“So how’s Natalie?”
It was three days later, and the weekend. Jamie, with his small group of friends were walking in the woods near his home. They were on their way back from a majestic game of football in the nearby park. Twenty seven on Twenty Five. The score had been irrelevant, everyone lost count anyway. The game had been the result of an initial six on six, with people joining all the time as they arrived in the park. It had lasted three hours and now the boys were exhausted as they sauntered their way back home.
“Oi.. lover boy! So how’s Natalie?” Jamie’s friend - Tron (origin of nickname long since forgotten) - nudged Jamie in the back as he repeated his question.
“Oh, she’s fine, mighty fine.” The boys laughed. Jamie blushed.
“So you two serious now then?” Tron, ever the interrogater.
“We’re just good friends.” replied Jamie shyly, not wanting to jinx anything so early in their relationship. “But you know..” he blushed again, “well.. you know.”
Tron put on his best damsel in distress voice. “Oh Jamie, you’ve saved me from my ever increasing virginity. How can I possibly repay your kind desire?” The boys all laughed as they continued through the woods.
Munching on an apple the Auditor popped into existence, a few yards behind the boys. He checked his suit was straight then started after them, not worrying too much about keeping a distance since he was unseen by the boys anyway. Clipboard had been replaced by Blackberry. He checked the date on his phone, nodded to himself and stopped to watch the scene unfold.
Jamie came to abrupt halt. Up ahead of them in the wood was Natalie Bee. And so was Jason Clump. Jamie hated Jason Clump. Jason ‘Captain of the football team, lord of the schoolyard, heartthrob to half the school’ Clump was everything Jamie was not. He was popular, tall, talented - certainly at football - and had an admirable track record with girls. There he was, and in his arms was Natalie Bee. Jamie saw red. He charged, hurled himself towards Clump and threw himself at him with all his might. Natalie was brushed aside and thrown to the floor. Tron scrambled to her aid. Jamie and Jason, kicking and shouting rolled, locked together down a small incline into a mass of nettles and brambles. They came to a halt against a large rock, Jamie happened to be on top. Like a man posessed he pounded his fists into Jason Clump, over and over again. Blows to the face drew blood, blows to the body knocked out the wind and bruised ribs. Still he continued to fight. Whilst trying to wrestle himself free Clump raised his head as another fist smashed against his jaw, knocking his head against the rock rendering him unconcious. Still Jamie continued to fight.
“You BASTARD! You fucking BASTARD!” screamed Jamie. “You fucking bastarding fuckface bastard bollockbrain knob jockey..” His poetic recital was cut short as his friends finally got to him to pull him away from the bleeding Clump. Tron and Carter each grabbed Jamie by an arm each and dragged him backward. Jamie continued to kick Clump in the ribs until he was out of reach. Jamie was red faced, breathing heavily and shook himself free of his friends. “LET GO!”
Jamie turned now towards Natalie Bee. She was crying, tears pouring down her pretty young face. She mouthed the word ’sorry’ and ran off homeward. Jamie watched her go, and as his breathing returned to normal he began to cry. He fell to his knees, head in hands. Seeing that he was no longer a threat Tron and Carter left Jamie where he was and scrambled back down the hill to Jason Clump’s aid. He was still out cold, blood pouring from his nose and mouth.
“Holy shit - excuse my french” muttered Tron. “We better get am ambulance.. fast.” The scene faded - the Auditor had seen enough.
*
“You better come with me son.” Jamie was led from his home. It was dark now, later that evening. Flashing red and blue lights danced on the windows of the house from the car parked at the end of the drive. Jamie went quietly, completely deflated by now and full of regret. But he was confused. Yes, he regretted what he had done. But Clump had deserved it hadn’t he? How dare he touch Natalie Bee! He wondered how Clump was. The police officer read his mind.
“He’s in surgery as we speak. Doctors say it’s not good. You better have had good reason son, you can tell me all about it down at the station.”
Jamie nodded and silently got into the back of the police car, which quietly pulled away and headed back into town. Jamie watched the faces of his family and friends pass by, a brief smile from Tron, looking on, that said more than a thousand words. Jamie knew it. He was in big, big trouble this time.
Later that night Jason Clump died on the operating table. The stinging nettles had not killed him. A fractured rib had severed an artery. He’d lost too much blood in the woods. The doctors did all they could, but it was not enough. Jamie was fifteen, and now responsible for the murder of ‘the boy who touched Natalie Bee’. The Auditor stood outside the police station cell door and looked in on Jamie. Jamie slept soundly, he dreamt of Natalie Bee. His Natalie Bee.
Jamie sat obediently across from Dr Piggot. As the doctor posed his usual irrelevant questions, Jamie’s mind began to wander, as was its wont when confronted by this tiresome man. Yes, he contemplated the ice cream which, even as they spoke, was undoubtedly beginning to melt somewhere unseen, but he also pondered the fact that he was there unaccompanied. This was highly unusual. His mother had always been there with him at his sessions with Dr Piggot, but today was an exception. He began to feel uncomfortable – even more so than was normally the case. Suddenly he wanted his mother desperately. For all her faults, she was his mother after all, and he did love her in his own particular way. Jamie felt utterly alone all of a sudden; his head dropped and his attention switched to a small graze on his right knee that he’d sustained a few days before. He was isolated from the world, in his own impenetrable bubble, which made a very decent job of filtering out all external sounds, including Dr Piggot’s continuous and banal questions. The doctor took Jamie’s silence to mean something altogether more spurious than the boy just being lonely. He made notes.
After a moment or two inside his bubble, Jamie became vaguely aware of a small movement out of the corner of his eye. He lifted his bowed head slightly and glanced across the consulting room to a small chair below a painting of an old, tumbledown byre amidst a hazy, pastoral idyll. Cassandra was sat upon the chair; but this was odd. As he looked closer he saw that her hands were tied in her lap, with a thin fibrous rope. He looked up to meet her gaze and was shocked to see a frightened expression on her little face. He’d never known Cassandra to be frightened of anything. She tried to speak but a tightly tied gag prevented anything but unintelligible grunts from escaping her mouth. She jumped up from her chair with an urgency that startled Jamie, and made a dash for the door. And in the blink of an eye she was gone.
