From Sir

Mabel Cox

Description

From Sir is the story of an impulsive abduction that throws a confused young man and a middle-aged woman together.
As each day he watches her, his initial anger and resentment towards her begins to change.
As each day she remains locked in a room and alone, her apparent strength begins to slip away.
They share the same house but on different floors. They share the same compulsions and eventually they begin to talk.
Set amidst their dialogue are the news reports concerning the missing woman. These provoke a response and he proceeds to use social media in an attempt to rationalise his actions. The fallout from these postings only serves to create a hysteria which he feels unjustified and superficial. Where he feels misunderstood.
His arrogance is his shield in contrast with her foul-mouthed rants. Their conversations develop, and disclosures are made.
From Sir demonstrates the fragility of the human mind, the power of maternal love or the lack of, the destruction caused by domestic violence and the importance of trust.

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
• Date de parution: 28 août 2020
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781528968003
• Langue: English

Extrait

From Sir
Mabel Cox
Austin Macauley Publishers
2020-08-28
From Sir About the Author Dedications Copyright Information © Synopsis Thursday, September 14 We Meet My Day Friday, September 15 Reality The Awakening The News Saturday, September 16 Explosion Exposed Synchronised The News Sunday, September 17 Creation The News Aftermath Monday, September 18 Order The Debate The News Tuesday, September 19 Plans The News Wednesday, September 20 Room Service and Goodbye The Eve of Her Day Thursday, September 21 Funeral Realisation Friday, September 22 The News Anniversary Order Again The News Moving Forward Saturday, September 23 Dialogue Explanation Agreement Ashes The News Questions Sunday, September 24 Questioning Continued Reflection Preparation The News Monday, September 25 A Quick Goodbye Ashes to Ashes Dust upon Dust Tuesday, September 26 Home Wednesday, September 27 Sir Truths The News Reflections Thursday, September 28 Anniversary Potential Dinner The News Messenger Friday, September 29 The Morning After The Drive Secrets Social Hysteria Saturday, September 30 Home Butterflies Moving Forward Sunday, October 1 Beginning Anew Key The News Monday, October 2 Delivery Disclosure and Déjà Vu To the Future Plans Tuesday, October 3 Final Delivery Final Plans Wednesday, October 4 Reflections Final Post Dinner The News Thursday, October 5 Collection Final Dinner Disposal The News Good Bye References
About the Author
Mabel Cox is a woman of a certain age who has always written privately whilst raising her three children; however, now they are all grown, she has dared to fulfil her dream to become a published author. When not writing, Mabel can be found walking on the fells in the Lake District or sharing a well-deserved glass with friends.
Dedications
This book is dedicated firstly to my beautiful partner, who had faith in me when I felt it I lacked it. He also gave me the privilege of time. Also, to my three amazing children. I love you all.
Copyright Information ©
Mabel Cox (2020)
The right of Mabel Cox to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781528934763 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781528968003 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2020)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Synopsis
From Sir is the story of an impulsive abduction that throws a confused young man and a middle-aged woman together. The book takes the form of a letter, written to justify and in the man’s eyes, explain their three weeks together.
As each day he watches her, his initial anger and resentment towards her starts to change.
As each day she remains, locked in a room and alone, her apparent strength begins to slip away.
They share the same house, but on different floors. They share the same compulsions and eventually they begin to talk.
Set amidst their dialogue are the news reports concerning the missing woman. These provoke a response and he proceeds to use social media in an attempt to rationalise his actions. The fall-out from these postings only serves to create a hysteria which he feels unjustified and superficial. Where he feels misunderstood.
His arrogance is his shield, in contrast with her foul-mouthed rants. Their conversations develop, and disclosures are made. From Sir demonstrates the fragility of the human mind, the power or lack of maternal love, the destruction caused by domestic violence and the importance of trust.

