by Amelia Grace
And then one day as I worked, he was there. He appeared, standing in front of me, emotionless, his eyes desolate, full of self loathing’”
Georgia stopped reading the bloody book at the sound of my irritating watch alarm.
‘Sorry,’ I mouthed to her and winced. ‘I have to go to meet someone,’ I tried to explain without sounding harsh. Her eyes widened in what – fear? And then disappointment covered her face like a cloak. My heart twisted. Had I hurt her by leaving? Or was it something else? If only I could read her mind – what was she thinking? I ran my hand through my hair, torn between staying with Georgia, and with meeting with Mia. But Mia had been adamant, and our point of meeting was branded as urgent. I couldn’t stay with Georgia, even though that was what my head and heart were screaming out at me.
I stood, breaking my magnetic connection to her. It hurt, physically. I offered her my hands to help her off the floor. She continued to look down at the bloody book, her face sad, defeated even. She tucked the bloody book away into her bag, flung it over her shoulder and then took both of my offered hands. They felt so good in mine. I didn’t want to let go of them. They radiated a tingling sensation throughout my whole body, making me feel so alive, my heart was singing, bathed in pure happiness.
‘Tomorrow?’ she asked, her voice and eyes full of hope. How could this woman who gave so much hope and energy to others be looking to me for hope? My heart grew arms to hug her.
‘Absolutely,’ I answered, my voice gentle. I looked down and found her hand to hold in mine, and walked back through the library maze with her, intoxicated on the feeling of her hand holding onto mine, until we stopped to part ways outside the university library.
She stood facing me, and placed her hand over my heart again, smiled at me and then turned on her heel and left. I stood, watching her, wanting to run after her and kiss her. But I did not. Reluctantly I turned, and made my way to the bar to meet Mia – the red head.
As I sipped my scotch, Mia’s low voice greeted me. She led me to a dark corner of the pub, looking around suspiciously before she talked to me.
‘Cohen, we have stepped up security for you. Word is on the street that he plans on taking you out of the picture once he has total control of the technology, and has you sign over the copyright of the MR Implant. He has eradicated any evidence of your presence on the earth on digital storage. Trust no-one. Watch your back. We are tracking your whereabouts and watching people tracking you. You will be protected. You are crucial to Mr Rubin’s impending imprisonment. And we will have him locked up and the key thrown away. Prepare for a rough ride.’
Then she left in haste. Quietly, stealthily.
I finished my scotch before I headed off along the street, strolling along to my apartment. I felt like yelling ‘Human Target Here!’ but I knew that I was safe until after the surgery, until after I had signed all of the documents over to him. If I was dead, he couldn’t claim the designs and patent as his own.
I hit the hot shower as soon as I entered my apartment. My head was turning over the information and designs for my own mind reading device.
I went to bed. But could not sleep.
Tim Jennings’ cell phone vibrated against my leg.
FROM: Georgia Harrison
SUBJECT: Meeting
DATE: May 17 2011 22:07
TO: Tim Jennings
Dear Tim,
You are just like a gingerbread man. You keep running away from me.
Meet me at the park tomorrow.
Georgia #thankyouformeetingmeeachtime
FROM: Tim Jennings
SUBJECT: Point Of View
DATE: May 17 2011 22:10
TO: Georgia Harrison
Dear Georgia,
One day I will meet the fox. Do you know what she looks like?
I look forward to meeting you at the park tomorrow.
Tim #iwonderwhatthestorywouldbelikefromethan’spointofview?
Send …
FROM:Georgia Harrison
SUBJECT: Hearts and flowers
DATE: May 17 2011 22:15
TO: Tim Jennings
Dear Tim.
I told you not to overthink things. Sometimes it is best to follow your heart.
Can you meet early tomorrow morning?
Georgia #wheredidyougetthenametimjenningsfrom?
FROM:Tim Jennings
SUBJECT: Childhood Memories
DATE: May 17 2011 22:18
TO: Georgia Harrison
Dear Georgia,
Have you ever been told that you ask too many questions?
