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**AN ANGEL'S GIFT**
It’s been four years now, four years since the untimely death of the radiant beauty Anya Gordon. She was the daughter of the multi millionaire Gillian Gordon. Gillian lost her husband around the same time as she lost Anya because of one man, a man called Arthur Hume. Arthur was an artist once but not one who paints pictures of landscapes and portraits of loved ones. Arthur loved to create things out of any material he could find. His Photomontage’s were what he took most pride in. He would take photos of many things like parts of buildings, design’s and patterns. However behind this creative artist exterior was the heart and mind of a murderer. Arthur Hume had been a suspect in over eighteen murder cases but not once did he ever go to jail until now. For the first time ever Arthur had made a mistake and that led the police straight to him and was found guilty of Anya’s murder and was sentenced to life imprisonment.
This is where I come in, I am Neil Gordon and I’ve decided to re-open the case of the murder of my sister Anya. Arthur committed suicide in his cell yesterday night, however the police don’t want to and will not re open the case for love nor money. You see Arthur committed suicide but what the police are not telling the press or anyone else is that Arthur left a note. They are just calling it “An act of a desperate man who knew his end was near” but I’m not sure. Arthur wrote along the cold brick wall of his windowless cell
“I have killed more than one and in death I will pay but I have only been caught once. I have never been responsible for my murders however I did carry them out and you will find this to be true under the Angel’s Door”
I was lost for words when I found out about this new information and ended up blurting out questions without even thinking but my co-workers here at the prison are urging me to keep quiet so as not to attract any media attention but that’s fine because I don’t intend to. I want to find the man responsible for the death of my sister and I want to make him pay, pay with his life but my only clues to finding the murderer are in the statement Arthur gave me and through information from previous interviews and evidence.
Anya’s body was found one afternoon in front of her apartment building with her apartment window smashed and shards of glass next to her stone cold body a look of intense fear still across her face. The police think that she came home from work but Arthur was already in the room ready to pounce. It was obvious that her death was no accident and that she had been pushed but if it were not from a spec of blood on the back of her coat it would have been almost impossible to prove. Anya had bitten her attackers hand and despite his gloves to hide his fingerprints the blood could not have been concealed. The blood was traced back to Arthur and he was locked away for life. However I also know he was in Vienna when this happened and I know that his parents now own his home and all his possessions. My guess is that if I go and see his parents and ask the right questions this search will be dramatically shortened and I will be one step closer to my goal.
It took me all night to get to Vienna but the plane journey was filled with mixed thoughts and emotions yet I was still eager to get to the bottom of this murder. After sleeping on the plane for a brief period I got off and booked myself into the nearest hotel room and took a taxi straight to Arthur’s parents.
As the car pulled up outside Arthur’s old house I stared out at the house of a murderer however this house looked no different to any other on that street it had a red-slated roof, a well-kept garden, a new coat of paint with a welcome mat on the front door step. If I didn’t know better I would say that a perfectly normal family lived there with not a care in the world. As I reached the front door I rang the bell and was extremely surprised at who answered it. I don’t know what I expected but what I saw was an old woman in an apron with short curly grey hair and small rimless glasses.
“Can I help you?” said the woman in a shaky voice. I assumed she was mourning Arthur’s death and for the first time ever I wanted to say something that would ease the pain of this old lady even if that meant saying something good about her son. I told her who I was and what I wanted to accomplish well everything except what I planned for Arthur’s employer. After talking for about an hour Mrs Hume took me to see Arthur’s possessions and explained all his works of art to me. I told her about what he wrote on the wall of his cell before he died and her face went as white as a winter mountaintop. Anyone could tell that the shock had made her lost for words and you could tell it hurt her even more by the way her face changed. We talked for hours and looked through all of Arthur’s possessions but not one had anything to do with an Angel or an Angel’s Door. I had abandoned all hope and I thought of leaving and going home however I just couldn’t leave Mrs Hume in the state she was in so I decided to say something I would never say if I hadn’t met her.
“I know your son may not have been a good man but he was just a pawn in his employers plan and I intend to make him pay for it” And with that I turned until an arm stopped me on my shoulder. I turned back to hear Mrs Hume say.
“I remember Arthur had one Angel. Or a collection of Angel’s carved on a door of some sort.”
“Do you know were this door is! Have you seen it”? I screamed suddenly full of determination it was as if I had struck gold.
