didnt know how else to put this down..


hoep you like it:

“Two Shots And a Festival Of Sorrow”




“I want guns” ,she said and smiled, “guns and revenge.”
“Now, you know I can’t do that Olive...”
“Why not, come on Jack, all the stories you gave me recently had no excitement. These ones are always for Arthur; I’m starting to think that you wouldn’t give me a chance.”
There was a short silence and for a second their eyes met and Jack saw the desire and confidence in her bright green eyes.
“Okay then, what do you have for me, Jack: burglary, protesters or is it?” Jack could feel the excitement in her voice so he spoke before it was too late.
“Beer festival.”
“What?” Olive gasped but at the same time there was a hint of disorientation in her eyes.
“Th...that is ridiculous. I mean, what’s next? A festival where they introduce the biggest tomato to the world?”
“I will have no objections; here are instructions how to get there. I want a finished article by Monday about how everyone had a great time and can’t wait until the next year.”
He passed a piece of paper to her. Olive scanned through while Jack closely observed her features, half of which were covered by her copper-red curls, flowing freely over her shoulders. “Milston Hill,” she read out loud looking confused. “Where is that? I’ve never came across that before?”
“Let me see, It tells you here look - you catch a train to Vienara and then a bus for two hours and then another train and someone is going to wait for you at the train station with a car so they can escort you there. You see nothing to worry about. All you have to do is smile and take an interview or two and have a great time, learn to enjoy yourself! Now you better go, your train is leaving in two and a half hours so you better hurry. Oh, and read the rest of that sheet it would be useful, it has information about the place and you’re never heard of it before. Now, go before you miss your train!”

Olive would never consider doing that kind of story. She became a journalist because of the excitement she would possibly experience and the truth she could make people aware of and here she was, walking out of the newspaper’s editor’s office going to write a story about a beer festival in the middle of nowhere. She just felt like a puppet, doing whatever the editor told her to do. Instead of excitement and adventure, she had been writing mundane stories for the past 4 years and she promised herself that would be the last one.

It took a long time to get to Milston Hill as the bus was incredibly slow. It looked ancient and every five minutes she was alarmed by cracking sounds, which added anxiety to her nervous irritation. Surprisingly, it didn’t break down or stop even once. The closer she got to the village the more the weather worsened. Then there was another train, foul-smelling. It travelled for a short time, stopped and she got off the station.“Station” was a bit over exaggerated as there was only a wooden bench next to what looked like a post with probably the timetable.There was also a man standing next to the deserted post. Olive speed-walked towards the scruffy looking man.

“Hello. Miss Olive Thomson?” The man smiled genially but she couldn’t help noticing that one of his front teeth was missing.
“Yes, hello, and you are?” Olive answered confidently with some coldness.
“Name’s Fletcher and I’m going to drive you to Milsto." Come this way. We better get going quickly ’cause I’ll have to go and help with putting up the tents and the barbeque in Milston Valley. You been travelling long? You must be tired. Here, come if ya want you can take a nap in the car on the way there. No? Ok then, let’s get going.”

He seemed like a very happy and friendly person. A bit too simple thought Olive, but living in a place so far away from civilised people like herself, no wonder.
“Have you lived here very long?” Olive spoke. She had to, otherwise she had the feeling that Fletcher would have talked all the way and she would find that really frustrating. She preferred that she would ask questions as it didn’t make her feel as awkward.

“Milsto' is a good place, not very exciting, but it's me 'ome, if you know wha' I mean?”
“Yes, yes I do; so tell me please a bit more about the place”.
“Ah, yes, well, because the village is so small we don’t ‘ave a town square so we need another place and ya know that river that the village was built next to? Well, over the other side of that there is a small field and that's where we have it. We have two bridges over the river – the closer one to the village is the taller one but no cars can pass through so when the relatives come they have to leave their cars in Milsto’ and the other one, the Lower bridge is further away so we don’t walk that way ‘cause once..”
“I wonder for how long can he go on like that,” thought Olive. She couldn’t stand that constant chatter and she was getting more tired by this than from the long journey.

They finally arrived in Milston Hill, which came as a big relief to Olive after such a long way.
“Now, are you sure you’ll be fine on your own?’
“Yes, thank you very much for the ride. I would like to look around. So I’ll see you at the festival?”
“You can count on that. Good bye.”