This is it…the truth, the whole truth.
To display my integrity, my honesty.
By way of explanation.
The journey of damage reflected and understood.
Thursday, September 14

We Meet
It was a beautiful, sunny day. The last feelings of summer were in the air. People clinging onto that feeling, flip-flops and scarves, fading tans and holidays spent. I was angry. Pent up, an unresolved rage flowing through every part of my being. Any other day and I would not have noticed you. Any other day I would not have reacted to you. Any other day. I was driving. Distracted by my thoughts, I admit, but then you were there, in front of me. Instantly, on autopilot I slammed on the breaks and our eyes met for the first time. I was shaken and cross. You were in my way. I looked at you, small, insignificant, stupid woman. I should have just driven on by. Any other day, I would have, but then you started shouting, angry little bursts in a shrill voice that cut right through every rational part of me.
“Knob jockey, you didn’t even indicate, you could have killed me, you twat.”
Quite a mouth. An unnecessary outburst of abuse. You were motionless, frozen to the spot. I could see that you were shaking, red-faced, tears coming. I felt nothing apart from anger. You were in my way. I remember staring at you, a middle-aged woman, shopping bag falling from your shoulder, handbag across your chest and you were staring back. You had a look of contempt, like I was beneath you. In just that moment, we both moved. It all happened so quickly, no rational thought, no real thought at all, just reaction. As you hoisted your shopping bag up, I got out of the car and we were next to each other. I towered over you, I had not realised quite how small you were until then and I rather enjoyed the feeling it gave me. Empowerment, strength, superiority. I yelled straight into your face,
“Shut up, you silly bitch.”
If only you had walked away quietly. If only you had been quiet, but no, not you.
“How dare you? You fucking piece of shit, I’m going to report you.”
Then you were silent and still because I struck you. I do not panic as a rule, I do not need to. I am always in control and know exactly what I am doing, at any given time, day or even month. I have structure and rules which I live by. I am precise. This was not a situation I felt comfortable in. Not, may I add, because I hit you, but just the tedious inconvenience of it all. The messiness. I should have just left you in the gutter, but I did not. I think now I understand my actions. My confused need to fill the void. The anticipated and planned arrival of her in the room, the need for company. A moment of madness. I lifted you up and put you in the back of the car, slumped out across the leather seat. Untidy. There were no witnesses, no cameras on that quiet stretch of road, just the one junction that I had turned at. A few parked cars, a row of splendid Victorian houses and a cat. I drove with you, my roadkill. I continued to shout at you, oh, nothing that really counts for much. Just rants that you had complicated my day, my day that had been planned and was now behind schedule. My day that was supposed to be all mine, a day to adjust, to think, but not to over think. My day to reflect and mourn. Just one day for me.
As I drove through the gates and straight into the integral garage, the reality of your presence struck me. I was beyond angry now, resentment and bitterness consumed me. How dare you affect me? The gates and garage had all closed automatically and neatly. I sat for quite some time, my breathing was shallow and far too quick and unsettled me further. I am always in control and you were destroying my composure, everything in those moments became your fault. A red mist, they, whoever they are, say falls around people when they lose control, when their aggression takes over. Perhaps, indeed, this is what happened to me, because of you. However, the whys and wherefores had to wait, I could not be expected to sit in the car with you all day. Decisions needed to be made. I dragged your dead weight from the back of the car and took you into her room. Annoying as I had not intended to go in there on that day. My day. I dropped you onto the tiled floor. Your face had swollen, I could see exactly where I had landed my punch. I glanced out into the space surrounding you, all so perfect in readiness, all so beautiful and yet now so tainted. It was all just too unfair. My head spun. I do not think that I wanted to hurt you, I just needed to let everything come crashing out of me. Shouting at you, I kicked you repeatedly. As though the pain awoke your unconscious mind, you began to scream. The screaming was beyond my comprehension; hysterical, relentless screaming. You covered your head and screamed, rocking to and fro. I stopped and watched, you appeared unaware that I was even there, just continuing, rocking and screaming, rocking and screaming. This behaviour threw me, it was as close as I could picture to insanity. Not a drop of self-awareness or composure or control. I needed you to stop. I grabbed a knife from the block and started to jab at you, the first spots of blood appeared. I felt nothing. Your screams were relentless and so very loud, I grabbed at your outstretched arm and I cut you, a series of diagonal slashes and your blood flowed out. There was silence. You tried to stand, over-balancing at first then up again, gasping. We stood, briefly in silence, face to face, then the screaming came again. High-pitched, a wail of sound that pierced through the room. Suddenly and with no apparent realisation, you emptied your bladder. Blood and urine all over the newly tile