The Book Keeper

by Amelia Grace

  He breathed in deeply, and then spoke in the quietest of voices, his eyes closed, tensed.

  ‘I believe.... that I do not have a soul.’

  His face was ashen, gutted, and my own heart twisted for him.

  After a moment of silence, I spoke, keeping my voice tranquil.

  ‘Why do you believe that Ethan?’”

  ‘Georgia....’ I interrupted her again. It took some courage on my part. I didn’t want to get that ’if looks could kill’ look again.

  ‘Cohen?’ her voice was curt again, her blue eyes piercing mine like a dagger. Ouch!

  ‘It is getting late. The sun is starting to set. And I have to break the spell of the words of the book. When do you want to meet me again to continue the story?’ I asked her, my eyes searching hers for a connection to the real world.

  And then she snapped out of it - out of the bloody book. She was kind, beautiful Georgia again, the Georgia that I knew, if only briefly.

  She breathed out like she had been holding her breath throughout the entire reading of the bloody book. She looked disappointed.

  ‘Oh, yes of course. Right you are Cohen. I will email you again Tim. What is it with the late night emailing anyway?’ she asked, her voice curious.

  ‘It is a long story Georgia. But I will tell you sometime. Gotta go. Watch the trackers follow me. They have odd behaviours! Ah.....thanks for reading to me. Your story is.....intriguing. I am keen for the next installment.’ I looked into her eyes gauging her reaction to my statement. She smiled slightly and nodded her head.

  I smiled crookedly back at her, and then began my journey home, with my trackers in tow.

  The smell of a roast chicken dinner entered my nostrils the moment I entered my apartment. My stomached growled. I was hungry. As per usual routine, I ate my dinner, watched sport on television before having a steamy hot shower and then went to bed. I was looking forward to the text from Georgia.

  The vibrating phone against my leg was like a cattle prod waking me. In a haze I reached under the blanket to read email.

  FROM: Georgia Harrison

  SUBJECT: The next installment

  DATE: May 15 2011 23:15

  TO: Tim Jennings

  Dear Tim,

  The trackers are indeed very odd. Do they have undercover spy lessons to practice their moves? Thank-you for listening to me read my book today. I am still offering you a get out clause at this point. I will understand if you ditch me.

  Georgia #thegingerbreadmenarehappytobebackintheoven

  FROM: Tim Jennings

  SUBJECT: The next installment

  DATE: May 15 2011 23:20

  TO: Georgia Harrison

  Dear Georgia,

  I know my tracker’s faces very well. I like to change my direction to annoy them. They don’t cope with a change of plan very well. I feel privileged to be given the chance to listen to you reading your book to me. I want to know what Ethan says next. You have me hooked!

  Tim #gingerbreadmenarenicerinmystomachwithacupoftea

  Send........

  FROM: Georgia Harrison

  SUBJECT: Gingerbread Men

  DATE: May 15 2011 23:30

  TO: Tim Jennings

  Dear Tim,

  Since you are indicating that you are not going to ditch my readings of the book, I would like to deliver the next installment tomorrow. I never read it by myself. Likewise, I never read it silently. Where would you suggest we meet?

  Georgia #Iamgoingtomakeyouagingerbreadmantoeat

  FROM: Tim Jennings

  SUBJECT: Gingerbread Men

  DATE: May 15 2011 23:36

  TO: Georgia Harrison

  Dear Gingerbread Maker,

  I am stuck in critical meetings tomorrow. So I think that we should meet in the evening. How about back at our very first meeting place. 7:03pm?

  And please notice that I spoke of gingerbread MEN in my stomach – plural.

  Tim #leaveoffthesultanasbutidoenjoytheicing

  Send.....

  FROM: Georgia Harrison

  SUBJECT: Sultanas are healthy

  DATE: May 15 2011 23:45

  TO: Tim Jennings

  Dear Tim,

  Tea for two would be brilliant with the gingerbread MAN – singular.

  I shall meet you at 7:03pm where you first surprised me.

  Georgia #Ilikesurpriseswhentheyarepackagedlikeyou

  FROM: Tim Jennings

  SUBJECT: I don’t like to share!

