Notorious, John Jones [best ebook pdf reader android txt] 📗

be best to interfere until the car stopped.

“When the car stops, Mel, we bail out, ok?” Malcolm shouted.

“Yes,” came a hoarse reply. There were many vehicles queuing at the toll booths, but two on the far left were free, so he headed for one. Two men in yellow fluorescent jackets waved at him to stop, but when they realised Tom had no intention of doing so, they quickly backed away and watched as the vehicle crashed through the barrier and continued.

 

Malcolm and Melissa then heard the sound of a police siren. She turned around and saw two vehicles in pursuit, but Tom did not seem to acknowledge them. Instead, he sped along the A552 until he reached a motorway turn-off, then speeded along the M53. He weaved through the other vehicles, as did the police cars until he reached Junction 4 where he tore across the road in the wrong direction, causing other drivers to brake and bang their horns. He speedily made two more bends and then straightened the car on a road.

 

The police cars were closing in, but then Tom quickly spun the steering wheel to the right and brought the vehicle to a screeching halt. Malcolm and Melissa were breathing heavily. Malcolm saw that before them were open gates, beyond which was a large looming building. It was unnamed.

“What are you doing?” it was Melissa who spoke.

“Ryvak” said Tom, revving the engine again. “I’m gonna burn it”.

“Get out Mel!” said Malcolm, opening his door, but it was soon slammed shut as the car surged forward again. He braked hard before the glass frontage of the reception area. Malcolm and Melissa quickly left the vehicle and backed away. The police also left their vehicles and came through the gates. The building seemed empty, yet there were a few people around.

 

The car-park was occupied by what looked to be removal vans. Nothing was finished, or finalised. Tom walked into an empty reception. It was spacious, and quietly hollow. He walked into the centre and stopped, looking around.

“You stop right there!” yelled a policeman behind him. Tom did not seem to hear, or acknowledge his presence. On the floor, next the right wall, there was a large rolled up carpet. He walked across to it, taking out the matches.

“Hold it!” the policeman called, reluctant to approach. Others joined him, but proceeded with caution. They slowly approached, trying to get his attention. Tom kneeled down at the end of the carpet. He struck a match, then put the flame into the box to create a flare-up. He placed his left hand on top of the carpet. As he was hunched over, next to the wall, the police could not see what he was doing, but when yellow light bathed the white wall, one of them realised.

“No!” he called, and ran across, but in that short time, Tom had put the flame to the bottom of his trousers, the material soon becoming alight. The fire quickly, and eagerly ate away at the fabric, burning his flesh.

 

As he was crouched, his arm was soon alight, but Tom did not acknowledge it. He didn’t seem to be in any pain. He had simply ceased to move, as though he had run out of batteries. The policeman turned and ran back.

“Fire!” he yelled, but they were already running around trying to find a fire extinguisher. Outside, another policeman was looking around, trying to find the other two passengers. By the time somebody emerged with an extinguisher, it proved to be useless. The flames grew out of control, and as Tom burned, Ryvak followed suit.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

50

 

 

The journey had been longer than he had anticipated, and he was glad of the sit down, despite being on a train for two and a half hours. Curio had walked with a London A-Z, wishing he knew how the transport and underground system worked, but he had decided it was probably best to walk. He had thought about a taxi, but knew that the cost of living in London was dearer than in Widnes, and did not want to risk getting to the place only to have an irate driver with a passenger who could not pay.

 

With a small x marking the place he needed to get to, and knowing where he was on the map, it had been seven miles, and that was taking the shortest route. Eventually, along a side road and up an incline, he reached the ‘Institute of psychological research’, and was surprised at just how quickly he was seen. They seemed to know exactly who he was and what he was there for. Three women had seen him.

 

The first when he had walked in to what resembled a converted Victorian house, the second when he was shown upstairs to be greeted by another, younger woman who had led him into what she had described as a sound chamber. It had been converted, she had said, for this occasion. The window and door sealed out all acoustics, and Curio was left sitting on what resembled a dentist’s chair.

 

The whole place could easily have once been a dentists. He had been told to take a seat, but he didn’t particularly want to sit there without being attended to, so after adequate respite, decided to stand at the window of the surprisingly small room, looking through wooden blinds at the street below. Fear was slowly flowing through his system. He guessed that it was probably natural.

 

All psychics scientifically tested probably felt the same, he hoped, but he didn’t know of any that had. He had every confidence in his ability, so could not understand the feeling. He wondered if Abe would show up. He should, he thought. He was the reason he was here. The room was silent, as if time itself stood still in there. A biker rode by. A car came the other way. Two pigeons walked on the roof opposite, one following the other.

 

He turned and crossed back to the chair, looking at the machines on the counter on the other side of it, near the door. A random event generator had five small red lights across the top. Attached to it was a Geiger counter, and attached to that was an oscillator. As he was looking at them, the door opened and silently closed.

