Oh Crap another One!

Chapter 21 – Bad News

2004-11-22T01:36:00.000Z

John sat in stunned silence. Not only had they completely failed to find Paul but the tooth from the girl that had attacked him was indeed the same girl that had died from a deadly and invasive virus in the very lab complex that he now sat in.

He had sat at that very desk and read the report of her death and the complex problems of legalities of a living will.

She had died! There was no way she was alive. But if she was alive then so too might Paul still be. If Paul was alive then what was happening to him? He might be in pain.

What was worse was that the tooth carried saliva, which carried the virus, but there was extra DNA in the tooth sample. The extra DNA was viral.

The implications of this retro-viral discovery was staggering. In theory some one could be attempting to re-write human genetics. In John’s opinion, this was a very bad thought. Worse still, was the very bad thought that: it might be a natural phenomenon?

Whatever the truth it meant that something had to be done about it and soon.

He tried not to think about the cut on his hand. What if he had caught the virus that had clearly sent Margaret mad?

It was late and he knew he should be going home but he could not get his mind around the possible implications of these discoveries.

“What now?” He asked himself.

Jackson and the homeless guy had looked at each other for what seemed like hours before the homeless guy spoke up again: “You died,” he said, “you’s a member of the night crew now, ssson.”

“What do you mean?” Asked Jackson

The homeless guy looked at him: “got any sssmokes-ess?” he asked.

“No, tell me what you mean.”

“No smokesess, no ssstory.” Said the ragged man. “I’ll be right here collecting moonlight when you gets back.”

“What?” Asked Jackson. This old man of the streets was mad.

“Got smokesss yet?”

“No,” said Jackson, he hoped that this man did have answers. He hurried on.

Huso prowled the streets. The Cowboy was here and he would take this opportunity to have his revenge. After that, he determined, he would learn what the nature of the game was.

Up ahead was the Cowboy looking at him. Huso cursed silently. He had been too wrapped up to look properly. His pride had made him rash.

The cowboy cocked his rifle and pointed it at Huso.

Huso froze measuring the distance between himself and any cover and estimating his chances of getting to The Cowboy before a shot was fired. It did not look so good for his revenge plan.

“Talk, dog.” Ordered The Cowboy sharply.

Huso remained silent. He fixed his eyes on The Cowboy. The Cowboy stared him in the eyes and said nothing.

Without breaking eyecontact, The Cowboy demanded, “Tell me your target,” and with a menacing snarl, he stepped forward.

In a parked car, not so far away a man in a black business suit and dark glasses sat and watched.

The stare-out continued.

Huso knew that if he broke contact The Cowboy would fire unless he spoke up.

“I am here for Anabellus.” He said with a grunt and looked down. He hated The Cowboy for more reasons every year.

In a single movement, the cowboy slung his shotgun over his shoulder and launched a silver throwing-knife at Huso.

It landed square in his chest.

Huso looked down at the classy blade and said only: “You Bastered,” as his hands came up to his chest.

The Cowboy was gone.

Huso stood in the road. The pain was quite something and he vowed he would have his revenge. He palled at the knife but the backwards-facing spikes made agonising and slow work of the removal.

The man in black stepped from the car and walked towards Huso. Huso heard him and turned to see who approached. He saw the man in black and fear filled his heart.

Huso pulled at the knife it moved jerkily forward with an agonising ripping movement. Blood was running freely from Huso’s chest.

“You have failed. I will inform you masters of your end.” Said the man in black.

The blade ripped free and Huso instinctively launched it at the man in black embedding the blade into the man’s throat.

The man in black stopped in total shock. His hands reached for the blade as blood started to pour freely from a damaged artery.

The man in black blinked twice.

“God damn,” he tried to say to the empty street as blood poured from his mouth.

Jackson reached the twenty-four hour garage and walked in. He staggered up to the counter and fixed his eyes on the cashier.

The cashier stood with his eyes locked into Jackson’s. This ragged young man with the eyes of god himself it seemed was staring into his soul. He felt all desire melt away and stood without thought or feeling.

“Give me cigarettes,” ordered Jackson, “and food,” he added.

The man silently obeyed. Acting in a trance like state, he put a five hundred carton of cigarettes, several large packets of biscuits and several randomly selected pre-packaged sandwiches into a carrier bag.

Jackson handed him a number of additional items and then simply took the bag from the man. The man stood without reaction as Jackson left the premises only when another customer came in sixteen minuets later did the man start to realise something was wrong.

Jackson ambled along the road remembering the joy of smoking cigarettes. Something had happened, something mystical and magical. Something unusual had happened at the shop.

Jackson did not understand.

He hoped that the tramp would still be there. He needed answers to questions he did not understand

“Got sssmokes?” asked the voice in his ear. The voice rattled and tickled and hissed a little.

“Here.” Said Jackson handing him the entire open packet. “I didn’t have to pay for them.”

“Ssstole’d it did we?” Asked the tatty man rolling his “s” into long sounds.

“No. I did not get asked to pay.” Said Jackson

“Oh I sees” said the tatty man. “You’s is a charmer fledgling, how unusual.”

“What are you blithering about old man?” Asked Jackson. The hunger was returning.

“Hases you got a nice warm place an ol’ man can warm his handses?” asked the strange and tatty tramp. “I will tell you great secretses.”

Maggie walked along the street. A few streets ahead she knew there was the house where Peter lived. She turned a corner and The Cowboy placed a revolver barrel to her forehead and cocked the gun with his powerful thumb.

“Talk to me, fledgling.” he said.

“Fuck you!” said Maggie in a rage.

“Obey.” Shouted The Cowboy and knocked her clear across the road.

She landed heavily banging her head several times. Pain flooded her senses and for a few moments, she did not know what was real and what was pain. She started to cry uncontrollably and wiped at her face angry that her makeup was now ruined.

The Cowboy lifted the laughable black obsessed child from the floor and pulled he into his face: “Name?” He demanded.

“Margaret.” She sobbed.

“Who is your master, Margaret?”

“What?” she wept.

“Who made you? Who owns and controls you – you silly bitch.” Growled The Cowboy.

“My Lover?” she answered questionably trying not to cry again.

“Give me a break.” Said The Cowboy, “just tell me the god-damn-name.”

“Anabellus.” She sobbed.

“Thank you,” said The Cowboy, “Now I will do you a favour in return. Your silly goth-girl fantasies are going to get you killed.”

Maggie burst into tears again and hung there limply just crying.

The Cowboy muttered, “I have no time for this” and threw her back across the road.

Luke, Angelina, Jackson and The tramp sat huddled around the fire. The Tramp smiled, he liked it here. It was a good den, one of the better fledgling nests he had found in his time. It would be good to prime these children and send them out to stir things up.

He dropped his hissing street accent and spoke now with a clipped upper-class English accent: “Let me tell you what you really hunger for,” he said.

John left the office. His nerves were shot to hell and he felt he was coming down with the flu.

He decided that he was going to take a few days off. He reached to car and found a note.

“You are dieing. Don’t worry about it.”

“What the hell?” he asked aloud.

Paul awoke again. The air was stale in here. He punched at the box. It shook a little and he punched again and again, on and on slowly breaking the soft chipboard top.

After a while, he passed out.

The night drew to a close. The sun began to rise and the day began.

Inside the apparently deserted house, four individuals went to sleep.

The day carried it’s own worries and cares. Police investigated blood spilt liberally over the road and then other people came and hosed it away.

John slept most of the day and knew that he would have to take some time off from work.

Peter pined away the day in his room thinking only of the girl he could not have. He wrote several dark and moody poems of limited artistic worth during the day and ate pizza.

Other people did other things and the day grew old and the sun set and the night began.

Chapter 20 – Enter the cowboy

2004-11-22T01:35:00.000Z

A car pulled up near to Geoff Maxman’s newsagents. It was a strange looking faded black estate car with blacked out windows. It idled for a few moments and then the engine cut out.

Geoff Maxman watched as the driver side door opened slowly. A strangely dressed man was sitting in the car. Looks like an American, thought Geoff.

He stepped from the ancient looking battered estate car and looked around. They called him simply: “The Cowboy”. They had called him this for so long that he no longer thought of himself by any other name. He stood at exactly six foot five in his boots and had the stance of a man who expected the world to give way to him. He dressed as always in black trousers and a clean white shirt with a black old-fashioned thick cotton waste coat. The wind had risen slightly since the night before but his thick, leather, riding coat failed to move more than slightly in the breeze.

The Cowboy was a rough looking man with a weather beaten face and strong rough hands. He clothes looked plain, hardy and of substantial quality.

The Cowboy pushed his coat aside and removed his pocket watch. It was a pure silver affair covered with fine engraved image of a strong looking horse fighting with a large serpent. He depressed the button and the case opened to reveal a handmade ivory face with minute gold numbering. The hands of the watch were fashioned from the pure black ebony to look like snakes crawling around each other.

It was early in the night.

He snapped shut the case and returned it to its waistcoat pocket.

The Cowboy opened the boot of the car and slung a shotgun by its leather strap to his back. He pulled two silver hand crafted knives from the leather sheaths, tossed them into the air and caught them again. He replaced the knives and strapped them to his wrists. Then he removed two ancient heavy revolvers and placed them in holders hidden within his coat.

The Cowboy hated to travel without his weapons but the ridiculous gun laws of this country meant that to do otherwise was to invite unnecessary trouble.

He stood and smiled. It was going to be a good night.

He lifted the floor of the large boot open to reveal a small armoury of blades and bullets. His eyes glanced expertly over the vast array of weaponry.

He selected the throwing knives, the small hatchet and two hand grenades. All these along with a vile of strong reactive acid he expertly hid upon his person before arming the bolt trap, closing the boot and locking the car.

There was going to be some answers to be had tonight for someone in this ugly empty little English town.

Paul opened his eyes. It was dark and he could not move. Something was wrong but he could not understand what. He felt sleepy and closed his eyes again.

He could not think where he was. He was vaguely aware of needing the toilet but could not think of his own name.

He opened his eyes. He seemed to be in some kind of box. The sides felt solid and the top seemed close.

He pushed the top and nothing happened.

He felt weak.

He closed his eyes again and drifted into a temporary sleep. His mind filled with ideas about flowers.

He opened his eyes again and pushed at the lid.

His hands trembled but he felt no fear just confusion. Why was he in a box?

Who was he?

What should he do next?

His mouth was dry and his eyes stung a little. Breathing seemed hard.

He was trapped and that was all he knew. He closed his eyes again.

Sleep claimed him once more.

Huso Tristram was a dark haired and young looking man. His father had been oriental and it showed clearly in his features.

He hunted the night with a skill that was unmatched by any he had encountered, although it was rumoured that the semi-mythical Keeper of The Book was in a class of his own.

Huso did not believe in the keeper of the book, he believed only in his skill with a blade.

He was in the town to carry out the will of another. The hunter was still under the direction of the hunt master but here in the open he was the lord of the world. Through skill and expertise, he was the ruler of the night.

He stood in the centre of the park and did not feel exposed. He had seen the arrival of The Cowboy and did not like it. He had lost track of his quarry last night when it had caught some clue of his presence and bolted suddenly.

The night was still and the park was dark.

Huso listened to the sounds of the night and used them to gage the activities of the town. This was a particularly disturbed town and it troubled him that he had not been permitted to silence it.

He could hear the cattle in their cars and buses, the mindless drones watching mindless boxed entertainments and the pointless workers talking about pointless topics. The breeze carried the edge of sounds to him and although to most people the sounds were meaningless and garbled background noise to Huso, they told the stories to which he was listening.

He caught a sound that suggested the presence of his quarry.

The park was empty.

Maggie’s jaw ached from were she had been hit. The gums around her once perfect teeth that felt so beautiful were now sore and inflamed where the stupid ape had hit her and broken a tooth.

“Now you know we are not invincible.” Anabellus had scolded.

She had shouted at him and demanded that he kill the whole stupid family. He had remained infuriatingly calm and unflustered and that just upset her further. She had raged and screamed her hatred at him and then wept and shed tears until he comforted her

Finally, when she had vented her rage and bitterness he had asked if she had bitten or cut any of the family she had attacked.

She felt guilty and foolish, as this was something that he had told her she must never do.

She denied it and felt a little bad. It was strange that she should feel bad now. His hold over her was growing and his influence was working its way deeper into her unconscious mind.

She hated him for it. She hated him a little more every day. He had lied to her about the nature of the night and now he tried to keep her penned up and limited her use of her newfound abilities. He tried to make he act as if she was still the frail and useless being she had always been. She hated him for all that and said nothing.

Anabellus held her and they said nothing togeather. He knew that this breaking of illusions was far harder on her than anything else that she had been through in order to be with him.

He reached into the top pocket of his large grey overcoat.

“This,” he said, “is an ankh, the Egyptian symbol of eternal life.”

I know, thought Maggie. She looked enviously at the large ankh it was immensely ornate and fitted snugly in the palm of his hand. She wanted it.

“Life has more than one meaning,” continued Anabellus, “the Egyptians believed in life after death.” He held the ankh by the top and held it out in front of her. “They hoped for it, just as we now enjoy it.” He said and pulled the top from the bottom to reveal a sharp fine blade like a surgeons scalpel.

She gasped and looked at the item in awe. She wanted it more than ever. It would be so much more elegant to take a victim with that than to bite and tear at him or her.

She reached for it but he moved his hand away.

“This tool is far older than you know,” he said.

“It was given to me by my mentor and now I am going to give it to you.” He resheathed the tiny blade and said: “The blade is made from carefully folder steel. It will never grow blunt but you must clean in quickly or it will corrode the fine finish and become useless.”

“Okay.” She said reaching for the blade again. This time he let he take it.

“It is best used in the art of the seductive kill.” He said.

She smiled. That she understood very well.

Outside another car drove by. No-one noticed its passing but it carried a very important man. Dressed in a plain black business suit and wearing classic black sunglasses he drove though the night.

On the out skirts of the city a homeless man walked slowly into the town. Those that knew him called him The Meddler although no one knew his real name. It is rumoured that he has vast resources of wealth although it is more likely he is simply extremely resourceful.

Huso stood in the shadow of a large tree and watched the road in disbelief. He refused to believe that he had just seen the being he thought he had.

Huso stood unmoving for a long time. This assignment was meant to be simple: watch, assess and dispatch. Things were getting complicated. It could only mean that powerful men were playing a game and this town was fast becoming the flash point. Huso had no intention of being burned.

Jackson guts ached despite the food he had just eaten. He had volunteered to go out and get food and the others still ill had let him. Now he was on the road he had no idea what to do.

A tramp shuffled along up ahead. The sight of the man made Jackson feel hungry again. Jackson could almost sense the pulse in the man and he hungered when he thought of it.

It was illogical.

“What is happening to me?” he asked the air.

“You have died.” Said the tramp in his ear.

Chapter 19 – All Rise

2004-11-20T01:34:00.000Z

Luke returned from the back door and began to tidy and clean. He did not know why he acted simply that it was urgent that he act. He noticed the fingers of Angelina twitched just occasionally.

Memories flooded back into his mind as he saw various items and the two faces of his helpers. These memories formed an incomplete picture and somehow these did not seem problematic to Luke. He was aware only that he needed to act and that he needed to eat.

“What do you mean, dead?” asked Peter.

“A couple of months ago a patient from the hospital was transferred suffering from a rare virus.” Said John.

“You must have confused me with her.” Said Margret. This revelation had thrown her and now she needed to act fast. She grabbed Peter by the hair and pulled him to her.

“Steady on Maggie,” he objected.

John and Sue stood as if frozen. They watched as Margret backed slowly away. Then life returned to John as the shock wore off. He lept across the room and grabed at Margrets hand. She bit his hand hard and he let go.

“Peter comes with me,” she said.

“Can’t we just all eat dinner together?” he asked.

Margaret looked down at him and pulled his head back so that he looked up into her face and said: “No, now shut up.”

John took the moment to hit her. She tumbled back letting go of Peter. John pulled him away and pushed him behind himself. Now no one stood between he and Margaret.

“I know,” he said to her, “I know what has happened and what will happen.”

“My lover will kill you.” She said pulling herself up. He boots caught in her dress and she fell back down again.

“Did he tell you about the teeth falling out? Or the allergy to sun light?” Asked John.

“Big deal.” Said Margaret standing more carefully.

She lunged forward with her carefully rehearsed snarl. John hit her and broke one of her teath she landed on the floor again.

“There is a cure.” Said John.

Peter just stood and watched. She was the perfect tragic heroine and woman of the night.

She stood and backed away slowly.

“Take me with you,” cried Peter running to her. She caught him by his hair and knocked him off ballence. Ass he hung by his hair she bit his face leaving two large gashes down his right cheak.

Peter screamed in pain and she dropped him on the floor and ran.

Sue tutted and looked first to her husband and then his brother. “Let’s get you two cleaned up,” she said, “and then we will serve dinner. Unless of course you have any psychopathic young ladies you would like to fight.”

“No, we’re done.” Said John. Then he spotted something white on the floor. He moved to investigate. It was a peace of tooth. He scooped it up and went into the kitchen to locate a food bag to put it in. He would have some tests run on this.

Maggie ran through the streets. She could not move very fast because he dress kept tangling with he boots. She was angry. She was angrier than she had ever been. She wanted revenge.

Anabellus watched his bride. They had hurt her and for that they would have to pay; but he had also learned that she still did not understand. Anabellus hoped that she would not turn out like his last bride and he resolved to begin training her as soon as she had calmed down enough to talk.

Another face watched Anabellus but it was not The Keeper of The Book it was a far younger agent of the night, sent not only to assess but also to destroy if need be.

Unaware of this Anabellus watched from one of his favourite rooftops. His bride was still young and not very strong yet. He hoped she would not kill herself with her foolishness before he could train her.

Soon his bride was out of sight and Anabellus left his pertch. The Young face followed him and Anabellus was not aware of this.

He prowled the night looking at that, which took his fancy, spying on his favourite families. Moving objects and making minor interferences to keep things interesting or reveal secrets.

He spent the entire night at his hobby. It was like a live and interactive soap opera but so more satisfying. The last call of the night was the house of two young lovers. He had been toying with another woman and Anabellus felt it was time to up the tempo. If this young man could ride out this game then good luck to him, but if he failed he would fall quite permanently.

Anabellus removed the phone number from his secret pocket and placed it on the floor. It could well have fallen there by itself but no things might just hot up here.

