Promethean Shadows

by Patrick Jean-Jacques

  He weighed-up the Professor judiciously and correctly assumed that a man with Professor’s experience would know more about what he was going through than he might ever say. However, self-preservation stopped him from disclosing any details about his dreams.

  “Have you thought about your final year dissertation?” the Professor repeated.

  “Not really,” said Will.

  “After today’s debate, I thought it seemed quite clear,” enthused the Professor. “You should conduct your thesis into these energy problems, I’ll endorse it! There’s plenty of old and current research to get you started.”

  Noticing his jolly, bourbon-fuelled demeanour, Will couldn’t decide if the Professor was doing him a favour or if he was doing the professor one. He concluded that it didn’t really matter, “Cool Professor! It makes sense and I already have a head start.”

  The Professor smiled, “Remember William, I expect rigorous academic research and a concisely written paper. “You still work as a Journalist for the local rag, yes?”

  “Yes, Professor,” he replied before sipping the last of his bourbon, “At the Chronicle and its Junior Journalist!”

  “Aren’t you a bit old for a junior?” asked the Professor casually. “Well, undoubtedly you’ll have access their unique archives.”

  “Thanks professor,” said Will. He headed towards the door with a warm, fuzzy feeling in his stomach.

  “Now, I’m afraid I have papers to grade,” said the Professor. “Be mindful what you dig up!”

  Will suddenly stopped and turned, “What was that Professor?”

  Surprised that Will had heard him, the Professor quickly glanced over his computer and said, “Good luck,” before lowering his head again. Bemused, Will turned and walked out, not realising that the Professor’s eyes were discreetly following him.

  Later that day, Will later hooked-up with Adam and two other friends for late afternoon lunch. Wes Mathurin was a third year philosophy student. He and Will met during some martial arts classes. Alison Palmer-King or Ally as she preferred, hit it off instantly during their common Media lectures. Her forthrightness and dry wit quickly endured her to him.

  During their conversations, something out of the corner of Will’s eye caught his attention. Among a group of students exiting the food hall, stood a woman with distinctive brunette hair. As she walked, her hair swished from side-to-side, Will felt compelled to know her.

  Fidgeting on his seat to get a better look, he brought the matter to the group, “Guys, did you see?” They had all spun around before he could finish.

  “See what?” replied Adam.

  “That girl!” gasped Will. “I could’ve sworn that was her,” he looked at Adam.

  “Jesus man, get the hell on after her then,” urged an amused Adam.

  Ally and Wes exchanged looks, “Who!” they mouthed silently.

  Will chose the only route available but it was crowded, “Sorry! Mind out! Excuse me! Coming through!” he said, as he pushed his way towards the exit. Once he negotiated the restaurant, he quickly glanced behind him to assess a carnage of angered students.

  Upon exiting the food hall, Will quickly scanned left and right, searching for his intended target. When his eyes met the back of her head, he saw the mystery woman instantly disappear around the corner and raced after her.

  “Ow!” As Will turned the corner, his face unexpectedly met with an open door. Lying on the floor, he stared at the ceiling as if he was examining the lights but the suddenness of pain interrupted him. He chastised himself and regained his composure then stumbled to his feet and continued his pursuit.

  Despite the onset of a possible concussion, Will focussed his intent on meeting ‘his’ mystery woman. His pursuit came to a halt by the Faculty of Environmental Science. There were two impressive lecture theatres in Attenborough House, each one filled with students engaged in their studies.

  Knowing that entry was nigh impossible, Will’s boldness reached its limitations. He began to feel nauseated from his exertions and the food in his stomach was considering a dramatic reappearance. Will slid to the floor, as the warmth around his nose become more apparent and he passed out.

  Later that afternoon, the RC hosted a distinguished keynote speaker, the Secretary of State for Energy and Climate Change, Sir Anthony Wilson. However, it didn’t prove to be as interesting as Will had hoped, he had found Sir Anthony’s talk far too political for his liking. Sir Anthony had droned on endlessly, as he skilfully fudged over important issues, such as nuclear fuel and climate change.

