Notorious by John Jones (free ebooks for android TXT) 📖

closed”. Curio leaned against the door frame.

“Ryvak?” he said, “Isn’t that some research company?” Tom’s hands shot down.

“Er..yes. I heard that they’re closing. They won’t be using animals to experiment on now. Lack of funds or something”. Curio nodded, and looked at Malcolm, who was looking at Tom with a cynical expression. He looked at Curio.

“I meant what I said,” said Curio.

“If I can at least just try,” he said. “I’ve been to other psychics”.

“Really?” He stepped back and nodded for them to come in. They walked into the living room, trying to make it seem as if they were not looking around.

“Sit down,” said Curio, gesturing to the well-worn, food stained two-seater sofa. Curio sat in the armchair, opposite the television which was off. A small lamp in a corner illuminated the room.

“I’m afraid I cannot perform such an act without some form of recompense,” Curio said. “It’s like asking me to just enter an enemy compound, rescue your daughter, and walk out. There are forces in this universe that are unexplored, and these I believe, can present differing levels of danger. Also differing levels of positivity.

 

These energies are balanced out, each having an opposite. Now what these represent, or perform is something I cannot answer. Now when I contact your father, a negative, hostile energy comes through, and from within it, he emerges. What he has dealt with, and what he is still doing out there, I do not know. Now if you wish for me to bring him here, in this room, I will be metaphorically playing with fire, and if you wish for me to play with fire, then I’m going to require an incentive. Do you wish for me to perform this now?”.

“What would it take? Actually, maybe you could get in touch with my mother, or Ian, if my Dad still isn’t speaking”. Curio was quiet for a few moments.

“Do you know how serious this is? I know you’re not a true believer, but you’re at least 98% there, I can see”.

“You were right, though Curio. You were closer than the other psychics. Ian was real”.

Curio nodded.

“The forces I am involved with are as real as that sofa, that window, as real as you or I, or Tom”. Tom had been surveying the room, and looked around at the mention of his name.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” said Curio, still looking at Malcolm. Tom continued surveying the room, and when he found nothing of interest, looked back and listened to Curio.

“...and this, spirit world, is equally as factual as this, real world. The occupants of that world have passed through this existence, so can be contacted. Some psychics will cold read, leap on information you give them and tell you things that they couldn’t possibly know without unknowing assistance from the believer.

 

Unlike them, I actually do commune with the other side. I have proven the existence of the paranormal. Five bodies in a row must say something, must point to some form of truth that science cannot answer. Basically, the spirit world exists, and that’s a fact. Your mother, father, and Ian are there, within the differing levels of energy and forces. Within the most sorrowful, most negative, those who are dealing with these forces dwell. It is where they went after death. That is an area of the spirit world where I would wish not to venture. Ever used a ouija board?” Malcolm shook his head.

“Nor have I,” said Curio. “They are like gateways directly to these negative forces. I’m not an expert. I wouldn’t entirely call myself a professional. Maybe other people would, but I am rather like a person who is progressing through the ranks of the martial arts grading system. I’m not quite a black belt, but I’m close. I know one day I will have to learn a ouija board, and to understand these forces, but they are for the more advanced than I, for the black belts, the professionals. You cannot learn to swim by just throwing yourself in at the deep end. You cannot run a marathon on your first day of training. I learnt that when I saw your father. It ‘hurt’ speaking with him, and I mean ‘hurt’. I am very reluctant to do it again. However, I will do it for a price, but please, do not ask me again until I am versed. It could be many years, but it is certainly not here, not now”.

“Wouldn’t it be good practice though?” interjected Tom.

“Yes. It would,” said Curio. “It is still painful, and I honestly do not wish to venture there again, but I will do it for an incentive, or ask me again at a later date, if I am ready”.

There were a few moments silence.

“Just ask them what all this ‘realm of the partisan’ means’” said Malcolm. “This virus, and why on earth my father killed my mother. Well, just get him to talk about it, or my mother, or Ian”, Curio nodded, looked at Tom, then back at Malcolm.

“How much?” Malcolm asked. “What will it take?”

“Five hundred. No less. You have no idea of the forces I am dealing with”.

“Five hundred!” He looked at Tom with wide, surprised eyes. Tom shook his head, but did not speak. Malcolm sighed, then stood up.

“No less?” he asked.

“No. I’m sorry. It’s the way it has to be”. Malcolm nodded, solemnly, then turned and headed for the door.

“Come on Tom, I want to go home”. He opened the door and walked out. Tom was still sitting on the sofa, looking in the direction of where Malcolm had left. He then looked at Curio, shrugged, then stood up, bid farewell, and followed Malcolm.

 

He was soon walking across the car-park to where Malcolm was leaning against the car.

They were soon closing the doors behind them. Tom started the engine.

“Well?” asked Malcolm. “Was he genuine?”. Tom gave a slight, wry smile, and pulled away.