He left and as he did he became aware that some one of great skill was watching him. He moved quickly and soon with the aid of a stolen car, he had left the follower behind him.

His sun allergy was particular strong and could result in death if he were to be caught for even a moment. He had several hiding places and it was into one of these that he slipped down to his rest.

The sun rose and the day began. John took the tooth into work and handed it over to be analysed. He knew already what the results would say but he had to prove it so that he could go to the police.

He knew he should get himself tested but somehow he could not bring himself to do so.

In the old house not that far away Jackson stirred and Angelina became more restless.

The day continued. People purchased things and people worked hard. Letters were written and posted. Dogs barked, cars drove and people did the things they do.

Peter sat at home and wrote brooding poetry longing for the women he loved. The whole incident had raised his hopes and he remembered just how much he desired Maggie for himself.

Post-adolescent fantasies filled his mind and distracted him from the fact his face hurt like hell.

The day grew old the first of many results came back to John. The tooth was human and beyond that, they would have to wait days before they knew anymore than they did not.

The day ended and the sun set.

Jackson’s eyes snapped wide open. He was looking at Angelina and he cried for a moment because he knew she was dead. Then she twitched. Like a shock wave, every memory of his life flooded back to Jackson at once. He was so overwhelmed that he passed out.

So, it seemed that moments later Angelina awoke first. She sat up and looked at her tidy room and smiled. She looked at her man sleeping and smiled again. What more was there to life?

She reached over and held him as tightly as her weakened arms could. He awoke again and looked at his Angel.

“Angel,” he gasped, “I love you.”

Angel looked at her man and remembered being loved: “I know,” she said.

“Are we still dieing?” he asked his voice raspy and dry.

“I think we are dead,” she replied. Her voice was equally raspy.

It hurt to much to talk and so they lay there looking at each other.

Luke awoke several minuets later. He handed them a can of warm coke each and said: “you will be thirsty.”

They drank greedily but Jackson craved something else yet he was not sure what.

Chapter 18 - Danger

2004-11-18T12:59:00.000Z

Paul died slowly. Coughing and spluttering he drifted in and out of consciousness for six days. Finally, his eyes closed and his breathing became shallower.

Gail had been expecting it for days and was well prepared when the time came. She was determined to be near her man and she had planned it so that she could always be near him.

That night she carefully cut the lawn into turf and began to dig. She worked steadily throughout the night and as the morning came round, she was to be found sleeping peacefully on a large mound of dirt next to the weighting shallow grave.

She built a coffin out of cheep plywood and other materials that sat in her shed. She lined it with a woollen blanket and decorated it lovingly. She worked without rest until nightfall. A little after dark, it was ready and she placed it in the hole.

She went upstairs to where her lover lay and blew out the candles and took down the cross. Then she gathered up the flowers and took them to the homemade coffin. She sprinkled them in and then returned for her beloved.

“I’m sorry, bunny,” she whispered to him, “this will not be dignified.”

She placed each arm under his and pulled him from the bed.

Panting and wheezing she dragged him into the garden and lovingly laid him on the bed of flowers.

After straightening his clothes and brushing his hair she placed the lid on the box and began to push the soil on top. There was extra soil left over and she dragged the thick plastic groundsheet to the back of her garden where she pilled it around whatever there was to find.

It was just a few hours before light by the time she had finished and laid the turf on the space where her lover was buried.

She went to bed muddy and weeping.

The empty house next to the lab complex was beginning to smell. The foul odour of vomit and mouldy food would soon be detectable outside of the house. Inside three bodies lay twisted and contorted in the front room.

At first glance, the casual observer would see three dead people. However, in one corner was a camp bed and on the camp bed one of the victims twitched a little.

Luke slowly became aware. Luke became aware that he was no longer hurting. He lay as he was the sounds of the world washing about him. He did not move for he had no reason to.

His limbs twitched slightly as his body began to awaken.

Margaret sat alone on the roof of the old house. The night had never looked so beautiful and the moon (when it bothered to show from behind the clouds) had never looked so pale and consumptive. Her life was the now her ultimate dream, she was the beautiful gothic princess and she would rule the night forever.

She looked down at the occasional passer-by and tried not to feel too giddy. Heights still made her nervous but it had taken her almost three hours and a change of clothes to get up here.

She ran her tongue over her new teeth. How sharp they felt and so very pointed. She would be able to feed for herself now. She gave a practice snarl and smiled at the night. Her first victim would not be beautiful but evil so she could feel the passing of a bad person from this world. It would be that silly Peter boy that had pestered her on and off for what had seemed like her whole life.

Maggie, the stalker of the night - loving the evil and the good, taking them in darkness to their end. She loved the very sound of it.

Luke’s body shook and he knew that he would need to stand if only to bring back the life to his now tingling limbs.

However, he discovered that he could not yet move. He continued to lie where he was. No thought entered his mind as to how he came to be where he was or of what was happening. He could see little of the room but his eyes were open. As far as he knew had always been here.

Little seemed to matter beyond the irritation of the tingling I his limbs and even that lacked any urgency.

Luke lay still and knew only that his name was probably Luke. It did not matter though.

Time passed and the sun rose. Luke slept in and dreamed of riding the night and eating the minds of those who stood against him.

The day began and people went about their business. Flies flew about the room where Luke lay sleeping and the stench of stale smoke, vomit, urine and long ago spilled vodka was given fresh life by the warmth of the day.

People passed by outside unaware and the day moved inevitably onward. A breeze stired up for a while and clouds threatened rain.

Car’s drove on roads and people walked and went by bus to homes and shops and back to homes and generally, humanity continued the way it had always had.

The drew to the inevitable close and the sun set.

Maggie awoke from her long sleep and sat up. The first order of the day or night was still the ever time consuming ritual of washing and dressing and beautification. She chose first to wear a pure black dress which was more lace than anything else but the realisations born of the practical experience of the night before caused her to think twice. She still wore the dress but chose her steal toe-caped boots over the more elegant shoes she had first considered.

Tonight, she swore, Peter was going to get his silly little wish and his doom all in one day. Lucky boy.

John had arrived home to the smell of cooking. He breathed in deep and enjoyed the smell - it was going to be a roast chicken tonight and he was looking forward to it.

“No sign of you brother,” called his wife from the kitchen, “I should’a known better than to expect his help.”

“He said he’d be here,” said John, “he’s a little flaky but his no Jackson Dent, something must have come up.”

“It better have or he might just get a short sharp slap from me.”

Peter hurried along, he knew he was late, he was meant to have been at his brother’s house hours ago. He had promised his brother he would help his wife with the cooking. Damn it, he thought, why do I have to be so into my books – I should have just put the silly thing down at the end of chapter four. Admittedly, it had been a good book about a war in the realms of the undead.

He knew there was no point in running and so he walked slowly through the early night enjoying the night-air and day dreaming about being powerful. So good was the dream, that he did not spot Maggie until she was just a few feet in front of him.

“Hello, Peter.” She said.

Peter smiled. “Hello Maggie,” he said, “you look stunning tonight as unusual.”

Creep, thought Margaret but she simply said: “so where are you going?”

“My brothers house for a bite to eat.” He said.

“I could do with a bite,” said Margaret smiling slightly, “may I come with you.”

“Sure, yeah… I mean of course.” Blurted peter taken aback. He had grown so used to Maggie’s knock-backs and sarcastic comments that he was totally blind-sided by this new approach. Maggie was his dream woman she was like a goddess of the night

She linked his arm through his and they walked in silence together. In silence because Peter could not think of one thing to say. He had dreamed about a moment like this for years. So long had he wanted to be near Maggie that he had simply given up hope. He no longer wrote pinning poetry or love letters that he usually never sent.

They continued still in silence. In silence because Margaret could not bring herself to talk to this boy. He was such a want to be nightling but with none of the subtle trimming that she had come to look at. It sickened her as it always had.

Luke sat up on the bed. A thousand screams fading from his ears as the dream world departed. Non of it made any sense and it bothered him for reasons he did not understand. He could remember nothing. The world and his mind were blanks.

He lay back down again. His body was weak and he did not know how to react. As he lay there, he sensed twitching movements in the room. He sat up and looked at the body of Jackson Dent.

At once, he knew his name and realised that he was not quite dead. His mind started to focus and he realised that the room stank he ran from the room and was sick on the back doorstep gasping the clean night air.

Jackson’s mind swirled with fictions and images that made no sense to him. He was becoming aware of his body again and that it felt strange. He knew he could not move but he knew in the same way a dieing animal knows things. His mind drifted back into the dream state and the twitching slowly stopped.

Maggie knocked on the door and a few moments later, it opened. A dull housewife looking woman greeted them and Maggie instantly pitied her. Peter introduced his new companion and the housewife led them in.

The house was somewhat twee and lacked any poetry. It was somehow exactly the modern foolishness she had come to expect from this family.

“Peter has a girl with him.” Said Sue.

“Good for him it is about time he had a girl friend.”

“Not so fast big bro.” Said Peter.

John turned around: “You’re dead,” he said.

Chapter 17 – Conclusive Change

2004-11-18T01:30:00.000Z

Jackson opened his eyes. The room was spinning a little and the smell of vomit hit his nostrils. Luke had already stopped coughing and now simply lay there limp and unmoving. Angelina seemed to be unconscious but breathing.

How many days had been since anyone had spoken to anyone else? How many days since they last lit the fire?

Something at the back of his mind told him that it had been longer than five sunrises; possibly seven and maybe more. Jackson looked at the blanketed window. At some stage, someone had improved it. No light shone through. It was cold and dark and yet Jackson found that he could see quite well. He looked at Angelina; she lay on the makeshift bed with a blanket under her. She was naked but for a pair of skimpy knickers.

It was an arresting sight and would have been better were her skin not so drawn, pale, blotchy and clammy. She looked as if she was long over due for death. It was not sexy any more - it was revolting.

Jackson looked away. He looked at Luke covered and still with one arm hanging over the side of the camp bed. Jackson pulled himself closer to Luke. Every part of his body hurt as he moved and he simply wished the pain would stop.

Jackson reached for Luke’s wrist and tried to feel for a pulse. He tried for a very long time so that he could not tell what was his imagination and what was his sense of touch. It seemed every now and then he had found it but then he realised he was wrong. In the end, he had to admit to himself that he had not found a pulse. He had found faint something’s that had turned out to be wishful thinking.

Luke was dead.

The terminal conclusion sank into Jackson’s mind. The bishop developed early had fallen. What part had he been in the great life sized chess game? Had Jackson Dent been a pawn or something more significant? He sank down and lay where he fell. He would never know what part he had played. He would never know the feel of his Angel Queen. He would die and it would all have been for nothing. He would die and he would have achieved nothing. He would not have even won his lady nor found out why Luke had done what he had.

Jackson knew he tasted despair as he gave himself up to sleep.

Gail mopped the forehead of her man. He had been like this for days. It was quite the worst flu she had ever seen. But he was her man now and she would take good care of him. She had taken care of him since he became ill over six days ago and she would continue to take care of him.

He stirred a little and she attentively stroked his hand.

“It is all going to be fine.” She told him.

Anabellus stood in the cemetery – he liked it here where people generally didn’t bustle. It was peaceful and restful and although a nice place to visit, he would not want to live there.

His bride stood beside him. She was dressed clothes that were not entirely appropriate or practical it was a dress made of crushed velvet of two different colours: black and deep purple. It looked amazing on her and showed he shoulders and cleavage wonderfully in the mood light but caught on the brambles and every little thing that protruded at a strange angle. It already had three little rips at the hem and a little mud splattered up the back.

She had wandered the nights mindlessly for a time and might have done so forever if Anabellus had not found her. The night seemed so lively and she felt the urge to write dark poetry.

Anabellus held her close, she felt full and could not remember a time when she had feasted as she had that night. Anabellus held his bride tightly and soaked up the view. In a few months, when she had fully recovered, they would move on to another town.

At the lab the next day, Mary, Ricky and Johnny sat around the table. Each one trying to avoid the gaze of the others they read on through the remaining notes and files, all of them trying to avoid the subject of the rumoured closures.

“Look at this,” said Mary, “it’s about some guy with the name Anabellus – can you believe any mother would call her child that?”

“It’s a pretty unusual name,” said Ricky.

“Oh hang on,” said Mary, “his name used to be George Abele.”

“The Abele’s used to own most of this town,” said Johnny, “Abele road, Abele Park and Town Street used to be the Abele estate.”

“According to this the guy died of our virus and it took him 12 days.” Said Mary.

“That’s sad.” Said Ricky.

“What else does it say?” Asked Johnny.

“Apparently the should be a picture of him.” Said Mary. She turned the page and stared at the cheap colour photograph. He hands started to tremble and he stomach felt like it had dropped to the floor.

“Mary,” asked Ricky, “are you okay?”

“Mary?” Asked Johnny.

“I’ve seen this man.” Said Mary, finally.

“What do you mean you’ve seen him?” Asked Johnny, “he’s dead.”

“The night Linda died he was in the bar.”

“Surely you must be mistaken.” Said Ricky.

“No, damn it, that was him. He was chatting up Linda and I left early with…” Mary broke into uncontrollable fits of sobbing.

“Johnny, could you fetch some coffee?”

“Sure,” said Johnny thinking: why me?

“I killed Linda,” sobbed Mary, “when I left to… when I thought that…”

“It’s alright,” said Ricky gently moving in to comfort her. “Nobody thinks you killed her. Now we can tell the police that the serial killer looks like George Abele did shortly before his death.”

“I condemned her to die,” wailed Mary.

“No, you didn’t,” Ricky said comfortingly, “you were her friend.” It is going to be a long day, he thought.

Gail fussed around her man, he seemed a little better today and had sat up and had some chicken soup. This, she felt, was a good sign – it meant he was getting better it also meant that she could maybe do a little more than hold him close during the night.

She looked around at the bedroom. She had kept her curtains closed at his request and she had changed the bucket ever few hours. Flowers in vases sat on every surface and a cup of water and a jug were sat by the bed.

Several different medicines we lined up on the dressing table. Some she recognised others she had purchased only because Paul had asked her too. It looked like a mad cross between a florists and a hospital.

She purchased fresh flowers whenever she went out and it helped her feel like she was doing something worthwhile.

Jackson opened his eyes again.

He looked at Angelina. It seemed she had stopped breathing. He sighed a deep sigh and considered burying her. In the end, he opted to simply cover her up with the blanket. He looked about the room and realised that this might be that last thing he ever saw.

If I could live my life over again, thought Jackson, I would do so much more before this moment.

He closed his eyes and slipped into a coma.

John sat at his desk. There was a tiny chance thay had all made the same mistake. If so Paul might still be alive.

He had in front of him a report of two boys who were attacked on the way home from a party. They grew ill and over twelve days gradually died. The story would have ended there but a visiting doctor successfully demonstrated that the boys were in fact still alive but in a very deep coma like sleep. Their vital signs had reduced to almost zero.

After nine days, one of the boys revived and a day later his friend did too. They rapidly returned to full health with no ill effects. They both had developed an aversion to sunlight and any strong sunlight caused blistering of the skin.

Within a day of each other, both boys reported that teeth had been falling out however after a month they had apparently grown back. The new teeth were sharper than the old ones and the boys required some dental work to blunt them off. The K9 teeth caused the biggest stir as they were fairly long and some locals given to flights a fancy suggested that the boys were vampires. One enterprising individual apparently attempted to kill them with large wooden stakes.

The boys continued to be fine apart from a growing allergy to sunlight and a bad cause of anaemia. Neither of which helped the rumours that had continued to spread.

They both died sixteen months later when locals discovered that they had been responsible for the death of three sheep and blamed them for other deaths and accidents. The boys died after being beaten and pursued by an angry mob. One was cornered and beheaded with an antique sword and the other was brutally murdered by zealots who effectively nailed him to the ground with wooden stakes.

While this was a shocking story, John realised, if this was the same virus then there was hope yet. The symptoms seemed the same it was just a shame that they did not have more time to investigate.

Gail purchased a large shovel on her way home from the shops. She hung her head low and placed it in the shed hoping that she never needed to use it. But she knew it was only a matter of time before she had to bury her man.

A tear slid down her cheek. He had been her’s and now he was sliding away. Life was cruel and unfair. She had no idea what she would do with the rest of her life now that her man was dieing.

Chapter 16 – There’s nothing left

2004-11-17T01:52:00.000Z

Ricky sat in the empty lab. It did not feel right to try and actually carry out any new tests. He had promised Mr Benite that he would stay to see through one last experiment. If anyone found that he had participated willingly, he would never work again. If Paul died, he might still have some questions to ask.

The Lab complex had seemed like a ghost town these last few days. All he had left was to write up experiment s and notes he had left for more interesting things.

Maybe he could put off those notes if he reviewed the samples and checked on the animals.

Jackson took another tablet. He had lost track of how many he had taken but somehow it seemed that this was the least of his worries. Luke had not woken up since last night and Angelina slept continuously throughout the daylight hours.

Jackson’s skin was cold and clammy and his head had a continuous dull throb while his stomach was unsure which way was up.

Luke was a nameless man in a whirlwind of dreams in hallucinogenic colours, instructions and half memories. He chased treasure boxes down corridors of lies and all about him strange people helped him for no reason and in the centre of the circus a hypnotist looked on and smiled.

Jackson looked at himself in Angelina’s hand mirror. He looked gaunt and dried-out. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy – he looked as if he had not slept in weeks.

“What’s happening?” He asked out loud.

The air did not answer him.

Ricky looked at the results again. That could not be right. There had to be some error.

He turned and looked for the phone, this was going to need a lot more people on it.

Paul sneezed.

“Bollocks,” he said, “I think I have caught a cold.”

He was sitting at home. He had tidied it and added new ornaments to replace those that he had damaged in his drunkenness. His house looked nice and all that it needed was to be filled with happiness.

He thought about Gail and her smile. He found himself drawn towards the very thought of her. Ever since she had asked him out (and he had said it wouldn’t work because he was the boss), he had thought of her from time to time.

She had always been a perfect worker and possibly the best of the administration team. He eyes seemed so open and he smile lit up the room.

Paul had always felt happier when she was in the room.

It had been a while since I have seen her, Paul thought, I wonder what happened. He thought about her absence and his. He thought about her and felt a sudden need to explain his actions to her.

He picked up the phone.

“Ricky,” said John, “try a different way to explain it to me.”

