Am I still safe?

Steve was having a bad morning and it was going to get a lot worse. It had taken him ages to find her on Punterlink: the perfect girlfriend experience and he had been looking forward to seeing Sandy all week; and she didn’t disappoint physically. She opened the door and he caught sight of the red bra and panties he’d asked her to wear. She then stepped aside and shut the door behind him. He walked into her studio flat and saw the worn out double bed with the contrasting fresh towel adorning it. The stale scent of baby oil, musk and loneliness hung in the air and he desperately wanted to open a window, but it was too cold outside for that.

He turned round and watched her glide past in her open silk dressing gown; she was everything he had hoped and more with a beautiful shapely figure, flowing sandy hair and full red lips. He handed over the money and things just went downhill from there.

It wasn’t much of a girlfriend experience; she was cold, aloof and in a bit of a hurry to get him finished. It was like being fucked by a speak your weight machine... It was actually more of an ex-girlfriend experience: over very quickly and tinged with regret and self-loathing. Actually for £200 it was more like an ex-wife experience: he’d been taken advantage of and fucked over. He was then stewarded to the door quicker than a fart in a blizzard.

Ten floors up. Standing outside the flat whose door had just been ceremoniously slammed in his face, Steve pondered what he was going to do next. It was only 11am, the rest of the day to waste; he felt used and depressed. There was no way he was going to take the stairs – ten floors down- so he stabbed at the lift button with his sausage-like finger.

Three minutes more than he wanted to spend in that corridor and the lift finally arrived with a dull metallic drone. There was one man there already so Steve made sure he stood in the opposite corner to him. He didn’t want to talk to anyone; he felt too embarrassed by the whole experience, not to mention poor and demoralised.

The man in front of him was a bit of an enigma: his whole outfit was ill-fitting; the trousers showed far too much ankle, the jacket was baggy and hung oddly from his shoulders and his shows looked threadbare. His hair would have been one cut short of concentration camp victim if not for the violent clumps of ginger hair that seemed to erupt from his pitted scalp. What made it worse was that the man was actually talking to himself:

“They're holding 'wellbeing MOT's' on the fourth floor... probably dealing with health & body issues... and it wasn't so long ago they were having workshops on stress.... These days it's either the Mind or the Body that people seem to be concerned about -the 'soul' (for want of a better word) is totally ignored. And who can blame them -on one hand you have the dogma and sheer banality of religion and then on the other you have the 'Ripleys believe it or not' / Heinz 57 varieties of 'spirituality'. -Both of which obfuscate the whole picture.” The voice was a nasal monotone and for a few seconds Steve was unsure whether he should actually reply. 

“What makes me laugh is that those that follow either religion or spirituality believe that they will be better people and more 'enlightened'.” 

Steve was stunned. That was another voice entirely, a deeper timbre with more inflexion with an actor-like quality: clear annunciation with a little bit of tremolo thrown in for good measure. But it was just Steve and this guy in the lift, he was sure. He took another look around but it was just the two of them. The first voice answered back.

“Yes, but none of these diversions represent the individual -they eclipse the individual and prevent them from actually understanding their own truth.”  This was taking things to a new level; it couldn’t get any worse, surely.

The lift shuddered and then stopped moving, the lights dimmed in sympathy and then died altogether. Ten seconds later the emergency lights kicked in and Steve was rueing the day he had decided on following his lusts. The guy was still talking though in his nasally voice; was this some kind of elaborate prank or hidden camera show? Was he a ventriloquist practicing his act? Or was it more likely that this guy was a complete nutter and now Steve was stuck with him. Occam’s razor favoured the latter of these explanations.

“There was an advert on Facebook which said 'Welcome to Native Spirits'.” The first voice explained. “As interesting as it is to read their wisdom, what does it actually have to do with me? Certainly I can take on board some of the ideas and learn from their example.”

“But you’re not a native Indian.” Interrupted the second voice. This was getting confusing to Steve so he named the first voice Larry and the second voice Mo. Larry replied to Mo’s comment:

“No… I’m not and I can only really learn on a comparative level; it serves no purpose to live like them or try to incorporate their philosophy for my own... but too many people do.”

“Ironically you can swap and change the 'American' Indians for any major movement.” Larry interjected.

“Excuse me.” Steve interjected. “Does anyone… I mean, do you know where the emergency button is here? How can we tell anyone that we’re stuck here?” He was unsure whether it was a good idea to antagonise the man but Steve was getting concerned now. No one knew he was here; he hadn’t had the foresight to bring his mobile phone with him (it was still charging on his desk at home) and he didn’t relish the thought of being trapped any longer than necessary with a nutcase.

“I shouldn’t worry.” Replied the man in a completely different voice. This was a far friendlier tone; completely at odds to his appearance. There was compassion and a jovial edge to it and Steve felt the first nigglings of dissonance enter his head. Reality seemed to slowly unpeel around him like the lift carpet. What was going on? The man continued, unaware of Steve’s uncertainty. “It sticks sometimes; it’ll be fine in a couple of minutes.”

“So I’m perfectly safe here then?” Steve asked, trying to find a tactful way of discerning this blokes mental state. “I get claustrophobic at times.”

“Makes us wonder why you bothered taking the lift then.” Larry replied, sneering.

“It was either that or take the stairs.” Steve said, automatically.

The man turned around and faced Steve now. “Pardon?” The man replied in his own voice, Steve could see his lips more. The man had a pocked marked, character filled face (lots of worry lines and almost hollow eyes because of the bags that hung droopily).

“I’m sorry. I thought you spoke to me.” Steve said sheepishly.

“No. I just said that the lift sticks sometimes.” He replied.

“So you didn’t make a retort about my claustrophobia then.”

“No.” The man looked at him strangely now, as if it was Steve that was hearing things and acting strangely…. And maybe he was.

“Do you mind if I ask you your name? My name’s Steve.”

“Why do you want to know that?”

“It would put my mind at rest; I’m very nervous at the moment. You don’t have to if you don’t want to..”

“My name is Paul.” The man said.

“Mine’s Mo.”

“Mine’s Larry”. Paul looked at Steve askance as sweat broke out on his brow; he’d gone as off-colour as the walls of the lift.

“Tell me you heard that.” Steve replied.

“What?” Paul asked, “All I did was say my name – as you asked me to, I might add.”

“But then you said call me Mo and Larry… In two different voices.”

“No – I didn’t!”

“To be fair… he didn’t.” Mo said.

“Shut up.” Steve snapped.

“How dare you.” Paul replied.

“I wasn’t talking to you.” Steve said, getting confused by what was now happening.

“Well, who else were you talking to?” Paul asked. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“Am I still safe?” Steve asked, unsure of his own safety or sanity.

“The question is, am I safe?” Paul muttered, turning his back on Steve. “Nutter.” He said under his breath.

“I’m sorry; I’ve just had a really bad morning.” Steve explained.

“They do say it only takes one bad day…” Larry replied.

“Noooo.” Steve groaned. This was becoming too much. He was damn sure that it was one massive wind up but without confronting Paul –if that really was his name- he couldn’t be sure; and he really didn’t want to do that. Steve didn’t like confrontations at the best of times.

All of a sudden Larry started his monologue again: “The alternative is far more difficult -trying to understand who we are and why we do what we do, especially when the rest of society is doing its best to push / pull / pervert / cajole / threaten / entice and squash you in other directions. Other people are no good as role models as they're subject to the same problems as the rest of us -the only difference is that they're trying to masquerade as something different... I mean, the further that we seem to 'advance'..”

“Whatever that actually means.” Mo interrupted.

“Indeed.” Larry agreed. “The further we seem to advance the more estranged we become.”

“You know what?” Mo continued. “I know that to be true. In myself, there's this definite schism between who I am in myself and who I appear to be when I'm in company and that's become more apparent the more I've learnt about myself (if that makes sense) and that's a 'cost ' that I'm happy to bear because there's a definite pay off for me –finding out about myself. But other people seem more than happy drifting off into this realm of illusion and fantasy never realising that there's anything else other than mind... or body...”

“I can’t take much more of this…” Steve exclaimed.

“You and me both.” Paul muttered.

“You can’t hear what I hear.” Steve snapped back.

“What I hear is bad enough.” Paul retorted.

“I can hear voices – two people.. Two men, and then there’s you. Are you telling me that you can’t hear them?”

“Hearing your voice is bad enough… you’re not making me feel any calmer.” It was obvious Paul was trying his best not to provoke him, but Steve was trying to remain calm despite his whole world crumbling around him.

“Just let go.” Mo cajoled.

“You know you want to –no one would miss him.” Larry agreed.

“What do you mean no one would miss him?” Steve was shocked. Paul turned his head around in dismay, wondering just what the hell was going on.

“It’s been a bad day.” Larry confided. “No one would blame you if you vented a little steam.”

“Ideally you should’ve killed the bitch… she deserves it after all.” Mo agreed.

“Yes; but you could always kill her afterwards.” Larry sympathised. Steve banged his head against the wall of the lift in dismay and desperation.

“I’m not going to vent off steam.. I’m not going to kill the bitch.” Steve shouted.

Suddenly the lift shuddered back into life, the lights taking them both by surprise and Paul struck the elevator panel trying to select the closest floor. Steve whimpered in the corner almost ignorant of Paul’s hasty retreat. The door closed behind him and carried its way warily downwards. At least there would be no more voices, Steve thought. With Paul gone there would be no more voices.

