This is the continuation of my freewritemadness/NaNoWriMo story.
Catch up with the previous chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23part1, 23Part2, 23Part3, 23Part4, 24, 25Part1, 25Part2, 26Part1, 26Part2, 27Part1
…
I am using 
Today’s prompts are: follow and a Photo by Dose Juice on Unsplash
As usual I started with the freewrite prompt and used themostdangerouswritingapp.com to write the first five minutes:
The many torments of Tiny Earl - Chapter 27 (Part Two)
They sat in silence for a while after that. Glenn was trying to get his head around what was happening, who Abigail was, and whether he was part of the problem or the solution.
He was starting to worry that he was part of some kind of vendetta against Tiny. People from other realities following him to this one and then try to to torment him.
If Tiny was really such a threat to this reality - and if Abigail was to be believed - the whole multiverse then why not just kill Tiny or contain him in a more secure facility?
It seemed to Glenn that the shop was deliberately placing Tiny in places where whoever was trying to follow him, could get to him. And the consequences - according to Abigail - was the potential unraveling of all their realities.
It was just too much - too big - for Glenn to follow. He tapped the steering wheel as he followed the instructions from Abigail's communication device.
Abigail seemed content with the silence. He could see her out of the corner of his eye staring out of the window, checking her device occasionally.
“Is that why you ended it?” Glenn asked suddenly.
“What?”
“Did you end our relationship, because we come from different realities? Is it.. I don’t know... a compatibility issue?”
Abigail laughed and looked at Glenn.
“Don’t be so bloody ridiculous. I told you the truth, when I finished it.”
“The vision. Or whatever.”
“Yes. Or whatever. I don’t know what it meant, Glenn. If it was just the imagery I could cope: after all it was just a woman holding a flower. A rose, I think, if that matters.” A rose, Glenn thought. His mother’s name. “But it wasn’t the vision, Glenn it was the pain. It is just one of those things. I seriously didn’t realise I’d meant so much to you. I’m flattered, really.”
Glenn could hear the laughter in her voice. He smiled.
“Glad to massage your ego, Abigail. Really I am.”
Glenn touched the breaks as they entered a village, the sign read “Little Hockton”.
“We’re here,” Abigail said. “Turn left, up this lane.”
The Rolls Royce was the only other car sat outside the church. Glenn parked in such a way as to block it: Tiny wouldn’t be driving away. Not again. He pulled the key from the ignition and both he and Abigail got out of the car. It was peaceful here. Standing still, listening he could hear no sounds of traffic, nothing. Except birds cawing from somewhere.
Abigail stood tapping something into the communication device and Glenn checked the Rolls. The doors were unlocked, there was nothing within of interest.
“Where do you think he is?” Glenn asked. “The church?”
Abigail shrugged, “Let’s start there.” She pulled out her gun. Glenn looked at it.
“Do you think that is necessary?”
Abigail shrugged again. “Do you know it isn’t?”
It was his turn to shrug, and he pulled his gun out. “Come on, then.”
They moved quietly up the path. The graveyard to the front of the church was well tended. A rake was leaning up against the flint stone walls, two bottles of smoothies beside it. Glenn gestured with his gun at the drinks, and Abigail nodded. There was probably a civilian here. They would need to be careful.
It was dark in the church, the only light streaming through stained glass windows, and as they stepped in, Glenn was aware they were perfect targets - dark silhouettes framed in the bright light of the door. He moved quickly into the darkness, away from the light. He pressed himself up against the cold stone wall of the church, his gun out in front of him. Abigail had done the same, on the other side of the door. On the floor in the centre of the aisle between two rows of pews was a shape.
He blinked.
It looked very much like a body.
Abigail had seen it too, and she made some gestures he understood, easily: you check it out, I’ll keep you covered.
Glenn moved forward towards the shape on the floor. As he approached it became clear that the man was not Tiny: he was the wrong body shape. The man was older too, grey hair, and dressed in overalls. Presumably the gardener. He was bleeding slightly from a wound on his temple. Glenn put his fingers to the man’s neck. There was a pulse. At his touch the man stirred, his hand went to his head, his face screwed in pain.
“Try not to move,” Glenn said.
“What… who are you?”
