FORGIVENESS OF NIGHTMARES

South Africa -Cape Town Feb.13 2002 The same day

(South Africa – Cape Town)
(February-13 -2002)
(The same day)
         
McIain had decided to see his mother's best friend Rita McMinn. She had always been a shoulder to cry on, especially since the shooting.  The two of them clicked like a well-oiled mousetrap.
         
He parked the Land Rover in the small parking lot behind her building unfolding his tall frame from the vehicle clutching a cell phone to his ear.
         
'Are you sure.... I am so sorry to trouble you so early, .... Yes, I'm in the parking lot downstairs. See you soon. Same here.'
         
He slipped the phone into his jacket pocket putting on a pair of sunglasses, turning his collar up and  locked the Rover with his remote. After scanning the parking lot he quickly strode into a side entrance.
         
The same black Toyota as before entered slowly and parked close to the Land Rover.  A stocky man of average height looking like an ex boxer got out and lit a cigarette, flipping the matchstick into the air.  After scanning the lot he sauntered over to McIain's vehicle, kneeling down next to the driver's front wheel and attached a small radio transmitter inside the wheel cover.
         
He got up slowly, scanning the area once more, before strolling back to the Toyota where he flicked his cigarette the same way he did with the matchstick, watching it arch through the air until it came to rest in the gutter. He drove away slowly.

                            *********

McIain felt out of breath by the time he reached her flat. He used the stairs to avoid other people; with a trembling hand he knocked.
         
He had to swallow a lump in his throat when she opened the door, looking up at him with tenderness.
         
'Good morning young man. What did I do to deserve a handsome hunk like you to come and visit me?' She noticed the sadness in his eyes and stepped forward hugging him.
         
'What's the matter? Are you okay?'
         
'Mom died this morning.'
         
'You poor thing. Come inside.' She led him through to the lounge. She was an attractive, middle-aged woman, with permanent dimples in her cheeks, giving the impression of a perpetual smile.
         
'I'm so sorry to hear that McIain. What time did they say she died?'
         
'Just after five this morning.'
         
'Have you eaten today? Make yourself at home and I'll make us some coffee and sandwiches. Black with two sugars, if I remember correctly?' She didn't wait for his reply.
         
McIain walked up and down like a caged animal, hugging himself every so often, shaking his head.
         
'How could I do it? I'm a murderer. Who the hell was the priest? Why didn't he stop me? How could I? Oh, mom please forgive me. Please, I beg you.'
         
He sat down eventually on a low couch, holding his head in his hands, listening to the noises from the kitchen, of plates being handled and a kettle whistling.
         
'Almost done!' Rita called from the kitchen.
         
McIain said nothing.  Rita returned soon after with a tray carrying the coffee and sandwiches. He got up taking the tray from her.
         
'I wish my sons had such good manners. Your mother was a real lady. Put it here, I'll move these magazines.'
         
They sat down facing each other. McIain waited for her to take the first bite, before he followed suit.
         
'I know, it might seem callous, but it's a blessing. Imagine being in a coma for three months. I can't belief it's that long since the shooting. Time has many feet.' She said chewing.
         
'I've done something terrible Rita.'
         
'What?'
         
'I don't know if I'll ever be able to live with myself again. I wish they still had the death penalty in this country. I deserve to die.'
         
'What are you talking about, McIain?
         
'I killed her Rita.'
         
'You did no such thing. It was the assasin's bullet.' McIain looked up and their eyes locked.
         
'You don't understand Rita... I killed her this morning.' He whispered.
         
She looked at him in disbelieve. Her eyes filled with tears and she got up joining him, putting her arm around him.
         
' You poor, poor boy.'
         
'I'm a murderer Rita.'
         
'No you're not. You're a saviour. That's exactly what she would have wanted. We often spoke about it. I thought you both had living wills.'
         
'Rita it was terrible, but she looked so peaceful when she died. It almost looked like she was smiling. Oh, who am I trying to fool.' He leant his head against her shoulder.  'But there's more.'
         
