REVELATION: Book One of THE RECARN CHRONICLES

by Gregory N. Taylor

  “I stayed as quiet as I could, quiet as a mouse, pulling my daughter behind me to protect her, but you spotted us and hauled the bed away from us. The door was broken but you weren’t afraid of anyone seeing you; after all, you were the overseer – you were untouchable. I shouted and pleaded with you to get out, to leave us alone, I begged you to let my daughter leave, whilst you did whatever you wanted to do to me. But you blocked the doorway with the wardrobe.

  “You just grinned that sickly, disgusting grin of yours, dragged me to my feet, and then punched me full in the face. I crumpled to the floor. You unbuckled your belt, allowing your trousers to drop to the floor and, despite all the whiskey that you had drunk, you managed to get a hard on – the pleasure of the pain you were inflicting or were about to inflict on me overpowering the effects of the liquor that you had thrown down your throat.

  “I called to my child to hide in another room but you told her that if she did so you would kill us both. I told her to close her eyes and cover her ears but you repeated the same threat. And then... and then you climbed on top of me, clawing at my dress and undergarments with your fat stubby fingers, ripping them off and exposing my womanhood. You raped me, you bastard. You raped me in front of my little girl. And that’s why you must die. That’s why you must die. Not because you raped me – I could have lived with that - but because you raped me in front of my six year old daughter, destroying her innocence in one fell swoop – you sick fuck”

  Simon stopped fidgeting with the knife and grasped its hilt.

  “What goes around, comes around, Grimes!”

  Simon stood up and drove the blade deep into his mother’s abdomen. He twisted the knife and drew it free, blood dripping off its blade. Hannah grimaced with the sudden pain. Again, he drove the knife home, this time just below the ribcage. A third lunge buried the blade in Hannah’s abdomen, and the fourth and final attack was a slicing motion that opened Hannah’s throat, leaving a gaping wound, dripping crimson, as if a macabre smile had been painted onto her neck

  Simon let the knife fall to the floor and went upstairs to his bedroom. He opened a drawer and searched for a clean pair of Y-fronts. He casually changed into the clean underwear, putting his used underpants into the laundry basket on the upstairs landing just as he would have done on any other day, even though there was no one to wash them now. He put his jeans back on, tucking his shirt into his jeans before refastening the blue and red snake belt and walking over to his train set, where he picked up the Princess Victoria locomotive and put it into his pocket.

  He left the bedroom, not bothering to close the door, and stopped at the top of the stairs. He paused for a couple of seconds and then lifted his leg over the bannister and slid down to the bottom of the stairs. Dismounting from the bannister he looked towards the upstairs landing. He smiled and spoke aloud to himself.

  “Why not? Who’s going to stop me?”

  He jogged back upstairs and climbed back onto the bannister. He slid down again, this time letting out a ‘whoop’ as if he were a cowboy on a bucking bronco. He dismounted the bannister and turned towards the front door.

  He opened the door and stepped outside. There wasn’t a lot of traffic, it being Christmas Eve, but the house was situated on a main road and he knew that there would still be some cars, trucks, and buses passing his house. Not everyone was at home with their families yet. He took a few paces forward and stood by the kerb, looking to his right, watching the oncoming vehicles. A grey Ford Anglia and a black Austin Morris 1100 drove past. Simon was very good at recognizing cars thanks to the Observers book of Automobiles that his father had given him last Christmas. He also had an Observers book of birds, but it was much easier to car-watch than bird-watch. Especially when you lived on a main road. A light-blue Triumph Herald convertible approached with its roof down. The couple inside must have been crazy; Simon could feel the cold evening air trying to cut through him. He tried in vain to blow smoke rings from his breath as it left his mouth, just like his dad had been able to do when smoking a cigarette. He heard a louder engine. That was more like it. This was almost certainly a lorry. He took a better look and could see that the headlights were set too high and too far apart to be those of a car. As the vehicle got closer he could make out the shape of a dumper-truck. He sang quietly to himself.

  “The Milky Bar Kid is strong and tough,

  And only the best is good enough,

  The creamiest milk,

  The whitest bar,

  The good taste that’s in Milky Bar.”

  He made a few silent calculations and then, at the perfect moment, he shouted as loud as he could

  “THE MILKY BARS ARE ON ME!”

  The impact was inevitable as Simon walked calmly into the path of the diesel-powered monster. His head smashed against the front of the vehicle before being forced to follow his body as it was dragged underneath the truck, the weight of the nearside wheels crushing his small form as they passed over him. The driver braked hard, pulling back on the steering wheel as if that would somehow help the vehicle to stop and avoid what had just happened. After what seemed an eternity the truck skidded to a halt and stood there, motionless, apparently untouched except for some blood that was dripping down over the sky blue bonnet and a small portion of Simon’s scalp that had become lodged in a space between the bumper and the cab of the vehicle.

  Chapter 2

  12:30 p.m. Tuesday, 26th June, 1990.