“That’s what you think.”

Doctor Who: Communion

For those races that mark time in terms of seconds,  minutes and hours (and humanity is not alone in this peculiarity) the thought of doing absolutely nothing for years –in effect, not existing- is baffling, unimaginable even. And in truth full body stasis is something that only a few races have mastered –mainly due to their slow metabolisms (their hearts beat but once an hour), consequently their perception of time is quite different. The other race that has mastered this feat are, of course, The Time Lords; but for them it had become a form of spiritual discipline and before the Time War it was used as a form of cleansing; far better on the remaining regenerations to meditate for a while year. However, since the Time War the Time Lords lost that connection to the Matrix; their collective psyche scarred by the atrocities on both sides. Currently only one person had been able to enter into that state of Communion and she has spent that time plotting; and for one Time Lord life will never be the same again.

I)

There were certain planets that the Doctor had always wanted to visit but had never found the time (or he’d been interrupted on the journey). During a recent visit to Earth he had heard of the term ‘bucket list’ and although it didn’t necessary apply to Time Lords he agreed with the principle: lives were too short, so why put off the good things? He had visited Metabalis 3 and the Eye of Orion so al that was left of his ‘top 3’ was to visit The Isle of Communion where the whole planet existed in a state of harmony –all lives in perfect synchrony –that particularly appealed to the battle weary Doctor.

He knew that Emily would enjoy that as well; she had been quite withdrawn recently. The battle between the Sontaron’s and the Cybermen had shocked her Victorian sensibilities; nothing could have prepared her. Somehow the Doctor had never taken into account his companions state of mind whilst travelling. He’d always assumed that they took it in their strides as he so often did. He treated it all as one big adventure (most of the time) but then he’d had the experience to just shuck it all off; but what had Emily experienced prior to meeting the Doctor? Nothing; she had been extraordinary in relation to the people around her to be sure, but she had never dealt with vampiric shapeshifting aliens, time travelling buffoons, let alone two warbound aliens races determined to eliminate each other regardless of who else got in the way.

It was Tegan and her reaction to the Daleks attempt to replicate the High Council that made him realise the affect his life had on others. Battling the Daleks always involved high stakes but that encounter had been particularly brutal. Of course, Adric’s death hadn’t helped –proof, if it were ever needed, that life aboard the TARDIS wasn’t always such an adventure after all.

The Doctor was about to call out to Emily when he heard a strange sound, similar to the wheezing and groaning that accompanied his TARDIS dematerialising, but an octave higher. Then he heard the ominous tolling of the Cloister Bell, which only rang in extreme danger to the ship. Someone was trying to breach the TARDIS but only another Time Lord could do this.

“Doctor… please help me. For all we shared, please help me.” The voice was unmistakable. It was Missy, otherwise known as the Master.

II)

At one stage the Doctor thought that Missy could actually be rehabilitated as a force for good, and, although for a time this seemed to work, things quickly unravelled as she experienced a previous regeneration. This was a much deadlier, bloodthirsty version who had very nearly succeeded in killing her, permanently; however she managed to trigger his regeneration instead; a bizarre murder-suicide that left deep wounds. Consequently she had gone her separate way from the Doctor. He had meant to track her down again but lives got in the way.

In his own way he felt as if he owed her the benefit of the doubt and did his best to trace the source of the transmission.

“Doctor, please help.”

“Missy; you know that I will.”

“I can feel someone trying to latch on to my own TARDIS which can only mean another Time Lord. For the first time I’m actually scare –of course, I blame you for this new feeling… I never used to be! You must help me!”

“Wait, I’ve nearly locked on to you coordinates… hang on, Missy, I’m almost there!”

“Too late, Doctor.” Interrupted a voice that was both strangely familiar but unknown to him.

“You! What are you…” Missy’s voice was suddenly cut off and the Doctor lost all contact and signal from Missy’s TARDIS. For a moment it had been ghosted by another signal, as if another TARDIS had overshadowed it; and then there appeared a very strange dimensional anomaly; the like of which the Doctor had only seen a handful of times. It was a CVE.

Fear was a new sensation for Missy and one that she didn’t much care for. She’d been the source of other people’s for millennia –often holding the fates of whole planets in her grasp, but she’d never felt the emotion herself. It wasn’t until she’d been faced by her previous regeneration and he attempted to kill her that she actually understood what it was to feel fear. She had almost died! And now facing this new enemy she once again feared for her lives.

“Pathetic!” The Rani chided. “I mean, I’ve never respected you –you were always so trumped up; egotistical, even for a Time Lord…but at least you were ruthless! Now you’re just a spineless milksop…And why this pretentious fancy dress?” The she motioned with her hand at Missy’s outfit –it was a cross between a 19^th century school-mistress and a gothic wet dream.

The Rani was right; as the Master she had never felt the need to dress to impress. He was always most comfortable in his black velvet suit but since her regeneration she felt the need to express herself more; if only to distance herself from her previous selves. The Rani, on the other hand, always wore clothes that uniquely identified her. Like now, she wore a fuchsia, ribbed jacket with a striking high collar; it was both stylish and acted as a form of armour. Her trousers were plain black and her blouse cream; stylish but it also exuded a danger. She was someone to fear alright.

“All the better to hide; to blend in.” Missing replied, trying to regain her demeanour.

“Why would you feel the need to hide? Disguise yourself when necessary, but never hide! You are a Time Lord; far more powerful than any other race; they should be hiding from you!”

“Ah, so is that why you’ve brought me here? To give me a pep talk?”

“Of sorts… I need a partner for my latest venture, and I naturally thought of you.”

“Naturally…”

“Yes.. but now I can see that you’re going to need a bit of work done before you can be my partner again.”

“What kind of work?”

“I need you back to how you were; ruthless.”

“Oh, you do, do you?” Missy replied and tried to put her hands on her hips in defiance but realised that she couldn’t actually move; the Rani had her in a stasis field. “And how do you propose to do that?” She said, trying to figure a way out.

“Just wait and see… Missy.”

III)

The gateways to other universes were shut; ever since the Time War it had become virtually impossible to travel between them, let alone create your own CVE. The Charged Vacuum Emboitments were the rarest of all space-time events which, according to certain Wiki’s contained highly charged quantum particles suspended in pockets of super-vacuum. In other words they occupied the spaces between universes and when one formed it could literally punch through into a whole new existence; similar to how wormholes worked.

The Doctor had, inadvertently, travelled into them on a few occasions and knew of only a couple of people who had actually created them; both long since dead: Adric and the Monitor. Adric had devised the math but never actually put it into action.. but did the math itself lead to creation? Was the math that powerful? The Monitor probably would have agreed… but then who captured Missy?

To the Doctor’s thinking only one person could have fit the bill; someone who’s knowledge of theoretical and practical physics and advanced stellar mathematics actually dwarfed his own: The Rani.

That actually fit as she was never seen during the Time War and it was entirely probable that she created her own means to travel between the universes until it was safe enough to return. The question was: why return now?

“So colour me impressed – you’ve found a way to create your very own CVE… but why return now? And what are you doing with me? Is this fulfilling one of your fantasies, having me strapped to this table?”

“Cease your prattling and face the facts: with each regeneration you have become more unstable… you were even given the reasoning behind it by Rassilon himself; yet you have done nothing about it!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But just then Missy started to hear something in the background; soft but insistent but then with each pulse it became louder… LOUDER; it was the sound of drumming.

“Yes..  you hear it now, don’t you? And now you will always hear it; it will drive you mad and will never go away… unless…”

“Unless?”

“You undergo complete cellular reversion.”

“Oh, you’re going to shut me down and start again? Restore my factory settings?”

“Your attempt at humour is pitiful but essentially correct.”

“So why me?”

“I have long worked on this theory… it is the sole reason I was banished from Gallifrey. I realised that it would be possible to give a Time Lord an entirely new set of regenerations… The concept of too much power always did frighten them..”

“But? C’mon – there’s always a but…”

“There are still things that need perfecting…”

“And you need a Time Lord physiognomy to really see if the machine works… so how do you know it will work with me?”

“Your hatred will see you through.”

“My hatred?”

“Not you.. but the Master that is to come. His hatred will see you through… now; we shall begin.” The Rani flicked one switch and the air around Missy suddenly became charged; arcs of orange and blue energy pulsated through her causing her to writhe and scream in agony. The Rani shook her head, ““Pathetic.” She muttered and turned to watch as her TARDIS passed back through the CVE to the universe she had called home.

The Doctor knew that there was only one place he could go to get the necessary technology to force his way after the Rani –Gallifrey. He didn’t want to create a fuss though; there was only one way to do this –materialise in the wasteland, where only one person had the guile to visit him there. He just hoped he hadn’t caught her at a bad time.

iv)

Leela had finally settled down –it had been a very tough time, with the Time War, but it was now finally over. She had helped lead the rebuild of her city; her experience as a savage had held her in good stead after all. The Doctor would be proud.

“Mistress?” K-9 bustled into the living area. Each day he sounded crankier, his little motor becoming noisier. She kept offering him an upgrade but he refused, saying that only one person could do that. She had remarked on numerous occasions that his stubbornness could easily be called cranky; an emotion particular to humans, to which he would reply:

“But I am not human, mistress.”