' What?'
         
'There was a priest in the room who saw everything.'
         
'What did he look like? Was he also tall and dark like you? What are you, 6'6"?'
         
'It was so quick...how did you know?'
         
'He's your mother's brother.' McIain sank further into his chair, shocked.
         
'My mother has a brother? Why didn't she ever tell me? Then he'll definitely go to the police!'  He jumped up, and paced again.
         
'McIain please sit down. There's a lot you don't know. I'll try to explain, but I know there are many things your mother hasn't shared with me either. Oh you poor thing. Excuse me for a moment. I have to make a few phone calls to reschedule my day; I want to spend some time with you.' She got up.
         
'Please don't. You must despise me.'
         
'On the contrary. Please stay. I insist. Please.'
         
McIain nodded and sat back in the chair steeping his fingers in front of him, in a trance. He tried to listen to Rita's voice, but the conversation was unintelligible. She returned a few minutes later with a small manila envelope.
         
'That was easy. One advantage of being your own boss.' She sat down. 'You came to South Africa when you were four, after your father and sister were killed in an accident.'
         
'So? That's common knowledge.'
         
'Your mother confided in me about a year ago, the reason she came here from Scotland was because she feared for your lives.'
         
'Our lives? You can't be serious. She would have told me. There were no secrets between us.'
         
'That's the sad part. It broke her heart, but she had her reasons. She wanted to protect you.'

'Protect me from whom?'
         
'A massacre took place on February 13 1692 in a valley in the highlands of Scotland, called Glencoe.'
         
'I know about the massacre, but how in heaven's name can it have anything to do with us?'
         
'It's a black mark in Scottish history as you know. There are still some pubs in the highland areas with signs; No dogs or Campbells allowed, your mom told me once.'
         
McIain looked uncomfortable, and went pale.
         
'What's wrong? Are you okay?'
         
'My mother was a Campbell, and today is the 13th of February 2002. Don't you think that's weird?'
         
'Rather.' She shivered. 'This envelope contains a short synopsis of what your mother wants you to know, and two keys.'
         
'What are they for? What about her brother, Father Campbell? What do you think he's going to do? Where does he fit in?'
         
'Not so fast young man. One thing at a time. I've just spoken to him.'
         
'You have!?'
         
'Yes. He told me about this morning.' She started to cry, indicating to McIain to sit down when he was about to get up to placate her.
         
'Sit down. It must've been terrible for you. He says it was one of the saddest, yet one of the most beautiful and pure moments he has ever witnessed.' She blew her nose with a small handkerchief.
         
'Why didn't he try to stop me?'
         
'He says there was a larger force at work, to complete the circle started on the day of the Massacre. It pinned him to the chair.'

'Is that all he said?'
         
'The impatience of the youth... He said he'll contact you, and he's going to organize tickets to Scotland for you to meet him in a place called Kinlochleven. Apparently, he has to fly back today, to conduct a funeral for a woman who died there this morning. He apologizes.'
         
'What did he tell the staff?'
         
'He told them when he woke up, she was dead already. They're not sure why the alarm didn't go off, but there won't be any investigation. I think deep down, everybody's relieved she's gone. You know what I mean.'
         
'I'll never be able to forgive myself.'
         
'That's not what she would've wanted, and you know it.' She handed him the envelope.  'The keys are for the safe at her house and the safe at your mountain cottage in Franchhoek.'
         
'What's in the safes?'
         
'It's all very involved. Father Campbell said you must watch your back since he suspects your mother's shooting was an accident, but you were the actual target. It had been orchestrated by a Campbell movement.'
         
'I find it very hard to believe, but I don't really have an option, do I?'
         
'I'm afraid not.'
         
'I won't rest until I find the scum responsible for this. Somebody has to pay.  I'll get the documents before I go to Scotland.'

'What about your studies? You've only got two more years to finish your post grad surgical course.'
         
