by Phil Cocker
fingers over it.
Eric glanced to his left, noticing that Mr. Jackson had been very quiet throughout his tale, no inclination that he was even listening to any of it, but then he spoke.
“Mr. Peterson, can you please explain what happened on the evening of July 22nd 2011.” His voice was crisp and quite posh, but it had an underlying accent that hinted its background through the odd word.
“Sorry?” Eric replied, thinking how strange the question was, as he wasn't listening to what was being said. What happened 2 years ago? He asked himself. The same question ran through his mind as he thought how could I possibly remember what happened on a certain evening in may this year, let alone 2 years ago.
Mr. Jackson waited patiently, saying nothing.
Eric thought through what had just been asked. It hit him suddenly, the tightness within the chest, as if his heart was in a car crusher. “My Dad died.” He answered despondently.
The room fell silent again.
“What happened Eric?” Mrs. Borand sighed, a quarter smile played on her lips, showing she wanted him to feel at ease, that he hadn't to be afraid. “Take it as slow as you'd like, and just explain it all in your own words.”
“Well.” He replied, thinking of what he was about to say. “I thought my Dad was playing hide and seek in the garage, and I crept down the side to see if I could spot him from there and I..." He paused, glancing at Mrs. Borand and then at Mr. Jackson He'd said the next part many times, but at that very moment a tiny voice made him stall and think about his words first. Eric took a breath, and continued. "So, I looked through the window, I saw him being hit by lightning and he was killed.” Eric recounted the sanitised version he’d told everyone, except Tom. This was the one that the therapists said really happened, but wasn’t the one that was playing in Eric’s mind’s eye at that very moment.
“No it didn't. I want to know what really happened Mr. Peterson?” Mr. Jackson’s voice was firm on the one key word, but he also sounded very understanding as he asked.
Mrs. Borand made a noise as she started to protest at the question, but was halted by by Mr. Jackson’s raised finger. She fidgeted in her chair, clearly uneasy at what was being asked. The version told to all of the teachers had been the one Eric had stated. There was no other version. Yes there had been rumours, but nothing concrete had been said, so she didn't have cause to not believe the version she'd been told.
Eric waited a few seconds, thinking it through. He had kept this quiet from the world, but realised that he now had to explain the events of that evening, so that she would understand the significance of the actions by the thugs. He scoured the speckled carpet tiles for a clue and came up blank. He had to tell the truthful version, just this once. Taking one more deep, slow breath in, he rolled his thumbs round and round on the outside of his index finger nervously as he relayed the real events of that evening. By the end, Mrs. Borand was fighting to keep the shock from appearing on her face. Eric glanced at Mr. Jackson, who was concentrating intently to everything being said. He thought that he looked like his eyes were focused on a distant point in time as he searched through the story Eric had just told.
There was a few moments of silence before Mrs. Borand concluded the meeting. "Thank you Eric, that must have been very difficult for you."
Eric nodded, biting the inside of his cheek as he thought of the consequences of this new version being released.
"I think I can safely speak for both of us and say that what you have told us was in strict confidence, and will remain in here."
Mr. Jackson nodded. "Of course."
Eric felt a little more at ease with that, but whilst one diminished another concern started to raise its head. He couldn't quite see what it was, but knew it was on its way up.
Mrs. Borand broke into his thoughts. “You may return to class and please can you send Tom Barratt back here.”
So Close.
“We’re nearly there Sire.” The officer greeted Eklan as she entered the room.
“Excellent, Spirn, excellent.” Smiling slightly, knowing everything was starting to come together.
“Unfortunately.” Spirn swallowed before he continued. Standing well over 2 metres tall and almost half that in width across his shoulders, he was a formidable Rexon, yet he was understandably fearful of the commander. “The engines have been malfunctioning and, erm, well, we’re going to have to slow down so that we can affect repairs.” He gulped again, as he watched the smile change into anger on Eklan’s face.
“Repairs?” She asked through gritted teeth.
“Yes, erm, Sire, to 3 of the starboard engines.” Spirn replied carefully, not wanting to anger her.
