Influence

by Stuart Johnstone

  ‘I took this when I was round at your house, completely accidentally of course. There’s a symbol on the back sleeve, have you ever seen it before?’ Vic flipped the book over.

  ‘This?’ he said pointing to the pentacle, Lizzie nodded. He studied it briefly. ‘I don’t think so-‘

  ‘Do you ever remember Robe mentioning anything about a council? Or something called the E.C?

  ‘None of it rings a bell, why do you ask?’ Lizzie ran through the events of the previous day, the strange, and slightly frightening, conversation with Void in Oxford. Vic listened intently but failed to share Lizzie’s alarm. ‘Rob was interested in all sorts of strange stuff Liz, but it was always just academic interest, and since you were slap bang in the middle of academia when these guys showed up, it kinda makes sense doesn’t it? It’s probably nothing to worry about,’ Lizzie was far from placated.

  ‘What if it is though? I mean how is the Police investigation going? Do they have any proper leads yet?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ replied Vic ‘but they’ve stopped coming round and asking questions, haven’t heard from any of them in ages.’

  ‘I think,’ said Lizzie getting to the point, ‘That if there is something to this then there will be more in Robe’s journals.’ Vic paused and thought for a moment. This talk of his brother threatened to pull him back under the surface of emotion he had fought so hard to breach. But the look in Lizzie’s eyes was compelling.

  ‘If you think it’s important Liz,’ said Vic standing and removing his coat hung on a bed post, ‘let’s check it out.’

  ‘I, I didn’t mean right now, I mean we could-’

  ‘No, no, if there is something to this Liz then let’s get it done.’

  Vic turned the key slowly and silently in the lock. He had instructed Lizzie, on the taxi ride over, to follow him quietly into the house and to walk where he walked along a squeakless path over informant floorboards he and his brother had perfected over years of practice avoiding their parents.

  The house had been in darkness, much like Lizzie’s previous visits, but Vic entered with stealthy confidence as if seeing through supernatural eyes. Lizzie took his hand and allowed him to guide her through the stifling dark and up the stairs. Soft noises from downstairs, the only indication the house was occupied, faded away as Vic lead her up the curving staircase, keeping all the time to the wall on the left. Once onto the upstairs hall Vic let go of Lizzie hand and hurriedly found Robe’s room opening the door and turning on the light allowing it to spill out to the hall for Lizzie to see. Lizzie entered, placed her bag on the bed and tried, and failed, to relax, all the time she felt she was just waiting for another terrifying scream to pierce the silence.

  ‘Won’t your folks hear us up here?’ she asked in a whisper.

  ‘Yeah, they might, but they won’t think anything of it. Rob and I used to sneak back to the house when we were boarded at school all the time. The trick is to make it upstairs, after that they just seem to think it’s normal, like they’ve forgotten we shouldn’t have been here,’ he replied at normal volume, apparently unconcerned. ‘So where do we start?’ he asked.

  ‘I guess with the journals, unless you can think of anything else?’

  ‘If I’m honest Liz, I don’t really buy into your concerns, so I don’t have any suggestions, so journals it is. I’ll start this end.’ They set about scanning through the thin books; a more thorough search would have taken them weeks to complete so a cursory examination was all they could afford. Vic started with the oldest of the books while Lizzie snatched up the most recent with a sense of expectation. She hoped some dramatic clue would jump out at her, however as she leafed through the book she was met only with more scribbles, foreign looking text and apparently indiscriminate writing. The entries were seldom dated so it was impossible to determine when they had been written. She did note that the journal was completed to the last page, which suggested it probably wasn’t, in fact, the most recent at all. How likely was it Robe would have stopped coincidentally on the last line of this book?

  She set it aside and moved on. Five journals later she had made no progress. She searched particularly for further examples of the Oxford symbol or anything resembling it, but to no avail. An hour came and went and Lizzie grew increasingly concerned at how late it was getting.

  ‘Any luck?’ Lizzie enquired, Vic lay on the bed with a small pile of the jotters on his stomach and another pile discarded to the floor.

  ‘Not really. I told you it’s mostly nonsense,’ Vic had been pointing out various little drawings he had come across to see if they meant anything to Lizzie as he progressed, they had not.

