"Well, at least they won't move till the police get here," said Toby, smiling.
"The police are already here! If only you knew," said Amanda, looking at Toby and considering whether or not to say any more. "Look, I've just got to make a phone call. Can you keep an eye on these guys for a minute, please?" She went into the kitchen for privacy, dialled the number, spoke to Superintendent Hopkins at Scotland Yard and returned to the men.
As Amanda and Toby looked at each other, wondering what to do or say next, Arthur stirred and started to mumble. Amanda rushed over to him and knelt by his face. His lips were moving from time to time as if he was conversing with someone.
"Are you okay, Arthur?" asked Amanda quietly as she placed her hand gently on his forehead. "I'm listening."
"Maybe he's delusional, just raving ..." said Toby.
"Sshhh!" said Amanda. "We're listening, Arthur."
"But he's just ..." said Toby.
"Shut up will ya!" said Amanda. "Give him a chance."
"He's frightened," said Arthur faintly, with a gentle smile across his face.
"Who's frightened?" asked Amanda, not sure she heard him right.
"Toby is. Toby is frightened," said Arthur quietly. Amanda had to bend close to his face to hear him.
"Toby is frightened of what?" asked Amanda, caressing his forehead gently.
"I'm not frightened. He's just ..." said Toby, stopping mid-sentence as Amanda's withering glare stopped him. He looked perturbed but he kept his mouth shut and shuffled a little closer to Amanda and Arthur as if daring himself to hear more.
"He's frightened of the love," said Arthur quietly, taking in a deliberate breath and his smile never leaving his face.
"The love?" asked Amanda, looking quizzically at Toby.
"The love he fears," whispered Arthur. "So he uses his own strength."
"His own strength?" asked Amanda, not sure whether she should look at Toby or not. Toby shuffled closer, intrigued and a little annoyed.
"His own strength ... not letting the love through," said Arthur weakly with the steady smile still on his face.
"The love?" asked Toby, intrigued and now kneeling next to Amanda.
"The love is power, is knowledge," said Arthur, panting a little as if he was tiring but had words he needed to get out. "Listen to the love inside. Amanda can teach listening."
"Listen?" asked Toby, now more sure than ever that Arthur was raving. But something invisible pulled him into Arthur's words.
"Amanda knows the listening," said Arthur. "She listens often."
"Arthur's right, Toby," said Amanda. "I know what he means, totally."
"When she listens to the love, she's not frightened," said Arthur, panting a bit but no strain showed on his face. "When she does, the love speaks its power. Life flows."
"Yes, when I do, things do flow," said Amanda. "It's effortless but I keep forgetting."
"Not forgetting," said Arthur in his hoarse whisper. "Not forget but not believe you deserve the power."
"Oh," said Amanda, not sure what to say.
"Nothing to say, just listen," said Arthur. "Listen to each other. Much power there."
Amanda and Toby looked at each other uncertainly.
"I must go inside now," said Arthur, smiling uncertainly. "There is nothing to fear and I shall return." His lids slowly closed over his eyes and a deep and abiding silence filled their space.
As they stood up looking at Arthur, his closing eyes seemed to dim the light, a light they hadn't noticed before. There seemed to be nothing and everything to say and Arthur's peaceful face gave no clues. They stood there, daring to look at each other, with empty minds and stilled tongues. No one moved, not even the overweight guard who had been constantly fighting his awkward position - he stopped and his look of embarrassed annoyance was swept away by one of smiling benevolence, as if someone had just told him a beautiful and moving story. George Sanderson, too, stopped his twitching and his attempts to rouse his body to full consciousness. A warm and gentle breeze, a zephyr, touched their cheeks and Toby and Amanda looked at each other as if wondering if the other had brushed their cheeks. Neither had and it fell to their imagination to wonder at the zephyr inside a house with so many thick walls and massive doors. This zephyr, this softest of breezes, soon passed and they blinked as if waking from a sweet dream. Arthur seemed oblivious to it all, in peaceful repose.
The other two men started their fidgeting again, though tentatively as if waiting for permission to continue.
