This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely unintentional.
Much to my disgust, after the Middle East Campaign which was won by Britain and America against Islamic terrorists, but at some cost, Britain reintroduced national service. This meant each person on attaining the age of eighteen would be required to perform two years in the armed services or some other institution. I actually opted to serve in the hospital service as an auxiliary nurse, but for some reason, I was told that I would be serving with the Royal Army Medical Corps, as an orderly and to report for training.
I was dreading it. I am small and blond and was bullied very badly at school. My name is Curtis, James Curtis. Unfortunately, because my mother always called me ‘Jamie’, she is Scottish, I used to be ribbed at school and called ‘Jamie Lee’ after the American actress, or sometimes ‘Wanda’, after the comedy, ‘A Fish Called Wanda’, in which she starred.
Even the girls sometimes bullied me, most of them were as big, if not actually bigger, and they found it great fun to dominate me, as I was probably the only boy they could. I never told my parents what murder school had been, and when I found that one of the girls, Pam Davis, was going to the same unit I felt history could be about to repeat itself. Pam was ‘hell in knickers’. I was actually frightened of her because she had physically beaten me up and forced me to do something I still have bad dreams about now. She was about five feet ten inches, to my five four, and two stone or more heavier. On one occasion she nearly broke my arm, on another, she kneed me in the balls. I was eleven at the time, and I am sure it permanently damaged me. My balls are very small, as is my willie; I have hardly any pubic or underarm hair and my voice is still very high, never having broken.
I had, however, managed to get reasonable results in school academically, with three good A-levels, and I hoped to go to college or university when my national service was over. So my plans were to keep my head down for two years, avoid Pam like the plague, and get it all over as quickly as possible.
The date came around for my departure, and after my farewells, to my family, I walked to the station and used the travel warrant to go to my training establishment. The rail journey was uneventful and I read or looked out the window. Then by special bus to the camp, which rejoiced in the name of ‘Barbury Barracks and Training Camp’.
Having registered, I was told to store my luggage and make my way over to the mess for a meal, then assemble at the medical quarters at 14.00 hours. The food was good, but I wasn’t hungry. I’d already had a small contretemps with the registering corporal who suggested I was too young. I showed her my paperwork and birth certificate, and she shook her head saying I looked about twelve and, did my mother know I was out? Not wanting to make enemies this early, or in fact, at any time, I didn’t answer back.
At the medical, I was ribbed by the other lads who were all much bigger than I, but I ignored it. I was used to it. One of them called me ‘Goldilocks’, but I tried to ignore him although I felt myself blush. I knew this would happen and I just had to try and get through it. I kept telling myself, that it isn’t about size, it’s about attitude, and courage doesn’t depend on a big body. But at times it was so hard.
The doctor examined me but was concerned about my small stature and my very small scrotum. He did some blood tests, gave me some jabs and, passed me fit. At least that bit is over, I thought to myself. Although, it would have been better if he had failed and medically discharged me.
They had great difficulty in kitting me out, and to my astonishment and disgust, they had to get some of it from the women’s store. My small feet and hands meant ladies' boots and shoes, and the fatigues were also from the women’s store. Which meant they buttoned on the wrong side and had a bit too much room in the seat of the trousers. But no one else knew, I thought, so it may not be too bad. I was wrong, and it did get out.
Over the next few days, I ended up with nearly a full female uniform, except the formals or dress uniform, but then I wouldn’t need those for six weeks and they hoped to get something in for me by then. I felt like deserting on the first day, it didn’t get any easier.
We did lots of square bashing, marching up and down rain or shine. We had lectures on health and safety, basic rules, our training and duties, and what happened if we got things wrong. The consequences were not too nice. I decided I was going to do my utmost to avoid jankers. So for six weeks I did exactly as I was told, polished my boots and badge and while thinking it was all so mind-bendingly boring, I kept my nose clean.
The time came for our passing out parade, and I went to the stores for my formals. They handed me a large plastic bag, and I signed for them, the corporal on the stores telling me how many strings he’d pulled to get my stuff. I thanked him and rushed off to the barrack block and my dormitory. The others were changing as I arrived. I hurriedly tore open the bag, and let out a gasp, Mike Bendall in the next bunk to me, looked over to see what was happening, then began to laugh.
They had sent me a female uniform, with a tunic and skirt, blouse and shoes. I was so shocked that I nearly passed out. They were all laughing, and I just sat on the bed and began to cry. Mike put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed it, ”Come on Jamie, it’s just a SNAFU* moment, remember it is the army.” (*Situation Normal All Fucked Up). I tried to be brave but this was just the last straw. Someone went off to speak to the drill sergeant, who would be our officer for the parade and he came in a moment later.
Once he stopped laughing, he stroked his chin and then told me to put the uniform on. I stood there, transfixed by what he said, paralysed. “Put it on Curtis”. So I did, with a dozen pairs of eyes watching me in disbelief. To my disgust, it fitted me with the exception of my flat chest, and I had no stockings.
With that, he told me to wait while he pulled out his mobile and began jabbering away as he walked out of the room. I felt a complete fool and a nervous titter ran around the rest of the room.
Ten minutes later, the sergeant reappeared with the corporal from stores, who was laughing his socks off. “Don’t grin like a monkey, Simmonds, one of my soldiers is going on parade improperly dressed, sort it.”
“But Sarge, I tried to tell you, we ordered this uniform a month ago, this is what they sent. I didn’t check it, as it was labelled for Curtis, it could only be one thing.”
“Just what one thing are we talking about?”
“Well his name, it had ‘Jamie Curtis’ on the bag, central stores must think he’s a woman. But we don’t have anything else to fit him. Can’t he just go sick?”
“He isn’t sick, is he?”
“No Sarge.” Replied the embarrassed corporal.
“So I want him on parade, and properly dressed.”
They left together talking, and the sergeant was heard to say, “I don’t care what you do, just do it.”
Ten minutes later, a squaddie from the stores arrived with a package for me. I had just come out of the showers and was wrapped in a towel. I signed for the package. When I opened it, I nearly fell over. Inside was a bra, a pair of tights and, a pair of knickers.
Attached was a note, which read,’ Sorry Curtis, it was the best we could do. Wear it, that’s an order.’
I put on all the clothes, much to the amusement of my colleagues. Thankfully the dark stockings hid the few hairs on my legs. There was a knock on the door and one of the boys answered it, in walked a woman corporal. “This lady wants you, Curtis.”
She took me and the rest of my uniform into a bathroom, “Come on Curtis, let's see what we can do for you.” She rolled up a pair of socks and shoved them in the bra, buttoning up the blouse, she adjusted my tie and I pulled on the jacket. “The skirt fits fine, did you manage the tights?” I nodded my reply. I had to show her, and she congratulated me.
Then she looked at my face, and said,” Well you’ve shaved nice and clean.”
“I don’t shave corporal ma’am.”
“What, oh well that’s even better. She put some makeup on my eyes, while I tried not to blink or cry. It was too embarrassing for words. Then some powder over my face, and finally a pink lipstick.”
She placed my cap on my head and stood back to admire her handiwork. “Yes, you’ll do fine.”
“Please corporal, please you can’t send me out like this.” I pleaded with her.
“Why not, are you improperly dressed ?”
“Yes, corporal.”
“Where?”
“I am wearing the wrong uniform.”
“I see, is this your name?” she asked pointing at the name tape.
“Yes, corporal.”
“Then this is your uniform, is it not?”
“Yes, corporal.”
“So how can you be improperly dressed?”
I just shook my head in disbelief. She led me out into the dormitory and the sniggers stopped. Instead, there were gasps of astonishment and a couple of wolf whistles. “If I hear of one of you clowns making life difficult for Curtis, I’ll have you on a charge.
"Curtis you will parade with the other women, come with me.”
As we crossed the square towards one of the female barracks, she told me that she had already spoken to one of the other NCOs and it was going to be fine. Instead of being nasty, the women were very helpful and for the first time, I actually felt amongst friends. I even managed to joke with the corporal there that, ”Had I known you were going to be so nice, I’d have transferred six weeks ago.” They all laughed supportively.
So surprising as it may seem, I paraded as a female soldier and received my badge and tapes from the commanding officer, who was I am told unaware of the farce his unit had created. However, the certificate I received was in the name of ‘Pte. Jamie Curtis.’ And believe it or not, some clever so and so amended all my records, so from here on in, Jamie stuck.
At the bun-fight afterward, which I tried to avoid I was surrounded by my male colleagues and forced back in. “You know Curtis, you look much better as a woman, are you sure you aren’t one?” said Bendall. Then with a laugh, he pinched my bum and pushed me into the room. The corporal from the stores saw me, rescued me and, handed me a handbag, “Here, “ she said,” put this over your shoulder, and you won’t stand out so much.”
Someone shouted, ”Postings” and everyone moved to see where we were being sent. I saw that I was going to an army hospital unit two miles away, and to my horror, I realised that some of their brass had been watching the parade. But then, surely they wouldn’t remember me, especially in my current disguise.
Just as I was thinking this over, a woman officer walked up to me. “You are Curtis?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Get your stuff, I’ll give you a lift over to the camp.”
“Thank you, ma’am, but I haven’t packed yet.”
“Well go and do it. I’ll give you ten minutes.” Seeing me hesitate, she added, “Go on, girl.”
I saluted and ran out as fast as my legs could carry me. This was a bad dream, it had to be.
I just managed to pack all my belongings in a couple of bags, and as I was struggling with them, “ ’Ere, I’ll give you a hand with those, love.” A squaddie I’d never seen before, grabbed both my bags and carried them more easily than I had, to the waiting car.
“Is that your boyfriend, Curtis?”
“ No ma’am.”
“Pity, quite good looking.”
As we drove, the captain explained she was in charge of nurse training. Waiting for an opportunity to interrupt. I started, “Ma’am, I think I need to tell you that there has been a mistake.”
“Oh yes, what sort this time?”
“Ma’am, I am not training as a nurse but a medical orderly.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, only men, train as orderlies.”
“Yes, ma’am, I know. I am a man.”
“Course you are.” Then the car screamed to a halt. “What did you just say?”
“I am a man, ma’am.”
“Then why are you wearing a female’s uniform?”
I related my story and she laughed and shook her head. “So let me get this right, you are too small for regulation men’s wear and have been wearing women’s for the past six weeks. That can’t be right, someone has been taking the piss, haven’t they? I can’t believe this. Anyway, until we can sort this out, I have you down as female, and due to start nurse training from tomorrow. You will be pleased to know that you would normally room with two other girls but we have one spare room at the moment. I’ll make the arrangements.”
The rest of the way, she smiled occasionally laughing and shaking her head. We arrived, and after registering as Curtis Jamie, female, trainee nurse, I was led off to the room Captain Brice had suggested. Thankfully, there was a bathroom next door, and hardly sleeping a wink, I was up early the next morning, washed, showered, and dressed before any of my colleagues.
I was still wondering about whether or not I would go for breakfast when Captain Brice arrived with a Major Collins. “At ease, Curtis.”
“Ma’am, Sir.”
“We have a little problem Curtis, it appears some clever dick has changed all your records, so we have you down as female. The problem is, we can’t change them back.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, I don’t understand.”
“I have been on to records, that is central records, and they claim that you are female, have always been female and always will be. They will therefore not countenance any change without authorisation from the ministry.”
“What does that mean, ma’am ?”
“It means, that until I tell you otherwise, you are a female nurse trainee. So get yourself some more clothes, some makeup and, some toiletries. That bathroom will be yours alone. We’ll try and keep this quiet for now, but it won’t stay so forever. I don’t know if Major Collins has anything to add.”
“Essentially, what Captain Brice has said appears to be true, it is absurd but there you are, these things seem to happen. God knows how or why, but until you hear to the contrary, you are apparently female. So carry on.”
“Yes, sir, ma’am.”
“I’ll ask Corporal Henderson to come and see you, so wait until she gets here.” With that, they both left.
I could not believe what was happening, how could this be so. It was beyond absurdity, it was downright bizarre. It was absolutely bloody stupid. They may all be mad, but I wasn’t. I was not going to stand for it, I just wasn’t. Then after stamping my foot once or twice, I laughed, then sat on my bed and howled. I was still crying when Corporal Henderson arrived.”
“Right, sweetheart, we have to make you as presentable as we can for the rest of the team. “ With that, she again made me wear the bra and stuffed it with socks, then she found the makeup in my handbag and applied it. My hair was short but not like the US marines, and with a bit of careful combing, she made me seem slightly more presentable.
“This is ridiculous. How can anyone think I’m female?”
“From where I’m standing, I can quite easily believe it.”
“Yes, but that’s only because of the makeup and other stuff you’ve just done.”
“No it’s because nature has been kind to you, as far as this is concerned. You are small, have lovely skin and, a light voice. I can’t see an Adam’s apple, you have small hands and feet. A pair of boobs and a bit more around the hips and you’d be very female. And quite a pretty one at that.”
“Please, corporal, don’t say that.”
“Why not it’s true, and I think you know it. The boys will be around you as thick as flies.”
“No. This isn’t going to work. I can’t cope with men fancying me. I may not be very macho, but I am still a man.”
“Not from where I’m standing. Now stop this silliness, you are an attractive woman and you’d better get down to the mess and grab some breakfast. That’s an order, Miss Curtis.”
“Yes, Corporal.”
“Don’t forget your handbag.”
“Yes, corporal.”
Somehow I survived the morning session without detection. Thankfully it was primarily about induction into the school of nursing, timetables, getting more kit and, being introduced to the teaching staff. At lunch, I was told to report to Major Collins office.
“Come in, Curtis, sit down.” I did as I was told. “I have a medical report here from your basic training unit. You have a problem.”
“I do, sir ?” My tummy turned over.
“Yes. It seems that your testes aren’t working at all and should be removed as soon as possible because they can turn cancerous. You told Captain Smith you had been injured there.”
“Yes, sir, a girl in school kneed me in the ba... groin, sir,” I remembered it very well, the bitch.
“Right well, it seems we had better get you on some hormones quickly or you are going to have all sorts of problems with brittle bones. As for the orchidectomy,” he noticed my baffled look, “removing your testes, I can do that for you here, and probably best to get it over and done with. Have you eaten ?”
My mind was reeling. I was about to be orchiwhatevered, castrated, and he wants to know if I’ve eaten. I shook my head.
“Right pop across to the O.R. and I’ll be with you in a tick.” He pointed across to a door and I did as I was told. I was in something of a mist, my mind was reacting to instructions but I was lost to my own thoughts. I entered the ‘Operating Room’ and Captain Brice helped me undress and put on a robe. She gave me a pill to take. We chatted, but I don’t recall about what and, after a while, I felt more relaxed. She had given me a sedative.
Major Collins arrived, and I was placed on an operating table with a lithotomy stool under my bottom. I felt a jab in my hand and I remember nothing else. I awoke with Captain Brice rubbing my face and talking to me. “Hello Jamie, welcome back to the land of the living. It’s all over, we’ve dealt with your little problem and also done an implant for you, so you won’t get brittle bones. You may feel a bit sore down below for a few days and your arm may be tender. You have a few stitches we can remove in a week. You will be bruised and it may take a day or two to appear. It will be alright, it went very well and Major Collins is a wonderful surgeon.” She helped me up and I felt a bit dizzy but my head cleared quite quickly after a drink of tea.
“Technically, you are now a sort of in-between person…” as she faltered I interjected, “Eunuch is the technical term I believe.”
“Quite.” She replied. There was an uneasy silence for a few moments. “Look, Jamie. It needed to be done. They were doing no good and would have become cancerous if left. They had atrophied a great deal, I think my cat’s were bigger.”
I felt the absurdity of this last remark was not out of place in this almost unreal situation, so I laughed and so did she. However, I continued to laugh and laugh and laugh until the tears ran down my face, then I cried and cried and she held me. It was a moment of great tenderness and I was very grateful for it. I don’t know how long it lasted, it was timeless. I was escorted back to my room by Corporal Henderson, clutching my bag of painkillers, hormone tablets and, pads. I had to use sanitary pads inside my knickers in case of any bleeding seeping through the dressing, and it also gave me some protection.
Corporal Henderson was so helpful. She did some shopping for me after leaving me in my room. She got me some knickers and bras, some basic makeup and, a couple of nighties. I knew I would have to get some other things too, but they could wait. I slipped into a difficult sleep as I tried to come to terms with my new status. I had just arrived on the threshold of manhood and it had been removed because it was a falsehood, not a manhood. I could never have children, and probably my life was ruined. I almost wished I was dead, properly dead not this zombified life I was now undertaking.
Here I was, officially female which was barmy, or was it now. Somehow, it almost seemed right. It explained a few things, like my small stature and boyish voice, or was that girlish, voice? Was life carrying out some Kafkaesque game with me? Theatre of the absurd, don’t be silly, this is the British Army where everything makes sense to someone, it’s just that nobody knows who that somebody is. I knew for sure I didn’t.
I woke up sweating and sobbing. In my dream Major Collins was giving me a sex change operation, telling me that it was all fine now, and no one would ever know. I was a girl in reality as well as on paper. I was so confused, my head throbbed and I didn’t know what to do or think. For a moment, I wondered if the orchiwhatever was a dream, but I felt tender when my hand went down to my groin, and the soft throb in my arm told me the implant was real too. I took a painkiller and fell asleep again.
When I woke again, Kate Henderson was there with my shopping. She also showed me the big bunch of flowers my colleagues had sent when they heard I was unwell. I just burst into tears, and Kate held me while I cried. I was excused duties the next day, but I felt well enough to go to classes, so I did. The disinformation that was circulated was that I’d had a gynae emergency, and it was apparently, half speculated that I’d had an abortion on the quiet, after being raped by a squaddie. Kate told me this several months later, but we settled on a D and C as the official line.
After a week the stitches came out and the bruising was improving no end. Major Collins was very pleased with his handiwork. “It looks good Nurse Curtis, but it could look better.”
“I’m sorry, Major, I don’t understand.” I began to wonder if something was wrong.
“I wonder if you would let me try something which may help with your disguise which I read about on the internet.”
“Might I ask what?” I was a bit intrigued, what did he mean by my disguise?
“Sure. We have a bit of surplus skin here,” he said touching my scrotal sack, “ which we could use to hide this,” he pointed at my willie.
“It’s not a sex change you are talking about is it sir?” I was becoming a bit anxious.
“Good God no. Just a temporary job to hide this thing with a bit of glue.” He proceeded to show me that by wrapping the skin around my penis he had almost created a pudendum. “Okay ?” he asked, I nodded and within fifteen minutes I looked like a female. Well one without breasts, although my nipples seemed a bit sore of late, and I’d been sick that morning. When I got up off the table, it all felt a bit tight and tender, but otherwise fine, and I was able to pass urine, albeit sitting down for the foreseeable future.
My little coterie of those ‘in the know’ were delighted, and when I was given some surgical breast forms a few days later, which felt better in my bras, I was almost beginning to feel one of the girls. Major Collins had offered breast implants, but that frightened me, it seemed too permanent. Kate had suggested that I took up his offer and pressed me at every opportunity to do so. Eventually, on my long weekend off, I agreed and two hours later, I was very sore and rather too female looking for my own satisfaction. How on earth was I going to tell my family, because I certainly couldn’t hide my chest, even if I managed to get around the toilet arrangements?
The day later, when I surveyed the ‘damage’ in my bedroom mirror, I noticed that my waist seemed a little smaller or my hips were bigger. I had to wear a bra for a month to support the new breast weight, and seeing myself in just my bra and pants, no one could imagine I had ever been a male. My hair was growing, and my face was boyish or even girlish perhaps. My figure was becoming quite curvy. Bloody hell, I was a woman. Oh shit, shit, shit, bloody shit. What was I going to do now? I was stuck with it. It seemed that life was definitely trying to tell me something, but it wasn’t what I wanted to hear. How could this happen? How could an ordinary bloke, or someone who saw herself as such... what did I just think to myself, ‘herself’, where did that come from? I was so confused.
There was a knock on my door and in my daze, I just answered, “Yeah”, without thinking, and in walked Sharon. Sharon is an archetypal ‘Essex girl’, a bit loud, with a grating, estuarine accent but heart of gold.
“Wow girl, I dunno why you’re so shy ‘bout showers, you gotta bettah bod than what I got.” She was referring to my reluctance to use communal showers after sports practice. I began blushing.
“A couple of us is goin’ darn the boozer, yer comin’ swell ?” It took me a moment to understand what she had said.
“Is Kate coming ?” I was referring to corporal Henderson whom I treated like a big sister, and always felt happier if she was around.
“Dunno, but we’re off in ten. If yer comin’ be at the car then.”
I had very limited clothes, using jeans and tops most of the off duty time. “I don’t know Sharon, I have some letters to write.”
“You an’ yer bleedin' letters. I reckon yer afraid of boys ain’t yer? Dunno why wiv that body. Be like bees rarned a ‘unnypot, or flies rarned a cow’s arse if yer ask me. None of the rest of us’ll get a bleedin’ look in.”
“Thank you for the vote of confidence, Sharon, but if my dazzling body will overshadow all the rest of you, maybe I’d better stay here.” Then trying to seek an excuse, I added, “I’ve got one of my heads coming on.” It was a lie but one I had used before, as I rarely suffered any sort of headache.
“Are yer on then ?”
“What for this evening. No, I don’t think so.” I replied.
“No, yer bleedin’ dipstick. Are yer on, time of the mumf and, all that stuff?”
“Yeah, I think it’s about to start.” I lied again, if I had a period then it would make not only medical history but probably the Guinness Book of Records, under miracles.
“Oh allwight then, see yer later.” With that adieu, she was gone and I breathed more easily. I threw on a top and jeans and went down to the Naafi, to buy some tampons and pads, at least it would look as if things were happening of a menstrual nature. I grabbed my handbag, it was second nature, although in the beginning I had a habit of leaving it all over the place, and set off.
I saw the others pile into their car and drive off, we waved to each other as they went by. Going into the Naafi, I bumped into a man coming out, who was laden with cans of beer.
“Oh, I am sorry,” I said to him, bending over to pick up his dropped cans.
“That’s alright darling.” He replied looking down the front of my scoop neck top. I blushed when I realised how much of me he would have been able to see. He smirked at my embarrassment. “Any time you’d like to introduce me, I’d be delighted to meet them.” He chortled and was gone.
I wandered into the shop part, and almost forgot what I had come for. I was perusing the feminine hygiene products, although my mind was on the recent encounter with the soldier, so I was far away when I heard someone address me. I started.
“Sorry to make you jump, Curtis.” It was Major Collins. “I thought it was you. Look here, do you play chess?”
“Yes, sir, but I’m not very good.”
“Splendid, I might just win then. See you at my place in about half an hour. Don’t need to bring anything, just yourself.” And before I could say anything else he was gone.
I continued with my feminine hygiene products, grabbed some Tampax and a box of panty liners, some chocolate and, some paracetamol. As I paid for it, the woman behind me in the queue muttered quietly to me, “Be careful with that Collins bloke, he’s got a bit of reputation with the ladies. They reckon he’s screwed most of the nurses here.”
I almost laughed in her face. The one man I felt safe with was Major Collins, simply because he knew exactly what was what, and more importantly, what I was. One could say, he made me what I was, or to a large extent. Besides, he was the one man who also knew, that I had nothing between my legs except a bit of folded skin because he had done it for me. Instead of laughing at her, I just flashed the box of Tampax, and said, ”I think he’d be wasting his time tonight.” She just laughed, “Serve him bloody right.”
I took my purchases back to my room, opened the Tampax and, put a couple in my bag, just for effect. I spritzed a little ‘Opium’ eau de toilette around my throat and wrists and grabbed a light jacket and my bag and walked towards Major Collins House.
As he was the base’s Senior Medical Officer, he had quite a nice house on the edge of the camp. I had been there once before when he had all the first year nurse students to a small reception. His wife was there then, and I wondered if she would be tonight. As I walked, I became very aware of how vulnerable I was becoming. It was something that had entered my mind before but was increasing with every step I took. The night was falling and I became quite jumpy in the dark, shivering I drew my jacket tightly around me. I should have been safe, there were always people around, even armed sentries on the gates. So why was I so nervous? I didn’t know.
I was glad to get to Collins’ house and rang the bell. He opened it himself. “Ah Nurse Curtis, Jamie isn’t it ?”
“Yes sir.”
“Good, good. Do come in.” He bade me enter and offered to take my jacket, which I declined. “We’ll go into the study I think, it’s cosier. What’ll you have to drink, Scotch, Vodka, Martini, red or white, beer or lager ?” I opted for white wine.
I sat in a leather easy chair holding my wine in one hand and handbag in the other and feeling very nervous. Here I was in the house of my superior officer with, as yet, no sign of his wife. We both knew my real situation, but I was becoming aware of the effect I seemed to have on men. The close encounter outside the Naafi reinforced that. What if major Collins fancied me? I should have gone down the pub with Sharon.
In came the Major, “Drink alright, Jamie?”, he asked as he sat down in another chair after placing the small chess table between us. I felt safer with this little barrier there. “Are you still having the morning sickness?”
“No sir, that only lasted about a week.” I was so relieved when it stopped.
“You’re lucky, oestrogens can cause it to happen for weeks.” He smiled at me. I don’t know why I hadn’t twigged earlier, instead of putting me on male hormones, he had implanted female ones. Hence the sickness. Why had he done that, why not male ones, then at least I could have become more masculine. Then the penny dropped. I was female as far as the army was concerned, he was complying with that official line. It might have been nice if he had asked me first. I tried to understand how permanent all of this might be. My balls were gone, that was permanent, but what about the breasts, they could be removed I was sure of that, and I was pretty sure anything the hormones did for a year or two could be reversed eventually. So one day I might just become a man again. Was it again or for the first time? It began to seem to me, that I had never been more than a boy.
“A penny for them.”
“I’m sorry sir, I was just wondering what effect the oestrogens might have on me.”
“Depends on things called oestrogen receptors. If you are oestrogen responsive then things could change quite a bit, if not then just a bit of breast tissue and body fat about the place. Because your body didn’t produce enough androgens, it stayed in a neotenous position, which means it didn’t go through puberty so isn’t adult. Hence your small size. You may actually grow a little and your hips may broaden a bit, but essentially, your bones will complete ossification and harden up like an adult. There would have been little point in giving you testosterone, it would have made you more masculine and with your current position as supposedly female, it would have caused you more troubles than it was worth, which I am sure you appreciate.”
“Yes sir.”
“How are the boobs?”
“Fine sir, the bruising has reduced nicely with arnica, and I am getting used to having them sticking out in front of me. Can’t sleep on my tummy anymore though.”
He laughed at the last remark, “Quite. I only used smallish/medium ones because your body will probably have something to say in the finished articles.”
“What do you mean sir?” I was a bit slow here I knew, but I just wanted to make sure I understood what he was saying.
“Well, they could grow quite a bit more yet. Depends on how big your mother is and how many receptors you have.” I blushed when I thought about my mother, I had yet to tell her of my plight and she was quite well endowed in the breast and buttock area. Reversing all this may not be quite so straightforward after all.
We played three games of chess. I made some fundamental errors in each game and lost all three. “You seem distracted, Nurse Curtis.”
“Sorry sir, I’m just a bit tired.”
“I noticed your expression changed when I asked you about your mother. Is everything alright there?”
“Oh yes, sir.” I lied.
“Does she approve of having a daughter?”
“Yes sir.”
“What did she say when you told her?”
Oh bugger, he was getting into specifics. “She said she didn’t mind what I was as long as I was happy.”
“Typical mum eh, Curtis?”
“Yes sir.”
“You haven’t told her have you?”
“No sir.”
“Don’t you think you should?”
“Probably.”
“When did you last go home?”
“Not since basic training.”
“What’s that, three months?”
“Yes sir, thereabouts.”
“Do you get on well together?” His concern seemed genuine.
I felt my eyes start to well up, and a tear escaped as I replied, “We used to, but I don’t know how to tell her about all this. How do I tell her I’m now her daughter? I don’t understand why this had to happen, I don’t understand any of it. Why did it have to be me? What have I done to deserve it?” The floodgate opened, and after handing me some tissues, he put his arm on my shoulder and squeezed me. I didn’t know how to respond, so felt even more bewildered and sobbed.
For the next hour, we talked. Well, I did quite a bit of crying and he kept up a steady supply of tissues and glasses of brandy. Despite having made friends with the girls, I hadn’t been able to talk about my situation, my loss of role, and change in body image. The impact of never becoming a man, and of how I was going to adapt to becoming a woman if I ever did. What was I going to become? Would that mean a real sex change, or whatever? I hadn’t discussed it with anyone. I had lots of questions and quite a few fears, not least what would my parents say.
I realised how late it was becoming and I felt exhausted. I had poured out masses of my doubts and worries, resolving none, but at least I had started the process. I thanked him for listening, and as I stood up swayed under the affect of the brandy and the emotion. He grabbed me and steadied me, then hugged me. The tears began again.
Holding me, he said, ”You’d never have made a man, Curtis, you’re far too pretty. Enjoy being a woman.” With that, he kissed me and in my confusion I found myself accepting his kiss. “Right before I do something we shall both regret, get off home, Curtis.”
“Yes sir. Thanks for listening and for your support.”
“My pleasure, Nurse Curtis, it’s always nice to talk to a pretty young woman.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I shall speak to Captain Brice and between us we’ll organise someone to help you deal with these issues.”
I walked back to my room. I was completely exhausted and numb. He had kissed me even though he knew what I was. When I got home I stood looking in the mirror, my eyes were red and my skin pale, but looking back at me was a young woman. No matter what I thought or wanted, my body had decided its own course. All I could do was to go along with it for the moment and try to understand what was happening. When I did, maybe I could tell my family.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
Over the next day, I decided I had to inform my family. They had a right to know what had happened, but quite how and when were the questions I had yet to answer. Instead of paying attention to the anatomy lecture, I had been lost in my own thoughts. “Well nurse, just where is it?”
Where was what? I had no idea what she was talking about. In front of us, she stood with one of those models of bits of the body, in this case, a leg. “I’m sorry Sergeant, I didn’t quite hear you.” I sat blushing.
“No nurse you did not hear me, in fact, you have not been listening to me for pretty well the whole of this session. Is there a problem? Boyfriend trouble, or hangover?”
“No ma’am,” I responded.
“So there is no reason why I shouldn’t put you on a charge then?”
Feeling even lower than my previous depressed state, I just burst into tears while shaking my head. “Oh for God’s sake pull yourself together woman. Go to the bathroom and tidy yourself up. Well, go on!”
I rushed from the room, locked myself in one of the cubicles, sat on the toilet and howled. If I’d had a sharp object in my hand I’d have slashed my wrists and ended it there and then. Then realising I didn’t even have my bag with me, I felt an even bigger failure. I couldn’t do anything right. I just couldn’t go through with this, it was too much. I wanted out. I wanted to be a man and I wanted to go home. I was sick and tired of this pretence, and these stupid hormones which were playing around with my head. Before all this stupid army business I knew who I was and what I was. Now I didn’t know anything, nothing was the same.
I heard the toilet door open, then the door of my cubicle was tapped gently. I held my breath, trying to control the involuntary jerks in my chest that sobbing creates. “Jamie, you in there?” It was Sharon. “You alwight? C’mon open this bleedin doah?”
I remained frozen to the spot, trying still to control my breathing. “C’mon gel open this bleedin' doah or I’ll get someone to break it darn.”
This seemed to help me coalesce what remaining brain cells I had and with difficulty, I gave one final shudder and staggered to the door, fumbled with the catch and opened it. “You alwight?” I shook my head burst into tears again and she wrapped her arms around me almost squeezing what little breath I had straight out again. It took me several minutes before I could regain some semblance of control, whereupon Sharon explained she had been sent to take me back to my room as I was excused further duties that day. “I told ‘er you was on the rag, and ‘aving a bad time. But yer gottah see the M.O. t’morrah and get it sorted”.
With her arm around me she escorted me back to my quarters, she even made me a cup of tea and made me lie down. I decided that as soon as she went I would end this misery, but somehow instead I fell asleep. I was exhausted mentally and emotionally and slept a dreamless heavy sleep, waking only when a loud knock on my door announced the arrival of Captain Brice.
Still half asleep, I struggled to get off the bed only to be told twice, “At ease nurse.” She waited for me to come to, then began, ”I thought we had an understanding, young lady.”
I looked blankly at her mumbling an apology. I had no idea what she was talking about. “I thought we agreed that you would come and see me if you had problems.”
Now I understood and appreciated she was handling me much more gently than most of her other charges. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I didn’t realise I had a problem.”
“Spoken to your family yet?”
“No, ma’am.”
“How will they take it?”
“I don’t know, ma’am.”
“This what is going to happen. You will phone them tonight and tell them to be home tomorrow. Then you and I will take a little trip and sort this out.”
“What you’ll come with me?”
“That’s what I said.”
“I appreciate this very much, ma’am, but mightn’t it be better if I went on my own?” I felt very embarrassed and not sure if I wanted her help, it was rather personal after all, and I didn’t know how my parents would take it.
“I am coming, young lady, for two reasons. First, I try to support my nurses when they have a problem, second, this problem is not your fault. It’s a medical one and because it’s, shall we say, potentially embarrassing, I think your family may respond better to someone other than yourself telling them. So on second thoughts, I shall ask my secretary to phone your parents and set up the appointment for tomorrow. You will get yourself something to eat, get a goodnight’s sleep, and pretty yourself up tomorrow as if you were on parade. Make up an overnight bag, we may have to stop over somewhere, it could take a bit of time.” After giving me a sleeping pill, she left.
My mind just went into some sort of spin and instead of focusing on anything I found myself drifting with all sorts of confused thoughts before sleeping again. This time I slept all night, without the pill, waking about 5.00 as the dawn was breaking. I had showered, dressed and packed by six, then waited until seven before going to breakfast. As I walked across to the canteen, I resolved to ask Captain Brice if arrangements could be made to medically discharge me. Making that decision seemed to settle my nerves and like a condemned prisoner, I ate a good breakfast.
I estimated the journey to be about two to two and a half hours. I didn’t know when we would start, but was quite pleased when someone came to get me just after eight. I placed my case in the boot of her Mondeo, and we were off.
It was the first time in ages that we had had time to talk and I really didn’t feel too sociable. I was nervous what would happen and about what I was going to ask Captain Brice. She made an effort to relieve the silence but gave up after a bit. I just sat watching the road with unseeing eyes, my mind in some form of suspended animation, unable to think or stop myself having flashes of stupid thoughts, all of which were negative. I was jolted out of this reverie when I felt the car turning off the motorway and my companion announcing, ”I could do with a pee and a coffee, how about you, Curtis?” I think I nodded or shook my head or something, I can’t remember.
During the coffee, as the restaurant seemed quiet, I decided to make my play to leave the army. “Ma’am, as I seem to be a constant source of trouble to you and I don’t feel comfortable despite your and Major Collins help, don’t you think it would be better for all concerned if they just discharged me.”
For a moment she choked on her coffee, then after a short pause, she looked me straight in the eye and said, “On what grounds do we dump you, Jamie?”
“I’d have thought that obvious.”
“I’m afraid it isn’t to me. You see from where I am sitting, I am looking at one of the prettiest nurses in my unit, who also happens to be one of the brightest and one I had hoped I might be able to persuade to sign on and get a sponsored place at university when your national service was done.”
“What about on medical grounds?”
“Why are you ill? You look fine to me.”
“You know what I mean, ma’am. I’m hardly normal am I, and I’m having problems with coping with the deception.”
“I see. Who are you deceiving ?”
“Everyone. The girls, the staff, my family.”
“By definition, everyone must include you. Are you deceiving yourself?”
I was rather taken aback by this question. “I don’t think I understand the question, ma’am.”
“Are you deceiving yourself? It’s pretty straightforward.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“Okay, let me spell it out for you. You think that you are in some sort of nightmare called the army, in which you have been cast as a female nurse trainee. Is that right so far?” Bemused I nodded my agreement. “This part has been emphasised by medical treatment to which you consented on best advice. In doing so you feel it robbed you of any chance you might have had to assert your masculinity. How am I doing?” I nodded again. “So having been forced into this situation by the powers that be, you discover that you don’t have the bottle to see it through, that being a woman is too tough for you. What I don’t understand, is that they say being a man is even harder. Certainly, in the army it is. So if you can’t make it as a woman, a role to which fate has made you physically well suited, how the hell are you going to make it as a man?”
I felt the tears well up in my eyes but was determined not to cry here in public. I took a deep breath, stood up and walked out towards the car. As I did, Captain Brice caught me up and grabbing my arm spun me round to face her. “Don’t you dare ever walk out on me while I am talking to you. Do you understand?”
I felt like a naughty schoolgirl being chastised by a parent or teacher. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I didn’t mean to offend, but I was about to embarrass myself and didn’t want to include you in any such scene.”
“Apology accepted, Curtis.” Then she made me look at the reflection of both of us in the mirrored wall of the entrance hall. “What do you see?”
“Us ma’am.”
“I asked what not who. Try again.”
“Two women in army uniforms.”
“I think I have made my point.”
Before I could respond we were outside and walking towards the car when behind us we heard a sickening squeal of brakes and a crash accompanied by screams. We turned around and saw that a car had ploughed into a family as they walked across the parking area. People were running from all directions, and without any thought, I realised I was one of them. Captain Brice took control and began to organise the helpers. I found myself kneeling by the side of a girl, she was conscious but obviously badly injured.
“Hi, I’m Jamie,” I said taking her hand, “what’s your name?” She was very pale but remarkably calm.
“Lisa,” she half-whispered, “you are very pretty, are you really a soldier?”
Choking back my tears, I said, ”I’m a nurse.”
“Oh good, I want to be a nurse and I want to be as pretty as you, Jamie.”
“You are beautiful already Lisa.” I leant over and kissed her, she squeezed my hand in response.
“I like you, Jamie,” she said, “ but I want to go to sleep now,” with that, she died.
I felt for her pulse, she didn’t have one and she was not breathing. I tried to rouse her, then calling for assistance began CPR. My efforts were in vain, despite them becoming increasingly frantic and I was finally pulled off her body by two paramedics, whereupon I stood up and promptly fainted.
I awoke to someone rubbing my hand and calling me from my sleep. At first I thought it was my mother, but it turned out to be Captain Brice. “Come on, Jamie, come on, wakey-wakey.” She sat me up then helped me to stand on wobbly legs. My uniform was drenched in blood from the waist down, it wasn’t mine. She led me back to the cafeteria and pushed a strong coffee in front of me, “Drink”. Was all she said.
I sat trembling as with shaky hands I tried to drink the hot fluid. “You did really well with that little girl.”
“Yeah, so well she died.”
“You couldn’t prevent that, you did all you could.”
“She said she wanted to be a nurse.”
“I heard her. She also said you were pretty.”
“She was in shock.”
“True, but she meant it, and you gave her comfort in her last moments.”
“Some comfort, I let her die.”
“Listen to me. You did all you could. She was haemorrhaging from her back and I suspect her back was broken.” We both sat in silence for a while drinking our coffees.
“Have you got a change of clothes in the car?”
I nodded and we went and got them, then changed in the toilets washing as much of the blood off our hands, bodies and clothes as we could in the limited resources. The police took brief statements, we hadn’t witnessed the accident just the aftermath. I don’t think I shall ever forget that little girl, even if I live to be a hundred. I also shall never know why she had to die when a freak like me survived. I would have been happy to die, she had her whole life ahead of her. If there is a God, I had a very large bone to pick with him, the bastard.
Today was not going at all well, and I was suffering from some shock plus the trauma of what was coming with my family. I was still angry too. Angry for that little girl, for Lisa. Angry with God, with myself, with the world and everything upon it. As we drove, all of this just welled up and overwhelmed me and I burst into tears. Captain Brice wisely allowed me to weep and I did for some time. It helped the anger, but not my sense of powerlessness. That little girl expected me to help her and all I did was watch her die. I cried some more. Finally, when I couldn’t cry anymore I fell asleep.
I awoke perhaps an hour later aware that someone was watching me. I was oblivious to my surroundings, totally unaware for the moment where I was, except that I felt cramped and stiff. I heard traffic and remembered I was in a car. “You’re awake.”
“Y… yes, I’m sorry I must have drifted off.” I felt myself colouring up as I admitted my social error.
“It’s okay, you have a lot going on at the moment and the accident this morning has made things even tougher. How do you feel?” She asked concernedly.
“Better thanks. I can still see that little girl, but I’ve lost the anger.”
“Just remember that you gave her comfort in her last minutes. I suspect that no one could have saved her, and you made sure she wasn’t alone when she died. In fact, she seem to slip away quite peacefully, so you reassured her that she was being cared for, and that’s important. You do care, you have the makings of a damn fine nurse. I don’t want you to just throw that away. We need people like you in the profession, and I need you in my unit. So please don’t ask me to support your attempt to get a medical discharge because I will oppose it.”
I sat looking at the dashboard, my attention taken entirely by the hands of the ticking clock. At the same time I hadn’t registered what the time was. Suddenly, I realised how late things were. Captain Brice seemed to read my mind. “It’s okay, while you had forty winks I called my secretary and she’s advised your family that we have been delayed by the accident.”
“Where are we, ma’am?” I asked, not recognising the lay-bye. About half an hour away, it’s now nearly noon, so we could pop into the pub down the road, have a snack and formulate how we are going to play this. It would also give you a chance to freshen up your make up, although even without it and with red eyes, you are still a strikingly attractive woman.”
I pulled down the windscreen visor and looked at my face in the vanity mirror it held. “Oh my God.” I had sore red eyes and any makeup that had been on them had long since been washed away by my copious tears. We ended up in the pub and I spent several minutes holding some ice cubes around my eyes, supplied by a helpful landlady, as cold tea-bags and cucumber were unavailable. The ice did the trick and my improving makeup skills made me look half presentable. However, despite our strategy meeting and a light lunch, when we turned into the road which until recently I had called home, I felt very unsure of myself and my cause. I just thought my parents are not going to support this, why did I let this happen.
We pulled up outside the house. “Now you stay there until I call for you. That’s an order, Curtis.” I nodded my assent. Then she picked up her bag and brushing her clothes down with her hands, she walked off to my parent's house. I heard the bell ring, the door open, the sound of voices and the door close. Then I was left alone with my thoughts. I was not at all sure I wanted to be in this car alone with my thoughts, but sadly I couldn’t give them to anyone else or receive theirs. I tried to rehearse what I would say to my mum and dad, but I knew that once I came face to face, any coherence I had planned would go west. I was tempted to put the radio on, so I allowed my temptation to win.
I listened to some easy stuff on Classic fm, I had no idea what it was but somebody called Jack in Norwich wanted it for his wife as it was their anniversary.
I thought that anniversaries were unlikely to happen to me. Who in their right mind would or could want me. I was freak and probably unlovable…..
In the house my parents were asking where I was and was I all right. Captain Brice was being very professional and within a few minutes had broached the problem. My mother apparently, had raised her hands to her face and blanched. My father’s jaw fell open, but he recovered quickly. “Let me get this straight, you are telling us that my son of eighteen years is now a woman.”
“Well Mr Curtis, that is the bottom line. Because of the injury to his genitals at age eleven, he just didn’t become properly male, and instead, his body, or should I say her body, became sort of neutral but tending towards a female pattern which is what would usually happen. The human body is female unless told by appropriate hormones to become male.
In Jamie’s case, the most obvious signs were small stature, lack of body and facial hair and the unbroken voice. Plus the fact that with the lack of sufficient hormones, there would be consequences including osteoporosis and other problems. So, after discussion with Jamie, we decided to offer her oestrogen therapy while she decided what she wanted to do for the long term. Apart from the orchidectomy, which was absolutely necessary, nothing else is permanent. Although when you see her, you will appreciate why we feel she has more future as a female. But as I said before that will be her decision.
As far as the army is concerned, some clever clogs in an office in Catterick decided she was female even before we had carried out the medical investigations which led to this. It seems that they thought the name Jamie was her official one rather than a pet name, and assumed it was a female one. It seems this change was made official before we knew anything about Jamie’s condition. So effectively, before I met Jamie, I was led to believe she was a female nurse trainee.”
It went on and on, with them asking questions, and me getting bored with the radio. I yawned and tried to remain alert, but it was very tiring and very stressful.
Back in the house, “Today has been much complicated by the accident my secretary mentioned to you. We gave assistance, and Jamie had the misfortune to try to tend a little girl who died in her arms. She did a wonderful job, but was naturally very upset by the experience.”
Once more my mother’s colour drained from her as this tale was related and once more my father gaped like a goldfish. But it caused them both to want to see me, reminding them that although I was no longer the same, I was at least still alive unlike, the unfortunate Lisa. So When captain Brice escorted me into the house, my parents both threw their arms around me and we all cried together. It was incredibly moving, I had never seen my dad cry before, and to his credit, he hugged me and kissed me on the cheek. Something he hadn’t done since I was little.
My mother just said, ”Let me look at you, my goodness, you are beautiful.” And once again almost hugged me to extinction.
In the background, my father said, “Of course she’s a beauty, she takes after me.” At which we all laughed hysterically.
Eventually, things calmed down and I went with my mum to make us some tea while my C.O. stayed and spoke to my dad. It seems they made quite an impression on each other. But then they would. My dad is about six feet tall and blond like me, with blue eyes (like me), good looking and with a caring sensitive personality. He’s a university teacher of English literature. A very knowledgeable man and to my mind very wise.
My mum is fair-haired with blue eyes, about five foot four and buxom, I believe, is the word. She is pretty rather than beautiful, but with a quick mind and even quicker tongue. My dad may be able to quote the great poets at length, but she makes up her own quotations as she goes along, some of which are in my opinion just as good as Shelley or Keats. But then I am a bit biased. She is my mum. She works for a leading cancer charity as an administrator.
Once in the kitchen my mum, just held me at arm's length regarding me, shaking her head, and muttering, “I can’t believe you are so beautiful, so natural. Let me just look at you. I can’t believe it, I really can’t.”
Blushing like a tomato, and feeling as high as a kite with the reception I had received, although perhaps I was ashamed of my previous doubts, I kept muttering my disagreement to her compliments.
“I always wanted a daughter. Now I have one. ”She giggled as she crushed me once again in her loving arms. Finally, she released me, and we boiled the kettle as we made small talk. A little later, she said,” Captain Brice says you are a natural at nursing and she wants you to do it properly, go to uni etc.”
“Yeah, I’m so good my first patient died.”
“Darling, from what Captain Brice said, you did what was most appropriate and eased her final moments. Not everyone could do that. I’m proud of my little girl for helping someone else’s little girl in her moment of need.”
I told her what Lisa had said and she smiled and nodded. “As Lisa wanted to be a nurse, maybe you could help her realise that ambition by becoming one yourself.”
“I don’t know, Mum. I’m not even sure that I know if I want to be a woman let alone a nurse.” I looked at the floor, something I had seen many times but now found intensely interesting.
“Jamie, I don’t know if you have a choice, it looks as if nature has made it for you. I have never seen you looking so well or so at ease with yourself. Of course, it’s up to you and we’ll naturally support whatever you decide is best for you. But seeing you like this, I am so proud of you.” She held out her arms and we embraced again with tears in both our eyes. It took ages for my dad to get his cuppa!
At about four in the afternoon, Captain Brice asked if there was a dry cleaner's nearby, my mother informed her there was and that they did a two-hour service, but that was unlikely today. However, if she liked to stay over they would be able to do something first thing. To my astonishment, Captain Brice agreed. I suddenly thought although I had a nightie, I only had the clothes I was wearing, a blue skirt and top. My dad was buzzing like a bee saying we would go out to dinner, and rushed off to book a table.
My mum winked at Captain Brice and said, “Let's go and find you something to wear, we can drop those things into the cleaners as we go past.” So we did.
We three women, well two and me, went off to the shops via the cleaners who claimed they could do the uniforms by lunch-time tomorrow. Despite my mother being twenty-five or so years older than me, she dragged me around first one shop then another, finally settling for a light blue, velvet sleeveless dress and jacket. Even I had to agree it looked as if it were made for me, and she bought me a full set of light blue underwear as well. A pair of tights was added to the pile and we were off to the shoe shop, where I fell in love with a pair of blue patent courts and matching bag.
In another shop, Captain Brice found a lovely dark green and red two-piece, which looked good with her auburn hair. Then it was back home with our goodies. I think I probably felt closer to my mum than I had ever done before, and she seemed to be enjoying every minute of it.
As we were dressing for our dinner, my mother came into my room and presented me with a gold and sapphire ring, drop earrings and necklace. It had been my grandmother’s, her mother and she wanted me to have them. I was delighted to accept them, feeling a link with my family for several generations, Feeling a part of it and to think I had doubted it earlier. Suddenly, I decided that maybe I did want to live after all, and while I wasn’t sure yet that I had forgiven my God, I offered a small silent prayer of thanks for two of the most wonderful parents on the planet. I didn’t know if this girly stuff was really me, but for the moment it was okay, possibly verging on fun.
My hair was now becoming long enough to have it styled and I had done so a few days before. It was still quite short by women’s standards, but not necessarily so by women’s army standards so with a bit of effort I managed to make it look reasonably tidy for our dinner.
When Mum put the jewellery on me, she again held me at arm's length smiled at me, and told me, “I have a beautiful daughter, and I am so proud of her. Granny’s jewellery looks terrific with that outfit, I know she would have loved you to have had it and I’m sure she’d be proud of you too.” Then she hugged me and told me she loved me, I replied in kind and thanked her for my lovely gifts.
We went downstairs together, Dad was entertaining Captain Brice with some of his favourite student stories, we could hear their laughter from the hall. Mum hissed at me to wait, then she entered the sitting room, I heard Dad ask where I was, whereupon Mum told him I was coming. Suddenly, I could feel butterflies. I knew he had accepted me, but perhaps he didn’t have much choice. It was all engineered by my C.O. to maximise success for me. Mum I knew was having fun, but Dad may feel differently. I mean he had nothing to compare me with or to, other than real women.
As I stood in the hall, I could feel my heart pounding in my chest and the arteries were echoing the effects of the adrenalin through my ears. It felt like someone was pounding a drum in my head. I was very anxious. I had made a real effort for this evening, what happens if Dad thinks I’m not good enough, what happens if I meet up with ex-school mates or someone else I know, within minutes everyone else will know as well. My stomach churned and I felt very uncertain about the whole thing.
As all this was travelling at the speed of light around my brain, rattling every ounce of confidence I had tried to keep for today, I became aware of my mother calling me.
“Come on, Jamie, make your entrance.” Then she almost dragged me into the room.
I don’t think I shall ever forget my father’s face. His jaw dropped and his eyes widened. “My goodness, you are beautiful. You make me so proud.” Then before I could react, with my only response i.e. bursting into tears, he stepped quickly over to me, threw his arms around me and kissed me on the cheek. “I can’t believe how lovely you look, how could I have ever thought you were a boy? You are as lovely a daughter as any man could wish for, it’s amazing.”
I choked back the tears, kissed him on the cheek, thanked him and told him I loved him, I also told him that I couldn’t wish for a better dad, or a more handsome one. Then Mum got Captain Brice to take some photos of us as a family, then me with her, and then my dad and me and finally, Dad took one of Captain Brice and me – the ‘A’ team he called us.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
Dad drove us to the restaurant, an impressive place at a country club. It took us about half an hour to get there, and the journey ended with a long drive through parkland belonging to the club which had begun life as a country house, the earliest parts dating back to Elizabethan times. Dad found it amusing to think that the most recent additions and modernisations would also be Elizabethan. My brain more consumed with apprehension than being switched into such word games, it took me a moment to get the pun.
Anyway, everyone else got it and were suitably impressed by the grandeur of the Regency façade, as we walked the short distance from the car park to its white marble portico and steps. I tried to imagine how it would have looked a couple of hundred years before, with carriages and butlers and footmen, with grand ladies in elegant dresses and gallant gentlemen in dress suits or regimental uniforms. Crikey, I’m getting into this female bit a little too easily I thought.
We went through the heavy wood and glass doors, to be met by some sort of clerk/receptionist who showed us the way to the restaurant, along a corridor of polished wooden wainscoting, thick carpets and lots of suitably grandiose portraits of I presumed, the previous owners of this palatial pile.
The restaurant was similarly impressive, polished wooden floors, repro tables and chairs in oak with the waiting staff all in matching uniforms of crisp white shirts or blouses and black skirts or trousers and black and silver waistcoats. We were shown to our table and our waitress, Jenny, provided us with the usual hot rolls and butter, while we looked at the menu. My father ordered a bottle of champagne and some Bordeaux. My eyes went out on stalks as I heard him order the wine. Captain Brice looked signally impressed.
“Are we celebrating anything special today ?” she asked, “In which case can I pay something towards the wine.”
“Certainly not!” declaimed my father, “This is courtesy of my credit card, so by the time I retire I might have paid it off.” At this, we all laughed. The glasses were changed by the adroit Jenny.
As she did so, I complimented her on her uniform, her presentation and manual dexterity. She thanked me and I watched her walk away bursting with pride. My mother gave me a quizzical look. “If you want a memorable night in a restaurant, make a fuss of the staff, especially those who are waiting on you. Remember, many diners will take them for granted, but they also happen to be human beings, who tend to be more amenable to those who recognise the fact.”
“That was very profound,” exclaimed my mother.
“Not really,” I said, “I read it in the Guardian or some book".
“I didn’t think you’d continue reading the Guardian if you had to buy your own.” Offered my father.
“Who said I still read it, let alone bought it.” I threw back at him.
“She does both buy it and read it, as I have seen it in her room and with the crossword mostly completed.” Added my commanding officer, watching me squirm with embarrassment.
The champagne arrived and the wine waiter opened it and began pouring after my father’s approval. “To my beautiful daughter,” he proposed, and the others all toasted me as I tried to sink under the table.
Then I retaliated,” May I propose a toast to the most wonderful parents I could possibly have, and to the most understanding commanding officer in the whole of the British Army.” I raised my glass and they all laughed as we clinked them together.
As we selected our starter and main course, Captain Brice, asked us to call her Sheila, until we were back on official business. My parents reciprocated and became Tom and Anna to her. Me, I just began to feel flushed as the alcohol began to do its work.
We had a super meal, I had game paté, followed by lemon sole, my favourite, although I was tempted by the sea bass. Then feeling full I settled for the sorbet, while Mum and Dad pigged out on ‘death by chocolate’.
It was a lovely evening and we were relaxing in the post-prandial afterglow of an enjoyable dinner, waiting for our coffee, when a man walked over and accosted my dad. “Tom Curtis, you old dog. They paying you lot a bit more these days then?”
Dad stood up and shook the intruder’s hand. “Geoff Banks, what are you doing here, I shouldn’t have come here if I’d known they let in riff-raff like you.”
At this they both laughed, then dad began the introductions, “My wife Anna, my daughter Jamie, and her boss Sheila.”
“Delighted to meet you all.” He responded and as he was leaving he dropped a very quiet bombshell, but it exploded inside me like a large ordnance device. “Tom, I always thought you had a lad, not a lass. Weren’t you hoping to get him into the rugger team?”
“No, not me.” said my dad, although he was colouring up a little, “wasn’t that Dave Wilkins?”
“Must have been. Oh well, have a lovely evening ladies. Tom, we must get together one of these days, split a bottle or two.” My father said something in agreement and shook hands once again, then our visitor left.
I sat there feeling very anxious and I am told rather pale. I could feel my eyes beginning to fill with tears, and my mum rubbed my shoulder. “Don’t worry, he won’t remember.”
“But what if he does?”
My father said in a very quiet but determined voice, “I don’t care if he does or not. I love my daughter and tonight I am celebrating my first evening out with her since she joined the army. I will not let anything spoil it.”
The other members of the party showed their support with a “Hear, hear!” It was good of them but my evening had been spoiled. I tried to ignore it and avoid the tears, but it was difficult, and I didn’t need a reputation as a cry baby with my parents, they were acting so courageously, I tried to follow.
As we walked back to the car, I had drunk the least, so was nominated to drive back. I felt pleased to have something else to focus my thoughts on. My dad put his arm around me, “Don’t let little things like that spoil your fun, I’m certainly not going to. I love my girl and am very proud of her.”
“Thanks, Daddy,” I said and kissed him on the cheek, and he squeezed my shoulders in response. Then with him navigating, I managed to drive his car back home without incident. It certainly felt strange driving again, usually, I used Mum’s little Nissan, but Dad’s big Rover, and with heels, well that was something else.
I went up to my room and got ready for bed, but I knew that sleep would be difficult, I just kept rerunning the incident in the restaurant, until I eventually drifted off into an uneasy sleep, with dreams of being denounced by my classmates in school, and people on my course finding out and deriding me. It was not a pleasant night, and the next day I overslept.
Mum woke me with a cup of Earl Grey, my favourite, and told me that Sheila had gone off for a walk with Dad. Then she sat on the edge of my bed. It brought back memories of childhood when I was quite small or on the few occasions, I was ill. That’s when she would sit on my bed and read me stories or talk to me.
“Are you going to read me a story?” I asked making my eyes as big as I could. My mother’s expression was priceless.
“No young lady, but I am going to tell you a story. Once upon a time, there was a young person who everyone thought was a boy, but it transpired he was really a beautiful princess.” Noticing my eyes welling up, she tried to joke, “It’s a bit like the ugly duckling with postmodernist feminist overtones.” I had no idea what she was on about, and I’m not sure she did either, but it was funny waffle and made me smile.
“Well one day the king and queen, realised that their son had grown into this lovely and very beautiful princess and decided that they would do all they could to support her and help her to live happily ever after. There were occasional malcontents and rumour mongers and gossips, but they were in the minority and all the others the princess won over with her courage, her beauty and her loving tenderness. It was believed that she could charm the most frightful ogre into being the big friendly giant. In fact, she was so lovely, that when she walked by the birds stopped what they were doing to look at her, and fish were known to jump out of the water just to see her.”
By now little teardrops were rolling down my face, my mother picked a tissue from the box and wiped them. Then we embraced and I sobbed in her arms. “There there, let it out. We both love you, you know that.” I nodded my understanding. “We are both proud of what you have done, although we can’t possibly understand it and I doubt either of us would be strong enough to do it ourselves. But we love you and want to understand, we want you to be happy and having seen you positively glowing as my daughter, especially when your father is with you, I know you have made the right decision. We love you.”
We hugged for some time and we both wept. It was a real girly moment but we both needed it, and its intimacy and privacy. After it, nothing would ever be quite the same again. I knew without any shadow of a doubt where my future lay. From that moment on, James had ceased to exist for my mother and me and we mourned his passing. At the same time, we celebrated the birth of Jamie, as two females a new understanding arose between us. It would be special as only mother and daughter relationships can be, and from thence my relationship with my father would also change if it hadn’t already. All of this was rolling around my brain, and some of it was making sense, some of it would need weeks and months to implant itself and be recognised.
It had been a wonderful and traumatic couple of days. I’d seen the end of a life unjustly taken and my own had been transformed on so many levels, including a spiritual one. How could I deny the existence of a God when He had created two such wonderful people like my parents, yet how could I reconcile that with the death of a child and such a delightful one. ( It took me many years and much disquiet at times to understand it.)
By the time the walkers had returned, I was showered and dressed and breakfasted. My mother wanted to take me to expand my wardrobe and we still had to collect the dry cleaning. Sheila decided she would stay at the house and then get the cleaning, Dad had work he could do from home so it was all set, and Mum and I went to town.
I was still a little nervous about shopping as a female although I had spent the last couple of months living exclusively as one. I suppose I felt a bit gauche and awkward compared to most natural women. I was also very self-conscious and that tends to make one feel awkward. I had to remind myself I hadn’t wanted to be in the situation I was in, I was just making the best of what had happened. It was true I had experienced something of an epiphany this morning with my mum, but I wanted to speak with her about her comment of not understanding what I had done. So in the car, I asked her about it.
She had little recollection of the conversation from the morning except for her storytelling. So I prompted her, “You said this morning that you didn’t understand what or why I was doing this.” I said referring to my change of gender.
“Well, I don’t understand anything about it.” She said.
“Effectively, neither do I. I mean I didn’t choose for this to happen. It just did. I didn’t ask for that stupid girl to destroy my masculinity with one movement of my her knee.”
“When did this happen? You didn’t mention it before.”
“In school, I was bullied by just about everyone including most of the girls, one of whom was a psychopath called Pam Davis. She regularly beat me up, and one day for some reason best known to her alone, she kneed me in the groin. It hurt for days, but I was too embarrassed to speak to you about it, so I coped as best I could.
"Unfortunately, it did major damage to my testes and they just shrivelled up, hence no masculine characteristics. It seems rather crazy now that no one noticed except the bully girls who were pitiless. They made me do all sorts of things, but I’d rather not talk about that now.” I remembered the pain and shame I had undergone too clearly to want to discuss it.
“We failed you didn’t we?” My mother looked at me with tearful eyes. “Why didn’t we notice, why didn’t you say something. Your dad will be heartbroken to think we let you down.”
“It’s all water under the bridge now. It’s too late to hold post mortems but I wanted you to know that I didn’t choose to be this way, I’m not gender dysphoric or whatever they call it except that my body has failed to develop into a male one because of an injury and the army then cocked up the registration details and refused to change them, Sheila thought she was getting a female trainee nurse and at the time we first met I was actually wearing a woman’s uniform because the men’s were all too big and seemed the wrong shape. Then the medical confirmed that they needed to remove my balls before they became cancerous and next thing I know they’ve got me on oestrogens and talked me into breast implants and some clever stuff with super glue meant they could hide the remaining bit of my genitalia so I looked the part and could use showers and bathrooms without being detected easily. Until the army made a woman out of me, I had no idea this was going to happen.”
“Sheila told us a bit about it, but she left out much of the detail and I don’t think either of us had any idea of what was happening to you. I am so sorry, I failed you. We both did.”
“It doesn’t matter now does it. I didn’t come here to lay blame on anyone, it was one of those things. If it’s anyone’s fault it should be laid squarely at the door of Pam Davis, but she was bonkers anyway.”
“So do you really want to be a female? Or would you become a man if you could?”
“Yesterday, I couldn’t have told you because I didn’t know. Today I do.”
“What has changed in 24 hours?”
“I have. I feel closer to you both than I have ever felt, and it feels good. I feel awkward as a woman because I haven’t been one that long and it takes practice. Most of us get plenty of that as we grow up, but I seemed to be gender-neutral. Today I want to be your daughter because it feels right. I can’t say what has happened but something has and it is very deep inside me, and somehow things have finally resolved themselves. So I can now go ahead and make plans for the future. I shall need to finish the job of reconstruction but there’s no immediate hurry. I don’t know if I fancy men, I’ve never thought about it, but then I haven’t thought much about women either. In that regard, I don’t know where I am. But it’ll sort itself out somehow when it’s ready.”
“I am ashamed of my stupidity, can you ever forgive me?”
“There is nothing to forgive, I love you, Mum.”
“I love you too, my darling. I am sorry that I didn’t understand or notice what was happening and I shall do all I can to help and support you now. I failed my son, but I swear that will not happen to my daughter.” We hugged the tears flowed, we sort of repaired our makeup and then we hit the shops.
My mother was in a buying frenzy, I suppose trying to make some sort of amends for her guilt. It almost became embarrassing, because if I looked at anything she bought it. I tried to stop her, but she was adamant that her daughter should have a reasonable wardrobe. I tried to explain my limited storage facilities but she ignored me.
“You are doing it again.” I protested.
“What do you mean?”
“You are not taking notice of what I am telling you, in fact, you are ignoring it.”
“What do you mean, I’m having fun with my daughter.”
“Yes, but is she having fun?”
“Of course she is, we’re shopping.”
“No she isn’t, Mum, you are buying me things I don’t want or need or have places to keep them. It’s lovely that you enjoy doing it, but I’m unsure of your motive.” As I spoke she looked suddenly very shamefaced.
“You’re right, I am doing it again. I’m sorry. Do you want to return this stuff?”
“No I shall accept it in the spirit in which it was given, but some of it will have to stay at home, it will be nice to have something different there to wear. Let’s go home neither of us has anything to prove and Sheila is going to want to be getting back to her command.”
“I like her, she really cares doesn’t she?”
“I think so, although I try not to make her have too much to do.”
“She wants you to become a nurse doesn’t she.”
“Yes, she’s made no secret of it, and that incident with the little girl has given me food for thought.”
“I know. Sometimes I can understand you.” She smiled at me and I felt very guilty that I had been too hard on her. We struggled back to the car. My wardrobe had quadrupled in two hours, with skirts and tops, a coat, a suit, jeans, shoes and enough underwear to change three times a day for six months without wearing the same thing twice. Well alright, that’s a bit of an exaggeration but it felt like that. We had a carload.
We went home in relative silence, there was nothing to be said for the moment. After lunch, Mum asked me to show her my uniform, so I changed into it and she took my photograph. I changed back to some jeans and a top for the drive back to the camp, Sheila did something similar and it was too soon time to go.
It wasn’t my idea to join the army, it wasn’t my idea to change my sex and so far I seemed to be a bit too passive when I reflected on my situation. I’m sure I could still get out of it if I really wanted to, and part of me would like to. I’m not sure I want to be a nurse, maybe I want to be a doctor or a teacher like my dad, or something entirely different. But it feels pretty sure that whatever I do decide upon, it looks as if I am stuck with doing it as a woman. I have some doubts and uncertainties who wouldn’t, but it now feels as if it’s something that was meant to be and who can argue with their destiny.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
“I’m just an old fashioned girl…” goes the song made famous by Earth Kitt, and at least the first line could describe me. When the others were out on the town, I would usually be found writing to my mother or reading or doing the Guardian crossword. It was an avoidance of socialising I suppose, but I still had stuff to deal with.
One of these was the inquest into Lisa’s death, where I was asked to give a statement by the coroner. I stayed to listen to the medical evidence, it was horrifying. She had multiple injuries including a ruptured spleen, multiple fractures of the spine, both legs and several ribs. There was damage to her liver as well. In short, she could not have survived her injuries even if a crash team had been standing by and even if, by some miracle, she had, she would have been paralysed from above the waist.
I felt some relief that I had truly done all I could and I was pleased she had died so peacefully given the horror of her injuries. Her mother also died and her father was still in hospital. It was a dreadful situation caused by someone talking on a mobile phone while driving despite this being against the law and common sense. A verdict of unlawful killing was made by the coroner and the young man involved would be prosecuted for double manslaughter. I left wondering what had been so important it was worth two people’s lives and severe injuries to a third.
We found out where Lisa and her mum had been buried and went to the cemetery to lay some flowers on the grave. As I put my bouquet down I saw myself at the accident scene and heard Lisa telling me I was too pretty to be a soldier, and how she wanted to be a nurse.
Then I felt her around me and she was smiling. For a moment time seemed to stop and I went very cold. In front of me stood Lisa and her mother, they both thanked me for my help and I distinctly heard her voice again, ”I want to be a pretty nurse like you.” It sounded as if she was stood alongside me saying it, and I could see her. I could almost have reached out and touched her, except I was frozen to the spot. “Then I heard her say, “Look, Mummy, Jamie’s brought us such lovely flowers. She is so kind.”
I stood trembling watching my two spectral visitors, aware of the warmth of the tears running down my face, when a touch on my arm made me jump. “Jamie, are you alright?” It was Sheila Brice.
I shook myself and dabbed my eyes. “Are you okay, you look very pale and were shaking?”
“Didn’t you see them?” I asked.
“See who?”
“Lisa and her mother, they were here, she spoke to me. She thanked us for our help and for the flowers, so did her mother.”
“No I’m sorry I didn’t see or hear anything, but it did seem to go colder for a few minutes. Ooh, that’s spooky. Have you seen anything like this before? Are you psychic?”
“My nan was but she died a couple of years ago, and we had a special bond, we seemed to know things about the other without anyone telling us. She knew there was something different about me, she used to say I was something special, like having a grandson and granddaughter in one. She used to do things like teach me to knit and I was the only boy in my class who could do cross-stitch.”
I thought of my grandmother and felt a warmth around me. “She used to see things, and said there was a tradition of the women in our family being seers, but it seemed to miss my mum, or she wasn’t interested. I used to think I saw things, but assumed later on it was pure imagination, especially as I wasn’t female.”
“But you are.”
“Am I ? Or is it just a convenience for a someone like me who failed to become male?”
“I thought we had got beyond all that self-pity stuff.” As she said this I huffed and puffed a bit. “You are female and you know it, and I’ll bet your nan knew it too.”
“Well, it was she who first called me Jamie, but then she was Scottish, like my mum only more so. But I always thought it was just a Scottish pet name for James.”
“Isn’t that Hamish ?”
“Maybe she could see something none of the rest of us did. I know she would have been able to cope with my new situation as well as my parents, because she loved me and because she would have wanted to see me happy.”
“Tell me, did your nan wear much green?”
“She had a lovely green dress that I absolutely loved. When it became too tatty to wear, we used it to make a suit for my teddy bear. He’s still wearing it. Why do you ask?”
“This is weird, but as you were talking about your nan, I got this very strong impression of a lady walking alongside you wearing a green dress. Ooh, this is too spooky, let's get out of here.” She shuddered for a moment and headed back to the car, I trotted behind, thinking ‘nice one nan.’
My experiences at the cemetery coupled with Captain Brice’s gave me
some further food for thought. I had no great religious belief, and as for attending church, it was only for specific things like weddings and funerals. I don’t know if I believed in all the ritualistic stuff involved in Christianity, but the idea of loving my neighbour seemed a good one. Sadly, I didn’t see too much of it in the world in which I lived.
Two millennia of Christianity and Christians were still killing each other, how much longer was it going to take? No, I’m a practical girl and I believe in trying to live peacefully with my neighbours. I’m not entirely sure about exactly loving them or turning the other cheek, but I try to coexist in peace.
A few days later, my peace was shattered. Part of my duties were assisting in a military hospital. We had a few weeks of theory and then a few weeks of practice. I seemed to cope with both relatively easily, however, it was soon to be tested. The camp at which I had completed my initial basic training and where I had first ended up in skirts, suffered a terrorist bombing. We didn’t hear the bang, being a few miles away, but Major Collins called us all together and told us to get ready for casualties and to clear any beds we could. We were still making preparations when the ambulances started to arrive. It was horrible.
Once again I was with people who were horribly injured or dying, most of them quite young. Thankfully, I was too busy to feel shocked, but it was awful. Sadly, I was also not trained up enough to be very much help, but I could do blood pressures and apply dressings, so that’s what I did. Some of the young men had suffered blast injuries and some had burns. One had severe burns to his face and there were concerns about saving his sight. The concern and care that was shown by the staff, medical, nursing, paramedics and ancillary was amazing, and while I was horrified at the injuries I was deeply impressed by those treating them. I felt proud to be one of them.
While I was getting some more dressings from a storage area, I saw someone wandering in a confused way ahead of me. Thinking that one of our casualties had got themselves lost I ran after them, but when I got there, the room was empty. ‘Oh shit,’ I thought, ‘it’s happening again’. A while later my description matched a young soldier who died in ICU.
The day flew past and I have no real sense of how long we all worked, as long as it took I suppose, but some of us were sent home at midnight for a few hours sleep and were asked to come back for six the next morning. It was tough, but that was what I was training for, I think.
Over the next three days, I worked about fifty hours and slept the rest, gulping down food when I had a chance, often I didn’t bother, I was too tired, but I learned quite a lot. I also saw two more ghostly soldiers, learning later that they were all of ours who had died, plus another at the local district general hospital. I didn’t see him. It seems my nan’s ‘gift’ was growing stronger, but I really didn’t have time to think about it, and I certainly didn’t want everyone to know about it. However, I did confide in Kate Henderson and Sheila Brice a bit later after things calmed down. I also corresponded with my mother about it, but she was sceptical suggesting it might be simply a manifestation of stress. Maybe she’s right but, I know which I‘d prefer to believe.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
The aftermath of the bombing gave me much food for thought, and it had also demonstrated that I was strong enough to nurse, in both a physical and emotional sense. I still wasn’t sure that I really wanted to do it, but my military training would enable me to do so afterwards if I wanted to. I was feeling happier in myself with myself. My body was becoming increasingly curvy and I began to realise that I was quite attractive to men. However, I wasn’t sure what I felt about them, except that I wasn’t one and had probably never been one.
I spent hours writing long letters to my mother, which sometimes had replies from my dad too, so she must have shown them to him. He remained supportive and encouraging for me to make friends, he said he didn’t care whether I liked boys or girls, or both. All he wanted was for me to be happy.
I didn’t know if I was happy or not. Sometimes I felt very unhappy as if I’d been cheated or robbed of my future. Then I would withdraw into myself. I’d read about the boy who’d been injured as a baby and who had been turned into a girl. Apparently in circumcising him, they had amputated his penis. The thinking seemed to revolve around very primitive ideas of body image, body plus penis = boy; body without penis = girl. It seems that he rebelled against being a girl for many years and eventually he was turned back into a boy, although he had been living as one for some time, whereupon he married and adopted children. So did he live happily ever after. No, it seems he eventually killed himself.
I could see parallels with my own situation in an injury to genitalia making it more convenient to make us female, except that sex, isn’t determined by what hangs or doesn’t hang between one’s legs. Alright, it is in terms of phenotype (see the big words they teach you in nursing), but that could be at odds with the genotype, which is about chromosomes. Then there are psychological influences and environmental and it just gets so complicated it makes my head spin. Being male or female, man or woman is on one level very simple and on so many others so complex it defies black and white statements.
In some senses, I was transsexual, in that I was between the sexes regarding my physical state. Legally, I was female – which I found bemusing, as until 2004 it seems that those people who had had actual sex-change operations, or gender reassignment or correction, or whatever you want to call it did not have official status as male or female. Bizarre!
Anyway back to my musings. I wasn’t suffering from Gender Identity Disorder, well not until the army got involved, of which the transsexual syndrome is one manifestation, so my position was less clear.
Emotionally, where was I? Sometimes I was stuck at age eleven with that stupid cow destroying my future marital prospects with her knee. I had never got around to sexually finding girls attractive. I liked them, felt easy with them but had never thought about sex.
But then boys didn’t feature either. I was disowned by most of them being too small or weak to play boisterous games. I enjoyed my girly stuff with gran, sewing and knitting. I remembered how we had chopped up the green dress Sheila had seen at the cemetery, to make the suit for my teddy. I had hand-sewn some of it myself, not many boys had that for a memory.
My gran had seen my feminine side and accepted it as part of me. I wasn’t aggressive unless someone offended me, I competed in my own way, usually by my schoolwork, which made me a sissy swot. I couldn’t kick a football for toffee or run as fast as some of my contemporaries but they didn’t have straight As at A level or fourteen GCSE passes twelve of which were As and the other two B plus. So I was quite bright, maybe not genius level, but I could probably go to any uni I wanted, once this game of soldiers was over.
Realising that I was as clever if not more so than many of my colleagues gave me some consolation. I never flaunted it because I appreciated we had to help each other, I didn’t want to be teacher’s pet just one of the gang, maybe even one of the girls.
But did I? If I did why did I have these nagging doubts. Fine my body, with one final adjustment, was as female as it was going to get. To become male it would need some extensive change which seemed increasingly unlikely, so I was stuck in this female body. Common sense told me to just make the best of it and stop complaining, it could be worse.
I had done some extensive research and found many stories and pictures which left me feeling very sad for some of the people whose lives I had read about. Some were very successful and did well, some were tragi-comedies where the appearance was unconvincing and their lives must have been very difficult.
Some suffered at the hands of neighbours or hounding by the press and other forms of abuse. Some lost families and children as well as friends. Some lost everything. These were real heroes and heroines, albeit sometimes self-centred, self-absorbed ones. They had taken enormous risks and seen it through.
I’d had none of this. Was I lucky? I suppose that would depend on where you were coming from, but in some ways I was. So why was I unhappy? Because I’d been cheated of some expectation I’d had as a child. ‘So apart from that Mrs Lincoln, how did you enjoy the play?’ So many of us have disappointments, what made me special?
Nothing did, I was a self-pitying waste of space, yet somehow, despite occasional bouts of self-loathing my experience in the car park with the dying Lisa, made me decide that ending it all was not an option.
Kate was wonderful, she had trained as a psyche nurse, well a mental nurse as well as a general nurse, to those of you who are pedants. So she was able to spot when I was going into my introversion and help me to restabilise. I was thus able to keep up with my training and socialise with my colleagues as one of the girls, although I wasn’t dating or anything like that.
I was just getting through life when my nightmare began to return. I discovered that Pam Davis had been posted to my hospital. When I saw her name on the list of new postings, I felt myself go very cold and my head began to feel very dizzy. I then apparently collapsed in a heap and woke up on a hospital bed some minutes later. I woke up sweating and trembling, I was also calling out something or other.
I couldn’t remember anything except what I had seen on the notice board and my sense of terror. I just kept thinking that if they thought I was mental, they may send me home before she gets there. I wasn’t worried about terrorists or risks of daily living, but that woman terrified me. I could not and would not stay in the same place as her. Death could be preferable.
Thinking about this I lapsed back into my dreamy state, seeing myself drifting away from my body, which I knew was dead I felt myself floating away and feeling the sense of peace as I gently wafted upwards towards the light. It was lovely.
I was met by my grandmother in some delightful garden and we just walked and talked. She told me how beautiful I was and how pleased she had been for me because she had always known I was more girl than boy, then she waved to someone behind me, it was Lisa.
I turned around and she ran towards me and nearly hugged me to death. Well if I hadn’t already been dead, I would have been so after her hugs. “What are you doing here ?” she asked of me, “It isn’t your time yet.”
“I don’t care.” I responded, “I couldn’t face her again.”
“Of course you can, you have to.”
“But she made me do horrible things and she hurt me physically.” I was crying as I recalled the pain she had caused me. This puzzled me a bit. Here I was dead and feeling pain, there was something not quite right with this. Dead people don’t feel anything, except being dead, which as far as we know means they don’t feel anything at all. Unless of course, this premise was wrong in which case so was most everything else. Was this a quantum moment, when I am born live and die all at the same instant?
If it was, the first two were somewhat lacking in evidence. No, I was dead, but shit scared of the demon woman and feeling pain. Oh bugger, I couldn’t even do dying properly!
Lisa was comforting me, and now I felt like a child to her adult. “You are very pretty for a soldier, Jamie, and you are a good nurse. You have much work to do in the physical world, many people are depending upon you.”
“I don’t care. I don’t want to do it. I won’t do it, I won’t see her again. I’d rather stay here with you and Gran.” I sobbed back at her.
“You don’t have a choice, your place is down there helping your fellow men. Lead them by compassion, you have a true vocation, use it.”
I kept shaking my head, I did not want to return, but suddenly I felt so tired that still holding Lisa’s hand I said to her, ”I love you, Lisa, I shall always remember you, but I’m going to sleep now.”
I think I heard her say goodbye and suddenly I felt myself being sucked into this blackness like it was thick tar engulfing me and drawing me deeper and deeper into itself. I couldn’t breathe and began to cough and fight for air. I felt the tar holding me like arms, holding my arms and legs, holding me down. I fought to open my eyelids, which seemed to be stuck together. I was blind and in this blackness and I was terrified. Lisa had gone, my gran had gone, was I now in hell, with demons pulling me apart? I gave an almighty scream and opened my eyes, saw doctors and nurses trying to keep me on the bed, then everything went black.
I was in the fever for a couple of days, I had pneumonia and nearly died. I did die, I know I did I saw Lisa and Gran. I spoke to them, I hugged them, they sent me back to meet my fate whatever that was. It wasn’t delirium, I didn’t imagine it.
I spent two weeks in hospital with my mother and father at my bedside, they were brill as always and took me home with them for a month’s recuperation. A long time later my mother asked me whose daughter it was who kept visiting the ward, she apparently always came to see me and told my mother that,” I would be okay because I had work to do.” When she told me, I went cold and then felt a surge of warmth as I laughed. She looked puzzled as I seemed to have a private joke on her. I asked her to describe the girl, and I knew exactly who it was. “You have Gran’s gift, just like I do.”
“What are you talking about?” she was totally out of synch with me.
“You saw Lisa.” I chuckled back at her.
“Lisa who ?”
“Lisa the little girl who died in the accident. She came to see me and told me it wasn’t my time.”
My mother went white, “Oh my God, she looked so real. I honestly thought she was a real person.”
“She was real, Mum, she just didn’t have a body anymore.” It tickled me that despite her denial, she was psychic and so was I, the family trait had been handed down through the female line and I was the youngest current recipient. Which meant that if it only happened to females, I must be female. It seemed no matter how I tried to avoid my destiny, it just kept reappearing and forcing itself upon me. It sometimes felt as if I was in deep shit, now I knew it was for real, I could almost smell it. But there was no option, no escape I just had to face it. Oh, bugger.
The month I spent at home was much needed. My parents had to work but were both able to do bits of their work from home, so I got to spend time with both of them individually. While my relationship with my mum was special, mother-daughter ones always are. The one with my dad was extra special.
I had never appreciated my father fully. I hadn’t had much need to, he was always there, reliable, clever, wise, sophisticated and much bigger than I. I had not quite realised just how much bigger he was until I was putting my suitcase back on top of the wardrobe, when he saw me, rushed in and snatched it from me then reached up and placed it on top. I was struggling, he could reach without stretching. I was struggling from a strength point of view, he lifted it like it was a balloon. “You aren’t supposed to overdo it, remember what the doctor said.”
“Yes, Daddy, I know. I just thought I could manage it.” He loved it when I called him daddy, perhaps I did too. I could see his chest swell out and he’d put his arm around me and hug me. He felt big and strong and powerful, in comparison, I felt weak and vulnerable but protected. It was a strange position to be in, but we both seemed to be slipping nicely into stereotypical roles.
I had a small understanding of Oedipal and Elektra complexes, but was I fancying my dad? Initially, my response was ughhh, don’t be stupid. But when I thought about it, it didn’t seem quite so disgusting. It would never be anything more than fantasy because it would be illegal and abhorrent, not to mention hurtful to my mother. But it made me wonder.
I had this thought come back to me several times during my period at home. I saw him stripped to just a pair of shorts while he did some job in the garden and he was in pretty good shape for a man approaching his late forties. He didn’t have a beer gut or much extra fat anywhere, and his body while not muscular was in a reasonable tone.
He was repairing a fence panel and in wielding a heavy hammer, he showed muscles I knew I didn’t have. He was swinging this sledge-hammer thing with modest ease, I carried it back to the garage for him and found it heavy to lift, let alone swing above my head.
I know, I know I was a woman, or on my way to being one and hadn’t developed properly as anything more than a boy, so my muscle mass wasn’t much, and I was quite a bit smaller than him in stature generally. But he was just so much more powerful than I was. If it came to it, he had the strength to force me to do anything he wanted me to. That was frightening because it also meant that it probably applied to most men. Here I was an average-sized woman and until my recent illness reasonably fit, but much less strong than the average bloke. I hadn’t thought of it like that before.
I continued my reverie as I lay on my bed that night, seeing my father stripped and sweating in the garden, feeling frightened by the male power I was witnessing but also feeling something else, a strange and exciting feeling. A feeling that both disturbed me and fascinated me, I fancied my dad and part of me wanted him to make me do things I shouldn’t do.
As I explored this fantasy the face of my father faded into that of one or two of the male staff at the hospital. I was beginning to see them as something I had never noticed before, as men and pretty dishy ones at that!
An hour after being locked into this fantasy, I began to realise that I was becoming a normal heterosexual female, well given my shortcomings ( no pun intended), I was as much as I could. I recognised too, that I needed to do something about it, I would need to see a surgeon and get my final correction done assuming they could find the original arrangement in all that superglue and skin.
What was unknown to me was whether I would ever be able to enjoy sexual contact and penetration beyond a psychological level, into a physical one. I knew I’d not manage the legendary multiple orgasms of the natural female, but then I suspected neither did many of them.
I recalled seeing a tape of a Ben Elton show that my parents liked, where he was suggesting that most men thought ‘Clitoris’ was a Greek island. It tended to mean that most men had little idea of female sexuality and perhaps from what I had heard from the girls in work it was quite true. However, I wasn’t sure if some of the girls weren’t almost as ignorant of sex generally.
There was a constant stream of them to the MOs office after weekend leaves when they wanted the morning after pill. Hearing the doctors and senior nurses talking about the ignorance and stupidity of these young people regarding sex was worrying. Unprotected sex was on the increase as were venereal diseases and HIV, not to mention hepatitis. The next time I went near the shops I bought some condoms. I don’t know why, I had nothing to make love with, but I was terrified of getting some awful disease like AIDS.
I hardly drank anything anyway, but I wasn’t going to risk my health on a whim or sexual impulse of mine or someone whom I fancied. Goodness, this was a real Pandora’s box to open and I wasn’t sure if I regretted it or not. I didn’t really fancy my father, rather, I felt proud of him for keeping in shape at the same time became aware that there were nascent sexual feelings inside me and they seemed to be oriented towards men. This felt straightforward and confusing, but when I thought it through and dumped the irrelevance of the past to the new situation, it felt a bit easier and less sinful.
Where had the latter come from? It seemed I had retained teachings from my infants and junior schools which were church schools. Raised nominally as an Anglican Christian, I shared some of those values but had gone on to refute religion as ‘opium of the masses’ or people-controlling superstition. I was a liberal socialist, brought up by two thoughtful, caring parents. They had encouraged me to establish my own values but to respect those of others at the same time. It was common sense, however, in the current climate of religious intolerance shown and felt by so many, was anything but common.
So was sex sinful? I didn’t know. Unprotected sex was stupid rather than sinful. Then I realised in some ways it was all academic, I had no orifice for sex, none that I was contemplating using at any rate, so until I got my plumbing sorted permanently, it would all remain academic.
In the month that I was home, I kept up the academic element of my training via the internet. That was easy, I was streets ahead of most of my colleagues anyway, and with little else to occupy myself, I did what I do best – swotted. When I wasn’t sleeping or swotting, I tried to exercise. I did lots of walking and some cycling. I used to love my bike and rode for miles when I was a kid. Now it was an effort to do a couple of miles.
Pneumonia is an infection of the lungs, and it sometimes leaves permanent damage. In my case it was unlikely, but I was told not to overdo things for several months. So heavy exercise was out of the question, and when I forgot, a bout of coughing usually reminded me of my limitations.
However, at the back of my mind was that wretched woman. The cow who started all this, Pam bloody Davis. Just thinking about her left me feeling weak, yet I was going to have to face her, and I had to do this myself.
I had managed to keep this confrontation from my parents and also my superiors back at the base, so as not to make it any bigger than it need be. But at times I would feel myself trembling at the thought of her name. I knew that I had to grasp this nettle, and until I did, it would continue to haunt me.
The last weekend of my stay at home came round all too quickly. I felt very sad about going back, and about dealing with you know who made things worse. I was leaving a place of total safety, a place run by trusted people who loved me and returning to somewhere I hadn’t intended being in the first place, let alone in a role which seemed increasingly out of my control. It felt at times as if I was driven by destiny rather than desire. My only choice being as Jung put it, “To accept my fate willingly.”
To mark my last evening dad took us out for a meal. As before I spent the day with my mother getting something to wear. She seemed to enjoy this so much, who was I to deny her, especially after we had agreed on some ground rules, from the previous episode.
I had brought Gran’s jewellery with me, the gold and sapphire set, which I loved and enjoyed wearing. So it was probable that I would go for blue again, well I do have blue eyes. But when we were looking around ‘Monsoon’ (the dress shop, not the rainstorm), I saw a two-piece outfit I just had to have. So without any hesitation, I found one in my size and whisked it off to the changing room.
Once there I stripped off to my bra and pants, but before I donned the new outfit, I wanted to savour the lovely material. It was a multicoloured but delicate pattern on a background of cream. The pattern was abstract in blues and pinks and greens, but was roughly flower-shaped, like a stereotype of a rose. The material was fine silk, the top had a scoop neck, the skirt was straight and came to the knee. It was just so beautiful,
I savoured the moment of just holding this fine silk, real silk. Then two minutes later it was adorning my body, and it felt as good on as it looked.
I had doffed my trainers and socks, along with my jeans and top, so I walked out barefoot to show my mother. She was busy looking at something and had her back to me, she was also laden with her own bag and my rather large backpack type bag.
“Well, Mum, what d’ya think?”
Turning she smiled as she said,” Jamie, that is absolutely beautiful, it fits you to a tee. Your dad is going to be totally knocked out by it.” She hugged me and I broke the embrace before I began to sniff.
Laughing, I responded, “If he’s paying for it, the price will knock him over.”
“No dear this one’s from me, and I don’t care how much it is.” I hugged her again and kissed her to say thanks. The outfit was nearly two hundred pounds, which with shoes and bag, became nearer three hundred. I felt embarrassed by this, but Mum seemed to enjoy spending the money. To alleviate my conscience I suggested it could be an early birthday present, but Mum was having none of it.
We had a light lunch and came home, rested for half an hour then round to my mum’s hairdresser for a quick do. While Mum rested, I had a shower, after all, I wasn’t going to get my hair wet after having it done, and all I’d have to do then was change and put on a bit of slap, and I’d be ready for the off.
We got to Doreen’s salon about four in the afternoon. I had met her before but she hadn’t ever done my hair. My hair as I have said before is blonde, and now shoulder length. It is thick and strong and pretty straight though it does get a bit of a wave in it when it gets wet. Doreen did Mum’s hair and while she was under the drier, it was my turn.
“How are you, Jamie? It is Jamie isn’t it?” The middle-aged, slightly overweight woman smiled at me.
“I’m fine thanks, and yes it is Jamie.”
“Your mum tells me you’re in the army.”
“Medical corps, training to be a nurse. National Service.”
“Well I’ll get Natasha to do a shampoo and conditioner and then we can decide how you want me to do it.”
The junior escorted me to the washbasin, helped me into a brown robe and after sitting me at the washbasin began to wash my hair. “Did you say you were in the army?”
“Medical corps, nursing, yes I did. I’m doing my National Service.”
“I wonder if you know my sister, Pam.” As she said this, I felt an awful dread approaching. “Pam Smith, she’s a nurse too.”
My blood pressure returned to normal and I controlled myself quite well, so I thought.
“Is the water okay, only you went a funny colour for a moment.”
“I’m fine. Where’s your sister based?”
“Somewhere in Scotland, near Perth I think.”
“I’m at Barbury.”
“So you won’t have met then.”
“I doubt it, sorry.”
“I’m sixteen and hope they stop the National Service before I get to it, last thing I want to do is be dragged off to the blessed army.”
“That’s what I thought, but they may give you a civvy job, you never know.”
“Not with my luck.” We both laughed at this, and she told me I was done, wrapped a towel around my dripping hair and escorted me to Doreen who was checking my mother.
We agreed my hair was in good condition and she would do a minimal trim, but turn it under on the ends. She did exactly that, applying mousse and hairspray as necessary. She seemed quite old, similar age to my mum, but she knew her business and with seemingly nimble fingers and agile hands I was finished. So was Mum, and she paid the bill. I did try to at least pay my share, but Mum was having none of it. Feeling guilty, I went over to Natasha and slipped her a few pounds as a tip.