Olive walked down Main Street, which was probably as wide as the little alley going around the backyard of her house, the only difference being that here there were several buildings. There was a closed pub – most of the people were already at the festival. A little building with a sign, “Library”, on it.
“robably around one hundred books in it but at least they make the effort,” Olive thought.
She came across one building open, which was smaller than the pub; she walked into it and found herself in a waiting room of sorts with four chairs, one of which was broken. On the door there was a sign, “Dr. L. Brooks.” Olive was used to closely attentively, after all that was part of the job. What she didn’t notice at first was a young boy sitting on one of the chairs looking straight at her with his big and judging eyes.
“Who are you, lady?”
Olive looked delighted: she loved little children.
“Hi, I've come here from the big city to write a story about the beer festival.”
“Really? That sounds like fun but the beer festival isn’t, believe me. It is not a very interesting place. There is nowhere to play and there aren’t many children but it’s a good place to tell stories. I still remember the stories my grandma always used to tell.”
“I see. So, how old is the festival?”
“Oh, for a long time my grandma used to tell me all about the different type of decorations before it used to be all about meeting people and now - she says it’s all about drinking. Oh, have you heard about the “restless Sarah Walting”? Well, because of her there wasn’t a festival one year, ‘cause it had to be her funeral the day before and she died but never went to hell, where she was supposed to go in the first place, and sometime at night you can hear her screaming ‘Scissors, Scissors,’ over and over again...”
“Ok, that’s enough information for me on ghosts, thank you. If I want to know more, I’m sure you can tell me many more stories like that.”
Olive sighed and looked at the dark and dirty door.
“Isn’t the patient going to come out?”
“There isn’t one”.
“So why are you waiting?”
“My mum left me here until she goes and helps my dad with the barbeque. Everything is nearly ready, you know, but I'm not allowed to go there until mum can fully look after me. Last time she lost me for four hours. Hey, you can go in.”
“Oh, thanks” she got up and walked towards the door. Inside was Dr. Brooks, sitting very upright and reading something. At the noise she looked up, “What can I do for you?” her voice was cold.
“Hello, my name is Olive Thomson and I’m a reporter from, “The Tannoy” newspaper. I was sent here to write about the beer festival, so I was wondering if you have some kind of an interesting story to tell me. The boy outside seemed full of these.”
“Well, never mind him, you know what they – the vivid imagination of a young mind is like a maze. “The Tannoy”, yes, I’ve read some interesting things in it.” She saw the confusion on Olive’s face and explained herself.
“I’ve been here for only three months, and that’s why I know about it, and that’s why I can’t tell you anything about the festival. I’ve never been to one, only have heard of it so I can’t be of much help. If you would like to wait for me, we can walk together there. I just have to finish that” – and she pointed to the papers in front of her – “I don’t know why they’ve left you wandering all alone…It’s not very hospitable. Anyway, we’ll be on our way in just a minute…”

***

The festival was filled with chatter and music, the air charged with excitement. The smell of the barbeque was pervasive, reaching into every space. The field was small and surrounded by a forest. It could be reached only through two bridges over the river. Only a small path led from the tall bridge over to the village. The other one was lower and a gravel road made it possible for cars to pass if the weather was dry. The villagers preferred the taller one even though they had to walk for an hour. That just made the men and women thirstier for the beer, but nobody could have any yet, as according to the tradition the mayor had to make a speech and open it. That was going to happen soon as he couldn’t keep the citizens and guests waiting much longer.

When Olive and the doctor arrived the festival was nearly ready to start officially, so she thanked Miss Brooks and made her way to the mayor determined to take an interview. He was an elderly man with a moustache in his late 60s wearing a suit that made him look very serious.
“Excuse me, my name is Olive Thomson and I’m a reporter and would you care to give me an interview?-It’s for...”
“Yes, yes... I mean no!” He looked in a hurry. “I’m sorry, Miss...I have no time for an interview at the moment as I’m about to open the festival. Maybe later...”
Next to the mayor was standing the local policeman. Olive tried to introduce herself on the spot and sneak in a couple of questions but “.C. G. Way”, as he introduced himself, was also busy.
Olive watched the mayor make his way to the big table which was made for the V.I.P. There was a microphone behind the table. He took it and drew everyone’s attention with a sharp “Hello, everyone.” The noise and chatter quickly died down as he carried on “As you all know, this festival has been a tradition for a long time. Every year it brings people together so we can all share happy memories. Once again I’m glad to open it”.