Jamie – his heart pounding like a drum – looked at the floor by the doorway. To his surprise he saw the rope and the gag lying benignly on a patch of threadbare carpet.
His bubble burst and he was aware of the distant, persistent monotone of Dr Piggot’s voice.
“Jamie?” The doctor began to stroll across the room. “Jamie!” Jamie looked up into the icy blue eyes of his inquisitor. Dr Piggot smiled malevolently and stooped to pick up the rope and the gag. “I do hope there was nothing you wanted to say to the young lady before she left. You shan’t be seeing her again, you see.”
Jamie was taken aback. Had the doctor seen her? He watched as the man opened a drawer in his large oak desk, dropped the bonds that had held Cassandra into the drawer and slid it shut with exaggerated slowness. This was unprecedented and if what the doctor said was true – devastating. He felt bereft… bereaved, almost.
“She was a rotten apple my boy – rotten in every fibre of her being. No good could ever come of your continued relationship with her.” Jamie was at a loss. His tender years had not yet equipped him with enough experience to know how to respond.
“Can I have some ice cream now, please?”
“Can I have some ice cream now, please?” Dr Piggot mocked in an imprudent, child-like imitation of Jamie’s request. “No you cannot have some ice cream now, please!” he bellowed. Jamie began to cry. The doctor took the leather belt from his trousers and looped it in half. Gripping it so tightly that his fat knuckles went white with the pressure,
he raised it above his head, in readiness to strike the small, innocent child before him.
At that moment the Auditor appeared to Jamie, between him and the sadistic Dr Piggot. Through his tears, the little boy seemed to recognise this man that had apparently appeared from nowhere, but couldn’t quite place him.
“That’s quite enough of that, I think,” said the Auditor indignantly, and scribbled a note on his clipboard. “Your teens next, young Jamie!” he exclaimed, and the room around him began to brighten. Jamie cast a glance at the painting of the cowshed, above the chair.
As the room brightened further with an intense, spectral white light, he fancied he saw the figure of a small girl, in the painting – stood by the entrance to the byre, alone and forlorn. He’d not noticed her before. He was overwhelmed by melancholy. And then his vision was completely engulfed by the incandescent white light that seemed to emanate from the familiar looking man before him. He was blinded momentarily, but the light quickly faded and Jamie’s eyes soon adjusted to his new surroundings. The scene in which he now found himself began to resolve itself into something tangible. He was outdoors and could feel a warm and gentle breeze on his face, as a strange sensation embraced him. He was growing… and rapidly. It was an odd feeling – his arms and legs were lengthening before his eyes. Far from them being tugged by some exterior force, it felt to Jamie as though they were being forced out from somewhere within. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, physically; a little disconcerting perhaps.
It was a warm summer evening. He was fifteen now, sat on the low, broad branch of a majestic old cedar in Gibbet Wood not far from his home. Sat next to him, holding his hand was Natalie Bee. She was swinging her legs absent-mindedly, gazing out across the hilly fields that surrounded the wood, watching the red sun as it crept imperceptibly towards the horizon.
“So… are you going to kiss me?” she asked coyly – a nervous smile playing across her soft, bee-stung lips. Jamie turned to her and watched as the Auditor, who was stood just
a little way away, faded to nothing. Jamie smiled at Natalie and leant into her.
‘Jamie,’ acknowledged the headmaster. ‘Close the door behind you.’ His voice was serious.
Jamie did as he was told. He usually did. But that was probably why he found himself again in a predicament which had become as familiar as three times in as many weeks. Jamie had by now earned himself a reputation with his peers and sadly had gained a certain amount of respect and admiration amongst them. But Jamie wasn’t badly behaved. His teachers knew that. If they gave him an instruction to do something he would invariably do it. Properly and promptly. And with enthusiasm - sometimes too much. It was just that he had these moments.
Jamie faced the man the teachers sent him to when they didn’t know what to do. His beard as well as his size made him look frightening. There were also two other people here. He didn’t know them. There was a man who was thinner and who didn’t have a beard and a tall woman with a flash of grey in her blond hair. They stood either side of the headmaster. They looked frightening too. Although the woman slightly less so. There was kindness in her eyes.
Jamie stood behind an empty blue plastic chair. His whole form shuddered. He wished his father was here with him. Not his mother. He was glad she wasn’t here. He didn’t want her to find out he’d been playing with Cassandra again. His mum didn’t seem to like Cassandra and she got annoyed and upset when he talked about her. Also, he’d heard that Headmaster Korenwolf had eaten Jake Twist’s mother when she went to see him for telling Jake off for running in the playground. Although he disliked his mother sometimes he didn’t want this to happen to her. No. He wanted his father here. He was a good man. Everyone told him that. That he should be proud. ‘Proud’ was a good word. But he had gone to place a very very long way away to do some special work. He could see him at night sometimes. He carried a torch that glowed brightly which he shone to let him know that he was okay and he was thinking about him. He was to watch for the day when it would grow brighter. This would mean he was on his way home. He had a long journey and the brighter the light, the closer he would be to seeing his dad again.
Jamie looked beyond the people who talked in low voices with each other and out through the large window. He couldn’t see his dad yet. It was still too light outside.
‘Jamie. We’re concerned.’
Jamie really didn’t like Mr Korenwolf. He used long words. ‘Concerned?’. He knew the word ‘con’. And he knew it was bad. Things now looked very bad.
The tall kind-faced woman approached him. She used shorter words. He understood them all. And he didn’t feel so nervous anymore. He looked across to his right. He had seen a movement through the corner of his eye. Cassandra was here! She sat in a chair. She was sitting on top of some books, swinging her legs backwards and forwards, munching on a Mars Bar. She saw he had seen her. She put her fingers to her lips. Jamie knew this meant he was not to say anything. He didn’t want to betray her.