“I think you’re more human than what you let on, K-9.” She would mutter under her breath and she could swear she saw his tail wag at this.

“Mistress; you are needed.” K-9 suddenly said, breaking off her reverie.

“By who, K-9?”

“By Doctor Master. He has contact me through the telepathic circuits of his TARDIS.”

“Why didn’t he contact me?”

“You are not telepathic, mistress.” Leela thought about for a second and then nodded. As usual K-9 made perfect sense.

“Where do we need to go?”

“Outside, to the wasteland…. But you will need to carry me.”

“So I am only needed to carry you now, and that only? I am not impressed.”

“Doctor Master specifically requested you to greet him; he trusted you and you alone to keep his arrival secret.” Leela smiled at this.

“Then I shall not disappoint him.”

It took less than ten minutes for Leela to find the TARDIS, with K-9’s help but she stopped before entering. She was unsure of who was going to greet her. She had long since accepted that she would never see her Doctor again, which made her sad, but she knew enough to realise that his affection for her would never change; and she felt exactly the same. She pushed the door and walked in, wondering how the TARDIS would look after all this time away.

“I swear it gets bigger each time I come back, Doctor.”

“As long as you don’t say you don’t like the redecoration…”

“Doctor?”

“Sorry.. private joke.  How have you been, Leela?” The sense of humour and randomness was still there, but this man was so different to the others she’d met in the intervening years. He was dressed strangely: a long collared paisley shirt hung loosely over faded jeans; and clumsy, clunky boots with a strange leather jacket! His hair was long and unkempt and he now had stubble, something she had never seen the Doctor with before. It was pink with a white striped down the cleft.

“Yeah… the regeneration never comes out exactly how one expects…” The Doctor replied to Leela’s unspoken question. “..but I’ve almost become used to it. I’ve just started growing the stubble… like it?”

“No.”

“Well, maybe that will grow on you.”

“Like it has on you, Doctor?” Leela smiled at the joke she cracked… the Doctor remained, as ever, unflappable. “Why have you brought me here?”

“If I had arrived in the panoptican then all hell wold have broken loose, but I knew that you’d find me in the wasteland… Plus, I needed K-9.”

“Well… Now you have K-9 you won’t need me anymore. I’ll be going.

“Don’t be like that, Savage.” The Doctor placated. “I need you for something a bit more.. delicate.”

The Victorians were always too prissy for Emily; she was, according to the Doctor, ahead of her time. She didn’t believe in the sanctity of womanhood or marriage; let alone the fastidiousness of puritanism. She believed in a life outside the mortal shell, which the Doctor had proved to her without a shadow of doubt, and she believed in equality for all. She was forward thinking alright, but lazing in the swimming pool she realised just how little she knew, and how small she really was in relation to the rest of the universe.

And now the Doctor was talking of other universes? It was getting too much for her to take.

“It can seem a bit overwhelming at times, can’t it?” A woman’s voice echoed round the room.

“You must be Leela; the Doctor said you’d be joining us.” Leela nodded and sat on one of the loungers near the pools edge. “Tell me, is it always like this?”

“Gallivanting across the universe, nearly getting killed by dangerous aliens and monstrous robots? Yes.. but you will get used to it… in time.” Emily smiled at Leela’s frankness. The Doctor was right, she was easy to like… and not unattractive either.

As the two companions chatted about the lives they shared with their Doctor’s, K-9 was getting cranky with the latest regeneration.

“Master?”

“I’m working on it, K-9.. I know it’s here somewhere. I never throw anything out!”

“What are you searching for, Master?”

“Adric… you remember Adric, don’t you, K-9? Maybe not.. well, anyways… he started working out the maths to get us back to E-Space. He was actually going to create his own CVE!”

“Is that possible, Master?”

“Well, if anyone else had mentioned it then I would have said it was impossible… but Adric was a genius, with a badge for mathematical excellence… Uh… here we go!” The Doctor pulled out the small ring bound notebook and found the page that had the calculations on it. “Remarkable! What do you think, K-9?” The Doctor held up the page so K-9 could scan it.

“Impressive, Master.”

“Yes.. but will it work?”

K-9 thought about it for a bit, the motor inside whirring. The Doctor felt sorry for him; if only he’d kept the box of spare parts, but it had been part of the TARDIS that had been jettisoned some years ago.

“Master Adric was one decimal point out on the second to last computation, but it can still be completed. Do you want me to finish it?”

“Not yet, K-9. I’m not ready yet. I need to get a fix on Missy’s bio-rhythm first… besides which..”

“I won’t be travelling with you on this one, Doctor.” Leela replied as she walked back into the console room. “K-9 and me are a little too old for this now.”

“Mistress?”

“If you want to stay with the Doctor, then of course you can. But I won’t.”

K-9 thought for a minute and then bowed his head to her. “I will stay by your side, Mistress.”

“What about you, Emily?” The Doctor asked her. “I appreciate this has been difficult for you, but you can sit this one out with Leela, if you like. Alternatively the Time Lords will be able to find a way to get you back to your own home time.”

“I’d prefer to stay with you, Doctor; if you’ll have me.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

v)

The Doctor had gotten used to goodbyes- over the years he’d had more than his fair share of them. The two that had been hardest were of Susan, his Granddaughter and his final goodbye to Sarah Jane Smith. There had been something unflappable about her; her journalistic instinct for rightness and stubbornness that rivalled the Doctors own. She had shepherd him through the rocky road between his third and fourth regeneration and then become a big help through his tenth. He’d actually wept when news came to him about her death. To a Time Lord all people are dead and buried; time travel changes the perception of all emotions, everything becomes transitory… but he had real affection for Sarah Jane.

But it was Missy he was more concerned over. For someone who had, through their lives together, so violently shifted from close friend to hated foe and then almost back again he was willing to help her. She had taken great steps towards atoning for her pasts and he didn’t want that to be in vain.

He’d set the scanner to key in on her bio-rhythm the moment they went through the CVE. He actually felt quite smug when he’d managed to trace the Rani’s TARDIS emission but then realised that she had probably allowed him to do just that. He had to remember just how dangerous she really was.

He keyed in the last of the block transfer computation, marvelling at Adric’s ingenuity. He had even calculated the negative coordinates, just as he’d said. He mulled over their last argument. Even though it was so long ago it still rang true: it was never The Doctors fault when things went wrong. He hoped that he’d changed in the time since then.

“Are you ok, Doctor?” Emily asked. The Doctor’s finger had been poised over the red button for a couple of minutes now. She’d been told that the journey was going to be dangerous but there was no way she could even comprehend what was involved.

“I’m just thinking… Are you ready, Emily? This is going to be a bumpy ride.”

“More so than normal?”

“That’s the spirit… Here we go!!” The Doctor punched the final button and braced himself for the impact. Nothing happened. They both looked at each other. The Doctor shrugged and was about to press it again when the whole universe around them blinked out of existence.

Then again.

And again.

Each blink shook them to the core; before long the blinks became like a Morse Code tapping out a cosmic SOS before finally settling.

“Well, that didn’t go as planned.” The Doctor replied.

“Will you stop saying that.” Emily replied.

“Put it down to nerves.”

“That makes me feel so much better.” If the Doctor feels nervous then how should I feel, Emily wondered.

“I do believe we’ve made it.”

“Thank God; I don’t know how much more of it I could have taken, Doctor.”

“I’ve managed to find her. Hold on, Missy; hold on.”

vi)

Piloting the TARDIS through E-space was so much harder than normal and it was obvious that the ‘old girl’ didn’t like it (and the Doctor didn’t blame her.) She finally materialised inside the Rani’s TARDIS but most of the lights were out, except for the central column which cast an unholy glow around them. The Doctor was already on his guard.

Suddenly the overhead lights were switched on, but the rest of console room was dark, A voice could be heard advancing out of the black.

“So glad you could finally make it, my dear Doctor.” The Doctor didn’t recognise the voice; it was an older man, soft but stern; one that could shake hands and stab you in the back at the same time. “Over here, Doctor. Can’t have you missing the show.

A thin man walked towards them out of the gloom, much taller than the Doctor; his head was all but bald except for grey hair covering the back of his head. He had a grey beard and moustache, and his eyes… they were piercing, an intense look –only one man could hate like that.

“You? But how? What happened?” The Doctor asked, aghast at the sudden change of events. “What happened to..?”

“Missy? We all make mistakes, Doctor, even me; but all that is in the past.” The Master was immaculately dressed in a black suit and white tie; like a business mogul sent from the devil himself. “I have been shown the error of my ways.” He chuckled and clicked his fingers; another part of the TARDIS was suddenly bathed in light.

“Doctor!” Emily shouted. It was a Cellular Modulator, one of the Rani’s tinker toys and it was her that was tied to it, her body twisting and writhing in agony.

“What’s happening? Why have you done this?” The Doctor asked, trying to make sense out of what he was seeing.

“The Rani was very kind enough to point out where I’ve been going wrong all this time and showed me how to rise above it all… and it seemed only fair to repay her in kind.”

“But why this? Why torture her?”

“Why not? I am now unencumbered by my past. I am free!” The Master shouted. “When we meet again… IF we ever meet again the you will find yourself against a very different man.” He moved towards the edge of the console room.

