by Morton Bain
I remember the email I promised Ringer, and go to my study and start up my computer. I log on to my email account then pull out my wallet and retrieve the police officer’s business card. Before typing the email to Ringer I check recently received emails. Top of the list is one from Arthur and I decide to read that later. The second one in my in-box is actually from Ringer and I open it. To my astonishment I discover it’s a reply to an email I supposedly sent the man the previous day, one in which I confess to only knowing one Jake – the son of a member of my congregation. Ringer thanks me for letting him know and informs me that he’ll be in touch if he has any further questions.
What the fuck? Does this mean I’m now on a reality track that doesn’t contain the recent history of having taken a call from Ringer? Did that phone call happen or not? Am I still in bed in some other reality, one that doesn’t involve having gone and slept in a car park? If so, are both realities equally valid? If I get Chanda and the kids back, will there be another reality in which they’re actually killed? I feel sick. I switch the computer off and go downstairs. I decide to go and sit in the rear garden. I shiver as I step outside. I sit on a white plastic garden chair and look eastwards at the huge sun that’s hanging at about forty-five degrees. It’s a cloudless but misty morning. Although chilly I can feel the sun begin to warm me as its rays hit.
After soaking up some sun for half an hour I go back inside and make some breakfast. I can’t remember when I last ate; it has to have been over a day ago. As I crunch toast my pleasure at eating is somewhat spoilt by wondering when my next split-mind episode is going to occur. So worried by this am I that after eating and having half a cup of tea I walk to the local off licence and buy a couple of bottles of cheap whiskey. I’ll get blind drunk when this mental aberration next occurs.
The rest of the morning is spent in a state of listlessness. In theory I have a sermon to deliver in two days, but I know already that isn’t going to happen. I have just enough energy to ring one of the Church Elders and give him some crap about needing to get a Sunday replacement. I give him the name and number of a recently retired vicar who I know would be more than happy to dust off his dog collar for the occasion.
Around lunchtime Joey rings me. ‘Hey, Adam,’ he says. ‘This thing has gone way too far. We need to sit down and talk about this.’
‘I know,’ I say. ‘I’ve already suggested a venue to Courtney.’
‘Come on, you know that ain’t gonna happen. Meet in a police station my ass.’
‘So what do you suggest? A midnight rendezvous in the forest?’
‘Look, whya breaking my balls like this? We had a misunderstanding, a misunderstanding caused by that little prick who hates your guts. Now we just need to sort this out like men. We’ve all got too much to lose by doing anything else.’
‘Tell me how Chanda and the kids are doing,’ I demand. ‘If anyone lays a finger on any of them there’ll be hell to pay.’
‘They’re fine. They’re fine. That wasn’t even my idea. Courtney was really pissed about you doing whatever you did to him. What did you do to him? He says he lost a day or something.’
‘Another time,’ I reply.
‘So are we meeting or what?’
‘I need a bit longer to think things through,’ I say. ‘You’re right that if we fall out over this shit no-one’s going to win. You can kill my kids and me, but I’ll make sure I leave a trail behind that leads straight to you. You’ve seen the video clip. I wanted to get rid of Jake, but it’s the same story. I kill him, and his solicitor opens a letter that drops me – and you – in it. Likewise, there’s no point me threatening you with talking to the cops, because if I do I’ll never see the kids again. Not that you’re going to want to look after them for the rest of your life, or would get away with it if you harmed them. Stalemate. Match drawn. I don’t even know why we’re talking about meeting. Just drop the kids off and we forget any of this ever happened. We’ll go our separate ways.’
‘It ain’t that simple,’ Joey counters, ‘And you’ve just explained why. This is why we need to meet. That cocksucker you pissed off is going to bring you down, if it’s the last thing he does. We can call a truce, but he’s going to introduce you to the cops all the same. Soon as they slap charges on you that mean big jail time you’re going to have a big incentive to talk about your other activities – activities involving me and Courtney.’
