Jed looked up, his eyes narrowing as the buzzing increased, “No – I told you – God, my head!”
A whooshing sound, like that of water bursting from a damn, replaced the bee. A massive rush of sound.
“Look at me, Jed.”
Taking him by the jaw, Jon turned Jed's head towards him.
Those eyes, so beautiful, so kind, they swallowed Jed up and he didn't resist. He didn't want to. Drawn ever deeper, the whooshing diminished, and soothing relief washed over him, bringing such a sense of bliss Jed relaxed totally, sinking into a warm, luxurious bath of sheer ecstasy. His body grew limp and he hung there, supported in Jon's grip, surrendering to the gorgeousness swirling all around him.
“Tell me, Jed. Did you do a deal?”
“Yes.” That single word floated from between his lips, unforced. The thrill of the confession made him want to cry, the release venting from him; to be in this person's control was so luxurious, so wonderful, almost like entering a state of grace.
“Tell me everything, Jed.”
Jon's voice, so warm yet so powerful. A glorious voice, liquid velvet, like a song sung by an angel. A voice that he could listen to forever.
“Unburden yourself, let it go. Don't resist. Tell me.”
Oh, but he wanted to. Electricity coursed through his stomach, loins enflamed with desire, and his erection grew uncontrolled. He would do anything Jon asked of him, anything at all. “I love you,” he said, voice barely a whisper.
Jon smiled, stroking his cheek, “I know you do, and it's all right. Everything is going to be all right now. What did Sullivan want you to do?”
Without taking a breath, Jed let it gush out, “He wanted me to stay friendly with Brian Randall. To get close. Closer. Become part of his gang, his operation. He wanted me to find out details of meetings and transactions and then, when the big deal came in, he wanted me to tell him where it was all going to take place, and when.”
“Drug deals? Is that what he wanted?”
“Yes. The names of the big-boys. He's not interested in Brian, he's just small-time. He wants the whole operation.”
“And did he mention me in any of this?”
“You? No.”
“Are you sure, Jed? You wouldn't lie to me, would you?”
“I'd never lie to you. I promise.”
“Good boy.”
Slowly, Jon let go of Jed's face and turned to stretch out his legs, facing the lake.
Jed stared into nothing, mind clouded by sleep. He felt groggy, head thick with cotton wool. Gradually, feeling returned to his limbs, senses normalised. A glow pulsed through him, exhilarating in its intensity, a breath-taking adrenalin rush as if he had experienced the most exciting fairground ride of his life. Head fizzing, he broke into unconstrained laughter. Jon laughed too and that seemed to make it even more special. Jed put his head on his friend's shoulder and closed his eyes as Jon's arm snaked around his shoulders. He was safe now and nothing else mattered. Jon was here.
Sunday, the sun full, bringing a sense of fulfilment, almost joy to Jed as he slipped out from under his bed sheets, went over to his window and looked out at the view. He wasn't sure why he felt so good, but he knew it had to do with more than just the sunshine, however welcome. He thought he might go for a walk, maybe catch a bus down to Parkgate. He used to do that when he was younger, with his parents. He always loved strolling down the old quayside, calling in to buy some freshly caught shrimps, followed by the marvellous homemade ice cream. Another existence, before his mother decided to shatter the lives of those around her. A wave of bitterness rolled over him but he fought against it, knowing dwelling on the past never did him any good. What was it Jon had said…
His eyes opened but he no longer focused on the view. All he was aware of was the massive gap in his memory. Not memories of long ago, of his parents, or of ice creams, but closer, more recent ones. It hit him like a blow – he couldn't recall a single word that had passed between him and Jon during their meeting, not one! How could that be possible? He ground his teeth, trying desperately to trawl up something – anything. He remembered the lake, greeting him, but then…nothing. A total blank. Did they even speak to one another? A vague image swam around, of walking home past the allotments, the smell of compost bringing him out of a sort of daze, but that was all. No recollection of any conversation. It was bizarre.
