by J W Cotter
Chapter 5ive:
Nettles and a Bank Vault
“Without poison!” That was the reply James thought of as he woke with a head swirling and no possible idea of what had happened and more alarmingly no idea where he was.
“Milk and two sugars” he stupidly grinned to the old woman last night and she deviously poured the contents into the most delicate of cups and handed it to him; he hoped he had dropped it to the floor smashing it as he succumbed to unconsciousness. Nevertheless what was done was done and there was no point straining his already fragile head on the past seeing as he was unsure where he was in the present.
Looking around was the wrong thing to do as the sun, blindingly high in the sky, met him directly causing his eyes to further blur. Trying to shake off the effects of the poison he took a few steps and felt the sharpest of pain brimming from his left foot and glancing down he noticed he still had no shoes and upon lifting his foot he spied a shard of glass forcing its way past the skin. It must have been carried on the ferocious wind that the tiny village experienced.
“Could have at least given me back my shoes!” Yanking it out was the best course of action and he stared at the bottom of the foot in awe as the skin began to pull itself back together and within moments the wound that had been bleeding had all but vanished. With his mind clearing with every breath of fresh air taken James walked, carefully, in a direction. A field was where he woke, one with high hedges all around that blocked his view so he continued to the edge in the hope of finding out where he was.
A smile crept across his face as he peered out through a hole in the green mounds and spied the village below. He was still in Hamlet, and better still he was on the side where his house was. Surprised that he was unable to recognise the field that he spent many an hour running and playing and cycling his bike, he just put it down to the effects of whatever they placed in his tea. Looking behind and up to the left he spied the gate, but that was always the slow way from his house to the field so in a throwback to his youth he slowly climbed through the ditch. Sadly for him he either blocked out the fact that nettles and brambles were rampant or that they simply weren’t there the last time he had made his way though. Numerous scrapes and cuts later he finally emerged from the three foot thick ditch on the small tarmac road that led to the village and his house. James made it to the other side but unfortunately his shirt did not. Attached firmly to thorns was the already half shredded shirt, now almost nothing more than a few reels of thread barely clinging together. He took hold of it, leaving a sleeve behind and threw it over his shoulder and began the small walk to the house.
Four houses were built in the cul-de-sac and seeing as it was a Friday James hoped that most of them would be empty, people at work and children gone to school. He didn’t fancy wanting to explain to his father why he was walking past his neighbour’s houses barefoot and bare-chested. The first house, home to a new couple who had only recently moved to the country-side, seemed quiet. Both cars were gone and all the windows were closed. Continuing on up the road he wished his house was the first one, it would have been ever so convenient in his current predicament. The next house belonged to an elderly widower who since James could remember would be up at the crack of dawn and on the first bus into the town every morning. His mother had once told him that the old man never wanted to spend the day in the house he shared with his wife for over half a century so he would wander around the streets returning home just before dark where upon he would simply turn in with the radio soothing him to sleep. James had always thought it was terribly sad existence but today he was utterly delighted with the man as he seemed to be staying true to his routine and his house also was deserted.
Smiling, yet not getting over confident, he quickened his pace for his house trying to avoid the small stones and gravel as his bare feet were already aching from the strain of the hard road. A corner was next to be rounded and his house was to be found at the end, the last house of five followed only by a battered gate that led to the forest. Just before he reached the bend in the narrow road the sound of a car engine suddenly roared in to his ears. Panicking he didn’t know what to do and as the gravel-disrupting tyres got closer he found no option other than to throw himself into the ditches. More scrapes and cuts covered his chest and back, replacing the ones that had healed only minutes prior. Keeping still and praying that the thick green leaves and high nettles would conceal him from the oncoming neighbour he watched as the car crawled past. Driving the incredibly expensive car was his next door neighbour, someone he had never spoken to as she only moved in the week following his mother’s death. An elderly woman but seemingly deceptive, she looked like she could take a thump, and give one. James had very little dealings with her and never actually saw her for more than a few seconds nor she him. Her arrival to the village was a mere week following his mother’s funeral and in the midst of the darkest of glooms James barely took note of the new neighbour. Just when he thought the danger had passed he could see the bright red lights of the back of the car and it came to a stop, the handbrake was pulled up and the driver’s door opened. The woman slowly got out and stood by the opened door. Dressed in a beige suit and with a horrible scarf covering almost her entire upper body her auburn dyed hair was well sheltered from the slight wind. Like a professional P.I she searched up and down the quiet road her eyes darting from corner to corner. James kept as still as possible, which was proving ever so difficult with a heartless thorn pressing into his neck. Almost as if she could read James’ thoughts the woman started to get back into the car when the scarf started to dance uncontrollably and nearly independently as the light wind that was present would not have caused mere ripples in the scarf let alone the full on attempted escapism. Suddenly it was loose and floating its way towards the ditch that sheltered James, and the woman quickly followed.