  Things only became more interesting during the Q&A session, when a voice from nowhere suddenly challenged Sir Anthony,

  “How can you guarantee safeguards against an already deteriorated ozone layer and carbon emissions are spiralling out of control,” she shouted. “How can the government afford to improve current nuclear sites, with many being regarded as unsafe? Where will they get the money, Sir Anthony?”

  Everyone shuffled around trying to identify whom the voice had belonged. Sir Anthony’s face had turned cherry red at the unexpected inquisition and visibly squirmed. Harmonious murmurings gave rise to excitement as students rubbernecked to glimpse the face of audacity.

  Will shuffled too, at first leaning, then standing then sitting again. Suddenly from nowhere a hand appeared from behind and prodded him. He turned around, “Adam, what the hell? I thought that you hated these things?”

  “I do!” grinned Adam, as he pointed across the conference room.

  When the person standing next to Will sat down, he could see where Adam was pointing. He’d been pursuing the very same young woman across college earlier in the day. After they exchanged looks of approval, Adam motioned to Will but he was already hotfooting it carefully down the bleachers.

  He reached the doors by the bottom first and immediately began to plan what he might say. After he taking a deep breath, he psyched himself up as she walked in his direction. With the sharpness of a lioness hunting its prey, her piercing hazel eyes sliced through the crowd and fixed unwaveringly on Will.

  Hoping that nothing cheesy or banal would come out, “Hi, I loved the Newsnight act, you’re last name’s not Paxman is it?” asked Will cheekily.

  “Thanks and no, I’m not related to Mr Paxman,” she smiled pleasantly. “Oh, I loved your act too,” she said disarmingly.

  Will looked confused, “My act?”

  “How’s the nose?” she said cryptically.

  The proverbial penny dropped, “Fine, thank you,” replied Will mortified. “Wait-a-minute, how could you know?”

  She took a picture out of her bag, casually scrawled on the back and gave it to him, “Everybody knows! You’re famous!” she said light-heartedly. Will looked at the colour photocopy of him lying outside the lecture room, covered in blood. She leaned over to him intimately and whispered in his ear, “Can I have your autograph?”

  Before he could answer, she turned and walked off with her friends. Will watched as they giggled away, unsure if this first encounter qualified as a success.

  Adam arrived in timely fashion, “That looked interesting! Did you tell her that one bad joke that you know?” he teased.

  “Hilarious!” replied Will casually. “Well, we got the meet and greet out the way.”

  “And from that you deduced there’d be a next time?’ asked Adam looking at the picture in Will’s hand.

  Will smiled and stared at the distant figure, “Oh I know there’ll be a next time,” handing the picture to his friend. Adam looked at the picture, flipped it over and then smiled at the eleven-digit phone number written on the back.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Things Long Gone

  Not only was Will Cox strong-willed, he was also resourceful and independent; traits developed and galvanized by events during his childhood years. Orphaned at a very young age, Will grew up with fragmented memories of family and past friendships.

  Often, he would stare at the old photos his mantelpiece, trying to
recall distant memories. In one the pictures, he’s sat beside a young boy named Billy-Jo Johnson. He smiled fondly, as he remembered the friend whom he used to call BJ or simply, Beej.

  In another picture, he was standing between a beautiful fair-haired woman and a tall dark-haired man, his parents. Will warmly observed, how happy everyone looked and closed his eyes and went back to that time. He allowed his thoughts to drift freely back to his past.

  ✽✽✽

  Tahlequah, Oklahoma, 1988… The sunlight had been bathing the area since dawn, and warm gusts blew across the air. Will hated the arid conditions, as they hindered his breathing. He was sitting at the edge of the creek near Sequoya Park with his friend. They had their legs dipped in up to their knees, and were swirling their hands in the cold water.

  “Why’re you always having needles poked into you?” asked Billy.

  Will thought hard and shrugged, “Daddy says it’s something to do with my emmoone sistem.”