What time tomorrow morning? Or do I even need to ask that question?
Tim #itisthenameofmychildhoodimaginaryfriendifyoureallymustknow!
Send…
FROM:Georgia Harrison
SUBJECT: Purple
DATE: May 17 2011 22:22
TO: Tim Jennings
Dear Tim,
Meet you under the wisteria vine. You know what time.
Georgia #youreallyareverycuteMrDarcy!
I smiled to myself as I turned off Tim Jennings. Georgia was a very nice distraction to my complicated world. That thought stayed with me as I drifted off to sleep…..
*~*~*~*~*
I sat under the wisteria vine, the magnificent purple blooms suspended above me like a cascading waterfall, and waited for my Georgia, my heart jumping for joy merely at the thought of seeing her again. It shouldn’t be this way. I don’t do the girlfriend thing.
But then, the elated feeling of meeting Georgia was overshadowed by the reality of the mind reading device, and where I was possibly headed with it all. What do I do? Please....what do I do?
I knew what I had to do. I had made a deal with Georgia that I would listen to the bloody book in its entirety, to the very end. And I wouldn’t break my word. Then I would distance myself from her, slowly, so I wouldn’t break my heart, or hers – that is if she had grown to like me. Maybe I was just someone for her to read the book to? And then she would just say thanks very much, it was nice knowing you. If so, be it. The less heart break the better.
But I knew that my heart would break. I should have listened to myself – I don’t do girls!
I picked up a grounded purple flower and ran my fingers over the petals.
She was here. I could smell her perfume.
‘Penny for your thoughts Mr Darcy,’ she said, her voice soft. I looked up at her. She had a faint smile on her beautiful face, her blue eyes caressing mine.
‘You’re late,’ I said, my head tilted to one side in a questioning manner.
‘You were early,’ she replied as she rested her hand on my shoulder as she sat beside me.
‘And you know this how?’ I asked, curious to hear her answer. I did not see her anywhere near the great purple wisteria vine when I arrived with my trackers.
She looked down and smiled gently.
‘I was early too Cohen. I had my spiked running shoes on,’ she answered looking up at me through her long lashes. I wanted to kiss her.
‘It’s a beautiful morning,’ she said, changing the subject, thankfully.
‘More beautiful now that you are here,’ I added looking into her eyes. I hoped she didn’t mind my complimentary comment. What is she thinking? – I wish I knew.
She smiled at me, and pulled out two containers of tea, and one croissant filled with ham and melted cheese.
‘Tea for two Mr Darcy, and I bought a croissant for you,’ she said giggling.
‘You don’t need to feed me every time I come to a book reading Miss Harrison,’ I commented. ‘I come willingly to hear the continuing story that you are off loading on me,’ I added in jest. She stopped and suddenly looked at me, her face serious.
‘You honour me with your presence Cohen. I have to give you some sort of incentive to keep listening to the bloody book,’ she said, not an ounce of humour in her voice.
I opened my eyes wide in surprise at her comment. The bloody book – she had taken my very words
!
‘The bloody book,’ I repeated after her smirking. ‘Why do you call it that?’ I asked, watching her face carefully as she answered. I thought that she had written the bloody book.
‘Because it …..owns me. I can’t be rid of it until its contents are out, and then I can move on away from it. Perhaps then it can become fuel for your fireplace,’ she said, no qualms about it. I contemplated her reply. The bloody book becomes more intriguing by the minute.
‘I was under the impression that the book is your diary or journal Georgia,’ I put out there.
‘No. It .........,’ she couldn’t answer my statement.
‘Found you,’ I finished her answer. I looked at her, saddened by her burden with the bloody book. I decided to change the topic of conversation.
‘Georgia, I drew this for you,’ I said as I handed my piece of artwork over to her.
‘Oh,’ she gasped. ‘It is so beautiful Cohen....thank-you.’ A tear rolled down her face as she looked at me.