"Did you feel that?" asked Amanda quietly.
"Yes I did," whispered Toby.
It seemed as if the mysterious and gentle zephyr had touched them as one rather than each of them individually. They both felt this, somehow, but might have found it hard to explain it to others ... even to themselves. They knew what had happened and the shared experience - though brief and simple - touched them deeply, though they knew not why. Their hands sought each other out and, as their fingers intertwined, it seemed that the massive room and corridor in which they were standing filled itself with a presence - warm and caring, somehow - and they felt a deep safety, a quiet unconcern, for what was about to unfold. All their uncertainties, fears and questions were enfolded in this presence, this sense of deep and ancient caring and they needed to do nothing but smile and wait for further guidance from within.
Toby put his arm around Amanda's shoulders and she leaned into him with a sigh.
"So, what are you two doing? Snogging?" asked Dottie in a loud and commanding voice as she strode down the corridor. Amanda and Toby separated, looking shocked and embarrassed, confirming Dottie's suspicions.
A Head Job
Wednesday, 14th March 2012, 8.16 a.m.
Arthur, Arthur, came a sound, a whisper on a breeze, that slipped quietly through his dreams. Arthur slid through gently, serenely and on those words he sat, gliding down a grassy slope in the warm afternoon sun, guided by a grace that was not his own. He was content to be led on a word that felt familiar, down a hill he'd never seen but knew intimately. As he glided on, one Arthur behind the other, he realised he could lie back if he chose. Sitting up pleased him as he could see the flitting swallows above, the parting grass before him and the sun glinting on the sea far below. He approached the sea and it seemed to come no nearer.
As he looked up he fancied he could see - or was it feel? - a thudding in the clouds behind him.
He became happily drowsy and lay back on the two Arthurs with no sensation of their touch. Looking up he saw not sky but a face; a face he knew well, he supposed. The face was close, blurred, and its lips were moving, saying something - saying, "Arthur, Arthur," the very words he was lying on, sliding on. His eyes saw the face but didn't look at it - he looked through it, wondering - how could that be there, not the sky.
The thudding in the sky seemed to be closing in. It was definitely a feeling now.
The face moved back and the mouth - a familiar mouth, somehow - was still moving, saying Arthur and other words. He could see the eyes now and, like the mouth, looked sad happy ... mmm, sad happy? Yes, that's what they looked like. The face still filled his sky as he slipped gently down the grassy slope towards the sea. There was a light now, behind the face, shining through hair and around the edges. There might be, perhaps, other sounds, human sounds and the birds had stopped chirping.
The face moved closer and seemed comforting; warmly comforting and he was pleased it was there. His forehead was touched gently, caressingly, and he smiled.
And then the smell of the grass gave way to the scent of roses ... mmm, not quite roses, but a scent he knew well, a scent he longed would remain. The scent, whatever it was, revived old chipped memories, fragments of events unconnected, parts of a life that felt familiar, parts of several lives, perhaps - child-times, adult-times, baby-times, teenage-times, all scattered about as confetti in the gentle breeze of his mind. This scent, so familiar, brought with it smiles, disappointment, sweetness, loss, fear, calm, hurrying, bo
redom and exquisite peace as after love-making.
As he looked at her emerging face he realised he wasn't seeing it as he usually saw faces, saw bodies, saw things. There was no distinct nose or mouth or eyes, no individual pieces, different from other pieces. It was like an unfolding picture in lights but not individual, twinkling lights ... it was a picture in light, one light, bright and subtle. He imagined he was looking at a patch of water on a still lake, into which a small pebble had been dropped, a hundred yards away. The surface of the water before him might be moving. It might not be moving. He was not sure. The light, her light, might be moving. It might not be moving. He was not sure. He knew her light to be different from the background light and the light of other beings but he wasn't sure how he was distinguishing these differences.
In the gentle light he sensed a concern, a worry about the container, the capsule, labelled as Arthur. Ah, yes, his small capsule - that was what she feared for. He understood her fears and was, at the same time, bemused for he knew there was nothing to fear, to worry over. The small capsules, with all their different labels, were not what was really there.