  ‘How late can you return to Queen’s?’ she asked. Vic shook his head.

  ‘That time’s come and gone, but it’s fine, I’ll just sleep here.’

  ‘Won’t they miss you?’

  ‘No, there is a well established practice for going A.W.O.L. One of the sixth formers is doing the rounds tonight. I left a note and a fiver, standard bribe. As long as I show up for breakfast no-one will bat an eyelid.

  ‘We’ll probably have to call it a night, if I’m not home when my aunt gets back from her night out she’ll flip, and then call the police, and the army. I’m so sorry to have wasted your time,’ she said gathering the journals together.

  ‘Don’t be silly, it’s nice to see you. I’ve missed spending time together. I sort of got used to seeing you every day you know,’ Lizzie suddenly realised just how lonely Vic must be. Friends for both brothers had been few and far between, but that never seemed to bother them, after all they had each other. ‘I’m still not entirely sure what it was you wanted to find. I mean it would take a team of people who spoke all these different languages ages to translate, not to mention the stuff that doesn’t seem to make any sense at all.’

  ‘I’m not really sure either,’ admitted Lizzie. She pulled the journal with the pentacle drawn on its back out of the pile. ‘I had hoped to see more of this,’ she said pointing the symbol at Vic reminding him of how it looked. ‘Or even get further with the stuff that is in English.’

  ‘That’s just my point,’ said Vic. ‘Even the pages you can read in English either don’t make much sense or they’re just boring stuff.’

  ‘What do you mean the stuff you can read?’ Lizzie suddenly halted putting her coat on. She again lifted the pentacle emblazoned journal and flicked to the page she had found full of writing without any gaps. ‘You mean this sort of stuff?’ Vic took the book from her.

  ‘Yeah, this stuff,’ – a pause as he read – ‘boring stuff’.

  ‘You mean you can read it?’

  ‘Sure I can read it, you mean you can’t?’

  ‘Vic,’ started Lizzie, part excited, part exasperated.

  ‘There isn’t a single space on that whole page, how in God’s name can you read it?’ Vic looked back down at the page in front of him as if the strangeness of the composition had never occurred to him. He began to read to Lizzie.

  “Tuesday school was a bore, ubiquitously tedious in every respect. Necessary are the tediums of youth, how I yearn for new challenges new walls, new endeavours. Is there no remedy to the pestilence of ignorance?”

  Vic paused, hearing his brother’s voice given life in his own. He scanned ahead and turned to Lizzie. ‘It just goes on like that, not really in proper English, just Robe thinking on paper, getting his frustration out I guess. But nothing interesting I’m afraid. Lizzie set her disappointment aside to marvel at Vic.

  ‘How on earth can you read that? I sat for ages staring at that page,’ Vic shrugged as he passed the book back to her.

  ‘I don’t know Liz, don’t get me wrong it’s not as easy as reading a page that’s spaced out properly but it’s still pretty clear.’

  ‘I guess you must have some of your brother’s ability. So none of the stuff you could read in the other books mentioned anything of interest?’

  ‘None of them Liz, I’m sorry,’ he said with a shrug of hi
s shoulders. Then Lizzie remembered the most recent journal, the one she had hoped to find something relevant in. She found it and flicked through, finding one of the pages which appeared to have been written in the same format and handed it to Vic. He took it from her, now a little bored of the game. He lay back on his pillow and quickly scanned the page.

  Lizzie watched as Vic turned rigid and lowered the journal from his eyes, which were now agape. His voice slow and foreboding – ‘Liz, this page starts off as nothing but later… listen,’ he read aloud:

  “The Council,

  Dangerous, unpredictable fools.

  Scared, scared to death. Cannot idly standby and allow them to do this.

  Want me gone?

  Fine, but not without a fight.

  Must help, they don’t know, cannot possibly know.

  I will get them out, free them, free them all.

  I will go to them.”

  Lizzie’s blood turned to ice in her veins, Vic’s face drained as he closed the book over and turned to Lizzie,

  ‘What the hell did he get himself involved in?’