  DATE: May 15 2011 23:49

  TO: Georgia Harrison

  Dear Georgia,

  Cookie Monster is my other aka, and gingerbread is like a cookie.

  I will see you first at 7:03pm.

  Tim #runrunasfastasyoucaniwillseeyoufirstat7:03pm

  Send.....

  FROM: Georgia Harrison

  SUBJECT: Challenges

  DATE: May 15 2011 23:52

  TO: Tim Jennings

  Dear Dear Mr Tim,

  I enjoy a challenge!

  Georgia #wearingmyrunningtrackspikeshoesforbettergrip

  Hmmmm, I like a girl who can engage in humour. She definitely has it down pat.

  I closed my eyes to enter the sleep zone, wishing for a peaceful sleep – but it was not meant to be.

  My dream… was in black and white. Mostly black. My left eye was the host of the MR Implant. When it was first implanted, I had control over it. But it had developed a mind of its own, and its electrical impulses over rode my own natural electrical neurons firing in my brain. It owned me. It entered my mind, growing its savage roots there, fighting with my own mind until I was weak and surrendered to the will of the MR Implant. Now I had a mission. And it was not my own. I was simply the arms and legs and living body for the MR Implant to do as it pleased. And it was black. There shined no light, no colour. Just the blackness of badness. And the only way to overcome it was by death. My death..........

  Horror surged through my body, all systems alerted to fight. I woke in a profuse sweat, breathing heavily, my heart beating rapidly. I placed my hands over my wet face, and then dragged my stiff fingers through my damp hair. What have I done in the creation a MR Implant?

  It holds no hope for the human race, only destruction. It must not work......it cannot work. It must be stopped, destroyed before it destroys us.

  The remaining dark hours of the night ticked by slowly as my mind flitted from the project, to my childhood, to my future – if I had one – I couldn’t see it - it had been taken away from me.

  I placed my hands over my face and sobbed, protected by the cover of darkness, the buffering of the thick blanket muffling my deep loud convulsive crying until I hit the wall of emotional exhaustion – leaving nothing but emptiness inside. I wanted to see a flicker of hope for my life, but the smoke was too thick, being replaced by the blackness. Perhaps it was time to put a mask on, hiding my face of fear.

  Ever aware of my daily surveillance, I escaped from my bed of despair at 6am and headed off to gym, showering after my extensive workout before heading off to grab breakfast on the way to the CAI building.

  I entered my secure office by 9am exhausted before the day had begun. Today would be pivotal. I had to play my cards right, carefully. I refused to look at my graffiti wall of design. I couldn’t. I wasn’t ready for the vision to enter my head after the nightmare last night. I stood by the large glass windows and looked out over the city, the streets busy, and dark thunderclouds forming in the west already – how apt. I retreated to my computer, logged in and was greeted by the ping of emails. The only important one being from Miss Rubin. I opened it up.

  FROM: Jordan RUBIN

  DATE: May 16 2011 09:00

  SUBJECT: Conference

  TO: Cohen DARCY

  Dear Mr Darcy,

  The conference is organised for 11am in your office. Have your secretary ensure that we have refreshments. Be organised, or I’ll be questioning your viability with the Organisation. You do not want to disappoint my father. J.


  I leaned back in my chair after reading her correspondence, seething with contempt. She was a power player, using her father’s power. What a coward. I opened up the employee files, searching for her profile and qualifications. Let’s see what she has for herself – earned or given?

  Jordan Elise Rubin

  Department: Communications Research Assessment

  Qualifications: Classified information: denied access

  Contact:

  Email: jerubin@cai.com

  Given. Handed to her on a silver platter. All rights and no responsibility. But well taught in lessons on arrogance and rudeness. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

  FROM: Cohen DARCY

  DATE: May 16 2011 09:10

  SUBJECT: Conference 11am

  TO: Miss RUBIN

  Dear Miss Rubin,

  Thank-you for your email detailing the time of the conference. Every requirement is met, except for the refreshments. I do not have a secretary. I would be appreciative if your secretary Miss Rueben could cater for our needs, with your approval of course.

  Kind regards,

  Cohen Darcy

  Send.......

