Notorious - John Jones (read after .TXT) 📗

Ian had existed.

 

Perhaps Curio did have a real gift, a real link to ‘something’. Maybe that was the spirit world. Whatever forces his father was involved with, Curio had tapped into it, and was the closest link he had to finding out what his father had been up to. He hoped he was right. If Aurora conveyed similar information, then he knew he would be on his way to becoming a true believer.

 

Aurora gripped his hand tightly. “Yes,” she said. “He is here, I can feel him” Just you then, he thought. Melissa panned every few seconds between them. Two red lava lamps bathed the room in crimson, and all was quiet, despite the fact that outside there was a public walkway. The building they were in, ‘Rose arcade’ catered for the type of shop that could be described as ‘alternative’. It had a tattoo and piercing parlour, a shop that specified in selling used vinyl records, and many shops that sold bizarre types of fashion.

 

Mystical Aurora catered for many types of spirituality, such as tarot card reading, and healing. Mediation between the real and the spirit world was simply one of her ‘talents’. Malcolm glanced occasionally at her hand, while she seemed to play-act. He hoped she wasn’t.

“Yes,” she said again. “You wish to tell your son that you are in paradise”. He glanced again at the camera, his face conveying despondency. He had chosen not to give any details about his father, simply that he wished for her to contact him.

“Ah...I see him now. Come closer. He is a big, strong man. Why are you limping? What’s that? A work accident. Where you a builder?” Malcolm shook his head, even though Aurora’s eyes were still closed. He then shook his head at the camera and shrugged.

“He says you’ve got nothing to worry about”. Yep, thought Malcolm, exactly what the other one said. Now he’s talking to me. Perhaps if he did go to many psychics, and they all conveyed similar information, then maybe that would single Curio out to be a shark, or simply wrong. Yet, Curio had been the most accurate, on a more precise pathway to his father’s new existence.

“He says to tell Joanne to go for that new job. Is she… your sister?”. Malcolm shook his head at the camera, and mouthed the words: ‘Let’s go’, and hooked a thumb towards the exit.

“Er…My sister’s name is Joan, and she lives in London. She mentioned she was looking for another job, yes”, he lied, simply wanting to make her feel good. He believed that Aurora was one of those psychics deluded into believing they had a gift, so had fed her a morsel that she could grasp onto, and make her feel pleased in the knowledge that she was right, or close.

“She’s living with a good man. Your father says you should see him more often”.

“Yes,” said Malcolm. “I’ve been meaning to”.

“Yes, do”. He looked at her hand again, and wished she would let go. She spoke for another few minutes about his ‘sister’, her man, and her man’s best friend. ‘Tell her to be careful, he has a roving eye’. He had found himself agreeing mostly with what she had said.

 

Not entirely saying yes all the time, because then he thought that that may make her suspicious. He just gave her enough hooks to lead her along, because he knew that she was in about as much contact with her father as he was.

“He says he’ll be waiting, with…your mother. Is she there as well?”. Ah, at last, he thought, she’s got something right.

“Yes, but it was just my father I wanted to speak with”. She opened her eyes and looked at him with concern in her eyes.

“You wanted to speak to him?”

“I just...oh, nevermind”.

“The connection’s broken now. Your father’s gone back. Would you like me to try again?”

“Er, no thanks. It’s fine”. Melissa stopped the tape, and put it back in the bag while Malcolm rummaged around in his pockets for £25 pounds to pay her.

 

They bid her goodbye, and walked past shops that were void of customers.

“Honestly, at this rate, my account’s going to be bare, and I don’t get another grant until next month,” he said, dejectedly.

“Have you really got a sister?” Melissa asked.

“No. I haven’t. Anyway, it looks like Curio is the only one who can ‘talk’ to my father. I think he could be a real psychic”. Melissa nodded.

“I think he is,” she said.

“I think he could be a goldfish in a sea of sharks. I’ve got to see him again,” he said, as they walked down a steep set of stairs.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

41

 

 

A Subaru legacy pulled up in the car park outside the sports centre on campus, and Kenneth Romney got out of the vehicle and surveyed the area. The clouds were grey, but threatened nothing. A slight breeze had built up, but it was hardly noticeable. He turned and looked across at the lecture rooms. A few students came and went through glass doors. There were not many vehicles parked there. The Subaru was alone in the middle, and Kenneth simply continued to stare.

“Sir! Sir!” came a loud voice from his left. A small student, early twenties, wearing flares and a dark green blazer, eagerly came rushing across to him.

“Sir, I finished my essay on construction and transport of oil and gas along continental pipelines”. He rifled through many sheets of paper in a folder he was carrying, and eventually produced a paperclipped essay. Kenneth simply stared at him. He did not look at the papers.

“I need to see Stuart Harper,” Kenneth said. “Where is he?”. The student looked confused, proffering his essay.

“I don’t know who he is” said Gareth Lester.

