The Moore I See (The Moore Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  The Moore I See

  J. D. Cristian

  To Ana, who made me see strength and courage.

  J. D. Cristian

  The Moore I See

  Copyright © J. D. Cristian, 2020

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, stored in a database and / or published in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover image by: © TwoBe Creative

  Cover design by: TwoBe Creative

  Editor: Michael Langan

  I'm J.D. Cristian, I grew up in Fulham, London and moved to Portugal, where I am originally from, in the early 1990's. A few years ago, I decided to put pen to paper and write a story as a pastime and have now plucked up the courage to publish my work.

  I have produced the Moore Trilogy, a love story filled with suspense and mystery, and all three books will be published at one month intervals, starting with The Moore I See in June 2020.

  I hope you love it as much as I do.

  ∞∞∞

  I would like to thank my family for all their support and encouragement, I couldn't have done it without you. Also my beautiful daughter who helped enormously by giving me ideas.

  To my dear friend (you know who you are). Thank you for being you, for making me laugh, and for being there when I needed it.

  To my best friend, who has accompanied me throughout my life, thank you.

  Prologue

  Lauren paces back and forth, her heart beating rapidly inside her chest as she wrings her clammy hands. The room is dark, the cold air sings around her and there is complete silence except for the sound of her deep, rapid breathing.

  She goes to her dresser and picks up the letter she has written for Amy. A feeling of doubt descends. Has she said enough? Will Amy understand? Most of all, will it compel her to act on her instincts? Lauren has to believe so, or what she is about to do will be completely in vain.

  She walks towards the bed, taking the letter with her, and places it carefully on the bedside cabinet, where she is certain it will be seen. Her mind is racing now as she goes through everything that has happened. Her life has been nothing but torment and suffering year after year, but she is finally ready, she can leave this world with peace and tranquillity.

  She sits on the edge of the bed and grasps the gun that is next to her. It’s time to dig deep and muster up all the courage she has left in her. Easing her body further onto the bed, she lies down on her back and lifts the gun to her temple, her hand shaking. They say your life flashes before your eyes when you are about to die, but all Lauren can see is darkness, the darkness that was cast upon her the minute she was born, the darkness that has accompanied her throughout her life and the darkness that now follows her to her departure. She begins to see a light slowly penetrating its way through, becoming brighter and brighter by the second, turning the darkness into mere shadows of everything she is leaving behind. At last, she feels the heavy weight gradually lifting from her and setting her free.

  She closes her eyes and, with an overwhelming feeling of serenity firmly embracing her body, she draws in her last breath and pulls the trigger.

  Sitting in the corner of the room, he shudders at the sound of the gunshot. He had watched Lauren silently, not wanting this, but it was the ultimate part of the journey, it had to be done. He advances slowly towards the bed and stares down at her, the sight makes him flinch. He quickly turns away and starts to prepare the scene, everything had to be done correctly. Once he is satisfied, he strides towards the door, pausing at the entrance to take one last look at Laurens´s lifeless body. With a detached glare he closes the door behind him, shutting out all images and feelings of the last few moments.

  Chapter 1

  I stare at the closed mahogany coffin in front of me, covered with bouquets that have been placed on the lid. Its image is blurred by the veil of tears over my eyes. I stand dazed and immobilized, watching the petals flutter in the breeze, hoping this is a surreal nightmare from which I will soon wake. But my mind knows the horror before me is undeniably real. I’ve heard many times that grief is a natural response to the loss of a loved one, and there are several stages in the process. As I stand here paralyzed by my heartache, I think back and realise I have pretty much covered them all.

  It had been a long day, one of those days when nothing goes right and you just want to curl up in bed and forget it ever existed. Little did I imagine it would only get worse. It was around eleven at night when I finally got home from work and made a beeline for my bedroom. I dumped my bag on the floor, kicked off my shoes and flung myself onto the soft mattress. It wasn’t the most comfortable of beds, but that day it felt like I was lying on a mountain of soft cotton-wool that moulded itself around my body; it was pure bliss. The exhaustion was such I didn’t even bother to take off my jeans and blouse, and I fell almost instantly into a deep, profound sleep.

  The faint ringing of a telephone bore into my subconscious. I was convinced it was a dream and my brain was playing tricks on me but the ringing continued, and I couldn’t get the sound to stop. No matter how much I tried, it simply wouldn’t go away. Annoyance eventually pulled me out of my near comatose state and I became aware of my surroundings. I sat up and with half-closed eyes searched the room for the source of the ringing. My bag, it was coming from my bag. Suddenly, I was fully alert, wide-awake with the alarming realisation that someone was calling me in the middle of the night. Something terrible must have happened. Reaching into my bag with shaking hands, I pulled out the phone. The chill that had arisen in my gut was instinct; I knew bad news was coming.