After getting home and settling down with a cuppa just to get rid of the hustle and bustle, my mother smiled at me and said,” Jamie, it’s been really lovely having you here. Today has been super, I’ve really enjoyed it.”
I walked over to her and kissed her cheek, “I’ve enjoyed it too, Mum. I could get used to this spoiling although I suspect the bank manager may not be so keen.” We laughed.
“I just wish we had known about all this sooner, maybe you would have had more options. I still feel guilty.”
“Mum please, we have discussed this before. I do not want you to feel guilty, it wasn’t your fault, it isn’t your fault, it will never be your fault. I have had a lovely day, in fact, a lovely month, please don’t spoil it with one of your guilt trips. You know it can’t change anything, and it makes me feel as if you regret what I am now.”
“Darling, I don’t regret anything about you. You make me so proud to be your mother, you are every bit the daughter I could have wanted…..”
Feeling a but coming, I plunged in,” Well then we’re all happy aren’t we?” She stopped and smiled at me nodding in agreement. I didn’t know if it was guilt or some other issue which caused this sadness in her, maybe it was just coping with my change and the adjustment on a deeper level. I didn’t know, but I didn’t need to visit it again. I had enough of my own issues not to need hers as well. So I went up to my room to change.
Just after I went upstairs I heard my father come in. He shouted a greeting, at least he seemed in high spirits.
I spent an hour getting myself ready. I carefully slipped the top over my hair and put my arms in the short sleeves. The push-up bra I had on was going to pop some eyeballs tonight. Then the skirt, which fitted like a glove. I was a perfect size twelve. The cream sandals with a three-inch heel, then my jewellery which seemed to bring out the blue in the material. Finally, after my makeup which was a little more dramatic than usual, I squirted a bit of Opium on my neck and wrists and I was ready.
I’d heard my parents go down, before, my dad had asked me how much longer I’d be. So I was ready for my entrance. Unlike the last time we’d done this, I was much more sure of myself, well a bit more but let’s not confuse the issue.
I opened the door and strode in confidently, “Will I do?”
“My God, will you do? Bloody hell, girl if you weren’t my daughter I’d be asking you out myself, as it is I shall spend all night keeping the blokes off you.”
“So I look okay then?” I was revelling in the attention.
“You look fabulous kitten.” With that, he hugged me and I kissed him on the cheek.
“Doesn’t she look fabulous, darling.” he said to my mum.
“Yes dear,” she replied to him, then to me, “You are certainly getting to know your style, you look beautiful, but then I knew you would.” She hugged me and we air-kissed each other on the cheek.
It’s a wonderful feeling to know that the image you have set out to create is received as intended. I was feeling increasingly confident, and just beginning to understand the power I was wielding. I had gone through the sense of vulnerability felt by women concerning physical strength, now I was beginning to appreciate the balance, the power women have.
I knew that wherever we went tonight, I was going to attract attention and that pleased me. I wanted to be noticed. In the back of my mind a little thing called common sense was whispering just be careful, remember you still need some adjustment down there and how much practice have you had in dealing with randy men? Not a lot, be careful or it will all end in tears.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
We all piled into the car and set off for the restaurant. Dad was being very mysterious about it all, suggesting we were going to McDonald's after last time cleaned him out. So I asked him if he always wore a suit to McDs? He just laughed.
We had done the country club last time, so where were we going? It was dark so I didn’t have much idea of where we were, we went down one winding lane after another. Finally, we ended up at a pub, It was called the ‘Baker’s Arms’ and had some bit of heraldry on the signpost. It was one I didn’t know, and I mentioned to my dad that he’d have to stay sober tonight because I wasn’t sure I could find my way back. He joked about women and directions, but he also said not to worry, he’d stay under the limit.
We went into the bar and Dad got us some drinks, we were shown the menu and I opted for a prawn cocktail, Mum had the same and Dad the soup. For the main course, I chose a chicken chasseur, which Mum also fancied while Dad went for the homemade steak and kidney pie. We made small talk for ten minutes when we were shown into the restaurant and to our table.
The room was ‘L’ shaped and quite spacious with big windows on two sides, and there were some half a dozen tables with four or six chairs around each. The waiter who helped us to our table had a good look down my cleavage, and I thought my father was going to say something. Thankfully he didn’t, which I was glad about because I knew we’d get excellent service all night so long as I didn’t mind him talking to my chest. I didn’t. Alright so I was being objectified and I should object, but hell I was just discovering all of this, so if you don’t like it go read Saga Magazine or something.
We had just finished our starters when my father let slip an unusual profanity. Following his eyes I spotted Geoff Banks walk in with his family, they were placed at a table just around the corner from ours. The last time I had seen him was at the country club when he spoiled my evening. My heart skipped a beat when I wondered if the same sense of doom would prevail again. Certainly, my father’s demeanour changed from high to far lower than sea level. How could this happen? It has to be synchronicity, the odds of coincidence are far too small for this same tosser to come to the same place as us twice running.
Dad looked across to me and asked quietly, “I’m sorry he’s turned up again, is it alright or do you want to go? If you do I’ll understand.” He looked so pitiful that I was nearly in tears for him, but I was damned if I was going to cut and run if terrorists couldn’t make me run then a creep like Banks certainly wasn’t.
“No I want to stay, don’t let him upset you, Dad.”
“If he says anything I shall forget I’m a pacifist and deck him.”
We all sniggered at that, the paradox of what he’d said and if you knew my dad it seemed even funnier, especially in the context of heightened emotions. “Don’t worry Daddy, if he comes over tonight, I shall make sure he regrets it.”
My dad did a double-take, “And just how do you propose to do that? Given that you couldn’t knock a hole in wet tissue, even with a baseball bat.”
“If he needs hitting I’ll give you a shout, but I can do things a bit differently. If he comes over just follow my lead, okay.” My mother gave me a very old fashioned look and mimed ‘be careful’ to me. I winked back. Tonight, I decided I had the power to give heart attacks to wankers like him, so I would leave it to the gods to decide if he lived or died because I was not taking prisoners.
We got on with our meal, and I really didn’t care if we were spotted or not, so I relaxed and enjoyed myself, the chicken was good. Mum and Dad played with their meals. I felt like the Egyptian goddess Sekhmet, the daughter of Re, who at times became ‘udjat or the Eye of Re.’ Sekhmet, a woman with a lioness head was a solar deity, who nearly destroyed mankind with her fiery power until Re intervened personally and stopped her. So she was not someone to mess with. Tonight I felt her power inside me, tonight I would be the ‘Eye of Tom’ and deal with any mortals who upset him or his family. The udjat spirit was strong in me tonight.
While part of me was revelling in this thought, part of me was also thinking where did all this come from. I had read extensively about ancient Greece and Troy, about Egypt and the origins of what became Judaism and its offspring of Christianity and Islam.
But that was some years ago. While other kids played football or played with dolls, I was devouring Wallis Budge and Robert Graves. My parents encouraged me to read, so I did. I knew it would come in handy one day, tonight may just be that night.
I grappled with my conscience from time to time, but eventually, it lost and went off in a huff somewhere. It was now entirely up to the Fates to decide if Banks would meet the udjat or not. If it happened, I would see it as surgical removal and distance myself from it, besides which he had it coming one day from what my father had told me. He had a reputation as a womaniser so it was going to be so easy to return the embarrassment he gave my family. I was almost looking forward to chancing my arm, so to speak.
Fate was to take the matter out of my hands. I went to the loo before our dessert course, which I had declined anyway. If I ate any more I was going to be too fat to wear this outfit comfortably, but Mum and Dad always had one when we ate out. I knew they’d still be eating so I took my time, after doing the necessary I tidied up my lipstick and hair. I had a long hard look at myself in the mirror, my corsage was somewhat eye-catching and had certainly worked well with the waiters. So I adjusted it to maximise the oomph effect. I was enjoying myself my emerging sensuality was a new toy to me, but already I was becoming aware of its effect on others and the power was a little bit heady for someone as naïve as I was at that moment, however, I think I had some sort of link with the collective unconscious or maybe it was instinctual because I seemed to know what to do without too much thinking. This was extremely useful.
Walking out of the toilets and back to my parents, I bumped into the old lech Banks himself. We were in full view of his wife when we literally collided.
“Why, Geoffrey, I didn’t know you visited these parts. We must get together again really soon, I so enjoyed the last time, you tigerrrr.” I growled this last part at him, then kissed him on the cheek. He stood there, rooted to the spot as if he’d just stepped on a garden rake and it had hit him between the eyes.
Not wishing to attract his attention to my parents, I then slipped away and into the bar. But I heard the roar of his wife as she demanded to know who I was and what was all that about. He claimed innocence being unaware of who I was because without, the context of my father, he hadn’t recognised me at all. Because I had used his name, his wife naturally didn’t believe him and demanded he took her home. He was a disgrace and who was that slut and bimbo.
At the latter imprecations, apparently, my mother had to restrain my father who was going to defend his daughter, but she managed to intercept him and the Banks family left in a whirl of emotion, while I hid around the corner watching the pantomime that developed. I laughed so much that I had to run to the ladies again. The udjat had done its business and had returned to ancient Egypt for the moment, although I still felt the presence of the leonine goddess strongly within me. I returned to my parents.
“What the hell were you playing at?” demanded my father. “How could you kiss that snake in the grass?”
“It had the desired effect didn’t it?”
“My daughter the actress.” Smiled my mother. I dropped a curtsey to her and she smiled again. “I just hope you aren’t named in the divorce papers as a correspondent.”
“For what? An act of random kindness.”
“Kindness my eye. That was an act of deliberate provocation. You be careful my girl or someone is going to get the wrong idea and you could end up in trouble.”
My father who was now beginning to enjoy the funny side said with a stern voice and suitable frown, “Don’t you bring any trouble home to my house you young floozie. Bringing shame to your mother and me.”
For a moment I missed his joke, he looked so stern, then he winked and the penny dropped, and we all laughed until the tears came and my sides ached. Thinking about it later, I think, bringing trouble and shame was about the only thing I couldn’t bring home, especially as this usually refers to pregnancy, for which I was signally unequipped.
When the excitement settled down, we chatted over coffee and my mother said something which completely blew me away. “Jamie, when you went off to the loo I suddenly had this picture in my head of a lioness stalking her prey. We weren’t talking about lions or anything were we?”
“Um no, Mum, why do you ask?” I felt a cold shiver run up my spine.
“No reason, it just seemed such a vivid picture, that’s all.”
I smiled an embarrassed smile and she noticed it. “What are you up to, Jamie?”
“Nothing, Mum, honest.” I felt myself blush.
“Just what is happening?”
“Um, is there anything? Beats me.” I stammered back.
“Is this Gran’s gift again?”
“I don’t know.”
“I think you do.”
“What on earth are you two on about?” asked my father, looking puzzled. “What’s this about lions and Gran?”
“I don’t know what she’s on about?”
“Who is she? Young lady!” demanded my father.
“Sorry, I don’t know what Mum is on about.”
He looked at her and asked again, “What are you on about?”
“Oh it’s nothing, darling, just a private joke with Jamie and her jewellery, you know the set my mother gave me to give her one day. I thought she meant to give to Jamie for his wife or girlfriend, but now I think of it, she said to give it to Jamie when the time was right. The more I think about it, the more I think she knew something we didn’t.”
“That’s as maybe, but what’s that got to do with lions?”
“I don’t know, lions just popped into my head. Well, a lioness in particular.”
“Well, I am a Leo,” I added stirring up the red herrings. But then thought maybe there was a connection, Leo with Sekhmet. It was spooky.
“I just saw a lioness again.” Said, my mother.
“What are you talking about?” asked my dad.
“In my imagination, I saw a woman with a lioness’s head stood just behind Jamie’s right shoulder and the sun seemed to be shining all around her. It was really weird.”
“Who do you think I am, Joy Adamson or something?” I asked, feeling now quite unnerved by this latest psychic manifestation. Sekhmet was still around I hope I hadn’t started something I couldn’t contain, but surely, the spirit was in me not external to me. I had awoken something in me, it shouldn’t have an independent existence. I imagined the lioness going into a cage inside me and I firmly shut the door.
“Well, whatever it was, it’s gone now.” exclaimed my mother giving me a very old fashioned look. I knew there would be words about this later.
Eventually, the conversation returned to more mundane things and my father seemed to stop worrying that my mother was hallucinating perhaps becoming psychotic or something. Thinking about the drive home I knew my mother was thinking about what she had witnessed and how she was going to interrogate me. I wondered if I could avoid things until I left home tomorrow lunchtime, at the same time I was becoming aware of more than just the power of my own latent sensuality, somehow I had something even more potent floating about inside me and that was exciting but also a bit scary.
As we walked back to the car, my dad put his arm around me in a protective manner. It felt nice that he seemed to accept the change in my status so readily, I was so proud of both my parents, but of him especially. He gave me a quick hug as we walked and said quietly to me,” I can’t believe you have blossomed so well so quickly. I am very pleased for you and proud of you.” I felt myself well up inside, and said nothing but squeezed him to let him know I accepted his comment.
We drove back in relative silence, broken occasionally by mother still on about lions. My mind flitted about from thing to thing, my experience with Banks which made me smirk to myself, the thing with the lioness goddess, my pride (no pun intended) of my parents, and my conflicting thoughts about my dad. If he wasn’t my dad I could quite fancy him. Maybe I should talk to someone about this feeling. Shouldn’t this have happened when I was about eight or nine not, eighteen or nineteen; but then I was a case of severely arrested development. I felt a sense of turmoil in some ways, wondering how this would all turn out.
Did I fancy men, or just my dad, was it just a fantasy and thus disappear if the opportunity to ever do something arose with a man. It was a little scary. Well, alright it was bloody terrifying, but also very exciting.
I thought back to seeing myself in the mirror in the pub. I was really up for it. Well, if I knew quite what that meant, I might be up for it. Well I felt good, I felt sexy, I felt confident, I felt powerful and now thinking about it, I felt rather silly. What if Banks had responded to my rapid seduction? Oops! It could have got messy especially as my father might have dropped his pacifist principles and Banks all in the same moment. I felt myself blushing and feeling very embarrassed, thank God it was too dark for anyone to see.
Just what had I been thinking of? Gee whiz, it had been very close, close to disaster or potentially so. But instead, it had worked and I had returned the embarrassment Banks had caused my family and me. Honours were even, debts cancelled and all that stuff. Had the udjat protected me, because it had been strong within me tonight? Perhaps it had, I liked to think so and I’m sure this was what my mother was picking up from me. Yes, it had been an interesting night, I had learned a lot about myself. Well enough to recognise that I had much more to learn about myself and my relationships with others, especially what was now the opposite sex. S-c-a-r-y!
Nothing more was said that night about lions or the unfortunate Mr Banks, it was late when we got home and we all went to bed soon afterwards. When I took off my jewellery I thought of my gran, she was a lovely old lady and I missed her. I have no doubt that she knew about me, or what would happen because in some ways she treated me as much like a granddaughter as a grandson, we did sewing and knitting together, we used to clean out her drawers and cupboards and we used to bake cakes and make pastries.
She taught me the rudiments of cooking and ironing, sewing and mending. At the age of ten, I had no idea how cars worked unlike most of my contemporaries but I could set up a sewing machine and vary the stitch type, fill the bobbin and a few other things. I could also sew simple things with it, and could do simple hemming by hand. I loved my gran and sometimes felt her near me. I suspect she would not have approved of my ‘seduction’ of Banks, but she probably would have liked my outfit. I did my skin cleansing, cleaned my teeth and slipped into bed.
Lots of things went through my mind as I drifted off to sleep. I think I went off quite quickly, a glass or two of wine having a soporific effect upon me. So soon I was into REM sleep and dreams that accompany it. My dreams often seem to have little meaning that I can understand or remember when I wake up. Thankfully, most of them seem benign if not pleasant insofar as I don’t have too many bad ones.
Tonight, unsurprisingly I dreamt of my gran and we were doing girly things together, I think making my teddy’s green suit. She was telling me that I should have been born a girl and she was glad I had finally realised it myself. She also told me that her family gift was stronger in me than my mum, but that I would be the catalyst to my mum’s development. She told me that I would be a healer, in whatever career I chose and that I was on the Earth for that purpose and nursing was a good outlet for my skills.
It seemed a very vivid dream and at one point I sat bolt upright in bed because I thought I could hear voices in my room.
I lay down again, breathing very quietly and straining my ears as I listened in the darkness. I looked at the clock-radio display, it was one in the morning and I’d been asleep for about an hour. However, I had woken so recalled the recent dream quite clearly. Thinking about my gran gave me a warm feeling and I slipped off to sleep again.
I dreamt again, and once more it was quite vivid. I was in ancient Egypt and people were gabbling in a language I’d never heard before yet I understood and could speak it myself. As I went deeper into the dream, I realised that I was in a temple and that I seemed to work there. I was a priestess, a priestess of Re, the sun god and his daughter, you guessed it, Sekhmet.
It seemed part of my duties was to keep the statues of both divinities clean and shining. This day I was cleaning and polishing the statue of my goddess when as I rubbed her face, her eyes opened and she stared back at me. Her eyes were fierce like that of a lioness and I immediately fell to my knees and asked her forgiveness if I had caused her any harm.
Even though I was on my knees face to the floor I could feel her eyes burning into my back. I was very fearful and felt a combination of tears and sweat running down my face as I begged for her mercy. I heard a lion’s roar and felt my time was finished, preparing myself for death, I stopped my supplication and decided to look my attacker in the face.
I heard the roar again and hesitated, but maintained my course of action even though it may be seen as provocative or impertinent. As we made eye contact I felt the irritation of the goddess at my effrontery turn to amusement. Her voice, sweet and yet echoing in the chamber, booming in my head making me shake with fear began thus,
“So little priestess you would gaze upon the face of the divine. Do you not know that for your impertinence I may demand your life and your soul?”
Trying not to shake, I replied that I did know but had meant no offence. The goddess laughed. I laughed too and noticed that I had wet myself. Mortified that she would notice and destroy me, I fell to the floor and tried to cover the small yellow puddle with my dress.
“How shall I deal with you?” came the sweet, reverberating voice.
“With mercy Oh great goddess.”
“Why should I be merciful. Do you not know that I am ‘The Destroyer’ the udjat, ‘The Eye of Re’. I lay waste whole continents, why should I spare you?”
“Great are the stories of your acts, my goddess and it is your divine right to destroy me or spare me as you see fit. In my defence, I can only say that if you choose to let me live, I will serve you as long as breath remains within my body. If you destroy me, then this humble servant will not be able to carry out her loving tasks.”
Once more the laugh rumbled around the place causing me to tremble, but not now with fear. If I was to die, then I should do so with some dignity. “You have spoken well for a mortal, who despite the fear that leaked out of your bladder, has shown some courage and sharpness of mind. Stand my child and look into my eyes.”
I did as she bade me do, and standing before her felt her eyes bore deeply into mine consuming me, sucking me out and replacing me with her fire. As I gazed into those golden eyes, I could see the savannah before me and herds of grazing beasts, I saw her select one, pursue it and kill it. I saw her feed her cubs. I saw her return to her lioness-human form walking like a giant, her stare sending out great rays of sunlight which consumed all before her in flames. I saw her lay waste to cities and nations, searing the earth before her and all upon it. As all this happened I felt her spirit enter me.
“You will serve me until the end of time or be destroyed like those you have seen. Which will you choose?”
As the voice boomed about me I answered with my thoughts. ‘I am destined to serve you, great goddess, even until the end of time. I am yours to command or destroy as you see fit.’
The response was a laugh that caused the whole building to shake like an earthquake and her stare became a beam of fire which began to surround me with its blinding heat and light. I felt myself fall and prepared for death, everything went black. I awoke being bathed with cold water across my face, it was a fellow priestess.
“What happened, your clothes were all burned around you, the floor was scorched all around you but you were unhurt, lying as if asleep. What happened?”
“I was cleaning her divine statue when it came to life and spoke to me..”
“By Osiris, were you not afraid?”
“I was so frightened that I pissed myself.”
“Did that not upset the goddess?”
“Not especially.”
“But she spared you. The goddess of destruction spared you.”
“So it would seem.”
“You are highly honoured.”
“It is a mixed blessing, I am spared to serve her until the end of time.”
“A great honour, she has chosen you to be her high priestess.”
“No, she has chosen me to be her slave.” As I said this we heard the booming laughter, my colleague was afraid but this time I was not, because some of the laughter came from within me. I knew I had some of her power within me to use in her service but also in the service of my fellow men and women. I had the power to destroy or to save and I had carried this power for a hundred generations and incarnations, I always would carry it until the end of time. I felt the spirit of the lioness within me and I knew.
I sat bolt upright in my bed, my room was shaking with the booming laughter, the whole house was shaking with the laughter, my parents were calling to me from outside the door alarmed by something, the house continued to shake and shudder and then I stopped laughing and all was quiet.
“Jamie are you alright?” my father called as he entered my room, closely followed by my mother. I could see their outlines against the light spilling in from the landing.
“I’m okay,” I replied, feeling the sweat dripping off me.
“What in the name of God was that ?”
“What?” I asked.
“That noise, like demonic laughter, the whole house was shaking with it. Did you not hear it?”
“I was fast asleep but something woke me.”
My mother switched on my bedroom light, “Oh my god..”
The bed around me was all scorched. Small puffs of smoke still rose from the remains of the sheets. My father pulled me from the bed and dragged the sheets off the bed. There was no fire, but the sheets were scorched. My shape was burned into them. It was mega weird.
“What is happening, Jamie, you know don’t you? Please tell me. Tell us.” My mother looked extremely worried.
“I don’t know, honestly, Mum. I just had this dream…”
“She was here wasn’t she?”
“Who was here?” exclaimed my dad, ”Will one of you please tell me what the bloody hell is going on here.”
“The lioness. You saw the lioness woman didn’t you?”
“Yes, Mum, I did.”
“Who is she, Jamie ?”
“Sekhmet.”
“Who or what is Sekhmet ?” demanded my father.
“The Eye of Re.”
“What ?” said Dad.
“The Egyptian goddess of destruction.”
“Will somebody tell me what the bloody hell is going on here, what on earth is the Egyptian goddess of destruction doing in my daughter’s bedroom at two o clock in the bloody morning, and why has she scorched a brand new set of sheets?”
“I don’t know.”
“Jesus bloody Christ, who does know.”
“This thing has been around you all night hasn’t it?” asked my mum.
“I guess so.”
“That’s why you were so cocky in the pub, wasn’t it?”
“Probably.”
“How did you call it up?”
“I didn’t.”
“So how did it get here ?”
“It follows me.”
“What do you mean it follows you?”
“It has followed me for four thousand years.”
“What do you mean, four thousand years.”
“For hundreds of incarnations. I tried to escape it by becoming a male this time but destiny took over and made me female. I was a priestess of Sekhmet in ancient Egypt. She owns me, she just came by to remind me.”
“That’s why I kept seeing lionesses wasn’t it?”
“Yes, Mum.”
“So what happens now?”
“I don’t know, but I suspect nothing much, now she has reminded me unless I have something specific to do.”
“Like what?”
“Destroy a city or a nation.”
“What?”
“It’s a joke, Mum.”
“Not a very funny one.”
“Sorry.”
“So is my house going to burn down?”
“No. Nothing else will happen.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“The purpose was to remind me of our deal. She has done that.”
“So that’s it?”
“Yes.”
“Oh good. Can I go back to bed without any more demons waking me up, shaking my house or burning the bloody thing down?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Good.” With that, he stomped off back to bed.
My mother sat alongside me on the bed and put her arm around me. We hugged, I was beginning to feel a bit cold. “Here.” She said, putting the duvet around me. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine, don’t worry nothing else will happen.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Do you see or feel the lioness around ?”
“No, darling.”
“Well, then she has gone.”
“How do I know she won’t return?”
“You’ll have to trust me. She will only come back to protect what is hers.”
“And that is…”
“Me. She owns me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I, Mum, but I saw it all in a dream. She owns me and that’s all there is to it.”
“This is like a possession by demons or evil spirits. They can exorcise these things, I remember seeing a programme on television about it all.”
“No, Mum, it isn’t like that.”
“But these priests can shift anything.”
“No, Mum.”
“Why not? Why not give it a try.”
“It’s too dangerous.”
“What for you?”
“No, Mum, for the planet.”
“Don’t be silly love. How can the planet be endangered except from global warming or natural disaster.”
“Right now Sekhmet is contained in me. Any attempt to remove her will cause her to become angry and then she will really show you how she got her name. Global warming will pale into insignificance if she gets going.”
“What do you mean?”
“Her destiny is to destroy the world by fire. If no one upsets her it will take its course when the sun gets larger as a red dwarf or whatever, and burn up the earth and several other planets. Sekhmet is the power of the sun, she is a sun goddess. If however, someone liberates her before, then it could all happen a few billion years earlier.”
“You believe all this do you?”
“The evidence is before you,” I said pointing at the sheets.
“I feel frightened for you.” She hugged me.
“I’ll be okay. Remember she likes me.”
“If she protects you how come she didn’t against that horrible girl?”
“I thought I explained that. This time I incarnated as a male to try and escape my fate. She brought me back into line. Pam Davis was simply a pawn in the game.”
“But aren’t you just a pawn too?”
“Yes, but a queen’s pawn.”
“I see,” she said but I’m not sure she did understand, it was a bit weird even for me to comprehend, but it did explain my fascination with ancient Egypt and possibly even the psychic stuff.
Mum went back to bed, however, unsurprisingly none of us slept that night.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
We were all rather tired the next morning, but no one seemed to want to talk about the events of the night. Both my parents stayed home that morning and after a light lunch, they took me to the station. I slept much of my journey back to Barbury feeling stiff and grumpy when I arrived there.
Upon arriving at my quarters, I was overwhelmed by the reception I received, they all seemed pleased to see me, and in some ways, I was glad to be back. My life could now get back to a degree of normalcy, well as close as it was going to. Despite the grumbles, I had an early night and awoke feeling much better, but I would need to, I had much to catch up on.
In terms of the theoretical side, I was up to speed if not ahead of most of them, what I had missed were practical things, learning techniques and actual hands-on training. So for the next month, this was what happened. I was very tired, it was surprisingly physical, moving patients, doing dressings, bathing and supervising patient’s toilet. I had worked on the medical ward dealing with infections and heart problems, now I was moved to surgical.
Well, it was supposed to be surgical, but I was there about a day and a bit when ITU called for help. I was despatched as the cavalry, although with my relative novice status I couldn’t think why. Surely they’d want more experienced staff, but it was me they got.
Intensive care is tough and very specialised. Patients have named nurses because some form of rapport is so important because of the serious nature of the illness. Stays may be short or long depending upon the progress of the patient, only the very sick are kept here, it’s too expensive to do otherwise. It can cost thousands of pounds a day to keep someone here on life support using expensive drugs and equipment and highly paid well-trained staff. It is also highly technical ITU nurses are technicians, monitoring all these machines and nurses, tending to the human need of their patients. Sadly even with all this, people still die and I saw several walk away from their bodies while I was there. I also saw others collected by what I presumed were relatives or friends. It’s hard to tell with spirit folk.
Some of the other staff began to query how I knew who was about to die when it seemed unlikely from the electronic monitoring. It took much badgering before I revealed my source, that I could sometimes see these discarnate entities. It spooked some of them and they avoided me, well unless they needed to make contact. I felt a little dejected. Having been part of the team elsewhere, rejection took me back to my school days and that naturally brought up all sorts of unwanted baggage. Astonishingly, I hadn’t yet caught up with Pam Davis. I did so in a most surprising way.
It was a Tuesday evening, well quite late night when the grapevine said that a nurse was on her way from casualty, all sorts of rumour abounded from accident to assault to kidnap by terrorists. In fact, it was inhalation of vomit.
Being a student nurse, meant I often acted as a gofer or helped setting up drips or physically moving patients into or out of bed. I also got the job of preparing the bodies for collection by undertakers. The latter because I seemed tuned into the dead and no one else liked to do it. I didn’t either, but someone had to do it, and it fell to me. The only creepy part is when you move a body and air in the lungs or body cavity makes a groaning noise, a burp or a fart. The first few times it frightens the life out of you, then it makes you laugh. There are few jokes in playing with the recently deceased, so you take laughs where you can find them.
So I had just come back from sorting out another newly dead body when I was called to help a nurse admitting a new patient. I wasn’t too happy, I should have been on my break, but that’s ITU.
“Curtis, can you gimme a hand?”
“Sure corp.” I went over to the nurse corporal who was standing by the gurney. Together with two orderlies, we lifted the lifeless patient onto the bed. Well, she was alive, but only just. It seems that a surfeit of larger, collapsing in the toilet and blocked airways caused vomit to be inhaled. It was maybe an hour or two before she was found. Not good.
Vomit is horrible stuff. Well, even non-nurses know that. It stinks and just a spot makes the rest of us want to follow suit. I hate being sick, I hate the smell of it, and I am not very good when I have to hold a bowl for someone who can’t hold their own - no pun intended. I go a delicate shade of green or sometimes blue through trying to hold my breath.
So we agree sick is yucky stuff. Stomach contents are designed to be in one’s stomach, not over the bed, the bathroom floor or in the lungs. It’s nasty stuff full of whatever the food or drink contains, plus any bugs therein, plus – and this is the worst bit, stomach acid.
Everything that goes down the hatch passes through an acid bath, hydrochloric acid to be exact, presumably because all chlorides, the salts of hydrochloric acid are water-soluble, which helps absorption. The guts are designed for it. Alas, the lungs are not. So if you put lots of fluid in the lungs, it tends to impede breathing otherwise known as drowning. If you put corrosive fluid in the lungs it tends to severely damage large areas of the sensitive lung tissue. If treatment is offered rapidly, this is minimised and recovery is fair to good. If treatment is delayed then the prognosis is not good, decreasing by the minute, especially if there is large scale inundation. In this case lack of oxygenation of the brain can cause irreversible damage quite quickly. This was the case in point.
As I helped set up the lines of the IVs and associated machines, I didn’t recognise who the unfortunate was. There was quite severe facial bruising from a fall and no one looks the same with a tracheotomy and intubation. It was only towards the end of the process when all the machines were attached and beeping, and the drips running, when the nurse corporal put up a name tab over the bed. It was Pam Davis, I nearly fell over and went all cold. The corporal noticed me and said,” You okay Curtis looks like you’ve seen a ghost. Ha ha.”
I began to sway and apparently went very pale. She grabbed me and I managed to stay conscious. “Are you okay?” she repeated her question.
“I’ll be alright, I just haven’t had anything to eat for a bit.”
“Sorry Curtis,” she said looking at her watch, “you’re a bit late with your break aren’t you? How long you got to do?”
I looked at my watch, it was nearly four in the morning. “I’m on until six.”
“It’ll be quiet now, gerroff to bed. Well, go on then.”
“Is she going to be alright?”
“Why do you know her?”
“Sort of, she was at my school I think.”
“Doesn’t look too good, probable brain damage. They’ll do an MRI as soon she’s well enough to leave the unit. Kidneys don’t look too special either.”
I don’t know what I felt. This relatively lifeless body had been the person who had caused such massive alteration to my life, an unwanted alteration. I had despised her most of my life, she was a bully and totally despicable. Yet she was also a human being and in the most awful situation. Despite the revulsion that my logic said I should feel, all I could feel was pity. If she was brain damaged, then she may be better off dying, because no quality of life that I could recognise, would be possible.
I walked over to her comatose form and spoke to her, “Hello, Pam, you’ll be alright now, you are in the safest place you can be. You’ve been ill, but we’ll do all we can to help you get better. So you just rest and recover as fast as you can.” I held her lifeless hand as I spoke, it felt cold. I squeezed it and it responded with what I presumed was a muscle spasm. I couldn’t tell. I watched her eyes as I talked to her, they were scanning back and fore under the closed eyelids, a little like REM (rapid eye movement) which indicates dreaming. I felt sick as I realised she could be locked in this nightmare for the rest of her life. I offered a silent prayer, trading my forgiveness for her recovery. Then I bade her goodnight and went back to my room to sleep.
The latter did not come with any ease. I was extremely tired and hungry, but I couldn’t face the idea of food. I chewed a sweet as I walked back to my room and didn’t even bother to clean my teeth, I just undressed and lay on the bed. My head was swimming with strange ideas, and I found it hard to get some point of reference to think things through logically.
I was aware of the irony. Here was the person I feared most in the world and she was less danger to me than a fly. But instead of feeling liberated and free I felt cheated again. Life had prevented me from confronting my fear and dealing with it, in the same way, it had destroyed my manhood. It took away any choice and I was forced to become who I had become. How could it keep on doing this to me, it wasn’t fair.
It seemed doubly unfair that it should prevent me having my say with the poor wretch who now lay in the intensive care bed. Admittedly, her own stupidity had created her situation, but I’d have to be a very hardnosed sort to take advantage of her when she was defenceless. She might have done it to me, but I didn’t work that way. To have kicked her when she was down was against all I believed in, and I thanked my parents for this fairness of mind. Some may consider it stupid, but it was how I felt. I fell asleep wishing her well once again. I knew no matter what the outcome of her illness, and it looked very bad for her, I knew she no longer held any power over me. Were she to recover 100% and grow to twice her size, she would never worry me again, let alone frighten me. I had at last moved on, and realising that I drifted into a deep and troubled sleep.
I found myself in a strange place. I was once more in ancient Egypt and at some sort of tribunal or trial. It began to dawn on me that it was a trial for the soul of Pam Davis. The crocodile waited with great anticipation, for any soul which failed the test – they were weighed against a feather, was fed to the croc and languished in the Egyptian version of hell or the underworld, rather than rising to their heaven to live in luxury for all time.
I was merely an observer to these weird proceedings, but my fascination turned to horror as I saw the scales in which her heart was placed begin to dip against the feather. I found myself screaming a protest. I was grasped by Anubis, the god of the dead and leader of souls, and was cast to the floor.
“How dare you interrupt these proceedings. By what right do you do so?”
“I am sorry, your greatness, but this person is not dead.”
“She is as good as, and as we want the day off tomorrow, we thought we’d hurry it along a bit.” (Well it was a dream!).
“So you are going to cast her to the crocodile simply as an expediency.”
“In a word, yes. Why should you care, after all, it was your mistress who caused her to be in this mess.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You are a servant of the Lady Sekhmet?”
“I am.”
“Well, it was your hatred for the woman for her treatment of you, which caused your mistress to destroy her.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Anubis pointed at a large mirror and I saw myself cursing Pam, wishing her all sorts of horrible fate. It seemed to scan back over my life at a very rapid pace and I watched with horror as I relived the pain and hurt from those days. No wonder I wished her dead. But that was then, this was now, and I no longer felt that way. I felt ashamed of myself. If anyone needed to be fed to the croc it was me.
“How can we stop this ?” I asked.
“We can’t. You have brought this about and it will happen.”
“I don’t accept that”, I said, “I wish her no harm.”
“There is perhaps one way in which this tribunal can be stopped.” Said the jackal-headed god.
“Please do it,” I asked him.
“I shall summon your mistress. If it displeases her, prepare to be destroyed.” I thought perhaps I should have felt scared, but hey, when you are about to be destroyed every other day, even by the Eye of Re, you get a bit blasé. But I hid it well, they may not do flippancy here.
The lioness headed goddess arrived and was not in the best of moods, this did not bode well. “Your ladyship, this slave of yours wants to take back a curse she made some time ago and spare the life of this Pam woman.”
“Out of the question.” And with that, she turned to leave.
Without thinking I threw myself on the floor before her and begged for the life of my unwitting victim. The goddess stopped and regarded me with amusement. “I shall never understand, you humans, you ask for something and when we grant it, you change your mind.”
“I am sorry great and merciful goddess, but I cannot condemn another for an act which I forgive.”
“Oh so now you decide their fates as well.”
“No great mistress, but I cannot condemn another without condemning myself as well.”
“Fine, feed both to the crocodile, he looks in need of a good meal.”
“Please mistress, spare her and take me.”
“Why should I? Just because you have some form of death wish which occurs every few months. Why should I oblige you, why not just take some Prozac?”
I very nearly laughed at this anachronism, but it was a dream, and they do sometimes seem rather ‘Alice in Wonderland’, but instead of a white rabbit, we had a whole bunch of anthropomorphic Egyptian deities and a feather.
“So what if I do spare her, what will you offer me. I already own you until the end of time.”
“I have nothing to offer you, mistress.”
“It’s a pretty poor bargain from my point of view.”
“Ask what you will of me, mistress.” I was really struggling. I mean can you imagine what it feels like to be kneeling before some seven-foot-tall woman who has a lioness’ head? Weird doesn’t nearly enough describe it, especially when you know she has a destructive power even the USA can’t match for lethality.
“Take her place then and get out of my sight.”
I thanked her and found myself being manhandled back to the tribunal, whereupon my heart was removed before my very eyes and placed in the tray of the scales. I prepared to become croc fodder. I closed my eyes and waited. Suddenly there was a commotion and I opened them again. It seemed the unexpected had happened, my heart was lighter than the feather. I was as surprised as the rest of them. What happens now? I thought.
From the distance came a laughing that made the whole place vibrate and a voice which came from my mistress, “Let them both go, we’ll deal with them later.”
I woke up in a bath of sweat and I had sand on my hands and feet. In fact there was sand in the bed. This was very strange. It was daylight, about eight o clock and so I showered and went for some breakfast. Afterwards, I went back to the ITU.
“Hi Jamie.” It was Lt. Smith. "You missed all the fun last night."
“I was here ‘till four.”
“This was during change-over.”
“What happened?”
“A comatose nurse who has more machines attached to her than a formula one car, suddenly screams and gets up out of the bed.”
“What!” I felt a cold shiver go down my spine.
“I mean this woman has brain damage, knackered kidneys and no lung function worth talking about, screams and then gets off the bloody bed. We get her back to bed and start to disentangle machines and drips etc. and she is breathing by herself, her throat appears to have healed and instead of the last rites, we had to give her a shot to calm her down. I have never seen a raising of the dead, but I reckon we came pretty close to it a couple of hours ago. She’s been sent off for an MRI of head, lungs and kidneys. It doesn’t make any sense, but I should think miracle just about sums it up.”
“No one saw anybody unusual, did they.”
“One of the nurses thought they saw you by her bedside.”
“That was before I went off at four.”
“You didn’t come back?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, why?”
“’Cos it was me who saw you, Jamie. You seemed to be talking in some foreign language and then it all went crazy.”
“I was asleep.”
“You sure.”
“Positive.”
“Well, who was it? Another of your ghosts?”
“I don’t know.”
“You wouldn’t care to mutter over some of the others, would you? They could do with some extraordinary help.”
“I’m sorry. It wasn’t me. I don’t know who it was.”
“Okay, so it wasn’t you, maybe you can explain how we found sand in the bed after our mysterious visitor, and a few animal hairs, which I have sent off for analysis.”
I just shrugged my shoulders. I had an idea, but no one would believe me. But I was delighted that whatever had happened had happened, even if it meant confronting my fears. Perhaps I dreamt it all. Could all of this be a bad dream? I pinched myself and it hurt.
It took me half the day to track down where Pam was. She was now on a medical ward. I went to see her.
I gave her the flowers. “Oh, thanks. Do I know you? You look familiar.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I think I should know you but I’ve been ill and it seems to have affected my memory.”
“No problem. I was on intensive care when they admitted you. I came to see you with my own eyes. Anyway, I’m glad you’re on the mend.”
“Hang on a minute, you were in my dream.”
“No, not me.”
“Yes, it was you. You saved my life didn’t you?”
“I’m a student nurse, I couldn’t save fifty pence let alone someone’s life.”
“I’m sure it was you.”
“You probably saw me in ITU and the rest was just a dream.”
“What about the sand?”
“What sand?”
“The sand they found in my bed?”
“I don’t know. I’m a nurse, not a geologist.”
“You look awfully familiar.”
“Sorry, I’ve got to go.”
“Jamie Curtis! Are you the girl I was in school with?” I knew I shouldn’t have worn my uniform with its name tag.
“Shush keep it quiet,” I hissed at her.
“It is, isn’t it?” she hissed back at me like a demented viper.
“What if it is?”
“You look really well.”
“Do I?”
“I like your hair up like that, you used to wear it so short before didn’t you?”
“Things were different back then.”
“Yes I know, you’ve changed quite a bit.” She smiled at me, and for one moment I began to wish I hadn’t bothered preventing the croc from having his dinner. I wondered if she would now blackmail me.
“It was you last night, wasn’t it?”
“In ITU? Yes.”
“No silly, in my dream. You saved me from a crocodile and a lion.”
“You were delirious.”
“No, I wasn’t. It was you, wasn’t it.”
“What if it had been?”
“After the way, I treated you at school, I was surprised you would help me.”
“I’m a nurse, I practise random acts of kindness.”
“You took quite a risk didn’t you?”
“What coming here? The road isn’t that busy.”
“No, you silly girl, in my dream.”
“I don’t know, I have enough problems with my own dreams.”
“It wasn’t a dream was it?”
“No, it was delirium.”
“If you say so. But thank you.”
“It’s nothing.”
“To you maybe, I nearly died.”
“Nearly isn’t quite the same as actually doing it. Thank the doctors and nurses who looked after you. It was them who saved you.”
“You always were modest. I feel sleepy, this dying lark doesn’t half take it out of me. Thank you once again. Don’t worry, I won’t cause you any trouble ever again.”
“I know, Pam. Just get some rest, we’ll talk again.”
“Yes, Jamie, I think we shall.” She smiled at me and drifted off to sleep. I wandered back to my room, trying to work out exactly what was happening. Like I said before, weird did not do this stuff justice. It was mega weird.
My confrontation with the woman who had effectively destroyed my life was over. It had been a non-event. I wasn’t sorry. I had moved on. I was no longer the distraught adolescent who wanted to see her burn in hell, I had grown beyond it and I felt pleased. Part of me was no longer angry because it seemed that life did conspire to cause me to be female and I was beginning to accept it at the deepest levels. The cause, some past life pact with a deranged Egyptian goddess or much more mundane ones, were not as important. What was important now was the future, and that was another story.
Speculation about what might have been was a fruitless task but we all do it as if the other path would have produced a better outcome. Of course the grass is always greener, it's human nature to believe we would be better off if we’d done the other. Except, when you know that things don’t get any better, a feeling we rarely admit just in case it spoils our luck, tempts Providence and all the other similar adages.
Because I had always carried this feeling of being cheated around with me, like some enormous mill-stone, I had rarely felt, ‘this is as good as it gets’. I was too tied up with my lost potential to realise that apart from never having a family, things wouldn’t necessarily have been much different. Until the British Army got involved, and let’s face it, they could make a pantomime out of Proust novel. How we as a nation ever won a war, puzzles me at times. But then life is full of paradoxes, the army being just one of them.
So I spent my adolescence being small and relatively feminine in appearance while loudly protesting in my squeaky voice, that I was just as butch as most of the boys and some of the girls. On reflection, some of the girls were more boyish than I was, and naturally, most of the boys were too. I laughed at myself when I wondered how many of my contemporary teenagers at school still slept with a teddy, as I did, and how many of them had actually made the clothes he wore? I was well hard by any comparison. What a joke I must have seemed, small, sensitive and squeaky-voiced and sixteen. The only boy in the school without zits, no wonder the girls liked me. I was the only boy who didn’t have a face full of pus. However, they didn’t treat me like a boy unless it was as a much younger brother. They certainly didn’t see me as potential mate, and I must have been the only boy who regularly got asked to babysit. I had never thought about that before.
When I was fourteen I managed to save several hundred pounds to buy myself a laptop computer. Okay, it wasn’t state of the art but it burned CDs and got me on the internet and all the other things I needed it to do. So I was pleased with it and the envy of my peer group, most of them. What I had completely forgotten was how I got the money, by babysitting. I felt myself blush as I recalled this ancient memory.
So I was a goodie-goodie, we can’t help our natures. I did do things wrong and remember I did almost condemn Pam to burn in hell or the crocodile equivalent. So I wasn’t all sweetness and light, and I’m still not. I’m human, apart from the lioness thing, but we won’t discuss that.
I was fourteen and living in a close of nice four-bedroomed, detached houses, the house in which my parents continue to reside. The other residents were similar to my family, professionals with one or two spoilt brats and the odd child saint like me (joke).
The Johns were a doctor and his wife, and they set up a card school where they played for the chance to sleep with each other’s wives and sexually abuse the children. In reality, Dr Johns was a bridge fanatic and his wife was quite a player too. They had two young children Bill and Eluned (pronounced Ee-lin-id), Mrs Johns was Welsh. Bill was about five and Linnie, as I called her was about seven, so effectively half my age. Their regular babysitter was a girl called Janet who was nearly eighteen and off to uni when she wasn’t breaking the hearts of half the young men in the district. She was quite a looker, blonde with a curvy figure and dazzling smile. I fell in love with that smile but she was far too mature to even see me, a small squeaky pimple-free zone.
One day, the Johns were short of a baby-sitter at fairly short notice and as my parents were part of the Willow Close bridge set, I got volunteered. Four couples made up the bridge set, three of whom lived in the close and the fourth around the corner in the next close, which was connected by a footpath. Janet had had quite a local clientele for her moneymaking activities, by pure chance it fell into my lap, or should I say laptop?
Not the most salubrious occupation for such a macho man as myself, but hell we all have to make sacrifices to earn a crust. I blushed as I remembered the Hewetts asking my mum if her daughter could babysit for them. She thought it was quite funny at the time, but I went off on one and sulked for most of the afternoon. They had two daughters called Lucy and Chloe. The Hewetts were a bit pretentious even by Willow Close standards. He was a civil engineer from somewhere up north and she was a district nurse. Some bloody nurse if she couldn’t tell the difference between a squeaky-voiced boy and a girl.
To cut the story short, she forgave my anatomical deficiencies and I overlooked hers and her daughters’. They were all as plain as the pampas and had all the makings of a tribe of bean poles, being as thin as rakes. Even Mr Hewett, Len, was about six foot three of matchstick. He did, however, have one saving grace, he had a Cambridge blue for athletics being a one-time holder of the Oxbridge record for the 1500 metres. So I could respect him, and I did have a sneaking regard for his anorexic wife after she dealt with my cuts and grazes – I came off my bike, at about a million miles an hour crashing into the pavement and spilling my rare blood group all over it. How I didn’t rearrange my dental structure I will never know, but I did put my ivories through my tongue, and had a few cuts and grazes to arms and legs. Mrs Hewett sewed me back together and I had barely a mark a month later. Today I’m quite thankful she did such a good job.
Back to my tale of financial enterprise. I got the job thanks to my father volunteering me in Janet’s absence and I was apparently rather good at it, because they all used me at various times and I used to get five pounds an hour, plus food and fizzy drinks, so I did well out of it.
I also got to do my homework once I settled the various offspring down, so it worked out to my advantage in all sorts of ways. Again I blushed as I recalled being shown how to change nappies, slightly differently for boys and girls and how to make up drinks and things when necessary. I became quite the little nursemaid, but if I did a good job, I often got a bonus. To my shame, I sometimes enjoyed looking after the kids. Macho man has a tender side or getting in touch with my feminine side. Ha. What a joke that turned out to be. But I was quite good with kids, and for some reason, they seemed to take to me as well if not better than Janet.
It got to such a stage, that when they had a big bridge tournament all the kids would be brought to our house and I looked after all seven of them, with Linnie’s help, she being the elder stateswoman of the group. She used to love being my assistant. But I used to get very embarrassed when she said she wished she’d had a big sister like me. I think she only did it to wind me up, but she could have meant it, especially when my hair got a bit long and I wore it in a ponytail. She brought me a very pretty scrunchie one evening. I got it cut the next day and she was quite upset about it.
At age fifteen, I began to appreciate puberty had somehow missed me. I was still pimple free and squeaky-voiced. My peers noticed, my parents, did not. So I became ostracized by previous school mates. Thankfully I had my computer and I sublimated my deficiencies with electronic games or my studies. I still rode my bike, but it was on my own or shepherding groups of littlies from the close. Now I think of it, I have a memory of one of my classmates seeing me with three or four little ones and I was called ‘Nanny Curtis’ for a few weeks. Mine was not a normal childhood, thanks to the intervention of Pam Davis’ knee to my gonads.
I recalled that day. I still felt sick as I felt the bony part of her leg make contact with a very soft part of my anatomy. I know I keeled over finding it hard to breathe. The pain was unbelievable and I cried buckets. It was just the two of us, I was eleven and she was two years my senior. I shuddered as I remembered. Maybe I should have left her to the crocodile, she was evil to me in those days.
The things she made me do, then when I once refused she would twist my arm or punch me or on the final occasion knee me. Now I knew she had destroyed my emerging gonads, neither of us knew that then, and my suspended development happened. I still have the voice of an eleven-year-old boy. I felt the tear run down my cheek. This statement is not quite true because my voice did change slightly, especially after the hormones, but it was very little and I can and do sing soprano, albeit only in the shower these days. I reached my room and felt quite desultory, I had to leave all this behind and look to the future. But could I? I understood perfectly how abused children carry the scars for so long, effectively I was one of them and my doting parents didn’t notice, didn’t ask why at eighteen my voice had not broken or my stature had grown so little. Could they really have been so blind as not to see it, so rapt in their own lives? This was becoming too cathartic, I needed a distraction, I went back to work.
“Ah, Nurse Curtis. Could I see you in my office please, now?” What did Major Collins want? I walked behind him, my shorter legs moving far quicker than his long ranging ones. He beckoned me in and closed the door behind us.
“Please sit.” I sat as instructed. I had been in the office once or twice before. I remembered all the medical journals and textbooks on the shelves, plus the army memorabilia, a display of cap badges, photos of him with HM the Queen, Tony Blair and a large photo of a group of soldiers stood or sat in ranks, obviously a departmental and official photo. I had one of my final year in school, with all my contemporaries. I still looked like a girl.
“It has come to my attention that you, erm, that you see ghosts and dead people.” The Major was having a bit of difficulty with the concept, it possibly being beyond his map of the world.
“If I was to say I did sometimes, would it have some effect upon my career here?” I’m not sure if I had given the right response, or indeed why I had asked the question. Did I still want out? Perhaps I did.
“No, not unless it could be demonstrated you were having hallucinations or were psychotic.”
Well that’s alright then, I thought to myself, unless they think I am potty.
“It isn’t so much about that…. Well, I suppose it is in- a-way. It’s about finding sand and animal hair in an intensive care bed at which you were seen during the night.”
“I wasn’t there, sir.”
“But you were seen.”
“It was at the end of a long shift and I was fast asleep in my own bed.”
“You should have still been on duty.”
“I had been sent off early because I’d had no break and had laid out a newly dead patient beforehand, a job none of the others will do.”
“So you maintain you were in bed and asleep.”
“Yes, sir I was.”
“No one saw you?”
“No sir, I sleep on my own as per the policy of the nursing school.”
“Quite so. So you weren’t there?”
“No, sir.”
“Can you explain the sand and animal hair?”
“As I wasn’t there sir, no I can’t.”
“How do you think they got there?”
“I presume somebody put them there, sir.”
“But it wasn’t you?”
“No, sir it wasn’t.”
“Do you see dead people?”
“I fail to see the relevance of this, sir, whether I do or not, wouldn’t cause sand to appear in the bed of the ITU.”
“How do you explain Nurse Davis’ recovery?”
“Why should I have any better explanation than you do, sir? You have much more training, knowledge and experience than I do.”
“Yes I do and I have never seen anything like it in all my life. If I had been called to sign a death certificate I would not have been surprised because she was near to death. I have never seen anyone with half the problems she had, make a recovery like she did. It is extraordinary. It seems that when you are around extraordinary things seem to happen. Is this mere coincidence?”
“With all due respect sir, I am not aware of any other extraordinary event.”
“What about all the dead people?”
“What dead people, sir?”
“The ones you allegedly see.”
“Oh we’re back to that are we? Okay, I see dead people. That makes me crazy, so can you discharge me and I can go home and get on with my life.”
“Jamie, please don’t take that tone with me. I am witness to a remarkable happening. An event to which the term miracle could easily and rightly be applied. You are allegedly seen at the place. Sand and animal hair is found at the place, apparently arriving there mysteriously. You are alleged to see things which we mere mortals do not. I am asking you to help me understand something which I cannot. It makes no sense, it seems to turn the laws of science upon their head. Please help me to understand.”
“Sir, I don’t know why you seem to think I understand any better than you do.”
“We seem to be going around in circles. I believe you know what happened last night. Whether you had a direct hand in it I don’t know. I should like you to tell me what you think happened, on the understanding that it is off the record and does not go outside this office.”
I didn’t know what to do. I knew what happened, I knew why it happened. The hows were beyond me. What I also didn’t know was how much if any I could tell him.
“I’m really not sure what happened.”
“Were you there?”
“No, sir. I was not there.”
“But you would agree it was a remarkable if not miraculous event.”
“If you think so, sir.”
“Why, what would your definition of a miracle be then?”
“I don’t know, sir, I’ve not thought about them since trying to work out how the ones in the bible might really have happened.”
“Could they not just have happened by divine intervention?”
“If you say so, sir.”
“Are you an atheist, Nurse Curtis?”
“Not especially, sir, just not a believer in fairy tales.”
“I see, so you see the stories of Jesus as fairy tales do you?”
“Don’t I have that option?”
“Of course. I am just surprised, as you were seen praying at her bedside.”
“I keep telling you it wasn’t me.”
“Why the sand, Nurse Curtis? What was the significance of that?”
“If you’ve quite finished, sir, I should like to go. I was not there and do not know how, whatever happened, happened.”
I stood up to leave. “Please sit down again, Jamie, I’ll tell you when I’ve finished
.” I sat and folded my arms, demonstrating my displeasure.
“Ever been to Egypt?”
“No, sir.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely certain.”
“But you know about it, don’t you? Read lots about it, if I know you, Curtis.”
“Years ago.”
“Know anything about a lion-headed goddess?”
At this I nearly choked and I felt myself go pale. “They had all sorts of animal-human hybrids in their pantheon.”
“Yes, yes they did. But only one of them was seen coming out of your room.”
“What sir, when?”
“Last night.”
I was now in deepest cack. Who had seen it and what had they seen, or was he bluffing, if so how could he know about the Egyptian connection. Oh bugger.
“Sir, are you trying to tell me that someone saw someone with a lion’s head coming from my room? Wasn’t the same person who imagined they saw me in ITU when I was fast asleep in bed?”
“It was Captain Brice, would you consider her fanciful?” He had me there and he knew it.
“Well, sir, if Captain Brice saw a triceratops coming from my room, I should believe her no matter how unlikely it was.”
“But she didn’t see a triceratops, or a pink elephant, but a tall female with the head of a lioness and a sphere of some sort between her ears. It sounds remarkably like a description of the ancient Egyptian goddess called Sekhmet. Would you not agree?”
“Who am I to doubt my CO, sir?”
“Spare me the evasions and tell me what the bloody hell is going on here?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“I am trying to be reasonable, Curtis, in dealing with a very unreasonable thing. You are the one person whom I suspect could help me in understanding this strange occurrence. I will ask you once more, can you tell me what on earth is going on here?”
“No sir.”
“Would you tell Captain Brice?”
“Tell her what, sir?”
“Don’t piss me about, Curtis.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“So why did you go pale when I mentioned your goddess friend?”
“Did I, sir? I couldn’t see that.”
“Are you into magic and stuff?”
“What conjuring and prestidigitation, sir?”
“You know full well what I mean. Mumbo bloody jumbo and raising spirits or Egyptian goddesses.”
“Sir, okay I’ll tell you what I know. I know nothing about all this miracle stuff. I was fast asleep in bed. I do know, however, were I to be into Egyptian magic or mumbo jumbo in your estimation, I would most certainly not be calling up Sekhmet. Do you know what she is capable of…”
“Do you believe all that stuff?”
“I have a healthy scepticism, but were I to experiment with the occult I would try something far less innocuous to call up, not the ‘Eye of Re’, the destroyer of nations.”
“So you do know something. Captain Brice was right.”
“I know a little about the deity to which you refer, along with bits about Jupiter and Hera, or Zeus or Ganesh or Shiva and lots of other mythologies. I used to read about them when I was a kid. That doesn’t make me the army’s version of Aleister Crowley or Jesus Christ. I did not raise the dead or call up a spirit. Can I go now? I have work to do.”
“I have asked our local museum to identify the sand and hair. You will not be surprised to learn the sand could have come from Egypt and the hair was from a lion or lioness. You may go, but until I find out what happened, do not consider this matter closed.”
I left his office feeling very vulnerable. Things were happening over which I had no control – a familiar situation, but not one I enjoyed. Others were being drawn into my strange world or the strange world which seemed to follow me. I had no responsibility for any of it, well very limited. Oh shit! Was it all my fault? How could it be? Just how could I be responsible for a psychotic, psychopathic, deranged Egyptian goddess? Even in my craziest moments I only wanted to destroy one person, and when it came to it, I couldn’t even do that. So how in the name of all that’s wonderful, could I be held responsible for all this?
I mean, what self-respecting goddess would become involved with me? It didn’t make sense. Perhaps manifesting as a little black dog and following Winston Churchill about, that would seem more credible. Plus the fact that he was as mad as march hare, makes it doubly credible. But someone like me? You have got to be joking. It’s like something out of ‘Ghost Busters’.
I worked my shift, it was miserable. I kept getting funny glances and sniggers. It struck me as ironic that this is possibly what would have happened had it got out about my change of gender. Now I had firsthand experience of what must have happened to some of the people I read about in my researches. I wanted to be angry, on their behalf. I wanted to be angry on my behalf. I also wanted to just run away. Several times I nearly said something but desisted because I thought it would make things worse. I nearly shouted, “Yes it was me who raised the dead, I’m a transsexual too, so fucking what!” But I didn’t.
I felt very alone because I couldn’t speak to my parents or anyone else who could understand. My gran would have understood. I wish she were here now. She always understood me.
Over the next week, I put up with the embarrassment and the accusing looks. I kept away from Pam Davis and everyone else. I was either in my room, off the camp or working. I avoided everyone like the plague. I had borrowed a bicycle from another nurse and used to ride out into the countryside and sit and watch the birds and bees or just sit. Sometimes I’d take a book with me. Always it would seem I had my leonine friend with me, although I didn’t see her. Well not until one gorgeous, sunny afternoon.
I was about five miles from the camp and hospital, sat on a picnic table near the river, reading a book. I started when unbeknownst to me, a shadow fell across the pages. I looked up. There before me was a young man.
“Did I frighten you?” He asked. He was about five foot ten and well built, with dark hair and a five o clock shadow on his cheeks and chin.
“You made me jump a little.”
“You’re very pretty.” He began the chat up, or so I thought.
“Look it’s a lovely day. Thanks for the compliment, but I’d just like to read my book.”
“Not good enough for you, eh?” he snarled at me like a rabid dog. His eyes, for I noticed them for the first time were dark and angry.
I felt very vulnerable and scared. “I didn’t mean it like that at all.”
“I know what you meant. You cock teasers are all the fucking same. All bloody talk and no fucking action.”
“I beg your pardon!” Now I was angry and scared. “I think I’d better go.” I went to put my book in my bag, but he grabbed it from me and threw it.”
“That’s what I think of your bloody book. Now darling, how about you and me get together.”
“Piss off and leave me alone, or you’ll….”
“Or you’ll what….. darling? Burst into tears or make me happy. Let me show you what your real mission in life is all about, let me introduce you to Mr Willie….”
“Take your hands off me, you bastard.” He had grabbed me and was pushing me to the floor. I was struggling and scratching at his eyes and face, but it didn’t stop him. In a few moments, he had both my hands under his one and was tearing at my clothes. I struggled but he was so strong. I screamed but no one heard me. I didn’t know what to do next. I was so scared.
“Sekhmet, save me,” I screamed. Why I don’t know.
“No one's gonna save you now you little cock teaser.” He ripped open my bra and began to fondle my breasts. I screamed again. I closed my eyes, trying not to look at him. I imagined the goddess standing before me.
“What the fu…?” was all I heard, but I felt a shadow fall across my face. Then I heard the sound of a blow and my attacker fell off me, screaming for mercy. Then another blow and he stopped making any noise. I looked and there before me was a large, blond-haired man.
“You okay, miss?”
“I think so.” I sat up and tried to recover my modesty and composure.
“I think we’d better call the police, don’t you?”
My response was to nod and then burst into tears. He patted me on the shoulder then walked a few yards away before calling on his mobile phone.
“Hello, it’s Sergeant John Anderson of the Royal Military Police, I’ve just interrupted an attempted rape and sexual assault at Riverside picnic site. No, I’ve got the attacker in custody, can you send assistance please, asap. Thanks.”
“You’re a redcap?” I said to my rescuer, in between sniffles, shudders and snorts.
“Sort of. Are you alright?”
I nodded my response while silently the tears trickled down my face. My whole body was heaving with the aftermath of the attack, and I promptly threw up, all over myself.
This meant he kept a respectful distance from me, which in some ways I was glad about. I didn’t want anyone near me except my mum or dad. He tried to make small talk, he also sat on top of the attacker, who was now groaning. Through my tears, I could see some blood on his face around his nose and mouth. My Florence Nightingale urges had temporarily left me as I had no desire to go anywhere near that bastard, except perhaps to hit him myself. But my rescuer had done a far better job than I could.
The police duly arrived and took us all away. I was examined by a doctor and seeing as my knickers were ‘intacto’ he only examined me for bruises and scratches to my face and upper body. I gave a statement of my recollection of what happened, signed it and left.
Sergeant Anderson was waiting for me. “You’re a soldier then, I saw your dog-tags.”
“I’m a student nurse, press-ganged into the army to save the world.”
“I thought it was the navy who press-ganged people.”
“Usually, but in my case, it was a special assignment.”
“So you’re special, are you?”
“Very, aren’t you?” I looked into his grey eyes and could have drowned in them. They were like two limpid pools, and I wanted to go swimming despite what had happened.
“Not really, just an ordinary bloke.” He smiled, his face lit up and my heart just melted. No one had ever had this effect upon me. How could this be happening? I knew nothing about him except his name, rank and occupation.
“Well ‘Mr Ordinary Bloke’, thank you very much for saving my bacon and much more besides. I’m really grateful.”
“How grateful?”
“I’m sorry?” It struck me that he had asked me a strange if not, inappropriate question.
“How grateful are you? I mean are you grateful enough to accept an invite to dinner sometime?” he smiled again.
“While I suppose I should swoon in your arms and sigh, ‘My Hero’, I’m afraid recent events have rather put me off strange men, if only temporarily.”
“I understand. But maybe sometime in the future?”
“Maybe.”
“They’ll be over from the hospital to collect you in a few minutes.”
“How do you know that?”
“I asked them to. I spoke to a Captain Brice, she’s coming for you. I’ve popped your bike in my jeep. I’ll drop it out to you later.”
“Jamie, what have you got into now?” It was Captain Brice. “Honestly, girl, whatever next?”
“She does this often?” asked my hero.
“No, good lord no, but she does tend to act as a catalyst.”
“Probably because she’s so pretty.”
“Something like that. You must be, Sergeant Anderson.”
“I am, ma’am, You, I take it are Captain Brice?”
“I am. How did you happen to come to the rescue?”
“This is going to sound crazy, but I was driving by when I could have sworn I saw a lioness walk through the bushes… Jamie, you alright. Come on, girl wakey, wakey.”
I found myself lying on the floor again, which this time felt cold and someone was patting my face. Atta girl, come on wake up, come on you fainted, but it’s okay now, you are quite safe. Come on wake up.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
Fainting in a police station was not what I’d had in mind when I remarked on swooning. But it’s exactly what I did. So I got taken back into the medical room and thankfully the police surgeon had not yet left. He examined me again, and because I was in the ‘custody’ of a qualified nurse, he allowed me to leave with Sheila Brice.
She took me back to my room, followed by Anderson, who had my bike in his jeep. As we drove back, Captain Brice said to me, “More lions round here than Whipsnade Zoo.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I responded. My head felt thick and I didn’t want this discussion.
“I think you do, despite playing stupid with Major Collins. Remember I experienced the sort of thing that happens around you, at the cemetery. So if strange or unworldly things are happening, you are my first port of call.”
“Can we talk about this later? I feel really grotty.” I just wanted to sleep or cry or both. The shock of what had happened was beginning to filter through to me, and it wasn’t nice. I began to shake and felt very cold, the car began to feel as if it was full of water and I couldn’t breathe. Then I felt very hot. I couldn’t stop shaking, then everything went black.
I have vague recollections of the car stopping and someone checking me over, calling to me. Then I heard a man’s voice, it was almost familiar and I hoped it was my dad. I just wanted my mum or dad or better still, both of them with me. Then I knew I’d be safe.
I felt myself being lifted and laid in the back of a car, then I must have gone to sleep or something, but the next thing I can honestly remember was the sounds of a hospital and I began to think I must have fallen asleep on my duty. It’s a serious offence, and I struggled to get up, but hands held me down and recalling the attack I began to fight.
A real commotion ensued, and I couldn’t open my eyes but I could hear voices and more hands grabbed me. Now I was screaming and struggling and I felt the jab of a needle, then a voice telling me, “It’s okay, Jamie, you really are safe.” Then nothing.
It was an irony that I should end up in the next bed to Pam Davis, although she was due for discharge later that day, so she was dressed and sitting alongside me. I woke up quite gently, and she said,” Hello sleepy head.”
“Where am I?” my head was still very muzzy.
“On the medical ward. You went into shock apparently, something about a serious sexual assault, but they got the guy. Some blond hunk called by an hour ago with a bouquet of flowers. I put them on your cabinet.”
I turned my head to the side of the bed, my neck hurt and I think everything else did too. But just as Pam had said, there was a wonderful bouquet of flowers. They must have cost an arm and a leg.
“There’s a card by the side.” She got up and reached it for me.
With fumbling, feeble fingers I eventually managed to open the little envelope which had my name on the front. It was difficult to get the card out, it was so tight to the envelope. I could sense Pam wanting to do it for me, but I was just a bit poorly not paraplegic. I continued my struggle and was rewarded with a small card with a picture of a kitten on the front, and inside the inscription read:
Hi Jamie,
Hope you’re feeling better. That was some swoon, but you forgot to say, ‘my hero’ as you went down.
If you have a sore spot on your head, I’m sorry but I banged it getting you into the back of my 4x4 when you went off again. I’ll kiss it better for you later.
Let me know about that dinner date and I’ll book a table. Remember the RMP always gets its girl.
Love,
John.
My head did hurt, but so did my arm when I went to rub it. However, the card was so cheeky I couldn’t help but laugh. Pam helped herself and laughed too. “Who’s the hunk with the 4x4 ?”, she asked.
“Just some bloke who happened by when I was being raped. He stopped it rather suddenly by beating the attacker senseless. I was a bit too busy at the time to do it myself.”
“So he’s a redcap?”
“Yeah.”
“They can be bad news.”
“Based on my short experience of men, they can all be bad news. Just like they think all nurses are goers. ….God my head hurts.”
“Do you want me to get you something for it?” said Pam, rising from my bed where she had been perched for the last moment or two.
“No, I’ll be alright. What time is it?”
“Nearly nine, I think you may have missed breakfast. Hungry?”
I hadn’t thought about food until she mentioned it, and suddenly I did feel very hungry. I’d not eaten since lunch the day before and that was only a bread roll which I’d upchucked over myself. “I am a bit peckish and I could murder a cuppa.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” She set off down the ward, I dozed while she was gone swimming in those grey, limpid pools. I was just beginning to do another ‘length’ when she woke me by banging a cup and plate on my bedside table.
“Up you get, missy. Tea and toast, best I could do.”
I thanked her and consumed them with relish. I truly was hungry and alas full of wind. First of all, I had sharp pains in my tummy, then spent the next half hour or so trying to break it in the toilet, or refraining from doing so back on the ward. Some days you just can’t win.
Mid-morning, Major Collins came around. “Hello, Nurse Curtis, sorry to hear about your bit of trouble. How're you feeling?” He smiled at me, and I knew he had come specifically to see me because his ward was surgical, not medical.
“I’ve felt better, sir.”
“I’m sure you have. What a lovely bunch of flowers. From your parents?”
Shit! I hadn’t told them, I wondered if anyone else had. I needed to find out as soon as I could. Did they need to know? If I didn’t tell them there’d be big trouble if I did there’d be big trouble. Oh shit, I thought to myself.
“No, sir, a friend.”
“Well he must be a good one, those lilies cost a fortune. I bought my wife some last week for her birthday.”
“He’s a good friend, sir, a real lifesaver.”
“Right oh, well get well soon, let me know if I can help.”
“Thank you, sir, you’re very kind.” At this, I saw him puff out his chest and swagger down the ward. At times, I thought, men are so predictable, pat them on the head like little boys and they think they have just won the jackpot.
The consultant physician did his rounds, he wanted BPs done every hour and half a dozen bloods, he also wanted a couple of x-rays, and no I couldn’t go until they’d got the results back, so tomorrow at the earliest. I resigned myself to being poked prodded, leeched and shoved none too gently on a cold X-ray table.
Lunch was a bowl of soup and spaghetti bolognese. It was alright. I’d managed to get a Guardian by bribing a nurse, and was only halfway through it when a familiar voice said, ”I told them we’d find you with your head in The Guardian or doing the crossword.”
I dropped the paper, ”Mum, Dad, what are you doing here?” I felt my eyes fill with tears, and a drop of hot fluid trickled down my cheek.
“I could ask you the same question, young lady.” Said my dad.
For the next few minutes, we just hugged and we all cried, and hugged some more. Finally, we recovered our composures and I related what had happened, as far as I could recall it.
They told me that Sheila had phoned the night before and told them. They had wanted to come at once but she had persuaded them to wait until later, so they’d set off mid-morning and here they were. They had brought me a big bunch of flowers. “Already got some I see. Who they from?” asked my dad.
“My rescuer,” I smirked at him.
“He rescues you, then he sends presents. Shouldn’t it be the other way round?” He scratched his head as he pondered this one. “Bigger bunch than ours, must have cost a fortune. Rich is he?”
“I doubt it, daddy, he’s a sergeant in the military police.”
“A redcap.”
“Yeah, I suppose so. Although when I said that to him, he said, ‘sort of’, so quite what that means I don’t know.”
“Anyway, I’d like to shake his hand and thank him.” Said my dad.
“You will be able to, that’s him coming through the door now.” I pointed to the tall, blond man ambling along the ward.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything? He said, smiling warmly.
“My parents, this is John. John, my parents.”
They all shook hands, the men gripping and pumping each other's arms with a vigour that would have left me bruised for days. It was a ‘man thing’ I suppose. They both thanked him for saving their ‘little girl’ – I’m eighteen for God’s sake. My dad wanted to buy him a drink, my mum wanted to kiss him, but then so did I. What did I just think? My goodness, what is happening to me? I feel quite strange, but I don’t think it’s a medical problem. My heart is pounding and I feel quite light-headed. Oh dear, my mother said there could be moments like this…it’s wonderful.
For the next few minutes they all stood about talking, with the odd reference to me from the way they occasionally cast a glance in my direction, but without actually looking at me, or leastways making eye contact.
The discussion was from the animated nature, about the attack. My father, who had never done anything more violent that chop wood for the fire, was getting himself quite worked up. He was wanting to hurt the man who had attacked me. I suspect John had done a good enough job to satisfy most, except perhaps my dad. A man thing again? I don’t know. Because he was in custody, I felt the due process of law would deal with him, so I didn’t need to hit him any further. In fact, I didn’t want any contact with him whatsoever.
The discussion went on, and I began to feel left out. Here I was, the supposed centre of attention, being completely and utterly ignored. To test my theory, I slipped out of bed and sneaked across the ward. None of them saw me go. Hiding behind a curtain, I watched as the animated conversation continued. They were still making glances towards the bed, but I wasn’t there and none of them noticed. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to laugh or cry. For a moment I recalled the episode in the restaurant when I felt the centre of attention and compared it to now.
Well I know I was wearing a low cut outfit which did attract the eye, especially those of men. Now I was wearing pink pyjamas with elephants on them. Okay, hardly haute couture, but they were comfy, and I liked them. I was wearing no makeup and my hair was a mess, apart from that I was pretty well the same as the night at the restaurant. Alright, so I wasn’t, but then I was in danger of becoming objectified. This was the real me, no-frills attached and nobody saw me. I was invisible. I felt quite down.
As I reflected on this unwelcome thought and prospect, my mother noticed the empty bed. “Where’s Jamie?”
“What?” echoed both the men, spinning around towards the empty bed. They looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders. Then they began to puzzle out where I was and how long I’d been gone. I felt a bit like an old cat we had who loved to hide. She was as black as soot, save for a few white hairs under her throat, and she was an expert at hide-and-seek. I have known her quiver with excitement when someone who was calling her from nearby, fail to spot her. She was just like a child at times. If she was somewhere dark, providing she didn’t move or open her eyes, big green stagnant ponds, she was practically invisible. I stayed quite still and also remained unseen if not invisible. Well compared to ‘Inky’, I was an amateur at this hiding business. By the time I was spotted my feet were cold, I’d left my fluffy pink slippers at my bedside.
“There you are,” said my mother, “I was beginning to get quite anxious.”
“I was just having a bit of exercise.” I lied in response.
“Well you could have told us!” exclaimed my father a little irritated.
“I did, but none of you were listening.” I lied again.
“What ?” said both my parents in unison, almost like it was part of a rehearsed double act.
“You were so busy talking yourselves none of you heard me.” It’s amazing how a bit of guilt does it every time. Now I had all their attention, except they were all looking at the floor and making throat-clearing noises.
I savoured the moment while it lasted. Then went back to my bed. It broke the spell. I began to snigger, the snigger became a chuckle and the chuckle became a giggle. Like a group of schoolgirls the infection of the giggle spread and within half a minute, all my visitors were similarly occupied. I giggled so much I had to rush off to the toilet before I wet myself, getting a reprimand from one of the nurses for my haste. When I got back to my bed, it seemed my dad and John were getting on like a house on fire.
“So you’d like to go out with my daughter?” my father was asking my prospective suitor.
“Hark at Shylock”, I threw in as I returned.
“Jamie, you should know better. Portia’s father was dead, and the rules about the three chests were part of his will. Shylock was most certainly not her father.” He almost glowered at me, as the offspring of a literature lecturer I should have known better.” My mother thought it was funny and began giggling again. Father, now onto firmer terra as far as he was concerned, began to revel, ”Talking of the Merchant, I had a student who did quite an interesting dissertation on the play comparing it to the inception and spread of Marxist communism. Quite fascinating, I think even Nietzsche was incorporated somewhere.”
“Zarathustra wasn’t was he?” quipped John.
“An oasis amongst a desert of philistines.” Joked my father. “Have you read much philosophy?”
“Not since my undergrad days.”
“Which uni?”
“Sussex.”
“A hotbed of subversives, years ago.” Claimed my dad. “Did you find it so?”
“Not really, but isn’t any institution which proposes to expand young peoples’ minds at risk of being accused of subversion? Isn’t your own open to such claims?” Came John’s riposte.
“I do hope so. If not then we will have failed in our duty to expand said minds.” My dad was now really enjoying himself, he honestly did believe that most young people needed to detach their allegiances to their established patterns and think things through for themselves.
While the men were chatting about these profound matters, my mother came and sat next to me. “Those the PJs I got you?” she said stroking my sleeve.
“Yes, Mum, I brought them up when I came back from sick leave.”
She looked at the two men still discussing the philosophy of education. “He’s quite a looker, he could come and rescue me any day.”
“Mother, how could you? Especially in front of your husband and daughter. Tut tut.”
“What’s wrong with a bit of window shopping? It doesn’t mean that I necessarily want to buy.” She smirked at me. I pretended to be disgusted with her. Then a moment later we both fell about laughing. I’d nearly forgotten my aches and pains until she slapped my arm and it hurt. Recognising what she’d done and my wincing, she apologised and engulfed me in a monster hug, which hurt almost as much.
It was a strange position in which to be. My parents had travelled for two and a half hours from near Oxford, and so I could hardly turn them away. John on the other hand was someone I wanted to get to know a bit better, but couldn’t while my parents were still about. It reminded me of the tale my father told about how when they married they were so hard up they could only afford a week in a caravan as a honeymoon, and his parents in law came and visited them during it.
Returning to the dilemma in hand, I didn’t know what to do. Then my dad solved the crisis, “We’d better go and check into our hotel. Come on Annie, let’s give these two a bit of time to themselves.” My mother hugged me and kissed me, and I’m sure that John was blushing, he certainly wasn’t making eye contact with anyone. But after a few more hugs and kisses, my parents upped and left, after promising to return that evening.
John sat himself in the chair alongside my bed and I lay on the bed. Just as we were about to begin chatting, a nurse came to take my blood pressure. “Oh, it’s gone up a bit.” She noted. I’m surprised it hasn’t gone through the roof with this handsome bloke sat next to me, I thought to myself.
“Thank you for the flowers, they are beautiful and must have cost you a fortune.” I blushed a little as I said it.
“That’s okay,” he smiled back, “I do it for all the damsels in distress I rescue, so I get a discount.” His face lit up when he smiled and those limpid grey pools, drew me in.
“So, fair knight, how often do you have to do this rescuing business? “ I chuckled back at him.
“Now and again, but usually it isn’t beautiful princesses like yourself.”
Damn, I thought, this one’s got an answer for everything. “Shall I appoint thee my champion then, fair knight?”
“I should be honoured, milady.” He took my hand and kissed it, my heart rate doubled, thank goodness they weren’t about to do my blood pressure. They’d have me on pills by tea time!
“The position is an honorary one, so the pay’s lousy.” I quipped.
“From where I’m sitting, it looks pretty good to me. Do I get a contract?”
Oh bugger, what do I say to that? I touched my head and winced. He looked rather sheepish and said, “Oh yeah, sorry about that, the door blew shut as I was trying to lift you into my car.”
“Prithee, Sir Knight, surely you mean your charger?”
“Probably. Look I have to go in a minute.” He saw my look of disappointment.
"Honest, I should be on duty, but got a pal to cover for me. It’s really great to see you again. Can I take you to dinner sometime ?”
“Of course you can as long as you promise not to bash my head if you have trouble getting me into the car.”
“Scout’s honour,” he quipped, raising three fingers to his head.
“Thank you for what you did yesterday, for my lovely flowers and for coming in today.” I beckoned for him to come closer, “I need to tell you something.” He leant over the bed, “If you don’t kiss me, I am going to have a relapse.”
“With pleasure…” before he could finish I threw my arms around him and kissed him on the lips. Microseconds later he parted his lips and our tongues danced together, my head was spinning and my heart was pounding loudly enough to be heard in the next ward. He put his arms around me and my whole being began to melt, the aches I felt were not resulting from the assault these were something different to anything I had felt before.
My senses seemed heightened, I could feel his skin against mine, taste his lips, his tongue his breath. It was wonderful. I could smell his ‘just washed’ smell, his shower gel and his deodorant, but his jacket had a slightly musky smell, reminiscent of my dad. It was obviously the smell of man, and at that moment it smelt fabulous. I had never felt like this before, and I just floated as this man explored my mouth with his kiss, I didn’t want it to end.
“Excuse me, Nurse Curtis, can you release that man so I can take your blood pressure.” When I opened my eyes, the staff nurse was standing by the bedside.
Pulling away, John blushed as he said, “I’ve got to go, Jamie, I’ll see you later.” But he managed a quick peck before he hurried off.
“Sorry about that, Jamie, if it was up to me you could’a pulled the screens around and had the full monty, probably do you more good than bloody pills. But I have instructions to take your BP so take it, I shall. However, I’ll give you a chance to get back in your body. See you in five.” With that, she disappeared.
My head was still somewhere above the stratosphere. Is this what they mean when they talk about falling in love or lust or whatever. I didn’t honestly care what it was called, it was magic. Pure magic. My body ached for his touch, my mouth was made for his kisses…..I floated some more. Then suddenly I remembered, I had a little problem. Oh shit, double shit. How would I get around this anatomical difficulty? What would he say when he found out?
Should I tell him about my shortcomings? If so when? Was it all going to end in disaster?
I felt myself fall from the heavens down to earth, faster than thirty-two feet per second, squared. My whole mood just collapsed into a black hole. I was sniffing back a tear when the nurse came back.
“Troubles, love?”, she enquired as she strapped the inflatable cuff of the sphygmomanometer around my arm. I just nodded in response, I didn’t want to talk to anyone, especially a colleague.
My BP was normal and she left me in peace. I curled up and closed my eyes which were wet with tears. It seemed as if I either laughed or cried, nothing much in between. Was I unbalanced or was this just adolescence? In which case I probably was unbalanced. Why did life seem to give me glances of treasure then shut the chest just as I was about to dip my hand in it? Why was every happy moment snatched from me just as I was beginning to recognise it? Life’s a bitch and then you die. I tried that and couldn’t even do that properly. Still sniffing, I drifted off to sleep.
I awoke with someone gently stroking my hand, I opened my eyes with difficulty, they felt all stuck together. “Wakey wakey, sleepyhead.” The voice was my mother’s. “How do you feel, sweetheart?”
“Hi Mum, hello Daddy.” My father was sat in the chair doing the crossword.
I noticed he’d nearly finished it, “How long have you been here?” I felt embarrassed by my ignorance of their arrival.
“Not long, sweetheart.” Answered my mother.
“But Daddy’s nearly finished the crossword.”
“Make that finished.” He declared, putting his pen back in his pocket. I could see the gold of the clip glinting against the blue of his shirt. I recognised the pen, it was a Watermen I had given him for his birthday. He loved fountain pens and I guess it was something I had inherited from him because I loved them too. I could hear him saying, ‘A fountain pen is the ultimate word processor, never mind these electronic gizmos with their fancy functions, or is it, functionality. These days the English language seems to be dominated by illiterate computer geeks, who make it up as they go along. Plus they’re all bloody Yanks. Bernard Shaw was right when he said we were two nations divided by the same language.’
I was pulled out of my reverie by my mother stroking my hand again. “You alright, sweetie?” She pulled my chin around to examine my face more carefully. “Have you been crying, your eyes are all red?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I must have fallen asleep.”
“Nothing to do with that redcap fellow, was it?” My father enquired. He put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently. “Want me to have a word with him.”
“No, Daddy. The last time he got a lecture on Shakespeare.”
“Oh, alright then.” He huffed and sat down again totally deflated. “But just let him hurt my little girl and I’ll…”
“And you’ll what, Tom? Spout Browning at him until he runs off?” My mother sniped at him.
“Please don’t be cross with Daddy, he’s only doing what he thinks is best even if he is completely wrong.” I saw my father’s posture rise then fall again. “It isn’t John, he’s a wonderful man, it’s me.” As I said this the tears trickled down my face again. I could feel the water in them scalding me as they passed down my cheeks and dripped onto my pyjamas.
My mother immediately hugged me, while my father sat tapping his foot and examining his lap. “What’s the matter, sweetie?” cooed my mother as she hugged me and rubbed my back gently. I simply leant on her shoulder and sobbed.
In another world, I heard a nurse ask my father if anything was wrong and he responded that it was probably the shock coming out. She then told him to call if they needed assistance. I heard the screen curtains being pulled, before I reverted completely to my child state and wept profusely upon Mum’s shoulder. She continued to coo and rub my back. My father I knew, would be completely at sea, so he let my mother do what mothers do.
I eventually calmed down, partly because I was cried out. Mum tried to coax out of me what the problem was. I couldn’t tell her because I had got into that stage when you can’t speak and breathe at the same time, it’s like having hiccups. What any sensible person knows is, if you take a deep breath and hold it, the spasm stops. Sadly, none of us was in a very sensible frame of mind. So it was some time before I could speak. This added to my upset and I felt even more inadequate. My whole life felt like a gigantic black hole sucking everything into it including any passing beams of light which might make it half tolerable.
Finally, I felt able to speak without a shuddering hiccup. Knowing that others might hear me, I practically whispered. “What is John going to do when he finds out?”
“Finds out what, sweetheart?” whispered my mother back to me.
“You know……., about me.” I whispered again and felt the tears of despair filling my eyes again.
“You are probably the most beautiful girl he has ever seen. He is clearly smitten by you.” She tried to keep it upbeat sensing how dejected I felt.
Instead I just felt she was glossing over the truth. History seemed to be repeating itself. My parents were there for me yet at the same time they weren’t. The black hole was getting deeper.
“But I’m not am I? I’m not. I’m not..” The tears started again and I wanted to die. Surely death must be better than this misery. I hugged my mother as she continued to try to soothe me. My father at this stage had disappeared, but we hadn’t noticed so consumed by the emotion. I didn’t know what to do and I couldn’t escape these negative feelings. The first love of my life and I screw up.
Why did this all have to happen to me? Why couldn’t I just be a normal boy or girl instead of this freak, this misfit, this obscenity in the face of God, assuming there was a bloody God apart from my psychopathic Egyptian friend. Was this some form of punishment from a past life, if so what had I done that could cause me such pain now? I really couldn’t stand much more of this. I felt like throwing myself out the window onto the concrete below, but we were on the ground floor and it was all double glazed security windows.
My mind was spinning going around in smaller and smaller convoluted circles, it felt as if it was drilling itself right through my brain. It was out of control. I was out of control. I felt myself becoming more and more agitated, practically bouncing on the bed, rocking in my mother's arms and my voice, incoherent in what I was saying was getting louder.
SLAP. Shocked I looked at my mother in horror. “You hit me.”
“I had to, Jamie, you were hysterical.” She had tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” She wanted to hug me, but now I felt really confused. She had never hit me before, never needed to. Now in my hour of need, even my own mother had turned against me. Would this nightmare never end?
At this point my father returned, he had a half bottle of brandy in his hand and had ‘borrowed’ some plastic cups from the water dispenser. He poured me a large one and told me to sip it. I swallowed it in one slug and spent the next few minutes coughing.
But I was calm again. My parents sipped theirs more discreetly.
“Now, my girl, what’s the problem?” asked my father as if I was stuck on an English essay. ‘Write two thousand words on the gender-switching of the eponymous character of Virginia Woolf’s Orlando. Compare the style with Gore Vidal’s, Myra Breckenridge.
I felt patronised by him and that made me feel angry. At the same time, I realised it wasn’t intentional. I found it ludicrous that this man, whom I loved and respected like no other, including John, could wax lyrical about some dead bloody poet, but he couldn’t deal with his or anyone else’s emotions. I had never realised it before and it somehow diminished him in my eyes. Suddenly, I saw him as incomplete. Perhaps all men are. I know I was in a physical as well as emotional way. I knew that I would never be any different. This life had to end, and it had to end now.
Excusing myself from my parent’s company on the grounds of needing the toilet, I walked to the bathroom. In there, I promptly threw up in the washbasin. My head felt very strange, and the room was spinning. I held onto the white porcelain sink to steady myself. Then a moment or two later I walked into one of the cubicles, unscrewed the toilet seat and used it to smash the mirror. I picked up the largest shard and was just about to stick it in my carotid artery or jugular vein, it didn’t matter which, when I noticed my hand was bleeding. I watched for a moment as the blood dripped on the floor. I felt nothing, completely detached. I lifted the shard and simultaneously my father and the ward sister burst through the door. Momentarily shocked, my father grabbed my hand, and I was left screaming at him, the blood now flowing more freely and dripping over all three of us.
I struggled and screamed to be allowed to finish it, but the duty doctor arrived and after a jab in my arm, things got very hazy, then black.
When I came to, I was in bed in a single room. My hand was heavily bandaged and throbbed. My head was also bandaged and throbbed. I was in a hospital gown rather than my pyjamas. I couldn’t seem to understand why?
I looked around and I suspected the room was locked, the bed had cot-sides up. It felt like a prison. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw my gran. She seemed to disapprove of me, and I felt very low. If even she hated me, there was no point in living or dying, there would be no escape from this torment.
My mouth felt as dry as the desert and I tried to sit up to get the plastic cup of water on the bedside table, but I couldn’t, my arms and legs wouldn’t work, least not together. I flailed an arm and only succeeded in knocking the object of my efforts, off the table and onto the floor. I wanted to call for help but my throat, sore from my screaming, left me with no voice. Unable to help myself I just lay there and wept, eventually drifting into a dreamless sleep.
I awoke with a start, I heard a key in the door. A nurse came in, “Why did you throw the water on the floor?”
I tried to tell her I didn’t mean to, it was an accident. But she didn’t listen, just left me lying there, alone with my thoughts. Behind a locked door. It felt like a condemned cell. In the medication enhanced state of mind I had, I kept slipping in and out of wakefulness at times unable to tell which was which. In this state, I recalled an article I had seen about Fremantle Prison, which is now a museum. In it, the writer had mentioned the sense of darkness and despair that the condemned cell evoked in her. It felt as if the room was becoming smaller as she stood there, or something to that effect. I felt similarly about this room.
It felt as if I was in one of those mediaeval traps, where the walls of the room contract until they crush you to death. Only this time it was the ceiling that was coming down, getting closer and closer, just like the condemned cell. I lay there paralysed as I saw it come closer and closer, then I heard someone scream. It was me, and I was sat up in the bed, shaking.
Later that day Captain Brice came to visit me. She told me they had all assumed I was ill after the attack, the shock and post-traumatic stress syndrome. The suicide attempt meant I would need to see a psychiatrist before I could be discharged.
“Did you mean to hurt yourself?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I replied.
“Seen any lions recently?”
“That isn’t very funny.” I hissed at her.
“Okay, I’m sorry. But the Jamie I knew a few days ago would have laughed at that.”
“Yeah well, that was then.”
“If you speak like that to the psychiatrist, you’ll end up on all sorts of strange drugs which will screw that pretty little head up even more. It could also affect your training and career as a nurse.”
“I didn’t ask to be a nurse in the first place, nor did I ask to be a woman.”
“So what’s wrong with being a woman, you seemed to be enjoying the experience up to now? What’s gone wrong, Jamie? What has happened? Is it the attack or something else?”
I began to cry again, seeming to be unable to do anything else. She put down a cot-side and sat on the bed and hugged me. I knew I could trust her and I allowed myself to be comforted.
“Is it the attack or is it John?” I nodded to her. “I came by the ward and saw you two together, you seemed so happy and I felt pleased for you. But obviously, something has happened since care to tell me about it?”
“Not really.” I sniffed back at her.
“You’ll have to tell someone sooner or later, even if it’s only John.”
“I know,” I replied weakly.
“He hasn’t hurt you, has he?” she asked quite brusquely.
“No of course not. He saved my life didn’t he?”
“So what’s happ... Of course, he doesn’t know about you, does he? About your little imperfection? Is that it?”
I couldn’t speak, the tears welled up and it was all I could do to nod.