“I have never seen the actual door but he never owned it. He had a picture of it but he wouldn’t let anyone see it. He said he used it in his best ever artwork. It is on display at the museum of modern art. It was his last piece before he went to prison.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before hand? why wait till now?”
“I don’t want to get your hopes up. I don’t even know if this picture exists but I can see that you need all the hope you can get.”
“THANK YOU!! THANK YOU!! For everything Mrs Hume” and with that I turned out onto the street and searched for a taxi. I jumped into the first one I saw and headed straight to the museum and straight to what I thought would be the end of my search for the man who ordered the killing of my sister.
I burst through the art museum doors and glimpsed from side to side. I had no idea where the painting was so I had no choice but to check every metre of every room on every floor. I ran into each room searching for a photomontage with a picture of Angels on a door. “Where’s Hume’s Picture!” I said to everyone I came across but I was running so fast and speaking so quickly I barely heard if anyone answered. I was in a frantic frenzy of emotions I felt like I was being played with like I was being teased by getting so close but still not being able to see the answer. Until I saw it on the 5th floor of the museum hanging in a golden frame. It was a masterpiece that no one could deny but I still could not see the Angel’s. I looked up and down and side to side until I saw a dent on the picture surface. It was a very subtle dent but it was easy to tell that this had been put there. Arthur may have been a convict but he made sure every detail was perfect there was not another picture out of place only this dent. I peered into the side of the overlapping pictures and saw a small piece of paper but it was too small and dark to make out. I peeled back they overlapping photos trying hard not to damage them. I knew what I had to do and even though I loathe Arthur for what he did I’m not a vandal who wants to destroy his work, his legacy. Suddenly it appeared, a small corner of the picture but it was not what I had expected. I saw a blue sky on a sunny day. I pulled out the picture into full light tearing another picture in half and exposing the glue. I stared at the picture but what I saw scared the life out of me. The picture was of my father’s grave the day he had been buried. It was a close up of his tombstone with two angels opening the door to heaven for him.
“IT’S A LIE!! IT’S NOT TRUE!!!!” I screamed. I couldn’t believe it and I wouldn’t believe it! My father was a good man he wouldn’t hurt a hair on his daughters head. He even gave Anya a job at his firm in Vienna when she had nowhere else to go. My father was a great man and not even the words of a desperate criminal can change that. I was filled with a feeling of rage that was overpowering me. I had never hated Arthur more in my entire life and I wished Arthur hadn’t commit suicide just because it denied me the pleasure of seeing him rot in jail.
On my way home to New York I had a lot of time to think about what I had seen. I still had the photo in my pocket I kept taking it out and staring at it for hours on end. I couldn’t seem to think of anything else to do with it. The hatred I had for Arthur a mere day ago was slowly going away as I kept thinking to myself the same question over and over “why would he lie?” I couldn’t think of any answer. Arthur was going to die of old age or die by his own hands and I couldn’t think why he would lie to me and cause me so much pain before he did it. Maybe the guys back at the prison were right maybe it was the act of a desperate man who knew his end was near but no matter how many times I told myself that I just couldn’t accept it. For the rest of the journey I ended up reaching for the picture again and staring at it and wonder.
On my way home from the airport I was cold and tired and wanted nothing more than to go home and fall asleep but unfortunately it was not meant to be. As I opened the door to my apartment I felt a strange feeling of emptiness as if something was missing, as if I hadn’t got the whole truth or had but could not see it. I spent hours tossing and turning that night I couldn’t seem to think of anything else besides my sister Anya and how much I’d be letting her down if I did not even look under my father’s tombstone however I couldn’t help but think how much I’d be letting my father down if I did and I didn’t want to let Arthur Hume’s sick little joke destroy my trust and love for my father. Eventually I fell asleep but because off nothing else but sheer exhaustion.
