Notorious - John Jones (read after .TXT) 📗

occurrences, then how is it possible to have complete control over ourselves? Is everything preordained, mapped out? It seems impossible, even in the knowledge of what will happen, to avert such events. What will happen, will happen. I can simply offer advice, and you can be prepared in the knowledge that the event will happen. You can be aware of it. If it is fated, then nothing will prevent it.

It is like me saying that in the middle of summer, there will be one day of icy storms and snow. Let’s say that the weather reporters did not see it coming, but I, or somebody else, did. I can warn you of it, and you will wear warm clothes that day, while everybody else will be caught wearing T-shirts and shorts. You would have preparation, knowledge of certainty, certain in the knowledge that something will happen at that preordained time. You have the freewill to warn others, to prepare them. This, force, this, power, sometimes will give warnings, omens and premonitions to the gifted, and it therefore is possible to have freewill, and the power of foresight”. He paused again, watching them nod their appreciation.

“So what of knowledge?” he asked, stopping, and opening his arms in an expansive gesture.

“Why have memories? We collect experiences and recollections throughout our lives, and knowledge”. He paused for effect again, put his arms behind his back, and began pacing once more.

“When we die, we take with us into the spirit world our personalities, and the memories we collected in the real world. If there was no afterlife, then why remember? We would be geared simply for survival. There would only be the knowledge necessary to survive, and procreate. Yet, we learn things that are totally unnecessary to either of those. Why? We must continue our existence outside of this world. We must continue in a separate plane, or realm. The afterlife, I suppose. Do we die there, and convert to another plane? Perhaps. I cannot say otherwise. Is this real world one of many steps towards nirvana, or utopia?

 

Maybe we have to experience everything in order to qualify for such a place. Yet, as animals have souls, they too must go somewhere, as they cannot comprehend the sheer scale of human knowledge. We, humans, after all, are the only species with imaginations. It is exclusive to us. This is another aspect of what separates us from them. This does not mean they should be treated any differently to us, or treated without respect. They provide us with food and warmth, and loyalty. They, after all, only kill for survival, to eat. They only need their base instincts to survive. Which is why when people call muggers, and gangsters, ‘animals’, they are in fact giving them a compliment in a roundabout way. Which would you rather be, a murderer or an animal?” The image of Ribbet flashed into Curio’s mind, and he gave a humourless smile, but made no reference to it. “They don’t have man-made worries, such as money, or relationships”. He paused for a few moments. “I often wonder though, if we die insane, or mentally unbalanced, do we stay like that in the afterlife? Or do we become ‘normal?’” He stopped again and made another expansive gesture.

“I will admit, I do not know. Yet, these are questions I suppose we should be asking those in the spirit world, instead of, how are you? Are you alright?

 

What we should be asking is: What’s it like there? Who have you met? How big is your world? What can you see? We know they are there, so we gain peace of mind in this knowledge. We know that that is where we will go. It is still fearful, however. We still fear our demise. Yet, on the basis of all the evidence spanning back hundreds of years, at least one paranormal event must be real. Only one event that points to the existence of the afterlife.

 

What would be the consequences? It would throw open the floodgates to all sorts of significant truths and facts. This is my legacy. This is what I am attempting to prove. It has already been confirmed by my accurate readings, and finding five bodies in a row by psychic detection. Perhaps it is my destiny. My vocation is to prove the existence of the paranormal to as wide an audience as possible. I know it exists, I have proven it. We have no need to fear death”. Curio stopped.

 

They waited for him to continue, and when he didn’t, a woman at the front started clapping, and it was soon followed by an applause. Curio reddened slightly, and nodded his appreciation. It lasted for nearly a minute, and the vice-chairman stood up and crossed to him, clapping and smiling at the audience. He shook his hand and gestured for him to walk across to a row of chairs lining the side of the wall.

 

One of the women announced it was time for a tea-break, and the man, Derek Stockton, a large, rotund, white haired 76 year-old man slowly limped across to Curio and sat down heavily. He sat one chair away.

“Thanks, Curio, that was much appreciated. We can’t thank you enough”. He paused for a few seconds. “As you can see, I’m not getting any younger, and for a while I’ve been thinking of stepping down. We need new blood in here. I know you’re genuine, I ‘know,’” he tapped the side of his head. “I can see you are gifted, so despite it being somewhat unorthodox, and unconventional, I would like you to take my place”. Curio looked surprised.

“Vice-chairman!” he said, “Well…I’m…I’m honoured”. He was stuck for words for a few moments.

