The Domino Effect - chapter two.

Jasmine Laverne sat in her parents' living room staring at the floral wallpaper as her mother poured tea from the pot. Her father, Frank, wrung his hands and shifted in his armchair as Jasmine spoke.

“The doctors said everything's fine, and there's no reason I shouldn't go through with it. There's no infection, and I'm healthy.”

Maureen fumbled with the teapot and the spout chimed against the bone china cup she was pouring into.

“That's a blessing at least.” She tried to keep her voice from wavering as she glanced at her daughter.

“It's my decision, Mum.” Jasmine softened her tone as she addressed Maureen, gently reaching across the coffee table to take the pot from her mother's hand. She finished pouring the tea.

“Yes I know love.” Maureen rubbed her eyes. “We just want you to make the right decision, that's all.”

“The right decision for who?” Jasmine fought to keep her tone level. “I know you have strong views on the subject, but...”

Frank, who stood suddenly, cut her off.

“No tea for me. Things to do.” His stiff posture hid the turmoil he was feeling inside. Turning on the spot, he marched from the room.

“Frank, wait! Oh, Jasmine, do you have any idea what all this is doing to your father? And me?” Maureen burst into fitful sobs.

“You and Dad? What about me? What about the Hell I've been going through? I have the chance to make a choice in all of this! Actually take my life back from that scumbag, and all you can do is worry about what the neighbours will think!”

“Darling, it's not like that at all. Yes, they will talk, and the church won't be happy, but we don't care about that. We care about you. We want the best for you.”

“Then listen to me! I want to do this!”

“Oh, Jasmine, I could believe that, I really could, if only it had been planned, or at least a consented mistake! But this situation... I just think you are still in shock and that you will spend the rest of your life regretting your choice.”

“Then it will be my fault. I'll live with it.” Fighting the tears, she fled to her room.

It had been three weeks now since it happened. She could still see his face everytime she closed her eyes, still smell him on her. The fact she was clear from infection had relieved her immensely, but she was still carrying his child. The test she had taken at the doctors that afternoon confirmed her fears. She fiercely wished her parents would understand why she wanted to keep it. But they were traditional God-fearing people, who believed children should be conceived in wedlock, not through rape. They thought she would bring shame on herself and on them if she kept the baby, despite claiming it was her best interests they had at heart. She knew she couldn't bear to see their disapproval every day. She needed support and advice if she was going to become a mother, even more so with her particular situation. She also knew she wouldn't get it at home. That was why she had taken the card from the doctor.

“I'm sorry Mum, but it's my choice.” Jasmine reached for her telephone and dialled the number on the card.

“Sanctuary House, Yvonne speaking. How can I help?”

Maureen stepped through the connecting door to the garage quietly. Behind her, the gentle hum of the fridge sang softly. She looked through the dim light and saw a figure hunched over the steering wheel of the family car. Frank always came in here to think, to cry, and to do everything he believed was a sign of weakness. A proud one-time naval officer, Frank took his role as man of the house very seriously indeed, and believed it was damaging for him to show emotion in front of the women. He thought the garage was somewhere he could come and be unseen, but Maureen had found him years ago, crying over the death of his father. She respected his pride, however, and kept the discovery to herself. Satisfied he was OK, she slipped back into the kitchen and closed the door with a barely audible click.

As she made her way back to the living room to tidy away the tea things, she caught sight of herself in the hall mirror. Her once vibrant blonde hair was now streaked with a subtle silver, and the lines on her forehead aged her by a decade. The past few weeks had been Hell for the whole family, and every strain showed on her face. She couldn't even begin to imagine how her precious daughter must be feeling, and longed so much to be able to reach out to her, comfort her in the way mothers did. But somehow, everything she said came out wrong, and now Jasmine believed she was ashamed of her. Maureen wiped smudged mascara from under her eyes and sighed. Jasmine couldn't have been more wrong. Maureen was immensely proud of the way such a young woman had coped with such a horrific ordeal. She just didn't want Jasmine to throw away the rest of her life by choosing to keep the baby. She was too young to bear such a responsibility. Even an older woman would find it difficult. Especially with the circumstances.

