Influence

by Stuart Johnstone

  Robe’s journal stared up at her from the bench, she had forgotten completely she had put it in her bag, in fact she couldn’t really recall putting it in there at all, but then she was tired and it was as likely a place to have put it as anywhere. Lizzie gathered her other books, placed them by one arm of the bench creating a pillow from them. She swung her legs up and lay back, noting as she did that she fit perfectly between the arm rests of the bench. She opened the journal randomly somewhere in the middle and found both pages facing her full of neat handwritten text. Each line was filled, without a single space to mark the start or end of any particular word or sentence. She flicked back a few pages and then forward to find that this form of writing covered six pages in total. She returned to the start of the text to see if she could decipher it. She could make out the first five words or so. She read: Tuesday school was a bore; before getting lost. She flicked on to the pages she had read at Vic’s house in what appeared to be some foreign language. She tried to dissect the sections of automatic writing but she couldn’t put enough of Robe’s words together to make anything seem coherent. All of it was such a muddle, despite the tidy penmanship, and she had no idea what the reason for it could be, perhaps just Robe exercising his mind. There were scratchings of pictures that were also hard to make out and some technical looking diagrams on one page but again she had no idea what they were of. She turned back to the pages she had started with, the text with no spaces, and tried to get a little further. Her eyes kept unfocussing though and middle distance was calling again. She should sit up and concentrate harder, she thought, she should but this was a comfortable spot. She laid the journal on her chest, to give her eyes a rest; just for a minute. Maybe just another minute.

  She stood there in that cave, the boys flanking her. Robe with his pungent but strangely comforting aroma and Vic waving a flaming torch around the place.

  ‘Have you lost something?’ asked Lizzie becoming irritated by the blazing flame swinging in front of her eyes.

  ‘The way out of course,’ said Vic whipping the flame to and fro.

  ‘But it’s your cave,’ Lizzie reminded him. ‘The cave in your story isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s changed Liz, the exit should be here, but it’s shifted somehow,’ Lizzie looked over at Robe who had left her side and was searching in the dark. The walls of the cave seemed less than solid, they shimmered like velvet.

  ‘We should stick together, if we get lost in here-Vic are you listening? Don’t wander off you’ve got the only light.’ The torch swung past her face blinding her for a moment. She looked again for Robe and couldn’t make him out against the dark.

  ‘I’m here Liz.’ Came his voice close to her ear but he remained invisible against the black. She felt his fingers lock around her own as he took her hand; something ran down his fingers into hers, warm and tacky, and dripped loudly to the floor of the cave. Vic had disappeared off down a passageway leaving her in total darkness.

  ‘I’ve found the way out,’ he called, ‘it’s been here all along.’

  ‘I can’t see it. Robe, I can’t see you,’ his hand was gone leaving hers smeared with blood she could not see.

  ‘Just reach out. Trust me it’s there,’ came his voice, growing fainter. Lizzie’s heart beat faster now.

  The darkness grew heavy and thick, it resisted her. She tentatively pushed out an arm she couldn’t see through treacle air.

  Slowly.

  Her fingers touched nothing.

  ‘A little farther Liz,’ said Robe his voice louder now.

  ‘Just another step,’ he said louder still.

  ‘THERE!’

  Something grabbed Lizzie’s arm and pulled her forward so violently she was launched off her feet.

  ‘No,’ she yelled, springing to a seated position. A figure stood over her, their hand fleeing back from her arm.

  ‘God, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise you were actually asleep,’ a petrified looking Void stood hands up as if under arrest. Two larger looming shapes stood behind him slowly coming into focus. She removed her headphones, the CD long since finished.

  ‘Hi, Fr… eh… Void.’ She said straightening her glasses and suddenly recognising the two impossibly tall boys standing behind him as the same two ghouls he had been with when they had last met. ‘Do you make a habit of going around scaring the shit out of people you barely know?’ she said with false anger.