“Oh, Jamie girl, you are so sweet.” She said as she hugged me and rocked me patting my back as she did so. “I’m sure there’s a solution to all that. I’m sure he’ll understand and the imperfection can be sorted you know? The surgery these days is almost an art form.” She continued to comfort me, and while I didn’t for one minute believe that my black hole would allow the escape of any light whatsoever, maybe a glimmer just made it. I didn’t know for sure, but now there was some doubt in my certainty of doom and gloom. I had to hang on to it, just as I was holding on to Sheila Brice at that moment.
The next day, I was allowed to dress and to read. Reading was a particular pleasure of mine. Or should I say, it usually was. Today I couldn’t concentrate. The psychiatrist, a Dr Fellowes, came to see me. He was a small, rotund character with a large bald patch which almost looked like a tonsure. So in my imagination, I could almost see him as a Friar Tuck, except Tuck didn’t wear glasses. In some respects it made it easier to talk to him, because I felt less threatened by him, in others it almost made me want to laugh out loud. This would not have helped my cause very much.
“Hello, Jamie, I’m Dr Fellowes, and I’ve been asked to do an assessment of you. I hope we can get through this as quickly as possible and then you can get back to your home. I believe you are a student nurse and were recently assaulted. Is that correct?”
“Yes, doctor.” I decided that as I didn’t know how much he knew about my past and the last twenty-four hours, I would let him tell me. I was not going to volunteer anything.
“What happened to your hand? Was it part of the assault injuries?”
“This, no,” I said looking at my bandaged hand. “I broke a mirror and caught it on a piece of the glass.”
“I see.” He paused. “How did you break the mirror?”
“I hit it with something.”
“So it was deliberate?”
“Yes.” At this point, I decided to tell a few porkies. “I saw the man who attacked me in the mirror and I smashed it. It was like a flash-back.”
“So you saw him in the mirror and broke it?”
“Yes.”
“So how did you cut your hand?”
“I picked up a piece of the glass in case he was there.”
“So you picked up a piece of the broken mirror to defend yourself in case he was there?”
“Yes.”
“So why were you moving it towards your own neck?”
“Who told you that?”
“Does it matter?”
“No I suppose not.”
“So were you moving it towards your own neck?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Okay. Can I ask if you’ve ever thought about killing yourself?”
“No I haven’t.”
“Are you happy?”
“I was until I was attacked.”
“So you like your job?”
“Yes, most of the time.”
“Do you like the people you work with?”
“They’re alright. I get on better with some more than others.”
“What about those who call you ‘Spooky’, why do you think they call you that?”
Oh shit, I thought to myself, he’s going to have me down as psychotic in a minute.
“People get nicknames. They called me ‘Wanda’ in school because of the film A Fish Called Wanda. The lead actress was Jamie Lee Curtis, and I’m Jamie Curtis.”
His puzzled look lifted and he gave me a myopic smile. “Okay so nicknames are used, and I understand ‘Wanda’, given what you just told me. But where does ‘Spooky’ come from?”
“What have they told you?” I asked looking him directly in the eye.
He avoided my gaze, “I’d prefer to hear why you think they call you it.”
“Do you believe in some people being psychic?” I asked him.
“I’m not sure what you mean by ‘psychic’. He replied although I knew he was playing his clinical games.
“You know, get feelings about things and then they happen. Occasionally dream or seem to see things, and then they happen.”
“You mean a premonition or precognition?”
“That sort of thing.”
“Have you seen anything lately?”
“No.” I mused for a moment and the strangest thing came into my mind. I don’t know where it came from or why, but I felt compelled to say something. “Do you know anyone called Beryl?” At this, his face momentarily went pale. “I’m not sure, why. “She drives a white Volvo.” I watched the colour drain from his face. “She’s just had an accident. It’s not serious, but there’s an ambulance there.”
He jumped to his feet, “Is this some sort of game you’re playing?” he said loudly and agitatedly.
“No. It’s never happened quite like this before.”
“Do you mean to tell me you have just seen my wife, have an accident in her car, and be taken off by ambulance?”
“Sort of, except I didn’t say she was in the ambulance, I just saw the ambulance. Do you want to check, see if she’s alright?”
“Tell me again, you don’t know me nor my wife?”
“I’ve never heard of you until a few minutes ago, and I didn’t know you were married.”
“I’m just going to make a quick call.”
“Try St Dunstan’s, the ambulance driver mentioned that.”
He almost ran out of the room, and I didn’t know if he thought I was completely unhinged or what. He was paler than the white shirt he was wearing, which made his ‘Mickey Mouse’ bow tie look even more stupid.
I sat reading my book, and he returned about ten minutes later. “She’s going to be alright, suspected…”
“Pott’s fracture.”
“I was going to say, broken ankle.”
“Anyway, if you want to go and see her.”
“Look, Jamie, whatever it was you saw or heard just now is very unusual. I’m not sure what I think. But I don’t think you are a suicide risk. So I’m going to let you go home to your quarters. If you feel any compulsion to hurt yourself or anyone else, please ring me at this number, before you do anything.” He handed me a card. “Do you promise?”
“Yes, doctor. When can I go?”
“See the nurse in charge, she’ll do the discharge. Then you’re free to go.”
“Are my parents still around?”
“I’m sorry I don’t know, look I must get to see my wife.” With that, he was gone, part of me was sorry for him and his wife. A ‘Pott’s’ is not nice, a fracture with dislocation of the ankle. Part of me was also pleased that I had seen him freak out. A shrunk shrink, that was funny. Then something crossed my mind. I hoped she hadn’t had an accident because she saw a lioness crossing the road. No, don’t be daft, a zebra crossing maybe, but not a lioness. I chuckled half in amusement and half in concern.
After seeing the nurse in charge, my parents collected me from the hospital an hour later, and we went back to my room at the nurse’s home.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
I was pleased to see my parents and glad that they had stuck around. For a short time, I wasn’t sure if I was glad that my father had burst into the hospital bathroom as he did because part of me wanted to die. I also know if he hadn’t done so, I would have seriously injured myself, I might even have died. So my suffering might have eased but my parents’ would have just started and on reflection, I couldn’t do that to them. For all our collective shortcomings they loved me and I loved them. So on balance, it was probably better that they didn’t find me lying on the floor with most of my blood doing likewise. I had a quick vision of this happening and it was not at all nice, in fact, it was horrid. There is no future in suicide, I thought to myself. Then realised my unconscious pun. I chuckled to myself, and the look my mother gave me, probably meant she thought I was more than just a little bonkers.
The nurses home is a bit like some student accommodation, a bedroom with its own shower, toilet and washbasin. It is possible to have one’s own fridge and a kettle, but anything else is in a shared kitchenette, one of which graces each floor. Some of the rooms are doubles and obviously shared, some are singles. I had a single.
I have customised it a bit, with posters and pictures of various sorts. I do have a fridge and my own kettle and teapot. I’m possibly a little odd, but I prefer tea made in a pot, although I do drink it from a mug, albeit a bone china one. I’m not really a tea snob, although I do tend to buy the more expensive brands, I just know what I like. And that is, my tea poured from a pot into a thin cup or mug. I loathe drinking from a thick cup or mug, so bone china feels good.
We got back to my room, and although my mum offered to make us tea, I insisted that I should do it. It was after all my place, courtesy of the MOD or would that be DoH ? Dunno, but it hardly affects my story in any case. I made us all a nice cup of tea, thankfully the milk in the fridge was still drinkable. Mum fussed about getting under my feet, finally busying herself with washing some of my smalls in the washbasin. My dad just mooched about, looking at the piles of books on my shelves. Several were related to the course, but many were novels or general reading ones, like biographies.
“I wondered where my Tolkien had gone,” he muttered, “and my Kafka. Catherine Cookson. Jee-zus, you are not reading this crap are you?”
“It was given to me by one of the girls. I have not yet read it, nor decided if I shall read it. Don’t worry, I hid my Jeffrey Archers before you came.”
“What!” he exclaimed almost turning puce in the face.
“Joke, Daddy, just a joke.”
“Thank God for that.” He said. Then he laughed at a cartoon card I had bought. I showed a man shouting at a beautiful young woman, with a caption, ‘If you go through with this sex-change, you’ll be no son of mine!’ A bit corny but it amused me given my predicament. “Bit of a giveaway, isn’t it?”
“No one has said anything yet,” I replied, it was after all amidst many other cartoons, most of which had no gender reference at all. Lots were nurse or doctor jokes or related to the army. I had an area of wall about nine square feet, or one square yard covered in cartoons of one sort or another, mostly postcards or greetings cards, but sometimes photocopied from papers or magazines. They were my bit of fun and perhaps a bit more adult in some ways than the posters of kittens and puppies I’d seen in other girls’ rooms.
I had posters of favourite paintings. I especially liked the picture of ‘The Lady of Shalott’ by Waterhouse, having seen the original in the Tate Britain Gallery. No matter how often I saw it, I spotted something new each time, so wonderful is the detail of the pre-Raphaelites. I had a copy of a Turner and a Canaletto too, which just about filled up the space available. The wardrobe area wasn’t very big, so clothes got hung over doors and furniture as well. Whoever the architect was, he, because it was certainly a man, had never lived with a woman or had any concept of just how many clothes we need to have. My situation was made worse by the fact that every time I saw my mother, she presented me with a little ‘something’ to wear. Despite my protests, she carried on doing it. Usually, it was something really nice. Today’s offering was a beautiful silk nightdress in a pale green colour, it was exquisite. Last time it was a new leather handbag.
I had made the point earlier to her that although she appeared to listen, she didn’t hear what I was saying. It seems that old habits die hard. My dad was learning new ones, he hadn’t repossessed his books, which surprised me. Mind you, he has a house full at home. I used to joke that he could earn a few quid by lending books to the British Library because we probably had more than they did. He liked that one. Very proud of his collection, is my dad and his greatest pride is in his half a dozen first editions of Dickens and locked in a glass case, part of a manuscript in Shakespeare’s own hand. The insurance alone on it is a fortune and one of the reasons we have a burglar alarm on the house.
Every year on St George’s day, a bunch of flowers is set by the case and my father wishes the Bard a happy birthday. If I am crazy, it is probably obvious as to where it may come from.
As we sat drinking our tea, my mother asked,” How did you get on with the psychiatrist?”
“Dr Fellowes, yeah he was okay.”
“What did he say to you?”
“He asked me if I was mad. I said no, so he said I could go.”
“He didn’t, did he?” My mother’s eyes were almost out on stalks.
“Jamie stop winding your mother up and tell her what happened.”
“Okay, Daddy.” I smiled at him as I paused. “He asked me if I wanted to kill myself, and I said no. I then told him his wife had just had a car smash, only I didn’t know it was his wife, and he sort of freaked.”
“You did what?” my father demanded.
“Like I said, I saw a picture in my mind of this woman in a white Volvo crashing into a tree or something, and I got the name Beryl. It turns out it was his wife. How was I to know, I’d never met him or his wife before.”
“What was the purpose of seeing this ‘vision’?” asked my dad.
“I don’t know. He asked me why they called me ‘Spooky’ on the wards.”
“Like ‘Spooky Mulder’?” said Dad.
“Who?”
“Fox Mulder in the X-Files. It was a TV series a few years ago, maybe you are too young.” Seeing my blank look, he continued. “It was a science fiction series where these two FBI agents, Mulder and Scully, investigated various paranormal activities, UFOs, hauntings and hundreds of horrible happenings.” He smirked at his alliteration.
“I see, so Mulder was called ‘Spooky’?”
“Yes. He was trying to find his sister whom he believed to have been abducted by aliens but it was really a conspiracy with the US government and some extraterrestrials. Although there was a parallel storyline going on…”
“Tom, I don’t think Jamie needs a lecture on the X-Files, not today at any rate.”
“Yes, dear,” He meekly replied to my mother’s reprimand.
“Do they really call you ‘Spooky’? asked my mum.
“Yes. Well some of them do.”
“Why sweetheart, there’s nothing spooky about you. You’re a perfectly normal girl.” Then seeing the error in her statement, she adjusted it,” almost perfectly normal.”
“I see dead people. It’s perfectly normal like you said.”
“Wow, that’s almost a perfect line from, ‘The Sixth Sense’. Do you remember when the kid says to his mother, ‘I see dead people’.”
“Tom, will you please concentrate on the matter in hand without reference to science fiction or horror films. This is our daughter we’re talking about not some Hollywood star. This is real life, not some celluloid confection.”
“I’m sorry dear, it’s just that in one conversation we have two examples of life imitating art. I just find it fascinating.”
“That’s as maybe, Tom, but we are talking about our daughter and this is serious. She is saying that she sees dead people Tom. How many people do you know who can claim that?”
“I don’t know, love, I mean it’s hardly an ice-breaker is it, ‘Oh, by the way, can you see dead people. No? Oh that’s a pity there’s one standing behind you’.”
My mother nearly threw a pink fit, they were proceeding on parallel conversations with little opportunity to meet along the way. I was used to it they did it all the time. My dad lived in his ivory tower, my mother in a tartan one and rarely did the twain meet. But it wasn’t this which almost caused me to have convulsions, it was my father, having said about dead people standing behind someone, there was one standing behind him. Then I recognised who it was.
“Oh my God.” I felt myself go very cold.
“What is it, Jamie?” My mother rushed to my side. “What’s happened?”
“Dr Fellowes’ wife has just died.”
“How can you know that?”
“She just appeared behind Daddy”.
“What!”, he exclaimed spinning around so quickly he spilt his tea.
“She just appeared? Just like that? Did she say anything?”
“No, she just seemed lost or bemused. I just told her to go towards the light, like Gran used to say when she saw these people.”
“Has she gone?” asked my father, who had practically leapt across the room.
“Yes, Daddy. She’s gone, you’re quite safe.”
“It was you I was concerned about.” He lied very badly to us.
“Didn’t you feel anything?” I asked my mother.
“Not really dear, it might have got a bit colder, but I didn’t feel anything much at all.”
I wondered how this would complicate my return to work, did I need to continue to see Dr Fellowes, if so should I tell him what I saw. If I did would he hold it against me? I looked at my watch and noted the time. It was nearly four o clock, I would check the facts, but I was certain she had died at about that time.
An hour after we got back the phone rang. When I answered it, the voice I listened to made my heart melt. “Jamie, where have you been? I came by the hospital and you were gone, I phoned your room and there was no answer. The ward nurses wouldn’t tell me anything, but their demeanour tended to suggest something less than positive. I was beginning to get quite worried.”
“I’m flattered by your concern.” My heart was fluttering, but for the nicest of reasons. I could see him in my mind’s eye, those grey eyes. I could drown in those grey pools. What a lovely way to go, I mused. For the moment my concerns about my imperfections were lost to my mind. Exactly the same had happened when he was with me, I was so distracted by his good looks and sparkling personality that I stopped thinking altogether, just enjoying the moment.
“Tonight I’m free, are you.”
“No I’m always very expensive, but I could be on special offer to the right person.”
“Look, princess, I don’t have a lot of time, so are you available tonight or not?”
“Ooh, I do like a masterful man!” I joked. “I was going out with my parents, as they’re going home tomorrow.”
“Oh well, some other time then.” As he was saying this my father was saying something in my other ear.
“John, hang on, my father’s trying to tell me something.” My father gave me a message. “He says why don’t you come as well, make up a foursome. They’d love to see you again. Personally, I think Daddy is just looking for someone intelligent to chat to.” He ummed and aahed for a minute or two but my insistence eventually made him say yes.
As soon as I put the phone down, I realised what I’d done. “What am I going to wear? Am I leading him on? What happens when he finds out about me?” I spouted these questions out loud to myself.
My mother picked me up on them. “While I understand that you want to make the right impression on him, he has seen you at your worst, and unconscious too. I don’t think you are leading him on, as he’s doing all the chasing. However, it might be a good idea not to wear anything too exciting to the male physiology. They’re more affected by their hormones than we are.”
“Objection.” Quipped my dad.
“Objection overruled, ” continued my mother. “As for telling him about your little secret, let him get to know you first, then if the relationship develops pick your time and tell him. You are only just out of school, you don’t have to sacrifice your virginity yet.”
“Mum I’m eighteen for goodness sake, I’m a grown-up in case you hadn’t noticed. Half the girls in school had lost their virginity by the age of fifteen, two from my year had babies by then.”
“I think your mother’s quite correct.” My father added his weight to her argument. I thought if he quotes Shakespeare at me once more, I shall scream.
“I didn’t say she wasn’t.” I protested, “all I meant was… Oh forget it, I need to think about what I shall wear and I need to shower. Where are we going to eat?”
“That pub on the outskirts, we passed it on the way in, not far from the river.”
“No, I’m not going there, Daddy.”
“It looks ever so nice.”
“I’m not going.”
“What about John? He thinks you are.”
“I am not going anywhere near the river.” I began to shout at him.
“Just calm down, girl, what ever’s the matter?”
“I’m not going, I’m not, I’m not.” I was verging on hysterical by now.
My mother put her arm around me and I cried on her shoulder. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?” she hugged me and rubbed my back.
I tried to speak but the words just stuck in my throat. “You don’t want to go near the river, is that it?” I nodded my response.
“Is that where this horrible thing happened?” she asked me calmly, and I again nodded my reply. “Okay, sweetheart, don’t let it upset you, we’ll go somewhere else. So come on, just try and let it go, think about something nicer. Remember too, that your father and I will be there, so will John, so nothing short of an army would be able to hurt you.”
“I’m sorry.” Said my dad as he hugged the two of us. “I didn’t think.” Thankfully, my mother chose not to berate my father as she often did.
The moment of anxiety over, I busied myself with the practicalities of showering and dressing for the evening, my parents had gone back to their hotel to change. I had just got out of the shower when I heard the phone ring. Wrapping a towel around myself I went to answer it. I expected it to be my Mum or Dad, perhaps even John asking if we needed to go out with the ‘oldies’. However, I had quite a shock when the caller spoke.
“Jamie?” said a half-familiar male voice.
“Yes,” I answered.
“It’s Dr Fellowes.”
“Oh, hello, doctor.”
“My wife has just died.” His voice was full of sadness.
“I’m very sorry to hear that. Please accept my condolences.” What do you say to someone who is so recently bereaved? I felt awful.
“You knew already didn’t you.” His tone was mildly accusatory, but not aggressively so.
“How would I know?” I threw back at him. “What happened, she only had a broken leg?”
“Pulmonary embolism following surgery. She had just come round from the surgery and recognised me. She was a bit woozy. I just held her hand and talked to her, like you do with someone who isn’t quite with it. Then in mid-sentence,k she opened her eyes wide, said ‘she loved me and that she had to see Jamie’ she smiled and died.
“I am so sorry.”
“Thank you. I need to get my head around this. I can’t believe…… You know, what I mean.”
“Of course I do.” I felt tears welling up in my own eyes just listening to this man dealing with the first stages of his loss. His distress was almost palpable.
“I need to speak to you.”
“How do you think I can help?”
“You knew she had gone, didn’t you?” A little more emphatic this time.
“I don’t know what you mean.” I really didn’t want into this conversation at this time. I looked at my watch, I had just about an hour to dry my hair and get ready, and I hadn’t chosen my outfit. I needed to get rid of him.
“She came to you, didn’t she?” He was quite insistent.
“How could she, she was with you in a hospital bed.” I felt a bit anxious now and tried to keep off the spooky stuff.
“She said she was coming to you.”
“Dr Fellowes, you know very well that people in extremis say and do very strange things. It could have been caused by the anaesthetic, or…”
“Please don’t patronise me, young lady. I know plenty about near-death experiences, endorphins and other things.”
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t talking down to you.”
“I know what science says. I spent goodness knows how many years training. I know all that. What I don’t know is how a patient I am talking to sees my wife being carted off in an ambulance at a distance of several miles, without any direct line of sight. How can that happen?”
“I don’t know,” I responded weakly.
“But you do know, don’t you? Because these things happen to you regularly don’t they?”
“Dr Fellowes, you are making enormous assumptions about me. I have to go because my parents are due in a moment. I’m sorry about your wife, but I have to go.” With that, I put down the phone and hoped he would leave me in peace, although I knew he wouldn’t.
I glanced at my watch, oh no, only forty minutes left! I scrambled back to the bathroom and had just reached it when the phone rang again. On answering it I discovered it to be Dr Fellowes again. He sounded a little slurred in his speech, I politely told him to leave me alone.
Back to the bathroom, drying my hair with one hand and applying an underarm deodorant with t’other when the phone rang again. I ignored it and carried on but it’s ringing was insistent and just went on and on. I ignored it some more but it was beginning to get to me, eventually, I picked it up and screeched down the handset, “Go away Dr Fellowes, I don’t want to speak to you now.”
“Hey there!” It wasn’t the aforesaid trick cyclist, it was John. Oh, bugger.
“What’s happening, princess? Who’s this Dr Fellowes? Why is he bothering you?”
I began to sniff, I’d blown it again. Once John realised how cookie I was he’d be off like a rocket. Why do I always blow it? I very much like him, yet part of me was frightened about him learning of my secret and how he would react. That part of me would feel real relief if he did clear off.
“You alright?”
I sort of sniffed and snorted a response that I was, I also managed to divert him away from any more questions about the good doctor. “What did you ring for?”
“Oh that, where are your parents staying or where are we meeting?”
“This is going to sound really silly, but I don’t know.”
“Okay, so just tell me where to meet you all?” He sounded a little irritated by my answer.
“Are you on your mobile?”
“Yeah.”
“Give me the number and I’ll call them and phone you back.” He did and I managed to get hold of my father, who told me where he had made reservations. I also asked him to give me a few more minutes to get ready, his response was simply a sighed “women”. I informed John of the arrangements and told him we’d meet him at the restaurant.
My head was buzzing as I slapped on some makeup. I don’t use much anyway, just some lippie and mascara, and tonight a little bit of blue eye crayon as eyeliner, and some definition for my eyebrows with a ‘blonde’ eyebrow pencil.
I kept my hair simple, rubbed in some gel and dried it sort of shaggy. Once upon a time I’d have thought it looked like something the cat had dragged through a hedge, but now I quite liked the casual look. Especially as I didn’t have time to do anything else! I was ready, well I was apart from the fact that I was wearing a bath towel and nothing else.
I threw on a peach coloured bra and pants, that was the easy bit, now what to wear. Of course, when I have all day to think about it, I can usually make my mind up despite the inadequacies of my wardrobe. Although I remembered one Sunday when I lay in bed trying to decide what to wear, and it took me two hours to decide, then a further hour and a half of trying on and rejecting stuff. Sounds fanciful doesn’t it, but it’s true and I was only going down the pub with a few of the girls. Some days I just can’t decide what I want to wear except to say that I know what I don’t want to wear and that’s pretty well everything I have in my wardrobe.
The matter is made worse by the time available or the options. It is possible to have too much choice or too much time. Tonight, expediency was the major factor. I had about fifteen minutes max to decide and wear it. With this in mind, I went to the wardrobe and pulled out a lacy green top with a lining and a pair of green corduroy trousers, which were decorated around the seams with green satiny material. The green of both was a sage colour and I slipped on a pair of black loafer shoes.
So I wasn’t dressed to the nines, but I was comfortable and I’d be warm enough. I was so fed up with crazy psychiatrists and the questions which would ensue from John finding out about my earlier calls, that I didn’t care. Part of me would have preferred an evening in with a good book or video and on my own. But I couldn’t let down any of the three people I was going to be with, so that was end to it. I was spritzing some perfume when my dad knocked on my door, so I grabbed my black leather ‘bum-freezer’ jacket and bag and we left.
Mum was in the car and she smiled and greeted me. I sat in the back thinking that I’d better tell them about Dr Fellowes’ calls. As we drove I brought them up to date. My mother was a bit concerned about what might happen in the future, I told her I hoped the good doctor would eventually get over his grief and get on with his life. But I had something of a foreboding that she could be right. How do I get into these situations?
We arrived at the ‘John Bull’ hotel and restaurant, John was already there and offered to buy a round of drinks. I wasn’t driving so I had a glass of wine as did Mum. Unusually my father had a soft drink, while John had a shandy. As everyone knew each other at least I could forgo the introductions, and within a couple of minutes, Dad and John were talking sport while Mum and I were into clothes.
“I like that top Jamie.” Said my mum, “it goes nicely with those trousers.”
“You don’t think I under-dressed, do you?” Mum shook her head in response to my query. She was wearing a skirt and cardigan which suited her very well. The skirt was a paisley pattern of reds and black, and her cardi was black. I glanced at the boys, my dad was in a beige sweater and trousers. I knew the sweater well, I bought for him for the previous Christmas. It was easy to see why he was wearing it. John was in a blue checked shirt and best jeans. He could look good wearing almost anything, including just a smile! And part of me quite fancied seeing him wearing just that.
The men were still deep in their conversation about the teams at the top of the football league, which surprised me a little. After all, my dad was a rugby supporter so all he knew about football was gained via the newspapers or one in particular. But then perhaps most sports discussion was a combination of speculation and bullshit. Secretly, I was hoping that John was not a fervent sports fan, because the idea of standing on touchlines or even sitting in grandstands on weekend afternoons, was not my idea of fun. Long walks in the country or even cycle rides, but football held no appeal for me.
Finally, we were called to go into the restaurant, and seated around a table the conversation became more general and open to we women.
We discussed the menu, which was nothing too exciting. Dad opted for a curry with a soup starter. Mum went for a chicken casserole and prawns for her starter. John decided he would have pate followed by steak pie. When it came to me, I suddenly didn’t feel that hungry. I knew the matter of the phone calls was bound to arise and it had a suppressant effect upon my appetite. After much thought, and urging from my parents, I eventually settled for a melon starter with a tuna jacket potato for my main course.
“Is that all you want Jamie?” asked my dad looking a bit concerned.
“Yeah, I’m really not that hungry, and I could do with losing a spot of weight.” I replied.
“From where?” said John eyeing me up. “From where I’m sitting, I can’t see anything that needs improving.” Of course, I blushed like a radioactive beetroot. My mother seeing my embarrassment smiled kindly at me.
We started our meals. When John began his probing. “Who is this Dr Fellowes?”
“Someone I saw after the attack, reckoned I had PTSD.”
“Post-traumatic..” he struggled with the syndrome’s name.
“Stress disorder” I finished for him.
“Not surprising. Coppers get it too from some of the things we see and hear.” There was general agreement around the table. “So why was he calling you at home and why were you upset with him.” I could feel his eyes boring straight through me, he was in policeman mode and it was the first time I felt uncomfortable with him.
“It’s not important.” I tried to shrug off his question.
“Yes, it is, princess. Or let me rephrase that. It’s important to me to understand why a doctor should have a bad effect upon one of his patients and why he should be ringing out of hours upsetting her.”
I shrugged my shoulders and thought, I am beginning to like this bloke a lot but I have several foibles which might put him off, let’s see what happens when I let drop one of the more acceptable ones.
“His wife died, he got drunk and called me a few times.”
“Why call you? Doesn’t he have any friends or colleagues?”
“Not with my qualifications.”
“Pray what are those. Forgive my lack of understanding, but I thought you were a student nurse.”
“I am.”
“Surely he knows all sorts of psychiatrists and mental nurses and doctors and counsellors. Why you? What can you do they can’t.” I could sense my parents growing uneasy and uncomfortable. I also knew my father was seconds away from intervening despite the looks my mother was aiming at him.
“Jamie sees dead people.” Dad had decided we would beat around this bush no longer.
“Right.” Said John looking bemused. “So you see dead people, like ghosts and things?” It was patently not his normal sphere of reference and he was now looking a bit uncomfortable.
“Yes.” Replied my dad.
“So what’s it got to do with Dr Whatshisname?”
“Jamie saw his wife as she died.” Continued my dad.
“Were you at her bedside or something?” John was really out of his comfort zone.
“We were actually in her room having a pot of tea when Jamie saw her in the room.”
“Did the rest of you see her?” John was trying to act like a sceptic, trying to keep it in his sense of reality, in his world.
“No we didn’t.” asserted my father, “but we did note the time.”
“And…” queried John.
“She died at or about that time.”
“So why was this doctor chap interested in you?” he addressed the question to me.
I decided that I’d had enough of his playing the cop with me and came out fighting. Good looking or not, I’d had enough. “See this hand.” I lifted my still bandaged limb in the air. John nodded. “Well the reason it’s bandaged is because I cut it while trying to kill myself. Dad here managed to prevent me.”
“Because of the attack?”
“Yes, no, maybe. I don’t know. But I certainly seemed to know at the time. So I got referred to see Dr Fellowes.”
“Okay, so he was the shrink trying to sort this suicide attempt.”
“Yes. He then asked me about my working relationships and I told him. He, however, had done some research and learned that some of my colleagues call me ‘Spooky’.”
“As in spooks meaning ghost.”
“Yes. Is there another meaning?”
“Yes, the secret intelligence services have operatives, or spies called spooks.”
“Yes, of course, they do. It wasn’t the latter. I saw the odd person who had just died walking about the ward and when I mentioned it, some of them got a bit scared. It seems to push buttons for some of them.”
“So where does Dr Fellowes come into this?”
“I saw his wife’s accident.”
“Really or ‘spookily’ for want of a better word.”
“I was in the hospital being interviewed by Dr Fellowes when I saw it in my mind’s eye, or at least got bits of it.”
“So she died in the accident?”
“No, she broke her leg quite badly and died later from an embolism post-surgically. She appeared to me, and according to Fellowes, said she was going to see me. Then I saw her in my room as she died.”
“So you saw her or thought you did at the time she died? “
“I saw her and spoke to her.”
“Right.” Although he was accepting politely what I was saying, it was easy to tell what he was thinking, and that wasn’t acceptance.
Watching him struggle with his understanding of what had happened was painful but I knew it was a barrier we needed to cross if we had a future of any sort. Just then I saw a uniformed military policeman walk up behind John. He said nothing but came close enough for me to read his name badge. It read, ’Barnes G.’ I saw my mother shiver and she looked at me.
“John who is Lance Corporal George Barnes?” I asked, quickly glancing at my mum.
John went pale, then said, “Have you been poking about in my past?”
“No. I just saw a tall man in military police uniform come up behind you look at you with some affection and then leave. He came close enough for me to read his badge.”
“You just saw that.” He asked shaking his head.
“I have no reason to lie about this or anything else. I should like you to do the same.”
“Of course, princess.” He nodded, then after a sigh, he told us about George. “We were on a mission in the middle east, I can’t tell you much detail, but it went wrong and George got killed. Well, I managed to get him back to friendly territory but he died while they were preparing to operate.”
“He got stabbed.” I offered.
“Yes. How do you know that it wasn’t common knowledge.”
“Jamie knows these things,” said my father.
“He told me. Caught his spleen.”
“Jesus! No one knew that except me and the doctor who examined him. He bled to death.”
“He said, ‘he appreciated your efforts to save him’.”
“He’d have done the same for me.”
“Yes, he just said so.”
“You mean he’s still here?”
“No, he’s done what he wanted, to thank you.”
“Bloody hell, I feel all goose-bumps,” he shuddered as he said it. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if I believe what you just said, but I know you believe it was real.”
“George was real alright.” I countered. “He also asked what you did with the watch he gave you.”
“Fu…Oops. That is really clever. How in God’s name did you find out about the watch? No one knew about that watch.” He was very confused now and desperate to protect his reality.
“I think that’s enough, Jamie.” Said my mother. I was about to say another thing when she gave me one of her looks, so I let it wither on the vine.
“Can you honestly see these people? I mean has anyone else seen them too?” John was desperately trying to keep at least one foot in his own world where these things don’t happen.
“I don’t know, I’ve never asked anyone else when I’ve seen them. No that’s not quite true. I remember asking Captain Brice if she’d seen the same things I saw when we laid some flowers on Lisa’s grave.” My mind drifted back to that day and for a moment I felt sad, then I recalled how cheerful Lisa had been when I’d ‘visited’ her and that felt better.
“Did she see the same things?”
“No, but she saw something I didn’t. She saw my grandmother standing near me.”
“So do you reckon these ghosts haunt people rather than places?”
“I don’t know. I’m not a psychic investigator just a bit psychic.”
“More than a bit, from what I’ve seen and heard,” said John. “I reckon you’re better than most of these mediumistic types who do these stage shows.”
“No, I’m not.” I protested. “Oh my goodness!” I exclaimed.
“What’s happening?” asked John.
“Can you use your official channels to find Dr Fellowes? I think he has just overdosed or something similar.”
“I don’t know. If you’re wrong, I’m in deep cack.”
“If I’m right, then Dr Fellowes is in exactly that position now.”
“Just for you, princess.” He got out his mobile and speed-dialled his office. “Hi Barry it’s John. Can you do me a favour? Can you do an urgent check on a Dr Fellowes, a local shrink. Yeah, a tip-off has just told me he may be in serious trouble. Yeah get the local plod, but make it snappy or we’re gonna have a DOA on our hands. Yeah, it’s that serious. Good man. Thanks, mate. Bye.” He paused looking at me. ”If you’re wrong, I am in deep doo-doo.”
“What did you see, Jamie?” asked Mum.
“I had this funny pain and suddenly saw Dr Fellowes lying down on the floor somewhere. It felt like his home, but I’m not sure.” Then to John, I added, “Thanks for believing in me and for sticking your neck out.”
“For you, princess, I’d say ‘anytime’, but please don’t do it to me again.”
“I’ll try not to.” I blushed at him, he had taken quite a risk if I was wrong. “But you do have this habit of saving my bacon.”
“Yeah, well the first time was pure coincidence. I just happened on the scene. I was just driving along when I thought I saw a lioness walk across the road and into the bushes.”
At this point I felt myself trying to grow physically smaller, my father noticing me squirm said, ”Jamie, what does this mean?”
“I don’t know what you mean, Daddy,” I responded as innocently as I could whilst thinking, now John will really know how strange I am and we haven’t got on to my medical history yet.
“What are you suggesting here, Tom?” asked my rescuer.
“Jamie has some strange link with lionesses.” Suggested my father and my mother fired him a withering glance, while I wanted nothing more than the ground to swallow me up.
“What do you mean? How can someone in this country call up some big cat from a country thousands of miles away, unless you count zoos.” John seemed bewildered.
“What if the lions aren’t real?” postulated my dad.
“You trying to tell me that I hallucinated a lioness while driving?”
“In a sense yes, but if I put it that, what happened was Jamie is in real danger and her guardian angel or this Eye of Re thing intervenes by producing something which will make you stop and save her. Which in this case is the lion crossing the road.”
“You trying to tell me that I was set up by some ghost?”
“Tell him, Jamie, about your little Egyptian friend, and how it shook me out of bed one night.” My dad continued despite my mother looking daggers at him.
“What Egyptian friend is this, princess?”
“I don’t know, perhaps it’s something to do with a past life as a priestess in the temple of Sekhmet, the lioness goddess. I honestly don’t know if it’s real or imaginary or what. But when I was attacked and unable to save myself, I did call for help from the goddess, I don’t know why, and you appeared shortly after. Coincidence or what I don’t know, but she is not someone to mess with.”
“So if she’s so bloody powerful, why didn’t she save you herself?”
“She did, but used you as her agent.” I felt a little apprehensive about where this was going. I certainly didn’t want any further demonstrations of her power and John seemed intent on provoking something the way he was going.
“Why?” he asked, “Why me?”
“Perhaps we were destined to meet.” I didn’t know and said so.
“Well I’m glad we did, but I don’t for one second believe all that stuff about ancient goddesses. Can you call her up now and give us a demo.” He almost belittled me in his jest.
“I don’t think that would be a good idea.” My mother had at last joined the conversation having ceased trying to cause my father to disappear with a glance. “We experienced what can happen one night at home when the whole house shook like some earth tremor. It is not one bit humorous.”
John was about to come back at her but decided against it, instead, saying he accepted what she said but that it was beyond his experience, so he found it hard to believe. At the same time, I knew he would do some research as soon as he could.
The meal ended without much more incident, except one. As we were finishing, John’s mobile rang. It was his colleague to say the local police had visited Dr Fellowes and he was critically ill with a suspected OD, so he had been rushed to hospital. John became a little less ebullient after that, he also didn’t see the lioness walk across the dining room just before we left, but I did and I suspect my mother did too.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
My parents phoned before they left and I felt sad. At times I really missed them. Today was one such occasion. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. My hand, though very sore, was healing well, but it meant I couldn’t do any ward duty. At the same time, I didn’t feel sick. In fact, I didn’t know if I was supposed to be on sick leave or in work. So I thought I’d better go and find out.
At the school of nursing, I bumped into Captain Brice. “Ah, Nurse Curtis, just the person I want to see. I believe we have a conversation outstanding on the subject of lions. Would you care to come into my office?”
As I had no choice, the question was, of course, rhetorical, I followed her into the office I had entered several times before. I recalled how helpful she had always been to me, and that wonderful couple of days when she had helped me to tell my parents. I looked around, I knew she had been widowed several years ago. Her husband had been with the Parachute Regiment and had been killed in action. It was alleged he was actually in the SAS, who are amongst the most elite armed forces in the world.
The Special Air Service was formed during the Second World War, apparently from a long-range desert group. They caused the Germans so much trouble that it was reputed that German High command ordered the immediate execution of any who were captured. There are hundreds of myths about them and probably some have a basis in fact. At the same time, some of the stuff purported to have happened has since been shown to be fiction. I had a vague recollection of seeing a documentary which showed much of the stories published by an ex Gulf War, SAS soldier, were impossible and conflicted with recollections of actual eye-witnesses. But knowing this was not going to get me off the hook at this moment.
I looked around the room as Sheila Brice seated herself behind her desk. “If I may say so ma’am, your husband was very good looking.”
“You have said so, and if memory serves me right, have done so several times. Stop bullshitting, Jamie, you are not going to distract me into talking about my husband or his Military Cross.”
I had forgotten all about that, how could I forget that? So she had me cornered by the look of it. I would have to box clever here or pray for a miracle or tell the truth. The latter had some appeal, even if it was seemingly crazy.
“Tell me, Jamie, why did you avoid straight answers to Major Collins’ questions?”
“I don’t think I did, ma’am. I told him what I knew had happened. I had been sent off early because I’d missed my break. I went to bed and when I woke up and went on the ward learned that Nurse Davis had miraculously recovered. No one was more surprised than I.”
“Did you know Nurse Davis before?” So she had done some homework.
“Vaguely, she went to the same school as I did, but she was a year or two older.”
“So it was a vague acquaintance?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Why are you lying to me?”
I felt very hot and extremely bothered. “Why do you think I am lying, ma’am?”
“Because I recall you telling me the name of the girl bully who had damaged you. Curiously, it was Pam Davis. Quite a coincidence, don’t you think?”
“Does it matter that I knew her?” I was looking at the floor avoiding her gaze which I knew could see right through me.
“Maybe, I don’t know. Now for the business of the strange creature seen leaving your room. It was I who saw it. Did you know that ?”
“I was told that, ma’am.”
“Not some drunken squaddie. I was shocked to see something about seven foot tall, obviously female but with a lioness’ head, walking out of your room. It was five hundred hours. How do you explain that?”
“I can’t, ma’am. I was fast asleep at the time.”
“It was the goddess Sekhmet, wasn’t it?”
“I don’t know, ma’am, I didn’t actually see it. But from your description, it certainly could have been.”
“How are you linked to this goddess?”
“I wasn’t aware that I was, ma’am.”
“Where did the sand and the animal hairs come from? We have identified the hairs as from a lioness, and the sand could have come from Egypt.”
“I don’t know, ma’am.” I felt very uncomfortable evading issues with her, but I honestly didn’t know the answers to her questions. Sure I had had that peculiar dream and saved Pam, but it was a dream as far as I was concerned. As far as the other lioness appearances, I didn’t know any of it for sure, and what I did know I was going to keep under wraps.
“Jamie, we have had a special relationship since I first met you and the apparent confusion of your status. I have always dealt very fairly with you, perhaps more so than with the other students I have here. I think as well that I have been honest with you and until now, you have reciprocated.”
I felt very bad about things. She was doing a maternal blackmail job on me and it was working.
“So why are you holding back on me now?” She tried to make eye contact with me, but I was still staring at the floor.
“I don’t know what is going on. I had a strange dream the night that Pam recovered, that is all that I know happened.”
“Do you recall the dream?”
“Not really.” I lied because I didn’t think detail would help. “Something about me forgiving her, which is true. I do forgive her.”
“That’s a big step to take. Is that how you feel?” She was still trying to make eye contact and I declined to do so.
“Yes, it is how I feel. For a long time, I carried a detestation of that girl. I hated her and at the same time was terrified of her. I blamed her for ruining my life, for destroying my manhood and everything else that ever went wrong for me. She had after all done me a serious injury and I had never had a chance to get revenge or even restitution.”
“Is that what you wanted?”
“I don’t know what I wanted. Part of me wanted to just be an ordinary boy or man. To have a deep voice, muscles and hairy chest.”
“What about girlfriends?”
“I don’t know. I suppose I didn’t get the chance to explore that part of growing up. When all the other boys got spots and croaky voices and hair on their top lips, they tended to shun me when it became obvious that it wasn’t going to happen to me. For a while, I was accepted by the girls, who treated me more like a sister than a boy. I was smaller than most boys and quite a few of the girls, which is crazy because my dad is quite a big chap, as you know.”
“Yes, Jamie, it strikes me as incongruous that a big chap like your dad should have such a small son, especially as your mum isn’t that small is she?”
“No. No, she isn’t. I’m obviously a throw-back to a pygmy variety.”
“I don’t think so, but it does strike me as odd that you are so natural as a girl and it seems life conspired to make sure of it.”
“Do you believe in reincarnation?” It seems I needed to tell more than I thought.
“I don’t know, why do you ask?”
“Seems that one explanation for gender identity disorder is that individuals from a past life have been unable to let go of their previous gender.”
“I don’t recall seeing it in the textbooks or DSM iv, but I presume you have a reason for mentioning it.”
“I had a dream fairly recently that I had been a priestess in ancient Egypt and that I had done something which bound me to be a female in future lives. Somehow, this also involved Sekhmet, whom you saw leaving my room because it seemed to imply that I was bound to her as well.”
“Hang on a minute. You think this dream explains it all. That all this was destiny or something because of something you did four or five thousand years ago?”
“Apparently.”
“Are you trying to wind me up?” her mouth was laughing but her eyes weren’t.
“No. I am serious.”
“So you were a priestess five thousand years ago to the ‘Lion King’ and that explains everything?”
“It wasn’t to a lion king, but a goddess who takes the form of a lioness – a queenly, but deadly hunter.”
“But all that is just symbolism, a relatively simplistic way to explain the workings of the universe by a people who were less technologically advanced than we are today. Sorry, but it just doesn’t wash.”
“Fine. Can I go?”
“No. Explain why I saw what I did and where the sand came from, we found some in your bed too.”
“I just tried to explain and you won’t believe me. Sekhmet is attached to me in some way, but I have no control over her. It was she who saved Pam Davis after I effectively lifted the curse I had placed upon her.”
“You lifted a curse?”
“Yes I forgave her, I told you. Alright, I dreamt she was on trial, they were weighing her heart against a feather and I knew she would fail. So I stopped them and offered to be tested instead. I expected to be fed to the crocodile but instead, I passed the test and they let us both go.”
“That makes about as much sense to me as a textbook in Japanese. What are you on about?” So I told her bit by bit. She promised to keep things off the record but I had to promise to get rid of the lion. How the hell can I do that, I thought, it isn’t exactly under my control. I was also to perform no more miracles – I didn’t in the first place, and to stop telling the other nurses about seeing dead people.
Of course, I agreed to it, just to get out of her office. It felt very strange to suddenly see a previous ally becoming a persecutor, or was I becoming paranoid? I hadn’t asked for any of this; becoming a girl, being psychic, and seeing dead people, or being linked to Sekhmet and ancient Egypt. It was all beyond my control, so effectively I lied because that was all I could do. I had told the truth and she wouldn’t believe me. I began to understand more and more how some transsexual people must feel because they are treated sometimes as if they live in a different universe or have a separate reality. To date the causes of gender identity disorder are unknown. Suggestions range from the reincarnation one mentioned earlier to possible genetic predisposition, either way, it seems improbable that the individual is directly responsible except in how they deal with it. It seemed my psychic abilities put me into a similar predicament, perhaps doubly so when combined with my medical history. How the hell was John going to cope with me, I was doubly weird.
My group should have been doing ward training but with the wound on my hand, I was prevented from doing so. However, I didn’t consider myself sick so I spent much of the day in the library. By tea time I had accumulated quite a pile of paper of print outs from the US National Library of Medicine through the ‘PubMed’ site. I brushed up on the latest ideas on gender identity disorder although there was nothing new and I’m not quite sure why I was researching it, because in the strictest sense I didn’t have GID nor was I transsexual except by dint of some of the treatment I’d received and would need.
Was that the reason, I wondered? Because it was looking inevitable that I would need to sort myself out down below. At the same time, the thought of surgery and being out of circulation for a few weeks did not encourage me to push for it. I also wondered what would happen regarding my recent bout of hysteria and how that would affect my referral.
As I walked back to my room, I pondered on this. As I was already officially female as far as the army and the Registrar General seemed to be concerned how could a vaginoplasty and associated surgeries be considered sex reassignment surgery? I seemed to be an anomaly even amongst anomalies. I once read an article about spiritual progression which supported by reincarnation, seemed to suggest that we actually chose the lives we had to learn certain lessons. I wasn’t quite sure what the lesson was of this life, but I felt that I must have had an off day when doing the choosing.
Recalling more of the same article, I also remember it saying that suicide was no way out, because having signed up to a life one had to live it completely and to opt-out by suicide meant coming back again to finish that life. How true all this was, I had no idea. I was, however, rather pleased that my flirtation with the idea of killing myself, had been interrupted so effectively. I became conscious of a stinging pain in my hand and realised I’d been screwing into a fist as I’d been thinking these things through. I had enough insight to recognise that there was still some tension associated with this stuff and I needed to see someone about it.
After eating, I went to see my old friend Corporal Kate Henderson, with whom I‘d not had much contact for some weeks. We had a super evening, good conversation washed down with a nice bottle of wine. She tended to see the paranormal stuff in terms of my repressed unconscious. It wasn’t unexpected, we all see the world in terms which make some sense to each of us, and that is naturally going to mean by comparing it with our own contextual understanding and experience. Doing what the psychologists call a ‘trans-derivational search’.
The problem with education is that it can close the mind to possibilities as well as open it. The more you think you know about something, the harder it can be to accept something completely new about it. Science can be visionary or blinkered, often the latter because it isn’t just about objectively looking at data, it frequently involves egos as well, which makes it subjective.
Kate accepted all that I told her but seemed to think that it was all my inner experience. When I asked her how my inner experience could be shared by others, she then came up with mass hallucination. Now if one can explain physical sand and hair as hallucination, then I’d like to see the argument and its evidence. That little detail had her stumped unless of course it was faked. Okay so it could have been, but what would anyone gain from doing it? That was even more bizarre than it being apported there.
At the end of the day, we had to agree to disagree, which is what friends do sometimes, without making value judgements about each other. I sounded her out on my feelings about the fact that because of these strange episodes, I felt different. I likened this to how some genuine GID cases might feel, their transgender situation making them feel isolated or excluded from some sections of society. My researches had also found examples where individuals had felt themselves pressured by others to do things such as have surgery when it wasn’t really what they wanted, some had found themselves on a conveyor belt and unable to get off. As we were discussing this, I suddenly saw a clip from an old black and white film of someone being strapped on a moving belt inexorably towards a circular saw, then the picture jumped to that of James Bond having a laser being directed near his gonads in Goldfinger. Thank goodness my father wasn’t here, we’d have had chapter and verse on both films and ‘life imitating art’ again! It was one of his favourite observations.
Back to my conversation with Kate, she agreed with the sense of exclusion some tg people must feel, and I promised to show her an article I’d downloaded from The Guardian Weekend from July 31st 2004, which showed some of the pressure individuals found themselves under from religious groups, family and simply society at large, it was called, ‘What Happens if you Change Your Sex and then Change Your Mind?’. I found it quite interesting and The Guardian’s archive was easy to navigate, but then I spent quite some time using it.
When the wine bottle became empty, we had a cuppa and then I knew it was time to go home to bed. My dreams that night were very confused as I think I was probably processing lots of what had been talked about by day. Thankfully, there were no lionesses or part human part lion people in any of them, or if there was I didn’t remember it.
The next few days were similar, my hand was very slow healing and I think I got an infection in it, so I ended up on antibiotics which gave me the squits and upset my tummy generally. Consequently, I spent quite a bit of time in the toilet when I wasn’t in the library. I admit it also hit my energy levels and I spent more time asleep than usual.
John had phoned to say he would be away for a few days, working on some case or other. He was always very cagey about telling me exactly what he did. I knew he was a redcap of sorts, but what sort? I tried to put out one or two feelers, but no one seemed to know quite what he did. Several people knew him, he seemed well-liked but what he did in the military police was a mystery.
I concluded that he didn’t talk about his work for one of several reasons. The first was he hated it so much he couldn’t bear to talk about it. It seemed unlikely, so perhaps he wasn’t allowed to talk about it. This could mean he was governed by the Official Secrets Act, so his work could be of importance to national security. I didn’t like that idea very much, because it could come between us. Although I was hanging on to my own little secret, I didn’t enjoy the fact and longed to share it with him. Nevertheless, I heeded my mother’s advice for the moment anyway, awaiting the development of the relationship and the need to know, before I told him.
One morning while reading my newspaper, I came across a big story about the uncovering of a terrorist plot. So the ‘War Against Terror’ wasn’t quite over. Reality tended to suggest it never would be simply because any lunatic who had a grievance with a government anywhere in the world could use violence to air that grievance. If people or property got damaged, then isn’t that terrorism? Especially if it has some wacky political or religious message.
It struck me as so incredibly self-defeating. You don’t convert people to your way of thinking by blowing them up or kidnapping them. Or maybe I was just opposed to the concept of harming people just because they didn’t agree with me. Then in the midst of all this gloom, I remembered a teacher I’d known very well, a really lovely man, well-read and very gentle who used to say, he’d “like to stamp out intolerance.” Appreciating his dry sense of humour, I found it very funny. Sadly, despite his urbanity and gentleness, he killed himself one night, putting a polythene bag over his head then tying his hands so he couldn’t release it.
I still shudder at the thought of it, the sense of such a gentle person resorting to an act of violence, even if it was only against himself. He was a Quaker, and it was the first time I’d ever been to a Quaker funeral, a very interesting experience and very different to the run of the mill things that happen at the local crematorium. It seemed much more inclusive and encouraged participation by the meeting, rather than just some priest fronting it all. When I realised all the work they do for world peace, I developed a lot of respect for the Society of Friends.
I never did understand why the teacher killed himself, but it seems people do. In fact, I had so nearly done so myself a week or two before. Contemplating my own experience and trying to see that of others who had gone through with it left me feeling very unsettled. Instead of doing my required reading of the physiology of the digestive system, I managed to find a book on why people commit suicide and read quite a large chunk of it.
At eighteen I was only too aware that my experience was limited and that I knew so little about so much, which isn’t necessarily a common adolescent attitude. But there seemed to be so much I wanted to learn about. The mind fascinated me and I was beginning to think I might like to study psychology. Despite my apparent abilities in nursing, I began to feel it wasn’t for me. The episode with my hand enabled me to withdraw just a little from my colleagues and observe what was going on. Some of them took to it like ducks to water, some seemed to flounder and one or two were rejected before they drowned. Even here I seemed different. I could swim with the best of them, yet I wasn’t a duck. I was something very different, but quite what I had yet to discover.
The wound on my hand eventually healed and life returned to normal. John phoned on an irregular basis, but he said it was when he could. I would leave messages on his voice mail. It was now three weeks since I had last seen him and I didn’t even know where he was. He assured me he wasn’t seeing anyone else, but I was so green when it came to dealing with men, that I believed him but questioned whether I was right to do so. He did tell me he hadn’t seen anything other than zebras crossing the road, so I reminded him he might also have seen a pelican crossing*. He laughed at my joke. (*In the UK crossings with pedestrian controlled traffic lights are called pelican crossings).
I was missing him even though we’d hardly had a chance to really start a relationship, which I suppose gave rise to my fears about him seeing someone else. When I discussed with Kate, she suggested that it was quite a normal thing especially as the relationship bond was still forming.
“You like this guy, don’t you?” she asked with a twinkle in her eye.
“Of course I do. I did at first sight. When I first met him, I got so excited I threw up all over myself!” I recalled the moment and decided it wasn’t the memory I wanted to keep, the proximity to the attack was too close. So even though he had done his ‘errant knight’ saving this damsel in distress, it wasn’t something I wanted to dwell on.
I then recalled my ‘swoon’ in front of him. That was just far enough away from me to find amusing and I chuckled a little. Kate of course demanded that I share the joke. When I told her about his note re bashing my head on his car door, she roared with laughter. I was pleased that I managed to recover the flowers he sent me, from the ward. They had lasted quite well even in the rather warm atmosphere of the nurse’s home.
Kate and I were joining some of the others for a girlie night out. They did it fairly regularly but I’d only gone once before, and that time they went to a club that had male strippers. While not averse to seeing well-maintained bodies flexing their muscles to music, however contrived it seemed, I did feel embarrassed by the behaviour of the women who seemed to throw all decorum out the window. They screamed obscenities and made improper suggestions which weren’t terribly funny for the most part, and attempted to touch the performers in places where the sun rarely shines. When I was asked this time I checked out where we going first.
It transpired it was going to be just to a club with a disco. I wasn’t sure what to wear, I haven’t been out to dances that often. But with Kate’s help, I hoped I wouldn’t appear too out of place. I wore a straight black skirt with a blue ruched top. The top showed a little bit of cleavage and was sleeveless, both garments had a shimmering effect in certain lights. I wore some black sandals with about a three-inch heel and took my black leather jacket along as well.
We set off in a mini-bus Sharon had arranged, it cost us a fiver each but meant no one had to drive and altogether I think there were twelve of us. By the time we got on the bus some of my colleagues were in a state which may best be described as uninhibited through use of alcohol. I couldn’t quite understand why. Maybe I appear to some as a prude, but I have never felt the need to get plastered to have a good time. For some, it seems that if they can remember it, they didn’t drink enough or have a good time. Britain was the binge-drinking capital of the world, and that alarmed me.
The use of date rape drugs also worried me, and it was now common practice not to accept drinks from strangers unless you saw the top come off the bottle, and you didn’t leave your drink unattended at any time. What a world in which we live! Drinking from the bottle seemed somewhat vulgar to me, but it made a certain sense given the threats above.
On the bus ride, it was hard to chat simply because of the noise of a dozen women all talking at once and the hum of the diesel engine. Sharon asked me, “’ow me ’and was?” and I was able to show her it had healed, with just a slightly red flare left across the palm. I had been quite lucky that no lasting damage was done. We talked a bit about the course and I promised to help her with some anatomy, although it wasn’t my favourite subject. Anatomy is a bit like learning a language, just all these names of bones and muscles and organs, which all had lesser bits with even more names to learn, greater trochanter or tubercle of the tibia, hardly phrases you can use in everyday conversation. “Hey, I think you have a lovely set of gluteals.” “Would you like to come and inspect my insertions? Or, grab a feel of this carotid pulse.”
To me anatomy was a necessary evil, like a road map, it helps to find your way around. Surgeons and physiotherapists and podiatrists have to learn biomechanics, which is anatomy with attitude! Yuck, all this makes psychology seem very inviting. I mean can you imagine trying to fiddle about with someone’s sweaty feet doing a biomechanical assessment? Not for me, but podiatrists don’t seem to worry about it. I met one in the hospital library, she seemed almost normal, although I didn’t shake hands with her all the same! She had a nice badge on her uniform, which was what made me notice her, “Society of Chiropodists and Podiatrists” it said. I asked what was the difference, and she said chiropodist has one more letter, otherwise, the words are synonymous. Educational this isn’t it?
Back to the bus, we got to the club about eight-thirty, and the bus would collect us at twelve-thirty. To my mind, the thought of four hours of loud music, passive smoking, and oppressive heat did not fill me with enthusiasm. But some of my fears were relieved to discover it was a non-smoking establishment.
The club was called “Bennie’s” and the outside was covered in all sorts of garish decoration, with flashing coloured lights and some photographs of people having ‘a good time’. I’d never been there before, but was assured it was good and the drinks weren’t too expensive. We’d all agreed to buy our own because using a pool system means those on expensive drinks do better than those on cheaper ones. It also encourages everyone to drink at the same rate which isn’t so useful for the slower drinkers.
We went in and after a foyer, where we were waved through, we went downstairs. “How come we didn’t have to pay?” I asked naively. “Sharon knows the owner,” someone hissed from behind me,” he likes nurses.”
The main auditorium was a large room, dark with flashing lights synchronised to the music. The main dance area was in the middle of the room with tables and chairs surrounding it on three sides and the fourth was the disco equipment with a large coloured DJ doing the honours. As he changed the record, so there appeared a large plasma screen behind him which changed colours and shapes dependent upon the music tone and beat. I have something like it on my computer, but this was a very impressive state of the art equipment.
We commandeered two tables and put them together, the place was only half full yet, which was why we were here now, to get a good table and use the ‘happy hour’, of cheap drinks. We each bought two, in my case a lager and mineral water. That cost me six pounds, so what the full price was worried me. I tried to remind myself that I didn’t do this very often, so just forget it and enjoy. The music was too loud to allow conversation of anything but a short shouted form, so after a few sips half of us went on the dance floor while the others watched the drinks, it was an agreed formula.
The music was old stuff, real retro from the seventies, but I grew up with some of it through my parents. When they played ‘Baby I don’t care” by Transvision Vamp, I just had to have a strut. Kate stayed with the drinks, while Sharon and I did our stuff on the dance floor along with another three or four of the nurses.
We stayed there for ‘Honky tonk women’ by the Rolling Stones, and some Status Quo track, which I couldn’t quite place, but then they all sounded the same to me, and were good for dancing to. We gave it all we had, the music was fast and rocking and soon I was well loosened up, but also rather warm and in need of some water. We went back to the table, where someone was trying to tell a dirty joke, but I couldn’t hear what was being said. So I tried just listening to the music.
The evening went on faster than I expected, we, Sharon and I that is, had a plan not to dance to the slower ones, which quite pleased me. I didn’t want to be picked up by anything other than the mini-bus, and as Sharon had a steady, neither did she. So it was preventive rather than curative strategy, we called it our prophylaxis method. Well, Sharon actually called it something different, but we won’t go into that now.
Although we came from different backgrounds and had very different maps of the world, we were quite good friends. I was grateful to her for her care during my early periods of distress, and she had kept a ‘big sisterly’ watch over me ever since. She had been very supportive after my attack, and her non-judgemental attitude to my attempted suicide was wonderful. I was always glad of her streetwise knowledge and compared to which, I was as green as grass. We looked after each other, I helped her with academic stuff, she helped to keep me out of trouble.
While we were sat down, for some unknown reason, I checked my texts on my mobile. I had one from John, he was coming home at last. I showed it to Sharon, we hugged and jumped up and down. When the DJ played ‘Fat bottomed girls’ by Queen, we took to the dance floor again, shaking our derrieres to the music and laughing ourselves silly.
We had resisted offers to dance and for drinks from several would-be suitors, and were just happy enjoying ourselves within the group. It was now moving on towards midnight and the place was heaving. I’d bought myself another bottle of water for four pounds something. It was a rip-off, I could get exactly the same one for about sixty pence at the local supermarket, but I was thirsty so I paid up. With the dancing, I hadn’t needed to visit the ladies, but when Sharon said she needed to go, I went with her. Okay so it’s a girl thing, one pees we all pee. Safety in numbers, check your make up, wash your hands, whatever. But we navigated our way to the loos, through a sea of swaying bodies or static ones swaying not so much from the music but the effects of fermented grain or some equally lethal substance. In the toilets, someone was trying to buy Ecstasy tablets, another was grumbling about the no-smoking policy. We queued and peed, then checked our makeup and hair, I was a bit sweaty around the hairline so tidied myself up with a tissue, some fresh lippy and off we went.
As we came out of the toilets and along the corridor, I mentioned how quiet it had gone. Sharon suggested a power cut, and we both laughed when I pointed out that the lights were still on, such as they were. As we approached the main auditorium, people were screaming and bedlam seemed to be happening, a voice on the tannoy was asking for people to stay calm. I raised my arm and Sharon paused with me. We listened to the voice.
“Everyone just keep calm, and no one else will get hurt, for god’s sake shut that stupid cow up.”
We exchanged glances, what was happening out there. Whatever it was we had to go through the main room to get out, we were effectively trapped. With beating hearts, mine recently migrated to my throat and butterflies filling my abdominal areas, we crept along the corridor. I was desperately trying to recall the fire exits, both were off the main room. Then there was the sound of a bang, like a firework.
A different voice came over the sound system and was nearly drowned by the screams of women, another bang, more screams. “Stay still, Don’t nobody do nuffin. Keep fuckin’ still you stupid bitch.” There were more screams.
“Sounds like someone has a gun,” I whispered to Sharon. I looked behind her two or three women had fled back to the toilets. “Stay here, while I take a look.”
I edged myself along the wall and took out my handbag mirror, as I got near the end, I inched the mirror beyond the wall and tried to see what was happening. Everyone was sitting down, one or two were lying down, some were weeping. Near the disco equipment, the DJ was sat on the floor and in front of him,some man was lying face down. At the microphone was a big black man brandishing a revolver. “Shit” I heard myself whisper under my breath. I saw another standing by the stairs, and the door staff were stood in front of them. Whatever was going down, we were stuck until the men with guns left.
I crept back to Sharon, “There are at least two men with guns. Looks like someone has been shot.” We moved back towards the toilets, creeping on tiptoe in case our footsteps were heard. I dialled triple nine.
“Emergency, which service do you require?”
“Police and ambulance.”
“Hello, police.”
“Hi, we’re at Bennie’s club, someone has been shot, there are at least two men with guns. Please hurry, but be careful.”
“We are aware of this incident, someone is on their way to deal with it. Can I have your name please?"
“Just tell them there are guns here.” I switched off my phone. “The plod is coming.” I whispered to Sharon. It looked like it was going to be a long night. Just then someone made a noise in the toilet and one of the gunmen was sent to investigate, of course, we were caught and along with another four women, one of whom was nearly hysterical, were paraded onto the now empty dance floor.
“What we got ‘ere?” asked the man at the microphone.
“They wuz hidin’ in the bogs.” Called the other in response.
“Why’s you hidin'? Don'cha like me?” None of us answered, except the near-hysterical woman now did become hysterical. “Shut the bitch up or I’ll hurt her.” Said the man with the microphone.
Sharon took the woman and sitting her down tried to calm her down, she was having mixed luck by the whimpering that was coming from behind me. “I asked you a question, bitch.” He said looking straight at me. My stomach did a somersault and ended somewhere in my throat, fighting for space with my heart which was already in residence somewhere near there.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “I didn’t realise you were talking to me.”
“Who’dya tink I was talkin’ to? Myself?” He glared at me, and I felt very afraid. “Why was you hidin’, bitch?”
Although my mouth felt dry I spoke with a much calmer and strong voice than I thought possible. “I had gone to the toilet with my friend when all this happened. We weren’t hiding, at the same time we did not think it wise to come rushing into a room in which guns are being fired.”
He walked over to me. I stood perfectly still but could feel the sweat running down my back. “You one pretty bitch. How you like to fuck with a real man?”
I felt a shudder of horror run through me for two reasons if he did anything my secret would be discovered and he might kill me anyway, and second, he made my flesh creep.
I stood there while he ran the barrel of the gun up my neck. I could feel its coldness on my skin and I was desperately trying not to tremble although that was what my body wanted to do. I took deep slow breaths trying to keep still. I also tried to link with Sekhmet, I needed that lioness strength more than ever. He lifted my chin up with the gun. “You one pretty bitch, what you called?”
I felt the fear in me, then I felt something else, a warmth suffusing through me as if I’d just swallowed a large, stiff drink, like a brandy. I knew then I could deal with this creep. He continued to rub the gun up and down my face, while I felt the ancient power welling up in me. He was going to be in for a surprise or I could be about to start my next phase of reincarnation, I just wanted this creep away from me. He began to speak to me again when there was a noise from outside, it was the police.
Why he and his cronies didn’t just run off after doing whatever they were going to do completely mystified me. But I knew we were now in a hostage situation. It was becoming more dangerous. We both knew there would be an armed response unit even perhaps a swat team outside, with marksmen and their laser-guided rifles and all sorts of other weapons. Common sense said they couldn’t possibly win against such firepower, but sadly they didn’t seem to have much of it.
A phone rang, it rang and rang. No one went to answer it. We all knew it would be the police. One of the gunmen ripped it from the wall and smashed it on the floor. Oops! I thought they are getting nervous and that makes them more dangerous.
They talked amongst themselves and I could see looks being made in my direction. I had a horrible feeling they were going to try and make a run for it using us as shields. I hoped the police had good eyesight.
There were three gunmen and each decided to go out of a separate fire exit, hoping to confuse the authorities waiting for them. As I expected they each grabbed a female hostage. Why do they always grab women? Do they hope it will make the marksmen more inclined to hesitate, in which case they were wasting their time.
I was led to the rear fire exit. I had no idea where it led. One of them tried to force his exit firing at a policeman, so I later learned and was shot dead on the spot. There was much screaming from the hostage who was unhurt. The other two gunmen reconsidered their options.
“C’mon, bitch.” He slowly released the door opening, then threw me outside. Nothing happened. I had dropped to my knees to minimise target size, so some of my army training was working. Maybe I could remember how to disarm someone with a small gun. I doubted it as I’d messed it up in practice anyway, I was too small and feeble. I recall the sergeant training us saying to me, “Look, Curtis, if you are going to fight like a bloody woman, just scratch his bloody eyes out or kick him in the bollocks.” At the time, if you recall I was supposed to be a man.
Back to the present, my would-be escapee was still peeping around the door and no one was there to stop him. We were in some sort of alleyway, with lots of piles of rubbish and industrial bins. The gunman came out, he couldn’t believe his luck, nor could I. What he hadn’t seen, but I had was a large lioness standing about twenty yards away.
The gunman came out and dragged me to my feet, “Get walkin’, bitch.” I took a step and there was a loud growl. He suddenly saw the lioness, as it moved towards him. He pushed me away onto a dustbin, as the lioness moved towards him, he began to shoot at it, but his bullets were having no effect, as his gun clicked on empty, I launched myself backwards at him and brought the side of the dustbin lid across his face with as much force as I could muster, it made a tremendous clang. He stumbled backwards muttering at me and as he moved forwards to hit me with the gun, a single shot rang out, he froze as blood began to pour out of his chest. Then he fell in slow motion backwards.
A voice called out, “Armed police, don’t move. Put your hands up.”
I did as I was told, and two officers came running, both were armed, one was calling instructions for paramedics. I was led away, from the now dying gunman. I saw him leave his body, I knew he was dead. Where he went I don’t know, but I didn’t really have time to think about it. I was taken from the alley and into a police car. Suddenly I realised how cold I was and began to tremble uncontrollably.
Someone put a blanket around me, I was taken to an ambulance and checked out by a friendly woman paramedic. “I’m okay.” I said, “The gunman is dead.”
“How do you know?” she asked me.
“He was hit in the heart.” I replied, “Some shot.”
“How do you know?”
“I was stood not more than a couple of feet from him.”
“Oh.” she said, “You one of the hostages?”
“Yes.”
A senior policeman arrived. “Were you one of the hostages?”
“Yes.” I responded, still shaking.
“How many were there of them?”
“Three I think.”
“We’ve got two. The other one must be inside.”
“They shot someone in the club. I don’t know if he’s dead or still alive.”
“Sorry I can’t risk it until we’ve neutralised the threat. Describe the building, we’re still waiting for plans to arrive.”
I did as I was told. There were now two entrances available for entry, but storming it was potentially very dangerous for all concerned. However, I had friends inside there and I wasn’t going anywhere until they were safe.
“I know my way around the building, been there lots of times.” I offered, “I could lead your men in.”
“Don’t be daft, woman.” Said the police chief.
“I’m a soldier.”
“So what,” he spat at me.
“Give me a flak jacket and a gun and I’ll go and get him for you.”
“Take this woman away from here, Now,” he shouted. I was led away and told to wait by an ambulance.
The paramedic was busy with someone else, so I sneaked back towards the alley. From the back of a police car I snatched up a bullet-proof vest and put it on. Knowing I was heading for big trouble, not with the gunman but with the police, I kept on sailing towards the iceberg.
The police were still in the alley, nothing had been done including the removal of the body, they didn’t recognise me, seeing the police jacket I was allowed through. I presume they thought I was police or medical staff.
I slipped in the door, just as they realised what was happening. An officer came after me but I was running by then, towards the main staircase. I could see, the gunman standing holding a woman in front of him. He was at the foot of the stairs. He was now trapped.
“Come any closer, copper, and she gets it.”
I stood absolutely still and said to him. “You realise that if she gets hurt you are dead. You still have a chance to live, take it and throw down your gun.”
“I’ll kill her first.”
“If you do I shall tear out your liver and heart and eat them before your eyes.” I felt the power rising in me again, I snarled at him and he whimpered. His hand holding the gun was shaking. I knew he was seeing something far bigger than me, walking down those stairs. I snarled again and he dropped the gun and ran, straight into a bottle wielded by one of the imprisoned clubbers. He was overpowered and arrested.
To cut a long story the man who’d been shot originally was dead. It was a drugs thing, so I felt little sympathy. The remaining man of the gang was for some reason terrified of me, kept saying something about me turning into a lion. The police were very cross with me, even though I’d disabled two of the gang, and I was to be charged with obstructing police investigations. I knew that wouldn’t stick. Reckless behaviour maybe.
It was a long night. Statements were taken from everyone present before we could leave. Mine was probably the most entertaining.
“So, Miss Curtis, you told me you were a soldier.”
“I am. Well sort of, I’m a military nursing student.”
“Hardly qualifies as a soldier.”
“I did my basic. I could have loaded a gun and shot him.”
“ Having been rescued by my officers why did you enter the building again?”
“I had helped disable the man your officers shot.”
“How was that?” he asked so I told him about how he’d fired at shadows in the alley, then when his gun was empty I hit him with the dustbin lid. “He did have a wound across his face.” Said another policeman.
“Why did you re-enter the building, when I specifically told you not to?”
“I knew I could make the other man give himself up.”
“How could you possibly know that. He could just as easily blown your head off.”
“I knew he’d been using drugs, and I’d heard him talking about some superstition. I knew that I could frighten him into believing he was doomed.”
“If he got that frightened he could just as easily shot you.”
“But he didn’t, did he?”
“No, he didn’t.”
“I effectively hypnotised him into believing I was much larger and turning into a lion. He swallowed it, and the rest is history.”
“So if this technique is so effective, why didn’t you do it before and save us the bother of coming at all?”
“You’d be complaining about job security then.”
“Sign your statement and get out of my sight before I have you arrested for obstructing a police officer in the course of his duty.” His eyes were sparkling.
As I left he said quietly, ”You’ve got some bottle, girl, but don’t ever do anything as stupid again.”
“I won’t” I promised.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
I won’t dwell on the journey back, I received some accolades and criticisms. “Shoulda left it to the police,” came one critic's opinion.
“If I had you’d still be there.” Was my response.
“How’d you make that growling noise?” asked another, “that was pretty cool.”
Kate squeezed my hand and said quietly to me, “I may have some reconsidering to do about realities.” I just smiled my reply.
We got home about six that morning, it was barely worth trying to sleep as I’d have to be up at eight and in school for nine. I just went and had a leisurely shower. My hair was now long enough to put up in a sort of ponytail that I clipped up, rather than allowed to hang. It meant I didn’t eat quite so much of it at mealtimes.
Then I checked my texts. There was a new one from John. ‘Where are U, tried calling, no reply. C U soon my princess. Luv J.’ I immediately sent him a text reply. ‘sorry girls nite out, miss U. princess J.’ I thought, he’ll like that one.
Well, the day was one big yawn, quite literally. Half of the class had been to the club so they were all yawning themselves silly. Once someone started we were all at it. One of the girls started to nod off, which was okay until she began to snore. Even the lecturer had to laugh but was the girl embarrassed.
There were lots of discussion as to what had happened, and the rumours were abounding. I probably knew more of what had happened than most and even I didn’t have the full story. We surmised it was one of those Yardie Gang things about drugs and guns, but we’d have to wait for the full story. I half expected to be interviewed again by the police, especially as there would be serious charges against the man they caught. Firearms offences are as serious as it gets, especially when someone is shot. So with just my limited knowledge of the law, he could be charged with possession of a firearm, especially as handguns have been illegal in the UK for some years, accessory to murder, taking and detaining someone against their will, false imprisonment, plus probably lots more. He would go down for quite a long stretch, which I felt he richly deserved.
Midway through the physiology lecture, the digestive system in all its glory, I was sent for by Captain Brice. It was not entirely unexpected. I went to her office along a well-trodden path. I knocked and entered when bid to do so.
“Ah, Nurse Curtis, this is Superintendent Mitchell. He’d like to ask you a few questions about last night. Would you like me to leave or stay?”
The big uniformed police officer shrugged his shoulders, so it was up to me. I wasn’t sure what to say, but I thought the presence of a potentially friendly third party would prevent the use of thumb-screws and rubber coshes. “I’d like you to stay, ma’am.” She nodded her assent.
“Miss Curtis, I have your statement here from last night, would you care to read it.” He handed me a piece of paper. It seemed a reasonable account of what I’d said had happened, which of course was the edited highlights. He also showed a copy to Captain Brice.
“Yes, that’s what I remember having told you.”
“Quite. Just a few things I’d like to clear up if you don’t mind.” He smiled sweetly at me. I could hardly object in any case, but he seemed a nice man about my father’s age, but much heavier built. He began the interrogation.
“Did you see the shooting in the club?”
“No, I was in the toilets and coming back we heard the screams, so I peeped around the corner to see what was going on. I think we heard a shot, but probably not the one which killed the man.”
“You called 999 and reported the shooting?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you give your name and address?”
“I didn’t want anyone seeing me phoning, they might have shot me.”
“You realised we could trace the number of the phone making the call?”
“I hadn’t thought about it, but I wasn’t trying to hide anything from you in any case.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that, Miss Curtis, because there are a few anomalies, probably oversights, in your statement and some of the other witnesses.” It was one of those ‘Oh shit!’ moments. I had half expected it but even so, I didn’t relish the thought let alone the reality.
“You were taken hostage by the gunmen?”
“They caught us coming back from the toilets, someone made a noise and they came to investigate. We were paraded out in front of the others, one of the women became hysterical and when he swore at her, my friend I think, took her off to calm her down. I was left standing out the front pretty well on my own. He made threats to me, rubbed the gun on my face to intimidate me then you lot arrived.”
“Many witnesses said you behaved with great courage while he made threats to you.”
“I was too frightened to move.”
“What happened next?”
“I think the phone rang. It rang for some time and one of them ripped it off the wall and smashed it.”
“That was the officer in charge trying to make contact with the gunmen. What do you remember next?”
“There was general confusion and for some reason they decided as there were three exits, to take one each. I was taken as a hostage-shield to one of the exits by the man who had threatened me.”
“Yes, we weren’t aware of the three exits, apparently that was a new one not on the original plans. Go on.”
“He pushed me through the door, and when I wasn’t shot by marksmen, he peeped round the door and decided to make a break for it with me as his hostage.”
“Why did he start shooting. If he hadn’t he might have got a lot further?”
“I don’t know and was hardly in a position to ask him. He was very nervous and I suppose he thought he saw something. I don’t know.”
“When did you try to escape?”
“He fired off three or four shots at a shadow or dustbin or whatever, and I heard the gun click empty. I thought that this was probably going to be the only chance I had. I grabbed a metal dustbin lid and hit him with it. Then your men showed up and shot him dead.”
“He had a wound to his face commensurate with being hit with something, a blunt instrument. What happened next?”
It was beginning to feel like a television quiz programme, would I lose points if I guessed wrong? “Am I guilty of assault or something?”
“Certainly not, please carry on.”
“I was taken to speak to some officer who asked me questions about the place and my understanding of what had happened, people involved and all that. I told him there was just one man left with a gun and that someone had been shot in the club but I didn’t know if he was alive or dead. I offered to lead the police in through the exit I’d used, but they declined. I had friends in there and I knew the man who was left was very frightened and superstitious. (From here on I had to tell a few porkies, because it was easier than saying, I turn into a lioness on demand). Also, I was pretty sure he was on drugs or booze and I had nearly intimidated him when he brought me from the toilet corridor, but he broke eye contact. I read in a book on hypnosis that it was possible to hypnotise people in that sort of state very easily. I thought I could do it, so I did.”
“You took a bulletproof vest from a police car?”
“Yes, but I did give it back. I only borrowed it.”
“Please continue.”
“Well, I did exactly what I said. I went back through the fire exit, and he was stood at the bottom of the stairs. He saw the vest and thought I was the police, and he made a run for it. Someone clobbered him and you lot arrested him. End of story.”
“Not quite, I’m afraid other witnesses statements tend to contradict you. Please think again.”
“I can’t remember, I was so frightened that I’ve forgotten.”
“Please think, would it help if I mentioned you threatening to eat his heart and making growling noises like a wild animal.”
People are a bloody pain. I save their lives, or my little friend did with my help and they have to complicate the issue. I now had a damage limitation to do. Captain Brice gave me a very old fashioned look, so I was sure more questions would arise there eventually. “I’m not sure quite what I said. He was of Afro-Caribbean origin and I just thought if I could fix him with my eye and make him believe that he couldn’t hurt me because I was some magical shapeshifter, then he would surrender or run away or faint.”
“I see, so you reckon you hypnotised him into believing you were a lion or some such creature and he ran away?”
“Yes.”
“What did you say to him?”
“I can’t remember. I growled and threatened to eat his heart or liver. I was trying to frighten him, it was all happening in his mind. I’m not a cannibal you know.”
He smiled at this last bit. “Miss Curtis, I have no suspicion of you being a cannibal. However, did you not consider your action reckless?”
“I did have a bulletproof jacket on.”
“It would hardly have prevented him from shooting you in the head or a limb, and if your strategy had gone wrong he could have shot others, including the hostage he was holding. Plus having got you out, we had reduced the numbers of possible casualties by one, then you go back in again. It was foolhardy in the extreme.”
I felt about six inches tall and wished the ground would swallow me up. “I’m sorry, I was only trying to help.”
“Do you promise never to do such a foolhardy thing again?”
“Yes sir.”
“Good. We may need to see you again about the statements. We shall also need to see you again later when he comes to trial unless he pleads guilty. He is in big trouble, we may charge him with murder. Then there is the matter of your award.”
“What?” I gasped.
“It seems the powers that be have seen fit to nominate you for a bravery award. I don’t know how they decide these things, but in the circumstances single-handedly disarming a gunman while unarmed yourself is going to be hard to beat. I’m not sure I approve in one way, but I can’t doubt your courage just your judgement. You are a very brave young woman. Pity you’re in here we could do with you in the police, provided you learn to take orders.” I was still reeling as he took his leave of us shaking both our hands.
I went to leave when Captain Brice’s voice stopped me in my tracks. “Stay there, Nurse Curtis.”
Oh, bugger, I thought, now for it.
“Have you seen the local paper?”
“No, ma’am.”
“I believe the nationals will be running the story too.”
“What story, ma’am?”
“Sometimes I worry about you, Nurse Curtis. What have we just been talking about?”
“Oh, that?”
“Yes that, or should I say this.” She produced the evening paper. I read the headline, ‘Shooting at local nightspot, nurse saves lives of dozens of clubbers.’
“I get the distinct impression that you hadn’t thought about this as a consequence before you saved the world?”
“No, ma’am, I didn’t.”
“I thought not. You realise if they dig about enough they may find something we haven’t covered about your past. Then the proverbial will really hit the fan. The tabloids will have a field day.”
My spirits just fell through the floor. What could I do, I didn’t know.
“Have you told your parents?”
“No, ma’am.”
“I think you better had and soon. We have asked our students not to say anything, but who knows what will happen if they get offered money, and we have no control over the other clubbers. I’m afraid you are just going to have to wait and see. Let me know if you need help. The police have agreed not to release your name for the moment, just pray this goes away soon.”
I walked out in a daze. I was very tired from lack of sleep. As I was walking back to my room, a group of people with cameras and microphones ran towards me. I froze for a moment, then ran for it, back into the hospital and hid in the sluice room. What was I going to do? I sat agonising for some time. Then a wave of tiredness overcame me and I fell asleep.
According to my watch, it was nearly nine in the evening. I sneaked out of the hospital and managed to get into the nurses home via the back door, well it’s a fire exit and with help from a few carefully thrown bits of gravel and subsequent help from Sharon, who came down when I tapped her window, and let me in. I felt like some criminal, being pursued by the press. Again my heart went out to those who had been chased simply for being different and became newspaper fodder, to titillate tabloid readers. It had happened to so many transgendered people, and while some invited publicity, most shunned it.
I got in and phoned my parents. I explained things quickly to them. They understood only too well the danger in this publicity, especially if they wanted to do a background check. Thankfully, the army was giving little away, saying that I was embarrassed by the sudden celebrity. I would be described as a local Barbury girl, which would hopefully muddy the waters somewhat. I just hope no one from the Oxford-based press would recognise me.
We played cat and mouse for a whole week. It was at times quite fun, with everyone becoming involved in deceiving the reporters who waited around the nurses home or the school of nursing. The army school of nursing, released press statements saying that I was very shy, which was true, and declined to give an interview. On my behalf, they turned down offers of more than fifty thousand pounds from a tabloid, for my story. The tabloids were now calling me ‘The Lion Girl’ and by mistake published a photo of Sharon, which they had sneaked somehow.
Then much to my astonishment, Dr Fellowes sent me a note. I was to meet him or he would let certain people in the media know my whereabouts. I phoned the number he left.
“Dr Fellowes? It’s Jamie Curtis.” I was not at all happy to be calling him.
I was to go to his house at seven that night. I could take a taxi, and he would refund the fare. I was quite irked by this demand as I’d wanted to get together with John. John understood the publicity problem and we talked on the phone a few times, but he seemed to want to keep out of the public eye too. It suited me and at the same time intrigued me, was it a personal thing or a professional thing? When would he tell me about his work? And maybe I had to ask the same question about when I should tell him about my little problem. Something we had briefly discussed because he asked me ‘if the man in the alley had emptied his gun into a phantom lioness?’ He caught on quick, I told him it was a protective spirit which watched over me, well it was kind of. He asked if I could organise a similar one for him! One day I would tell what the price of such protection cost, body and soul for eternity at the last estimate.
I paid off the taxi and walked into the detached house. It was quite a size, four or five bedrooms. There was a brass plate on the wall giving Dr Fellowes name and his medical degrees. The usual stuff. I presumed he saw patients here as well as the hospital unless he didn’t think the postman could find the house by its number. The area was leafy suburbia, with avenues of horse-chestnut and plane trees, and strips of grass between pavement and road. I rang the large brass bell.
The doctor answered the door himself and invited me in. I went in without much enthusiasm. “I’m glad you could come.” He greeted me.
“I had little choice, you threatened me.”
“Please don’t think so badly of me. I had to get to talk to you.”
“Well I’m here now, so talk.” I just wanted to get out.
“Let’s go in the study, it’s cosier.” He showed me into a very nice room full of books and journals, computers and some pictures. Although I had never met his wife, I knew which of the photos were of her. He went off to make some tea. I was glad to see he hadn’t been drinking. He came back about ten minutes later with a pot of tea, bone china cups and saucers, a milk jug and matching sugar bowl. There was even a hot water jug and a plate of chocolate biscuits.
He asked me if I’d care ‘to be mother’, an expression meaning would I like to pour the teas. I did so quite happily, even if it was somewhat stereotypical. I was perched on a leather sofa, he was sat opposite on a matching chair and between us was the tray atop a large coffee table.
I had seen enough of the room to realise that he like my dad collected books, only his were probably older and had Latin titles. I presumed they were old medical textbooks. A simple question confirmed this.
“Do you like books, Jamie?” he asked me.
“Some. I’m not as acquisitive as my dad, he lives for his literature.” This gave us a few minutes of icebreaking on a neutral topic. I told him about the Shakespeare fragment my dad had, he showed me his letter from Paracelsus. I suppose I was impressed but felt both should be in the public domain a view shared by my mum.
“You know why I asked you to come?” he eventually said.
“I’m not sure, but I don’t think it’s for therapy.”
“No this is strictly non-professional,” he stated and I nodded my understanding. “First, I should thank you for saving my life. It was you who informed the police?”
“Does it matter who called them?” I responded. He was still a trick-cyclist and I wanted to tell him as little as possible. Strictly a need to know basis.
“I’d like a confirmation if you don’t mind.”
“Why?”
“Because I believe you have certain powers of perception which enable you to see things which most of us can’t.”
“You mean your wife’s accident?”
“Well, that and I’m sure she came to tell you she was dying.”
“Why should she come to see me? It’s not as if she knew me.”
“She just said she was coming to see you as she died. I could hardly argue with her. Why are you so defensive?”
“Am I? Maybe it’s that I feel uncomfortable here?”
“Why, is it the house? Is she here?”
“My problem isn’t with the house or your wife,” I replied very quietly to him.
“Do you not feel safe with me?” He looked hurt by the very idea that he could frighten anybody.
“You did threaten me.”
“I should never have carried it out. I felt desperate.”
“Why, what is it you want?”
“I want to speak to Beryl through you.”
“You want what?” I gasped .
“I want to make use of your mediumistic powers to speak to my wife.” He seemed genuine, I felt gobsmacked.
“I’m sorry, but you got the wrong person. I’m not a medium.”
“What are you then?”
“A student nurse.”
“What about these powers to conjure up lions?”
“What lions and what powers are these then?”
“You’ve seen the press, The Lion Woman of Barbury’.”
“I have no control of what they print in the press. I have no control over any lions either. It’s Joy Adamson you want, but you’ll need a good medium to speak to her as well. If you don’t mind I’m going.”
He stood up and rushed between me and the door. “Please don’t go. I’m sorry, I haven’t put things very well.”
“I think you’ve put things perfectly clearly. I am not a medium, I am not the Lion King or any other bloody animal trainer. I am a rather pissed off student nurse.”
“Please stay, just for a few more minutes. Please tell me what Beryl said to you.”
“She has not spoken to me. I spoke to her when she came as she said she would. I just sent her off to the light, a thing my gran used to do with any dead people she saw.”
“So this trait runs in the family?”
“Yes, but it isn’t about talking to the dead. I see them they go, I don’t see them again as a rule. Sometimes they speak to me in passing, but that’s it. No great revelations or words of comfort for the bereaved. If your wife had things she needed to tell you, she would appear to you. Not me. She has no interest in me, nor do I in her. Sorry if that sounds callous, it isn’t meant to be. It’s just the way it is.”
I could see the tears form in his eyes. Then they began to drip off his nose. He was a broken man. I felt absolutely rotten, but I told my truth as I saw it.
“There are some hankies in the bedside cupboard top drawer, she said not to use the coloured ones they’ll make your nose sore.” Oh shit, now what do I do?
“I knew you could do it. I’ve seen lots of patients with schizoid tendencies who felt they were psychics, but you are the real thing.” His smile went from ear to ear and he was crying with pleasure. How do I get into these situations?
Once more I got the sense of a message for him, “She says that she must go and continue her journey. She will come back once more on one condition?”
“Anything? Just name it.” He was pleading with me.
“You must do all you can to deal with your grief and move on. Your job on earth is to heal damaged minds. If you try to end your life prematurely again you will never ever see or hear from her again. Do you understand?”
“Yes," he said. "When will she come back to see me?”
“When you are ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“I don’t know.”
“But you must know.”
“Why, I’m only the bloody messenger. But I get the impression she meant she will appear to you directly.”
“Yes, but when?”
“I don’t know, read my lips. I do not bloody well know.”
“Thank you for your help, I much appreciate it.”
“Look I’m pleased that you got what you wanted. But I must go now.”
“Yes of course. I’ll call you a taxi.” He made the short phone call for a cab. Then he rushed into the bedroom. “Please accept this, we don’t have any children and I know Beryl would have wanted you to have it.” He pushed a small jewel case into my hand. I opened it, but he snapped it back shut. “No peeping, just accept it in the spirit in which it is given.” When I hesitated, he pushed it back into my hands, “Please.” The bell rang and I went through the door, he rushed ahead pushed a twenty-pound note into the driver's hand and instructed him to deliver me safely.
When I got home, I dumped the jewel case on my chest of drawers as the phone was ringing. It was John.
“Hi, princess. It’s so good to speak to you again.”
“Good evening, sir knight, it is good to converse with you again. ”I joked back. I was so pleased I could not describe it in mere words, but my whole body ached for him. While I didn’t know if that was a sexual thing or not, I just longed to be with him.
I couldn’t believe we spoke for two hours, but my ear was getting numb. Then he dropped the bombshell. “Look, I have to go off again.”
“What? So soon again! It’s not fair.”
“I know that, princess, but it’s my job. I have to go. Just for a week or two at the most.”
“It sounds a rotten job to me.” I was now crying down the phone.
“Sometimes it is, princess, but it’s what they pay me for. I shall call around tomorrow for an hour at seven. Be there.” With that, he rang off.
I cried myself to sleep awaking with the light still on. Or it felt like it. I opened my eyes, which were puffy and sore from crying and stuck together, so it took me a moment to focus in the bright light. I suddenly realised it wasn’t an electric light I was seeing, but a fantastic blue-white light coming from my chest of drawers. Gathering my wits, I got off the bed and walked towards the source of this seemingly magical illumination. It was the neglected jewel case, inside I could see, because it was open, a beautiful pearl necklace and matching drop earrings. As I picked them up so the light gradually faded. I said a thank you out loud. I now knew that they were mine to wear, the original owner had given her consent. I felt cold and my goosebumps were massive, I began to shiver. Taking the case with me I went back to bed. It was a precious gift which I would treasure and put in the office safe first thing.
The next morning I wrote to Dr Fellowes to thank him for his gift, I also told him briefly about what had happened in the night. I posted the letter on the way to the hospital office and deposited my new treasure in their safe.
I got back to my room after a day that just dragged and dragged. I showered and changed into something casual but tidy. I didn’t bother with any makeup but I did spritz a bit of eau de toilette about myself. It was half six, half an hour to wait for my knight in shining armour. I had waited all day for this meeting, this tryst, so why did I have horrible feelings about it?
I tried to crystallise my feelings, to ascertain where they were on my body or what they felt like, then perhaps I could deal with them. The one person I did not want to feel negative about was John, but there was something I began to dread about this evening. I paced back and fore for a few minutes, then suddenly thought to check my mobile. There was the reason for my pessimism. “@ airport, project moved 4ward. Did try to call. Really sorry. C U in 2 weeks. Luv J. XXXX”
At that moment I despised the army. How could it keep doing things like this to me? If John loved me, how could he keep dashing off as he did? I felt so angry, it was as if just as my life was coming together so something would pull the rug out from under my feet and I’d end up on my bottom again. It was all so unfair! I stamped around my room, then flung myself on the bed and howled like a demented werewolf. I began to think things couldn’t get any worse when somebody knocked at my door.