  “A e-moon sistem?” said a puzzled Billy.

  “I don’t know but dad says something in my body needs boosting,” replied Will seriously. After a pause, he turned to his friend, “You ever miss your dad Beej? You never really talk about him.”

  “I suppose I’d have to have known him first,” said Billy-Jo bluntly.

  “Sorry!” said Will apologetically. “It’s none of my business, I shouldn’t have…”

  “Forget it,” said Billy, as he swished his feet more vigorously. “Howcum your dad travels so much?”

  “His job I guess,” said Will. “He works with medicines and helps people all over the world.” Billy looked at Will incredulously. “Well, so mom says! Why?”

  Billy stared at the shimmering sunlight, as it refracted off the water’s surface, “I just wondered what it’d be like to see the world.”

  They remained at the creek’s edge for a while. It wasn’t long before the quiet calm gave way to adolescent mischief. As Billy and Will splashed water at over each other until they both became drenched.

  Later that evening at the dinner table, Will wouldn’t remember much except for the stewed chicken and potatoes, which was his favourite. Lost in the fervour of eating, he failed to notice his parents had been watching him closely and exchanging glances.

  “What?” said Will nervously, “Whatever it is, I didn’t do it!” looking unsure at his parents.

  They both smiled before his mother spoke, “We were thinking it’s time you got out and saw more of the world,” said Alannah Cox.

  “Mum, I’m only eight!” replied Will sincerely.

  “Yes you are,” his mother said. “But we’re not always going to…”

  “We’ve decided that the time’s right,” interrupted his father Cameron. “Wouldn’t you like that?” he smiled.

  “Sure! I don’t know,” Will wasn’t sure what to say. He had the distinct impression he didn’t have much choice, “I guess, but…”

  “As you know my job requires me to travel. Well, your mother and I have agreed that you should come too,” said Cameron. He exchanged another look with Alannah that was lost on Will, “Now, it’s time for your injection!”

  Will shrugged innocently, jumped off the chair and headed towards the living area. He grabbed a large silver box from the top of his father’s desk and turned just as Cameron entered the room. “What about BJ, can he come too?”

  “BJ has his own family,” said Cameron simply.

  “Dad, do I have to have this injek-shun?” Will protested.

  “It will help to get rid of your asthma William,” replied Cameron. “You’ll never have breathing problems again.”

  “Is that why you’re using that big shiny gun-type thing this time?” said Will.

  “That’s right,” confirmed Cameron.

  “It’s different from… Ow!” screamed Will. “That hurt!”

  “Sorry Will, the last ones usually do,” said Cameron nonchalantly.

  “Okay,” cringed Will. After further reassurance from his father, he headed back towards the dining room encouraged by the prospect of an ice cream sundae.

  It was now late night and the moonlight beamed across the trailer park. Shadows from the trailer homes stretched across the dusty ground. Will awoke startled by what seemed like a distant howling and footsteps moving around their home.

  A cool breeze whistled past his face and Will noticed that the trailer door was partly open. Will grabbed his nightgown and a torch, and moved towards one of the windows to check. He spotted the shape of someone running away and without a thought, set off in pursuit of the unknown person.

  The silhouetted figure moved speedily through the trailers to evade Will, darting towards the woods. Despite his youth and size, Will was very quick and determined. As the mystery figure moved farther beyond the woods, Will had already slowed down before his asthma insisted he stopped.

  Will’s heart pounded furiously, as it worked to deliver oxygen through his body. Dejected by his failure and the fact that the person was almost out of sight, Will aimed his torch in the opposite direction and headed back home.

  Trudging back miserable, Will cursed the night with some colourful words he once heard his father use. Emerging from the woods, he smiled at the prospect of returning to a warm bed. A spring returned to his steps, until he saw the huge orangey-yellow glow that emanated from general area near the trailer homes.

  When he arrived, the rage of the flames mirrored in his eyes. Will could see that his home was now a burning pyre and as he tried to get closer, the searing heat overwhelmed him. He fell to his knees confused by grief. “Muuum, Daaad!” bellowed Will. “No!”