The tea tray rattled as Maureen lifted it and placed the still full cups next to the pot. The sideboard brimmed with school photos, depicting each and every year of Jasmine's school life. Her innocent young face shone out, radiating intelligence and warmth. Maureen sobbed, as she thought of her daughter now, haggard with the weight of her terrible burden. She wished she could pick her up and keep her safe from the evils of the world. She would always blame herself for the rape. She felt she had let her little girl down, and that hurt more than anything she had ever know.

The newspaper lay on the floor by the door, no more than twenty feet away. Looking carefully for any sign of movement behind the other closed doors, Tyler slipped forward and grabbed the paper. Leaning against the wall, he sighed with relief as his door closed firmly behind him, locking out the outside world. His heart pounding with nerves, Tyler forced himself to scan the front page. It had been two days now, and still nothing about the murder. Not on the news, not in the papers, it was as if it had never happened. He sometimes thought he had imagined the whole thing, but deep down he knew it had happened, and that it would come to light eventually. He just dreaded the day that it did. His life had been swept away in a never-ending tide of panic and despair, and he didn't know which way to swim to shore. The dead green eyes haunted his every waking moment, and crept into what brief moments of sleep came his way. He expected the door to come crashing down any minute, his flat to be swarming with armed police. The limbo of nothing happening was almost too much to bear, almost made him want to be caught. If it was only a matter of time, he wished it would just happen and be done with. The date on the paper told him it was Friday. Bert's leaving do was that night. Tyler hadn't been into work since the accident, and had no idea whether he should go or not. The thought of leaving his flat made him weak with fear, but he was desperate to be around other people again. His car had been picked up by the garage and was ready to be collected, according to a message on his answer machine. He could collect it, and drive to the party. Get there early, settle himself, say goodbye to Bert and leave early. He would be gone two hours, maximum.

He walked over to the window and drew back the curtains that had stayed tightly shut since the accident. Outside, life was rolling on regardless. A man walked a dog along the footpath. A young couple strolled hand in hand. Children on bikes pedaled past. He couldn't see any snipers on the rooftops opposite, or any suspicious vans that could be undercover police. No sign that he was being staked out. Tyler let the curtains fall back together, and sat down, trying to compose his thoughts.

“Maybe he hasn't been found yet,” he said out loud to himself. “I mean, it was hardly on a main road! And even if someone has found him, there is absolutely nothing to link me to him. I didn't touch him, so there's no fingerprints. I didn't get any blood on me.”

A shrill sound punctuated his reassuring speech. He froze, breathless with the shock. The noise rang out again, and it was a moment before he realised it was just the phone. Feeling foolish, he moved cautiously towards it. The caller ID flashed across the screen. 'WORK CALLING'. Ployman must have actually noticed I haven't been in, Tyler thought bitterly to himself, turning away. The answer machine picked up the call with a click and a whirr, playing Tyler's unimaginative message.

“Hello this is Tyler. I can't take your call, so leave a message and I'll get back to you.”

“Tyler? It's Rose.” The soft voice on the other end stopped Tyler in his tracks.

“Sorry to bother you, but I was getting worried. You've not been in for days. Is everything OK?.

She sounded so full of concern that Tyler felt tears well in his eyes. Then he remembered what he had seen the night of the accident, and gritted his teeth, determined not to let her get to him.

“I was just wondering if you were going to be at the party tonight. I hope you are...”

“I'll be there.” Tyler didn't realise he had picked up the phone until the words had left his mouth.

“Tyler!. You're there! I didn't wake you did I?”

“No. I was just in the kitchen.” He kept his voice even and emotionless.

“Are you OK? You sound very...”

“Yes, I'm fine.” Tyler cut her off.

“Oh.” Rose sounded hurt and Tyler hated himself for upsetting her. He just couldn't bring himself to act like nothing had happened.

“Just wanted to take some time off. You know, things to do and all that.”

“Of course. Well, I'll see you tonight.”

“Yeah, tonight. Bye.” The phone fell from his hand back into the cradle and he banged his head against the wall.

“Idiot! What the Hell did you tell her you were going for?” Now he had no choice. He had to go, or it would look suspicious.

