Mystical Circles

by S. C. Skillman

  “I’m simply curious to learn about your spiritual position.”

  “I have no position. None that’s relevant to you. I’m here as a journalist.”

  She’d stopped short at using the word objective. She knew it would be untrue.

  “None of us believe you’re objective for a moment,” said Edgar, “but even if you want to dispute that, I still need you to provide me with some information about yourself.”

  “But…” She spoke courteously but firmly. “Afraid not. I’m here in a professional capacity.”

  Edgar ignored this. “To help you, I’ve put all the questions down in writing.” He handed over a clipboard securing a wad of A4 paper.

  A breathless hush followed. She sensed a power struggle. Perhaps she needed to try a different, lighter approach. “If I answer your questions, will you play your part, and give me an in-depth interview?”

  The other three were all watching with a strange intensity.

  “Very good, very good,” said Edgar. “I can see you’re trying to sidestep the issue.”

  “Don’t be afraid to reveal yourself, dear,” said Laura.

  Juliet met Laura’s gaze. “It’s not that at all, Laura. I’m sure you understand perfectly.”

  Feeling it best to humour him for the time being, she scanned Edgar’s top sheet.

  “We’ve all come here in need of healing,” said Edgar. “Don’t be proud. Pride has no place here.”

  Juliet swallowed the words that had been about to fly to her lips.

  She looked down at the form again. The first words that met her eye were: What is your age and sex? And then: Are you receiving any form of treatment or therapy?

  “Don’t delay lunch for it, there’s plenty of time.” Edgar reached for the Double Gloucester. “But I shall want it back for Craig by five.”

  Ah. A breathing space. Juliet helped herself to one of Al’s thick slices of bread. “You haven’t told me about yourself yet, Edgar. What’s your background?”

  He cleared his throat. “I used to systematically study man’s religious experience.”

  “Used to? Why the past tense?”

  “The unit I headed up closed down through lack of funding.” He cast a severe glance at her, as if she was personally responsible for it herself. Then he went on. “So I’m here instead. I devised this questionnaire for Craig. The idea is to get proper scientific evidence about human spirituality. I know others have gone before me. But I have a passion to pin down the evidence, starting with you lot.”

  He wore a self-satisfied expression as he busied himself with the salad bowl.

  “Sounds ambitious,” said Juliet. “I hope you do get your evidence. Must admit I don’t feel I have any to give yet.”

  He gave a dismissive snort. “Everybody here is raw material as far as I’m concerned. You’re no exception even if you have come here to interview us.”

  Juliet looked down at her knuckles and saw they were white. That was the effect of Edgar’s last sentence. She consciously relaxed her hands.

  Edgar, meanwhile, speared a cherry tomato with his fork and began munching.

  “We’ve all filled in one of his forms.” Laura leaned toward Juliet, an intimate smile upon her face.

  “Maybe,” Juliet said. “But I’m here for a different reason.”

  “Oh, don’t try that with us, Juliet.” Edgar lifted his hands, palms uppermost. “We’re all where we’re meant to be, and you’re here for a special purpose. I can see you feel you’re somehow set apart from the rest of us. But you’ll soon get over that. And we each have to learn it’s no good holding back from the group. We are, after all, part of the Wheel of Love.”

  She countered him swiftly. “But does love demand the completion of a form?”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “We’re not railroading you into this, Juliet,” said Al. “You just relax, huh? Perhaps you’re one of these guys who like to make a big show of chewing it over.” He placed a large dish of some unidentifiable-looking substance on the table. It steamed gently. “And I’ll wait for this to cool down.”

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Tomorrow morning’s breakfast for the parrot. Groucho. You weren’t here earlier to see it prepared, were you? We run a rota to cook it up for him. Rice, millet, couscous, lentils and split peas garnished with chopped herbs, mixed veg and…” he unscrewed the top off a jar, “a generous helping of his vitamin and mineral supplement.” He scattered a white powder in, and stirred with a wooden spoon. “Delicious.”