He looked back at the lady who was still talking to him. She paused and he was expected to say something back. He glanced across at Cassandra again. She had chocolate all round her mouth. Her eyes stared back. She could be a little bit frightening too sometimes. She shook her head. She was warning him he thought. These nice things the lady had been saying were lies. The lady was trying to trick him. He was thankful for Cassandra. She always knew what was best. She was very very clever. Jamie thought she was cleverer than the older people sometimes.
‘You’re telling lies,’ said Jamie. The lady was visibly taken aback by this.
The headmaster rose to his feet. ‘Jamie… We’re trying to help you,’ he huffed and puffed.
Cassandra walked up to the headmaster and hid behind him. He didn’t seem to see her. Then she peaked out from behind his large form and pulled funny faces. She disappeared again. Then she did the same thing.
Jamie laughed. She looked so funny. She did make him laugh. He fell to his knees and toppled sideways and rolled on the floor laughing and laughing. The other man tried to get him to his feet. But Jamie couldn’t help it. He laughed and he laughed and he bit and he kicked and he scratched.
Cassandra was gone. And things didn’t seem so funny anymore. Everything seemed more ‘concerned’. He was told to wait outside. He did as he was told. He walked through the door and stepped into a small white room -approximately eight foot by eight foot. There was the familiar sofa. The familiar toys. The familiar bright pictures on the walls. And the familiar Dr Piggot closed the door behind him and started to ask questions. All very familiar. He found it all so boring. Yes, it was a morning off school. But he would rather be with his friends. And Cassandra especially. She didn’t seem to like it here. And she had a choice not to be there. He didn’t have any choice. Oh, apart from the ice cream. Strawberry, chocolate or vanilla. That was the good bit. The ice cream bit. It usually came towards the end. Jamie liked ice cream. Today he thought he would have chocolate. Cassandra liked chocolate.
In single file the twenty three latest prisoners were led, chained at the feet, one small step at a time down the dark, damp stone steps that tunneled into the depths of the Bastille. A chain of small, flickering gas lamps hung forlornly from the brick walls, every third lamp or so quickly going out with a fizz and puff of smoke as water poured down the walls from the storm out above. One by one each of the prisoners, for that was indeed what they were, were separated from the chain and pushed silently into their cells.
All the cells were identical. A small stone room approximately eight foot by eight foot with nothing more than a damp looking thin pillow and a frayed off-white blanket in one corner. The walls were of the same cold brickwork that had made up the tunnels and as with the tunnels you could just make out in the lamp light the running of water down the mortar that disappeared either into the cracks that littered the stone floor, many big enough to fit a hand in, or down the cast iron drain that rusted it’s way into the corner of the room. No windows provided light or fresh air and the atmosphere was damp, cold and musty. None of the rooms contained lamps, the only available light diffused it’s way through the one foot square iron barred window set into the thick, warped wooden door that provided the only way in and out of each cell. This was not Hell, but it gave Hell a good run for it’s money.
Slowly and one by one the chain of prisoners became less and less as each was pushed carelessly into their cell, imprisoned with the crash of the heavy wooden door swinging into place followed by the rust clang of the bolts being pulled across the door and the chink chink of keys swinging from a belt, disappearing into the distance on to the next cell. No one spoke, no one protested. Far down here, below the crashing sea level and isolated from the storms above there was no point. Here you waited and prayed for forgiveness.
*
Jamie was now sat in the Head Master’s office reception, staring intently at the laces of his shiny black shoes (polished avidly by his Mum that morning during breakfast). Occasionally he would glance up to the door that awaited him, that led to judgement at the hands of the Head Master himself. A overly made up receptionist tap tapped away on a prehistoric typewriter to the left of the door. The only other sound came from a tall antique Grandfather clock that stood next to the escape hatch that was the door that led into the winding corridors of the school. It swung and ticked away slowly, time moving much slower here for Jamie as he awaited his fate. Sunlight now streamed through the blinds. Particles of dust (no more than 500 micrometers across) made up of dead skin, plant pollen, human and animal hairs, textile fibers, paper fibers and minerals from outdoor soil danced in the beams of sunlight, occasionally swirling up into the air as the currents lifted them and let them fall with playful regularity.
On the headmaster’s door a bright brass plaque glimmered in the sunlight. The headmaster was new to the school, a dutch schoolmaster of epic proportions. He towered over all the other teachers, all eighteen stone and seven foot two of him and spoke with an exotic european accent that was often the cause for much impression amongst the braver of the children. Tall, imposing, blonde and unknown - Gulpener Korenwolf.
Inside the office Jamie could hear the muffled conversation between Korenwolf and Hooknorton and the lack of discernable words played merriment on Jamie’s mind as it conjured up all manner of terrible retribution at the hands of his european magistrate. Would this foreign man execute him? Was that allowed in Dutch-land? Had Hooknorton finally had enough of his (or Cassandra’s, let’s face it) misbehavior and thrown him to the flemish wolf? Where was Flemland anyway, and was it near to Dutch-land? Was it was the dutchy people called Dutch-land? If so why do we not call it Flemland as well? He thought maybe he would be extricated out of the school, or maybe the country? Sent to foreign lands to spend a life in hard labour, digging for flemish gold in the ‘Dutch Gold’ torture mines of Belgium. Other than the torture mines that Henderson had told him about Jamie did not think Belgium sounded like too bad a place to live. Living off chocolate and grown up beer.
The door to the Head Master’s room swung open and Hooknorton strolled out. He handed a sheet of paper to the receptionist then headed silently from the room back to the classrooms beyond. Still no word from the office and Jamie remained sat, punishments running around his mind. He knew that Korenwolf had other things to deal with and hoped to God that his time would be focussed so much on his evil plots (that were quite the discussion topic in the lunch halls) that he would care not for Jamie’s exploits. Ever since the week after Korenwolf’s arrival and the construction that started on the new sports field the children had known for sure that the ‘sports field’ cover story was just that - a cover story. It was no coincidence that soon after the arrival of a dutchman the school ground’s only real hill (the one that became a sledging mecca in winter) had been removed in favour of a flatter cricket pitch. The children all knew that that very hill was no doubt right now in the hold of a cargo ship heading for Holland. Cos everyone knew the Dutch craved hills.
