Black Ops

Chapter 4

4

Tom arrived home after being stitched up and kept under observation for two hours. He had no broken bones and the lacerations were not deep. The doctor told him he was lucky to be alive and was surprised he was not in shock.

Tom put it down to being ex-army. After all, he had come through bloodbaths in Afghanistan hotspots. He had seen a man cut in half by a rocket launcher, and another who had stepped on a landmine and all they could bury of him was his head. But Tom was in shock. His lover was dead. He tried to fathom it—a few hours ago she was lying in his arms and now Natasha was dead.

It was daylight when he approached the front door and noticed all the lights both inside and outside the house were on. Tom stood on the jute doormat and wiped blood from his shoes over the word agape. He opened the door, entered, and clicked his fingers. The lights switched off and he found his twin daughters sitting at the top of the stairs basking in the morning sun. His partner, Victoria, hovered above them, looking as fierce as the huntress Diana.

“Fifteen calls, Tom. Why don’t you answer your damn phone? I’ve been going out of my mind here. Oh, my God, what happened to you?”

“Calm down, Vic. You’re frightening the girls.”

“Oh my God,” she repeated. “Your face is busted up … what … what happened?”

“I’ve been in a car accident. It’s alright, I’m fine. Someone rear-ended me. Some bruised ribs and lacerations but I’ve been sewn up and sent home. I would have called but my head has been all over the place.”

Dressed in their school uniforms, the twins look terrified. Victoria tried to kiss him, but he moved his face away. She ran to the kitchen, grabbed ice from the freezer, wrapped it up in a tea towel, and placed it gently on his bruised face.