, or Dr Ben Hanlon or my bloody