Holding his breath and closing his eyes James wished that she would not notice him. It was a horrible thought having to explain to his father why he was barefoot, bare-chested, and hiding in a ditch covered in cuts and scratches when he should have been in school. He could feel part of the scarf brushing against his chest; it was almost as if it was trying to catch him. Exhaling slowly and hopefully quietly he pulled in his stomach, just beyond the grasp of the scarf. It felt like hours had passed and with his eyes still closed and his neck now red with blood from the thorn’s attack he suddenly heard the closing of a car door. She was gone. Cautiously he opened one eye and then the other and sure enough the car was gone and he was once again alone on the country road. Freeing himself from the clutches of the sharp thorn was the first thing he did as the blood continued to seep from the deep cut. Out on the road he must have seemed the most strangest of sights, something quite possibly out of a horror story. Wearing only the trousers he was captured in, most of his shirt was floating in the wind in a ditch while his shoes probably on the feet of one of those “creatures”, all the while blood poured from his neck in the style of a vampire attack. Keeping pressure on the wound James hurried for home before anybody else would force him back into the uncomfortable safety of the ditches.
The house was abandoned, like he had expected. Only Miriam’s car was in the driveway where of course the gates were padlocked shut with a long heavy chain, his father was the more paranoid of types when it came to priceless possessions, and James wasn’t a possession. Using the smaller gate, that wasn’t manically locked; he made his way to the front door where the realisation fell upon him that in the dramatic kidnapping of last night his keys were left upon the hall table. Not exactly sure what the do, circling the house seemed like the best of ideas. On his third lap he came to the conclusion that he was going to have to break a window, something that his father would almost suffer a stroke over but he had no other way of getting in. Picking up a rock he felt almost euphoric as he turned over in his hand feeling the roughness of its surface. One throw and the sound of glass smashing filled the countryside. An instant panic erupted withi
n as he suddenly realised what he had done and the fact that his father could return at any moment made him want to vomit. A train of excuses started driving through his mind as he pushed a hand carefully around the broken glass and opened a window, even if he could heal at a superfast rate it was no excuse to be careless, especially when the injury still pained. Barefoot and being utterly cautious did no good as he endured numerous more cuts and scrapes as he tumbled in to the kitchen. All that mattered was that he was inside, and the broken window would just have to be fixed.
James made his way to the bathroom and washed the blood from his body and hair as the wounds again started to heal quickly. The band that had been around his wrist had melted away and the tattoo was once again clear for all to see. Finding nothing else but bandages he covered the graffiti stain and hoped these wouldn’t simmer into nothingness like the other. Not in the slightest bit interested in going to school James put on a pair of jeans and a grey hoodie and prepared himself for a relaxing day with the wish that his father would be delayed at wherever they went. Alas nothing was going to plan at all over the past couple of days and why should today have been any different. In his room he could hear the rustling of gravel on the driveway and it was apparent someone was making their way to the front door. Unsure whether it was friend or foe, well he didn’t exactly have many friends so the safe assumption would have been foe, but he waited. Seconds passed, and then minutes and eventually a quarter of an hour had gone by with no sounds coming from the garden or front door. Nervous he decided to investigate and moving out on to the landing and looking down to the hall he spied an envelope, a large brown envelope. He found himself descending to the hall floor where the item lay. It had no postmark, no address, just his name, James Griffin. Ripping it he found two things, a note with barely a few letters scratched upon it and another smaller envelope. Both of them were written by his mother’s hand and his eyes widened while his stomach tightened.
James,
All your life I tried to shield you from what was always going to find you and if you are reading this then the unthinkable has happened. For fear of this being intercepted (I hope your father isn’t around!) everything I need to tell you shall be found in the envelope.
Be careful my child, my words shall greet you again soon.
Mom XOXO
Taking a deep breath James took greater care opening the smaller envelope with trembling fingers and in such eagerness to know its contents he didn’t even realise the paper cuts that sliced his fingers and quickly healed again. A key complete with a key-ring fell out on to the palm of his hand. The local bank’s logo adorned the key-ring while an account number was on the back, another three digit number engraved into the key itself. For a moment James stood in the hall not moving, barely breathing as he stared at the key in one hand and the note from his dead mother in the other. Paranoia swam his thoughts. His mother wasn’t the type of person to have secret bank accounts, leave messages in the case of her death she barely could use her mobile phone. It must be some cruel sick joke, a prank that one of those students from school. He had to hand it to them, it was an elaborate joke, and the penmanship was perfect. Although he couldn’t be sure, there were still times he could for a moment not remember what his mother looked like, let alone how her writing formed. Just as quickly as the sea of paranoia ebbed at his mind it slowly receded. Everything that had happened so far was almost unimaginable, what if the key he was holding did indeed lead to a treasure trove of his mother’s thoughts, plans and this secret life that required her to create secret bank accounts and write ominous messages. There was only one thing to do, go to the bank.
