The Book Keeper

by Amelia Grace

  Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened in disbelief as she let out a small sigh.

  She reached for it, her hand lightly brushing against mine as she dragged it towards herself, leaving a warm tingling path in its wake. A small tear fell from her eye. She brushed it away quickly with the back of her hand. I wanted to do that for her. I wanted to touch her.

  ‘Cohen….’ She choked back her emotion.

  ‘I…I’m sorry Georgia. I did tell you that I was going to feed it to the fire, and, I did give you a time limit, that you never adhered to..’ my voice trailing off in apology.

  ‘No Cohen. It is in far better condition than when I lost it. Did you clean it up, reattach pages, polish the leather cover?’ she asked, full of wonder.

  My mind was in a whirl. My heart was beating rapidly. Better condition than when she lost it? It was in perfect condition when I set my eyes upon it beside my bed that morning.

  ‘You think?’ I questioned her, trying to hide the confusion on my face.

  ‘Yes, oh yes! And the writing is so clear now. I hope you didn’t read it!’ she looked up at me and blushed.

  I stared at her face momentarily, and then I looked at the bloody book as she flicked through the pages. There was no writing in the book. Not a mark visible to the naked eye. I was at a loss for words. Either Georgia is a fruit loop, or I have something terribly wrong with my vision.

  Damn, I wished that I could read her mind. What was going on here?

  I clasped my hands in front of my mouth, running my finger over my bottom lip, and watched her as she went back and forth through the pages of the book, like a small child opening a long awaited birthday gift.

  Finally, she closed the cover, and looked up at me, her smile lighting up the entire café, shining brightly into my heart, my soul. I was glad that I had my hands in front of my mouth, because she wouldn’t be able to see the deep and sharp intake of breath that I took.

  ‘Thank-you Cohen. You don’t know what this book means to me,’ she whispered as a tear rolled down her cheek. I reached over and wiped it away with my thumb, staring deeply into her beautiful eyes. Her skin was warm and soft, I wanted to place my lips onto hers and kiss her tenderly.

  I don’t do girls I reminded myself as I took in a deep slow breath to control my urges. This is purely a primal urge for the survival of the human species I told myself.

  ‘I am glad that you wanted it back Georgia, and that it has found its rightful owner. I feel a ton of weight lifted off my shoulders now that it is in your hands.’ I answered softly to her, in response to her emotions. I looked down at her hand on the book, and then to the table, and closed my eyes briefly, before I looked up into her eyes again.

  ‘I must go now. Things to do. Places to go. I wish you happy reading and happy memories with your book,’

  I bent down to grab my leather bag.

  ‘But…. don’t you want to know what is in this book?’ Georgia asked, placing her hand over mine on the table.

  I looked at her perfectly shaped hand and fingers over mine, and felt their warmth and magnetism reaching into my being. Then I looked up into her face. She was waiting in anticipation of my answer. Hope, that’s what it was. She was hoping that I would stay a little longer to hear about her bloody book.

  I raised my eyebrows and took a deep breath, finding the right words before I spoke.

  ‘Thank-you, but no. I have no right to any of the information that you have in your book. I don’t know you, you don’t know me – heck – you couldn’t even locate any information about me over the net. Remember, I don’t exist,’ I said, trying to fob her off. I wanted to stay for an eternity and look at her beautiful face and listen to her soul connecting voice. I wanted to take her in my arms and kiss her passionately, and make her mine forever, mentally, emotionally, physically as one.

  She stared into my eyes for a moment before she looked down at the book in her hands, disappointment written all over her face. My heart pained.

  ‘Oh,’ she said softly, and slouched in her seat.

  I wanted to say tell me all about it. We have a lifetime together because you are mine. But that was not the truth, and it never would be.

  ‘I’m sorry….’ I muttered sincerely, and grabbed my bag and stood up, looking down at her saddened face.

  She looked up at me before standing in front of me.

  ‘The least I can do is give you a thank-you hug Cohen.’

  She stepped towards me and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. In politeness I wrapped my arms around her back and held her gently against my body. She felt so deliciously good against me. I closed my eyes and lowered my head down closer to her neck and into her apple scented hair, feeling my entire body come alive.

  ‘Thank-you,’ she whispered breathlessly into my ear, and then released me from her hug, and stepped back from me. I looked into her eyes and smiled coyly at her.

  ‘You are welcome,’ I said gently, and then turned to leave the café, the door bell announcing my departure.

  Chapter Six

  The blast of cool air slammed into my face like a bucket of icy water stopping me dead in my tracks outside the café door. My mind and heart were telling me to retreat, to return to her, to swoop her into my arms for a life happily ever after.

  But I didn’t.

  Women are confusing and complicated. Trouble in my experience and opinion - no matter how appealing she was to me. Instead, I turned to my right to head home, only to be approached by the taxi driver.

  ‘Good afternoon Mr Darcy. At your service. Where would you like to go?’ he asked, the personal taxi drivers voice impersonal – business like.

  I let out a silent scream. I was being followed by CAI, and I was not impressed.

