HIDDEN SECRETS Read Online Free Page B

rear four children single-handedly. Through the years, she constantly reminded him of the perils of the demon drink, but as soon as he was old enough to work he began to get a taste for alcohol. Perhaps it was in his genes inherited from his father, or a form of escapism, but he didn’t want to die prematurely like him; it was time to do something about it.    
            Rising to his feet, he headed in the direction of the bathroom where he caught a glimpse of his drink ravaged reflection in the mirror. Sunken eyes and three days of beard growth aged him beyond his fifty six years. His hair was thick with grease and plastered to his head, and his sallow skin exuded an aura of severe illness. Turning away from the disturbing image, he filled the basin with cold water and splashed the icy liquid onto his haggard face. The temperature of the water awakened his senses as he dragged a towel roughly across skin. Fingering his stubbly chin, he contemplated shaving in an attempt to improve his disgusting appearance. Reaching into the wall cabinet for the necessary equipment, his hands trembled as he selected an old disposable razor and a can of shaving foam. As carefully as possible, he drew the blade over his cheeks and under his chin, but his trembling hands were out of his control and blood dripped into the white basin. Cursing his clumsiness, he dabbed the cuts with tissue and continued, determined to finish the task. Feeling slightly better, he turned on the shower and stepped into the stream of cold water. Picking up the first bottle of coloured fluid he found, regardless to its contents he washed his hair and body in record time. Minutes later, he stood wrapped in a towel shivering from head to foot inspecting the contents of his antiquated wardrobe. The only half decent outfit he could find was an old suit which had been hanging there for at least a decade. A shabby once white shirt hung next to it, and he snatched the garments from the rail and dressed.
            The transformation was quite astonishing, and Pat admired the clean-shaven reasonably dressed figure in the mirror.
    “Not bad Pat,” he spoke the words aloud. “Now let’s clean this shithole up.
    He glanced around at the filthy surroundings. Within no time, Pat had filled three black bin bags with empty bottles, newspapers, old clothes, cigarette cartons and anything else that had no place in his reformed life. He was determined to clean up his tainted existence and get away from the grip of alcohol which was threatening to drag him into the gutter, which seemed just a few steps away.
    When he was satisfied with the appearance of the flat, he picked up his mobile phone and scrolled down his contacts list.
    “Hi Danny, it’s Pat, I need to see you.”
    “What’s up Pat, are you broke again?”
    “I’m always broke, but I want to come back.”
    “Are you drunk Pat.”
    “Of course not I’m finished with the bottle. Can we meet at lunch time; say one o’clock at Benny’s?”
    “Sure thing Pat but you’d better be serious; you’ve said all this before.”
    “I am serious this time. I’ll see you later Danny, thanks mate.”
    Danny Wilder was Pat’s only life-line. Anyone who had never met him could be mistaken for analysing his character from his appearance. A small man of no more than five foot three, Danny possessed a very loud voice and intimidating manner which seemed out of place given his generous personality. He had earned a reputation as a tough editor who would not tolerate substandard journalism in his office. Pat had learnt all he knew from this man, and he had let him down badly, yet still he stood by him. It was now Pat’s turn to repay the favour in full.
            Replacing his phone into his jacket pocket, Pat smiled to himself. This was the beginning of his new life, his last chance to sober up and regain a degree of self discipline and respect. The other option was to be controlled by demons. Or dying in