“Thank-you,” he said. “It will be a pleasure”. It was soon announced to the rest of the group who put their drinks down to clap again. One of them was kind enough to go out of their way to offer him a lift home, and Curio was soon climbing the cold stairway, walking along the cold, dimly lit corridor, and opening the door to his cold flat. ‘Psychic genius’, ‘Vice-chairman’ he thought, smiling, closing the door behind him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

44

 

 

Tom brought the car to a halt in the car park that was filled to three-quarter capacity. “This is it,” he said. “He lives here”. Daylight had faded, but night-time had not truly taken over yet, as the sky was a prussian blue, laced with grey wispy clouds. Somewhere behind them, a half moon glowed, and what little light it gave out was reflected in the windows of the block of flats which loomed above them. It looked dark and ominous. A few windows glowed yellow and orange, but even they seemed swamped by the darkness surrounding them. Malcolm looked up with a confused look of altered expectation. “Well,” he said, “I would have thought he lived in a house, some posh place, but obviously not. He’s not that rich”. Tom nodded.

“So are we going to wait for him? You know where he lives now, and this has got nothing to do with me, so I don’t want to be waiting for hours for someone who you think can get in touch with your parents, who you’re willing to give money to”.

“He can get in touch with my dad. I told you about Ian, didn’t I?” Tom nodded.

“A set-up. If Ian had have caught you, he would have done nothing”.

“Oh really? So why did he die in the attempt to get to me? If he’d have caught me, he’d have killed me”.

“Still, though. I reckon this Curio is just another con-man. If you want to throw money at him, then fine, go right ahead”. Malcolm looked out of the window for a few moments.

He could barely make anything out, and nothing moved.

“Money”, said Malcolm, looking back. “That’s one thing I’m short of”.

“Aren’t we all?” said Tom, who then frowned and said: “Hold on, no, what am I saying?

I’ve got buckets of the stuff”.

“Thing is…” said Malcolm, but before he could continue, Tom grinned and said: “How much do you want? If it’s to give to him, you can forget it”. He pointed at the block of flats.

“Curio said last time, he wouldn’t get in touch with my dad again, because he was dealing with dangerous forces, but the thing is, of the other psychics I’ve been to, Curio’s been the most…correct, so I need to persuade him. I just hope my dad is speaking to me now”. Tom shook his head.

“Honestly. You believe this now, don’t you? You’re asking me to give you money to give to Curio, so he can talk to your father?”.

“He was the one who discovered where my mum was, and spoke to my dad who led me to Ian. He must have something”.

“If he can get money out of gullible people then that’s a gift,” said Tom. Malcolm sighed.

All was quiet for a few moments.

“I can’t let you have it for nothing,” said Tom. “I know you probably won’t be able to pay me back, so perhaps a favour would be in order”.

“Such as?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t thought of it yet. How much do you want?”

“How about a hundred?” Tom looked at him with complete distaste.

“A hundred? You want a hundred to give to him?” He pointed at the flats again, and continued:

“Don’t forget, he can probably just tell you anything he likes and pocket the cash.

Actually, that’s what they probably all do”.

“I’m not sure whether a hundred will be enough, though. Perhaps he might want more”. “Well, see how much he wants, then come back and tell me”. Malcolm got out of the car and closed the door. Tom got out also and locked the vehicle.

“I’m not waiting here while you go up there. What if he does your reading there and then?” he said, “You could be ages. How’s that going to make me look if I just drive away? Anyway, I can tell whether or not if he’s genuine. I’ve only seen con-men so far. I wonder if this one can prove me wrong. I doubt it”.

“What do you have in mind?” asked Malcolm as they walked across to the entrance. “Nothing. I’m just going to observe. That’s all”. He pressed the round, steel button of number 38, and waited. Silence hung around them like fog. It was broken by a loud crackle and a hazy voice.

“Hello,” it said.

“Curio Enchantment? This is Malcolm, remember? You’ve given me two readings. I need to speak to you again”.

“Are you with Melissa?”.

“No. I’m with Tom, a friend”. There was a pause, followed by what Malcolm thought was a sigh.

“Come up,” he said. There was a loud buzz as the door allowed them through. They walked into a dimly lit hallway. The flats seemed as though they were not occupied. The fog of silence followed them, their footsteps reverberating throughout the corridor. They walked its length, looking for the stairs, and eventually found them at the end, near a lift. Tom tried opening the door, but it would not budge. It looked as though it was stuck between floors. Malcolm pointed at the stairs.

“Come on, it’s good exercise,” he said.

They began their ascent to the fifth floor.

“So who’s this Melissa?” asked Tom.

“She and some other students are doing a group project at uni, about the paranormal or something, and she’s using the readings I’ve had as part of it. As it’s related to what their doing, a documentary, she’s incorporated my ‘investigations’, I suppose, into it. It’s part of her coursework”. They reached the corridor.

“Is she nice? Do you fancy her?” Malcolm smiled, and said nothing. His face reddened slightly, but in the poor light, Tom couldn’t see it. They reached Curio’s door, and Malcolm knocked.

“Nevermind that,” he said. “How’s Ryvak coming along?”. Tom looked surprised . “Didn’t I tell you?” he said. “Ryvak is no more,” He lifted both his arms in the air, his hands in fists. The door opened.

“Ryvak is