At exactly 1:26pm the next day I went to visit my father’s grave. I felt a horrible feeling in my stomach as if I was about to throw up at any moment. I had some roses in one hand and the picture in the other. As I walked through the graveyard on the wet earth with no other noise except the whistling of the wind I got a chill up my spine that I could have done without. After walking for about half an hour I found myself face to face with my father’s grave. The cold marble was not like it was in the picture. In the picture it was waxed and sparkling, gleaming in the sunlight with all its might. However now the grave was a dirty black colour, it was covered in moss with over grown weeds surrounding the base of the stone, the writing on the stone was barely readable but the Angel’s were still standing there holding open the door’s to heaven or whatever lay in store for the deceased. As I stood there in front of that stone I new what I had to do and that my search had come to an end. What ever lay underneath was what I needed to either prove my father’s innocence or guilt. I got down on one knee and pushed with all my might at the worn old stone, my feet slipping in the ground until finally it moved and with a loud thud the grave tipped over and revealed a plastic bag. I snatched up the bag and poured the contents onto the ground. But there was just one letter that had been kept dry by the bag for all those years. I grabbed the letter and took it back to my car but I did not like what I said.
Arthur, I know it’s been a long time since last we did business but once again I call upon your services. It pains me greatly that I have to ask this to be done but you know I would not unless it was absolutely necessary. I am willing to pay you 10,000 to kill my beloved daughter Anya… Anya has been putting her nose in were it has not been wanted and she is getting close to the truth of my success which endangers you as well as me. Once she has been killed I will make the drop at the usual point.
Signed: -Mr Harry Gordon 12/11/98
I could not believe it my father did order and pay for the murder of my sister Anya. He ordered it a week before he died and two days before Anya did. I guess he never even got around to paying Arthur before he died. I felt so let down by Harry he was my dad, my father and I didn’t even know him at all everything I thought I knew was a lie and I fell for it. I felt so alone and fragile and I just wanted to give up hope but just as I was about to cry I thought about my mother and how this would affect her.
No one in the world except me knows about what I did today for all they know vandals broke down his tombstone and I just left some flowers. I burned the letter and never told a soul about what had happened. I just couldn’t bring myself to put my own mother through any more heartache and pain than she had already been through and when I looked at it logically that was all it was going to cause. After that I left New York to live nearer my mum in Chicago until the end of her days.
The End
It’s been four years now, four years since the untimely death of the radiant beauty Anya Gordon. She was the daughter of the multi millionaire Gillian Gordon. Gillian lost her husband around the same time as she lost Anya because of one man, a man called Arthur Hume. Arthur was an artist once but not one who paints pictures of landscapes and portraits of loved ones. Arthur loved to create things out of any material he could find. His Photomontage’s were what he took most pride in. He would take photos of many things like parts of buildings, design’s and patterns. However behind this creative artist exterior was the heart and mind of a murderer. Arthur Hume had been a suspect in over eighteen murder cases but not once did he ever go to jail until now. For the first time ever Arthur had made a mistake and that led the police straight to him and was found guilty of Anya’s murder and was sentenced to life imprisonment.
This is where I come in, I am Neil Gordon and I’ve decided to re-open the case of the murder of my sister Anya. Arthur committed suicide in his cell yesterday night, however the police don’t want to and will not re open the case for love nor money. You see Arthur committed suicide but what the police are not telling the press or anyone else is that Arthur left a note. They are just calling it “An act of a desperate man who knew his end was near” but I’m not sure. Arthur wrote along the cold brick wall of his windowless cell
“I have killed more than one and in death I will pay but I have only been caught once. I have never been responsible for my murders however I did carry them out and you will find this to be true under the Angel’s Door”
I was lost for words when I found out about this new information and ended up blurting out questions without even thinking but my co-workers here at the prison are urging me to keep quiet so as not to attract any media attention but that’s fine because I don’t intend to. I want to find the man responsible for the death of my sister and I want to make him pay, pay with his life but my only clues to finding the murderer are in the statement Arthur gave me and through information from previous interviews and evidence.
Anya’s body was found one afternoon in front of her apartment building with her apartment window smashed and shards of glass next to her stone cold body a look of intense fear still across her face. The police think that she came home from work but Arthur was already in the room ready to pounce. It was obvious that her death was no accident and that she had been pushed but if it were not from a spec of blood on the back of her coat it would have been almost impossible to prove. Anya had bitten her attackers hand and despite his gloves to hide his fingerprints the blood could not have been concealed. The blood was traced back to Arthur and he was locked away for life. However I also know he was in Vienna when this happened and I know that his parents now own his home and all his possessions. My guess is that if I go and see his parents and ask the right questions this search will be dramatically shortened and I will be one step closer to my goal.
