Chapter 10
THE BEACH PUERTO POLLENSA JULY 1973
The sun was brutal. It dried the sweat on Bill Douglas’s chest as fast as it leaked from his pores. Hell, it was July in Mallorca. - Heaven on Earth at this time of year. Lying on the sand, feet just touching the warm and yet cooler water of the Pollensa bay – God! what could be better than this. The half naked girl purring gently at his side, the cold San Miguel beer alternately in his hand and at his lips. Bliss!
His mind drifted sleepily on thoughts about the place he had chosen to escape to for some rest and recreation. “Tell no one” he'd convinced himself. “My secret place (discovered years earlier on a teenage holiday in 1968). No one even recognises that Puerto de Pollensa exists other than as a drive through on the way to the beaches of Formentor”.
Formentor of the famous blue and transparent water. You can see the crabs and fish through that water as if looking through glass. At certain times of the late afternoon the bottom becomes pink like the sky and it seems like you’re looking up, not down.
Back in 1968, he had made much of this beach at Formentor, had swam for hours in its warmth and transparency. He and his pal Davy, had spent all day there, sun bathing, snorkel diving and playing at hunt the crab. At the end of a glorious day, and thirsty as it is possible to be, they had done the obvious and stopped in the Puerto itself.
By the time they reached the town, the sun had been setting, huge, mind numbingly huge, and very red. It was beautiful! The bar they found faced the small Pollensa harbour with its combination of fishing boats and sharper holiday craft. It had a wonderful, gently sloping beach on the other side of the breakwater and he noted that it was a mere three hundred yards from the table they were sitting at. His eye for detail also subconsciously observed that this haven was protected from any sudden or quirky North breeze by a ridge of “mountains” a mile out. This place was God's country he decided right there and then. The first two beers never touched the sides!
On a whim, and after several more San Miguels, both boys decided to see if the bar had any rooms, and on the positive response decided to stay the night there. Two rooms – ah yes - always two rooms. They were on a mission to deflower as many Spanish virgins as possible in their two weeks of freedom from the ties of responsible behaviour.
Now reaching over to stroke the belly of the beautiful and sleeping Heather, he recalled how the bar those same 300 yards away had quenched his thirst for illicit beer and sexual exploration those 5 years ago, and it was still here now unchanged over those years and the 100 or so before them..
The owner had glanced at him this morning and the eyed the topless and lovely small breasted girl on his arm the way only an old Spanish guy can, and still get away with. A lecherous look with one eyebrow raised and a twinkle in the eye that says “I'd love to take her away from you and fuck her, but I admire your taste even more, so I won't do what I could (being Spanish and therefore a far superior lover than you), and I will leave her to you alone”.
He had eyed her for only a second or two, glancing back at the fit and smiling young man. Slowly recognition dawned and he grabbed an old and discoloured photograph (from amongst hundreds) off his wall behind the bar and said in excited local dialect, “fuck its you, you bastard, come back to haunt me again” and he laughed and jumped round to hug the two of them, all lecherous thoughts gone now. Only genuine laughter and pleasure that the rogue 17 year old had come back as a grown adult. “Maria, Maria come here and see who's in our Pollensa for the love of God.”
Twenty year old Maria, (God she was) dark haired, full breasted and stunning had stuck her head out of the kitchen hatch and immediately broke into a huge smile with cheeks blushing incredibly as she recalled her virginity lost. If the old man had realised this one salient fact, then no doubt the welcome would have been a different kettle of fish!
Her black eyes shifted to the blue eyed curly haired blond, and they had flashed with whatever thought held her mind in that instant. He had been relieved to see that the girls simply smiled at each other in the way that only girls who had shared a guy could. No words were exchanged and in moments they were sharing a group hug, all of them dancing in a circle, choking on beer and laughter.
Now in heaven on the beach, memories of the then 15 year old Maria were dancing in his head again as he lay there getting aroused in the Spanish sun. “Maybe tonight would be a threesome,” he chuckled to himself, glad that Heather was sleeping or she’d have caught the drift and given him a slap!
All could not have been better other than for those fucking Spanish beach flies!