  “Groucho certainly gets excellent treatment,” laughed Juliet. “He must love it.”

  “Sure does.” The American seated himself opposite her, his plate piled high with a well-oiled salad. “Go on, answer the man’s questions.” He reached for the butter. “I haven’t yet figured out this English obsession with privacy. I’m curious about you. We all are. How did you wind up here? How did you swing it by Craig?”

  “Yes, Juliet,” said Laura, “Craig said you wanted to make a documentary.”

  Al turned to Juliet again. “I’d kinda like to know a bit more about that. What’s the thrust of your piece?”

  Ah, she was back on home ground. She could easily explain her journalistic approach, without causing offence. She opened her mouth to speak, but Edgar broke in. “Naughty, naughty, Al,” he said. “Don’t put Juliet on the spot too soon.” His eyes gleamed. He wagged his finger in front of the American. “Not, that is, until she’s shared her experiences with me.”

  “Which ones?” she asked.

  “Ecstatic ones,” he said.

  Who did he think he was? Why should she bare her soul to him?

  “Take your time. But not too long. Evidence, that’s what I like.” Edgar rubbed his hands together. “Evidence of any type. There’s no evidence so thin I cannot massage it.”

  “Take it from him. The man means what he says,” observed Al.

  Probably best to concentrate on her lunch. But she couldn’t resist pushing Edgar further on the subject. “I’m not a member of the group, and have no plans to join. I’m here as an impartial observer. And there are various guidelines that I have to observe…”

  “The broadcast media has the highest code of conduct…” murmured Edgar. A titter passed between the other three at this.

  “What you suggest is impossible. If you’re to achieve anything here, you’ll have to take part, and live as one of us,” said Laura.

  Juliet swallowed two or three times. Deep down she knew Laura was probably right. But could she pretend to go along with their beliefs without compromising herself? Weren’t they all nuts, in one way or another? And yet she knew she wasn’t the only one here who felt like that. Surely Don did too.

  They allowed her to spend the next five minutes eating, before Edgar took up the topic again. “Therapy or treatment? What about those, Juliet? Have you ever had any?”

  “No. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

  “There doesn’t have to be anything wrong with you, dear.” Laura turned an earnest face to her. “But you’ll have needs. We all have those. And they are what have brought us here.”

  Juliet considered. Since her relationship with her last boyfriend had broken up, just two months before, she’d set her sights more firmly than ever upon her career, and upon trying to help Zoe. She needed recognition, acknowledgement, acceptance… and some truth from Craig about his plans for her sister, for a start.

  “Well,” she said, “I expect I do have a need to find some answers.” She gave a half-smile.

  Edgar quickly took his opportunity to get back to the all-important questionnaire. “So,” he said. “You can’t at this moment remember an ecstatic experience to share with me. Let’s move on to another question instead. How have you been feeling in the past week?”

  No, she wasn’t going to be drawn. “As from Wednesday – which was when I received Zoe’s email – I’ve been looking forward to the challenge of meeting you and your fellow gro
up members.” As Juliet levelled her eye upon Edgar, there came several loud knocks on the kitchen door. They all looked up, startled.

  “Come in,” called Edgar. The door banged back, and a dishevelled figure lurched through the doorway, dumping a well-stuffed plastic carrier bag down onto the quarry tiles.

  “James!” cried Laura. “Why must you do this at meal-times? Every time you do, I swear you get filthier and filthier. It’s a good thing Craig never saw you in this state up in Edinburgh. Otherwise, I’m sure none of us would be here now.”

  3

  Being Drawn In

  James wore a filthy, tattered gabardine coat, and his hair hung in oily dreadlocks. He seemed to have smeared his face with greasepaint. His teeth were a sickening mixture of black and yellow. The eyes he turned upon Juliet were filled with undisguised curiosity.

  It was those eyes which gave him away. Despite being bloodshot, they fizzed at her, keen and intelligent – totally out of keeping with the rest of his image.