‘Jake could probably get me sent down for the rest of my natural life,’ I say. ‘What sort of a bargain am I going to strike? A slightly bigger cell in exchange for information about you guys?’
‘That’s why we need to talk. Hatch a plan. Maybe there’s some way of getting some leverage over this Jake guy. Get him to get rid of any letter he’s left as insurance. Discredit whatever the letter might say.’
‘Give me an hour,’ I say. ‘I’ll call you back.’
Asteroid Aldous, meanwhile, is bearing down on its destination. It’s now on a terminal trajectory that means it will soon be Meteorite Aldous. It has travelled two and half million miles from the Asteroid Belt in just under a year, and is now just four hours from hitting the Earth’s atmosphere. No-one at any of the monitoring stations whose responsibility it is to look out for such extra-terrestrial intruders has picked up on its proximity; it has velocity, stealth and mass on its side.
What to do? I pace the house, wondering how to resolve my dilemma. A thought occurs to me: why don’t I just kill myself? Apart from the weariness I feel at the drama of the last months, and the fear I have of spending a lifetime in incarceration, it might guarantee the safe release of Chanda and the kids. Chanda’s an illegal – she could never be their guardian – but Arthur and Gloria might have enough years left in them to bring my children up. In the end cowardice stops me from proceeding with this idea.
Less than an hour elapses since speaking to Joey before I ring him. ‘Okay, we meet. We meet at the restaurant in the big BHS on Oxford Street. And you bring Chanda. I want Chanda released as a sign of good will.’
There’s a pause, before Joey says, ‘Okay. When?’
‘This afternoon? Three o’clock?’
‘See you then.’
I get to the restaurant early and after paying for a dish of what is purported to be Chicken Korma I take a seat that gives me a good view of the entrance to the eatery. Joey and Chanda turn up ten minutes late. When I see them walk into the food-serving area I stand up and wave. They walk straight over.
‘Yo! Look who it is!’ Joey says, as if releasing hostages is something he does every other day.
‘Joey . . . How are you Chanda?’
Chanda just nods. We all sit down.
‘I’m glad we could meet,’ Joey says. ‘As I’ve already said, this thing has just got out of hand . . .’
‘Not through any fault of mine,’ I say defensively.
‘Well no, not directly. Our problem is Jack or Jake, or whatever his goddam name is. Question is, what are we going to do about him?’
‘He’s after me, not you. Forget about him.’
‘It ain’t that simple. He’s got that video footage Courtney showed me. Of us negotiating with Jose. Why the fuck did you take that video? What kind of stupid shit was that?’
‘I was worried. I thought if things got bad between us, I might need it. It was just a bit of insurance.’
‘I can believe that, Adam. But you can see how it’s all backfired. Now we have to figure out how to solve this situation. ‘
‘Well that’s the fucking problem,’ I say. ‘I can tell you I’ve got rid of the video, but I can’t prove a negative – I can’t prove I don’t have it. Even if I can prove to you that I don’t have the video or that I’m not going to use it, that doesn’t solve the Jake problem. He’s after me, and he’ll drop me in it with this video and the other stuff he’s got on me. Getting rid of Jake isn’t going to work, because he’s lodged the video and other information with his lawyer, with instructions to release them to the police if anyth
ing happens to him. To be honest, I think there are only two solutions. I can kill myself – not ideal but there are some days when I can think of worse outcomes. Alternatively, I can hand myself into the police and confess to my killings, making sure not to mention anything about our other activities. That might be enough to get Jake off our backs.’
‘That’s it in a nutshell,’ Joey says. ‘So which option are you going to go for?’
‘Can I have the afternoon to think about it?’
Joey sighs. ‘Time is something we don’t have a lot of, Adam. We don’t know when this Jake is going to move from threatening mode to action mode.’
‘Give me a few hours.’
Another sigh from the American. ‘Okay. You’ll ring me this evening?’
‘Yep.’
‘I just can’t believe you’re a murderer,’ Joey says, shaking his head. ‘I always knew you was a bit crazy, but serial killer? Jesus Christ.’