  I sat on the edge of my bed and listened to a male voice telling me my best friend had committed suicide, and he was sorry to have to give me such bad news over the phone. I was completely stunned and couldn’t understand what he was saying. I sat motionless as the room spun around me. This was surely a mistake - he had the wrong number, he couldn’t be talking about Lauren. The stranger on the phone continued speaking but I could no longer hear him, my body had gone numb and I had completely shut down.

  Then came the guilt. I wasn’t there for her when she needed me the most, which only heightened my despair and remorse. I blamed myself for not speaking to her more often, for not noticing she was hurting so much. We were apart for two years, Lauren here in London while I was in New York, and I kept thinking I could have made a difference if only I had been here. Maybe I could have stopped her. Perhaps she would have confided in me the reason for such feelings of desperation and desolation. There were so many what-ifs tormenting me, and I couldn’t shake the overwhelming question nagging at me: Could I have done something to prevent this horrific outcome?

  Lauren had no one in her life. Her father had left when she was a baby and she hadn’t spoken to her estranged mother in years. I was her closest friend, the only person she could have turned to, and not being there for her would always haunt me. She must have felt so terribly alone and been in an unimaginable amount of pain.

  However, I have gradually come to terms with the heart-wrenching reality that I have lost Lauren forever. I will never see her timid smile, or watch her fuss about the wild blonde hair she could never tame; she would always end up tying it up into a ponytail or piling it on top of her head somehow. We will never have our cinema evenings agai
n, where we would rent horror films and curl up on the sofa with a bowl of popcorn and a can of coke. I have always hated horror and would cover my face with my hands and watch most of the film through my fingers. I definitely preferred romantic comedies, but, for some strange reason, Lauren was the only woman I knew who hated soppy movies, so of course we always “compromised” and I would sit through the wretched films she liked.

  It devastates me now, to know I will never have her physically with me again, but I treasure the time we spent together and the memories she left behind; nothing can take that away from me; she will always remain in my heart.

  It’s often said, when someone close to you passes away, it’s not just that person who dies, something inside those who are left behind dies too. Well, I choose not to let it. The part of her that remains inside me I will keep very much alive. I will live for the both of us, to be what she could obviously never be. I will be happy.

  I blink my tear-filled eyes as I feel a cold drop of rain land on the top of my head. The breeze has manoeuvred the thick, grey clouds, positioning them directly above, so turning a warm and sunny spring day into what appears to be a cold, dark autumnal one. I lift my head to look at the sky and, one by one, raindrops fall onto my face, blending into the tears that cover my cheeks. The cool droplets have a strange, appeasing effect on me, so I close my eyes and let this tranquillity wash over me. The smell of water hitting dry earth floats up from the ground and thoughts of childhood and playing in the rain floods my memory; how nice it would be to go back to being seven, when the only problems or worries were scraped knees and broken dolls.

  My mother’s soft voice brings me back to harsh reality as she puts a comforting arm around me. “Amy, love, we’d better get a move on, it’s has started to rain and it’s going to pour down any minute.” My mother, along with my father, has always been a permanent fixture in my life - the extreme opposite of Lauren’s parents. My own could never express enough love for their only child, constantly attentive to my every need and always providing me with unconditional support, even if it meant letting me travel across the Atlantic and being painfully separated from them.

  I turn to look at my mother. Her shoulder-length dark hair has droplets of rain stuck to it, and she gauges me with her brown eyes as she furrows her brow with worry. This was not exactly the reunion I had pictured with my parents after being in New York for so long. They loved Lauren too and had practically taken her under their wing. This wasn’t easy for them either. “Yes, you’d better head back, I don’t want you driving back late.” I say.

  My father moves forward and cups my face in his hands. “Amy, are you sure you don’t want us to stay a few more days? It really is no problem.”

  I look into his eyes, the same olive-green shade as mine, and see concern pulling at him. No doubt this will add a few more grey hairs to what was once a thick mop of light brown. I would always be his little girl; the true “daddy’s girl” in every sense. They came back to London as soon as I stepped off the plane and haven’t left my side since.

  “No, you’ve been here several weeks already,” I say. “As much as I love seeing you, I know you have things to take care of back home. The worst is over. I’ll be fine.”

  His eyes scan me, a look of apprehension etched on his face. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure Dad. l really am okay. You both need to go home and relax a little. I’ll never forget Lauren and this has been really hard for me, but life goes on and I have to get back to normality as soon as possible.”

  “You’re right about that.” he says. “You need some distractions to take your mind off this. Just make sure you call us, ok?

  “When are you going back to New York?” My mother asks.

  I have the difficult task of tying up all of Lauren’s loose ends and it had already been hectic. Lauren had made me her Executor and I had closed down her bank accounts and cancelled all of the contracts I knew of. The only tasks that are left to do are clearing out her apartment, cancelling all the utilities, and settling the bills.