  Within two minutes I received a reply in my favour. Miss Rueben would cater for our meeting. This could work to my advantage.

  10:45 - Mia knocked on my office door. I welcomed her into my office and she busied herself with arranging refreshments.

  10:55 – Miss J Rubin entered my office, dressed in a hot pink fitting dress that finished above her knees, and ridiculously high stiletto shoes that looked impossible to walk in. I nodded to her.

  ‘Morning Miss Rubin.’

  “Mr Darcy,’ she replied, her voice cold, unwelcoming.

  11:00 Drs Peterson and Williams entered my office together.

  I shook their hands, introduced myself, then Miss Rubin, followed by Miss Rueben. And then I took command of the meeting. I started at the beginning – purpose, conception and design, followed by consultation with the Professors.

  They studied my diagrams in detail, and the technology that was to be inserted. They took copious notes and conversed with each other in medical speak.

  We engaged in long conversations about the engineering, possible positive outcomes and listed all of the negative outcomes.

  Repeatedly, the Professors expressed their doubt about the technology, and emphasized that they could not be held personally responsible for outcomes that may impede the quality of life of the Host of the MR Implant.

  Once all was discussed, we called for Mr Rubin to join us in discussions, and to make the final decision about developing and trialing the technology.

  I let the Professors talk to Mr Rubin. And he made his decision instantly. It was as if he had already decided what to do no matter what the Professors advised.

  After an exhausting six hours the meeting had finished. My head was thumping with pain.

  I left the office at 5:15pm with a guilty conscience that was like a slab of concrete chained to my neck holding me underwater. I was about to waste millions of dollars of the CAI in developing a Mind Reading Implant that was guaranteed not to work. For the sake of humanity, it must not work. I was the only human aware of the flaw that would cause it’s failure, and it would stay that way, my secret to take to the grave.

  The rain was pelting down as I ventured through the stupid revolving doors, but as always my personal taxi driver was waiting for me.

  He drove off into the driving rain as I made my way up to my apartment to the smell of dinner. I was getting tired of the game. I did not feel like playing tonight. I wanted to curl up in a corner in the fetal position to console myself. The burden of the MR Implant was getting to me. I needed to step away from it.

  But it was impossible.

  So I did the next best thing. I had a long hot shower, letting the heat of the water burn the tension away, and the gentle flow of the water relax my mind. My mind that I felt like digging out with a spoon at the moment.

  Numerous times, I ran my hands through my wet hair in frustration, then in resignation of the situation. I had to bide my time. I had to stay strong in playing the game better than them. I could not let any cracks appear. Wear the mask.....wear the mask......

  Steam from the shower entered my bedroom before I did, then flowed around like a confident inhabitant of the air space. It led my eyes to the time on the digital clock – 6:38pm.

  Crap!.... I had to meet Georgia at 7:03pm at Cafe Ooh Laa Laaaa! I had forgotten all about it in my moment of darkness and doom.

  I quickly pulled on some old faded denim jeans, a white t-shirt and a white long sleeved button up shirt. I left through the front door of the apartment shoving my sports shoes on my feet.

  Rain was lightly drizzling its way from the heavens as I bolted along the streets to the Cafe. The door bell announced my arrival as I entered, stopping abruptly once I was inside. I examined the tables carefully looking for Georgia. I didn’t want her to defeat me in the race to the Cafe.

  She was nowhere to be seen, thankfully. It was exactly 6:59pm according to my world time synchronised digital watch. At least I couldn’t be accused of being late!

  I found a table and sat at it and waited watching the door for her entry. But 7:03pm came and went, and there was no Georgia. I guess that she couldn’t find her spiked running shoes for better grip.

  I had been stood up. Well, it wasn’t the first time in my history of relationships with women. It always ended this way.

  Great!

  I put my head into my hands at the table and covered my eyes with my fingers. Maybe I could walk the streets by myself for a little bit before I return to my empty lonely apartment? My life just wasn’t panning out the way that I wanted it to. In fact, it was the complete opposite to my ideal life of the future.

