Author: Alexander Fawn

After much careful planning, he managed to escape.

He no longer believed in what the group stood for. He was glad to get out of it. He never really held the same views as the other members. It all sounded so reasonable at first, but as time went on he found himself doubting that any of the things he was being told, the main principles that they all adhered to, were actually valid or to his liking. More and more he felt himself becoming an outsider.

When the opportunity presented itself he saw it as his way out and he leapt at it. In fact, exposing their activities had actually benefited him financially. He knew it was going to be a struggle to get out and start a new life for himself.

He looked down at his hand.

Thirty pieces of silver would give him a start.

He was middle-aged, healthy, and a very successful business man.

In fact, he had built a substantial empire. This had grown to the point where his factories, shops and transport company were all being managed by people he had put there. From his point of view, the whole thing ran itself. This level of success meant that he was no longer required to take a hands-on role. Through the years of going from strength to strength he often thought of the one man who had played such a big part in putting him on the straight and narrow. Having lost his parents when he was in his late teens, as a result of an airliner coming down, he had lost his way. He began a lifestyle that would have lead him down the long road to nowhere. That’s when he met the man. The man that would turn his life around.

This life-saving mentor was a social worker. He became a father figure, a teacher and a friend. This man had actually made him feel good about himself. Looking back, he found the powerful impact the man had on him over such a short period still amazed him. He remembered how sad he had felt when, after just a few short weeks, the man was suddenly called away. Despite that, he had embraced a new and positive view of the world and began to see how much better his future was going to be. Running through all this yet again in his mind he suddenly realised that he was in a position to fulfil a lifetime wish. He had often felt the desire to find him and properly thank him for what he had done. He realised that a lot of years had passed and tracking him down may not be easy. For this reason he hired the services of the most prestigious detective agency in the city to trace him.

It was about a month after this that he received a call from the agency to say they had found him. They asked him to call in to collect their report. He asked if they were positive it was the right person. He was assured that because of the photos, one was of him and his mentor together, and all the other information about the man they were given, there was no doubt that this was the person. When he asked for more details regarding their findings it was explained that such information was not given out over the phone as part of their own policies that dealt with confidentiality. In fact, they much preferred their clients to call in and collect the report in person.

“Where is he? I would very much like to meet him.”

“Well, I see in the report that he made a similar request to meet you. However, I suggest you need to read the report first.”

“That’s OK, presumably you have his current address?”

“Yes, it’s in there, but…” he hesitated.

The other jumped in. “Look, if for any reason he prefers to come to me, I’d be perfectly happy to pay his fares.”

The agency man sighed and shook his head.” I don’t think he’d be free to do that.”

“Oh! He’s a busy man, then. I wouldn’t be surprised, he was very gifted.”

The man creased his face in frustration. “Look. Strictly speaking I am only obliged to ensure that I’m handing this over to the correctly identified client.” He picked up the envelope and opened it. ‘I think in this case it’s better if I read you just one line from the report. He flipped through several stapled pages until he found what he wanted.

“Yes. Here we are. I’m quoting now. ‘…and is currently serving time for kidnapping, child abuse and three counts of murder.’”

Ride, ride, ride the bus,

Neither king no queen.

Happily, happily, happily, happily.

Something in between.

He gave the latest anti-snoring gizmo a try, without success.

It wasn’t a case of him not giving it a go, he did. The whole business was just too complicated. She had been very patient with him, but at the same time she was constantly suggesting some other contraption that he could try. The whole problem revolved around the fact that she wasn’t getting a good night’s sleep. It all came down to his snoring. Naturally, he felt bad about it. Anyway, the solution suddenly popped into his head out of the blue one day. With no idea where it came from, he decided to try it out, anyway. It didn’t take long to set it up while she was out at the shops. He took the sleeping bag from the shed, made sure it was clean and dry, then he poked it under the bed in the spare room.

That night he tried it out.

He laid quietly for a few minutes until she went off to sleep. Then, he silently got out of bed, closed the bedroom door, collected his bedroll, opened it out on the settee in the lounge, set his mobile phone to vibrate twenty minutes before her alarm went off, and went to sleep. The whole thing went off without a hitch. After a few weeks of this, she made the comment that she was sleeping a lot better.

Meanwhile, each morning she wakes, just before her alarm sounds. With eyes partly open and hidden, she sees him as he very carefully climbs back into bed. Her eyes close again. She smiles to herself at the thought that he’s convinced that she doesn’t know.

She also thinks, he’s such a love!

As a young schoolgirl she wasn’t what you’d call a looker.