“You know I can’t just let you leave. We need to talk. I can help you… Please, let me help you.” The Doctor begged. How could things have gone wrong, this quickly? How could he have not foreseen it?

“Talk? Help? Why should I need any help. I have always hated you, Doctor; even when we were children… and I left that hate cloud my judgement, but no more. You have a choice now, stop me or save her.” He snarled the last word.

He didn’t even pause to allow the Doctor time to consider the options, he walked to the corner and just disappeared.

“A cloaking field? That’s new.” The Doctor couldn’t help but marvel at his ingenuity.

“What about the Rani?” As usual Emily was right, he had to get his priorities right. He rushed over to the machine but he realised it was too late. The process was far too gone and the Rani was dead; she had been for some time. Damn him, the Master had fooled him, but he’d never been this ruthless before. There was the sound of a scythe through glass and he briefly caught a glimpse of it de-cloaking before it dematerialised.. only for it to promptly materialise again, groaning as it did so.

“The Rani must have anticipated his betrayal; she’s sabotaged her own TARDIS! The question is, will we be able to escape?”

The Doctor dragged a still shocked Emily back to his own TARDIS, slamming the doors behind him. The Rani must have created a gravity bubble around the Masters TARDIS, but even she couldn’t have guessed he’d be that bloodthirsty.

Luckily his TARDIS dematerialised on the first attempt, everything went smoothly… except for one violent jolt which the Doctor put down to escaping the gravity bubble, but then all systems were fine again.

The Doctor turned on the scanner and could make out the Rani’s TARDIS; it was in a state of flux as the gravity bubble grew; the chameleon arch shifting the external frame from one shape to another, vibrating more with each shift before finally exploding. And then nothing.

The Doctor wasn’t naïve enough to believe he’d seen the last of the Master, not after all this time, but he knew how tricky gravity bubbles were.

“Is it over, Doctor? Are we safe?” Emily asked.

“Well, yes… and no. We’ve escaped from the Master but we’re still trapped inside E-Space.”

The price to choose

Three days had passed, apparent only by the small stream of sunlight he felt on his bare legs. He was naked except for a leather hood which was stifling through the day and constrictive at night. His legs and arms were bound to the metal chair. The chair was bolted to the floor. He had no idea how he ended up here or who his captor was. It had been expertly organised; he had been walking quite happily in the crowded high street and barely felt the tip of the syringe as it entered him. The drug had been instantaneous; he didn’t even remember hitting the pavement. When he woke up he found his entire body and head shaved. The air felt cold on his body now. All he could hear was the sound of his own blood coursing through his veins and the scuffle of the leather over his ears; all he could smell was the odour of his own body; the sweat and excrement that pooled around him.

He was unafraid though. All this life had led to this point; he knew this as he had always known. He was unafraid.

Time passed.

He heard sounds; the first since he had first woken up; sounds from outside: keys grating in a rusty lock, the door protesting as it scraped open; a lone fox screaming. It must have been night outside because the air now smelt cold and sweet; the peace interrupted by the man walking in. The door was shut and now the footsteps sounded dull; each step measured, planned. He was a man who knew how to use his body.

The hood was taken gently off and he was now able to breathe unencumbered. He said a silent prayer and felt the air cool against his sweat encrusted, stubbled face.

“Brother.” The man said, and caressed the top of his head as if he was a child. It was still dark in the room but he could make out shapes and shades of grey and gloom. The man had found a chair and now sat opposite him. He could feel the warmth of his body just feet away.

“I know who you are.” The man whispered. “Your name is Job.”

“It is as you say.” Job replied calmly.  “And what is your name?” Job asked, although he knew deep inside.

“You can call me… Simeon.”

“I can see you have a sense of humour.” Job replied. His hands and feet were numb, useless now as he had been tied up for so long.

“It helps in my line of work… but you already know what my line of work is, don’t you?”

“I have heard of you through your reputation.” Simeon mock bowed as if he had been complemented. “I know more about you then you may realise.”

“And let you are sitting here, remarkably calm even though you fully understand what will happen to you… and that there is no chance for your leaving here alive.”

“I am resided to that fate… it is my…”

“Karma? Yes.. that is something that you know an awful lot about, I’ve been told. You see, you may have an understanding about what I am, but I know all about you. Before I tell you why you have been brought here I will tell you more about myself. Isn’t that what one does in these situations? Maybe that will help you understand more about what will be happening to you later. They say that anticipation counts a lot towards any experience. They call me the Witness.”

“I have heard the name.”

“My services are available only to a chosen few; those that can afford me. I am like any other businessman; I provide a simple service. I do one thing and one thing only: I torture people; and for the forty years I have been on this Earth I have learnt all there is to know about the human mind, body and spirit.” Simeon smiled benignly as if contemplating his lot in life. “I have two sorts of client: business and personal. Amongst the businessmen are governments and corporations. Their needs are quite specific: interrogation and confession. On the whole payment is dependent on results and speed –to illicit a confession without killing the individual is a rare skill. Many people fail because they become emotionally involved. It is also a skill to tell lie from truth; but I am a master of understanding a person’s body language as well; I know when I am being lied to. You need to understand that… I will know if and when you are lying.

“The other, more personal side of my business, is among the more surprising and.. rewarding. You would expect the criminal element to feature in this area but, on the whole, they are motivated by money as well. There are others that have revenge in mind, but they tend to use hitmen rather than connoisseurs as myself.

“This is a burgeoning industry; I find that more and more people are heavily into revenge, whether this be as the result of rape or murder of their loved ones. There are others that simply enjoy seeing people tortured but lack the will or understanding to do it themselves. I offer a safe avenue for them to explore for I am a professional and thus completely untraceable in my activities. Some people will have a victim already marked, some will already have them ‘gift-wrapped’ prior to our meeting. I have known some people to select their victims purely at random –often in crowded, busy streets (similar to the one I caught you in).” Simeon paused at the irony. Job just looked at him. He was under no illusion what was going to happen. “The most interesting ‘engagement’ was of a man who wanted to die by my hands, would you believe? He said he was already dying and paid me twice my normal fee to convince me to take him on –as if I needed convincing. He wanted his death to be a work of art, but there were three conditions: The suffering should be as intense as humanly possible, as protracted as possible and under no circumstances should I stop, regardless of how much he begged.

“This was my opportunity to finally indulge in my art. I used him to refine my techniques. His suffering lasted three months and every second he spent in exquisite agony. I was never bothered by his protestations, having severed his vocal chords at the start of the experience. Suffice to say..  the look in his eyes told me that he had not thought through his request and by the end he was truly begging for death. So much for atonement…”

“Some people feel they have a lot to atone for.” Job replied.

“Atonement has never been something that interests me. I have nothing to atone for. But I am interested in Karma. I consider myself an agent of Karma. I am not a simple murderer; people seek me out. I am hired only if people deserve it –or I am paid enough… but even then ‘good’ people are rarely my victim…”

“What of those random people you have picked off the streets?”

“It is not always my choice; but you have asked a relevant question and can only answer it with one word: karma.  Now that does offer an unpleasant truth to ponder, hmm?”

The witness stood up and walked across the room and wheeled over a small table. On it were various surgical implements.

“Now…. you will tell me what I wish to know.”

Time passes. Minutes or hours, such terms had no meaning for Job could only measure it in pain; and yet at no time did he cry out. Simeon had never witness such control and was reminded of the Buddhist monks during the Vietnam War; immolating themselves, sitting calmly in place whilst the flames burnt their mortality away.

This was something Simeon was witness to. He was no sadist; he took no pleasure in what he did, but for the first time he felt…something. He sat down facing Job again.

“Let me tell you why I have brought you here. I have no capacity to feel on an emotional basis; I have never had this. I lack even the most basic empathy – I feel neither joy nor sadness in myself; I am myself, emotionally unencumbered… or so I thought.

“There is one other thing that is remarkable about myself: I have almost perfect recall over my past lives. I am aware of almost every life up until the present; and in one way or another I have always been a witness. This is remarkable, is it not? Am I not proof that Karma does not exist? For if it did would I not have paid dearly for all I have done?”

“You have…” Job tried to say through the pain, “you have no idea of the true nature of Karma.”

“And that is why you are here. Through the years I have heard of a man possessed of a gift that could help release an individual’s Karma. I have heard this through a hushed reverence, similar to my own reputation and not thought much of it… until last month when your presence was finally revealed to me. It is a strange circumstance indeed.

“You recall the man who hired my services for his own ends? His own torture? He had found you but a month before after almost a years search. He had been a businessman; unscrupulous, callous, viscous even; trampling on everyone until he reached the top and he had felt nothing but triumph until that fateful day when two towers crumbled and his empire with it. He lost his wife and daughter who had been his one saving grace; the light in his otherwise dark, soulless life. Somehow he survived but his guilt overcame him; he could not escape the darkness of his deeds and could not understand why his wife and daughter suffered whilst he escaped. In the years since he had travelled around the world trying to understand how he could atone for his past life, and it was during that time he found out about you.” Simeon smiled as if all had become clear.

“The rest you know, or have been able to piece together. I have sought you out to restore the missing piece of my puzzled memory –I can no longer live with this gaping maw at my centre; I must be whole. I am not doing it out of selfless means or atonement.. Therefore I knew that you would not willingly give me, for I have nothing to atone for. However, I have now taken the choice away from you. Only death awaits you now; you have shown great resolve up until this point but how much longer can you last? You must tell me what I need to know; give me my missing past.”