‘I can’t believe it myself some of the time,’ I say.
We look at each other intently for a few moments, before I ask: ‘How are the kids?’
‘They’re fine. Being well looked after. I don’t want them on my hands any longer than they need to be – another reason to sort this out.’
‘How did you guys know we were in that hotel?’ I ask.
‘Courtney rang me as soon as he kicked you out of his car. I went straight over to your place and watched Chanda here leave for the restaurant, and then followed you all from the restaurant to the hotel. Simple.’
‘I see . . .’
Joey stands up. ‘I’ll leave Chanda in your safe hands. Be sure to ring me as promised.’ With that he leaves.
‘Cup of tea?’ I say to Chanda.
‘That would be nice.’
‘I’ll get it,’ I say.
Five minutes later I return bearing a tray. After pouring tea for both of us I say, ‘I’m really sorry you’ve had to get involved in all of this.’
‘It’s okay. We weren’t mistreated.’
‘Where were they holding you?’
‘I don’t know, because they made me wear a cloth over my eyes on the way there and coming here now. It takes an hour in the car. A big house. The black man brought us food and kept guard.’
‘The kids must be wondering what the hell is going on,’ I comment. ‘Were they upset?’
Chanda puts the cup she has just taken a sip from down before saying, ‘No, they were okay. I told them we were going on an adventure, and they seem to accept that.’
‘Yes, but now you’re not there . . .’
‘I know, but they won’t be on their own for long. You will agree something with Mr Joey.’
‘Don’t remind me. I really don’t know what to suggest. This last couple of days have been really strange, Chanda. I think I might be losing my mind . . .’
‘Why do you say this?’
‘My mind keeps splitting. Sometimes into two, sometimes into three . . . on one occasion it seemed to split into an infinite number of minds. Each mind or consciousness witnesses events independently of the others – different things are experienced by each. Last night I slept in a car park and in my bed at the same time.’
‘Oh, that’s nothing – like the froth on a cup of coffee. Bubbles of nothing. I told you, everything you see is just mindstuff. Your mind is just playing the trickster.’
‘It doesn’t feel that way,’ I protest. ‘I’d like you to have gone through what I did last night and say it is all “mindstuff”.’
‘Last night I was prisoner in a strange house,’ Chanda comes back with, a smile on her face.
‘How can you say that everything I experience is just some sort of illusion?’ I ask. ‘I can sort of understand all this talk of ultimate Oneness and everything, but illusion . . . ?’
‘Have you not noticed how reality seem to come up in pairs of opposites? We have night and day, cats and dogs, good and evil – it goes on forever.’
‘Yes, but what’s that go to do with reality being an illusion? If the tide didn’t go out after coming in, there’d be no dry land. If we didn’t have day following night we’d live in perpetual darkness and we wouldn’t be able to grow food.’
‘Okay, what is the opposite of plus one?’
‘Minus one?’
‘That’s right. And what do you get if you add the two together?’
‘Zero. Nothing. So?’
‘If reality as we perceive it is made up of pairs of opposites, and all these pairs exist at the same time, then if you sum over all these pairs you get nothing. But in the nothing is everything, or the nothing is everything. So don’t worry about your split minds. You have a billion minds and no mind – you’re just getting a glimpse of this. What appears to us as time is what enables the illusion of this world. Time separates night from day. Without what we understand as time night and day would be happening at the same time.’
‘Who the fuck are you Chanda?’ I ask. ‘You sound like some sort of sage. Why aren’t you still in India welcoming pilgrims to your ashram?’
A laugh from the woman. ‘That would bore me. I’m happier looking after your children.’
‘Well, all I can say is that you’re quite a remarkable woman.’
‘I wouldn’t worry about what you think of me. Think instead about what you’re going to do about your situation.’
‘If everything’s an illusion, what’s the point?’
