by Andy Morris
True Calling
By Andy Morris
Copyright 2014 Andy Morris
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True Calling
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True Calling
With a heavy acknowledgment Connor realised his memories of his grandmother would be different from now on. After last night they would become fragile like delicate antique paintings that would need to be carefully preserved. Grandmother Nnedinma had only died yesterday evening but when Connor pictured her now the images were already less vibrant somehow: Her colourful dresses were less passionate and Connor worried he was starting to lose her image already. His memories were the only things he had left of her and he had to hold onto them for as long as he could because next to his Mum, Grandmother Nnedinma had been the most important person to him in the world.
The guilt of not being there when she died had gnawed away at him throughout the night and would no doubt continue to plague him over the next few days, weeks and months.
It was Dale Tanner’s fault that he had not gone straight home after locking up at the youth club last night. If Tanner hadn’t slashed the tyres on his car he would have got home and seen Grandmother Nnedinma one last time before she had her heart attack. He may even have been able to help her because of his first aid training. But instead, he had been chased through Cavendish Woods by that violent thug.
The alarm clock next to his bed where he’d plugged in his iPod suddenly switched on. The song ‘Morning’ by Sara Lazarus, abruptly jolted him away from his maudlin thoughts. As he lay in bed listening to the gentle Latin swing he briefly contemplated whether he should bother getting up at all today. Grandmother Nnedinma had died miles away from her home and, outside of the family, no one knew her in this country, no one cared. Would any care if he didn’t go into work today?
Look, just get up, man. He told himself firmly trying to shake off the feeling of self-pity. With an effort he hauled himself out of bed rubbing his hand through his long mop of curly brown hair. He leaned over the wash basin in the bathroom and stared at the image of the mixed-race games designer blearily looking back at him. The doppelganger on the other side of the glass looked tired and confused after a restless night spent waiting for sleep that never came. At least he didn’t dream last night, he realised as he sleepily shuffled into the shower. There was no point in having breakfast today.
Outside in the street, the billowing grey clouds overhead were scudding across the sky like a speeded up film. He wrapped his red white and black Sheffield United scarf around his neck and tucked the ends into his jacket to shut out the chilly wind as he trudged down the street. A convoy of three noisy children on bicycles rode past, all wearing oversized helmets and being led by a mum in a fluorescent yellow jacket. Connor watched them disappear down the street. The kids seemed so happy and excited - totally oblivious to the pain and suffering they’ll experience as they grow older and beyond.
He needed to go to the police station which fortunately was on the way the offices of 3PO Games Design where he worked as a Games Designer. Once he reported his encounter with Dale Tanner last night to the police he planned to find a quiet area at work where he could be alone and then he’d open the doorway again to try and find Grandmother Nnedinma. It had been too raw last night to go searching for her. Plus he had still been suffering the after effects of shock following his run-in with Dale Tanner. Shivering memories of that chase slid just beneath the surface of his thoughts like a giant sea monster threatening to capsize a vulnerable fishing boat.
This reminded Connor of the demon Abiku and his premonition: She would one day find the psychic doorway in his head and use it as a gateway into the real world. Then she would devour his living soul subjecting him to an eternity of pain and suffering inside the demon. Grandmother Nnedinma could maybe help him with this but the sadness of her loss weighed heavily upon him. Yet still, there was nothing that could be compared to the horrors of the afterlife. He hadn’t seen Grandmother Nnedinma at the end and he owed it to her to say a proper goodbye. Then, for his own sake he needed to find out she could actually seal the doorway shut in his mind now that she was dead. In his reeling grief Connor realised his primary motivation was the former. Guilt gnawed at him for not being there when his grandmother passed away. The uncertainty over his future he could accept and deal with but the sense that he had somehow let his grandmother down would become more and more excruciating as time went by. Before he had chance to unpick this insight any further his thoughts were distracted by the sound of someone shouting.
He hadn’t really noticed it at first but then they called again, more urgently this time and he hauled his attention back from the unhappy mire he had been wallowing in.
“Hey! Can anyone help me? I need help” the female voice shouted again. Connor paused next to an ordinary looking house with a batted yellow skip in the driveway filled with bricks and plasterboard. The voice had come from a footpath that ran next to the house and instinctively Connor turned down the path to see what was going on.
High wooden fences with swirling artful graffiti lined the path on either side. About half way down, the path turned to the right and Connor saw a very skinny young woman, probably in her late teens standing by herself.
She was smiling awkwardly and shifting from one foot to another impatiently. Her pale arms were wrapped around her skimpy sleeveless top in an attempt to keep warm while the chilly wind whipped up her straggly blonde hair reminding Connor of the snakes of a gorgon.
He asked if she was alright but she just laughed self-consciously and looked even more uncomfortable as if she didn’t want to draw attention to herself. She was looking in all directions and she didn’t seem to be in any kind of obvious distress. Connor wondered if she was playing a prank on someone and as she had ignored his questions he was about to turn and walk away when he sensed someone else behind him. Quick footsteps stomped towards him but he wasn’t able to look around in time before something hard and unforgiving struck him on the back of the neck.
There was a quick blur of movement and the next thing he knew he was on the floor. Fireworks suddenly exploded in his head and he realised he had been hit. The baseball bat came swinging at him again with a low whump; smashing into his shoulder blades and knocking him face-first onto the concrete. Dale Tanner circled him slowly gloating as he said something that Connor couldn’t hear. The rushing waterfall thundering in his ears was drowning out all other sounds. Tanner stopped but then drove his heavy boot deep into Connor’s stomach, forcing all the air out of his lungs in an instant. As he lay on the floor, choking for breath he was hit a third time with the baseball bat to the back of his neck.
His vision swam in a sea of ink and he could just make out Dale Tanner’s manic expression as he bent down closer to him. The acidic smell of that foul aftershave cut through his disorientation to sting the back of his throat again. Tanner grabbed a handful of Connor’s hair and lifted his head forcing him to look directly at the bully’s small beady eyes and badly misshapen nose.
“I know it was you” Tanner sneered, the pent up aggression audible in every syllable. “You stuck you’re nose into other people’s busi
ness and this is your payback”.
Despite the ringing in his head Connor could hear the girl laughing. It sounded forced, as if she was required to be impressed by Tanner’s display of brutality or risk suffering a similar punishment herself. Tanner shoved Connor’s head back down and his chin hit the pavement causing him to bite his tongue. The coppery taste of blood prickled the inside of his mouth but before he could do anything about it the baseball bat descended again and again in a frenzied carnival of sociopathic rage. Blood vessels opened, muscles tore and bones fractured. Agonising of explosions of pain bloomed throughout his crumpled body until he felt nothing but a single searing white flame of agony blistering his skin.
Eventually Connor no longer felt the damage being doled out to him. Each impact from the weapon sent ripples of numbness vibrating throughout his body. His consciousness fled from the trauma as his mind could no longer cope with the physical abuse. Before his mind shut down completely he was aware that the woman had stopped laughing and her whinny voice was urging Tanner to go before someone saw them.
Then it all went blank.
I’m still alive!
The thought floated its way to