  “Home. Thank-you sir,’ I answered abruptly, annoyed that my civil liberties had been removed from me. And truth be known, that I had walked away from Georgia, the only positive emotional and chemical reaction that I have sincerely had to a woman.

  But I didn’t believe in love at first sight. Was it possible? Was love actually a measureable emotion? Was it real? What was I feeling, and what had caused it? She was a human being just like me….or was she? She could see words on the pages of that bloody book – I couldn’t.

  I looked out the window of the taxi as we journeyed to my humble residence. So many questions now, where did the book come from? How could it be in perfect condition when I had found it, to being thrown into the fire and damaged, blackened, to Georgia thinking that it was in better condition now than when she had lost it? Why did she affect me that way? What is the plan for me at CAI? I had no answers….none whatsoever. I breathed out in frustration.

  Play the game. Play it better.

  I climbed the three flights of stairs to my apartment two at a time. I had never felt so alive. Was it the act of releasing the bloody book from my life, or the physical and emotional connection with Georgia?

  My mind was in a distant place as I opened the door to my apartment and walked to the kitchen, and then stopped, my body frozen by the smell of a homemade dinner, and then by the appearance of a note on the kitchen bench top.

  Cautiously, I placed my bag onto the dining chair, and picked up the note. It was typed.

  Mr Darcy,

  Domestic and cleaning services at your disposal.

  R

  I slammed the note down in anger. They had been in my apartment. I looked around. My own personal space had been cleaned – sterilized even by a tidiness that took away all personality of my presence in my home. I ran to my study.

  They weren’t here to clean I realised. It was a decoy, a lie to cover the fact that they had searched my apartment. I rummaged through my working drawings on my desk – all tidied painfully, and excruciatingly and obsessive-compulsively ordered, alphabetically. I went to search my secret hiding place of documents, but then stopped calmly. I could feel the eyes of security filming my every move. My apartment had been wired for surveillance. I could hear the infi
nitesimal buzz of the electrical energy driving the mechanisms of digital recording.

  Play the game. Play it better.

  I turned as if I was checking other paraphernalia in my study – my decoy. I was absolutely aware that I was now owned by CAI, my life watched, scrutinized, counted, tracked and recorded.

  I exited the study, and headed back into the kitchen, finding the peace offering of a home cooked meal that they had left me. Is it laced with drugs, poisoned, sleeping potion? I did not trust them.

  I found a freezable container and pushed the meal into it and placed it into the freezer for analysing at a later date. And that way, on their surveillance film it would appear that I was saving it for another day. I did not want to arouse their suspicions.

  I walked over to the television and turned it on, and settled down on the sofa for some football viewing, concealing my body language from the fact that I was problem solving and concocting plans to deceive them at their own game.

  My first plan of attack was to deactivate certain visual fields of their surveillance effectively creating black spots, one by one, fooling them into believing that nothing was happening with their surveillance. And then I would install my own surveillance, alerting me to their unlawful break and entry of my apartment, and tracking their movements inside my personal space.

  I faked a bad headache coming on, and eventually went to the kitchen for some headache tablets, taking two of them. Then I found my dark sunglasses and put them on, as if stopping the bright light from entering my vision, making the headache worse. I sat back down at the sofa for some time, acting out the perfect scene of a genuine bad headache – migraine even, pretending to run to the bathroom to vomit.

  I rested again on the sofa, my head tilted back, and started scanning the room for the hidden surveillance cameras, the dark sunglasses a perfect barrier to conceal the movement of my eyes as I searched intricately for my targets. I found two lenses.

  One here in the right corner of the room, and the other located in the kitchen, covering the entry from the front door, the kitchen and a partial view of the study room.

  I started rubbing my forehead, feigning the recurring pain of the bad headache, and then retreated to the study, and lay flat on my back on the floor in the centre of the room. I had a perfect view of every facet of the study. Again I gently massaged my head, as if my headache was excruciatingly painful, all the while searching the room for the surveillance cameras. I found three lenses.

  One directly next to the light in the middle of the room, another implanted near my computer so that the keyboard and screen were seen, and the other just above the skirting board, obviously for a view under surfaces in the room.

  I proceeded with the rest of the apartment in the same manner. My acting was superb, Oscar worthy even. And in my mind, I formulated the plan for revenge. Their sight would be taken before their very eyes, without their knowledge or recognition of loss of vision. There were two cameras in every room, except the study where there were three, even the bathroom was not sanctuary.

  I needed to use my laptop. In fact, it was imperative. I was desperate to google Georgia Harrison. But I dared not. If my apartment had been searched, sterilized and had surveillance installed, my laptop would also have been tapped, tracking every move that I make, recording every word that I typed.

  Using any technology in this apartment would be fatal to the game – for me. I could not even trust my cell phone now. My calls were probably being tracked and monitored as well, GPS of my whereabouts was certain to be installed from the CAI intelligence office.

  I needed to ditch the phone. When I go to the University library for research purposes tomorrow, I will leave it there somewhere, or accidently on purpose drop it into the dark and deep fish pond, for personal use by the overfed goldfish.

  No….I couldn’t. That would certainly arouse suspicion, and make them watch me more closely. I would keep it for normal conversations with my friends and family, and so that Mr Bastard Rubin could contact me. I would leave it in the apartment when I did not want to be tracked.

