handful of fate

Charles didn’t like to admit that he was beginning to become a little scared. A gnawing sort of scared, a feeling that he hadn’t had since the first war. It’s the scared you get when you see control start disappearing from you, when you can feel the hand of death, or fate, slowly pull at the base of your stomach, a pull that you learn to know means that your life is now out of your control.


Charles snapped back to the room and his sister, now standing in front of him in the dining room, shot back into focus. She was holding his hands, which were shaking.

“You’ve been stood there like a statue for a minute.”

“Well, yes, er, I, I think we need to had back to London. There’s a train in an hour.”

“Charles you don’t think this is connected to”

“If you say Pale bloody Clara again Kath, I’ll, oh fuck it, come on.”

Charles moved away so fast, he left Kath stood at the table. The train would take three hours to get back to the city, then it was half an hour in a cab to the police station. Time to think.

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