‘There is much more to you than meets the eye Mr Darcy. Now I am enraptured and honoured to be in your presence,’ she said, embarrassing me. If she knew what I was about to do with the mind reading device, she would not think that at all. I looked back down at the now discarded purple wisteria flower, and smiled coyly.
‘Read to me Georgia,’ I said gently, changing the subject again, looking into her warm blue eyes. She nodded, and took a sip of tea before she took the bloody book out of her bag.
“’Georgia, I .... I ....... please let me talk to you again,’ he said, his eyes desperately searching my face for my consent.
‘Let me finish with this research paper. Sit over there and I will be as quick as I can. No, on second thoughts, come with me while I finish up with the research for today,’ I said, my voice and mind racing as adrenalin surged through me. He was here. I had a second chance.
‘Here, eat while I work,’ I encouraged him.
‘I do not come for food for the physical body Georgia. It is my mind that is hungry for things. Things that you know of, and I don’t,’ he said emphatically.
His words stopped me in my tracks, my pen frozen on the spot. I turned to face him.
His hands were behind his head, his face impassive. Or was he angry? It was hard to tell.
‘Talk Ethan,’ I stated, words no more, no less. He looked at me and considered me before he added to the dialogue.
‘How do I get a soul?’ I looked at him bewildered. He truly does not believe that he has a soul.
‘One does not ‘get’ a soul like buying it from a shop Ethan. It is given to you, as a free gift from the Giver of Life. You are living Ethan. You have a heart, a mind, a body. You cannot have these things without a soul. It seems to me that you are purely thinking about the process through which you were created. The process does not matter. If the Giver of Life did not want you here on this Earth, then we would not be here having thing conversation. It is that simple. You. Have. A. Soul. Cherish it.’ I articulated explicitly to him.
He rubbed his hands over his face and through his hair.
‘But I cannot feel it here!,’ he said angrily, almost yelling at me, and putting his hand over his heart.
‘I feel empty in here. I feel nothing.’ His voice was pained. I reached over and placed my hand over his heart, a tear falling from my eye. He looked at me, confused.
I wiped my tear away and looked into his eyes, my heart hurting for him.
‘Tell me about your life Ethan. I need to know,’ I encouraged, desperate to find the reason for his self-loathing, and his belief of being soul-less.
He put his head back on the wall and squeezed his eyes shut.
‘I can’t tell you,’ he forced out between gritted teeth.
‘Can’t, or won’t Ethan?’ I asked, knowing that he may not be ready to deal with his past yet.
‘Won’t,’ he replied after a while, and looked down, a pained express across his face.
‘You need to release your past Ethan. Set it free. If you keep it inside it will chain you down forever, keeping you in the darkness. You don’t have to tell me. Write it down and burn the paper, tell a friend, a stranger who will listen, a pet, bash it into a pillow, take it to the top of a mountain and get rid of your past hurts, shout it out until you have no anger left inside. And cry until you are emotionally exhausted. You don’t have any room inside your heart to receive goodness and kindness with your past overflowing like a toxic waste.’ I explained.
He looked at me, taking in every word that I spoke. Then he looked down at his hands.
‘Can I ask you one more thing Georgia?’ he asked softly, tears in his voice.
‘Absolutely Ethan – go ahead,’ I replied, hoping that this was not the last time that I was going to see him. He had a lot of baggage that needed disposing of, and I could help him do that.
‘Will you hold me?’ his eyes were anguished.
Astonished, I nodded to him, tears starting to stream down my face. He moved towards me and I wrapped my arms around him as I pulled him closely to me. He smelt of body odour, unwashed clothes, his hair full of old perspiration, but his breath clean and sweet.
He let out a choked cry, and then began to sob against me, deeply. I cried with him, for him, and let my tears drops fall upon his face, mixing with his. I could feel him squeezing his eyes shut as he let out the deep grief from the centre of his being. He was a broken man.
I held him in my arms for what seemed like an eternity, my eyes closed, giving up silent prayers for this beautiful man. Once he had shed his last tear, and the last of his heaving sobs ceased, he moved away from me, averting his eyes away from mine, as if ashamed of himself.