Dressed in his school attire to avoid suspicion James travelled to the town on the usual bus. He explained to the driver, who was extremely inquisitive today, that he had felt ill in the morning and was now somewhat recovered. In turn the bus driver quite pointedly informed him that he still appeared somewhat “peaky”! Town was quieter this time of the day, a large clock that hung over the entrance of a major department store showed it a little past midday. James was to hurry, the bank he was destined for nearly across the road from his school and with the minutes counting down to lunch the streets would soon be swarmed with his classmates. With his barriers in place he only lifted his head when he noticed the familiar pavement and tilting his chin upwards he saw the logo over the door and on the windows and even on a board outside, the same logo on the key. He had never been inside this bank before, in fact he rarely visited banks of any sort, and it wasn’t exactly as if he had any money to deposit. Pressing a button James opened the door and it quickly shut behind him, where upon he had to press another button to gain entry into the bank. Security was of the utmost importance but surely it needn’t have been so intense, James could feel the eyes of big brother on him as soon as he stepped over the threshold.
As he walked in no general direction his school shoes clinked on the hard black tiles of the floor. Tellers sat behind glass cages while numerous little seats and even smaller tables littered the centre of the old, old bank. Green plants seemed to have been dropped in every corner and empty space in some attempt to humanise the business. Coming to a halt just by the customer service desk James spotted a young mother, tall and lean with golden hair, like his own, experiencing a bit of difficulty. It appeared her daughter was no more a fan of the bank as any other and she screamed bloody murder while banging her shining black shoes on the shining black floor. As her mother took her arm the girl, who was no more than four years old, purposely fell to the floor and now her hands joined her feet in the percussion. Almost entirely across the bank from her James could make out the patches of red filling the mother’s cheeks as she tried to lift the screaming toddler while alternating whispers of threats and bribes.
“Excuse me Sir are you okay?” James hadn’t realised that someone had appeared at the information desk. He didn’t reply but merely handed the woman his key complete with key-ring. Examining it, she looked the young boy up and down. While she looked at him, he looked at her. Old, most definitely old, she shouldn’t have much longer. To work, not to live, retirement was surely coming close. Her hair was brown twinge with grey while her face seemed soft. Red framed glasses slipped down to the tip of her nose as she spoke.
“And your name is?”
“James Griffin”
“Very good, if you would follow me please” With that she was leading James away from the screaming toddler, the old man who just appeared to be reading a newspaper and few others waiting in line to deal with the tellers in the glass cages.
“The security deposit boxes are kept down here”
Underground was what she meant and James began to wish his uniform was more insulated. The coldness beneath the marble floors was almost unbearable and with every further foot he took he could see his breath guiding the way. This part of the bank must not have been regularly visited by customers; in fact it seemed that it wasn’t visited that much at all. Once one flight of stairs was accomplished, another more dilapidated set awaited.
“Just another few steps and we’re there, good thing too this cold is giving me terrible Goosebumps! You had to come in when I was working.” She carried on another few steps in front of James, flipping switches as she went. Finally they arrived at a long corridor, home to six wooden doors and at the end were boxes, hundreds of boxes all built into the old stone wall. “Yours is here, if you would just put in the key in and, well you know what to do!” James did as he was told and slowly began to pull out the metal container to the amusement of the woman. It seemed she was as eager as the boy.
“Yours is the last, we haven’t had a customer with a security box in years. Our new customers bring their valuables to a new branch.” One of the wooden doors was opened for him and inside was a table, basic in stature and a chair, one that seemed wouldn’t bear the weight of a squirrel let alone James. At least the table was able to accommodate the box, and before James slid the cover back he glanced at the doorw
ay, the woman was still there eagerly staring at the table. Not quite sure what the etiquette was in this situation and with anticipation building he opened the box. Well it wasn’t a hoax or a school prank; there were things here, proper things. First on the top was a book, a strange black leather covered book with the title,
“A Definitive Guide to the Five Forests of Nuvarin”
Not quite sure what to make of it he tossed it aside in favour of a hardback notebook with a spiral design cover. Turning the first page he saw his mother’s name etched on the back of the front cover, it was her journal. Preferring to take the books home to examine them in private he took out another two, both of them her journals and placed them with the others. A piece of paper on its own drew his attention, mainly because his name was on the top. Along with his name was his address, date of birth, names of both parents and social security number. It was a certificate of funds that were belonging to James and as he glanced down the page to the bottom he eyed the figure. He had never seen so many numbers on a page, except when he was bored in Maths class and would just write endless lines of meaningless digits. Searching for a decimal point he traced along the numbers and eventually found it, a long distance from where he expected it should be. Glancing up from the sheet of paper he spotted the woman beaming a silly grin from ear to ear, so much in fact her red framed glasses were now resting on her cheeks.