“Yes, sir,” said Ricky, “it all boils down to the fact that we can cure all instances of the virus but by that time the host has become a factory and produces more not long after. This new virus ahs the host DNA and is not vulnerable to our treatment.”

“I was hoping you would say it meant something else.” Said John. “Paul’s a dead man isn’t he?”

“Yes sir.”

Jackson slipped into a feverish sleep next to his queen. Their strong hold had become a house of death. He dreamed of ghosts and bodiless voices hunting him. He was glad when he awoke from his nightmare only to discover his dreams just as disturbed when a few minutes later sleep claimed him again.

Paul put down the phone. He felt strangely numb. In a little under two hours he was going to break one of his own rules. He reflected on this thought and slowly realised that there would be no rules left to break – he had hit John, lied to Ricky and was going to date another member of his staff. He had tested an untested process on himself and he had sold out, twice.

“I must not think like this,” he said to the walls, “I am not scum, I do not suck. However, I need to stop talking to myself.”

He left his kitchen to go upstairs. The phone rang. He would let the answer machine get it. He needed to get his bedroom ready for company.

“I can’t get him, sir,” said Frances.

“Keep trying,” said John, “We have to get hold of him as soon as we can.”

“Yes sir.”

“If you succeed I’ll do everything I can to get you Gail’s job.”

“Thank you.”

Paul said nothing but just looked out of the window. He wondered where his, one time, best friend was.

Paul sat in the restaurant with a beautiful women he felt good and he felt ready to take her home. However, he had a nagging feeling of nausea that would trouble him every few minuets.

Gale was in heaven. She had worshiped Paul from afar for ten years. After his wife had run off with another man she had been there to prop him up and keep him from the pub at lunch times. She had worked late missing out on time with friends to be there fore him.

She knew that he over looked her almost all of the time and she had hated herself for quitting over the silly pay dispute. She wished she had been there for him when the bad things had happened at work.

She almost sighed as she remembered how she had plucked up he courage and asked him out. She remembered how gently he had said no. She loved him all the more for it.

Now she was eating dinner with him and she knew he had changed his mind. To Gail, Paul was a god among men.

“So where have you been?” Asked Paul as his curiosity got the better of him.

“I quit,” she said, “that silly Sally girl had been making life unbearable and I don’t get paid enough to take her crap.”

“Oh.” Said Paul. He was unsure how he should react. He did not want to seem disloyal to his staff but he wanted to be sure to take this women home to his bed.

“…but don’t worry,” she said, “I made sure that everything was in order for you when you got back. I hope that Frances girl kept your office tidy. You’re a very busy man – far to busy to worry about tidying an office.”

She looked at him and smiled. Paul smiled at the sight of her happiness and this made her smile all the more.

She looked at him again. Other women might not notice but she thought that something might be wrong. If something was hurting her Paul she wanted to know about it.

“Are you ok?” She asked tenderly.

“Yes,” he lied, “I’m fine, just a little indigestion.”

“Indigestion that’s been bugging you all night.” Said Gail. “Come on, let’s go back to mine, it’s nearest. You need to be looked after properly.”

“No, I’m fine honestly,” lied Paul, “I want to spend time with you. That’s why I called you.”

“You’re sweet but exhausted,” she said, “we can spend time together at mine. Unless of course you don’t want to spend the night.”

Of course, I do, thought Paul; I am as horny as you would not believe.

She smiled at Paul’s lack of answer. “Let’s get the bill,” she said.

It was cold out side and Paul felt foolish needing a taxi when he had a perfectly good car still waiting to be fixed due only to laziness (and a little shame at getting arrested). None of that seemed to matter to Gail. The police were wrong in the gospel according to Gail. Paul marvelled once more at her dedication and care. She had always been a good worker. He had never thought there could be any deeper reason for it. Now he knew he was wrong.

The taxi arrived and Gail bundled Paul in the back seat and then climbed in after him. He had become lethargic and a little listless. She pressed herself up against him as the car drove them away. Her Paul needed looking after properly. That Sally and That other silly girl, Frances clearly had not been doing their job right. She would look after her man now. She would love him and care for him and meet all his needs, as a woman should.

Paul sat in the taxi with a woman at his side. His head swam and he was not sure why. His whole body ached as if he had been running for a week. He was only partly aware of leaving the car and somewhat aware that his clothes were being pealed from his body. His skin was cool and a little clammy.

“My poor man has the flu,” said Gail tutting about him like a mother hen. “Come on now lets get you up to bed and see if we can make you feel a lot better.”

Chapter 15 - Recovery

2004-11-15T22:21:00.000Z

As another day drew to a close Jackson paced back and forth across the floor. A fire was burning and the room felt just about as nice as it could but he could not rest. He was worried about Angelina but mostly this was to stop himself worrying about something else that he just could not bring himself to think about.

He continued to pace which started to irritate Luke who finally sat up a little and asked: “What’s bothering you?”

“I’m just worried about Angel.” Jackson answered.

“That AND something else” said the voice in his head.

“Shut up,” hissed Jackson.

“I’m very sorry I’m sure.” Said Luke.

“Not you,” said Jackson, he tapped his head and said: “the voices.”

“Oh those,” said Luke, “they used to trouble me but… but… I…” he could not focus his mind on what he was going to say (or think) on that subject. He could not even directly think about that subject, he found.. It was like his mind involuntarily moved on to something else.”

“But you… what?” Asked Jackson.

“No idea.” Said Luke and lay back down again.

Angelina came back, eventually. She had purchased huge amounts of food; most of it came in tins. She had even thought to purchase a tin opener.

“Have you got any pain killers?” asked Luke weekly.

“Aspirin and Paracetamol.” Answered Angelina.

“Cheers,” said Jackson taking the Aspirin packet. He opened it and helped himself to two tablets then he threw the packet to Luke. “My head is caning.” He explained.

“What ever,” said Angelina carefully tossing her hair over her shoulder in such away to draw their attention as she did so.

Jackson paid little attention, his head was a ball of pain and he could think of little else. It had started about an hour after he and Luke had last spoken. At first, it was really mild but it had grown steadily stronger. He had been doing his best to ignore it, and if he concentrated, he could almost make it go away but then something would happen and it would hit him like a speeding car.

Angelina was trying her best to keep things to herself but she had found that she was having trouble eating during the day and now that night was here she did not feel sleepy. It had happened to her like this before which is why she ended up doing night shifts and other odd hours. She had spent almost a year with insomnia before she had sought help. Surprisingly, at least to her, they were able to identify a mild allergy as the root cause and she was soon sleeping normally again. She recognised the pattern this time but could see no reason for it.

That night Jackson lay curled into a tight ball of pain and tears and Angelina failed to sleep despite her efforts. She stayed up all night nursing Jackson but despite giving him a full dose every four hours of both the pain killers he had remained locked in a small ball weeping slightly with the pain.

She had even taken off her blouse not only because she felt so hot but also in the hope that it might distract him, but to no avail.

Luke had enjoyed watching Angelina when he woke up. But the pleasure soon subsided as his guts had started to ache.

By morning, Jackson was no better and Luke was a being sick in the kitchen. That day was one of the longest in Angelina’s life. By mid afternoon, Luke was sleeping once more and Jackson was curled up by the cold fireplace smoking his way steadily through all the cigarettes.

I should have got sleeping pills, she thought, now I will have to go out in daylight and buy something.

She made sure the two boys were as comfortable as they could be and kissed Jackson gently on the cheek.

“I’ll be back soon,” she told him, “get better and I’ll give you an amazing back massage.” She had considered being more suggestive - but, she reasoned, this would not be a good time.

She slipped out the front door and carefully stepped up to the hedge. There was no traffic and so she stepped out on to the pavement. She looked left and then looked right. She was sure she had moved unseen.

Angelina walked slowly toward the same twenty-four hour convenience as before. Only this time when at last she got there she just kept on walking.

It was half an hour later that she arrived at a chemists. Her feet hurt and all she wanted was a rest.

She came out a few minuets later with a small bag crammed with as many different pain killers and flu cures as she thought she could purchase with out raising suspicion. She had two different prescription free sleeping tablets and she hoped that she could keep the boys from feeling too bad.

She stopped at a corner shop and purchased some cheap sunglasses and found herself feeling more comfortable with them on. Then she saw a cute little café and stopped for a coffee and some thing light to eat.

She felt amazing and able to do anything. She wished this feeling would last forever.

On her way out of the town she spotted an out door sports shop that sold everything from tents to fishing tackle. She stepped in and purchased a small camping stove and a lightweight aluminium kettle and saucepan set.

The she started the long walk back to the house. It seemed to take forever just to get back as far as the garage where she purchased a bottle of water a lighter and some more cigarettes for Jackson.

By the time she got back to the house, she had smoked half the packet of cigarettes and was feeling exhausted.

Jackson had been crying although he did his best to cover it up. She chose to tactfully ignore this fact and gave him some sleeping tablets and a new cocktail of painkillers. Luke looked like he had been tortured for days. She had some Imodium, which she gave him along with some painkillers and sleeping tablets. She had no idea of the medicine would react together but the pharmacist had not said anything so she guessed not.

Luke pass out quickly into a deep sleep, so quickly, in fact, that Angelina had to check his pulse for her own peace of mind.

Jackson was still awake but seemed more peaceful. She tucked him up into the pile of blankets on the double air mattress that they called a bed. Then she hung a blanket from the nails above the window.

She hoped they would sleep now. She looked at Jackson lightly dozing in the bed and felt the strong pull of sleep herself.

She quickly stripped naked and climbed in to bed next to him. In minuets, she was asleep.

Jackson was aware of Angelina’s nakedness but too drowsy even to comment. He managed a short smile before he too fell asleep.

Just as it got dark outside Angelina woke up and could not get back to sleep. She sat up and felt very exposed laying in the bed.

She stood and walked calmly into the back room where she dressed herself ready to charm anyone who might need it.

She kept both the boys sedated and well equipped with painkillers and drinks of water all that night. The next day, sometime after nine o’clock, she began to feel very sleepy. She found herself wanting to be in the bed next to Jackson, holding him and sleeping.

She laid out a does of medicines for Luke and left them by his bed and then she stripped to her underwear, slipped under the blanket and cuddled up to Jackson. She slept soundly for the entire day.

Jackson woke up with Angelina cuddling him. Her arms were bare and so too was the leg wrapped around him. This could be the best moment of my life, he thought.

Jackson discovered that he felt better.

Not perfect, but better.

With the aid of cigarettes and Vodka, he was soon a very happy man. He spent the day shirtless laying in bed drinking and smoking while a beautiful woman cuddled him and snuggled into his chest. What, he thought, could be better?

He had to get up twice to give food, drink and tablets to Luke but other than that, he spent the entire time laying in the bed stroking Angelina’s back and sides and generally being very happy.

He felt great. Achy, but great.

Luke slept most of the day but when he did wake up, he found that his eyes and nose stung a lot and that his stomach while settled still hurt.

That night Angelina cared for them. She did not bother to wear any more than her underwear, which she carefully changed to keep herself feeling fresh.

She brought the table and notes in to the front room and read as the boys slept. Luke was looking very pale and she was a little worried that he showed so many of the symptoms about which she had read.

Over the day that followed Paul’s hasty retreat from the lab complex, he had found himself feeling ever better about himself again. The end of the third day marked the end of Ricky’s slightly precautionary long course of medicine, which Paul felt tasted worse than anything he had taken before.

He knew he would be clear to return to the lab and present himself as living proof in a little less than twelve hours.

He had spent the last few days visiting pubs, drinking beer and eating takeaway food. He had been trying to avoid the phone and any place John might find him. He felt ashamed of the way he had treated his friend and vowed to make it up to him.

Paul felt the best he had done since long before the first break-in.

It felt good to be clean again, to be whole, to be cured.

Chapter 14 - the end

2004-11-14T23:54:00.000Z

Paul walked into his office a broken man. When he had left the police station he had needed a cab and then he had discovered his tired were slashed. It had all been too much and it was worse that he had had to wait for a taxi to take him home as well. He had to order yet another to take him into work. The cab driver had wanted to talk about football and all Paul wanted was to tell him where he could shove it.

He sat at his desk and rifled through the piles of paper work all about him. Unread memos and letters had pilled up on his desk while he had been distracted by other things. He continued to search, he would have to become more organised, he thought. Finally, he found the report he was looking for - Ricky’s experiment.

He scanned through the report picking out key words… 95% uptake… rapid decline of antibodies… no trace of original virus infection… secondary virus spread reduced… possible side effects and wide spread cellular damage… 2% risk of cancer… no sign of secondary virus with twenty-four hours… permanent increase in cell activity… possible complications… further studies recommended to future researchers…

Paul put it all together in his head. The virus had destroyed not only the other virus but also the systems immune response and then had itself been destroyed by Ricky’s process. This left a danger of a mild and temporary Acquired Immunodeficiency, and left the victim vulnerable for a while. Also, the cell damage increased the risk of cancers, which might become an issue.

But the single great fact remained - they had found a cure for almost everything!

Something bothered him about the reference to future researchers. Was Ricky planning on quitting?

He picked up the phone and called John’s office.

Jackson lay on the inflatable sofa, it sagged a little and his legs hung over then end but he felt comfortable enough. All he had to do was watch Luke and dream up a way of seducing Angelina. Perfect, he thought.

“Your best approach would be to make this place homely,” said the voice in his head, “tidy and dust this place, remove the cobwebs as well.”

“Who are you?” asked Jackson.

The air was still and the only sound was the heavy snoring of Luke. Jackson looked about the place, he didn’t find the new voice spooky but it did annoy him that he did not recognise it.

John sat down next to Paul and sighed.

“They’ve slashed our budgets and commandeered most of out projects.” He said.

“What!?” Asked Paul outraged, “they can’t do that! We’re so close to finding a cure for AIDS, the common flu maybe even cancer and god knows what else.“

“They can,” said John, he shook his head a little and said: “We’ve lost this one, Paul.”

“No,” shouted Paul, “it’s not right.” He stood up and paced back and forth. He moved in such a frantic and disturbingly manic manor that John started to become quite concerned.

“Sit down,” said John, “there’s nothing you can do.” He gestured to the chair that Paul had occupied moments ago

“Our work…” moaned Paul.

“It’s all too late.” Said John, “come and sit down”.

Paul thumped the wall and yelled: “It’s not damn fair, they’re coming to take my cure that I worked so hard for.”

“Paul, for the love of god, calm down.” Said john.

“When do they arrive?” asked Paul.

“They don’t,” said John, “we have to send it to them. It seems that this is one of those reserved projects. It has been on the company books for years. They’ve sunk billions into it over the years.”

“So what,” said Paul, “it was our project; we still have Ricky’s modified vision right?”

“Yes, for all the good it will do us.” Said John.

“And Ricky can knock up enough of his drug cocktail to cure a full grown man right.”

“No, Paul, don’t you dare.”

“It’s the only way.” Said Paul.

“Sit down.” Said John standing up. “I can’t let you risk your life like this. It’s stupid and pointless. I’m your friend and I insist you calm down.”

“My life?” Screamed Paul, “my god-damn life is already over. It was over the day that bloody gold digger broke in her and smashed the place up.” Paul turned and opened the door.

John tried to stop him but Paul simply struck out and shouted: “I will not miss out now!”

John crumpled onto the desk under Paul’s fierce blow and then lay still. Blood tricked for the corner of his mouth and Paul wondered for a second if he might have killed his friend.

“Sorry, my friend but this is life and death.” Said Paul and ran from the office.

He found Ricky in the lab packing up equipment.

“Hello, boss,” said Ricky, “I didn’t expect you to come and say goodbye.”

“I didn’t know you were leaving us.” Said Paul.

“I’ve been asked to transfer to another department based near London.” Said Ricky, “I’ve got the rest of the month but there is nothing much here for me now.”

“Please stay a few more days,” said Paul, “I think I can make it worth your while.”

Angelina continued to sift through the paper work. At first it had been rather difficult to stay focused but now she found that she could focus for an hour at a time with out even fidgeting.

Jackson sat perfectly still he watched Luke. The room looked cleaner than it had done since they had arrived here. Luke seemed to be concussed. He did not know why the thought had not accoutred to him before but no it seemed obvious that the man had sustained head injuries.
Paul hurried down the steps at the entrance to the complex. The cab was weighting for him, and of all the bad luck, it was the same guy as earlier that morning. He felt for the bottle of medicine – it was safe in his top pocket.

“Afternoon, squire.” Said the cab driver.

“Afternoon,” said Paul. “Take us to some pub, any will do.”

“Sure thing boss.”

Paul felt a little woozy but other than that, he felt strong and well. Ricky had been quite explicit about taking the medicine every two hours until it was gone. He had made Paul’s day when he had told him dinking would probably increase the rate that the secondary virus was killed.

Paul intended to drink his way to health. It was to be a victory and a victory calibration in one and yet he had lost all appetite for drink. Maybe just a few pints, he thought.

John’s face hurt in several different places. He was furious with Paul and ready to kill Ricky for agreeing to help but he had to admit that there would be little to stop them making a break with the discoveries once tested successfully on Paul. They could not forbid the evidence to go home.

That evening the trio in the abandoned house dinned on a few bars of chocolate and a cup of vodka diluted with the last of the coke. Luke sat groggily on the edge of the bed and attempted to simply look sociable.

Angelina was a little worried about herself. She had gone all day without food and only now did she feel a little hungry. She also knew that she had brought way too little food and too many home comforts. She felt extremely angry at her own naivety and her growing sense of insight and concentration allowed her to plan carefully.

It was only a mile further to go to another town entirely to get food. There was a twenty-four hour garage in that direction and that would sell her everything they might need.

She thought again of her silly girly ideas about the house and the lack of food. She looked around the room. It did look good she had to admit. Jackson had tidied up and even done a little cleanings – the cobwebs and the dust were gone.

“I’m going to walk to the garage and get some supplies,” she announced, “any requests?”

“Fags.” Said Jackson.

“Coffee, please,” said Luke, “and something meaty if you can.”

“Sure,” said Angelina, “not a problem.”

Outside the house, Jacque passed by silent and unobserved. He had seen Anabellus’ bride and he knew there was no immediate danger. The scientific man was drinking again and the scientific man’s bosses had taken his samples away. Everything, he reasoned, would remain fine while he was gone.

“Angel,” said Jackson, “have you noticed anything odd?”

“Odd?” she asked.

“Yeah, you know, increased concentrational awareness, extra insight that sort of thing.”

