The Book Keeper

by Amelia Grace

  ‘Good day Mr Darcy,’ she squeaked as I walked past her, she was as white, as pleasant and as detached as ever.

  Instead of returning to my office, I decided to get out of the CAI building before it suffocated me. I bolted through the stupid revolving doors and out onto the pavement. The cool air blasted into my skin, having the same effect as a slap on the face. I really needed it. It was like a wake-up call. Don’t let the bastards get to me.

  Play the game. Play it BETTER!

  I sucked in a deep breath, ran my hand through my wayward hair, and then about turned and entered the CAI building once more.

  My handprint was scanned and unlocked my high security office as usual. I sat in my inexpensive low backed chair, and put my feet up on the desk in rebellion of the Rubins. They certainly would not approve of my feet resting on the desk. In fact, they could probably see me right now in their camera surveillance. Shall I give them the two finger salute as well?

  I put the earphones of my iPod into my ears, and listened to Apocalyptica. I closed my eyes and let the music weave its way throughout my body, relaxing and calming, helping me to see the situation very clearly.

  Almost instantly, my mind was totally left field in its creation. I opened my eyes in fright.

  It wasn’t a Mind Reading Implant invasively inserted into the eyeball and the brain that I saw, but a mind reading contact lens that used organic matter to infuse with, and grow into the flesh of the eye, becoming one with the person.

  Suddenly I was terrified, mortified. This was a serious intellectual upload. I ripped the earpieces out of my ear canals, and sat bolt upright at my desk, panicked. I couldn’t contain the adrenaline surging through my body. I rose from my desk and paced the room, my mind alight with the fire from the new device.

  I couldn’t draw it. It couldn’t write it down anywhere. That would be my undoing. I didn’t want to be railroaded into developing another device that would hurt humanity.

  That’s when it occurred to me. I could never let the MR Implant work, ever. And I had to make certain that it would never work, ever. I did tell Mr B. Rubin that the whole concept was science fiction. I did warn him, didn’t I?

  I returned to my desk, and wrote specific details and questions for the doctors that I would meet tomorrow. Then I returned to my detailed drawings of the implant that would go into the fovea of the eye, where the greatest acuity of vision occurs.

  I deleted a miniscule, seemingly inconspicuous connection, rendering the implant useless. Only the ophthalmologist may pick it up, if he or she knew about my engineering side of the implant. But my guess is that he or she will be looking at where and how to implant it into the eye, and miss the micro technology all together.

  I sat back in my chair and closed my eyes, my heart beating loudly, giving away the fact that I was misleading Mr B. Rubin, lying to him. But I had to do it.

  The ramifications of a Mind Reading Implant could be catastrophic. If one was going to be built, it was not going to be built by the CAI Organisation – was the CEO and the Board even aware that Mr B. Rubin had employed me to produce this implant.

  I raised my eyebrows. Good question. The monitor of the computer captured my attention. I could easily check to see if he was sending copies of our emails to others at CAI. Now was not the time to start being a detective. Perhaps I should check Mr B. Rubin’s schedule with Mia, and then begin my investigation when he was in a meeting or out of the building. I nodded my head to myself.

  I was now playing a game of deceit with Mr B. Rubin, and I would play my part meticulously. He would never know.

  Play the game. Play it better.

  The beeping of my watch alarm alerted me to the time to leave to meet Georgia at the park for a personal reading of the bloody book. 3:07pm she specifically requested. 3:07pm!

  Crap, I haven’t had my eyes checked. She will give me the third degree and a scalding at my lack of concern for my eyesight. Bossy women!

  The stupid revolving door was queued up when I approached it, largely due to the incompetent person trying to time her entry into the wings, like she was trying to jump in on the turning skipping line, swaying back and forth as she tried to judge when to go. The person behind her was no help, nor the next. For goodness sake, give the poor woman a hand!

  I bypassed the waiting folk and spoke encouragingly in the lady’s ear.

  ‘Now, now, now, you can do it, now, now,’ I coaxed in a gentle voice. It was no use.