  Thirteen

  ‘Miss, there really is no need for that kind of language. Need I remind you where you are?’

  ‘Do I have to remind you how to do your fucking job?’ Lizzie could feel that familiar fire rising in her chest, the fire that had never done her any favours, and had recently seen her expelled and humiliated. She would have done well to learn a lesson from that, yet here she was, fists clenched barking unwisely at someone who could deal a far more serious blow than Pallister.

  The desk sergeant’s eyes flicked to the far end of the reception room where a young female officer was being bored to tears by an elderly lady, describing in minuscule detail, her dog, which as it had become apparent, had gone missing some time earlier that day.

  ‘I cannot discuss an on-going investigation with you Miss, it’s as simple as that. I’ve already explained that the detectives involved are following positive lines of enquiry and I’m afraid that is the end of the conversation. You’ll just have to accept that.’ The desk sergeant was well used to abuse being hurled in his direction, he had after all facilitated the incarceration of thousands of hissing and spitting arrestees through his charge bar during his career and, as such, he had grown a thick skin and almost impenetrable public façade. Still, this tiny Scottish upstart was pissing him off no end.

  ‘I’m not looking for a conversation Sergeant,’ she spat back. ‘I just find it incredible that I hand you evidence of a crime and you throw it back at me like you’re not interested.’ Lizzie had naively thought the police would be falling over themselves for this, this, what? Clue? Lead? New line of enquiry? She had also be so naïve to assume that the police were all intelligent and astute professionals; but on arrival at the station she had been met with this spanner.

  Lizzie had not slept well, which was becoming a bad habit and was also partly to blame for her particularly short temper this morning. She had been woken by Janice returning from her night out and deciding to make both something to eat and a tremendous amount of noise for four o’clock in the morning. When Lizzie had slept it had been uneasily, plagued by short, alarming, unremembered dreams. At eight o’clock she had given up her bed as a futile endeavour and headed for the police station.

  ‘Can I at least talk to the detectives involved directly in the investigation?’

  ‘I’m sorry there’s nobody from CID here Miss. They are very busy you must understand; they’re out dealing with an important matter.’ Actually the desk sergeant had no idea what they were up to, he had no love for the bad suit wearing, swaggering detectives but the lie seemed like the fastest way to get rid of this pest. The sergeant was once an intimidating figure, tall and broad set with iron bar shoulders but years, and a general malaise for the job, had seen his bulk shift south. His white uniform shirt echoed his failing enthusiasm for the job; once crisp and proud now sad and several days worn, slightly beige and struggling to contain its wearer’s gut. He sported a moustache that would identify him as police even if he had been wearing jeans and a T-Shirt and his stale coffee breath was beginning to make Lizzie gag.

  ‘Important matters?’ Lizzie’s voice rose, loud enough to stop the lost dog report and invite an audience. ‘More important than the brutal murder of a fifteen year old boy? You mean that sort of important?’ The desk sergeant’s eyes flicked over to the onlooking pair, embarrassment now creeping in.

  ‘Look if you want I’ll give them your book and ask them to take a look at it but you’ll get the same answer from them. It’s gibberish, and besides if it was in the deceased’s bedroom they’ve already looked at it.’ The deceased? Who talks like that? Lizzie thought, disgusted.

  ‘In that case don’t fucking bother, if they’re as short sighted as you I might as well burn the bloody thing.’

  The sound of the front door closing caught the ear of the desk sergeant. The old lady either had finished giving her report or had been scared off by Lizzie’s rant either way she was gone, as was the young officer, giving the sergeant the freedom to be blunt with Lizzie without the corroboration to a possible complaint.

  ‘Listen, you obnoxious little shit,’ he said, his hands flat on the counter leaning over it to look down into Lizzie’s eyes. ‘Either leave the book, or take it and piss off, I’m sick of your foul mouthed tantrum,’ Lizzie’s rage threatened to boil over and she was about to launch a counter attack when the desk sergeant cut her off. ‘One more abusive word from you and I’ll have you locked up on a public order charge, and if you think I’m joking just fucking try me.’ She looked the jaded policeman in the eye and saw no signs of a bluff. His greying moustache twitched with anger. For once Lizzie swallowed her ire. She swept the journal from the counter and left, opening the front door with a boot.

