“Right, well call if you need anything,” said Rei briskly and started off up the street in the direction of the Prince William. Mathew turned away and started walking, when suddenly he felt Philip’s hand on his shoulder.
“Hey look pal, I’m sorry about that back there, you know we haven’t exactly met under the right circumstances, and maybe I’ve said a few things that didn’t really need saying. I’m tired and a bit fucked out by everything. This must be tough for you. It’ll be ok, pal.” Philip almost smiled at him, and Mathew nodded in return. “I hope it goes alright for you,” he said and gave Mathew a gentle punch on the arm, wincing slightly as his hand throbbed. “There’s a storm coming by the look of it,” Philip nodded towards the growing clouds out to sea.
“Thanks, Philip,” said Mathew. “Whatever’s happened, you, Rei and Deon have a done a lot for me, and you didn’t need to.”
“Yeah well, it’s made life a bit more interesting,” and then the journalist turned and bounded after Rei. Mathew stood where he was and watched his companions disappear in the direction of the town. Then he turned into the oncoming wind and made his way slowly along the sea path, leaning heavily on his walking stick.
50
It seemed good to have the sun on his face after the gloom of the basement and the persistent rain of the last few days. Deon walked lightly, feeling that a weight had been lifted now that he was no longer operating on his own. The arrival of Caroline and Aaron had allowed him to reconnect with his past and deal with people who trusted him implicitly and had no belief in the reports that he was in any away connected with the deaths at Unit. And now for the first time in what felt like weeks he was outside in daylight and warmth, without the feeling that he was carrying the responsibility of Mathew, Rei and Philip on his own. He had asked for guidance, and had received it, and now everything was going to work out fine. The other three were safely out of London and on their way south, and his erstwhile mentors were back to aid and advise him. There was nothing that could go wrong now, he thought as he stepped briskly in the direction of the apartment he’d been using. All he had to do was to avoid being recognised, and he’d managed that so far, so one more day shouldn’t prove a problem.
Deon had spent several hours at the new base that Caroline had set up. Mostly in the dark and quiet room where he’d caught up on some much needed sleep. While he rested he heard a vaguely familiar voice in his head tell him that he was still part of the divine mission, and that he should strive to be more like Caroline, as she was nearing perfection, while, he, the voice told him, was worthless. This had upset him at first until he realised that this must be a way for the Lord to guide him to do what was right. And that, obviously, was to follow Caroline unquestioningly. He had heard a regular beeping noise and was surprised to find his c-pac on him, set to record and broadcast. He listened to the messages he’d left for himself, although he couldn’t remember doing this, and then deleted them; there’d be a copy on one of his associated c-pacs if he needed it. And that was when he began to wonder if he really had arranged the payment to the boat that was to carry him with Mathew across to mainland Europe. Although he knew he’d been planning it, there seemed no direct message about it, so he decided that he needed to check; and that meant returning to his apartment and contacting the crew of the boat he’d decided to use. So he’d slipped out into the street and picked up the monorail to where he’d been living since arriving back in the city. He was in no rush, as Caroline had already told him that she would not be able to discuss his mission until that evening, and as this was no Unit-style commune, with its high security fence to keep unwanted meddlers out, there seemed no problem with heading towards Streatham on his own.
As he walked the familiar streets Deon felt more positive and aware than he had in days. The roads were filled with stalls and vendors selling food, drinks and cheap imitations of expensive Japanese clothes. Deon smiled at the people he saw, although they largely ignored him. He was unshaven and bedraggled, and had been wearing the same clothes continually for several days now and this all conspired to give him a slight appearance of vagrancy. As such he slipped along beneath the visible levels of society, acknowledged only by the denizens of the underground, which was where he felt most comfortable. His route took him past the Walden Centre and here he slowed and pulled his hat down to conceal his face. The building was large and silent, the crowds of protesters now gone, and in their place a small mound of flowers placed by the foot of the outside fountain. Daubed in red paint on the wall someone had written The Lord will take vengeance on His adversaries, and He reserves wrath for His enemies. Deon stood and watched the people come and go through the building’s main entrance. Security had been stepped down, or perhaps even laid off, and the number of staff milling about the area seemed greatly diminished. Deon wondered what it would have been like if he had been James Peacock, and whether he would now be working inside the clinic still. It seemed like a dream. He turned from the place and carried on to the apartment.
