by Ingrid Fry
Jason sat back in his chair, alarmed. ‘Hell, so what? It’s manifesting in you?’
‘I hope not, but it’s left a residue. I’m contaminated. It could ignite at any time. The slightest annoyance could trigger it. Christ, you might have to lock me away because how can I be trusted? My bottom lip quivered and tears pricked in my eyes as the ramifications hit me.
Jason stood, pulled me to him and wrapped his arms around me.
‘Ouch! Careful Mister Muscles. I hope your new super strength won’t impact on the integrity of our hugs.’
My fears were allayed—if anything, the quality had improved. The hug was like being held in the arms of … Sly Stallone? Jason Statham? No, just my new and improved Jason.
He kissed my forehead. ‘Don’t you worry, Magster. We’ll get this sorted. Everything will be okay.’
I knew it wouldn’t, but his words were exactly what I needed to hear.[10]
Chapter 11: Creation of a Creature
‘The fear of you and the dread of you shall be upon every beast of the earth and upon every bird of the heavens, upon everything that creeps on the ground and all the fish of the sea. Into your hand they are delivered.’ — Genesis 9:2
Jason stared up at me, eyes wide with horror. His mouth hung open; it wasn’t a good look.
I must’ve been astral travelling again, but I couldn’t remember what happened, or where I went.
Hang on, how could he see me? He couldn’t possibly. Where was my body? I wasn’t on the bed. Where the hell was I?
Jason leapt out of bed and pressed himself against the bedroom wall. ‘Jesus Christ, what the fuck!’
‘What? What’s the matter? How can you see me?’
‘I can see you because you’re crawling around on the ceiling like a fucking cockroach!’
Twisting my head, I instinctively scuttled sideways across the ceiling. The movement brought it all back—the nightmare. I screamed. The power which transformed me departed, and I plummeted to the bed.
‘I had nothing to fear anymore. I had nothing to fear anymore. I had nothing to fear anymore. I had nothing to fear anymore.’
The sound of the Jason’s slap brought me back more than the pain of it.
He rubbed his hand and then my cheek. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do. You were babbling … possessed. You kept saying you had nothing to fear anymore. Are you back? Are you with me?’
I nodded. ‘I was dreaming, but it was more than a dream, more than a vision. I was a cockroach. I was a roach for God’s sake! Well, it wasn’t me, but I was seeing through its eyes. I lived in a white room in a huge facility. There was always food on the floor and I wasn’t hurting anyone. I just wanted to eat. I was hungry. There was a human male in a white coat, and it hated me, it was after me. It tried to kill me day after day after day. It was relentless. It sprayed me with stuff that burnt; it tried to step on me, smash me, crush me. It left out little black boxes of delicious smelling food, which made me sick. I quickly learned to leave them alone. I sensed that human’s hatred, its rage, its evil energy, every day, and the energy of those hateful emotions was worse than all the things it tried to do to me. Its energy penetrated me, contaminated me. I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to leave. I didn’t know where to go. I would probably starve and die, but it was better than being hunted, fearing for my life for a few crumbs. So, I left, looking for a peaceful place.
I travelled far along the underground pipes of the laboratory and squeezed into a gap so tiny and dark, it was like heaven. Then ice came, colder than space, and I was entombed. In the ice, I became warm—my body absorbing radiation from the beginning of time, the energy from experiments being conducted there. After a while, I don’t know how long, the energy of microscopic black holes and dark matter stablised in my body. I could taste an evil residue from that damn human and I was hungry for more of it. It was dark energy and I needed it. But more than anything, I wanted revenge.
The ice melted and I was free, free to return home. I skittered back along the pipes returning to my source of food and water, intensely aware I had nothing to fear anymore. Nothing could stand in my way. I was filled with the infinite power of the universe. I had nothing to fear anymore, Jason. Nothing to fear, nothing to fear anymore …’
A slap on my other cheek brought me back, and I cried out with the shock of it. Jason sat next to me on the bed and stared into my eyes. He held my hands and kept staring, searching my face, my eyes, for something.