“I think he’s in there,” said Kenneth, looking at the lecture building. The student nodded, clearly more interested in his essay.

“Sir, will you check my essay?”.

“I think he’s in there”, said Kenneth, walking in that direction. His chest pushed the essay out of the way, and the student stood there, looking puzzled.

“Sir, you’ve left your car door open”. Kenneth walked towards the lecture rooms, stepping over a low bush border. He pushed his way through the glass doors and stood in the foyer, looking around. A woman tutor, late forties, walked by and he looked directly at her.

“Stuart Harper. Where is he?” he asked. The woman stopped in her tracks. Despite being a fellow tutor, the university was big enough for them to be strangers. She could decipher that he wasn’t a student, nor a member of the public. Tutors always seemed to have a certain look and mannerism that was unique to them, that marked them out as teachers, and to a trained eye, perhaps even as they walked amongst the public. She guessed instantly that he was a tutor.

“Sorry, I don’t know,” she said, and continued walking. She frowned, and looked back. Kenneth walked further into the hall, and looked across to his right at a pair of double doors, from where he could hear laughter.

“…and I said, no, it’s just frost on my moustache”. The room erupted into more laughter. Billy Jenson was a lecturer in Human anatomy and cell biology, and he was convinced that the only reason that the place was filled every time he gave a lecture was because of his excellent communication skills. He made what he had to say interesting.

 

There were a lot of lecturers that simply droned on in the same flat monotone which served to send the student into a world of daydreams. It didn’t matter how interesting the subject was, or the aspect of it spoken by the lecturer. Some of them, eminent professors and doctors never seemed to grasp that it was unconstructive, but Billy knew, and had geared his lectures accordingly so that student’s attention was as much on him as possible. As an ex-student himself, he was always the joker in the pack, always had a funny story to tell, always seemed cheerful and full of confidence. That was still the case.

 

When an adolescent left school to face the outside world, it is always a daunting task, but one which must be overcome. Billy saw this as he faced the end of his university years. The end of that was even more frightening to him. He had been shaped and honed by his time there, and knew that to face the world outside would be a drastic change of environment for him, so what better than to continue being a student than to work there? and continue to receive the adulation and respect of like-minded individuals? Billy had found his home from home, and was one of those rare people that enjoyed going to work.

 

He had once asked himself, though, would he do the work for no pay? and he was quite saddened to find that the answer had been no.

“…but seriously, the pivot joints of the forearms radius and ulna permit rotation along the bone’s length. This is unlike hinge joints”. He looked across to the entrance as Kenneth walked in and stood there, surveying the faces that had all turned to look in his direction. Billy recognised him, but did not know him. He walked across, his footsteps loud in the hushed theatre.

“I’m looking for Stuart Harper,” said Kenneth, walking forward. He pushed past Billy as though he was not there.

“Excuse me,” said Billy. “Do you mind?”. In the midst of the faces, he saw a student with his hand raised.

“Are you Stuart Harper?” he asked, stopping. Stuart nodded.

“Yes, I am”. He was sandwiched halfway up the theatre. The seats were cramped and uncomfortable, the type where half of the row had to stand should somebody midway wish to leave. Kenneth walked up the steps towards him, his footsteps amplified, the theatre designed in a steep sloping semi-circle so that those at the back could hear clearly.

 

All eyes followed him, and there were a few murmurs. Billy just stared up at him. He had only been a lecturer for six months, and he stood there in a state of indecision. Wouldn’t it have just been easier for him to have Stuart leave and talk to him outside? he thought, as he watched as a row of students all stood up as Kenneth slowly squeezed his way through. He stepped over bags, and a pair of ankle boots, his gaze firmly fixed on Stuart who looked up at him in perplexity. He was leaning forward on the narrow strip of mahogany where students took notes and laid their belongings. It was the most comfortable position.

 

He leaned back to speak as the tutor stood over him, but he never had time as Kenneth’s right hand darted forward and gripped the back of his head. He shoved him forward forcefully, slamming his face onto the wooden strip. He did not bring any materials as he was one of the students that came to see Billy. His glasses shattered instantly, and shards pierced his eyes. He screamed as Kenneth slammed his head down again and again, cracking his teeth and splitting his jaw. Some students covered their ears as the amplified scream pierced their eardrums. Still, he relentlessly slammed his face onto the wood, his nose crushing, his forehead cracking. The students finally recovered from their surprise, as it sank in just what was happening. As pandemonium erupted, and screams reverberated throughout the theatre, and students clambered for the exits as though the place was burning, Kenneth slammed and slammed Stuart’s scarlet covered face, and he felt a give in his skull which meant that his hand became closer and closer to the wood as the cranium parted. His brain became exposed, glistening from the overhead lights. Kenneth stopped, letting go of the scalp and hair. He was breathing heavily, his face reddened. He looked at Stuart for a few moments, then stood up straight, looking around.

 

All of the students were panicking, trying to leave. He made his way back to the steps. “Where is