He passed the youths on the stairs as usual, and even considered buying some hash from them, but decided against it for the time being, and took the elevator to his floor, despite being capable of walking the two flights to it. He walked down the corridor with its subdued lighting and came to his door. It was closed, but not locked. Had he secured it? He thought he had. He pushed the door gently and entered as quietly as he could, aware that his heart was beating faster than normal. If he hadn’t locked the door then the gangs would have got in and everything he owned would have been taken, not that he owned much, but what he had he felt he needed. Inside the room was dark and messy, and it took him a second before he realised that it had been ransacked. His furniture was ripped and the draws and cupboards were all thrown open and empty. He felt glad that he’d had the foresight to keep his c-pac on him. He located a spare c-pac he kept there, but it had been smashed and mangled. He couldn’t understand it. Nothing was missing, but everything had been pulled apart. This didn’t look like the work of the street gangs, looking for things to sell. It looked as if someone had entered searching for something specific. The broken c-pac meant that he’d need to call his south coast contact to make sure all the arrangements were made. He would have to make this a priority. He cleared a little space in the centre of the room and activated the c-pac on him to contact the crew of the boat, and this time he noted what he’d done and put it straight into a secure folder on the machine, and set it to broadcast, so that Mathew could see that he’d made all the arrangements. As he became engrossed in clearing up the mess, his peripheral vision blurred and he concentrated only on the area of the apartment that had attracted the unwanted attention of someone. Deon felt sure that the police had come looking for him and now he needed to make sure that nothing was left here before he moved out for good. He would contact Mathew as soon as he’d finished.
“Look at how he lives, the useless shit,” the voice came to him, talking over his head while he tidied the floor. “He can’t maintain himself, he’s useless. Yes, completely useless.”
“They won’t talk about you, you know. When you’re dead, they won’t be insulting you. You can get away from all of this, whenever you’re ready. One little cut down both wrists and it’s done. No more pain, no more pain, no more pain….”
“Shut up!” Deon screamed out loud. “Just shut up, shut up.” And then came another voice, talking directly to him.
“James, you can trust me you know.” Deon was puzzled. He looked into the centre of the wall where the light would have been had he installed one and saw nothing. The voice came again. “James, I just want to talk to you.” He was confused now and started to throw pieces of the broken furniture at the wall, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He wheeled around and saw a man in his apartment. He stood and stared at the figure for some time. The man reached out and touched him lightly but definitely on the arm.
“James,” he said. “We’ve been looking for you. I’ve been waiting for you to com
e back.”
“Who are you?” Deon stammered.
“You know who I am, James. Or should I call you Deon.”
Deon tried to remember who the familiar looking man was. “I don’t know you,” he said.
“Yes you do, my name is Theodore Warwick. You worked at the Walden Centre. We met once or twice. You said you were James Peacock, but actually you’re Deon Underdown. I have been looking for you, because I think you know where something I lost is.”
Deon looked into Warwick’s eyes. The man was familiar, he was from the clinic, wasn’t he.
“I think that you want James, not me,” said Deon. “He worked for you there, you need to ask him.”
“Deon, you and James are the same, remember. And once I found that out I was able to come to you. You’ve made yourself hard to trace, but not impossible, if you know the right people. Now I think that you may be ill, and I know that you’re in trouble, and I can help you with both of those things. But first I need something. I need to know where Lyal is.”
“No, no I don’t know him. I don’t know where he is.”
“I’ve been studying you, Deon, since Lyal left the clinic, and I know how you got him out and who he’s with. I just need to know where he is now.”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes you do.” Warwick’s voice was calm and persuasive. “He was here for a while, then he left the city, and I need to know where he is now. It’s for his own good, you know.”
“No,” Deon tried to remember things that had happened, and could recall how Philip had told him that Mathew was in danger from the clinic, but he couldn’t remember why or from whom.
“Deon, Mathew is ill. He’s been brought back, but he isn’t yet cured. There are some people that want to harm him; you’ve seen them. They’re the ones who attacked you outside the centre. They’re the ones who mean him harm, not me. I’m a doctor and Lyal is my star patient. I need to help him before anything bad happens to him.”
“No, that’s not right.”
“It is right, Deon. The Walden Centre is being closed. The campaigners won, and now there’s virtually no one left to work there, so I need to find Lyal and help him, because he can’t go back now. I wouldn’t have destroyed my own business now, would I? And I was the one who helped Lyal in the first place. I brought him here. You have to trust me, Deon, I’m Lyal’s only hope of survival.”
“He has a mission.”
“Does he? What mission?”
“He knows the word of God. He needs to tell us.”
“Yes, that’s right. And I have to help him, but so do you. You’ve been trying to help him spread the word of God, haven’t you Deon?”
“Yes, I have to take care of him. That’s my mission, but it isn’t now, because Caroline has a new mission for me, really critical it is.”
“That’s right, so you have to do Caroline’s mission, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then someone else needs to look after Lyal. I need to administer to him and make sure he can spread his message. You want that, don’t you?”
“Yeah, but I’m not sure…’
“I can keep him from the people who are trying to harm him and keep him talking.” He looked into Deon’s eyes. “Reiko has asked me to help.”
“Well, if that’s what she’s said. I suppose it’s ok, and I have another job to do.” Yeah, maybe this was where he let go of this responsibility and handed over to others. But it was a shame, because he had wanted to be a part, a major part, of Mathew’s journey and to be able to listen to his teachings as he travelled. “He’s left.”
“Yes I know. Where are they taking him? To see his daughter?”
“Yes, that’s right. To see his daughter in Beer.”
“Yes, that’s what Reiko said, that they were going to Devon, before travelling to. Oh, where was it?”
“To France.”
“That’s it,” said Warwick. “So they’ll be in Devon now won’t they?”
“Well, by tonight I suppose. Are you going to meet them?”
