Belief

  BELIEF

  BELIEF

  The second book in

  the Marcus Kline trilogy

  CHRIS PARKER

  urbanepublications.com

  First published in Great Britain in 2017 by Urbane Publications Ltd

  Suite 3, Brown Europe House, 33/34 Gleaming Wood Drive, Chatham, Kent

  ME5 8RZ

  Copyright © Chris Parker, 2017

  The moral right of Chris Parker to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 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 both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN 978-1-909273-23-8

  MOBI 978-1-909273-25-2

  EPUB 978-1-909273-24-5

  Design and Typeset by Julie Martin

  Cover by Chandler Design Co.

  Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY

  urbanepublications.com

  The publisher supports the Forest Stewardship Council® (FSC®), the leading international forest-certification organisation. This book is made from acid-free paper from an FSC®-certified provider. FSC is the only forest-certification scheme supported by the leading environmental organisations, including Greenpeace.

  This one’s for Vic.

  Belief: noun

  An acceptance that something exists or is true, especially one without proof.

  Alice laughed. ‘There’s no use trying,’ she said.

  ‘One can’t believe impossible things.’

  ‘I daresay you haven’t had much practice,’ said the Queen. ‘When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.’

  Lewis Carroll

  ‘The solidity of the edge is next to the

  emptiness of the fall.’

  Epiah Khan

  Contents

  PART 1

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  PART 2

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  PART 3

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  47

  48

  49

  50

  51

  52

  53

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  PART 1

  DOUBT

  1

  There are two kinds of dream.

  We experience both kinds.

  The first is the kind that reflects something that has already happened. It occurs whenever the subconscious takes a memory and re-presents it in its own peculiar fashion, adding twists and turns and changes.

  This kind of dream prompts the question, ‘What do you think that means?’ There are libraries and shops filled with books promising to explain the symbolism these dreams are supposed to contain.

  The second kind of dream provides the seed for future growth. It occurs when we are seeking an answer to a question or a solution. It throws up the Eureka moment, the flash of insight that provides the unexpected and unbelievably brilliant resolution.

  This is the kind of dream that prompts the question, ‘Where the hell did that come from?’ Only it didn’t come from any kind of hell at all. Oh, no. It came from the very opposite place. From the almighty subconscious, daring us to believe that we have more power than we can possibly imagine.

  Both kinds of dream have one thing in common. They are both influenced by our beliefs. They are influenced by our beliefs about our own personal strengths and weaknesses, about our relationships, our society, and our planet. They are influenced by our beliefs about the power of the past, the possibilities in the present and the nature of the future.

  Ultimately they are influenced by our beliefs about the meaning of it all.

  Our dreams, then, are no different from our waking lives. Both are shaped, delivered and evaluated by our beliefs. We create and then view our world through the prism of our beliefs. We all do this. Everyone of us. Every moment of every day.

  That’s how powerful beliefs are. More powerful than anything else human beings create. More powerful even than the most powerful nuclear weapon. Actually, beliefs are the invisible trigger we use to justify firing such weapons. More than that, they are the trigger we fire every time we set out to cause any form of deliberate harm.

  Beliefs. The biggest, the best and, sometimes, the baddest of everything there is.

  Of course, as you read that you are forced to come to one of three conclusions.

  One, that you don’t believe me.

  Two, that you do believe me.

  Three, that you are undecided.

  I should warn you that if you chose the third option you will, as you read what follows, be forced to get off the fence and settle for one of the other two.

  Actually, to be honest with you, you will be forced to choose option number two. You will have to agree with me. You will come to realise that beliefs rule. You will find yourself smiling, somewhat ironically perhaps, at the delicious paradox that states:

  The beliefs we create, create the world we believe in. And that’s a fact.

  And it is.

  Pure and simple.

  For better or for worse.

  2

  Marcus Kline stared at his computer screen as he sat in the almost complete darkness of his study and read the words again.

  For better or for worse.

  One hour ago he had begun writing his new book, Belief. Now the first few hundred words were written.

  Marcus stared at the computer screen and wondered if the opening page or so was too abrupt. Too challenging. Too personal, perhaps?

  For better or for worse.

  When he and Anne-Marie had married ten years ago today – it was now twenty minutes passed midnight – they had designed their own, unique ceremony. It had been non-religious in nature obviously; a very personal sharing of emotions and commitment, with readings and music and promises from a range of sources, some created by Marcus himself.