He looked to his right side where the orchestra was, smiled, looked to the left where P.C. G. Way proudly stood in his uniform. The music began and the mayor took a massive glass of beer from the table, raised it in the air while everyone else was watching and drank a big gulp out of it.
“The beer festival is now o…o...” What was meant to be the word “open” turned into a gasp for air. His face twisted in agony struggling for one more breath; he clutched his throat and nearly ripped it apart and then suddenly collapsed to the floor. People rushed to him from all directions. Everybody was in shock. When Dr. Brooks finally got through to him she checked his pulse.
“I need to go and phone for an ambulance as quickly as possible; there might be a chance for him if they come fast.”
“What is it, Doctor? Is it his heart?” the policeman asked.
“No, it is probably the beer… I think that there was something in his beer. His glass smells…funny.”
The policeman handed her another glass. “Would you check this one as well, doctor? This was supposed to be my glass.”
She sniffed it and said: “Yes, the beer is poisonous; no one is to drink any of it until we find what it is! I have to go to the village but I suggest that you go and find out who had access to the beer” she looked at P.C. G. Way and saw the horror written over his face.
All the people surrounding them gasped at the doctor’s last words. Then they all started to talk loudly, even shout…Some people looked angry, others very frightened but the commotion didn’t look likely to stop anytime soon. The Constable tried to calm everybody down but only when a couple of men from the village helped him as well, the scared villagers dispersed into small groups talking quietly to each other. Olive saw the policeman going into some of the tents, speaking to various people and writing notes in a small book out of his pocket. She stepped closer and heard him saying: “…and nobody is to enter this tent unless I call them!”and he pointed at a small tent towards the end of the field.
About fithteen minutes later the publican was brought between two young sturdy villagers who seemed to be most calm in the situation. He was to be questioned by P. C. G. Way. Olive felt that she had to help the people calm down and stay away from the tent although her professional instinct was “screaming” at her to get into the thick of the action.
While walking among the people and talking to them she heard comments like “It’s obviously him” and “But why?”
Then they heard a shot that violently cracked the night air. She ran toward the tent, which she couldn’t see at first because it was cut out from the trees which truly surrounded it and extended their branches around it. She ran into the already open tent and there, on the floor, motionless, was P. C. G. Way lying with a river of blood flooding out of his head and no gun to be seen. She walked out of the tent as people were running in; they saw fear in her eyes while she shivered with dread. She had to pull her herself together.
“I need strong men who are willing to come with me and look for the double killer. Now! Any volunteers?”
First from the crowd, which surrounded her, came Fletcher, the man nexy to him took a quick step forward. In the next two minutes another five men stood up.
“Very well, come, we have to go in the forest and look for the publican. Come on, we have no time to lose.”
She walked on and when they were away from the people she stopped.
“I didn’t want to tell you this in front of the other people as they would’ve panicked more. The publican has a gun and ammunitions and is probably looking to escape but hopefully we’ll catch him before he reaches the bridge.”
“Miss Olive... I dunno why Joe wanted to hurt anyone.”
“Okay thank you. We’ll see why he killed them, Fletcher."

As they went onwards towards the bridge, it began to rain, as if on cue… a last desperate, futile attempt to wash sin from the village. It was the strongest storm Olive has ever seen in her entire life. No-one could stand up properly and by the time they reached the bridge the river was flooding and burshing its banks. It was a chilly October night but everything was just beginning to flush with heat.
“I think it’ll be better if we go back to the camp; it’ll be safer there and I don’t believe that Joe will manage to go further" Fletcher shouted loudly, trying to resist the strong gusts of wind.
They got back and Dr. Brooks was waiting for them with blankets so they’d keep warm.
“Did you catch him?” she asked Olive.
“No, the weather was really bad so we couldn’t look for him. And how did you...”
“I came back from the village. I don’t know how we didn’t see each other and the people told me about the search. I called the hospital but I don’t think they’ll be able to make it - the lower bridge is flooded. Some people wanted to go back but they would have to wait until tomorrow morning if we’re lucky.”