'That will have to wait then, won't it? How will I contact this Father Campbell, my mother's so-called brother?'
         
'I've given him your cell number. Hope you don't mind.' She said getting up. 'What will you do now?'
         
'I don't know. I'm too upset to think straight.' He got up and hugged her. 'Thanks Rita, you're a star.'
         
'I wish I could help more. I'm going to miss both of you.'

McIain said nothing.
         
'When you look like that, you look just like your mother. The same dark hair and those deep blue eyes. Look after yourself and don't let some Scottish lass trap you into marriage before you finished your studies now.' She started to cry and guided him from her flat.
                   
                      ******************
         
McIain arrived at his mother's house a few hours later and parked his Land Rover in front of the double garage doors and unfolded his tall frame from the vehicle, looking around, stretching. He yawned but did not forget to put his hand in front of his mouth.
         
He strolled towards the front door on an old railway-sleeper pathway between two well-kept flowerbeds dripping its purple petals onto the walk, looking at the beautiful mountains behind the property, sighing, before he unlock and entered, forgetting to lock the door behind him.
         
He walked over to a beautiful pencil drawing of his mother, he did 5 years ago, and traced the outlines of her face with his index finger. A tear trickled down his cheek.
         
'Going to miss you mom.'

He walked down the short passage and entered his mother's bedroom. It was tastefully decorated, with mainly pink and white colours.  His felt sad when he walked around touching some of her things. He picked up one of her pillows, burying his face in it, falling facedown onto the bed, and sobbed into it for a good twenty minutes.
         
He didn't hear the faint sound of a door opening and closing with his face still buried in the pillow. 'Common pull yourself together. Don't be such a sissy.' He chastised himself.
         
He approahed the safe next to his mother's bed, hidden behind an oil painting. Suddenly the stocky man approached him from the rear, with a baseball bat held in both hands, but as he was about to hit McIain over the head, McIain turned slightly causing the bat to glance off the side of his skull crashing onto his collarbone.          
         
McIain staggered into the wall and the attacker managed another swing at his kidneys. McIain pushed himself backwards from the wall with both arms catching the attacker by surprise causing him to drop the bat. They staggered backwards, falling over a low table, which fractured, shattering into pieces sliding into the passage.  The assailant pulled a gun, but McIain tackled him and the gun went flying, as they skidded on the polished floor into the lounge.
         
They struggled to get up first and the man dived towards the gun, which had slid almost halfway across the lounge floor. McIain managed to grab him by the ankle yanking him back just short of he gun. His assailant kicked at the hand on his ankle, skinning some of McIain's knuckles in the process, but he managed to hold on.
         
McIain became aware of the pain in his right shoulder when his assailant tried to pull his foot free from his right hand.  He could felt hyped from the adrenalin rush, and the life and death struggle. He managed to get up first that time and with a proper well aimed, round-house kick, managed to kick his assailant, who was by then reversing on his buttocks sliding towards the gun, on the temple. With satisfaction, he saw him topple over unconscious onto the wooden floor.
         
McIain staggered back to sit on the leather couch catching his breath. He slowly got his breath back, feeling all over his body for injuries, which might have been veiled by his oversupplied adrenalin. His right collarbone was definitely fractured, but as far as he could palpate, it felt like an uncomplicated fracture, which fortunately had not been displaced and should therefore, heal well with proper management.
         
He gingerly got to his feet, walking towards the man on the floor, kicking the gun as far away as possible. His assailant's shirt was torn from his body during their struggle. He had a large ruby birthmark covering half his torso and back.
         
McIain turned him over onto his back, checking for a pulse and his breathing. Satisfied that he was alive, he searched the man's pockets, because the face meant nothing to him. He found a packet of Camel cigarettes and a Bic lighter in his pant's pocket, but nothing else. He scanned the wreckage they caused during their struggle, before striding back to the bedroom to retrieve what he came for.
         