“Yes, I may do that. Now Deon, I think you know that the police are looking for you, and if they find you, they’ll link you to the Walden Centre, and then to Lyal. And that would be very bad for everyone, wouldn’t it?”
“I expect so.”
“So what I want to do is make sure that you don’t say anything.” Warwick linked to Deon’s c-pac and deposited some money into his account. “That’s for helping and it’ll let you get away from here. But if the police catch up with you and you lead them to the clinic, then the people there will find Mathew and they’ll hurt him, and then they’ll come for you. So you see that it’s crucial that you don’t mention to anyone that you met me, or that you know where Lyal is, otherwise they will be trouble from very bad people. Understand? Now, I’ve installed my details into this c-pac, so if you hear from Lyal you can contact me and keep me updated.”
“Yeah. Thanks. Should I go now?”
“Yes, I think you should. And you shouldn’t come back here.”
And so Deon left the apartment for the last time and started back towards the building where Caroline would tonight explain his now role in the war for God. Behind he heard Warwick close the door to his apartment and lock it behind him, then order a vehicle to be arranged straight away.
Deon felt reassured knowing that Mathew was now going to receive the full attention of the Warwick. After all the man had brought him to life originally, so he was sure to do the right thing, and as he’d said, there was no reason for him to harm Mathew. And he’d given him enough money to get away with. Everything was going to be fine. Except that he wouldn’t be a part of the story anymore. He wouldn’t be part of the unfolding of Mathew’s life and teachings, and he’d always thought that the Lord had set him aside for that especially. A voice called to Deon as his heels clicked along the sidewalk towards the building that Caroline was now using. “You will be part of the story of Mathew, you know. You will because you’re stupid and useless. In years to come people will remember you, Deon, you useless shit. You’re important to Mathew; just as Judas was important to Christ. You need to die.” Deon looked at the c-pac that held the payment from Warwick and began to wonder if he hadn’t made a huge mistake.
“It’s not true,” he yelled. “I didn’t betray him. I didn’t!” He looked up at the remnants of the telephone exchange through the swirling mist and waited for God to help him. He waited to Michael to descend to assist him. He waited for a sign that he’d done the right thing. And all the time the voice in his head, yelled, “Judas!”
Part III
Revelations
51
The wind was picking up now and evening was giving way to the cold onset of night by the time Mathew arrived at his destination. He’d taken longer than he’d anticipated, mainly as he’d walked past the cottage three times while wondering whether or not to knock on the door. He felt stupid acting this way. The last time he’d felt like this was as a teenager on a date. He walked up to the gate and stood looking at the cottage and taking in the scene. He’d come to a place not far from here with Paula when she was first pregnant; he’d always loved this part of the south coast. Two seagulls passed overhead crying noisily, while the sounds and smells of the sea wafted across the path, isolated from their source. Mathew could hear the waves and the creaking ropes tethering boats on the beach. The noise brought back memories of family holidays that they had taken when he was a child. Devon had always been his father’s favourite site for vacations and it seemed ironic yet fitting that his family should return here; although it was a far cry from the guesthouses of Torbay that he’d stayed in as a boy. He could vividly remember running along the seafront, some piece of wonderment that he’d found in a rock pool held out proudly for his parents to inspect. He’d caught a fish once and kept it in a small plastic bucket. It had looked beautiful as it swam in circles in the world he’d created for it. He’d been very proud of his find and had look
ed forward to showing it off. He had run to his father when he saw him that afternoon and presented the aquatic trophy for inspection.
“I’d like to keep him,” he’d said. “He can live in a bowl in my room and I’ll feed him and everything….”
His father looked at the small creature through reddened eyes and breathed beer-drenched fumes over his son.
“It’s a fuckin’ sea fish. Why can’t you just like normal things? Why don’t you live in the real world for a while, eh? You can’t keep a fuckin’ sea fish.” And with that he took the bucket and poured the water and the fish down the drain in the street. All Mathew could do was to watch his catch flap about at the bottom of the dank drain until it stopped moving altogether.
He could remember other incidents from his childhood holidays: caves, candy-floss, rock so hard it lasted weeks, but the fish always remained a vivid image in his mind. But that was history. That world was gone and those holidays had taken place a century before. He had other more pressing business now. He suppressed the past and concentrated on the present.
The house in front of him was a neat cottage that reminded him of a jigsaw he’d once seen. A clump of lupines grew around the gate and a fuchsia was trying to stay in bloom near to the door. The house was small and attached to its neighbour on one side only. The upper storey retained a collection of sash windows, although the ground floor ones had been replaced with artificial wood-effect frames. The brickwork glistened where a chemical agent had been sprayed onto it in a fruitless attempt to discourage the ivy from growing into the masonry work. The door itself was a large and solid, and without the intercom device that Mathew had seen on most house and apartment entrances over the past few days. He swallowed hard and stood looking at the door before reaching out, touching the old-fashioned doorbell and ringing it twice. He waited for a couple of seconds while he tried to compose himself, unsure whether to leave, then a light came on inside and he realised that the time had finally arrived. He heard the clank of a series of latches being released and the great wooden door started to open.
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