I had to stop crying and listen for a moment. Was I mistaken? No, there it was again. Could it be John? Was Father Christmas alive and well after all? I rapidly dried my eyes after bathing them in cold water, shouting, “I’m coming” I rushed to the door. As I opened it there was a blinding flash, which left me seeing just green after-images for a moment or two, a voice I didn’t recognise said, “Hello, Miss Curtis, I’m Aaron Moseley from the Barbury Echo, can I have a word with you?”
I was so astonished, I simply stood there probably doing a good impression of a goldfish. “What about?” my marbles were beginning to come back together.
“Bennie’s Niteclub ring any bells for you?”
“No, does it for you?” I replied and began to close the door.
He stuck his foot in the door which prevented me from closing it. “Look, this won’t take long and you can either tell me what happened or I’ll just carry on making things up, you know, ‘Lion Woman’ and that sort of stuff.”
“Why should I help you?” I was now very anxious, perhaps it was just as well John was away – in case they find out about you know what. Oh Christ, surely this isn’t happening. I’ll wake up in a minute to find it’s all a bad dream. Please, God.
“Miss Curtis, all I want is a few quotes and a photo and I’ll leave you in peace. Promise, cubs honour and all that.”
“If I do talk to you, I want someone else here,” I said racking my brains as to whom I could contact.
“Fine by me.” he chirpily responded.
“I need to think for a few minutes. Let me close the door.”
He removed his foot and I shut the door quickly. Who could I call? It had to be Sheila Brice, who else was there? There was no one else.
I called her mobile number and got her voice mail. Oh no. I left her a frantic message. I suddenly realised I was all alone. Despite my supposed guardian angel, I was now alone and in great danger. I didn’t know what to do, I really didn’t. I knew enough of newspapers not to believe anything they said, and that any quote I made could be used against me. This was awful. I was on the verge of bursting into tears of the most desolate sort when the phone rang.
“Hello.” I almost whimpered down it.
“You alright, Jamie?” It was Sheila.
“I have the press camped outside my door and they managed at least one photo.”
“Who is it?”
“The Barbury Echo.”
“Tell them to wait, I’ll be right over. See you in ten.” She’d evidently got my message. Perhaps there was a god after all, but then if there was, did he get some buzz out of seeing me down before he put the boot in?
I told the reporter they’d have to wait a few more minutes, he seemed happy with it. He would feel far less happy in those few minutes when Sheila Brice arrived and did her impression of World War 3 in Knickers. She was busy driving as fast as she could and running on pure indignation, plus the added energy created by the way she was going to deal with whoever let the press into the nurse’s home. Firing squad would be too quick unless she got to torture them first, to extract the confession signed in blood. It would certainly be a chargeable offence as they had been told categorically not to do exactly what someone had done. Someone would pay, she would make sure of that.
Just as she decided about how she would investigate the breach of security, she started to leave the traffic lights as they turned green. She failed to see the young man driving the old Vauxhall Astra. He arrived late at the other lights and did not stop at the red one.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
Sheila Brice’s car was hit in the tail causing her to spin around and be hit by a car coming from the opposite direction. She would be trapped in her car for several hours. The causer of the accident would be even less lucky, his car ricocheted off Sheila’s into the car following, turned over and was finally hit by an articulated truck killing the drivers of both vehicles and the two passengers in the old Vauxhall.
From her room in the nurse’s home Jamie heard the crash, so did the pressmen. Knowing that Sheila was due, she decided to throw caution to the wind and investigate. Throwing on a jacket she ran past the press team and out of the building. As she approached the scene of the chaos of the accident, the fire brigade was arriving with sirens and flashing lights, police and ambulances were also arriving. Casualties were in all four corners of the busy junction. The scene was surreal. In the darkness, lit by a combination of streetlights, car headlights and the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles it was hard to recognise the place let alone the vehicles.
Jamie scanned the carnage. At first, she thought Sheila must be held up by the subsequent traffic queues, then her heart sank as she saw what looked like Sheila’s car. Only it didn’t quite look like it. The back was all smashed and the front had caved in, some of the side was bashed. It was a nightmare.
Feeling guilt for having asked the woman to come out, she rushed over to the wreckage. Sheila was alive, a paramedic was with her. Jamie introduced herself as a nurse and friend of the injured driver. Giving instructions to call him if her condition changed, the paramedic went off to assist another casualty. The press team couldn’t believe their luck, two stories for the price of one. The photographer was busy snapping the scenes of mayhem, while the reporter was phoning his editor on his scoop.
Jamie simply reached in and squeezed Sheila’s hand. “Don’t worry,” she said, “they’ll have you out of here soon.”
Sheila was trapped by her legs, she didn’t think anything was broken but she had several minor cuts and bruises, including a nasty gash on her face where her airbag had inflated pushing her head against the side of the car. It may have saved her a whiplash or broken neck, but it had done little for her looks.
Jamie’s attention was snatched by the flash from the camera, the photographer had taken a picture of her comforting her friend. “You dirty low life, why don’t you piss off and do some proper work? Is there nothing to which you won’t stoop? You can forget any interview. Just piss off and leave me in peace.” The camera flashed as she shouted at them.
A policeman attending the accident overheard the rumpus and ejected the reporter and his photographer. Jamie went back to her friend.
The eventual release of the captain took more than three hours. She had been the least injured so had to wait the longest. She had no complaint with the decision of the senior fire officer. Jamie stood alongside comforting her friend until the release was started, then she just had to stand and wait. Finally, she was allowed into the ambulance with her commanding officer while it sped off to the main trauma unit a couple of miles away.
Sheila was glad of the company while she waited to be checked out by the A&E clinical team. A few hours and several X-rays later, she was discharged home, and Jamie accompanied her back in the taxi.
At no time did they discuss the reason for the original phone call, shock had knocked it out of Sheila’s mind and guilt prevented Jamie from saying anything. She helped Sheila in and settled her down for the night. On receiving assurances that she would be alright, and a promise to call her if she wasn’t, Jamie left and walked home. It was nearly four o’clock when she finally got back to her room.
The next day was a blur of tiredness, she did manage to get to school on time but it was a struggle, as was staying awake. She phoned her parents and they sent a bouquet to the injured C.O. She also called Sheila at lunchtime to see if she needed anything and was told the flowers had arrived. At teatime, she went round to see the casualty and was horrified to see her picture of the front page under the title, ‘The Roar of The Lion Woman.’ In it she was reported as shouting at the photographer, another showed the scene of the accident and Jamie leaning into Sheila’s car. That one was titled, ‘The full horror of the crash at Barbury Cross.’ Lion Woman’, Jamie Curtis, comforts one of the injured at the scene.’
When she saw the pictures and their captions, Jamie was outraged. When she read the story, she was further incensed.
Controversial nurse heroine, Jamie Curtis, last night cut short an exclusive interview with our reporter Aaron Moseley, to help at a horrific accident at Barbury Cross lights. The nurse was nick-named ‘Lion Woman’ by the press after her daring rescue of colleagues at the siege of Bennie’s Club a month ago.
She said, “It was all in a night’s work for the modern army nurse” and that due to her training she wasn’t frightened by the presence of the gunmen. Several other witnesses from that night claimed that Jamie when roused, became a real ‘lion’ and disarmed two of the gunmen single-handed, threatening to ‘eat the heart’ of the last one if he didn’t surrender. No wonder he did!
Last night we saw her in action as she calmly risked life and limb to help at the accident scene, even shouting at our team to leave in case they were in danger from exploding petrol tanks. She was reported as staying to help until the final casualty was taken to hospital. With demonstrations of courage like this, it’s no wonder she has been nominated for a bravery award. We think she should get two, exemplifying what is good amongst the local young people. Let’s see a few more follow her example.
The leader was also about the ‘courage of our local heroine’. Jamie didn’t know whether to laugh or throw up. However, on the positive side, no one had thought to check out her history. For the moment she seemed to have escaped, although she was certainly not counting her chickens, given the recent experiences she’d had, life could change in the twinkling of an eye.
“Did you see any dead people at the accident?” asked Sheila.
“Not from recent times.”
“What do you mean?” her friend was intrigued.
“The crossroads was the place of execution, so there were all sorts of strange creatures hanging around, one or two quite literally.”
“You mean you saw people hanging from gallows or gibbets? Oh, how horrible. Quite puts me off my tea.” Said a paler Sheila Brice, imagining the scene.
“No, I didn’t see anything of the sort, but it made you think for a moment.”
“You horrible nurse you, don’t come here telling tall tales, you know how gullible I am.” The bruising on Sheila’s face was becoming more obvious despite ice packs and arnica. “I wonder what they are going to say when I go back to work?” She said touching her face gingerly.
“What can they say?” Jamie cocked an eyebrow at her. “I suppose you could always tell them you were mauled by the lion woman. This imaginary creature who acts as a superhero, rescuing people from danger.” With a deadpan face, she looked Sheila straight in the eye and asked, “Do you think I should start wearing my knickers on top of my jeans, and perhaps a cape of some sort?”
Sheila’s answer was to throw a cushion with some degree of accuracy, it hit Jamie on top of the head before bouncing off and knocking over a vase of flowers. Dealing with this disaster stopped the silliness, at least for a moment.
“So where was your little lion friend in your hour of need?” asked a pensive Captain Brice. She was sat on the sofa wearing a velvet leisure suit in green.
“What do you mean?” I replied.
“I thought you were protected by this lion thing, you know past lives and all that.”
“I still don’t understand what you mean?”
“Your well being was under threat, so where was Sek whatever its name is? Aren’t you linked for all eternity to your little cat friend?”
“If you mean my dreams and experiences, then they lead me to believe that I have had past lives and that may have some bond to the goddess Sekhmet. I can’t explain it more than that. Who is to say that she didn’t cause your accident to happen, because ultimately, it seems we got a neutral outcome from the press.”
“If she did cause it to happen, how do you reconcile the fact that four people got themselves killed? Your goddess thingy is pretty callous.”
“If it were the case then life is to some extent expendable, we all come round again eventually.”
“From a nurse, I find that rather bizarre reasoning. What about the press? Did your goddess arrange that too?”
“I don’t know,” I replied.
“I’d still like to know who let them in. If ever I find out they will be in deep trouble, if they took any money then they will face a possible court-martial.” She paused for a moment, “Do you really think your goddess thingy caused my accident?”
“I don’t necessarily think any such thing, but it could be a possibility.” Did I honestly believe such things? Why not, stranger things seemed to happen and religious people all have their myths about how their gods caused certain things to happen. I suppose I didn’t actually believe it as a real cause, but it paid to keep an open mind.
As I got ready to leave, I decided to deal with my guilt. “I’m sorry that you got hurt trying to help me. I appreciate all you’ve done for me.”
“Oh, Jamie you fool.” She slapped me on the arm as I began to fill up with tears again. “I’d have done it for any of my nurses, and I was concerned to discover who ignored my orders. I’m more irritated by that than by losing my car.”
“It is a write-off then ?”
“Absolutely. The insurance assessor had a look at it this afternoon, it has no chance of repairs, so it’s a new car.”
“Oh, is that good or bad ?”
“It means I lose my no claims bonus and have to pay out an excess to activate the policy, but if I get a new car, I shall be more than happy.” This company replaces the car rather than paying out cash. I don’t care which, and I suppose it will save all the hassle of finding and test driving one if someone else does it all for me.”
“ I must go. Physiol test tomorrow.”
“Good luck with that. Thanks for coming around and thank you for your apology. That was very sweet of you.”
I could feel the blush coming so I hopped it rather quickly.
The next day after the physiology test, at which I thought I’d done quite well, I met up with a couple of friends from the course. Sharon was there as always and she was buying because I had coached her enough to pass the test. I was now collecting on my investment.
Judy, a girl I’d not got to know very well, and who had been at Bennie’s, came up to me and said. “I never got to thank you for saving us at Bennie’s.”
“I didn’t. It was the police who did.” I responded with the official line, besides I’d had enough of the whole business.
“The police were still pratting about when you made the last gunman run away. I heard you growl at him, you sounded like a real wild animal. Even I thought it was scary and you had a funny glint in your eye like it wasn’t you at all.”
“Who was I like then, if it wasn’t me?” This was getting boring.
“Like you were possessed. It was like something out of a horror film.”
“Which one, Carry on Nursing meets The Omen?” Definitely boring.
“If you can’t take this seriously, why bother?” she huffed at me.
“I won’t next time. Look all I did was improvise. I had an idea and went with it. It worked. I don’t know who was more surprised me or the gunman.” I was trying to justify myself without drawing attention to what had really happened. As this was happening, someone I’d never met before came up to me.
“Hi, you’re Jamie?” The words were spoken by a dark-haired, dark-eyed, olive-skinned woman of about twenty. She was about five foot eight and although willowy best described her, she gave me a feeling of deceptive strength. My solar plexus chakra did a flip as she stood close to me. There was something not quite right about this woman or her energies were out of alignment.
“Yes, I’m Jamie,” I replied, quickly visualising a circle of light around me and between us.
“I’m Harry.” I looked askance at her for a moment. “Harriet really, but it’s a bit of a mouthful.” I smiled a response, while thinking, stand further away, my tummy was somersaulting like a jumping bean.
She continued, “ I hear you’re into Egyptian stuff.”
Where was this leading? I asked myself. Why were her energies so strange. “Yeah, I like all sorts of history.”
“Ever seen one of these?” she asked as she passed me a small pottery lion’s head. It was probably the top of a canopic jar, you know one of the jars Egyptian embalmers used to store the dried organs of the deceased.
She practically thrust it into my hands, and I stumbled backwards into an easy chair, which luckily was unoccupied. I had never done any psychometry before. This is eliciting information about a person by holding or touching a personal possession, usually a watch or ring.
The pottery lion’s head was giving me very strange feelings, almost drawing me into it. I felt as if this was a canopic jar from my own body, from a past life. My heart was beating in my ears drowning out the sound of the music of the party. Everyone from the present time seemed to disappear, and all I could hear was my own heart and the sepulchral laughter of Harriet, who knew the effect the pottery would have upon me. This was my ‘kryptonite’ and I felt myself being drawn deeper and deeper into it.
The sense of being sucked out one’s body is not one I should recommend, it is far from pleasant. It was what I was now experiencing, like being sucked into some very powerful vacuum cleaner, which was drawing my very soul out of my body. I kept wanting to know why? It refused to tell me.
I found myself in ancient Egypt. I was giving evidence against another priestess, she had stolen valuables from our temple and had also been implicated in the murder of a sister priestess who had discovered her nefarious acts. She was found guilty and sentenced to be killed by stoning. She left screaming hatred at me and vowing to avenge herself. I saw myself sitting weeping at the outcome of the trial. I felt sad, not for the threats they were to be expected, but because I felt a sadness that one of my own kind had betrayed the trust of the goddess into whose service we were sworn. It reflected upon us all.
As I sat there lost in my revelry, I felt a shadow cast itself over me. I glanced upwards and saw Hotep, the pharaoh’s vizier. “My lord, “ I said and knelt before him.
“Rise my child.” He replied to my act of respect. He was a man of about forty, which seemed ancient to my age of about fifteen. “Why do you weep?”
“My lord, for the soul of the priestess Ishte who has betrayed both our lady Sekhmet and our sisterhood, and for the soul of the priestess Anek, who was killed attempting to protect the property of our lady.”
“I can see why you would weep for your fallen sister, especially as she died for such a noble cause. Why waste your tears on the scoundrel who caused her death, and who herself, is by now also dead?”
“We are shamed and redeemed in the eyes of our lady by the acts of these our sisters. I feel a personal shame in giving accusations against my sister.”
The vizier placed his hand on my shoulder. “You are old beyond your years my child. You have a wisdom which is given to you by The Ancients, those who built the temple of the Sphinx. You have a compassion which is fitting in your calling, although may not be shared by your mistress and which I would caution you to treasure but keep well hidden. Finally, young woman, you are possessed of a sensitivity and intuition which will lead you into many adventures, make sure you use it to protect yourself.” He stroked my face as he looked into my eyes. I felt him half pitying me and part lusting after my body. I was required to be a virgin, I intended to keep it that way. His ideas may well have been opposed to that.
He was distracted by a messenger bringing him a clay tablet, which he read and then smashed on the floor. “Clean up this mess child,” he exhorted me, then as he left he whispered, “Keep your body clean and your innocence intact. I will be back soon.” He was gone with the messenger and his entourage.
What would I do now? If it could be shown that I had been defiled I would be cast out onto the streets to live as best I could. Yet I could hardly argue with a man in such a position of power. If I did, then anything could happen and none of it would be good.
I felt myself being drawn deeper into the lion’s head. All sorts of symbolism assailed my senses. I could smell sandalwood and myrrh, and the smell of rot and decay, the stench of death and the sweetness of anointing oils. I saw myself praying at the foot of the goddess, then being dragged away by the vizier’s henchmen, screaming and begging for help from the goddess. It didn’t come.
“Hey, Jamie, Jamie gal. Wakey wakey!” I felt in the distance someone calling me and touching me. “’Ere, what’s this then?” Sharon picked the lion’s head out of my hands. “You alwight, gal?” she asked squeezing my shoulder.
It took me a couple of minutes to return to the present time. I felt the sadness and hopelessness of the girl in the Egyptian scene I had visited. I didn’t know if it was me in a past life, it could have been. It was unpleasant and I was grateful that Sharon had rescued me. Had it been a deliberate action of Harriet to thrust that object and its memories upon me, or was it a coincidence?
As the strength returned to me and helped by the stiff drink Sharon provided, I felt strong enough to stand and look around the room. There was no sign of Harriet. “Did anyone see where Harriet went?”
“Who’s Harriet?” asked Kate Henderson, who had just arrived. “You look a little peaky, you feeling okay?” she observed.
“I’ll be alright, I’ll tell you about it later.” She gave me a funny look as I said that, but didn’t push it. “How was Sheila?”
“Coming on. She still looks as if she did a few rounds with Muhammed Ali.”
“Who?” I asked.
“You have never heard of Muhammed Ali?” she said and I shook my head in reply. “That surprises me. He was a world champion heavyweight boxer who was famous for his repartee. He fought the American draft for the Vietnam war and they took his title off him. He went to court some years later and won the right to fight again and won it back. For those who like boxing, he is regarded as one of the best ever. So there are some things that our clever little madam doesn’t know then!” She smirked at me and rubbed her hands as if with glee.
As she did this I recalled something from Douglas Adams’ Hitchhiker’s Guide and recited it as I recalled it. “Here I am, brain the size of a small planet parking cars!”
“You sounded just like Marvin then.”
“It was meant to.” We both fell about laughing.
The next few days went by as normal, except for one or two disturbing dreams. They featured the plight of the young priestess in Egypt and the more I thought about it the more it like it was a past life. Kate had kept the lion’s head albeit under protest. I couldn’t bear to have it near me just in case it was what I thought it could be. Who was this Harriet character? Where had she come from and why? She bore a passing resemblance to the priestess Ishte who had been executed for her part in stealing from the temple and more importantly, the killing of the other priestess. She certainly didn’t resemble the other priestess. Was it all in my imagination? It had to be.
Nursing school was predictably boring, we did some specialist ward rounds which meant being in nursing uniform, a white top with yellow bits around it and white trousers. Because we are supposed to be military nurses, we have epaulettes and we have our names on Velcro tapes, like on fatigues. We also wear dog tags all the time.
I’d now got so used to them, the dog tags I mean, that I felt naked without them. We were supposed to wear them at all times, they carry useful info like name, date of birth, sex, pay book number, and blood group. I’m O negative, which makes me a universal donor, they can put my blood into anyone. It means I also get lumbered with giving blood regularly. In fact, we all have to, it’s about nurses setting a good example. So unless you’ve had some horrible disease like Hepatitis, it is expected.
Back to our ward round, it was very interesting but also frightening. Nominally we were doing a dermatology exercise, looking at skin conditions. We got to the last one, a young man who seemed very underweight. He had several purplish-brown lesions. I got a bad feeling about him, a cold shiver.
“Well nurses, what do you think our patient has?” asked the consultant leading the round.
Some of us were scratching more than just our heads, having been shown our first case of scabies. From behind someone asked if the colour was important in the diagnosis. The consultant nodded. “Melanoma” was shouted from behind. He shook his head.
Why I was standing in the front, I wasn’t sure, but I was. The consultant fixed me with a stare and asked, “Well, Nurse Curtis, what words of wisdom do have to contribute to this debate?”
I felt myself blushing, it was as if my ears were going to catch fire they seemed so hot. “I’m not sure sir.”
“Which must mean that you have some idea.”
“Well, it would be a long shot.”
“I don’t hear any of your colleagues saying anything better, so what is this long shot?”
“I was reading something in a book the other day about Kaposi’s…..no it can’t be that. I don’t know sir.”
“You do you know. It is Kaposi’s sarcoma. So what does that mean?”
I looked at the poor man in the bed. It meant he had HIV, and my feeling was right. He was not long for this world. He smiled at me. Despite his illness, his whole face lit up, but behind his smile, he was frightened.
“Well, Nurse Curtis, what does it mean?”
“A damaged immune system I suppose.”
“Top marks so far. Likely cause?”
“HIV infection.”
“These days it is the most likely cause, but not in this case.”
I frowned as I concentrated. What else would cause it. “Immuno-suppressants?”
“Spot on Curtis, go to the top of the class. This young man had a kidney transplant, they got a bit too generous with the immuno-suppressants and wiped out his immune system. Thanks, Sean, gets ‘em every time.”
The young man smiled back at the doctor, but I could see behind the smile. There was still a deep fear there. I felt very sad for him.
As we walked off the ward, the consultant leaned over to me and said, “Well done Curtis, you’ve got more idea than most doctors. That was pretty natty spotting.” He laughed at his own joke.
“He is going to die though isn’t he?”
“I don’t know. We had hoped we could treat the sarcomas with radiotherapy but I’m not so sure. Why do you think he’s going to die?”
“Spooky at it again? Tell him, Curtis.”
“Tell me what nurse?”
“Nothing, sir.”
He looked around at the girl who’d made the comment. “What did you mean?”
“Nothing sir, but Curtis has this knack of knowing who’s going to die. They call her ‘Spooky’ on some wards.”
“Is this true, Curtis?”
“No sir, just a coincidence.”
“But you seem to think Sean is going to die.”
“I thought he had HIV sir, so my opinion doesn’t really count for much does it?”
“I don’t know. His condition was missed by a series of doctors who should have known better, and you a first-year nurse got it near enough right. So I’m interested in how you did it.”
“One of her spirit guides, I expect,” came a voice from the back and several titters accompanied it.
He looked in the direction of the voice. “If you can’t say something sensible, please keep quiet.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone glowing very red with embarrassment. I felt no sympathy.
“It was just a feeling.”
“Well, much of doctoring is intuitive as well as the hard science which backs things up. Kaposi’s is quite rare, especially in white-skinned peoples. The usual cause is HIV or AIDS. In which case the future would not be good for Sean, and I’d lose one of my best teaching aids.” He dismissed the group but called me back.
“Curtis, was that an inspired guess or is there something going on of which I should be aware?”
One of the regular nurses was overheard saying, “Spooky Curtis? Oh that’s her is it?”
“I’m waiting. You are this precognitive person aren’t you?”
I had to think for a minute about what he’d said. “Yes sir.”
“So is Sean going to die?”
“I don’t know sir, you’re the doctor.”
“You think he is, don’t you?”
“I don’t know sir. I honestly don’t.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Fine sir. May I go now?”
“I suppose so. But I’d still like to know what you meant.”
“A mistake sir.”
“I hope so. I sincerely hope so.”
As I left I heard him talking to the regular nurses on the ward. “What’s this ‘Spooky’ business all about?”
“Did she say someone was going to die?” responded the nurse.
“Yes, young Sean. Why.”
“She is usually right. They had five in two weeks while she was on ITU.”
“Yeah well, it happens there. Sean is pretty stable.”
“Doctor can you come quickly, Sean seems to have been taken ill.”
“Oh hell”, he exclaimed.
Sean died the next day. His transplanted kidney failed through an undisclosed infection and he got septicaemia. I felt sick when I found out.
The following day, Dr Armstrong, the dermatologist was waiting for me. “Nurse Curtis, could I have a word please?”
Oh no, I thought. I knew what he wanted and I didn’t need any clairvoyance to do it. “Yes sir, I have a lecture in ten minutes.”
“Well let’s cut to the chase. You know that Sean died?”
“I heard, I’m sorry.” I looked at the floor.
“You knew it was going to happen, didn’t you?”
“No sir, I didn’t.”
“But you did, you asked me so.”
“I didn’t know, I just had a feeling.”
“What sort of feeling?”
“I went cold when I was standing by the bed. That’s all. How I interpret the feelings is up to me. This time, because I was thinking he had HIV, I thought he might die. I was right but not for the right reason.”
“Is that all that happened? What about the Karposi’s, where did that come from?”
“A textbook. I looked at it again last night, it described the lesions as brownish-purple. It was simply memory, nothing paranormal. The rest was pure coincidence.”
“I did some investigating in ITU. It seems that three of the five deaths that happened there, which you had predicted, were unexpected. Was that coincidence?”
“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”
“Try me.”
“Alright, I saw dead people from their families standing around them. They came to get them.”
“How did you know these visitors were dead?”
“No one else seemed able to see them, and they had a funny feeling about them.”
“Like what?”
“It felt colder than normal, or they had a funny colour about them, or the patient did. It wasn’t a trick, I just put together the information available to me. It isn’t paranormal, except that some people can’t see or feel it but that’s because they don’t want to see it.”
“What about the nurse who recovered from being brain dead and in kidney failure?”
“I had nothing to do with that except saying some prayers for her.”
“They must have been very powerful ones.”
“I believe prayer is. It’s effectively sending positive energy which has healing properties. Very simple physics.”
“Not the physics I learned, unfortunately,” he paused for a moment. “Have you told me all you can about these things?”
“Yes sir.”
“You’ve given me food for thought. Thanks for your time. May I come back to you if I need to discuss this further, perhaps over dinner.”
I blushed. “I would be happy to talk about this further, I’m not sure my boyfriend would like the dinner bit, nor would your wife sir.”
“More clairvoyance?”
“Clairvoyance simply means clear-sighted, and I could clearly see your wedding ring before you put your hand in your pocket.”
“Elementary, my dear Watson!” he said and left. I rushed off to my lecture.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
It seems, his penis was destroyed and his anxious parents sought help from Dr John Money at Johns Hopkins hospital in Baltimore. He was doing pioneering work on gender identity disorder at the university there. He had developed a theory that gender was created by nurture and thus a boy could be raised as a girl or vice versa.
David was one of twin boys, and for Money, it was a wonderful chance to prove his theory, one would be raised as a boy and one as a girl. A pseudo vulva was created on David and he was castrated as well. He was then raised as female. His parents were told not to tell him he’d once been a boy.
Things went well for a while then ‘Brenda’ as David was called, became more and more tom-boyish, eventually being unhappy in his girl status. He refused to see Money again, whom he accused of using some very questionable techniques. At age fourteen, he said he didn’t want to be a girl and his parents told him the truth. He decided to become a boy. His twin brother, however, had problems with the news and developed schizophrenia.
Money was still proclaiming his theory as proven and David and his brother made a documentary to show this was not the case. Soon after this, his brother died from a drug overdose which may have been accidental. David had married a woman with children and seemed to be happy, then a series of personal disasters happened including the death of his brother and he became very depressed. He killed himself with a shotgun in May 2004, aged 38 years.
After watching this I went around in a daze for several hours. I sent a copy of the film to my parents, and I loaned mine to Sheila. I needed to think. Was this going to happen to me?
I could see some parallels. Okay, I was eighteen years not eight months, but I could see how circumstances conspired to cause me to adopt a role I hadn’t intended. I was damaged down below, albeit not to the same extent as David was. However, there were also some differences. As a boy I wasn’t a boisterous type, well I don’t remember being so. I didn’t play much sport because my small size tended to disadvantage me and I wasn’t the sort to accept that as a challenge, leastways not a direct one. So instead of going down the gym and pumping iron, I learned to fight back with my mind when I wasn’t sewing or knitting at my grandmother’s house.
Okay, so I was different in lots of ways, but it was the lack of consultation that angered me for both David and myself. We were pawns in someone else’s game and that really pissed me off.
I know there are many things I have to accept because I have no control over them, from the weather to taxes. I accepted my conscription for National Service and ultimately my placement because there was little I could do about it. However, no one had the right to change my official status as male or female without my consent, which is what happened. Neither I nor my family was consulted, I was seen as a computer error. How could that happen in this day and age? It was disgraceful!
You can see why I was self-absorbed for a while, it had pushed my buttons good and proper. I didn’t know what to say or do, I felt in limbo. It surprised me. Just when I thought I was comfortable in my role and thinking in terms of when rather than if, I would have genital surgery, this happens and throws everything up in the air.
My parents said simply, that it was for me to decide who and what I was and whatever my conclusion was, they would support and be happy for me. A nice cop-out, but typical of them.
Sheila felt that she was not really neutral because she had been instrumental in getting me where I was. She had supported the breast surgery and urged me to remain female and in nursing, refusing to aid my discharge on health grounds.
I showed the film to Kate. She said that I must make my own decision, but in her opinion, she told me she couldn’t see me as a man, no matter how hard she tried. She described me as being as female as any ordinary women she had ever met, more so than some. While I valued their opinions, they gave me what I expected. What I needed was someone to challenge me, but who?
Traditionally, this is the domain of the psychologist or psychiatrist. I only knew one of those and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go there. In fact, I was pretty sure I didn’t want to. At the same time, part of me wanted to see what the reaction would be, but then part of me didn’t believe it would be fair on the poor man. He’d suffered enough.
Throwing caution to the wind, I decided to go and see Pam. After all, she owed me one, big time. She lived with her partner, Corporal Stuart Goode, a mountain of a man. They had a house in married quarters about half a mile from the hospital. Taking a copy of the film with me, I cycled around to the house. Stuart was out, and Pam was pleased to see me.
“Hi Jamie, you’re looking better than the last time I saw you.” She seemed to genuinely welcome me.
“I’m okay, but I need to talk something over with someone neutral.”
“I’m not sure what you mean by neutral.”
“Someone who isn’t exactly involved in my life, but who knows a bit about my origins.”
“If you think I can help, I’ll do all I can.” She smiled at me. It seemed we had both changed quite a lot in the intervening years.
I showed her the tape of the film and we discussed my history. She did a passable impression of a goldfish on several occasions. “I honestly don’t remember kneeing you all those years ago, and I’m so sorry I did. There is nothing I can do make good that injury or hurt, is there?” I shook my head in response. “I feel very ashamed of the way I treated you.” I was blushing and she was staring at the floor. We both reflected on some of the horrible things she did.
“I always wanted to ask you why, but never got a chance.”
She continued examining the floor. “I don’t know. I suppose you were an easy target. I was abused by an uncle when I was a kid and I hated all men and boys. As he was abusing me, I needed somehow to pass it on to someone else, you and Richard Lees, seemed to be the most convenient targets. You were both smaller than I, and you were prone to burst into tears like girls.” This was something I hadn’t known before, and I found it embarrassing now.
“A group of us girls began to call you sissies, because you were both almost defenceless and really more like girls than most girls.”
“I remember you made my life hell when you found out I did knitting when I went to my gran’s house.” Some of the anger from that time began to rekindle itself. She had made my life a misery, even Richard Lees saw his chance to escape by betraying me, something I should never have done to him. As long as we were in it together, I could cope. When he changed horses I knew I was fighting a losing battle. It was about this time that I suffered my deepest humiliation and darkest hours.
“Why did you make him do all those horrible things to me?” I was now beginning to cry as I recalled the devastation of those memories.
“I don’t know. I was being abused and I just wanted to hurt someone in turn because I couldn’t do anything about my own situation. I couldn’t stop my uncle, but I could pass on the pain and it seemed to help.”
“So instead of telling your parents, you got Richard Lees to abuse me?”
“I’m so sorry, Jamie. I really am.” She was crying now as well and went to hug me.
“Don’t touch me.” I screeched at her. “You completely fuck up my life and expect me to forgive you just like that.” I was now moving towards hysterical. All the pain of years of abuse and humiliation, which I thought I had dealt with were suddenly unleashed. I had suffered sexual and physical humiliation and abuse by this woman and her friends, and worse by someone, I had thought a friend. Yet he turned out to be a total renegade. He even began to enjoy the power he wielded over my life. He was no longer the victim, but the master and he made the most of it. He had much of my pocket money, he made me do sexual things with him, which I’d prefer not to dwell on. He and the gang of bully girls openly referred to me as Richard’s girlfriend, I was known as ‘Dick’s chick’, sometimes as ‘Lick dick’, which will give you an idea of what happened.
He quickly realised that he could physically dominate me even without the support of the girls, and then he got very mean. He made me get my ears pierced. No big deal today, and even then it wasn’t that much of one, except that I didn’t want to do it. I wanted to hold on to what little masculinity I had and to any self-respect I could find.
The boys in my class thought it was hilarious and I got abused by several of them as well. This was when ‘Wanda’ became a familiar part of my life.
I was increasingly isolated, seen as a freak or some universal victim, I could only retaliate through my work. I did and I succeeded to some extent. However, even that was a battle. I was told to throw a history test by some of the boys. It was one of my strongest subjects and I refused. That lunchtime a gang of them dragged me off to the toilets and abused me.
I was soundly beaten and one of them stamped on my hand, I could hardly hold a pen and despite my efforts to avoid it being noticed by the teacher, it was. “What’s the matter with your hand, Curtis?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“Hold it out.” he examined my hand, I winced as he touched my fingers. “What happened?”
“I fell over, sir.”
“I see, you fell over did you?”
“Yes sir.”
“How come I can see what are obviously tread marks from a shoe on your hand? You’ve been trodden on haven’t you?” He looked me straight in the eye and I couldn’t answer him, instead, I began to blub. It embarrassed him and amused several of the gang who’d abused me. “Get off to the nurse, now Curtis, forget the test, it isn’t you who needs it anyway. It’s for the rest of this rabble.” He sneered as he looked around the class. Fortunately, it was all just bruising, but it was days before I could write properly again.
How could I forgive the woman who’d destroyed what defences I had and opened the gates to all and sundry. I had had my chance to get even though and I couldn’t do it. But now rekindling all these thoughts of hate and anger of my humiliation I just screamed at her, then exhausted I sat on the sofa and fell asleep.
I awoke hours later in their spare room. I was fast asleep when Stuart came home and he simply carried me to the bedroom and they covered me over and left me to sleep. I felt lousy when I did wake up. My eyes were sore and so was my throat, and I felt emotionally exhausted. I had no tears left to cry, I felt no pain from my memories, but that may have been due simply to exhaustion.
Pam came in with a cup of tea. “How do you feel?”
“Awful.” I croaked back.
“I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I am truly sorry for what I did to you or encouraged others to do.” She was crying, and moments later so was I. She sat on the bed and we hugged, sobbing together.
Forgiveness is what moves us on from past miseries. Resentment only poisons us and wastes our energy, bitterness consumes us. I had to forgive her and the others in order to move on, in the same way, she needed my forgiveness to move on herself, although she had been unaware of this until she had seen me again and realised who I was. I had opened several memories for her too and she was ashamed of them.
“I shall try to forgive you and the others.” I sobbed.
“Thank you.” She sobbed back. “You honestly are such a sweetie.” She sniffed at me. “You make so much better a girl than you ever would a man.”
“It might have been nice for me to make that choice.” I sniffed back.
“Like the man in the film?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t know anything anymore.” The tears came again and she held me and patted my back.
“I think you are so brave, young lady.” She chirped at me.
“Oh yeah, so brave that I burst into tears every two seconds.”
“You have a great deal of pain to wash away. If the tears help, let them come.” I did and they duly obliged.
“I could cry for England.” I sniffed, then saw myself getting a medal in the ‘Emotional Olympics’ and began to laugh. I laughed until I wet myself, which made things even more embarrassing, but we managed to sort things out. When I did return to a stable state I asked where Stuart was.
“I told him you’d been upset remembering about abuse you’d had in school. He was so concerned that he might make you feel threatened, he went to stay with a friend.”
I felt so ashamed of myself. “He’s a real treasure, isn’t he?”
“He is, a gentle giant. He wouldn’t hurt a soul.”
We talked for some time and Pam reinforced what she had said before. She thought I seemed better as a girl than a shadow of a man, which was all she could ever see me being. But, as everyone else had also said, “The final choice has to be yours. You are the one who has to cope with the consequences.”
Then she raised the question of the flowers in the ward and my tame redcap. What did I feel about him? In response to that, my spirits lifted, as I talked they began to soar.
“What do I feel about John? I don’t honestly know. He makes me laugh, he’s strong and his kisses taste wonderful. I love the smell of him and he makes my heart do funny things.”
“You’re really stuck on him aren’t you?”
“A bit.” I vaguely answered back, I was swimming in those deep limpid grey pools and my body was aching for him.
“A bit!” she retorted, bringing me back to earth. “Looks like more than a bit from where I’m sitting.” She quipped, laughing.
“Alright, it’s a big bit.” I conceded.
“You’re in love aren’t you?”
“I don’t know,” I answered.
“You might not know, but your whole body lit up when I asked about him. It stands out a mile, girl. You are potty about him. Tell me the truth, you are aren’t you?”
I felt all coy, “I might be.” I allowed.
“Might be? Oh, girl, you’ve got it bad. The question is, how does he feel about you?”
“I think he likes me.” I could feel the heat of my blush toasting some bread across the kitchen in which were sitting.
“Does he know about ...you know what?”
“I haven’t told him…yet.” Now I felt sad again.
“Have you had the operation, you know the vagina thingy?”
“Not yet.” Now the blush was scorching the paint off the walls.
“You are going to, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know, I s’pose so.”
“Well, you’ll miss out on things if you don’t. Unless of course, you decide you want to be a big strong bloke again, especially one with tits.”
I glanced down at my chest. I was now quite well endowed in the breast department, even allowing for the implants, and I was uncomfortably aware that talking about John had made my nipples erect and protrude rather prominently. Pam had noticed this, hence her comment.
We talked some more but only round in circles. She had helped to release some of my pain, and that night, I wrote things about the past on small bits of paper and then burned them, scattering the ashes. I felt much lighter.
I managed to get a long weekend pass at what would otherwise be seen as a half-term holiday anywhere else. I decided I would go home and talk to my cop-out parents. But even this could prove risky because I felt more and more unhappy with their liberal detachment from the passions of life. My dad could get excited about a rugby match or some political topic. He could glow incandescent about literature or abuses thereof. But not about his child his son or his daughter whichever I truly was.
My mother was very similar, with no passion. My gran, however, I am sure was very different. Sometimes I wondered if I was more my gran’s daughter than my mother’s. It was perplexing. I did notice that I had said daughter, not son, or child, so that may give some indication of what my unconscious thought if that isn’t too much of an oxymoron. Maybe I should have persisted with the slither of glass from the mirror? No, I mustn’t think like that, no matter how bad things got, that was no solution. I must look for the positives and having set a positive outcome, work out how to achieve it. I must also give up reading these self-help books.
I got home on Friday evening, having set it up with my mum a couple of days before. I intended to stay for the weekend and return the next Monday. I had some assignments to finish on my course, but I had most of the week to do them. I was consistently the best student and this was my way of competing, and I suppose ultimately in maintaining my self-esteem. The other girls could go on and become wives and mothers or adopt a career, I could marry (once the little anomaly was sorted), but could never have children. I could have a career, and I intended to. So once again it seemed it was me against the world – not exactly a very female response. Perhaps I needed to learn more about cooperation, although I thought I did a fair bit of that on my course. I needed to feel good about myself in some ways. I did when it came down to academic studies, and I thought to myself, I do when John is about. I do miss him.
I’d had the odd text message, but he was still away and couldn’t say where. I had a feeling it was the middle east, possibly Iraq, but I didn’t really know. It could just as easily have been anywhere, Bosnia for example. Just what did he do, he was so secretive about his work.
On the train down, I fantasised that he was a James Bond type, so could that make me a ‘Bond girl’. If it did, then I wouldn’t be the first transgendered one, that was Caroline Cossey. I had amassed quite a pile of information about gender identity disorder even though I didn’t exactly meet its diagnostic criteria, well not in the classical sense. If I got to be a psychologist would I want to treat it? I didn’t know, because I hadn’t thought about it.
My father met me at the station and after a bear hug that almost snapped me in two and a kiss on the cheek, we set off for home. He was chuffed, he’d been commissioned to write a biography of Robert Browning. Oh well, he lives in the past anyway, so he may just enjoy it were the thoughts that passed through my mind. But he was so pleased with himself, that I allowed myself to enter his enjoyment and we talked about it all the way home.
My mother had the kettle boiling and I was ready for a cuppa. The tea on the train was okay. Well, it was better than making a flask, but nowhere does tea taste quite the same as it does at home. It was wonderful and I had two cups.
We spent the evening in, and my mum had made us a chicken casserole in the slow cooker. It was very good. I nearly had seconds but thought that I needed to keep an eye on my waistline. I would ride my old bike a bit while I was home if the weather permitted. I had asked Dad to check it over, which he mentioned he’d done. It’s only a cheapo mountain bike, but it has road tyres rather than those horrible knobbly things designed for riding off-road. I already had the perfect things for being off-road, or all-terrain equipment – they are called feet.
I’ve been exercising quite a bit more in recent weeks, I even got talked into playing netball, something I’d never tried before. It was good fun and quite skilful, well some of the girls playing were. I had no idea and it showed. Still, it was only a practice game, so it didn’t matter too much. There was apparently, both a girls' or should I say ladies, rugby and football team at Barbury, although it was the army camp rather than the hospital which was primarily involved. As I couldn’t play either for toffee as a boy, I failed to see what difference it would make playing them as a girl. If they had a cycling club, I might be tempted, except that could get expensive to buy and maintain a decent bike. Correction, to buy and pay someone to maintain it. I have mended a puncture, once. It was, however, the limit of my engineering skills and my dad supervised me doing it. Actually, he made me do it because he wanted to make sure I could, just in case it happened some distance from home. He was quite practical. Me, I don’t know what I am.
I talked with my parents after we all watched the film I had sent them. I was beginning to think I could practically recite it, I’d seen it that often, except this time I was watching them watching it. They had looked at it when they first received it, but with me there, it obviously took on a more personal dimension.
Their overall impression was sadness. It was a very sad film ending in the tragic death of two brothers and the impact of that loss upon the parents. It was the love of the parents and their attempts to deal with the problems they foresaw with the injured baby, which gave an opportunity for Dr Money to run his experiment. His theory was wrong and it made things worse for David. We all know that now. I was interested to see how my parents felt about the role of David’s parents.
Mum was distressed and said she thought they had acted in what they believed were the best interests of the children. Sadly they had been wrong, but lots of things parents do are wrong. Being a parent is one big experiment. In their case they’d only tried it once, I was an only child.
My father considered that it was difficult to compare attitudes between then and now. Things were much easier now, and surgical techniques were more advanced. A baby boy whose penis was destroyed in the same way today may have a chance of some form of reconstructive surgery. Also, he might be better able to cope with the trauma of being different.
They were still detached, living in their minds, not their bodies. “What about me then. Why couldn’t I have been reconstructed as a man? I still had my willie, it’s only my balls that are gone!”
“We weren’t involved in that decision.” Riposted my dad. “If I recall, you’d already made it before you and Sheila told us.”
“Sort of…” I said, “but like David, I felt decisions were made for me. The change of status as a computer error etcetera, no one consulted me.” I was pouting now.
“They didn’t consult us either.” Declared my mum. “If they had we’d have discussed it with you and supported whatever it was you wanted to do. It would be your decision not some jumped up civil servant in Whitehall or wherever. I still think it has to be your decision, and we’ll support it whatever it is.”
“Do you wish it hadn’t happened then?” asked my dad.
“If I could take it back to the start, Daddy, then yes I would. But I can’t and I have to make a decision about whether I want to stay a girl or try and go back to being a boy.”
“Are you unhappy being a girl?” asked my mum, moving closer and hugging me.
“I don’t know,” I said and promptly burst into tears. Why did this always happen when they were with me. It’s so girly.
“Oh, my lamb...” my mother cooed to me, hugging me and rubbing my back in her attempts to calm me. “We thought you’d made your decision, and are so proud of how brave you were.”
Her compliments or intended ones only made me feel worse. Now I was letting her down, and by presumption was now ceasing to be brave. My mind kept flitting to the documentary we had just watched. If I had understood it, Money believed that if ‘Brenda’ had had a vagina, then she would have felt more female. I would have disagreed with that, for her part it would have made things worse. But would it make a difference to me, if I had one? I didn’t know and I felt frightened about it. Certainly, the presence of my remaining male organ did tend to keep the door open regarding a possible last-minute change back, so maybe getting rid of it would stop this vacillation? Yeah, but what if I’m wrong? Oh shit. I howled some more.
Eventually, I did calm down but I had prevented further discussion with my hysterics. Ha, that’s a laugh, hysteria means arising from the womb. Good isn’t it? The irony was not lost on me. Sometimes I did think I should have done it that day in the hospital. The problem with a failed suicide attempt is, one can live to regret it.
Yeah I know, women talk about it, men do it. Or are three times more likely to do it. It’s suicide I’m talking about, just in case you thought I meant sex.
I slept very fitfully that night. I was exhausted, but I kept waking up. In one particularly horrible dream, I dreamt I had stabbed myself in the neck and I watched with failing sight, the blood pouring out of the wound spraying over my parents who were absolutely distraught but did nothing to stop it. ‘It was her decision, and we must respect it.’ They kept saying. Then everything went black. I sat bolt upright in bed, the sweat was running off me and I was shaking. I recognised that I was afraid to die. Even with the experiences I’d had of things beyond, I was frightened about dying. I switched the bedside lamp on, it was three in the morning. I was going to read and were it not that I would disturb my parents, I’d have made a cup of tea. Instead, I drank some water and went to the toilet.
Coming back from the loo, I spotted a picture hanging on my bedroom wall that I’d not seen before. It was one of those papyrus things they sell at museums with Egyptian type paintings on them. It was framed, and larger than the usual postcard size. But what really took my attention was its subject matter. It was of my goddess, Sekhmet.
I was partly shocked by it being there, mainly because I hadn’t seen it before. I would have to enquire in the morning how it came to be there. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it, comforted, I think, but not certain. I wished I’d had her certainty of action, even if it seemed at times simplistic. As the US president before Honaria Caswell, Bush was simplistic in his thinking but he wasn’t short on action. Sadly, he was wrong as often as he was right, but he did do things. Whereas I tended to dither in case I was wrong, or hurt or upset others. Okay, so it isn’t archetypal Leo, but neither am I.
I fell asleep eventually because I remember my mum waking me when she brought in some tea. Did I mention we are real teapots in our house?
“Are you awake, sweetheart?” she called quietly.
“I am now,” I humphed back.
“Sorry, sweetie, I brought you some tea.”
“Oh. Um. Thanks, I think.” I sort of grunted back. My eyes felt full of grit probably because they hadn’t been closed long enough. “What time is it?” I asked thinking it was probably some ridiculously early one.
“Half-past nine. We let you sleep on a bit.”
I sat myself up. She handed me the tea and I smiled my thanks to her. It tasted good. It always did at home. “How did you sleep?” she asked me.
“Not too well,” I replied in between sips of tea.
“I did wonder if you would. You were upset last night, weren’t you?”
“I’ll live,” I said.
“I know you will, sweetheart, but I want you to be as happy as you can. We both do.” She sat on the edge of the bed. I recalled the day after I came home in skirts when she pretended to tell me stories.
“Not going to tell me any stories today then?”
She obviously remembered the earlier occasion, because she smiled in recognition. “No, not today. I think my little princess has to grow up and deal with some issues, doesn’t she?”
“S’pose so,” I replied.
I caught sight of the picture of Sekhmet. “When did you put that up?”
“Believe it or not I saw it in one of our shops.”
“You found a picture of Sekhmet in a charity shop?” I was incredulous.
“Yes. It was only a couple of pounds so I bought it. Your father confirmed I had the right goddess. He’s been reading Wallis Budge and Gardner Wilkinson.”
“Hey, those are my books,” I complained.
“It’s alright, he only read them and he did return them, unlike someone else I know.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll bring back his Tolkien. And he can read the Catherine Cookson.”
“I’m sure that would make his day.” She giggled at me. “He does get a bit pompous about literature, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah. Just a bit.” We both giggled.
We hugged and I dressed quickly in sweatshirt and joggers, then got my bike out. I rode for about an hour until my bum hurt, then I came home. My legs were like rubber and needed a shave. So a quick breakfast and I got in the bath. It was wonderful. I pinched some of my mum’s smellies and lay back and relaxed. My legs could wait I thought.
Next thing I knew, my mum was banging on the door. “You alright in there, Jamie?”
“Ugh.” The water was cold and I was all wrinkly. “Yeah I’m fine, Mum, I’d fallen asleep.”
“Well hurry up, darling, lunch is ready. Have to go there’s someone at the door.”
I pulled the plug out with my toes, wrapping the chain around them. Then I stood up, my legs were stronger now, the stiffness had gone. Well, my neck was a bit stiff, but it was okay. I quickly ran the shower and stood under it for a moment to get all the suds off me. Bubble baths are all fine and well but you need to get the foam off or it dries the skin. I washed my hair and conditioned it. Then wrapped it in a towel and dried myself off. Shall I say expediency was now quite important, so I was part dry in places. It didn’t matter too much, I had my bathrobe here anyway – another of those purchases, from a loving mother, I had no room for at the nurses' home. Scuffed on some mules and set off for the dining room.
I was trying to extract the water from my ears as I walked downstairs, so I didn’t hear anything of what was being said there.
“Hi Mum, I’m home…” I called in fun. Then, “ Holy shit.” My hand flew across my mouth in shock.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
I had walked dripping into the dining room, with a towel wrapped around my soaking wet hair. I looked like a dog’s dinner and there in front of me, in full technicolour, large as life and twice as beautiful was. Well, it could only be one person couldn’t it?
He stood there with arms open, “Hi princess,” was all he had time to say before I literally jumped on him. Well, at him. Fortunately, he’d read the script and caught me. He hugged me and we kissed, and kissed and then we kissed some more. I could smell and taste him. I could feel his strong arms around my body, and his lips and tongue played upon my own.
“Put that young man down Jamie! Don’t you know it’s rude to eat the guests?” I let him go and we both smiled with embarrassment, my mother’s timing was as always, impeccable. We were, however, more than pecking.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded of him, once I got my breath back.
“I came to see you, but if you don’t want me, I’ll go.” He pretended to be dejected, but his eyes were sparkling.
“You’ll do no such thing, not at least until you’ve had lunch.” Spouted my mother.
“Jamie, go and put some clothes on and do something with your hair, you look a mess.”
Shocked but happy, I flew up the stairs and somehow managed to dry my hair, dress and put on a tiny bit of makeup all at the same time. I was positively buzzing, or possibly buzzing positively. No matter, I was back downstairs again in about twelve minutes. So my hair was in a ponytail and up in a clip, but it was dry. I had dived into my underwear, rubbed on some antiperspirant under my arms, pulled on my jeans and pulled on a top as I ran down the stairs. The makeup, well, it was a touch of mascara and my eyebrow pencil. I have a thing about my eyebrows, you can’t usually see them they are so fair. I spritzed on some Coco, and dashed downstairs, in my loafers. Told you twelve minutes, you try it, see if you can do better. Okay, so my bedroom got trashed, I’ll clean it up later, stop nagging me.
Lunch was wonderful, although I can’t remember what we had. For some reason I wasn’t that hungry, can’t think why. I do remember drowning in those grey, limpid pools. Every time he looked at me, I dived in again. All I wanted to do was feel his arm around me, feel his body next to mine, feel his lips touching mine – and what happens? My mother sat between us, making comments about my seeming loss of appetite!
I did manage to run my bare foot up and down his leg, feeling its hairiness under my foot. Maybe I didn’t need to shave mine so badly after all.
As we ate John explained how his assignment had finished a couple of days early so he came to see me as soon as he could. I asked him where he’d been and he told me he couldn’t say.
“You’re not a simple copper are you?” I asked accusingly.
“Yes and no,” he replied diffidently.
“You’re on special ops aren’t you?” I pressed on my interrogation.
“If I was I couldn’t say. Sorry.”
“I knew it. You’re SIS aren’t you?” I said referring to a branch of the military which is Special Investigations Service.
“If I say, I won’t deny it, will that stop the questions?” Although he was smiling his eyes had stopped sparkling. He was very serious and I had to watch my step here.
“Alright, no more questions about your work.” I smiled at him and he smiled back. “In return, I don’t want any about lions or lionesses.”
“Done.” He said and offered his hand, which I shook. Now his eyes were twinkling again. My hand felt tiny in his, I shivered a little as I realised it. I felt that same strange mixture of fascination and fear about how powerful his body was compared to mine, that I had felt when I recognised it in my father.
I felt safe with my dad, I’d known him all my life but it still gave me a frisson of excitement, I suppose as my sensuality awoke that day. With John, I felt a different sort of safety. I knew he would protect me against the world if he had to, but perhaps he might be a danger himself. He had possibly saved my life, yet I didn’t know much about him other than I began to acknowledge to myself that I was falling in love. It was a crazy feeling, but wonderful.
I felt as if I had more energy than ever before, my senses were more acute yet I was ignoring most of them, at least where my mother’s prattling was concerned. I hope John was listening because I wasn’t.
We finished eating and I thought it wise to offer to help with the dishes. I was disgusted when my mother accepted. John came to dry them. We have a dishwasher for God’s sake! The table has never been cleared so quickly, dishes rinsed and slammed into the washer at such speed before, as I did it that day.
Then, at last, we were off. I grabbed my black jacket and my bag and holding hands we practically ran to his car. My mother waved us off, and we drove out of the close.
“Where shall I take thee milady?” he asked as we left the close.
Part of me wanted to say, right here and now. But I didn’t ‘cos he couldn’t anyway if you remember. But that didn’t stop me wanting it. Eventually, I settled for a drive in the country, we stopped in a quiet spot and just lay in each other’s arms.
I made my play for chastity, well it seemed like the best defence. “I think I’m falling in love with you.”
“I thought you might be. It could be something we have in common.”
“What?” I giggled. “You’re falling in love with you too?”
“No you silly goose. All men love themselves from birth. I’m falling for you.” He smiled and we kissed.
“I’ll be upfront with you. I’m a virgin and I have to stay that way for the moment. I have a small gynae problem which will have to be sorted before you know what.” Well, it was nearly true. I did have a small gynae problem. It’s a couple of inches and shouldn’t be there.
“That’s okay. I can wait.” He squeezed me and we kissed again. I smiled back at him and thanked him. We just cuddled and kissed and talked. Even after that, I didn’t know that much about him. He was twenty-three, a graduate in politics and modern languages, and came from Brighton originally. He’d had several girlfriends and had lived with one while at uni.
“So am I some sort of retro model?” I asked.
“No, you are the prettiest girl I have ever seen, and I fell in love with you when you swooned in my arms at the police station. I knew then that no matter what else life had to offer, it had to include a large slice of you. The lion business and talking to dead people threw me a bit. It was so different from anything I’d ever known. If you had told me you’d been born a boy or something, it wouldn’t have thrown me as much…..Jamie, you alright?”
I was busy choking on the drink I had just sipped. The conversation was lost for a few minutes as I coughed and spluttered until I presumed my lungs emptied all the fluid which had gone down the wrong way. He was patting my back, and my eyes were running and my face was like a beetroot. Talk about feeling stupid, I went off the scale.
It stopped eventually, and we cuddled together again. Then I started to cough again. Jeez. Can you believe it? Thankfully he just laughed, and so did I, and finally it did stop, but then I needed to wee. He laughed and decided that perhaps he’d better do so too.
Can you believe that as I crouched down, a stinging nettle caught me on both cheeks of my bum. It was not my day. I did rub them with a dock leaf, but it didn’t help too much. John offered to kiss them better, but I put up with the pain for about half an hour. It just meant we had to go for a walk because I couldn’t sit still. I promised myself, that next time, I would look where I was going.
Despite my urticaria, (see this is educational, for those, not medically-minded urticaria is just nettle rash, ‘cos it looks like my bottom did) we managed to have a good time. It was autumn and although the sun was shining only weakly, we felt warm and the birds serenaded us. Even the stinkhorn we passed in the woods, didn’t seem to smell that bad. Normally, it smells like something died there, the spores are dispersed by flies. Being in love is just wonderful. Sorry but it is. If you haven’t tried it, I thoroughly recommend it. It’s like….wonderful. I think you get the idea anyway. (It seems to make one verbally challenged too.).
John did spend the night but in a separate room. He respected my privacy and I reciprocated. We’d had a fabulous evening out with my parents. My dad went to pay but John argued it was his turn. In the end, they split it between them. As a poor penniless student, I was pleased not to be involved in this particular argument. If I’d had to pay, it would have been beans on toast and a glass of water all around.
Instead, we ate well at our local Italian restaurant. I like pasta but after a bowl of minestrone soup, which was a meal in itself, I passed on the pasta. I did however have a sweet. Profiteroles, one of my favourites. Okay, they may not be Italian, but what the heck, I just like them. I spent much of the evening watching the two most important men in my life talking. I enjoyed just watching them being grateful that they got on so well.
It was good that finally, my father could have a good chat with someone on subjects as varied as the ruck and maul rules in rugby union, and the sonnets of John Keats, and have that person understand and stay with him. It was quite a learning curve for me, I didn’t know much about either. (I still don’t.).
The wine flowed and the conversation also flowed. Not to be outdone, my mother brought into the arena, the talents of one of her favourite poets, Robert Burns. I was transfixed, she was quite an authority. It was an area of great ignorance to me, I knew bits of ‘Auld lang syne’ and ‘The Selkirk Grace’ simply because they were quoted at home regularly enough for bits to stick. The latter is the one that goes, “Some ha’e meat and canna eat.” I also know that Burns wrote a poem, To a haggis and, To a mouse, as well as things like Tam’o’shanter.
As they were talking about Burns, and naturally my father had an opinion, my mind drifted back to a visit to Dumfries, a few years ago. Burns died in Dumfries and his house there is now a museum. It’s on the banks of the local river, the Nith I think. I quite liked Dumfries, it was friendly place with a fair bit of history about it. Coupled with some cracking coastline nearby and lots of castles and things to see we had a brilliant holiday there. I really liked Threave Castle. In itself, there wasn’t much to see, but you park in a farmyard trying to avoid kamikaze sheep and lambs. Then, when the sign says, 'follow the path for three-quarters of a mile to the jetty', you think, something strange is going on here. So we went along the path, through countless gates and suddenly there is a jetty. The castle is on an island in the middle of the river Dee. You ring a bell and a little boat comes and takes you across, then brings you back later. It really tickled me.
“Jamie…… Jamie, anyone at home?”
“Eh? What?” My mother had poked me in the ribs, spoiling my reverie.
“A penny for them.” She added.
“I was up in Scotland, in Dumfries and Galloway.”
“Aye, we had a rare time there.” Now it was my mother’s turn to be wistful.
“Do you remember Threave Castle?” I asked her.
“Aye, I do.” She responded.
“Was that the one in the river?” asked my dad.
“Yes, it was.”
“Have you been there John, it was most interesting. You walk miles down this path…” He was off again. John had not been there, so my dad had him on a topic in which he couldn’t compete. Little things please little minds. I watched the game of chess they were now playing. John came back with something about the Nile, dad has been there so he moved bishop to queen’s pawn. He upped the ante by flitting to Cyprus, but John had spent several months there, queen takes bishop. He went to San Francisco, Dad had been there and in mentioning a conference in New Zealand, it was white queen takes black queen, checkmate.
After the jousting, with Mum and me watching our champions in action, it was a draw we decided in the end, we went home by taxi. All three of the proper grown-ups, were over the limit to drive, I’d been on soft drinks so could have driven, but I was over the limit on oxytocin, a hormone that features in labour and lactation but is also found in people who are in love. It’s just….wonderful. It’s like walking on air, or floating or….I think you get the idea, but I’m trying to be subtle about it.
As we walked out to the taxi, my mother said, “You look like the cat who got the cream. There’s nothing you want to tell me is there?”
For a moment I didn’t understand what she meant. I felt like an alien who didn’t speak earthling. Then the penny dropped. “What? D’you think I’m stupid?”
“No just full of yourself.”
“We had a kiss and a cuddle, that’s all.” I humphed my way into the car, leaving her whispered apologies to scatter in the breeze.
That night my dreams were delicious fantasies revolving around one particular person. One which I do remember a little was about a chess match, only Mum and I were the two opposing queens. I was the white queen, angelic and virgin (okay, virgin anyway) and she was the red queen. Shades of Alice in Wonderland? Dunno.
I can’t remember who won John or my dad, but it doesn’t really matter. There were no lions or rabbit holes, not even profiteroles. I did enjoy those last night.
I was up and showered and dressed for breakfast. I went to take John a morning cuppa, but he was in the shower, so I didn’t get to see him in bed or waking up. Oh, bummer. That’ll teach me.
I did linger a bit, but he came out of the shower with towels wrapped around himself, and while he has a nice physique, a flat tummy and firm arm muscles I only managed one kiss before my mother called me. As I was leaving his room, his mobile rang. It was his office. He was on his way back to it an hour later and I was left stumping around with a face like a fiddle. Life is so unfair.
The rest of the weekend was okay. My parents tried to cheer me up but it was obvious what I wanted, and that was something they couldn’t provide.
We were sat at tea on the Sunday. Mum who had been watching me for several minutes said, “You were asking about what we thought about the film you sent us.” I nodded and listened. “Naturally you must make your own mind up, but after seeing you with John, I know what I feel.”
“Which is?” my father stopped mid sandwich.
“I have been watching a young woman who is absolutely smitten with her man. The son has become a daughter completely, he is no more. Life may have dealt you a strange hand, but watching you play it yesterday, you were doing it as well as any young woman could. I think you need to move on and leave the past truly behind. Go and have your op, get the bits sorted and then go and be happy as the woman and daughter you are, and as the wife and lover you could be.”
I sat there goldfishing, this was my mother. Goodness, she was talking about me with feelings. The tears were forming, and scalding my cheeks as they dripped onto my lap. I rushed to my mother and embraced her. “Oh, Mummy, I love you so much,” was all I could say before I began to sob.
“It’s okay, sweetheart.” She cooed as she cuddled me and rubbed my back.
“Hey, don’t I get a say as well?” my dad was muscling in on our girly moment.
“Of course you do, Daddy.” I sniffed back at him.
“Well, just for the record, I considered you were my daughter the moment I saw you with Sheila that day. It took a little adjustment, but I got there. Since then, nothing you have said or done makes me want to change my mind, and seeing you drooling over that poor copper….”
“Daddy?” I pouted at him.
“… Confirms everything I felt was true.” My god, Daddy was talking about feelings. Have I missed something? Am I in the right house? Is this a parallel universe I somehow slipped into? “Your mother is absolutely right, get your bits sorted and get on with your life. The clock’s ticking.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” I sniffed at both of them.
“We did indirectly.” Said my mum.
“If we’d been too direct you’d have been possibly unsure if you’d made your own decision, or if you’d been influenced by us. It was too important for us to let that happen, so we kept a deliberately low profile, taking our cues from you. It hasn’t been easy at times, and when you sent us that film, we wondered if you were having second thoughts.” My father had been associated with his feelings, and they were for me.
I burst into tears of shame and joy at the same time. I know I seem to cry a lot, but this was quite appropriate. I launched myself at him and we hugged. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” I sobbed.
“Whatever for, my baby?” He whispered back at me, hugging and squeezing me gently. I could smell him and feel the warmth of his embrace, and I felt safe and happy.
“For doubting you, and Mummy.” I paused to sniff and shudder with a giant sob. “I knew you both cared and loved me, but I didn’t know if you really accepted me or were just humouring me.”
“Oh darling, we love you so much and we want you to be happy. The last day or so, we have seen you happier than ever. You love that chap of yours, and we like him too. You are a girl. No, you are a young woman. No buts, ifs or maybes, it is a fact. What else can I or your mother say?”
“I love you, Daddy.” I said and kissed him. He kissed me back and there were tears in his eyes, my mother was also sniffing. “I love you too, daughter.” Was his response.
‘Live long enough to embarrass your children.’ said the motto on the card in the gift shop. Parents, huh, you can’t take ‘em anywhere. Just when I think they are only self-absorbed, they prove me wrong. Bloody typical, completely and utterly unreliable Thank God.
They had come up trumps, again and I had doubted them, again. Is there a pattern here I wondered? Better dig out those self-help books from the charity bag, just in case.
As you can imagine, the rest of the evening went quietly. We were all rather charged up emotionally and as I was going back the next morning, had an early night. I don’t remember anything until the next morning when I awoke early, but refreshed and relaxed, more so than I had for ages. I showered and dried my hair, tied it in a ponytail and then up into a clip. It felt tidier like that and it didn’t tickle the back of my neck.
I dressed in jeans and top, my Superman tee shirt. My dad always made some comment about it whenever I wore it. It’s interesting if Mum does make a comment about my clothes she says things like, “That’s nice dear”, or “You’re not wearing that old thing are you?” or similar, whereas dad always says things like, “Is it a bird, is it a plane, no it’s lion woman!” or “Faster than a speeding pullet,” with actions to go with it and associated chicken noises. Sometimes it was painful. Then I’d think, but they’re all little boys really and it would be okay again.
To prove my point, last Christmas I bought him a set of mini planes you put together and then fire them with a rubber band launcher. He played with it all afternoon, giggling like a schoolboy until he broke a favourite vase and then my mother made him put it away. If I bought my mother a doll, she’d ask what I wanted her to do with it, or was it a joke?
If I’d worn the other tee shirt I had, a ‘US Postal Services’ one which I bought after reading Lance Armstrong’s book, he’d have made comments about the Tour de France, or something just as banal. This was the man who was commissioned to write the definitive biography of Robert Browning, with access to all sorts of private collections of letters, and probably a trip to the Caribbean against his tax bill to boot. I didn’t understand men one bit.
That got me thinking. If I didn’t understand men was it because I was a woman as I believed, or could it just be because I failed the medical? At times I was far too analytical, must have Virgo somewhere important in my chart. Oh, bugger it.
Dad dropped me at the station on his way to college, he was back on the Browning track once more. “Did I know that Elizabeth Barrett…..” I had drifted off to a different place. John had sent me a text, ‘@ airport again. Won't B 2 long, CU soon. Loadza luv. J. XXXXX’. I was beginning to hate his job.
When I got back to the hospital I went to see Sheila Brice. Fortunately, she was now back at work. I knocked on her office door.
“Hello Nurse Curtis, what can I do for you?” She was being very formal, then I saw the senior physician pass behind me. They nodded at each other.
“I’d like to ask your advice on a personal matter.” I felt very anxious even though I’d rehearsed it in mind all the way up on the train.
“Sure, come on in.”
I beat about the bush for a few minutes then it slipped out before I could stop it. “I want the sex change.”
She bug-eyed for a moment, then said, “ You mean you want corrective surgery to your genitals.”
“I don’t care what it’s called, how soon can I have it?” I was now sweating and feeling hot and bothered.
“I don’t know. I could speak to Major Collins, see what he can do.”
“He doesn’t do the surgery himself?”
“Goodness no, it’s far too specialised. You need a good urologist and maybe a plastic surgeon too.”
My heart fell. I was psyched up to do this, I didn’t want delays, I might chicken out. I thought of my father’s quip about the ‘speeding pullet’ and my chickening out. I giggled and wet myself, I was so tense.
“Go home and change, come and see me at home tonight, I’ll see what I can find out. “
I got to Sheila’s house about eight-thirty, she made me welcome and offered me tea. As I sipped it she began. “I’ve spoken to Major Collins, he knows a chap near Leicester who does them. He’s e-mailed a referral. We both think you need to do this a little way from here, just to keep things quiet.” I nodded my agreement and understanding.
“I knew you were going to come and see me.”
“How come?” was she becoming psychic?
“Your dad e-mailed me, saying that you were likely to and if so, he was prepared to pay privately if it hurried things along.”
“He did what?” I didn’t know if I was angry or quite how I felt.
“He didn’t say what you were coming for, although seeing you with John gave me a good clue some weeks ago. Also, this business with the ‘Horizon’ film made it a subject you needed to resolve one way or another. I’m glad you’ve chosen, and I wholeheartedly agree with you. I suspect he just wanted to speed things up as much as he could. It isn’t cheap, so he must love you.”
I swallowed hard. “He does,” I confirmed.
The next weekend I was on my way to Leicester.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
Leicester is a big place and I don’t like cities very much. I might have grown up near one but have been fortunate enough to live most of my life near the countryside. The clinic I wanted was a few miles south of the city itself and was fiddly to get to. They had sent me a map which included bus times and routes, and I was glad they had, I’d never have found it without them. I was also glad I’d supplemented these with some I had got from the internet because it also mentioned some roadworks nearby which would have caused me to be late. I hate being late for appointments.
I met the surgeon Mr Francis, a consultant urologist. He was a man in his late forties perhaps even fifty. He was charming, and certainly knew what he was about. He described the operation and showed me photos of the finished product. It looked very natural.
“If you don’t mind me saying Miss Curtis, were it not for the referral, I would never have thought you were anything but a natural female.”
I explained a potted history of how I’d got here and he listened intently. He also made very sympathetic noises, however, there was a problem. “I know you have lived as a female for about a year, but as this wasn’t your idea I will need a psychiatric assessment.
“What do you mean, not my idea. It was my idea to come and see you and get things sorted.”
“I appreciate that Miss Curtis, but the Harry Benjamin rules suggest that you should have lived in role for at least one year and been assessed by two experts in mental health. This is the code by which most of us work when dealing with GID and reassignment.”
“But I’m not transsexual, as I explained, I’m already officially female thanks to the army, so you wouldn’t be reassigning anything, I’m already there.”
“I’m aware that your position is unusual, but I need to show that I have followed the code. I am prepared to allow just one opinion to confirm the referral, instead of two. But in order to show that you are serious about this, I need the referral.”
“Can I show you how serious I am?” I was livid and angry enough to do anything.
“I don’t understand.” he retorted.
With that, I stood up and stripped off to my underwear. He sat there open-mouthed in astonishment. Looking at my body, a curvy thirty-four C, with twenty-four waist and thirty-four hip. “Does this look like I’m seriously female or just playing at it?”
“You have a remarkable body, Miss Curtis, quite beautiful. Are you sure you really need this surgery?”
“Yes I do, and as soon as possible. Now, do you understand me?”
“I think so. I need to examine you anyway. Please pick up your clothes and go into the examination room, through that door. Please lie on the couch. I need to make a phone call, I’ll be there in a minute.”
I did as I was told, being a compliant female (some of the time anyway. Look I needed his help, so had to play his game despite its absurdity to my eyes.).
He came in a couple of minutes later and donning a pair of latex gloves asked me to remove my knickers. I did and he gasped. “Whoever did this for you is really good.”
“Major Collins, he was the one who removed my testes and also did some implants for me. I’ve grown quite a bit since then.”
He managed to ease the skin of my scrotum apart with some solvent and examined me. “We have a problem.” He said and my heart sank.
“I’ll have to do a bigger op than the usual. Your penis has shrunk so much there won’t be enough skin to do a proper job, so we’ll need to use a bit of colon to make the vagina.”
“It might have shrunk a bit, but it was never very big,” I confessed and felt myself blush to the roots of my hair.
“Okay, you’ll be in hospital for two weeks. We do a colostomy and then reverse it a few days later. The bit of bowel we use to fashion a vagina, the skin of your penis and scrotum we use to make the labia minor and major, and a piece of the penile head we’ll use to create a clitoris. It won’t be quite perfect, but most men won’t be able to tell the difference, and one or two doctors,” he laughed at his own joke.
The vagina will be self-lubricating. It’s a bigger operation than the usual penile inversion sort, but it has quite satisfactory outcomes usually. Is there anything you want to ask me?”
“How soon can you do it?”
“After a referral from a psychiatrist, how much oestrogen are you taking?” I told him, “That’s quite a low dosage, so we won’t really need to wait too long. At the earliest, I could do it in two weeks.”
“Where do I find a psychiatrist?” I asked him.
“Because of your unusual position, I have taken the liberty of asking a colleague to come in to see you.”
“What? That’s brilliant.” I exclaimed and before I knew it had thrown my arms around him and kissed him on the cheek.
“Miss Curtis, please control your exuberance.”
“I’m sorry.” I blushed.
“Please get dressed and I’ll show you to Dr Humbolt’s room.”
My fingers were shaking as I fiddled with buttons and laces and hooks and eyes. I had dressed simply in my usual jeans and top, with a pair of loafers and short socks. I had on minimal makeup and my hair was up. I decided to go as I normally looked, even though many transsexual writers had said one needed to appear to be ultra-feminine, so to wear frillies and skirts and things. Bugger that for a game of soldiers. I nearly appeared in full uniform, that would have thrown him.”
He took me along a plush corridor to another office where I met Dr Humbolt. I had asked my leonine protectress not to embarrass me with visions of this bloke’s wife driving up trees. On entering the room, it became obvious that that couldn’t happen this time. Dr Humbolt was not the marrying kind, he was rather overtly gay.
Now don’t think I’m anti-gay or anything, I’m well aware that people in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones, but he was just a trifle camp. His initial handshake was like a wet haddock, and he minced about his office like he had just sat in a plate of cold custard. He spoke with an affected lisp, which made it difficult to keep a straight face.
He was only a young man, about thirty-five or six, much smaller than Mr Francis and with mousy fair hair. He was wearing a designer shirt and tight trousers.
“You appweciate why you are here?”
“Yes.”
“I must say you wook absowutewy stunning, despite your dwessing down for the occasion.”
“I never dress up to travel, it ruins your clothes.”
“I see.” He hummed to himself. “Does that mean you never dwess up?”
“No, I wear what I feel comfortable in depending upon the needs of the occasion. I have some photos if you’d like to see?”
He jumped at the opportunity, so I gave him the small album to flick through. All the people in the pictures were named underneath, so he could see what I looked like from the first times in dresses to the more recent occasions when I was happy to get the waiter’s attention with a bit of cleavage.
“This is your mum and dad?” I nodded. “From the way they are stood with you they seem okay with your changeover.”
“My father has offered to pay for the op.” I said.
“I see. And your mum, what does she have to say?”
“By all means give her a ring, the phone number is….”
“I should prefer your opinion.”
“She told me to sort out the plumbing problem because I needed to move on from schoolgirl to possible wife and lover.”
“You have a boyfwiend?”
“Yes, but he doesn’t know yet. I thought it better to tell him after the event rather than before surgery.”
“Do you have sex?”
“No, not until I feel complete.”
“And this operwation would make you compwete?”
“Essentially yes.”
“How wong have you been dwessing as a girl?”
I told him the long tale of the injury and my experiences with my grandmother, well the knitting and sewing ones, then the babysitting empire and the army mix up, then the surgical enhancements and finally the present-day need.”
“So until the army got it wong, you hadn’t ever dwessed as a girl, but were sometimes mistaken as one?”
“Yes, that’s about it.”
“You are a vewy unusual case.”
“So they keep telling me.” If he knew the broader context he would be certifying me there and then.
“Fwom what you tell me, and I bewieve what you say, you seem vewy suited to wive as a female.”
“I’m already female, the army and the registrar general saw to that, without my consent or agreement. But it’s only the lack of consultation that irritates me. I have no disagreement with the outcome, just the means.”
“Of course, yes you are female. Are you happy?”
“Yes, I have met a super man, and I love him and I think he feels the same about me. I’d like to have the opportunity to consummate the relationship, were I to feel it appropriate.”
“How will you know if it’s appropriate?”
“Oh I shall know, we women know these things. When I’m lying in his arms and my body is aching for his touch and my lips for his kisses, when the moment arises, I shall know.”
Dr Humbolt had gone all starry eyed on me. It took him a moment to come back to earth. “That was wuvwy.” He said. “I don’t think you ever were a boy weally, were you?”
I shrugged my shoulders.
“Off you go young wady, I shall confirm the weferwal with no hesitation at all.”
“Thank you doctor. I think you are doing the right thing.” I blushed again as I realised what I’d said. I must stop winding up shrinks, but it’s so easy.
The next day the date for the surgery arrived. I hadn’t slept very much and when I saw the post mark, part of me felt very nervous. I opened it with trembling fingers, I read the letter four times to make sure I understood it. The date was exactly three weeks from today. I phoned my parents.
“Oh hello sweetheart.” Said my mother, “I’m just about away off to work.”
“I’ve got a date.” I stammered over the phone.
“That’s lovely sweetheart, I thought John was out of the country.”
“No mum, a date for the op.”
“Op?” there was a slight pause. “Oh that op.” she laughed nervously, “well when is it?”
“Three weeks today.”
“Goodness, that’s quick.”
“How do you feel?”
“Frightened.”
“Not changing your mind.”
“No.”
“So what’s so frightening?”
“I don’t know.” I felt my eyes fill with tears.
“Look, sweetheart I have to go, I’ll ring you tonight.”
“Bye, Mum.” I sniffed down the phone. I was trembling and I had to sit down. Moments later I had to run to the bathroom and was violently sick. I called in sick and went back to bed. I couldn’t get warm. Shit I thought, I’ve picked up some bug. I drifted off to sleep.
I awoke with a head like a bucket, the phone was ringing I think, or was that in my dream? No, there it was again. I dragged myself out of bed and staggered to the phone. The bucket of which my head consisted, seemed to have been struck by a large hammer, it was still ringing like a giant bell. Picking up the phone I dropped it, swore and picked it up from the floor. Bending over, my head swam and I crashed to the floor. It was hard and it hurt, then it stopped hurting, Everything seemed to stop.
In the distance, I could hear a hammering noise, but I was drifting far away. Someone was calling my name, it sounded like my mum, I smiled. The hammering continued, then some other noises and suddenly the voices were louder and hands were pulling at me. It hurt, but I didn’t feel like saying anything. I tried to look at who was pulling me about, but one of my eyes wouldn’t open and the other felt very unfocused. It was a weird feeling.
Now someone was shaking me and calling my name. It was my mother, I think. She must think I’ve overslept for school. I don’t feel like going today, so I’m not going to wake up.
“Jamie, Jamie answer me.” Sheila Brice was shaking the inert form which lay in front of her. She felt for a pulse, it was racing. The beautiful face was turning purple and green as the bruises began to form around the right eye and cheek. There was some blood from the nose, but she wasn’t sure if it was broken. She picked up the receiver/handset from under the body and redialling called for an ambulance.
Putting the young woman in a recovery position, she waited for the ambulance. Her eye alighted on the letter, which was what she had rung about in the first place. She read it and smiled, then looked at the body lying before her. She felt a sadness.
My dream involved some bizarre characters, all of them saying weird things to me. I kept wanting to respond and tell them, but my mouth didn’t seem to work and I couldn’t open my eyes at all. There was a strange taste in my mouth, it felt like blood. This was some mega - weird dream.
I came around some hours later. My head throbbed and my face hurt. My parents were sat by my bedside. “Oh my darling, how do you feel?” my mother said and stroked my face lightly.
“Awful.” I croaked. “What happened?” my head was spinning now as well as throbbing, but at least I was awake.
“You’ve been unconscious for three days.”
“What ?” I exclaimed.
“You’ve had viral meningitis.”
“Oh.” I think I said and seemed to drift for a minute.
“Where am I?” I croaked as I came back.
“In hospital, they’ve had an epidemic of it.”
“Oh,” I said. My head felt thick and full of feathers. I had to concentrate very hard to stay awake let alone say anything. “My head hurts.”
“You bashed it on the floor when you fell. You’ve got a lovely shiner.”
“Oh,” I said.
The appointment for the plumbing alterations was put on hold. I was upset by it but accepted that I wasn’t strong enough to break off a square of chocolate let alone stand up to the ravages of surgery. ‘Life’s a bitch and then you die.’ Whoever said that showed great insight into my life.
I was in hospital for two weeks and my parents took me home for a month. My course was now in tatters and I would effectively have to restart the year if I wanted any sort of recognition for it.
It was the least of my worries. My recuperation was the primary aim. Each day I would walk for a period that became a little longer each day. Then I’d usually fall asleep, wake, eat and read before sleeping again. It was boring but I was trying to get fit again both physically and mentally. It was very tough, but I was lucky. One of the girls had died and another was possibly brain-damaged. How could some stupid virus, the simplest life form on the planet do this to me, the most sophisticated? It didn’t make sense.
The doctor wouldn’t allow me to return to Barbury for three months. By that time I was cycling again and running and walking for miles. I wasn’t as good as before, but I wasn’t complaining. I was now fit enough for my date with destiny and Mr Francis’ skills.
John was still overseas somewhere, he texted me regularly but I missed him. My facial bruising had now healed, I was lucky there, my nose wasn’t broken, but it was badly bruised. Thankfully, John hadn’t seen me while I was black and blue.
What can I say about the surgery? It hurt, but not as much as I thought it would. It was mind-numbingly boring to be in hospital yet again, even though I had chosen to be here this time.
This was a private clinic, the food was brilliant. Well if I’d been allowed to eat it would have been. My gut had to heal and so did the now real slit between my legs.
I won’t go into the boring detail, besides which the sort of surgery I had isn’t typical, neither was the bill. It cost my dad a fortune, he must love me. Besides, do you really want to hear about enemas and bowel washes? At least I didn’t have to dilate with some plastic bullet thingy which makes your eyes water by all accounts. I also wouldn’t need to lubricate before sex, but then most SRS patients don’t have a scar like mine. Hopefully, it will be mistaken for an appendectomy one.
When the swelling from the surgery began to subside and I was allowed up for saline baths, I felt quite strange. The area was numb but sensitive, it felt as if the skin of my penis and scrotum was sticking out not in. The clit was sore and I avoided touching it like the plague, although it needed to be cleaned every day. My vagina, was strange it felt as if my bottom had been transplanted.
Eventually, catheters came out and I was on solid food again, albeit a mushy sort to help ease colonic motion. I had to be careful not to strain anything.
I had washed and whatevered what was necessary down below. My stitches were out and the swelling was much less. I did have to dilate a bit to keep the entrance open, it was okay. Everything was tight and tender. I got sick of the sight of povidone-iodine gel and having orange ‘periods’ when the stuff flowed back out of me. I also found no joy in having to wear sanitary towels to catch it.
What was really quite interesting was the shyness I felt about my new sex. I did what-ever was necessary to dilate or keep it clean, but I hadn’t really explored it. I had obviously touched various parts of it and had doctors and nurses do it as well. It was embarrassing, but when required I would ‘assume the position’, lying on my back with my legs in the air. Any natural female in the west would know this only too well when presenting for smears or vaginal exams, but for someone who hadn’t quite been brought up to it, it was a bit of an ordeal and very embarrassing.
Why I felt shy, I didn’t know. But then I’d never been much for examining what was there before any more than I examined my bottom. They were functional elements of my body and apart from washing and drying, they only got extra attention when they gave trouble, which thankfully, they didn’t very often.
I almost felt as if the part, my vagina and associated bits, didn’t quite belong to me. I didn’t know why I felt like this. It was obvious they were part of me but perhaps the damaged nerve endings made that seem not quite so because it felt a little alien.
Don’t get me wrong, I was pleased it had been done and was successful. The surgeon was delighted with it. I was too, in an abstract sort of way, but I felt almost as if I was being voyeuristic if I examined myself in anything other than what was necessary for cleaning or other function.
One day in the saline bath, I had a real feel about on the pretext of washing the salt into all parts. I found myself blushing and looking to make sure no one was around to see me. I imagined it must be how some girls feel in a boarding school. What made things worse in some ways was that my little clitty, while still very tender, seemed to like it. My touching it, that is.
Because of my injury, I had never masturbated. The stories I heard other boys tell made me blush, and I couldn’t relate to them at all. I had no urge to try it, and while my penis would get a bit hard when I needed to pee, and occasionally felt nice to touch, I rarely did because the feeling soon went. I associated it with being dirty and when I was abused, the sense of dirtiness grew even greater.
One day when dilating, I wondered how I would feel if John was the thing between my legs not, the plastic bullet. I felt a mixture of sensations, pleasure and pain and flashes of the abuse from my childhood. It was not entirely comfortable and I cried as I thought about it. I was frightened and ashamed, but of what I wasn’t sure. Here I was, with the body I wanted for some time to be able to give myself totally to my relationship and when appropriate to my lover, and I felt ashamed and frightened. What was going on in my head?
Most of my friends and family in the know popped by the clinic while I was there. Some of the others also came but were told I’d had a gynae problem sorted, which was nearly true.
I returned to Barbury after six weeks, because I felt too well to stay away. I wasn’t riding a bike yet, nor would be for a while. But I was walking well and sitting down was getting more comfortable. I spent a month of cramming, having tutorials with individual lecturers and much to my astonishment managed to sit the end of year exams and pass. I was behind with my practical hours, but that was something I could catch up with.
I had been quite focused on firstly getting fit again and secondly catching up with my course. Failure was not a word I allowed to enter my vocabulary if I could avoid it. I was aware that John’s text messages were getting more infrequent, but was trying to see them as a result of his work making things difficult. In my heart I knew he wouldn’t betray me, in my head, I did wonder.
I wanted to try and find out if he was alright, but how? I didn’t know where he was based or where he was. Besides, I didn’t think they would tell me anything anyway, even if I could find his office. It felt like a catch twenty-two.
I was making discreet enquiries whenever I got the chance but was getting nowhere fast when one day I took the bull by the horns and went to the military police headquarters.
“Can I help you, Miss?” asked a young woman on the desk in reception.
“Yes, I’m trying to find a friend of mine whom I believe works here.”
“Oh. Who is that?”
“Sergeant John Anderson,” I said, “he’s my boyfriend and I haven’t heard from him for a while. I just hoped he was okay.”
“I can’t tell you, because I don’t think we have anyone of that name here and I’m afraid even if we did, I couldn’t tell you. We can’t give personal information about staff to anyone but next of kin.”
“Is there anyone I can speak to?” I asked politely.
“Not really.” She dismissed me.
“Who is your commanding officer?” I asked.
I saw the anger in her eyes. “Who wants to know?”
“I do,” I said very calmly. “I should like to speak to the officer on duty.”
“Why, he won’t tell you anything either.”
“That’s quite a presumption. Please ask him to see me.”
“No.”
“Are you always as helpful as this?” I asked coldly.
“Only with people who piss me off.” She snapped back.
“Well, I’m afraid I’m going to stay here until I see the duty officer.”
“Stay there, then,” she snapped and turned her back.
“Captain Brice, could you give me the name and number of the officer on duty at the RMP HQ?” I spoke into my mobile. “I’m having a bit of a problem with some moron on the desk. No, she doesn’t seem to realise who I am. You’ll have her put on a charge, I’d certainly support that, for obstruction of an officer on official duty?”
“What are you on about?” came the voice from behind the desk. “You’re bullshitting me.”
“Am I?” I replied. “You’ll find out soon enough. My C.O. will be on to yours and I’m not worried, it’s not my arse.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t divulge personal information except to next of kin.”
“You’re bluffing. You’re not old enough to hold any rank.”
“No, but I am.” Came a voice from behind me.
“Sorry sir, but this young woman was……”
“That’s okay, Adams, I’ll take care of the young woman myself.” He indicated a corridor. “Would you come this way?”
I could see two pips on his uniform, he was a lieutenant. We went into a small office.
“I’m Lt. Simon Pankhurst.” He smiled at me. “How can I help?”
“I’m Jamie Curtis, and thank you for seeing me.”
“It’s always a pleasure to help a beautiful young woman.” He smiled at me.
‘Chauvinist dickhead ‘ went through my mind, but my mouth said something far less offensive. “My boyfriend works for you, well for SIS, and he hasn’t contacted me for several days now and I just wondered if you could tell me if he was okay. I appreciate it’s all hush-hush.”
He gave me a startled look. “Who are we talking about here?”
“Sergeant John Anderson. Do you know him?”
“He doesn’t work here. He’s not regular RMP.” His smile was fading.
“I know he’s not regular RMP, I told you that, he’s SIS. How can I make contact with them?”
“I don’t know. They tend to make contact with us.”
“Look this cloak and dagger stuff is all a pile of schoolboy crap.” I snapped, “I’m a signatory to the Official Secrets Act, so why can’t someone tell me something?”
“I’m not telling you this.” I nodded my understanding. “SIS only get involved in the big stuff, national security stuff, if you take my meaning.” I nodded again. “So your Sergeant Anderson is probably just working abroad or something. He may be too busy to write or phone. They get into some heavy stuff.”
“Thank you for your help,” I said and turned to leave.
“It was a pleasure.” He replied, “look if you’d like to go out just for a drink or something…” I looked at him with disdain. “Sorry, I only meant a drink, nothing else.”
“I think you know who John is. Everyone knows him in the RMP. I accept you have reasons for not divulging anything in the same way that I have some for making my enquiries. To suggest that in his absence you can fill his shoes shows a great miscalculation on your part. Firstly because, you aren’t anywhere near man enough, secondly he’d probably kill you if you tried and you know that, thirdly, if he didn’t I would. “ As he heard this his face turned to a scowl.
“I can’t see you hurting anyone.” He almost sneered at me.
“Shows how appearances can be deceptive doesn’t it.” With that I turned and left his room, “I’ll see myself out.”
As I left I heard him start up his computer and knew exactly what he was typing in, a search on his data-base of my name. I stood just down from his room the door was open and after a moment or two, I heard him sigh, “Fuck me! That was the Lion Woman, was it? What a load of shit.”
I smiled as I left the building, I was tempted to ask my little friend to give him a visit, but that was demeaning its function. At the same time, I had a feeling he would soon understand what he was laughing at, was not funny.
That night, I had a text sent me. ‘Hi, I’m ok, so stop bothering the pigs! J’ It was a forgery and I began to get anxious. However, my investigations were brought to an abrupt halt the next day.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
I had just got out of the shower and was busy drying myself. I was a tad tender down below, but otherwise, things felt good. The numbness was lessening, and it stopped feeling as I was having erections. I suppose the nerves were beginning to settle down and my body was reconfiguring them as best it could, sort of ‘this bit now goes in instead of sticking out’.
It’s a very strange sensation at first, for your body to be confused about something physical, but I suppose it’s similar to the problems amputees have with phantom limb syndrome.
I had nursed patients who had had legs removed from below the knee and who occasionally would writhe in agony because they had cramp in toes they didn’t have. Sorry if that sounds a bit Irish, but it happens. I’ve also been asked to scratch an itch on a leg that was no longer there. Thankfully, most of them see the funny side, at least some of the time.
