IT’S TIME
COULD YOU RISK YOUR SANITY
TO SAVE YOURSELF?
The Hebrides Series
Book 1
Rachael Dytor
Copyright © Rachael Dytor 2021
Thisbook is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade orotherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without thepublisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that inwhich it is published and without a similar condition including this conditionbeing imposed on the subsequent publisher.
Themoral right of Rachael Dytor has been asserted.
This is awork of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, eventsand incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are usedfictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, orlocales is entirely coincidental.
ToPaul, this book would not have been possible
without your love and support.
And to Kyle, Lauren and Lucy -
may you always shine brightly!
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER 1
February 12th 2018Thomas
A
n unexpected ring of the bell. That’s what jolted me awakefrom my slumber that night. It had been bitterly cold that day, the day that mylife changed forevermore - the kind of cold that penetrates your skin and bonesand is unshakeable even as you curl up into a foetal position in the wee hoursof the night. It gnaws at your stomach and no amount of food will be sustenanceenough to tame the icy cold fingers sending shockwaves throughout the entirebody. Perhaps that ice-cold, all-consuming feeling should have woken me evenbefore the ring of the bell. The feeling that I had admitted to myself was notonly a result of the cold but also had its origins in a long-forgotten memory,something I had hidden in the deep recesses of my subconscious.
I figured that if I kept the memory hiddenfor long enough it would cease to exist. I didn’t need months of therapy, all Ineeded was to find a little hiding place in my mind, a compartment to storethis particular ill away and there we go, gone! In theory, a brilliant idea,but, of course, fatally flawed. Flawed, because everyone knows even thosecarefully compartmentalised boxes have a way of un-ravelling. Not justun-ravelling but creating a domino effect. As one box opens there’s a crescendoeffect and like a set of dominos when that first box opens all the other boxesopen, their sides torn apart, falling just like a set of dominos at anever-increasing speed until I can’t take it anymore. I am becoming undone; I amhaving to face a reality I tried so hard to resist but it is my reality and itis my truth and the ring of the bell at 2 a.m. on that frosty February morninghas finally made me face up to it.
His face should be strange to me. But ofcourse, it’s not. He doesn’t fit into this façade I’ve created here to fit inand normalise myself. I have spun a very intricate web of lies and deceit. Withthe glossy exterior of tailored clothing, just the right car sat on thedriveway, and very satisfying bank balance, I had fooled myself (and everyoneelse) into thinking this was me. But he knows who I am and where I’ve camefrom. He can see the pile of dominos laid out before me on the icy path. Weneed no introduction. Yes, he hasn’t seen me since I was a boy but without asingle word passing between us, he looks me in the eye, and he knows.
He doesn’t look like a vagrant or someoneyou would necessarily cross the street to avoid (although I very much felt atthat moment I’d love to bolt across the street). He did, however, have anun-nerving, knowing look which penetrated beyond the subtle aspect. He wascommunicating with me though his stare without a spoken word. He knew my truthand there was no escaping from this. Although I willed beyond anything toremove myself from this frozen nightmare, there was no movement to be had. Mylegs and feet betrayed me; they were frozen, motionless. They told my consciousmind you must stay here and listen, just stay put!
We both stood there, unsure who shouldstart the conversation first. There was so much to be said but how do you formthe words? How do you put sound and form to something which has lain dormantfor so many years? Once the words are spoken there is no way back. This mask Ihave hidden behind will crumble.
How do I contemplate the enormity ofde-masking myself, of being laid bare? I not only risk exposing myself butthere’s Janey and Michael to think of. They only know the masked version of me,the one I have carefully cultivated over the years.
In singing my solemn song, my truth, mylife, and that of my family, will be set on a new trajectory. Right there at 2a.m. on that Sunday morning I had a choice to make. Do I close the door andhope and pray that I can somehow shut the Pandora’s box? Or do I form the wordswhich in some distant part of my soul feel as though they’re already forming onmy tongue?
“Hello George, it’s been a long time.”
There, the words are out there beforethought or process interject. I have acknowledged his presence before me andthere is no going back now. I have started the conversation and the door willremain open. He acknowledges simply with “Thomas.”
He doesn’t need to add “you know why I’mhere.” Without any spoken word we both know why he’s here. He says it anyway …
“It’s time.”
Of course it’s time. I had been waitingfor this moment. Subconsciously waiting. Waiting on this ring of the bell forhim to tell me ‘it’s time.’
“It’s time.” Two words; two simple wordsbut profoundly powerful. I knew exactly what ‘it’s time’ for. It’s time to goback. To go back to the place of my boyhood, to face up to the dark places. HadI not (almost) mastered the art of illusion, I would have realised the date.Not just the date February