  “So you’re Juliet Blake, our radio interviewer?” His tone was unmistakeably cultured.

  “Yes,” she said, astonished.

  “James Willoughby. We’re all on first-name terms here, so call me James. I used to teach Craig at Edinburgh.”

  Teach him? She drew a deep breath. “How do you do, James?”

  “Excellently, thank you.”

  She tried not to flinch as they shook hands – especially as his needed washing. “Would you mind telling me why you’re dressed like that?”

  “Ah,” he said. “You haven’t had the chance to meet me in my socially acceptable persona yet have you?”

  She shook her head. Did he have a socially acceptable persona? It seemed barely believable.

  “Well, let me tell you,” James said, “I dress very smartly when I’m in that guise.” He dragged back the seat next to her, and slouched into it.

  “I first started dressing up like this,” he continued, “shortly after I was appointed to my position at Edinburgh.”

  “Why?”

  “I saw that everyone around me hunted honour and prestige. So it seemed a good idea to try shame and squalor instead. My plan was to do it every few days.” He paused. “And then, well, I must admit I got hooked.”

  “That sounds fascinating, James, but I still don’t see how…”

  “The Shadow,” interrupted Edgar. “That’s what you call it, don’t you, James?”

  “Exactly.” James seized upon the prompt Edgar offered. “The Shadow is Jung’s term for the dark side of ourselves. And in my case, it’s had one or two extra advantages. I’ve picked up a few cameo roles from film production companies – and not least when the BBC’s been filming up my way.”

  “Isn’t that cheating?” Juliet asked. “Earning money from it?”

  “Not if you’ve got an Equity card it isn’t.” He leered at Juliet, displaying his ghastly dentures once more. She could only speculate that he must have a very well-stocked stage make-up kit.

  He grabbed the cheeseboard, smearing it with grimy marks.

  “No, James,” cried Laura. “Wash your hands first.”

  “If you say so, lady.” He scraped his chair back, lurched to his feet, and sloped across to the sink, where he began to run the hot water.

  “So,” Juliet said, when he returned with cleaner hands. “You were Craig’s mentor, were you?” She struggled to suppress the laughter bubbling up in her.

  “Oh yes,” James said, becoming serious. “I met a need in him, one of the many unmet by his father, I might add.”

  Silence fell. She looked at Edgar, then at Laura and Al, thinking they might deny this picture of their leader as emotionally insecure. But they said nothing. She fought a brief temptation to spring to Don’s defence.

  “French dressing for your salad, honey?” said Al. “Help yourself.”

  “Thanks, I will.” As she reached for the bottle, though, she kept half an eye on James. He was now plastering butter on his bread.

  “What perfect manners,” mused Laura. She turned back to Juliet. “Listen, my dear, you’ve yet to experience Dynamic Meditation. When you do, Craig will change you just as he’s changed all of us.”

  “Not too much I hope, while I’m here,” said Juliet, “for I’m really quite happy the way I am right now.”

  Edgar gave a bark of amusement. “Your goals will change if you become one of us.”

  “I think that’s unlikely,” said Juliet.

  “When we give ourselves to him he changes our lives,” Laura told her.

  “I’ve been meaning to question you about that. What does it mean exactly?”

  “Simply that we throw off our self-limiting beliefs,” said Laura. “We wipe out negative messages from the past. And never speak of them again.”

  “In fact we forget them,” said Edgar. “That’s why my initial interview is so important. I can’t possibly let people give themselves to Craig without offloading their past onto me first.”

  “That’s an extraordinary statement,” said Juliet. “So each person tells you their story and then forgets it?”

  “Yes.”

  “But how can anyone forget their past? James clearly doesn’t.”

  James chortled. “I’m the exception that proves the rule,” he said.

  Juliet wasn’t quite clear how.

  “For the rest of us,” said Laura, “this process of forgetting starts when Craig begins his work on us. He’s pulled me apart and reshaped me.”

  Juliet glanced at the faces of the others but they remained impassive. How could she take this seriously? She decided to probe a little further.