  Almost twenty five years had passed since the unexplained deaths of Hannah Jones and her son Simon had hit the national news headlines. Psychologists were interviewed at the time to try to discover the reasons why a young boy might have murdered his own mother, especially in such a barbaric way. There were a lot of theories. Perhaps Hannah was abusing the boy and he suddenly cracked, killing her to stop his own suffering. But the manner of the murder seemed far too premeditated for it to have been a sudden emotional response. Perhaps the boy was on drugs – but that would have shown up during the post-mortem. And how would the boy have obtained drugs? He was only ten years old. Perhaps Simon was possessed by the Devil – only the very religious subscribed to that particular theory. The only thing for certain was that nobody was certain.

  Seated on a bench halfway between Clarence Pier and the D-Day museum on Southsea seafront, Aaron Hunt watched as the Isle of Wight ferry made its way across the Solent to Cowes. It was a clear day and he could easily see the passenger hovercraft as it started its journey in the opposite direction. When it arrived in Southsea it would park noisily alongside Clarence Pier but at this distance its engine couldn’t be heard. Two minutes earlier he had watched a P&O cross-channel ferry pass in front of him and enter Portsmouth harbour. He opened his briefcase and took out his sandwich box. The contents were never a surprise – he was a single man and had to make his own packed lunch. If he had wanted to surprise himself he could have perhaps made three days’ worth of sandwiches, wrapped them in tinfoil and then shuffled them. But Aaron was a very methodical man; he was a scientist. Some people may have thought him particularly strange, not because he was a very methodical man in all areas, but because of his field of research. Aaron Hunt was one of the most senior researchers in the field of reincarnation. He had had a fascination with the subject for as long as he could remember. He didn’t believe that when we die that’s it – we cease to exist totally and completely, but he certainly didn’t believe in the premise of Heaven. Nor Hell for that matter. The only possible explanation that held any credence with him was that our souls, our life energy, continue on in another body. But he never forgot that he was a scientist either. This was but a theory and he needed undeniable facts, he needed proof, and he would not rest until he had it.

  It was a beautiful sunny day and it seemed to make his tuna spread sandwiches taste even better. In his lunchbox, waiting to be eaten, were an apple, a banana, and a pot of natural yoghurt, along with a metal teaspoon – he wouldn’t use a plastic spoon on the grounds that he didn’t want to clutter
the environment with litter unnecessarily.

  A slightly overweight man, probably in his mid-twenties, with a shock of red hair and dressed in jeans and a dark brown bomber jacket over a white T-shirt, sat down on the bench beside him. He had a couple of day’s beard growth and his teeth looked like they hadn’t seen a toothbrush for a week. The briefcase he was carrying looked a little out of place bearing in mind how casually he was dressed.

  “Beautiful day isn’t it?” the young man commented.

  Aaron looked at him. He would have preferred to have been left alone on the bench to eat his lunch in peace but this was a public open space so he could hardly complain about sharing the bench.

  “Pardon?”

  “I said it’s a beautiful day, isn’t it Aaron?”

  “Sorry? Do I know you?”

  “No, I don’t think so. You’d have remembered if we’d had met before.”

  “Excuse me, how do you know my name?”

  “I not only know your name, Aaron, I also know what you do for a living. I’m actually a big fan of yours.”

  Aaron was confused. He was a scientist researching into reincarnation and definitely not the type of person who could claim to have a fan base.

  “Look could you explain how you know who I am and why you’re here, on this bench, bothering me whilst I’m trying to have a peaceful lunch in the park?”

  “I’m here to help you, Aaron.”

  “How? With what?”

  “With your research of course.”

  “Look, I don’t know who you are but I’m doing perfectly well on my own, thank you very much. I certainly don’t need help from a stranger who accosted me in the park.”

  “Ah… but you do need my help. I can help you prove reincarnation exists.”

  “I`m one of the six leading researchers in my field, in the world, so why do you think I need your help?”

  Aaron took a couple of bites of his sandwich. This fellow sitting next to him didn’t appear threatening in any way, and he was hungry, so he didn’t see any harm in continuing to eat his lunch.

  “That you are, Aaron. That you are. But – and let’s be honest – you’re not getting anywhere with your research are you? And nor are your five colleagues. That’s why I have my people talking with them too.”

  Aaron continued eating his sandwich.

  “Your people? Who exactly are your people?”

  The stranger ignored the question.

  “Now, so far all your research – that’s you and your colleagues – has been based upon finding people who claim to have lived a past life or lives and interviewing them, trying to corroborate their stories by checking them against old records where available. These are not strictly speaking experiments and, at best, provide anecdotal evidence. They don’t really prove a thing and I know how you scientists like to have conclusive proof. Is your car near here?”

  “Um…yes. It’s parked near the museum.”

  Aaron took the banana and apple from the sandwich box. Out of politeness, he offered the stranger one of the fruits, all the while hoping that he’d refuse.

  “Would you like one?”

  “No thanks Aaron.”

  “Look, you know my name but I don’t know yours. Who are you?”

  “It’s not necessary that you know my name yet.”

  “If I’m going to be working with you, I need to know your name.”

  “I didn’t say we’d be working together Aaron, I simply said that I’d provide conclusive proof of the existence of reincarnation…but, if it makes you feel better, you can call me Jake. Jake Griffiths.”

  “OK Jake. Should I be pleased to meet you?”

