Experiment With Destiny by Stephen Carr Read Free Book Online Page A

to the pulsing orange on the garage wall at his side. He pushed up, this time the same happened to his left. The instrument display was now lit up and he picked out the battery meter. It told him the batteries were two-thirds charged, a range of roughly 65 miles. That would be plenty. He would have to follow the bus route. It may not be the quickest or most direct route but it was the only one he knew. Was he ready? he asked himself. Would he ever be ready for this?
                  Pressing his foot to the brake with deliberate effort, he released the handbrake and pushed the gear from ‘neutral’ to ‘drive’. Then, with a deep gulp of air, he switched his foot to the accelerator and, with the slightest touch, the van lurched forward and began rattling down the ramp to the street. The question of whether or not he was ready was immaterial. His quest for a new, extraordinary life had begun and there could be no turning back. In his growing excitement, Marcus felt better already.
     
                  It was 4.50pm when the CMS-Cardiff maintenance van pulled up in front of the National Museum’s grand entrance. Its heavy wooden doors would remain open to admissions just a few minutes longer, although the museum did not officially close to the public until 5.30pm. Marcus waited a moment to the rhythm of the wipers against the battering rain, studying the steps that led up between the columns, then he switched off the ignition and lights. His heart thundered in the stillness. “Thou shalt not.” He ignored the voice in his head and pushed open the door. The wind caught it and flung it open, threatening to rip it from its hinges. The rain lashed at him as he clambered from the seat and wrestled the door closed, leaving the key in the ignition ready for a rapid escape. Turning up the collar of his coat to hide much of his face, Marcus made his way quickly up the steps, passing the doorman with a furtive glance and swiping his way through the auto-till. At last he entered the stale catacombs of history.
                  Once more the dust filled his lungs like an intoxicating fragrance of reality. His tension simmered as he made his way along the rusty corridors of the ancients. Marcus began to feel like a time traveller, catching passing glimpses of momentary ages as he spun toward his destination.
    The faces that peered down from their gilt-edged frames were more alive than any he had seen. They knew his purpose and beckoned him on. Their spirits danced, sylph-like, around the embers of his rekindled life, a wind to fan the flames and make them burn brightly. I have taken control, thought Marcus. I am master of my own destiny and, tonight, I will become one of them.
     
                  More than an hour had passed when Marcus emerged cautiously from the men’s room. There he had waited, crouched on a toilet seat in case anyone should enter and glance beneath the doors for pairs of legs – sure signs of occupation. He had not thought how to react if the museum’s security adopted a more thorough approach and checked each cubicle. Precautions were unnecessary, however. Nobody entered the men’s room. Just after 5.30pm he heard the sound of footsteps approach and tensed against the threat of discovery. That was when the lights were switched off and he was plunged into blackness, relieved to hear the footsteps trail away again. Occasionally he heard more footsteps, doors opening and closing and distant muffled voices. Then, finally, silence. Marcus continued to wait, the cramp in his muscles and the ache of his arched back almost impossible to bear yet he dared not attempt to step down in the darkness for fear of falling and crashing loudly against the cubicle door. Finally the waiting was done. Just after 6pm he lowered his shaking, numb limbs to the floor. It was time.
                  He stood alone in the corridor, lit only by the intermittent security lamps that