“No,” she replied, “I can’t say that I have. We can chat about this when I get back if you like.”

“OK,” he said, “I’ll see you when you get back, babe.” A slight sweaty feeling pricked at Jackson’s neck. Now he had said it he felt foolish.

“See you later,” she said with out betraying the small skip of her heart. He had called her babe!

The night was clear and remarkably light. Everything smelled vibrant and the night seemed alive to Angelina as she walked the long journey to collect food for the house.

She reflected that she had never felt quite so alive.

Jackson was unsure but he was sure he had seen the tiniest of reaction in Angelina and he was sure it was a good thing. He had gotten it right.

Luke was asleep when he came back into the front room. Jackson went to the window and looked out at the hedge. I should light a fire, he thought, but I’ll just stand here a little longer and then it will be time.

“You’re a j-“

“Fuck off, dick breath” muttered Jackson and turned away from the window.

“You tot-“

“Lay down and die, turd for brains.” He told the memory.

For the first time since he could remember, he felt truly confident, he felt strong, and he felt – manly.

Chapter 13 – We all had our reasons…

2004-11-14T01:54:00.000Z

That night the nameless guy woke up. Jackson was dozing on the inflatable sofa when the man sat up screaming.

“Dude?” Asked Jackson, startled, “Chill-out-dude-It’s-Ok.” He said in a rush.

The nameless man looked at Jackson and blinked. His body was awash with pain. His back, legs and arms were badly bruised and he was sure that he had cracked several ribs. His head span and for a moment he sank back into the endless dreaming.

The nameless man came too again and looked once more at Jackson. “I am injured.” He said plainly. “I will need to rest before I can continue.”

“I’d say,” said Jackson, “you look like death.”

The nameless man said nothing.

Jackson watched the man lie back down again. Before he asked: “Is there anything you need, man?”

“I’m hungry.” Said the man. “Very Hungry.”

“Here!” said Jackson throwing the man a packet of crisps, “we haven’t got much in at the moment. There’s some coke if you want some.”

“Yes please.” Said the man.

“Diet or regular?” Asked Jackson.

“Regular.” Said the man with a hint of disappointment.

Jackson handed the man a warm coke and said: “Angel’s in the other room.”

“Who?” Asked the man.

“Angelina. The girl that’s been with us.” Said Jackson.

The nameless guy nodded. Something half memory half idea flooded his mind and he blurted: “I’m Luke.”

“I’m Jackson,” said Jackson and then wondered why he said it, “Pleased to know your name,” he added, “at last.”

Angelina sat in the room next-door reading the reports in no particular order. Large portions of them made little sense and huge amounts lacked any real context.

The term “reduced serotonin” seemed common but she had little idea as to the possible meaning beyond some vague references to the human brain and complicated references to “circadian rhythms”.

Many of the reports mentioned “increased levels of adrenaline” which she imagined must be a constant rush of excitement not unlike toying with a dangerously drunken man in a situation where she might not be able to get away.

She had discovered that the company knew of a virus that would enhance the victim’s senses before it killed them causing an increase in the density of particular nerve endings and something called “hyper-dilation of the iris” and “mild inflammation of the sclera” which sounded quite painful.

She also discovered that the company had experimented repeatedly with using the virus as a cure of one kind or another. However, it seemed that these experiments ended abruptly, often with chaotic and confusing notes filled with hysteria. One writer ranted for almost a page and a half at the end of an otherwise dull file about the devil invading his offices.

The virus it seemed had been bad luck for everyone who encountered it.

She picked up another report. This one seemed to contain a lot more technical-language and was heavy reading. It seemed to focus on “changes in the nature of the telomers” caused in main by the virus and mentioned notable cases of extreme psychosomatic responses to a range of stimuli; most of what she was reading might as well have been in French.

Without thinking, Angelina reached for the cigarette packet and pulled a long black menthol from the pack. She lit it and inhaled deeply as she read on, making few notes but little sense of most of the document. It had gone on to discuss: “Erythropoietic Protoporphyria and miscellaneous photoallergic reactions”.

It was all completely alien to her but she kept on anyway. Somewhere in all this, there might be the hint of a clue that might bring her a great story and perhaps some fame.

Jackson had given Luke what he could to help sate the man’s hunger and now there was very little food in the house. The cigarette stash seemed woefully short too.

Sooner or later, thought Jackson, it will be back to the rollies for me.

His mind shifted track as if prompted from out side and Jackson thought about the fireplace – it was cold in her. It was dark now and most of the people at the lab complex would be home by now. Jackson wondered why that might be significant and then realised that this meant he could light a fire.

Jackson helped Luke up the stairs to the bathroom before hastily assembling the wood for a nighttimes worth of fire fuel and only stopping when the inner voice prompted him to. Then he lit the fire, guided by this new voice.

Jackson settled down to sleep properly only when Angelina came to the front room, having finally given up with the reports for the night. She was utterly frustrated by the cold and poor light, which made complex reports all the more challenging. They bedded down together for the warmth and the company.

Angelina felt safe and secure held by this patient guy who did not keep “putting moves on her”.

Jackson felt elated at Angelina’s company and presence close to him. He had never been this close to a female before and it thrilled him. Angelina had loosened her clothing in order to sleep more comfortably and Jackson awoke several times to look at her partly exposed body as she slept.

He longed to undress her completely and lay awake for hours at a time lost in thought and desire. When he did sleep, it was from exhaustion and not from any natural desire to sleep.

Jackson awoke before it was light to the sound of a car breaking and skidding. He waited for the sickening crunch that usually followed but there was none.

Outside Paul cursed loudly as he overshot the mark and had to reveres before entering the car park.

The results would now be available and he did not want to wait any long to find out what they were.

As he pulled up in front of the entrance two police officers stepped forward to speak with him.

“Good morning, sir.” Said one.

Jackson stood up and walked to the window. He lit a cigarette and tried to see what clues he could. The road seemed empty.

“It would be wise to step away from the window,” the inner voice told him.

Jackson stepped back. He wondered who this voice was. It did not sound like a memory to him but he was unsure what it could be. The night did not seem to be very dark to Jackson and he assumed that somewhere just beyond all that tall growth a full moon shone down.

The nameless man stirred in his bed. His body was still aching all over from the beating he had been given but now his stomach was rebelling too. He could no longer ignore the symptoms of acute exhaustion – he had pushed his body too hard and now it was failing him. Memories that had been held completely at bay seeped in to his dreams and polluted his thoughts. Desires long forgotten arose.

He smelt the smoke of Jackson’s cigarette and craved one for himself. He reached for his pockets but they were all empty.

“Please.” He said weakly.

“Pardon, dude,” whispered Jackson, “you want something?”

“Ciggy,” said the man.

“Ok sure,” said Jackson lighting one and passing it to him.

Angelina woke up. She was cold and had expected her man to be there to warm her. The smell of smoke flooded her senses and she felt quite uncomfortable.

“It’s still early,” she complained, “come back to bed.”

Jackson through his cigarette end into the fire. He did not need asking twice.

Paul sat in the cell and hung his head in his hands. He knew that he faced the chance of loosing his licence for a long time and no one was going to pity him. Worse yet - he was going to miss out on being there to find out the results of the tests.

He cursed his bad luck and sunk into a depressed silence. He knew that it had been silly but it had been only a small drink and in reality, it was nothing compared to what he had put away this week. IT was just bad luck that the Police on duty guarding the labs had decided to relive their boredom by breath testing him. The skidding and so forth would not have normally been noticed that far away he reasoned.

He felt truly down trodden. It seemed life had conspired only to hurt him. First he lost control of his company to a much bigger company and now he had lost his life and now his car. Sure, it had all seemed like a good idea at the time – sell up and get rich – but it had not worked out quite like that.

It was not fair.

Jacque D'Jusuit – The keeper of The Book sat in silence. His work in this town seemed to be coming to an end the keeping of the book demanded that he travel north to see exactly what had been going on with a small cult that had recently become very popular. He had to be sure that it was not one of his own behind it.

The translation would have to wait for another time as would all consideration and debate on the subject of an heir. It was true that he would have to train another to keep The Book but he no longer had time, it seemed, to search for his replacement.

The Anabellus situation seemed stable enough for now and he felt he could use a change of scenery from the dull and damp of this particular town.

He arrived at a decision and immediately felt relieved to be going. He would leave the night after the next and return after a week or two.

Luke lay awake unable to sleep. The night seemed light to him as it had to Jackson and he simply felt somewhat wakeful. He also felt incredibly uncomfortable. His body ached; his stomach had the cramps and his cuts itched like crazy. He hoped that he had not caught rabies or some other infection from the mad man that had bitten him.

Chapter 12 – Weeping may last for a night

2004-11-12T20:49:00.000Z

Paul awoke with a start. He felt as if some one had hit him. His senses reeled and the room span. The floor seemed uneven and he felt as if his face was burning. A shadow shot across in front of him and he reached out to grab it but there was nothing there.

“Who’s there?” he called out as he banged his head. Everything was swimming and he could only sit very still and wait for it to pass.

When his vision cleared he realised he was on the floor in his kitchen with whisky dripping onto his face.

He stood on the second attempt and picket up the bottle. It was empty now.

“Oh god, I feel like death,” he exclaimed looking around the kitchen. The answer phone light was flashing urgently at him and with out thinking he pushed the play button.

“Paul, it’s your mum - call me OK.” Beep. “Hi there I’m just phoning to tell you about our exciting new offer-“ Paul pushed the delete button. The answer phone beeped twice and moved on to the next message.

“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.”

“Bloody hell!” exclaimed Paul, “I gotta get up there.” He staggered at speed out of the kitchen and headed for the bathroom.

A quick splash of water and some clean clothes later and Paul was picking up his keys and looking for his coat. It was on the floor in the front room. Paul retrieved his coat and was most of the way out of the door when the phone rang.

He let the answer phone get it: “Paul, it’s your mum again call me soon, it’s important.”

Paul was out of the door before the message was finished. He looked at his car in disbelief. Who had done this to it? It was badly scratched and dented down the entire right hand side.

Paul winced as he remembered the activities of last night. He had been an idiot.

He opened the car door and looked in the back of the car. He was sure that he had his sports bag in the back.

There was no time to worry about that now, however, as Paul’s desire to be at the lab complex and to find out the results now came before anything else.

He started the car and pull out onto the road. It was just possible that they had found a cure for the HIV virus and it was just possible that he would be the very first human test subject. Life could be his again.

He accelerated steadily all the way to the lab as music blared on the radio breaking only for the sharper corners.

He pushed the car towards its top limit decelerating just in time to sloppily take the corner into the car park.

Jackson sat drinking a coke and eating crisps while sat on an inflated sofa with a blanket around his shoulders looking at a man, who’s name he did not know, move fitfully from time to time on a camp bed set in the corner of the room.

He felt better than he had done all day. He was a little worried about the man now. He had failed to wake up and Jackson wondered what would happen if they let him die.

Angelina watched Jackson from the door of the room. She felt in control of the situation again now. It was her house and she was its queen. The doors were secured far better than they had ever been and all she had to do now was find out why the building smelled so damp.

She looked at Jackson. He seemed quite concerned for his friend. Was he really this man’s friend? It all seemed a little too strange to her and she hoped she would get a chance to sort through the fictions to get to the facts.

He was sweet if a little naive and she suspected that she liked him in spite herself.

She had discovered a warn out old folding table in the back room and had set herself up an office in there. She had piled up the papers neatly and was now prepared to sort through them. This was more like her old job than she cared to notice but it was familiar and something she could do with great efficiency.

Paul raced past the reception crew and milling police officers and was soon running down the corridor past the no running sign and into John’s office.

John was not there. Paul’s mental gears greeted as her sought for answers. He turned and speed out down the hall.

He was moving so fast that he almost bowled John right over.

“Nice to see you too, Paul,” said John, “I see you got the message.”

“Damn right, mate,” said Paul, “This is our moment.”

“Indeed.”

“Have I missed the experiment?” He asked.

“No, Paul,” said John, “It has started and we are in the middle of the hours of hanging about until some answers are available.”

“So fill me in.”

“I’ll let Ricky do that.”
They walked in silence for a while until John said: “What’s bothering you mate?”

“What d’you mean?” asked Paul.

“You’ve been drinking heavily and acting…”

“Acting?”

“Acting… not quite your usual cool and laid back self.” Said John

“Just some stuff” said Paul.

“Stuff?” Asked John sceptically.

“Yes. Stuff!” Insisted Paul.

“Really? So, the fact that the sample that got broken was a HIV culture is just a co-incidence. And the fact that Mark killed himself because he found out he was positive is also just surplus to the issue?”

“Eh?”

“Don’t give me that, Paul.” Said John stopping, “I know you too well for these kind of games. Have you been tested yet?”

“Yes.” Said Paul. “It came back positive. Now just drop it and lets find out what Ricky has to say.”

They walked into the lab in silence into the lab and past Johnny who was looking a little red.

“You ok, there?” asked Paul glad of the change of conversational partner. He hated himself for thinking it but he just wanted John to go away.

“Yes, sir,” replied Johnny, “I’ve quit smoking again. The therapist said that I might get a few hot flushes as the cravings passed.”

“Therapist?” asked John.

“Hypnotherapist, sir, he’s really good apparently he can cure anything.”

“Curing things is the job of a doctor, maybe with some help from us.” Said Paul sharply. He did not have time for any of this silly idiot talk. He wanted to know about this cure.

Ricky waved to them from across the lab.

“Ricky,” said Paul, “you know the drill, give me the short version.”

“Well,” said Ricky, “you already know that we’ve been infecting cultures of human cells with the virus. What we have done is used rare cultures with genetic disorders. Sensitivity to aspirin, lactose, even a pre disposition to allergies.”

“Yes,” said Paul, “I authorised those myself.”

“What we are trying to do is create a version of the virus that carries that sensitivity when it picks up the DNA from the hosts.” Said Ricky.

“And?” Asked Paul.

“Oh we’ve definitely succeeded.” Said Ricky. “What we are testing now is samples of the virus against compounds of different things it might have become sensitive too. Ironically they are all fairly common drugs, many available without any prescription.”

“So?”

“So, sir, we are hoping that we may be able to kill at least one sample.”

“Meaning that we can cure it.”

“Yes.”

“Fantastic,” said Paul, “When will we know.”

“Test results will be ready in about two hours.” Said Ricky, “but we’ll need to do some live animal testing to see if the virus has time to destroy an infection before changing too much and losing sensitivity.”

“Assuming it has any at all.” Said Paul. “You do realise that it is all highly unlikely.”

Hypnotic man stood at his window and scanned the streets looking for the pigeon. The man should have been back by now and there had been no reports of any arrests at the lab.

All this delay was upsetting his plans. He had not expected so many interruptions. He was sure that the instructions had taken a strong hold and he was sure that the man was more than able to go fetch a simple jewellery box. His clients would soon get very upset with him.

He looked towards the lab with maximum zoom. Nothing unusual was to be seen other than a few police cars sitting idly in the car park. Hypnotic man wondered if he still had any active patents from within the police force.

He watched the entrance as two girls walk out hand in hand. He adjusted his focus and tried to see what was going on. One was crying and the other seemed to be comforting her.

Shannon felt broken, Linda had been a good work college but more than that she had been teasing her, playing with her emotions and leading her on. She had planned to finish for good with Mary if Linda had not given up so easily every time, however, now Linda was dead. Linda had been murdered by the serial killer and no-one had caught him yet.

Mary thought it best not to say anything. She new that Shannon had taken a shine to this girl and it had been she that had wanted to leave Linda behind and slope of early. She felt a little guilty. Things were going o be difficult between them for a while now, she knew. All she could hope for was that a little time and space would get things back to as they were but secretly she knew things had changed a little for ever.

Some of the other staff members had looked like they were going to come and swamp them with unwanted sympathy. It was bad enough that a close friend was dead without people swamping them.

“Mary? She asked. “Could we just go back to your house?”

Mary led her lover down the steps and to the car. Who says good could never come of bad, she thought, the question now was a far simpler one – how far could she push things?

Chapter 11 – When you don’t see me

2004-11-11T22:12:00.000Z

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.”

Chapter 10 – The weeping Song

2004-11-10T12:59:00.000Z

Luke, the nameless man, sat on the floor his neck bleeding, bells ringing filling his head with sound and a daemon standing over him. He looked up at his attacker. His attacker looked back at him.

“Who are you?” Luke asked.

Anabellus reached down and picked Luke up by his shirt. He pulled Luke near to him so that he could smell the metallic taste of his own blood on Anabellus’ breath. Then he said quietly: “Do you believe in ghosts, Luke?”

Luke struggled to get free and kicked his legs wildly.

“You should do,” said Anabellus, “I died more than twelve years ago.”

The sound of sirens announced that the fire alarm had now called for assistance. Anabellus looked at Luke with a snarl, said: “Happy agony, ‘little man’” and threw him against the wall again.

Luke crumpled with to the floor with a grunt. The bells rang in his head like an omen of doom. He tried to move but only succeeded in sinking closer to the floor. Blood ran across his face and he felt to stunned to wipe it away.

Outside the sirens grew closer.

Luke lifted his head. His bag was only inches away from him. He pulled himself over to it and opened it. There were all the documents still there. The treasure, he was sent to collect.

“Collect what I send you for,” said the voices of memory, “but remember nothing, not even your own name. Just act for me.”

The nameless man stood up and shouldered the bag. His mind was filled with nothing but the sound of alarms. Outside was filled with sirens and flashing lights.

He staggered to the elevators then stooped. He turned and slowly made his way to the stair well. He walked doggedly up the stairs.

Below he could hear the sounds of radios and footsteps.

He reached the floor above. He opened the door the corridor was dark.

On the floor below, Fire Officials were moving about already. It would not be long before the law was inside the building too.

He walked steadily. He neck was bleeding less profusely now and his blood dripped less onto the floor. He pushed his way through double doors into an even darker corridor. Leaving behind bloody palm prints on a pristine white door.

Up ahead he could see the doorway to another stair well. It was dark as he approached; only the light spilling from windows illuminated his passage to the door.

The nameless man was sure he was alone. The Keeper of The Book watched with interest as he opened the door and staggered down the stairs.

The nameless man reached the floor he had so recently left when the lights came on.

He froze.

Footsteps echoed in the empty hallways.

Gradually he realised that he was now being tracked. The law wanted to talk to him and he had nothing to say in return.