After a shower, this nagging worry over his lack of memory turned into a deep concern. How could he forget everything like that? He'd heard of mental blackouts, of people blocking out huge chunks from their lives due to some massive trauma, an incident so terrible that the brain refused to accept it. Was that what had happened to him? Was he suffering from delayed shock over his mother leaving, was that it? Flopping down on his bed, he slipped Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars onto the turntable and waited for the opening chords to take him to another, far better place. Rolling onto his back, he closed his eyes.
He sat up with a start, rubbing his eyes, the record long since finished playing. Something had woken him, something sinister, but he didn't know what. An image of Jon Kepowski's face loomed large in his mind, those eyes burning with a frightening intensity, like one of those voodoo witch doctors, tainted with insanity, capable of the most heinous acts. The image changed, Jon metamorphosing into a bright red-skinned genie, gyrating wildly, mouth wide open, rotting black stumps of teeth gnashing away, drooling lips, a rabid animal.
Crying out, Jed swung his legs over the edge of his bed and gaped towards his window, the world beyond the glass so calm, so reassuring. And as he stared, he realised why he couldn't remember.
Jon had hypnotised him.
14
As usual, Jed found Dad rooting around in the freezing confines of the garden shed, and placed a steaming hot cup of tea on the workbench. He smiled his thanks, wrapped his cold, red fingers around the cup and took a sip. Smacking his lips he said, “I've lost some tools, don't suppose you've moved anything, have you?”
“No.” Jed rubbed his hands together, and shivered. “How can you stand it in here, Dad? It's freezing.”
Larry shrugged, “Don't think about it. Anyway, thanks for the tea.” He returned to pulling away planks of wood and old tarpaulins in his search.
Jed wandered back into the house, picking up his own tea from the kitchen table. He was about to go into the living room when the telephone rang. It was Jon.
“Jed, my good friend, how are you feeling?”
Unease settled over him, the question strange, baseless. “Fine. You?”
“Peachy. Listen, you fancy coming out for a drink tonight? I need to talk to you about something.”
“A drink? I'm not really—” he stopped himself before saying something, which might invite derision. Jed was eighteen, so could legally enter any pub, but his discomfort over the previous day clung to him like a second skin. If Jon had hypnotised him, what was to stop him doing it again. “I'm sorry, Jon, but I'm not feeling too well and I'd—”
“You'd like to come,” said Jon, voice as smooth as silk. So warm, so soft, a lovely, thick fleece wrapping around Jed's shoulders.
Jed drifted, lost in the wondrous, seductive, irresistible tones of his friend's voice. His throat thickened with desire and he breathed, “Of course I'd like to come. Anything for you. Anything at all. What time would you like me there?”
* * *
Dad grunted when Jed told him he was going out, but not where. 'Just out to see a friend,' he'd said, 'I won't be long.' Now he was lying to his dad, but somehow, he didn't care, his mind overcome with excitement at meeting his friend once again. Even as he stood outside the entrance to The Clarion public house some hours later, picturing Dad sitting in the lounge, all alone with nothing to do except stare at the television, he didn't care. Jon was inside. The world could fall apart around Jed's ears, but nothing would stop him from racing up to Jon Kapowski and bathe in his glory once again.
The public bar stank, as he expected it to. The fa
ces of the few locals ensconced against the counter turned and glared at him, just like the worst scene in the worst type of Western. Avoiding them, Jed went towards the barman and was about to order himself a pint when a heavy hand came down on his shoulder. He turned round and breathed a huge sigh of relief.
“Thought you'd never get here,” said Jon, beaming broadly. He clicked his fingers at the barman, who snarled at first, but was soon grinning as Jon leaned forward and said, loud enough for all to hear, “Two pints of larger please Jeff. On the slate.” Jeff nodded and poured the drinks without a word. Jon gripped Jed's shoulder even tighter, “We'll go upstairs and have a game of pool. It starts getting busy in about half an hour, so we'll chat first before playing a game or two. You play pool, don't you?”
“A little.”
“A little is all we need.”
Jeff slammed the lagers down on the bar
The lagers came down with a slam and Jon immediately picked up his glass and downed it in one, smacking his lips when he'd finished. It all appeared a little too theatrical and Jed suspected this was the beginning of some sort of test.