A feeling of exhaustion flooded my body. ‘Let’s go back to sleep and pretend it didn’t happen.’ I couldn’t think of what else to say.
Jason didn’t say a thing. He drew back the bed clothes, and we clambered in. I held him tight, his head resting against my breast. I stroked his hair until he fell asleep in my arms.[11]
Chapter 12: The Trunk
Lying in bed, I listened to the rain and wind tug fiercely at the roof tiles.
Jason’s breath was soft and deep except for an occasional puff, a sharp exhalation of breath. If I didn’t know it was him, I could’ve been in bed with a small whale or other seafaring mammal.
Boo had snuck in and lay between us, eyes open, staring into space.
‘Any comms yet, Boo?’
She continued with the stare.
Damn. Still nothing.
I felt a hand on the top of my head.
‘Morning Mags.’ Jason’s eyes were sleepy, and his hair tousled.
I leant over and gave him a kiss. ‘Morning, sweet cheeks.’
Jason stared at my face and seemed pleased with what he saw. Obviously, no sign of demon-like features. He pulled me on top of him with such ease I appeared to weigh next to nothing, which was definitely not the case.
‘Watch out for Boo!’
‘Got it.’
Jason made like a koala and encircled me with his arms and legs. He smothered my face in kisses, which always made me laugh.
‘Satdee today. We’re going to try and have an ordinary day,’ he said. ‘What would you like to do, Mags? Maybe stay in bed all day?’
‘We have a very important task to take care of.’
He groaned. ‘What?’
‘We, actually, you, have to get the meteor off the roof, or from wherever it may have landed.’
‘It’s not going to go anywhere.’
‘We can’t be sure. I would rest easier with it in our hot little hands, rather than in someone else’s. Or something else’s.’
‘All right then. S’okay if I wait ‘til the storm stops, or do you want it done right now?’
‘Now! I command you, superman!’
He lifted me in the air by my hips.
‘Wow! Incredible,’ I said. ‘We could do the Dirty Dancing thing.’
‘What thing?’
‘You know, the dance scene where Patrick Swayze lifts what’s-her-name over his head and holds her there.’ I stretched my arms out in front of me, my legs out straight behind, in a perfect plank.
Jason sang, ‘I’ve had the time of my li-i-ife, no, I never felt this way before.’
He had a beautiful voice, and despite all his years in Australia, he still carried a tinge of his East London accent. I’d tried to convince him to join me at our local a cappella choir, but he said he could think of nothing worse.
‘We’ve got to try this with the running jump,’ I said.
‘You wouldn’t be able to jump high enough.’
‘I would too. I could have developed superpowers of my own.’
‘Nope. I’m guessing yours will be mind-based powers.’
‘You’re probably right. Never was much good at sport.’
My shaking arms, legs and stomach muscles were already proving his point.
He grinned. ‘Best stick with computer programming. Mmmm, I like what I see up there. My superpowers are giving me wicked thoughts, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.’ He lowered me and cut off my words with a kiss.
It was quite some time before we lef
t the confines of our California King, and as I stumbled to the shower, I figured the delight in my mind and body would stay with me for at least a week—maybe forever.
Making love was one of the activities that stopped all thought for me, and our delightful distraction took my mind off the roach. Not for long though. As I opened the shower door a chill ran down my spine, and I sensed the roach’s energy in my mind. Its spikey legs skittered around and plucked at wires in my brain.
* * * * *
Jason clattered around outside as I made lunch. He’d taken a ladder from the shed to climb onto the roof. I didn’t want to watch. People on ladders always made me nervous.
Jason told me when he was a paramedic, they received more call-outs for ladder accidents than car crashes. Go figure. Most were men over fifty years of age.
Roof tiles creaked as Jason’s footsteps crunched on the edge of them.
‘Got it!’ he yelled.
‘Be careful!’ I yelled back.
He came into the kitchen holding the crystal meteor.
‘Still in one piece? Nothing untoward?’
He placed the meteor on the kitchen table. ‘Everything’s A-Okay. We could use it as a paper weight.’
