3 A Reformed Character Read Online Free
Author: Cecilia Peartree
the line.
Chapter 3 Smile - you're on camera!
Of course if Darren and Victoria had had any sense they would have gone over the edge in a place where the land sloped down towards the centre of the bay in a gentle unthreatening expanse of green, punctuated only by clumps of gorse bushes. But when Christopher arrived at the place where Darren and Victoria had vanished, he groaned aloud. It was a sheer drop.
They had chosen to clamber down the rocky headland on this horrible night when if the wind didn't blow you off the cliff face, you would slip on the wet rocks and crash to a messy death like King Alexander III. He could see two pale shapes down there on the left, moving along at a fair speed. Of course they were younger and perhaps more desperate than he was. But maybe if he demonstrated his bravery by following them on their perilous journey, they would repay him by agreeing to give themselves up to the police. He suspected Amaryllis of suggesting this way of escape to them. She had appeared to consider herself outside the law on several occasions in the past; she was certainly capable of aiding and abetting fugitives, or obstructing the police, or whatever it was called nowadays.
At that moment he thought he heard someone speaking through a megaphone. He risked a glance behind him.
Flashing blue lights surrounded a caravan in the middle distance; as he watched, horrified, he saw its door open and a figure appear with its hands up. Jock McLean? The siege hadn't lasted very long. He hoped Jock would stand his ground and deny everything. It hadn't been his fault, after all - he was just an innocent bystander.
Behind him he heard someone shouting; then a yelp from below galvanised him into action. Had Victoria slipped? Should he rush to her rescue?
Christopher slithered over the edge, feeling the wet grass under him and then wet slippery rock. He had no idea whether there was a foothold or not. He slithered a bit further and to his relief, his foot knocked against something. It might be a ledge or just a knobbly bit of rock. He lowered himself until he was standing on it. It must be a ledge, though by the pale moonlight he couldn't tell how long or how wide it was. He began inching along, back to the rocks, walking sideways and peering into the night for a sign of the others.
The ledge ran out and he still hadn't seen them again. He was worried about the yelp, but he hadn't spotted any ominous bundles of anything down on the beach under the cliffs, so he hoped whatever was wrong it was just a minor thing, a temporarily twisted ankle, a scraped wrist. He had already suffered from both these minor injuries. He imagined he could feel blood trickling down his hand from the wrist scratch. What if he bled to death out here, or got hypothermia? Blood loss would almost certainly make hypothermia more likely. He stood still, afraid to move. He had come to his senses, too late to stop himself from doing this at all and just in time to make himself look stupid in everyone's eyes. Well, all right, in Amaryllis's eyes. The only comfort was that she had already seen him looking stupid on a number of occasions, and they were still friends - just about. And this was all her fault anyway.
Sliding down to sit on the rock shelf - the moon had brightened now and he had established his refuge was big enough to sit on - Christopher thought he saw another ledge a little below and to the left of where he was. Or maybe it was just a dark place in the cliff. But he could try and use it to get closer to the others. It would be silly to get this far and fall short. He rewound his thoughts and erased the word 'fall'.
He reached out with his left foot and thought he felt something solid. Now all he had to do was put his weight on that foot, swing his other -
The ledge he imagined he had seen turned out to be nothing more solid than a clump of grass. His left foot slipped on it, his whole body swung round and suddenly he was facing the
Chapter 3 Smile - you're on camera!
Of course if Darren and Victoria had had any sense they would have gone over the edge in a place where the land sloped down towards the centre of the bay in a gentle unthreatening expanse of green, punctuated only by clumps of gorse bushes. But when Christopher arrived at the place where Darren and Victoria had vanished, he groaned aloud. It was a sheer drop.
They had chosen to clamber down the rocky headland on this horrible night when if the wind didn't blow you off the cliff face, you would slip on the wet rocks and crash to a messy death like King Alexander III. He could see two pale shapes down there on the left, moving along at a fair speed. Of course they were younger and perhaps more desperate than he was. But maybe if he demonstrated his bravery by following them on their perilous journey, they would repay him by agreeing to give themselves up to the police. He suspected Amaryllis of suggesting this way of escape to them. She had appeared to consider herself outside the law on several occasions in the past; she was certainly capable of aiding and abetting fugitives, or obstructing the police, or whatever it was called nowadays.
At that moment he thought he heard someone speaking through a megaphone. He risked a glance behind him.
Flashing blue lights surrounded a caravan in the middle distance; as he watched, horrified, he saw its door open and a figure appear with its hands up. Jock McLean? The siege hadn't lasted very long. He hoped Jock would stand his ground and deny everything. It hadn't been his fault, after all - he was just an innocent bystander.
Behind him he heard someone shouting; then a yelp from below galvanised him into action. Had Victoria slipped? Should he rush to her rescue?
Christopher slithered over the edge, feeling the wet grass under him and then wet slippery rock. He had no idea whether there was a foothold or not. He slithered a bit further and to his relief, his foot knocked against something. It might be a ledge or just a knobbly bit of rock. He lowered himself until he was standing on it. It must be a ledge, though by the pale moonlight he couldn't tell how long or how wide it was. He began inching along, back to the rocks, walking sideways and peering into the night for a sign of the others.
The ledge ran out and he still hadn't seen them again. He was worried about the yelp, but he hadn't spotted any ominous bundles of anything down on the beach under the cliffs, so he hoped whatever was wrong it was just a minor thing, a temporarily twisted ankle, a scraped wrist. He had already suffered from both these minor injuries. He imagined he could feel blood trickling down his hand from the wrist scratch. What if he bled to death out here, or got hypothermia? Blood loss would almost certainly make hypothermia more likely. He stood still, afraid to move. He had come to his senses, too late to stop himself from doing this at all and just in time to make himself look stupid in everyone's eyes. Well, all right, in Amaryllis's eyes. The only comfort was that she had already seen him looking stupid on a number of occasions, and they were still friends - just about. And this was all her fault anyway.
Sliding down to sit on the rock shelf - the moon had brightened now and he had established his refuge was big enough to sit on - Christopher thought he saw another ledge a little below and to the left of where he was. Or maybe it was just a dark place in the cliff. But he could try and use it to get closer to the others. It would be silly to get this far and fall short. He rewound his thoughts and erased the word 'fall'.
He reached out with his left foot and thought he felt something solid. Now all he had to do was put his weight on that foot, swing his other -
The ledge he imagined he had seen turned out to be nothing more solid than a clump of grass. His left foot slipped on it, his whole body swung round and suddenly he was facing the
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