Jon waited, not saying a word, his eyes looking to Jed's glass. Picking it up, Jed took a tentative sip. It tasted flat and not very good.
“Good, isn't it?” Jon winked and ordered another, then took Jed by the elbow and led him upstairs.
At the top of the stairs, the room opened up in a sort of L-shape, dominated by at least ten pool tables laid end-to-end. At the far end stood a small bar, closed for the moment, with a juke-box and a trio of one-armed bandits adjacent. A group of young toughs sat at a nearby table, sipping their drinks, but they were the only customers. The place was dark, dank and unfriendly. Jed hated it.
“The atmosphere heats up when people start arriving,” explained Jon and sat down on a stool beside the first pool table. He slapped down a twenty pence piece, reserving their position for the first game. “Winner stays on,” said Jon. “If you're good, you hardly have to spend a penny. Are you good, Jed?”
Jed caught the mocking tone, the single arched eyebrow, the expectant look. Jon's question appeared loaded with innuendo, but Jed kept his voice as neutral as he could, saying, “I'm okay, I guess.”
“Well, we'll soon see, won't we?” Stretching out his legs, Jon's settled his unblinking gaze on his young companion. “Jed, I need to ask you something. It may seem strange, but…Well, it's just something I need you to do for me.”
Intrigued, Jed sat forward, taking another sip from his pint, which was becoming more palatable. “Go on.”
Jon's voice grew more hesitant, almost as if he were thinking things through as he spoke. “I understand how tough things are for you right now. The police, that trouble with your mum…and your exams will be here soon. May, isn't it?” Jed nodded. “I need to go to Scotland, Jed. I have to go and talk to someone up there, and I was wondering…if you'd come with me.”
Taken aback, Jed gave a snigger. This was not what he was expecting. “Scotland? Well, yes, sure, I'd love to but… But, when, Jon? Like you said, my exams…”
“I know, and I've thought about that, but you have exam leave, don't you? A few days between each one? You see, it'll only take three days, perhaps even two. We would only really have to stay over one night. It'll be a rush, but we could do it.”
“I suppose…I'd have to look at my timetable, when I get it tomorrow.” Another sip. Definitely tasting better now. “Why do you need me to go with you?”
Jon chuckled to himself, drank, then turned his face towards Jed, who gasped, those eyes so intense. “Protection.”
“Protection? What does that mean? Protection from what?”
“Oh, you'll see…” Jon turned away to stare into the distance.
Studying him, Jed unconsciously rubbed his fingers over his throat, massaging away the lump developing there.
He became aware of others trickling into the room, exchanging greetings with the toughs at the far end. None so much as glanced towards Jon and Jed, until a large shape loomed close by and a voice, filled with menace, rumbled, “Well, well, if it isn't my old mate, Jed.”
Sighing, Jed had no need to look up to know who the owner of the voice was, but he did so anyway. “Hello Watson.”
Still sporting an impressive bruise across the bridge of his nose, Watson stood with arms folded, head tilted to one side, leering. Two others flanked him whom Jed didn't recognise but who were equally as large as Watson.
“A friend of yours?” Jon asked, touching Jed's arms lightly.
The atmosphere grew charged, a heavy threat hanging in the air. Jed sat back, trying to look relaxed. “Oh yeah, Watson and I go way back.”
“Yeah,” Watson's head bobbed forward a few times, his smile false. He touched the bruise and the smile faded. “We've got some unfinished business, Meres.”
Jed smirked. “Thought you would have had enough of lessons, Watson. Didn't you learn anything from the last one?”
Watson bristled, conscious no doubt of his friends so close. “You were lucky – took me by surprise you did, you little shit.”
“That's not what I heard.”
Several sets of eyes turned towards Jon in astonishment. Watson's lips curled back over his teeth. “And who the fuck are you?”
“A friend.”
“Oh. And what have you heard, friend?”
Everyone waited, including Jed, who longed to hear the answer also.