Jamie’s train of thought was interrupted as the Head Master’s door swung open. From inside he heard the word ‘Enter’. Jamie gulped, got up, and headed in. Unseen by anyone, the auditor followed, chomping on a Mars bar.
Dressed in his PE kit, Jamie stood in his classroom, the sound of his classmates’ chattering and whooping coming from all directions. Even at this tender age he mused at how – if he stopped concentrating – the voices seemed to cohere to become a single indefinable noise.
Natalie Bee approached him coyly.
“Do you want me to undo those?” she asked pointing at his feet. He looked down. He was still wearing his shoes – his mother had tied his laces in double knots that morning, which was a constant source of frustration to him. He prided himself that, unlike many of his friends, he was – if required – quite able to tie his own laces, but double knots were the very Devil to undo! Jamie nodded silently and Natalie bent down to attend to them. He felt his cheeks redden, and he became quite conscious that he, Jamie, had Natalie Bee’s undivided attention. He was terrifically fond of her, even though his six-year-old sensibilities were unable to help him with knowing what to do about it. So he continued to blush.
Natalie was done. She stood up and Jamie kicked off his shoes and eased his feet into his little black, slip-on pumps. Then his world erupted into a glistening crescendo of bright, shimmering lights.
“Jamie,” said Natalie, looking round to see whether anyone was listening, “will you be my boyfriend?” Natalie’s words were as honest and to-the-point as any child’s, but sounded to Jamie like nothing he’d ever heard before. He felt engulfed by the uncontrollable heat of his blushes once more, and steeled himself before giving his response. He nodded again, slowly – suddenly becoming far more interested in the parquet floor than in anything else. Natalie took his hand and skipped off to join the other children, making their way en masse to the gym.
After PE the children changed back into their uniforms. Starched knee-length navy skirts and neatly ironed white shirts, now creased and crumpled from being left in heaps on chairs. The jealous and troublesome Cassandra de l’Esprit had noticed the burgeoning affinity between Jamie and Natalie Bee, and she was not about to let it pass unchecked. She seized her opportunity when nobody was around, and she tapped Jamie on the shoulder.
“What do you like her for?” she demanded – as though the word her was something she was struggling to regurgitate. Cassandra was spiteful and Jamie wouldn’t risk incurring her wrath. He shrugged, simply. “Give that to me!” she ordered, gesturing at the toy fire engine he was clutching.
“What for?” Jamie sensed trouble.
“Just give it to me, Jamie!” Jamie saw that opposition was futile, and followed the path of least resistance, handing the shiny red toy to Cassandra, who took it from him briskly, in her mittened hand. With her other hand she grasped Jamie’s wrist with a vice-like strength that betrayed her meek, lollipop façade. She marched him off around a corner and scanned their surroundings for her quarry. Spotting Natalie, alone, by the steps that led up to the Infant Bay, she approached slowly and stealthily until they were both stood behind her. With what to Jamie seemed like elephantine slow motion, Cassandra swung the fire engine heavily until it contacted the back of Natalie Bee’s head. Jamie watched with horror as Cassandra’s victim’s legs buckled beneath her and she fell to the ground, where she remained.
“What did you do that for?” Jamie yelped, looking down at the motionless form of his young sweetheart.
“Well, you can’t like her if she’s dead, can you?” Cassandra exclaimed with her usual twisted logic. “And your fingerprints are all over the weapon, so there’s no use telling anyone it was me because they won’t believe you. And that’s true!” Cassandra ran off around the corner and out of sight, giggling as she went.
Jamie watched her disappear, her mittened hands swinging wildly.
“What happened?” demanded Mr. Hooknorton a few moments later.
Jamie thought to himself. He knew four things. Thing one: he knew that trying to implicate Cassandra was pointless. Thing two: for reasons he couldn’t ascertain, he knew that nobody else ever seemed to be able see her. Thing three: he knew that the mere mention of her name would mean another series of uncomfortable visits to Dr. Piggot’s. Thing four: he knew that once again he’d have to keep his mouth shut, and take the fall. He cursed Cassandra’s name, and began to cry.
He bit his lip to fight back the tears. His teacher glared at him with an expression Jamie read as either concern or impatience. As his sobs subsided he looked down at Natalie who was just coming to. Her eyes opened slowly and tentatively and for the briefest moment before she too began to cry, her little face was etched with confusion. Jamie’s relief that she wasn’t dead was immense, and yet he felt awful for what had happened, though surely it hadn’t been his fault. Cassandra de l’Esprit takes the checkered flag yet again, and surely now with only a few races left until the end of the season, the Championship is hers for the taking!
The auditor looked on and made a note.
Spray from the sea rained down on the occupants of the sturdy, but weather worn boat, as the shoulders of angry waves charged against the timber. The journey had been long. But now it was at an end. After not a little fumbling exacerbated by the cold, dark and wet conditions, the boat was moored. Shadows fell heavy under the nape of the cliffs above. Not even the moon had any jurisdiction here. Although diffused by the mist, it was the glow of torches which illuminated the unfortunate cargo. One by one they were unloaded onto the slippy wooden platform. Wrested ashore by two men, with the occasional shove from the remaining carrier in the boat, they were at last free from the crowded vessel which had been their home for these several past days. The sea spat viciously at the row of figures, showering their pathetic shapes with her fury. Desperate for her last word.
Routinely they were enrolled by the man who been ashore all along, swathed heavily in weatherproof layers. He nursed a clipboard to his chest and his bony hand revealed the end of a blunt pencil which scrawled a mark next to the appropriate name. The shadows of the hood held secret to his features but his voice, raised at times above the swirling wind, betrayed age. The words he spoke were limited. His presence was purely dutiful. This was no place for conversation.