“It has always been thus,” Job replied after some time. “I can free you of your uncertainty and would always have done; but there will be a price. There is always a price. The gentleman you spoke of before? He understood. But do you?”

“I do. And I am willing to pay whatever the price.”

“Remember that I offered you the choice – the same choice we are all given.”

“I understand and accept.”

“Then you must kneel to me and I will kiss your forehead. By this alone I will restore your past to you.”

Simeon knelt before Job; something he had never done before in his life –he had no fear of reprisal but felt calm as he awaited his absolution. He felt compassion flow from Job.

“You are forgiven, my brother.” Job said. “But I fear that will not be enough. Now you will understand what Karma truly is. Until we meet again.” And Job breathed his last; his final task done.

Simeon knelt there as his mind reeled from the memories that were now finally revealed to him. He looked up at the serene lifeless eyes and realise that Job had called him by his true name, brother, as he had done at first meet.

He understood the truth behind the memories of who they really were; they had always been brothers, but Simeon and Job in this life only. Simeon had been the first witness to man’s inhumanity to himself; the first to kill, to murder his own; to sully the name of the one true creator. Job had become the first victim released from his Karma and the first to reincarnate and thus be able to free others. But freedom always came at a cost: repentance and understanding of the suffering inflicted on others.

And now Cain felt as no other, or would ever – the pain inflicted from all his previous lives felt as one. His whole life now, and from that life on, would be that as victim in atonement; part of him always knowing the reasons why.

Purely coincidental

The night was bitch cold and the little oil heater was barely making a difference to the flat, but Alex was happy enough –he’d just but his latest short story to bed. It had been written and published on his website and Facebook in three hours. Whether anyone actually read his stories afterwards wasn’t important to him; it was the writing itself that mattered.

He went to the kitchen and managed to find a clean(ish) glass and poured himself a generous measure of Teachers whiskey. It was then that the door buzzer rang. He looked at the clock –it was 10.20pm; it must be a mistake. No one rang at that hour for him; in fact, no one called round at any time –just the way he liked it. He went back to his desk to decide what story he was going to write next.

The buzzer interrupted his thoughts again. Prank calls; it was Friday night and the last thing he wanted to do was confront some irate drunken lout. Then there came a decisive knock on his door –somehow they’d gotten in past the main door. (Alex knew that many of his fellow residents had trouble understanding the shutting mechanism of the front door and just let it shut of its own accord –defeating the idea of having a secure area.)

Another knock on the door, Alex just wanted to ignore it but he had a feeling that this person would not be going away in a hurry. He walked over to the door and looked through the peephole; it took a couple of seconds to realise who it was. The last time he had seen Paul was… more than ten years ago, surely. He opened the door, unsure what the circumstances were for such a visit.

“About fucking time.” Paul snapped as he barged into the living room. “Anyone would think you didn’t want to see me.” He plonked himself down on the sofa and crossed his legs. “Can’t imagine why.”

“Come in… make yourself at home… what are you doing here, Paul?”

“Don’t play innocent. You must have realised that I’d be round after what you wrote about me.” Alex sat down opposite him behind his desk which had plenty of things to defend himself with should the need arise. “Don’t even bother trying to deny it; it’s obvious to even the most myopic that the whole story is based on our ‘friendship’ together… and I use that term loosely, motherfucker.”

Paul very rarely swore; Alex knew exactly what story he was referring to and smiled inside: any reaction was a good reaction. “Well – loosely based… but then most stories are, Paul. Truth is stranger than fiction, after all.”

“Don’t… don’t even go there.”

“So – what is it then? What’s got you so pissed? Why come over here at this time of night for something so trivial?”

“Trivial? Character defamation and he calls it trivial?”

“Start at the beginning, Paul… it should make things easier.”

“Of course –easier for you to make it into one of your short stories, you mean…”

“I’m beginning to lose patience, mate; say what you’ve got to say and then just piss off.”

“Mate? You’ve no right to call me that. I know how you treat your mates; and this could take all night, fucker. You owe me.”

“I owe you? Riiight.” Paul sat back, crossed his legs and just stared at Alex. The irony was, Paul was right regarding Paul’s feelings towards mates. They were just like condom’s –fit for one purpose only and then disposable. He could feel the contempt radiate from Paul and thought it best not to share that viewpoint…

“Every so often I get nostalgic and think about getting in contact with old friends.” Paul explained. “I must have felt charitable tonight as I thought about messaging you through Facebook. I saw your most recent post regarding your new short story: Soft Skills, and remembered how good your stories were.

“Well, I read it… initially it was really good; it seemed reminiscent of Stephen King’s ‘The Body’ and I remembered your fondness for it. But then I came across the character you called ‘Chub’.. which rankled –you knew that was my nickname in school… Then you went to great pains to describe the friendship that Chub had with the main character. Let me quote:

“’Where once the frame was portly and good mannered; now both character and build were emaciated. Chub lacked the basic social skills but somehow found himself as the new Labor party candidate! He had sold out as an individual long ago but could now sell out an entire country!’

“Or how about this bit?

“’Graham looked at Chub and wondered how they had managed to remain friends for so long; now there was nothing but a festering contempt. The saccharine bonds of two faced children replaced by the hardened façade of a corrupt politician.’ “You never did like the fact that I became successful at something and you didn’t.”

“Define success.” Alex replied and laughed. “If this is it then you’re welcome to it.”

“So you don’t deny it then?”

“Deny what? That I used your enormous ego as a scaffold that I could hang a character on to? Why deny it? You dined out on my reputation often enough.”

“I’ve no idea what you’re on about.” Paul replied.

“Of course you don’t. You and your inbred family.”

“That fucking does it! I oughta..”

“You’ll do nothing and you know it.” Alex snapped back, interrupting him. “You deny that your mum and dad thought they’d play Pygmalion on me? Try and elevate me from the social slime?”

“Well…” Paul blushed. “You were a little different from my normal chums…”

“Chums? Oh please – we can’t all afford to live the Jeeves & Wooster lifestyle. Not all of us are born into privilege! I often wondered why your parents took such an interest in me. I couldn’t fathom it at the time –I guess I was a lot less cynical back then. I was just a social project… doing a bit for the local community, eh?”

“Now wait a minute..” Paul was on the defensive now and Alex pushed his point home.

“It also explains the times you got shitty with me. It was bad enough that you had an older brother who stole your limelight; but to then have an underprivileged ‘friend’ to be the centre of attention must have burnt like hot fat!”

“Hang on…”

“I’ve not finished… Nor did you like the fact that I was such a free thinker. I may not have had your education but I was at least as intelligent as you… and I wasn’t hampered by your familial blinkers. My family encouraged freedom of thought. PLUS I composed music and could write as good as you, if not better. You may have been classically trained but you lacked the creative spirit!”

Paul didn’t say anything. Alex knew that everything had hit home perfectly. Finally Paul replied: “So – are you going to take the story down?”

“I don’t see why I need to. Look at it this way; I can’t think of more than a handful of people that know of our ancient friendship, let alone make the connection between them.”

“But even so.. if you don’t take it down then I’m going to cause such a stir on Facebook that you’ll have to!”

“Seriously? You’d admit to such a thing? Admittedly, it’s not a flattering portrait of someone, but it’s not entirely based on you… You’d be making yourself as much of a target as you would me. I’m not sure you’ve thought this through properly. Are you willing to take that chance?”

“If it means you’ll be forced to take it down the damn story then yeah.”

That was that. Paul left, feathers still ruffled. Alex was bemused, wondering what the point of that confrontation was. In a way it had summed up their whole friendship and equally showed that Paul’s grasp of reality was just as tenuous as it had always been. Sure enough, Paul made a huge commotion on Facebook but, rather than have people rally behind him, exactly the opposite thing happened.

No one had made the connection between Paul and Chub, but now people could only agree with Alex’s observations. If anything, the controversy that Paul had tried to create had actually led to an influx of readers to his Story Blog. Alex was now fast becoming an the next big thing, leading him to agree with the old saying: “There’s no such thing as bad publicity!”

Kindred Spirits

And Joseph said: “Power only corrupts those who fear it or do not deserve it.”  I used to be so unsure.

I joined the Beacon because my life was at low ebb. I’d lost my way after a very misguided relationship with a lady, over twenty years my senior, had left my confidence shredded; alongside whatever masculinity I had previously laid claim to.

After a disastrous twelve months Elaine had dismissed me from her company for a younger buck and I was left cursing my naivety. All my so-called friends had called me a fool and I had fallen out with them over it; and it seemed as if they were right all along. I lacked the strength of character to go back to them; it would have meant admitting I was wrong; and I couldn’t have borne that. Admitting to myself was bad enough, but admitting it to others?

A new shop had opened up in town called Wishing Well; it was a ‘new age’ shop that sold your heart’s desire for twenty pieces of silver. The window was a textbook display of dragons and fairies and crystals and spirit guides and dream catchers and witches and angels and tarot and reiki and and and. It was the spiritual equivalent of a MacDonalds –lots on the menu but nothing to leave you fulfilled or sated.

What made me walk in? I have no idea; maybe it was simply the age old answer to any irrational decision: why not? What have I got to lose?