  “Oh, you should be very, very pleased to have met me, Aaron. Now, I have a few questions for you. They may seem a little strange but I do need to ask them so that I can feel happy with providing you with the truth.”

  “I don’t see why you need to ask me some questions. Is it to prove that I’m worthy of receiving this proof?”

  “Nothing so profound, my friend, nothing so profound. Just a few basic questions. Four actually. Although the second question is solely for confirmation purposes. Question one. Do you have any plans to abandon your research in the future?”

  “No.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but… I’m thirty-five.”

  “Are you in good health? Do you have regular health checkups?”

  “Again, not that it’s any of your business, but… yes, I’m in good health and yes, and I have regular checkups.”

  “Thank you Aaron.”

  “Is that it?”

  “Yes, just those three questions.”

  “You said you had four questions.”

  “Did I? Never mind.”

  “Why did you ask me these things?”

  “Just so that I could be sure that you weren’t intending to abandon your research any time soon, or that you were in danger of dying soon.”

  “So now what?”

  Jake gestured to his jacket pocket where a bulge could definitely be seen.

  “In my jacket pocket I have a 9mm pistol trained on you. All you have to do is do as I say and nobody will get hurt.”

  Now Aaron was worried. He’d noticed the bulge but had assumed it was something perfectly harmless like a book or something.

  “How do I know you’re not lying to me?”

  “About what? The proof or the gun?”

  “Both.”

  The stranger looked around to check that nobody was watching and drew a 9mm pistol halfway out of its hiding place, so that Aaron could see it. He quickly put it back in his pocket.

  “The proof you’ll get later.”

  “What’s the gun for?”

  “Just to make sure that you’ll come with me.”

  Aaron had no specific plans for the afternoon so he made an obvious decision to cooperate. Jake put on a pair of gloves, all the time being careful to keep the gun trained on the scientist.

  “So what’s happening to my colleagues?”

  “Exactly the same thing as is happening here. Right… I think we’re ready now. Let’s go and fetch your car.”

  Aaron put the lid on his sandwich box, securing it with a thick elastic band. The yoghurt would have to wait. Even though Aaron was no longer simply having an unusual conversation with a stranger about his work, he tried to remain reasonably calm and confident that he’d still be around to eat his yoghurt later. He dropped the box into his backpack, tightened the drawstring, and stood up. The stranger picked up a slim briefcase that he had placed on the bench when he stopped to talk to Aaron and together they walked towards his car, which was parked a little further along the seafront, the pistol still discreetly pointed at the scientist.

  “Am I driving?” Aaron asked.

  “One of us has to. And I don’t have a licence, and I also need a free hand for this gun…it’ll have to be you. I’ll give you directions.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Don’t worry about that. All you have to concentrate on is the driving. As I said, I’ll give directions.”

  “Look, I know the south of England area pretty well, so there’s no need to give me directions. Just tell me where we’re going.”

  “Do you know Maidenhead Thicket?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well that’s where we’re going.”

  After a drive that seemed longer than the hour and forty minutes that it actually was, the car pulled into a gravel car park at Maidenhead Thicket.

  “What now?”

  “We get out. Together. Slowly. You won’t need your backpack. We’re going to take a little walk.”

  “OK, but let me put the backpack out of sight first. No point in tempting thieves.”

  Jake guided Aaron along a trail for a short distance and then they left the recognised path and headed into dense undergrowth. He handed the scientist a bandana and ordered him to blindfold himself. Aaron felt as
if he was being led to his own execution.

  “Is this really necessary?” asked Aaron.

  “Afraid so.”

  They continued deeper into the undergrowth, taking several left and right turns so that Aaron wouldn’t be able to mentally record the route. Suddenly, Jake stopped.

  “OK. We’re here. Put your hands behind your back please.”

  “Why?”

  “’Cos I want to make sure you don’t run off, that’s why.”

  Jake took some cord from his bag and tied Aaron’s hands behind his back and tied his legs together in such a way that they were shackled, but still allowed some movement.

  “I’ll take the blindfold off now, Aaron.”

  Aaron blinked in the fresh sunshine and waited a few seconds for his eyes to become used to the brightness again.

  “Is all this really necessary?”

  “I don’t know, Aaron, but I’m not taking any chances. And I need both hands to do what I’m going to do now.”

  Aaron was still alive and felt a little less threatened. His curiosity was roused and he wanted to find out how whatever they were there for would help him with his research into reincarnation. He wouldn’t run away unless absolutely necessary.

  “So where are we?”

  “Where we need to be.”

  Jake pulled back some thick spikey foliage, his hand protected by the gloves he was still wearing, and scooped away about six inches of loose earth to reveal a concrete square set into the soil, and painted to merge in with the colour of the surrounding foliage.

  “A lot of forethought has gone into this operation Aaron. When you know why you’ll appreciate it.”

  In the middle of the concrete square was a metal door which appeared to be sealed shut with four combination locks. Jake turned to Aaron.

  “Yes. They’re combination locks. But not ones that you’d buy at a B&Q. These little beauties add up to a combination of forty-eight numbers. Oh, and there’s a specific order in which you have to turn the dials.