He looked in and saw ... no, not saw ... knew his capsule was open - perhaps for the first time - and a larger essence had been released to encompass ... well, everything, really. There were no boundaries, no limits, and it just sort-of flowed into other essences, slightly separate but not.
The capsule he'd known so well seemed to be closed and, inside, it held all its fears and concerns. He was touched and the formless light of his essence enfolded her capsule and she burst into tears - a flood of tears so long held back and now released with the relief of an ancient knowing that cleansed face and soul.
"Arthur, you're back, you're awake!" came her voice through the mist of his gentle perplexity. Unused to such a way of seeing things ... of knowing things ... he relaxed, unconcerned, and enjoyed the small blissful waves of light as they caressed him.
"Arthur, can you speak, can you hear me?" came her voice as her concern washed over him. "Your eyes are open, my love. Are you there?"
"Yes, yes, I'm here ... awake," he said softly, knowing she needed reassurance in physical form.
"Oh Arthur, it's been all night and now you're back," she said as he felt a dampness on his face and then her soft face against his cheek .... her soft and very familiar face against his cheek.
His temple, his cheek, were caressed in warmth and his eyes closed at the sweetness. The caress stopped and his eyes opened. The face became less blurred, more distinct. He knew the face. It had a name. His mind reached for the name. It did not come. He looked more intently and the focus improved. Her face was still close, still saying words that were starting to straighten themselves out and become separate, nearly distinct.
The thudding continued to close in on him and a small pain crept into his head. His mind went to his body and he could sense nothing - a no-body, a no-sense, unfelt, unsensed. He tried to move a finger and was surprised to find it was there, as usual. Satisfied, he looked back at the face, now becoming more distinct, more ... mmm, more ... oh gosh, he knew that face! It spoke of love, caring and a deep history to him but no name came. It then spoke a name, its name, and he was filled. It spoke of Joan and all those shattered fragments of memories fused together in a quiet completion of a life that was his own. He tried one arm and it had a familiar weight. He tried raising it and fancied it did as he bid it do. As his arm reached for Joan's face, he felt dripping on him and she embraced him as he smiled and was complete.
The thudding had filled his head now and its intensity was growing.
"Is he alright?" asked Arthur weakly.
"Is who alright dear?" asked Joan.
"The man," said Arthur, taking another breath. "The man I hit."
"Ah him, that damned Sanderson?" asked Joan. "Yes, you rather damaged his kidneys and other bits, you savage man, you!"
"But ... is he alright?" asked Arthur, desperate for an answer as he struggled for another breath.
"Well, he was in a pretty bad way after you'd beaten him with that vase and cabinet," said Joan. "I didn't know you had it in you, darling!"
"I didn't hit him with it ..." protested Arthur weakly.
"Well, no one else was there to do it!" said Joan, laughing and interrupting him before he could get another breath. "You're quite the hero, my dear!"
"But I didn't hit him with ..." said Arthur with more to say while his strength to say it deserted him. He needed to know if the man was alright but the thudding was closing in. He just wanted to escape it, in blissful sleep, which was also closing in.
"And the others?" asked Arthur weakly.
"Yes, unfortunately Sanderson got taken off to hospital while Amanda and Toby were arrested," said Joan. "One of Martin's colleagues is working with Lord Atkinson to have them released."
"Oh dear," said Arthur as words became harder to manage.
"Can I tell you what else happened?" she asked and he sensed ... knew ... her need to keep him talking, keep communicating, lest their link be broken. But only the link between capsules could be broken, he knew, somehow. The link between essences was always there.
"Yes dear, what happened?" he asked to help reassure her he was still with her. In that moment he knew all that had happened. It was not a sequence of events, one thing after another that went through his mind. It was as if the Hands of Time - the Hands of God, perhaps - held the long telescope of time before him and then had silently collapsed it so that all events and sequences came to him in one bundle of knowing. He let her tell her story, however, for the throbbing was closing in and he knew he must return to more sleep to have it soften its thudding.