Inside it was like a cross between a hobbit hole and a supermarket –everything was for sale. Everything was monetized; forget karma and learning your path… buy yourself a healing badge and take part in a four week course. Want to become a druid or a tarot reader? There’s a course for that as well. I was both sickened and intrigued by it all.

I was anti-religious at the best of times and considered myself quite well read in philosophy. I believed that we were down here to find our own path and walk it; away from the temptations of other people… and this multi-coloured swap-shop was the complete antithesis of my beliefs… or so I first thought. But.. truth be told, I didn’t know what I wanted. Looking back on it I guess I just wanted to belong somewhere.

“Can I help you help yourself?” The sweet, melodic voice came from behind me. This was Rose, soon to be a massive influence on my life. I turned round and was face to face with a bundle of joyous beauty; all smiles and radiance. A gentle soul if ever I saw one.

“Both clever and cute.” I replied…  “I mean.. the play on words…it was very clever.. y’know, helping to help others.. ahem; please feel free to slap me in the face at any time… anything to stop me from making more of an arse out of myself.”

“I don’t think such a thing is possible.” I blushed.

“You mean, I can’t make any more of an arse out of myself?”

“Shush… What is it you’re looking for?” She said and every fibre in my body wanted to respond with ‘you’, but I managed to rein it in.

“I don’t know.” I sheepishly admitted. “Some enlightenment?” She laughed at this. “A chance to meet a kindred spirit?” At this she beamed.

“That’s a start and I’ve just the thing..” She turned and walked to the counter. Rose was dressed in long flowing robes of dark, figure hugging purple. She turned to face me again and I quickly looked elsewhere. She was short enough that looking her in the eye made it impossible not to take in the depth of her figure. I tried not to blush any deeper than her robes. “You’re interested in Celtic fertility rites as well, are you?” She said, matter-of-factly.

“Wha?” I coughed, knowing I’d been caught out.

“Don’t worry; we’re very understanding about the natural urges and going through them to the other side. You’re a truth seeker, I can tell.”

“How can you tell? I don’t even know myself…” She handed me a flyer: ‘The Beacon –For Kindred Spirits on their search for Enlightenment.’

I laughed: “You couldn’t make it up, could you?”

The Beacon was hosted once a week on a Saturday night, which was always open to the general public and new members; so I gave it a go. Why not?

I had no idea what to expect and, I admit, was feeling more than a little vulnerable and was actually regretting my decision right up until I opened the door to the hall and saw Rose.

Yes, I was attracted to Rose, but it was more than just a physical attraction. She seemed such a loving soul, very gentle and compassionate. She was of a short, voluptuousness with long dark hair and piercing green eyes. She also had a habit of wearing low cut, figure hugging, flowing gowns and that night was no exception.

Upon seeing me she rushed up and gave me such an all-encompassing hug that to anyone else it might have seemed we were long lost relatives or the best of friends.

“I’m so glad you came.” She whispered to me. I felt exactly the same. I was tremendously naïve, not very world weary and part of me thought that Rose had taken a particular shine to me; that maybe it was for more than just spiritual reasons she wanted me there.

“This is my partner, Joseph.” She said, motioning to the man standing behind her. The man that I’d absolutely failed to see, which was strange because Joseph was tall and actually towered over me (and I was six foot). He was of a slender build with a strength of presence that just emanated from him; he was also balding and at least ten years older than Rose.

I extricated myself from Rose’s warm embrace, slightly embarrassed to be caught as such and shook Joseph’s outstretched hand. His was a cold grip, but strong without being forceful. He clasped his other hand over mine and just held it. There was a sharp tang of patchouli and I guessed that it was from his aftershave.

“I’ve been told a lot about you. I’m pleased that you came too.” It was a warm smile but there was something of an almost predatory glint behind his eyes. He was a man of power and leverage and he knew it too.

“I’m intrigued to know how – I’ve only just met Rose.” I laughed, trying to figure him out. I was suddenly very wary of this man, and of this group I’d been invited to join. As a child I’d almost been indoctrinated into a cult masquerading as a Sunday school and was very aware of the various ways they used to manipulate others.

“Oh, we have ways of knowing.” He smiled back. “Hopefully you’ll be able to learn them for yourself if you choose to stay.”

“The evening is about to start.” Rose said in earnest, sensing the tension. “Rob and Judith will sit with you and show you the ropes. Don’t worry –it’s all a bit of fun. Take of it what you like; anything you don’t like just let it fall by the wayside. If there’s anything you don’t understand then just ask.”

Rob and Judith walked me to the front of the seating area, which consisted of eight rows of chairs with a walkway in the centre. At the front was a make-shift ‘stage’.

“Derek Jacobs is the medium tonight.” Judith said as we sat down. Judith was in her late fifties; greying, fraying hair with thick glasses and a slightly pronounced set of front teeth which made her seem more enthusiastic than perhaps she was.

“He’s a bit showy for my tastes, but some people rave over him…” Rob was retired and relaxed because of it. He was balding as well but exuded a peacefulness. He was a gentle giant of a man with an immediate charm about him. It would be fair to see that I liked him within minutes of meeting him.

 “A bit showy?” I asked, perplexed by this.

“Have you not been to a display of mediumship before?” Judith asked.

“No… In fact I didn’t even know that was what it was. A display of.. mediumship?”

“Don’t worry – we’ve moved on a lot since Victorian times. No more table tapping and ectoplasm.” She replied. Rob winked at me.

“What Judith means is that Derek’s… style, if you can call it that, is more theatrical than most. The more times you come to the Beacon then you’ll be able to see all the different styles of mediumship. I find it all quite fascinating, really. Some of the medium’s are quite humble; others are pompous… and that’s right where Derek sits!”

I was open to the experience, if a little sceptical (however that was something that Rob told me to cultivate. There was nothing wrong with being a little sceptical all the time it didn’t stop one from keeping an open mind.) At the end of the day I had nothing to lose; and the evening would be entertaining if nothing else.

Derek was extremely theatrical; full of the Grand Guignol and totally up his own arse. His opening address had been full of pomp and egotism and was the sort of man that could give mediumship a bad name. To my surprise he picked me first and I groaned inside; but what he actually told me shook me to the core.

Looking back on it now I can’t believe how green I really was.

“Now, young man… I know you probably won’t want to hear this from me, but it wasn’t your fault. You did everything you could in the relationship; you couldn’t have done any more. Every relationship is 50 / 50 and she should’ve known that.” I was shocked; no one knew of my breakup with Elaine; I’d told no one and yet what Derek was telling me was exactly what I had been telling myself these last couple of weeks. This was incredible! “Do what you can to focus on yourself now. The time will soon come when you can start again; who knows, maybe somewhere like here?”

I just nodded, dumbfounded but managed to say a muffled thank you to him, but Derek was still talking. “Now, I don’t know whether what I’ve said has meant anything to you; I only gave what I was told to say… All I know is that it was what you needed to hear.” I just nodded and Derek moved swiftly to the next person without missing a beat.

At the front I could see Rose and Joseph just watching me. Rose placed her hands together as if in thankfulness for what I’d been given and smiled. Joseph smiled slyly and winked.

After the mediumship display we all mingled and had coffee. Rose came up to me and gave me another all-encompassing hug.

“What did you think?”

“Couldn’t fault the message… wow!”

“Just the messenger?” She smiled at me kindly.

“Well..” I tried to find an excuse, anything than say how I really felt. I thought it would be churlish to be so negative; especially on my first visit.

“It’s ok.” Rose said, putting her hand on my arm, squeezing it. “I think he’s a pompous arse as well. Occasionally he comes up with the goods, but he puts on a good show.” I smiled back, careful not to allow myself to get too attracted to her; but I had a horrible suspicion it was far too late.

It was then that I felt a firm yet playful slap on the back. It was Joseph.

“What did you think? Want to join the Elite?”

“I think it’s a little too early to ask that question, don’t you think?” Rose interrupted. I was unsure of what they were talking about.

“Join the church and become a man, eh?” He laughed again and I was a little nervous now. What was the context behind the question? Was it linked to his wink earlier? Was there something else going on that I should be aware of?

“Joe!” Rose snapped. “I think you need a coffee”. Hearing his name spoken like that snapped him back to reality and he just guffawed and walked into the makeshift kitchen. Rose led me outside, her arm in mine. The night air was cold but I didn’t feel it. “I’m so sorry about that.” She explained, not looking at me. “He’s had a difficult week… His father died a few nights ago and he’s had a bit too much to drink these last couple of nights… he’s normally more reserved than that…”

I left with a peck on the cheek; dismissed into the night air; bemused and troubled. Even though I was the grand old age of 24 there were still times where I didn’t understand the world of adults. I felt that they played by a different set of rules or had a book of cheat codes that I didn’t possess.

I was attracted to Rose, maybe against my better judgement; but part of me felt that maybe she was indeed a kindred spirit; the attraction felt mutual. Of course, I felt threatened by Joseph; but whether that was down to my guilty conscience I wasn’t sure. It was a troubled sleep that night with no clear answers. One thing was sure: I had to go back to the Beacon centre but I wasn’t sure of the reasons why.

All through that week I resisted the temptation to visit the Wishing Well. I really wanted to see her again, but something told me that wouldn’t be a good idea. I just couldn’t understand why Rose was with someone like Joseph, who was so much older than her. She seemed to dote on him but he was almost dismissive of her.