  Grabbing her hand, I then pulled her into the open section, and led her safely through like a child. It was not without fear, she squealed her way through.

  I patted her back. ‘Safe now,’ I commented as I smiled at her, and then left at great speed towards the park. I was behind time now. If I did not make it by 3:07pm, I would never hear the end of it.

  Thirty metres from the old oak tree, I saw her. She was sitting under the ancient tree dressed in a pretty pale blue sleeveless dress, her feet crossed at the ankles looking very relaxed. I slowed down and caught my breath. My watch time was 3:05 pm. I had two minutes to reach her and present myself exactly at 3:07pm.

  Within the minute I stood hidden behind the tree. I could smell her sweet perfume. Sweet, like pink roses. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the assault on my sense of smell, then opened my eyes and watched the digital time on my watch.

  At exactly 3:07pm I appeared from around the tree. I stood before her, lowered my head and bowed to her rolling my hand in front of me towards her as perhaps a servant would do.

  Georgia burst out laughing and threw an acorn at me. I looked into her eyes and smiled shyly at her, then sat beside her, leaning against the trunk of the ancient tree as she was.

  ‘3:07 pm exactly Miss Georgia!’ I exclaimed with pride, smirking.

  ‘Exceptionally well timed Cohen!’ she replied. ‘Do you have my errant pages?’

  ‘No, but I found the gingerbread men, and they are naked!’ I laughed to myself, and then looked up into her eyes as I handed her the four pages to the bloody book, our fingers lightly touching, sending tingles through my body.

  She scowled at me. ‘You didn’t get your eyes checked did you?’ she asked seriously.

  Here we go, eye lecture coming.

  ‘Actually, I am meeting with an opthalmologist tomorrow,’ I replied, tilting my head on the side, raising my eyebrows at her. She didn’t need to know that it was about the MR Implant. It would get her off my back at least.

  She considered me for a while, and then looked down shyly. ‘Good,’ she said quietly,

  and then proceeded to place the loose pages back into the book.

  Once she had done this, she rested her head back on the trunk of the oak tree and closed her eyes, as if regretting something.

  ‘Are you wishing for me to leave, now that you have the missing pieces of your jigsaw?’ I asked, confused by her aloofness. She didn’t answer me and nervous butterflies of rejection started to flutter in my stomach. It was time for me to leave.

  I looked down at the grass and ran my hand lightly over the top of it. Then I ran my other hand through my hair. What should I do? She wanted me to meet her here, and yet, I am receiving the signal that she doesn’t want me her. Damn, I wish I could read her mind!

  I smiled to myself. How ironic. An MR Implant! It would do wonders for me and my relationship with women. They would think that I was God’s gift!

  ‘Cohen,’ Georgia said quietly interrupting my thoughts, ‘If I start reading this book to you, I need you to tough it out to the end. You can’t ditch half way through. I have never read or shared it with anyone, ever. This is your get out clause before I start.’

  Her face was gentle, serene, as she spoke to me, her eyes searching the depths of mine, trying to make a connection deep within me. I felt like I had melted into her. She was so warm, soft, peaceful. I wanted to stay in that place, but I pulled my eyes from hers.

  ‘Why choose me Georgia? Why not a close friend who knows you, understands you? You don�
��t know me from a bar of soap. I could be a very bad person for all you know,’ I said to her in a hushed tone, confused by her need to lock me into the book once she started reading it to me.

  ‘That is exactly why I chose you Cohen. You don’t know me. You will listen and see the events of the story without prior knowledge of my life imposing on it. You will see it with new vision and a different perspective. And, I intuitively know that you are not a bad person. I can see through to your pure heart,’ she added, her eyes pleading with me to stay and listen to the bloody book.

  I looked away from her into the cloudless blue sky, and breathed in deeply, considering my position. Every bone in my body was telling me to stay. I was undeniably attracted to this woman in the pale blue dress. I wanted to wrap my arms around her to protect her for some reason.

  ‘And, if I have no opinion or advice to give you once I hear with the contents of this book?’ I asked, looking back into her eyes. She looked down at her hands.