He continued down the stairs and on to the ground floor. The lading was well decorated and contained many great looking plants.

The nameless man put his hand on the door into reception and then turned and reached up to break the neon strip light bulb with his hand. The glass cut his hand adding to the mess of glass from the neon strip bulb and blood still dripping a little from his face and neck.

Carefully the nameless man opened the fire door.

Breathing heavily, he put down his bag and pushed the door closed. It would not close properly but he hoped that it would maybe go unnoticed for a short while.

The nameless man picked up his bag and continued away from the building to the relative shelter of the shadows of the hedgerow.

Behind him, young office David Morgan came down the stairs. He had followed the only trail of blood that made any sense. Officer Morgan saw the broken glass first and then he saw the blood on the door shown up by the irregular light and shadows that the shining moon cast.

Office Morgan opened the door and followed the corridor. The corridor showed no sign of any disturbance, which struck him as a little strange. Ahead he saw an open pair of door he ran through them and found himself in the foyer again with a whole host of police and fire crews.

Jackson lit another cigarette. His lungs hurt a little from all the smoking he had done but he needed to do something to fend of the hunger pangs. Jackson regretted that he had not eaten since lunchtime and then only a sandwich.

“So why were you really walking out here?” asked Angelina as she repositioned the candle on the mantel peace.

“I was making sure that…” Jackson trailed off into silence. His story made as much sense as the early development of the queen during the open stages of a serious match.

He looked at her and reddened. He had only continued on with the simple guy with a day to waste because he thought he might get to meet Angelina.

A little honesty goes a long way, he thought and said: “I don’t really know. The guy had been sitting outside the school all day. I was just being inquisitive. I guess I was on a logic high from playing chess all day, the guy seemed out of place and I wanted to know why.”

Angelina could relate to those sentiments. Her own reason for being out alone on that particular road had been equally pathetic sounding. He is just like, she thought.

“I bet you think I’m silly now,” said Jackson hoping that she would say that she did not think any such thing.

“No,” she said, “sounds like the sort of thing a brash young man might do on a whim.”

Jackson was unsure how to react to her answer.

Angelina looked at Jackson face, she had hurt his feelings she was sure, she added hastily: “but, you seem nice enough anyway.”

“Thanks,” said Jackson, “I like you too.”

Angelina smiled coyly.

Jackson blushed deeply, he had not meant to say that and now he had blurted it out.

“I think you are ok too.” Said Angelina trying not to notice his blushing face illuminated by the firelight.

Jackson felt both hot and cold at once. He was unsure what to say but he felt he should say something.

The back door slammed back with the wind as the nameless man returned from the night. He staggered into the front room, sank to his knees and folded over his bag.

“Dude, are you ok?” asked Jackson.

“He’s bleeding,” gulped Angelina, “Help me get him laying down.”

Jackson unclipped the strap of the bag and the two of them tugged the man into a lying position. The man’s face and hair were matted with blood.

“We’ve got to get him to a hospital.” Said Jackson.

“We got to think first,” said Angelina, she could feel her chance for a great news story slipping away.

“First we need to clean him up then,” said Jackson. Right now, he was willing to agree to anything that might win him the favours of this girl. Jackson opened the bag and pulled out papers and folders. “This is no good,” he muttered, “he’s got to have something else… aha!”

Jackson pulled a polo shirt from the bag. “Use this.” He said. He continued to rummage. Two cups, one with a broken handle were the next discovery closely followed by the discovery of the three bottles of vodka and another cup.

“Cool!” said Jackson and put them to one side close to hand.

He continued to rummage as Angelina wiped the face of the man on the floor. He found one more cup that was broken in to three pieces as he piled the paperwork out. He also found a towel, shower gel, a pair of shorts a pack of damp playing cards and some keys.

“What happened?” Asked Jackson.

The nameless man groaned but said nothing.

“I think this man needs to rest,” said Angelina although what she actually thought was: I wish I knew first aid; I do not want to call an ambulance.

Jackson searched the side pockets of the bag and found a bottle of aftershave and a wallet. He opened the wallet other than a healthy collection of ten-pound notes there was only a sports club ID card and some stamps inside.

Jackson slipped the wallet inside his pocket and said: “the dude’s probably cold we should put the blanket over him.

“Ok,” said Angelina reaching out for the blanket and pulling it over the man.

She looked at Jackson; he seemed so strong and confident in the light of the fire and the single candle. Inside Angelina felt small and useless. She was pleased that there was some one there to lean on as she had always done. Already she knew that she did not like being this far out of her depth but she refused to turn back. The man had taken papers from the lab-complex and she hoped that there was a story there that she could use to make her fame.

Jackson could feel her studying him and it made him feel uncomfortable. He had never been in a situation like this with a female before and he was completely lost as to what to do next. What would a great character do in one of the better movies? He would just kiss the girl and then she would be his. Things are always more difficult in real life, he thought.

“…believe in ghosts,” groaned the nameless man.

“Pardon, dude.” Said Jackson. He looked up at Angelina who was looking back at him.

“Does he know what he saying?” she asked, “I hope not.” She added.

“No, he’s just delirious,” said Jackson and he hoped like hell that he was right.

Angelina stood and moved to sit with Jackson. It was cold and dark and her confidence was gone. Right now just being close to another sane person was all she had to hold onto. Her grand adventure was turning sour and she no longer knew why she had even started out as she had.

“Do you want some Vodka,” asked Jackson.

Chapter 9 – Death in stages

2004-11-09T23:32:00.000Z

The nameless man stood in the kitchen; it was the only room he had not yet explored. The house had yielded nothing that would have been of any use for the purposes that he had been instructed. He felt no urgency to his task despite the biting cold of the draft from the doorway.

In the front room, Jackson held Angelina close and felt the warmth of holding her and wished only that these moments would go on forever or somehow come to involve a bedroom.

Angelina looked out at the room and wondered what she was doing. The wind was whistling in the old fireplace and it made the room feel all the colder. It had seemed such a grand idea just a few hours ago; and now instead of breaking into the local lab complex to look for a story she could sell to newspapers - she was laying in a damp room of an empty house being held by an almost complete stranger.

Jackson was sweet, she had decided, but he smoked too much.

Angelina was cold despite the warm coats she had round her and she was now starting to feel rather uncomfortable.

The nameless man had completed his fruitless search of the kitchen. He looked up and out into the dark yard.

There was wood in the shed where he had slept.

The memories flooded his mind and, for a moment, he was paralysed with the rush of fear and cold and weeping.

“Do whatever you must. Feel no pain. Complete the task,” said a voice from his past.

The nameless man straightened up and opened the kitchen door. He matched out to the shed and pulled open the door. Wood was pilled up on each side of the door and in the valley between were his blankets and used cigarette cartons.

He folded carefully the blankets as if they were delicate and then placed seven large logs and seven handfuls of scrap wood chippings and the old cartons onto the blanket. Then he picked up the bundle and staggered into the house.

As he came into the front room, he said: “Found wood, found blankets.”

“Great we can have a fire.” Said Jackson sitting up slightly and handing a cigarette to Angelina

“There is a chance that the flu will be blocked,” said the nameless man.

“It’ll be fine.” Said Jackson, “it’s just one fire.”

“Lighter, please,” said Angelina.

Jackson handed her the lighter.

The nameless man poured the wood chippings and scrap peaces into the fireplace. Part of him noticed how clean the fireplace was. Another part of him remembered cleaning a fireplace very much like this one. He ran his fingers along the hearth and looked at them. There was very little soot there. He placed three larger logs onto the kindling and then ripped up the cartons and pushed them into the gaps.

He reached for his lighter and found none.

“Lighter.” He said.

Angelina sat up and handed the nameless man the lighter. She through both coats over Jackson, stood up and stretched.

Jackson sat up. He was stiff and he ached. The moment was over. He knew it. He would have to work up another or she might yet slip away from him. Nothing was certain yet, girls have a way of hugging you that gives you ideas but gradually removes all hope, he thought.

A slight flicker of flames was growing in the hearth. Jackson was aware enough to know that if it did not light then there would be no fire. He hoped. It was all he had left.

“You’re a jerk, dent.” Said his memories.

Jackson pulled at his cigarette. “You think it’ll light?” He asked.

“We’ve got a lighter.” Said Angelina.

“The little stuff still has to burn hot enough to get the big bit’s going.” Said Jackson.

“Oh,” said Angelina a little disappointed. She felt foolish and small. What was she doing out her so late with strange men who break into old houses and light fires?

There was a loud crackle from the fireplace. The wind continued to make noises in the fireplace.

I am a journalist now, Angelina told herself, and I need to follow the story.

“What do you want to steal and why?” she asked.

The nameless man looked up at her. He looked to her like she thought a deer caught in headlights might look. He said nothing. His mind was racing and he stared at her and continued to say nothing.

“Tell her then.” Said Jackson.

“Wood is in shed,” he said, “I will be back soon.”

“Take me with you.” Said Angelina.

“Little man, you most do this alone. You must get what I send you to get.” Said the memories of the nameless man, “then you will tell me everything you saw.” They continued.

“No.” said the nameless man. “I will go alone and then I will tell you everything I saw.”

“Ok,” said Angelina meekly. She felt small and afraid but she wanted to finish her story and if possible have a normal dinner date with the man who had been so gallant and lent her his coat and kept her warm after she had been so rude to him.

The nameless mans memories shouted at him: “Go to the place I will tell you about, take what I have told you too. If you cannot get it, take whatever is of value, whatever you can find. You are, after all, a pathetic worm.”

He straightened himself and marched from the room.

“So,” said Jackson, “just the two of us.”

The nameless man felt the shock of cold as the wind hit him. For a moment, he thought about his coat but the memory just slipped away and he matched, unthinking into the darkness.

Anabellus approached the long road. He shook with rage at what he had been told.

If they have destroyed my bride then I shall kill them all, he swore.

A convertible shot past him. Who would be driving up to the labs at this hour, wondered Anabellus.

Paul kept his foot hard on the accelerator most of the way along the road. He only eased off when he saw that his turning would be soon. He shot passed it and had to reverse before tuning into the car park.

“Silly, silly.” He told himself. “But you’ve only had a few drinks… you slipped away ok.” He drove too fast into the car park and bounced the car from the lamppost.

“Damn idiot driver, I had right of way” he screamed pressing his horn.

He left the car with the top down in front of the steps and ran to the building to let himself in. He left the door open and staggered a little as he made his way to his office.

The nameless man stepped from the bushes. He had almost been seen and he was sure the other guy was drunk. This, for some reason, seemed a good thing.

The nameless man looked into the car. There was a sports bag on the back seat. The nameless man picked it up and opened it. Inside were various items of sports-ware and three large bottles of vodka. The nameless man closed the bag and slung it over his shoulder. Then he too went up the steps and into the lab building.

He found himself in a large badly lit reception hall. Three elevators were at the end of the hall. One was currently being used. He chose the one to its right.

It was warm and private in the elevator and the nameless man felt safe. Memories tried to invade into his reality but they slipped away whenever he tried to focus on them.

The lift doors opened and it seemed that a shadow rushed past the door.

The nameless man stepped out into the well-illuminated corridor. An understanding deep within him that he was thirsty welled up and directed the nameless man toward the kitchen he had seen last time he was here.

Inside was dark but it held cups and free flowing clean water. The nameless man drank his fill. This water was like treasure and such was his relief at being able to drink that the cups could have been gold; he put four in his bag. After failing to find anything to carry water with, he left the kitchen.

He did not look back at the mess he had made.

Paul stood at his desk swaying slightly. The world was moving just a little too fast. He needed a drink, but they were in the car. He pulled open a draw in his desk. Nothing. He dropped it to the floor and opened another. Bingo - a bottle of fine single malt.

Paul took a swig and folded to the floor.

The nameless man heard a crash and moved to investigate.

There was a body on the floor. Who-ever he was he would have the valuable things, thought the nameless man. On the desk was a pile of folders. Perhaps they were important. The nameless man began to load his bag with the folders. Before long, he simply could not shove any more into his bag. That will have to do then, he thought and pushed a folder into his shirt.

There was a sound in the corridor that seemed to come from the lifts.

The nameless man picked up the bag and sagging under its weight he went to investigate.

Anabellus stood and faced the strange, mindless man. He looked into his eyes and saw nothing.

“Who are?” he asked in his best growl.

“I can not remember. It is forbidden.” Said the nameless man without fear.

In a flash Anabellus had the man by his throat. He pushed him against the wall and lifted him up.

“Name!” Anabellus demanded.

“…above all else you must survive. Do the minimum necessary to stay alive, so that you can report back.” His memories told him.

“Name! Tell me or die.” Growled Anabellus.

The nameless man’s memory fogged for a moment. “I am Luke.” He said.

“What role do you have here, Luke?” asked Anabellus.

Luke’s head swam the fiend was choking him slowly. He gasped simply: “none.”

Fools, he was surrounded by fools and worthless foot soldiers. Anabellus howled with rage and threw Luke against the far hall wall. He howled again and thumped the wall as he advanced on the crumpled man.

Anabellus’ fist had struck the fire alarm, however and the building was filled with the ringing of bells.

Anabellus picked up the man and bit him.

Chapter 8 – The night of lonely candles

2004-11-08T23:32:00.000Z

A chilling wind had started to blow chilling Angelina even more thoroughly than the night had so far managed. She was starting to feel decidedly foolish in her choice of dress. Perhaps they could be persuaded to come back another time? Perhaps these two would have somewhere close by to go to. Angelina rubbed herself and tried not to look too silly in front of the man she had come to admire.

The nameless man stood at the gateway to the labs with his long coat open and flapping in the growing wind. He stood and stared at nothing as if he did not feel the cold. There were no instructions that covered this situation and he did not know what he should do now. It occurred to him that he desperately needed to use the toilet but even as he focused on his own needs, his mind was snapped back to the job in hand. What he needed he realised was an instruction so that he could give up for the night. Perhaps if these people with him the he had forgotten about ordered him they might get to sit by a fire. He thought all that and saw no irony or contradiction in his thoughts.

Jackson was starting to feel the cold. He looked at the simple guy and wondered if he would give up his coat. He looked over at Angelina and saw how cold she was. Perhaps he could get this guy to give up his coat?

Jackson looked at the nameless man and wondered if he should demand some more information. Perhaps he would suggest they do something that might involve Jackson getting to touch Angelina, like crushing into a small car or putting a coat on her…

Jackson slipped his own coat off. The wind nipped at his skin where his shirt was untucked. He step forward to Angelina and said: “Here, wear this.”

Angelina looked at the offered coat and tuned so that Jackson could put it on her. It felt warm still. She instinctively tilted her head back with a slight arch of her back so as to give a better view of her cleavage. Jackson’s hands moved to adjust the coat collar and she reached for them pulling his arms about her for extra warmth.

The three strangers stood at the gate and the wind blew over them.

Jackson wanted to tuck his shirt back in but refused to let go of his woman. She smelt good and she felt great in his arms. She was leaning back into his chest with her cheek pressed against his neck affording Jackson a grand view of her top.

The three strangers stood together in a place where none of them wanted to be while none of them were willing to leave.

The last of the lights started to go out in the lab complex.

Jackson knew that soon this guy would try to get in. They would have to help him soon or stop him. He looked up for a moment from feasting his eyes and said: “Why don’t we go somewhere less chilly and wait?”

“No reason,” answered the nameless man.

“Then take us to the nearest dry windless place.” Said Jackson.

“OK” said the nameless man.

Shannon was being a terrible tease and she knew it. It was the sixth time that night she had said or done something particular suggestive to Mary before flirting with the man with the cowboy hat.

Mary had not said anything for several minuets now but each time their eyes met her eyes spoke volumes in promises and memories of passion and exploration.

Some times, when the lights were coloured and the air thick of smoke (like tonight at the One Bell Ringing), Anabellus had discovered that he could spend good lengths of time among the living without raising comment. Even when he did, he had a pocketful of ready made sob stories that would lure many a girl from the bar. The girl that was flirting with him no however had other things on her mind and was engaged in a complex game that even she was barely aware of.

If he was to find any easy pickings then Anabellus knew it would be with the silent overly restrained friend of this Shannon. A slightly up tight girl by the name of Linda.

Linda was a veritable ripened fruit filled with silent longings and jealous unspoken desire for her friend. After the to girls left he knew Linda would remain. He gave her his gentlest smile and a wink.

She blushed and looked away.

The nearest shelter from the lab complex was the last house they had passed. It was a large and dilapidated building that had stood empty for the last few months. The owners had left rather hurriedly one night and the landlord unable to cope with the debts had killed himself a few days later. The house had been in all the papers for weeks due almost entirely to lack of imagination and any other real news.

The front was wild and overgrown with tall bushes and trees that had once formed a tall and impressive hedge that was now so overgrown that the lower windows were completely obscured.

The nameless man led them to the back of the building where he kicked the door where the handle should have been causing the door to fly open.

It was dark with a slight smell of damn inside but it felt so much warmer once they were out of the wind that Angelina did not even think to worry that the had broken in.

On instinct, they all walked silently into the front room. It was so dark that when Jackson lit his lighter and held it up it seemed that floodlights had filled the room. The room was devoid of furniture and the carpet looked cheap and warn.

“not a palace,” said Angelina looking at Jackson’s face, “but I am sure that if we sat close together we would be ok.”

Jackson could hardly contain his illation. This was everything he could have possibly hoped for.

Jackson let the lighter go out and gently pulled Angelina into the corner where the natural gap between the chimneybreast and the window made for a spacious but cosy alcove.

“Are you using you coat?” asked Jackson to their companion. It was the way you ask a child now your not going to do that again, are you?

The man dropped his coat at their feet and felt his way out of the room. They could here his feet on the stairs as he went up.

“Isn’t this exiting,” said Angelina, “a real adventure.”

“Yes.” Said Jackson.

Not long after Shannon had let Mary lead her from the pub Anabellus led Linda to a quieter corner with a large order of drinks. Under the careful influence of Anabellus Linda allowed herself to indulge he desires and had soon poured out to Anabellus her most secret longings and fantasies. Rarely had influencing someone been so easy.

Jackson lay propped up on his side, smoking the nameless mans cigarettes with Angelina pressed up against him. One arm held her tightly while the other Jackson used to smoke and reach over Angelina to tap ash into the fireplace.

Angelina was sure at that moment that she had never felt so comfortable and safe.

Upstairs the toilet flushed.

“I don’t believe that still works,” said Angelina, “I’m surprised anything works here.”