‘Ah, but just because you are a party to the truth, that doesn’t give you the right to retire from the world. Remember what the Buddhists say: “Before enlightenment, carry water chop wood. After enlightenment, carry water chop wood”. When you play a game like Monopoly you know you aren’t really buying houses or collecting real money as rent, but you play anyway, and you play to win. It is the same thing with your current situation.’
‘So what do you think I should do? Hand myself into the police?’
‘The fact that you’ve said what you’ve just said makes me think that that is what you think you should do.’
My mind wanders back to the night at the hotel, and I ask, ‘What did you think when Courtney came and got you? Did he pull a gun out?’
‘He handled it quite well,’ Chanda replies. ‘He knock on the door and say “Room Serving”.’
‘Room service.’
‘Yes. Then when I open the door he show me a gun in his coat pocket. He said, “Do what I ask you and I won’t wave this around”. So the kids never saw a gun.’
‘He must have known I’d left the hotel,’ I say. ‘Interesting. Anyway, yes, you’re probably right. I think going to the police is the right thing to do. I’m done killing – myself – and killing wouldn’t do any good anyway. The truth is out there and secured in locked buildings by people I don’t know. The police are on to me and are going to get me sooner or later. And I’m tired. In prison I’ll have time for my own thoughts. You will visit me, won’t you? Bring the kids?’
‘Yes.’
‘What about your status as an illegal?’
‘That isn’t today’s worry.’
‘Let’s get married.’
‘Let’s talk about that another time.’
‘Okay. Shall we go home? I’ll call Joey from home.’
When we get home I ring Joey and tell him what I plan to do. ‘You serious?’ he says. ‘You willing to go away for the rest of your life?’
‘I am. I’d get caught eventually – at least this way I don’t have to spend the rest of my years waiting for a knock at the door. It’s better this way. It takes the heat off you, gives Jake the satisfaction of knowing I’m in the same place he spent many years . . . just better all round. All I ask is that you drop the kids off. I want to spend a weekend with them, then I’ll do the necessary.’
Joey is silent for a few moments. I can tell he’s trying to figure out whether I’m being honest with him. ‘Joey . . . I’m not joking about this. Just do what I ask, and I’ll make your problems go away.’
; More silence, then, ‘Okay. I’ll get Courtney to drop them off this evening. You gonna be in tomorrow?’
‘Where else?’
‘I’ll come over and see you around lunchtime. And ring that Jake guy and tell him what you’re going to do.’
Courtney rings the doorbell at ten to six. ‘Hey,’ I say after opening the door. We both do our best to avoid eye contact; it’s not a comfortable moment. ‘Hey, kids,’ I say, bending down to greet Ben and Chloe. ‘You two have had quite an adventure, haven’t you? Come in.’
Chanda greets my children warmly as they rush into the house. They run to her and grab a leg each. She puts a hand on each back and rubs. I’m amazed at how quickly the three have bonded. I actually feel a little jealous.
Courtney doesn’t come in; I wave him off with a simple, ‘Bye!’.
The four of us spend the next few hours together, eating, playing Snakes and Ladders and watching some TV. I feel sad that this is likely to be the last time I’ll ever see my kids or Chanda outside the confines of prison. I think of all the time I wasted whilst devoting myself to a life of illicit sex and criminality. My kids are happy to be in my company right now, but how will they feel when they’re a bit older and realise that I deprived them of a mother? I feel guilty just being in their presence.
Bedtime for the kids arrives and I tuck them into bed. Half an hour later Chanda and I are in bed. I plan to hand myself in at the local police station the next morning.
The next morning I realise the chaos of the last few days has led me to ignore the important bits of housekeeping I need to do before relinquishing my liberty. I need to pack a bag – I’m sure I’ll be detained at the cop shop before a Magistrate’s Court appearance and remand. I need to pay a few bills and give Chanda a bankcard and pin number so she can survive until she’s deported. That reminds me – I need to tell her that if she can claim persecution back in India there’s a slim chance she might be able to claim asylum and remain in the U.K.. I must also write a note for Arthur and Gloria, availing on them for help in the event that Chanda can’t look after the kids. I get to work.