“Better go and get the fucking car then.” He grabbed his keys angrily and stamped over to the front door. As he grasped the handle, his legs turned to jelly. Taking a few deep breaths to steady himself, Tyler pulled open the door. A ghastly screech assaulted his ears as he stepped into the communal lobby.

“Snowy, you little bastard!” Tyler cursed as the neighbour's cat took up refuge under a small corner table and began hissing menacingly. He crossed to the front door and wrenched it open, trying to ignore the horrific noise emanating from the hateful animal. He was almost knocked flying by the white blur sweeping between his legs, as Snowy leapt for the door. The wretched thing was always prowling round the hall, scratching at his front door. Now it seemed the beast wanted to make a bid for freedom.

Well let it, Tyler thought, remembering many a pair of soiled shoes. Bloody nuisance it is anyway. The sudden squeal of rubber made him jump, and he looked out onto the road just in time to see his nemesis connecting with the bonnet of a car. Cringing at the wet thud as the cat hit the tarmac, Tyler couldn't help but laugh. It was ridiculous. Not so much as a parking ticket in thirty-four years of life and he'd caused two fatal road accidents in a week!

“Oh God! I've hit your cat!. A man was climbing out of the car, hand over his mouth and eyes wide. “Shit! I'm really sorry mate. Didn't see him.”

“Don't apologise to me, it wasn't mine.” Tyler stuffed his hands in his pockets and started off down the road. “You might want to have a chat with him in flat 2 though,” he called back over his shoulder.

“So you haven't had any cars in since that date?” Detective McCree peered over his glasses at the mechanic.

“Nope. Had one call that morning, but nothing since then. Not showing the kind of damage you're looking for, anyway.” Phil rubbed at a dot of oil on his overalls as he spoke.

“Do you mind if I look at your books?”

“Sure. Help yourself. They're over on the desk.”

“Cheers.” McCree stepped through the debris on the garage floor carefully, and picked up the invoice book. “It's funny about the one that morning. Just the type of denting we're looking for. You sure the call came in that morning?”

“Well, maybe after lunch, but definitely not as late as teatime or anything.”

“Hmmm.” He flicked through the grease stained pages thoughtfully. “Do any of your guys take out of hours work, cash in hand?”

“Uh uh. No way. Sackable offence here.”

“What's the story with the car over there?” he indicated over to a smart blue Volvo.

“That one? That's the one I told you about.”

The one you got the call about on the morning in question?”

“That's the chap. We collected it the next day, but the call came in that morning.”

“I see.” McCree rubbed his chin. “I want to give the other guys who work here a call. I'll need their numbers.”

“No problem.” Phil put down the spanner he was fiddling with and grabbed a notebook. He began scribbling numbers down.

Tyler walked into the forecourt of the garage, glad it wasn't too far from home. He could smell oil and petrol, two aromas he had never been keen on. Wrinkling his nose, he looked round for any signs of life, keen to pick up his car and leave. He could see two men standing in the garage to his left, one passing a slip of paper to the other. Another poor sod getting ripped off, no doubt, Tyler thought bitterly. I should've trained as a mechanic.

“Hello. I've come to get my car.” Tyler called out to them. The man in overalls waved in acknowledgement and the other one turned slowly to face him. A gleaming badge pinned to the lapel of his suit gave away his identity. Tyler's feet felt like lead. The police! They know! His first instinct was to turn and run as fast as he could in the opposite direction, but he couldn't move. He stood, hardly daring to breathe, as he waited for the cop to approach him with handcuffs and the ready. It was only when the mechanic motioned him over again that Tyler realised he wasn't being arrested.

“Hey, come and get the keys mate. I'll need you to sign for it, too.

“Uh, OK.” Tyler cautiously stepped across the forecourt and approached the men. The cop smiled as he neared.

“Hi there.”

“Hi.” Tyler's voice was decidedly high-pitched. He could feel beads of sweat budding on his forehead. Suddenly he wished he had changed before leaving home. He looked disheveled. Just

like a convict, he told himself. You look guilty.

“So you're the mysterious owner.”

“What?”

“The Volvo.”

“Oh. Yeah, it's mine. Why?” he swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat.

“Took a bit of a knock did you?”

“My neighbour. They reversed into me. Roof rack fell and hit the bonnet.” Panic was beginning to rise. He knows, he knows!