* * *
Jamie squirmed. He felt not undue discomfort that his life was about to be picked over as would ravens of the carcus of a bloodied rabbit in the middle of the road. But his circumstances dictated the metaphor wasn’t lost. His thoughts drifted. He was still trying to come to terms with the here and now. Yesterday was for another day. Nearly two hundred and fifty years? He shuddered at the thought. Still. This couldn’t be true. He had to reconnect with that moment. That memory. That dream. He vaguely pictured a well-dressed young woman in the corner of a restaurant as she looked up from where she sat. He felt the warm air of the street. Then within a moment, to his right a reflection. Of himself. A pane of glass filled his vision. There was a face beyond it. A long coat. A woman clinging to the metallic bar. Her eyes were wide. She was screaming. He couldn’t hear her though. He then saw blackness. This was interrupted briefly by a glimmer of light. Another face. A woman. The girl from the restaurant. She was saying something to him. He strained to hear. But her words faded like morning mist. Everything was black again. Jamie started. There was no more. He felt very very cold. He had just witnessed his life stop.
Looking up at the figure before him, who flicked through the pages of his seemingly ample resume, he saw a man he didn’t recognize. A man who he imagined was about to know him. He put his hands to his face. Then quickly he pulled them away, throwing his head back violently into the wall.
They had shrunk. His skin. Much smoother.
The feint, stale aroma of whiskey which emanated from his pores and which he only noticed in its absence, was gone. His body was becoming that of a child. He tried to shout out. But his larynx resisted. He squealed like the child who would annoy him as he walked past a playground. The figure before him seemed to grow larger. More imposing. Jamie found himself frightened. Terrified. He put his thumb in his mouth for comfort. He bit hard into it as he was lifted from the ground by Mr Hooknorton. He cried out as he did so.
“What happened’” begged the schoolteacher. Over and over. Jamie looked down at his playmate. She lay still on the ground. A toy metallic fire engine lay on its side next to her pretty little head. Deafening rain filled his ears. The small brown bear he was clutching fell to the floor.
Jamie cried. Like a baby. He couldn’t stop himself.
* * *
A low-battery light of a torch swept across the huddle of faces. Young. Old. Pretty. Plain. Ugly. Full. And gaunt. Of men and women. Even a child. Still, they all shared one expression. It was heavy. Forlorn. Without hope. All at the same time. And they all seemed as if in a trance.
One by one methodically they were herded towards a small, solid wooden door that forced most of them to duck, with the aid of a firm, but well placed hand from the old man. The rain battered them with renewed vigour as if mother nature wanted to make them feel her scorn. Each disappeared beyond the thick, austere stone wall of the Bastille. The old man counted them in. Twenty one… Twenty two… Twenty three.
The boat that had delivered these wretched souls bobbed upon the ocean, buffeted by the waves, although gentler now, and vanished as it had come.
Waves crashed against the hard stone cliffs that surrounded the bastille. The stone buildings cut a haunting silhouette against the dark and stormy winter sky. The icy cold seawater sprayed it’s way up the cliff face and ran down the old stone walls onto the wind damaged grass that grew wild all across the small island. No creatures lived here, no abundant wildlife dared to call this spine-chilling rock home.
The flocks of birds that nested in similar islands beyond the northern rim were nowhere to be seen and the cold, dead water surrounding the island remained absent of sea-life of any description. The island itself existed only as a ghost story, a haunted tale spoken of to scare young children who misbehaved, or wayward travelers that visited any nearby mainland. No one had ever visited it, even seen it from a distance and most did not believe in it. It remained unvisited, unknown, invisible and nothing more than a distant folk tale in the collective consciousness of the fisher-folk that should know better. There’s no escape from the Bastille, only two ways out, either up, or down.
This is Purgatory Bastille on the Isle of Dead Man’s Prayers.
*
Jamie awoke from his troubled dreams to the bright hit of strong morning sunlight. His dreams remained vivid in his mind, even more so than usual. He’d dreamed of a terrible day. He’d lost his job due to his constant disregard for his working hours and practices, his boss had labeled him a ‘loveless time-waster, with no redeeming characteristics’. Harsh, he thought. He’d then been escorted from the building - Malcome Marketing, the agency in which he had worked - carrying a sad card board box of his belongings from his desk. This consisted of a USB stick, mostly filled with illegally downloaded MP3 tracks, a dancing hamster that sang Right Said Fred’s ‘I’m too Sexy’ when you pressed his foot (batteries dead) and a collection of broken pens and pencils that had served a purpose only to be chewed during hate-filled client phone calls and long lunches playing online scrabble with a friend in San Fransisco.
He quickly tossed the box into a communal street skip, saving the USB stick, and headed for the nearest bar. The bar was one of those generic chain pubs that served over priced bread and oils and red wine in half litre wine glasses for the troubled, grumpy female business executives bemoaning the sexist pigs that surrounded them in the board rooms of the UK. Jamie had hit the whiskey, and hit it hard. Several hours later he stepped out of the bar into the oncoming path of a bus.
He’d never died in a dream before. Strange, he thought.
Now as his eyes strained to focus he realised the sunlight was not normal. The light was bright, pure white and troubled his eyes as his head throbbed in pain. As he tried to look around he failed to make out any features in his room, in fact, this was not his room at all and he was not lying on his bed. Where was he?
A darkened blur entered the light and very slowly it’s fuzzy edges hardened into the shape of a human figure as it drew closer. It was a man, a stranger to Jamie, dressed in black from head to toe. The light behind him gave him an ethereal glow.
The figure was carrying a small clipboard that he now consulted. “Jamie isn’t it?”
“Yes. Do I know you?”
“No. Let’s see, ouch, hit by a bus. How cliched, very dramatic. I imagine you were spread about somewhat?”