‘Ethan, I help people. It is what I do,’ I said softly, helping to lift him higher.
‘You do it well then Georgia,’ he replied after a moment of silence, his voice very quiet.
‘Go and take a long warm shower, and let out more tears Ethan, you haven’t finished yet. That is why you are feeling this way at the moment,’ I encouraged. He looked at me and nodded, turned and entered the shower.
He exited an hour later. If we had made any gain before he entered the shower, I didn’t see it now. He presented as a gorgeous God like human being. But his face, in all off its sculptured beauty, was still full of sorrow. My beautiful lost Ethan. How long will it take for your healing?
He gazed at me when he saw me, and then smiled crookedly.
‘Thank-you.....again.....Georgia,’ he said shyly as he looked at his broken watch.
‘Gotta go, things to do, places to go. You know how it is,’ he offered.
I smiled and nodded at him, wondering if he would come back to visit me again. I doubted it. Men don’t like crying in front of others – they think that it is a sign of weakness. Little do they know that it makes them more human, more loved even.
‘I’m here for you Ethan – whenever you want,’ I offered back to him, and then gave him a warm hug. He hugged me back gently, and kissed the side of my head. I stepped back from him and watched as he walked out the door. ‘Good-bye Ethan’ I whispered, for me, for closure. I knew the pattern for those who seek refuge. Once you start to get to know them, they pull away, and disappear from your life. We were done, according to him anyway.’”
‘Georgia, did you seek me out. Did you plant the book in my apartment?’ I interrupted her, looking at her with questioning.
‘Cohen,’ she retorted sharply. ‘How can you say that? How can you accuse me of doing such a thing?’ she was hurt.
She slammed the bloody book closed, gave me a huge shove, stood and stormed off. I should have gone after her. But I didn’t. Instead, I watched her as she left the parklands, followed by a tracker – not mine. I took off after her..
Women! So frustrating! I wasn’t insulting her. I was merely asking her a question. I wasn’t implying something. I wasn’t accusing her of anything. It was a simple question that I wanted an answer to. And she reacted angrily. What is it with
the female species? They are impossible to read. Impossible to predict.
She left me feeling exasperated, frustrated. She didn’t answer my question!
The wisteria flowers became a purple blur as I ran after Georgia. Number one, I wanted my answer. Number two, I had to tell her she had a tracker.
I slowed as I approached her, and put my hand on her shoulder once I was close enough to her. She was still in a huff. I could tell. Her mood surrounded her like a storm cloud, brewing. What to do, what to do?
‘Sorry Georgia. I apologize. It’s just things are kind of weird – you know.....’
I stepped forward and hugged her closely, not in affection, but to whisper into her ear.
‘You have a tracker – he is over to your left. Memorize his face – it is not optional,’
I added. I heard her gasp.
‘Great! Another complication!’ she said, her voice acidic.
‘Meaning?’ I asked, annoyed with her.
‘Cohen, everything about you is complicated. Every time that I want to meet you to read to you, it has to be in public where there is other noise because of your trackers and the tracker’s trackers. The only time I can text you is late at night. I have to read from the book to you because you can’t seem to see the words. What is going on with you?’
‘I can’t tell you, yet. But I will when I am in the clear....’ I whispered into her ear.
‘YOU are frustrating!’ she hissed in my ear, ‘but I can’t stay away from you!’ she added softly.
She took a step away from me and looked deeply into my eyes. So many questions were reflected there, and fear, and love. I saw love, that connected to my soul, filling me with a warmth that I have never known. I wanted to pull her into my arms again and kiss her tenderly. But I didn’t. Not here, not now.
‘Georgia, you are the one who is frustrating. You seem to have to read this story to me, and I see no rhyme or reason why it has to be me. Why can’t you read it to your boyfriend, or a girlfriend of yours?’ I asked, my voice tense. She looked away from me, and then down to the ground. What have I said now?