Emotionally I was unprepared for this; I was still vulnerable from my relationship with Elaine. I was also unsure of how I felt about the Beacon centre itself. On the one hand everyone seemed very genuine, but on the other it seemed very happy-clappy.

I was a lapsed Christian and had gotten fed up with the hypocrisy behind the bible and the orthodoxy; and I thought that those visiting the Beacon might have been of the same view. However all I saw were those people substituting one set of beliefs for another –just a different pair of crutches. Sure, everyone seemed so much happier there. Christianity always sought to break the individual before accepting them into the fold –admitting that one lived in sin before one could be ‘redeemed’ was a bit too much for me. I believed that, if there was a God then we were all equals to it.

But that Saturday night I found myself outside the church hall and Joseph was there, smoking a mournful cigarette. He seemed a little dishevelled and I remembered what Rose had told me the week before. I felt uneasy towards him still but I also felt sorry for him.

Joseph saw me and brightened up, striding over to me with his hand held out for me to shake. “I’m so glad we… I didn’t put you off last week. I can only apologise if my comments were a little bit off… My father…” He paused, almost unable to continue.

“I know.. Rose told me.” I said. “And I can only give you my deepest sympathies.”

Joseph looked at me askew and I wondered if I’d said too much, but he quickly smiled and clasped me by the shoulder.

“I’m glad you came back. I think Rose was right –you are a kindred spirit. I’m not sure what you’re going to think of the medium tonight –she’s a bit… wet for my liking…. But if you haven’t got to rush off later I’d very much like to chat to you, if that’s ok.”

I nodded and said that I’d like that, unsure what he wanted to chat about.

“Excellent… well, until later then.” I walked into the hall feeling strangely pleased with myself. Maybe I’d misjudged Joseph, he seemed to have warmed towards me.

Rose greeted me enthusiastically again and remonstrated me as to why I hadn’t visited the Well recently.  I simply said that I needed time to think, to which she just nodded.

“I think we could all do with that from time to time.” She sighed and then looked at me again. “Don’t be too much of a stranger though.”

The medium, Sue Bland, was wetter than an octopus’s orifice and was just as bad as her namesake. She seemed to ‘mis-hear’ everything and many of the people received garbled messages, much to their chagrin. All this she put down to the energy of the group not being high enough for her work.

I found it all bizarre, bordering on absurd and it made it all the more difficult keeping a straight face through her ‘show’. (It didn’t help matters with Rob constantly digging me in the ribs with his elbow every time she made a mistake. Rob was a mischief maker just like me.)

Sue was a complete contrast to Derek’s performance. Never had a surname been more appropriate! She was limp of wrist and attitude; mincing meekly on stage, almost scared of her own shadow. If there was a lack of energy around the place then it was down to her!

Say what you like about Derek’s pomposity at least he knew how to work an audience; and his messages hit the mark more than hers did.

I actually felt deflated by her ‘display’ and really questioned my motives for coming back to the Beacon. Nobody else seemed too bothered by the non-event, which surprised me. I couldn’t help but query their motives for going week in, week out. Were these the type of people I really wanted to associate with?

I didn’t want to sound elitist but this seemed like just another excuse for a night out for these people. It was either this or bingo, it seemed; and from Sue’s performance tonight there was a striking similarity:

“Do we have a Mark here tonight? Mark? Mark? Wearing blue? I see a blue top… who has a cat?” BINGO!!

Was this how I wanted to spend my time? I didn’t need this constant reassurance that all was well in the other world. The same faces were here this week as last and I had to wonder why. Even those that had received messages last week were hungry for more. What more could they possibly be given? It was a selfishness over those others who might have a genuine need (if such a thing existed). It can’t have been comfort that they really needed, it was just another addiction.

I had forgotten that Joseph wanted to talk to me. Had I remembered then I probably would have found an excuse or just left early; then who knows how my life might have turned out?

It was the playful slap on the back from him that made me realise just how much he had been looking forward to our little chat.

However, before I was taken to one side Rose had an announcement to make. At the start of the evening I bought a raffle ticket; the first prize of which was an hours consultation with Rose in a Spirit Workshop. To my surprise I had won. This was unheard of for me as I had never won anything before in my life. Of course, I never saw anything untoward in any of this; the depths of my naivety were limitless, it seemed.

Joseph congratulated me and then led me into the small meeting room behind the main hall. It had been set out with two chairs and a table with some leaflets on it, and there was the scent of Turkish delight in the air; probably from an incense stick. I could sense that this had been well prepared and I wondered what I was being signed up for.

“You’ve got potential.” This was so much like Joseph; no pre-amble, getting-to-know-you chit-chat. He had only just motioned me to sit down before he started. “And you know it as well.”

“Haven’t we all though?” I was uncomfortable, wary of being indoctrinated by him. I didn’t like Joseph. (I also felt guilty over my feelings towards Rose).

“Don’t try to bullshit the bullshitter.” He replied matter-of-factly. He was having none of my normal evasion tactics. “Not only do you know it but you have done nothing to develop yourself. Now why is that, I wonder?”

I thought for a second, ready with one of my pat answers but knew then that he’d never stand for it –he’d see right through it.

“Because I don’t feel worthy of it?”

“Bingo. Well –at least you’re being more honest with me this time… thank you… but you must see that even that is a falsehood… especially when you see others who possess so much less than you.(Most of the people in the audience, for example)  Less knowledge, less awareness.. and yet they seem to accomplish so much more. Now why is that, do you wonder?”

I shrugged my shoulders non-committedly, unsure whether I liked the direction this was heading.

“Some people would probably say you lack confidence and would delight in telling you so; not realising that is part of the problem. Language is a powerful tool. The words we use define us and if you are defined by what you lack then you might never overcome that. Choose your script, change the language that you have framed yourself with. In fact… destroy the frame completely!”

This was the first time anyone had spoken to me like this and, despite myself and my initial reservations; I listened to what Joseph was saying. 

“You’ve been taught to fear power. You think that by living to your full potential you’ll abuse that power... But power only corrupts those that fear it or are not worthy of it. Now we can help you on the first part of that but you are the only one who can truly decide whether you are worthy of it. There is only one right answer, mind… but it takes true belief to become it… And, as luck would have it, we can help you with that as well, but only if you wish it. You must be the one to choose. The literature on the table is for you to take away and read.”

“I don’t need to read it; I know my answer already.” I answered despite myself. Joseph must have known I’d react like this but he played his part to perfection.

“Take them away with you; read them… This is not a decision to be taken lightly. Listen to what Rose has to say to you during your one-to-one session and then let me know your choice next week.”

I made sure that I booked up my one-to-one session with Rose before I left –Wednesday evening at 7.30, which gave me time to think things through and read the leaflets Joseph gave me.

As it was I couldn’t sleep when I got home and took out one of those leaflets and started reading:

“Shaping your world – your way

“How do you define your world? Do you let the perception of others rule the way you see yourself? If the answer to these two questions is yes than you must place yourself in the same boat as 98% of the people around you. The only difference is that you have, at last, realised that this is the case.

“WELL DONE. Now we can start the process of shaping your world…. Your way!

“This 8 week course will give you the tools you need to take apart, analyse and put yourself back together again the way YOU want to be.

“At the forefront of this course will be the language that you use to define yourself. Who has given you this language? Is this how you truly feel?

“Goal seeking – what goals are you trying to fulfil? Is this your life that you’re leading or is it someone else’s by proxy?

“Throughout this 8 week course we will be looking at the prods, the pushes and the pulls in your personality. These are the techniques you use to effect change in your life without realising it –these are the things that are affecting the way you see and do things.

          Prods – Extenuating circumstances that ‘force you’ to make a

          decision

          Pushes – Positive outcomes that encourage you to make a change;

          Justifications which can come from both internal and external

          influences.  Otherwise known as incentives.

          Pulls – Negative potential futures which influence your decision

          making Process. Fear or guilt become strong influencers and will

          distort your Reality. Otherwise known as ‘should’s’.

“Learn what your trigger words are and within 8 weeks learn how to shape your world – YOUR way.”

I put the leaflet down feeling energised. This was mirroring what Joseph had told me earlier. I understood what was meant by the prods, pushes and pulls and could see how I’d allowed them into my life. There were obvious concerns –nowhere was mentioned cost or what was expected out of the people going on the course. To be fair, I’d read this kind of literature before; it was a basic salesman’s patter… but there was something about hearing it from Joseph first. I wanted to know more so read the second leaflet: “Realise your potential – YOUR way.”

“Are you making the most out of your gift? Do you dare stand with the chosen few?

“You are probably aware that we are all born equal, nevertheless with gifts that make us unique. Whilst this is certainly true there is one question to ask yourself: “Who wishes to be the same as everyone else?

“There is so much more that you could be; the gifts are so much more than a birth rite, they are a gateway to your full potential.

·         Have you ever had dreams that later have come true?

·         Have you ever thought of an old friend only to bump into them?

·         Are you incredibly lucky in life? (Do you want to be?)

“All these are symptoms of the ‘Gifts’ already trying to become manifest in your life; they are there waiting for you to realise them.

“Learn how to make these gifts a reality; learn the language to make them real. Turn your dreams into a reality.