I hadn’t had much amputated, well only some of the inner tissue, but all the same, the sensations can be weird. When you start weeing through a shortened urethra and it sprays everywhere, it makes you wonder if it will ever come right. Okay, so you get used to washing your bum every time you wee, at least the water is warm. Then one day you find it didn’t happen quite so often, then less and less and you know things are becoming normal, swelling is decreasing and the tissues are adjusting.
I celebrated with an extra cup of tea the day I realised I was no longer irrigating my buttocks.
I digress, the phone was ringing and I was dripping wet, wrapped in towels, as I scurried to answer it. The time was unusual for anyone to call and I hoped it might be John.
It wasn’t! “Hello Jamie, it’s Captain Brice. Can you pop by my office first thing?” I agreed that I could. “See you in about half an hour then.”
I returned to my meagre bathroom. Why I called it that escaped me. There was no bath, but we all tend to call it that. I had to hurry, half an hour would not be very long to dry my hair, put it up and get dressed as well as have something quick to eat. However, needs must when the devil drives, so I did manage it even if the way I scoffed down my Sugar Puffs was a trifle inelegant. I also left the dirty bowl in the sink. My mother would kill me if she knew I did such things.
I presented myself at Captain Brice’s door at exactly eight-thirty. She glanced at the clock on her desk and smiled at me. She had told me to wear my uniform, so I did.
“Your punctuality is refreshing Nurse Curtis, please come in.” Her formal approach meant she had someone else there, and sure enough, she did. “This is Captain Smith, who is nurse-manager of a field army hospital based in Basra.”
I saluted her, and then we shook hands. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Nurse Curtis.” I nodded to show I’d heard and understood what she had said, but as yet had not been told to reply. I was keeping it very formal, at the same time my stomach was doing somersaults, could this be about John?
“Captain Smith is looking for volunteers to do a short stint at her hospital. You could do with making up some clinical hours, and it could be a very interesting way of doing it. What do you think?”
So it wasn’t about John, if it had been, it could have been bad news. “Might I ask how long the posting is?”
Vera Smith responded to my question. “We’re looking at a month, six weeks tops. We’ve got a few staff who have done a very long tour and are due some leave. I’m looking for some temporary help, and Captain Brice said you were her star student.” I looked away and blushed. “I’m also aware that you have a reputation for coping in an emergency.”
I wasn’t sure what I felt, but I knew Sheila wouldn’t drop me in it. So she must think it’s in my interests to go. “Captain Smith knows about your bravery award.” Added my C.O.
“I haven’t got it yet, ma’am.” I replied still blushing.
“A little birdie tells me that you will, but that’s confidential.” She continued, I nodded my understanding.
“I need nurses who are capable of coping under pressure, and I believe your record speaks for you. Are you up to the challenge?”
“I think I’d like to hear a bit more about the challenge, and I need to remind you that I am still a student, so of limited skills and experience.” I knew I would have to go anyway, but thought I’d try and learn as much as I could before I went, it’s too late after the event.
“Basra is in Iraq, as I’m sure you already know.” I nodded. “It is relatively calm there now but we do have the occasional hothead who sees anyone in a British uniform as a legitimate target. As we are trying to help, it’s sad but a fact of life. It is still potentially dangerous, so I won’t lie to you. In the last few months, we’ve had a doctor and two nurses hurt by insurgents. It happens, but there is probably more risk in drinking the water.” She smiled at me and I could see the commitment in her eyes.
“Apart from an opportunity to live dangerously for a few weeks, I am also giving you a chance to see some of the real world. Oh, you get a bit in a place like this but come with me and I’ll show you things which you’ll never see here.”
“Captain Smith is absolutely right, Jamie. You will get more experience of what this job is all about than you ever will here. This is a wonderful opportunity to see the world at HM Government’s expense, and to gain some marvellous experience and develop some new skills.” Captain Brice was positively exuberant.
“We don’t just see military cases. One day you might be working on someone who has been injured clearing mines, then helping a local woman with a difficult birth, or trying to save a child with malnutrition. It’s the real world, it’s a cruel place sometimes but can also be a very beautiful place. People here don’t know they’re born. They’ve got too much of everything and complain that they don’t have enough. A crisis is having the telly conk out so you can’t watch your favourite soap.”
I agreed entirely with her. I was aware that we had got very self indulgent in the west, and we didn’t appreciate what life was really about anymore. At the same time, I didn’t want to give up my comfortable life on a long term basis, although I was perhaps prepared to see how the other half lives.
“Come with me and I’ll show you what life is actually about, even if it is only for a few weeks. What say you, you in or what?”
I looked from her to Captain Brice, who was nodding her head and imploring me to go with her eyes. Then back to Captain Smith, who had fixed me with her large brown eyes. I hadn’t noticed the colour before. “I don’t think I have much choice. I shall come, but I may be only of limited use.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll find uses for you. Welcome on board.” With that she took my hand and we shook firmly, none of your girly stuff this time, she took my hand in both hers and squeezed.
“Well done Jamie, I think you’ll find it the experience of a lifetime. Keep this to yourself, we can’t let everyone go.” I gave my understanding to Captain Brice. “You’ll need some shots. Take this up to outpatients, they’ll sort you out. If you hurry, you’ll just about make the midday train.”
“Midday train ma’am.”
“The train for home, you have a three-day pass.”
“Back here for fifteen hundred hours on Friday, we fly out on Saturday.” Added Captain Smith.
If stuffing a few knickers, bras and tops into a case can be described as packing. Then I packed. My mother would be horrified. She was, however, pleased to learn of my intended visit. There were no more text messages from John or anyone else. It was so unlike him, I was worried, but could do little about it.
On the train, which I caught by the skin of my teeth – what a stupid expression, there is no skin on my teeth, I clean them twice a day – I sat rubbing my sore arms and somewhere else. When I went to the toilet, I was able to see the size of the bruise I was developing on my derriere. It neither pleased me nor made life any more comfortable. Quite what sort of needle they had used, was mind-boggling, probably an industrial knitting one. I’m sure a camel could pass through its eye. Bloody nurses.
Talking of camels, in a few days I should see a lot of them, might even manage a ride on one of them, ‘Florence of Arabia’, here we come! Despite my excitement, the feeling soon palled and I was back to worrying about John. This cloak and dagger stuff frightened me. I wondered if I could persuade him to do something safer, or was that being selfish?
The rhythmic motion of the train caused me to nod off. I only made my station because the guard announces them over a speaker system. I woke up with a jolt, grabbed my case and coat and handbag, jumped off the train. Then realising I’d left my library book on the seat, had to dash back for it. I was getting forgetful, or was I? I can’t remember.
Mum met me at the station, it was near enough three o’clock. We hugged and pecked each other’s cheek. Then into the car and off home. “How is John?” she asked.
“I don’t know, I’ve not heard anything for at least two weeks. I went to RMP headquarters and they told me they didn’t know him. So that was a waste of time.”
“He might just be very busy.” She was trying to cheer me up.
“He works for SIS, he could be anywhere.”
“Well we can’t do anything about it can we, except hope he’s safe.”
“I sent him a text to say I was coming home for a few days.”
“How come you had this leave. You didn’t say if there was a reason.”
“I’ve got a temporary posting.”
“Where, somewhere nice I hope.”
“Should be warm.”
“Where?”
“Middle East.”
“Not Iraq.” She gasped.
“Yep, right on the head. You win a prize.”
“I’m sorry, but I am not one bit happy about my child being sent to a war zone. What is Sheila Brice thinking of?”
“It isn’t a war zone.”
“So why have we still got troops there, same with the Americans.”
“We are helping to keep the peace and restore the infrastructure. Like we are in Bosnia.”
“So why can’t they send you to Bosnia then?”
“Mum, I’m going to Basra. It’s only for four to six weeks, and Sheila Brice did not make the decision. I did.”
“What?” said my mum. “You volunteered?”
“Yes, and wasn’t that our house back there?”
“Oh Jamie, you’ve got me all of a twitter.” She said as she stopped the car and turned back to our close.”
My father was equally pleased to hear my news. He was tempted to call Sheila to protest but I managed to stop him. I didn’t think it would be this hard. I suppose it shows they care, but I am eighteen and by law an autonomous adult. You wouldn’t think it at times if you listen to them.
My mother spent a lot of time on the phone the next day. She said she was going to work from home while I was there. She also said we would go shopping one afternoon.
I’m starting to enjoy ‘retail therapy’, I don’t have to buy anything, just looking and having a snack somewhere is enough. Mum, however, likes to buy me stuff, which I may have mentioned before. At times I’m grateful but at others it irks me. Today was the former.
We ended up in Monsoon, a relatively up-market chain of boutiques. They have some nice clobber, but I usually think it beyond my price range. Today we went in and browsed as usual. I saw several things I liked until I saw how much they were. I tend not to say anything to mum, or it gets bought.
“They have some lovely stuff here, Jamie.”
“Yes, Mum, they do, but I don’t need anything at the moment do I?”
“Oh didn’t I tell you, we’ve been invited over to the Johns' for supper tonight.”
“No, Mum, you didn’t.” I hated the thought of seeing our neighbours. It was over a year since my change of lifestyle, and I hadn’t actually talked to any of them despite having been home several times. Then I seemed to be ill or recuperating or just alone. The need to speak to them didn’t arise. I’m not ashamed of what has happened, but I’m not ecstatic about justifying myself either. I am me, I don’t need anyone’s permission or consent. If they don’t like it they can bloody well lump it.
“I’m sorry love, but I accepted for all of us.”
“Why? You go with dad, tell them I’ve got Lassa fever or something.”
“You shouldn’t joke about such things.” I considered myself told off. “They want to see you, they’ve been at me for ages. So when you came home this time I mentioned it and they invited us. So we need to get you something to wear. What about this cream dress?”
“Yuck,” I said, it went for the whole set up as well as that dress. No pressure, I thought to myself. “What do you think?” I asked her holding up a grey two-piece in a suede-like material. I knew it would go with a pair of boots I have. The skirt was mid-calf and the top was sleeveless, with a vee neck. It was also a hundred quid.
When I saw the price tag I nearly put it back, but mum insisted I try it on. To keep the peace I did as she wanted. It looked very nice, mind you, it should for that money.
Okay so it may not seem that much, but I spend less than that on food for a month, well if I don’t include chocolate. Alright, it isn’t that much, but for one night?
Mum liked it and within a second of me coming out of the changing rooms, it was in the bag. “What about jewellery?”
“I’m okay I think.” I’d collected my pearls from the safe on the way out. I thought they would be safer at home in dad’s little wall safe. I hadn’t shown them to either of my parent’s yet. Tonight would be the night.
About three, we ended up in a hair salon, which had been pre-booked as a treat. I was getting suspicious about these coincidences. Nevertheless, I’d not had my hair cut for ages, so a trim would be useful. I had a shampoo and trim, the stylist asked if I’d ever tried a French plait, so we did and it looked really good. So that was that.
We got home and I went to the bathroom and had a bath. Yes, a bathroom with a tub in situ. I soaked for maybe a quarter of an hour and shaved my legs and under my arms. Then got dressed. My make up was very simple as always. It was a supper not a nightclub, so it was basic mascara, brow liner and lippy. I did use a tiny amount of blusher and decided after seeing the outfit on, that may be a bit of blue eye pencil under the lower lid, just to emphasise my blue eyes. It was hardly noticeable but it did make my eyes look bluer. It also made me look very different to the last time I saw my neighbours. Then I was a boy with short hair and trousers. This was going to be an ordeal.
I put the pearls around my neck and inserted the drop earrings. The effect was amazing. I wondered if they might look over the top, but they blended in, they looked really good. Real class shows itself and can be worn with anything. These were in the top class. A squirt of Miss Chanel’s eponymous perfume and I was ready. I picked up a small grey handbag, apart from a hankie and my lipstick it was empty, but it gave me something to do with my hands (rather than strangling my mother).
When I came down into the lounge, my dad was already there and changed from his working gear, into a smart shirt and trousers. We hugged and kissed. Well he kissed me and I kissed the air by his cheek, it seemed better than getting lip gloss all over him.
“Hey, those are nice.” He said touching my pearls. “Where did you get them?”
“Why?” I asked.
“These are very nice. They’re not cultured ones are they?”
“No. I leave the culture to you, Daddy.”
“Very funny. Have you insured them?”
“Not yet.”
“Where did you get them? Have you just borrowed them?”
“They are mine, and why does it matter where I got them?”
“Jamie, you are probably wearing several thousand pounds worth of jewellery. I didn’t buy it, nor did your mother. John may love you but not that much. So where did you get them?”
“I got them from a client?” I was getting a bit cross now.
“A client?”
“Yeah, since I had the op, I’ve been earning a little on the side.”
“Are you telling me you have been selling yourself in prostitution?” This was getting very heavy.
“No. It’s a joke, Daddy.” He wasn’t laughing.
“So where did they come from?”
“Dr Fellowes wanted me to have them. They belonged to his wife. I did try to stop him but he insisted.”
“Why didn’t you just say so in the beginning?”
“Why did you give me the third degree?”
“Point taken. Did you know what they were worth?”
“Not exactly, but they have been in a safe.”
“Tomorrow, they go for valuation and then to the safe at the bank.”
“Why can’t they just go in our safe?”
“Because they are too valuable.”
“What’s too valuable dear?” Enquired my mother. “Oh those look nice, dear, are they cultured ones?” A feeling of impending disaster began to encroach on the evening.
I just had time to set the video to record ‘Bridget Jones’ Diary’, a hoot of a film even if it is a bit dated. My father liked it too, but as he said,’ if they took the ‘F’ word out of it, there’d be precious little dialogue’. I must read the book sometime to see how it compares.
The ordeal of Willow Close was beginning. How could my parents, who claim to love me, subject me to this….this… squalid event? Sensing my reluctance, they each grabbed an arm and practically frog-marched me over the road. My senses were heightened, and I was aware of every step as my heels clicked on the tarmac.
It was just as well that I’d spritzed with perfume, well eau de toilette, because I could feel myself getting hot and little rivulets of sweat ran down my back.
Then two minutes later we were at the door, my mother rang the bell. I thought I had only a couple of seconds to bring on a myocardial infarct. Quickly, I urged my body to stop living. But as usual, it ignored me. I saw a shadow the other side of the glass door. Too late, bugger! The door opened.
“Hello, Jamie, how nice to see you looking so well. Tom, Anna.” It was Gwen Johns. She threw her arms around me, and we air-kissed. Yuck. “You do look nice, I always thought you were wasted as a boy. Come on in, we’re in the lounge.”
I knew where the lounge was, I’d been there often enough in days gone by. I led the way as she shut the front door. I opened the lounge door and nearly died. There were probably a dozen or even twenty people there. “Here she is,” someone called. Then before I could say anything, they all started singing, “For she’s a jolly good fellow.” I did my famous impression of a radioactive beetroot with its mouth open, while I stood transfixed to the spot in total embarrassment. It was awesome. No, make that awful. I wondered if I could find something sharp enough to slash my wrists before they finished.
As I glanced around the room, almost dribbling with terror, I could see all the clients of ‘Curtis babysitting limited’. This was obviously revenge-time. My heart was in my throat, and my bowels were doing their own version of the jitterbug. I had visions of them all turning into werewolves and ripping me to shreds, devouring my body as my life ebbed away. For a moment the absurdity of that situation and my taught nerves made me snigger. I thought that’s rich, werewolves eating a were-lioness! It would be more likely the other way around. It had some appeal, at least it would stop the dreadful noise.
Suddenly the noise stopped. Brian Johns stepped forward and began a speech. Oh, could things get any worse? I was about to find out.
“Friends, children and esteemed guest.” Who? I thought. “We are here this evening to welcome Jamie back to Willow Close and to celebrate her metamorphosis from the caterpillar of boyhood to the butterfly of womanhood. I think it’s only fair to say that we all thought she should have been a girl then, and many of us actually regarded her as more girl than boy. However, it takes great courage to do what she has done in making her changeover, but we knew she could do it. She has also demonstrated that she has plenty of courage in her handling of the nightclub siege, for which I am led to believe, she will receive an award for bravery.
"We all know and love her, and wish her well in her nursing career. So please ladies and gentlemen, raise your glasses to our local heroine, to Jamie.”
There was a general murmur of, “To Jamie.” Then someone shouted, “Three cheers for Jamie…..Hip hip.” In answer to my earlier question, yes it had got worse. Why couldn’t an earthquake cause the floor to open up and swallow me? I just hated this, it was cringe-making in the extreme.
Dr Johns hadn’t finished yet, “We all know how modest she is, and perhaps a little shy, but I’m sure we’d all like her to say a few words to the party.” They all clapped, “Speech, speech,” became the chant. Oh, double shit.
“Go on girl,” my father exhorted me and pushed me forward, into the centre of the room. What on earth do I say? Help please, anybody.
I cleared my throat, there was silence. That was frightening. Here goes. “Dr and Mrs Johns, neighbours and kids, what do I say to a build-up like that? Perhaps I could start by defining what courage is.” I felt the warmth growing inside me, I knew my call for help was answered, I would have the strength to do this. ‘Thanks’, I said in my mind to my guardian spirit.
“Courage is something which is not easily defined, because it depends upon a very individual and subjective assessment, so one person’s courage may be another’s desperation. I am not aware of having done anything courageous in my life, well not until I came here tonight.” A general titter ran through the throng. “I just did what I felt was required at the time. I didn’t think about anything, except what was necessary at the time. They say, whoever ‘they’ actually are, that actions speak louder than words. I might care to disagree, especially standing here.” More titters. “I think I can honestly say, that I am overwhelmed at your generosity, in fact, my whelm has never been so over.” More titters. “
At this point I noticed a small statuette on an occasional table. I reached over and picked it up. I had some inspiration.
Holding it as if I’d just been presented with it, I began. “I’m knocked out at winning this award. I’d like to thank my producer for finding the money and paying my rehab bills.” There was a startled silence then some loud laughter. I was flying. “I’d also like to thank the director. Without his directions, no one would have found this place. I’d like to say thanks to my hairdresser, but she isn’t here. I’d like to thank my parents and their dirty weekend in Bognor, without which I wouldn’t be here.”
The laughter was now all around me, even my parents found it funny. “Thanks once again for this award, I shall cherish it, and keep it with all the others in a cardboard box under the stairs. Well, it’s easier to fill the Oxfam bag from there.” I was waving the statuette in the air, like an Oscar winner.
“I thank you all for coming and for this wonderful party. Thank you so much.”
My heart was beating at something well above its normal level, my blood pressure was also probably close to danger level and the adrenaline (epinephrine) was surging through my system. I also noted my respiration was faster and shallower than usual. I was getting very warm and the room was beginning to spin, I could feel myself beginning to float, when Dr Johns spoiled my swoon, by dashing up with a glass of brandy and making me drink it. He helped me to a chair, and I began to recover.
Then, it was seconds out round two, as the crowd of kids descended upon me, led by Linnie. We all hugged, and I heard her say, “I always wanted a big sister like you, Jamie. Looks like I’ve got one now.” We laughed.
To be fair, the children were really nice. After the initial charge, Linnie came back with a huge bunch of flowers and presented them to me. I was now nearly in tears, so touched was I. We hugged again and I kissed her on the cheek.
Then I was saved by the bell as the food was declared available. It was a fabulous buffet, but I wasn’t hungry for some reason. Gwen Johns brought me a plate with a sandwich and chicken leg on it, but I only nibbled at it. My tummy was still doing impressions of a Catherine wheel.
Music was started, and the adults came to say their bit. Pauline Hewett was the first, she of district nurse fame. “Hi Jamie.” We hugged. “I’m so glad for you. You were simply too pretty to be a boy. If you remember, I thought you were a girl in the beginning. Looks like I might have been closer to the truth than either of us thought.”
“I remember you fixed me up after I came off my bike. You did a good job and I’m glad you did, now more than ever.”
She looked carefully at my face, “It doesn’t show. You are really pretty. You could be a model if you wanted to.” I blushed and looked away. “Really, you could. How’s the training going?”
“It’s okay I guess. I did well in the exams but I have to get some more practical hours in. I was off ill for a bit, I got meningitis.”
“How did you manage that?”
“Natural talent, I s’pose.”
“So are they giving you some extra ward time?”
“Yeah, it’s all been arranged. I fly out on Saturday.”
“You’re flying out ? Where for god’s sake?” she looked incredulous.
“Basra.”
“Jesus! Oops, sorry I hope you're not religious?” I shook my head. “What the hell are they sending you to Iraq for?”
“I think they’ve obviously heard how I disarm gunmen and thought I could solve all their problems in a couple of weeks. I just need to wear my knickers over my tights and slip my cape on.” At this she pushed me and we both laughed. “They’re short-staffed and they thought it might be an interesting experience.”
“It could certainly be that. Well, good luck anyway.”
“Thanks.” I said and we hugged again.
The evening went on in this vein for some time. They were all very nice and pledged their support, for which I was grateful. They all knew I was really a girl, even the kids said so. How could they all have been so wrong? I wasn’t a girl, not until the army stepped in and SNAFU happened!
I was still ruminating on this when it ended and my parents escorted me home. “That went very well,” said my mum, to which my dad agreed. They asked me and I grunted, which they could take however they wished.
Had they all got it wrong or had I? I tossed and turned about it all night. The next morning I realised the futility of it all. I was worrying about the past, the present was already here and I was female whether I liked it or not. The future was about making the best of it and hopefully with John. His absence did worry me. I had a bad feeling about things and about him.
About half-past nine, the doorbell rang. This was not a spontaneous gesture of solidarity but caused by someone pressing it. Well, that was my deduction. I’m quick like that. It was Gwen Johns.
“I’m glad I caught you, Jamie. Your little speech last night was so funny we, that is Brian and I, thought you might like this as a reminder.” With that, she presented me with the statuette.
“That’s really kind of you, but I only picked it up as a joke. It was just a prop.”
“We know that, but we’d both still like you to have it.” She, as good as shoved it into my hands.
“What can I say?” I blushed. It is an improvement on crying, which is my normal expression of emotion. “I’d like to thank my producer….” We both laughed, I kissed her and she stayed for a coffee.
The next day I was on a train heading for what I hoped would be an adventure. I was not to be disappointed.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
The trip back to Barbury was uneventful. In fact, I dozed for much of it. Despite my assertion that I was female and had to get on with things, there was a small part of me that was in mourning for my lost maleness. However, futile the process of being male may have seemed, it was what my chromosomes had intended and I had contemplated nothing else. Which I presume shows that we can take nothing for granted.
I was getting fed up with this maudlin feeling catching up with me, every now and then. I was girl or woman now, tits, fanny and big bum. But then I thought, while it makes things easier, what makes us men or women is what happens between our ears, not between our legs. It’s a matter of how we see ourselves and how we think, our experiences and the reactions of others. It’s quite complicated when you sit down and think about it, and it is just as complicated when you stand up and walk about too. I was so engrossed in my own thoughts that I didn’t watch where I was going as I walked out of the station.
A young man came rushing past me grabbing my shoulder bag as he ran. The strap was over my shoulder, and I instinctively grabbed it as I felt it move. The consequence was that I was pulled over doing a sort of sideways somersault as I went. For all the shock of the attack and the fall, I held on.
He kept pulling at me, screaming at me to let go and I screamed back. Several people just stood and watched, one or two were too elderly to do much others had no such excuse. No one seemed to want to intervene.
The bag-snatcher came closer and went to kick me to prevent my holding the bag when a soldier walking past came to my assistance. He was a big chap, a very big chap and he launched himself at my attacker and pinned him to the floor. It was Pam’s partner Stuart, the gentle giant. Only he wasn’t being too gentle at this moment.
The police arrived, and the would-be robber was taken away, we were asked to go to the copshop to give statements. I gave Stuart a huge hug and thanked him, he stood for a few moments with his arm around me and I felt so safe, I was now safe enough to cry and I bawled the place down.
We gave the statements, were given a cuppa and I felt a little better. I had bruises all over me, especially my knees and elbows. As I was leaving the police station we were spotted by Superintendent Mitchell. “Ah, Miss Curtis, to what do we attribute this unexpected pleasure?”
“Hello, Mr Mitchell, just doing my duty.” I smiled back at him.
“Not with gunmen I hope.”
“No, this time it was an attempted robbery.”
“You didn’t actually eat this one did you?”
“No, I’m trying to give it up. I did promise you last time.”
“So you did. I was just checking.”
It was quite funny watching the faces of Stuart and my attacker who had been brought past us as the conversation was in progress. He was taken away by the escorting bobbies, and both the superintendent and I laughed at his expression.
As we left, Stuart niggled me for an answer, so I gave him a potted one. He was shaking his head. “You deal with three gunmen and need me to help you with one spotty little git.”
“I didn’t have my superhero’s costume on,” I smirked back at him.
“Oh, I see.” He commented back then after thinking for a moment, “Did you wear it at the nightclub then?”
“Oh yeah, only it was bloody hard finding a telephone box to change in, so I had to use a cubicle in the toilets.”
He roared with laughter, “Jamie Curtis, you are completely crazy.” Then he hugged me and walked me back to my quarters. I noticed the time, I was going to be late.
My packing to go home had been quick, this was even quicker. I washed and changed into my uniform. I threw spare clothes into my kit bag and a holdall. I grabbed a couple of books and a pen, my handbag and shot off to the assembly point. I was last (as usual).
Unbeknownst to me, my face had taken some slight trauma during my most recent incident and I large bruise was developing on my cheek and around my eye.
Captain Smith approached me. “Well Nurse Curtis, your punctuality didn’t last for long.”
Blushing I looked at the ground. “No, ma’am, I am sorry.”
She gently gripped my chin and lifted my face upwards and to the right. “What happened here?” she asked pointing to my now discolouring face.
I hadn’t seen what she was talking about, so felt very puzzled. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I don’t know what you mean.”
“Nurse Curtis, you have a bruise about the size of California coming out on your face. Don’t tell me you don’t know how it got there.”
“I didn’t know it was there, ma’am.”
“Well, it is. How did it get there?”
“I got mugged coming out of the station. I had to go and give a statement to the police which is why I was late.”
“No heroics this time then?”
“No ma’am, I left that to a passing soldier friend, he saved the day.”
“Does trouble follow you around, Jamie Curtis? If so, did I do the right thing in inviting you to come to my hospital?”
Before I could respond she had moved on to speak to another nurse. I looked around to see who else was going and spotted Sharon, my partner in crime. She saw me at about the same time and we hugged and giggled, being very pleased to see each other.
“I wuz ‘opin’ you’d be ‘ere too. When ya wasn’t, I fought ya weren’t comin’. In I glad t’see ya.”
Having translated from Essex –speak to English, I worked out what she had said. Actually, I’d spent so much time with her over the past year that her accent no longer grated on my ears as it had once done. It was just part of her, and she was about the most generous, kind and thoughtful person I could wish to know. I was so glad to have her as a friend.
It was quite a journey, but with Sharon about it seemed much shorter. A coach to RAF Lynham, then a flight to Iraq. We arrived in the early morning and it was hot, with a capital aitch.
We saw little of the city of Basra on our journey, we did, however, see lots of dust or sand because just after landing a sandstorm began. In just the few minutes of running across a yard to our bus, we had sand in our eyes, our mouths, our hair and inside our clothes. It was everywhere. How the driver managed to get us to our compound I shall never know, but somehow he did. Then even with scarves tied across our faces, the dusty sand found its way into mouths and other orifices. It was ‘orrible to quote my good friend and compatriot.
“ Oo ordered this bleedin’ wevver?” enquired my little buddy, “I’ll bet I even got sand in me fallopian tubes.” At this, we all laughed, including Captain Smith.
We were shown to our rooms. It made my little one at Barbury seem very spacious and comfortable. It was about ten-foot square, with a window, which although closed seemed to allow the sand to still enter the room. It was hot and claustrophobic. Two beds in that room seemed like one too many, but at least they were beds not bunks, and we had rooms not, dormitories. The shutters on the window rattled under the weight of the wind-driven sand, and everywhere was dark. It was not a pleasant welcome although I hadn’t at that point seen it as an omen. There was no air conditioning, but we did have a fan, so it was possible to redistribute the dust continuously.
We had a washbasin, and one working tap, we had a small double cupboard which was the sum-total of wardrobe space. Later on, we found there had also been chests of drawers but these had been removed to give more space.
The toilet and showers were down the corridor when they had water running. In summer the water was always warm, in winter it was frequently cold. Under no circumstances did one drink the water, except bottled varieties. These were available from large fridges on every floor when they had the power to run them. That wasn’t true, they had generators, so we had power most of the time being on the hospital site. But it was going to be an experience staying here, how did people manage it for months at a time, let alone live here.
In thinking these thoughts I tended to forget this was temporary accommodation and a military one at that. Many Iraqis had lovely homes or were restoring them to the previous pre-war state.
We set about unpacking, there was dust in everything. We undressed, washed the dust off each other and shook our clothes out, then assembled with everyone else an hour later. Thankfully Sharon kept my spirits up, because alone here, would not be a nice place to be.
“Welcome ladies, thank you all for volunteering.” Said Captain Smith to the thirty of us who were assembled in the large room, which seemed to serve as a dining room, common room and meeting place. Most of us were swigging water from half-litre bottles, as she addressed us.
“This storm should blow itself out by tomorrow when you might get a chance to see a little of Basra. Please only go out on organised trips, you may get lost on your own and there are hostiles about. If you go anywhere, take a bottle of water with you, it is essential. Do not drink the local water.”
She continued her discourse about staying here, about rules and regulations and especially safety. Then we were split into four groups and shown around the hospital.
The term ‘field hospital’ conjures up scenes from the second world war, of canvas, camp beds and make do. This was a serious hospital, it was to eventually be handed over to the local people, but for now, it was run by the British army, and they were a field hospital unit, so it was a field hospital. If you don’t understand don’t worry, I didn’t and I was there, being given the guided tour.
It had two operating theatres, which were both in use, four intensive care beds, and two other wards of eight beds. They had a small CSSD, kitchen and laundry, and a laboratory area. There were four single rooms that were used for isolation. (A CSSD is a place for sterilising instruments and other equipment – most of our stuff came as pre-packed sterile supplies, but they occasionally had to deal with shortages and instruments or equipment could be sterilised as necessary).
After the guided tour, we had dinner. The dining room became the staff common room or mess, and we fraternised with the regulars. Some stories were told that night, and quite some alcohol was consumed. I’m not much of a drinker and given that we were told, alcohol dehydrates, so don’t drink much, I had just one glass of lager. Many chose to indulge to the full. It was relatively cheap even if the choice was limited, and it seemed warnings were forgotten.
Mind you, I was more worried where I’d be able to get chocolate that didn’t run out of the packet. That night, the temperature dropped to forty. That’s degrees Celsius. It was in the words of my good friend, “bleedin’ ‘ot.”
I went to bed dripping with sweat, the showers were working but only just and the water felt warm. I drank some water and went to bed. Did I mention the mosquito nets? Good fun this.
Sleeping was not easy. What an understatement. The way the sweat was pouring out of me, anyone would think I was a human watering-can. Since dinner, I had downed at least two litres of water and hadn’t felt the need to pee. At home, I’d have been back and fore all night. My bed felt like a sauna.
What with the heat, the dust and the noise of the storm rattling the shutters, sleep was impossible. I tossed and turned much of the night, wearing as little as possible and covered with just a sheet, I still steamed like a giant Christmas pudding. The next morning, I felt like a bit of wet rag.
Sharon, who had imbibed considerably more alcohol had not so much slept as become comatose, if one can snore in a coma, she did. At one point her snoring was louder than the storm, and in the faint light that came under the door, I could see her, lying on her back, stark naked, with her legs wide apart and bent at the knee. It was a picture, as they say, and I turned over to face the wall hoping her impression of a ram-jet would feel less convincing.
As previously mentioned, I awoke with all the vitality of a wet flannel, she woke up feeling like one with a headache. She had drunk two litres of water before we left for breakfast, her throat was sore from snoring and she had managed to swallow some sand. The fan did tend to redistribute it, and an open mouth, well I think you get the picture.
I won’t dwell on our routines, because they aren’t necessarily that interesting. Routines may be a misleading term, because the only routine was work and bed, with occasional meals thrown in. Anything could and did happen, and shifts began early and often ended late.
I helped to treat many different people and an equally varied series of illnesses or mishap. A busload of Iraqi police who were blown up by insurgents was the biggest emergency we had, sharing the casualties with a local hospital and even flying some up to Baghdad for the Americans to treat. They had a plastics team who treated burns, and explosives often cause burns. This all happened in my first week.
In the next week, we had three shootings, injuries from an anti-personnel mine, two very sick children and a caesarian section. I helped to nurse the children, they were brother and sister and they drank infected water. They got amoebic dysentery, and we nearly lost them.
Like most women, I love children. However, each time I have close contact with them I am reminded that I shall never have any. Not of my own. It makes me sad when I think of it and one night I did cry myself to sleep.
I had worked a sixteen-hour day, with little time for meal breaks. I was helping to look after the two kids, whom we called Pinky and Perky. Much of the time they were asleep and it was a question of keeping them clean and stopping them from pulling out the drips in their delirium, they were very ill. Their mother was also admitted with the same problem and she died. Their father had been killed a year before in one of the flashes of trouble that tend to happen here. Most of the time it’s quite quiet, then there’s some shooting or an explosion, a suicide bombing or a car bomb and sadly people are killed or injured. I don’t understand it, but then I don’t live here. Northern Europeans and Arabic peoples are different in temperament.
One explanation is that the Arabs are ‘in-timers’, meaning they live in the moment and are emotionally associated with it, having little sense of time outside it. Whereas Europeans are largely ‘through-timers’, being mainly dissociated from the time, and thus able to take a more distant view of things. ‘In-timers’ often don’t see consequences. It’s all to do with timelines, which is a psychological construct about how we see our lives in a linear form. Associated people are stood on their lines, dissociated are not. It’s to do with NLP and I read a book about it once, it made sense while I was reading it, which made me an in-timer.
Back to my story, Pinky and Perky’s mum had just died, they were still very poorly. I had spent most of the day looking after them, and much of the night too, when I thought I’d nodded off and was dreaming. In my dream, I saw, the mother come to get the little girl.
I sat up with a start, it wasn’t a dream. The mother had just walked in through the closed door and was trying to pick up the little girl, who was the sicker of the two. I was gobsmacked. It didn’t make sense, then my tired brain began to understand. The mother was dead, she was trying to take her children with her. Maybe she had that right, maybe she didn’t. Whatever, it wasn’t going to happen on my shift.
I challenged her. She didn’t seem to realise she was dead, but after a few minutes I convinced her of that, she still seemed intent on taking her daughter and I began to see the child’s spirit or soul, begin to be drawn from her body.
It was awesome, but it felt wrong. The child deserved to have a chance at life, and I began to visualise her soul returning to her body, simultaneously asking the mother to go towards the light.
We battled for hours, with my mind binding the child to this world as her mother tried to take her. Finally, in exhaustion, I called for help, and I saw the mother being whooshed away by a sort of blast of light. I then prayed for both the children and was apparently found in this position some hours later by Sharon, who wondered where I was. I was asleep.
I wasn’t sure for several days what had happened, because it felt rather dreamlike and I was put on sick leave with exhaustion. I slept for two days despite the heat. Even then, I felt myself staying with the children in my dreams and was seen sitting with them, even though I was in bed. Much to everyone’s surprise and delight, they came out of crisis and it looked as if they would recover. I was told when I returned to my duties.
I was summoned to Vera Smith’s office. “I hear the two children are going to be okay.”
“It looks like it.” I beamed back to her.
“They have you to thank.”
“Me, I was off sick, what did I do?”
“Jamie, if I knew, I would bottle it and sell it. I was warned, no that’s too strong a word. Shall we say, a friend mentioned that when you are about strange things can happen. People recover from near death, or large felines may be seen. I didn’t see any lions or tigers, but I did see you sitting with those children when I knew you were deeply asleep in a different building.”
I looked at the floor, thinking, ‘here we go again’.
“I know that you are a very special person, with enormous energy and love. I also know you have gifts which most of us don’t have, no matter how much we love or care. Whatever you did for those two kids, saved their lives. The little girl, in particular, was very ill, we didn’t think she’d make it. But she did, thanks to you.”
What do you say when you don’t know any more than everyone else? I coughed and spluttered and shrugged my shoulders.
“I don’t expect you to be able to tell me what happened. I have seen it before and it is simply miraculous. I know you didn’t bring her back to life but stopped her life leaving her. I think that’s a miracle, although it might be seen as blasphemy to say so. However, I think God works in many ways and through many instruments. You might be one of them. Whatever happened, I believe you are a very special person and I feel privileged to know you.”
Oh shit, this sort of thing seems to be happening all the time. I knew I should have packed my ‘Superman’ tee shirt. “Thank you ma’am, is there anything else.”
“No Jamie, except my thanks.” She smiled at me, and I left.
I saw the occasional dead person and sent most of them on their way. Frequently they didn’t realise they were dead. I met one old chap who had died during the first world war, he said it explained why he couldn’t find his friends and once he understood, he went quite happily.
So to summarise, here was I in a strange place, seeing and seemingly doing strange things without it affecting me too much. I was becoming used to being weird. Then something even stranger happened and it nearly blew me away, quite literally.
This was at the end of week three, nearly week four. Life at the hospital was so busy that we’d had no chance to do much sightseeing. So when the opportunity for six of us to go out in the minibus for a little look-see, Sharon and I jumped at it.
We were being driven by an army driver and his mate who carried a small machine gun, they also wore pistols. Being nurses, we only had an elastoplast between us.
Back to my story, we’d just been shown around a mosque and had started towards the town centre, when I had an awful feeling which centred in the pit of my stomach. I felt incredibly sick and had a sense of impending doom.
I was doubled over in my seat. Sharon was trying to understand what was wrong. “Tell them to stop the bus.”
“You alwight?” she kept asking me.
“Tell them to stop the bus, now Now,” I heard myself screaming.
“What’s happening back there?” Called the driver.
“My friend is ill, she asked you to stop the bus.”
“Maybe, I’d better get her back to the hospital.”
I was writhing in pain, but with my last breath I shouted at them, “Stop this bus now, or they’ll kill us.” I collapsed back into my seat.
The driver stopped and began to come towards me to find out what I was on about. His mate was keeping a watchful eye open. An army Landrover pulled up alongside, to see why we had stopped. “Tell them to go.” I gasped, “Tell them to go.”
Nobody did, and what I had seen in my mind's eye, happened. I managed to grab Sharon and pull her down and a second later there was a deafening bang, and we were thrown about in a chaos of metal and glass. We ended up in the street. There was the sound of automatic gunfire and a second blast. I honestly thought we were going to die.
The pains in my stomach were replaced by a generalised one and a sense of shock. Two of the soldiers were trying to get us into a nearby house, except the occupants weren’t keen on the idea.
So we were stuck sheltering behind two burning vehicles. I tried to pull myself together, but my head was splitting, I could feel something wet running down from my scalp, it was warm and red. It was only a little bleed, so I’d be okay.
I tried to take stock of casualties. Sharon was lying on the floor with some lacerations, but she was still alive. One of the nurses and a soldier were in a bad way, and I suspected those in the Landrover were dead. Seeing me, sitting up, our bodyguard chucked me his pistol. “’Ere love, take this, I ‘ope you know ‘ow ter use it.”
I snatched it up, and in snicking off the safety, and pumping a round into the chamber showed I did. Shit, I thought, this is supposed to be my day off and now I might have to kill someone. Not good. In fact, bad. But I figured, they are trying to kill me.
A shot hit the ground between Sharon and me, ricocheting off with a ping. Then there was another, and a man dressed in black with a mask over half his face took aim. He had a rocket-propelled grenade. I fired at him over and over again. I felt sick in doing so, but what else could I do. I saw the bullets hit his body, three times and a fourth took off part of his head. He spun around in a spray of blood and as he did so fired his grenade into a nearby house. He fell to the floor and I saw his spirit leave his body, a moment later a lioness rushed through and devoured it. ‘So much for seven virgins’ I thought.
In the shock and the chaos, I had forgotten about my guardian angel, okay, hardly the archetype I grant you, but effectively the same. I sensed another threat near me. I turned and fired twice. The man screamed once and fell convulsing on the ground, then it stopped. Once again I saw the lioness carry off a soul. Weird huh.
He had dropped a Kalashnikov and two magazines. If I could get them we’d have a little more firepower. The odd zip of bullets was still coming our way, and I knew it was only a matter of time before we were overrun and probably killed. I supposed it was my duty to try and defend my comrades and friends as long as I could.
I got into a crouched position and ran bent over grabbing the gun from its deceased previous owner. As I picked it up I somersaulted over and slid behind a low wall. A series of zips followed my progress.
I checked out the gun, the magazine was nearly full and two more were attached to it by tape. They also had bullets in. I wriggled around the far side of the wall and could see two attackers trying to outflank our position. A minute later, the lioness was feasting again. I was now a practised killer. I felt nothing just a numbness.
I was trying to assess the situation when there was another bang, and I was thrown down backwards over the wall. I struggled to stay awake but the fight was in vain, and things went black.
I awoke with a splitting headache. It was dark, I had a bandage around my head which was now tender, my back was also sore and I was blindfolded. I lay as still as I could. I was out of uniform, in jeans and a shirt, we were after all off duty, I could feel the shirt was damp, water or blood? I’d have to wait to find out.
I could feel my jeans tight around my waist, so at least nothing had been done to my bottom half, and my trainers were still on my feet. I smiled to myself, when I thought they’d be flying the flag. They were Reeboks and they have a little ‘Union Flag’ on each of them.
I can feel my feet, I thought, so things are probably not too bad. Now I lay still listening to hear what I could to learn where my companions were. Were they okay? If not, especially if anything had happened to Sharon, then I’d do all in my power to pay back things in spades, and I had some powers they weren’t used to.
Why did I say that to myself? If I had special powers, why am I lying here trussed up like a Sunday joint? It’s my day off, don’t do superheroes on days off. Very funny. I can’t fly, nor am I invincible like Superman. Nor do I actually turn myself into a lion, that’s more the energy around me.
I began to call for my lion spirit. Laying absolutely still, I began to feel the warmth arising in me, something was happening. I began to imagine myself in a lioness’s body and walking around the place where I was. It was dark, there were at least five other people tied up like me. I hoped one was Sharon. I think one was the bodyguard.
We were in a courtyard house, in the cellar. Invisibly, I projected myself through the door and up the stairs. There were five of them. Two on the roof, two eating and one watching their prisoners in the cellar. I returned to my body.
My hands were bound behind me with tape of some sort. I could not break it, nor could I put my feet through my wrists and have my hands in front. My feet were bound at the ankles. In short, I couldn’t do anything.
That wasn’t quite true. I began to concentrate until I could feel the sweat running down my brow. I began to project myself into the hospital, into Vera Smith’s office. She was pacing to and fro, there were two others in there as well, two army officers I’d not seen before.
I tried to attract her attention, but I could feel a tiredness overcoming me and I felt things going black again.
I don’t know if I passed out or slept, but I awoke to the sounds of battle. It raged for ages. We all kept quiet, not knowing where the fight was, except it was close. I was also worried, if the kidnappers thought we were about to be rescued, they might kill us. I let my senses patrol the room, we were alone.
I wriggled over to one side until I hit someone, they understood my effort and pushed their head into my hands, where I managed to pull off the blindfold and gag, then they did the same for me. We struggled for several minutes getting the tape off our hands, then our feet. However, we did manage it. In the gloom, I couldn’t really see who I’d released, but it was a man.
He set about, trying to secure the door, whilst I released as many prisoners as I could, my Swiss army penknife slashing through the tapes in moments. As I released my fellow prisoners, it suddenly occurred, my penknife was one of the few possessions from my old life which was retained in the new. Thank goodness I had.
The room was dark, but it was just about possible to make out the main obstacles. There were boxes of something, a sack of something else and a table. All of these were pushed against the door. We built our barricade only just in time. Someone tried to enter, then beat at the door with I presumed a gun butt then fired at it. We were all sitting against the wall behind the door, so were unharmed, but I nearly wet myself. I have never been so frightened.
Even in the club and out on the street earlier, I didn’t so much feel frightened as angry. Now I was scared. Shit scared would not put too fine a point on it.
A loud bang from above us, distracted our would-be attacker, we sat still hugging each other. The battle raged on above us.
Then it went quiet, followed by a sporadic burst of small arms fire. There was a loud bang just outside the door with a blinding flash, then the door was smashed open and two men with red lights attached to the guns they were waving, burst in. We froze. They stopped as we raised our hand above our heads, then they grabbed at our hands and pulled us to our feet.
“Up, geddup,” they shouted. We didn’t argue. “Geddout,” they shouted and once more we complied without a murmur. They led us through the courtyard and out into the street and into an APC, a ‘Warrior’ I think. Then we sped off into the night.
It all seems a bit blurred. We were debriefed and checked out. I had a scalp wound that needed a couple of stitches, and I was black and blue with bruises. Sharon had a concussion and multiple lacerations, but nothing too serious. The others were in various stages of injury, and our bodyguard had a bullet wound in the shoulder.
I found out later that the target was the RMP Landrover, and they killed the four soldiers in it. They also got our driver, and one of the nurses was dead.
I admitted to being probably responsible for the deaths of four attackers. I was upset about it, but we might all have been dead if I hadn’t done it. I hoped I could live with it.
Resting in our room, later the next day, Captain Smith paid us a visit. “How are you today, girls?” she blithely enquired, as if we’d just come back from shopping.
“I’ve felt better,” I replied.
“Awful”, commented my colleague.
“I just thought I’d let you know you are being sent home at the weekend.”
“I was just beginning to like it here.” I joked.
“Things do seem to happen around you, Jamie Curtis, I’m not sure I can afford to keep you here.”
“I shall go quietly, ma’am.” I offered.
“I can tell you that you’re up for another bravery award.”
“What?!” I exclaimed. “What for?”
“Keeping a cool head and saving the lives of six other people.”
“But I didn’t.”
“How do you think we found you?”
“I have no idea.”
“Well just think about it.” Said the captain enigmatically. I had no idea what she meant.
We did do a bit more work, well pretended to. It was light duties, which for me meant babysitting Pinky and Perky until they had relatives come and collect them.
The day before we flew back to Blighty, I was summoned to Captain Smith’s office. Knocking I was bid enter.
“Come in, Jamie.”
“You wanted me, ma’am?”
“Yes. I wanted to say goodbye.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“I also wanted to thank you for your resourcefulness under fire.” I blushed at this. “Without your very special help, we could have been burying a dozen of our countrymen.”
“How did you find us?” I asked, still somewhat puzzled by her comment of a day or two earlier.
“I followed your signals.”
“What?”
“I was here that evening, worried to death about you hostages. We had no idea where you were, and it was too soon to get much feedback from intelligence. Then I saw, what I thought was a lioness. At first, I was bemused by it thinking it was just stress. Then I remembered what Sheila Brice had told me. ‘Watch out for the lioness when Jamie is about’. I suddenly knew what to do.”
I stood blushing as she continued. “I had awful trouble getting the others to accept my sudden insight. But I eventually managed to get them to cooperate. They sent a couple of APCs following my Landrover, and I followed the lioness. No one else seemed to see it, until the very end, when Major Jones saw it standing at the door of the house you were in. He changed his attitude then.”
“You saw a lioness, walking down the road?”
“Yes, Jamie. I saw the lead you were giving us. I saw your animal guide.”
She walked over and embraced me. “I can see why Sheila is so fond of you. You are so generous and courageous. You are so special, don’t let these things become corrupted.”
“I already have.” I began to cry, “I killed four people.” I buried my head in her ample bust and wept. She hugged me and rubbed the back of my neck, it was like my mother was there. It was so nice. I just wished I was home, with my mother. Instead, I was here, and at the age of nineteen had killed four men. I felt like Billy the Kid.
“Which would have been worse? Taking life or watching them kill your friends?”
“I don’t know.” I sobbed.
“I think you did the right thing. I hope in time you will see that too.”
“I don’t know!” I sniffed.
“They have recommended a DCM.”
“Why?”
“Personally, I think it could have been more than that, but it will do. Remember, it will be given to you, but it’s to all of the nurses and troops out here, who perform acts of courage every day.”
“I know.” I sniffed, “why not give it to them, then?”
“Because they want to give it to you. Do me a favour.”
“What ma’am?”
“Accept it on behalf of the others, but also for yourself. What you did was outstanding, an example of Distinguished Conduct, and thus worthy of the medal. You didn’t start the fight, but neither did you run away.”
“I couldn’t, there was nowhere to go.”
“For truly heroic people, there never is. They have to stand and fight for what they believe in.”
“I didn’t see it as a battle of philosophies.”
“Protecting your friends is a very personal philosophy.”
“Not taking life is another.”
“I hope you can reconcile what happened one day. I am going to recommend you get at least a month’s leave and I hope a chance to talk these things over with a psychologist or counsellor.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I’d better go.”
“Before you do, go and see George.” He was the bodyguard and was still in hospital with a damaged shoulder. I did as I was told.
“Hello, George,” I said as I walked up to his bed.
“Hi, flower,” Was his response. He leaned forward and I kissed his cheek. “Oh, that’s nice.” He said, “I could do with you coming here on the hour every hour and doing that.”
“It might not do much for your blood pressure George,” I riposted.
“Bugger that,” was his response.
“I’m going home tomorrow,” I said.
“Lucky you. I’m stuck ‘ere with this bloody thing.” His arm was in plaster and held up level with his shoulder. “But another couple of weeks and I could be back meself.”
“I hope so.”
“Me too.”
“So you’re gonna get a gong.”
“I don’t know about that.” I glanced down at the floor and felt the blush rising.
“You’d bloody well better ‘ad.” He said. “I asked Major Jones to see to it. You were magnificent, girl. Couldna done better with ‘andful of paras.”
“I think that’s more than a slight exaggeration George,” I laughed at him.
“I saw you take out that bastard with the rocket grenade. You ‘it him with all four shots, from an ‘andgun. I ‘ave never seen shooting like it. If you ‘and’t got ‘im, we’d all be playin’ ‘arps now, sittin’ on bloody clouds.”
“I don’t know George. Killing is not a good thing to do, so I might not have got to heaven, Valhalla maybe. Fluffy clouds, I don’t think so.”
“Val whatever, ‘ere ain’t that on the Costa Brava?”
“Something like that.” I smiled back. “Thinking of a pile of Vikings cavorting around a pool in Spain, didn’t quite gel.
“Well girl, give us another kiss.”
I obliged him with a smacker on his cheek. Then we shook hands. “I hope you get a medal too.” I said, “after all, if you hadn’t thrown me that gun, we might have been somewhere else now.”
“Yeah, I reckons that was pure inspiration.”
“Sure was.” We laughed and I left him with another peck on the cheek. As I walked away I wondered where John was. I’d had a feeling he was closer than in England. It was worrying. I’d heard nothing.
The next day I was on my way back to England, sadder and wiser. We had four other nurses on the flight, including Sharon, and one in a coffin in the cargo hold, draped with the Union Flag. I did not look forward to meeting her parents, as I knew I would. Sheila Brice had told me I’d learn a lot. I don’t think it was quite as she imagined it. But then life is what happens in between our plans.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
It rained on the day of the funeral of Mary Hunt. She was the nurse who was killed in Iraq. She was buried with full military honours, last post, a fusillade of bullets over the grave and all the rest of the pageantry. I along with the rest of the survivors stood in silence wishing we could do more to comfort her distressed mother and father.
Like me, she had seen it as an adventure. Sadly, it had turned into tragedy for her. Unlike me, she had been a career nurse. It was all she had ever wanted to do, and she saw the military option as a way of seeing a bit of the world. Ironically, her sense of adventure caused her death.
I saw her at the funeral, she desperately tried to speak to her parents, who couldn’t see or hear her, although her mother did look round once. I would go and see them some while later and possibly tell them what I saw and heard. It doesn’t always go down too well with everyone.
We paid our respects and left. There was a small funeral tea in the local hotel, but it was so sombre and sad, that I asked to leave early. As I was going, her mother intercepted me.
“You’re the one who’s getting the medal?” she said to me.
“I don’t know. It’s not important to me. How can a piece of metal be worth so many lives?”
“They say you’re getting an award for another act of bravery.”
Sensing that there was an unpleasantness coming, I tried to be noncommittal. “I don’t know.” I replied.
“They say, trouble follows you around.” She almost snapped at me and now I knew where we were going.
“So if you hadn’t been there, my Mary would still be alive.”
“I don’t think it works like that.”
“Doesn’t it?” she snapped, “Tell me, Miss Heroine, how does it bloody well work then?”
“Look, it’s been a long day, we are all overwrought. I’ll come and see you one day.”
“How dare you tell me how I feel. How do you know how I feel?”
“I can tell you Mary would be sad at your anger with me.”
“How dare you presume to tell me what my daughter thinks.”
“I’m not presuming, she is stood behind you asking you to calm down. She is holding a large pink elephant, a soft toy thing. She is telling you to keep it and to think of her when you hold it.”
Mrs Hunt went rather pale. “How do you know about the pink elephant?”
“I told you.”
“Are you messing me about?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. You felt Mary around you earlier. I saw you turn around when she was behind you. She was trying to tell you that she loved you both, and not to fret for her, because this was her time. She said something about an aneurysm.
Does that make sense?”
“My god, you can see her can’t you?”
“I could she’s gone now.”
“She had an aneurysm when she was small, it was repaired, but we were always worried it would return. Apparently, she died of it, caused by the explosion.”
“I’m sorry.” I said, “I didn’t know that.”
“No you wouldn’t. We were only told a few days ago.” She shook her head. “You are Jamie, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You did something special with some sick children?”
“I don’t know.”
“Mary said you sat up for a couple of days praying for them and they got better. Will you say some prayers for Mary? Please. Help her to rest.”
“Of course I will. Although I think she is already at peace.”
“I hope so.” She burst into tears and I tried to comfort her, but I was crying too.
“You’re a good woman Jamie, I’m sorry I misunderstood you.”
“That’s okay Mrs Hunt, no offence taken.”
“Do come and see me one day, soon.”
“I will, I promise I will,” I said as we embraced and comforted each other.
I hadn’t known Mary at all, only having spoken to her for a few minutes the day she died. The day we all nearly died, the day I killed four people. I shuddered at the thought. How could I have done it?
As I walked away from the hotel and out into the drizzle I relived the moments when I shot those men. It was awful. They might have killed me and my friends. If it had been just me, it wouldn’t have been so important. But we were there to help them, not as an occupier. How could they get it so wrong?
Then I stopped and thought, or was it us who got it wrong? Should we have just left them to get on with things? I didn’t know. Until I’d been there, I had the usual opinion, stuffed with preconceptions. As a Guardian reader, that meant being mainly antiwar. But that was several years ago and it was now about helping to set up an infrastructure and help the people do their own thing – yeah, but like do it our way.
So was my presence quite so benign? To my mind yes. To the people who tried to kill us, probably not. Then I go and kill them Oh bugger, we’re back to that again. I did what I felt was necessary at the time. Perhaps the men I killed did the same. Was it all fate or karma? Who lived and who died preordained or was it all serendipitous? My head was bursting with all these possibilities as I walked back to my room at the nurses home. I got there soaking wet about an hour later.
Sheila Brice was waiting for me. “There you are, we’ve all been worried sick about you.”
“You sound like my mother,” I replied.
“Where have you been?”
“I needed some air, I was walking.”
“But it’s raining, you are soaked.”
“Is it? Am I?” came my responses to the respective questions.
“Something is troubling you, Jamie, I know it is. Would you like to talk about it?”
“Not really, it can’t undo what I did.”
“If you mean Mary Hunt’s death, you weren’t responsible.”
“I don’t mean that, although if I hadn’t made the driver stop, maybe we’d have got away without any of it happening. So did I cause that too?”
“What do you mean then?”
“I killed four men.”
“Your action probably saved the lives of six others, maybe more.”
“Yeah, yeah. Eight people die so I get a medal. Before that three people die so I get an award. What comes next? How many more have to die before I get some other award? I don’t want the stupid medal nor the police thing.” I was now so angry, but powerless. I burst into tears.
Sheila put an arm around me and led me into my room, “I just want them all to come back to life.” I sobbed and sniffed. “I didn’t want anyone to die.” More sobs. “Why does this happen to me? Why me? Can you answer that?” With this latest outburst, I pushed away from her and threw myself on the bed.
“Jamie, it happened. You don’t like it. I can understand that. I don’t suppose anyone actually would. But it’s because you care, that it happened. You cared about those two little babies and they lived. You cared about your colleagues and friends on the bus. You didn’t start what happened, you simply responded to it. Doing what you thought was best at the time. With hindsight, you are perfectly entitled to change your mind. But it doesn’t stop it.”
I lay on the bed, sulking like a ten-year-old. In between sobs I heard what she was saying. “Sometimes when we care about others, we do things we wouldn’t otherwise agree with in normal circumstances. These were not normal circumstances. The men you feel you were responsible for killing, were trying to kill you and Sharon and several others from this school and other places. They deliberately attacked you.
You defended yourself, which is acceptable in any form of law known to me. It was unfortunate, but it was necessary. You might not see yourself as a hero, but those you saved think you are. They are as entitled to their opinion as you, are they not?”
Some of what she was saying made sense. It all did really, but I didn’t want it to. I was seemingly enjoying this tantrum.
“Of course you could always act like a six year old and chuck a dummy, or you could act like a true hero and accept what has happened and perhaps spend the rest of your time, saving lives.”
That last bit got through. “I seem better at taking them,” I snapped back.
“Fine, transfer through to a fighting unit, you can kill some more then.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“Perhaps you’d better make yourself more clear.”
“I don’t want to hurt anyone.” The tears had dried up. “I didn’t want to kill anyone. I’m not sure that I have what it takes to save lives anymore.”
“Okay. You can cop-out, you wanted to from day one anyway. Go ahead, the press will love it. They’ll build you up and then tear you to bits like a pack of dogs. Maybe you’ll feel satisfied then.”
“What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said. You will be an archetypal flawed hero. They just love them, they’re easy to pump up and then pop. You see it all the time, sports heroes are the easiest, they have enormous egos and thin skin. They are also very self-centred, especially these days. It isn’t so much about representing your country as winning loadzamoney and lots of publicity.”
She paused while this sank in. “They’ll make great play of the nurse who killed and how things seem to happen about you. It’s pure coincidence, but they won’t worry about that, why let the truth get in the way of a good story?”
“What can I do?”
“In the short term, carry on as before doing what you believe in. Fulfilling your commitment to this course, your patients and your friends, colleagues and relatives. Accept that you are special, and in being so, accept its consequences.”
“Does that mean the gong and the award?”
“I think so. On both occasions, you probably saved more lives than were lost. Some of the people who survived think so anyway, and they’d like to thank you. Giving you some form of recognition, for your acts of courage recognition means they can then get on with their lives. It brings closure.”
“What about those who died? What of their families?”
“I don’t know what happens to them.”
“Don’t they deserve some closure?”
“Of course.”
“So how do they get it? Surely not from seeing someone they regard as an enemy, getting an award. One which arises from their suffering.”
“I accept what you are saying, Jamie. I don’t have any smart answers. But I do have opinions. Essentially, once someone puts another’s life in jeopardy then the normal rules no longer apply. When that jeopardy is intentional or deliberate, it’s an entirely different game. If I were an armed policewoman and you were a hostage-taker, threatening the life of a hostage, and I had a clear shot at you – then I would take it. If it killed you, I would have to live with the consequences.”
“It’s easier to say than do. I know.”
“I respect your experience. At the same time, I applaud your actions and hope that I would have had the courage and skill to do what you did. Remember you told the police at the nightclub you were a soldier and if they gave you a gun, you’d go and get those gunmen.”
“Yes but…..”
“No buts, it’s what you said. In Basra, you did that. You saved the lives of your friends. It was a spur of the moment, you didn’t have time to consider the moral position. I think you did the right thing and despite your doubts, I still think you did the only thing you could have done.”
“I’m not so sure, but I’ll try to accept it.”
“Good girl.” She smiled at me. “Ever since we first met, I have felt this bond with you. When I met your parents, I felt it with them too. I have watched you grow and develop as a woman, you took to it like a duck to water. I have also seen you become something very special. I know it embarrasses you because you are naturally modest, but one day you will have to accept that you are special. I believe you do have more of a mission than most of us lesser mortals, I also believe that the special qualities you have are designed for that mission. It is your destiny to use them wisely. Despite your youth, you have an old head. Accept your fate whatever it is, all these incidents are preparing you for something, when it comes you will recognise it.”
“I’m just an ordinary person, trying to make sense of this world and failing much of the time.”
“If that’s how you see it, that’s fine. I’ve said my bit. I expect you back in four week's time, at the start of the next term. Good day, Nurse Curtis.” She turned on her heel and left.
Oh shit. I thought, I’ve done it again.
I arrived home the next day, my parents were working but Mrs Johns was able to collect me from the station. With her was Eluned. I was very tired, the trauma of the past weeks was catching up with me, and I didn’t really want too much socialising. However, with a twelve-year-old in the car, it’s difficult not to.
“It’s nice to see you again Jamie, I hope we can do one or two things together this time.”
“I'll see what I can do.” Said my mouth, my heart said, ‘Oh no, just what I need, more babysitting.’
As if picking up my thoughts, Gwen Johns said, “We could do with a babysitter on Friday if you’re available.”
“Oh please say yes, Jamie,” squealed Linnie.
“I’ll need to check with Mum first, just in case she’s got something arranged.” I thought, ‘just play for time, maybe something can be arranged’.
“She’s playing bridge with us, so will your dad.”
My next thought was too unladylike to be recorded. It was a fait accompli, so like so many other things I had to lay back and accept it. Let’s face it, after my recent past, a month of nothing more strenuous than babysitting, would be welcome.
Linnie jabbered all the way home, which thankfully wasn’t too far. When we got there, she wanted to come in with me, but thankfully her mother called her back. All I wanted was a soak in the tub and an early night.
When I walked through to the kitchen, my mother had posted instructions to start the evening meal on the fridge door under one of those magnetic bits of fruit. Just what I needed.
However, I did as requested, peeling potatoes, chopping cabbage and carrots, putting the joint in the oven at the required regulo. Having got into chopping mode, I also did a fruit salad and shoved it in the fridge. Then I put the potatoes and carrots on low and went off to bathe.
I emerged from the bath relaxed, and whilst I couldn’t say refreshed, I felt a whole lot better than before. I dressed very casually, tee-shirt and jeans with my fluffy pink slippers. My hair was wrapped in a towel, secured with a clip.
I was just seeing to the dinner when my mother arrived. “Oh good, sweetheart, you got my note.”
We hugged and pecked each other’s cheek. “It’s good to see you again,” I said, giving her another hug.
“You too, sweetheart. That smells good. Did you do plenty of veg and spuds?”
“I think so, why?”
“Your father said he might bring someone back from work with him. He’s really got into this Browning thing.”
“Oh Mum, I only just got back from hell, and he’s inviting people back from work.”
“They can go in the study after dinner.”
“I also see you volunteered me to babysit on Friday. Thanks for telling me.”
“I got railroaded into it. It was our usual bridge night, and when I mentioned we might have to cancel because you would be home, Gwen and Linnie asked if you would babysit, I could hardly say no after their party.”
“I s’pose not.” I reluctantly agreed.
“Go and tidy yourself up a bit then for our guest. I’ll take over here.”
I slunk off to the bathroom, grumbling to myself all the while. ‘Sod it’, I thought, ‘I’ll dry my hair and put it up, but I’m damned if I’m going to dress up for some poetry nerd.’ So that’s what I did. A minor act of rebellion, but it gave me some satisfaction.
I returned to the kitchen, my mother took one look at me and shook her head. I thought my fluffy pink slippers looked quite stylish. She could hardly object, she gave them to me along with matching pyjamas. The slippers were shaped like pink bunnies, with ears and eyes, a nose and whiskers. On the back, they had little white scuts or cotton ball tails. The jammies had embroidered bunnies all over them, they were light pink with collars and cuffs in darker pink. Okay, they were rather juvenile, but I liked them. Remember I didn’t have much of a girlhood, so I’m catching up now.
“Right Miss Stubborn, can you do something for pudding?”
“Is fruit salad suitable?”
“Fine, we have some cream in the fridge.”
I opened the fridge, pulled out the bowl of fruit salad I’d made earlier, and with the silly noise sounding a fanfare, I waved it before my mother’s face.
“Don’t tell me, this is one I made earlier?”
“I always wanted to be on Blue Peter.” (A long-running children’s programme on BBC TV).
“When you get your award, they might ask you.”
“Which one, the one for getting people killed or the one for killing people?”
“Look sweetheart, I know it was unpleasant, but you’ve got to move on. You haven’t harmed anyone who wasn’t trying to hurt you. Please let’s not go down the misery path tonight. If you want to talk it through with your father and me, let’s do it when we have time to do it properly.” She leant over and hugged me, and it was all I could do not to burst into tears.
“Okay,” I said, holding back the deluge. Then to stop me choking up, I busied myself with setting the table. I had just laid the last piece of cutlery in place when the doorbell rang.
“Can you get that love?” called my mother from the kitchen.
“Alright.” I called back, while under my breath I was mumbling, ‘why can’t he use his key like everyone else?’.
I opened the door, and was about to say, “Hi Daddy.” When I almost fainted. My jaw gaped open and I began to cry. This time with joy. I couldn’t speak, my mouth wouldn’t work, I couldn’t even move.
The caller calmly walked in, wrapped his arms around me, kissed me, then holding me to him, said quietly, “Hello Princess.”
We stood there for an eternity, me, held in his strong arms, weeping with joy all over him. His shoulder was quite wet when we eventually broke the embrace, mainly because my father was stood patiently behind us, coughing politely.
“Where have you been?” I eventually managed to croak, “You said a few weeks, it’s been months.”
“I know princess, things went a bit pear-shaped. Some of our lads got killed in an ambush, they also got a nurse.”
I felt absolutely stunned and temporarily reduced once more to aphasia.
“You alright?” he asked, I was shaking in his arms.
“You were in Iraq?” I managed to squeak from my vocal cords.
“I’m not supposed to say, but yes. You probably read about it, we had a couple of redcaps killed, a bus driver and a nurse. They attacked a minibus and one of our Land rovers.”
“I…” my voice faltered again. Once more I was shaking and weeping. I tried again, “I… I…”
“You read about it.”
“N…n….n…no.” I stammered.
“You didn’t read about it.”
By now I was furious with my seeming inability to communicate and just screamed.
My father came rushing out. “Is she alright?”
John just looked at him and said, “I was telling her about the attack on a bus in Iraq, and she got upset.” He was still embracing my quivering body, I could feel his warm body staying so steady and calm, while his strong but gentle grip caressed me.
“The hospital minibus?” asked my dad.
“Yes why, did she know the nurse who was killed?”
“Worse I’m afraid, she was there.”
“What? On the bus?”
My father nodded his reply.
“Oh fuck. She wasn’t.” He squeezed me. “Oh baby, I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to upset you. “ He was squeezing me and rubbing my back, kissing my neck and apologising. It was lovely and horrible at the same time.
My mother who’d been in the kitchen and oblivious to the drama by the front door walked in on it, calling, “Dinner’s... is everything alright?” At which point my father escorted her back to the kitchen to explain why it wasn’t.
About twenty minutes and a stiff brandy later, I was almost human again. I didn’t want much dinner, but I pushed a small amount of food around the plate. “Come on Jamie, you’ve got to eat.” Urged my mother.
John leant across the table and whispered to me. “Can I tell you something?”
I nodded back to him.
“I love your slippers.” He smiled at me, and I began to laugh. The laugh became a giggle and the giggle became an embarrassed rush from the room as I wet myself.
They say, ‘ the path of true love does not run smooth’. I don’t know who they are, but they were absolutely spot on. I was making a total pig’s ear of it. If I wasn’t crying it was because I’d been temporarily struck mute, if that wasn’t happening, then I was hysterical or incontinent or both.
I took a good look at myself in the bathroom mirror, I looked ghastly, white-faced with red-rimmed eyes and vacant expression. I changed my wet clothes and pulled on a pair of corduroy trousers and a matching pink coloured top. I washed my face with cold water and returned to the table.
“Sorry about that,” I said and calmly sat down.
“Shall we have some pudding?” asked my mum.
“I’ll get it,” I said and went to the kitchen.
It tasted fine and I actually ate some. It was washed down with a glass or two of a Rioja. So by the time we had coffee, I was feeling much more calm. I helped my mum clear the table but she shooed me away from the dishes. I went back into the dining room, and said to John, “Can we go for a walk, I feel like I could do with some air.”
I threw on my black jacket and he grabbed his, and we set off. We had walked about half a mile before either of us felt the need to speak. It was me. The wine had loosened my inhibitions and I felt more capable of addressing the issue.
“I knew you were in Iraq.”
“How, we were keeping very quiet. I couldn’t get in touch, it could have jeopardised the mission.”
“I felt you were quite close to me.”
“I wish I’d known how close.”
“I killed someone.”
“You what?”
“I killed someone.”
“No princess, the terrorists killed the passengers on the bus and my boys.”
“Not them, I killed some of the terrorists.”
“What?” he turned me round to look into my face, into my eyes, and once more I could have swum in those deep grey pools. How I just wanted to throw myself into them and never come out.
“I heard someone on the bus fought back. It was you. My God, I’m dating a female Bruce Willis.”
I felt very cross with him, that was a sexist remark if ever I heard one. But the way he said it was very tongue in cheek, and his twinkling eyes simply danced their way into my heart, so instead of shouting at him, I smiled. Then he smiled with his mouth this time, then his smile kissed my smile and for a moment, I closed my eyes and forgot everything.
Later we were sat on a fallen tree watching the moon come up, I asked John a question. “Have you ever killed anyone?”
“I shot someone once. He didn’t die, but he’ll never walk again. Bullet lodged in his spine. There was hell to pay at the time, but the enquiry cleared me.”
“I had only ever fired a gun during my basic training. I couldn’t believe that when the bodyguard from the bus threw me a pistol, I calmly loaded it and shot someone. I fired four shots into him, three into his body and the fourth took half his head away.” I felt myself reliving the event.
John squeezed his arm tighter around me. I looked at him and smiled, although there was a trickle of hot liquid leaking from my eyes. “I meant to kill him. He was going to kill us unless I stopped him. He had a rocket grenade. As he fell it was shot into a nearby house. I hope no one was hurt.” I was aware of the monotone of my voice.
“It’s okay, princess, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
“I need to tell you what sort of person I am.” I glanced at his eyes, they looked sad. I continued my narrative. ”After that, I shot another three men. I saw their souls leave them, and my lioness captured them. At the time I enjoyed this last part, thinking that if they thought they were going to heaven for attacking infidels, they were mistaken.”
“It’s okay, princess.” He cooed as he held me in his arms, lifting me he placed me on his lap and kissed me. I pulled my head away, I had to finish my story.
“No, it’s not okay. I need you to know what I am.”
“I don’t care what you are.” He said, taking my face in both his hands. “I don’t need to know. I love you for who you are. There I’ve said it now. I love you.”
The trickle of hot fluid continued down my face as he kissed me, and I felt his love for me holding me tightly in those strong but gentle arms. It flowed into me like a warmth, like a radiance. I felt this golden energy flowing from his body into mine. I held onto him as if I was scared he’d leave me, or I’d lose him. Weeping silently as he healed my pain with his love and strength.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
The next day was Tuesday, and John was able to stay. I felt fragile emotionally. Post- traumatic stress disorder was my self-diagnosis, which often has symptoms like flashbacks. I hoped it would ease with time, otherwise, I would need therapy. I didn’t fancy that, I don’t know why. Probably it was simply the admission that I couldn’t cope, which seeing as I did with abuse in school, left me confused. I was much younger then, so would that have made it easier or worse? I didn’t know.
Today, however, I had cause for celebration. I had my man here and yesterday he told me loved me. Wow, he told me twice. Double wow.
I almost wanted to open my bedroom window and shout it to the world, but I did resist this urge. Instead, I went to get some breakfast, although I was really too much in love to honestly think about food.
In my dreamy state, my mother sat me down at the table and placed the packet of Sugar Puffs in front of me. “Here,” she said, “even love birds have to eat.”
I absent-mindedly poured some cereal out of the packet and added some milk. Then I just stirred them around in the bowl, what did I need of food? I had love to nourish me, and it’s fewer calories.
John came in. I jumped up and rushed to him. “Hey, I love the outfit,” he smiled at me. “It’s real suburban sophisticate.”
I pouted back at him, “I hate you.” Leastways that was what my mouth said, but my eyes were offering a much different message, which may have been translated as, ‘Once we get rid of my parents, I am going to insist you ravage me.’
I didn’t get to voice it because my father appeared, “Morning sweetheart, John.” We replied with the normal greeting.
“Daddy, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in work, educating young minds or digging up Browning?”
“Not today love, I’m working from home.”
Oh bugger. Was what went through my mind. Now, what are we going to do, walk about holding hands? Damn, damn and triple damn.
“What are you two going to do? Don’t mind me, I’ll be in the study.”
Which is right under my bedroom. Sure you’ll be in the study checking out the sex life of Robert and Elizabeth B, while I’m upstairs running through the practical with a handsome hunk. I don’t think so. God, I could scream!
“I thought we might be able to hire a boat and take a picnic on the river.” Said my handsome hunk. “What do you think, princess?”
“I think that’s a lovely idea. Shall I go and do some food?”
“Oh no, no all we need is a bottle of wine, a French stick and some cheese.”
“What about glasses and plates and knives and forks. Won’t you need butter for the bread and some pickle or tomatoes?”
He placed his finger on my lips and I shut up, kissing his finger instead. “I have everything I need right here.” He said wrapping his arm around me and kissing me on the lips. If my father had not been a yard away and choking on his toast, something wonderful might have happened. Instead, I finished my cereal and went off to shower.
For once, the day went as we planned it. We acquired the aforementioned wine, bread and cheese hired a boat and spent the rest of the day messing about on the river. It was a lovely day, and I dressed up in a summer frock, which was ankle-length, some sandals and a straw hat. I kept my make-up very simple and summery. I was the classic English rose being escorted by her beau. (Where do I get these stupid ideas? Jeez, this is the twenty-first century, not the eighteenth. Mind you, the thought of John as Mr Darcy almost gave me palpitations)
Until one of my English teachers described Jane Austen as a purveyor of Victorian soft porn, I had no incentive whatsoever to read any of her stuff. After this description, I of course read everything I could find. It was only after reading P & P, Emma, Northanger Abbey and all the others, that we as a class realised we had been had. How else was he going to get us to read them but by sleight of hand?
These days when I reread them and understand the implications of what is happening, for its time, it was actually quite risqué.
Later on, I think I began to associate myself more with Frankenstein’s monster, something which wanted so much to be ordinary and seen as human but could never achieve it. The boys didn’t want me unless they were short of someone to tease or beat up, and the girls never seemed to see me at all unless they wanted help with their homework. I even did someone’s sewing homework.
I began to recall more detail of this episode in my history. This would have been when I was about twelve, so it was during the period of abuse by my so-called school friends. I’m hazy about the time but I can certainly recall what happened.
I was desperate for friends, even though primarily a loner, I enjoyed the company of my contemporaries when they weren’t being nasty or exploiting me. Sadly, I didn’t always pick up on the latter until after the event. This was much the case with the sewing homework. There was a girl in our class whose name was Penny Bell. She was of course nicknamed ‘Ding-dong’ and she received all sorts of jokes about ringing and clappers, especially from the boys. I didn’t call her much other than by her name, mostly because she didn’t talk much to me anyway. If I was risking it, I might call her Penny-lope, but generally, we didn’t interact much unless she wanted something.
She was something of a flirt, and thus not the most diligent scholar. Quite how she found out I could sew a bit, I never did discover, but she did. Her dilemma was that she had a date with one of the boys in the year above us which was going to coincide with needing to do her needlework homework. The girls had been set coursework of making a gym kit bag during this particular term. Not a particularly onerous task, except, it all, had to be sewn by hand, including an embroidered name, which was to be done in cross-stitch.
To cut a long story short, she was well behind in this task and as this was mainly due to her messing about instead of knuckling down to her homework, none of the other girls was interested in helping her. I think this may also have been due to an element of jealousy. They were envious that she had managed to catch the eye of Phil Reynolds, the captain of the under fourteen’s football team. He was regarded as a major target by most of the girls in his year and younger.
Doubtless, it was Penny’s proclivity to wear tight blouses and short skirts, which caught his eye. But in all fairness, she was quite a pretty girl and I suppose he wasn’t too bad a looker as well, being tall and muscular with curly dark hair.
The day it happened, I was sat reading in the schoolyard, as was my habit. It might even have been a Jane Austen, which was occupying me. Now I think of it, I think it was because she made some comment about it at the time. Although I don’t recall quite what she said, something along the lines of, “You don’t see many boys reading Jane Austen.”
“It’s a bit more interesting than ‘Biggles Flies Undone’, “ I joked.
“Oh very funny,” and she pretended to laugh at my ancient joke. “Wanda,” she continued using the nickname I had acquired at this time, “I need a great favour.”
“Oh yeah, like what?” I was expecting to be asked to help her with her English homework or something similar.
“I hear you’re quite good at sewing.”
I blushed in response while mumbling something like, ”Who told you that?”
“It doesn’t matter. What does is that I have to show some progress with my sewing coursework tomorrow, and I have to go out tonight.”
“Why should I help you?” I replied thinking I had enough of my own work to do.
“Well it’s like this Wanda, most of the boys know what a big girl’s blouse you are, but they don’t know you also do sewing.” She paused for the effect of this to sink in. Then, “So if you want to keep it that way…..”
“That’s blackmail,” I mumbled back.
“Shall we say it’s a possible consequence of your refusal to help a damsel in distress? So it could be seen as one of a lack of chivalry on your part and retaliation on mine.”
I thought about how this was being twisted by her to demonstrate my apparent meanness rather than her irresponsibility. But decided a discourse in logic was not going to get me anywhere but humiliated. When in a hole, stop digging!
“I can sew a bit, but nothing too clever, what have you got to do?”
“I heard that you do dressmaking for teddy bears.”
“I do no such thing, I only helped my gran.”
“My sources are reliable,” she added to my embarrassment, which showed again in a reddening of my face. “Goodness Wanda, you blush like a girl!” Which of course caused further dilation of my superficial capillaries and my ears felt as if they would combust spontaneously at any moment.
“Anyway,” she continued, as I nearly melted from the hot flush she had caused, “I need you to transform this.” She dumped a piece of cloth in my lap. “Into this.” She dropped the instructions on top of the cloth.
I quickly read them. “You want me to make this into a draw-string bag?”
“That’s what it says Wanda.”
“By hand, by tomorrow?” I groaned.
“Yeah, I’ll collect it at morning break.”
“But I have three subjects homework to do myself.”
“Shouldn’t be such a slacker, Wanda. Just get my bag made or everyone will hear about your teddy bear.” With that she strode off, ignoring my protests.
I hurriedly shoved the stuff into my bag before anyone saw it. I suppose I should have complained to someone, but it didn’t seem the cleverest thing to do. Instead, I went to my gran and she helped me measure, pin and sew it. We even inserted a draw-string in matching blue thread.
I duly delivered the said bag to its undeserving owner the next morning. She was delighted and even kissed me on the cheek to prove it. “That’s brilliant, Wanda. See, I told you, you could do it. Next time you’ll believe me.”
“I hope there won’t be a next time.”
“We’ll see about that,” she said with a wink.
Unfortunately, the consequences of giving in to blackmail are that the demands get greater.
“Wanda you doing much this evening? No, I didn’t think so. My bag needs some embroidery. Any good at cross-stitch.”
Later it was, “Wand, I need a bit of help with my sewing…” This time it was making a pinafore, then it was a dress. But it went from bad to worse, because others in her sewing class decided they had better things to do than their coursework. I think I helped four of them to get a pass!
At the time, the blackmail worked a treat. I paid for my weakness and it culminated with the rumour getting out anyway. So I had literally laboured in vain. As with most of these things it was a nine-day wonder. However, I suffered a thousand deaths during that time. The only redemption was my ability to sew improved dramatically, although it was unimportant at the time, it has since proved useful. It is also a living reminder of the fun I had with my gran, and is her lasting gift to me.
So now I can laugh at my tribulations and see the benefits it eventually accrued. Then, it was simply awful.
Back to the future, wasn’t that the name of a film? Okay, back to the present. Here am I sitting in a boat, on a river with a picnic hamper, some French bread and a bottle of plonk. I feel like lady muck, as John toils away with the oars. The sun is shining, and apart from finding somewhere discreet to have our picnic, we have no pressures.
As we move slowly along the river, I think of the Waterhouse painting I have on my wall at Barbury, The Lady of Shalott. I consider her boat trip as one of impending doom, whereas mine is one of unbridled pleasure. The only noises are the sound of the oars in the water, which have a rhythmic and relaxing effect upon me. I drag my fingers through the water, it feels cold but not unpleasantly so.
“The mirror cracked from side to side, the curse has come upon me, cried the Lady of Shalott.” I sat there absolutely dumbfounded as John recited these lines from Tennyson’s poem, the inspiration for the painting.
“How on earth did you know what I was thinking?” I asked of my companion.
“I made a guess.”
“It was some guess.”
“I know you are fond of the painting. It flashed into my mind and given your other magic tricks, I assumed it must have come from you. So I quoted the only lines I can remember.”
“Wow!” I said, “that is scary.”
“What is?”
“You being able to read my thoughts.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Well, I shall have to be careful what I think.”
“It might come in handy and save on phone bills. I can just see you down the supermarket with our six kids, wanting me to collect you, and you sending me a message to do so.”
“A text would probably be a surer way of doing it.”
“Only until we perfect our system.”
Blushing, I said, “I can’t have children,” my eyes gazing into the water, and in danger of filling with the self-same stuff.
“You never know these days,” he said, “they can do so many things.”
“Not for me they can’t.”
“Okay,” he said, “let’s not talk about this now. It’s such a lovely day, shall we just enjoy it?”
I stifled a sniff and nodded, but continued my gaze into the water. Perhaps I was closer to the painting and its sombre mood than I had thought. Was this leading up to my doom? When I told him why I couldn’t have children because I was a boy! Would he be off like a rocket? I wouldn’t know until I told him, and I didn’t feel strong enough today to cope with it. Instead, I allowed it to hang over me like a great, black cloud, ready and waiting to block any sunshine which appeared in my life.
I despised being different from other people because I wasn’t save in my route to womanhood. Even my infertility wasn’t unique. A significant number of biological females can’t conceive even with the latest technology. But when put together, my anomaly made me feel, once more, like Frankenstein’s monster, something ungodly and unnatural, a simulacrum not the real thing. A mere sham.
“Hey, “he called to me, “cheer up. Your whole face lights up when you smile. Shine some of that light on me if you please.”
I smiled back at him, but my eyes were blurred with tears, and once more I felt the scalding water trickle down my cheeks. “Oh pumpkin,” he called softly to me, “don’t cry, least not when I can’t hold you.”
Of course, any woman will tell you, that was the wrong thing to say. It had the opposite effect, and the trickle became a torrent.
John, who after told me he felt helpless, spotted a possible landing place, rowed like fury for it, and then tied up. I hardly noticed, I was so rapt in my shame and gloom. The first thing I knew of it was he’d managed to move down the boat and put his arm around me, whereupon I made his shirt all wet again with my tears.
When I did eventually come out of my sadness and apologised to him he was wonderful, as always. “I’m sorry to be so mawkish.” I sniffed at him.
“It’s okay,” he said, squeezing me in one of his bearlike hugs. “I understand.”
“No, you don’t.”
“No, I suppose I don’t,” he said self effacingly, “perhaps you’ll help me to one day.”
I nodded, unable to commit to destroying this wonderful relationship, which I felt sure would happen when I told him of my deception, which I felt words would do. I hated myself for this deceit, this weakness which blighted me, but I couldn’t bring myself to break the spell which held me, like a curse. If my happiness with John could be seen as a mirror, then how prophetic Tennyson had been. My secret would surely cause it to crack from side to side, and destroy me. It seemed like it was my destiny, not the sort Sheila Brice had spoken of. I was special alright, I was cursed. Cursed to have happiness only to watch it turn to dust before my very eyes.
John was very attentive to me, as he usually was. I apologised for my lack of self-control. “I’m sorry John, whenever we are having such fun I go and spoil it all. I seem to spend much of my life in tears. I’m so stupid.”
“Hey there,” he hissed at me, “crying isn’t stupid, neither are you. You are very sensitive and things get to you. Your dad also told me that you were abused by your schoolmates and that neither he nor your mum knew anything of it.”
I don’t know if I should have been cross with dad for breaching my confidence. Or was it a confidence? I didn’t know. I wasn’t sure I wanted John to know about all that. It was past and I hoped mostly over. Besides, Mum and Dad didn’t know the half of it, if they had…… oh boy!
“You seem to have had a rough time of late,” John presumed, “the mess up in Iraq, the gunmen at the nightclub, hauntings and goodness knows what else. No wonder your nerves are frayed. Then I say something stupid about children and it’s obviously the last straw. It is I who should apologise. I do unreservedly.”
I kissed him and went to contradict him, but he shut off what I was trying to say with the most delicious of kisses. “Come on, let's have a picnic.”
In a few minutes, he’d unloaded the boat, thrown down a rug and helped me out. While I dealt with the food, he pulled the bottle out of the little net he’d trailed behind the boat. Our bottle of Chablis may not have been chilled, but it was at least cold.
The hamper had all we needed in the way of glasses, crocks and cutlery. We had French stick and brie with our wine and some fruit as a dessert. After the trauma of the journey, the conversation was intermittent and light. We spoke with our bodies, laying together kissing and touching each other.
Other boats went up and down, varying from full-size cabin cruisers to single sculls. Behind us, people walked along the footpath, sometimes with dogs or children, sometimes alone or in couples. The odd jogger puffed and panted their way past, looking very hot in the afternoon sun.
Once more I had allowed happiness to enter my life, being intimate with this man whom I loved so much. Being intimate in a manner that was acceptable to be seen in public. That he didn’t press me for sex, was in my mind, much to his credit. He was in the old fashioned sense, a real gentleman and I loved him for it. What he saw in me, I couldn’t understand. At the same time, I didn’t feel up to asking him. Was I just an introspective, damaged adolescent? I didn’t know.
The effects of the wine were to make me sleepy, and I lay on my side with John’s arm under my head. I don’t know how long I slept, but I must have caused his arm to go numb because when I did eventually move, he got pins and needles in it. We both laughed at his antics, as he jumped up moving his arm about, slapping it with the other. Finally, he sat back down and we kissed and cuddled for another while.
I don’t think I have ever felt so happy, even knowing that doom and gloom are just a hair’s breadth away, my secret I knew would destroy all this, but for a few minutes, I blocked it out and just enjoyed being in the moment, which was truly joyful.
At one point John lay on his back, and I lay on top of him, kissing him and looking into his eyes, which are so beautiful. I kissed him and played with his ears and his neck, even tracing his nipples through his shirt. At that point I could feel a response a bit lower down.
“Ooh, what’s that?” I mocked as I felt the stirring in his loins.
“If you don’t know, then I suspect you must have a lousy anatomy tutor.”
“It’s a French stick isn’t it?” I mocked. “You held out on me, we could have fed the ducks after all.” I pouted at him. “Telling me we’d eaten all the bread indeed.”
He laughed and both of us began to giggle. I held on to him, wanting this moment to last forever. I could smell his body, a mingling of shampoo and deodorant and his body smell. It’s difficult to describe the latter, a musky sort of scent, very different to my own, but very pleasant, exciting even. I simply lay there, on top of this wonderful man, my arms holding me tightly to him as I drank in the scent of his body and floated.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
“Lovely thoughts,” I responded rather sleepily.
“What sort are they?”
“How happy I am at this moment, and how I’d like it to last forever. What are you thinking?”
“That we have to get this boat back in half an hour and I’m going to have to row like hell.”
“You're such a romantic.” I gently chided.
“Yeah, I know, all my women say that,” he joked and I playfully hit him.
The shadows were beginning to lengthen as we returned the boat to its owner. Despite my negative thoughts and doubts, I’d had a delightful afternoon. I was so in love, even if it was doomed.
The next day John had to return to his office, and I expected once more to be alone for weeks. This time, he said it wouldn’t be the case and that he hoped to be back for some weekends when he wasn’t on duty.
When he left, I felt bereft, as if my heart and soul had been removed. Then I recalled the afternoon on the river and felt an inner glow rekindle itself. I still felt sad but knew I could cope for a while without him.
That night when I went to bed, I found a small lump under my pillow, it was his soiled shirt. I held it to my face and breathed in his scent, it was beautiful. I slept with his shirt held tightly next to me. His photo watching over me while I slept, I felt so safe and protected.
Friday arrived, and with it the dreaded bridge game and its consequential babysit. Normally, they would play at the Johns’ house, but tonight it was going to be ours, and I would then visit the Johns to babysit.
Mum and Dad were at work all day, so I spent much of the time dusting and polishing and charging about the place with the Dyson, probably creating as much dust as I was removing. This was all done by my own initiative, thinking I was helping.
Then I made some fresh bread and a few small cakes, a portion of which I would take with me later for the children. It was a very productive day from my point of view, and my mother was suitably impressed when she came home and smelled the baking aromas which still lingered about the place.
“Gosh, that smells good. What have you been up to Jamie?” She kissed me on the cheek.
“Just some fresh bread and a few cakes for the kids.”
“Do you mind if we eat the bread tonight?”
“Of course not, I made it for you to have during your bridge game, I got some pate and cheese too.”
“Gosh!” said my mum, ”thank you so much.” Hugging me she added, ”You are such a good daughter.”
“Sometimes,” I smirked.
“Well, today anyway.” She challenged.
“Yeah, okay.” I smiled back.
“Right, I’ll just drink this tea,” she said as I handed her a cup, “then I’ll have to put the cleaner round.”
“I did it th’ smorning.”
“You angel,” she beamed at me. “I don’t suppose you dusted and polished too.”
“Yes, of course, I did.”
“Thank you.”
“’S'okay.” I chirped back.
I had made a casserole which I did in the bottom of the oven while the cakes were cooking. It had been on most of the day, and the jacket potatoes were now nicely crisping on their skins. Just a few veg and dinner was ready. I sent my mum off to get herself ready for the evening while I finished the cooking. Minutes, before it was ready, in walked my father with a face like thunder.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Hello,” he almost snarled at me.
“Who’s upset you?” I asked innocently.
“Some bastard has stolen the car, with most of my Browning notes in the back. That’s who!” he snapped back.
“Oh, Daddy, I am sorry.” I hugged him and he responded, kissing me on the cheek.
“I only stopped at the supermarket to get a couple of bottles of wine, it was gone when I came out.”
“Was it locked?”
“Yes, but these days does it make much difference, these bloody swine can open anything in seconds. Why did they have to pick mine?”
“I’ll make you a nice cuppa.” I offered.