Wrapped his thick fur coat around his shoulders and led Linda into the night. It had been a shock to discover how much she knew about his bride. It seemed wrong somehow.

He lit a cigar. “Show me where you work,” he said with a voice like dripping honey, “I find it appealing that a woman is so intellectually gifted.”

The nameless man came back into the room. He looked a little less ragged and had stopped shacking from the cold.

He placed a small bundle of items in the centre of the room and sat down.

“What have you found?” asked Jackson. He was getting the hang of this – the more direct the question and the more commanding his voice the better the man reacted.

“Candles” said the man.

“Great,” said Angelina, “can we get a fire going too?”

“That’d be good,” said Jackson he pictured himself with Angelina alone in the house with nothing but a roaring fire and a sheepskin rug to lie on.

The nameless man lit a candle and, after letting some wax fall into the fireplace, he set it down in the cooling wax. The candle stayed ass he had placed it and the room filled with a mild yet comforting light that mad the night seem all the darker and so much colder.

“We save the others” said the man.

“OK dude,” said Jackson, “maybe you can see about a fire?”

“I will see what there is,” He replied, “it’s getting late and I must go out.”

“Shouldn’t we help him?” asked Angelina as the man left the room to continue to search.

“Oh no,” said Jackson sliding his hand around her waist and onto her stomach.

“Are you sure?” she asked placing her hand on his.

“Totally sure,” said Jackson, “guys like him need to feel useful.”

Whereas guys like me, simply need to feel your skin, thought Jackson as Angelina threaded her fingers through his and pulled his arm tightly around her so that she in tern could snuggle more deeply against his chest.

Linda lay on the cool wet grass of someone’s front lawn. The damn seeped in through her clothes and it felt good. He skin felt as though it was on fire. She felt light headed and happy, all anxiety drifting away. She closed her eyes and then opened them again, the sky looked fantastic from here. For a moment, she felt panic and then she closed her eyes for the very last time.

Chapter 7 – where the wild roses grow.

2004-11-07T08:34:00.000Z

Anabellus sat on the park bench. The early night was mild and it would be just a few more nights until his bride was ready.

The park seemed to drown in darkness and it was only where the cover of trees broke completely that the moonlight gave strange illumination to the grounds and objects therein.

Across the open lawn under the shadow of the large oak trees stood The Keeper of The Book. He watched Anabellus with eyes that are not so inhibited by darkness as we humans are given to thinking. He watched and he puzzled.

The Keeper was well used to watching unobserved, even amongst masters of this craft he would pass like a summer breeze and non would notice his presence and none would notice his leaving again. He had witnessed many significant events for the benefit of the book he kept.

The Keeper was well used to being the solver of complex mysteries but it was no mystery as to what Anabellus had a hand in achieving. It stood only now for time to tell what effect these actions would have.

The Keeper listened carefully and on the edge of his hearing came a clue he had not expected. A sound no untrained eye would have detected of a location quite unexpected. The sound of metal on leather with the sound of bone on steel coming from a road not so far from the park. This omen could only foretell the coming of Huso Tristram. Even for The Keeper this was a surprise. If Huso had chosen to come here than someone had already become extremely angry.

Anabellus did not hear the sound but it was as though he felt the urgency in the air. His intentions were undone. He left swiftly heading away from The Keeper to the gate that he had been watching.

On arrival at the gate, Anabellus felt that something needed to be said. He announced into the park to the audience of hidden eyes that watched him from so many places: “You have denuded the night to me and stolen that, which by right of war, is mine!”

The gateway stood empty, as too did the space under the oak tree.

The bride of Anabellus stirred fitfully but slept on.

“Bloody hell, Mary this thing has a whole history here!” Exclaimed Shannon in disbelief. She held in front of her a report from over twelve years ago and another from sixteen years ago.

“We’re going to have to report this to the guy’s,” said Mary, “there could be any amount of work that they could add to what they’ve already done.”

“But this thing has been bound to our town for as long as I’ve been alive and no-one knows it but us.” Said Shannon melodramatically.

“Stop being so spooky, Sha’,” said Mary, “It’s late and all I want to do is get to the pub, with you if at all possible.”

“Well,” said Shannon, “What are we waiting for lets drop this into Mr Benite’s office and go.”

“I’m with you on that one, girl” said Mary grabbing her back, “you grab that lot and I’ll get these stacks of notes and then let’s run it all up to ‘em now.”

The two girls gathered the bundles of notes, books and printouts and rapidly exited the basement.

“That’s incredible,” said Paul looking over the girl’s hasty summary, “There must be over twenty cases of this virus and every one dealt with by a company that was shortly purchased by GSG-Maxdure… This can’t be right, they’re all from this town too!” Paul looked at the girls as if searching for a hidden answer.

“We thought we should tell you.” Said Mary.

“Damn right…” said Paul, “thanks, girls. I think tomorrow we will have to try and see what this all means.”

Shannon sighed, “I was hoping to get home early tomorrow.”

“I’m sure we can spare you.” Said Paul.

“Thanks boss.” Said Shannon, “see you tomorrow.”

“Bye girls.”

“Goodbye Paul,” said Mary taking Shannon by the arm, “come on, hun, I’ll give you a lift.”

The air outside the building was crisp with a hint of frost. The lighting in the car park threw strange shadows so that it was impossible to judge shape or proportion at any distance.

“The cars just over by the gate,” said Mary, “I can’t believe so many people in this area have died of this thing,” she added.

“It’s like the dirty secret of a doomed town in some third rate movie.” Said Shannon.

“Honey, you are in dire need of a long night at mine,” said Mary, “your mind is racing way to fast.”

“I’ll think about it,” said Shannon.

“This is the one,” said Mary indicating the black all terrain monster. Calling it a car would be like calling an ocean water, while true it completely failed to describe the impression one is left with.

“Nice car!”

“Thanks,” said Mary, “Jump in.”

The car started with a throaty low roar and pulled out of the car park, and shot down the main road back to town. Only Mary noticed the three people walking towards the labs this struck her as strange for a moment but her mind was quickly refocused on to the possibilities the night had yet to offer by Shannon’s perfume and company.

The nameless man watched the large vehicle go past. He seemed frozen with indecision.

“Dude, it’s just a car.” Said Jackson.

“Are you OK mister?” said Angelina at the same time.

The nameless man said nothing but started to walk again.

Jackson was relieved this guy was starting to unnerve him somewhat and he did not want to seem uncool in front of Angelina who seemed so relaxed with this freakish simple guy. “Splash the ash, dude.” Ordered Jackson.

These guys’s must know each other quite well, thought Angelina, this guy whose name she had already forgotten seemed to be like an older brother to this poor soul.

The nameless man silently handed her one of his long black cigarettes. She lit it and tried not to look like she had never smoked before.

Jackson risked another look at his queen and seeing that she was looking down allowed himself another longing glance at her chest. She seemed such a friendly person, non-judgmental and yet able to understand (just as he did) the subtle interplay of life.

The lab was in sight now and the last house was a few steps behind them. It seemed to Jackson like things could get strange unless this guy really meant to walk the six miles to the next town. “What you planning now?” he asked.

“Waiting,” Said the nameless man, “it is still early.”

“Got a friend who works in there?” asked Angelina.

“No, I don’t think so.” He replied.

“Tell me why we are waiting.” Said Jackson.

The man seemed to stand a little taller. Then he said: “Proceeding to lab. Next action is to steal the antique box from the man with too much money and bring it back.”

“Why?” asked Jackson before he could stop himself.

The man did not answer.

“Come on dude, let me in tell me what we’re doing out here.” Said Jackson.

The man said nothing.

“Please tell us.” Said Angelina.

“Because I have been told too.” Said the nameless man.

“By who?” asked Jackson.

The nameless man did not reply.

“Please?” Asked Angelina looking at him with her best fluttering eyelids gaze.

Still he said nothing. He stared into the car park that they now stood at the entrance of and waited.

Jackson played the conversation back in his mind while staring at Angelina’s body. It was like a game where he did not know the rules and it bugged him. He had to get this guy to give him an answer. “Tell me who told you to do this.” He said.

“I can not remember.” Said the nameless man.

“Please try.” Said Angelina fluttering her eyelids again.

“No, I can not remember. I have been ordered to forget.”

Jackson looked and Angelina and their eyes locked for a moment. They both knew that they had become tied into something they did not understand.

Inside the lab Paul furiously sifted thought reports and summaries and files and archives looking and looking for things the others might have missed. Anything that would help forward the cause of controlling the virus and so directly leading to a cure for so many illnesses including his own.

There had to be an answer, a perfect answer - he needed to find it so badly he could almost touch it. His search was all that mattered to him now.

John knocked on his door. “Come on mate,” he said, “it’s time to go home.”

“There’s to much to do,” said Paul agitatedly, “Shannon and Mary have dug up over twenty other cases from the company records of the same virus. Six different doctors attempted to create a cure for it and failed. We have years of work and were have to do something with it!”

John looked hard at Paul and said: “Pub! Now! We need you relaxed to work on this tomorrow.”

Paul sighed. Part of him knew that John was right but he wished desperately the man would just go away.

“I’m worried about you, said John, “you work to hard for some-one of your position and wealth.”

“I’m fine John, honestly,” said Paul raising his hands, “you got me! I’m too eager for the glory of this discovery. Let’s go to the pub.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” said John. He watched as Paul tidied his papers. He was sure now that Paul was hiding something from him but what he had no idea.

The un-named chapter 6.

2004-11-06T19:54:00.000Z

Angelina stood at her window. She longed for some excitement something to make her feel a little more alive.

She pondered shutting down her computer, then concluded it was happy as it was. She had tidied her apartment to make it more like: that which might befit a rich young woman. She had ordered new bits and peaces and dusted and vacuumed but as the day moved on so too did she. She had become board of the housework and her mind had wandered.

She could be a freelance journalist publishing electronic reports for people to read, she thought. Investigative journalism at its finest.

She wondered for a moment what was required to become a freelance investigative journalist. She supposed that all that was really required was to start investigating things.

Maybe a notepad would be useful too. She dug out a long drap coat and then cast it aside for a jacket the better went with her clothes.

Then she took it off again and stripped of her clothes leaving them piled up by the computer chair. Naked she walked to the bed room and there she proceeded to get dressed again.

If she had needed good revealing clothes to bedazzle bank men then one could assume that she need the same to get her past dull witted security guys. She chose clothes that while sexy and revealing allowed for the practicality of a reasonable amount of running.

She opened the front door. There was a slight nip to the air and so she went back for her jacket. On a whim, she picked up a small back and a handful of pens. Now all she needed was some notepads and maybe somewhere to go get some news from.

The shops seemed like a good place to start. As she walked a plan formed. She would get the bus as far as the school, from there she could walk up to the research place. She had heard a rumour that a girl had been taken there and had died. She would walk there and then get in for a snoop about.

It always looked simple enough on the television and these things must have some basis in fact.

It would be dark soon and she soon wished she had something warmer to wear. She was consoled by the idea of the grand adventure that lay ahead of her. Even when she got off the bus back into the cool evening air, she still felt alive and ready for anything.

Jackson saw the bus pull away as he left the school building. He turned back into the door way to crack a jock and then thought better of it. His brain boiled with the game and everything on every level was chess.

The bishop by the bus stop was chess.

The subtle play of words among the chess club was life chess too.

He rolled a cigarette and approached the man with nothing better to do.

“Give us one of your menthols, mate” said Jackson brashly. The man failed to move. The packet was in his hand and so Jackson simply took it from him. The man did not even turn from his paper to look at Jackson.

Jackson took a long black mores menthol and handed the packet back.

At that moment, the spell broke and Jackson’s insides turned to water. He shakily went to light the cigarette but he could not locate his lighter. Panic began to set it.

“Got a light?” he ventured.

The hand of the man slipped into his pocket and held the lighter aloft without turning. The lighter was an expensive looking gold colour item.

Jackson’s boldness was growing. This guy was obviously retarded in some way and could be a danger. He could also be a harmless guy that was easy to play.

A bishop developed early to stick when the moment is right, said his mind.

Jackson lit the elegant cigarette and slipped the lighter into his pocket.

“What you doing, mate?” he asked.

“Waiting” said the man

“What for?” asked Jackson.

The man did not reply.

“It’s getting dark, dude, you been here all day.”

“Nothing else to do so been waiting like he wants me too.” Revealed the man.

“Like who?” asked Jackson.

The man was silent.

This guy’s simple and lonely, thought Jackson, he might also be rich.

The man stood up letting the news paper drop to the floor. “Time.” He said and turned and started walking.

Jackson stood for a moment and then followed him.

He walked slowly along the road heading as if to the Lab complex. Jackson hoped he would not take that turning. “How many fag’s you got?” he asked the man.

“Lot” said the man.

“How many packets?”

“Ten” said the man.

“Give me a packet.” Said Jackson hopefully.

The man reached a hand into a pocket and held out an unopened packet of the menthol cigarettes but he did not stop walking.

“Thanks,” said Jackson in amazement.

They walked in silence for a while.

“Are you backwards?” ask Jackson.

“No” the man replied.

That damn road was getting nearer. Please do not go down there, thought Jackson, please, please, please...

They walked on in silence a while longer.

“What’s you name?” asked Jackson lighting another cigarette to keep away the chill.

The man stopped, deep in thought. “I do not know my name.” He said. This seemed to trouble him and he was lost in thought for a long time. Then the trouble slipped from his mind. “Don’t want to be late.” He said.

Jackson looked hard at the man

“You’re not playing with a full deck.” He said and ran to catch up.

The turning was there and the man was taking it. Damn. You can keep your turning, thought Jackson.

He stopped and let the man carry on. “See you around, mate” he told the guy then just as he was about to turn for home, he saw her - the woman, his queen, walking under the light of a street lamp and looking as enchanting as ever.

“On second thoughts, mate, you might be wise to walk with friends.” Said Jackson.

The man walked on unheeding.

“Dude!” called Jackson, “wait for me.” He ran to catch up.

She was walking slowly but steadily. With any luck, he would catch her up before they got half way to the labs.

The night seemed to enclose on Jackson like a wolf on a small prey. “So, we going to a party?” asked Jackson.

The man did not reply but only kept walking on.

“Damn-it,” said Jackson, “you’re not much fun to talk to, keep up your end of the conversation.”

Jackson shivered. Whispers in the wind shouted that he was worthless. If they did not catch up to her soon he would loose the never to talk to her at all.

“What’re you doing, you jerk.” Called the memories.

“Say something damn-it,” said Jackson, “the voices are too much right now.”

“I saw a hypnotist to stop mine.” Said the man.

“Did it work?” asked Jackson.

“Yes,” said the man.

“Who did you see?” asked Jackson.

“I don’t remember at the moment.” Said the man, “I think it’ll be weeks before I remember that.”

Suddenly Jackson realised they were walking passed his girl. He turned to face her and she walked right into him knocking him down.

Jackson sat stunned on the ground. He could see that she had knickers on this time and that they were silky red ones.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“It’s ok,” said Jackson

Angelina looked down at the guy she had bumped into. It was him! Fate had lent a hand. She looked at him, he looked flushed and embarrassed and just a little nervous and with good reason – the last time they had met she had been very rude to him.

“Please,” she said offering her had.

He took her hand it was soft and seemed so delicate.

“I aught to apologise for the way I spoke to you before,” she said.

“That’s ok,” said Jackson. All his nerve had left him and his guts felt like all the gods were mixing them up. “Consider it forgotten.”

“Are you off to the lab-complex?” Angelina asked.

“Uh, not exactly.” Said Jackson. “I was walking with this guy a head of us. I think he’s retarded and it would be bad if he got hurt.”

How sweet and caring, thought Angelina, I was extremely wrong to be so harsh with him. “We’d better catch him up them.” She said and looped his arm though his.

She said ‘we’, thought Jackson.

The late and as yet un-named: - Chapter 5.

2004-11-05T12:59:00.000Z

Jackson Dent sat opposite an old man. This was the second game he had played so far. The old man had used a novel defence against his queen’s gambit opening and the board was solid with lack of movement. It was a version of Queen’s Gambit (decline) that he had never seen before.

Jackson was sure he could break the line of defence and could see the old guys playing style gradually failing.

He moved the bishop up in preparation of closing the pawn line. The old man moved his queen towards Jackson’s knight; like the woman without the knickers…

Damn it.

Jackson made a few instinctive moves. His mind was awash with thoughts about a woman whose name he did not even know.

What was the old codger doing? A new avenue of attack was opening up. He had created a weakness in his own defence.

Jackson pushed the pawn forward.

The man’s hand waved near the queen. Her legs had been amazing…

Stop it Jackson, he told himself, focus and crush him.

He screwed his face up and forced himself to recite the “rules” of the gambit. The school hall disappeared from his mind and the chessboard was the whole world. The aim was to separate the king and queen and make her his.

Outside, the nameless man was passing by watched by the hypnotic man. Jackson was blind to all but the play of the game.

The nameless man walked onwards. The road would turn and then the long road up to the lab. He would wait until dark then he would take the golden egg.

Jackson’s concentration had become total. He immersed himself ever deeper into his game until the line between reality and game blurred.

A vast army under his command stood on the brink of defeat or victory locked in a sluggish and subtle battle. The queen of his affections under the control of the black and evil enemy. His battle now focused on capturing her and making her his.

The Black king was amassing his forces in the north while his white knights were tangled in the home front politics.

The queen herself was being used in an attack that was building up. Then he saw it - every move mapped out in his mind and he would crush the oppanant and checkmate would be his. But he would fail to capture his queen.

The dance continued and the Black King continued to rally his forces another opening and the armies flew at each other. Corpses littered the battlefield and nights and clergy fell under the sword.

When the dust cleared, the black king had the larger army but Jackson’s own forces had a positional advantage. Much of the army of the black king was taken up protecting the black king himself.

Jackson pressed his advantage sacrificing his last knight to do so and gradually the army of the black king fell back and the queen was his.

He had won.

He had not won.

The King was still loose and any single pawn that made it into the territory of Jackson’s White King would reclaim the queen.

Jackson looked over the playing board. The situation was grim. In a few moves the advantage would slip to black as the pieces gradually freed themselves from being pinned and skewered onto the king. The pawn structure favoured black slightly and there was no clear advantage.

No clear route to victory.

None at all.

Bar the queen. His queen was still standing. The most powerful piece on the board and he cared nothing for it.

