Chapter 64

"MARCUS!"

Shawna's yell dragged him back in from the garden with his bag only half-packed, although the failing light had already stopped his training.

"What is it?" he asked, recognising the urgency in her tone.

"This is Phil." She pointed to the door to where a heavy-set figure stood dejectedly, breathing heavily and looking as though he had been in a fight.

"Hi, Phil," Marcus said after a pause, waiting for something more.

"Phil is Connor MacNamara's roommate," Shawna explained.

"He's the one that stuck up for Hope?"

"Not as much as I should have done," Phil admitted, wincing a little as he coughed.

"What hap-" Marcus started, but Shawna cut him off.

"He's also one of the people that was with Connor at Denise Caffey's party before Christmas," Shawna added quietly. Marcus eyes went flat and cold, and Phil stepped back, raising his hands.

"I... I went to the police today. I saw the article in the paper, and... I told them what I'd done."

"Is that why he did that to you?" Marcus voice was still cold as he tried to work his way through the sudden rush of emotions.

"He... I went after this."

"Why did he do it?" Shawna asked, having stepped around behind Marcus, trembling slightly against his back.

"I... He wanted me to bring Hope to him, and I wouldn't."

"What did he want Hope for?"

"He wanted to pay her back for writing that article. I came to warn her."

"She didn't write it," Marcus pointed out.

"It went in anonymously," Shawna paled. "Marcus, Hope's at choir practice." He ran.

Without thinking, he pushed past Phil in the doorway, launched himself down the stairs in a single bound, and turned left to head down the hill towards the university. The church, he knew, was somewhere beyond it, beyond the park, and he just ran.

Hurdling the gates at either end of the park took some effort, and he was out of breath but relieved as he pushed through the heavy doors of the church and slid to a halt on the tiled floor of the aisle, staring at the vicar praying at the altar.

"I'm looking for Hope," He blurted, gasping for breath.

"You've come to the right place." The vicar stood, slightly wary, and started to walk down the aisle. Marcus looked around, seeing that most of the lights were out and that it seemed everyone had gone.

"Where is she?"

"She's not here."

"You said this was the right place?"

"It was a joke. This is a church, this is where people come when they need some hope."

"I meant Hope Nakata. She sings in the choir."

"I know. I'm surprised it doesn't happen more often." Closer now, the gentle smile began to fade from the vicar's face. "What's the problem?"

"She's in trouble. Or she might be. I think someone's trying to hurt her."

"Is that what that's for?" He pointed to Marcus hand where he still clutched the tonfa he'd been training with.

"No, I was training. How long ago did she leave?"

"Ten minutes, perhaps. No more than that."

In the distance a loud, artificial squealing noise started up.

"She did say she had a personal alarm," The vicar observed, and Marcus sprinted off again.

The park was dark and confusing, the few audible references of nearby cars and distant people masked by the squealing alarm that had been tossed into the undergrowth nearby. Hope struggled against Connor's grip over her mouth, feeling her cheeks cut against her teeth. Jerked sideways she felt her neck click and jammed her foot backwards as she cleared the gate.

A muttered curse told her she'd hit him, but it wasn't hard enough to get him to let go, striking him low on the shin as she stumbled under his pull. He let go of her mouth, but as she tried to scream she was spun around and his fist punched into her stomach.

"Stupid chinky bitch. You couldn't just let it go, could you?" he hissed. He grabbed her hair and dragged her across the concrete path. She scrambled to get to her feet, but he jerked her sideways. She stumbled back to her knees again. She looked up and Connor loomed over her in the darkness. His silhouette was immense against the grey of the sky. For a moment she thought it was all about to end. She felt herself start to shrivel up inside, cringing away from the pain she knew was coming.

"HOPE!"

Marcus' voice cut across the park from somewhere nearby, bringing relieved tears to her eyes. She gasped for breath to answer him. She looked up and Connor was gone. Realising her chance, she forced herself up to her feet. Marcus appeared from around the corner, loping to a breathless halt a few steps away.

"Hope, are you alright?" he asked, leaning his arms on his thighs as he struggled for breath. Connor stepped out of the shadows nearby. He swung something heavy. It connected solidly with the back of Marcus head, the noise frighteningly loud.

Marcus staggered a step away, dropping to one knee. He put one hand down to steady himself. Connor swung again. Dizzily forcing himself inside the swing, Marcus managed to wrap his arm over the bat. Connor reached up and sprayed Hope's perfume bottle into his face.

"Marcus!" Hope managed to wheeze, but it was Connor's laugh that was audible over the noise of the alarm.

Marcus twisted away, catching Connor by surprise. Marcus tore the bat from his grip, but his eyes were tearing heavily and he could barely see. Connor reached into a pocket and pulled out a long knife. The blade caught the light of distant streetlamps, glinting orange. Marcus managed to get an arm in the way of a long overhand lunge, but it still drew a heavy red line down the outside of his forearm,. He had no chance of avoiding the heavy punch that followed, cannoning into the side of his head and dropping him to the ground.

Connor turned to Hope who was still struggling for breath. Panic and fear had added to the effect of the punch. He pushed her easily aside when she tried to pull him away from Marcus.

Unable to see clearly, Marcus' defensive punch barely glanced Connor's cheek as the heavier man lunged forward again with the knife. But it was enough to force the knife slightly wide, glancing off the side of Marcus' head.

"Connor." Hope finally managed to wheeze out, and he turned back, confident that Marcus was no longer a threat. Marcus foot drove up into his groin just as Hope swung the cricket bat two-handed into his ribs, driving him away.

As Marcus struggled to his feet, hands wrapped around his arm and shoulders in a bear hug. Unable to see, but with his head clearing from the effects of being hit with the bat, he balanced himself, dropped to one knee, and used the feel of his assailant to flip him onto his back. His arm was cocked back, ready to punch, when Hope's slim hands gripped his wrist tightly.