  “I don’t know yet,” I reply. “I still have a lot of things to take care of. I’ll probably stay another three or four weeks.”

  “Just make sure to keep in touch or you’ll give your father a coronary,” my mother says, firmly.

  My father gives an exaggerated roll of the eyes and tilts his head towards my mother. “Yeah sure, you’ll give your father a coronary!” he chuckles.

  I throw my arms around the both of them. “I promise I will pop down to Brighton before I go back, so please go home and stop worrying about me. Okay?”

  “We’ll never stop worrying about you Amy, you know that,” My father says, wrapping his big arms firmly around my waist. “But we’ll accept you’re okay... for now anyway.”

  I squeeze them both into a tight hug and kiss each on the cheek. “Now get going before you are soaked to the bone. Drive safely and phone me when you arrive.”

  “We will do, love. You take care of yourself and make sure you visit us before you go back…” My mother’s voice trails off as her dark eyes fill with tears.

  Feeling a pang of heartache as I say goodbye, I try my hardest to swallow the big lump that forms in my throat. “I promise. Now, will you stop fussing and get going!” I start to choke up and can barely get my words out. They smile and hesitantly walk away, turning back to wave when we’re a small distance apart.

  “Ms Philips?”

  I turn towards the voice to see a pretty blonde woman smiling cautiously at me. I clear my throat and blink away the threatening tears. “Yes?”

  She extends her hand. “My name is Caroline, I am... was... Lauren’s work colleague. I won’t take up too much of your time, I just wanted to give you my condolences.”

  I force a smile. “Oh... thank you.”

  “I boxed up the personal belongings she had at work and… well... as you seem to be the closest thing to family she had, I thought you might like to collect them.” She digs into her handbag and pulls out a business card. “You can turn up whenever you like, I pretty much live there.”

  My next smile isn’t forced. “Thank you, that’s very considerate of you.” I’m not sure exactly what personal items Lauren would have left at work, but I know I have to go through them to see if there’s anything important. “I’ll pick them up within the next few days.”

  “Whenever you feel up to it, there’s no hurry.”

  “Thank you again, Caroline.”

  “You’re welcome. See you soon.” She walks away with a friendly smile on her lips, and as she does, a man with large-framed glasses, their lenses so thick they could have been cut from the bottom of a bottle, rushes towards me, sheltering under a big, black umbrella. I groan inwardly, not wanting to talk to yet another person. I’m psychologically exhausted, not able to offer any more words. Neither can I process what anyone else has to say to me. But I summon up the manners my parents so efficiently taught me, and force yet another smile.

  “Hello, you must be Amy,” he says, cordially. “I’m David, Lauren's neighbour. You’ll catch pneumonia standing in the rain like this.” He jiggles the umbrella awkwardly and holds out his other hand.

  I wipe the dripping rain off my face and shake his hand. “Hi, yes that’s right, how did you know?” I look through the lenses at his distorted and shrunken eyes.

  “Lauren and I became quite good friends and she talked a great deal about you. I’ve seen lots of her photos of you.” A smile emerges on his thin lips.

  Lauren never mentioned she had this strange looking man in her life, and he certainly didn’t fit the usual criteria for Lauren’s friends... but then again she didn’t really have any friends.

  “Oh, right. I’m sorry, I feel at a slight disadvantage.” I smile at the textbook example of a geek. He’s in his forties, dressed in creased trousers and a once white shirt that has become light beige. A multi-coloured, diamond patterned sweater and a striped tie finish off his completely chaotic look. H
is dark hair is parted and combed neatly to the side with what I choose to believe is gel and not natural grease. His yellow, crooked teeth look like they haven’t seen a dentist in years. I guess he either lives alone or with his ancient mother.

  “It’s okay,” he says. “I’m sure you had better things to discuss than me when you talked to each other, and I know the distance between London and New York kept you from talking as much as you’d like to.” He pauses and his expression grows serious as he contemplates the open grave. “I’m sorry, I had no idea she was planning this, I would have tried to help her,” he murmurs.

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself. I don’t think anyone knew. She had a knack of keeping things to herself and shutting people out. The truth is, I don’t think anyone could have prevented this. Not even me.” Lauren was a strong-willed and decisive woman, but she was not a sociable person and kept herself to herself, rarely confiding in people. I could find water in a desert easier than I could get information out of her and it used to drive me mad. Looking back, I should have taken this as a sign something was wrong but I always assumed it was just part of her personality, and simply respected her privacy. It was how I’d always known her to be.

  “Yes you’re probably right,” he says. “I’m going to miss her.”

  “I’ll miss her too.” I look over at him. “It seems you two were quite close, I’m glad she had you as a friend; Lauren didn’t take to people easily, so she must have seen something special in you.” Whatever the peculiar and almost child-like exterior this man has, he must have an extremely kind soul, something significant enough for Lauren to let him into her life.