“Nasty. Hope they were insured.”

“Yeah. It's fine.” The cop's friendly tone was putting him off guard. Forcing himself to be casual, he smiled. “All sorted. No pistols at dawn just yet!”

“Good.” McCree's eyes didn't leave Tyler as he signed his car out and wrote a cheque for the costs. He watched him shake the mechanics hand and comment on the competitive price. He looked perfectly normal. The kind of average Joe you could loose in a crowd. And anyway, the car had been reported as damaged before the hit and run had taken place. They were pretty sure it wasn't pre-meditated, so that put this guy in the clear. Smiling, he waved Tyler off.

“Watch out for low flying roof racks!”

“I'll try. See you.” As he left the garage behind him, Tyler let out an almighty sigh of relief. He had done it. Wonder what he wanted, anyway. Probably a stolen car or something.

“McCree glanced again at the list of employees and their phone numbers. He had everything he needed, and really should be heading back to the station. But something was stopping him. In all of his forty years in the force, he had always trusted his instinct, and it had proved right most of the time. His instinct was telling him he should stick around. He was missing something, he was sure of it. But what is it? he asked himself. The pone started trilling, and Phil moved to answer it. Wanting to hang on to thank him for his co-operation, McCree stood aside to wait.

“Afternoon, Phil's Phix em' ups. How can we help?” he grabbed a pen and began jotting down details. McCree leant against the wall and shook a cigarette from his packet.

“Uh, huh, yep, uh huh... large dent in the bonnet you say?” Phil deliberately raised his voice to be sure McCree could hear. The detective moved closer and put his head to the phone next to Phil's straining to hear.

“Sure, sure, we can fit you in today. Bring her over any time and we'll take a look.” Phil felt his heart pounding. It's just like in the movies, he thought to himself as he hung up the phone.

On the other end of the line, Billy Blaine smiled. It was rate to find a garage so eager to fit you in. He really needed his car fixed up for tomorrow, when he started his labouring job. He wanted to pull in a bit of cash for his mum while they were here. Make life a bit easier for her until the next time they had to move. She'd kill him if she knew what had happened to the car. She didn't approve of poaching at the best of time, and especially not when you actually drive into a bloody great big deer, he chuckled to himself. Still laughing, he climbed into the dented car and set off to the garage.

Tyler's confidence had grown by the time he pulled up outside his building. It's going to be OK. It's actually going to be all right. He felt his mouth twitch as he saw the Snowy-coloured stain still on the road in front of him. Bloody nuisance it was. Did the rest of the neighbourhood a favour, opening the door for the thing. A strange feeling began settling on him, like a kind of satisfaction, almost pride. The cat was a public menace, he told himself. And come to mention it, I'd hardly call a rapist a valuable member of society. The more he stared at the dark stain, the more convinced he felt that he hadn't done anything that terrible after all. If I'd knocked down a young child, or a single mother, or a bloody nun, then I would've done something bag. But I killed a rapist and a fluffy ball of claws and rabies. Hardly a crime. Surely I should be commended! I mean, I've saved God knows how many people from tetanus shots, and dozens of innocent girls from the clutches of a vicious attacker! The door opened into a quiet entrance hall, free from unexpected piles of cat shit. Tyler smiled contentedly and unlocked his front door. The flat stretched before him, warm and welcoming. He marched to the window and threw back the curtains, letting the afternoon light flood in.

The world suddenly seemed not quite so scary any more. Maybe I'll go buy a new suit for tonight, he thought to himself with a quiet smile.

It was a good couple of hours later before Jasmine returned to the sitting room. Maureen was curled up in an armchair, looking more fragile than she had in a long time. Muffled voices came from the television, playing to an unseeing audience as Maureen stared blankly at it.

“Where's Dad?” Jasmine's voice seemed unnaturally loud. Her mother looked up, tear tracks softly glistening down each cheek.

“Tinkering with the car, love.”

“Oh.” They gazed at each other for a moment, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air like ballast. Jasmine ran her fingers through her wavy brown hair, and took a deep breath

“How are you feeling?” Maureen sat up a bit straighter and wiped her eyes with a delicately polished fingertip.