  They had divided the ceremony into two distinct parts. The one they shared with others and the one they shared only with each other. It was during this secret, intimate act, performed late at night on a private beach on the East Coast of Malaysia, with a full moon casting its light onto the South China Sea they shared the only vow that could be found in the Christian marriage service.

  For better or for worse.

  Marcus eased back in his chair, the computer screen temporarily forgotten, his eyes closing as he relived the experience. It took only a moment for the memory to spark the question Just who am I writing
this book for?

  Marcus’s eyes opened automatically. His heartbeat quickened.

  When Anne-Marie had told him, twenty-four hours after the killer Ethan Hall had been shot and captured, that she had life-threatening ovarian cancer, that she needed him to use his skills to help her combat the illness, Marcus had been almost overcome with fear.

  It was a fear laced with guilt and self-recrimination, combining fear of loss with fear of failure, fear that he wasn’t the person he believed himself to be with the fear that he was.

  I know who I am, he thought. I’m a supremely talented, selfish bastard who has built a global reputation as the world’s greatest Communicator and Influencer whilst forgetting that I promised for better or for worse.

  The fear Marcus had felt when Anne-Marie first told him of her illness, the fear he still felt, was the nearest thing to a perfect fear he could dare to imagine. Made perfect by the fact that, when Anne-Marie broke the news and made her plea, he had been on the brink of telling her that he wanted a divorce.

  Only he hadn’t. Not given her illness and her need for help. Not when the unbelievable stress of being targeted by Ethan Hall had made him begin to consider and question so many things about himself and his relationships. Not when things were clearly so, so, bad.

  And now, six months later, here he was.

  Here they were.

  Living in rented accommodation for the first time since their student days. They had found it impossible to stay in their much-loved detached house in the Park in the centre of Nottingham city. Ethan Hall had come within minutes of killing Marcus in that very house and his presence had infested every room. It was a presence they could not shift.

  So they had moved out and rented. Moved to the outskirts of the village of Woodborough. Anne-Marie had wanted to be able to look out of the windows and see fields and nature and space. Marcus was only ever going to go along with her wishes. He knew that environment was a powerful influencing force and he needed every ally he could get to help him save his wife.

  He had, he acknowledged, played his part in making things worse between them. The illness had then taken it to a whole new level. Now he was going to prove to Anne-Marie that there was nothing so bad that they couldn’t beat it together.

  He owed her that.

  He needed it for himself.

  He was a selfish bastard.

  And the world was changing. He couldn’t help but feel it was for the worse. He couldn’t help but think that in the future his skills would be needed more than ever. He had to change to meet it. He had to save his wife first. If he couldn’t do these things, he really wasn’t sure he would be able to live with himself.

  Marcus Kline nodded in acknowledgement of his self-evaluation. As he did so his mind instinctively went in search of something more positive. It didn’t have time.

  His silent introspection was cut short abruptly when his wife began screaming.

  3

  It was a dream.

  The first kind.

  The sort in which a past event is re-presented as a nightmare.

  Anne-Marie’s nightmare, playing like an unwanted photo essay, was a collection of images showing – reliving – all the medical procedures she had been forced to endure.

  In the dream they flashed through her mind with ever- increasing speed. The drips and the drugs. The tubes and the tests. The catheters and the cuts. The x-rays and the monitoring. The scans, the stockings and the sampling. The pain and the painkillers. The biopsies and the blood.

  The great reveal.

  The great removal.

  Ovaries and womb. Omentum and tumour – as much of that as they could cut out.

  They called it interval debulking surgery.

  She felt her womanhood had been ripped away, sacrificed in the hope she might live a longer life. In the belief she could find a new sense of identity.

  The dream forced Anne-Marie awake, crying and screaming, as it always did.

  Marcus was there within seconds. ‘It’s going to get better. I promise.’ He lay on the bed, his arms encircling her.

  Anne-Marie felt his breath on her face as he spoke. She could hear the confidence and control in his voice. She could feel the strong beat of his heart, faster than normal but reassuring nonetheless. She pressed against his chest. His left hand moved into the small of her back as she fought to control her breathing, to get the images from her mind.

  ‘I don’t know who I am anymore,’ she managed eventually. ‘I can’t get back... I can’t get back what I’ve lost, who I was. I don’t know how to fight this.’

  Anne-Marie felt Marcus’s silent inhalation.