“Sod that!” he exclaimed, “I’m going to have something a bit stronger,” with that, he walked over to the drinks cabinet.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
We ate in silence. Dad was too upset to be bothered by my mother’s comments about their angelic daughter, so Mum kept mum. The atmosphere was far from the usual happy home. So I was quite pleased to go and play with the children at the Johns’ house.
I was about to leave when the phone rang. “Hello.”
“This is Thames valley Police.”
“Is it about dad’s car?”
“Could we speak to Dr Curtis?”
“I’ll just get him.” I walked with the cordless phone to the dining room. “Dad, it’s the police.”
Momentarily he was perplexed, then remembered about the car. Then his face lit up, maybe they’d found it already “Hello, Tom Curtis here.”
We only heard his side of the conversation.
“Oh shit.” Mum and I exchanged glances.
“You sure it’s my car?” More glances.
“When can I get it back?”
“Crime scene? How can a car be a crime scene?”
“I’m not getting excited. Okay, you can keep the car, but can you tell me if there are any papers in the boot?”
“What do you mean, nothing can leave the scene and you can’t comment upon it? I have three years research work in that boot, and I don’t give a shit if my car has been used to heist the crown jewels, I need that research material and I expect to collect it tomorrow.”
“Yes, well, bugger you and your Chief Superintendent. We’ll see about that.”
He put the phone down. “My car has been used in a serious crime, they can’t tell me what sort or where. They can’t tell me if my research is still in the back of it. They won’t let me near it. And I pay taxes for that lousy bloody lot. Some bloody service they are.”
Mum was trying to calm him down. “Tom, they are only doing their job.”
“Don’t talk such rubbish, woman. If they were doing their bloody job properly, the bastards who stole it would be inside doing porridge, not out pinching my bloody car. This bloody lot couldn’t catch a cold, let alone some criminal. All they can bloody well do is stop motorists for being two miles an hour over the limit or for parking on yellow bloody lines. They are a pile of piss.”
“Tom, there is no need for such language in front of Jamie. Please apologise.” My mum really laid into him, and his angry face suddenly became rather sheepish.
I admit was surprised at his outburst, because normally he was very calm and quiet. I felt embarrassed by it and also felt his pain, because I knew how much his research meant to him, it would take months to duplicate, if that were possible.
He looked at me with a curious expression on his face. “Your mother is quite right. I apologise for swearing in front of you ladies.” Before I could respond with an acceptance, and a mention that I was in the army which was not renown for the breadth of range of vocabulary of its members; he suddenly said to me, “Jamie have you still got that VHF radio?”
“Yes, up in my bedroom, why?”
“Can you still get police messages on it?”
“I don’t know.”
“C’mon, girl, let’s see.” With that he grabbed my arm and we ran up to the bedroom. In five minutes, we had found the emergency services waveband, and sure enough we picked up on a serious crime, an armed robbery. It was on a post office in the next town.
“You coming girl?” he suddenly threw at me.
“Where?” I asked, surely he wasn’t serious.
“That post office.”
“But Dad, they won’t let you near the car, and you’ve been drinking.”
“You can drive, come on, we’ll use your mother’s car.”
“I’m supposed to be babysitting, and you’ve got a bridge game.”
“Bugger that, this is important. C’mon girl.”
I reluctantly accompanied him as chauffeuse. Mum agreed to call the Johns and tell them that we’d be running late.
I drove as quickly as I could, speed limits permitting. We arrived at the street in which the post office was situated. There was a barrier across the road, with a burly policeman standing there. He looked completely fed up.
Before I could stop him, Dad ran up and accosted him. As I followed, having locked the car, I could see my father pleading with him and the copper shaking his head. I knew it was futile to come, but I had to support my dad as he had me earlier.
“Look sir, I can’t allow you near the scene of the crime. Please don’t make me have to arrest you.”
Before my father could upset him further, I intervened. “Dad, the nice policemen is only doing his job.” And I put my finger on his lips as I pulled him away. But he did shut up.
“Hello officer.” I said in my sexiest voice.
“Miss.” He replied.
“I’m sorry if my father has annoyed you, I know what a difficult job you have sometimes.” I smiled at him, flirting with my eyes.
“S’all right, Miss, no offence taken.” I glanced at my father who was practically apoplectic, though silently so.
“I expect my dad has told you that his car was stolen earlier this evening, and that’s it crashed into the post office.”
“We didn’t quite get that far Miss.” He was keeping a very straight face, despite my practically rubbing his leg.
“We are aware that the car is part of a crime scene, but my Dad is an eminent scholar whose entire research was in the boot of that car. It’s many years work, and he needs some of it for lecture material tomorrow.”
“Sorry Miss, nothing can leave the scene,” he replied shifting his stance to relieve the obvious discomfort he was having in his underpants.
“Yes officer, I appreciate that, but I wonder if you could do me an enormous favour, for which I’d be eternally grateful,” I smarmed at him.
His eyes lit up, and my father nearly choked to death. “What’s that, Miss?” said his mouth, while the rest of his body was shouting at me, “Yeah, love to do you a favour, get rid of the old man, and come back when I’m off duty.”
“Would it be possible for you to look in the boot of the car and see if the papers are still there. If they are then I shall be so relieved. Gosh is it hot or is it me?” I said taking off my jacket. My father nearly had a stroke.
“Let me get this right,” said our noble custodian of the law, “You want me to interfere with the scene of a crime?”
“No officer, I simply want you to open the boot of the car and see if the documents that were in it are still there.”
“Then they’ll have my dabs on it.”
“You mean fingerprints?”
“Yeah.”
“But if my Dad opened the boot, no one except you and me would know, because his prints will be all over it anyway.”
“Yeah, they would wouldn’t they.”
“So it wouldn’t really matter, would it.”
“Yeah.”
“Yes it would or yes it wouldn’t?”
“Yes it would. It’s a crime scene. I’d get done myself for that.”
“What if you were distracted and didn’t see him do it?”
“How could that happen?”
“I don’t know, but it’s awfully hot here, I think I’m going to…….” With that I swooned very gracefully to the floor. My father started towards me, but then caught on.
The copper bent over me, saying,” You alright, Miss?”
“I can’t breathe.” I whispered, “need to loosen my tight clothing.”
As he duly obliged, asking if I needed an ambulance, I whispered back a no, he was doing fine. A couple of minutes later, we heard the boot of the car close quietly and footsteps running back towards us.
“Is she okay?” asked my father.
“She’s very okay,” winked the copper, removing his hand from my breast, and helping me up into a sitting position.
“You weren’t thinking of interfering with a crime scene were you sir?” he addressed my father.
“Who me officer? I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“I thought not, sir.”
I managed to get up and he said to me. ”You feeling better now, Miss?”
“Oh so much better, thank you for your generous assistance officer. The warm hands of the… I mean the long arm of the law, never felt better.” I glanced at his trousers which were tenting under his jacket.
“Just in case you have any further information, or need further assistance, let me know at this number,” and he gave me his card.
As we drove back home, I saw my father was shaking his head. “That was shameless Jamie. He could have done us both for obstructing an officer or whatever.”
“Was it all there?”
“I think so.”
“So it was worth it then?”
“I don’t know. I don’t like you offering favours to strange men on my behalf.”
“I was just flirting dad, it was nothing serious.”
“He had his hand on your breast! I’d call that serious. He could be charged with sexual assault.”
“And you with interfering with a scene of crime!”
“Touché.”
We stayed silent for the rest of the drive, then as we got back onto the drive, he kissed me on the cheek. “Thank you darling, but please don’t ever do it again.”
“Don’t worry Dad, next time you lose your research, you can find it yourself or get a gay copper to guard it.”
He gave me a curious look before his jaw dropped, “That, young lady, was uncalled for."
I ran in changed out of the clothes I’d been lying in the road in, and dashed over to the Johns house. I entered to much noise and hurrahs.
What can I say? Bill and Linnie were delighted to see me, I suppose Dr and Mrs Johns were too, primarily so they could get on with their addiction to bridge.
“I hear the police have found the car,” said the good doctor.
“Yes, unfortunately Dad had left his research in the boot, but the police have confirmed it’s there, so he’ll have to wait until they release it.”
“Release it? Why can’t he just get it now?”
“It was used in an armed robbery.”
“You are joking?”
“’Fraid not. It was crashed into a post office as part of a raid.”
“What a ram raid?”
“I don’t know, but it was stuck into the front of the post office when we saw it.”
“Is it badly damaged?”
“I don’t know, I couldn’t see the front of it. We weren’t allowed to cross the tape denoting a police investigation.”
“So it could be a write-off?”
“I don’t know.”
“We will be later home than we anticipated since we are later starting. Is that still okay with you?”
“Of course.”
“Ray,” shouted Bill.
“None of that young man.” Said his mother, “It doesn’t matter what time we go over to Jamie’s house, you are to be in bed by ten. Got that?”
“Yes, Mum.”
“Don’t you give Jamie any trouble, because you’ll be in trouble tomorrow if you do, and worse.” At this both children looked apprehensive. “She won’t come and sit for us again.”
“We promise, Mum, we love Jamie.” They all then kissed and the parents left to join my parents in their card school. I have never played bridge, I have whist and I didn’t like it very much. So I doubt I’d like bridge. I much prefer to exercise my brain with other futilities, such as crosswords.
“Jamie, come and see my bedroom.” Linnie grabbed my arm and virtually dragged me up to her room.
“No come and see mine,” argued Bill. “Linnie’s is full of girl's stuff.” Then suddenly noticing I was a girl, added a puzzled, “Oh.”
“Don’t worry, Bill, I shall see yours before I put you to bed. And Linnie, this can’t be more than a quick look.”
She smiled her assent. Her bedroom was typical young teen, lots of posters of dogs and cats, a popular boy band, and soft toys. Her wardrobe was quite large, and it suggested to me, indulgent parents.
Five minutes later, I was ushered into Bill’s room. It was surprisingly tidy compared with the popular mythology of boy’s bedrooms. There were lots of cars and an enormous Lego set. The walls were decorated with pictures of aircraft and cars. It seemed as stereotyped as his sister’s room. Compared with my own, which had been much more gender neutral as a child and teenager. Mine was full of books, there seemed rather few in each of the kid’s rooms. That surprised me. However, each had a computer, which they explained was networked to their parent’s one in the study.
It was surprising that, although I had babysat these children many times, including putting them to bed, I had never looked at their bedrooms in any systematic way. They had both changed in the year or more since I had last looked after them. That in itself was unsurprising, children grow at a phenomenal rate in both a physical and mental way. They are also now much more demanding than even I had been, and expect to have their demands met. Their parents were quite affluent, Dr Johns being a consultant, who would earn much more than my parents.
As the children competed for my attention and I encouraged them to find something we could all do for an hour or so, I tried not to be too judgemental as things are changing so quickly, but I wasn’t sure if I envied or pitied them their lot. By the time they were my age, things would have changed again. Would this mean we would be even more materialist? Or would there be some gentle change which enabled people to become more content with less but be in some harmony with the planet and themselves on a deeper level? I had no idea.
“Tell us about Iraq, Jamie.” Said Linnie, leading me to the big sofa in the lounge.
“Was there lots of shooting?” asked Bill, “Lots of bullets flying about the place.” He pretended he had a gun and began making a shooting noise.
“Sit down you silly boy.” Linnie asserted her superior age and rank over her noisy sibling.
He of course was now re-enacting imaginary scenes from the Gulf war, but finally came to sit down when no one took any notice of him. Linnie had gone to get us all a drink, while Bill continued dancing about dodging bullets and killing many.
I hadn’t quite expected this level of interest about my travels, which was an underestimation on my part. They knew I was going, why shouldn’t they ask me about it? My dilemma became one more of how truthful should I be in my answers, and what would that mean to me in terms of flashbacks and other negative feelings, and which in turn could have an effect upon the two children.
I hoped that if I described something as horrible, they wouldn’t pursue it. I just knew I couldn’t tell them that they wouldn’t understand, because while I knew that, they wouldn’t or couldn’t. Besides it’s so patronising, and I don’t like being patronised, so I had to practice what I preached.
Bill had begun to settle down with my deliberate ignoring of his battle scene, so when Linnie came back with the drinks, he was beginning to calm down. They both looked up at me with anticipation.
“Iraq,” I began, “is a big place.”
“What?” said Bill, “bigger than Oxford?”
“Stupid boy!” exclaimed his sister, “it’s bigger than this country. Isn’t it, Jamie?”
“Tis not!” retorted an indignant boy, who sat down sulkily with his arms folded and his face contorted in a scowl.
“Tell him, Jamie,” urged his sister, scenting victory.
“I’m not sure how big it is.” As I said this Linnie rushed off to get an atlas, ending my attempt to bring about a draw between the warring factions. I had been spared all this competition, being an only child. I don’t know whether I pitied or envied them.
Linnie proved her point, much to Bill’s disgust. I thereafter struggled to bring him back on board our girl world without descending into much violence. Then I recalled the sandstorm.
“Just after we got there, there arose a horrific sandstorm. Do you know what that means?” I asked my wide eyed audience. They both shook their heads. I had their undivided attention, but needed to remember that in a short time, the younger sibling would be going to bed, I neither wanted to frighten nor over excite him, and from memory thought it would probably be a relatively difficult task.
I described the blasting sand, which got into everything. They laughed when I mentioned underwear, as I expected. They were suitably horrified when I described how it could bury a car in minutes, surprised that it could blow through cracks in the walls and around the windows. Further surprised when they learned it wasn’t like the sand found at beaches in this country, and disgusted when I likened it more to the sort of dust they would find under the carpets, grey and dirty.
I explained that it made you physically dirty, hence the stuff in the bible about washing everyone’s feet. They were puzzled about mosquito nets, so I had to explain about mozzies and malaria. That took some time, because they kept interjecting, quite sensible questions, such as, “if mosquitoes need water to breed, how can they breed in the desert?”
I then had to explain about water and deserts, or rather deserts and water and how more people drown in the desert than die from thirst. This shocked them. I admit when I first heard it on a television programme, it surprised me. Apparently, inexperienced desert explorers often pitch their camp in dried up water courses. While rainfall may be scarce, it does happen. Once it does, it is torrential and the water courses flood very quickly. So sudden storm up some mountain can cause a flood miles away within a matter of hours. If anyone is sleeping in a tent in the way of the water, they have no chance.
The combination of sand and water as potential disaster media, was sufficient to stop Bill asking awkward questions about combat and terrorism. I knew that sooner or later, they could get to find out about my part in an action, especially if it gets in the local press. I wasn’t proud of having taken lives and I certainly didn’t want to try and explain it to children. There is enough madness and violence in everyday life, to not need the extraordinary form from an extraordinary place like Iraq.
If Bill had learned that I actually took life, he would be fascinated with it, then horrified if I spoke the truth, about seeing blood and bodyparts flying about the place. Like seeing someone’s head explode with a bullet striking it. I quickly took this horrendous scene and switched it for something more gentle.
I managed to get Bill to bed without any problem, although I had to sit through a short lecture on why he preferred this car to another. The preferred one then got placed on the bedside table.
When I returned to the lounge Linnie was making faces. “Anything wrong?” I enquired.
“Oh Jamie, I started periods a year ago, why do they still hurt?” Just the sort of question I needed.
“Is it hurting now?” I asked. She nodded her response. “Do you take anything for it?”
“Paracetamol. What do you take?” She asked of me, obviously forgetting my previous persona.
I tried to prevent a recollection of it, and so answered neutrally as I did back at the camp and hospital. “I’m lucky, I don’t get any pain.” Only because I don’t get periods. “Have you tried a hot water bottle, I know that works for some people.”
“Yes, we do that quite regularly.”
“What about starflower oil? That’s supposed to be help.”
“I haven’t tried that, I’ll ask Mum to get me some tomorrow.”
“Come and have a cuddle, that helps too.” This was what she really wanted, so we curled up together on the sofa.
“Jamie, do you have a boyfriend?” Here we go I thought.
“Yes.”
“What’s his name?”
“John.”
“Is he the man I saw you with the other day?”
“Probably.”
“He’s quite handsome.”
“I think he’s beautiful.”
“Can men be beautiful?”
“Oh yes, they certainly can. Remember, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. So something I might consider beautiful, you might see as rather plain and vice versa.”
“I hadn’t thought of it like that.” She paused, and I was waiting for the sixty four dollar question. I wasn’t to be disappointed. “Have you done it yet?”
“Done what?” I asked knowing full well what she was on about.
“It,” she said, “it, you know. It.”
“No I don’t know.” I feigned ignorance verging on stupidity.
“Have you made love?” I could feel her blushing rather than see her face.
“That’s rather a personal question.” I retorted, partly not wanting to reveal that I hadn’t at the same time not wishing to appear to disparage her.
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay. Besides,” I added,” how I feel about it may be very different to how you experience it.”
“I suppose so.” She almost sighed at me. “I’ve got a boyfriend.”
“Have you, indeed?”
“His name’s Tim. He’s not as nice looking as yours is, but he’ll do for now.” I smiled at this last statement, relationships are obviously disposable to this young woman, or did she recognise the ephemeral quality of adolescent romances. Maybe I could learn from her, being very inexperienced in romance generally.
Over the next few days, Dad got his precious research back and I spent much of the time scanning things onto discs for him, it set new heights in tedium, but at least he could create back-up copies easily and he could carry it about more conveniently. He was suitably grateful and bought me a new bicycle.
I could have done with a car, but he had to buy a new family one, the old one was a write-off. He got another Rover 75, a two year old one the same as his old one, but this one was an estate version, which was how he brought home the bicycle.
In actual fact I wanted a new one, and would probably have wished to choose my own given the opportunity, but it was a nice one. It was a Specialized Dolce, a ladies racer, with twenty four gears and carbon fibre front forks and seat post. Apparently, one of the girls in his department was selling it. He thought she was about my size, so he bought it. It looked brand new, and when I checked the computer on it, it had done less than a hundred miles. The tyres were even clean, and it was much lighter than my old cheapo mountain bike.
The gear ratio was 52:11, which meant it was hard work in the top gear, but downhill, it fair flew along and I had forty miles an hour out of it at one point, though I had some difficulty staying on it with the bumps in the road. Amazingly, the small racing saddle was remarkably comfortable, with its built in gel inserts. By the end of the first week, I had doubled its mileage, and was beginning to enjoy cycling again.
Without wishing to harp on about this bike, it really is a good one, if you don’t believe me have a look on the Specialized web site, it’s certainly one of the better things to come out of America, and designed for women riders not just adapted from men’s bikes. Anyway, I like it and hope to do many miles on it. I even bought a helmet and cycle shorts to celebrate.
So life was pretty good. John had phoned or texted me most days, I was getting almost fit on the bike, and spending some quality time with my parents when they weren’t working. Less with Dad because of his blessed book. My wardrobe expanded with the enthusiastic help of my mother, which included a cycling shirt and jacket to match my shorts. I was happy in a tee shirt, she wanted me to wear matching outfits! I didn’t know why, because I wasn’t a member of a club or anything like that and usually went out on my own or with the Johns’ children.
One Sunday, I had set off for a round trip of about twenty miles, which would take me much of the afternoon, as it was quite warm and I wasn’t going to rush anywhere.
An hour out from home, I stopped for an ice cream at a van parked near the river, and sat down on a nearby picnic table. I had got used to locking the bike to any convenient post or fence, and did so this particular Sunday.
I was absent-mindedly eating my ice cream watching a pair of swans on the river, when a half familiar voice assailed my ears. “Hello Jamie.”
It took me a moment before I could come back to the present and focus on the voice. “Remember me?” I did, it was the strange girl who gave me the Egyptian canopic jar.
“Harry isn’t it?” I replied, not really wanting to talk to her after my experience with the jar, but then was that her stuff or mine? I didn’t know, so I thought I’d better give her the benefit of the doubt.
“What are you doing here?” I enquired of her, recollecting that we’d met at Sharon’s party, in Barbury.
“Oh I get around.”
“Obviously.” Why was my solar plexus flipping about? There was something not right about this woman, but what was it? I began to call my protector in my mind, visualising a lioness sitting alongside me.
“So, what are you doing here?” I asked again.
“I’ve come to see you.”
“What for?” I felt a distinct discomfort about her.
“I have something for you.” She was smiling with her mouth but her eyes were as cold as ice.
“I don’t think I want it.” I responded, feeling that I was ready to leave but my legs felt rooted to the spot,
“You won’t want it, but you can’t avoid it. I have a score to settle.” She smiled a very threatening smile. I tried harder to concentrate on a lioness, sitting beside me.
“That won’t protect you!” she laughed, and although her voice was light and female, it seemed to echo like demonic laughter, surrounding and threatening me. “She won’t save you this time, because I have made sure you are surrounded by a ring of sand from your tomb.
“What are you talking about?” I spoke with difficulty, my whole body seemed to be paralysed, and even my mouth was having difficulty working, as my strength seemed to be sapped from me.
“You know perfectly well what I am talking about, denouncing me to Hotep. I have waited many centuries to revenge myself. Today looks like the day. Nice bicycle, pity you won’t be riding it anymore.” Once more the, demonic laughter rang through me, and I felt increasingly cold, my powerless body feeling as if it was in a freezer.
“I don’t know whether to just leave you here to die slowly, which you will. Or, if I will just scatter this sand over you and you will die almost immediately, returning to your tomb. Which is where you should be, you goody-goody bitch. Too bloody perfect for this world aren’t you? Well apart from killing the odd terrorist and your friends in a past life.”
The cold was getting to me, and despite the warmth of the sunshine, I was shivering. She took the ice cream from me and dropped it in the litter bin. “What’s the matter Jamie? Lost your appetite?” she laughed again. I felt myself drifting, almost as if I was slipping into a sleep. But this would be a permanent variety if I succumbed. I desperately tried to stay awake.
“Give into it, Jamie. You can’t beat it you know. Just lie back and think of Egypt, and your treachery!”
I felt colder and colder, but also angry. I had performed no act of treachery, that was her speciality. My head was becoming muzzy, and I strove to stay awake. I had to focus on Sekhmet, only she could save me now.
My concentration was wavering as I tried to see her in my mind’s eye. I tried to imagine her superimposed on my body. It felt a fraction warmer. Then it slipped. Harry was saying something, but I wasn’t listening. I was trying to stay alive, and that meant just focusing on one thing, my goddess.
As I struggled with her magic, invoking my own, I saw my goddess standing over me, her solar disk shining brightly, reflecting the disk of Re, the sun god. I imagined the sun shining onto the disk and it focussed onto Harry, where it was beginning to burn her.
She was now shouting something at me, and moving away from me. I felt my strength growing a little, and redoubled my efforts, the light was shining on her now so brightly I could hardly see her in the glare. I saw her about to throw something at me, and increased the intensity of the light like a laser, and her clothes caught fire. She screamed, and ran towards the river, as she did so, she broke the circle she had created around me.
The lioness bounded after her, stopping at the river bank. She had thrown herself into the water. No one had seen her, no one had seen the interaction between us, no one had seen the flames or my lioness. Harry, clearly was not human, some sort of spirit creature or ghost, of the priestess Ishte. Whatever she or it was, I had to find some way of protecting myself against her. If the opportunity arose, then I would not hesitate to destroy it. Twice now it had attempted to kill me. Goodbye Miss Nice Guy, this was war and the gloves were now off.
My anger helped my energy to return, although it took me a good half an hour to feel strong enough to leave the seat and return to my bike. I was going to have to recall Sekhmet and ask her how to protect myself, or how to neutralise the threat.
It was interesting that I had a physical body but she didn’t seem to have one. Which in some ways made me more vulnerable insofar as it was able to be damaged or even killed. She was obviously an energy form of some sort, which is what spirits are. So she could come and go, whereas I was here all the time. However, we incarnate beings have one distinct advantage over discarnate entities, that is the amount of energy or power we can generate. In a simple trial of strength, I could beat her hands down, hence her two stealth attacks.
I needed to know how to detect her before she got close or how to protect myself if she did. Then I needed to know how to pursue her and destroy her, because if I didn’t, she would do it to me. It was Iraq, all over again. Kill or be killed, except she died about three thousand years ago, and she won’t stay bloody dead as long as I am alive.
I began to realise, that she was amongst the undead, banished there because of her crimes. Somehow she had latched onto me, and I began to have visions of how she had pursued me in previous lives, causing me grief but not angering me enough to finish her off. Each time my conscience or sense of mercy had prevented me. Compassion is what makes us human, but even a compassionate human can get a bit pissed off with a pesky spirit. “This time it’s personal,” I seem to recall from a film, but not which one. Not that it matters, because it would have little relevance to my little duel.
I rode home aware of a lioness with me all the way. It increased my sense of security and to some extent my confidence. However, it didn’t help on hills, or should I say pedalling up the blessed things, which with a high ratio gear set, is hard work.
That night I retired to bed early, and sitting on the bed before the portrait of my mistress, I burned some frankincense and also some myrrh. I nearly set off the smoke detector, but the smell in my room was wonderful. It also helped me to tune in my meditation to my goddess.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
I spent much of the night in meditation. Much to my surprise I felt refreshed rather than tired, had I been more experienced, I’d have known that. Effectively, I felt better than had I slept because I also thought I now knew how I would deal with Harry or whatever her name was. Whether it would work, was another matter. What was important, was that I separated my emotions from whatever action I took. That had to be almost clinical but done with a clear conscience, so it wasn’t going to be done in anger or fear but with calmness and if possible, love.
It is rather the way that a parent disciplines a wayward child who needs to learn a lesson. It may be uncomfortable to the child but is even more so to the parent because no parent enjoys disciplining their children. It is so often easier to give in to them, to indulge them rather than do what is proper.
So, reconciled that when the next encounter happened, I should be more prepared and to see it as a necessary act, but without prejudice, I went down to breakfast.
“You seem very chirpy this morning,” remarked my mother.
“Do I?” I replied.
“Yes, considering you came in so briskly last night and disappeared into the shower and then your bedroom. From the smell, we assumed you were burning incense or something. I hope it wasn’t to disguise the smell of something else.”
“Like what?” I replied naively.
“Put it this way, in most student rooms, anyone burning incense is suspected of smoking wacky baccy or something similar.”
Such a suspicion hadn’t even occurred to me, and I wasn’t sure if I felt hurt or astonished, maybe even a bit of both. I expressed my feelings to my mother who immediately went defensive, then apologised. We hugged and I gave her an assurance that I had no interest in drugs.
This again is something most parents must worry about, which I would be spared or cheated out of, depending upon viewpoint. I was once again reminded of my infertility, and of the little matter of telling John the truth about my ‘little problem’. It hung over me like a permanent black cloud. In some ways, I was sure he would cope, yet I still had a nagging doubt. What if he didn’t? The pain was too much to contemplate.
I quickly reviewed my position. I had changed from a normal boy to a normal girl in just a year or two. But was I a normal boy? Obviously not now, but had I been before? I didn’t know.
I didn’t know what constitutes a normal boy, or for that matter, a normal girl. Is there such a thing? I didn’t know that either. I could continue my researches and find lots of academic answers, but they could be wrong dealing with percentiles not, people. Besides, aren’t we all unique?
This was becoming a chicken/egg argument. Possibly there is no definition of a normal boy or girl, only percentiles. Most girls do this or say they think that. The same goes for boys. But within that range, there will be some very different answers to the ubiquitous questionnaire.
I quickly scanned my life before. Two caring but detached parents; a doting grandmother with whom I spent long periods; bullying and intimidation in school, very few friends, so I made my own amusement. It didn’t sound too unusual until I added a few details.
Bullying included sexual abuse, including same-sex abuse. Time with gran included, sewing and dressmaking. Don’t all boys do this? Very funny. Favours to girlfriends included, doing their needlework homework to prevent exposure to other boys. My response to bullying was to withdraw rather than fight back. Yes, the typical response of a girl, and that was before the army got involved. Shit. I didn’t have a chance, did I?
Maybe this was all preordained, that I was trying to avoid my bondage to Sekhmet by incarnating in a male body, which fate then modified into as near as damn it, a female one.
Did I really believe all that stuff? I mean, this is the twenty-first century. So we don’t believe in mumbo jumbo anymore. It’s simply superstitious nonsense, is it not? I mean in this day and age we know you live and then you die. Bang, all over with nothing but an eternity of nothingness.
So why did I keep seeing dead people and lions? Clearly, I must be psychotic. At times I wondered if that might be preferable to what I experienced on a regular basis. I wished my grandmother was here, she would give me her advice, which was always so useful. She always knew what to do, or helped me to choose the best option.
If she was not really dead, but in some afterlife, then surely I should be able to contact her. Would it work like that? If it did, it would ease many of our worries about life and death. However, it could also prevent us from valuing and using our lives as fully as we might. Not to worry if I screw up this time around, I’ll have another go before too long. Life would be very cheap then.
Of course, there are those who have actually believed this through the ages or felt they would live in glory with their gods, in an afterlife. Apparently, in Roman times, wannabe Christian martyrs became so numerous, that the authorities were at a loss in dealing with them. Modern-day suicide bombers seem to believe that their ‘sacrifice’ will see them promoted to glory. Although in my, admittedly western liberal, opinion, the opposite is more likely to happen. Killing innocents causes negative Karma, which in turn causes payback.
So apart from ancient Romans running around in skirts, what else did I glean from my analysis? Not a lot. I was just as confused as ever about whether I had ever truly been a boy, and was that genetic, environmental or karmic? What the hell, I went for a ride on my bike, within fifteen minutes of pumping pedals and generally busting a gut, I had no breath left to worry about gender issues.
Wow this bike can fly, or nearly so. Forty-five MPH, according to my computer. Okay, so it was down a steep hill, but it was so exciting a real adrenaline buzz. I just clicked her into top gear and pumping my legs, furiously, I fairly flew along. The rushing of the air in my ears and on my face was bracing. It’s a bit dangerous, with only a few inches of rubber actually in contact with the road, and little chance of stopping safely and quickly. So why do I do it? ‘Cos I can, and I love it. Pity what goes down has to pedal all the way back up. No pain, no gain I suppose.
As I got back up the hill in a roundabout route, circling my way back home, I began to think about my enjoyment of speed and effort on my bike. It kicks in the endorphins and enkephalins plus adrenaline, no wonder I feel good, like a junky getting a fix. But in my previous analysis, wouldn’t that be a masculine attribute? Oh bugger, who actually cares? I’m me, a woman, so does it matter? Probably not, although it might to John, and I was back here again.
Life goes around in circles for me, perhaps it is actually as Jung suggested, that conflicts within us which if we don’t resolve, get projected onto a larger screen and others get involved.
According to my computer, the little one like a digital watch on my handlebars, I had done about twenty miles and been out for nearly two hours. I wasn’t far from home now, and part of me felt like turning away from there and riding some more, but it would have been simply to avoid dealing with my inner stuff, and one bit in particular. I decided as I put on a last spurt towards home, that I would tell John the next time we had some time together.
As I arrived in the close, Linnie and Bill were riding up and down on their bikes. I stopped and spoke to them. Apparently, they had seen me go off earlier but had been too slow to catch me. Mine is a racer, so it seems to be living up to its name. They seemed so disappointed that I agreed to go out for a little ride with them.
I thought to myself, ‘Honestly, the things I do for other people.’ I made them tell their mother what we were doing, and she invited me back for lunch which gave us half an hour.
We tootled about, which is harder than head down and going for it on this bike. It’s designed to be ridden for speed, dragging along behind two slow coaches was purgatory. However, we did eventually do about three miles and returned home safely for lunch.
Gwen Johns is a wonderful cook. Sorry if I repeat myself, but it does bear repeating and any invite to eat at their house is worth having. It was just the four of us, the good doctor, being away at the hospital. Essentially, we had leftovers, but she had turned them into a pasta bake with a side salad. It was delicious and certainly better than the sandwich I’d have done myself if I’d been bothered. I was trying to lose a bit of flab, preferably before I next saw John. Damn, there it was again, that blessed black cloud.
I got back after lunch did a few chores and sent John an email in response to his text. I asked him when we’d get together again. I also texted him to say about the email. The response was, “Hope to have a weekend off next week. Shall I come down?”
My response doesn’t really need detailing here, other than I was filled with some fear and trepidation. I was going to tell him. Now I wanted reassurance that I had done the right thing or was planning to.
My mother came bustling in about six, as I was putting the potatoes on. I wasn’t that hungry, but I knew my parents would be, and if I did the meal, I could serve myself a small portion without too many questions. My father came in about half an hour later, he wanted to get on with his book, but I wanted his opinion.
We were just finishing the meal. I had played with mine rather than ate it. “You not hungry, sweetheart?” Asked my mother.
“Not really.”
“Something bugging you?” she continued.
“Yes and no.”
“What’s the yes part?” My father decided to join in the interrogation, but part of me was secretly pleased. I needed him more than Robert bloody Browning did.
“I’ve decided to tell John.” I spluttered.
“Tell him what?” retorted my father.
“About me.” I could feel my tummy turning just thinking about it all.
“I thought we’d dealt with seeing dead things and funny Egyptians running about the place.” He laughed gently as he said it.
“That wasn’t what I meant.” I was now very close to tears.
“We know, sweetie pie.” Said my mother touching my hand. I felt its warmth on mine.
“If that’s what you want to do, then you should do it.”
“Does he really need to know?” asked my father. “Can’t it wait until you are certain? I mean, is he knocking you off….”
“Tom!” snapped my mother, “Just what do you mean?”
“Look, they are both adults, and we all know what adults get up to.”
“If you mean, are we having sex?” I asked, to which he nodded, I continued, “No we’re not.”
My mother had looked very uncomfortable with this but began to beam with pride at me. “But I’d like to,” I added wiping the smile from her face.
“Is he going to notice?” my father enquired, “I mean, it looks like the real thing doesn’t it?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t done a comparison.”
“Don’t women do comparisons in the toilet or changing rooms, you know like men sneak crafty glances at each other in the bogs.”
“Tom,” my mother interjected, “this conversation is becoming scatological, and isn’t helping Jamie.”
“Didn’t you look at other boys willies in the showers?” he asked.
“Only to notice they were all bigger than me, so I stopped doing games.”
“It isn’t about size,” he lied, trying to cheer me up, “it’s about what you can do with it.”
My mother was now beetroot and clearing the dishes. As she left the room, she muttered something which sounded like ‘rowlocks.’ I nearly choked, Dad, however, unaware continued, “I suppose that doesn’t apply to you anymore, does it?”
“Only insofar as being able to accommodate a partner,” I told him.
“When I spoke to your surgeon….”
“He didn’t say anything about that,” I replied astonished.
“I asked him not to, never mind why. I asked him about what he was going to do and he described it all, making me feel very uncomfortable I can tell you. The thought of it, oooh. But then we feel differently about these things.”
“Can’t say I miss it,” I interjected.
“No, I suppose not. Anyway, he told me that when it all healed up, it would seem as much like the real thing as was possible and that even some doctors wouldn’t actually spot it.”
I thought about this for a moment. I had laid out dead bodies of both men and women, young and old. I had washed their intimate parts but hadn’t really looked at them. Even on a corpse, I felt some degree of intrusion and washed their lower abdomens quickly and without looking. So I hadn’t actually compared what I had with anyone else. I wasn’t sure I wanted to, either. I mean, if my mother offered, I would be so embarrassed, I just couldn’t. Women don’t do that sort of thing.
I heard her crashing pots and things in the kitchen, so she wanted no further involvement in the conversation. I wasn’t sure I did, but having initiated it, I suppose politeness kept me there.
My father poured us both some more wine. I didn’t honestly want it either, but I began to sip it.
“So do you need to tell him? If you’re not actually bonking yet, does he need to know?” he asked taking a large sip of his wine.
“Maybe not. It’s just that I feel that I’m holding back on him.”
“All couples have secrets. Even your mother and I do.”
“I heard that Tom Curtis.” My mother’s voice called from the kitchen.
My father blushed, then called back, “Nothing important, my love.”
“Better not,” came the response, it was like long-distance audio tennis.
“I’m sure John has some,” he continued trying to reassure me.
“Probably, but it’s hardly the same. I didn’t tell you I used to be a boy, because it was such a little thing.”
I had meant it to sound sarcastic, but my father picked up on my unconscious double entendre and began choking on his wine. He spent the next couple of minutes coughing, his eyes running and his face as red as his drink.
Needless to say, it killed off the conversation and it finally finished with me feeling more confused than ever. If I had understood them, neither of my parents were particularly in favour of saying anything to John. However, my father seemed to be agreeable to me having sex, or preferably, making love in my view. I considered there was a difference, I hoped John would feel the same.
I eventually retired to bed to finish the Guardian crossword, and think my thoughts. They had given opinions, it was still my decision, my choice.
I might have been better off meditating again because sleep did not come easily. I must have drifted off eventually, but it was filled with all sorts of frightening images. I felt under attack from something I couldn’t see or hear, only feel its effects upon me, which weren’t very nice.
Battered and bleeding I fought on against my invisible assailant until finally some of my blood sprayed upon it and I could see it at last, or enough to land an effective blow. I managed to knock it, or should I say her, down, because she was female. Then I dived on top of her and we thrashed about in the gory mess caused by my own blood. Finally, I was winning, I managed to get my hands around her throat, slippery with the blood and began to exert as much pressure as I could. Blood dripped off my face onto hers, and just before I finished her off, I decided to see what she looked like or who she was.
Suddenly I leapt up off her, astonished and sickened. When I had seen her face, it was like looking at my twin. I realised I was fighting myself, and had tried to kill ‘myself’ or part of me. I felt sick and vomited. Was I trying to kill off Jamie the boy part of me? No, it was definitely a female part. I looked down at myself, I was female too. What was going on here?
I woke up in a sweat, not knowing quite where I was until the shapes of my bedroom became clear enough for me to recognise. I was grateful I hadn’t actually vomited, although I felt very sick. I went to the loo and then back to bed and sleep.
In the next dream, I met my grandmother. This, I thought should at least be a happy dream. I told her of my dilemma with John and asked her advice.
“What do you want me to say Jamie?” she answered my question.
“Tell me what to do, Gran.”
“You know I can’t do that, Jamie.”
“But I need to know what to do. Should I tell him I was a boy?”
“You never were a boy,” she replied.
“What?” I called back to her because I could see her fading away from me.
“Gran, please stay. Don’t leave me, Gran….” I shouted after her.
“It’s okay Jamie, it’s alright.” I awoke being held by my mother, “It’s okay, you were having a bad dream, it’s alright now.”
“I was with Gran, and she left me.” I sobbed on my mother’s shoulder. “I only wanted to ask her if I should tell John. She said, ‘I never was a boy ’. Why would she tell me that?”
“I don’t know sweetheart,” cooed my mother as I sobbed on her shoulder. After a few minutes, I calmed down and returned to a thankfully dreamless sleep for the remainder of the night. I awoke feeling like death.
Over the next few days, I spent longer and longer riding my bike. It stopped me having to think about what I should do when John arrived in a few days. I was cycling most of the day, just riding aimlessly, then because I was tired, sleeping easily. It felt okay to do this, not thinking just doing.
One day, the weather which had been threatening to change, did just that. It went from warm and dry to cool and changeable. That was okay too, I didn’t get so hot, although the squally showers weren’t so pleasant.
I was riding along a road that was unfamiliar to me. Surrounding both sides was a quite dense broadleaf woodland. Had I had the time or mood to notice, I would have seen the diversity possible in the colour green, from the grass and ferns to the higher canopied oaks and beech trees. Even within the trees, newer leaves shone with lighter green compared to their older, darker counterparts.
It felt quite dark, and I wasn’t sure if this was due to the overhanging trees or the sky, which I couldn’t see clearly. The rain began and I stopped, standing close to the bole of a beech tree, holding the bike under the shelter. I began to feel much cooler as the temperature seemed to drop.
The rain began to fall in earnest, hammering on the road surface, like stair rods great drops fell in rapid succession. The noise above me was increasing as the deluge became heavier. I flattened myself against the tree trying to keep dry, pulling the bike as close as I could to keep the saddle dry.
It seemed to get darker, almost as dark as night and I felt a little apprehensive. When I was a child I had an unpleasant experience in a wood, which I neither wanted to repeat nor remember.
The rain got heavier, certainly, the noise of it in the tree canopy got louder almost deafening, when from nowhere there was a flash and a loud bang or crash.
Suddenly there was smoke drifting everywhere and splinters of wood were in the air. I realised that the tree just a few yards away had been hit by lightning. Then there was another flash and crash, this time without damage to the trees, but enough to make me move deeper into the wood, seeking new shelter.
The strange smell I decided was ammonia, which my schoolgirl chemistry decided was possible, given atmospheric nitrogen and water. How the hell could I work that out yet be unable to sort my relationship problems?
Another crash and I moved yet deeper into the wood, all the time my memory telling me not to shelter under trees in a thunderstorm. However, I chose to ignore it, as the rain was teeming down, even heavier than before, smashing leaves off trees and the little woodland path down which I had recently run was now a torrent of muddy water, rushing down a slope I hadn’t noticed before.
I stood there, pulling my thin shower-proof cycling jacket around me. My mum had given it to me with matching shorts and shirt. They were all red matching my bike, making me look like a mobile blood clot. I should have called the bike the ‘Embolism’. My little joke was all I had to laugh about as the rain continued to hammer for another hour, the torrent on the previous path causing me to move yet again to avoid being carried away with it. The ground was now very slippery and carrying or pushing a bike through it was not a comfortable experience. My shorts were now becoming wet and my shoes had long since filled with cold water.
However, there was no way I was cycling in this sort of rain. I wouldn’t be able to see where I was going nor would other road users.
Most drivers were quite safe, provided they weren’t driving. Then they became homicidal maniacs. In these conditions I would be making it far too easy for one of them to kill me off, assuming I didn’t drown first.
Just then, there was an enormous crash and simultaneous flash and the tree about ten feet away split in half, one of the aforementioned halves heading my way. I threw the bike one way and myself the other as a lump of wood weighing a ton or more smashed against the tree I’d been sheltering under, pretty well where I had been standing. It then fell towards me, and I leapt and scrambled out of its way, sliding full length in the mud and water.
However, I wasn’t just lying there, the water was now carrying me down the slope as I desperately tried to get some purchase on anything, my cycle mitts could grasp. Over and over I rolled in the stream of muddy water, I was soaking wet, with mud and other slime in my mouth and face, descending the slope to be deposited in a muddy pool at the bottom.
I managed eventually to pull myself out, shivering and frightened. The rain still beat down upon me, as I tried to make my way back up the slope, now even steeper as it grew wetter and more slippery. I could see my bike, and just yards from it, I slipped and rolled back down into the increasing morass.
My watch had stopped with water inside it, so I had no idea of time, but I guessed an hour or more had passed since the rain had started, probably more. I finally managed to get back to the top of the slope and inspected my bike, thankfully it was undamaged. To have walked back carrying it would have been unthinkable.
I was emptying the water out of my shoes when out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of movement. I looked and saw nothing. The rain was easing and I wanted to be on my way.
I took off my helmet and wiped my face as best I could in the little cloth I had in my tiny saddlebag, it was dirty but dry. Usually, I used it for wiping my hands or the chain. As I did so, I saw movement again. This time I knew I wasn’t alone.
“Oh shit,” I thought to myself, then began to shiver as I recalled my previous experience with elementals, as nature spirits are called by occultists.
I have mentioned before how we integrate energies from external stimuli. Some of us see ghosts, some of us hear them whilst others may feel coldness or some other sensation. Me, glutton that I am do all of these. I see, hear and feel.
What we see or feel depends on our map of the universe, so two people may see or feel very different things from the same stimulus. I knew what I had seen, it was a little green man. This was not a martian, however, but a sprite and it was some of these who had terrorised me when I was a child.
Elementals are like children themselves, they can be playful even spiteful depending upon what they are and how you respond. The one thing is not to appear scared or they will really enjoy themselves just as children would if given the power over someone else.
Given that I was bigger and more knowledgeable now, I should be able to deal with these energy forms without too much trouble. I continued drying myself off as best I could pretending not to notice that several more had arrived and I was now surrounded.
I grabbed my bike and was about to move towards the road when I realised I was well and truly surrounded. There must have been a hundred of them and they looked less than happy.
“Hello guys,” I called out, they seemed even more irritated.
“This is a private wood,” one of them called to me.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know that. I only came to shelter from the rain.”
“This is a men’s only wood,” another voice called.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know that either. I am going now, thanks for your hospitality.” I made to move towards the road, about a hundred yards away.
“You have transgressed the rules and must pay.”
“Sorry boys, I don’t have any money with me.” I tried to stay calm, but I was a little, make that a lot, frightened. I had never seen so many of these little men.
“You must pay.”
“Sorry boys, I just told you I don’t have any money.”
“We shall take your velocipede until you do pay.”
“Bugger that little man,” I retorted,” my dad gave me this bike and besides I have a long way to go. So no deal.”
“You must pay, you must pay.” A chant began, getting louder and louder. It was sort of hypnotic and I knew I was in danger of them taking me into a trance, where I would be in real peril.
I felt my body becoming weaker as they all obviously focused their energy on stopping me from leaving. I slumped against a tree, holding on to my bicycle, but it was being drawn away from my weakening grasp. I felt myself feeling light-headed, I was succumbing to their chant. I had to fight it.
The thought flashed through my mind that if I couldn’t cope with this group of energies how was I going to deal with Harry, a really nasty and organised one? Not by going to sleep, that was certain.
As I felt myself sliding down the smooth bark of a beech tree, my legs becoming weaker by the moment, I fought to stay awake and in control. What could I do against these little monsters?
Oh, why not call up a lioness? I can almost hear you all saying it. Well, the problem was that my mind was losing its link with the rest of me, it was falling under the control of these little demons. As I slid down to the ground, I saw the lioness that I had on a bracelet my mother had given me. I held onto the picture in my mind as things began to go black.
As I felt myself falling down a dark tunnel I tried to keep the lioness in my mind, don’t think about anything else, just the lioness. I felt one of them pulling at my wrist, and it angered me. They had the bike, more anger began to course through me.
I saw a large lioness in my mind's eye and I projected it into the wood. I was breaking the spell. The tugging on my wrist continued and I shrugged it away. I sat up. The throng of little bodies pressed closer, the chanting continued.
I stood up, albeit on shaky legs. They stopped for a moment. Then the chant began again. “Shut up you little bastards,” I shouted at them.
Astonishingly it stopped. “Do you know who I am?”
“A stupid woman.” Came back the reply.
“I am the Devourer of Souls.” I spoke quite quietly. I am the Queen of the Lions.”
Silence held for a moment. I felt the energy surging back into me, my little furry friend was close. I was surprised they hadn’t picked up on it. Then maybe we operate on different frequencies, which is why most ordinary folk don’t see or feel these things. I was about to bring the equivalent of a ground attack helicopter into their little world, from a dimension to which they seemed oblivious. Now I was back in control, as it should be.
“Where is my bike?”
“You must pay.” The chant began again, but now I was immune to it.
“Where is my bike?” I roared at them, and I mean roared.
It worked as my bicycle appeared a second later.
I looked at the faces of the now apprehensive elementals. One or two began the chant again and as it spread and its intensity rose, I did what any self-respecting ‘devourer of souls’ would do. I sent the girls round.
Well, to be exact, it was just one girl, but if you are about two foot six and suddenly confronted by a large feline about a foot taller at the shoulder than you are, the effect is striking.
Suddenly, it went very quiet, so quiet you could hear a sprite piss himself, all metaphorical of course. I was standing before this group, my little pet stood behind them.
“Is there anything any of you would like to say before I dissipate your collective energy into nothingness?” I asked feeling like the invading force in ‘The Hitchhikers Guide’, about to destroy the earth.
There was silence. Then a sobbing. “You there,” I called to the sobbing sprite, “do you have something to say?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, milady.” Then they all nodded and this general agreement spread through the throng.
“You didn’t mean to offend me, yet you would rob me.”
“We are sorry.” Came back the response.
“Why should I not destroy you?”
“We promise to be good in future.”
“If you promise never to hurt another human in this wood or near it, or damage their property, then I won’t destroy you. But let me ever hear any story of funny goings-on here and I shall send my little pet back and all of you will cease to be. Do I make myself clear?” The energy flowing through me was now steaming the wet out of my clothing.
“Yes, milady.” Came back the answer.
“I also demand recompense for your assault on me. Now you must pay me.” I thought it was worth a try after all they seemed materialist enough to try and pinch my ‘Specialized’ and my bracelet.
“Take this, milady.” The voice led my eyes to follow, and before was the proverbial crock of gold. Okay, so it wasn’t a crock it was a small bag with gleaming gold coins.
I nearly succumbed again, this time to temptation and greed. “Bring me one of the coins.” I roared at them. They duly obliged.
I took it and put it in the pocket of my jacket.
“I will take this as a symbol of our agreement. If ever it should disappear I shall come back for the rest and all of you will cease to be. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, milady.”
“We have an agreement until the end of time, is that understood?”
“Yes, milady.”
“Never make me come back here in anger.”
“No milady.”
“You promise?”
“Yes, milady.”
With that, I walked off to the road and began the ride home. When I got there I jumped in the shower and washed all the mud and muck of me. Then my clothes went in the machine, going through the pockets I felt the coin again. It was real, and upon examining it, I could see it was a Charles the second guinea, in mint condition. Probably worth a lot of money, but to me, it was beyond cost and besides, it was a reminder of my deal with the woodland folk and an antidote to my previous experience. Now I knew I could enter a wood or forest anywhere and they would know who I was, ‘Milady of the Lions’.
One day I shall have to write up my story, except that no one would believe it, but it’s all true.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
I checked the coin the next morning, it was there, all gold and shiny. So I hadn’t imagined the experience. What with the strange dreams I’d had of late, it was becoming difficult to tell what was real and what wasn’t.
I didn’t know what to do today, I would tidy through and see to any laundry for my mum, and probably put the dinner on, whatever there was in the fridge would determine that.
I had just put the machine on, when the phone rang. I answered it on the third ring. “Oh good, I thought you may be out.” It was my dad. “I hope you have something reasonable to wear.”
“When and why?” I asked wondering what was coming next.
“We are going out for dinner tonight, courtesy of my publisher. I pointed out how much help you had given me, and he thought it would be appropriate to reward you.”
“But I’m trying to lose weight.”
“So, have salad.”
“Oh alright. I’m sure I’ve got something that will do. Sorry if I sounded ungrateful.” Then thinking for a moment, asked,” Does Mum know about this?”
“Of course, it was she who told me to phone you now, in case you began to defrost something.”
“But why are they taking you out, you haven’t finished the book, have you?” If he had it had been done in double-quick time.
“God no. This is a progress meeting.”
“A what.”
“It’s the polite equivalent of them giving me a boot up the bum for not doing enough. It’s not my fault, I just keep turning up new material. I’ve got some more letters to be scanned when you have time.”
“Sure, Dad, just let me know when.”
“Must go, see you later, about seven, be ready.”
“Yes, Dad.”
I got on with my chores, after checking my wardrobe to see what I had with me. I had a blue dress I could wear, with a black pashmina to keep me warm whilst we travelled to and fro. I decided my black courts and small handbag would complete the outfit. My pearls were in the bank, I suppose I could get them if I really wanted, instead I settled to wear my black obsidian beads and earrings.
I was starting to empty the washer when the phone rang again. This time it was my other parent. “Glad you’re there. Be a love and run the iron over my red dress, will you.”
“Course, anything else?”
“Oh yes, see you at my hairdresser’s at three. I’ve made an appointment for both of us.”
“Fine. Thanks, I was just thinking I could do with a trim.” This wasn’t true, but it sounded good. However, I didn’t think it would be a good idea to ride my bike there, which meant catching a bus into town. It was now eleven, I had better get a move on with the chores.
I did Mum’s dress and got the washing dried on the line, despite it being overcast, the rain held off. I ran the vacuum cleaner around the place and then it was into the shower and into a clean pair of jeans and top to go to the hairdresser.
Stood at the bus stop, the heavens opened. My umbrella kept some of it off me but I was thankful that the bus arrived at the same time as the first clap of thunder sounded. A little shiver ran through me when I recollected the storm in the woods. Was that yesterday, or earlier? I couldn’t quite remember, and I wondered if there were some games being played with me.
Despite the storm, I was able to concentrate on seeing a sun disk above my head. I made it shine around me, casting a protective tube of light all around me. I could almost feel its warmth through my clothes. My mind returned to normal. It was yesterday, and I was sure that the fuzziness I had felt was nothing to do with the elementals in the woodland. They were well and truly impressed, and I believed they had learned accordingly. Just in case I visualised a lion running through the woodland where I had sheltered. I had a vision of the elementals scattering before it, calling they had, “kept their word, so why didn’t I?”
I sent a reply, “Just making sure.” I smiled to myself. “So who is fooling with me?” I wondered to myself. I knew something or somebody was psychically attacking me, but who and why? Harry was a prime candidate, but it didn’t feel like her energy, I’d had a couple of experiences of it, and it was definitely different.
I saw the bus stop just in time, so rapt was I in my musings that I nearly missed it. It was still raining but less so than before. I practically ran all the way to the salon.
“Hello Jamie, how are you?” it was the owner, Doreen.
“A bit wet. Gosh, what a storm.”
“Not as bad as yesterday.”
“I got caught in that one too.”
“Did you manage to shelter?” she asked as she took my coat and brolly.
“I was out on my bike, I got soaked.”
“Oh, I don’t think I’d like to be on a bike in a thunderstorm.”
“I didn’t much like it either,” I added ending that topic of conversation.
“Your mum will be here soon, she told us to start with you.”
“Fine,” I replied.
She began to examine my hair. “It’s grown quite a bit since last time.”
“Yes I know, but you did it so well last time, I wanted to wait until I could see you again.” It was a total porkie but it pleased her, in fact, she got quite flustered and blushed like a schoolgirl.
“I think a small trim just to even it out and sort out any split ends, then how about we put it up with some ringlets around the top?”
“Are we going to have time?”
“Oh yes, shouldn’t take too long. It’s only a set, not a perm. Natasha will do your wash.”
“How are you?” Natasha enquired. “How’s soldiering?”
“I’m a nurse, remember, not a frontline trooper.”
“Didn’t I read something about you in the local paper?”
“What?”
“Yeah, you’ve been awarded a medal for bravery under fire. Rough up in Barbury, is it?”
I felt myself blush, “Can be.” I tried to sound nonchalant.
“I thought it mentioned Iraq.”
“Well, you can’t believe what you read in newspapers.” I tried to dismiss it.
“You saved six people’s lives. You’re a regular heroine.”
I felt so embarrassed. “Four of my colleagues died. D’you mind if we don’t talk about it?”
“Sorry, I just wanted to add my appreciation.”
“Thanks, but no thanks.” I felt cross with her, yet at the same time, I half-understood where she was coming from. I understood why celebrities can get a bit iffy with members of the public. Thank goodness, I wasn’t one of those.
She washed my hair in silence, and I felt awful. “How’s your sister?”
“She’s okay, she’s expecting a posting soon.”
“Is it her first one?”
“Yeah, well I hope she gets a quieter one than I did.”
“God yes. I hadn’t thought of that. Sorry, what you said makes more sense now. I am sorry.”
“It’s okay, honestly.”
“What is?” asked Doreen, like some archetypal headmistress.
“It’s nothing,” I said quite firmly, and the subject was dropped. I was led to her station and she began combing, then cutting my hair. She dried it gently, then began to put it up, using a stretchy circular grip thing, she pulled my hair through, then rolled it in fine rollers after liberally damping it with setting gel. Then it was under the drier, and while there my mother arrived.
Natasha offered to do my nails while my curls were cooking, and although I hadn’t especially thought it, I took advantage of her offer, choosing a pale, pearlised violet colour to complement my dress.
It felt quite novel to have painted nails, they don’t go with nursing standards. I kept looking at them, Natasha came up to me. “Are they alright ?”
“Yes, of course, they are. Sorry, but it feels very novel to have them done. Thank you for doing them.”
“I’m glad you like them,” she smiled back at me, and I knew then I was forgiven for my earlier disgruntlement. However, the memories of Iraq came back. I had managed to suppress them for some time, but they were back and I saw the man with four of my bullets in him, falling to the ground as the top of his head exploded with the last shot.
I tried to be in the now, to concentrate on things in the shop or outside. The storm had abated and people were walking past again. I kept trying to stay here, not slipping back. It was so hard, isolated under the drier.
I was so pleased when Doreen came to check me, “You alright love?”
“Yeah, course I am, why?”
“You look a bit peaky, didn’t get a chill yesterday, did you?”
“I hope not, but that’s probably it.” As I said it I saw Natasha looking very guilty and busying herself out of my line of sight.
My hair looked fantastic. It was now quite long, so Doreen had been able to raise it up a couple of inches before it cascaded in curls around my crown. She was pleased with it too.
Mum was knocked out by it, and talked about it all the way home. I had to keep telling her to concentrate on her driving because there was some minor flooding after the storm. We got home, eventually about five, just time to relax with a cuppa for half an hour, before getting ready for this meal.
I kept chattering with my mum, who eventually asked what the problem was. So I told her. She took my hand and simply said, “If you hadn’t done what you did, I wouldn’t be able to see, hear and touch you now. The same goes for the others in your group who survived. Think about that, not the negatives.” It helped a bit.
I went up and washed and dressed. I was very pleased with the way my hair had turned out, my fingers felt quite strange with the coats of nail varnish, they felt thicker than usual. However, the colour blended with my dress very nicely.
I did my makeup carefully. It was an evening out, but I decided I was going to err on the side of understatement, with just a touch of violet eye shadow, blue mascara, and blusher. I decided that my eyebrows could be slightly more defined, so a few strokes of blonde eyebrow crayon and that was enough. Finally, I chose a blueish pink lipstick, a rather pale metallic sort, and I was finished save for some jewellery.
The obsidian and gold necklace and matching drop earrings looked pretty good, so I opted for them as I had originally planned, although I did consider Gran’s sapphire set. In the end, I thought they were probably too much for such an occasion. A gold bracelet and my gold watch with a couple of rings were the completion of my actual dressing, a quick spritz of Coco and I was ready.
During the latter stages of my toilet, I had heard my dad come in. He could dash in shower, shave and dress in about twenty minutes and look dapper. I could probably do the same in an hour if I really rushed. Alternately, when working, I could make it in half an hour, but that was into a uniform with no makeup and hair in a ponytail. I was speeding up all round with regards to making myself presentable, I could do it in an hour now, it used to take me twice that. I’m sure you all know what I mean, and it depends on what one is wearing.
I think I once mentioned that life as a boy in many respects was easier, especially about clothes. Jeans and a jumper. I have spent half a morning looking through my wardrobe, knowing what I didn’t want to wear, but sadly not what I wanted to. That was to go nowhere special, so to go somewhere where an impression is to be made, can be a real torment over what to wear.
I made my way downstairs, walking carefully on my, ‘higher than I usually wear heels’. I carried my pashmina over my arm, my small handbag in my hand. “You look lovely, my darling daughter,” said my father as he pecked me on the cheek. He was dressed smart casual, with his new corduroy jacket, twill trousers and tan shoes. He had on his favourite cream checked shirt with a plain tie which almost matched his jacket in shade.
“You don’t look too bad yourself.” I offered back to him, gently adjusting his tie and collar, before realising that this can be seen as sexual foreplay, by some psychologists. Anyway, it didn’t lead to any such thing, both of us would have been suitably horrified by such ideas.
Mum arrived a moment later, resplendent in her red dress with a matching jacket. So after more mutual admiration and compliments, we were off. I suspected that I might well have to drive back, so I took some notice of where we were headed. I was pleased that I recognised the route as far as we had travelled, including the woodland I had recently sheltered in. I had a rough idea of where we were going. Thus far, I could navigate us home, it was one of my cycle routes
.
We went on a few miles further, turning off up a relatively minor country lane which gave way to a large pub car park, the tavern sign saying, “The White Hart,” accompanied with a painting of a deer. It was an old place.
As we pulled up in a parking space, my dad said, “It’s alleged that Browning brought Elizabeth here at least once and that they may have stayed here.” It explained why we were here. It certainly looked the part, stone-built with a red-tiled roof, and small windows.
My only query was, “Didn’t they tend to put old pubs on main coaching roads?”
“Yes that’s true, but the road hereabouts was so narrow, and the local landowner wanted it moved, so they did. The pub survived, but how, is another story. There was a small village until World War II, when a disoriented squadron of American bombers, mistook the lights of some houses for the airfield and landed on top of them. It was a terrible accident in the dark and the mist.
Just imagine having run the gauntlet of the German fighters and flack, the cold and the dark, only to end up dead because your compass wasn’t working and you were unused to flying in fog. Three planes crashed killing about fifteen of the crew. There’s a plaque in the pub, I think, as a memorial to them.”
We stood out in the car park and contemplated just where it had all happened. These days there are trees everywhere, so the landscape appeared to have changed significantly. I certainly didn’t want to tune into it, I’d had enough of death and destruction for one day, with my own recollections.
“If I remember correctly, about fifteen or so years ago, they had a memorial service here to commemorate the crews who died, fifty years before. The survivors of the flight and I presume their ground crews came back for it. It was on the telly, quite moving, as I recollect.”
The evening was growing dusky as we walked across to the pub. It was also growing a little chilly, and I draped my pashmina about me. As we entered, I felt a sharp blast of icy air, I shivered and tried not to show it. My mother felt something too and gave me a knowing look. Dad apparently felt nothing.
It was seven-thirty, we ordered drinks and Dad went off to see where we were seated. A moment later, a very handsome man, elegantly dressed in leather jacket and grey trousers walked in. I supposed he must be about thirty-ish, no older than thirty-three, about six-two and while broad at the shoulders, was slim at the hips. He walked past us, and I had time to think, “nice bum”. He was wearing what looked like expensive shoes, perhaps hand-finished ones. I expected there would be something fast and flashy parked in the car park, Merc or 5 series Beamer, maybe a Jag.
Why was I concerned? So the guy looked like a young George Clooney, that’s why? Whoever he was, he looked well-padded against the chill wind of poverty. It transpired he had gone to the toilets and was on his way back out as my dad came back. “Oliver’s not here yet…”
“Oh yes, he is,” came back a rejoinder in a dark baritone that sent chills down my spine. “Stop it,” I sent thoughts to my treacherous body, “you are spoken for at the moment, so behave.” However, his chocolate brown voice sent goosebumps all about me. I also realised, my knickers felt a bit sticky or damp. My God, no one had had this effect on me before, not even John. What was happening?
“Oliver this is my wife, Anna,” the stranger shook hands with my father, then my mother, murmuring something I didn’t hear. I was transfixed, as if by some spell. Then, suddenly, my reverie was broken by, my father saying, “and the one away with the fairies, is my daughter Jamie. Earth to Jamie, come in Jamie…”
I almost started, as I realised I had drifted into another world, though where I didn’t know. “Enchanted,” said the stranger as he took my lifeless hand and squeezed it. A bolt of energy, ran from him to me and something stirred in my mind, but it was below conscious levels. I had met him before, but where? What was this mysterious energy? “This man is dangerous,” my mind was screaming at me, but I wasn’t listening, he had more sexual energy about him than a bull on Viagra. It was drawing me in, like a moth to the flame.
In my daydream, I was led with the others to our table. The menu was passable rather than inspired. Besides, my mind was on something other than food, I had honestly rarely lusted after someone before, even John, it was a gentle longing, this feeling was like I wanted to rip everything off now and do it on the table. It was weird.
I settled for a fruit juice as my starter, with salmon in watercress sauce as my main course. I decided it was safer not to touch any alcohol tonight, something was playing games with me and I needed to be on my guard.
I sat opposite my mother, she was picking up something I thought, but not as strongly as I was. I kicked her foot and said I needed to go to the ladies, hoping she’d come too. I kicked her foot again and she eventually got the message.
“There is something strange going on,” I said to her in the relative privacy of the ladies.
“What do you mean? It feels fine to me.”
“So why did you jump when we came into this place?”
“I didn’t did I?”
“You did. I felt an icy spot just inside the door.”
“I’m not sure I could define it as clearly as that.”
“This place is definitely haunted.”
“Jamie, your problem is you go looking for it.”
“No, I don’t Mum, it finds me. There is something strange about this Oliver chap too.”
“Don’t be ridiculous and don’t you dare go doing any of your tricks here, talking to dead people or conjuring up lions. Your father needs this book, it will enhance his career, he could possibly get a chair somewhere if it’s as good as I know he wants it to be. So don’t you go spoiling it with any of your nonsense.”
Part of me wanted to be angry, how dare she accuse me of such things. Another part knew exactly what she was on about. Finally, a small part of me thought, “he’s got her already,” so it looked as if it might be up to me to resist this man, beautiful though he might be, there was something far less pretty beneath the façade.
While Mum actually went into the cubicle, I called down protection, visualised my sun disk and covered myself in its light, wrapping myself with impenetrable folds of luminosity. It was my intention to keep them visualised around me all night.
We went back to the table and began our meal. Our host was charming, and I found it very difficult to believe there was anything other than a beautiful man in that body. However, I did stay a little aloof and separate, no matter how much they tried to draw me into the conversation I kept up the remoteness, even ignoring eye signals from my dad calling me to stop it.
I really didn’t know too much of what they were talking, I wasn’t listening and my mind was on keeping my protection going as long as I felt necessary. The main course was okay, and I decided on just a double ice cream for my sweet.
The others were trying to make their minds up over the delicious looking desserts, I’d already decided what I wanted, but was looking at the trolley full of goodies, with its mirrored sides and back. I suddenly realised that I could see both my parents and even myself, but not Oliver.
“Oh shit,” I thought to myself, “if he doesn’t have a reflection then…… Oh shit. Then what the hell is he if he isn’t human? More importantly, what does he want?”
He was telling some story about seeing lions in Africa being killed by hyenas. Which I took as being a warning to me, egocentric I know, but then I had a good record on these things, and I felt sure that I was the target of his real attention, and I was sure it was unpleasant. The problem was that I had no idea how to deal with him. He was a powerful character, that was certain, and the energy he carried was equally strong.
All I could think was, if my girls are not strong enough, then do I need a full ‘Eye of Re’ appearance, and how long would it take me to call it up? That was the question, what the answer was, is another matter.
Part of me wondered if the energy surge was just to unsettle me, to make me think he was stronger than I. If I believed that, then he would be. Was he as tough as my goddess? I could find out the way things were looking. I was not anticipating the ride home, nor the rest of the night. In daylight, I could deal with him and still ride my bike at the same time. He was growing stronger with the darkness, I had to keep my concentration going, all of our lives could depend upon it. He knew I had rumbled him, from the funny looks he kept giving me.
Theoretically, nothing can hurt me unless I allow it to. The problem is keeping up the defences in the face of distractions. In this case, the wall of light with which, I was surrounding myself, was the main defence. As long as I was focused upon it he couldn’t get at me. The problem was my parents were the pawns in this duel. He had no interest in them, to me, they were a major part of my life. They were thus, an area of vulnerability.
Just then I had an idea, I leaned forward to pick up my coffee and pretended to fumble the sugar, knocking the salt over Oliver’s lap. He jumped up howling as if it was boiling water.
He apologised to my parents, saying he thought I had tipped my coffee over him. I apologised profusely to him, while inside smiling and thinking, “Got you, you bastard, whatever you are.”
I excused myself, and instead of going to the ladies, I slipped into the kitchen. The chef was just packing up.
“Sorry Miss, you’re not allowed in here.”
“I need to ask you a great favour?”
“Sorry Miss, you’ll have to leave.”
I pulled out my purse, and extracted a couple of ten pound notes. His attitude changed immediately. It cost me another tenner, but I got what I wanted. I went back to rescue my parents.
About ten minutes later, I managed to get them to leave. It was really difficult as Oliver’s spell was quite poky stuff. As we left, I slipped the bag that awaited me by the door, up under my pashmina. Dad asked me to drive, I was expecting this, and it was what I wanted.
Sure enough, the BMW was there as expected, except it was a 7 series. This could be sticky. We all shook hands, and I got my parents in our car, Oliver was just getting into his when I dashed across and said I needed to thank him properly. He immediately got out, leaving the door open, as I kissed him I sprinkled the chopped garlic and salt all over his seat. Then ran back to our car, and I think I heard him scream but it might have been our tyres as I drove like a maniac out of the car park.
I saw his headlights come after us, as I turned out of the track onto the main road. I hit the junction at sixty hoping nothing was coming, my luck held.
The drive was a nightmare, I knew we didn’t have the speed to outrun our opponent, even though my subterfuge had got us a start. Trying to ignore my parent’s protests as well as drive like a lunatic was even more difficult.
I made a quick right into the woodland, switching off the lights as we entered the gateway. I hoped I had the memory correct, I didn’t need to hit a tree.
I switched off the engine. My father was shaking, I couldn’t see him but I could hear him. He had been ranting for some time. In the loudest voice I could muster, I simply said, “Whatever you think, please trust me, if you don’t we are all going to die. Whatever Oliver is, human is not amongst suitable adjectives to describe it. “
My father was about to say something when he saw the BMW turning back and slowing as it came past the woodland. I put out a call to the elementals to help us hide the car. I felt a canopy of green surround us. I thanked them.
We sat silently in the car, somehow my parents believed me. I think that removed from his energy, they were able to think more objectively, although it was tiring trying to keep up the green canopy while they recovered their wits.
I gave the BMW about ten minutes to leave, then reversed out onto the road without lights and shot off towards home at about sixty miles an hour, getting around a bend before putting the lights on.
I drove like a demon all the way home, praying we weren’t stopped by the police. As we approached our close, I told my father to have his keys ready and get him and Mum into the house as soon as he could, not to stop for anything.
I screamed the car to a halt onto the drive, and my parents for once did as they were told. I bundled them into the house as the BMW came thundering into the road outside.
I half expected it. I stood at the door, then threw a pentagram at him. I heard a scream, a sort of animalistic one rather than human. I slammed the door shut and bolted it, although I knew it wouldn’t keep him out for long.
My parents were stood bug-eyed, as they, at last, began to grasp what was happening. I made up a mixture of salt and hastily chopped garlic and gave them each some. “If he comes near you, throw this in his face and run. It’s me he’s after, I don’t know why. But I need to think of a way of zapping him permanently.” They both nodded, faces shocked and without any noise. “Go upstairs and hide under the bed, and whatever happens, unless the house catches fire, stay there until I come and get you or it goes quiet for some time in which case, don’t bother looking for me, just run.” They nodded, we hugged and my father kissed me, then he hustled my mother upstairs. There was a pounding at the front door. I just wanted to fill my pants, this was as scary as Iraq.
I stood at the foot of the stairs mumbling the Egyptian prayer I had learned a few days earlier. I called down the light of the sun, I called down the light of Re, I called down the power of the Eye of Re, the udjat, the Destroyer. This was life or death stuff, and it was my life that was on the line.
I visualised the goddess Sekhmet overshadowing my body, in a tunnel of brilliant sunlight. I was trying to ignore the front door bursting as its deadlock and reinforced hinges gave under the power of that thing we had met as Oliver.
My concentration had to be complete to do this, and I just managed as the door broke asunder, to feel the energy flow into me as my size increased and I roared.
Anyone seeing me, would not have recognised me as human either, eight feet tall, with the head of a lioness and the disk of the sun above my head, I turned to face my attacker. He was halfway along the hall when he stopped in his tracks. I could feel his energy, trying to enter me and disturb my concentration, but my concentration held.
I beheld him with a glare, and uttering an Egyptian curse upon him I began to power up the sun disk. He began to back off, as I focused the light on him like a giant laser.
He made one last charge at me, and I melted his face, he screamed and ran out of the house. I pursued him, with difficulty having to negotiate a doorway which is only about six foot six in height. He ran to his car, and as he tried to reverse out of the close I fired a bolt of light at him which incinerated him and his car instantly. There was a tremendous bang and a flash, like a lightning bolt. I returned indoors, my work was done.
My father and mother came down with me after I managed to recover from my transformation. We sealed up the door, which had been knocked off its hinges, enough to be able to go to bed. I noticed lights were on in the neighbours' houses but no one ventured outside. I was surprised no one had called the police, but amazingly they hadn’t.
I slept very deeply that night awakening the next morning when my mother brought me a cup of tea. I was still very tired. “What happened last night?” she asked.
“I don’t actually know.” I replied, “Somebody sent something after me. It resembled a human, but I picked up on it immediately, it wasn’t human at all. It broke down the door and ran into a friend of mine who asked it to leave, it did, in a puff of smoke.”
“Your father has been outside, there is nothing to be seen.”
“I didn’t expect there to be.”
“What happened to the car it was driving?”
“It was all an illusion, an energy thing, a sort of thought-form. They can appear quite physical.”
“It looked real enough to me. How did you get rid of it?”
“I didn’t, my friend did. She just shoved some more energy into it and sent it back from whence it came.”
“Just like that?”
“More or less.”
“It could have killed all of us, couldn’t it?”
“It might have tried.”
“Jamie, it could have done.”
“Maybe, but it didn’t.”
“No, not this time. What is all this about?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you the chosen one?”
“Mum, you are confusing me with The Matrix, I’m not chosen for anything. So what it was all about I have no idea. I really don’t.”
My father came up soon afterwards, he was dressed as if to go out, but it soon became obvious that he was coming in after being out.
“You going somewhere?” I asked him.
“No, I’ve already been out.”
“Where?”
“To the pub, we went to last night.” He looked troubled. “You won’t believe this, there was nothing there this morning except a small memorial to the US airmen. What the hell happened last night.”
“I’m not sure,” I offered, “in some respects, it was like being in someone’s computer game. It was all illusion.”
“What about the front door and the scratches on my car.”
“Ah…. That part was real.”
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
“Do you mean to tell me, that last night we were wined, dined and then almost murdered by an illusion?”
“Sort of.” Oh boy, how do I explain something I can’t understand myself?
“Sort of, what answer is that?”
“Somebody sent a thought-form after me. The whole thing had sufficient energy to make it all seem real. We were all taken in by the illusion, we drove to what we thought was a pub, talked with an illusory barman, were entertained by an illusory publisher’s agent, then pursued and finally we had the set to, here.”
“Sorry, but I don’t believe you.”
“That’s the best I can do.”
“So all this happened in my mind, or our minds. A mass hallucination.”
“Yes and no.”
“I don’t believe I ate a pretend meal, and even dripped some non-existent cream on my trousers. That will settle this….” He ran off to get his trousers from last night.
Two minutes later he was back. He began to examine them. “Phew. The smell of garlic.”
“That was real enough. Remember, I did that after we got back.”
He looked at his trousers, but seemed unable to find the stain he remembered making, he even took them to the window and checked again.
“I don’t understand it. How could I eat a non-existent meal in a non-existent pub, with a non-existent person, who then wants to kill me?”
“I don’t really know, but to me it makes sense in that, everything we do or say or see or feel, happens in our minds ultimately. It’s all about reality, so if it was possible to send messages into someone else’s mind that they were seeing or feeling this, the body would react accordingly.”
“It sounds like, The Matrix, and I still don’t see how I could shake hands with a thought form.”
“It’s a bit like The Matrix, in its illusory effect, but this was done by someone’s mind not a computer. It was effectively a spell.”
“You mean the wicked witch, or warlock?”
“Probably neither, wiccans are usually helpful souls who enjoy playing about with natural energies. They are supposed to swear not to mess with other people in a negative way.”
“What about black magic?”
“All right, it could have deceived us, but I would think they would need a group of people to work it.”
“When did you realise it was a set up?” My father had stopped trying to find marks on his trousers, and was now concentrating on the conversation.
“When we entered the pub, it felt very strange. However, it was supposed to be an old place, so I could have been picking up on something else there. Oliver’s energy felt all wrong, and something was trying to get me to fancy him. I suppose if that had happened, and he had managed to get me away from you, I’d probably be dead now.
Then I didn’t notice him casting any shadows, and finally I saw no reflection in the sweet trolley. I knew then he wasn’t human.”
“What about the stuff you threw at him in the car?”
“Remember, that was all in my reality. For him to hurt me, he had to get into my reality. So I acted in this ‘dream’ like I would while awake, and as he was in my reality, he got hurt.”
“And outside?”
“Well, by then the illusion was broken, so he manifested as an energy form, which would be the same as the illusion to all intents and purposes. It would certainly make it easier for him to kill me. However, it also made it easier for me to dissipate him.”
“Is that what you did, dissipated him? It was bloody noisy.”
“Yes sorry about that. All I did was to produce more energy than he could and fire it at him. It destabilised his structure and dis………”
“Blew him to bits.”
“Exactly. Have the erm, neighbours, erm said anything?”
“Not yet. I shall tell them it was a lightning strike and it destroyed our front door too.”
He smiled at me. “I’m proud of you kiddo, it took real balls to stand up to whatever it was. You may be a girl, but you know.”
He hugged me. “No wonder you get all these awards.”
Sniffing back the tear that had formed, I croaked at him, “Don’t you dare nominate me for anything else. The thought of receiving a medal or a certificate in front of all those people terrifies me.”
“You what?” he said, and began laughing, “Have we found something Wonder woman is frightened of?”
“Oh I’m frightened of plenty, and if we had eaten a meal yesterday, I think there would be stains in my knickers this morning.”
“I’ll believe you,” he said, “thousands wouldn’t.”
We hugged some more and I could smell his manliness - soap and his aftershave, plus that musky smell of man. It reminded me of John. “Oh hell,” I said, “John will be here this afternoon. What time is it now?”
For the next hour, I rushed about like a ricocheting bullet. He always caught me half dressed or in the bath or something, so I was determined to be ready when he got here.
I had a text from him to say he was stuck on the motorway, there were road-works plus an accident, so he expected to be about two or even three hours late. Mum had said she wanted to go shopping, so we left dad in charge and went off in her car to the town centre.
I already have more clothes than I shall ever need, but then so do most women, and it doesn’t stop me buying more. Shoes and boots are not quite as bad, but Imelda Marcos might feel nearly at home in my wardrobe, so I’m not lacking there either.
We were supposedly shopping for bedding, so why did I buy a pair of shoes I didn’t need? ‘Cos I liked ‘em I suppose, they were a brown, round toe shoe with a three inch heel, and a small decorative strap across the instep. A sort of Mary-Jane with a stiletto heel. They were quite comfy, although I accepted they might not be after wearing all day, or round the shops. But they were nice and took my fancy, and I thought they would go with an outfit I have in various shades of rusts and browns.
Mum bought some new underwear and I added a new ‘Sloggi’ bra to my collection. It was a tee shirt type, with no seams and I could hardly feel it in the changing room cubicle. I think I could recommend it.
The problem with girls and shops is, time flies at faster than normal rate. Neither of us had noticed what the actual time was, until my mother suggested we stop for a coffee. I had just finished when I looked at the clock stuck outside Samuels’ shop.
“Oh hell, look at the time.” I squeaked pointing at the clock. My mother who was completely in shopping mode, seemed to be oblivious to my alarm. “John will be there.” I squeaked even louder.
This seemed to break the spell of consumerism, under which Mum was bound, and we rushed back to the car, sans bedding, but with the car absolutely full of stuff.
I suppose I should admit my part in the stripping of shops, as we progressed like a small swarm of locusts up and down the high street. I had my new shoes and bra, oh and a skirt and top, which I forgot to mention. Some new gold hoop earrings, and a small brass lioness I saw in a junk shop, and which almost called to me.
I’d also bought John a shirt, having sneaked a look at the shirt he’d left me and which I’d nearly sniffed to death. Mum, a veteran acquirer of unnecessary items in the name of customer choice, had bought a pair of shoes, a suit and top to go under it, a pair of trousers and some new jeans for my dad.
Apparently, she buys nearly all his clothes, which probably explains why he often looks so tidy and coordinated. I think he does just about manage to dress himself. Honestly.
“Why do women need men?” asked my friend one day, “dunno,” I replied. “’Cos a vibrator can’t buy a round of drinks.” If you can imagine my friend Sharon telling that joke in her Essex accent, and then laughing herself silly after the punch line, even though she knew it already, then you can imagine how a dozen other women nearly wet themselves laughing as much at the narrator, as the joke. Were we being cruel? No because she quite enjoys being the clown at times.
Why that had come into my mind as we drove home, I couldn’t say. Probably it was to do with the archetype of men as being large children unable to fend for themselves in a civilised society. It dovetails nicely with the corresponding opinion of men about women, being unable to park a car in a space smaller than runway two at Heathrow.
I must confess that parking is not my strong point, but when I thought about how I had handled the car last night, in the dark and in woodland. I began to sweat a bit. Had it not been for the adrenaline, I doubt I’d have managed it. I didn’t think, I just acted.
Then part of me thought, “Yeah, because part of you is still boy, and always will be. When will you tell John?”
Oh hell, that has risen like a phoenix from the ashes again. Will I? Won’t I? When will I? Should I? Then my conscious mind kicks in and says, “Why tell him until it’s necessary or appropriate?” I think that was a straight clone from my father’s opinion.
As we drove back I was deep in thought about all of this, if we stayed together I’d have to tell him one day, would prolonging it, putting off the inevitable, make it better or worse. I recalled the day when he’d told me he’d, “have found it easier if I’d told him I’d been born a boy.” This was a reference to my disclosure of ‘seeing dead people,’ and all that went with it. At the time I thought I was going to join the ranks of the dead, as I nearly choked myself when he said it.
Of course, he didn’t assign any great significance to the connection between his throwaway and my response. At least, if he did, I’ve not seen anything which gives any hint of it. Then, it’s not something that enters a conversation easily, is it. “Oh by the way, when you nearly choked that day, it wasn’t because you had actually been born a boy, was it?”
This dilemma was not going to go away until I took the risk and told him. I hoped he’d cope. Yes, surely someone as sophisticated and urbane as John would cope, or would he? I’d hate to lose him, I love him to bits. If he did reject me? Oh God no, surely he couldn’t, he must know I love him and doesn’t he love me too. He’s told me so, and his eyes and mouth were in congruence, I’m sure they were. Oh Jesus, what do I do?
As we turned into the close, I saw his 4x4 in the drive, Oh hell he’s here, already I was on the back foot. As soon as the car stopped, I was out and rushing into the house.
“….from up under the bed, we saw this flash and an almighty bang, just like a firework.” Said my dad.
“Or a thunderflash.” Added my love.
“Oh hello darling, “ said my dad, and I dashed in, pecked him on the cheek and then launched myself at the object of my affections. He caught me, thank goodness.
“I’m sorry we’re late, we didn’t notice the time.” I apologised in between kissing him twenty times a second.
“That’s fine, your dad has been entertaining me with your latest exploit. For a girl, you’re a regular hero.”
“No, I’m not.” I denied shaking my head.
“Come off it love, an award from the police for sorting out a gunman, a Distinguished Conduct Medal for courage under fire, and now sorting out Satan’s little buddy. If I had half your guts, I’d be rather pleased with myself. As it is, I’m rather pleased with you.” And he kissed me again. “Just don’t pull any caped crusader stunts while I’m here, will you?”
I nodded my response and gazed into those hypnotic eyes. Deep pools of grey, and I wanted to go swimming.
I eventually broke the spell of staring into his eyes, Mum meanwhile had dragged Dad off to help bring in the shopping. In reward for this, he was presented with his new jeans, he was well pleased.
I dived into the bags of shopping, and finding the correct bag, presented it to John. ”What’s this?” he said, “that’s great,” he said, “just what I needed.” He held up the denim shirt, and then kissed me. “Thank you.”
“Hmm,” I pouted, “I thought it was worth two kisses.”
“Well, if I give you three, then I’ll be in credit.” He proceeded to do as he said.
My mother watching this display, said to my father, “I take it your jeans are okay.”
“Yes love, fine thanks.” He either failed to notice her presenting at least a cheek for kissing, or was acting dumb. With dad, you never knew if he was actually as dumb as he acted.
Finally, frustration took over. “Don’t I get a kiss, too.”
John winked at me and pecked her on the cheek. My father looked up over the top of his newspaper and asked, “What for?”
Her hands flew up in the air, then went back down to her waist, and she talked angrily to herself as she bustled off to the kitchen, where she banged pots about.
Dad meanwhile, sat sniggering behind his paper. John was bemused by the double act, and I felt embarrassed, adding, “They’re like bloody children,” walking off to help my mum get some lunch.
We came back with lunch, soup and a roll, plus some sandwiches and fruit. I laid the table quickly as Mum brought in the tureen of soup, a vegetable concoction she makes fairly regularly. It’s delicious, but then I would say that, having been brought up on it.
I think my dad likes it too, he has had twenty-odd years to get used to it, the question was, would John. Judging by the way he came back for another full bowl of it, I think the answer is, yes. The sandwiches were my contribution, I did tuna and salad, and egg and salad. The plate got cleared from those without much delay too.
I made some tea and coffee while the others ate some fruit. When I came back, my mother asked, “If I pretend I just ate a virtual meal, will it mean I don’t put on any weight?”
We all laughed, and several answers were offered none of which knew the answer completely.
A little while later John and I went for a walk. It was lovely just being with him, we walked arm in arm, stopping when we felt unobserved, to have a hug and a kiss. “I have missed you,” he told me, several times. He also asked me several times, “Have you missed me?”
Each time I told him, “No of course not,” or, “why should I?”
“I’m heartbroken.” He said pretending to sob, “and unloved.”
“I’ve got some superglue at home somewhere,” I said keeping a straight face with enormous strain on my self-control.
“You’re a hard woman, Jamie Curtis.” Alleged my whining partner.
“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” I chirped back.
By this time we had reached a clump of trees, and John gently pushed me against one and began to kiss me so sensually, that I felt my knickers growing damp. I rubbed my tummy against his, as his tongue played a symphony in my mouth, flicking in and out and then tracing around my lips before penetrating my mouth as I sucked on it.
I rubbed his leg with my foot, as he continued to turn me on like I was a machine of some sort, the current rising in me all the while. I could feel his reaction, hard against my groin, pressing against the fly of his jeans. I wanted him, then and there like nothing I have ever wanted before. Up against the tree or on the grass, anywhere, anything to meet this longing. His hands were touching my breasts, and my bottom.
“Oh God, this is too much,” I said as I felt my body shudder under his touch, my orgasm was earth moving.
“Oh,” I sighed, “that was wonderful.” We kissed some more. “What can I do for you?” I asked.
“You just have.” He replied.
“But you didn’t…..”
“If I had, it would have made my trousers a bit messy.”
At this, bathing in my afterglow, I began to giggle. “I’m sure there are ways to prevent that.” I giggled.
“Not here,” he said, “it’s too public.”
We walked on a bit further, but it began to rain, so we came home. We stayed in the lounge listening to music, me sitting on the sofa, John laying with his head in my lap. I played with his hair and kissed him from time to time. It was lovely, just being with him. My parents gave us some space, and we enjoyed it.
Mum called us in for dinner, as we went John noticed my small brass lioness. “You’re collecting lions?”
“Given my apparent association with them, I could think of worse things,” I replied. I didn’t notice that he had picked it up and put it in his pocket as we went to the dining room.
I helped Mum dish up, melon to start, then roast Welsh lamb, my favourite, with all the trimmings, and a trifle to finish. After eating all that I was absolutely stuffed!
“Thanks, Mum, that was delicious” I remarked.
Murmurs of approval were added, while Dad poured another glass of wine to anyone with less than half a glass. He raised his glass, “To my wife, the best cook in this house. Long may she continue.” His toast was half jest, whole earnest. Mum was a fair cook, and we had just blown out on an example of it.
“I see, Jamie, ‘The Lion Woman of Barbury’, is collecting a pride.” Said John, placing my brass lioness on the table. “So I suppose she’d better have this one, as well.”
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small plastic box. He handed it to me. In total surprise, I accepted the gift, fumbling the catch with nervous fingers. Finally, I managed to open it, inside laid on red velvet, was a miniature, golden statuette of Sekhmet, on a fine gold chain.
I was so pleased. “Oh John it’s beautiful,” I said, my eyes beginning to well up with warm salty water. I rushed up and kissed him, saying, “Thank you,” as I went.
I then showed it to my parents, who gave unanimous approval. “Well, aren’t you going to put it on, then?” Said the donor.
“Will you put it on me please?” I said, passing him the box and turning away from him, holding my hair up from the back of my neck.
He opened the catch, draped it over my head and I felt the coldness of the metal as it touched my neck and breast. He fiddled with the catch for a moment or two, then finally, he shut it and I felt the coldness at the back of my neck. He kissed me on the back of the neck and I turned around quickly and kissed him back, on his lips.
“How did you manage to find one of her?” asked my dad, “she’s not the most popular of the Egyptian pantheon.”
“In Egypt, all things are possible.” Said John quietly.
“You mean this came from Egypt?” I uttered in astonishment, holding it up to look at it better.
“Yes, a friend was going there a while ago, and knowing your fixation with the lioness headed one, I asked him to get it for me.”
“You clever man, I love you.” I pounced on him once more, covering him with kisses.
“Steady on now,” cautioned my father, “let his dinner go down before you devour him.”
“Oh Daddy, you are a spoilsport,” I gave him one of my special pouts and he pretended to look stern in response.
I sat on John’s lap as we drank our coffee and finished up the wine. I felt so happy, his gift was so special. Tonight, I would dedicate it to the goddess, it would help to protect me in the future. Against who? I had no idea.
The rain which we had encountered during our walk had continued all afternoon and into the evening. We ended up playing a foursome of whist. John was a fair player, but I let him down somewhat, and my card sharper parents beat us on all the rubbers.
To be honest, I was thinking more about my lovely pendant, touching it constantly, smiling like something possessed, and feeling so pleased with myself.
The Sekhmet figurine was about an inch and a bit long and perhaps half an inch wide. She was standing on a small plinth that bore her cartouche. She had the sun disk above her head. It was so perfect, and to have come from Egypt, what could be better. I was just so pleased with myself, I was fit to burst with pleasure.
How could I repay this generosity? I did have one idea, although I knew my parents would not approve, well my mother wouldn’t. Tough, she‘d have to lump it.
I sat opposite John, sending him loving glances and stares all evening and he grumbled because I wasn’t concentrating on the cards. How was I supposed to concentrate when the object of my affections is sitting opposite me making my tummy flip like a jumping bean, keeping me so on edge sexually. If he touched me again, I’d come again in my knickers. Oooooh, so how am I supposed to concentrate?
Bedtime eventually came around, and my parents turned in, leaving us downstairs watching some naff late film. I was actually becoming sleepy, although the frisson of anticipation running through me in waves, was keeping me alert longer than usual.
“Thank you for my pendant,” I said, stroking John’s leg, “I really am pleased with it.”
“I think that’s about the hundredth time you’ve said that, so I guess it’s probably true.” He replied.
“As the olds have temporarily disappeared, I thought I could show my gratitude more demonstrably.”
“And how would this demonstration manifest itself?”
“I’m not sure,” I said in a coy, almost little girl voice, “perhaps you could help me.”
“I should love to,” he said, “but not here.”
“Where then?”
“It isn’t a question of where, it’s as much a question of when.”
“I don’t understand. Don’t you like me?”