“Repairs?” She asked again, incredulously.
“The chief states that we’ve been traveling back and forth from Galaxy to Galaxy too many times without servicing the ship, and two of the engines have failed, and a third is…”
“Two years.” She cut Spirn’s explanation in two, the anger visible in the way she spat the words out. “Two - long - years,” she said every word deliberately, pausing between each one. “And after all the countless fools that called themselves Scientists failed; I finally found one who is competent enough to complete a simple task.” She pointed to the screen showing Harrap in his laboratory. “I’m now being stopped by this old wreck.” Eklan lashed out at the nearest piece of equipment,
Spirn flinched, his huge frame visibly dipping a few centimetres.
Eklan saw this and stormed over to him, standing centimetres away from him. At half a head taller, Spirn would have towered over her, but everyone in the room knew who was the weaker in this confrontation. “I expect that this pile of useless metal would be starting to show its weakness, but not one of MY more trusted, hand-picked officers.” She breathed heavily in his face, her nostrils flaring angrily. “WEAKNESS?” she screamed at him. “Weakness by one of my officers?”
Panic hit him as the infamous stories of her anger flashed before him. He bowed his head. “I apologise Commander, it will not be seen again.” He quietly apologised.
“Weakness, damn inexcusable weakness.” She turned away from him and looked at everyone else in the room, who dropped their gaze as quickly as they could away from her glare.
Spirn waited for the anger to erupt within his Commander, expecting some form of inevitable retribution.
“How ……long?” She asked, carefully controlling her emotions, but wanting to know the answer.
Spirn was shocked that she’d only asked a question. He glanced up fleetingly, and saw the blazing, intense heat of anger that roared within her.
“Sorry sir?” he hadn’t really been listening to her, and he regretted showing more weakness by doing so.
The air was emotionally charged within the room. The silence deepening, growing in strength, as if it was taking over time itself, fuelled by the intense emotions.
Spirn waited fearfully for an eternity before Eklan spoke again.
“When?” Was all she said.
“3 days sir, 3 days and we’ll be there...”
“Three.” She repeated and clenched her fists.
Spirn saw the movement in her hands and tried to protect himself by dipping his head even lower, closing his eyes in anticipation of the impending blow.
Seconds passes, but to Spirn, time had slowed to a halt and those few moments felt like hours.
"Hmm.” Eklan grunted at their incompetence and stormed out of the room.
Shake?
“Why would he ask about your Dad?” Tom enquired.
The boys were strolling home, rucksacks lazily lobbed over their shoulders after a strange day. They’d both been questioned and had told virtually identical stories of whom they’d seen the previous evening. Still nothing had happened by the end of the school day, or they would have heard something.
“I don’t know.” Eric had been thinking about nothing else all day. His head tilted dow
n, watching every millimetre of ground that lay ahead, but didn’t see any of it. “All I can think of is that he seemed to know what really happened. I don’t know what it was.” He looked at his friend who was listening intently. “It was weird. There’s just something strange about that Mr. Jackson I don’t know what it is, but I get a funny feeling about him, as if I know him, but don’t know him.” He pulled his face. “Does that make any sense?”
“Nope.” Tom answered before smiling. “I know what you mean though, but I can’t say I feel the same.” He looked a little sad that he couldn’t help his friend more. “It is all a bit weird, him knowing about it all.”
At that moment a large MPV drew alongside them with blackened windows. Eric and Tom glanced at each other and then at their reflections in the glass. The passenger window lowered and they peered in.
“Hi Guys.” Mr. Jackson cheerily greeted them from behind his small and neat dark glasses. A warm smile appeared to add to his natural familiarity. “Need a lift home?”
The boys looked at each other again in disbelief, wondering how the stoic and unfeeling Mr. Jackson they’d been interviewed by at school and this current driver of the car was one and the same person.
There was a moment’s uneasy silence as both boys contemplated the request.
“I’m heading down Brownside Road anyway guys.” He waved his hand into the back of the car. “Slide the door back.”
“Cheers Mr. Jackson” Tom