Notorious - John Jones (read after .TXT) 📗

up, but she had decided not to carry on filming. She joined Malcolm, and was about to speak, when they saw Ian move.

 

They all looked at him, and saw him slowly getting to his feet. The left side of his face had a deep laceration, and was bleeding. There was also a burn mark where his face had scraped along the tar-mac. His expression was the same. He was still clutching the knife, and looked up at Malcolm, then began to run at him again. He did not look at anybody else. Malcolm turned and ran again. Ian dashed between Melissa and the driver.

“Stop him, he’s got a knife,” she said to the driver. He looked in the direction of the pursuit, then hurriedly got back in his van. His passenger looked at him as if to say: ‘What’s going on? What are we doing?’ Performing a swift U-turn, he sped onwards, and found Ian around five metres behind Malcolm, dashing along the pavement. Ian did not look at the van, even though it was rapidly bearing down on him. It slammed into his side and he was sent careering into the side of a parked Hyundai Elantra. The van screeched to a halt and both occupants quickly left the vehicle and hurried across to Ian who was getting to his feet again, knife still in hand.

 

Malcolm had stopped on the other side of the road and was looking back, ready to make another dash, even though he was breathing heavily. Ian was pushed to the floor, but got back up, was pushed to the floor, but went to get back up. Ray Denton grabbed him with both hands and shoved him to the ground. Ian started to struggle in the direction of Malcolm. He did not utter a word, or indeed, a sound.

 

Ray found his strength surprising for such a lithe man. He thrashed around, and Ray’s forearms were slashed a few times, but not on purpose.

“Ah!...Ste, open the van, open the van, let’s lock this fucker inside”. He slammed Ian twice against the pavement.

“What the fuck d’you think you’re doing? Calm the fuck down”. Ian continued to thrash, and more wounds were opened. He was looking in the general direction of Malcolm, even though a car door was in the way. He continued to try and crawl towards him, but

Ray kept him pressed down. He looked back at Steven Rowley

“You opened that van yet? Fuckin’ hurry up. This bastard’s fucking mental”. Steve came hurrying over, and together they grabbed Ian who continued to thrash. Both of them received lacerations by the wildly swinging blade, and Ian continued to be silent. They dragged him to the back of the van, and hurled him in. There were bags of cement and a bag of tools inside.

 

Ray and Steve both slammed the doors, but then they heard a loud crash on the driver’s side. They walked around, and it came again. Melissa had joined Malcolm on the other side of the road. She was filming the van, watching as it rocked each time Ian threw himself in Malcolm’s direction.

 

A few onlookers had stopped to watch. The van never had time to stabilise before Ian launched himself again. Some of the metal actually dented, but still, Ian was relentless. Soon though, the bangs became less and less, until the van stabilised. Ray and Steve just looked at each other, not knowing what to do. It was around two minutes before Ray slowly made his way to the back, and then cautiously opened one of the doors. Ian was dead. His head had collapsed over a bag of cement, his skull caved in as though it had been crushed in a vice.

 

Each time he had hurled himself at the side of the van, his head had cracked against it simultaneously. A lot of his bones were also shattered, and he looked deflated, a puppet whose strings had been cut, cast aside, of use no longer. Malcolm looked wide-eyed at Melissa.

“What the fuck was that about?” he asked, as if she would know. “That Curio was in touch with my Dad. I’ve got to speak to him again”. As more curious onlookers gathered, they both hurried away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

35

 

 

“Yes, it’s good of you to tell me, Curio, I’m quite sure I can use your information, as it makes perfect sense. I’m sure I’m psychic myself, as I have just demonstrated. I pick up vibrations. Whenever I walk into an old building, or sometimes just walking along the road, I begin to sense that there was some kind of trauma that went on there. I look into the history of the place and discover that some kind of distress took place there,” said Trevor Clement, who had rang Curio for a reading.

 

Curio had been unaware that Trevor was also a practising psychic, and wished to discuss techniques and experiences with him. It was quite a pleasant surprise for Curio to find a fellow medium with whom to exchange thoughts. He had given him a reading, and it was fairly typical. Trevor, who was 46, wore steel rimmed spectacles, had thin wispy hair, and wore stone cord jeans with a white polo top. Trevor had offered to give Curio a reading, which he had accepted. His technique was different to Curio’s but the result was similar.

 

He had closed his eyes and had laid a hand on Curio’s shoulder. ‘I feel you are a strong person. Good natured and talented’. After five minutes, he had felt a presence within his mind.

‘Sarah. I’m getting a Sarah. Blond hair, about thirtyish.’. Curio had had to think for a few moments.

“Yes,” he had said, “One of my tutors when I was in uni”. Trevor had then let go of him, a big smile creased across his face.

“Very good,” Curio had said. “I’m impressed. Sarah must have died”. He had looked saddened.

“I haven’t reached your standard yet,” Trevor had said.

“If that was anything to go by, you’ll be overtaking me rather soon”.