  Play the game. Play it better.

  I went to bed. But did not sleep. I could not sleep, my mind overloaded and way too alert to enter the REM zone.

  Chapter 7

  As the dust specks floated about in the filtered beams of the morning sunlight that crept into the bedroom, I rose from my pretend slumber, dressed and headed to the gym for a workout – no cell phone.

  This morning’s workout was intense. I pushed myself to my absolute limit, forcing my mind from the knowledge of lack of control of my life forced upon me in such a short, unwelcomed time.

  I jogged home, showered, and dressed in my faded jeans and long sleeved white cotton shirt, then headed out the door again to go to the university library for research.

  My personal taxi driver was waiting outside the apartment building, a most unwelcome sight. My body tensed in revulsion at the lack of freedom.

  Play the game. Play it better.

  I opened the taxi door.

  ‘Mr Darcy. Good morning. Where are we headed on this beautiful day may I ask?’ the driver inquired, his manner polite.

  ‘To Oooh La Laa Café for breakfast please. And may I ask, what shall I call you, since you have been given the privilege of chauffeuring me about?’ I asked, starting to make connections to those involved with me, building alliances so to speak.

  He looked at me through his rear vision mirror, studying my face. He answered after a while.

  ‘You may call me Max, Mr Darcy. We will arrive at the café of your choice in approximately twenty minutes, Sir.’ I looked at his eyes through his rear vision mirror, and nodded my head briefly, acknowledging his reply.

  ‘Well, if we are going to be spending all of this time together, let’s have some music on in the car Max. Your choice of music today,’ I instructed him. I was testing him, to see if he was to follow my orders or Mr B. Rubin’s.

  He looked at me through his rear vision mirror, and then nodded to me. He switched on some music. His choice classical, surprising me, it would have been my choice as well.

  ‘Thank-you for the lift Max. How shall I contact you when I finish research at the University Library?’ I asked as I was getting out of the taxi.

  ‘Use this number on my card. You are my number one priority Mr Darcy.’

  I took the card from him, and nodded, then closed the door of the taxi, noting the number plate as he departed.

  I entered the Oooh Laa Laaa Café, the dingle of the door bell welcoming me.

  I sat at the same table that I sat at yesterday with Georgia, and looked over the breakfast menu. Eggs, bacon, toast, coffee. Excellent. It wasn’t my normal practice to eat out for breakfast, lunch or dinner. But I had decided that I would do it more regularly. That way, I wasn’t being watched, as if I would be if I was still in my apartment.

  The clang of the door bell heralded my exit. I loped off down the busy street towards the University. The walk was a good thirty minutes, but refreshing, giving me time to clear my head, and focus on the research that I was planning to do.

  I walked through the enormous expanse of glass entry doors to the library and headed up to the fourth floor by the stairs, to the home of medical information.

  I found a table with a comfortable cushioned seat and organised my gear. I was going to be here for a while. I gathered my thoughts and wrote down the necessities of my research, before I left the table to hit the nerd shelves.

  Yes, I was officially now a nerd! Except, I didn’t have the glasses or the over controlled hairdo going on. Cliché I know. My eyes were still perfect, and my hair dark, in a business cut, short sides and back, trendy side burns, and longish fringe – that had a mind of its own - Now control that Mr B. Rubin!

  I scoured the shelves containing the anatomy of eyes, and carried a few books back to the table to study in detail. I needed to plan where the mind reading implant would be fitted into the eye structure, and the sizing
of the components for maximum effect.

  Hours passed as I thoroughly researched the subject, making copious notes and drawing extremely detailed diagrams. When I sat back satisfied with my research gathering, I realised that I was famished, and headed down to the cafeteria for food.

  Here I sat among a thriving metropolis of nerds and geeks. I played a game of people watching, labeling them as popular or unpopular, psychopathic or not, doctor or engineer.

  Then I spotted a guy trying to pick up a girl. I decided that this would be quite entertaining to watch as I ate. I observed their body language, their facial expressions, the games that the girl would play, word wise, body wise. Girls gave such confusing signals at times. It was damned frustrating I tell you.

  I watched how he would react to her, how he got around her confusing messages, or the games that she would play.

  You know, guys – we are literal. We mean what we say. We don’t pussy foot around topics and subjects – unless we have learnt to do that to get what we want – and that is rare. But girls, they say one thing but mean another. They play hard to get, but sometimes they actually want to be with you. But you don’t know if they like you or not.

  It’s a game that I gave up on. I had been burned at the stake far too many times.

  Ha! – this guy had an interesting tactic. He maintained total eye contact the entire time, he mirrored her body language. If she stepped away, he would step towards her. He smiled at her a lot and made her laugh, he touched her shoulder, arm, hands a lot. He obviously complimented her much, because of the way she would look down and blush. And then he carried her food tray to her table for her, and sat down with her. Yep, this guy was good. I bet that he has done this a million times before.

  I sighed as I watched them interact. Wouldn’t he love to know what she was really thinking? Then I laughed to myself. How ironic – a mind reading device – my specialty, apparently.