Chapter 11 – When you don’t see me

At five twenty Paul woke up with a start. His head was throbbing and his stomach was churning. There did not seem to be any reason worth getting up for but, as he lay there trying to ignore the rising nausea, he realised that he could no longer sleep. He was vaguely aware of something he did not want to think about but the hangover was just too much for him.

The day had not really started yet and already the now familiar sense of dread and regret was stealing upon him. He dressed without hurry or care misbuttoning his shirt before continuing his reflections downstairs.

The urgency of the explorations of the possible uses of the virus sample as a cure-all was growing and Paul wondered if he was pushing the staff too hard. There were some promising leads and potentially other peoples work that they could add to their own.

There were some potentially promising leads developing, Paul mused, he felt sure that just a few more months would be enough. Paul thought of John, he hoped that he did not have to admit to additional motivation in finding a cure, it would cast doubt on the legitimateness of these investigations.

He poured himself his usual morning cocktail and fought the nausea as he downed it. Today was going to involve a lot of reading and some documents.

Documents!

That was it; the documents from his office had been stolen. Documents detailing the work other people had done, work that could have helped to cure him.

He sat by his kitchen window, alone in his family sized house drinking scotch and watching the sunrise.

It was the first rays of dawn that woke Angelina. She was cold, damp and stiff. They had slept by the fire that had quickly dwindled with only a few coats to keep them warm. She pulled herself free from the arm over her like some dead weight. That had pinned her down.

Jackson stirred as his queen left his side. He had spent the entire night holding her and breathing the heady aroma of her perfume. It had been, for him, a little piece of heaven in the depths of hell.

Angelina was crouched over the nameless man. He was still breathing but did not seem to be inclined to wake-up.

“We need to get some supplies to help care for this man,” said Angelina.

“Don’t be stupid,” said Jackson, “they know me at the labs, I used to work there.”

“So?”

“So – if they see us when we leave or when we come back they’ll be over like a shot to investigate.” Said Jackson almost in one continuous breath.

“They don’t know me,” said Angelina, “I’ll go get what we need and then come back.” She felt unpretty and unattractive and all she wanted to do was go home and have a bath. How could she use her prime assets to influence others whilst feeling like this?

Jackson sighed, he knew she was right. He would simply have to see what he could do to stop the guy dieing before she got back.

The nameless man shifted a little, his dreams were a blur of pictures and ideas bleeding into each other. A fever held him so tight that he had no way of knowing reality from dream. Sometimes he dreamt he was lying half dead in a damp and empty house with two teenagers to care for him. That dream would slip in for a minuet and the others would fade, he would not say anything, he was not sure he could he just stayed on the floor until it was time for the next dream.

Angelina slipped from the house and in to what would normally be called “the garden”. It was a miniature jungle of dense growing trees and vines and ivy and tall weeds that conspired together to cover every wall and shroud the house in a green cloak. It was still early and no one was passing when she slipped out of the gate and onto the pavement.

The road seemed to last forever. Endless cheap houses growing slowly denser as she neared the point where she could see the end of the road.

It seemed it had taken he an age to walk that far and already two cars had passed her. She wondered if she should just go home and get some proper rest first or if she should hurry back as soon as she could.

Jackson sat and sipped a cup of vodka, it was not the ideal way to start the day but he refused to touch the water in the house. His first experience of the water had been earlier when with a killer thirst after last nights drinking he had stuck his head under the tap to be assailed by a liquid that was a rusty brown colour

He had used the alcohol to wipe the nameless mans face and now he sat by the fire place looking at the stack of wood he had brought in and sipping vodka wondering what to do now. He had tried to light a fire but his efforts had been singularly unsuccessful. A few logs lay in the fireplace smouldering slightly on the hot embers from last nights fire.

“You’re a jerk, Dent,” said a voice from his memory, “You can’t get anything right.”

“Shut up.” He told his memories.

“You’ve given the game away!” said a new voice, “smoke is bad.”

“What?” asked Jackson, “leave me be.”

“Damp down the fire now or the smoke will draw attention,” insisted the voice.

“Shit!” said Jackson jumping up and spilling the vodka.

Angelina trudged ever onward. A few more cars had passed her. She had decided to get a bus and go home before she had realised that it was probably too early for a bus. Not long after she would tern out of the long road there would be a small shop. She hoped it would be open already for the paper-rounds. If so she could get a diet coke and a maybe use a phone.

It seemed like forever before that turning came and even longer before the shop.

There was a light on in the shop and she tried the handle. It was open and she went in.

The cab arrived not long after her call and she was soon stepping into her flat relieved to be home. Already the night’s activities were fading into a fog and in the cold light of the morning sun it seemed like they had all acted very strangely.

Paul slumped down onto the worktop and slipped into a dreamless sleep. His phone rang and after the fith ring the answer phone cut in.

“Hi, leave a message and I’ll ignore you later,” said his voice.

“Paul, it’s John, when you get this message could you give us a call. Ricky has a new experiment he wants to try out, but we think you should be here to see the results personally. He thinks he’s cracked it.”

Angelina sank thankfully into a deep hot bath. It was the most heavenly thing she had ever experience. She lay there with the water lapping at he skin and remembered the night gone by. He had been quite a gentleman really. Most guys try it on fairly soon and somehow that just seemed wrong to her. Lucy was always telling her that it was her lack of willingness to let guys get fresh that had left her never having had a boyfriend. Angelina had always disagreed with Lucy; good looks were there to make men want to obey you.

She reached for her razor and thought to herself. He really was quite self-controlled. She had seen him looking at her body, which she had enjoyed, but he had not done anything. She could not understand it and now she was fresh again she found she wanted more.

As an extra measure, she paid extra attention to her bikini line before she climbed out of the bath.

She rapped the towel around her and sat on the edge of the bath to think. Now what would they need?

It was a little over two hours later that Angelina returned. By that time, Jackson had begun to feel very alone.

She had with her a large backpack and two smaller suit cases. The taxi driver had dropped her off five houses down on the other side of the road but it had still taken here almost twelve minuets to travel the last distance after he had gone. She had fluttered her eyelashes and told him she was visiting her mother, which she hoped would be enough to divert any attention should anyone out there put two and two together.

She dragged the backpack into the front room and then returned for the cases.

Bloody hell, thought Jackson, I always thought it was a joke about women and packing.

“First things first,” said Angelina, “I have some tools and a new lock for the backdoor.”

“Why?” Asked Jackson, “What for?”

“So no one else can just wonder in here,” replied Angelina matter-of-factly, “then we will change the barrel on the front door. We can then legitimately claim squatters rights and it’ll take anyone an age to get us out if we don’t want to go.”

“Why do we want to do that?” asked Jackson. He wished now he had left the vodka alone.

“To protect your friend from the law.” She replied.

Jackson looked at her in the poor light of the room. She was dressed more practically today and had a new determination about her. Something about that Jackson found strongly compelling. He found that she had brought a vast array of things including blankets, a camp bed, candles and matches

As he helped to unpack, the contents of the backpack Angelina handed him something large, plastic and yellow.

“Blow that up,” she said, “it’s an inflatable sofa - we might as well do this properly.”