The storm continued through the sleepless night. As the sun appeared into the bloody sky Olive was woken up by the yells of a man. She could hear the echo because after the powerful storm it was deadly quiet around.
“Over here, come over here!” The man's voice cut through the air. Olive walked out of the tent and she saw a man carrying the motionless body of another man. She ran to them and so did a few other people - it was still early in the morning.
“I found him unconscious on the bank of the river. He nearly died last night.”
“Well what are we waiting for? Let’s get him in.”
They got him into a tent where there was nobody and put a blanket over him as he was cold.
Soon he woke in the warmth of the tent and didn’t seem to know where he was.
“Where am I?”
“You’re back in Milston Valley” Olive spoke with coldness, “And you have a lot of explaining to do – first to us and then to the police.”
“Why did you kill P.C. G. Way?”
“It wasn’t me, I swear. I could never do such a thing.”
“Then WHO was it?” Olive's eyes stabbed like a cold blade with that judging look.
“It was… Dr. Lauren Brooks.”
“You LIAR!” One of the men in the crowd shouted “It was you, you murderer, and now you’re just trying to blame someone else for your own cri …”
“No! I’m telling you it was her. She came into the tent, took P.C. G. Way’s gun, shot him on the back of his head and forced me out. With the very same gun. You know me, why would I kill him?” He looked for comfort in anyone’s eyes but saw no signs of it.
“She even told me how she did it! She killed the mayor…”
“Well, what do you know – now she even killed the mayor? Stop, you fool. She couldn’t have killed P.C. G. Way as she went to the village to get help…"Fletcher called out in his outburst of anger.
Olive lessened intently. She had heard it all before but this was a new twist on an old theme. This was her ticket to recognition, to promotion, to an abundant supply of money.
“She did kill them both. I don’t know why but she killed the mayor by giving him medication for his heart but she didn’t tell him that if he mixed it with alcohol there will be a deadly reaction.” His eyes shifted from face to face. All were filled with confusion, nobody was certain anymore. “She even told me she made sure he took two pills before his speech to make his death quick and inevitable… She told me all this when she forced me with the gun. She thought she was going to get away with everything as soon as she left the village but when we got close to the bridge it started raining like hell and we couldn’t cross.” A look of temporary understanding informed Fletcher’s perplexed features “So she tied me to a tree and left me there. I was nearly drowned when I managed to free myself from the rope but the water sucked me in and I don’t recall anything after that…The next thing I know – I found myself here...”

***

Soon the police arrived and arrested Dr. Brooks to question her in Vienara. It was time for Olive to go so she got a ride with the police. She had to sit on the back of the car with Laura because there wasn’t space anywhere else. She didn’t mind that - she wanted to talk to her. She got into the back of the car and sat next to the sad looking Lauren. As the car drove off no one said a word until Olive dared to speak.
“I’m sorry but can you tell me why? I mean you killed two men who were minding their own business and you just did it like that…”
“They weren’t old gentlemen who were minding their own business! You have no idea and you never will,” Lauren was crying.
“What could have they done to you when you’ve only arrived? Nothing that bad that you would wish they’re dead.”
“Look, it’s not what it seems. Have you heard the locals mention the name of Sarah Walting? That was my mother and she would’ve been happy today if she saw these two dead. I have my reasons and don’t judge me before you know it.” She took a deep breath and started to talk again, “When I was about eight my father died and left me and my mum alone. We were very poor and my mum couldn’t cope with feeding the two of us. She didn’t know what to do. She started to receive letters everyday but never read them when I was in the room. She used to hide them. One day when she was out I decided to see what was she hiding from me,” she hesitated, obviously unable to continue and took a deep breath, aware that she blubbered. “So I found them and read them. They were all from the mayor; he was blackmailing my mum into becoming his lover. Later I found out that my mum accepted because she couldn’t afford to look after me. After that he started coming around our house more and more frequently. Sometimes when he came and mum was out he used to hit me and slap me. He started abusing me more. My mum saw it and told him off and he promised her not to do it again. Then just as she went out he’d hit me and tell me that if I told anyone, the same would happen to her, so I didn’t tell her anything. I was afraid of him and I knew that we needed his money otherwise we would starve to death. Once I decided to tell someone and ask for help as I couldn’t stand me and my mum being mistreated. I went and told P.C. G. Way. He was shocked at first but promised me to do something about it. A week and a half later I found my mum dead on the kitchen floor. She had committed suicide. There was a letter, which no one except me saw. My mum was telling how P.C. G. Way covered for the mayor and threatened her. The doctor also told me that she was three months pregnant with another child. Only I knew who it was from, I knew my mother. After that the mayor never spoke to me again, like it never happened. So one night I left the village without a trace, wanting a new life, but the scars stayed with me since then. All I could think of was revenge and that’s why I became a doctor and came to the village as soon as I could and just waited for the right moment, which was exactly this festival. You know, a lot of outside people, some of them just passing by – they could blame it on somebody like that. These two men ruined my life by the time I was eleven.”
Olive was speechless; this whole weekend was absolutely crazy.

They finally arrived at Vienara and Olive got out of the car as the police took Laura to the station. As she walked down the street, Olive thought to herself…
“This would make a great article! That is, of course, if I want to write about it. Isn’t that, after all, what we journalists do? I have a choice now: I can either take somebody’s tragedy and write about it, tell it to the whole country and get a career out of it or leave the poor girl alone…at least until somebody else finds out…”
With that Miss Olive Thomson, 30-year-old, journalist, stopped on the street and looked at the sky – there was no sign of the storm that morning and the sun was shining again…



Maggie p.