Duet

by O'Gorman, Brian

  Duet

  Its in the Water and Pharmacon

  ©2015/2016/2017 Brian O’Gorman

  @brianogormanauthor

  Its in the Water

  By

  Brian O’Gorman

  Text copyright © 2015/2016 Brian O’Gorman

  All rights reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to events or persons alive or dead is purely a coincidence buddy.

  Dedicated to the memory of

  Gemma O’Gorman

  1942 – 2013

  “Which button am I pressing?......y’bastard”

  With love and thanks to my wife Zoe for enduring another year with my irritable arse. If I hit the big time I will buy you the best wheelchair you have ever seen, honest…

  Contents

  Introduction

  Prologue

  1.

  2.

  3.

  4.

  5.

  6.

  7.

  8.

  9.

  10.

  11.

  12.

  13.

  14.

  15.

  16.

  Part Two

  1.

  2.

  3.

  4.

  5.

  6.

  7.

  8.

  9.

  Epilogue.

  Introduction

  I don’t often write these things as I am usually guessing that you want to get on with the business in hand rather than listen to any of my bullus shittus, much in the same way that lots of people moan and whinge through the adverts in the cinema before the film starts. But, I would like you to just indulge me for a moment, only because the story of how this book came to fruition is just as bonkers as the story you are about to read in itself. Now, I want you to realise something about me, I’m not in any way a religious man, nor do I really believe in the concept of life after death etc. But there is a big part of me that would love to believe such fanciful tales are actually true and all I would need would be a good solid piece of evidence that it all actually exists. My belief systems are the product of what was handed down to me and I know for a fact that my dear Mum was thinking along the same lines. She didn’t believe in the fact that a spirit leaves your body and hangs about, waiting to pass on a vague and incomprehensible message to you through a psychic or any other spiritual medium. When her mother died many moons ago, she knew that it was the end and she had been finally left to her own devices on this earth, but by hook or by crook, a few years later she was persuaded to go and see a psychic medium who lived out in the barren hills of Cheshire. What she was told there changed her entire concept of spirituality for the rest of her life. In fact when she told me the story of what happened I didn’t sleep for the best part of three days.

  But, like I said before, sometimes I need to experience something to pass it off as being real and I continued to have that little shred of scepticism in the back of my mind. Now, two years ago, my dear Mum made her own exit from this mortal coil. I was understandably pretty upset about it. Myself and my mother had been pretty tight throughout her lifetime. She was the person who would always lend an ear and a brimming teapot when my own life had gone to the dogs and it did, often, such is the case when you live with mental illness. This was never more evident at her funeral when I experienced, what the experts call, “Funeral Mania” which is when you make silly and inappropriate jokes and feel like you have been wound about ten turns past your usual level. It got me through her eulogy which people called the funniest they had ever seen. But the real sense of loss came much later, months and months of stress and depression which I thought would never come to an end. All throughout this time I wondered if there would be some sort of spiritual sign from her, something to convince me that it was all real. After about a year and a half I was feeling pretty rough one day. I have no idea if one of the kids brought home some sort of monster virus or something like that, but I was slowly cooking in my own juices. I took myself back to bed at ten in the morning and decided to try and sleep it off. Whilst I was dozing I suddenly realised that I was sat on a bench overlooking the sea and sitting right next to me was my long dead mother. We were talking about how things were after death and whether or not I was simply dreaming the whole thing. She never told me, which would have been typical of her behaviour. But then she started to talk about the books I had written and that I should stay on the path that I have chosen. She never got to see any of the books, she died a full year before my first publication, something that I think is a damn shame seeing as she was the one that got me into it all. Anyway, to cut a long story short, she told me that I should write the book that you have in your hands right now. She even showed me certain scenes that have made their way into these pages and she also gave me the title. Her last words were, “You have to write this book, if you do nothing else, write this book.” Then I was awake in my bed, surrounded by my own sweat and feeling a hell of a lot better. I went to my word processor and chucked out two thousand words and they all made perfect sense, which is a minor miracle in itself.

  Three months of writing later and here we are, ready to share it with anyone who wants it. I know that what I saw during that dream was likely to have been just a very vivid dream, something that my subconscious mind wanted me to see. But there is a part of me, just a little part that likes to think that the old bird came to see me just one last time.

  I think there are some things in life that you can never truly learn to deal with, they just become a part of the majesty that is you. Losing someone that close to you is something I don’t think you can ever get over, you just learn to live with it.

  Anyway, enough of my yakking, it’s story time again. This time, if it is no good, you can’t blame me, none of this was my idea…..or was it?