She was tall and gangly with a pale complexion and pimples. In her final year she managed to attract the attention of one of the boys in her class. It only lasted a couple of weeks, meeting up outside the cinema a couple of times. Then it just died and within a few months they all left school to go their separate ways. It would be ten years or more before the boy in question caught up with one of his old school mates, quite by chance. The old school mate had never seen him as a friend; he’d always found him a swaggerer, maybe just a bit too full of himself. Anyway, for old times’ sake they agreed to go for a coffee and do a bit of reminiscing. They talked about their old teachers, good and bad, and eventually about some of their old class mates and what they were doing now.

When asked about his former girlfriend, he said he remembered her. He smirked and said he’d got shot of her like getting rid of a garden weed. The other, being mindful of how people can change as they grow older, was also aware of her relocation to America where she was now one of the top models for New York’s fashion industry. The woman in question, now in her mid-twenties, was a real beauty. She was, in that country at least, the talk of the town. The fact was, she had changed her name for her new profession and was now living in a world of glamour. The former boyfriend was obviously not aware of any of this. He had no idea that the garden weed had bloomed into a gorgeous lotus flower.

His old classmate, blessed with a kinder heart, decided not to tell him.

At one time he was one of the world’s most renowned psychic mediums.

His tours were legendary, drawing huge audiences as he went from venue to venue around the world. Tickets always sold out fast and his performances, which were primarily based on contacting those on the other side, on every occasion left people talking about it. It is hard to imagine today that a lot of people wouldn’t even know his name. Although they would most likely remember the event. The whole thing received massive publicity at the time. Owing to the size of the audience in question the details of what happened are well documented. The psychic was around halfway into his act, playing to an appreciative crowd of fans, when the next prompt from the other side came through.

He was holding up his hand as before, in a give-me-a-moment gesture, when he told the audience that he was getting something. “I have something coming through, yes, is there a Mastema? I think I have that right… yes, Mastema,” he declared. There was a short pause, while he waited for a response from the audience. “No?” He persisted. “Is there a Mastema here?”

A voice from the audience came. “It is best you don’t!”

The psychic cupped his ear. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that. Can you speak up a little, please?”

A long silence followed before the man called out again. “Best not call that name.”

“I don’t understand what you are saying, there.”

“You are calling out the name of… well, it’s the Hebrew word for Satan, sir. I felt I should tell you, that’s all.”

A general titter rippled through the audience. The medium smiled and gave a polite cough. “OK,” he said, “we’ll only try once more with this one and then move on. Is there a Mastema here?”

At that moment there was an ear-splitting crack of thunder, accompanied by a loud rumbling that shook the entire theatre. A few seconds later all the lights went out and the hall was plunged into total darkness. This was followed immediately by a great booming voice that filled the auditorium.

“Who is it that calls me to this place?”

Despite the large numbers and the total darkness, the theatre emptied in less than two minutes. Being familiar with the theatre’s back entrance the medium was the first one out on the street!

Occasionally people ask, but it has been over a decade with no word from him.

As far back as he could remember, his mother would tell people how late he was as a baby.

He was always late getting up. He was always late getting to school. He arrived late for his first interview. He so often got to work late. He was invariably late getting home. On the day of his wedding, he was late. When his son got married, he arrived late. When his daughter-in-law gave birth to his grandson, he was late.

Now, it just so happened that he had a sizable investment, but it hadn’t been going anywhere. He had intended to sell off all his shares in the company, but didn’t get around to it. The following day he logged on to do just that. That is when he found that the market had gone wild overnight. His investment had increased by more than seven hundred per cent!

Thank heavens I was late, he thought.

Nobody knew what was going on with the boy.

His powers were truly awesome. From his very early years he made a steadfast decision that he would tell no one. It seemed as though nature had decided that some weird adjustment to the natural order of genetic progression was in order. A significant alteration had taken place, causing a great splash in the gene pool. He would watch news events on the television; bad things, evil happenings, wicked people, things that he felt quite sure caused him a great deal more consternation than most viewers. There were times, growing up, when he was tempted to share what he knew of all of this, his apparent gift, his strong concerns, with his parents, but this had never happened. Further to this, he managed to constrain his abilities to a reasonable level in order to keep them hidden.

He was in his late teens when it happened. He’d always wanted to go to India, so when a number of cheap package holidays were advertised, he booked one. He went alone on what would be a short getaway trip. As his hotel was close to a national park, he took several walks through the forest during his stay. It was while on one of these pleasant morning walks that he made out a hilltop not too far away and decided that he could climb it and return in the time available. Although when he arrived at its base it turned out to be a lot higher than he had thought, but he was determined to climb it anyway. When he reached the top the view was breathtaking. He found a spot where he could sit in comfort. He found that the solitude filled him with a sense of great peace, and with it the perfect environment to do nothing but think…

So, when against all odds, world leaders all began frantically signing peace treaties, no one knew why.

