The Rise of the Phoenix Read Online Free PDF

he dreamt of the day that he had killed her. That memory played over and over again in his mind. It always started and ended at the same place, and each time, there was nothing he could do to stop it.
    They had been driving home from the city. She had wanted to pick up some art supplies they didn’t have in the small village where they lived. It wasn’t too far away, but it was far enough that they needed to drive and not take the bus. Halfway back, their car had got a flat tyre. His mother must have hit something, a stray rock maybe. There were plenty of those. They rolled down from the hills in the valley sometimes, especially when the sheep were frolicking along the grassy slopes. She had pulled the car over at the side of the very narrow lane they were driving on. The rain was heavy that day. It lashed down against the windscreen so violently that even the wipers had trouble keeping up. They sat there in silence for a few minutes. He watched the indecision flit across his mother’s features as she sat wondering what best to do. Wait for a car to pass perhaps and some friendly driver to offer help. But the road was empty. No one was foolish enough to drive out in that weather - except for them, of course.
    “You stay here,” she finally said. “I’m going to go and change the tyre.”
    “Do you know how?” he asked her.
    She smiled at him, but he wasn’t too young or too stupid to notice the hesitation in her expression. “I’ve seen your dad do it. It can't be that hard.” It looked as if she were trying to convince herself more than him.
    “I know how to use the jack,” the boy said excitedly. “Dad’s let me do it hundreds of times.” He leapt out of the car and into the rain before she could say no. He knew what he was doing. He had done it many times just for fun, too. Watching the small metal support lift such a heavy burden had fascinated him. Sometimes he would make the jack as tall as it would go, wondering if he could make the car roll over onto its side.
    His mother opened the boot of the car and pulled back the cover that hid the spare wheel and the kit. The boy grabbed the jack and positioned it just under the car, inserting the arm and twisting until it made contact with the underside of the car. It got a little stiffer, but not too much. He could still work it until the car reached the point where its tyre was barely touching the ground. The arm soon became too hard to turn, so the boy stood on it, using his weight and gravity as he bounced up and down. The car rose and he smiled proudly, despite the cold and wet he was feeling. His fingers were slippery and numb as he fumbled to engage the lock that stopped the jack from dropping down.
    “Done it.” He grinned at his mother.
    “Go and sit in the car before you catch a chill,” she said to him. She was just as soaked through as he was, her long, dark hair sticking to the front of her thin jacket. The jacket was of little use in this weather. She put the tyre iron onto one of the bolts of the wheel and tried to twist it. It wouldn’t budge. Her hands were red and they had to be as cold as his were. She manoeuvred herself to get a better grip. “Get in the car,” she ground out through gritted teeth as she tried to make the bolt move. “I’m not kidding.”
    He didn’t want to get in. He half walked around the car as if he was going to, but then stopped and watched her. She was huffing and puffing, but the iron wouldn’t move. She tried standing on it just as he had done with the jack, but her shoes were thin and the bar hurt her feet. She couldn’t force it to turn.
    “I’ll do it,” the boy said enthusiastically. He didn’t give her time to get mad about not being in the car like she had said. He ran over and stood on the side of the iron. It bore all of his weight with no effort.
    It didn’t move. Not even a millimetre. He jumped on it. Bounced. But still nothing.
    His mother looked left and right along the lane, searching