The Man Who Fell

  The Man Who Fell

  Greg Curtis

  The Man Who Fell

  Greg Curtis

  Digital Edition

  June 2020

  Acknowledgements:

  Cover Art: The original brilliant graphic was purchased from 123RF.

  Amikishiyev/123rf.com

  Dedication:

  As with all my work this book is dedicated to my family without whose support and encouragement I could not write a word.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue 4

  Chapter One 7

  Chapter Two 11

  Chapter Three 16

  Chapter Four 20

  Chapter Five 24

  Chapter Six 30

  Chapter Seven 41

  Chapter Eight 45

  Chapter Nine 49

  Chapter Ten 53

  Chapter Eleven 60

  Chapter Twelve 63

  Chapter Thirteen 68

  Chapter Fourteen 73

  Chapter Fifteen 79

  Chapter Sixteen 82

  Chapter Seventeen 86

  Chapter Eighteen 92

  Chapter Nineteen 97

  Chapter Twenty 102

  Chapter Twenty One 109

  Chapter Twenty Two 113

  Chapter Twenty Three 116

  Chapter Twenty Four 122

  Chapter Twenty Five 125

  Chapter Twenty Six 131

  Chapter Twenty Seven 133

  Chapter Twenty Eight 136

  Chapter Twenty Nine 141

  Chapter Thirty 149

  Chapter Thirty One 155

  Chapter Thirty Two 159

  Chapter Thirty Three 166

  Prologue

  It was a good day to be alive, Dale thought as he stepped into the lift. His clients were happy with the designs for their new house. More than that they had asked for him to take it to the next step and project manage the build. On a three million dollar house that was likely to earn him fifty thousand or so at a minimum. Not a bad sum of money for a boy from the wrong side of the tracks. Even Celeste's family would have to agree it was a good deal. Maybe it wasn't in the billions of dollars they normally dealt with, but it wasn't chicken feed either.

  And of course he would get new customers based on this design. People were starting to respect the name Dale Fall. The rich and famous were starting to knock on his door.

  In time, he thought, he would be able to buy a penthouse apartment like the one they lived in. It irked him that her parents had had to buy it for them as a wedding present. Or rather a wedding present for Celeste. He lived in it with her, but the apartment was in her name. Dale suspected that that was because her parents were thinking that the marriage wouldn't last, and they didn't want a dirt poor architect getting half the thirty million dollar property. It was the same reason that they'd insisted on a prenup. Celeste hadn't wanted it. But her parents had insisted. The Darrens were very protective of their money. He supposed that that was part of the way you became billionaires. But he hadn't really minded. He wanted to make his own path in life, not live off someone else's money.

  Celeste would be pleased too. She loved that he was an architect. That he specialised in the aesthetics of homes as well as the function. That he won awards for his work. And this he was sure, would win him another award. For someone who was still three years off his thirtieth birthday, he was doing extremely well. Better than all his classmates. Most of them had got entry level jobs in architectural firms, and were still sweating away at all hours, for a basic salary and a faint hope of promotion. They hadn't had the guts to go out on their own.

  But even more than the money he was making and the awards he kept getting, the satisfaction he got from designing buildings that were not just practical but stunning was what drove him. Though to be honest the awards dinners were great too. If only because his wife would be there beside him, looking gorgeous in another amazing gown, cheering him on.

  He was a very lucky man. Which was why he'd taken the afternoon off and arrived home with a bunch of roses and a booking for a very expensive restaurant. Triumphs should be celebrated. And he planned on celebrating this one properly. Maybe it was time to even start talking about children. Celeste had been making noises. And why not, he thought? Why the hell not?

  Then the lift door opened and he stepped out into the foyer of their apartment, tried not to wince at the gaudy tastelessness of the super-wealthy who'd furnished it, dropped his satchel on the waiting chair and walked into the home.

  “Hey love,” he called out.

  No one answered him. Dale was surprised by that. He was sure Celeste had said she would be doing nothing much today. She would be home. And even if she was out with friends or somewhere, shouldn't the maid be here? But he couldn't see Dorrie either. Maybe it was the maid's day off?

  He walked out further into the living area, past the gold gilded couches that he hated towards the dining room and the kitchen beyond. Maybe she was there. Celeste liked to cook – which was good since he liked to eat.

  But he didn't make it that far as he spotted her lacy underwear draped over the back of an elegant French armchair, and he suddenly realised that she was home. She was waiting for him! Someone must have told her that he was coming home early.

  Eager, he turned and headed along the hallway to the master bedroom thinking that this was really going to be a fantastic day.

  Until he reached the bedroom door and unexpectedly heard screaming. It was muted by the walls and the heavy door, but he was certain it was Celeste screaming. And then came the sound of a man roaring. Literally roaring like a wild animal.