“I'm going for a walk. Won't be long.”

“Oh. Don't forget your keys then.” Her mother slumped back down, a look of tired resignation creeping across her face.

The hallway suddenly seemed strange and unwelcoming to Jasmine as she pulled on a light denim jacket and rummaged in the faded Doulton platter for her keys. The platter had been there on the sideboard for as long as she could remember. The rose trellis pattern had long since lost its shine, parts chipped here and there from constant use. She could recall how, as a child, she had loved returning from school and looking in it. Her mother would always hide sweets and little gifts underneath the piles of mail and house keys that resided in its gentle bowl. Looking at it now, those days of sweet innocence seemed so long ago. The roses blurred softly under the swell of tears brimming in her eyes. She wrenched the front door open and stepped out into the warm sun, mocking her with its cheery rays, such perfect contrast to the cold fingers of despair that ran down her spine. Scraping the rough fabric of her sleeve across her eyes, Jasmine let out a deep breath and began walking.

Tyler rounded the corner onto Coney Street and through the doors of Starbucks. He ordered his favourite caramel Macchiato and took it to his favourite seat, a high stool by the window. The cafe was an odd place, he had always thought. Set in an old bank building, it had a strange feeling of not quite fitting in. Just like me, he thought. The counter was set at a strange angle across the floor, as if the previous business had simply been dragged out and the new furniture thrown in from a great height. Its fading grandeur was still evident in the chipped ceiling roses and moulded window frames. Rope barriers, now redundant, still hung impotently from their dull brass hooks.

Taking a sip of the warm, sweet coffee, Tyler gazed across the narrow cobbled street at St Martins Church opposite. He frowned again at the stained glass windows staring back at him. He liked traditional ones, depicting actual people and events, not the multi-coloured jigsaw puzzle ones. They seemed too modern, too meaningless for adorning a place of worship, although Tyler was now a religious man. He felt it was too much of a gamble to live your whole life obeying something that may or may not be real. He preferred to play safe.

His gaze moved left, and onto the modest frontage of a small cinema, ostentatious with it's wood panelling facade. Nothing seemed to fit in the strange mix of old and new that was the city of York. Yet it did. It couldn't be imagined any other way. The neon signs of a phone company looked somehow at home, hanging on the Tudor frontage of the building next door. As did the coffee bar, nestled in the shell of a once imposing financial establishment. The blend was eclectic yet comforting. Tyler sighed and took another sip of coffee. The smell around him was warm and rich, and he felt himself relax into the atmosphere. He looked over his shoulder briefly, a stolen glance at a couple sat around a large blue sofa, seemingly oblivious to the surroundings as they chatted together. The woman was pointing to something in a book, and the man watched her as she spoke, smiling gently. Tyler felt a pang of envy, wished he could share in that kind of companionship with someone. Turning again, he looked on as they stood, the man placing a hand on the small of her back to gently guide her out. They passed by him in a wave of contentment, a look passing between them the way looks do between two people sharing something special. He imagined himself guiding Rose out the same way, his hand a protective shield across her, her smile one of tenderness and love.

He was jarred back to reality by a waitress clearing away his mug. Recoiling with a small jolt, he hastily grabbed his jacket and made his way to the door. As he joined the crush of people on the streets, Tyler felt himself slip back into his oblivious identity, a random nobody in a surge of important, meaningful people, with real lives and real relationships. People with somewhere to go. Wandering aimlessly, Tyler lost himself in the winding streets.

Jasmine stepped out of the office with a newfound feeling of hope. Yvonne had been great. She had got Jasmine a room at a refuge, and offered her the kind of emotional support she would never get from her mother. An older woman herself, Yvonne had exuded the kind of motherly comfort that Jasmine so badly needed. With her thick cable knitted sweater and home-made dangly earrings, she had been so soft and warm that Jasmine had wanted badly to enfold herself in the other woman's embrace and stay there, safe and protected until everything had gone away.

She was to move into the refuge in three days time, to start her life again on her own terms, free to make her own decisions with the support and advice of Yvonne and others like her Turning onto Parliament Street, her stomach growled as she passed a fragrant hot dog stand. Stopping, she looked round and smiled at the vendor.