‘I think it’s over qualified for a paperweight.’
‘It wouldn’t be happy,’ he agreed. ‘I’ll stick it on the shelf, next to your gold booty. It’ll catch the sun there, maybe get a bit of its ole spark back.’
‘I’d prefer to put it somewhere safe and out of sight. It might have saved us, but it reminds me of the bad stuff too.’
‘You’re right again, Magster. Where do you want to put it?’
‘Dad’s trunk! It can live in there. It’s an exotic home for an exotic artifact.’ I hurried to the wardrobe to retrieve the trunk dad had given me for Christmas. I dragged it out from under a pile of shoes and other wardrobe flotsam and jetsam.
When Dad had given it to me, I’d thought it beautiful, but in all the hustle and bustle of the day, and then with his disappearance, I hadn’t studied it properly. I’d shoved it away in the wardrobe as I found looking at things connected with him too painful.
The trunk had leather handles, each fixed with ornate brass clips. I used them to carry it to the kitchen table.
‘Wow! It’s a thing of beauty,’ Jason said. ‘How come you haven’t put it on display before?’
I gave him a look.
‘Sorry. Of course. Sorry.’
‘I will now. You’re right. It’s gorgeous.’
The trunk was curved and covered in black leather embossed with a lizard skin design. Five evenly spaced, curved wooden ribs, wrapped around the outside. It stood on round oak legs.
Jason touched the smooth wooden ribs. ‘These are what you call steam bent wood bows. All handmade. Stunning!’ It amazed me how Jason always knew how everything was made.
An ornate brass lock, with Aztec inspired embossing, and brass edgings on the upper and lower side of each corner of the lid, gave the trunk an elegant appearance.
I clicked the two latches open and pushed the lid back. A fragrance of oak and leather filled our nostrils, and the lid creaked slightly as it sat back on its hinges.
Jason peered inside it. ‘Oh my, check it out!’
Two curved oak boxes nestled at each end of the trunk, taking half the total space. Jason gently removed them from the trunk, and set them down on the kitchen table. The bottom of the trunk was lined with rows of small oak panels.
‘It’s so intricately finished,’ I said. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’
The underside of the lid was covered in luxurious black fabric with a continuous pattern of diamond shapes traced in fine gold. The tips of each diamond were adorned with a tiny gold flower made of six dots and one in the middle. Five oak ribs divided the fabric, mirroring those on the exterior.
‘Is there anything in the tray boxes?’ I asked.
Jason opened their hinged lids to reveal … nothing, just a finely finished timber interior. He pressed and poked various sections of the trunk. ‘This has to have secret compartments. It’s way too cool not to. Can’t seem to find any though.’
‘Let me have a go,’ I said, pulling the chest towards me.
I had a feeling, and following it, I pushed and tugged at the ribs on the underside of the lid, then pushed the second and forth ribs toward the hinges. They seemed fixed solid, but suddenly clicked and slid down an inch, which released something else with another click, and the whole underside of the lid came free.
‘Bingo!’ I said, as a cascade of items clattered over the kitchen table and onto the floor.
‘Strewth!’ Jason stared open mouthed at his bare foot.
A murderous black knife had narrowly missed it; the tip of the knife was firmly embedded in the wooden floorboards right alongside the edge of his foot. A nasty looking cigar shaped spike was lodged between his big toe and its neighbour.
‘Blimey!’ I said, as Jason carefully extricated his foot from the offending articles and pulled the knife from the floorboards.
‘Boy were you lucky!’ I said. ‘Who would’ve thought having a quiet cuppa at the kitchen table could be so dangerous?’
Jason flashed me a look with an added eye roll. ‘Fair dinkum unbelievable!’ He held up his lucky foot and wiggled his toes. ‘We’d better put on protective clothing. Who knows what other dangers lurk in this trunk. Beaut present! Thanks, Prof,’ he said dryly.
While I made us a fresh cup of tea, Jason collected all the scattered items from the floor and set them out on the table.