  “You make Craig sound very physical,” she said.

  “I wish.” Laura giggled for some while.

  Suddenly Juliet’s attention was drawn to Sam. His face had reddened. What was that about?

  “Well, all right, not with me anyway,” Laura admitted, “yet.”

  Nor Sam either, if his face was anything to go by. Juliet stored her observations away, together with the questions they raised. Plenty here for her to investigate later.

  “Here you are, have some Branston pickle.” Al cut into the conversation in a very deliberate way. A large jar with a fork in it landed in front of Juliet.

  “Thank you, Al. So, Laura, what exactly is your relationship with Craig?”

  Silence fell heavily. Laura stared at her. So did the others. Then Laura said, “Here in this group we all share love equally, and nobody is to have an exclusive relationship with anyone else.”

  “But all men are equal and some are more equal than others,” Al added enigmatically.

  At this, Sam’s face burned even more.

  Al’s rather artificial laughter hung in the air until Laura caught it and slapped it down. She shot him a warning look.

  He quickly said, “You’ve changed in every way possible, Laura, since I first met you. You’re a different woman.”

  “Am I really?”

  “Sure.”

  What must she have been like before?

  Al and Laura held eye contact for several moments.

  Juliet gazed at them. Clearly, passion was simmering not too far beneath the surface. If Craig wasn’t available, then perhaps Al would supply the deficiency. On first acquaintance with Laura, she hadn’t guessed she might be a candidate for such a relationship.

  “I understand this is a wheel of love.”

  “Oh yes.” Laura’s voice was low.

  “And what does that actually mean to you?” asked Juliet. “In a practical sense?”

  “It m-m-means everything to m-m-me.” Sam had spoken for the first time since James had entered the room. “All I care about is that Craig’s in t-t-touch with the t-t-truth, and he’s m-m-my m-m-master.”

  “In what way?” asked Juliet. Silence followed. Then Sam began to bristle, like a highly-strung poodle who’d misinterpreted a cautious pat. She waited. Did Sam bite?

  At that moment, the door opened. Craig stood
there. She rose and faced him. Her heart pounded.

  “Don’t ask too many questions too soon, Juliet,” he smiled. “Have patience. It’ll be worth it.”

  4

  Wheel of Love

  A near collision with Craig interrupted Juliet’s progress along the first-floor passage later that afternoon, heading towards her four o’clock appointment with him. She’d been enjoying the sensation of walking on the smooth, almost slippery floorboards, worn by centuries of footsteps, when he emerged unexpectedly from a doorway.

  “Sorry, Craig.”

  He lightly held her shoulders to steady her, then let go. But before he did, she had felt a current of electricity flick between them. What was going on? She stepped back quickly, disconcerted.

  “Don’t apologise.” His eyes held hers for several moments; longer, perhaps, than she thought necessary. “How was lunch?”

  She gave a wry laugh.

  “Colourful bunch, aren’t they?” he said. “Edgar’s set on those statistics of his. Sam’s scared of everyone. And James…” He hesitated. “Very talented man. Great loss to the acting profession.”

  “I understand he’s your former mentor.”

  He regarded her steadily but said nothing.

  “You must have looked up to him at Edinburgh,” she said. “Did your father meet him then?”

  His expression was unreadable. “I don’t encourage talk about the past,” he said. “Let’s concentrate on the present, shall we. Come in. Make yourself comfortable.”

  And he held open the door for her. Holding her blue folder of paperwork under her arm, she walked into a well-furnished room which was evidently his study.

  She took in two easy chairs upholstered in green velvet, which faced each other across a highly polished circular coffee table, on which sat a handcrafted terracotta incense burner. She recognised the oil he was burning at once: frankincense. Her favourite. Its seductive aroma permeated the atmosphere. How would she be able to hold a businesslike conversation with Craig, while that seduced her senses? She contemplated asking him to remove it from the room. But it was already too late.

  “Take a seat, Juliet, please.”