He examined the board closely and made his move. He smashed open the case of pieces around the black king and announced check.

The old man went to make an instinctive move and stopped. That piece was already preventing checkmate… and that one too.

He pulled back struggling to build a defence.

Jackson threw what little he had left at him to keep him wrong footed.

Suddenly he realised that he was setting up to attack too. Jackson responded from instinct and attacked again lining up to counter the counter attack.

Like a rocket, the rook had plummeted into the scene and with a subtle move the bishop made use of the space it had been given. Too late the old man had seen the change Jackson had made.

He pulled back. Pulled back again but it was too late - checkmate! Jackson had won.

Outside the school doors Jackson inhaled deeply from his hand rolled cigarette. His mind was full of the game and only the game. A bus pulled up and then quickly pulled away.

Somehow, this seemed significant to Jackson’s chess-filled mind.

The man sat looking at a paper and smoking on the bus shelter bench. A piece moved up ready.

Jackson dropped his cigarette and looked down at it for a moment; then he turned sideways to look at the man on the bench. He had about him an absent look in his eyes a totally blank-eyed expression. Jackson looked again at the burning cigarette end, stepped on it and went back inside.

Angelina sat on the bus in a world of dreams and ideas. Her self-contented ponderings had been disturbed, however, she was sure that she had seen the guy that she had literally bumped into. It seemed he worked in a school.

She shook her head as if trying to dislodge all thought of him.

Business. What to do?

She really liked the idea of investigative journalism but somehow she could see no way for it to fit in with the image of the self-employed person.

She needed to get out more. A journalist gets out more.

Then, as if from heaven itself an idea came – buy a computer and learn to become a journalist.

Why not? She could afford it after all.

The day swam past Jackson: a draw and then a win, a break and then total humiliation as a game lost is a victory lost. Somehow, it did not matter so much this time. The girl was what mattered and in his mind, he had captured her already.

Adrian sat with his notes. He had played these tournaments for as long as he could remember. He loved the gathering of worthy opponents that would face him. He loved the challenge of the new faces and the unknown element. The unknown element had met him in strength today. The young man who’s playing style so confused him that he had now been over the game some twenty times between matches.

The young man played with a form of aggressive genius and yet both his glaring mistake and a well laid trap total failed to catch his attention. The more Adrian analysed the game the more it seemed this boy was playing a different game to everyone else. Adrian could not even be sure that he was playing to win.

Of all the games he had ever played against armatures and grand masters non had this flavour of inspired madness about it. With that style of desperate insight only the most sturdy players, the Casperoffs and Shorts of this world could stand a chance. This Young player defied belief and flew in the face of everything they taught the new players.

Adrian felt he just had to know what was driving this opponent. Perhaps if he captured an insight into his mind he could capture a completely new style of play.

He went over the game again. His notes so carefully taken. Each time he planned and plotted and worked out possible attacks and defences the player cut across all of it and simple made nonsense of it all.

Adrian gritted his teeth and re-set the board. It bugged him.

Jackson watched the old man slowly resetting his playing board. And then replay an earlier match. It was a classic queens gambit opening, black declines the pawn and then a game of utter madness takes place.

Jackson shook his head. He could not follow the game. Whoever had played that one was missing a few of his marbles.

The last game was coming up and Jackson knew that he was now fighting for second or third overall. It was as if he was watching someone else play. He sometimes cared and sometimes it was as if he could not even dare to open his eyes.

The eyes of the one they called Anabellus opened. He had chosen to hide in a school and the school had chosen to play host to hundreds of people milling and thinking and spoiling the hell out of his peace and stillness.

Anabellus cursed his luck silently. He could feel the thought around him and by shear will sank into his dreams once more.

Jackson looked only at the playing board. His opponent was without hope. Jackson only had to move any piece into attack the king to create checkmate. The king was locked place and yet he held back.

The player should have resigned, but for some reason he did not. In his soul, Jackson knew that this person was a teacher and he would force this man from the table or destroy every last playing piece before the game was over.

The game edged painfully on one by one the pieces fell to the careful onslaught of Jackson army. Three pawns still stood when with a horrific realisation Jackson said: “checkmate”. It was an error, the man had tricked him, he had been defeated in his game plan he had not destroyed the teacher who might one day come back to play again.

Jackson was devastated but his mouth simply said: “Thank-you, good game.” In response to whatever inane thing, the man had said.

Jackson left the table and the score sheet leaving it up to the looser to file the report. He stepped out side and rolled himself a cigarette. Jackson stood so that he could look a little side ways and observe the bus shelter but so that he would not be see to be staring.

The man was still sat there. A bishop developed early and placed ready for the master game plan. Jackson smoked and all the time he did not take his eyes off the man. The man was smoking long thin black cigarettes that Jackson knew to be menthol. The green box they came in peeped from the man’s top-pocket and three such empty ones lay crumpled on the floor.

The roll-up shrinking rapidly Jackson flicked it away and stepped back inside. The giving of prizes and certificates and the endless mindless babble was still to come. Jackson would endure it if only to show good form to the rest of his chess club. Secretly Jackson wanted to be out there somewhere. Out whereever adventure and beautiful women with no underwear roamed. Out there being manly.

Chapter 4 - "And then"

2004-11-04T09:09:00.000Z

The hypnotic man looked out across the field and into the schoolyard. All those young, unshaped, minds just playing there like an infinite resource. It was like a light bulb looking at a power station.

He was using a pair of military grade binoculars, which gave him an impressive radius of vision.

He found the target and tracked him up the street past the school. The pigeon was marching slowly back to the gold house. The hypnotic man liked to see things being properly controlled.

A new looking convertible was parked awkwardly in the car park of the lab complex the engine was still ticking over and the driver sat where he was.

Paul was sitting in his car with engine running. Now he was here he felt a little foolish. He was still extremely tatty around the edges and about as delicate as he had ever been. The hospital wanted to talk to him but all he wanted was to talk to his team.

He cut the engine and got out of the car. Johnny was walking down the steps to sneak in a cigarette.

“I thought you quit,” he said.

Johnny seemed to jump halfway down the steps. “Hallo, Mr Benite,” he said.

“Is John about?” asked Paul

“Yep he’s up in his office muttering and swearing about paperwork.” Said Johnny, pulling at his cigarette.

“I’ll just go up and see him then” said Paul.

The hypnotic man was trying to lip read the two men but the young one kept toying with that damn cigarette and would not leave his lips alone. The strangers beard was making thinks complicated too.

The young guy was obviously nervous but seemed to know the stranger. They seemed to only be exchanging pleasantries but even so it annoyed the hypnotic man that he could not read the situation better.

Now the stranger was going into the labs. The hypnotic man made a not that this young guy need to “be cured” of his bad habits.

Paul entered the building waving to Sam who sat there as ever on reception.

“Hello MR BENITE,” said Sam, “how are you today MR BENITE?”
“Mr Benite’s back” said some one, finally getting the tactless hint.

Paul greeted the impromptu welcome committee while trying to brush aside all enquires about his wellness.

He finally arrived at the relative sanctuary of the elevator and sank into its welcoming silence.

He soon found himself at the door of the office of John Baker. He knocked before he remembered that it was still he who was the boss and he walked in.

“Paul?” asked John. “God, you look awful, completely shattered. What have you been doing with yourself?”

“Nice to see you too, John”

“Have a seat man, tell me what’s being going on.” Said John

“Actually,” said Paul, “I’ve come to catch up with the developments here”

“Oh it’s been all go down here,” said John, “Jenny and Anthony were caught going for it in the spare office, Nigel is devastated, of course and is filing for a divorce. We all thought he was going to punch Anthony clean through the window at one point. Both men are on a months holiday at half pay.”

“That’s not quite-” began Paul

“Oh it’s much worse than that,” said john ignoring him, “It turns out that our Johnny’s only reason for giving up smoking was Jenny, poor lad really thought he had a chance.”

“John, what about-“ began Paul

“Mark for technical support?” Interjected John, “he’s done a bunk and no one knows where he is.”

“I’m actually interested in something in particular” said Paul.

“Oh yes, Peter from accounts has quit, it turns out he’d been spending his nights with his manager and she’s just got herself engaged to Tom Harris – a local headmaster who allegedly has a rubber fetish going on…”

“Yes but-” said Paul

“What you want to know about is the scientific progress.” Said John laughing.

“You basterd,” said Paul joining in the laughter. “You had me going there.”

“Well we’ve gotten quite far,” said John, “We’ve made some very interesting discoveries. Let’s go down to lab three and I’ll give you the short version on the way.”

“Thanks,” said Paul.

The two men walked from the office into the hall.

“It seems that we had a few things all wrong about this bug,” said John, “for starters it’s not nearly as fatal as we thought. It seems that the more fortunate victim doesn’t die but can often enter a form of dreamless sleep far shallower than a coma and not unlike hibernation.”

“You mean that girl wasn’t dead?” Asked Paul somewhat shocked.

“That could well be the case, but our hands were tied on that one, the hospital is responsible for her once they take her away again.” said John.

“What happened to her, do we know?” Asked Paul.

“No idea,” said John, “They closed rank on us and pulled some shite about patent confidentiality and that bloody living will.”

“I’d like to find out if we can” said Paul.

“Me two,” said John, “This way mate, corridor six is out of action.” The two men turned down the side corridor and walked in silence for a few minuets. After a while John said: “The main effect of this virus is a form of blood disorder”

Paul nodded for him to continue.

“We tested it out on some mice after our viral companion tests,” said John “but they had a tendency to expire within a day.”

“How did the HIV test go?” asked Paul trying to hide his anticipation.

“Killed it dead within seconds,” said John “This new virus would be the perfect cure if we can control it.”

“How close are we to that?” asked Paul eagerly.

“Almost on top of it,” said John, “We turned our testing onto rats and although they expire we discovered that we could keep them alive by way of a carefully composed collection of hormones and sedatives.”

“And?”

“And they live to the coma stage and then expire after a few days in that state.” Said John.

“Oh…” said Paul.

“Hey that’s the best bit,” said John opening a door, “After you mate.”

“Thanks,” said Paul, “What do you mean best bit?”

“The rats internal organs had effectively been re-plumbed. The ear and nose tissue had completely changed so that they probably had hearing six times sharper than before and easily double their normal sense of smell.”

“That’s incredible,” said Paul.

“However,” added John, “the blood has also been changed so that although it was interesting for us it was not so good for the rat’s. It was lacking in red blood cells.”

“Is that why they died?” Asked Paul.

“Oh no,” said John, “we kept them on a drip and gave them regular infusions.”

“So what finished them, then?” Paul Asked.

“Sunlight,” said John, “they developed an incredible level of photosensitivity, among other things.”

“But what about controlling it, maybe even killing it off?” asked Paul.

“Ricky has a theory about that one,” said John, “I’ll let him tell you about that.”

The two men strode into the lab like kings. Every worker sat up right or stood taller like soldiers snapping to an informal attention.

Lab three was the largest single lab in the complex and was alone responsible for almost a billion pounds on the insurance alone. Some of the equipment here was so specialist that it sat unused for much of the time while other items were so widely used that there were three or four identical units with a careful booking schedule.

“Johnny,” said Paul “fetch us some coffee’s, lad.”

“Yes, Mr Benite,” said Johnny.

“Good lad,” said Paul, “Ricky, lad, can you spare us a few moments?”

“Sure.” Said Ricky putting down his paper work and coming over, “What can I do you for?”

“I’d like you to give us the short version of your theory about killing DL12,” said John.

“Sure,” said Ricky, “Well, once we noticed that the virus picks but DNA from the host as well as dropping it that gives us the way in.”

“I don’t think I follow,” said Paul.

“Most virus types simply use the host to replicate,” said Ricky, “but this one seems to have a relationship with host. It re-writes DNA and forces fresh growth but it also takes DNA from the host so that virus at the end is not quite the same as the one that started.”

“You mean it uses the host to mutate?” said Paul.

“No,” said John, “It simply picks up some of the hosts DNA”

“I’m currently investigating using that change as a key,” said Ricky, “My hope is that we can induce a weakness into the virus.”

“How long do you need?” asked Paul.

“Months,” said Ricky, “years maybe.”

“I’m putting the entire lab complex at your priority disposal” said Paul

“Uh, Paul-” began John.

“Furthermore,” continued Paul, “Your are on double pay and have access to unlimited overtime and staff, pull people from other projects if need be – I’d like to see some results real soon.”

“Paul, a word if I may?” said John urgently.

“No, John,” said Paul, “If word of this gets out then they could take this from us. This project is to have the utmost secrecy and we have a chance of doing well; but if we loose it to the big boys we will languish in obscurity for ever!”

“Sure thing, boss” said Ricky.

“I hope you know what your doing, Paul” said John.

“John,” said Paul, “please trust me.”

“Ok, mate,” said John, “but I want you to know that the sudden urgency of this has gotten me jumpy - we’ve done very well by not making waves and playing ‘dumb and dull’ for a long time.”

“It’ll be okay,” said Paul calmly, “accounts are more than used to hushing things down a bit.” He felt a little bad, John was a good friend and didn’t deserve to be kept in the dark but the longer he could not say it out loud the longer he could pretend it wasn’t true.

Chapter 3 – while I cannot love myself I will use something else

2004-11-03T10:56:00.000Z

Paul Benite sat up in bed. Today he was going to go home. The last month had been a nightmare of surgery and drugs.

Inside all the pain and restless sleep was the news that he was now HIV positive. He was struggling to come to terms with the scaring on his face and neck the news about his terminal condition was simply too much for him to deal with. His mind raced with a thousand if-onlys every night. In a single moment, he no longer had the majority of his life ahead of him it was now behind him.

The insurance payout would be great of-course but the inquiry could be hellish. His department was sure to be dissolved.

Life could really deal you some duff hands to play.

Mark Brown had been in technical support for much of his working life and just like that, they had sacked him. He was to be denied compensation because he failed to follow guidelines.

His life was over.

He stood in his bedroom and glanced over the note one last time. Everything was fine, just fine for what he had planned.

He walked out of the bedroom without looking back.

It seemed very dark in the shed. The wood holding back the soil from the hole bowed and seemed to strain against the weight.

He lay at the bottom of the hole and felt sleepy and yet he held on. He held the rope determined not to let it go.

Slowly the darkness enclosed his mind and the rope began to slip through his fingers. The pin pulled from its hole and the board fell away allowing the soil to tumble gently over the sleeping body of Mark Brown.

Outside, a convertible shot past and its driver was unaware of the passing of a very promising worker. All that was on Paul’s mind now was the validity of the potential cure for HIV that John thought he had found.

In the morning, he would go into work and see what the state of affairs was. Nevertheless, tonight he would need a damn stiff drink and maybe a good movie.

The moon shone like a giant eye squinting down at him as he pulled up outside his house. The building looked so grey and lifeless.

There was almost no mail waiting on the mat so Paul guessed his sister had been round to keep an eye on things. It was cold inside; the heating had not been on for a month. The fridge was empty but for a few beers and some strong cheese.
Paul dumped his bags on to the kitchen table and thanked his luck that the nurse with the sexy smile had advised him to pick-up some shopping on the way home.

Ignoring the rest Paul took the bottle of whisky and the rental movies with him into the front room. He was going to watch up to three “carry on” movies before going to bed and passing out. Maybe he would not even go to bed but just pass out where he sat when inebriation overtook him.

He through the videos on to fireside rug and picked up a glass which he filled with a large portion of single malt.

“Cheers!” he said saluting his reflection, “bottoms up you ugly basterd.”

The room swam as the Paul came-to. He was lying on the rug in his boxer shorts and the phone was ringing. “Get lost” he said and passed out again.

Later he sat up and held his head for a moment.

“Hair of the dog?” he asked and drained the half full glass on the coffee table.

By midday he felt a lot better but needed to replace both the bottles he had now emptied. “A quick trip to the shop!” he said to his reflection in the hall.

He fixed a drunken stare on his own reflection and asked: “Why are you so naked?”

Later he came to sitting on the toilet with a half eaten apple in his hand. He thought the apple on the floor and staggered out of the bathroom.

My head is swimming, he thought, I must still be drunk. Better-not let this opportunity go to ruin.

Later still, he woke up and painfully fixed himself a coffee.

God, he thought – I am going to have to shave or grow a beard.

“That’s not such a bad idea,” he said to the world. “I will cover my face in hair and hide my ugliness.”

It seemed a long time later he was making another coffee.

The world had failed to answer his monumental decision to grow a beard but the coffee helped him to focus past the pain.

“I stink of BO!” He suddenly said. “I smell like I haven’t washed in a week. What damn day is it?”

He pulled himself out of the kitchen and into the front room. It would have been impossible to count the bottles that littered the floor and table.

“How long was I…” he asked but already he didn’t want to know the answer. His face told a story of sufficient growth to say that he had already grown a short beard.

“Bloody hell!” he exclaimed. “I need to get to the lab.”

The sun was beating down outside with a bright intensity and it hurt his eyes despite the sunglasses. It was possible, he thought, that he had never been this hung-over before not even after the party at the end of his final year at university.

The car started on the second attempt like an ill omen. He ground the gears for a moment and then pulled away in second. Must get to lab and find out about our magic cure, he thought.

Nothing else mattered.

He roared up the road swerving to avoid a pedestrian and made for the labs.

“Bloody dick-head” shouted Jackson Dent to the retreating car. That had been Mr Benite’s car, he thought.

“But Mr Benite is a smoothed face good looking guy and that was some ugly scared up old dude with a dodgy beard.” Said Jackson in answer to his thoughts.

It did not matter any way. It was a gloriously mild day with bright wintery sunshine and a stiff breeze – Jackson’s favourite weather for going out in.

Today Jackson decided was a luck day. His mind was clear and he was going to win that chess championship. It would be good to show them all how good he was. He was going to cane the shame into every man and woman, boy and girl. He was going to be proven the best player in the world!

His head down Jackson was looking at his shoes. In his mind the pavement was a chessboard and he was the knight moving into position. Suddenly another peace moved into view, he had been captured!

“Idiot!” shouted Angelina Borden from where she had landed on the floor.

“Oh-my-gosh! I’m so sorry,” said Jackson reddening as he noticed her lack of knickers.

“Get out of my way then, fool!” shouted Angelina pulling herself up. Idiot simpleton, she thought as she walked away from the embarrassing scene.