Jamie looked confused.”My dream, how, er.. how do you know about my dreams?”
The figure smiled. “Ahhh, you think it was a dream? Afraid not, genuine, real, happened, done and dusted, fatal wounds etc… Although it was some time ago, I can understand how it would appear to be a dream. Sorry it’s taken so long to get round to you. Let’s see…” he consulted his clipboard again, “oh dear, 242 years. Sorry, now that is a long time to spend in limbo. Ouch. In our defense there are A LOT more sins to absolve these days.”
The figure raised his eyebrows and shrugged as if to say ‘What can you do, ay?” then his eyes returned to his clipboard where he thumbed through a few pages of loose sheets of A4. Jamie’s eyes had just about adjusted to his surroundings. Everything around him remained a clinical white, there were no angles that would signify walls or ceilings yet in the distance he could now make out a small square of darkness, a window maybe. The silence was almost as unnerving as the whiteness around him, but was broken only mildly by the drumming of heavy rain. Faint but unmistakable. The lack of any reference point made it impossible for Jamie to estimate the size of the room he was in, or indeed the size and distance of the only window. Jamie’s mind had been wandering so he returned his attention to the figure before him.
“Sorry” said Jamie “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Who are you?”
“I’m your Auditor, er… your account manager as it were. I’ll be your point of contact during your stay here.”
The Auditor was a tall man, his age was hard to identify since his complexion was pure and undamaged yet his eyes shone with the wisdom of a much older man. His skin housed not one wrinkle or blemish yet his hair was a bleached white and fell shoulder length, brushed, cut and flawless. He was dressed completely in black. Shiny black shoes, a glimpse of silk black socks, tailored black trousers followed by a smooth black shirt framed by an immaculate black waistcoat. The ensemble was completed by an unbuttoned full length black coat that hang from his shoulders ruler straight.
Jamie realised he was still sat on the floor. He pulled himself to his feet and tried to brush the creases from his trousers with his hands. “So where is ‘here’ exactly?”
The Auditor looked up from his clipboard and allowed it to fall to his side, held in his left hand. “Hard to say, depends on the individual really.” He looked around the stark white room. “Everyone has their own ’space’. I’ve done my job in caves, on clouds, dungeons, even in a biscuit factory. This is rather empty I freely admit. But it serves a purpose. Anyway, that’s not important. The important thing is that you’re here now, and it’s my job to carry out the Audit. We’ve identified several key times from your life, we’ll need to revisit them so you can argue your corner, so to speak. Once we’re done we’ll be able to tell you where you’re off to next, if you follow me.”
Jamie held his head in his hands. “I don’t follow, sorry.”
“Never mind, you’ll pick it up as we go along. Now, where would you like to start? Let’s see…” he returned his eyes to the clipboard and ran his finger along the top of the first sheet. A smile spread across his face. “Right then, oooo, how about childhood..?”
Dear sirs,
My name is Clandestine Saltwater and I am a monk. Well, technically not a monk, I sell doors, door to door, but when I have time I monk it up a bit. I am writing to you today because I have a great new idea for a business. My background is in computer generated pornography, mostly involving fantastical creatures, and I also specialize in wood effect lino. My idea is to combine these in demand products to produce Greek mythological porno-lino. This could be sold to the kitchens of brothels hallways of gentlemen’s clubs. We could also open out to sell direct to premiership footballers.
All I require from you is a small investment of £100k for stock and help with a marketing plan since my initial attempts to Market the business by shaving the web site address into people’s pets when they weren’t looking have not been very successful.
I hope you see as much potential in this as I do.
Yours, pornograhically
Clandestine Saltwater
October 8th,2008
Letters |
2 Comments
Into the Death Star walk Captain Kirk and Mr Spock, followed by a radiant Lawrence Llewellyn Bowen and an almost painfully chirpy Carol Smiley.
Carol:” So chaps, what are you planning on doing to the place?”
Bowen: “Well.. we have lots of space and lovely shadows but it’s overall just too dark and evil. I think we need to brighten up the place for a start and maybe work some ethnic patterns into the wall space.”
Carol: “Can I do some cushion covers?”
Bowen: “Well…. I don’t know whether there’s room for fabrics in the evil empire…”
Carol: “ohhhh, go oooonnnn”
Bowen: “Oh alright then but keep it bright.”
Spock: “Captain this is not logical.
Kirk: “I know. It’s almost like. something odd. is. going. on. I don’t think. buttercup. is. the colour. for us.”
Bowen: “Don’t be so down on it all, it’s going to be lovely.. lots of motion, some lights made from old bins and lost of mdf room dividers because these open evil meeting rooms are just so cold and impersonal..”
Handy Andy (wearing a storm trooper outfit): “Right Bowen ye great puff. What d’ye want me to do this week.”
Bowen: “I need some wavey sort of homely room seperators and maybe some laminate flooring..”
Hand Andy: “MDF..?”
Bowen: “You bet. Now, don’t hate me, but I’ve chosen the paint, and I think you’re going to be shocked…” He opens the paint..
Spock: “Lawrence, magnolia is just not logical.”
Bowen: “Go with it Spock, feel the room, try to love the spaces and want to fill them with joy.”
Spock: “Captain, I have an overwhelming desire to punch his lights out.”
Meanwhile over on the bridge of the Enterprise stands Darth Vader and the Emperor with Anna Ryder-Richardson, in very tight jeans and very low cut top……
Anna: “Right then chaps. This ship is looking very dated so i was thinking of an urban, gothic, middle eastern bazaar feel to the place.”
Emperor: “ooh,that sounds lovely.”
Anna: “Any preferences?”
Darth: “What are you implying? Just because i live with an old man and wear tight, black leather clothing and a mask doesn’t mean i’m gay.”
Anna: “I meant colour.”
Darth: “Oh right. Er…….pink. It’s me favourite colour. I often wish i could wear pink. just a tiny splash. maybe a neckerchief or a feather boa or maybe a handbag, somewhere to put me lightsabre. But he (pointing to the Emperor) sez i can’t wear it. he sez that’s not what evil sith lords wear.”