“Maybe,” he said, leaving the car park. Curio watched them from his window. He sighed, closed his eyes, and turned away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

45

Tom pulled the car up outside Malcolm’s parent’s house.

“Thanks,” said Malcolm. He was about to pull the latch to open the door when he saw the front of the house. He frowned.

“Why is the front door open?” he asked nobody in particular.

“What?” Tom asked. He followed Malcolm’s gaze. There was a black rectangle where the front door should have been. The door frame next to the lock had been split.

“It looks like someone’s broken in,” said Tom. There was silence for a few moments. Malcolm looked at Tom, his expression asking questions that he knew Tom could not answer.

“D’you think I should go in?” he asked. “What if someone’s in there?”

“Maybe you should just call the police,” said Tom. Malcolm looked back at the doorway. The car was bathed on the fringe of light from a street lamp, and barely illuminated the front of the house. It seemed none of that radiance went into the house, as though the darkness was absorbing it.

“I’m not sure they’d appreciate it if they came out and saw us two sat out here, while they go in and find nothing. There’s two of us. If someone’s in there, we can just come straight out and we can drive away,” said Malcolm. Tom frowned at him.

“Thanks,” he said. “First you want me to lend you money. Now you want me to back you up in case you have an intruder”. Malcolm shook his head.

“It’s up to you. You don’t have to help me”.

“Yes, but what d’you think that’d do to my conscience? Come on, but it’s like you said right? If someone’s in there, we get the fuck out, ok?”. They hesitated for a few seconds. “If we hesitate,” said Malcolm, “we’ll never do it”. Tom nodded. Malcolm quickly got out of the car and walked across to the gate. He looked back at Tom who had joined him.

 

They slowly edged their way to the doorway, and stopped to look inside. There was darkness, and there was silence. Malcolm leaned forward and whispered in Tom’s ear:

“I think it might be best if we just went in noisily, turning on the lights. If someone’s in there, they might be surprised, and we should know more quickly than if we went in quietly whether or not someone’s in there”. Tom thought about that for a few seconds, then nodded. Malcolm stepped inside. The living room door was next to him. He only had to open it, reach inside and press on the light. This he did, and bravely announced: “If there’s anybody in..!”. There was a man standing by the fireplace. He looked up at Malcolm and asked:

“Are you Malcolm?” Anger swept over Malcolm’s fear.

“Who the fuck are you?”. The man, who looked to be in his forties, wore a white T-shirt and pyjama bottoms. His hair was dishevelled, his feet were bare.

“Are you Malcolm?”

“Yes, now who are you?” he hooked a thumb to the front door.

“Out, before I call...” The man had had his hands at his sides, and Malcolm noticed that he was lifting up a claw hammer. With a look of complete rage and hate, he hurled it at Malcolm, who ducked to the side. It cracked the living room door, and bounced on the carpet. Malcolm ran quickly out to find Tom standing at the gate.

“What is it? What’s happened?”

“Move!” shouted Malcolm, “Gerrin’ the car an’ fuckin’ drive!”. Tom did not ask a second time. He ran to the vehicle. Malcolm ran to the passenger side. The man appeared at the doorway, and saw Malcolm as he slammed the door shut. He hurled the hammer again. It struck the door beneath Malcolm’s side window.

 

The car sped away on screeching tyres. The man hurried to the gate, and did not bother to pick up the hammer. He ran as fast as he could along the middle of the road. Tom looked in the rear view mirror as the man became smaller and smaller. He had seen a look of sheer despair and fear on the man’s face. Malcolm looked back, just as a curve in the road took him out of sight. Tom’s foot was pressed on the accelerator hard, but he had to brake as he emerged into a main road. He turned to the right. There were no other vehicles on the road. He speeded up, and Malcolm kept looking around.

“He’s gone,” said Tom, but did not slow down.

 

The man puffed and panted his way to the main road, and when he reached the

T-junction, stopped, looked left and right, but could not decide where Malcolm went. His breathing grew heavier. He looked all around him, his face one of absolute panic, but he did not utter a sound. He reached towards the left, and towards the right. His head snapped one way, then the other, and he began slowly to vibrate, as though a mild electric current was passing through him. He spun around, reaching in all directions, searching for Malcolm. His face grew more and more crimson, and his vibrations became more intense. Again, his head snapped left, snapped right, and he fell to his knees, his hands at his head as his eyes bulged. What seemed like a power surge coursed through him. His arms reached out again, and he fell forward, still, not making a sound. He crashed on his side, his head cracking against the tar-mac.

 

Still, he continued to shudder. Blood began to seep from his eyes, from the corner of his mouth, and from his left ear, to pool around his head. It was soon joined by another substance. A dark, greyish liquid that could only be the result of a melted brain. Soon, the trembling stopped, his right arm frozen, reaching out for Malcolm. It wasn’t long before onlookers gathered.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

46

 

 

What was perhaps Jane Fielding’s last tear for her departed friend, escaped from her left eye as she walked