  ✽✽✽

  Cambridge, present day… The time on the clock reminded Will it was time to leave and fulfil his other commitments. To support his studies and career aspirations, he’d taken on part time job at a local newspaper, The Chronicle.

  Upon entering the office, Will smiled and soaked up the atmosphere. Reporters hustled and bustled at their desks. The rat-a-tatting sounds of fingers jabbing computer keys and a choir of phones ringing, filled the office. Someone was always at the centre of a major story or hovering on the edge of one.

  Daley Hackford, the Editor-in-Chief, was the proverbial living legend in journalism circles. He personified the tenacity and unbending qualities needed to run a newspaper. He was bullish in the pursuit of truth and demanded high standards of integrity from all of his staff. The Chronicle was his baby and regarded everyone who worked there as family.

  “Cox!” growled Daley, his voice carried even through the thick glass door.

  “Sir, yes sir?” snapped Will.

  Daley looked at Will through squinted eyes. “How many times have I told you not to call me sir?”

  Amused, he pretended to think about it, “Oh well, I’ve lost count now Mr Daley Sir,” replied Will.

  “Son, do I look like an officer or a knight of the realm?” asked Daley. Before Will could answer, “What are you working on at the moment?”

  “Not much Daley!” said Will earnestly. “I’ve just wrapped up that piece about the mistreatment of elderly people in the Care Home.”

  “What about the Local County Council thing?”

  “They won’t talk to me Daley,” replied Will.

  “And why would they?” smiled Daley. “Don’t worry, leave that to me. What else you got?”

  “Well, the Professor wants me to do my final paper on the energy issues,” said Will.

  “Does he?” asked Daley rhetorically. “How is old Etienne these days? Is he still keeping the bourbon in the drawer?” probed Daley.

  “Yup!” confirmed Will. “What do you think?” he asked.

  “Did you know that Etienne McDonald was a two-time Pulitzer Prize winner?” offered Daley.

  “Uh no, I didn’t,” said Will. “He doesn’t exactly have his awards hanging up.”

  “Back in the eighties, he did some exceptional writing for the Washington Post,” enthused Daley. There was a pause aft
er Daley trailed off and started drumming his fingers against the table vigorously. “I’ll think about it!” After some thought, he gave Will a local assignment in the city to prove himself.

  “Thanks boss!” said Will gratefully.

  As Will had left his office, Daley frowned at the naivety of his excitement. He surmised that Will obviously hadn’t been to one of these things or seen them on the TV, ‘There was always trouble,’ he thought.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Chance Encounters

  As the violence and mayhem continued around him, Will couldn’t help but think that it would only be a matter of time before Daley’s big ideas backfired. He’d send one of his flock into an volatile situation from which, they might not return. Will thought that moment had arrived for him, when the smoking canister smashed against his temple and everything turned to black.

  Three hours before, Daley had assigned Will to cover the public demonstrations near the council offices in Cambridge City centre. Several campaign groups had decided to protest new government plans for energy provision. However, rumours were rife that more organisations of a radical predisposition would be attending. Daley wanted the Chronicle to get the jump on the competition.

  Will shuffled through the crowds trying to find a suitable place to perch. Looking around, he found it difficult to remain unimpressed by thousands who turned out. He noted the police presence, discreetly vigilant down the side roads. The protests had been relatively peaceful and the only excitement was when the police reprimanded a small group of inebriated protesters.

  When he reached the main stage, Will suddenly felt an unease as a thick air of tension loomed. He looked around and found it difficult to see anything threatening but for a few meaningless glances by some anonymous people. Goose pimples speckled across his face and neck, as he became aware of a pair of mysterious eyes that had fixed on him.

  The figure kept to the shadowy doorways of closed shops. From what Will could make out, the silhouette belonged someone tall, possibly male from the way his posture. He was dressed in a full-length dark leather coat and wore dark boots. Will’s forehead crumpled, as he stretched his gaze across the crowds.