The Professionals Circuit Archive - For All the Gods Departed?       For
All the Gods Departed?

 

by EJ Pellham-Stewart

  
 *A fragment from the Chronicles of Judgment
 Do *not* read this before or immediately after eating *

******

*June 2nd *

Janra opened the front door with Doyle's key and entered the silent house.
She walked straight through to the kitchen, finding the letter she knew
would be waiting, propped against the flower plant on the counter. 

She stared at the envelope with her name written in Doyle's familiar
scrawl, putting off the actual opening because she already could guess
what it contained. A highly vocal 'meow' from the cat winding its way
around her ankles distracted her momentarily. 

"Hello, Winston," she bent to pick up the small cat. "I'd rather you
didn't bite my feet. It's not very gentlemanly." 

Winston purred loudly, indicating he was delighted to see his favourite
lady, and that bitten feet were the height of fashion. Had anyone heard
the other humans in his life complain? 

"Let's go Winston, I have to read this--I don't want to, though." Janra
carried the cat into the lounge, sat down with him in the big rocking
chair. He settled himself on her knees and waited. 

*It's strange how a cat can take over people's lives,* she thought. She
remembered Doyle's quiet voice relating his history during their
late-night conversations of the past few months, sitting drinking, trying
to forget. 

Winston had first belonged to Bodie, who had swiftly been wound around one
furry paw, and taking to calling him 'Cat', since he'd no idea whether his
new roommate was male or female. Nobody had known that a cat had decided
to reorganize Bodie's lifestyle until he introduced Winston to his
astonished partner. From that point on-- neither man was certain exactly
how--Winston had become Doyle's shadow. Bodie had grumbled, but accepted
the defection with grace. Janra scratched the cat's head with gentle
fingers--he'd been unusually subdued the last few days. It was as if he
*knew* that now there was no one to grumble at him. 

Angrily, she tore open the envelope and tried to concentrate on Doyle's
familiar handwriting, but what she saw instead was the image of her
father's two top agents... and more than that, of her two friends. Dad,
she knew, had felt the same--viewing them in many ways, she supposed, as
the sons he'd never had. He'd usually tried to keep some distance between
himself and those he daily sent to face death, but Bodie and Doyle had
been different, always equals. And now they were gone, the three of them,
swept away like the rest, dead leaves before a storm. 

She forced her eyes back to the letter. It was dated just a week
previously. As she read, it was almost as if Ray Doyle was in the room
with her. 

Janny, forgive me. If you're reading this, it will be because I took an
offered opportunity not to survive a mission. I promise you not to commit
suicide, and I wouldn't imperil an operation just to please myself. 

That out of the way, I'll return to reasons. I think you'll
understand--you were friends with us both for a long time, you knew... The
plain and simple truth is that I can't live without him. It sounds
ridiculous. I thought so myself. After all, I lived for 27 years without
even knowing he existed. We never knew when you found out we were lovers,
but we were glad of your approval. Bodie always said you put 2 and 2
together a week after it happened, that morning you came round to see how
Winston was doing after his run with the neighbour's dog. But you and I
have devious minds, I think you knew what was happening before Bodie and I
did.' 

Janra raised her eyes from the letter and smiled to herself. Her memory
drifted backwards, seeing the frightened 15 year old from America, dumped
in a strange country on a father she'd been unaware existed until just a
few weeks before her mother's death. She'd been *so* homesick; but between
the combined efforts of her father, Bodie and Doyle, that had soon passed.
'The Terrible Twins,' as her father sometimes called them, surprised
everyone (but George Cowley) by 'adopting' her. 10 years- -during which
she'd grown up--had made the three of them close friends, equals. Janra
had seen, for over a year, how the wind was blowing, knew it would need
just the right, small push for their relationship to take that particular
turning. When she realised that it'd finally taken place, she'd bought
herself a drink to celebrate that they'd finally seen the light. Their
working relationship now developed beyond the merely intuitive into
something bordering on the clairvoyant. And for 6 years it had kept them
alive. 

She was drawn back to the present by Winston, who disapproved of being
ignored. She stroked him until he settled down, then returned to Doyle's
letter. 

'I think I would have got over Bodie's death, if our relationship had been
primarily physical. But we were part of each other and that is what I
can't cope with... losing him *and* half of myself.' 

That was certainly no more than the truth, Janra reflected. In fact, it
had been eerie, the way one could start to say something and the other
finish the sentence- or more unnerving still, the way they seemed to
communicate telepathically. Unnerving or not, it had made them formidable
agents, and as far as being lovers, Janra doubted either knew where one
began and the other ended. 

'I know how hard hit you were by Bodie's death, Janey. And my own coming 6
months later is asking you to bear a lot. Maybe too much. But for me
there's no other choice. At least you'll have George to lean on--and he, I
think, on you. It may seem impossible, but try to remember us both with
happiness-that was how we always thought of you...' 

The last lines concerned Winston--would she take the bundle of fur? Of
course, Janra told him silently. She would be grateful for the company of
the last of her family. What Doyle couldn't have guessed when he wrote the
letter was that George Cowley would follow him in death by less than 48
hours. A lorry running a stop sign at a crossroads was responsible for
that. She would have no one to lean on but herself. 

"All right Winston," she'd folded the letter carefully and placed it in
her jacket pocket, "time to go home." 

But with a loud 'meow' Winston had jumped off her lap and bounded towards
the doorway. The hair on the back of her neck rose as she remembered him
doing the same when Bodie's car drew up outside. She followed him into the
hall, sure enough Winston was waiting behind the door. 

Janra stood still, ears pricked like the cats, listening...there *was*
something, almost like the quiet mummer of familiar voices, muffled as
though coming from outside. Only there was no one outside the house. No
one at all. She shrugged, the strain of the last week was getting to
her--she should've taken those blasted sedatives Murphy kept producing.
Anyway the illusion of the voices was gone, now nothing but the hum of
distant London traffic was to be heard. 

Winston padded over, looking up at her quizzically, as though asking "Did
you notice it too?" 

"They're not coming, Winston. Not ever again," Janra told him. *But, oh, I
wish you'd been right...* 

Winston listened attentively, then his ears swivelled back towards the
door. Cats, he could have explained to her, have far more sensitive
hearing than humans. And more sensitive sight as well, for they can see
'beyond the light' as the Egyptians had put it. She might see nothing and
hear only the hum of traffic, but he knew better...He *had* been right... 

"It's time for us to get going, Winston...Murphy doesn't deserve to be
kept hanging about at the flat, waiting for me..." Janra bent down and
scooped the cat into her arms. 

She pulled the door firmly to, behind her, locking it for the last time,
then headed for her car with determined steps. Winston hung over her
shoulder, and looking back, nodded in knowing cat fashion at something
only he was aware of, then closed his eyes to sleep as she settled him in
the car. 

Their ghosts had departed...at least for now... 

-- THE END --

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