  I ran my hands down my face and opened my eyes, and she was sitting there, smiling shyly at me. What? I didn’t hear her approach the table, or pull out the chair. There was no clanging of the door bell. I didn’t smell her sweet perfume.

  ‘Hi,’ she said in a quiet voice.

  ‘Hi,’ I replied smiling crookedly at her, suddenly feeling shy. ‘You’re late Miss Harrison!’ I commented.

  ‘This is why Mr Darcy,’ she added, sliding a freshly baked gigantic gingerbread man in front of me. It smelled divine. It looked perfect, and was smothered in coloured icing. Wow! – the way to a man’s heart.....

  ‘Georgia!’ I exclaimed, impressed by her culinary skills. ‘This is amazing! Thank-you.’

  ‘We aim to please Mr Darcy. And...it’s the least I could do for someone willing to listen to me reading my book to them. Repay kindness for kindness.’ Her voice was soothing to my soul. Ah! She is exactly what I need tonight. My Georgia...

  I closed my eyes and smiled. What return of kindness will I receive from the world for interfering with the MR Implant, and stopping its capabilities from causing destruction among the humans? They will never know. Georgia will never know. I laughed to myself at the irony.

  ‘Something is amusing Mr Darcy?’ Georgia said, her voice low, her blue eyes looking up at me from under her long eyelashes as she poured out tea for two.

  ‘Hmmm...I was just thinking that you probably hid the sultanas underneath the icing on the gingerbread man. It’s the perfect hideout for them,’ I quipped, lying.

  “Eat Mr Darcy. I want to see you squirm in gastronomic delight as you devour this exquisite gingerbread. It is guaranteed to make your digestive juices hum.’ She was bossy, but not, at the same time.

  ‘Miss Harrison, I hope that your memory recalls my predisposition to not sharing gingerbread,’ I said as I bit into my treat. Georgia smiled at me over her tea cup, her eyes dancing with enjoyment. I closed my eyes as the heavenly taste of the gingerbread caressed my taste buds. I was in gingerbread heaven. It was divine.

  ‘It is passable Miss Harrison,’ I commented, playing down the deliciousness of the treat.

  ‘Does that mean that you will pass it
to me Mr Darcy?’ Georgia asked, placing her hand out for me to give it to her, her eyes seductive, trying to convince me to part with my beloved gingerbread.

  I looked into her big eyes as I shook my head slowly, and broke off a very small portion and placed it into her hand, our fingers touching lightly, sending delightful tingles throughout my body. I inhaled sharply at the very nice sensation that lingered in my warm blood. My Georgia......I watched her as she placed it into her mouth, brushing the crumbs off her luscious lips. Mmmmm, if I could just put my lips there, on hers, and suck oh so gently........

  ‘How did your eye appointment go today Cohen?’ Georgia asked, breaking into my fantasy.

  ‘It was a pre-appointment. The next appointment is in the Office of Optometrics. We will see how it goes then,’ I skipped around her question. She nodded her head at me, and then smiled, pulling out the bloody book, resting it on the table in front of her.

  ‘Ready?’ she asked, narrowing her eyes at me, checking my commitment to her readings.

  ‘Quell my curiosity Miss Georgia. Continue the story from where we left off. I want to hear his answer,’ I replied, looking deeply into her eyes, my voice low, almost a whisper. She smiled slightly, looked down at the bloody book and then opened the bookmarked page. She looked up at me again before she began to read, looking for reassurance. I nodded once, closing and opening my eyes once in affirmation.

  “’I was manufactured, not created,’ he said, his face forlorn, his fingers digging into his legs. I sat silently, watching his body language. He was ashamed of himself.

  ‘What is your definition of manufactured Ethan?’ I asked, feeling compassion for him. Being a product of IVF was nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, his parents very much wanted him if they went through the IVF process. He was the baby that they had dreamed of, the baby that they vowed to love forever.

  ‘I was a stem cell, ignited into human form by an electrical impulse. I spent my embryonic life contained in nutrient rich liquid suspended in an artificial environment until my coming out – my so called birth. I do not have a mother, or a father. I just am. I am not born of love. How can I have a soul if I am not the creation of a living egg from a female and the living sperm of a father?”