“Oh God Jamie, I love you to bits. I fancy you like mad, I could..”
“You could, what?”
“I could shag the arse off you all night. To put it bluntly.”
“So why don’t you?”
“Not here and not now.” He looked away from me refusing to meet my gaze. “I’m sorry, Jamie.”
“You know, don’t you?”
“Know what?” he glanced at me with an expression of genuine confusion.
“That I’m a virgin,” I chickened, it wasn’t what I was going to say, but it looked like he didn’t know, yet at least.
“You told me, some time ago.” He stared into the fireplace, “Look when we actually do it for the first time I want it to be special. I want us to be relaxed and to be able to take our time. Here none of those will be possible, and I don’t want to upset your parents. To me it would seem, ill-mannered.”
“But I wanted to thank you properly.” I sniffed back the salty water which was trickling down my nose.
“You have done.” He took my hand and kissed it, then kissed up my arm, then my shoulder and finally my lips. “It’s going to be worth waiting for, I promise you.”
I nodded my understanding, although I was shaking with emotion. I had worked myself up to this, and it wasn’t going to happen. I felt confused, I felt disappointed, and part of me felt enormously proud of him. His self-control was greater than mine, much greater. It was just so unusual. This man was full of surprises, all of them lovely.
We went to our separate beds soon after and I tossed and turned in sexual frustration, so goodness knows how he felt. In the end, my fingers felt a small hooded part of me, which enabled me to get to sleep. I had discovered a form of masturbation, which at least stopped me going crazy though only partly satisfied me.
My dreams were strange that night, obviously full of sexual symbolism which I don’t need to share with you. I woke up twice, sweaty and at times frightened of something. Its identity eluded me. The moon shone on my face and I awoke again. It was time.
I showered quickly and quietly, dressing in a clean nightdress. I lit some incense, and before the picture of Sekhmet, I began a chant of Egyptian prayers I had found in one of my books. They had felt genuine, compared to the rather more speculative stuff that one often finds there.
I seemed to go into a trance, kneeling before the picture chanting quietly while the smell of frankincense filled the air. I received a signal, that it was time, and after passing the blade through a candle flame, I made a small nick in a vein with my penknife and covered the golden figurine with my blood. I promised devotion in return for protection for myself and others of my family friends and colleagues, as it was needed. I also asked for wisdom, patience and grace.
I stopped the bleeding with candle wax and digital pressure. I then burned off the blood on the figurine, it got hot, yet didn’t burn me. I then scrubbed off the residue with a tissue. It was done, and I replaced the necklet around my throat. I cleared up, opened a window, and went back to bed. I slept like a log until awoken by my mother the next morning, it was Sunday.
In my house, we have The Observer, the Sunday equivalent of The Guardian. It’s essentially for left-wing intellectual types, or for those who fancy themselves as such. We also have a tabloid, to ‘show what real people are up to’ as my father puts it. Usually, this is the one he reads first, often accompanied by laughing out loud. Some of the stuff in there honestly. Do people really get up to these things? I’m sure our vicar doesn’t.
I went downstairs, John was reading the tabloid while Daddy had the grown-up paper. I kissed them both and wished them good morning. I pushed myself on to John’s lap, as I ate some toast. He was reading about someone who’d had a sex change. I tried not to make any sign of any sort.
He put his arm around me. “What you reading?” I asked quietly.
“About some nutter.”
“What have they done?” I asked innocently.
“Gone and had a sex change and then complained because they got the sack. I mean look at them.”
My eyes lingered on the picture of a thirty-something person, with photos of before and after. The ‘before’ was a balding man in a shirt and tie, the ‘after’ was a sad-looking individual bewigged and wearing makeup and a dress. They weren’t very convincing to my eye, but that might have been just the photo or me.
“
What’s wrong with her?” I asked, remaining as aloof as I could.
“Her? Her, come on, it looks like a bloke in drag. It’s a him whether he’s got a meat and two veg or not.”
“I find that sad.” I said.
“Come on love, you can’t change sex, it isn’t possible. I mean could you imagine trying to be a boy?”
“I suppose not,” I lied, I was reeling from shock.
“You can’t turn a man into a woman or vice versa. They are deluding themselves.”
“I think I would disagree with you.” My father who had obviously been listening entered the fray. “I’ve had two students, one going from male to female and the other going the other way. Both made excellent transitions, and as far as I know have had surgery, and live happy and productive lives.”
“A minority, who changed over early. This character is middle-aged and has no chance of making a convincing woman.”
“I’m surprised you’re so judgemental.” Commented my father, “if they think they feel better to change their lives and their identity, shouldn’t they be allowed to do so?”
“Should the NHS pay for these oddballs, to do it? This one had it courtesy of the tax-payers.”
“Why not, if it’s recognised as a medical condition, then shouldn’t it be? We fund all sorts of treatments which some would find questionable. I don’t have a problem with it.”
“So resources get diverted to pay for some pervert to have his willie removed instead of some old lady having a hip replacement, or some cancer sufferer having the right drug.”
“You don’t actually believe that, do you?” asked my dad.
“With this lot in power, I’d believe anything.” John was revealing a side I had no idea existed. It wasn’t nice and I was glad I hadn’t told him. What happened to the philosopher? This was a reactionary bigot.
“I agree with daddy, I think we should help people who are in distress with their gender.”
“Most of them don’t know what distress is. How can you compare it to the suffering of someone in real pain, not some nancy-boy imaginings. Ooh, I’m a girl in a man’s body.” He said in a camp voice while hold his wrist bent.
“Have you met any, transgendered people?” asked my father.
“Only in the back streets of the red-light districts of many cities, luring stupid squaddies to part with their cash, in return for some dreadful disease.”
“Presumably, some of these were quite convincing?”
“The Thais were, the Europeans, less so.”
“But you don’t approve?”
“No. I’m not into same-sex stuff, no matter what a surgeon has or hasn’t done. Once a boy always a boy.”
“The government doesn’t agree. But only in recent years, when was it, about two thousand and five, the Gender Recognition Project, I think they called it. I got involved because of my students.”
“More taxpayers money wasted, giving legal status to these nutters.”
“I actually supported it, and still do.” Said my father, laying down clear boundaries.
John who felt himself outnumbered, and on someone else’s territory made a tactical withdrawal. “Well whatever, it’s hardly important, is it. Did you see the test scores, England look in a strong position to keep the Ashes (a cricket trophy played for between England and Australia).
I had finished my toast and excusing myself on the pretext of a shower, went upstairs and burst into tears. My perfect man had a flaw, and it was a very unexpected one. However, it would destroy us as a couple. We had no chance with his attitude, and attitudes are so difficult to change. The immediate question, is what do I do next?
I stood in the shower, trying to wash away the reality I had just encountered. I started my wound bleeding again, though didn’t notice until there were drips of red stuff all over the shower. Part of me wished it was terminal, life was so cruel.
I had asked the goddess to help me, was she doing that or was she just playing with me? It was good, that I had heard this stuff today, it was bad, in its content. I felt so disappointed, I wanted to just die and have the ground swallow up my remains.
Yesterday, my spirits were soaring with the birds, today they were down in my boots. Not even my necklet could cheer me up. I had just realised my relationship with this, previously wonderful man, had no future. I had no future, life was effectively over.
I saw the blood in the shower, it showed me what I needed to do. I went to get my penknife.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
I was set on ending my misery, I stepped out of the shower to fetch my penknife. A Swiss Army one with a razor-sharp blade. There was blood running down my wrist from my previous wound. I felt no pain. My senses seemed on hold. My heart was pounding. I felt nothing, I saw nothing, including the small plastic bag which had somehow been left on the bathroom floor.
As I placed my wet foot upon it, so it stuck to my foot, but not the dry floor. I had a vague recollection of flying, of being on my back in mid-air, all of it in slow motion. Then falling, a numbing sensation as my head hit something hard, the sound of a scream, and a full-body impact. Blackness engulfed me.
I next remember a strange voice calling me, and shaking me. I didn’t want to respond, so I didn’t. I wanted to sleep and be left alone.
The voice persisted, so did the shaking. I heard bits of the conversation, but I really wanted to ignore it. Something about, “…..head injury…..stitches…. .concussion…..casualty……put her on the van…..vitals are okay.”
Next, I felt myself being wrapped up in something and lifted onto something then carried on it. I think I must have slept then because the next thing I sort of recall was bright lights and someone prodding me again and calling my name. I could answer if I wanted, but I don’t want. I want to sleep again, and maybe never wake. Yeah, that would be good.
I stopped listening to the voices, but I felt pricks in my arms so knew they were taking blood or putting something in. I didn’t care. I think I was put on a cold bed of some sort, so they probably did X-rays. Who cares?
I drifted in and out of my sleep, which was a nuisance, I just wanted to sleep but they kept waking me up. Then I felt sick, then I was sick, then they rolled me over and I was sick again. In vomiting, I had opened my eyes, that was a mistake, now they knew I was there.
I couldn’t see anything except a glare, my eyes wouldn’t focus, so I closed them again, but they knew.
More prodding and calling of my name. I think I heard my mother’s voice and possibly my father’s was John’s there too. He was the last person I wanted to see or hear from.
My life was over, why couldn’t they let me die in peace? Bloody doctors, I have to work with them, can’t they leave me alone when I’m off duty. I was off duty, wasn’t I? I couldn’t remember, and I couldn’t be arsed to work it out, ‘cos then I’d have to think what day it was, and that was too much.
I think I was lying on my side, I was sick again and my head hurt. It had hurt before, but now it was pounding and someone was playing with a very sore part. I wondered if they were suturing it.
Laymen talk of stitches, but we professionals, we call it suturing. God my head hurt, why can’t they let me sleep. That’s all I want to sleep, to dream no more. Just like Hamlet, shuffle off this mortal whatever. Christ it hurts, I’m going to be sick again, oh bugger!
Why is my gran standing beside me? “What do you want, Gran? Have you come to take me? I shall be glad to be gone from here, this world is only pain and suffering. Take me away with you, I’ll be a good girl, I promise. I’ll do my sewing and eat my greens.”
She’s walking away from me shaking her head. Why? Does that mean I’m going somewhere else? Do I care? I don’t, as long as this pain in my head stops. I guess that means I must be alive still, oh shit!
Someone is poking about with my head again, why don’t they stop? Why don’t I tell them to stop, I will, that’s what I’ll do, I’ll tell them. I can’t I can’t find my mouth. Oho, my breathing feels strange, I can’t breathe. I should feel upset but all I feel is relieved, it will soon be over and I can go. Now someone is shouting, can’t they be more respectful of the dead. I think I shall like being dead, no more pain.
Here comes the tunnel, oh good, this is the real thing at last. I’m floating, upwards. It feels good, I can’t feel my body anymore, my head doesn’t hurt anymore. I like this, now I can sleep.
I found myself in a beautiful garden, sitting by a pool. I seemed to be alone, but I wasn’t too worried. Was I dead? If I was it felt okay. I wondered if it was allowed for me to explore. I looked around, I couldn’t see any gates, pearly or otherwise. I could see someone walking towards me, it was Lisa, the lovely girl I let die, so long ago.
She didn’t look too happy, maybe she remembered my lack of skills at the accident allowing her to die. I suddenly felt very guilty.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded of me.
“I don’t know. I guess I died.”
“You had things to do. We spent much time and effort teaching you special skills, giving you special powers, and now you’ve wasted it. We’ve spent so much time on you and you’ve let us down.”
I felt awful. I began to cry, but she was inured to my tears. “I’m sorry,” it was all I could say by way of reply. I had done many terrible things and was a disappointment. I had taken life and let others down, I was worthless. I wanted to make up for it, to pay back the effort.
“Lisa, I am sorry for disappointing you and wasting all your effort. I have been bad or worse. I killed some people. I deserve whatever I get as punishment, but I wish I could repay your belief in me.”
She stood with her arms crossed, humming and ha-ing.
“Can I say sorry to the people I killed? I didn’t mean to. No that’s not quite true, I did mean to but it wasn’t my original intention. Yes, that’s right. I only killed them because they were trying to kill me.” I felt a little better now until I remembered the lioness taking their souls. Oops. Perhaps I’d better be quiet.
“I’m sorry that…”
“Oh do shut up,” scolded Lisa, and I burst into tears.
“There is one way you can make amends.”
“Yes, anything, I’ll take it.”
“The Committee has decided you will go back and finish your original task.”
“Go back? Go back where?” What committee was she on about.”
“Go back to your body, to your life, finish the job for once.”
“What? No chance.” I wasn’t going back to all that, I was dead, I had rights.
“Too late, arrangements have been made. Goodbye.” She turned and walked away. I was dismissed.
I sat down again and sulked. Surely they couldn’t make me do it against my will, could they? I suspected I was about to find out.
Nothing happening so far. Maybe they’ve given up on me. I might get a chance to talk to my gran yet, I wonder if Beryl Fellowes is up here? Maybe I should talk to her if I get the chance.
Oh well, I wonder if they do lunches up here, I didn’t have much breakfast. “What the fu….” I felt myself sucked backwards at enormous speed, even faster than my bike goes! I was falling backwards, and I knew where this was going.
“NOOOOOOOOOO!” I heard myself scream, and the pounding in my head returned.
I woke up sometime later, drips in arms, head in bandages pounding like a drum. I could see, but it was blurry.
“Oh good, you’re awake.” Said a cheery female voice. It could only be a nurse.
“Could I have a drink, please?”
“Course.” She replied and lifted some water to me, which I sipped through a straw.
“How long have I been here?”
“A couple of days. You had a head injury, a subdural haematoma and you arrested. They thought they had lost you.”
“I should be so lucky.”
“I’m sorry,” she threw back at me.
“Nothing.”
“You are very lucky, we had a consultant traumatologist on-site, he worked with a neurosurgeon to reduce the bleed. If they hadn’t you could have died or been paraplegic. They think you’ll probably make a full recovery.”
“Thank you. More water please.” I sipped half a glass of aqua, but my thirst wasn’t quenched.
“What do you do?” asked my carer.
“I’ve got a terrible job. They make me do all sorts of unpleasant things to people, hurting them until they scream.”
“Ooh,” she winced, what do you do then?
I knew that laughing was going to hurt, but I wanted to. “I’m a nurse.” I laughed. “Oh shit, it did hurt.”
“You,” she scolded me, then, “Where?”
“With the army at Barbury.”
“One of them is a regular hero, isn’t she? I read about it in a nursing journal, decorated for action in Iraq and something with gunmen in Barbury. Do you know her?”
“No. I try to avoid heroes and heroines, too dangerous.”
“Yeah, so would I. So how did you hit your head?”
“Dunno. Can’t remember, fell I suppose. I wasn’t in an RTA was I?”
“Not as far as I know. You rest now, I promised to ring your parents, there’ll be a cuppa along soon.”
“Thanks.”
Mum and Dad came soon after. I was drinking my tea when they arrived. “Am I pleased to see you doing that,” declared my mother.
“In which case, could you get me another?” I replied. She huffed and puffed but indulged me.
“We seem to spend half our lives in hospitals with you, kiddo,” said my dad kissing me.
“Yeah, sorry about that.”
“What happened?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I woke up in here. Last thing I recall was talking to John about something in the paper. You were arguing with him, I think.”
“He was running down some transsexual. His intolerance surprised me.”
“Yeah, and me. It’s not going to work is it?” I felt a tear come to my eye.
“Not unless he changes his attitude. It’s just as well you didn’t tell him.”
“Yeah, I guess so. Where is he now?”
“I don’t know, home or at work I presume. He did come to the hospital to see you but you were unconscious, he left some flowers.” Dad indicated a big bunch in a vase on the locker. Moving my head hurt. “He asked us to let him know any change.”
“Have you?”
“Not yet. We came straight here.”
“Don’t. I don’t want to see him.”
“You can’t just do that, he’ll have to know why.”
“So tell him anything. Tell him I died.” I was crying silently, and it was doing nothing for my headache.
“Jamie, I won’t lie for anybody.”
“So tell him the truth. His bit of totty is like the bloke in the paper. That should do it.”
“Shouldn’t you tell him yourself?”
“I don’t think I ever want to see him again.”
“I thought you loved him.”
“ I do,” I sobbed, “which is why I can’t see him ever again. Please, Daddy, tell him for me.”
“Excuse me, but if you are upsetting her, I’m afraid you’ll have to leave.” My nurse seeing my distress intervened.
“It’s okay, nurse, he’s not upsetting me. It’s something he’s helping me with.”
“You’re supposed to rest, so be warned.”
“Yes boss.” I saluted until my arm hurt.
Mum reappeared with three cups of tea. “I thought I’d get us all one.”
“What’s the matter sweetheart, why are you crying?” she handed the tray to Dad and hugged me as best she could. He explained, and she held my hand nodding. They had evidently talked about it.
They were going away to think about it but meanwhile would suggest that I was too sick to be visited. It was as big a cop-out as mine.
Dad told me he had spoken to Sheila Brice who sent best wishes, she hoped I would be well enough to continue my studies. Part of me was still wanting out of the army and nursing, maybe I could go on these health grounds. On the other hand, we were treated more like student nurses than soldiers. I don’t think most of the squaddies had the same holidays we got, but then we were doing something useful. No, it was down to women being given special treatment, for which I was extremely grateful.
However, I needed to stop this business of being as much in hospitals as a patient as I was as a nurse. I wouldn’t be home for a few days, this time. I had a hole in my skull that would have to heal before they could let me go.
I know it feels strange to think that some stranger has been poking about in your body while you were asleep but to think they were poking about in my brain. Ugh, I wonder if they found one? I must be feeling better, my sense of humour is returning, now if only I could laugh my way out of sorting out my love life.
My father told me about the plastic bag on my foot, which they think caused me to fall. They think I hit my head on the bath, it’s a cast iron, enamel one. It’s pretty solid. But then I thought my head was.
The memory of my encounter with a less than happy Lisa came back as I tried to sleep. I was very tired, a feeling which suddenly overwhelmed me. Understandable, I suppose. I kept thinking about what Lisa had said, about not finishing my task, and the special skills and powers they had given me. I hoped I still had them.
I asked Mum to bring in my Sekhmet figurine, it was special and reminded me of a special man. I think I was gently crying when I went to sleep.
Two days later, and they say I can go home tomorrow. I decided to try my ‘special powers’ and concentrated on healing the wound on my arm. In an hour the mark was gone. I tried it on my head wound. It took longer and much more effort, but the surgeon was amazed to see it had halved in size. When I asked him if I could go home, he told me when it was healed. I asked him to come by tomorrow, it would be. He asked how I knew, I told him, I had instructed it to heal by his round tomorrow. He bet me a fiver, it wouldn’t be. I took his wager. Tomorrow, I shall take his money.
I have written John a short letter:
Dear John,
Before reading any further, know that I love you very much. I have a secret however, which I feel will destroy us as a couple. Think about the article which caused such an argument with my father on Sunday. Now think why he was so insistent on his viewpoint. I don’t need to say anything else, other than I love you dearly.
Goodbye,
Jamie.
My mother posted it for me, she read it first and sadly agreed with the contents. She wasn’t happy that I should send John, a ‘dear john’ letter, rather that I should tell him face to face. I am too frightened to do that, the pain would be unbearable. I’d rather die. Hell. Now I remember how I came to fall, gee whiz, that was close.
I got home as predicted, a fiver better off – actually I wasn’t, I told him to put it in the hospital friends charity box. I was glad to be home, there is nowhere quite like it. I looked forward to cycling again, but that would need a week or two yet.
I came home to cards and presents from the children in the close, I was moved to tears. In some ways, I feel I have been lucky to know them as I won’t have children of my own, so I suppose that means, I shall be a career girl. Lucky me, not.
I had been home a matter of hours when Sheila Brice called. Mum took the call, I was cagey because I didn’t want to speak to John, at least not yet. I did speak to Sheila.
“I’m glad you’re coming on so well. Look, I had John Anderson in here earlier. He showed me a letter you had written him. He asked me if you were transsexual, I told him not in the usual sense and then explained some of your history as I knew it.
He found it hard to take. He was visibly upset. I know how fond you are of him and I think he is of you. I think he feels you deceived him, which makes it even harder for him.
"I did try to support your case, by asking him how he would feel in your shoes. He said something rather unhelpful at this. So I asked him to leave. I’m sorry Jamie, he’s a nice bloke essentially, but like many of them, has hang-ups about what is or isn’t male and female. He doesn’t appreciate the continuum which is the reality, and he certainly didn’t understand that you had been instructed to be female by HM Government. It could only happen in the army.”
We chatted for a bit longer but it was just chatter. It looked as if I was right in realising it wouldn’t have worked.
Two nights later, we were awakened by a frantic ringing of the doorbell. My father went to deal with it. I stood at the top of the stairs with my mother.
It was John, and he had been drinking.
“I can’t let you in, John.” Said my father firmly.
“It’s not you, I want to see, it’s your son.”
“I don’t have a son, and you know it.”
“Oh sorry, he’s now your daughter. Can I talk to him?”
“No. Please go home.”
“I want to talk to your son. I’m not going anywhere until I speak to your son.”
I shrugged past my mother’s attempt to stop me and went to the front door. I asked my father to let him in, but to stay nearby.
“You wanted to see me?” I said, as calmly as I could.
“Yes, I do.” He said, speaking slowly.
“You’ve been drinking.”
“So what?”
“If you’ve been driving while under the influence, it could cause an accident.”
“What do you care?”
“I care a great deal,” I felt very close to tears.
“I’m not sure I can believe you.”
“That’s your choice, I can only say what I feel.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were a boy?”
“I was, I’m not now.”
“How do I know that?”
“I wanted to prove it to you the other week.”
“Once a boy, always a boy. That’s what I say. You can’t change sex.”
“Fine, if that’s how you feel, then that’s how you feel. You are entitled to your opinion. I am to mine.”
“ You lied to me.”
“When?”
“You told me you were a girl.”
“I didn’t, you assumed it.”
“What’s the difference?”
“I think quite a lot, you obviously don’t.”
“Bloody right I don’t. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What difference would it have made? I fell for you at our first meeting.”
“I’m not queer you know. I don’t fancy boys, even girly boys.”
“Neither am I, I’m female and I fancy men, one in particular, who captured my heart and is now breaking it.” There were tears now freely running down my face.
“You’re a girly boy. That’s an end to it.”
I stood there in my nightdress, and thought, ‘what the hell’. I pulled it off over my head. John had never seen my body before, it looks very female.
“Take a good look John, does that look like the body of any boy you have ever seen?”
He looked away, “I don’t want to see a naked boy with tits.”
“I’m a woman John, look again.”
He glanced at me several times, each one lasting longer. My father was in the next room, probably doing his crunch.
“Okay, so you’ve got a nice body. Surgeons can do wonders.”
“Surgeons did help me, but I was never a man. I didn’t go through a male puberty. I’ve had this voice for most of my life. I’ve never shaved or had a hairy chest.”
“You had a penis.”
“Yes.”
“So you were male.”
“It only ever functioned as a urinary thing.”
“You don’t menstruate?”
“No, nor can I have children. I told you that some time ago. It is my greatest regret, that and losing you.”
I dressed again, having made my point. It was in vain.
“I have to go now,” he said, moving towards the door.
“I’d prefer it if you didn’t drive tonight, you’re committing an offence and worse you could get hurt.”
“What do you care?”
“I care a great deal. I still love you.”
“Well, I’m sorry. I thought I loved a girl called Jamie, but it turned out I loved a boy called Jamie who looked like a girl. I was mistaken.”
“Please don’t drive tonight, it’s too dangerous.”
“What’s the alternative? Stay here with a house full of freaks? No thanks.”
“Is that what you think I am? A freak?”
“Frankly, yes.”
“Well thank you for being honest. Goodbye.” I turned and walked away crying bitterly. The scene I had wanted to avoid had happened, the pain I wanted to avoid was ripping through my heart. I wished I was dead, but every time I try to end it, something stops me. Now I think I could go to bed and die of a broken heart.
I mounted the stairs on leaden legs, my mother helped me up and hugged me, helping me back to bed. I cried all night.
The next morning, my mother came up and woke me. “John’s car is still on the drive.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know, your father’s gone out to look.”
I got up and after washing my face, I looked like death anyway, put on a robe and went downstairs. My father was just coming in.
“He slept in his car, bloody fool. He could have stayed here, in the house.”
“I know, I told him that.”
“Yes, and I heard his reply. No matter what he thinks, you are my, I mean our, daughter and we love you to bits.”
“I know, Daddy.” He hugged me and I felt tears in my eyes, I think his looked a bit watery too.
“Should I wake him up?” he asked me.
“I’ll take him out a cup of strong coffee and invite him in for breakfast.”
“He won’t accept.”
“Maybe not, but I’ll bet he would like to use the bathroom.”
I looked in his car, he was lying under a coat on the back seat. I knocked on the window and saw him stir. “Room service,” I called out.
He sat up rubbing his eyes, he peered at me as he worked out where he was. He eventually registered who it was and why. He opened the door, “I thought you might like a cup of hot coffee.”
“Thanks.” He accepted it.
“If you’d like some breakfast or use the bathroom, feel free.”
“I’m sorry about last night.” He said, looking at the floor, “I don’t know what came over me.”
“I do, you were angry and upset. You have every right. You think I deceived you, so you were angry. I don’t think I did, but we’ll have to disagree on that one.”
“Did you stand there naked at one point?”
“Yes.”
“You have a lovely body.”
“Thank you.”
“Unfortunately, as far as I am concerned it still belongs to a boy.”
“You’re entitled to your opinion. Thank you for the nice times we had together. Sorry I didn’t pass the medical.” I sniffed and used a tissue to mop my eyes. “Bathroom and breakfast, the offer still stands. By the way, I may be some sort of freak in your eyes, my parents aren’t, they’re just doing the best they can.” With that, I left and went back up to my bedroom and lay on the bed sobbing my heart out. It was all over.
I lay there thinking, “Why does life do this to me? The one person I have met who is real and honest is a homophobe and thinks I’m a boy. I love him, I thought he loved me. However, the first test of his love, and he failed.” I sobbed some more, “Why is life so bloody unfair?”
I thought I heard the car pull off the drive, he had gone. Typical, absolutely typical! I wanted to swear and shout and scream with rage, but I didn’t, I wanted to die. I still had my penknife, I picked it up. Suddenly, I saw Lisa telling me what she had earlier, about being special, about finishing my task. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t hurt her again, whatever it was I had to do, I would see it through. I just wish they would tell me.
I spent the rest of the morning dozing and crying, it was probably as bad as life could get. Logic told me I would recover, my heart told me I wouldn’t be the same ever again. Deep inside me, I felt a loss that would never heal, like I had somebody use a massive drill on my heart and soul, one of those they use for taking geological bore samples. The pain was unbearable, and I half expected it to set my headaches off again. It didn’t, just the raw pain of my broken heart.
My parents were so good. They gave me time to grieve and space. They brought me food and drinks and took the same away again, untouched. In three days I lost half a stone.
On day four, my mother came in and threatened to call the doctor if I didn’t eat or drink something. I was so sleepy, it was ridiculous. To keep the peace I had a milky coffee, but then I was sick soon afterwards.
I just had sugary water for the rest of the day.
Day five and I got up and showered, I had a cup of tea and a piece of toast. From then on, I began to improve and within another day or two was back to eating small but regular meals. I still moped about quite a lot, but I was taking some exercise- some walks, I couldn’t face the bike, besides, I didn’t have the energy.
In a few more days, I’d have to return to Barbury for my new year of tuition. I half dreaded it. Sharon had called once or twice during the holiday, most recently during my period of post-relationship grief. She tried to cheer me up. I didn’t tell her the full story, just that John and I had split up, and I was distraught. She understood, she was a whole year older than me in physical terms, and about twenty in emotional ones.
She had looked after me during the beginning of the course and I had helped her academically, and saved her life in Iraq, perhaps at the nightclub as well. I know she’d have done the same for me.
We were told that we had to be more military this term, so it was parades and drill as well as nurse training. It eventually dawned on me why. They wanted to present nursing awards to the current senior year, so it had to be done in an army-like way, with a parade and all the usual pomp and ceremony. We can’t compete with the Americans for firepower and technology, but no one can touch the Brits for formal pomp and ceremony.
So in the first week back, we were on parade every night. The exercise did me good, we must have marched miles, making sure the lines were ruler-straight in both directions. We practised so much, that I’m sure we even slept in straight lines.
Week two was like week one, with blisters. Then we learned, that the passing out parade as such was the following week. It was apparently done in front of the whole school of nursing, and the nursing certificates to the seniors would be presented by someone from the military hierarchy, a real VIP but whose identity was kept quiet until the event.
It was all mind-numbingly boring stuff, but as I felt the same inside, it suited me fine. In the days before we were busy pressing and polishing uniforms and shoes. I swear my buttons had never shone so much, and my shoes were like mirrors. The night before, I was so tired that I went to bed early and slept deeply until the alarm went off.
We had a practice session of how the actual award winners would leave the body of the main group as they were called. A dozen of us were asked to stand in for them, and we peeled off and stood in a line in front of the dais, when called, we had to march up to the stand-in VIP, stand at attention and salute. Receive, the award, shake hands, salute and walk back to the ranks. Then the next, ad nauseum. Why we were being drilled in this I didn’t know, but it’s the army, nothing much makes sense. In fact, if it does, then you know you did something wrong.
After a morning of inspections, we were told that prize winners for our year would also be receiving their awards at this ceremony, and whaddya know, it was the dozen of us who had practised this the day before.
Sharon got the prize for ‘best improver’, which I thought was patronising, but she was happy, her parents were coming to watch. I got the prize for ‘medicine’ and so on. My parents had been invited too, but I knew nothing about it, or was I so mind-numbed that I hadn’t noticed? God knows, anyway, there would be a bun fight after, so we could mingle then.
The troops gathered, along with a band from nearby Barbury camp. We stood in the cool breeze waiting for the VIPs, all of us thinking, “get a move on”. Finally, a party of people moved from behind the dais and took their seats. There were probably about thirty or more of them. I recognised several of the top brass, including Major Collins and Captain Brice, then the Chief Constable, local mayor, and jeez, the Princess Royal was presenting the awards. So the geezer to her left must be the Lord Lieutenant of the county.
Secreted about the place were, special ops personnel and some of the SIS. I wondered if John was there, part of me hoped he was, part hoped he wasn’t. Actually, part of me wished I wasn’t there, no make that all of me. “Bloody hell get on with it.”
First off the national anthem, somehow it often brings tears to my eyes, today being no exception. We marched for about ten minutes after this, which made us feel warmer and brought nods of approval from the VIPs. The MC for the event reminded everyone that we were officially military personnel, and that like the regulars we could also march in straight lines. We could too and proved it.
Finally, we got to the awards. About twenty-five seniors received their nursing diplomas which they could upgrade to degree status by an extra year at one of several universities. We all applauded, partly because we all knew the seniors involved, and partly because it helped to keep us warm.
Next it was our turn, I was positioned last to receive. I didn’t know why because the others had been in a different order. Don’t ask questions, just do or die.
We were now the front row, the others funnelling in behind us as we moved forward. Believe me, it worked okay. When Sharon went up to meet the princess, I felt so proud for her. Perhaps she deserved a prize just for being Sharon, what she would say to her parents afterwards kept me smiling long after she came back to the line. Suddenly, it was the person next to me, Karen, who had won the practical nursing prize. She went up, shook hands with Princess Anne and had a piece of paper in her hand.
Goodness, it was getting hot, my head was feeling very distant. No, I must stick with it, I mustn’t faint, they’ll shoot me. My name was called. “Oh shit.”
I wheeled, marched, wheeled, marched up the steps. Stood to attention and saluted. The princess held out her hand, I shook it and received my piece of paper. Then before I could march away, the voice told me to wait. “Oh bugger.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, Nurse Curtis has also been awarded a Distinguished Conduct Medal for courage under fire while serving in Iraq. Her quick thinking and action saved the lives of six of her colleagues. I would now ask Her Royal Highness to present Nurse Curtis with her medal.”
“Oh shit, what do I do?” I took my lead from the princess who stood facing me, saluted me, which I returned, she then pinned the medal on my uniform and, shook my hand and while doing so said, “Well done, Curtis, it does morale good for a nurse to get a gong.”
“Thank you, Ma’am,” was my short reply.
“Before you go, Jamie, we would like Her Royal Highness to present one more award to you.” I continued to stand at attention, partly because I was now running on autopilot and my legs had gone stiff anyway. I couldn’t move from sheer terror.
“May I introduce, Sir David Wicks, Chief Constable who would like to say a few words about this young lady.”
“Oh no,” I thought, “I know what ‘s coming next.”
“Your Royal Highness, distinguished guests, ladies gentlemen and nurses, the award I am going to ask Her Royal Highness to present is one for courage, again under fire.
This young lady helped to disarm two of three armed thugs at a nightclub, where they had already killed one man. She managed to escape when used as a human shield, gave us valuable information about the remaining gunmen, then ignoring advice went back into the club, because her friends and colleagues were still under threat. There she single-handedly disarmed the remaining gunman.” A sound of ‘aw’ came from the assembled mass.
“This pre-dated her spell in Iraq, and she had given an undertaking not to be so reckless again, but I think we all agree she had good reason to act with such courage for the second time.” This time a titter ran through the audience.
I would therefore like to ask Her Royal Highness to present this award, which began as a police award, but after consultation with the Prime Minister’s Office, has been changed to the George Medal, in recognition for outstanding courage in the face of serious personal danger.”
“Gee-zus” I thought, “what chance now of anonymity? I thought they only gave it to civilians, I’m military. Don’t ask. Accept and get the hell out of it.”
“It also has the quality of being awardable to both military and civilian personnel.”
Once more I saluted, and the princess saluted back, then she pinned the second gong on my chest. We shook hands and she said, “Well done, Nurse Curtis, carry on like this and you’ll run out of room on your tunic.”
I smiled at her little joke, “Thank you, Ma’am,” I said and left after once more saluting and then wheeling, then down the steps, trying not to fall down them, then, wheel at the bottom, then return to my line, wheel stand at attention. Then wheel and lead off to stand behind the other ranks.
There was a short address by the Princess and the Colonel from Barbury camp, then the national anthem, and three cheers for the Princess, after which, we were dismissed and suddenly I wanted to be sick.
However, I couldn’t I was surrounded by well-wishers, who were patting me on the back and examining the medals on my chest. I gazed down on the ribbons holding them, the one red with a single blue stripe, the other red with several fine blue stripes. “Geezuz, get me out of here.”
After the throng thinned out a bit, my parents were able to find me (just look for the crowd) and we hugged and kissed. They both had tears in their eyes. “We are so proud of you,” said my mum.
“I thought they overreacted, I’m not worth either of these,” I responded, and I believed it, “this is political correctness gone mad. It’s only because I’m a nurse.”
“Come on,” said my dad, “Let's go get something to eat and drink.”
We entered the refectory where it was being held, only for my embarrassment to reach new heights, as we walked in, my parents stepped back, the crowd parted before me and to my extreme discomfort began to clap and pat me on the back as I walked down the room. For me, it was like running the gauntlet.
I have never felt so embarrassed in my life. If this is what acting brave does for you, then from now on I am a committed coward. It had a cringe factor off the scale.
“You’ll have to change your stationery now to include, GM, DCM after your name.” Offered one bystander I didn’t recognise.
“Well done girl, what’s next a Victoria Cross?”
“No, I thought Victoria station and a train to France, where no one knows me.”
I endured the next two hours, with the unflagging support of my parents. I/we posed for photographs, not to mention the ones taken during the presentation, which were probably being sent off to the various papers.
At one point, Sheila Brice came up, shook my hand and with a hand on my shoulder said, “Sorry about the surprise element, but we knew that if you had known what was coming you’d have become ill. I know how much you hate all this.”
“Why didn’t you tell them then?”
“I did, which only encouraged them. They don’t want blasé heroes, they want ordinary folk, to encourage and motivate young people.”
“They have just pinned on me, two of the most prestigious medals this country can offer. What have I done to deserve them?”
“I think you know that,” she retorted,” just because you disagree doesn’t invalidate the award.”
“But it does. Previous winners have done something very courageous, several gave their lives. What I did was on the spur of the moment stuff. I didn’t think, I just acted.”
“Precisely. You risked your life twice, on each occasion to save your colleagues. Why do you think they clapped you into the room, to thank you for your courage and quickness of mind. This is an enormously popular award, all those who were asked about it from both the nightclub and the Basra group gave their full support of it. Each of the awards, informs the other. It was the PM, who made the decision for the George Medal. It was his personal decision, there’s a letter from him waiting for you in my office. You have no choice, but to accept your fate.
"Some time ago, I told you, you had been marked out for something special, now everyone knows. Use them, these awards will open doors in the future, make sure you use them.”
“I hadn’t thought of it quite like that,” I admitted, “maybe there is a purpose for this after all, other than to frighten the crap out of me.”
Sheila laughed, “I’m glad you’re human after all, but a very special one. A woman of destiny.”
After that what could I say? Nothing? So that’s what I did, said now’t to ‘owt.
The day came to an end with the exit of my parents, after they left, I went too, back to my room. I was on my way back when a familiar voice called to me.
“Hello, John,” I replied.
“I thought I would come and add my congratulations in person and in private.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“Maybe it’s just as well we’re no longer together, having a girlfriend with gongs like those would embarrass the hell out of me, especially in the sergeant’s mess.”
“Except I’m not a girl, remember.” I felt a mixture of emotions. He would be embarrassed, how does he think I feel wearing these bits of silver. They mark me out as extraordinary. I just want to be ordinary, but life won’t let it happen.
“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I’ve been thinking, that I was wrong about some things, or I was too hasty and spoke without thinking things through. I had never considered how difficult it must have been for you to go through all that you have, surgery notwithstanding. So I want to say I’m sorry for what I said and did.”
“I think it’s my parents who deserve the apology, not me.”
“I’ve already spoken to them.”
“Fine. Look, I’m done in, and need to get to bed.”
“Am I forgiven?” he looked like a small boy, who had upset his mother. Why do men do this to us? I didn’t know whether to hug him or slap him.
“For what, speaking your truth?”
“No for failing to see another’s need and viewpoint.”
Christ this was major stuff, even if it was too late. “In which case you are forgiven. Now can I go to bed?”
He went to hug me, but I stopped him. “Sorry, too many memories too much pain.”
“Yeah, I suppose so. Well done on the gongs, you deserve them.”
“Thanks, goodnight.” I walked away from him, my eyes welling up with tears. I mustn’t let him see me cry. I’m an official heroine now, mustn’t cry, must remember those hugs and kisses, keep walking, don’t look back, ignore the pain, just keep going.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
I don’t suppose anyone is too interested in hearing how I lay there all night tormented by my feelings and my pain. I could have got him back, why did I have to be so stupid? He was apologising, why did I have to act so haughtily?
I am so stupid, I can’t see any further than my next crisis, most of which are of my own making. I started to sob again. Why was it, my only response to anything, was to cry? I was fed up with crying, yet I seemed to be a real cry baby. If I was fed up, why not stop? Because I can’t, so my self esteem slipped down another notch.
I finally managed to get my limp body out of bed and into the shower. The soothing jets of hot water helped to make me feel almost human again. As I dried myself, I realised that I had got up earlier than usual. I’d actually have time to have some breakfast, except I didn’t feel like eating.
Towel draped, I made myself some tea. It also helped to soothe my shattered nerves. I sat down, drinking my tea, when my eye alighted on the medals. Here I was, officially, the bravest person in the universe, crying like a baby! Ah well, they apparently needed cry baby heroes. I was a natural.
My eye caught the picture of John and me, taken by my dad. We were so happy that day. Now look at me. The tears got worse.
I must have sat there, in my self-pitying state for about half an hour, when the door went. I jumped, nearly dropping my cup. Hoping it was John, though how he’d have got into the building eluded me, I scrambled to the bathroom whilst calling out,
“Coming”.
I shrugged on the bathrobe, and rushed to the door, throwing it open, I was disappointed momentarily to see it was Sharon. “Fought I’d betta tell yer, I saw John ‘anging abaht ve place last night.”
“Yeah, I know. He spoke to me.”
“Oh, all wight, I’ll see yer later.”
“Hang on a sec, Shar.” I called to her. She paused and I hugged her, “Thanks for being my best mate.” I said, the waterworks pouring down my face again.
“Vat’s all wight, gel.” She said, I think. “vat’s wot friends is fower, innit?”
George Bernard Shaw is supposed to have described Britain and America as, “Two countries separated by the same language.” In effect, it could perhaps describe Oxford and Essex, two counties with similar forms of cultural differences. At least I was able to understand her most of the time. When doing my basic army training, we had a Geordie (someone from Newcastle on Tyne), who was so broad, I couldn’t understand anything he said, at the first three attempts. I wasn’t the only one, we also had a broad Brummie (inhabitant of Birmingham) and if those two had to converse, it was hilarious. It conjured up in my mind, a comedy sketch where two aliens met each other on a neutral planet and neither had a clue what the other was saying.
‘Big sister’ Sharon stood hugging me for a few minutes, then she had to go. I now had to rush to make it to classes on time. I put the medals in my knicker draw, thinking I’d have to put them in the hospital safe.
I knew I’d have to run the gauntlet of the press in the next few days, anyone from the local paper to the nationals, even something like Woman’s Hour, on BBC Radio 4, may well want to interview me. I would have to try and avoid them all if I could. I needed to see Sheila Brice, and get the army to protect me, if it was possible. I could see headlines now, ‘The Reluctant Heroine’, or in the local rag, ‘Lion Woman of Barbury gets gongs.’ To say I felt sick with apprehension, would be the understatement of the week.
I arranged to see Captain Brice at lunch time, until then, I’d just have to try and concentrate on my classes. My classmates were supportive, but also asked to see the medals.
I suppose I should have expected such behaviour, after all, it was probably as close as most of them would ever get to seeing or touching one. It was quite a surprise to me that I was actually the recipient of such honours. In lots of ways it didn’t really make sense to me. There was also the fact that each had involved the deaths of others, some of whom were admittedly responsible for their own. It left a bitter taste in my mouth, which I had yet to reconcile.
Let’s face it, one can hardly refuse to accept medals at a ceremony being run by people with power over you, unless you have real courage or strong suicidal impulses. Occasionally, I seem possessed by the latter, perhaps I should have declined them. I suppose I could always return them.
By the end of the morning, I was flagging and was thus very tired when I went to see my C.O. She greeted me in a formal way, which meant someone else was there.
“Is this convenient ma’am, or should I come back later?” I asked, hinting that I knew she had company.
“No Nurse Curtis, come along in.” I followed her into her office, to see Colonel Armstrong sitting there. This was the C.O. of the training camp at Barbury, why was he there?
“Sir,” I saluted the colonel, “you’re busy ma’am, I’ll come back later.”
“Indeed you won’t young lady,” said the colonel, “I’ve waited some while to meet you in person, so you don’t get away that easily.”
I wasn’t sure quite how to take this remark. Why should an old fart like him want to meet a nonentity like me? Well, I suppose he wasn’t really old, but he must have been like, forty five, which seems old to me. So what did he want with me? I hoped he hadn’t realised that I’d been through his training camp.
“At ease, Nurse Curtis. Please take a seat.” Instructed Captain Brice, who sat down at her desk. I eased myself onto the upright chair in front of her desk, Amstrong sat in an easy chair to the side, but facing me.
He stood up and offered me his hand to shake, “I am honoured to be in the company of one so brave.”
Flustered, I shook his hand, blushing profusely and feeling very hot. I mumbled a thanks to him. Then on Sheila’s bidding, sat down again. I wished I had simply gone to lunch with my colleagues.
“I’m glad you came to see me Jamie, I half expected it. You find all this adulation a bit overpowering?” I nodded my response. “I thought so.”
She looked at the colonel, some unspoken things passed between them. She hesitated, then looked at me. “There is no easy way to put this Jamie. But we have a favour to ask.” She paused as if to consider her next words very carefully.
I sat sweating and blushing waiting for the second shoe to drop. It did. “While we know how difficult it is for you to accept the limelight, although we both believe you deserve it, we would like you to attend a few things to drum up some support for the army, and for the nursing corps, in particular.”
“Might I ask what sort of things, ma’am?” This was getting worse, how could she do this to me?
“I have a formal request for you to attend a dinner at Number Ten, next week.”
She held up an envelope, with the government crest on it.
My head just swam. My God, I have to meet the Prime Minister, Jeez, do I have to? What do I say to him, I don’t move in such circles, I’d just be a fish out of water. Can I turn it down?
“You will of course go. So make sure your dress uniform is cleaned ready. Wear your medals. You are asked to bring two other colleagues with you, so you’ll need to give that some thought too.”
If my head was swimming before, it had now gone for a deep dive and wasn’t going to resurface to help me before I left that room.
“Who would you like to go with you?”
“I don’t know ma’am, can it be anyone?”
“From your unit, yes, I believe so.”
“Does that include officers?”
“Who did you have in mind?”
“You ma’am.”
I watched her face pass through a dozen different emotions, ranging from ecstasy to terror.
At this point, Colonel Armstrong joined the conversation. “What an excellent idea. Make the other choice one of your fellow students, and that would look okay I think.” He said to me, then to Captain Brice, “Just think Sheila, old girl, you could have the ear of the PM to bend. What better way to plead for resources?”
She nodded her head. “Could be sir, who else would you suggest?” She said this looking at me, so I presumed it was my question.
“Sharon Wilson, ma’am. She was with me at the night club and in Basra.”
“Excellent choice.” Said Armstrong, “she’ll be able to talk about both events to others at the dinner.” Sheila looked at me, and grin flitted across her mouth. I suspect we both thought the same thing, ‘Sharon will be able to talk, but will anyone be able to understand her without a translator?’ I smirked for a brief moment.
“So that’s settled, get your secretary to arrange it then Sheila.”
“Yes sir.”
“Next,” said the colonel, we have two media exposures.” This was what I was dreading. “We need you to appear on television and radio.”
“I’d prefer not to sir.”
“Refusal is not an option. We need this opportunity to sell the army and the nursing corps in particular. So we’ll arrange for you to be schooled a bit before either of these. You have to know how to deal with these media types.”
“I’d still prefer not to sir.”
“Did I not make myself clear young lady. Just because you have a couple of medals doesn’t give you the right to disobey orders.”
“With all due respect sir, I am not aware where it says in standing orders that I have to deal with the media. Face the enemy, clean up vomit and blood, but television? I don’t think so sir.”
“Much more of this subordination Curtis, and you’ll be on a charge. You will go if I say so. Do you understand?”
“No sir, I don’t. I am not prepared to appear on television or radio, though I accept you may have the authority to make me do so against my will. However, as I feel embarrassed enough about receiving these medals, I shall publicly return them to the Ministry, on the programme. I shall also refuse to discuss either event with anyone.”
As I said this I felt my own strength returning. I knew that he could make me go. I knew I could embarrass the whole system, by returning two bits of silver of which I felt undeserving. Or I could give them back to the PM at his bun fight.
The look on Armstrong’s face was of rage. He wanted to rant and rave at me, perhaps even hit me. Here was I, a snotty student nurse conscript, refusing to obey the orders of a full colonel.
Instead of the rage, he began to laugh. “You have balls Curtis.”
“Sorry sir, I don’t. I’m a woman.” At this riposte, Sheila visibly trembled as she fought to stop herself laughing.
“You are the most impertinent disgrace to that uniform, I have ever had the misfortune to meet. However, you are not short of guts, and I like that in a girl. You’ll both attend for dinner tonight in the officer’s mess. Wear something feminine, I don’t want you frightening the horses.”
He rose to leave. “You, young lady had better think how you are going to deal with some very nasty postings if I don’t send you to the glasshouse.” He snapped at me. Then to Sheila. “Captain Brice, I suggest you convince this young protégé of yours, where her best interests lie. I shall see you both tonight, at eight. Don’t be late.” He saluted, and we both stood and returned the gesture.
We stood looking at each other for several seconds, before bursting into peals of laughter.
“Pompous old fart.” Whispered Sheila.
“What do we do ma’am? I can’t get involved with television or radio. Once that happens, someone is sure to recognise me and sell it to the tabloids. Do you really want, headlines of, ‘Nurse heroine is shown to be a bloke,’ or, ‘Nurse Jamie had sex change.’ I can’t go on telly or radio.”
“If they dig about enough, they could find that out anyway.” She replied.
“Maybe, but by showing my face on telly, it would make it much more likely that someone would recognise me.”
“Your picture is on all the front pages,” she said, pulling out a selection from behind her desk.
“Oh my God,” I said, as I saw a picture of my parents and me, standing together at the reception after the presentation. The paper, you’ve got it, ‘The Guardian’. We were all named too. The tabloids went for the actual presentation by the Princess Royal, calling me the most decorated soldier of recent years, which was grossly inaccurate if not a lie.
“You weren’t serious about giving them back were you?”
“Try me.”
“You would give back those medals on television after all we’ve talked about regarding your right to wear them.”
“Nothing you can say will make me believe I deserve these things. So, I think I ought to give them back.”
“Jamie, the decision about the George Medal came from the PM’s office. He was consulted personally.”
“I don’t care. He makes political decisions, I don’t wish to be a pawn in one of his games.”
“You already are girl, whether you like it or not. How is he going to make political capital out of you?”
“It was his idea to introduce the National Service conscription. Making me look something I am not enables him to make the whole thing appear to be something it isn’t. I’m no hero, nor am I deserving of these medals.”
“Okay, send them back. Let the unsung heroes of the Nursing Corps and Basra go unrecognised. Play your spoilt brat games, but do it elsewhere. Please leave my office, but be ready at seven thirty sharp.”
“I’d prefer not to go this evening.”
“So would I, but thanks to you, I have to. Be ready, or I shall personally borrow a large calibre machine gun and shoot you myself.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“And Jamie, bring those bits of silver you so despise. I’d like to have a look at them before you send them back.”
I left, feeling very uptight. I was stopped by her secretary. “Just wait a second Jamie, we’ve had a dozen or more requests for interviews by the press. I think we’re going to need to have a press conference.” She went into her boss’s office, my stomach sank.
I felt like making a run for it, but because of my sense of loyalty to Sheila Brice, I stayed. She returned with her secretary, they both looked harassed. “It looks like we have a slight problem Jamie.”
“You have ma’am. Don’t I have a right to be protected by the army? Don’t they have people who deal with these things?”
“Normally it wouldn’t be so much of an issue. Firstly, the fact that they presented you with two medals for conspicuous gallantry at the same time, is unusual. Secondly, being a woman, makes it more unusual. As you will be aware, the media love anything unusual. Sorry girl, but you should have thought of this before you did your Wonder Woman act.”
“Don’t worry, the next time I won’t.” I felt extremely fed up.
“Surely, I don’t have to be there, do I? Can’t you do it without me?”
“Not really Jamie, it’s you they’ve come to see, not me.”
“Tell them I’ve got post traumatic shock disorder.”
“But you haven’t.”
“I will have if this continues.”
“Come on Jamie, we need your help.”
“No ma’am. I will appear if you insist, but I refuse to talk about anything.”
“What do you mean?” she gave me a stern look.
“Exactly what I said. I am not joking when I said about PTSD, when I think about what happened, I have flashbacks. It might be a surprise, but I don’t actually enjoy recalling how I killed four people. Seeing several colleagues die is also very distressing. That old fart Armstrong, may cope easy enough with combat stuff, but I don’t. I’m sure you don’t want me publicly turning into a twitching, weeping wreck on television, do you?”
“Are you blackmailing me, Jamie Curtis?”
“No ma’am. I’m simply predicting what will happen. I am more than happy for you to put me on a charge, for refusing an order.”
“Would this be true, without your little complication?”
“Oh yes. I spent two weeks at home not talking to anyone, not even my parents. All I could think of, was how I’d killed four men. I also kept seeing my colleagues being killed. Have you ever been under fire, ma’am?”
Captain Brice paused for a moment, then a momentary pain seemed to flit across her face. Quietly, she responded, “Yes I have Jamie. Just thinking about it, made me see the death of a close friend. She was hit with shrapnel, it ripped open her chest and she died almost instantly. I was stood next to her at the time. It was horrible.”
“I’m sorry ma’am.”
“No you are right, you shouldn’t have to relive your ordeal for the titillation of the media. I’ll deal with it. Don’t speak to anyone about any of it, but refer them to me.”
“What about this evening, ma’am?”
“I’ll see you at seven thirty, bring the medals.”
Feeling deflated, I replied, “Very good ma’am.”
I returned to my unit just in time to grab a cuppa and chocolate biscuit before the afternoon classes began. I was wasting my time there, at best I was distracted, at worst I was half asleep.
While I was trying to stay awake in class, Sheila Brice was fighting a rearguard action in my defence.
“Captain Brice, we’d have thought the least the army could do is to produce your young heroine for a few pictures.”
“I have tried to explain that Nurse Curtis is not very well. Have you ever been in military action Mr Sexton?” The reporter shook his head. “Well I have, and my experience was nothing compared to Nurse Curtis’s. She has had a severe emotional response, and if you respected what she did, you and the rest of the media would leave her in peace.”
At this there grumbles all round the room. “Come on Captain, you have to see our predicament here. How often do we have a Florence Nightingale with courage like hers?”
“Army doctors and nurses perform acts of heroism all the time. Wherever there are British army personnel in action, there are medical support units not far away.”
“Yes we know all that, but how often is a pretty young thing like Jamie Curtis, the winner of two medals for conspicuous gallantry?”
“So if she was old and ugly, you wouldn’t be interested in her?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“No but you implied it. We have given you a full statement of her actions as we understand them. Remember it was under difficult conditions, four of our troops were killed, and some nurses. We believe we identified the group responsible, who seem to have some reason in disrupting the democratic process in Iraq, which we have been supporting.”
“Tell me, Captain Brice, is Nurse Curtis, the one they call, the ‘Lion Woman’ and why the epithet?”
“I don’t know who the so called ‘Lion Woman’ is, if it referred to Nurse Curtis, then I would suggest it refers to her courage. Sort of ‘Lion Heart’, like King Richard.”
“So she can’t turn herself into a lion?”
“Don’t be ridiculous?”
“Isn’t that what she threatened to do at the night club, and eat the man’s liver?”
“I think you may be misinterpreting what happened, according to the official report, she half hypnotised the man and simply suggested things to him, which frightened him. He was apparently very suggestible, which she had noticed and took advantage of this weakness.”
“According to one witness, she threatened to turn into a lion. Is that why she isn’t available? Because she is locked up in a cage like a wild animal?”
“If you actually believe such things, then I would suggest that you are in need of a good psychiatric hospital. I could refer you, if you’d like, Miss uh..?”
“Harriet. Is that the same one that Jamie Curtis is in? I mean PTSD is a mental condition isn’t it?”
“What are you implying?”
“Is Jamie Curtis mentally ill, and is that why she isn’t here?”
“Jamie is not mentally ill, she isn’t here because she isn’t well, and exposure to this sort of circus, would not help her get better.”
“How do they judge the criteria for awarding medals? Does she actually deserve medals of such distinction?”
“I cannot possibly comment on these decisions, the one was made by an army board, the other by the Prime Minister’s office in conjunction with the Chief Constable. If you have an issue with these decisions, I suggest you take it up with their respective originators. If it’s any consolation, Jamie is very embarrassed to be at the centre of such attention. She is a very modest young woman, and these awards have caused her some anxiety.
"As her immediate commanding officer, I know her quite well, so I can say without any doubt, that I believe she is worthy of such recognition for her courage under fire, where she ignored her own safety to protect those whom she considered to be at greater risk.
"It may seem strange to some of you, but she is more frightened by you lot than an armed terrorist. That concludes this interview. Thank you.” With this statement, Sheila Brice, left the room feeling extremely irritated by some of the questions.
“Just who was that snotty woman, Harriet ? Accusing Jamie of being nuts, how dare she!” Thinking of the encounter made Sheila shiver for a moment. “Ooh, someone just stepped on my grave,” she thought to herself.
Yet there was part of her which recognised the irritation of the press. Here was a relatively young and photogenic woman, who had achieved a degree of distinction many wouldn’t, even if they lived to be a hundred. They wanted to see her, photograph her and talk to her. They couldn’t understand in the current, wannabe famous culture, that some, perhaps more discerning individuals, did not want to be celebrities or famous. Especially, if they had potentially embarrassing secrets like Jamie to keep hidden.
“Poor kid, it must be bad enough coping with all you’ve been through without a pack of hacks after you, especially as the army, who pretend to care about its personnel, seems to be happy to feed you to the press. I think it’s more amazing that she isn’t crazy, under all this pressure.” Sheila said to herself as she went back to her office. She was going to knock off early if she could, to go and change for the evening, command performance. She hated mess dinners, even the informal ones like tonight’s was supposed to be.
Jamie had bunked off early from her last class, to catch an hour’s sleep before she had to change for the evening. As she slept she dreamt, and in her dream she saw Harry prowling about, watching her, biding her time. It did nothing to relax her, even knowing that she was stronger than Harry. It was a constant worry, and would only be resolved the next time they met. Jamie intended it to be their last meeting. Then the Lion Queen would come out fighting, with no quarter offered or taken.
But as she slept, Jamie’s mind flagged up to her the recent encounter with ‘Oliver’, the thought form. That wasn’t Harry’s doing, far too clever and far too much power, that had to be a group thing or one very powerful individual. If it was the latter, she had to get to Harry before the two enemies linked up. In which case Harry could be a much stronger opponent, and then life could get really difficult.
In her dream she saw John, walking angrily away from her, towards a shadowy figure whom she knew to be her major opponent. He was in grave danger, she had to warn him, but John wouldn’t or couldn’t hear her. He just kept walking, towards his death. She woke up screaming his name, her pillow wet with tears.
Thinking how she could best warn him, she grabbed her mobile phone and sent him a text message. “Contact me asap, you are in danger, be extra careful. Love, Jamie XXX”.
She tried phoning him as well, but his phone was off. Not much point in leaving a message, he’d be sceptical at best, or think it was a ploy. She needed to talk to him, it was the only way she could make him understand the danger.
What was the danger? She didn’t know. Someone or something was out to get her, for what? She didn’t know that either. She went to shower, and as she did so she tried to work out what the possibilities were.
Usually people are after you if you have done something to them, which was the case with Harry, albeit a mistaken one. They might be after you if they think you have something they want, which may be rightly or wrongly perceived. “But I haven’t got anything, so it can’t be that.” She said to herself.
As she towelled herself dry, she suddenly had a thought. “What if it’s something I will do or have in the future? If past-life stuff can haunt me, with flash backs and other experiences, not to mention déjà vu, tends to suggest that time is anything but linear. So could someone else see the future? Why not, I do occasionally, like just now with John.” It suddenly felt very cold.
I hurried my towelling and got some clothes on. It still felt cold. There was something in, or trying to enter my room. I checked the door, it was locked. So there was nothing physical here. Drawing a layer of light around myself, I began to scan my room in a psychic sense. There was nothing in it yet, but it was trying.
I checked my watch, I had an hour before Sheila was due. I did the ritual of the Lesser Banishing, cleansing my room and projecting fiery pentagrams around it, which helps to stop psychic attacks, or at least keep them out. It began to feel a bit warmer.
When dealing with the paranormal, temperature change is one of the most frequently perceived changes, it can become warmer or colder and quite markedly so. Thankfully, it got warmer or I’d have been shivering by the time Sheila got there.
I opted to wear the blue velvet dress and jacket, my mother had bought me the day she first met the ‘new’ me. With it, as before, I wore the sapphire ring, earrings and necklace which had belonged to my grandmother. I loved this jewellery. Obviously, I felt affection for it because of the link with gran, but I also loved the colour of the stones and the energy they seemed to carry.
Crystals carry energy. If you don’t believe me, how come you are wearing a quartz watch? Heard about the piezoelectric effect? If you squeeze a quartz crystal it generates a spark, which is what lights your gas fire or cooker. Try squeezing two quartz crystals together in a dark room, you can see the spark. Okay, so you know about it. When I did the first time, it made me understand that there could also be subtle energies which the scientists couldn’t yet explain, like ley lines and moving them with quartz crystals.
Back to my jewellery. Those into crystal lore, will tell you that sapphire, especially the blue ones, are stones of healing. Particularly, of the blood, the heart, and of communication. They can be used for astral travel while dreaming and I always felt protected when wearing them. This might just be because of my attunement with my gran, or perhaps something coming from the stones. I don’t know, but I knew I was safe from psychic attack while wearing them.
I finished my makeup, nothing too elaborate for the boy’s club, an officers’ mess is. A squirt of Opium, and I was ready. I sat down to wait the five or six minutes to half seven. Sitting down, I remembered the medals. I rose to get them, opening the drawer I felt under my clothes. They weren’t there.
My stomach jumped and I suddenly felt very hot. I frantically searched the drawer, pulling out my bras and vests. How could they not be there? I distinctly remembered placing them under my knickers! Oops, wrong drawer.
I dragged open the drawer next to the one I had just evacuated. There, much to my relief, were the bits of precious metal and ribbon. I sighed out loud, and felt so relieved I had tears starting to form in my eyes.
This puzzled me. If I didn’t deserve them, and was thinking of returning them anyway, why was I so upset when I thought I’d lost them? Well, the thought of them being stolen, would upset me, as would the theft of most of my stuff. The act of violation of my space, which it would be, would be very distressing.
I was confused about this. They were special to me, they were mine. But I’m not into property in the usual way. True, the jewellery I was wearing was very precious to me, but it came from my grandmother, and its value was much more an emotional thing than its replacement cost. It was irreplaceable.
The same was true of the medals. They had been given to me. They were mine until I chose to dispose of them or died. Somehow, I began to think the latter might happen first, but I didn’t need to tell Col Armstrong that, it was a lever I could still use to blackmail him. Of course he could call my bluff, and I should then have to decide, but for now they were safe and in my bag.
I was busy replacing the bras I had slung on the bed when Sheila arrived. She was wearing the two piece she had bought the same day I got my outfit, talk about synchronicity! Nothing was said, but she gave me a knowing smile.
“How did your press conference go?” I asked as we drove off.
“My press conference, how about your press conference.” She huffed for a moment before continuing. “I suppose it went alright, they were suitably disgusted that you weren’t there, as we expected. One of the journalists, was quite obnoxious, trying to imply you were absent because you were bonkers.”
“I’d have thought the opposite was true.” I smiled back at her.
“Quite.” She agreed.
“Who was this hack questioning my sanity?”
“Harriet something. I don’t believe she gave me a second name or a newspaper or media group.”
I felt a shiver go down my spine. I described whom I knew it to be.
“That’s her, do you know her?”
“We’ve met.”
“Do I take it you don’t like each other?”
“She doesn’t like me. I feel nothing for her.”
“Why doesn’t she like you?”
“It’s a tale which goes back a long way. I’ll tell you about it sometime.”
“There’s a bit more isn’t there, Jamie?” she gave me one of her looks.
“When I thought about the questions she asked me, and of you. I felt this cold
shudder, like someone had stepped on my grave.”
“It’s my grave she wants to step on.”
“She wants to kill you.”
“Ever so slightly.” I tried to lighten things up a little.
“Why?”
“It goes back to the Egypt thing. She thinks I was responsible for her death in a past life, and she is trying to get back at me. She isn’t actually incarnate, or we’d have had a lot more trouble from her.”
“You mean she doesn’t have a body?”
“Yes, or no, whichever question I’m answering. She doesn’t have a real body, although she can be seen as if she does.”
“Oh boy. Don’t tell me we’re going to have spirit wars as well as physical ones.”
“I’m not too worried about her. The next time we meet will be the last, for her anyway.”
“You sound pretty sure of yourself, and unusually clinical about being nasty to someone.”
“She isn’t a person, just a nasty thought herself. I have no choice but to banish her back to wherever she came from.”
“I got the impression that there’s something else bothering you.”
“Yeah, there is. Something or somebody else is after me, and they are much more dangerous than Harriet.” I described the events of the publisher’s dinner, or the illusion we experienced.
“Wow, that was scary. Can’t you get some help?”
“From whom, Harry Potter?”
“No need to be facetious young lady, I was only trying to be helpful.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I don’t even know who or what or why they are after me. But they are. If they were to meet up with Harriet, then she could be a bigger danger. I need to find out who they are. I’m also worried that they might be targeting John, to get at me.”
“I thought you two were finished.”
“We are, but the whoevers don’t appear to know it.”
“Oh dear. Not so clever are they? Maybe that shows they have weaknesses. I take it you’ve seen something.”
“I dreamt it, so I could be wrong. John is vulnerable because I still love him. If they hurt him they hurt me. If they make me angry, it makes me more vulnerable too.”
“So if they hurt him, you’ll be angry.”
“No. I shall be cold bloodedly vengeful. Nemesis, is the term I think. I shall destroy them at whatever cost is involved.”
“To you or others?”
“I shall invoke the udját.”
“The what?”
“I shall release Sekhmet.”
“Is that wise?”
“When has wisdom been involved in getting even?”
“Most of the time I would think. Why should others suffer because someone has pissed you off? Have you ever thought, that might be their end game?”
“No I hadn’t.” I was glad she had provoked me into telling my story. She was right. I can hardly destroy the world just because I’m angry with someone. It was a childish thought. Wisdom was needed, but where would I find it? We arrived at the barracks, and my attention had to focus on more immediate things.
We were escorted by the duty NCO to the officer’s mess, where the adjutant, a Major Small was summoned. As guests we were then taken into a reception room.
“Col Armstrong will be here shortly, we then process to the dining room. Can I get you a drink?”
Sheila, who was driving opted for a soft drink, I decided to push the boat out and asked for a Bacardi and Coke. I felt in need of some Dutch courage tonight, with all these plonkers around me. maybe I was being a little harsh, after all, they were so far, very nice plonkers.
I looked around the room. A large fireplace dominated. It had a log fire burning, its warmth was inviting. There were dozens of photos, mainly of groups of officers. It was almost like a school thing, year photos of the senior staff. Here it was the officer class. Me, I was just one of the prols, but in my bag, I had two pieces of silver most of them would die for. A very arrogant and nasty thought went through my mind, “the lucky thing was that I was in possession of these gongs, and I hadn’t died for them.”
I was immediately cross with myself, what was happening to me? I don’t usually feel or think things like this. Something was getting to me, and I was not enjoying the experience. I know the fighting talk about Harriet had psyched me up for action, and our next meeting would be a fight, but the rest. It wasn’t me at all.
I was looking at the photos when my mobile went off. It was John.
“I got your text. What is this, one of your visions?”
“Yes, look I can’t talk now.”
“Where are you?”
“In the officer’s mess at Barbury barracks.”
“Going up market are we?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Is that it then?”
“No, it’s very complex, I need to talk to you about it.”
“Sorry, I really haven’t got time. I’m away again from tomorrow night.”
“Fine, just be extra careful. Watch out for someone calling themselves Oliver, a very slick, good looking character. He’s very dangerous.”
“Met him in a dream, did we?”
“No, face to face. He tried to..”
“Shag you, gay is he?”
“No he tried to kill me, if you must know.”
“Did you inform the police?”
“Look be careful.” I rang off, Sheila was trying desperately to keep my conversation private by distracting Major Small, talking in a much louder voice than usual.
“Sorry about that.” I said with a cheerfulness which belied my mood.
“Here’s the colonel.” Said our babysitter, and with that the aforementioned man burst into the room.
“Sheila,” he said, and embraced her. He then walked over to me, “Nurse Curtis,” he said and shook my hand. I felt quiet relieved that I didn’t get the official hug.
“Has Eric explained what happens here?” We both nodded. He was referring to the fact that we would process into the dining room. Major Small would lead the way, I would go next, then the Colonel would enter last behind Sheila Brice. It was hardly rocket science for someone who had recently marched back and fore in dead straight lines.
Major Small led off, and entered the room. A waiter, held me back for a few seconds, then gave me the signal to proceed. I did behind him. The long room was full of men in dinner dress, which means they were wearing uniforms specially for the event. Old fashioned, even anachronistic, but it is very striking to say the least.
As I stepped into the room, the crowd of men who were already standing, began to clap. I felt myself blush, and looked at the floor. I was led to a seat on the top table.
Next came Sheila Brice, who was also met with rapturous applause. She walked quietly to her place at the end of the table. Finally came Col Armstrong, who was applauded to his seat. They do strange things in the army.
Next he raised his hand, and the noise stopped. The chaplain, coughed and then began the grace. I stood at my place feeling very awkward. I thought I was probably okay with the dining etiquette, knowing what knife and fork to use, but for the rest of it, well.
We all sat, the waiting staff assisting Sheila and me to sit. Wine was poured and the food brought in. There was no choice, but hey, it was good stuff.
We started with minestrone soup, then beef Wellington, then lemon roulade, then cheese and biscuits, then coffee then liqueurs, then toast.
It wasn’t toast, as is charred bread, but as in, “charge your glasses” stuff.
The first toast is always to Her Majesty, then to the regiment, then to….and this was the bit I was dreading, esteemed guests.
The adjutant, proposed the toasts, as he was acting as an unofficial MC. He spoke briefly about Sheila, her command at the school of nursing, and the valuable contribution she made to the army, both on a personal level, and through her trained nurses. The toast was made, then to my horror, I realised we had to sing for our supper, when there followed immediately after the toast, the cry of, “speech” accompanied by a drumming on the tables.
No wonder she didn’t want to come. She knew what we were in for. She could have warned me.
She spoke for about five minutes, mainly about the school and where her nurses had seen action or made some other notable contribution. I was in a funny sort of place hearing without necessarily listening to what was being said. I felt light headed, possibly due to the amount of alcohol, or simply nerves. I heard her say,” and of course Nurse Curtis, who was in Iraq recently, but she will tell you about that herself.”
Applause. The adjutant stands again. “We all feel very privileged to be in the company of one so young and yet so courageous. There are very few recipients of either the Distinguished Conduct Medal or the George Medal. I don’t know if there are any recipients of both, barring the person of whom I speak. Colonel, esteemed guest, fellow officers, please charge your glasses and be upstanding to toast our other esteemed guest, Nurse Curtis.”
I sat blushing to the roots of my hair as they all toasted me. I actually felt so warm, they could have really been toasting me. Then came the cry of, “speech” and the banging on the tables.
“Stand up m’dear,” said the adjutant, “don’t feel nervous, they won’t eat you.”
“I think I’d feel less nervous if I thought they were going to.” I quipped back. The last time I had done any public speaking was when I was still in school, it was in a debate, we lost. It was not, I concluded, my forte.
I stood on legs which were trembling more than when I’d ridden up hill on my bike. “Is it alright to pass these around?” I whispered to the adjutant, showing him the two medals. He looked at Armstrong, who nodded his assent.
I took a large swig of wine, a mistake, because I then coughed, and felt even more stupid. A large breath and off, I held up the medals, “These are some I made earlier.” There was a rumble of laughter as I used a line familiar to almost any Brit. We’ve all seen Blue Peter as kids, and their section on making something, cakes or converting a detergent bottle into a death ray gun.
“I’ll pass them around for you all to see, but I should like them back. I have counted them.” I passed the medals off in opposite directions. The assembled were seemingly enjoying my response to the toast.
“If you’ll excuse me, I won’t describe how I got both of these. Well I will then. I went up on some platform, and some nice lady gave them to me. So if you want one, that’s what you need to do.” More laughter. They obviously hadn’t met someone like me before.
“I got the DCM, for an action in Basra, during an ambush by insurgents. I’m not sure why I got it, because I wasn’t the only one there. But I think they could spell my name or something.” This got another round of laughter.
“The George medal, I presume was given to me for a little excitement that occurred in a night club. I helped the police to disarm a gunman. It seems they were impressed, or the prime minister was. The rest as they say is history. Thank you for a very enjoyable meal.” I nodded to the colonel who acknowledged me and I sat down. The applause was deafening.
The colonel stood up, raised a hand and silence prevailed. “I should like to add something to Nurse Curtis’s anecdote. They give very few of either of these medals away. They are, with the exception of the Victoria Cross, about as high an award as is possible, for gallantry. She makes light of her part in both episodes. I have read the reports of both. In both she took or attempted to take control of a very dangerous situation, without heed to her own safety.
In Basra, she killed four armed insurgents before being captured, saving several lives. In Barbury, she single-handedly, disarmed a gunman and caused another to be shot by police marksmen, saving the lives of dozens if not hundreds of the public.
She is, without doubt, a very courageous person, and considering her youth and her sex, a very remarkable one. It is unusual for anyone to receive a second toast in one evening, I think the last was the Duke of Wellington. But gentlemen, please be upstanding and toast a very remarkable young woman.”
They did, and I wished the floor would open and swallow me. Duke of Wellington, sheesh! How do I get into these scrapes? Number ten, next week. I can’t do this again. Not for anything.
Once this was over, the evening became informal, we were offered drinks galore, but I made my next one a soft one. The only hard stuff from then on, was ice. One of the waiting staff brought back my medals which I carefully put in my bag.
An older man came up to me, “I’m honoured to meet one so brave.” He said and shook my hand. He touched my lion bracelet. “Are you into lions?”
“I like them, yes.”
“And the queen of the lions?”
“I’m sorry.” I said, unsure of what he was on about.
“I thought I caught sight of a pendant with Sekhmet on it. I was obviously wrong.”
Something about this man, resonated with me. I decided to ask a few questions myself. “Do you know something about Sekhmet?”
“Wife of Ptah, a healing or destroying goddess, depending upon opinion or perhaps a bit of both. Eye of Re, or Ra depending upon translations, also called Sakhmet. All went pear shaped when Akhenaten came to power, only to start up again after he died. How am I doing?”
“Very well so far. You have an interest in Egyptology?”
“I suppose so, I have a degree in archaeology and comparative mythology. It was the Egyptian stuff which attracted and interested me. It’s been a long time, but it’s nice to chat about it again.”
“I’d love to find out more from someone with knowledge rather than just read or watch documentaries.”
“Well I’m sure we could manage to get together sometime and chat, yes I’d like that. Have you a phone number?” He blushed as he said it, “My god, I haven’t asked a girl that for years.” We both laughed as I wrote my mobile number down for him.
“Let me know if there’s anything you’d like to talk about, I might be able to swot it up first.”
“Sekhmet and Egyptian magic.”
“You’re really into this stuff aren’t you?”
“It’s a long story, it goes back about five thousand years. Someone is trying to kill me with it. I do have help from my little furry friend, on occasion.” I said patting my pendant.
“It’s true, isn’t it?” he said. “You are the lion woman.”
“Keep it under your hat, please. I need your help. The threat is serious.”
“Okay, I’ll keep it quiet, but I ought to warn you not to mess about with that stuff, it can be very dangerous.”
“I’m not messing and so far it’s the only thing that has kept me alive. How do you think I got the gongs, when other people were being killed. How do you think they found us in Basra?”
“Fuck.., sorry, excuse my French. You really are into this stuff aren’t you?”
“I have been for five thousand years.”
“You’ll have to excuse me if I have difficulty accepting some of that.”
“Believe what you like, tonight you will see something which will help you believe. Please share your knowledge with me, I need all the help I can get.”
“You need my help? Wow, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’ll give you a ring. Oh by the way my name is Frank Hastings.”
“Thank you Captain Hastings, I’m Jamie, in case you didn’t know.”
We parted as others came up to talk to me, one of them patting my newest ally on the back saying, “You dirty old man, Frank, you’re old enough to be her father.” Another said, “can you get me her number too?”
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
It had been a long day, and not to put too fine a point upon it, I was knackered, with a capital ‘K’. I found Sheila, who took one look at me and said, “You look done in.” I nodded my response, too tired to talk.
A few minutes later, we managed to escape. I had possibly enjoyed it more than I thought I would, however, being in the limelight was not my idea of fun. Life seemingly had other plans, and practically everything I did seemed to land me in the spotlight. It was at times exciting, at others, tedious.
We drove back towards my little room and the safe haven of the nurses' home. We hardly spoke, the CD player in Sheila’s car played a disc of music from the James Bond films. Although I was never into the films, I enjoyed the music which had a safe familiarity about them.
I thought about my brief chat with John. I felt he was in real danger, but he wasn’t going to listen to me, all I could do was worry. I tried to pretend he was like James Bond and would outwit or outfight his enemies. I fantasised that I was his beautiful ‘Bond girl’, and we battled together to defeat whatever it was that was trying to hurt me.
I think someone called Caroline Cossey, actually became a ‘Bond girl’, which perhaps showed that being born a boy, needn’t be an impossible barrier to making it as a girl. This helped to boost my flagging spirits, which is what much of combat is about, whatever form it takes. Keeping a cool head and self-belief are winning factors.
While it might seem trite to compare sports with life or death conflict, but there are parallels. Arthur Wellesley, perhaps better known to most as, ‘The Iron Duke’ or ‘The Duke of Wellington’ is attributed as having said, “Battles were won on the playing fields of Eton.” For those who aren’t familiar, Eton is probably the most upmarket of all English public schools. It is horrendously expensive and exclusive, and many of the top men in England went there, including some of the royal family. It isn’t far from Windsor and its imposing castle.
While not having any experience of such ‘toffs’ or their schools, except maybe this evening, where I’m sure some of the senior officers had been through the public school system, I’m sure Wellesley was right. The team building and skills attached to games would be useful in the art of warfare. In particular, I have watched test matches in rugby union with my dad, where the result has been decided by a single kick. Just considering the amount of pressure on a player to score the vital points, knowing that a miss would lose the game, was humbling.
My dad’s fantasy had always been to play rugby for Oxford University, and become ‘a blue’ and then to go on to play for England. He broke an ankle during a trial match and got no further. Perhaps it was just as well, if he had been a sporting celebrity, it would have drawn even more attention to me, and someone would have surely made more of a connection with my past. How it hadn’t happened so far, was a mystery, or a matter of enormous good fortune.
Had I ever experienced the degree of self-belief and talent to do something outstanding, like kicking the winning points in a rugby match? No, I hadn’t, I didn’t have that degree of confidence about anything. I had done some crazy things, which could have caused me major injury or even killed me, but it hadn’t involved confidence more a degree of recklessness. Okay, I sometimes felt stronger because I had some supernatural backup, but I tended to act without too much preplanning or practice. I mean, can you imagine practising sending lionesses to do various tasks? I couldn’t, but I had suddenly remembered I had promised to produce some phenomenon for Frank Hastings.
I asked one of my ‘girls’ to escort him home that night, knowing that it would happen, and he would see her. I smiled as I thought it was quite an impressive party trick.
“You are very quiet.” Said Sheila as we drew into the car park of the nurses home.
“I’m tired, I’m also worried about John. I think he’s in danger.”
“Is that what the phone call was about earlier?” she asked.
“Yes, but he wouldn’t listen to me.”
“Well, you tried.”
“I know. But if anything does happen, then I shall never forgive myself for not being more forthright.”
“You could hardly say too much in the officers' mess, they’d all think you were crazy.”
“I could live with that, he might not. I should have said more to him while I had the chance.”
“Do you really think he would have listened?”
“I don’t know.”
“He found all this magical stuff a bit much anyway, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he didn’t like it. It frightened him, I suppose.”
“I know that feeling.” Said Sheila, “it can be very frightening. I don’t know how you cope.”
“I have no choice,” I replied, “it has all been there waiting to happen around me. And now I have two lots after me.”
“Is there anything anyone else can do? Can I help?”
“Keep in touch with me, please.”
“Of course.” We hugged goodnight and I went up to my room.
I was about to put my key in the lock when something struck me as not being right. I couldn’t identify what it was. There was a presence in my room, I just knew it, and I didn’t feel it was friendly.
I surrounded myself in light, drawing down white and blue rays of luminescence. I was tired, but I could feel my energy rising as I absorbed the strength of the light.
Feeling stronger and more focused, I began to imagine a solar disk just above my head and began to see it charging up with light like one sees the sun rising above the horizon at dawn. My energy was definitely solar-based, so attacks at night were to the advantage of my detractors. However, my ability, so far, to feel them around me, gave me a chance to even things up.
Maybe, I was now about to be tested on my self-confidence and skills. Whatever was in my room, I had to dispose of it, no matter how big or ugly or smelly or seemingly powerful it was, it had to go. This was my time to play the pressure shot, although I knew the game was far from over yet unless I missed my kick.
I tried to visualise what was in my room, all I could see were snakes. I don’t
particularly like snakes, although I do know they are not slimy. I have handled them at a zoological garden with the resident herpetologist. I have watched them being ‘milked’ too, and that was dangerous stuff.
I knew that as I walked in, I would be confronted by a spitting cobra. This is a snake that blinds its prey by spraying venom in their eyes, which it can then attack more safely or leisurely.
This will sound bizarre, because I knew the cobra along with the other wriggly things in my room were thought forms, however, one lapse of concentration and I could be dead. Oh for a mongoose, I thought, and one appeared by the side of me. I invited another, and it appeared too. The ultimate snake basher and I had a pair of them. Sounds silly doesn’t it, my imaginary beasts attacking someone else’s imaginary ones. But this was war.
With trembling hand, I lifted my key to the lock. I instructed my helpers what to do, they did. My solar disk was feeling very bright, and I threw open the door.
The mongooses went in and began laying into the snakes. The spitting cobra was fractionally slow on the draw, and I hit it with the equivalent of a laser pulse. Light does have the advantage of travelling faster than anything else, including snake venom. I saw it wither in front of me, smoking as it fell to the ground.
The combination of my little furry friends and my light show seemed to be clearing the place when I saw what I had been pickingup on. It was hideous.
Filling the space between floor and ceiling was a large black writhing mass of snakes in the shape of something else. Or was it something else, which resembled a large writhing mass of snakes? A sort of Medusa-like character.
Sadly, I didn’t have Perseus handy, with his magic cape and winged sandals. I didn’t even have a sword to hand. However, I didn’t have too much time to think about things either. While feeling revulsion for my uninvited guest, I had to try and remember it wasn’t real, and to project my disbelief in it via the energy I was about to throw at it, in the form of sunlight.
This creature of darkness was about to see the light! It would probably be a one-off experience. Just as I began to think I could see this thing off, I felt a snake around my leg. It was starting to draw me closer to itself. Oh shit.
It is hard to keep in mind that a thought form has just knocked you over and is dragging you along the floor, as unreal. It was happening, I was being dragged along the floor, the shock had momentarily knocked my concentration and I was all too realistically being dragged closer and closer towards this foetid, writhing black thing.
I had to concentrate. It would be the only thing that could save me. I felt my bottom being pulled over the carpets as I tried to divorce the experience from my mind and just focus on the solar disk.
I felt another snake wrap itself around my neck. It was an illusion, just see the sunlight, see the disk, feel its heat see its light.
Another snake slithered over my chest, only to be wrestled off by a mongoose, my hope began to rise, with it my strength and that of the sun. There was an enormous flash, and I saw the light shine from me, I struggled to release myself from the snakes, they were still pulling my legs. I focused more light on the monster, I could smell the most horrid burning stench.
However, it continued to draw me closer. In a final effort, I imagined a ball of light like a miniature sun, being fired from me into the black thing. It hit it like a cross between a cannonball and a phosphorus shell, sticking to it like burning glue.
It began to scream, the smoke and stench were indescribable, then to add to the mess, the fire alarms went off. I couldn’t believe it, but my concentration held, I watched with a mixture of fear, loathing and pity as the threat began to smoulder to a black slime.
I drew down more light, flooding my room with an illumination not usually seen in buildings. As I blasted the place with energy, in the form of light, cleansing and sterilising, it somehow managed to blow the mains fuse and except for the light in my room, the entire building was in the dark.
It was at this point the fire brigade arrived.
Can you imagine the scene? A multi-floored building in total darkness except for one room which appears to have arc welding being done in it. How they opened the security door into the nurse’s home, I don’t know. They then flew up the stairs, wearing breathing apparatus. It was rather smoky, I was getting myself off the floor.
“You okay Miss?” asked my would-be rescuer.
“Yeah, I’m alright,” I replied, laughing partly from shock and partly from relief and perhaps a bit from the surreal situation in which I found myself.
Miraculously, someone managed to repair the fused lights. The newfound illumination showed my room was a mess, with black oily slime everywhere, I was also spattered with it.
“What happened?” asked the fire officer.
“I don’t know,” I lied. What was the point of telling the truth, no one would believe me?
Well, I just destroyed a thought form sent by someone to kill me, unfortunately, I got carried away and blasted it all over my room. Watch you don’t step on one of my imaginary mongooses. Well, would you say that to a fireman? They deal with facts, fight fires, rescue people not explore the paranormal.
I was led downstairs, most of my fellow tenants were also downstairs in nighties and dressing gowns. They saw me being escorted down by the fire chief, and some gave a look of disbelief and shook their heads, as if to say, “That explains things.”
“Do you know what happened?”
“No, I just got back from a dinner at the officer’s mess at Barbury barracks and I opened my door, and bang. Well, I’m not sure if there was a bang, but there was a flash, and I was knocked over. I didn’t really see what happened. Next thing, the fire alarm went off and you were here.”
“Didn’t see any lions, did you?” asked a voice from the back.
“Lions, what’s this about lions?”
“It’s a joke I think,” I said.
“Oh, right.” He replied, shaking his head. “Right ladies, as far as I can tell, there appears to have been some form of lightning strike in this young lady’s room. We have checked everything and all is safe. The smell will dissipate shortly. You can go back to your rooms if you wish.”
With grumbles and mumbles, they all retired. I was about to do likewise, when a burly hand clamped on my shoulder, “Not you Miss, I’d like you to tell me what really happened.”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m not sure if I believe you.”
“I can’t help that, it happens to be true.”
“I want one of my investigating team to have a look tomorrow.”
“Fine, “ I said, bluffing as best I could. “If he discovers what happened, will he let me know?”
“I don’t know, Miss. Depends on what he finds.”
“Can I have your name and room number?”
I told him.
“’Ere, you’re the one who was in the paper. Won them medals.” Said another fireman.
“Yes, that was me.” I felt my little handbag still around my neck. “I happen to have them here do you want to see…”
Needless to say they were suitably impressed and were sure that whatever had happened would not implicate me in any way. As we were talking Sheila arrived, and took command of the situation. She inspected my room, saw it was in need of cleaning, bade me pack a bag and took me to her house for the night. Once we got there, she insisted I tell her what happened, so I did.
While Sheila was making some tea, I checked my mobile. There were no messages from John. I felt apprehensive for him, I felt angry with him and I felt sad, because I missed him. No matter what had happened to us, he was still a lovely man who didn’t deserve to suffer on my account.
I had no idea who was trying to kill me, there were no clues. I had warned John, what else could I do?
“This thing, that you fought with tonight, that was a thought-form?”
“Essentially yes.”
“I don’t understand how a thought can become a physical thing.”
“You just demonstrated it.”
“Me?” said Sheila, “How?”
“The question you asked, was a thought. It caused you to make it manifest by speech.”
“Yeah, okay. It’s not quite the same as some slithery snake thing, is it?” she shuddered as she obviously conceived some picture in her own mind.
“Your shudder then, another thought causing a physical effect.”
“But that’s in the originator of the thought, not external to them.”
“I told you what it looked like. It was my recollected thought. It appeared in both our minds as pictures.”
“I’m not sure I can believe you.”
“Look out the window.”
“What now?”
“Yes.”
“Jesus Christ!”
“What do you see?”
“A lioness.”
“I rest my case.”
“This is of your making?”
“Yes.”
“How am I seeing this, it looks real.”
“To your mind it is. It’s essentially an energy form which you see as a lioness. From there on, it acts just like the real thing, because it is real, to you.”
“That’s incredible. You made this thing, and I’m seeing it. Even though you tell me it’s not really there.”
“It is there, but it isn’t actually what you are seeing. It’s simply energy, projected there by me. It gets easier with practice.”
“Can anyone do it?”
“We all do. Every time we send our thoughts good or bad to another, they get some energy interaction. Sometimes it’s nice, other times it isn’t. So next time you swear at another driver, be aware you are sending them a negative belt of energy. Whether it influences them will depend on how powerful the thought is and how sensitive they are to receiving it.”
“Wow.” Sheila paused, “I’m nearly twice your age and yet you seem to teach me so much. You are special Jamie.”
“So special that A.N. Other is trying to kill me, for a reason I don’t understand.” I shrugged my shoulders.
Sheila set the alarm, “I don’t suppose this is much good against your foes?”
“I have set my own alarm system.”
“The lioness?”
“Amongst other things.”
It felt like a very short night, we got to bed about three and were up by seven. I felt shattered, Sheila was incredible. By the time she woke me, she had showered and dressed and prepared breakfast. She was excited because she had seen a lioness again, and a lion.
“You saw a lion, a male, with mane and things?”
“Yes. How do you do it?”
“That isn’t one of mine. Shit. they know where I am. Look this could get dangerous. I’d better go.”
“No way. I brought you here. We’re in this together.”
“Okay, but do exactly what I say.”
“Okay.”
“Exactly.”
“Yes, okay.”
“Have you been outside?”
“Yes.”
“Damn, you breached the pentagrams I set up last night. They could already be in the house. “ I threw another set around the place, hoping that my lesser banishing would clear anything that might have come in.
Just then the lion walked across the lawn. “When I say now, I want you to send a bolt of light at the lion, like it was struck by lightning. Got it?” she nodded, “Remember it isn’t real, but it can do you harm, we have to get rid of it.”
We both fixed our eyes on it, “Now.” I said loudly, and it was hit by what looked like a bolt of lightning and it disappeared with a flash of blue smoke.”
“Wow!” said Sheila, “Poor puddy tat.”
I shook my head and went to shower, “If you see anything else, wait till I come back.“
“Alright.” She said.
About ten minutes later, I was beginning to dress when I heard a scream from downstairs. Grabbing some jeans and a top I raced to the noise. Sheila was standing in the middle of the room, the other side of which stood a giant scorpion. “Oh shit.”
As I had been dressing and running to her aid, I began to visualise a solar disk above my head. I was nearly charged up when I got there. “Sheila, step back to me.”
“I can’t. I can’t move.” She sobbed at me, “My legs won’t work.”
“Remember the lion?”
“Yes.” She sobbed.
“Same again. On three. One, two, thre…..” We sent a bolt of lightning which this time was accompanied by a loud bang, and I continued firing energy at it for a few seconds longer.
I helped her to move and sit down, she was trembling. “Thank you.” She said to me.
“That’s okay, you’re safe now.”
“It seemed so small, I thought I could get rid of it myself.” She burst into tears.
“It’s okay. It’s gone now.”
“I’m sorry. I failed you. I didn’t do what you told me to do. I thought I could deal with it.”
“It’s alright.”
“What did I do wrong?”
“You haven’t quite managed to work up enough energy yet. So instead of zapping it, you made it bigger.”
“I made it bigger?”
“Yes, it feeds off any spare energy going. By attacking it you are sending negative energy, fear sends some more and bingo, our little arachnid got a bit too big for its own boots.”
“Jamie, why is there a ball of light above your head?”
“It’s okay, shall we say I’m staying prepared for the moment.”
“Can others see it?”