Emperor: “They don’t!”
Darth mumbles something.
Emperor: “What did you say?”
Darth: “I said i want to join the rebel alliance. They get to hang out in bars on tatooine and meet like minded people and have fun.”
Emperor: “We’ll talk about this later.”
Anna: “Right then a neo-gothic urban, rural, ow’s yer farva, snooker loopy, new york loft apartment it is then. in black.”
Darth (waving his hand): “with a splash of pink.”
Anna: “With a splash of pink. right then were’s that mockney twat andy? he can knock together a few turrets for us and a banquetting table.”
Smilie: “Because of the time frame (3 days) it would take Handy Andy that time to get from the star destroyer to the enterprise. So, we’ve got the next best thing for you. Another lovable mockney, straight from the
east end of berkshire it’s jamie oliver.”
Oliver: “whoa easy tiger. banquetting table? lurvely. chuck it on some wheels, make it extendable. pukka!”
Darth promptly uses the force to choke Oliver.
Darth: “Chuck that in yer pot and cook it.”
Emperor(chuckling): “Pukka.”
BACK ON THE DEATH STAR…
Bowen: “Easy with that paint Kirk! Try to imagine the bigger picture here, bright spaces, i want love coming out of the walls..”
Kirk: “Fuckwit.”
Spock: “Captain, message from Uhura, she’s finished sowing the curtains..”
Kirk: “Great, er.. captains log, supplimental, must thank Uhura, flowers or something.”
Bowen: “Less chap boys, more work, we’ve got 17,000 square feet of wall space to have painted before the end of today.”
Kirk: “I’ve got a better idea.. Scotty, can you beam this paint onto the walls..”
Scotty: “Dunno captain, it’ll take weeks just to configure the pattern buffers for dulux and..”
Kirk: “Scotty, we need magnolia walls in two hours or we’re buggered!”
Scotty: “I’ll see what I can do captain.” Within an instant, Spock is covered head to toe in paint. “Shit, sorry captain, wrong button.”
Handy Andy, now dressed as a sith lord. “Got ye’ dividers, where do you want them.” suddenly andy vanishes..
Spock: “Shit captain, they’ve beamed him over to the Enterprise.. we’ll never get this done now.”
Then a person begins to appear and in a few seconds Charlie Dimmock is standing next to them.
Kirk: “The bastards, they’ve sent us Dimmock!”
Meanwhile back on the enterprise…
Smilie: “Is there anything that you don’t want doing to the death star?”
Emperor: “Yeah, nothing ethnic. I don’t want Degoba effect curtains and wookie fur cushions. You can keep that shit for the Ewoks.”
Darth: “I wouldn’t mind maybe a touch of colour.”
Anna: “Right then Emperor. I want you to gold leaf the transportation room, then we’ll add some disco lights and a mirror ball. Kind of a retro, neo-gothic, avante-garde, you make me feel like dancin’, disco.”
Emperor: “I’ll fetch me flares and medallion.”
Anna: “you do that.”
Everybody laughs.
Handy Andy (dressed as a klingon): “Whoa beam me up me old mukka.”
Anna: “At last you knobber. Build me an MDF turret and draw bridge and a jousting arena effect coffee table. I’m thinking medieval, rural, shiver me timbers, i’m flying without wings, urban, swing….”
Darth(waving his hand): “Pink.”
Anna: “Pink.”
Andy: “9mm or 15mm.”
Darth(waving his hand) :”15mm.”
Anna: “15mm.”
Andy: “Sweet as a nut.” and launches into his uncharted hit “If I Had a Hammer.”
Darth: “If i had a hammer i’d shove it up his arse.”
Suddenly Alan Tidmarsch is beamed aboard the Enterprise but before he can say anything Darth chokes him with the force.
Emperor: “Nice one.”
Anna: “Right Darth, come with me. ok then you’ll be working on the engine room. Now scottie is called scottie cuz he’s scottish. so i found this wonderfull kilt material. So we’ll cover the whole room in this
material and get some soft lighting some candals and an inflatable chair.”
Darth: “thank fuck i won’t be living here.”
BACK ON THE DEATH STAR…
Bowen: “Come on people, move it move it,we’ve got laminating to do..”
Spock: “Laminating?”
Bowen: “Yes, I’ve found these lovely, very underrated, alien intestines. Lets laminate and hang them from the ceiling, I’m aiming for a sort of mod-rock, prog-rock, pre-renaissance come postironic modernist decor..
oh, with bells on.”
Kirk: “Rock and Roll.”
Spock: “Captain, I feel underused.”
Bowen: “D’ye know how to use a glue gun?”
Spock: “Do I! second nature, grew up with them on vulcan!”
Bowen: “Good, these rebel aliance skulls need glueing to that wall, then spray them with this industrial paint sprayer I nicked from the ewoks. Now, let’s talk floral….”
Scotty: “Captain, paint beam is ready.”
Kirk: “Now, scotty, now!”
Scotty presses a button and the whole rebel alliance fleet, massing behind a moon just behind the death star, is decorated in a lovely lavinder and green paint..”
General Nadine: “Whar the f..?”
Back in the Enterprise engine room………
Anna: “How’s the……………..what in the name of Dulux are you doing?”
Darth (in just a pair of pink underpants and his helmet): “It’s so hot in here i just wanted to get comfortable. (Waving his hand)Isn’t that right Andy?”
Andy (dressed in only his tool belt): “Yeah that’s right.”
Anna: “Right… Andy, grab your tool and follow me.”
Back on the bridge……….
Anna: “right then Emperor, do you know what’ll really set this room off?”
Emperor: “the son of Skywalker frozen in carbonite mounted on the wall?”
Anna: “No, not quite what i was thinking. These things there milk bottle tops with pipe cleaners thredded through, sprayed ewok scrotum yellow and then stuck on Kirk’s chair. What do you think?”
Emperor: “Lovely.”