He tried the phone in the bedroom, but the line was dead. 'His  cell phone was still in the car; damn!' he realized  after patting himself down. The assailent was still unconsious when he checked on him and he jogged to the Rover. He phoned his security company and two men arrived within minutes. They went into the house with drawn weapons, but there was no sign of the man. They searched every room without luck.

'He must've slipped out the back door,' the elder guard said, holstering his gun again.
         
'I'll phone the police. To send someone over.' McIain said.
He felt emotionally too upset to deal with the police and the older guard sensed it.
         
'Don't worry, I'll go myself and open a case. You should go to hospital, you look like shit.'
         
They said their goodbyes outside, and McIain drove off.

                  *****************

A few minutes later, the garage door opened and his assailant appeared rubbing his head swearing. He was dusting himself down for he hid in an old tool-cupboard in the garage, and his heart was still racing since the younger security gaurd almost opened the door. He used a remote, which he found in the cupboard to close the door, and crossed the road entering some dense foliage. On reaching his black Toyota he lit a smoke, before getting in, and drove into the road turning in the direction McIain took earlier.
         
McIain kept looking in his rear view mirror. His heart was beating fast and his shoulder and head were throbbing a foxtrot in his scull. There was dried blood on the side of his face and a large egg like swelling above his right ear. He grimaced when he felt his shoulder, and looked at himself in the rear view mirror pulling a face.
         
'Mom, what else don't I know?'
         
The Toyota kept a safe distance making it impossible for McIain to pick him up. McIain couldn't believe his eyes when he saw a sign - FRANCHHOEK 15 KM – HELSHOOGTE MOUNTAIN PASS – CAUTION SHARP CURVES AHEAD. Time seemed to have passed like the tortoise overtaking the rabbit in the Great Race fable.
         
He slowed down, putting the vehicle into a lower gear, when he went up a steep incline. McIain had to swerve violently to avoid hitting a tiny Klipspringer buck when it jumped almost right in front of the Land Rover, causing him to loose control,and drove into a deep ditch next to the road, hitting his already sore head against the roof. Shock waves travelled right up his spine when the nose of the Land Rover hit the opposite wall of the ditch with its reinforced-steel protection-bar.
         
At the same time the black Toyota drove past the dust cloud caused by McIain's accident. When  the driver looked at the transmitter reading he realized he had passed McIain. Trying to look back he veered too much to the side. His face distorted with shock when he hit the barrier.
         
The car flew in an arc and started to roll down the mountain bouncing, with glass breaking, and metal tearing until it came to a standstill landing on its roof at the foot of the cliff.
         
McIain struggled to put the Land Rover in gear due to his sore shoulder and reversed out with only a small amount of wheel spin. He saw the Toyota breaking through the barrier and drove to the spot, where he got out taking his doctor's bag. He used his mobile to make a call.
         
'Operator we need emergency services. A car has rolled down the mountain on the Hellshoogte mountain pass... ten km from Franchhoek... I don't know. I'm on my way down to the vehicle now... Bye.'
         
He made his way down as fast as possible, jumping from boulder to boulder and reached the vehicle perspiring like a hippopotamus in a Turkish bath.  When he got down on hands and knees, he could see the driver hanging upside down from his safety belt, and a strong smell of gasoline filled the air.
         
He tried the door, with no luck while the smell of gasoline got worse. Sitting on his butt using both feet he kicked the window in. He sniffed the air like a meerkat on heat, increasing his struggles.  After some time he managed to pull the body from the vehicle. Gasoline was still leaking from under the bonnet, prompting him to drag the body away from the vehicle as fast as possible, gasping for air. 
         
The man's face was smashed to a pulp. He felt for his pulse and listened to his heart using a stethoscope. He closed the man's still open eyes with two fingers. He saw the large ruby birthmark through his torn shirt and sore under his breath.
         
'Who the hell are you?'  He looked up to the top of the cliff, where the sound of shrill sirens, broadcasted the arrival of the emergency vehicles and got to his feet slowly, putting his stethoscope back into the bag.