 

Curio had been given a saucer of digestive biscuits. He ate the last of them and looked at the small crown dynasty plate as though willing for more to appear.

“Yes, traumatic incidents leave an imprint in reality at the place of the disturbance,” he said. “The sensations from it enable us, psychics, to pick up on its meaning. We can feel that something happened there, some event, but we must also decipher what actually happened.

 

Through the feelings we gain we can work out just what the cause of the disturbance was, and work our way backwards to the source. It is possible to discover exactly what happened, and should you check up its history, if it’s available, then they should match exactly. Checking what happened is simply a formality to please those who still harbour doubts. As the disturbance is so major, it must have some resonance within the plane it is in, and maybe others that are perhaps parallel, and that includes our dimension, hence our picking up its vibrations. That’s what I believe”. Trevor nodded. Curio continued: “Maybe there are other Earths where the deceased go. I mean, look up into the sky. There’s infinity in all directions, and with pro-creation ongoing, then there has to be infinity to house those that have crossed over. From the earth’s creation, the very first life forms must have had some form of soul, or energy in order to have movement, and when that died, it must have transferred somewhere. Was it the first form of life to enter the spirit world? There’s plenty of space out there to take the deceased, unseen to ours eyes, but there nonetheless”. He pointed upwards.

“Space,” he said. “A Parallel universe where everything goes upon death. Although, I don’t know what the planets or stars are for. Another mystery, I suppose. Maybe they are havens. With space being so vast, they could be like other countries are to us. I believe spirits can choose whether or not to stay in that place, or be born into this world in a form of their choosing. Or maybe another world, a different earth, a different reality”.

“Yes,” said Trevor, nodding, “Certainly”. He stood up and crossed to the mantle-piece where there was a bulging wallet.

“What’s the damage?” he asked.

“Twenty,” said Curio, standing up. Trevor handed him a note and they walked into the hallway. Curio shrugged on his coat.

“I hope you do well, anyway,” he said, zipping up.

“Yes,” said Trevor. “It’s not easy, but still, you’ve given me more scope to work on”.

They shook hands.

“See you again,” said Curio, then closed the gate behind him, and walked around a corner.

 

He waited at a crossing, and vehicles pulled up at the line. As he crossed, his mobile phone rang, and he hurriedly retrieved it. The number it was displaying was unfamiliar. He walked across to a small patch of grass on the side of one of the paths that led to a supermarket. He answered it, covering his other ear.

“Hello,” he said, “Curio Enchantment”. Even though he had given both of his numbers out, most of the people who called for readings called his landline.

“Curio…I need to see you again as soon as possible. It’s Malcolm. Remember you gave me a reading, and told me to go and see an ‘Ian’ at the pier-head? Well you were right, he was there, and he tried to kill me…He tried to kill me. I need you to get in touch with my Dad again. Ian knew him, and he was involved in some weird cult or something. I need to know what he was involved with. Can I see you as soon as…I’ll pay you more”.

“Well,” said Curio. “I could meet you at the same place as last time if you wish. How long will it take you to get there?”

“No. Come to my parent’s house. I’ve got it on video, and there’s more objects there of my father’s”.

“Er…Ok,” said Curio, “What’s the address?”.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

36

 

 

While Melissa tried to figure out how to attach the camcorder to the television, Malcolm was standing at the window, looking through net curtains for any signs of Curio.

“Maybe I should have checked the van, to make sure he was dead. What if he wasn’t? You saw the way he just got up after being knocked down. You don’t think he knows where I am, do you?” he asked.

“No, I doubt it,” Melissa replied. “He’ll have lost you, and I think he’ll probably be dead. It could be on the local news anyway. They’ll say whether he’s dead or not”. Malcolm nodded.

“Yes, news is every hour isn’t it? We’ve got twenty minutes. Maybe I should put it on just incase”. He walked into the hall and went up the stairs into the bedroom. There was a small radio on his father’s bedside table. He saw the picture he had previously placed flat, and walked around the bed to pick it up. His father’s smiling face greeted him again. “Come on, fucker!” he said, “tell me what you know”. He then felt guilty for swearing at him, as though he had heard. He guessed that maybe he had, and turned away, took the radio, and walked downstairs. Melissa was kneeling in front of the television with a remote control. The screen displayed static, or white noise.

“I think I’ve got to tune it in,” she said, looking confused. She kept her finger on the programme button, and the screen flickered until her own image appeared, at Pendlebridge farm.

“Here we are,” she said, “I’ll get it to the pier-head”. Malcolm was about to turn on the radio when the doorbell rang. He crossed to the window.

“It’s Curio,” he said, and went to answer it.

 

Soon, Curio and Malcolm entered the living room and Melissa nodded an acknowledgement. The gesture was returned.

“Take a seat,” said Malcolm, gesturing to the couch. Curio sat on one side of the Navy Genoa sofa. Malcolm took the armchair. Melissa was crouched at the camcorder.

“He