“In this 7 week course you will:

·         Learn how to turn the ‘coulds’ into ‘wills’

·         Create a five step process of dream manifestation

·         Hone your powers of intuition.

Realise your potential – YOUR way!”

There was something almost elitist in some of the passages; almost as if Joseph saw himself above those in his… congregation (was that the right word?). In fact, he had had said as much during our chat earlier. Part of me felt repulsed by this feeling, but there was also part of me that agreed with it. There were times where I not only saw myself apart from the rest of the crowd but also above them. I was never one to follow the rest of the herd and now I was reading something that addressed those feelings. It was disconcerting to say the least. I picked up the third leaflet to take my mind off this.

“Harness the energies – YOUR way

“Do you wish to make a difference to other people’s lives? Do you feel yourself over flowing with love?

·         Learn how to become a conduit to the Universal Energy – become a SPIRITUAL HEALER.

·         Learn how to help people help themselves.

·         Learn the ancient mysteries associated with different healing energies and become a tool for a better world around you.

“In our extensive five week course you will learn many different approaches to healing, all designed to maximise your potential and harness the Universal Love that flows through you.

“Learn how to balance the mind, body and spirit of yourself and others. Become a channel for the healing and universal love – YOUR way.”

Having read all three leaflets in rapid succession I was now concerned with what I had gotten myself involved in. Joseph’s words, which had made so much sense at the time, now seemed twisted; tainted by what was in the leaflets.

The first seemed like a manifesto for change; the second elitist and the third a cheap knock off to make money. (What was strange was that money wasn’t actually mentioned at all. I couldn’t help but wonder whether it was all on a ‘donation’ basis, preying on people’s sense of worth.)

This was exactly the sort of thing I wanted to avoid. It seemed to be about making money from people’s weaknesses, capitalising on their vulnerability.

I didn’t know much about psychology but what little I had experienced of Cognitive Behavioural Therapy had taught me that the last thing you should do is take the past apart! That way madness dwelt! Once you started there was no clear way to stop –a ever spiralling fractal that ended only in further neurosis (but so much easier to exploit). I was of two minds to just never go back to the Beacon centre; however there was one thing that still assuaged me: Rose.

Wednesday, just off the Hove seafront; the posh part; further adding to my growing sense of doubt over the Beacon. It was clear that Joseph and Rose were not short of money.

Alarm bells failed to stop me from walking in front of a cyclist; I was so immersed that I wasn’t paying any attention to my surroundings. I didn’t even remember the drive down to Hove, so lost was I in my concerns for the evening (and the prospect of seeing Rose again) that I had walked straight into the cycle lane; not taking into account the cyclist that was barrelling his way towards me –Hove cyclists not being the most forgiving at the best of times, this one barely stopped in time and ignored my feeble attempts at apologising.

I was nervous enough as it was and the lift being out of order made the situation so much worse –Rose lived on the 6^th floor. By the time I reached her flat I must have looked like one of the undead!

She smiled as I tried to gasp my apologies and waited until I caught my breath before hugging me warmly. The flat was far larger than I could have imagined; very spacious, opulent even –further adding to my growing suspicions. There was a strong scent of incense in the air, beguiling and sweet. Rose led me into the lounge and bade me to sit. There was an artist’s easel set up ready and a folder on the table to the left of me.

“Do you know what Spirit Art is?” she asked.

“I can only hazard a guess that it’s where you paint with your eyes closed and let spirit guide your hands?” I wasn’t sure whether I was in the right frame of mind for this; it seemed at complete odds with what Joseph had been proselytizing.  Rose and her spirit art –it all sounded so naïve in comparison. She looked at me before answering, her expression was quizzical. Did she sense my unwillingness to participate?

“Almost – whilst talking I’ll be in direct contact with Spirit and will be directed to draw a portrait of someone. Now that might be someone who has passed over that you knew; someone you know on the Earth plane or it may even be your Spirit Guide. Have you ever been contacted by your Spirit Guide before?”

This was going into uncharted territory for me and I was almost embarrassed to answer. Bizarrely I found myself answering anyway.

“I’m not sure whether you’d call it my Guide necessarily, but I often get a told things by a voice that I know isn’t me… and there are times when I’m chatting to someone and suddenly my voice will drop in tone and I’ll say something quite profound to that person… yet it’s not me speaking per se. Is that what you mean? Does that sound strange?”

“Not as much as you would think… it could very well be your Guide… Shall we find out?”

Rose stood by her easel, sideways on to me and for the first time that evening I could really take in what she was wearing –the most feminine of dresses that flowed in the right places and yet accentuated all the right contours of her body. In short, she was breath-taking. She had a dark purple shawl on as well, which contrasted with the pale pink of her dress.

She saw me looking at her and broke the silence by asking whether I was a fan of ABBA. I didn’t know what to say –this was beginning to sound like a farce and yet she was actually quite serious.

“Not really… well, I mean.. I like what I’ve heard but I can’t say I’ve ever rushed out and bought an album…”

“Oh.. it’s just that I’ve got the song Chiquitita in my head and wondered if it meant anything to you ?”

“No.. now.. If it was Queen’s ‘Another one bites the dust’…” I couldn’t believe that I’d just said that! How rude it must have sounded.

“Or maybe ‘I want to break free’?” I blushed hard. “It’s ok – I know how odd all this sounds to you. All we ever ask is an open mind. If you’re told anything tonight that resonates with you then brilliant! If not, well.. Just park it for a while. A week, maybe a month later then someone might say something and it might finally click for you. Take what you can and leave the rest.”

“Sounds like the motto of my life…”

“But who’s in control of that life?”

“Well, it certainly hasn’t seemed like me for a long time.”

“Seemed? No, whose fault is that?” Rose was no longer looking at me; she seemed disconnected in herself and I wondered what was happening.

“Mine? I dunno…”

“I do.. You’re afraid of taking control, of being as strong as you could be; why?”

This was somewhere I didn’t want to go; part of the past I’d tried so hard to supress. I didn’t want to talk about it but somehow Rose had gotten right to the heart of it.

“My father… well, he used to… he was a born drunk; permanently fucked in the head and did his best to take it out on those who couldn’t fight back. I learnt not to get anywhere near him when he was drunk; which was pretty much all the time… but mum wasn’t so lucky. He would take it out on her regardless.

“When I was ten years old he started taking it out on me more and it became harder to hide. Something must have clicked in mum because she then actively baited him more and more; whether it was to draw the attention away from me I’m not sure… but the beatings became more violent. One day… she pushed too hard..”

“You.. what happened?” Rose asked quietly.

“… they were standing on the landing when it happened; them shouting, screaming at each other. I was in my bedroom and could hear it all so clearly; the sound of him slapping her and then a sickening thud and it was silent. I went out to see what had happened, saw mum just lying at his feet like a broken puppet; just discarded there.

“I don’t really remember what happened next… I must have picked up something heavy from my room and slammed it against his head. He fell over the bannister and just lie there sprawled against the stairs below.”

“Was he dead?”

“I don’t know how the sonofabitch survived, but he did… but he was never the same again…”

I could see Rose fighting the urge to come over to me. I wasn’t sure whether I wanted her to or not, or where it might lead if she did.

“Don’t you see what happened?” She asked, looking at me now; urging me to confront something that I had been fighting against my whole adult life. “Your father abused his power.. a father should be protective, nurturing; but you never had that. He beat you both, proving to you that power corrupts.. and the only time that you stood up to him you almost killed him. You’re afraid of letting that power out again.”  I nodded, not wanting to hear this… but she was right. “He was your only role model and you have done everything in your power not to be like him. It’s far better to supress it; supress your power, your strength than be like him… but it doesn’t need to be that way.”

“But I failed her though.”

“You can’t think like that… There was nothing you could have done…. But you can now. All the time you deny yourself; your true self, then he’s won. Your father will still have that hold over you.”

I had never seen it like that before. It was like having a veil lifted from my eyes. Rose was right –I had let my fear of what had happened that night colour everything I said or did afterwards. That bastard was still in control of me; but no longer!

For the first time in years, and despite myself, I cried; not out of pain or regret but tears of release. Rose came over to me and held me. My mind was a blur; one moment I saw things so clearly but the next it became a whirlpool. We held each other; Rose kissing my forehead, keeping me close; soothing me, giving me healing. It wasn’t long before the kiss melted into something deeper, far more intense and we became one; separated only by space. For the first time I knew one thing and one thing only; I wanted her.

She pushed me gently away, careful not to break the spell between us. “Are you sure you want this?” She whispered.

“Yes. More than anything.”

“Be sure… be very sure. There will be no turning back.”

“Whatever happens happens; I want this. I want you.”

“Whatever the cost?”

“Whatever the cost – It will be worth it.” She kissed me hard then; tongue flowing into mine, our energies mingling.

I never heard him walk into the room. It never occurred to me that he’d actually be there still. It was only when Joseph started clapping that we stopped. Rose just stood there, nonplussed by his dramatic entrance.

“Don’t let me stop you.” He said in an almost light-hearted tone.

“I’m sorry.” I started to excuse my way out of this; the naughty schoolboy… but it felt wrong to do so. Joseph interrupted me before I could say anything else.

“Are you? Think back over what Rose said to; what we spoke about earlier..”

“No… I’m not sorry.” I replied despite myself. “I’m just sorry you caught us…”

“Don’t be… How do you think Rosie and I met?”