“I understand Jed here bounced you on your big, fat arse. And not before time either.”
Watson gaped at Jon in horror, but before hell erupted, Jed leapt to his feet, forcing a smile. “Jon, please, just leave it. Watson, this is between you and me. Tomorrow, after school, we'll finish it.”
Watson, still glaring at Jon, barely registered Jed's words. “Eh?” He turned his burning eyes Jed's way. “Yeah, all right, but you keep yourself nice and warm and cosy until then, eh Jed? Wouldn't want you getting a cold or something, keeping you off school.”
“I'll be there, Watson. Don't worry.”
“Oh, I won't be worrying, Jed. Not me. You see, it's you I'm really worried about, now that mummy's not there to tuck your shirt in.”
Jed held his breath. “What did you say?”
It was as if the film had gone into freeze-frame. The audience agog, expectant, waiting to see what would happen next. Watson, who seemed oblivious to the affect his words were having, ploughed on. “Yeah. Heard she ran off with the milkman, or was it the postman?” He swung around to his mates, his chosen audience for the night. “Jeez, it could be both of them for all I know. For all anyone knows.”
Jed hit him then. A short punch, delivered with tremendous power, striking Watson on the point of the chin. It was just like before, in the playground at school. Watson went down like a bag of spanners, except this time his head hit the edge of the pool table as he fell, making a sickening, dull thud. As he crumpled it became clear he wouldn't be getting up again for quite a while.
They stood there rock still, everyone shocked at the suddenness of it all. So quick, so utterly massive in its outcome.
Breathing hard, like a wild beast, snarling, fists clenching and unclenching, Jed turned to Watson's two compatriots, coiling himself like a loaded spring, preparing to strike, “You want some.”
“Fuck off!” said one of them. Jed didn't know which one, and he didn't really care. All of his anger and frustration, fears and upset boiled over in that single instant. He tore into them, fists lashing out, head thrusting forward. He caught the nearest one in the throat with the three fingers of his right hand, and the boy fell back, gagging, spluttering, as if in a drunken stupor. The second, so much bigger, and perhaps more experienced, brought his arms up to protect his face, a move which proved useless as Jed cracked him in the shin with the toe of his shoe. Yelping, the teenager pitched forward and Jed hit him in the side of the head with a swinging left hook, square on the temple, dropping him to his knees. He would have hit him again, but Jon wa
s there, arms around him, hugging him in a bear-like grip, holding him back, yelling down his ear, “Leave it, Jed – leave it!”
Struggling like one possessed, Jed tried his best to tear himself from Jon's embrace, but failed whilst, at his feet, stunned, aware the fight was over, were Watson's two companions, their eyes wild, betraying their fear.
As for Watson, he remained flat out, his face a ghastly shade of grey.
“I'll kill him,” cried Jed, desperate to get loose, unleash more pain, more violence. But Jon proved too strong and bundled him down the stairs before anything else could happen.
“What the hell's going on up there?”
The barman met them on the bottom step, eyes round with concern. Jon held up an appeasing hand, “Nothing, Jeff. Nothing at all. Just a little argument. It's all over now.”
“I don't want no trouble with the police,” growled Jeff. “Not after the last time.”
“I told you, it's all sorted. “
Jon wrestled Jed out into the cool evening air and slammed him against the nearest wall, pinning him there, a hand on his throat, a physical demonstration of his control, his power. And Jed could feel his strength. He squirmed as Jon snarled. “What the hell was all that about?”
“You heard him – you heard what he said!”
“I heard him, yeah. But the other two? What are you trying to do, get yourself put down for murder? You could have killed that lad, Jed. Christ, when his head hit that table…I'm going back in, make sure he's all right. You go home. I'll ring you tomorrow. After school. Get those dates when you can manage to get away, and we'll arrange the trip to Scotland.” He stepped back, letting out a long breath. “Just go home, Jed. Relax, try and forget what's happened. I'll ring you tomorrow. All right?”
Jed nodded meekly, the red veil slowly slipping away. “I'm sorry, Jon. It just…I don't know, I couldn't control myself. Sorry.”
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