  ‘Tell me’ he returned, ‘do you make a habit of sleeping on park benches like a flea infested tramp?’ a smile escaped Lizzie.

  ‘Fair enough,’ she said straightening herself out. She looked over Void’s shoulder at his friends, sparking Void into introductions.

  ‘Sorry, this is Dale and Todd, guys this is Lizzie,’ she looked over offering a small wave. They returned an impressively synchronized nod, their faces were sullen masks. The two boys, perhaps nineteen or twenty, reminded her a little of Vic and Robe but a pantomime version of them. As tall as the Adam boys were they were decidedly ordinary in stature next to these two. They both wore black trench coats, and eye make up in the same hue, they looked like doormen from a Satanic nightclub. The easiest way to tell them apart was the hair. Again both black of course but one of them, Dale or Todd, wore his hair half way down his back while the other, Dale or Todd, wore his short, shaved in at one side.

  ‘Are they brothers?’ Lizzie enquired.

  ‘No, they’re Americans,’ Void said as if this was an obvious alternative. ‘They’re over here for a year from college in the States, they share a flat; we just had a tutorial and we’re on our way to lunch. Are you hungry?’

  ‘I’ve just eaten, but thanks,’ he looked a little disappointed and he turned to his giant companions.

  ‘Guys, I’ll catch up, just be a few minutes okay,’ the Americans grunted, again in immaculate unison, and left.

  ‘Wow, I’m glad they’re gone,’ said Lizzie, ‘I could hardly get a word in edgeways.’ She swung her legs off the bench and pulled herself back to a seated position allowing Void to sit also.

  ‘You’re one to talk, you were hardly loquacious the last time we met,’ said Void hoping it sounded like a gentle enough dig.

  ‘Well, you clearly loved the sound of your own voice so much I thought it would be rude to deprive you of your sparkling repartee, so I left you to it. That’s just my generous nature you see,’

  ‘Fair enough,’ he mirrored with a chuckle. Void looked over his shoulder, then all around the courtyard. This made Lizzie feel a little uncomfortable, and then he slid along the bench toward her, inappropriately close, compounding her unease. She was about to act, quickly running through her options of verbal abuse, physical attack, or perhaps just standing up and walking off when he leaned in. ‘Small world. This is so cool, I see you’ve had an invite,’ Void whispered with obvious excitement and baffling discretion.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Lizzie said, selecting the first option and not at all in a whisper, ‘you should get your tongue out of my ear and explain what the fuck you’re on about.’

  ‘It’s alright,’ he said moving his hands back to arrest position as he slid back along the bench increasing the personal space once more. He continued to lean and whisper however.

  ‘I’m in the council. It’s cool, honestly.’

  ‘I’m happy for you,’ she said having no clue what he meant, ‘but what’s that got to do with me?’

  ‘Ah, I see,’ said Void lowering his hands to his knees, with a look of dawning understanding on his face. ‘You’re right of course, we really shouldn’t be talking about the E.C. in public. It’s just that I saw your book and got a bit over excited.’ Void motioned with a lowering of his eyes and a nod to Robe’s journal still in Lizzie’s grasp. Seeing the look of confusion on Lizzie’s face, Void reached forward and gently removed the journal from her. He looked around quickly then turned the book over displaying the back to Lizzie. ‘You had the book lying on your chest when you were sleeping and I saw.’ He pointed to the top left corner where, dra
wn crudely, maybe three inches across was a strange symbol. A pentacle but not a pentacle, at least not the five pointed star Lizzie was used to seeing in horror movies. Still this star had creepy similarities: criss-crossing lines within circles with some emblem in the centre and strange writing within the outer circle. Lizzie leaned closer for a second, squinting at the strange picture trying to make sense of it, but a second later she caught herself suddenly realising her actions were a giveaway that she had never noticed it before. She sat back with her best blank look wondering how she could have missed the symbol until now. Void flipped the book back over and gave Lizzie a sideways glance as he presented the book back to her. ‘You have had your invite, I take it?’ Lizzie’s pulse quickened and her palms suddenly felt slick as she took hold of the book.