  Dale panicked, tried the door handle and discovered it wouldn't turn, and for a split second he didn't know what to do. Until he realised there was only one thing he could do. His wife was in trouble! He charged the door with everything he had.

  He hit it hard, somehow busting the hardware apart and forcing it open and then started yelling at the top of his lungs, still with a bunch of flowers in his hand. And then he stopped dead in shock as he discovered that it wasn't what he'd thought. She wasn't being attacked. She was being screwed by some hard bodied guy with tattoos everywhere.

  “No!” He yelled out in shock, unable to believe what he was seeing. And she cried out in rapture while the hard bodied man roared some more.

  “No!” He tried to deny it. Tried to tell himself it wasn't happening. That she wasn't screwing so tattooed gym freak in their bed. That he wasn't watching her climax in the arms of another man.

  But he was.

  “Get out!” She suddenly screamed angrily at him. “Get the fuck out!”

  But he couldn't get out. He couldn't move. His feet were frozen to the floor. And his eyes wouldn't look away. They couldn't. And the only words that could make it out of his mouth were more denials. For some reason he just couldn't stop yelling “no” at them.

  And there was more. Even in the midst of this nightmare, it was worse. Her face wasn't normal. She was bone white everywhere, except the cheeks which were burning with some sort of orange fire. The same fire that was in her fingertips and leaching into the back of the tattooed freak. She wasn't human. Because that wasn't human. It was … alien! She was alien! But all he could do was keep yelling “no” at them. Over and over again.

  “I said fuck off!” She yelled at him between gasps of pleasure. And he'd never heard a human voice that loud. So loud it was like a foghorn, almost deafening him.

  But still he stood there, unable to think.

  Then the tattooed gym freak suddenly bounded out of the bed, moving faster than Dale would have thought was possible, and grabbed him by the neck. A moment later he was being hoisted off the ground, twisted sidewise and hurled backwards.

&nbs
p; Dale hit the bedroom wall hard. So hard that he went right through it and ended up crashing into the hallway. So hard that he was sure bones had broken. And when he hit the floor, the only thing he could feel was pain.

  “Yes! Hurry!” Celeste screamed excitedly from the bed. “Throw him out!”

  Somewhere in his pain, Dale heard that, and he wanted to scream something back at her. Except that he didn't know what. Because he still couldn't seem to make sense of anything except that he was hurting. He couldn't breathe. His back was broken.

  But even before he could think of anything the tattooed gym freak was on him again, picking him up like he was nothing, and running along the hallway with him above his head. And then he hurled him again, and Dale realised he was going to hit another wall.

  But he didn't. He hit a window. The huge picture window at the end of the hallway. He heard the sound of glass shattering, felt pieces of it dig deep into him, and then unbelievably he saw the outside of the building, getting further and further away from him. How was that possible? He couldn't be outside the building. It didn't make sense. But then the broken window began to rise higher and higher above him, with an angry naked man standing there on the other side of it, still roaring at him, and the truth hit him.

  He was falling! Dale realised that as he started tumbling out of control, being buffeted by the wind, and seeing the ground so far below. But getting closer. So much closer. He was falling to his death! He screamed in terror, but it didn't help. And even in the middle of his panic he didn't understand. Nothing about this made any sense.

  And he still had a huge bunch of roses in his hand.

  This had been such a good day he thought as something big and black started racing towards him at ungodly speed. Something that he knew was going to hurt. And now he was going to die!

  Chapter One

  Police at the door were never a good sign. And they definitely weren't the sight that Dale wanted to wake up to. But as he stumbled down the stairs and saw them through the patterned glass windows on the sides of the door, he guessed he had no choice but to see what they wanted. So against his better judgement he continued walking down the stairs, then crossed the living area to open the door.

  “Officers?” He blinked at the brightness of the morning sun.

  “Mr. Fall?”

  “Yeah.” There was no point in denying his name he thought. Or anything else for that matter. He'd done nothing wrong in the three and a bit years since he'd arrived in this country. Actually he'd done nothing at all if he was honest.

  “We're looking for a girl.” One of the two officers pushed a picture in front of him.

  “What's she done?” He asked as he tried to focus on the picture. But it was just too close and he was too hungover. Still the blur didn't look familiar. It didn't really look like anyone he'd notice. She was pretty enough he supposed, but in a nondescript way. Not that he thought about women since the attack. Every time he let his thoughts travel in that direction, he started drinking. It was the best way to deal with the panic.

  “Run away. She's from the Pacific Centre.”

  “Oh!” He knew the name. It was some sort of mental institution – though they probably had a more appropriate name for such places – for the rich and famous. “She doesn't look familiar.”

  “But her car's in your yard.”

  “It is?!” That surprised him. “Where?” He looked as far as he could see, but it wasn't in the grassy bit. Which meant it had to be on the other side of the trees, hidden from view.