“I know they’re not exactly modern, but they don’t seem to be built these days. Perhaps it is testament to the fact that it is accepted generally that the supernatural does not exist, and nor can it be proven”. Curio saw that a man who seemed to be in his late sixties had entered the room.

 

He wore a single breasted white tuxedo, his black shoes shining. He extended his hand, and Curio looked at it, knowing that he represented the other side of the argument, the ‘enemy’, or foe, but it was amicable disagreement, rather like two boxers between bouts who always touch gloves to signify the fact that despite repeatedly hitting each other, they still had respect for their foe. Curio shook his hand, and smiled without humour. “My name is Abiel Hartman, you’ll know me as Abe”. Curio nodded, and looked at the machines.

“What are you going to do to me?” he asked.

“Ah, well, basically, you’re going to prove the existence of the paranormal, aren’t you?” Curio didn’t look at him, but simply nodded.

“We’ll start you off with zener cards, and we’ll end up with the acid test. You will bring a spirit into the room. Or at least you will attempt to. Electrodes will be attached to your temples as you try to conjure up an entity. Any electrical activity that we cannot attribute to your normal brain functions will be taken into account and examined.

 

The activity in your temporal lobes and your limbic system will be monitored, and should they alter due to outside influences, well, we’ll know about it, but of course, that will not prove paranormal activity at that stage. When it can be nothing else, then you will gain the honour of being the only person in history who showed the real world that there is life after death, that there is a spirit world. If you can show me that spirits exist, then the paranormal will be real”. Curio turned and wandered back to the window. Abe continued: “Obviously you can back out at any moment. You’re under no obligation”.

Curio looked at Abe.

“When do I begin?” he asked.

 

After three hours, Curio was being driven through London’s streets towards Euston train station.

“The implications will be huge,” said Abe, pulling up at traffic lights.

“I can’t believe after all these years of scepticism, somebody’s shown me the truth”. Abe shook his head. “I can’t thank you enough, Curio, really”.

“That’s ok” said Curio. “There are thousands of doubters who will come to see the reality of the paranormal. I can show them it, but it’s up to them whether or not they believe”.

The lights turned to green and he continued along a main road.

“Well, as I mentioned, I will organise a press briefing in a few days, and present you as the man who scientifically proved the existence of the paranormal. This will go worldwide. I still can’t believe you passed 100% on every test”.

“I was showing you the reality of it,”

“..and you brought my dear old mother back. She’d been gone sixteen years, but she’s still happy where she is. I can’t tell you how glad that makes me feel”.

“I’m going to be down here a lot now aren’t I? I’ll need to find accommodation”.

“When you come back for the briefing, I’ll have a place for you until you find a permanent place. Have you got much to pack?”

“No,” said Curio, “There isn’t much. I’ll probably sell my computer and TV”.

“I’m sure you’ll be able to buy new ones now,” said Abe, as he drove into the station. He pulled up at a kerb and Curio took off his seat belt and opened the door.

“Thanks again,” said Abe, shaking Curio’s hand, “You’ll hear from me very soon”. Curio smiled.

 

“Much appreciated,” he said, leaving the vehicle, “Bye”. With a self-satisfied look on his face, Curio walked amongst the throng towards his platform. A woman in her early forties saw him and approached.

“Excuse me? Curio Enchantment?” Curio’s smile widened.

“Yes, that’s me”.

“Could I have a reading?” He nodded.

“Just give me a ring,” he said, “but leave it until next week. I’m going to be quite busy in the next few days. There’s going to be an important announcement.”

“Really?” she said, “Any chance of telling me”. He shook his head.

“Watch the news,” he said.

“Oh…ok,” she smiled at him. “Well, good to meet you, bye”, she said, then disappeared amongst the crowd. Curio wondered how she would know of him. It then dawned on him, and he headed for a newsagent. He was soon walking towards his platform, reading his article in ‘Lazy days’. The reporter was glowing about him. ‘...and I was amazed at his ability’. ‘I used to be sceptical’. ‘...most talented psychic I’ve ever seen’. ‘There are a lot of fakes out there, preying on the gullible, but Curio is no predator. He has proven to me that he is in touch with the other side, and can communicate with the deceased. A man with a unique talent whom I hold in absolute high esteem. He is most certainly a genuine psychic’. The double page spread had two pictures of him. One taken at his window of him looking out at the sky. The other of him smiling, sat on his sofa, leaning forward.

 

He read the article word for word six times on the journey back to Liverpool. He had a corner all to himself with a small table. The magazine was left open throughout the journey in-case anybody sat near him. They didn’t. The rest of the time he spent relaxed back in his seat, looking out of the window, with his self-satisfied expression. When he returned to Liverpool, it wasn’t long before