  ‘I have faith in you Cohen.’ She looked back up into my eyes. ‘The fact is that I need you more than you need me. I am even willing to put up with all of these trackers around us. In fact, I like the challenge that they bring to us. When I have finished reading the book to you, I will release you from it. In fact I can....’ She stopped talking all of a sudden, and looked away, as if considering what to say next.

  Damn I wish I had the MR device.

  ‘I can pull the memories from your mind if you request it,’ she finished looking into my eyes, for my reaction I’m sure. I narrowed my eyes at her. How can she pull memories from my mind?

  ‘Very intriguing Miss Georgia. Your last statement has me extremely curious, and cautious.’ My voice was low and quiet. I looked into her eyes for what seemed an eternity. She held her composure, remained calm and.....trusting.

  What are you thinking Georgia????

  ‘We will need to meet at different places over the course of the book you understand. And there will be times when I cannot meet you because of my job.’ I stopped talking and held her gaze in mine. ‘Yes, I can see that your need is greater than mine Georgia. I take on your challenge of listening to the story contained in your book from beginning to end, but make no promises for beyond,’ I said, and used the back of my hand to wipe away a stray tear falling down her face.

  ‘Thank-you Cohen,’ she whispered, her words choking in her throat from emotion.

  I nodded at her. I wanted to wrap my arms around her and hold her to console her for whatever reason she was crying. But I didn’t. ‘You’re welcome,’ I whispered back.

  She ran her hand lightly over the leather cover of the bloody book, and then fingered the symbol and words imbedded into it. I wanted to ask what it meant, but I didn’t. It wasn’t the time for that yet.

  Her eyes found mine, as if asking if I was ready to listen to the contents of the bloody book – except she would not have used the word bloody, that was my term.

  I breathed out slowly and nodded. Why did this feel like such a big deal? It was only a book – and a bloody book at that!

  Chapter 11

  A tear rolled off her pale cheek and dropped onto the leather cover of the bloody book. With a quick hand she wiped it off the bloody book and then dried the wet trail from her tear off her beautiful face. Why was she so emotional about this dreaded bloody book? If only I could get inside her head to understand her reaction to it all.

  Her long slender fingers caressed the leather cover before she opened to the second inkless page. My eyes wavered between her eyes and the page to see what she could see. I saw nothing on the page. She saw black handwritten words apparently.

  Perhaps there was something wrong with her eyes, not mine. I will question her about it later. My thoughts were interrupted by her voice as she started reading from the bloody book.

  “‘He barreled through the swinging glass doors like a bull at a gate. His brown hair was knotted and disheveled, unkempt. He was breathing heavily like he was out of breath from running a marathon. I froze on the spot as I looked at him. Our patients were always well dressed. This guy wasn’t. He was dirty, unshaven, torn old clothes. In fact, he looked like a druggie, or perhaps a vagabond.

  He put both hands against his dirty face and spoke with anger between gritted teeth.

  ‘Help me please....please...’ He fell to the floor on his knees. This man was broken. Tears streamed down his face as his eyes found mine. They were desperately searching for some hope. I had to give it to him. What does one have if one has no hope?

  As I walked closer to him, I could smell his stench. When was the last time that he showered? I restrained from screwing up my face in repulsion of his odour, and offered him my hand. Human touch. I bet that he was craving this as well.

  His sad blue eyes looked at my hand, and his face became impassioned, tears streaming down his cheeks. It was like I had touched his heart. I cried inside. What had happened to this young man?

  ‘Come...’ I said, my voice gentle. I did not want to speak aggressively. It would break his spirit more – if it could break any further. He stood up, his eyes glued to mine. I was like a cylinder of life giving oxygen that he desperately needed to survive.

  ‘I will take you to shower, arrange some clothes and food for you, and then we can talk. My name is Georgia. Let me take some of your burden from you,’ I said with compassion in my voice.

  He dropped his head into his hands and sobbed deeply, coming from the centre of his being.

  ‘My. Name. Is. Ethan.......Thank. you.’ He spoke between sobs. My heart bled for him. How I wished that I could make it all better.

