Chapter 11
The gravel was hard and rough against his cheek. The scratch there was painful and stung. Slowly, and with pain coursing through his whole body, Lazarus pushed himself up and turned so he was sitting with his back against the cold, hard marble of the pond's edge.
His body was wracked with pain, but his mind seemed clear. The face in the water had taunted him. That cruel, smiling, mocking face had made him feel that everything he had experienced was just a game being played by a greater force than himself.
His body was wracked with pain, but his mind seemed clear. The face in the water had taunted him. That cruel, smiling, mocking face had made him feel that everything he had experienced was just a game being played by a greater force than himself.
His shirt, which the doctor had loaned to him, was ripped and soaked in foul smelling, stagnant water and it clung to him, becoming almost invisible so that his well defined, muscular torso revealed itself beneath. He took a deep breath and tried to stand. Using his right arm as a lever, he pushed himself up and looked around. It was eerily quiet. Although the sun was shining and a few puffy, white clouds dotted the sky, not a single bird was singing.
The only noise he could hear was the crunch of the gravel under his feet and his heavy breathing. He sat down on the pond's wide marble edge and tried to compose himself. He closed his eyes and concentrated on slowing his breathing. After a few moments he had calmed himself enough to open his eyes and refocus on his surroundings.
The garden was a shambles. Proud looking ornaments and small statues were now overgrown. Splashes of colour were intermixed with the brown of rotting vegetation and plants. Weeds grew everywhere, even the pond, which he imagined in its prime would have shone white in the sunlight seemed grey and drab.
Moss was growing around the base and the water was filled with rotting leaves from to many autumns. The ripples he had caused earlier had now receded and once again it reflected his face clearly. Fortunately this time, the mocking face did not appear and he took a step or two back from the pond to look at the statue more closely.
The statue was of a woman. She stood tall, strong and proud with a smile on her cold, marble lips. In her arms she held an infant, just a few months old. Lazarus could not tell if the child was a boy or a girl, but the baby was staring up at the woman intently. Lazarus wondered to himself if the sculpture was of the Virgin Mary and the infant Christ, but the clothes the woman was wearing indicated that this was a contemporary piece.
He mused to himself that the person who paid for this to be created was probably well off indeed and then he remembered where he was and who had lived here.
He was also suddenly aware that he was not alone.
"Its my mother" a voice said.
Lazarus spun around to find herself face to face with Robert Foxworth.
The only noise he could hear was the crunch of the gravel under his feet and his heavy breathing. He sat down on the pond's wide marble edge and tried to compose himself. He closed his eyes and concentrated on slowing his breathing. After a few moments he had calmed himself enough to open his eyes and refocus on his surroundings.
The garden was a shambles. Proud looking ornaments and small statues were now overgrown. Splashes of colour were intermixed with the brown of rotting vegetation and plants. Weeds grew everywhere, even the pond, which he imagined in its prime would have shone white in the sunlight seemed grey and drab.
Moss was growing around the base and the water was filled with rotting leaves from to many autumns. The ripples he had caused earlier had now receded and once again it reflected his face clearly. Fortunately this time, the mocking face did not appear and he took a step or two back from the pond to look at the statue more closely.
The statue was of a woman. She stood tall, strong and proud with a smile on her cold, marble lips. In her arms she held an infant, just a few months old. Lazarus could not tell if the child was a boy or a girl, but the baby was staring up at the woman intently. Lazarus wondered to himself if the sculpture was of the Virgin Mary and the infant Christ, but the clothes the woman was wearing indicated that this was a contemporary piece.
He mused to himself that the person who paid for this to be created was probably well off indeed and then he remembered where he was and who had lived here.
He was also suddenly aware that he was not alone.
"Its my mother" a voice said.
Lazarus spun around to find herself face to face with Robert Foxworth.
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