  ‘It’s just as you say, we’re not supposed to talk about it are we?’ there was a pause as Void considered her answer.

  ‘Yeah, sorry I was the same when I first joined. I guess you get a little less strict about these things the longer you’re in. But you are right. The Curate would be pleased to hear you being so abiding to the rules. So you’ll be joining at the next meeting I suppose?’ Lizzie, again adopting Pallister’s technique of silence, gave Void a forced smile. This made him laugh ‘Okay, okay I won’t make you talk about it. Look, the next one’s not for weeks but some of us get together, sort of unofficially, now and again, and it would be great if you wanted to come along. I could introduce you, show you how it works, and maybe we could get a drink after, or before, whatever?’ Lizzie was absolutely stuck for a response, she unconsciously wrung her hands, her fear starting to take on physical manifestation.

  ‘Maybe Void, I don’t know. It’s just…’ Void, misinterpreting her renitence, said:

  ‘Not a date or anything, I’d just like to get to know you better, but no pressure or anything,’ Void’s face turned a telling shade of scarlet and he began aping Lizzie’s uncomfortable physical traits. ‘I better get going just now,’ he lied, ‘but if you do fancy it we’re meeting in the Turf next Tuesday about seven. You know it? The Turf Tavern?’

  ‘Yeah sure,’ Lizzie’s, turn to lie. ‘I’ll think about it.’

  ‘Great, see you there I hope.’ Void rose, smiled, and walked off leaving Lizzie on her bench staring at the symbol, her mind racing.

  She got home a little later than she would have had she been at school and was busy concocting a suitable excuse for Janice only to find the house empty. A message left on the machine for her explained that Janice was staying out in Oxford with Maggie and told her not to wait up. Lizzie took one of Janice’s ready meals from the fridge and tossed it in the microwave. She ran through the strange events of the day in her head and tried to set it all in order, to make some sense of it. She was dog tired and could have gone to bed but she tried to focus. She sat on the kitchen surface studying Robe’s journal imagining him writing it in the first place. She pictured in her mind a scruffy Robe sitting in his contradictorily pristine room penning his thoughts in secret language for reasons known only to him. She considered that had he hidden his journals the police might have paid them more attention once discovered. The fact that he had concealed his thoughts in plain sight had made them far more effectively private. Very clever Robe, she mused.

  The various forms of coded and foreign text within remained an absolute mystery to her but closer inspection of the star on the back, the one Void was so familiar with, revealed some familiarity. Although roughly penned on the rear of the book it was none the less intricate. Robe, she assumed, had taken the time to carefully copy this thing onto his book, the question was where had he seen it? The two outer circles of the symbol housed more indecipherable text, within the body was a complex looking star with seven points, and at the centre was another symbol which, to begin with, had appeared as arcane as the rest of it. But then, half way home, it had come to her. An open book surrounded by three crowns. She had indeed seen this before, many times in-fact. She had stared at it on the cover of her prospectus - The University of Oxford Seal. What did that mean?

  The ping of the microwave brought Lizzie back to the kitchen from her reverie. She was going to need help. She was going to need Vic she decided.

  Twelve

  Lizzie wasn’t sure whether her expulsion from Queen’s included visiting students in the dorms, but then again did it matter? Would it have stopped her? Probably not.

  It was eight in the evening and daylight was failing. She had stuck to the main roads but had still felt uneasy, finding herself jogging more than walking the short distance to the school, keeping a close watch over her shoulder at frequent intervals. The dorm-room section of the school was the only part of Queen’s she had no real knowledge of, but she knew enough to avoid going through the main building to reach it to avoid bumping into staff working late.

  The two small dorms, one for girls, one for boys, had their own entrances secured by magnetic fobs Lizzie had seen worn round the necks, or attached to key-rings, of her fellow students. Which dorm was which was answered quickly as students freely made their way in and out of the buildings. The period of evening between dinner and bed was an opportunity for residents to socialise and burn off energy with minimal supervision and Lizzie easily slipped in behind a group of boys busy punching each other on the arm. They noticed her but paid her little attention, evidently a certain amount of fraternisation was permitted between the sexes as a few girls she recognised sat together on one of the couches in the common room.