“I'll have the biggest one you do, with extra onions. And mustard, please.” The vendor smiled as he piled golden brown fried onions onto her hot dog.

“You must be hungry, love!” he joked amicably as she passed over some coins and took the food.

“More than you could imagine!” Jasmine patted her stomach gently. “I'm eating for two now!”

Tyler glanced at his watch. Three forty-four. With a start, he realised he had been walking for hours. That was the thing about this city. It was perfectly designed for walking. He looked up and surveyed his surroundings. A gently curved street, filled with quaint low roofed buildings, all bearing the recognisable Tudor black and white frontage. He slowed his pace and tried to get his bearings. Goodramgate, he thought to himself as he walked, the feel of cobbles aching his feet through the thin soles of his shoes. A passing group of teenagers, menacing in their apathy towards other members of the public, swung into him, and he lost his footing, tripping on the curb.

“Come on, move it.” A voice full of authority rang out from behind him, and the figure of a policeman moved into view, waving away the teenagers, who had stopped to laugh at their prey. Tyler felt panic rise in his throat at the sight of the harsh uniform. Oh God, what if he starts asking me questions... panic prickled at Tyler's brow as he pulled himself up. Oh God, Oh God, Oh God....

“Alright there, mate?” The policeman looked straight into his eyes.

“Yeah, umm, I', fine, yeah...” Tyler's voice trailed off as he stepped backwards quickly, away from the man. His eyes flicked to the right and he saw a building loom up behind him. Bracing himself for impact, Tyler closed his eyes and tensed up. Oh God, help me!

“Well, you take care, mate. Some of that lot don't give a damn if they...” The voice trailed off as Tyler continued moving backwards. For a moment he thought he had actually walked through the wall. Opening his eyes, he saw where he was. He had stepped through a small stone archway. A gap in the otherwise perfect smile of buildings on the street. Beneath his feet was soft stone flanked by grass. Ahead stood a small church. Tyler felt disorientated. He was no more than ten steps from the street, yet the sounds of the city had melted away. Looking again, he was amazed to see that surrounding the church were the backs of many other buildings, as if the city had grown like weeds around this ancient structure, fencing it in, hiding it from view. Protecting it. A small willow tree stood proud, as though a sentry, guarding the church from unwelcome visitors. Tyler thought back to the words running through his mind back on the street. God, help me. How fitting he had stumbled through here. Awed, he began treading carefully towards the church, tranquil in its faded sandstone glory. A low, square tower shaded him in gentle shadow as he approached, like arms reaching for him in a gentle embrace. A soft breeze rustled the leaves of the few trees stood on the grass. He felt like a ghost as he crept to the doorway, sheltered by a stone arch and vestry. An old-fashioned ceiling lamp, the kind that was once oil powered, but now converted to electric, lighted it lovingly. A visitors' book sat on a small table, the double doors to the church laid open next to it. Time stood still as he glided through the doors and into the church beyond. The echo of bells chiming from some other place could be heard faintly in the distance. Even they seemed like an imposition here. The building had a feel to it that Tyler couldn't quite place. An intoxicating smell of old wood and dust, damp and incense mixed in his nostrils, sending his head reeling. The floor was uneven, crafted as it was from ancient memorial stones.

'ORATE PRO ANIMA WILLELMI POLL' read the one at his feet, along with a faded date from the 1300's. His footsteps made more noise than they should in this place, but Tyler made his way down the aisle regardless, drawn like a moth to the flame. At the front of the church was a small alter, bathed in a soft mid-day light from the large stained glass above. Tyler felt a surge of joy as he looked up at them. Five stretches of light reached up in splendour, and Tyler sank to his knees in front of them. Five proper scenes, depicting actual people. He gazed at the central image in rapture. God held up His Son, marked with the wounds of His suffering, a dove perched at His head. It moved Tyler in an unexplainable way, almost making him wish he did believe, that he too could be comforted by a certainty in something as powerful and compassionate as God.

Desperate loneliness surfaced in him once again. The feeling that everything he wanted and needed was just an inch out of reach, was almost too much to bear. He sank his head forward and clutched his hands together, praying frantically for something...anything.

The sound of Tyler sobbing rang through the stone, the uneven walls appearing to shudder with his pain.