  The walk home helped to burn off her red mood. She considered the situation from the other side and she had to concede that the information she and Vic had uncovered was tenuous at best. Still she did expect a more enthusiastic reception from the police. She would have to consider what to do with it all, but right now she had some last minute cramming to do. Her maths final was this afternoon and she was well short of prepared. Lizzie stopped at the local supermarket to buy groceries. She guessed when Janice surfaced she might appreciate a decent breakfast, not to mention painkillers and plenty of water.

  She set up her study area at the kitchen table, which had required a great deal of cleaning after Janice’s drunken culinary exploits, and set to work going through past papers. She was pleasantly surprised at how much she remembered and performed well in the tests she set herself. She worked solidly until midday, at which point she had to accept that she had done all she could. A rumble of movement from upstairs reminded her that she hadn’t eaten yet and she decided it was late enough to pop her head into Janice’s room to see if she wanted to join her for breakfast, or lunch, depending on your point of view.

  Lizzie went upstairs and opened the door to the bedroom, instantly regretting her failure to knock first. A startled Janice pulled covers up over exposed breasts while the other occupant of the bed darted headlong underneath in a bid to avoid detection - all of which too late. Lizzie hesitated, temporarily stunned in the doorway while Janice’s head, decapitated by duvet, stared red-faced at her. ‘Sorry Janice, shoulda knocked. Um, just wondered if you, wanted coffee?’ said Lizzie as nonchalantly as she could possibly manage.

  ‘No thanks hon, I’m fine,’ replied Janice aping Lizzie’s attempt at a relaxed tone. Lizzie made to leave, but stopped in the doorway and turned.

  ‘How about you Maggie?’ An arm, thumb extended, shot out from the top of the duvet.

  ‘Milk and two please kiddo.’ Came the muffled reply.

  Lizzie stood, waiting in the kitchen. She held her own mug of coffee to her chest while two others sat steaming on the small dining table in the corner. A sheepish Janice entered after a few minutes.

  ‘I made you one anyway,’
said Lizzie, slightly amused by how awkward this situation was. ‘I figured you could use it.’

  ‘Look, Lizzie,’ Janice started, but Lizzie interrupted trying to save her aunt from any unnecessary embarrassment.

  ‘You guys were in awfully late young lady,’ mocked Lizzie, ‘I hope it wasn’t a school night?’ Janice picked up her coffee and stood beside Lizzie, both of them with their backs leaning against the kitchen units. She blew across her cup and sipped.

  ‘I’m off today, but Mags is supposed to be in, silly mare.’ As if taking her cue Maggie hurried into the kitchen.

  ‘So fucking late. Oh thanks kiddo,’ Maggie lifted her coffee, her clothes not quite sitting right having been thrown on. She held her jacket over one arm. ‘Oh, good luck today,’ she said to Lizzie placing her mug back on the table three quarters full.

  ‘Thanks, I’ll need it.’

  ‘Will you fuck. Right, see you guys later,’ Maggie kissed Janice and Lizzie on their foreheads and hurried from the kitchen. A brief silence rested over the room after the sound of the front door closing was heard. Lizzie was the one to break it.

  ‘I absolutely adore her,’ she said, making clear her approval. Janice cleared her throat and turned to face Lizzie.

  ‘Me too. So you’re…’

  ‘Ok with this?’ said Lizzie finishing her sentence and chuckling. ‘Yes. So how long… have you guys… you know.’

  ‘Few months now. Came as a bit of a surprise to me too.’

  ‘And you’re happy,’ said Lizzie, stating it rather than asking it.

  ‘And I’m happy,’ confirmed Janice. ‘What time’s your exam?’ Both of them turned their heads to the clock on the wall, accepting the change of subject.

  ‘Little over an hour.’

  ‘You’re ready?’ Lizzie shrugged.

  ‘I guess. It’s maths, it’s always going to be a lottery.’

  ‘Do you need a lift?’

  ‘No, I’m fine. Besides by the look of you you’re probably still twice over the limit.’