  The interior of this communal area, formed from a widening of the main corridor running through the annexed building, was as out of character from the traditional feel of Queen’s as these new buildings were to the main school. Carpet tiles, harsh white walls and minimalist cubic furniture may have been the current style but cosy it was not. The main focus of the living area was a large television against one wall. Kids of all ages huddled on beanbags inches from the screen waiting their turn on a video game they were competing over. Lizzie was surprised at the sheer lack of attention her presence had aroused. She sat nonchalantly on the arm of the sofa occupied by the other girls. ‘Hey,’ she said to neither one specifically.

  ‘Alright Lizzie,’ came the response from one, barely registering her arrival.

  ‘Where’s Vic’s room?’

  ‘Not sure. Dave,’ one girl called to one of the joy pad jockeys. ‘What room’s Vic Adams in?

  ‘Down the hall last one on the left,’ said Dave mechanically, his tongue pointing out the side of his mouth while he mashed buttons.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Lizzie, to Dave, and the girl, whose name might have been Stephanie, or Sophie, definitely an S name. Lizzie stood to leave but was halted by an all of a sudden excited tone from the girl.

  ‘Hey, did you hear about Bitch Tits?’ Lizzie was suddenly proud that her pet name for him seemed to now be universally adopted at Queen’s.

  ‘No, what?’

  ‘He got a dislocated testicle,’ the girl giggled, the girl sitting next to her erupted into spontaneous laughter. ‘He had to get his left nut pulled down from his stomach,’ this last comment sent both girls rolling around the sofa. Lizzie waited for the girls to compose themselves; ‘couldn’t have happened to a nicer lad. You’re officially my hero Lizzie.’

  ‘Did they really expel you?’ enquired the other girl, whose name escaped Lizzie completely.

  ‘Yeah, something like that,’ she replied, feeling guilty at the damage she’d done. The humiliation had been enough; she hadn’t meant to send him to hospital. Lizzie made her way down the too brightly lit corridor. Fake plants and badly framed watercolour prints gave the place the feel of a cheap hotel. She knocked and waited, she hadn’t asked the students, she realised, if Vic was actually in his room. Finally a call of ‘Come in.’ came from within. Lizzie opened the door to a room far tidier than Vic’s room at home, but far less comfortable. The cheap hotel theme continued here with beech effect plywood furniture, a single bed and a study area equally
devoid of expense. A small sink and wall mounted mirror made up one corner of the room.

  ‘Hey Liz, what are you doing here? Are you supposed to be here?’ said Vic, a little flustered and out of breath.

  ‘Actually I’m not sure, so we’ll just keep it between us,’ Lizzie noticed that Vic was a little flushed around the face. ‘What were you doing when I knocked, what took you so long to answer?’

  ‘Oh I was just um… I wanted to tidy a bit, place is a mess,’ Vic’s flush deepened. Lizzie suspected an alternative reason, especially since Vic had never cared in the slightest about mess, but she decided not to push it and embarrass the poor lad.

  ‘Are you settling in okay?’

  ‘I’ve boarded here a few times. In fact they keep this room free now, so yeah you don’t have to worry Liz, I’m fine, really.’ He didn’t look fine, he still seemed deflated, but a little less so than the last time she’d seen him and she was thankful for that. If he’d still been the mess she had been met with before she could never have asked this of him.

  ‘Listen Vic, there’s something we need to talk about. But if you want we can stop at any time; it’s about Robe and I don’t want to upset you.’ Vic was taken aback by the sincerity in Lizzie’s voice. He turned to her and looked her in the eye mirroring her sober tone.

  ‘You better sit down then Liz, what’s up?’ Lizzie produced the journal from her bag and handed it to him.