  Brian O’Gorman. 2016

  Prologue

  Barrington reservoir stood just outside the small town of Hurndell. It was located just twenty-six miles from the north east coast of England. If you were to drive your car from the neighbouring town of Burnham you would not only be treated to one of the most scenic drives in the entire country but also the most majestic view of the reservoir. The road into Hurndell from Burnham was all downhill and the last mile or so treated you to the view of the water. On a good day, like today, when the sun was casting a warm haze across the water, there was no finer view anywhere within the northern hemisphere. If anyone had been driving down the road at precisely three minutes past five that morning they might have noticed something streaking across the sky, something that looked a little bit like a shooting star. It arced across the morning sky, producing nothing more than the faintest buzzing sound not unlike a generously sized bee and dropped right into the middle of the reservoir. The water had been totally still, not a breath of wind was blowing that morning. It was the perfect summer day. The ripples from the object striking the water made their way outwards from the impact point. Eventually the ripples reached the edge of the water, causing it to lap lazily on the rocks that surrounded the edge. The thing that had struck the water quickly sank to the bottom and sat there for around twenty minutes or so. To look at it, you would have thought that it was just another small, jagged rock. It didn’t even look out of place sitting there at the bottom of the water, at least not until it started to break open. A small hole began to appear in the surface of the rock, not unlike when a chick pecks its way out of a common or garden egg. Small bubbles of air escaped from the tiny little hole as the water flooded the inside of the rock. The thing inside of it would have been drowned immediately had it possessed a pair of lungs, but all it needed was surroundings, and the water was the first thing that it came into contact with. It began to change itself and adapt. It
had come a long way, right across the far reaches of the solar system and now it had found somewhere to settle. The only instinct it knew was survival, survival at all costs. It found its way out of the small rock and then it began to grow. Less than an hour after it had arrived, it was ready.

  1.

  Cory Walton had been up since six A.M. The cause of her early start had been the same today as it had been for the past ten months, her baby daughter Abby. She had always found it a little mystifying why so many of her friends complained about the early starts to the day, after all, she was thirty years old now. She was long past the heady days of all night partying and she was ready for her life to begin the evolution from constant taking to constant giving, and that’s what becoming a mother had done for her. She had been through some pretty tough days and nights with Abby. The two times that she had been brought down with a sickness bug had been very trying days to say the least, especially when she had caught the bug herself and spent most of the day not daring to stray too far from the bathroom. But Abby was so worth it. Since the day she had come along her life felt like it had some direction and some meaning to it, instead of trying to find endless ways to disconnect with reality. One of the new pleasures in her life had been the early mornings. She had never been an early riser before, but from the first time that Abby had woken up at five A.M. demanding food she had found a new pleasure in life. She loved the morning sunrise that the spring had brought, and the fact that she could get everything prepared for the day ahead and she would be less flustered. She had also found a deep love for the early morning walk. It was born out of necessity, when Abby would be cranky in the mornings and need constant entertainment. Cory would load her up into the buggy and go for a walk around the village with her. She loved the quiet, and the fact that there would be almost nobody else around at that time of day, save for the occasional dog walker who would greet her with a cheery hello and fawn over Abby who would smile and babble at her new found audience. Cory had even considered getting a dog to accompany them on her walks, but she decided that she would wait until Abby was older, perhaps at school and then she would be able to give the dog its fair share of the attention too. She loved getting fresh bread from the bakery too. It was the only shop that was serving at that time of day. The smell of the freshly baked rolls would trail down the road, inviting her to keep walking and to go and sample their wares. That fresh bread would get cut into slices and toasted under the grill, then she would give it a generous buttering and finish it off with a nice thick layer of strawberry jam. She would sit and enjoy her spoils, along with a big mug of fresh tea with two sugars. Normally, this would be the time that Abby would have her morning nap, allowing Cory to enjoy her well-earned breakfast in peace. Cory had it sorted. After a morning like that, you were set for the day.

  As Abby had got a little bit older the walks needed to be longer to make sure that she was tired enough for Cory to enjoy her breakfast in peace. She had discovered a pretty decent walk around Barrington Reservoir that included a very buggy friendly path, some amazing scenery and a small gated outcrop for feeding the many ducks that waited around for a bread-toting child to come along. Cory had been out with her mother on a regular basis to feed the duck when she was young and the old girl still enjoyed it even to this day. She had stood on the outcrop and made a promise to herself to bring her mother up here one day so they could recreate the events of years gone by. For the meantime, she was happy to bring her own bread and show Abby what fun it was to throw the pieces of bread to the attentive and noisy ducks in the water below. Abby had begun to shriek with infectious baby laughter at the ducks when they flapped their wings and brawled with each other over the scraps of bread. The sound filled Cory’s heart with joy and more so when Abby began to realize where there were going every day and began to giggle even before they had made it to the outcrop.

  It was on the same morning that the small unidentified thing had fallen in the reservoir at great velocity, that Cory was getting Abby ready for another trip out to feed the ducks. They hadn’t made it yesterday because a rain shower had set in and wouldn’t let up for the rest of the day. When Cory saw that the sun was streaming in through her kitchen window, she got everything ready for them to go.

  “Guks,” said Abby.

  “Yes, that’s right, we are going to go and feed the ducks,” said Cory.

  “eed guks,” said Abby.

  “I have got some bread for them, are you going to throw it for them today?”

  Abby nodded her head, “eed guks, wed,” she said.