  I told him to take a long shower to help relieve his stress, and I set about finding some clothes for him, and some food – sandwiches from the nurses lounge, and a new bottle of spring water. I fussed about in the room, anxiously waiting for him to resurface smelling nice and clean.

  The creak of the opening door drew my attention to the bathroom, and then the fresh smell of soap. He emerged from the cleaning station a totally different person. I couldn’t help but stare at this gorgeous man before me. His brown hair was now orderly, his blue eyes sparkling, his skin clean. He covered his manhood with a towel wrapped around his superb torso, his pectoral muscles well defined, his stomach muscles sculptured. His shoulders were so broad, powerful. Who was he to look like this?

  ‘Thank-you,’ he said, his smile reaching his eyes and melting my heart. Then he looked down, the sadness returning to his face.

  ‘You’re very welcome Ethan. I must try that magical shower to see how I exit from it!’ I commented, smiling at the beautiful sad man before me. ‘Here are some clothes that I rustled up for you. I’ll come back in a minute or two, and then we can talk.’

  I watched his eyes wander over to the clean clothes. He looked at me and nodded, smiling shyly. I smiled back at him, and then left him to clothe his delicious body.”

  ‘Georgia.....,’ I interrupted her reading. She looked at me, her eyes cross. She was annoyed by my interference of her reading.

  ‘Cohen?’ she said curtly. She definitely was not impressed with my interruption.

  ‘Mmmm.....nothing. Go on, I am enjoying the book,’ I said lying. It was like some stupid romance novel or something. What was the point of this whole exercise? Bloody bloody book! Unfortunately I had agreed to listen to her story – I was signed in and couldn’t sign out till the end. I had agreed.

  She held my gaze for a moment before she continued with her reading.

  “‘When I returned to the hospital room, he stood with his hands in his pockets. The shirt was way too tight, stretched taunt over his broad shoulders and chest. And the pants were oversized, hanging loosely off his hips. No matter, he looked good this way, and definitely smelled heavenly after his long shower.

  ‘There is food and drink for you Ethan. Help yourself to it,’ I encouraged as I sat on the chair next to the hospital bed. I had cleared all of my research appointments for the day. Ethan’s state of
mind was high priority. If I could help him, I must. I was now accountable for him.

  ‘Thank-you,’ he said with a gentle voice, and then reached over to eat my offering to him.

  ‘You must nourish your body. It is good for the mind, and soothing for the soul,’ I commented. At this comment his eyes darted over to mine, as if I had thrown a poisoned dart at him. I held his eye contact, radiating peace from my eyes. He needed to know that I was concerned for him.

  ‘Can I get you a cup of coffee or tea Ethan?’ I asked. Timing was of the essence. I needed to give him some space after his dislike of my precious comment.

  ‘Coffee would be un-soothing for my mind Georgia, so I will have tea please,’ he said, his voice ruffled, his manners impeccable, and using my words to throw back at me. Hmmmm...... he was in defense mode. What was eating him? I left in silence, holding my posture in confidence. He needed me to be strong for him. He didn’t realise it, but I knew it.

  When I returned with his tea, he was sitting on the bed, leaning against the pillows, one leg bent up, one outstretched. His eyes were closed, his face relaxed. My heart softened for him.

  ‘Ethan, let’s talk,’ I said, my voice reassuring. He immediately opened his eyes, looking straight ahead of him, like I had extracted him from a happy place and back to reality – a reality that he did not want to be in.

  ‘Yes......yes, we must talk,’ he said, his voice defeated, his eyes focused on his food.

  ‘There is something troubling you. I can help you. But you need to let me know what is going on. Is it an external or internal war? External meaning that something is happening or has happened to you from someone else, or a situation that you have become involved in, or internal, meaning a war with your mind, body or soul?’ I questioned, trying to explain carefully to him. He remained passive as I spoke to him. That is until I mentioned the word soul. Again, his eyes darted to me, a fire of rage inside them.

  Now I knew what his problem was - his soul. It was not unusual for someone who was on deaths door. But, for a man this age, this physically maintained, this alive? What has he done? Why is he ripping himself apart?