It took me all night to get to Vienna but the plane journey was filled with mixed thoughts and emotions yet I was still eager to get to the bottom of this murder. After sleeping on the plane for a brief period I got off and booked myself into the nearest hotel room and took a taxi straight to Arthur’s parents.
As the car pulled up outside Arthur’s old house I stared out at the house of a murderer however this house looked no different to any other on that street it had a red-slated roof, a well-kept garden, a new coat of paint with a welcome mat on the front door step. If I didn’t know better I would say that a perfectly normal family lived there with not a care in the world. As I reached the front door I rang the bell and was extremely surprised at who answered it. I don’t know what I expected but what I saw was an old woman in an apron with short curly grey hair and small rimless glasses.
“Can I help you?” said the woman in a shaky voice. I assumed she was mourning Arthur’s death and for the first time ever I wanted to say something that would ease the pain of this old lady even if that meant saying something good about her son. I told her who I was and what I wanted to accomplish well everything except what I planned for Arthur’s employer. After talking for about an hour Mrs Hume took me to see Arthur’s possessions and explained all his works of art to me. I told her about what he wrote on the wall of his cell before he died and her face went as white as a winter mountaintop. Anyone could tell that the shock had made her lost for words and you could tell it hurt her even more by the way her face changed. We talked for hours and looked through all of Arthur’s possessions but not one had anything to do with an Angel or an Angel’s Door. I had abandoned all hope and I thought of leaving and going home however I just couldn’t leave Mrs Hume in the state she was in so I decided to say something I would never say if I hadn’t met her.
“I know your son may not have been a good man but he was just a pawn in his employers plan and I intend to make him pay for it” And with that I turned until an arm stopped me on my shoulder. I turned back to hear Mrs Hume say.
“I remember Arthur had one Angel. Or a collection of Angel’s carved on a door of some sort.”
“Do you know were this door is! Have you seen it”? I screamed suddenly full of determination it was as if I had struck gold.
“I have never seen the actual door but he never owned it. He had a picture of it but he wouldn’t let anyone see it. He said he used it in his best ever artwork. It is on display at the museum of modern art. It was his last piece before he went to prison.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before hand? why wait till now?”
“I don’t want to get your hopes up. I don’t even know if this picture exists but I can see that you need all the hope you can get.”
“THANK YOU!! THANK YOU!! For everything Mrs Hume” and with that I turned out onto the street and searched for a taxi. I jumped into the first one I saw and headed straight to the museum and straight to what I thought would be the end of my search for the man who ordered the killing of my sister.
I burst through the art museum doors and glimpsed from side to side. I had no idea where the painting was so I had no choice but to check every metre of every room on every floor. I ran into each room searching for a photomontage with a picture of Angels on a door. “Where’s Hume’s Picture!” I said to everyone I came across but I was running so fast and speaking so quickly I barely heard if anyone answered. I was in a frantic frenzy of emotions I felt like I was being played with like I was being teased by getting so close but still not being able to see the answer. Until I saw it on the 5th floor of the museum hanging in a golden frame. It was a masterpiece that no one could deny but I still could not see the Angel’s. I looked up and down and side to side until I saw a dent on the picture surface. It was a very subtle dent but it was easy to tell that this had been put there. Arthur may have been a convict but he made sure every detail was perfect there was not another picture out of place only this dent. I peered into the side of the overlapping pictures and saw a small piece of paper but it was too small and dark to make out. I peeled back they overlapping photos trying hard not to damage them. I knew what I had to do and even though I loathe Arthur for what he did I’m not a vandal who wants to destroy his work, his legacy. Suddenly it appeared, a small corner of the picture but it was not what I had expected. I saw a blue sky on a sunny day. I pulled out the picture into full light tearing another picture in half and exposing the glue. I stared at the picture but what I saw scared the life out of me. The picture was of my father’s grave the day he had been buried. It was a close up of his tombstone with two angels opening the door to heaven for him.
“IT’S A LIE!! IT’S NOT TRUE!!!!” I screamed. I couldn’t believe it and I wouldn’t believe it! My father was a good man he wouldn’t hurt a hair on his daughters head. He even gave Anya a job at his firm in Vienna when she had nowhere else to go. My father was a great man and not even the words of a desperate criminal can change that. I was filled with a feeling of rage that was overpowering me. I had never hated Arthur more in my entire life and I wished Arthur hadn’t commit suicide just because it denied me the pleasure of seeing him rot in jail.