He was having a great deal of trouble finishing his story.

He had been at it for weeks. He had lost track of how many hours he’d spent going back over it, time and time again. Now, he had got to the point where he asked himself whether it was really worth going on with it. Finally, he decided to take a complete break from it. He would go and pick up a book. A book about something else. Something entirely different.

He had quite forgotten that he had the one he took down from the bookshelf. He began to read. It was fascinating. It dealt with the ‘many worlds theory’. Scientists were saying that based on quantum mechanics, all of these other worlds are as real as this one, and they all exist on the same timeline.

He thought about it. This being the case, there would be another him, out there somewhere. He’s no doubt writing the same story. In fact, he’s probably finished it!

What a relief!

Now, where did he put that other story draft?

It was the sort of thing that only happened in movies.

He came out of the book shop where he’d purchased the latest crime novel by his favourite author. He’d made a special trip into town to get it. Something he hardly ever had a need to do. He was not a city person. He glanced at the cover again. He couldn’t wait to open it. As he read the blurb on the back again, he could feel the tension rising. It sounded awesome. At the bus stop he began to work it out. He’d catch the bus to the quay and the city ferry across to the residential area, followed by a three minute walk to his apartment building. The bus ride was too short, but the ferry took twelve minutes; time enough to get into the first chapter. Well… that was the plan.

The man that was already there when he arrived kept glancing across at him. He was wondering whether they had ever met before, when the man moved closer.

In a low voice, he asked, “Excuse me, but have we met before?”

He looked at the stranger. “I don’t think so, I was asking myself the same question.”

“That’s good then,” said the stranger. “I’m about to ask you to do something very simple, for which you’d be well rewarded.” At this point he looked around and took out his wallet. He plucked out a fifty.

The man looked at the note. He only ever read about this sort of thing. As a crime novel lover, he was both excited and nervous at the same time. This was a different kind of tension. “I’m sorry, what do you want?”

“Very simple, as I said. Just one quick phone call, a brief message, using the number I give you, at exactly ten-thirty, will earn you this.” He waved the money.

“Well, who am I phoning, and what would I say?”

The stranger handed him a piece of folded paper with a number on it. “It doesn’t matter who, and it’s only an eight word message. Simple, right?”

He stood thinking about it for a bit. “All right,” he said with a nod, “I’ll do it.”

“Are you sure?”

“I guess so, what’s the message?”

“OK. You have to get it right; exactly as I tell you.”

“I understand.”

“Just ring that number at ten-thirty, on the dot, and when the person picks up you say, ‘the same street, but at number eleven, Wednesday.’ OK, now you say it back to me.”

He cleared his throat. “The same street, but at number eleven, Wednesday.”

The stranger smiled and said, “Good, you’ve got it.” As he handed over the money, he checked the time. “That’s just a few minutes away. Like I said, on the dot.” With that, he turned and quickly walked away. Within moments he was out of sight.

The crime story fan was left thinking about the encounter and how intriguing the whole thing was. He was actually playing some part in a real life plot. He pocketed the money. Regardless of what kind of people he was dealing with, he knew that it would be wise to do exactly what he’d been paid to do. Feeling the tension again, he checked the time. He estimated at the appointed time he’d be on the ferry. He would have to make sure he found somewhere to make the call unseen and unheard.

The bus he was waiting for had to be running late. He read the stop’s timetable. It was two minutes late already. More than another three minutes and he would miss the ferry. It didn’t matter; he was being paranoid. Wherever he was, he would make the call as required.

He needn’t have worried, the bus arrived moments later and he found very few ferry passengers to avoid when he got on. To be absolutely sure, he found a seat on the rear deck where he could be alone. With just three minutes to go, he repeated the phrase over and over to himself several times. He looked at the number. It was long enough to be a mobile he was ringing. He didn’t want to think about that now, he would let his imagination run wild, later.

Pulling his phone out, he fumbled and nearly dropped it. At that same moment a gust of wind took the slip of paper from his hand and sent it sailing over the side. He jumped up just in time to see it bobbing up and down on the rippling water of the river, before it disappeared.

He sat back down.

He saw that the time had passed.

He opened his book.

It was just as well he wasn’t a city person.

He wouldn’t be going back there anytime soon.