  He'd bought this property when he'd come to New Zealand three and a bit years before, in part because of its large section. Two acres. An acre of front yard and a second acre for the back yard. He liked that it was rural and his neighbours didn't bother him. But at some point he knew he was going to have to do something about the trees. They were turning into a forest. Blocking his view of the road. And starting to cover over the drive.

  “By the gate.”

  “Fine. Show me.” He stepped between them and then out onto the front porch, past the wrought iron trellis work that surrounded the front of the house like a giant bird cage and then he started walking along the drive, leaving the two of them to catch up. But it was a long walk and they had plenty of time to catch him and talk. Or rather for them to interrogate him as they really wanted to do.

  “So what were you doing last night?”

  “Same thing I do most nights,” he answered the man. “I watched a little telly, drank a few beers and fell asleep.” He didn't have an alibi. But then he hadn't expected to need one. And he still hadn't done anything wrong. Besides, did they think something bad had happened to the girl? They hadn't said anything.

  “So, you didn't see anyone?”

  “The only thing I saw last night was the inside of my eyelids!” And strangely he could still see them, even now that his eyes were open!

  Soon though he didn't have any more to say as he saw the car. It was an orange junker with more rust than metal, parked underneath a small copse of trees off the side of his drive – if the dirt track leading to his house could be called a drive.

  “Oh crap!” He swore at it. “I don't suppose you guys want to do me a favour and take this thing away?” He had a feeling that towing it was going to be expensive. “It might have evidence of something in it.” But the only evidence he suspected it would have was evidence of years of neglect.

  Which kind of struck him as strange. If she was a runaway from the Pacific Centre, shouldn't she have at least had a better car?

  “So you don't recognise the car?”

  “No. I don't recognise it any more than the girl. And I don't know how long it's been here. I mean look where it is. I could drive past this spot a hundred times and not see it. I've never noticed it before. Feel free to dust it for prints or whatever.” If rust could hold fingerprints that was.

  He thought about saying more, not that he really knew what to say, when he was distracted by the sound of branches rustling. And there was no wind. Puzzled, he looked up, then regretted it as the pain behind his eyes abruptly burst into angry life. But at least he'd found the girl.

  “Officers?” He pointed at her, lodged half way up a pine tree with a pair of binoculars around her neck, wondering what the hell she was doing there.

  “Damn!” She cursed at him. “What did you have to do that for?!”

  “What did you have to be on my property for?” he replied. Then he thought for a moment. “Never mind. Don't answer that.” He waved dismissively at her. “Just get off my property, take that rust heap with you, and don't come back. You're trespassing!”

  “And you're Dale Fall,” she shot back. “A bit of an ironic name don't you think.”

  “That's what it says on my power bills,” he grunted at her, guessing she knew the rest. “So been reading my mail?”

  “You fell thirty stories and survived,” she continued. And then she pulled out a phone and started snapping pictures.

  “Correction, I didn't fall, I was pushed, and I survived because I landed on an awning. And I still broke a lot of bones. Survived is a strong word. It's not as if I just landed on my feet and walked away!”

  Of course he'd broken a lot more than bones in that fall. His marriage had broken apart. It sort of had to when his wife was screaming at her tattooed freak of a lover to throw him out. The case might not have gone to trial, but looking back he knew she had meant it. She'd wanted the freak to kill him. And the freak had wanted it too – if he'd wanted anything at all other than to get back to screwing her. Dale had just been someone in the way of his pleasure. And his business had been broken too. Mostly because while he'd been lying in a hospital bed for months on end, no one had been running it. And for a while he'd thought he'd broken his mind. Because the things he'd seen that day had been beyond belief. Beyond all reason.

  Maybe worst of all though, he'd lost his privacy. In one moment he'd gone from being a simple award winning architect with a good business to bein
g the man who'd been hurled out of a thirty story building by his wife's lover. He could have stayed in New York he supposed, and tried to rebuild his business, but when everyone knew his name and wanted to hear his story, what was the point? There had been only one thing to do after he'd finally been discharged from hospital. Leave the country. Go somewhere where he wasn't known, and start over.

  Except that he hadn't started over. He'd bought a property with a couple of acres of land and set about drinking himself into an early grave. In three long years there was only one house design he'd engaged in – modelling the back of the one he lived in. Though that wasn't totally true. He had an online business. But it wasn't the same as seeing clients and designing homes for them.

  “I remember that!” One of the police officers, announced suddenly. “You're that guy?! Dale Fell Down! Pretty amazing!”

  “Not so amazing when you're spending months in hospital in a full body cast,” he replied unhappily. “And it's Fall!” He kept hoping people would forget that damned name! And the others! He particularly hated “Birdman”. “Get her down, get her off my property and that junker with her please. I'm going back to bed.”