On my way home to New York I had a lot of time to think about what I had seen. I still had the photo in my pocket I kept taking it out and staring at it for hours on end. I couldn’t seem to think of anything else to do with it. The hatred I had for Arthur a mere day ago was slowly going away as I kept thinking to myself the same question over and over “why would he lie?” I couldn’t think of any answer. Arthur was going to die of old age or die by his own hands and I couldn’t think why he would lie to me and cause me so much pain before he did it. Maybe the guys back at the prison were right maybe it was the act of a desperate man who knew his end was near but no matter how many times I told myself that I just couldn’t accept it. For the rest of the journey I ended up reaching for the picture again and staring at it and wonder.
On my way home from the airport I was cold and tired and wanted nothing more than to go home and fall asleep but unfortunately it was not meant to be. As I opened the door to my apartment I felt a strange feeling of emptiness as if something was missing, as if I hadn’t got the whole truth or had but could not see it. I spent hours tossing and turning that night I couldn’t seem to think of anything else besides my sister Anya and how much I’d be letting her down if I did not even look under my father’s tombstone however I couldn’t help but think how much I’d be letting my father down if I did and I didn’t want to let Arthur Hume’s sick little joke destroy my trust and love for my father. Eventually I fell asleep but because off nothing else but sheer exhaustion.
At exactly 1:26pm the next day I went to visit my father’s grave. I felt a horrible feeling in my stomach as if I was about to throw up at any moment. I had some roses in one hand and the picture in the other. As I walked through the graveyard on the wet earth with no other noise except the whistling of the wind I got a chill up my spine that I could have done without. After walking for about half an hour I found myself face to face with my father’s grave. The cold marble was not like it was in the picture. In the picture it was waxed and sparkling, gleaming in the sunlight with all its might. However now the grave was a dirty black colour, it was covered in moss with over grown weeds surrounding the base of the stone, the writing on the stone was barely readable but the Angel’s were still standing there holding open the door’s to heaven or whatever lay in store for the deceased. As I stood there in front of that stone I new what I had to do and that my search had come to an end. What ever lay underneath was what I needed to either prove my father’s innocence or guilt. I got down on one knee and pushed with all my might at the worn old stone, my feet slipping in the ground until finally it moved and with a loud thud the grave tipped over and revealed a plastic bag. I snatched up the bag and poured the contents onto the ground. But there was just one letter that had been kept dry by the bag for all those years. I grabbed the letter and took it back to my car but I did not like what I said.
Arthur, I know it’s been a long time since last we did business but once again I call upon your services. It pains me greatly that I have to ask this to be done but you know I would not unless it was absolutely necessary. I am willing to pay you 10,000 to kill my beloved daughter Anya… Anya has been putting her nose in were it has not been wanted and she is getting close to the truth of my success which endangers you as well as me. Once she has been killed I will make the drop at the usual point.
Signed: -Mr Harry Gordon 12/11/98
I could not believe it my father did order and pay for the murder of my sister Anya. He ordered it a week before he died and two days before Anya did. I guess he never even got around to paying Arthur before he died. I felt so let down by Harry he was my dad, my father and I didn’t even know him at all everything I thought I knew was a lie and I fell for it. I felt so alone and fragile and I just wanted to give up hope but just as I was about to cry I thought about my mother and how this would affect her.
No one in the world except me knows about what I did today for all they know vandals broke down his tombstone and I just left some flowers. I burned the letter and never told a soul about what had happened. I just couldn’t bring myself to put my own mother through any more heartache and pain than she had already been through and when I looked at it logically that was all it was going to cause. After that I left New York to live nearer my mum in Chicago until the end of her days.
The End
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Thanks Blahpro:D. It's quite ironic that I can invent something that long in English but I can't remember about 130 pre-decided words in German:S
Quite good -I only had time to quickly read through it but it was quite good!
Not half bad. You shoud write some more.
Lol were did that little outburst come from Bloke?
The Twits, one of the best books ever!
Lol thanks, I guess?:S :D
It was quite good, but you're no Roald Dahl!
Thanks, I found it in my school folder and I thought it might interest somebody here. :)
Dude, stories forum or life forum for stories :-)
I'll go and read it now...
I'll go and read it now...
Take it to the long stories forum, Shakespeare.
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