‘Here you go.’ I put a steaming mug of green tea on the table. Jason was busy writing a list, cataloging the items. Both of us were big list makers. We had lists for everything. This list went as follows:
2 x brown ‘Field Notes’ note books
1 x Mont Blanc Pen
1 x engraved silver ring
1 x map of Victoria
1 x map of South Australia
1 x map of Northern Territory
1 x copy of the Table of Elements
1 x 12” Mollard Lancio Conducting Baton – black handle with pearlescent white carbon fiber shaft engraved with the word ‘The Maestro’.
1 x Smith & Wesson Carbon Steel Pocket Baton
1 x UZI Tactical Defender Pen with DNA catcher and built-in handcuff key (made from lightweight aircraft aluminum)
1 x Cold Steel Torpedo fifteen inch throwing knife
3 x Cold Steel Sure Balance nine inch throwing knives
We had to undertake a bit of Googling before we could identify exactly what some of the items were.
‘What’s with all the weaponry?’ Jason asked. ‘He’s a professor for Christ’s sake. Was he in fear of his life at some point and forgot these things were in the trunk when he gave it to you? Or maybe he meant you should have them, or needed them?’
‘None of those things could have defended us against the Dark Force. It would have inhaled them for horses duvers.’
‘What?’
‘Sorry, hors d'oeuvres. Ashley calls them horses duvers.’
‘Yeah, whatever.’
‘Grandpa was in the war and he had a secret stockpile of weapons,’ I said. ‘Dad and I were interested in all that sort of stuff; it’s a genetic thing I reckon. Maybe his notebooks will tell us more.’
The notebooks were numbered thirty-seven and thirty-eight. I remembered Dad always scribbling in these little brown notebooks. He filed them in chronological order in a wooden box with a sliding lid.
I opened number thirty-seven to see his familiar handwriting. My eyes filled with tears making it difficult to read. Blinking them away, I read the first line.
‘And God saw the light, that it was good: and God divided the light from the darkness.’ Gen 1:4
‘The Prof wasn’t religious. What’s with the Bible quote?’ Jason asked.
‘He was interested in all things metaphysical, particularly given Mum’s and my psychic abilities.’
Jason
took the notebook and flicked through the pages.
‘Why has he written the number 137 on the top of every page?’
‘Beats me.’
The notebook was filled with notes, mind maps and diagrams. It would take some time to work our way through it.
‘Why is there a music baton in all this weaponry stuff?’ Jason asked. ‘Who’s the Maestro anyway?’
‘I have no idea. Dad loved all music, including classical. Maybe it’s a souvenir? It seems like all we have is a pile of questions and no answers.’
I could feel my impatience and anxiety growing. Patience was never one of my strong points. I wanted answers. Now. ‘Do you think it has more secret compartments?’
‘I would bet my life on it. Want me to look?’
‘Go for it.’
I straightened the mirror near the sideboard for what seemed like the umpteenth time. ‘What the hell is it with the mirrors in this house? They seem to have a life of their own—foggy, crooked, rattling. This one’s crooked again.’
Ding Dong.
The sound of the doorbell made us jump. Boo flew in from outside and barked her head off.
‘No comms yet?’ I asked.
She gave me a penetrating stare, followed by her Phhht! faux sneeze.
‘I guess that’s a no then,’ Jason said.
‘Oh, bloody hell, who is it?’
‘I don’t know, you’re the psychic,’ Jason said, creeping up to the side window to check. ‘It’s someone in a cape.’
‘A cape? Who the hell wears a cape?’
‘Maybe we should answer the door and find out.’
I could tell from his tone he was impatient with me, but I hated ‘pop-ins’. It wasn’t like the old days when everyone seemed to have endless time on their hands. These days, no one had time for the pop-in.
‘Are you going to answer the door?’
I sighed, pushed Boo out of the way, and opened the door.[12]
Chapter 13: The Conductor
She filled the doorway with her Amazonian height. Her violet eyes glowed, highlighted by a dark violet cape. Exquisite gold embroidery buried in the cape’s velvet depths caught the afternoon light. Black hair was drawn back tight, framing a pale face with high cheekbones.