“Unfortunately you don’t receive that until you’re twenty-one” Literally from nowhere another figure appeared behind the woman, taller than her and unfortunately utterly intimidating looking. He gave an ominous warning “If he see’s twenty-one” and then one thick arm encircled the woman’s neck. James couldn’t really comprehend what happened next because it all happened so fast. He found himself being smashed against the wall, his head splitting open ever so slightly and just as he found his feet the woman was hurled at him, knocking him to the ground again. Fear erupted in every fibre of his body as the man entered the small room. Tall, years taller than James he was undoubtedly strong and had a neck so wide it could almost be described as a waist. Eyes of piercing coal and sallow skin he was easily of Eastern European descent. As he watched in fear he tried to help the woman. She unfortunately was beyond help, her neck was broken and her body limp. Death had come for her. James’ stomach tightened and he could almost feel the liquid boil and hurriedly rush to his mouth but it didn’t, he swallowed it and his fear and rose to his feet. A smile, well more of a smirk the man bore as James cautiously moved inch by inch closer.
“Warrior strength, warrior strength and the healing” he muttered to himself. One swift movement of the brute’s big hand and he was forced back against the wall slumping down to the old floor. He had never felt a punch like it in his entire life, and he had been on the receiving end of many. For a moment he thought the fist had broken his chest, belting past the skin and bones and everything else and forcing its way out his back. Glancing up James expected to see his spine grasped tightly in the man’s fist.
“STAY THERE”
He actually didn’t need to give any instruction, the pain from the punch was unrelenting and even if James wanted to get up it was doubtful he could. Confident that the boy wasn’t going to try any heroics the brute moved closer to the table, his eyes finding the journals and the book. He picked up the piece of paper and glancing at it he balled it up and flung it at James. Either he couldn’t read and didn’t know what it was or he simply had no interest in the contents. The journals on the other hand seemed to appear more valuable to him as he bore a wide smile as he ran his finger across one. He took them, all of them and held them in one of his plate-sized palms and winked at James. Relief eased through his body as he watched the brute turn to walk out the door. Dressed in army combats and a black hoodie he hoped he would never have to see him again. Unfortunately he was going to see him again, he hadn’t even left the room when a roar of agony was carried out into the corridor and possibly echoed throughout the bank. The brute turned, the palm of his hand burning in immense red flames. Melting flesh, a scent James sadly had the pleasure of only days ago once again filled his nostrils. Shaking his hand in an attempt to quench the flames seemed to have the opposite effect. They danced brighter and burned hotter. Then they were gone. And so were the journals and book. In the palm of his hand were ash and under the ash, red. Not skin, just red.
“YOU”
Although he felt quite proud that someone could think he was capable of causing such immense pain to someone so much greater than him, James couldn’t take the credit. Regrettably the brute didn’t seem to care that he was denying the attack.
“YOU MAGIC”
That message was almost incoherent. It was remarkable James could understand it what with the amount of saliva that accompanied the two words. Denying it was getting him nowhere and the brute closer. Too close. One hand quickly wrapped itself around James’ neck and he could feel the squeeze.
“YOU DESTROY BOOKS”
James couldn’t reply to that one, he could barely breathe. Suddenly he could totally relate to the poor rodents in the nature shows when the large boa caught hold of them. Strength to hit was gone, as was the strength to kick. He couldn’t even speak, the fingers crushing in ever closer to reach around his neck. With nowhere else to look James glanced at the man and suddenly his eyes wandered to the hand that had been holding the books. A pile of ash had fallen to the floor and the skin, it was healing itself. In fact new skin was growing across the palm of his hand. Fingers went from black to new once more.
“He’s a warrior” James said to himself. If only he could tell him that so was he, they were both on the same side. Then he smiled and it dawned on James that this person didn’t have sides.
“YOU DIE NOW”
And he could have easily done so. He felt the last of the air leave his body and with no other way of bringing any in he felt his head lighten and his body wilt. Unconsciousness was mere seconds away when James heard a voice, a woman’s voice, elderly and posh.
“Warren let him down, everything in good time”
That was it, with those few words the grip weakened and he could breathe again, although standing was going to have to wait. As he left James glimpsed the woman who “saved” him. He couldn’t make out much with his blurry vision but the one thing he saw was enough, a horrid floral scarf.