  It was pretty much a perfect morning. The sun was pleasantly warm, but not enough for you to walk around in a short sleeved top. There was still a nice little chill in the air giving the day a lovely and fresh feel. They made their way through the village, passing the bread shop on the way. Her regular custom had helped her strike up a good friendship with Pam Davidson who owned the place. She was the only one foolish enough to be up in the morning at such an ungodly hour and be serving.

  “Morning Cory,” she said, coming to the shop door. She bent down to the buggy, “Hiya Abby,” she said and Abby greeted her with a big partially toothy smile.

  “Morning Pam, how are you doing,” said Cory

  Pam stood up again, “Gosh, isn’t she growing up fast,” said Pam. She said this every day.

  “Guks,” said Abby.

  “Are you going to feed those ducks again?” said Pam.

  “Oh yes, Abby won’t let me get away with it if we don’t. She will be grouchy all day,” said Cory.

  “Well, I had better let you get on, fancy a brew on your way back?”

  Cory’s mouth began to water at the prospect of one of Pam’s cups of tea, they were the finest that had ever crossed her lips. “It’s a date,” she said.

  “Eed guks wed,” said Abby.

  Pam looked at Cory with a little confusion on her face.

  “Feed the ducks bread,” Cory translated for her.

  Pam’s face broke in to a big smile, “Right then, you get going and I will get the kettle warmed up, see you in five.”

  They carried on across the road and up the narrowing path until they reached the entrance to the reservoir path. She let them through the metal gate and set off up the long and straight path to the far side of the water where the outcrop was. There was a light fog across the water this morning, probably due to the cold start and blazing sunshine that was greeting them today. As they approached the outcrop Cory noticed that there was something not quite right. She couldn’t place her finger on what it was that was missing. Everything seemed perfectly normal, just like it did every time she had come up here. She kept on walking and looking around her to try and figure out what it was that had rung an alarm bell inside her head.

  “Guks,” said Abby from the comfort of her buggy.

  Cory stopped in her tracks and listened for a moment.

  Silence.

  Nothing wrong with a little silence, she thought.

  But there was something wrong with it. There was absolutely nothing moving, or making a sound, more specifically…

  Guks.

  There was usually a chorus of quacking as she approached the outcrop. They were just a few yards away from it now and there was nothing, not a flapping wing, just nothing. She stopped walking just as she got to the outcrop. She clicked on the brake of Abby’s buggy and slowly moved to the edge of the water. As she got there she caught a smell in the air. It smelled like something had gone off and had started to go mouldy. She pinched her nose shut and edged towards the fence at the edge of the water. She stopped pinching her nose shut and covered her mouth with her hand.

  The ducks were there, but every single one of them was dead. Feathers were floating in the water everywhere and what looked like pieces of chicken skin. The water around the area had taken on a sinister red tinge. Cory looked over at the left side of the outcrop where the water met the rocky bank and saw they a lot of the pieces of duck had washed up and were litter
ed around the edge of the water. There was an almost perfectly arranged duck skeleton on the rocks. The bones looked like they had been boiled clean, the only things that had been left behind were the ducks internal organs and its head. There was a pool of blood surrounding it which looked fresh.

  Cory, who had been looking at this bizarre scene with increasing horror suddenly felt a pang of fear rush through her. The blood wasn’t dry yet, it was still fresh, which meant that whoever, or whatever had done this was still close by.

  Cory bolted, she kicked the brake off the buggy and ran back along the path. Abby began to cry and protest but she didn’t care, she needed to get them both out of here before something happened to them.

  2.

  Police constable Greg Farnham and Sergeant Louis Nelson had been on foot patrol in the village for the past three days. Greg loved the village and he wished upon wishes that he could afford a house here. He lived five miles outside of the village in the neighbouring town of Jodrell. It wasn’t the best place on earth to live but he had seen a lot worse in the three years he had been on the force. The main problem was always the gangs of young people hanging round the local park, normally at the bandstand, dropping litter and making a general nuisance of themselves. He had often been volunteered to go and talk to them about keeping the place tidy and going home at a reasonable hour etc. He very rarely got any grief from them. They generally would talk to him in a reasonable manner and agree when he gave them their instructions about park etiquette. The place would be kept tidy for a day or two, but then they would revert to their old ways. He began to think that they did it on purpose just so they could bend his ear about how shite the town was and how there was nothing else for them to do. He listened, and in a lot of ways he sympathized. There really wasn’t much to do in Jodrell. He didn’t want to stay in the town so why should he expect anybody else to show any enthusiasm for the place. He had got married just a year ago to his long-time girlfriend Nicola. He had been with Nicola since he was sixteen years old and after ten years of being together, he had decided to make an honest woman out of her. He had proposed properly, almost by the numbers. Nicola had seen it coming a mile off but she was still ecstatic when, halfway through their romantic meal out, he had got down on one knee in front of the whole restaurant. She had giggled like a loon for about two minutes, leaving Greg on the floor holding out the ring with a puzzled and slightly amused look on his face before she had managed to say yes. The whole place had cheered and applauded and they got a complimentary bottle of Champaign thrown in with their food. Now they were thinking about starting a family, but Greg wanted to move to a nicer area before they did. He didn’t want any child of his hanging around in that park in ten years’ time complaining about there being nothing to do.