He could hear her voice telling of events that he already knew as the deepness of sleep called invitingly to him. Soon Arthur wasn't aware of anything.
The Tribe Gathers
Wednesday, 14th March 2012, 6.48 a.m.
As Arthur softly snored in the key of G minor and dreamed in the key of C happy, the world went by without him; living and dying, laughing and sighing, truthing and lying, selling and buying. In that other imaginary world, Mary and her cohorts, with briefcase of uncertain contents and menacing intent ... well, anything uncertain is always menacing, in our fevered minds ... woke to a different day. If it's possible to wake from a night of not sleeping, that's what they all did. All but Ahmed looked bleary-eyed and slept-in. Ahmed, of course, looked his usual dapper self, despite wearing yesterday's clothes.
Choosing not to appear in public any more than they needed, they gathered around Ahmed's and Halee's coffee table, seated on beds and chairs, as a quiet London slowly stretched and yawned. Mary and Angus tucked into a hearty English breakfast of fried eggs, sausages, bacon, mushrooms, beans, toast and tea while the others preferred fruit, muesli and coffee. With the previous night's excitement over and without the familiar office and roles around them, Mary, Ahmed and Halee looked awkwardly quiet while John and Melinda looked on, bemused. Angus, like a bouncing puppy just released from his kennel, grabbed the precious briefcase Mary had brought with her and rifled through the papers, between mouthfuls of hot, dripping food.
"Dere's gotta be somethin' here," he said, undeterred by the frowns and smiles around him. "Dere's just gotta be."
"Look, Angus, we've been through it," said Mary, pouring herself another cup of tea. "There's nothing there ..."
"Maybe it's a ruse by Sam to put someone off his scent ..." said Ahmed, interrupting.
"You mean he sent those people after you to save his skin?" asked John, incredulously. "He wouldn't do that, would he?"
"No, no, I've got a feeling ... just a feeling, mind," said Angus as he lifted out paper after paper. "There's something here we missed last night. I'm sure of it."
"I wish you were right ..." said Mary.
"Hey! I bloody am, Mary girl!" exclaimed Angus, holding a sheet up towards the window as the March sun tried faintly to shine through. "Look, look what's written ..."
"But we've
read all that stuff ... well, skimmed through it, anyway," said Mary, interrupting him while peering at the upheld sheet and munching her last sausage.
"Nah, yah silly bird!" said Angus, chuckling. He shuffled closer to her, being careful not to spill the remaining breakfast from his lap. Everyone else moved closer. "Don't look at the words, the typed ones. Look at the ... aah, I don't know what you call it ... like a watermark or something."
"Yes, yes, I can see it, Angus," said Belinda. "It's faint but there's definitely words sort-of inside the paper. She grabbed more sheets from the briefcase and handed them round. "See if there's any more like it."
They all held sheets up to the light while carefully balancing plates of food and cups of tea and coffee on their knees. Then the phone screamed through their fervour and, immediately, everyone dashed into the fray, tossing breakfast remains and paper aside to plunder pockets and bags in search of mobile phones ... all except Angus who reached over and picked up the hotel phone.
"Hello? Ah, I'm Angus. Who is this? Sam, Sam who? Sam ..."
"Oh Sam, Sam!" said Mary, snatching the phone from Angus. "Where are you? I waited for your call ..."
"Yes, yes my dear, I'm sorry I wasn't able to call as promised," said Sam, interrupting her. "But here I am! Would you mind awfully if I popped in now? I'm at your apartment so where are you from there?"
"Oh Sam, it's so nice to hear your voice," chirped Mary. "And you're out, you're free ..."
"Mary, Mary, please tell me where you are. I may not have much time," said Sam quickly.
"Right, yes, sorry," said Mary who then gave him the name and whereabouts of the hotel, along with their room number. Sam hung up immediately while Mary held the phone to her ear still, cherishing the sound and though of him being free and near. Then the fears moved in - would he be interested in her, would he be a changed man, would he ...
The Last Stand Down Page 26