Angelina Borden was wearing he best perfume and her smartest dress. It was a slightly skimpy number designed to take advantage of her ample assets and to show of plenty of leg. She found that this was a good way to distract office workers and she had found that they tended to work harder for her while at the same time somewhat underestimating her. This suited her just fine and she hoped that this would work on stuffy-old bank managers.

Jackson continued on his way but his mind would not come with him. His thoughts stayed with the woman he had literally bumped into. The one without any knickers on. It was all he could think of. How could he win that chess match now? His purity of thought had been shattered.

What he needed was some good-for-you sugar in the form of some chocolate and a coke.

He only hoped it would work. Maybe later he would be able to find out her name.

Angelina brushed herself off. She felt quite bad; she had been particularly cruel to the boy. He had only been daydreaming and she had called him all sorts of terrible names.

He was probably a nice guy. Maybe if she saw him again she could apologise.

She turned left onto the high street and moved slowly through the crowed pedestrianised area. She went through her script in her head once more. She was sure she could get an overdraft it was just a case of keeping calm.

She opened the door of the bank and stepped inside. She did not notice the man she brushed past.

The nameless man stood outside the bank for a moment his thoughts focused on the bosoms he had just passed but as the seconds passed his mind returned to shadows.

There were no correct actions open to him and he stood in the sunshine and felt it shine on him. A small memory of sunshine as a sign of bad times tried to flicker but it died as he reached a decision - he would walk to the lab and wait for the night.

“…do you perhaps require a loan Miss Borden?”

Angelina was completely confused. She’d come to ask for an overdraft but found that this request had caused confusion.

“You have over one hundred and sixty thousand pounds in your account Miss Borden, if you envision a time of financial hardship we can arrange a loan to help you out.” Said the bank manager.

“I don’t… I mean where did… how much?” Angelina asked him.

“Is something wrong Miss?” he asked as he looked at her records. “We wrote to you six months ago to say that the endowment policy had matured, three weeks ago we wrote to inform you about the child investment scheme had to be closed.”

“The what?”

“According to these records you mother had opened an account to save money for you. It was due to be cashed years ago.”

“My mother died when I was twelve” she said.

“I’m sorry to hear that Miss Borden.” He said. “Of course, your regular saving has added to that amount.”

“But…” slowly the facts began to sink in. She had worked overtime to make ends meet. Therefore, she had socialised less. She could not remember what she used to do other than work. She must have been sitting on a small fortune, too tired to realise it.

I could quit that stupid job, she thought.

“Is everything alright Miss Borden?” asked the bank manager “Can I do anything to help you?”

“Yes,” she said slowly, “I think I’d like to find out about starting my own business.”

Chapter 2 – A random event in a maelstrom of chaos

2004-11-02T09:55:00.000Z

“Paul, I think you should look at this report.” Said John, marching into Paul’s office.

“Is it really that important that it cannot wait, John? I still have to produce this work of fiction to justify our existence here.”

“This is why you need to read this report, Paul.” Said John

“Why’s that?” asked Paul.

“Look.” Said John. “It’s all in the report. That girl she had some kind of virus, we’ve been toying with it and it’s like nothing else I’ve ever heard of.”

Paul looked up. Now his attention was piqued, something novel would make this report to head office a simple job. “Give me the short version.”

“The virus doesn’t seem to be capable of becoming air borne and it dies readily enough away from a host to infect but it is the way it behaves that is so interesting.”

“Don’t keep me hanging on, man. I know most of that from our work trying to save her.”

“The virus infects a host cell in the normal way but the effect is startling. Sometimes it causes the host to divide and sometimes it reproduces in the way you’d expect a virus to.” John looked hard at Paul. “The new cells are not like the old, they are changed, whole sequences of DNA are completely replaced, it like a form of proactive, retroviral gene therapy gone horribly wrong.”

“Interesting but hardly ground breaking.” Said Paul.

“True but you should see for yourself what happens when they encounter bacteria or another virus.” Said John.

“They have a tea party and exchange pleasantries?” said Paul.

“They attack them. Any threat to the monopoly of this virus is attacked with utter ruthlessness.” Said John with a sense of amazement. “We’ve tested almost sixteen different types of bacteria and, without a single exception, when the virus attacks it - it becomes just a means of a virus making more viruses and with such speed that some bacteria don’t even get a chance to reproduce.”

“Now that is interesting.” Said Paul. “Do you think that…”

“We are already seeing if we can produce a weaker strain that can be used in medical trails.” Said John. “Make believes we may have a cure for Aids and possibly a new handle on cancer too.”

“So,” said Paul, “we may have yet found our miracle drug.”

“Indeed,” said John, “so much so that right now we have a HIV sample that we are about to test.”

“Now that is worth a report mention, thank you John, that was well worth an interruption.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Ok I won’t, shut the door on the way out…”

“funny man!” said John. “Going to the pub later?”

“Yes I think I might, I’ll meet you there.”

Jackson Dent was sitting at home when he should have been working, he should have been doing something but something was nagging at his mind and all he could think of was that he should be waiting for something.

Nothing made any sense in his head today. The chessman would not line up and the board and nothing would obey its master. He should not have gone down the evil road, it attack him. They had ambushed him; his memories had lain in wait for him.

“Evil stinking arse-wipe memories.” He shouted at the walls of his room.

Jackson Dent shock in silent anger at the memories that haunted his every wakening moment. He longed for the time after the setting of the sun when the memories slept and he was free until dawn.

Another being awaited the coming of night his name was once Jacque D’Jusuit and before that, he had another name and another before that - but he is more readily known simply as The Keeper of The Book.

The records that he keeps are records of histories so secret that possibly no other knows them. They are written in over nine different languages including one known only to The Keeper himself. It is a language of an ancient people who once did many mighty deeds and had songs made about them and were proud and now they are no more. As far as The Keeper of The Book was aware he is the only speaker of this language, but he is also aware that there is a possibility of others.

If there are no new speakers of the language then he will have to teach a new keeper or translate it all.

The Keeper of The Book was waiting for the night in the basement of number 203a of “that road” that Jackson Dent felt so strongly about. The Keeper of The Book waited and as he waited, he worked hard with a cheap a pen and cheaper paper translating portions of the text into Middle English – another dead language but one that he felt comfortable with, knowing there were others that could understand it. The trouble with translating from one language to another is that the older languages often do not have the words to express ideas that the speakers of the language never encountered. The Keeper of The Book was having to invent all too many words for his own liking and some words simply had to become phrases such as the oft repeated “They that believe” which lacked the subtlety of the original but kept the main part of the meaning.

The room in which he worked was damn and ill made. An inch of water covered the floor and the brickwork had a fine white powder covering it. The main parts of The Book were on a high shelf wrapped in a Safeway carrier bag inside a wooden lead-lined box. The portion of text he was working from was a photocopy a marvel of the age that he simple never ceased to enjoy.

All the furniture of the room was just an old cupboard with the table and an old church chair. All were covered in mildew and the cupboard was made of chipboard that had blown quite completely in the constant damp.

The only light in the room came from two large candles that spluttered endlessly. The all-invading damp smell was somewhat masked by the constant burning of incense sticks of all kinds.

He had been through many hardships and this current dwelling barely gathered his attention but for the smell that he would always have to seek to mask. He failed to notice the dripping or the occasional splash.

He has come to this town to observe history that is not told, history that is simply recorded. There was a time when there existed a great number of what might be called monks. Their very existence was dedicated to the recording of events and the understanding of secret histories.

As he understands it, only he is left and only he carries a complete copy of The Book.

In the room above on the ground floor of this badly made building a man sits drunkenly in front of a TV set that does not work. He fails to notice the smell of damp or the smell of incense that swamps his room. Jacque knows that he has made a wise choice for his current accommodation.

Outside the building, as The Keeper of The Book writes adding a tenth language to The Book, a man is passing. His name is not known even to himself. He moves unthinkingly by the influence of post-hypnotic suggestion. He is going to steal a valuable box from an overly rich man. The only problem is this item does not actually exist.

“Ok we’re off now, you coming” said John sticking his head around the door of Paul’s office.

“Not just yet,” said Paul, “I must get this report dealt with. Then we can sit back and enjoy another six months of carefree research.”

“The girls have been waiting ages.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

“Ok, man” said John and he was gone again.

Across town, Angelina Borden woke up.

“Crap” she said, and sat up. She should still be asleep, she was not exactly getting enough at the moment but it was nice and light outside. This wakefulness was just the final straw for her.

“Damn it.” She said. “I must be the only night worker that can’t sleep days or night.”

She considered her options. She vaguely remembered getting regular mailings from the bank and they had stopped being red… perhaps if she got an overdraft she could quit the silly night job and do something a little more worthwhile?

She lay down to ponder that thought.

The nameless man is walking along. His mind filled only with blankness and the occasional image of pigeons. He moves unnoticed in the late afternoon sunshine.

Jackson Dent passed the floor of his room. Something was wrong about the story in the newspaper. He had read it three times now and something was wrong. No player would put his peaces out like that without it being a trap but a trap for whom and why?

The man who knew not his name walked on. The lab was close now and soon he would be there. He felt no emotion in that thought and it passed from his mind like water.

Paul Benite typed on and one by one lights went out but he did not even notice so engrossed was he in his work.

He did not notice the light that went back on either.

He did notice the sound of breaking class.

“What the bloody hell?” he asked.

He left his office and headed down the hall. The sound seemed to come from lab five which was the one closest to his office.

The light was on which was strange. As he drew closer, he began to feel extremely uneasy. The lab door was open.

Inside the lab itself, Paul could see glass on the floor. A bottle had fallen he bent to pick up the glass.

“Damn it!” he yelped. Pulling his hand back, “that’s bloody sharp.”

A shape stepped out from behind the door and hit him.

He awoke on a stretcher being placed into an ambulance. He saw the face of Mark from technical support.

“You’re going to be fine, mate” Mark said.

“What happened?” asked Paul.

“Break in.” answered Mark.

“I cut my self.” Said Paul slowly. “I cut myself in lab five where John works.”

“It’s only minor.” Said Mark. “You’ll be fine, mate.”

“John, had live HIV samples in his lab.” Said Paul as the suddenness crept up on him. “We’ll have to have a full inventory taken and blood tests.”

“Shit.” Said Mark and turned away. Mark looked down at the cut on his thumb. He had been the one to clear away the glass. He had gotten lazy, thought he could ignore a biohazard label. “Bollocks” he said and walked away.

“Hey, Mark what’s up man?” called Paul, “I need some answers.”

The paramedics continued to load him into the ambulance as one injected a mild sedative. The damage to his head and face was going to take some work.

Chapter 1

2004-11-01T20:15:00.000Z

Anabellus was only 41 when he died from an apparent viral infection. The illness took almost thirteen days to rip through his body in many agonising and horrific ways. That was twelve years ago and, quite clearly to his own mind, it was the best thing that ever happened to him.

His so-called "last days" were spent being watched over by a research company that was brought out years ago.

Dilectus labs are located on the southwest coast of a large town located fairly far away from any major cities. The practical upshot of this is that it was significantly cheaper to build the research facility than it might otherwise have been.

Dilectus labs are owned and run by Gymus, Smith, Grey & Maxdure. GSG-Maxdure is a large multinational pharmaceutical company formed from a number of smaller companies many of which were founded and grew on the basis of innovation alone.

Smith Pharmaceuticals were responsible for developing the technique that left Dilectus labs as a self-regulatory semi-independent outfit working only to the slight limitation of a findings report every six months. Beyond that, they have been left as an autonomous and self-directed unit.

This has suited the ex-employees of a small development company Dravistrow Ltd very well indeed.

Dravistrow Ltd were originally made up of six men and two women working all the hours their bodies would stay standing for. It had been a small-scale start up and all the staff had been shareholders. These men and women were now moderately well off and free to do as before but with better funding.

Things could only get better.

As Paul Benite palled up in his new convertible across town Margaret Louise Harding was dieing. Her body was eating itself and seemed to be trying to rip her apart. Even as he climbed out of his car to great a day of doing not a lot a sample is travelling by courier to his office.

Dilectus labs had sucked up most of the employable work force for the town and now it was about to pay its dues.

"Morning Sam" called Paul as he entered the reception area "how’s life today?"

"Morning Mr Benite, life's just great at the moment, although the news papers say different again."

"That must be at least six this month." said Paul shaking his head as he passed out of the reception area and into the elevator.

The sample passed park road and turned west toward the lab-complex.

Paul exited the lift and his simple life turned to chaos.

"Paul! We have a situation." said John Baker.

"What's the buzz, guy?" asked Paul his curiosity piqued for a moment.

"Do you know Margaret Harding?" Asked John.

"Uh, yeah. I think so," said Paul, "isn't she that skinny lass with all that black lace and too much eye-liner; writes that god-awful introspective poetry about death and graveyards?"

"That's the one," said John. "Tall, consumptive morticia gothic. My little brother used to have quite a thing for her."

"So, how’s that a situation?"

"She's dieing and no one knows why."

"God! That's terrible. What's that got to do with us?"

"Research case." said John. "The local hospital haven't got the resources to deal with the situation but we have."

"I don't know if you noticed but we don't work for the hospital anymore, John."

"They have a set of samples coming here now. I told them we'd do it."

"Thanks for consulting me" said Paul.

"It was a here and now judgement call... we used to owe them about a dozen favours and we don't exactly have much to put in the report and it's due soon."

"You may be right, but I don't have to like it." said Paul.

"That's my boy," said John, "Sample should be here soon all we're going to do is identify if the cause is any kind of disease and if it might be infectious."

"Don't tell me," said Paul, "six million tests and maybe we'll grow a few cultures just like in the old days!"

"Something like that." said John.

"You never change," said Paul, "Look, I take it we're going to spend the day looking at this girls notes and digging up obscure facts from archives, so I suggest you get Johnny to order some donuts and coffee and I’ll see if I can hurry up that order of new machines.”

"Sounds like a plan," said John, "Alex and the girls will be handling the nitty-gritty with the samples and that but tomorrow the race will be on to identify the cause. It’d be real good if we could get some more computers too."

"we already have two, John, what d’you want more for?"

"It’d be nice not to have to share a terminal given as how we don’t have to budget for them any more."

"I’ll see what I can do. No promises though"

"Oh, Paul, one more thing."

"Aye"

"No need to hurry, the courier is Jackson Dent."

Jackson Dent considered himself to be the best chess player that ever lived but his attention to the job in hand was often the cause of much shouting from employers and co-workers. It is possibly for this reason that he now found himself working as a glorified self-employed "goffa".

Jackson was en route to the big lab complex across town with a package marked simple "VERY Urgent" and decorated with all those semi-mystical hospital simbles. Codes, for something, they were meant to be but they might as well have been ancient runes to Jackson Dent. However he knew enough to know that whatever was in side needed to stay inside if he wanted to get paid.

The labs were only around the corner and it was a reasonably hot day. The law according to Jackson Dent dictated it was time to stop for a drink. A nice cool can of something and maybe a packet of crisps was what a dry old day like today required.

"You're a jerk, dent. A total arse-hole!" The voice of his sports teacher echoed down the ages. It stalked him in the dark moments and harangued him from the shadows of day.

"Tosser!" he told the world at large. "I'm stopping for my diet-coke break and that's the end of it."

"Fat-so!" the voices of a hundred tormenting children called out to him from his memory.

It seemed that whenever he stopped they caught up with him just like at school. The trick there was never stop running and never look back.

"Wankers, the lot of you" he announced and stopped his bike by the newsagents. It was time for a break and maybe just a few chocolates as well.

Just less than ten meters from Jackson Dent's spinning bike wheel lay George Anabellus.

Anabellus was waiting.

Anabellus was hungry and happy and Anabellus was going to be married - his bride was preparing herself.

Since death, Anabellus was having the time of his life.

Jackson dent came back out onto the empty street. It seemed that he always felt thirst when he got to this shop. Somehow, a cold beer made things worse but at least he felt he could stand his ground here.

Jackson had settled for a can of sprite and just two packets of prawn cocktail crisps with a pack of mints for later. Tucked under his arm was a newspaper baring headlines proclaiming that the bloodless killer had struck again.

Some how the sun felt as if it were getting hotter and hotter while at the same time Jackson started to feel a little cold.

"Maybe it’s my open and perceptive mind," he thought, "chances are it’s going to be a changeable sort of day today. Better get going as I might need my rain coat later."

The last stretch of road toward the labs was well known for it’s dryness and to Jackson it was well known for it’s total lack of anything interesting.

At least I will be paid today he thought to himself as he walked along the dullest road on the whole journey. No trees, no alleys, no interesting architecture just endless identical cheap houses tall and gardenless, drained of all colour and placed only to reflect the heat of the day onto the dusty dry road that passes through the heart of the industrial estate. Many of the buildings had long ago been converted even cheaper flats and every third or fourth stood empty, damp, damaged or filled with dangerous squatters.

The old fear from the days of his school gripped Jackson Dent so that he stopped as if a fly trapped in amber.

"You’re a jerk dent, a total arse-hole. If not for you we would have won that match! Why don’t you just crawl away and die?"

"Why don’t you just stick it up your arse?"

"You little dick! I’m going to kick the kick the crap out of…"

"Go away!" screamed Jackson, "You can’t beat on me any more."

"You’re a jerk dent…"

Curtains twitched.

Jackson looked about himself and realised that he had said that last line aloud. He threw himself upon the bike and peddled quickly away.

It was not long that Jackson Dent arrived panting at the doors of Dilectus Labs.

Paul gave him an extra ten pounds as a tip for getting the package to its destination safely and on the right day.

They took the sample and, three days later, the girl was moved to a specially built isolation ward as the lab. In the eleventh day of her illness her heart stopped and would not be started again. She was taken away without autopsy due to the small irritation of something called a "living will" lodged with an all too insistent solicitor.

A more "normal" intro.

2004-10-31T16:25:00.000Z

Tomorrow we shall begin but today is just the limbering up and bragging.

50,000 words.

30 days.

One story.

Can I do it?

I will attempt to write at a regular pace of one chapter of about 1700 words each day. I have a few ideas boiling away and am going to try and achieve a few includes (listed in yesterdays post).

What to write?

2004-10-30T23:29:00.000Z

I will be writting about a lab, a dead guy, a goth and some people with other problems. Plus some corperate back stabing, a pig, a car crash and some references to favourate writers if I can.

02/11/2004 Update
I'm haveing such fun with the current direction that I'll probably include a hypnotist, a disterbed dude, an old dude and a lot of cash.