In walks Vader whistling Chaka Kahn’s hit “I’m Every Woman.
Darth: “Finished that engine room. Where’s Andy? We haven’t finished screwing.” HOlds up MDF coffee table using the force.”the top isn’t secured properly.”
Anna: “He’s on the phone to his agent. He’s been offered a part in a new Carry On film.”
Darth: “That’s a shame I was really enjoying his juicy plums. Guess i’ll have to make do with this apple.”
Anna: “I’ve got a couple of melons if you want to nibble on those.”
Emperor: “Ooh Matron.”
BACK ON THE DEATH STAR..
Bowen: “What’s this rubbish ” (pointing to the big gun) “Ah, we don’t like that, not kitch enough.” (he snaps it off)
Kirk: “Peace, we just want peace.”
Spock: “Lawrence, I’ve finished carpeting the canteen.”
Bowen: “Lovely baby. Right, now we need to brighten up this war bridge,
I’m thinking flowers, fruit, veg, vibrant radiant chinese war motifs, silk is coming to me. what do you think.?”
Spock: “Well..”
Bowen: “Good, we agree then, trust me on this, I’m getting alot of love from this room.”
Kirk: “Rebel fleet massing off the port bow.. oh, it’s ok, they’re delivering the lino.”
Spock: “Captain, I’m getting a distress call from.. er.. it’s the enterprise.”
Kirk: “Let’s here it.”
There’s a crackling of static and then the emporer appears on and off, flickering on the screen.
Emporer: “…paint… no.. almost too vibrant.. help us… took us off guard…. pink! no not more pink!… anna… mental.. vader gone all wierd.. help us.. have mercy on.. pink! noooo!” and the transmission ended.
Bowen, Spock and Kirk all look at each other.
Spock: “Ah, fuck them, they knew what they were getting themselves into.”
Uhr: “Captain, I’m picking up a DIY SOS from Voyager, it’s very faint.”
Kirk: “On screen.”
Captain Janeway appears in a mass of static on the death star view screen. 7 of 9 is standing next to her, naked.
Janeway: “This is Captain Janeway of the USS Voyager, we need help, a recent conflict with the BORG has ruined the water effect tiling in the bathrooms and on the bridge. We are willing to trade several rolls of dog’s hair floor covering for some ‘no more nails’ glue.”
Spock: “Captain, I suggest we swap, I can think of no end of things to do with that dog hair carpet.”
In walks Bowen, Jim Bowen..
Jim Bowen: “The name’s Bowen, Jim Bowen, oo let’s look at what we could have done.” He finger’s spocks canteen carpet, which instantly comes away from the floor. “Ooo, that’s poor.”
Roy Walker: “It’s close, but it’s not quite done.”
Kirk: “Can someone please beam these forth rate game show hosts out of here?”
In walks LL Bowen, carrying several dead ewok carcuses over his shoulders.
“Spock, strip these.”
Spock: “Why?”
Bowen: “I’ve got an avant imperial guard - come - modernism post humourist sports casual feel in my mind and what’s more is we’re a little over budget, and the ewoks were going cheap.”
Onto the war bridge beams Carol Smiley.”How’s things going chaps?”
Bowen: “Ooo don’t ask, Spock’s carpeting has come up, Kirk is fucking useless, my avant imperial guard idea is looking a bit ropey and we’ve just got word that a rebel attack force has dropped a missile down an exhaust duct which leads to the core.. oh, and that bastard Andy still hasn’t returned to finish polishing the toilet seats.”
Spock: “Shit.”
Meanwhile on the enterprise……………
Anna: “Right, I need MDF. Just MDF everything. Then paint it klingon’s ring piece green. I see stars everywhere. That’s it, lets make the inside look like outside and the outside look like the inside.”
Smilie: “But you’ve only got half an hour left! You just don’t have the power, Anna!”
Anna: “Shut it Smilie, you grinning hysterical fool. I’ve got a sith lord on me team. And if we run out of time we’ll just drive straight at the sun.
Smilie: “???”
Anna: “It worked in One of the Star Trek’s. They flew at the sun and ended up going back in time and saving a whale.”
Rolf Harris: “Did somebody mention whales? Me and me new assistant can help you with the lil’ fellas. Isn’t that right Boba Vet.”
Boba: “They’re no good to me dead.”
Darth: “they will not be permenantly damaged.”
Anna: “So that’s agreed then. We’ll fly at the sun, go back in time and save a whale.”
Emperor: “What about the make over you mad cow?”
Anna: “There’s always one. a doubting thomas. “what about the make over?”,”what if the son of skywalker cannot be turned to the darkside?”, “you can’t murder people and use ther entrails as duvet covers.” Look, we’ll travel back in time you remmy nobber. Then we’ll have a couple of centuries to sort this place out.”
Smilie: “Have you gone mad?”
Anna: “We all go little mad sometimes.”
Emperor: “Fuck this.” and electricutes Anna.
Everybody: “Hurrah!”
Rolf Harris launches in to “Tie Me Kangaroo Down Sport.”with the Emperor on the wobble board. Darth has frozen a baby wookie in carbonite and Boba Vet has taken it back to his practice in the picturesque country side of Hertfordshire (in the Degoba System) to treat it’s knackered eyes.
FINALLY, ON THE DEATH STAR…
Carol Smiley: “Ok, you had £500 to spend, how do you think you did?”
Bowen: “Hit me.”
Carol Smiley: “Well, you’ve spent £72,000,152. A little over budget. What was your biggest extravagance?”
Bowen: “Definately the planet destroying ray gun, in emerald green, oh, and the drapes.”
Carol Smiley: “.. and your biggest bargin?”
Bowen: “Definately the deeds to the Klingon homeworld, I don’t know how Spock got them so cheap..”
Carol Smiley: “Right then, that’s it from Changing Rooms this week. Next week we’ll be in Hertfordshire, evicting a family of moles. See you then!”
THE END.
October 1st,2008
Misc |
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