  ‘It’s only natural,’ he said gently, his left hand beginning to move in a tight, clockwise motion, applying gentle pressure to the base of her spine. ‘The key is to be accepting of how you are right now, and to believe that your sense of who you are will resurface more positively than ever before. It’s still there, inside. You are here. Can you feel it?’

  ‘Yes.’ The word escaped before Anne-Marie even had chance to decide what question she was answering.

  ‘You have to avoid viewing your own body as an opponent,’ Marcus said, his voice softening into little more than a whisper. ‘Truly. You have to avoid going to war with yourself, because war creates collateral damage and if your own mind and body are the battlegrounds, then the collateral damage has to occur there. You know this. We keep talking about it.’

  ‘It’s just too easy to think that I’m fighting for my life.’

  ‘When the truth is, you’re living through a new experience. An experience that’s asking you to focus on the here and now, to breathe in the moment, to dissolve the artificial structures of past and future. An experience that’s urging you to be gentle with yourself, to realise, remember and engage with the fact that most of your body is healthy and well. Go into this deeply, with curiosity, respect and care, just as when taking a photo of a new subject.’

  ‘I know how to do that.’

  ‘Of course. It’s an important part of who you are. A very special part. Only you can share your experience in such a special way. Remember that. Only you, right?’

  ‘Yes. Only me.’

  That morning Anne-Marie had walked out into the fields, into the gently sloping valley surrounding the house, and taken a series of photos of the horizon. She wanted a new and meaningful addition to the very special photo essay titled Far from the Shore: The Life and Death of an Ovarian Cancer she was creating and sharing through her Facebook page. She was supporting this with a carefully edited diary and a selection of thoughts posted via her Blog and Twitter account.

  In the months since Anne-Marie had started posting, she had attracted significant attention and support. It helped, of course, that as an internationally famous photographer she had many friends in the media and the arts who reported and promoted both her story and her work.

  None of them, though, could possibly do for her the things her husband could. None of them could help find her new self, the one capable of recovery. She was, she thought, blessed to be married to a man like him. This man. Her man. She just prayed he was here because of love rather than obligation.

  ‘Go back to sleep,’ Marcus whispered. ‘I’ll keep the dream away.’

  Anne-Marie closed her eyes and pressed even closer against him. She tried not to think of their future. She concentrated instead on her breathing and his closeness and the smell of his skin and the feel of the bed.

  I need to believe, she reminded herself.

  4

  In a coma there is no space for either beliefs or dreams.

  That was Ethan Hall’s experience.

  He had been in what the medical staff had called a coma for nearly six months. For him it had just been an altered state of consciousness. Throughout that time he had been able to hear everything people said about him. He could feel whenever they touched him. With his eyes closed, he could even feel them staring at him.

  More incredible
still, he had known when he was awake and when he was asleep. Before the experience, it had never occurred to him that people who were comatose could actually fall asleep. But now he knew it to be so.

  Only, during his coma-sleep he felt he was entering a different world. If the coma had taken him away from the waking state, sleeping within his coma took him one significant step further. It created another layer of separation. Ethan welcomed it. He was used to being remote, to being distant and different from those around him.

  He had realised many years ago that he experienced the everyday world of nature, society and people far more fully and richly than anyone else alive. He had become accustomed to the fact that he could see and hear the realities of life in ways no one else could. He knew he was unique and that he possessed a unique understanding and insight into everything and everyone he had ever encountered. Because of that he feared nothing. Because of that he sank willingly into the special depths of his coma-sleep.

  The visions were waiting for him. They were not dreams. They were far more pure than any dream could ever be. They were the future. His future. Shown with clarity and precision and certainty.

  Ethan Hall did not believe in fate. He did not accept that the course of a person’s life was mapped out with unavoidable inevitability. If that was the nature of life it meant some people had been born only so that he could kill them. And, significant as he was, he couldn’t bring himself to consider that possibility with any degree of seriousness.

  No, his victims died because he chose them and then made it happen. That’s how life worked. You made a decision and then you did whatever was necessary to turn it into reality. That was one of the few things he and Marcus Kline would have agreed upon.

  Ethan knew that the visions he encountered in his coma-sleep were not the detailed foretellings of a well-laid cosmic plan, but rather the workings of his own subconscious showing him just what he was capable of achieving and how precisely to go about it.

  So he felt secure and safe within his coma and, because the visions showed him what lay ahead, it never once crossed his mind he would stay in that state forever. In many ways, the coma was the most pure experience he had ever known. It did not require any form of consideration or interpretation. It provided freedom from the need for analysis or belief. It was simply was.