This one was both persistent and troublesome . It had buzzed him all morning without ever landing on him, but this time it erred in its quest for salt and touched down lightly on his chest.
“Got you, you little fuck” he thought as he sat up and slapped his hand to kill the little bastard.
The crack of flesh on flesh and of Heather's head exploding in a mass of brains and blood merged into one time warping moment of gore and horror.
Brain and body recognised immediately and simultaneously that but for that fucking fly, he'd be the one lying there in the sun with no life and no fucking head.
His movement was swift and decisive and he vanished below the surface of the water as if in one breath he had decided to disappear from this Earth.
No thought of the dead girl or of his predicament. Thoughts of Heather would come later. And possibly play in his mind forever. For now though, only survival instinct and getting the hell out of here fast were the things that mattered.No dwelling on considerations of revenge or even anger in his mind. Only the calm of and control of mind over body as he swan underwater to the far side of the jetty and the comparative safety of his hired speedboat and the open Mediterranean Sea.
The craft moved like a haze under full power and he knew with as much certainty as he knew he had survived, that those of a special kind had tried and failed in their task this morning. He remembered to thank God for flies
He'd be in Ibizza in an hour or less and vanish into the hordes of Club Med “riff raff”. Not used to luck for a saviour, his anger turned hot then cold. “Vengeance is better eaten cold! - or left in the refrigerator to marinate and age. To be enjoyed at leisure,” he thought..
HEATHER – THE AFTERMATH - THE BEACH PUERTO POLLENSA JULY 1973
The Spirit that had been Heather Doyle soared ever upwards in the blue above the killing beach. She had no fear whatsoever of death. In fact death had no meaning or consequence for her.
She was an old soul!.
She and the others of her genes had served and loved the Douglas men for century after century. She knew she was destined to do the same again in the future. She knew not the name she would have, nor the body she would enliven, but at this sublime moment between Heaven and Earth, she rushed to complete the things important to her in this the last few moments given to her in this particular world and in this time machine of Earthly life.
There were four critical items.
It was crucial to her that she visit with Bill Douglas one last time. Not because she had physical needs any more, but because she wanted to plant in his core and essence the necessity to ensure the safety and care of Holly, her daughter of 4 years of age. The girl’s father was hard working but hard drinking too, and since they had divorced, his attention was less than consistent to the welfare of his daughter.
She drifted through Bill Douglas’ mind like a whisper in the dark. He was hardly conscious of her presence deep inside him. The voice he heard in his head being as usual attributed to his conscience. He determined as he continued to thrust onward to Ibizza that Holly would remain part of his life and concern in the future.
This seed planted, she moved on with the speed of thought through both time and distance, arriving in the bedroom of her sleeping girl in Dundee. This time words as old as the time she remembered were gently planted in the mind of her beautiful wee lady.
“Hush ye, Hush ye – don’t you fret ye. The Black Douglas, he’ll no forget ye”
The girl, a Doyle’s blood in her veins smiled in her sleep and dreamed of sunny days and warm Spanish waters. It was as if at that moment she was there on the boat with the Douglas!
Lastly but perhaps most cynically, she felt compelled to visit the man who had killed her host at Puerto Pollensa..
Not literally fired the shot, but with his power and position had coldly arranged the attempt on the love of her past life.
Moscow was warm that July night. Sticky and humid with the people clammy in their beds. She of course felt nothing of this, and looked down and the sleeping man as he tossed and turned in his search for dry areas of the light sheet covering him.
She had no hatred of this man, only pity, knowing that he was doomed. He would never know when it would be if left untouched in his sleep. So as was her nature, she planted the third and most unsettling seed to haunt him in his sleeping and waking hours from this day forth.
“Испугайте Вас, Испугайте Вас, Бойтесь очень Вы. Черный Дуглас - приезжает, чтобы убить Вас”.
(“Fear you, Fear you, Be afraid very much you. Black Douglas – comes to kill you.”).
Her tasks completed she moved on into the ethereal dimension and became part once more of the mists of time.
Vladimir Putin continued to worry the bedclothes all night, and from now on, even in his waking hours his mind would resonate with the husky female voice now deep in his Psyche.