“Just visitors to the church. We found you like this. Do you know what happened?”
“Bloody madman attacked me,” the man said, trying to sit up. Glenn placed a hand gentely on the man’s chest.
“Best if you don’t move,” he said. “Make sure you haven’t broken anything.”
“Bastard, wanted me spade!” the man said. “I told him, you can’t bloody have it, it belongs to the church! but he took it off me and hit me with it.”
“Okay,” Glenn said. “I’m going to see if he is still here. We’ve called an ambulance,” he glanced over at Abigail, who was talking into her communication device. She nodded. “Just wait here. I’ll be back in a minute.”
He took off his jacket and put it over the man, to try to protect him from the cold, and then strode over to Abigail.
“Tiny wanted a spade, pretty badly,” he whispered, his words coming back to him in ghostly echoes, bouncing off the chilled stone walls. “What’s he up to? Grave robbing?”
Abigail shrugged.
“I’m going to take a look,” Glenn said. “You wait here, keep an eye out for the ambulance, and try to keep him warm and awake, and not moving.”
Abigail paused, looked reluctant and then nodded. “Okay,” she said.
Gun in hand, Glenn headed out of the church into the bright light.
He followed the path that led around the church. Towards the rear of the church there were older graves, less cared for. The gardener obviously only focused his attention on those near the entrance.
He heard the sound of metal hitting stone, before he saw him. Tiny was digging around a grave right at the back of the church. The gravestone had four birds on it, Glenn noticed.
He kept his gun low, ready to use, but - hopefully out of sight of Tiny. He didn’t want to alarm him.
“Are you alright, sir?” he called.
Tiny jumped, turned towards the sound of Glenn’s voice. His face was red, sweat pouring running down it.
“What are you doing here?”
“We were worried about you, sir,” Glenn said, edging towards him. “Do you need a hand, sir?”
Tiny stared at Glenn, then nodded.
“Help me clear this away,” he said, gesturing at the ground. “She’s almost free.”
Glenn approached slowly, tucking the gun into his holster. As he neared he could see that Tiny had appeared to be digging down beside the headstone. And something was glinting beneath the surface.
“I need to get away,” Tiny said. “I can’t stay here, it’s not safe. I thought I was safe. But I was wrong.”
His eyes were wide and staring. He’s lost his mind, Glenn thought. The gardener was right: he looks like a madman.
“I buried her here,” Tiny said. “I didn’t want them to find her.”
“Who is she, sir?” Glenn said. He was nearly next to the gravestone now. Looking down he could see the earth had been cleared away to reveal something shinny, metalic.
“My machine,” Tiny said.
Was that really it? Was it still here? Still operational? Could it really be buried in this graveyard, for years and years? The machine that Tiny had used to travel within the multiverse, ripping holes in the delicate threads of reality as he did so?
“Help me uncover her,” Tiny said. “And I’ll show you wonders you never imagined existed.”
Glenn reached out and Tiny handed him the spade.
“Move away from him!”
Glenn turned. Abigail was standing twenty, maybe thirty paces away, the gun pointed at them both.
Tiny smiled. “I didn’t realise at first,” he said. “I thought you were her. I was half right, wasn’t I?”
Abigail didn’t say anything, the gun still trained on them both.
“What are you doing, Abigail?” Glenn said. “This isn’t the plan.”
Tiny laughed. “I think you’ll find, you are wrong, Glenn,” he said. “This has been their plan all along.” He looked over Glenn’s shoulder at Abigail. “You’re her daugher, aren’t you?” he said. “Janet’s.”
Glenn looked from Tiny to Abigail. He thought he saw her smile, and nod.
“Not my Janet,” Tiny said. “I miss, my Janet.”
“Move away from him, Glenn.”
“Look, Abigail! I don’t know what is happening, but-”
He felt the impact from the bullet before he heard the gunshot. A punch in the gut that pushed him to the floor. He didn’t hear the spade clatter to the floor as he dropped it.
The last thing Glenn saw - or he thought he saw - as he lay clutching his stomach, blood seeping between his fingers, was a woman floating towards him over the gravestones.
“Mother?” he croaked. “Is that you?”
“Hello, son,” his mother said. “Come with me. It’s time to come home.”
...
....