“Some may, like yourself they may see me with the light, others will see the full goddess.”
“Sekhmet?”
“The one and only.”
“You can turn into Sekhmet?”
“A form of.”
“Can I see?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because those who see her tend to have very short lives subsequently.”
“You mean they die.”
“Usually.”
“Is that what happened in Iraq?”
“No, that was conventional weapons.”
“Is it safe for us to go to work?”
“I think so.”
It was a relatively quiet journey and morning. I checked my mobile and saw a text from Frank Hastings, “Ta for the pussy cat escort. F.H.” I chuckled at it, it was quite a party trick. I was just about to switch off my phone when it rang in my hand, making me start.
“Hello.”
“Hi, is that Jamie?”
“Yes, who’s that?”
“I’m Don Masters, I work with John.”
“With John Anderson?”
“Is there another?”
“I s’pose not.”
“Can you call by the office, I need to talk to you.”
“Is John in trouble?”
“I can’t say anything over the phone. What time could you get here?”
I looked at my watch, it was nearly eleven thirty. I could get there by twelve. He gave me directions, it was the same place where that snotty lieutenant messed me about. So much for him not knowing John, the lying toad. If I see him again, I shall give him a piece of my mind.
Getting Sharon to cover for me, I skipped my last class and ran for the bus, which I just managed to catch. I ran to the military police offices, knowing that it could be a trap, but if John was in danger, I had to take the risk.
I spoke to the receptionist, she buzzed someone on the intercom and a few minutes later, a tall, black man with the most beautiful smile came into the office. He too was a sergeant. He walked over to me and we shook hands.
“Hi, I’m Don; you must be Jamie.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
“Well, John wasn’t exaggerating when he said how pretty you were.” I blushed and looked at the floor. “C’mon,” he said, “let’s go somewhere a bit more private.” He led me along a corridor, up some stairs and along another corridor, finally entering a room, the door of which he held open for me. “In you go, have a seat. Tea or coffee?”
I asked for tea. He disappeared and two minutes later was back with a mug of army tea for each of us. How did I know it was army tea? It tastes like nothing else on earth, but after a while you get used to it, possibly addicted to it.
“How can I help?” I asked of this handsome man.
“John said something about you sending him a warning, and mentioned a name, Oliver, was it?”
“Yes.”
“What do you know about this Oliver character?”
“How much time do we have?”
“As much as it takes.”
“How open-minded are you?”
“Are we talking sex or other things?” he laughed as he said it.
“Other things, definitely other things,” I replied blushing.
“Pity,” he said, “You sure are pretty.”
“Your wife wouldn’t like it.”
“No, she wouldn’t.” He paused for a moment. “How do you know I’m married?” He wasn’t wearing a ring nor did he have any photos up of his wife or children.
“Shall we say, I know? She’s called Diane and you have two children Jason and Margot. Jason has been in hospital but he’s okay now, he’s had grommets fitted in his ears. Margot has just had a birthday, you took them to Disneyland in Paris.”
“Have you been spying on me? Did John tell you all this?”
“John never discussed his work with me. I’m sorry, he didn’t ever mention you or your family either.”
“So how do you know all this?”
“I don’t know, but I do. Do you need anything else to prove things?”
“Where did we go…..no, if you had been primed you might know that, let’s see. I am thinking of a place, where is it?”
I closed my eyes, “You are sat in a street café, in Marseilles. There is a supermarket across the road from you, and to your right, there is a carpet shop. Diane is in the shop, looking for a souvenir because it’s your honeymoon.”
He went pale, if it’s possible for a black person to do, and looked at me. “That was some trick. How do you do it?”
“It isn’t a trick, I just see and feel things.”
Who’s this Oliver bloke?”
I explained about the strange evening we’d had. He gave me some funny looks but didn’t interrupt. I told him about the finale, the confrontation with Oliver. I also mentioned the business in my room from last night.
“So if Oliver’s dead, how can he be after John?”
“He isn’t dead, he was never alive in the normal sense. I destroyed one manifestation of him, whoever made him can do so again.”
“John had a meeting with an Oliver in Amsterdam this morning. Since when he hasn’t reported back. Any thoughts?”
“Isn’t it rather too soon to be worrying?” I asked feeling anything but calm.
“In view of your warning, which he took seriously; I asked him to call in as soon as it was over. That was five hours ago. His phone isn’t ringing at all.”
I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, I began to get cold and started to shake. Don was talking to me, but it was growing distant. The room began to swim and...
“Come on Jamie, wake up.” I felt someone rubbing my face. I was lying down somewhere, I struggled to open my eyes against the harsh fluorescent strip lighting. My head was throbbing.
“Come on girl, I think you fainted.” The voice was insistent, it was drawing me back to consciousness.” Take my advice, don’t faint or pass out. It’s undignified and to make sure of that, you wet yourself. I was being helped into a sitting position, my pants were soaking and my head was splitting.
“Do you want a drink of water?”
Despite sitting in a puddle, I accepted the offer. I sipped it slowly, my head was beginning to clear. Now to make sense of what happened.
“He’s alive.”
“Who is?”
“John. He’s alive. They are holding him somewhere dark and near water, I could sense barges or boats of some kind. The place felt like an old warehouse, it’s disused.”
“You saw all that?”
“Yes.”
“I need more to instigate a search. Can you give me more?”
I sat with my head in my hands. “There is lots of blue paint on the building.” I struggled to recall the images. “I can see a factory opposite, it’s Phillips, the electronic people. There’s a railway behind the place where John is. Sorry, it’s gone.”
“That was amazing,” said my companion. “I don’t know Amsterdam at all. But I know a man who does. Are you okay for a moment?” I nodded my response.
Don picked up a phone and began dialling. “Henk, hi. Look I need a favour. I think we may have a man down in Amsterdam. We have a sort of witness. They saw something in a blue painted, disused warehouse. It’s on a canal. Yeah, I know everything is in Amsterdam. It’s opposite a Phillips factory, and there is a railway behind it. I need you to expedite this asap, could be life and death stuff. Oh, you are wonderful, my friend. I’ll wait here, usual number. I owe you one.”
He replaced the receiver. “I have asked the Dutch police to check it out.”
“I thought you said you’ve never been to Amsterdam.”
“I haven’t. But I’ve been all over the place otherwise, including Rotterdam, which is how I know Henk Janssen. We’ve done some NATO stuff together, and he’s been over here a couple of times with his family. He owes me one. If he finds John, it will make his day. They got pissed together the last time he was over, and they got locked up overnight. I had to pull a few strings to get that blind-eyed.”
I struggled to stand up. My pants were soaking, it was noted.
“Oops. The loo is, I’ll show you, it’s quicker.”
I tried to clean myself up in the toilet. It was so embarrassing. In the end, I decided I’d go to the shops and get some more knickers and a pair of cheap pants. I told Don and went off.
It was good to get some fresh air, and the short walk to the high street made me feel much better. In an hour I had bought the required clothing and changed out of the wet things. I also had some chocolate, a lion bar, I know predictable, but I do like them.
On entering the police offices again, I was allowed up to Don’s office. “Hi Jamie. Good news, they’ve found him and he’s in one piece.”
A surge of warmth rose through my body, akin to a mixture of joy and relief. “Thank God.” I felt tears in my eyes.
“Thank you, you mean.” Said Don and gave me a bear hug. “You are one special lady. You’ve probably saved his life.”
“I doubt it. I’m glad he’s safe, give him my love won’t you.”
“You’ll probably see him as soon as I do.”
“We finished a few weeks ago.”
“I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well. It happens. I have to go.”
“Thanks, that was some trick.”
“It works occasionally. I have a strong link with John.” I turned to leave then stopped at the door, “Your mother says, you don’t spend enough time with the kids.”
He stopped in his tracks visibly startled. “My mother is dead.”
“So, she’s also standing behind you. Maria is the name she’s given me.”
“You can see my mother?” it was his turn to shake.
“She is stood behind you. She says, ‘she understands that you couldn’t get there in time to see her. She watches over you and the kids when she can and the flowers you put on her grave were lovely. Red carnations, her favourite. She says, thanks’.”
Don Masters, stood shaking with tears running down his face. “She told you all that?”
“She’s gone now, but she said, she loved you and the children.” Not knowing quite what to do, I stepped towards him and hugged him. He was really upset.
“I’m sorry if I’ve touched a nerve, Don.” I rubbed his back.
“You haven’t girl, you have just given me something magical. My mum died in London with an aneurysm. It was very sudden, I raced there as fast as I could, but it was too late. She was gone. I go to her grave as often as I can and talk to her, put some fresh flowers, you know.” I nodded.
“She was a lovely lady, like you. Wouldn’t hurt a fly.” I blushed when he said this, the body count was rising.
“When did she die?” I asked.
“Six months ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Now I know I can still go and talk to her. It helps.”
“I know,” I said, thinking of my grandmother.
“Look, I have to go.”
He hugged me tight and kissed me on the cheek, “John Anderson is a bloody fool if he passes you up, and I shall tell him so. Take care, Jamie; and thank you for saving that idiot’s life and showing me something else too. I think you know what I mean.”
I nodded. Kissed him back on the cheek, and said, “You are a good man Don, look after John for me. Goodbye.”
I left the office feeling warm and happy. I had to go and sort out the mess in my room from last night, but at least I knew John was safe. It had all been worthwhile.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
For the next few days, things went as expected. There were no more attacks, so I could concentrate on cleaning up my room and doing some study for my course. In the coming weeks we would be doing some more practical nursing, which meant being on the wards.
The analysis of the gunge from my room, was inconclusive. In other words, they didn’t know. To be honest neither did I, and I helped create it. The Army, through Sheila, managed to divert the attention of the fire brigade away from the incident, and it quickly became history for everyone but Sheila and me.
Me especially, because it took me days to clean it all up. I had to hire one of those steam cleaning things for the carpets, and it took lots of detergent and elbow grease to do the walls. Sharon helped, as did one of the other girls, but most of the rest kept their distance. I was already seen as different, made worse by the medal awards, now I was being seen as weird. The ‘Spooky’ epithet which had occurred at the hospital was happening again.
To be honest, I was too busy or tired to take much notice, but Sharon took one or two to task in no uncertain terms. It happened, the weekend before the dinner at Number Ten.
I had just brought my dress uniform back from the cleaners, and was moaning that I had to sew the medal ribbons on. It was no big deal, I was good at sewing, and much of the time enjoyed it. It was a link with my gran. This day however, I had lots of other things to do. I was also a bit cross at the cost of my cleaning bill, which had exceeded my expectations based on the verbal estimate given at the time of putting the garments in.
It was only my uniform and my blue outfit from the officer’s mess dinner, which had got slimed later that night. Sounds like Ghostbusters, I know, but it was less spectacular than the film, and just a tad more dangerous. That thing was trying it’s best to kill me after all, and I didn’t have a nuclear whatever it was, they had in the film. I had to use my own skills. That creature had very little resemblance to Sigourney Weaver funnily enough, and Dan Ackroyd was noticeable by his absence, not to mention the others.
Back to the weekend, enter Sharon and me. “That bloody cleaners, they charged me an arm and a leg for my uniform and I still have to sew the ribbons on it.”
“Hark at the ‘Iron Lady’,” said one of the girls sat in the common room, through which we were walking.
“What you mean as in ‘Iron Duke’ or Joan of Arc?” said another voice.
“Wouldn’t it be the Iron Duchess anyway?” said another.
“Lion Duchess,” said the first and they all laughed.
“Oh very bleedin’ funny,” commented Sharon, “why don’t you all shut yer gobs an’ leave Jamie alone.”
The original detractor, a tall girl called Tracie something, with whom I have never seen eye to eye, stood up and said accusingly to Sharon, “If she needs you to defend her, how come it was her who got the medals?”
I tried to leave the confrontation and take Sharon with me, by saying, “Come on, Sharon, just ignore them.”
“Not bleedin’ likely,” she then gently pushed me away. “Look ‘ere little miss know it all, I ‘appened to be wiv Jamie on bof occasions wot she got the medals fower. You weren’t. She saved my life for certain on one of ‘em, possible on bof of ‘em. So don’t go talking about nuffin’ you know nuffin abaht.”
At this point, the girl retorted with something I didn’t hear, but Sharon did and it was only by luck that I saw them squaring up to fight, and managed to drag Sharon away, Tracie being pulled away by her friends.
Sharon was still spitting feathers when we got to my room, where I managed to calm her down with a cuppa.
I was hanging up my blue dress, and about to sew on the medal ribbons, when Sharon displayed she knew a bit more about my recent activities than I realised.
“Why don’t yer send on of yer lions around to vem, when vey’s in bed. Vat would shake ‘em up a bit.” She chuckled as she said it.
I gave her a vexed look. “What are you suggesting?”
“Scare the shite aht of ‘em, wiv one of yer pussy cats.”
“I can’t do things like that.”
“I fought yer could. Vat’s wot vey’re saying.”
“Just what are they saying?” I asked, knowing full well the sort of distortion that was likely with the grape vine.
“Vis fing the uvver night, wiv the flash ‘n bang, wot left the shit all over the place. Vey say it was of yer magic creatures wot went wrong. Vey fink yer some sorta witch.”
“Like Harry Potter?”
“Yeah, like ‘Arry Pottah.”
“I’m not. Even if I was, I wouldn’t be allowed to use magic to settle old scores. Which is what sending a ‘pussy cat’, as you put it, around would be. It wouldn’t be worthy of the power.”
“So you ‘ave some powers ven?”
“You know I do, you’ve seen the lionesses at least once.”
“Yeah, in Basra.”
“There’s one behind you now.”
“Like in panto. Look behind you! I’m ain’t fallin’ fower vat old joke.”
“Suit yourself,” I said.
At this point some loud purring began, and Sharon paled and turned around very slowly. She was shaking very slightly, and said in a quiet voice, “Nice pussy cat.” The lioness, purred some more and walked towards her.
“Bleedin’ ‘ell, wot do I do now?”
“Give it a saucer of milk?” I suggested helpfully.
“Oh shit, I’ve wet meself,” said Sharon.
“It’s okay, she can’t hurt you. Stroke her head if you like.”
She gingerly leant forward and touched the lioness. Then feeling braver began to stroke it with gusto. The lioness responded by sitting down and purring just like a giant moggie.
“Vat’s amazin’. ‘Ow did it get ‘ere?”
“You called it up.”
“I did. ‘Ow did I do vat?”
“You started talking about my lionesses and it made me think of them, and as thought forms, they just appeared.”
“Wot, just like vat?” I nodded and she laughed. “So it ain’t real ven?”
“Not in a literal sense, like lions on the plains of Africa or even in a zoo. But your mind is seeing and feeling them as real, and makes everything else fall into place accordingly.”
“Ooh, stoppid.” She laughed, as the lioness appeared to lick her hand. “Yer tongue is rough.”
“So if I’d said lions in va lounge, vey’ed ‘ave appeared?”
“No. I’d have stopped it.”
“Spoilsport. Can I borrow ‘er fower a few minutes?”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea, if you have in mind what I think you do.”
“Yer muvver’s a bleedin’ spoilsport. Yer wouldn’t ‘ave ‘ad to eat ‘em all.” She said to the lioness.
“Come on Sheba, time to go. Say goodbye to Sharon.” In a moment of pure devilment I imagined the lioness offering her paw to Sharon and saying in a throaty sort of purr, “Goodbye old girl, nice to meet you.”
Of course it happened, and Sharon became almost hysterical with laughter. She wet herself again. There’d have been less mess if I’d let the lioness eat her.
As you can see, I did manage some fun in between fighting off the wicked whatevers and saving the world. I also managed to sew on my ribbons, which would mark me out as different to the educated military eye.
The next thing was going to be a trip to London, and to Downing Street in particular. At least the army laid on a car, and we were to be taken in an official limo from the nurses home all the way and back. The car was a Jaguar, leather seats and walnut dash. Very nice. The driver was a young woman, who was in seeming awe of us. I tried to escape the conversation, but as the subject of some of it, it was difficult.
Her awe may have been misplaced, but her driving skills were excellent. The car was comfortable and had I not been dreading the end product of our drive, might even have enjoyed it.
Sheila and Sharon did their level best to improve my mood, but the fears would not lift. I was to be a guest of honour at a dinner with the Prime Minister. As I don’t do these things, normally, or any other way come to think of it, I feel terrified. These aren’t my sort of people, they are the shapers and movers, they make things happen through others. I do my own dirty work, and in doing so get my hands dirty. These types, the power crowd, rarely get dirt under their nails. They use other’s hands.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t like or dislike them, I don’t know them and thus have not formed an opinion. Normally, our paths would never cross. Today, they will and I was apprehensive with a capital ‘A’.
I wore my medals, which made feel very conspicuous, two bits of metal on ribbons which marked me out from the common herd. I was different enough without need to have a label on my chest saying so.
I looked across at Sheila, she wore her medals too. She had about half a dozen, but they were less conspicuous than my two. They were smaller somehow and less showy. Or were they? I suppose not really, I’m just sensitive.
My parents have a picture of me receiving them from Princess Anne, the Princess Royal. They are very proud of it, but I cringe each time I see it. Why? I don’t know, I just don’t like the attention.
I flitted in and out of the conversation, the others were having. Did I think George Clooney should be the next James Bond? I didn’t care one way or another, but if he was, I wouldn’t mind being a ‘Bond-girl’, and I said so. The others laughed and it broke the tension I was feeling a little.
An hour later and we stopped at the motorway services for a toilet break. Ever since the one where I had dealt with the aftermath of the accident, I disliked these places. They are impersonal, ugly selling crap food at extortionate prices. I thought it was probably the least attractive place to die I could think of, my mind went back to the incident and I gave a shudder. Sheila noticed and gave me a supportive smile. She had picked up on my thoughts.
The four of us strolled into the toilet area. I had removed my medals and put them in my pocket. Sheila had noticed this too and asked me where they were. I patted my pocket. “A bit overdressed for ‘Welcome Inn’.” I said and she smiled.
“Look out the cavalry’s arrived,” said one denim clad youth to his friend. “They’re all lookers, they can come and rescue me anytime,” commented his friend in response. I blushed, and the first youth winked at me. “All right darlin’?” he said, “wanna come on manoeuvres with me?”
I ignored him but Sharon nudged me as we entered the ladies, “Fink you coulda scored vere allwight.” The other two women, chuckled and I blushed some more.
Afterwards in the queue for some drinks, I spotted a group of middle eastern looking men a few places ahead of us. They hadn’t seen us, until they heard Sharon say something uncomplimentary about the price of a cake, to the girl serving the teas. Then the group ahead reacted to the uniforms.
I was trying to concentrate on the queue and finding some change in my purse for the tea I was buying, but something about the way the energy changed made me very uncomfortable.
It’s hard to say what I felt, except it was extreme negativity, like a cold and biting wind emanating from them. It hadn’t been there until they saw us, and it was definitely us it was aimed at.
I tried to reason it out. Perhaps they don’t like uniforms, or soldiers. Could they have relations in the middle east who have suffered from the recent wars there, so called ‘collateral damage’? Any of these were possible, and reasonable. So why did I keep getting this sense of extreme malice? I felt almost as if they were eyeing up a target. I tried to dismiss it. Too many memories stirred up by the medals, but it wouldn’t go away.
We sat at a table across the room from the five men. They were in agitated conversation and kept throwing glances at us. Sharon was in good spirits as was Pattie, our driver. Sheila, like me was a little tense. She leaned over to me, “Are you okay?”
“I don’t like the look of those men. There’s something not very nice about them? Their energies are very nasty.”
“I think I know what you mean. Perhaps we’d better go.” I nodded my response. Sheila leant across the table and said quietly, “Get ready to leave in a moment.”
Sharon was about to ask why in a loud voice, when Sheila’s look silenced her. “I’m probably overreacting, but I don’t like the look of those fellows over there.”
“Trouble?” asked Pattie.
“More a feeling, but be ready just in case. Try to act natural, I’m probably wrong.”
We all rose up, Sharon pretending to clown as she usually did. Sheila and I feeling the eyes burning into our backs as we left. Going through the door, I noticed they were also leaving. “Oh shit,” I thought. “We could have company.” I hissed.
We walked briskly back towards the car, “Do you mind if I sit in the front this time?” I asked. Sharon, who’d been there until now, shook her head. As we got in our car, a quick glance showed the group of men had reached theirs. They must have run. It was a black Mercedes.
Pattie gunned our Jaguar out of the car park and on to the motor way, she put her foot down and the acceleration was amazing, we were now doing ninety and a glance to the courtesy mirror, showed we had company, the black merc was accelerating too.
We slowed down, they slowed down. We speeded up, so did they. Subtle, they were not. “I think we need to call up some help,” said our driver. I agreed and so did Sheila.
Pattie picked up the car phone, she speed dialled and placed it on handsfree. A woman’s voice responded. “Hi yes, this is driver P Boyd, in car number tango delta seven five.”
“Go ahead tango delta.”
“I’m on the M1 heading towards London and I think we’ve picked up some hostiles.”
“Please repeat.”
She did, twice. Eventually the operator put her through to the military police. She explained what was happening, with the Mercedes shadowing our speed. We passed a road sign enabling us to say exactly where we were. The voice on the other end was sufficiently concerned to agree to pull them.
Effectively, what this meant was we would turn off the motorway onto a quieter road, if the car followed, the local police would deal with it. They would pull them over and if necessary arrest them.
We were given instructions, and the police operator would stay in contact with us. We turned off the M1, the car followed. The tension in our car was unbelievable. The road was a dual carriageway, and we were heading towards Luton. Suddenly, the Mercedes accelerated and drawing level, a window opened and a hand moved behind it.
“Jesus, Pattie, he’s got a gun,” cried Sheila. The first shot, hit the driver’s window shattering it, it exited through my window. I felt amazingly calm, aware of the noise and the wind which was blowing through the car like a gale.
Pattie braked hard, and the Mercedes overshot us, but two more bullets hit our car, taking out the windscreen. The Mercedes, then sped off. We came to a stop on the roadside.
“What’s happening?” came the voice over the carphone.
“We’ve been shot up. No one hurt.”
“Get out of the vehicle, stay near. Help is on its way.”
“Watch out he’s coming back.” I yelled and we all ducked as low as we could as further shots were fired by the car passing us on the other carriageway. I knew he was going to turn at the roundabout and come back. We had about two minutes.
Everyone scrambled out of the car, other cars were stopping, and I tried to wave them on. The other girls ran away from the car towards some trees. I opened the boot of the car and pulled out the wheel brace and a heavy spanner I found there.
Cars were still stopping to help and I frantically tried to wave them away. The Mercedes came back for another pass at us and as it did I threw the wheel brace and spanner in front of it. They both hit the windscreen, and I hope cracked it badly. The car stopped and one of them got out. He pointed a gun at me and someone screamed. I waited for the impact of the bullet.
Time seemed to stop, and I stood wondering what it would feel like to be shot. Would I die? It was better than a motorway services car park, just. I had called for help and I saw a lioness rushing towards him, would it be in time. I wondered who else would see it.
Then as I braced myself for the impact, a car speeding towards us did a handbrake skid hitting both the gunman and his car. He was knocked sideways over the top of our car, he rolled as he hit the ground still with the gun.
I somersaulted at him grabbing his arm as I landed on top of him. In the struggle which ensued, he somehow shot himself. He ceased to take any further part in our battle.
The car which had hit him was an unmarked police car. The two officers were dazed but unhurt. The occupants of the other car, well three of them were running towards my colleagues.
I picked up the gun and ran after them, checking the magazine in the Smith and Wesson as I ran. It had five more rounds in it. Despite my skirt I was gaining on them. I shouted, “Scatter”, which my friends did. One of the attackers stopped to deal with me.
He hurriedly fired at me, the bullet went well wide of its mark. He aimed his gun again. It was the last thing he did. I dropped and fired two rounds into his chest. I knew he was dead before he hit the ground, I saw his soul leave his body and guess what the lioness did?
I picked up his gun, and ran after the others, there were now two lionesses in the hunt, three if you count me. One of the men obviously saw one of my pets and began shooting at it. It’s difficult to stop a thought form with lead, so it just kept gaining on him. So did I.
At the last minute he saw me. It was his last minute. Make that, last second. He pointed his gun at me and I dropped and fired twice again. One of the shots hit his face and he fell as hit by a truck, his feet lifting off the ground as the impact of the shot hit his head.
Two down, one to go. The third attacker decided that discretion was the finer part of valour, and legged it. By now, the police helicopter was overhead and the air was filled with sirens screaming from all directions. I ran towards my colleagues.
The police took care of the third man, a marksman wounding him when he fired on the helicopter. I surrendered the weapons I had picked up and used, to the police. I knew there would be lots of paperwork, as we were assisted into the back of a police car. Then the happy thought, “If I’m helping the police with their enquiries, then I can’t be in London being ogled by the Prime Minister and his cronies.”
In the local police headquarters, we were questioned separately. I gave my name and rank (ha ha), my home address, and destination. At first they laughed when I said, “10 Downing Street.” They thought I was being funny, but it was true. Attitudes seemed to change after that. “Let me get this straight Miss, you were on your way to see the PM when these guys attacked you?”
“Yes, they were giving us funny looks at the services, and they followed us. We were in contact with the police by phone and they instructed us to turn off the motorway, to set up a trap. Instead the men in the Mercedes, decided to up the ante, and began firing at us.
Pattie, our driver did really well to stop the car safely, while under fire. We evacuated the car and ran for it. I tried to stop the Mercedes from escaping unscathed, so I lobbed some tools at its windscreen. One of the men jumped out and was about to shoot me, when your colleagues arrived and stopped him, by sliding their car into him.
He was still waving the gun around on the floor, so I had to act. I tried to take it off him and he was shot in the ensuing struggle. I hope your colleagues can verify this. I took his gun and pursued the other men who seemed intent on hurting my colleagues.
One of these pursuers stopped to shoot at me, and I shot him twice. I went after the others, taking his gun as well. Another of them went to fire at me and I got him with a lucky shot, in the head I think.
The last man absconded, and was hit by one of your marksmen I think. The police from the damaged car caught up with me, whereupon I surrendered my weapons. That’s it, I think.”
The two officers, a man and a woman, opposite me nodded. Then the man held my medals in a sealed plastic bag. “Are these yours, Miss?”
“Yes. I was searched upon being brought here, and those were removed from my pocket.”
“Fancy things aren’t they?” he said, examining them through the bag.
“I have mixed feelings about them.”
“What are they?”
“A DCM and a George Medal.”
As I said this I saw him pale a little, and look at his colleague. “You’re that nurse who got these from the Princess Royal, at Barbury.”
“Fraid so.”
“For doing something like this afternoon, killing people.” He shook his head, “I thought nurses were supposed to save life, not take it.”
“I said I had mixed feelings about them. I have now shot and killed seven people. I would have preferred not to have hurt any of them. In each case, I was fired on first, like today.”
“You’ve killed seven people? How do you sleep at night?” said the copper shaking his head.
“I think that’s my business. But I could add, that had your bloody whirlybird been a bit quicker, none of this might have happened. I was forced to act in self defence, having done all of the things required of me while in contact with the police. You were told as soon as we knew we were being followed. Don’t judge me until you know exactly what happened.”
“I suppose they’ll give you another fucking medal, will they?”
“I hope your recorder picked that last statement up. I believe you either have to charge me or release me. Either way, I should like to call my solicitor and the Prime Minister’s office, to apologise for missing his dinner.”
At this moment a senior plod entered and my two tormentors were told to leave. The man muttered, “psychopath” as he left, to which I retorted “dickless wonder”.
The senior officer, a chief inspector, introduced himself. “Hello, Miss Curtis, I’m Chief Inspector Howse, if you’ve made a statement, I think you can get on to your engagement. “
“Can I take these now?” I said picking up my medals.
“Of course.”
I had noticed that my tights were shredded and I had mud and grass stains on my uniform, together with blood from my first encounter with the gunmen. “Is there somewhere I can clean up?”
“Of course, I’ll get someone to show you.” He led me out into a corridor, called for a young woman PC to take me to the toilets, where I washed myself and tried to sponge some of the blood out of my tunic.
Sheila came and found me. “Hurry Jamie, there’s a chopper waiting for us up the road.”
“Look at me, I’m spattered with blood and mud, my tights have had it and my hair is a mess.”
“Don’t worry, there’s a new uniform on its way, plus tights, and a hairdresser will sort out the rest.”
“What? You mean we’re still going to London?”
“Thanks to you, yes. Thank you for saving my life and those of the others.”
“One of the coppers interviewing me, seemed to think I got a buzz from doing it, from killing people.” I began to cry. “I don’t honestly. It just seems to happen to me.”
“I know,” said Sheila, hugging me as I cried on her shoulder. “It’s the shock, come on let's find that helicopter.”
The next hour was a total blur. We were taken to the chopper and flown to a site in London, where someone was waiting for me with a clean uniform. I washed and changed. My hair and makeup were tidied up by a beautician who was also waiting. Sheila pinned my medals on my chest, and we were led to another Jaguar, which was escorted by police outriders through the London traffic.
We entered Number Ten via some back underground entrance, not by the front door as I expected. I had watched countless VIPs come and go through the black front door, on news bulletins and was a bit disappointed not to do the same.
We were led through a series of security doors and up and down corridors until finally, we were taken into a small office to be met by some official in a dinner suit. He introduced himself and took our names, which he checked against some list.
“Please come with me. You’re a little late, but we were aware of that. Don’t worry, they’re all waiting for you.”
We were led through a pair of double mahogany doors into a large room in which sat dozens of people at a long dinner table. At our entry, the assembled throng rose and applauded us as we walked to the table and were shown our places. I was hot and bothered, blushing profusely and feeling very sick.
I was seated two chairs down from the PM, “Oh shit,” I thought. Everyone except him sat down.
“Honoured guests, we have been slightly delayed from starting this meal, waiting for our guests of honour, one of whom is one of the most decorated women soldiers in history. On her way here today, her car was attacked by terrorists, details of which attack I am still awaiting. I am led to believe that our guest of honour, young nurse Curtis, single-handedly dealt with three of the attackers, saving the lives of her colleagues, the attending police and members of the public. I salute her courage.”
He started to clap and next thing, everyone was standing and applauding me, again. I sat looking at the table, blushing and with the odd tear dripping down my face. I didn’t want to be there, one bit.
The evening was also something of a blur, I did speak with the Prime Minister who shook my hand warmly after the meal had finished and we retired to a second room for drinks and coffee.
I don’t recall what I said or what he said, or what I said to several other folk who came and spoke to me. I was tired and in a state of shock. I remember Sheila talking with him, and of a group around Sharon as she described the afternoon’s events and my part in them. I suspect she embroidered them somewhat, but I was past caring and two brandies later had nodded off to sleep in an arm chair.
I can’t recall the meal, I have a menu, signed by half the assembled throng, so I can report what was put on my plate, except I ate very little, my appetite is inversely proportional to my stress level.
So much of my recall is based upon those of my friends. I do recollect speaking about the courage of our driver and hoping it would be recognised. The PM assured me he would speak to her CO. I also asked him, that I should receive no further bits of metal for the afternoon’s activities. He declined to answer that one.
Sharon enjoyed herself, and Sheila was suitably impressed with both the Prime Minister and his official residence. She was given a quick tour of the public rooms while I snored in the armchair.
We were put up at a nearby hotel, which had a name associated with the county town of Dorset. The silk nightdress I was loaned was so soft, it was dreamy. I slept like a log. The next day, we were taken to the station and returned home by train. That journey was uneventful, for which I am extremely grateful. Would that we had gone by train in the first place.
I now had an inquest to attend, plus an internal enquiry courtesy of the army. I really wanted out. I should have gone for dismissal on medical grounds, months before, instead of which, I had another set of exams looming plus the aforementioned official proceedings to deal with. I felt very stressed and not a little unhappy.
Despite that, I wrote a short note to the PM thanking him for his hospitality and apologising for nodding off. Two days later, I received a personal letter back from him, thanking me for attending despite the rigours of the day. He hoped I would agree to attend Chequers for a weekend next month, as he had a favour to ask me.
I nearly fainted when I read his letter. Sheila however, was beside herself with joy. “He likes you, young lady. You could do quite well out of this if you play your cards right.”
“What d’you mean?” I asked naively.
“I suspect your military career could get quite a boost from this.”
“But I don’t want a military career. I’ve been in the bloody army just over a year and I’ve killed seven people. At this rate, by the time I’ve done my national service, I’ll be a fully qualified mass murderer.”
“Don’t be ridiculous Jamie. I have told you before that you are special. Use that specialness to help others, but also enjoy it for yourself. You deserve it.”
Whatever she was on about had passed me by, I knew I had some useful gifts which had saved my bacon as well as those of some of my friends. I had also tried to take my own life twice and it had been interrupted, so obviously I was meant to live a bit longer.
I tried to deal with all this stuff simply by accepting it fatalistically. I was where I was because I needed to be there. If there was a purpose, it wasn’t clear, leastways, not yet.
I had another week of playing nurses, then a week’s holiday at home. The relief of being in my own bed, of seeing my parents and neighbours. Of cycling again, was wonderfully restorative.
Thankfully, there were no more visitations from who or whatever it was that wanted me dead. Was no news good news, or the lull before the storm? I would doubtless find out sometime.
Despite my protests, my mother insisted on buying me some new togs for my bash at Chequers. This is a large country house, the official holiday home of the PM, where he entertains ambassadors and visiting foreign dignitaries. So what on earth was I going to be doing there? I was terrified.
It wasn’t just about thinking which knife goes with which fork, or slurping my soup but, what do you say to the most powerful man in the country? Who else is going to be there? What do I wear? Oh shit. I really wish I wasn’t going.
Mum bought me two dresses which could double as very smart cocktail or evening dresses. One was a lovely grey and turquoise mixture, the other a vibrant red. I was unsure of the latter, but she pooh-poohed my objections. We bought new shoes and bags for each, then, smart casual stuff, a skirt and top, trousers and top, new bras, new nighties. It was like Christmas come early. We argued, we always do about clothes and her profligacy in buying them on the slightest pretext. Her complaining that she had missed out on having a daughter earlier on, so it was her treat. When she gets in that mode, I stop arguing, it only makes things worse.
As for jewellery, I had some nice things already and won that part of the rubber, mainly by asking dad to get my pearls out of the bank. They were now insured for lots of money, so he agreed.
Another week in work and it became time to travel south again, this time to Chequers.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
Chequers, is the country residence of the Prime Minister. It resides in countryside about 30 miles northwest of London, in the county of Buckinghamshire. I was instructed to get to Princes Risborough, where a car would collect me. It struck me as ironic, that had I been at home in Oxford, my dad could have run me there in the car in about half an hour. Instead, I had two hours by train then a wait at the station.
Being an official residence, means restricted access to the public. In other words, you go by invite or summons only! What I didn’t understand was, what was I doing on my way there? I knew I should feel out of place. I mean who else could be there? Assorted lords and ladies, diplomats, top civil servants, cabinet ministers and other politicians, that’s who. Plus anyone else I forgot and moi ! I had a sudden flash back to the muppets and Miss Piggy, and began to chuckle to myself. If I began to take things too seriously, I must remember to think of Miss Piggy, that would sort things out.
I sat on the station seat, my two cases by my side. It was a bright, warm day and I felt happy to feel the sunshine on my skin. I imagined my Sekhmet solar disk and felt the real sun charging up my imaginary one. It was never a bad idea to keep my battery topped up.
As I drifted into an almost dream like state, I suddenly felt a shadow before me. I opened my eyes and started as I saw a large man in front of me. “Sorry to disturb you Miss, are you Miss Curtis from Barbury?”
“Yes I am.”
“These your cases Miss?” he asked picking them up as if they were bags of air.
“Yes, they are.” I responded.
“Follow me Miss. Oh, I’m Reynolds, your driver to your weekend retreat.”
“My weekend retreat?” That sounded rather a strange way to describe the PM’s country house. Yet he knew my name. If he was anything other than the official driver, I wasn’t picking up on it. Maybe he was kosher.
I followed a few yards behind, trying to be ready in case I had to run for it. However, he was so much bigger than I, he could flatten me with one of his ham sized mitts before I could squeak. However, I decided to challenge him.
We got to the car, a Range Rover. “Look please excuse my paranoia, but can we just confirm where we are going. I had someone try to kill me a couple of weeks ago, and it makes me a little nervous to get into cars with complete strangers.”
“Of course Miss. I’m John Reynolds from the transport department of the Home Office. Here’s my ID card.” He proffered what looked like a genuine card, but not being an expert, I wouldn’t have known one from a fake anyway.
“I hope you have your invitation handy, it saves time getting through the security guards.” I nodded and produced the vellum coloured envelope with Downing Street stamp on it.
We got into the car. “Sorry to sound vague, but one can’t be too careful, never know who’s listening.”
I smiled and nodded. In a few minutes we were chatting comfortably and I had nearly forgotten where I was going. He asked me about the recent attack, so I gave him a brief rehash of it, without mentioning that I had been the one who did much of the shooting.
I noticed we were entering the village of Ellesborough, then a few minutes later we drove through a no entry sign. I nearly said something, but bit my tongue instead. Then from nowhere stepped an armed guard. He stopped us.
“Hi John,” he said to the driver, “Who y’got ‘ere?” Reynolds held up his clipboard, the man read it and compared it with his own. “Can I see your invite Miss?”
I passed the envelope to him, he opened and read it. “Seems in order Miss, but we can’t be too careful. Only the other week some soldiers were attacked on the way to one of the PM’s dinners. They killed a dozen terrorists, by all accounts.”
“Goodness,” I replied trying to strangle the laugh that was trying to escape my mouth. Then totally taking the piss, added, “Well I’m rather glad you’re here to protect me, unless you can get those soldiers here.”
“I’ll do my best Miss. Have a nice weekend.” He waved us on. My driver snorted as we went on. “He was on about the attack you told me about earlier, wasn’t he?”
“I suppose so. I don’t know of any others.”
“No, nor me. I’d heard it was three who got shot plus another captured.”
“Two were captured, including the driver. Three were killed and another wounded.”
“I’m told it was some nurse who did the shooting.”
“I didn’t see who did what,” I said, “it was all very confusing and I was too busy doing my impression of a headless chicken.”
“Pity.” He said, “I had you down as the dead shot queen of Barbury.”
“Sorry to disappoint.” I replied blushing.
“You don’t have to be so modest, you know. I know who you are, and what you did in Iraq, Barbury and Luton. “
“If that’s the case why did you ask me then?”
“I hoped you might tell me about it.”
“Why?”
“’cos you’d be better informed than the papers were.”
“I’m not proud of having been responsible for someone’s death.”
“You’re not responsible Miss, he was for trying to kill you. He started it. You simply finished it.”
“I don’t know what I feel about it.”
“I was in the war in Iraq. Lobbed a grenade into a house full of hostiles. I killed five people and a dog. At the time, I didn’t think too much about it, heat of battle etc. Then about half an hour later, I couldn’t stop shaking. I still have flashbacks now, grenades tend to be messy.”
I shuddered as he told me his tale. Unlike the rest of the people I would meet this weekend, I had something in common with perhaps only one, my driver. We were both children of Cain. I don’t know if I felt better or worse for knowing it. Probably the former, but I wasn’t sure.
“Thanks for telling me Mr Reynolds.”
“You’re welcome Miss.”
We stopped at another checkpoint, my letter was examined again, and a police Land Rover escorted us to the house.
“Is security usually this tight?” I asked.
“Sometimes, sometimes worse, hangabout,” we were stopped outside the house and my papers examined yet again. The armed policeman, who looked at them said,
“When you enter the house, you will be given a security badge. Make sure you have it with you at all times during your stay. These guns are not toys, and they have been used.”
“Thank you officer. I shall do as you suggest.”
“I would Miss. Have a pleasant weekend.”
I looked at my driver. “Just what am I doing here?”
“Probably brightening up the old place quite a bit Miss.”
I smiled at him, and blushed. “Thanks for the ride Mr Reynolds.”
“You’re welcome Miss. I’ll collect you on Sunday some time and take you back to the station.”
I thanked him and went into the mansion, he followed me with my bags. I was at Chequers, but was no nearer knowing why.
I was led into an office, where my letter was checked yet again, and I was given the security badge. Once more the warning was reiterated about live ammunition. I felt less than safe knowing about it. It would be ironic to be shot dead by someone supposedly protecting me. I imagined tabloid headlines, which grew evermore lurid.
“Miss!” I jumped. “Sorry to startle you, but would you follow me. I’ll show you to your room. I followed the man along wainscoted corridors, past carved wooden doors and thick carpets. The furniture I saw looked old and expensive, none of your repro stuff here. This was the real thing, oak and mahogany, with lots of gold and yellows. I passed a painting of a mouse releasing a lion from a trap, by gnawing through a net. I approved of the mouse’s action.
My room was on the second floor. It was large and airy. I felt disappointed that the bed wasn’t a four poster, but it was a double with a brass bedstead, so it was grand enough, I suppose.
I hung up my clothes, then checked out the facilities. An en suite, as expected. The view was beautiful, sweeping countryside with a backdrop of the Chiltern hills. I stood watching the sun fade on the countryside, oblivious of the time and still not knowing why I had been invited.
I eventually managed to pull myself away from the view, and went for a soak in the tub. It relaxed me a little and I dressed for dinner. What was I supposed to do apart from eat?
I spotted a guide to the house, telling me of a gym and swimming pool, pointing out the best walks, the nearest church and bits and pieces of other useful gen. I would need to know why I’d been invited, it certainly wasn’t to use the place like a country club, at the tax payer’s expense. Maybe I’d find out at dinner.
While I was lost in my thoughts, a helicopter landed. It was carrying a very special guest, and the reason for my presence was soon to be made clear. I continued my toilette, doing my makeup and hair. Dinner was half an hour away, I needed to get a move on.
I was finishing my hair, when someone knocked my door. “Come in.” I called out. A moment later, I had the biggest surprise of my life.
“Hello sweetheart.”
“John? What are you doing here?” I looked at him, he looked well and wearing his dress uniform. “You look very smart.”
“I’ve come to take you down to dinner. But before I do, I want to thank you for saving my life.”
Still in some degree of shock, I simply shrugged my shoulders. “I didn’t do anything.” I said rather diffidently.
“That’s not what I heard. Don tells me, you played quite a part in my rescue. He sends his love by the way. Do you know what the cheeky sod told me?”
I shook my head, looking into those limpid grey pools and feeling a longing somewhere in my heart and somewhere well below it.
“He said to me. ‘What the hell are you doing with that girl of yours?’ He said, ‘For God’s sake make it up with her. She loves you to bits. You don’t deserve her you stupid sod. Make it up soon or someone else will snap her up. She’s too pretty to be alone for long.’ Well I always do what uncle Don says, so here I am.”
“So here you are.” I said looking at him, not knowing whether to jump on him or knock his head off. I knew what my heart said, but my head was now in control.
I don’t know if my hesitation sparked his conscience or what, but his manner suddenly changed from being cocky to almost embarrassed. He was blushing as he said, “I’d like us to try again, if you’ll have me back.”
I looked at my watch, “I think we’re supposed to be at dinner in two minutes, can we talk about this later.”
He blushed again. “Sure”, he said, then, “shall we go?” and he held out his arm for me.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Walking you down to dinner.”
“Don’t be silly.” I gently upbraided him.
“I’m doing some liaison with the Yanks.”
“So are there some Americans here?”
“You didn’t hear the helicopter?”
“It practically blew the cover off my bed.”
“They came by that.”
“Who, the ambassador or someone like that?” I asked.
“Yeah, someone like that.”
“Oh,” I said. Pausing, I added, “So why am I here?”
“PM probably wanted some extra muscle around in case things got difficult. You know.”
“That is probably why you’re here, but not me.”
“I don’t know, maybe they need a lion tamer.”
“Very funny, I don’t think.” I noticed that John seemed to know his way around the house. “You’ve been here before, haven’t you?”
“Just a bit.” He smiled at me, “I did a three month shift here on security, liaising with Special Branch. The food’s amazing.”
We walked a little further and he led me into a room. “Miss Curtis, Sergeant Anderson how nice to see you both again.”
“Prime Minister.” We both said and shook hands with him.
“I don’t suppose you’ve met President Carlton. Madam President may I present Nurse Curtis and Sergeant John Anderson. A couple of everyday heroes in our battle against terrorism.”
Talk about gobsmacked. Here I was, a nobody, shaking hands with the US President, and the first woman one. I felt very privileged. I mumbled something which I hoped was taken as, “Madam President”.
She shook my hand and said to me, “I’m glad you could make it, Jamie. I’ve heard much about you.”
I nearly fainted with…..I don’t know what. She had heard of me. The President of America had heard of moi. A vision of Miss Piggy flew into my mind, and I had to stifle it before I began to laugh. I know I didn’t want to take things too seriously, but this was serious. The last thing I needed to do was to embarrass myself in front of the two most senior politicians in the western world, so I suddenly thought ‘lioness’.
Why I don’t know, but I did. I caught sight of one of my girls behind the two politicians. John saw it too. I saw him momentarily blanch, then recover his composure, by which time I had caused my pet to vanish.
The two senior politicians led us into dinner, through a room where there were a dozen or more other guests. The place was crawling with secret service men and women.
We ate. Well everyone else ate, I played with my food while listening to Susan Carlton and Brian Green talk about their families, and things other than politics. Every now and again, I was asked for an opinion on something, but I tended to be overwhelmed and mumbled something unintelligible. I kept pinching myself.
After dinner, we were treated to an entertainment. A psychic magician was introduced as Dr Dee, presumably after the Elizabethan occultist and practitioner of Enochian Magick, amongst other things.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about this guy, his energies felt strange. I wondered if I was just prejudiced against him, but the more I watched the more apprehensive I became. I decided he was a threat, not to me, but to…. Oh no, the President.
How was I to be sure of this? Jesus, if I get this wrong she could be hurt or I get very embarrassed and make myself look completely stupid. I needed to get inside the man and read his mind, or confirm my suspicions in some other way.
I imagined the time was running backwards from the end of his act, and I watched things happening backwards, like running a videotape on rewind. In horror I saw the knife fly out of the chest of the President and back up his sleeve. It was a small thin blade almost like a dart. He was doing a card reading trick and she, the president, was holding the card like a target for him. I let it wind back some more and then stopped it. I now knew the trick before the assassination attempt. What I didn’t know was how I was going to stop it.
Had I seen this really happen or was it all my imagination. He got to the trick before, the coin in the bottle. Oh shit, this is real. What do I do to stop it?
My head was spinning as I tried to think of a solution. He pulled out the cards.
“Madam President”, he said, “perhaps you could help me with this trick?”
She took the card, my mouth went dry. Suddenly, I stood up. “I know how this is done.” I said. I didn’t have a clue, but anything to buy some time. The man became a bit pale.
“I doubt you’ve seen it done like this, love,” he replied.
“I’ll bet you a tenner, I can show you a way you’ve never seen it done either.”
“Fine love,” he said, growing more agitated, “we’ll do it after I’ve done mine.”
“Oh, where’s your manners?” I said, “I thought it was always, ladies first.” By this time I had walked to the front of the group with him. I was taking his initiative, and he was struggling. There was definitely something not right about him. I went to grab the cards and he, snatched his hand back from me. He looked as if he was in some form of trance.
I fixed him with a stare, calling up a little help from a certain Egyptian goddess. That was whom he would be seeing. His eyes were out on stalks now and he was close to overload. Mentally I instructed him to freeze. He stood rigidly, his stare fixed on my eyes. I ordered him to close his eyes, and to fall into a deep sleep, while still standing up.
Behind me the natives were getting restless, and I waved them to be quiet. I placed a chair in front of him. Taking a card from him, I propped it up on the chair, with the help of a glass. I then told him that this was the president and he should finish his trick.
The assembled party heard my voice, the magician heard a much more powerful one, he could not resist. I clicked my fingers, he opened his eyes and did his trick to the empty chair at the last minute firing his deadly dart into the back of the chair. Then he went completely blank and was jumped on by two secret service men.
In the same moment, the president was whisked away as was the PM. The rest of us were told to stand while three other security staff held us at gun point.
Hushed voices of shock, with security men shouting firm instructions to us to be quiet. The man on the floor being dragged away with his hands bound behind him.
John whispered behind me, “You saved her life.”
I whispered back, “This time.” At the same time, something didn’t feel right. Like it was a set up, and I was supposed to intervene.
It could all be my imagination, but it felt like a test. I was lucky not to have been jumped on by the secret service as well. They were far from gentle with the magician, and they were also armed. It could have got very serious.
Eventually we were allowed to sit again, and drinks were passed around. I opted for a brandy. Not my favourite drink, but it helped to calm me down.
A man in a suit asked me to accompany him. I gave my drink to John, and followed him. I was led into a room where the PM, the President and a small group of senior looking security staff were gathered.
“I think I owe you my life,” offered the President.
“Well done Jamie,” said the PM patting my shoulder gently.
“You were never in danger were you?” I said to the President.
“What do you mean?” she replied, looking aghast.
“This was a set up. Someone here was testing me. If it had gone wrong and I hadn’t intervened, presumably one of these ‘suits’ would have done so. How, is the big question, and what would happen to the patsy, is another.”
“Is this true Mr Kapowlski?” demanded the president of some tall, middle aged man with very short brown hair.
“Ma’am, you were never in any danger.”
“I hope we were not a party to this Mr Tuck.” Said the PM to a rather distinguished, military looking man. Who in turn was shaking his head.
I am not sure if I believed any of them. I wanted very badly to go home. This was an alien environment, full of liars and twisters, movers and shakers. It was not my world at all, and I really wanted to be away from it.
I was very close to asking permission to leave, not just the room but the whole place. I wanted to go home.
“Thank you Jamie, that’s all for now.” I was dismissed by the PM.
I returned to the rest of the guests, finished my brandy and complaining of a headache, went off to bed. Oblivious even to the presence of John, I just needed some space.
Once in bed, I set one of my girls at both door and window, I switched off the light and tried to analyse what was going on. It made no sense, other than as a test for me. Was our lot in on it, was Mrs Carlton aware of it, who else knew, and why wasn’t John here trying to get into my knickers?
I rattled these thoughts around my head for an hour or more, the latter one becoming the overriding one. Was I going to give him another chance, and was he in on this deception, the schoolboy assassination attempt. It was like the Manchurian candidate minus Warren Beatty or Denzil Washington, depending on whether one liked the original or the remake.
Despite all these unresolved issues buzzing around my head, the brandy eventually won and I slept.
The next morning, I borrowed a costume and went swimming. I was returning from that when I was accosted by the distinguished military looking man, from the night before.
“Miss Curtis, could you come with me?” It was said in a way which while not an order, brooked no disagreement either.
I was wearing some jeans and a top, my Reeboks and had a towel around my hair, turban style. “Can I go and change first?”
“I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”
“Where are we going?”
“I’d like to show you something.”
“Can’t it wait?”
“No.” He took my arm and led me down some corridor to a lift, whereupon we went to a sub basement area. It was well underground. He led me through a couple of rooms and we eventually came to a shooting gallery, or firing range.
He handed me a pistol. “I hear you are handy with one of these, care to show me what you can do?”
“Not really.” I snorted back, handing him back the gun.
“I insist.” He said trying to push the wretched object in my hand.
“Piss off.” I snapped and turned to leave, but the door was locked.
“Please,” he said, proffering the gun again.
“What’s to stop me taking this and emptying it into you?” I snapped at him.
“Absolutely nothing, but it would all be on film, so you wouldn’t get away with it.” He nodded at a camera. I suspected there were more, and the whole place would have cameras for the security boys anyway.
It looked like I was going to have to do what he wanted. “Why should I do what you want. I don’t even know who you are?”
“Sorry, how rude of me. I’m Commander Tuck, Special Branch.”
“What are you testing me for?”
“All in good time, young lady.”
“Tell me now, or I won’t play ball.”
“Don’t threaten me.”
“Why what are you going to do about it?”
“I believe you have some affection for young Anderson?”
“I used to. Your information is out of date.”
“It might be, but that wouldn’t necessarily stop me having him sent somewhere very dangerous, like Afghanistan.”
“I can’t stop you.”
“Said with some detachment, but I don’t believe it. You can stop me, by simply cooperating. I can tell you it would be well worth your while.”
“All I want is to be as far away from here as possible, away from all of your double talk and double dealing. I think you all stink.”
“I’m sorry you feel like that, but you will leave here more safely if you cooperate, and of course more quickly. Cooperate and it will all become clear. Please, it sounds very bad, but it actually isn’t. What I want you to do, is very interesting work and will only take a few weeks of your time. It will look very good on your CV. Plus you’ll have plenty of tales to tell your grandchildren.”
“I don’t like you Mr Tuck, so why don’t you just tuck off! Or words that sound like it.”
“I do like women with a bit of spirit.”
“You patronising old fart.”
“When you have quite finished your schoolgirl tantrum, can you show me how well you can shoot this thing.”
“Fuck you!” I mouthed at him, then taking the pistol, checked it, put it down, put on the safety mask and ear defenders. Then taking aim fired it all over the place.
“Very funny. You’ve had your joke now do it properly.” He said passing me a new clip.
This time I tried, and put all six rounds into the target.
“You’ve obviously done this before.”
“Yes, but usually they’re Arabs.” I mocked at him trying to sound ironic.
“Oh yes very droll.” He commented, “Please, again.” He handed me another clip.
This time I decided to shoot them a bit more subtly. There were three lanes to the range. I put two shots into the target in each lane. They were close to the centre. It was the only thing I had actually learned in the army, how to shoot a gun, that, and marching round in circles.
“What the hell?” exclaimed my unwanted companion.
“I’ve done what you wanted now let me go, or I shall do something with this gun which will embarrass your proctologist.”
The door magically opened, and I walked through it casually throwing the gun over my head as I left. Whatever it was these bastards wanted me to do, I was not going to do. They could rot for all I cared. If this was what fighting terror required, I was going to desert, and soon. I was not going to hurt anyone else, unless they did something to John, and then I would wreak revenge on Commander Fuck’s entire family.
Muttering to myself as I walked back to my room, I was challenged by a security guard, and I didn’t have my magic badge with me. “I’m a legitimate guest here, who has just left Commander Dick head, or was it Commander Fuck. Anyway it’s something like that. Ask him if you don’t believe me.”
“I’m sorry Miss, but you’ll have to come with me.” he grasped my arm and for some reason I saw red. I decided I wasn’t going anywhere with him or anyone else.
“Take your hand off me.”
“I’m sorry Miss, I have to insist.”
I am not sure how many of you know, but lions kill by knocking their prey down and smashing the ribs, before biting on the windpipe and suffocating their prey. A lion is quite capable of crushing a man’s skull with a single blow of its paw.
Something my would be captor didn’t know was I could make an imaginary lioness do the same. However, I didn’t want another death on my conscience, so I asked my pet to pull the punch a little.
I don’t know what the camera saw, but I saw a lioness sneak up behind him, knock him down and rattle his brains with a fairly hard whack. I shook my head as I heard his head hit the floor in a recoil. He was well and truly unconscious but still breathing. I quickly left him in the coma position and went back to my room.
I knew things would now get a bit sticky, and I was unsure as to whether I stayed there and face the music or try to leave and see what happened. If they shot me, too bad. What I didn’t want to happen was, for someone else to get hurt.
I dried my hair, put on some tidier clothes, my ID badge, and some makeup. I had just finished when the door was knocked. I nearly jumped out of my skin. Then calming down, realised that it was unlikely to be a SWAT team knocking on my door.
“Yes.” I called.
“It’s me, John.”
I opened the door. He slipped in and shut it quickly behind him. “What have you done now, upsetting old Tuck?”
“He started it.” I pouted back.
“You also put one of the local security guys in hospital, with concussion. They are still trying to work out how you did it. I’ve seen the video tape from the corridor, he goes down as if pole-axed by the invisible man.”
“He’ll survive.”
“That’s not the point. You can’t just go around laying out security guards because they upset you.”
“Why not?”
“For God’s sake, Jamie, grow up.” He was cross with me and I felt my bottom lip tremble just a bit.
“I’ve had it with these guys. They won’t tell me why I’m here, they threaten to send you on suicide missions. Why won’t they tell me?”
“Work it out for yourself. Who did we meet yesterday?”
“Susan Carlton.”
“She’s passing through this weekend. In about two months she’s due here for an official visit.”
“So.”
“Goodness Jamie, for a clever kid you can be awful thick.”
“I don’t know what you are saying.”
“Given your special intuitive powers, they are going to include you in the protection squad.”
“What?” I gasped. No wonder that old fart said it would look good on my CV.
“Not only that but it’s at the specific request of the PM himself, to which she has agreed after last night’s demonstration.”
“It was a set up, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, but only a couple of people knew about it, to make it more real.”
“They were going to kill the magician, weren’t they?”
“I don’t know. It’s taken me quite some time to find out this little lot so far. It’s NSA, so things are very tight.”
“I thought they launched rockets and things.” I said looking bemused.
“Jamie, concentrate please. You are thinking of NASA, the space agency. I said NSA, National Security Agency.”
“They’re always the bad guys in the X-Files.”
“Believe me, they are ten times worse than the X-Files. Mulder would really have his hands full messing with this lot. Even with your pussy cats, you would have a very short lifespan if you mess with them.”
“I’ll bear it in mind.” I said, thinking how his eyes darken when he’s cross.
“Anyway, Commander Tuck wants to see you.”
“So whose side are you on?” I asked.
“Jamie, if you have to ask, I’m not sure if we have a future.”
“That’s up to you, but let me know if they send you to Afghanistan, I’ll knit you some mitts.”
He led me back along corridors to a large office. Inside was the offensive Commander and another man I recognised from last night as one of the Americans.
“Ah Miss Curtis, so glad you could spare us the time.” He smiled at me with his mouth but his eyes were not amused. “Please have a seat. This is Mr Kapowlski, who you met last night. He is with the American secret service.”
I sat and glowered, not saying anything.
“Tell me, Jamie, how did you zap the chap in the corridor?”
“As you seem reluctant to tell me anything, you can work it out for yourself.”
“I see, still in schoolgirl mode are we?”
“Want me to show you, do you?” I had great difficulty not smirking as I said it, and before he could say anything, I imagined both these clowns being knocked over by a lioness, but not knocked senseless. They were arguably there already.
A moment later, they were both lying on the floor. Mr Kapowlski flat on his face and Tuck under his desk, with his chair on top of him.
I sat motionless, while the American picked himself up then helped his counterpart up. They were both red faced and breathing heavily.
“What the fuck are you playing at?” snarled the angry secret serviceman. I could smell his breakfast on his breath. It was as foul as he was. “How did you do that?”
“Very easily. Want another try?”
“Do that again, and you’ll be very sorry little girl.”
This time I stood up and kneed him in the groin. “Threaten me mister and you’ll be very sorry.”
I glanced at Tuck, who was trying not to laugh at his colleague who was turning purple and breathing very deeply. “I’ll get you for that, you little bi….”
Before he could finish the sentence I imagined his trousers and underpants falling round his ankles. Tuck had to hide his face behind his hand, he was laughing so much. “Think it’s funny do ya?”
When I imagined his dick falling off, he fainted for some reason.
“Miss Curtis will you please desist from this Harry Potter game. You have made your point.” Demanded the British security man. He went to help his visitor, whom I had restored to his previous degree of intactness.
There was a delay while he got his breath back, and I began to appreciate the powers I seem to have been given, or was developing. I was tempted to fool around with these two much more, but decided that would be unhelpful to all of us and abuse of the power.
“I take it you don’t want me to show you again?” I said smiling broadly.
Looking flushed, Kapowlski, shook his head. “I don’t think it will be necessary, Miss Curtis. Why not just tell us how it’s done.”
“I don’t know, and if I did I wouldn’t.”
“That’s your final answer, then?”
“Yes.”
The two men looked at each other, as if uncertain as to how to proceed. I intervened again, “So far no one is telling me why I am here. I should therefore like to leave.”
“By all means if you’d like to return to your room.”
“No Mr Tuck, I mean go home. I don’t wish to stay here one moment longer, please give the PM and the President my apologies, but I have exams to study for and thus more important things to think about. If you need me again just call on the ‘Bat-phone.’”
With that, I rose to leave.
“Sit down you little bit…” snapped an American voice.
I stood up and rose to my full height, which with solar disk is about ten feet. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” I heard the same voice declare. I then focused my attention on the door which was still burning as I blasted a hole through it, about ten feet in diameter. It was Jamie who walked down the corridor and who appeared on all the video tapes, but I left two incoherent men behind me. For some reason, they were both replaced the same day having gone on indefinite sick leave.
I returned to my room, and asked the PM’s secretary if I might go home. I was told he wanted to see me, and could I wait. I spent the time packing.
“Thank you for coming Jamie, I’m sorry that you didn’t enjoy it more.”
“I’m sorry too Mr Green, but the pressure and games your security men played with me were disgraceful.”
“What did you do to them?”
“I did nothing, they did it to themselves.”
“I’m just a simple politician, Jamie, explain please.”
“I appear to be connected to something bigger than I understand, they tried to tap into this something and you know the rest.”
“Are you suggesting some sort of power? Like a metaphysical power?”
“I’m not suggesting anything, but people who play with fire risk getting burnt.”
“Are you at risk?”
“Not if I behave myself.”
“Are we at risk?”
“I don’t believe so. This energy has been here for thousands of years, several have tried to access and control it, they all came to the same end. I am a servant to it, as are you.”
“You are talking as if this thing was an act of God, the power of the Lord.”
“How you view it will depend upon your philosophy, some may see it as God or an angelic thing, others might see it differently.”
“So if you had this power before, why did you shoot those terrorists?”
“It has grown since then.”
“So is it safe?”
“Oh yes.”
“Are you safe? Is there anyone who can help you to understand it, keep it safe?”
“Thank you for your concern. I’ll accept your questions at face value. However, please don’t consider making me safe by eliminating me, because that will annoy the power and there will be consequences. Louis XVI annoyed it, I think you take my meaning.”
“What did Louis do?”
“He killed the messenger.”
I decided I would reinforce my message using the man’s own imagery. I knew he was seeing wings sprouting from my shoulders and an aura of light around me.
“Messenger, as in Greek, I suppose?” he said. I said nothing but smiled angelically at him. It was all in his imagination. Powerful stuff imagination.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
I was in an anatomy class when there was an interruption. In walked Elspeth, Sheila Brice’s secretary. She spoke to the tutor, who responded with, “Can’t it wait?”
Apparently the answer was ‘no’, because a moment later she called, “Nurse Curtis can you go and see Captain Brice, immediately.”
My heart sank. It wasn’t going to be good news, whatever it was. I rose from my place next to Sharon, and as I walked to the door I heard the catcalls, “Quick Robin, it’s the bat phone.” Then, “Looks like a job for Supernurse.” “Bat nurse, you mean.”
I had done some strange things in my time but nursing a bat was not amongst them.
I followed Elspeth to the office. She would say nothing. I was shown in immediately.
At her desk sat Captain Brice, on the other side were sat a major and a man in an expensive suit. “Come in Jamie, no interruptions Elspeth.” I walked in and saluted my C.O. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the major smile as I did so.
“At ease Nurse Curtis. These gentlemen are from the intelligence services.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” I thought to myself.
“Hello Curtis, I’m Major Kent, and this is Mr Bromham.” Said the officer standing up to shake my hand. “I’ve got your orders here.” He said proffering a sealed manila envelope.
“Orders?” I heard myself saying in a shocked voice. I looked at Sheila; who simply shrugged her shoulders, as if to say, ‘It’s out of my hands.’
“Please open them, and read them.” Continued the major, “We don’t have much time.”
“Look I’m sorry but I think you must have the wrong Curtis, or something.”
“They haven’t Jamie, please do as they ask.” Coming from Sheila, I had to comply without any further protest, but I was not happy.
Sullenly, I tore open the sealed envelope. Inside was a smaller sealed one. Jesus, this was like pass the bloody parcel. Finally, I found a piece of A5 paper. It was headed, ‘From the Prime Minister’s Office’.
It read:You are to accompany the two men to London, to help with a very serious incident. You will be given the temporary position of Acting Captain, and remunerated accordingly during your secondment. Do not speak to anyone about this matter. Neither of the two escorts have any further information. The Prime Minister personally recognises your contribution.
Signed. Sir John Franklin.
Undersecretary Joint Intelligence Committee.
“What if I refuse to comply?” I said looking at the three faces.
“Bad things Miss.” Said Bromham.
The other one nodded gravely in agreement. Sheila just shook her head and pleaded with her eyes.
“Acting Captain Curtis, we have been instructed to escort you to London. We will follow our orders, whether you agree or not. Please don’t use any of your hocus pocus, this is serious.” Said Major Kent.
“Acting Captain?” Gasped Sheila.
“Next time I’ll ask for brigadier.” I joked, but no one was laughing.
“If you two aren’t supposed to know anything about all this, how come you know about this Acting Captain stuff?” I asked then as we were driven away at speed.
“We were told you pick you up and get you to London, and that you would be assuming the rank of Acting Captain, SIS.”
“SIS?” I gasped in astonishment. That was John’s lot. What the hell is going on here?
“That’s all we know Captain Curtis. So unless you wish to talk about something else we won’t make too much conversation.” The car was really speeding along, with I suspected flashing headlights and probably small blue ones back and front. Whatever it was; it was important; very important. Suddenly the car turned into a small airfield, and a few minutes later we were on board a small helicopter and airborne.
In an hour we had landed on a helipad in central London. Ten minutes after that, I was being given a visitor pass to a building in Whitehall. We walked along endless marble corridors each with pass coded doors and frequently overseen by armed MOD police.
Since the bombings in London, they were taking no chances. Eventually, I was led into a reception office, where I was told to sit and wait. Mr Bromham waited with me.
“It’s okay, I won’t disappear or run off.” I said to him.
“I know.” He replied dryly, “I’m here to make sure of it.”
“Did you enjoy the guards? Coldstream wasn’t it?” I was starting to pick up on his past. “Then you transferred to intelligence and thence to MI6. How am I doing.”
He sat impassively, ignoring me, or trying to. He was guarded in his body language; obviously through training, but his eyes spoke a different dialect. “Let me see married to Emma, divorced last year. You have a daughter called…”
He was suddenly looming over me. I don’t care how you know all this, whether it’s from my records or some paranormal means, but if you don’t shut the fuck up I am going to rearrange your lovely face.” He then sat down.
I was shocked at his quiet threat. It conveyed immense menace. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Shut it.” He mouthed at me. I did as I was told. I saw him being hit by a car as he crossed a street and tried to warn him, but he made a threatening gesture to me; so I desisted. He had three more days to live. I tried again, but he stood up to come and hit me. At this moment a new face arrived.
“Captain Curtis, please come this way.” As I left with this obvious civil servant type, I did say, “Be careful crossing the road on Thursday.” His response was to run a finger across his throat. I did try.
“In here please, would you like some coffee.”
“Please, white no sugar. Any chance of a biscuit? I’m starving.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Said the young man and hurried off.
As he disappeared so a large double door in polished mahogany opened and I was ushered in. “Captain Curtis, how kind of you to come. The PM speaks very highly of you, though I must admit you are younger than I expected.”
The puzzled look on my face must have conveyed a message. “Oh yes, forgive me. I’m Arthur Wilkins, assistant to Sir John. I sent you the note.”
I held up the piece of paper. “That’s it.” He led me into a large room with three men seated around a large table. There were one or two minions taking notes and acting as gofers. I was invited to sit opposite them. I felt as if I was about to take a viva exam before a board of eminent professors.
“The PM speaks very highly of you and your apparent skills. I believe a Mr Tuck said he was impressed with your skills.”
“Has he recovered?” I asked innocently, having last seen him under a desk I had dropped on him.
“I believe so. Now to business. I must say Captain Curtis, you look awfully young to be involved in this. It could be very dangerous.”
“You were saying about business.” I quipped.
“Quite so. We have a situation, as our American colleagues say. Actually they have one, as well. In a nutshell, the British Ambassador to Egypt has been kidnapped by terrorists. They are threatening to execute him and his bodyguard, a Sergeant Anderson. In a separate attack, they have also kidnapped the American Ambassador. We don’t know if they are the same group or even related. However, they did occur at about the same time in what appears to be coordinated attacks.”
I think I must have visibly shuddered when they mentioned John’s name. “Are you well captain?” Asked Sir John.
“I’m okay.” I said very quietly. It was a lie, I felt awful.
Another of the ‘professors’ spoke. “The US president asked for you to be involved, apparently she has seen you in action. Is this correct?”
“I have met her, yes.”
“For one so young, you move in august circles.”
“It’s a habit I’m trying to break.”
“Your flippancy is not appreciated here, Miss Curtis.”
“I’m sorry, but I didn’t ask to be seconded here. However, I am here. There are several men who are in grave danger while I’m sitting here with the outings committee from the Civil Service retirement club.”
“Your impertinence does not become you. Any further outbursts and I shall report you to your senior officer.” Snapped the final wise monkey.
“Go ahead, then see who’s going to save your ambassador. I think I’m finished here.” I stood and turned to leave the room. The third wise monkey walked very rapidly to intercept me.
“You will leave when we have finished, not before.” He stood glaring at me. The glare began to turn to fear as he suddenly began to levitate up to the ceiling being held against the wall.
I continued towards the door.
“Miss Curtis, please. We um.. need your help.” Sir John’s plumy tones came from behind me. “And would you please release Admiral Thomas, without harming him?”
“He can wait a moment. What do you want me to do.?”
“This is all top secret.” He began.
“Look; this is all very well but it’s a talking shop. Who is the person in operational charge?”
“Colonel Bell.”
“Please take me to him, and please have Sergeant Don Masters attend. He’s SIS, and a colleague of Anderson’s.”
“You know Sergeant Anderson?”
“You know I do. Or if you don’t you shouldn’t be here.”
“I should be here.”
“I’m glad to hear it, Sir John. Captain Pugwash, you can come down now.” With that he slid gently to the floor, whereupon, he was violently sick all over his expensive suit.”
I was led to Col. Bell’s office drinking my now cold cup of coffee and munching a digestive biscuit.
He was in a meeting, which we interrupted. He was addressing a whole table load of people. He therefore; didn’t take to kindly to our entrance. “Who the hell are you? I don’t need any schoolgirls here. Get rid of her.”
“Colonel, she’s the one who could just get our people out of this shit.” I recognised Don Masters.
“If you are messing with me sergeant, your arse is in a sling.”
“I’m not, sir, she found Anderson in Amsterdam.”
“I thought the Dutch special branch did.”
“She told them where to look.”
“Is this true?”
“Yes sir.” I didn’t like this man but for John’s sake I had to work with him.
“Okay everyone take five.” Said the colonel. “Right missy, if you ever interrupt a meeting of mine again, I’ll have your lovely arse roasted.”
I felt like sending this man through the wall, but decided any tricks would be counter-productive. For now at any rate.
“Sir, Jamie was Anderson’s girlfriend, she is also very psychic.”
“Jesus H Christ. You don’t believe in that crap. Get out of here child. Go now before I get angry.”
“You big, arrogant bully. You don’t care about those men you only care about yourself and your reputation.”
“Fuck off, deary, now!”
“Just like when you were in Iraq. You let men die so you could glory. Your own sergeant, Colin Titmarsh. You let him die.”
“Shut up, girly.” His face was red and the pulse in his forehead was throbbing.
“Tell Sergeant Titmarsh to shut up. He warned you about that house, but you ordered an attack. They were all killed weren’t they. You said they disobeyed your orders, but Titmarsh disagrees. You killed him and two others.”
“I’m not impressed by your games, girly. I’ve got plenty of blood on my hands.”
“I’m not frightened by your bluster. Unlike you colonel, I have killed enemy combatants. Come any closer and I shall add you to the list.”
“You impertinent little cow.” He said as he went to strike me.
“No sir, that’s Hathor, I’m Sekhmet.” I said as I was aware that I was suddenly looking down on someone who towered over me normally.
“What the blazes…” An appropriate turn of phrase as his clothes began to smoke. Only prompt action by Don Masters throwing water over him prevented his cremation.
He was shaking when they sat him down at a table. “What was that all about?” He eventually managed to ask.
“I have some extra skills which sadly people do not accept until something is demonstrated to them. Yours nearly cost you your life.”
“Look Curtis, I don’t know how you can help in all this, even with your flame throwing friend.”
“Carry on with your planning colonel, but please do not act without consulting me. Don and I will try to locate John and the ambassador. I need a photo of him and any of the Americans. By the way, all of you will forget what just happened, remembering only that I am very special to this case, and to be treated with respect by all of you. Remember I am here at the behest of the Prime Minister and the US President, I therefore give orders not take them. Understood?”
They had all developed a glazed look as they listened to me, and agreed my instruction. Then they snapped back into life as if nothing had happened.
“Masters, help Miss Curtis with anything she needs. Let me know if we can do anything from here? Thanks for coming so quickly.”
“Glad to be of assistance.” I smiled back, wondering how he was going to explain his singed pubic hair to his wife. But that was his problem.
Don and I went to a small office, he left me to concentrate on John while he went off in search of photos of the missing Americans. I sat quietly and tried to remember his eyes. I recalled the grey limpid pools, and as they grew in my mind I dived in and swam about in them.
He felt a long way off, he was drugged or unconscious; either injured or sick. His life force felt weak. I tried to send him a message, “Don’t give in. Hang on in there. I’ll find you wherever you are.”
Tears were dripping down my face, all I could sense from him was darkness. I knew he was still alive. Ironically, had he been dead it would be easier to make contact. Having said that, newly dead people tend to be traumatised and confused. So any info they gave me would be suspect or very vague.
Annoyingly; I could get into his head but not his body. I mean that I could play with his dreams but not gain any sense of where he was from his bodily sensations, because they weren’t feeding back to his mind. Had he been awake or conscious, then I would feel some of the things he felt or saw. But it was all blank. I was very worried, it looked very bleak.
I was trying not to get too angry. Terrorists happen everywhere and potentially to anyone. Their aims and objectives have no validity if they are backed by violence. Once an argument becomes violent; it is lost. At least that is my view.
The reason they use violence is because they are unable to argue. By this I mean using logic not emotion to win a point. Most of these sad individuals are operating on emotion. Thinking with their solar plexus rather than their minds. Exploited by cynical mindbenders, they are set up to sacrifice all for such a narrow vision of reality; I doubt it spans more than a single photon; the smallest amount of light detectable by the human eye.
These sad cannon-fodder run on anger and bitterness, primed by unprincipled radicals who care nothing about anything but what they want. If they killed John, would I become just as empty as these maniacs were?
If I did, the lives of many were at risk. I had the potential to waste lives on an unprecedented scale. If the Eye of Re, really got going whole nations could disappear. Then who would be the terrorist? I had to hang on to this idea, not to go ballistic if anything happens to John. Destroying every living thing in the middle east and north Africa, would resolve nothing. The excuse, “They pissed me off!” Sounds more Bart Simpson than a rational caring human. Even if part of me recognises that life is a continuum, this incarnation is but one of many; doesn’t give me the authority to send many into their next. The exception being those who have brought it upon their own heads by declaring war on me and mine. They will be cleansed, by fire!
I recognise and respect their god. They will perish through mine. Theirs and its jihads, are a modern concept like Christian crusades. Mine is ancient, as old as mankind itself. Gods are created by man. Before these manifest there is only energy or consciousness. It takes a second consciousness to make it manifest. Man provides that reflection, the rest simply happens.
“I am Sekhmet; the destroyer. Let the world be warned!” These words thundered in my head. I fought to keep control of myself, to keep those dark energies suppressed. It was like sitting on a gigantic nuclear weapon. Why had it happened to me? Why now?
I was brought back to this world as Don rushed in. “The bastards say they’re going to execute one of the Yanks. They say they’re going to do it live on the internet!”
“Where are the photos?”
“They’re sending them by fax.” He replied.
“Get them now, this instant. If I am to save this man I need to have a link with him. For God’s sake get them now.”
“Okay, Okay. I’m gone.” He ran out of the room. I drank some water and stretched.
Walking to the window I looked up at the sun. “Right; icon of the creator Re. I need your strength and wisdom. I want to save these lives which are threatened. I need you to control the passion within me. It is not my job to judge or punish those who threaten or harm them. Help me, your handmaiden, your instrument; to do what is right and to save these souls that they might use their experiences to make this a world closer to your plan. This I beg of you, my heavenly father.”
Part of the human in me was astonished. All of this prayer was said in a language which the pharaohs would not have understood. It predated them by millennia. Yet I understood it! It was primal, it was that old. An archetype now long forgotten except by the ancients who live inside us; trying to keep us to the plan which we seem to stray from so often.
I felt the warmth of the sun. It began to increase. It became hot, very hot. Inside I felt insulated against the heat. Around my head, a solar disk was firing up, with an intensity I had never felt before. I had made contact with Re, now I had to do his bidding. I prayed it was what I had asked for.
Don rushed in, waving some papers. They were pictures of the three missing Americans. The ambassador, a military attaché and a guard. On my asking, no one knew who the victim was to be.
They said they would do it at four pm, Greenwich time. It didn’t of course mean they would. In fact; their word meant nothing. My plan was simple – I was going to make it up as I went along.
Once we had communication with them, however tenuous, I might just be able to do something.
I got Don to arrange for us to have internet access, I needed to be able to see them. Then; I would try to distract the attackers and signal to the would-be rescuers. All in a day’s work for a superhero! Sadly, I’m not one. I’m a very frightened nineteen year old, who is going to try something as hazardous for me as the threat that is posed to the captives.
I have just realised that it could be dark when it happens. My solar cells will be depleted if this so. My own enemies could try their arm; aided by the darkness. The physical and mental effort to do what is necessary; might kill or injure me by itself. Or the forces with whom I am linked might just terminate me. I am; after all, a pawn in their larger game.
There are probably countless other threats; which I have not foreseen or mentioned. It is recklessness at its worst; so who wants to live forever?
Don arrived back with a laptop and began to plug it into a mains electric supply and then a phone line. In a few minutes he had it on and online. Now we had to wait.
I tried tuning into the energies of the pictures; sort of remote viewing from them, but they were too weak. Only the fact that I would know if they were dead; made me know they were still alive. Similar to the position with John.
I asked for a large scale map of Egypt and Cairo in particular. It was still on its way. I told Don what I intended to do. He shook his head, “You can’t do that girl. It ain’t possible.”
“I am going to try. Most of my life force will leave my body. If I succeed I will return. No one must touch me for at least an hour after it is over; however it ends. If there is no sign of life then, assume I didn’t make it back. If that happens please take my body back to my parents, but please throw this into the Nile.” I indicated the statuette of Sekhmet I had around my neck. “Please promise me that.”
“I’ll do it myself girl, if it’s necessary. But it won’t be. Remember you’ve gotta get John out too.” There was a tear in his eye as he spoke.
“When I give you the word, you send in the cavalry. Tell them to look for the lioness. They will see one, but they will have to be quick. Once the terrorists start to look as if they are going to kill the man, I need those choppers airborne. I doubt I’ll be able to stop things for long so will need a bit of help.
Col Bell called in to see us. “How are things?”
“I’ve hatched a plan with Don. Tell the Americans we have someone on the inside who is going to try and hold things up and also give them a sign. The sign will be ‘lioness’. They will need to be airborne and waiting for the sign. They will have just minutes if they are to save those men.”
“How are you planning on doing this? I need to see a plan, then it needs to be sanctioned.” Col Bell was a man of procedures and red tape. Convincing him was going to be difficult.
Oh well! “Don, can you get hold of the PM, then I want a link to the President. I need to speak to both of them.”
“What? Just call up Downing Street; like that.” He snapped his fingers as he spoke.
“Only if you have rapid dialling, Don. So stop messing and get calling.”
With wide open eyes, reinforced by his dark skin, he asked the call be put through.
“Tell them it’s Jamie; calling via Sir John Franklin’s office. They’ll take the call.”
Much to his astonishment they did. After I spoke to the PM and explained what I needed him to do, he agreed to do it. He also instructed Col Bell to cooperate. Bell argued, but the PM was adamant. I must have made quite an impression on him. I think it was the wings that did it.
Now we waited. I sat trying to link in with the energies of these men. There was little or nothing. They were alive; but how much and for how long?
Four o’clock came and went.
So did five.
Six.
Seven.
It would be dark in Egypt now. Things would be extra dangerous. I had to avoid thinking about it in case I gave signals to my detractors. Shit; you just can’t get a reliable terrorist these days. Lying bastards.
At eight there was a minor incident.
At nine it began.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
Cairo is about two hours ahead of GMT, which meant it was eleven o clock there when the computer picked up activity on a middle eastern web site. We saw a group of masked, heavily armed men standing around three others. The three were blindfolded and obviously restrained. They also looked drugged or injured.
I began to tune into them. I was hoping to remote view then astral travel to them, try and cause some sort of distraction and also give a signal to the circling helicopters. However, because the men were barely conscious, I couldn’t tune in strongly enough to locate them.
Time; being of the essence; meant I didn’t have time to try and douse their whereabouts from a map. Without their vibes; it might not be very accurate anyway. Things were looking as if I had made a bit of a ‘SNAFU’. How was I going to find them?
Then it occurred to me, that if energy can travel down phone lines to give us pictures on our computers, what would happen if I tried to reverse the process. It would have to be, a very gentle effort or the delicate electronics would blow. On a bad day; I simply had to look at a computer and it would crash. I prayed this was not a bad day.
I asked Don to lock the door and to just stand guard. I sat in front of the computer and imagined a small part of me acting like a minute energy bolt entering the computer and following back the messages which were incoming.
It felt very strange. It was like a ghostly fish swimming against a strong tide. I had to keep concentrating, so as not to overdo the energy but maintain a contact with it.
I reached the ISP we were using. That was easy compared to the next stage. I now had to trace the incoming message I wanted from probably a thousand others also using the same computer bank.
I was feeling despair at the size of the task, when I got lucky. On about the eightieth I tried; I found what I wanted and set off again. This was going to happen several times. It was a very long shot. But I was giving it my all.
Then the worst possible thing happened. I was distracted. “Jesus Jamie, the other lot said they’re gonna kill John.”
Suddenly I was back in the room. “Don, please I need you to keep quiet.”
“But Jamie, they said they were going to kill the Brits.”
“I heard you. I need to finish what I started. Then I’ll see what I can do for John. If they wake him up, I can find him. If they don’t; I really don’t know what I can do.”
Once more I set off through the computer, there was banging on the door, and shouting from without. I continued, saying to Don,” If anyone comes through that door, shoot them.”
“What?” He asked in alarm.
“Tell Bell that if he doesn’t piss off now, I shall implement him in the failure to save the Americans. I’ll destroy his career. Tell him you’ll shoot him if that doesn’t work.”
I started again, ignoring the noise from the door; I managed to get back to the ISP and onto the link I’d found earlier. Thankfully, it was still the same. I began to trace it back.
Another ISP, more permutations to check out. The thought occurred to me, “What if they’re using a radio connection somewhere along the line?” Then I realised they couldn’t because, the Americans or Brits would pick up the signal and home in on them. At least that was what I believed.
On I journeyed, my ethereal fish swimming against an electronic tidal wave. Another ISP; another frantic search. In some ways I was beginning to get feel for the energy, so I was easier to track. What I didn’t know, was if I’d be in time or if my scheme would work.
After what felt like an age, I felt the energy was growing stronger. I felt myself projected into the laptop and camera in the room in which the acts were being filmed. Now I had to increase my power, in doing so I deliberately crashed the laptop.
The terrorist operating the camera noticed and called the other to stop and wait until he fixed it. The other refused, saying to film the murder, or ‘execution’, as he called it and send it later.
Bugger! He wasn’t supposed to do that. I had no choice now other than to try and damage the digicam. I concentrated my energy on this and just as he was brandishing a large knife at the throat of the US soldier; I blew the camera.
That bought me some time, now how do I get a signal to the waiting helicopters. I wasn’t strong enough to manifest one of my girls on a building I’d not seen. I was aware that I had caused chaos in the terrorist camp. The would be executioner was shouting abuse at the camera operator. Then I noticed one of them was wearing a mobile phone on his belt. I had a thought.
I began to imagine it calling another mobile, in this case John’s. Amazingly, it did, or at least his voice mail. Now all I had to do was send a Morse message of ‘lioness’ and keep repeating it. Morse is no longer used as a signalling language, but most radio operators in the military or intelligence services would recognise it. I was sending pulses into the phone. In the continuing melee which was happening, none of them noticed his phone was on. “Please be monitoring for this and get a fix on it.” I prayed to no one in particular.
In a large aircraft flying miles away, and at the GCHQ monitoring service at Cheltenham in England, someone picked up a signal. “Sir, I think I’m getting the word ‘Lioness’. It’s in Morse and very faint. Could be a mobile.”
“Lioness. Jesus, that’s the signal. Get on to the Yanks, we need to triangulate and track it.”
In the giant Boeing aircraft flying somewhere over the middle east; loaded with tons of electronic monitoring equipment; a similar scenario was being acted out. It was also happening on board a Royal Navy frigate cruising in the Gulf. In two minutes a bearing was found and shared between the collaborating nations. Seconds later, three helicopters loaded with marines and Egyptian special forces were heading for their target.
Just then the owner of the phone realised it was switched on. He listened, it was on but nothing was audible. He shrugged his shoulders and switched it off. Alas for him, it was too late. Nemesis was on its way! Finally, they got the camcorder to work at about the same time the stun grenades came through the door.
I withdrew back to London. In a dreamlike state, I asked Don what was happening with John. “We don’t know anything, it’s gone quiet.”
I was exhausted, but I had to try again. I imagined I was swimming in those grey, limpid pools. Bathing in his love for me and mine for him, I kept telling him, “I love you, hang on in there; I’m trying to find you. Help me to help you.”
In the dark recesses of mind; I thought I heard him calling back. Imagination or wishful thinking? Then it happened again. “I’m here. I love you too Jamie. I’m here.”
I began to tune in. It was dark. He must be blindfolded. I tried to tune into his bodily senses. He was lying on his side, his arms were hurting, they were tied behind his back. His chest hurt, quite badly. Had he been shot or stabbed?
I felt my own chest racked with pain, breathing was difficult. I needed help fast. I felt tears roll down my face. He was hurt, and quite badly. He was in pain and growing weaker. “Hang on there.” I sent to him.
Where was he? I switched to remote viewing. It was difficult because he was so weak; but I had some sort of link. I focused on the map of Cairo and projected myself above its streets. Helicopters were still quartering the skies. I concentrated on the buildings below. Cairo is an enormous place. It wasn’t there when I had lived in Egypt before, several millennia before. Now it was a dirty, noisy, smelly but thriving city.
I floated above it, trying to zero in on the weak signals John was sending me. I was half despairing and half hoping. I had to keep positive, but I was tired and he was hurt. Between us, not the best combination. I felt his energy fading, then it stopped.
“Oh no.” I heard myself scream a thousand miles away. Then I picked up the signal again, it was closer. I focused my whole being upon it and pinpointed it to one block. The signal grew weak and began to fade again. I noticed the name of a shop next door and tried to come back to my body. The way was blocked.
“How nice of you to come home.” Said Harriet. “Come back to die have you?”
I could barely answer her; I felt so weak. I wanted to ask her to allow me to save John and she could do what she wanted with me, but I knew I would be wasting what breath I had left.
“What a pity it’s dark; you can’t call up your little helper, Re.”
“It doesn’t become you to blaspheme.” I managed to hiss at her.
“What are you going to do about it? Send for Sekhmet? Ha! What a joke. Sekhmet the destroyer!. Ha, so where is she? Doesn’t she do nights?” She continued to mock me.
“By Osiris, your mockery will bring you pain. Be careful about whom you jest and blaspheme.”
“Save your warnings for babies and weak souls like yourself. We are in the kingdom of my master now. His Lordship Set. I am his servant and I know he will be glad to see the back of you. I hope he will let me tear out your soul and eat it, like those horrid felines of yours do with his human helpers.”
“I don’t believe you.” I wanted to make her angry. “I think you are far more likely to be a servant of shit.”
“Ho ho, very funny for a dead woman.”
“But I’m not dead Harriet. It’s you who is that, and will remain so, but only for eternity or longer.”
I felt her dark energy come closer, its iciness was horrible. “It is you who will soon be dead for all eternity.”
“We’ll be together will we?” That was a prospect beyond all horrific descriptions.
“No; in destroying you I shall ask Set to redeem me and set me free again.”
“If I have angered him anything like as much as you say, he’ll be very cross if you kill me before you tell him.”
“You may have a point there. You will stay here. I shall consult my master and return.” She disappeared. It wouldn’t be for long, I was so tired. It looked as if I was going to die. In desperation I sent one of my girls to comfort John. Or I tried to. Then things went black.
Apparently, my last effort was granted by the gods and a lioness walked through a street and into a house watched by an astonished Egyptian policeman. Moments later he heard shots fired and called up reinforcements. There was a short gun battle as the authorities realised they had found the British captives. They were both badly injured but still alive, as were their captors. The shots were fired at the lioness. I had saved him, sadly I didn’t know this, I was unconscious.
My earthly body fell off the chair and Don could find no vital signs. Then he heard the cheer from outside the door. He opened it, they saw me lying on the floor, and despite his protests not to touch; they carried me off in an ambulance.
In Cairo, John was rushed into surgery. He had been shot. While under the anaesthetic he slipped out of his body. His vitals crashed and they fought to restore them, but he was looking for me.
The first rays of the sun were breaking the darkness of the sky as Harriet came back to kill me. She was almost drunk with the prospect. Instead of just me lying there she found me and a man bent over me.
“Who are you? Stand away from her.”
“Who are you?” Replied the man.
“I am her executioner.” She replied. “I have waited nearly three thousand years to do this.”
“Why?”
“Because she betrayed me.”
“I don’t believe you,” he replied, “Jamie is the most honest and loyal person I know.”
“She wasn’t Jamie then.”
“I don’t believe you.” He continued to stand between us. “Come on girl,” He whispered to me, “Send in one of those pussycats to sort her out.”
“Leave us now or die.” She had decided to get tough.
“Make me.” Replied John, sounding like a defiant schoolboy.
“You don’t know with whom you quarrel,” she spat at him.
Back in the ambulance Don was crying, his tears dripping onto my lifeless body. He reached across and held the statuette of Sekhmet. “Lot of good this did her.” He said to the paramedic. “Come on you bitch, help her,” he said to the statuette.
The first rays of sunlight reached into the operating theatre and onto the body of John Anderson. Just as he was about to be squelched by Harriet, some stronger force pulled him back into his body. He felt pain, excruciating pain; but his heart started and he began to breathe.
Around the neck of my ethereal body, was an ethereal statuette which Harriet had not noticed. A weak ray of sunlight fell upon it and I felt consciousness return to me. I was weak but alive; at least on the astrals I was. Another ray of light fell upon the statuette, then another and another. Energy was surging back into me. Would it be in time?
I felt the coldness as Harriet approached me. “Prepare for eternity.” She said as she came towards me.
She leant over me and I smelt her cadaverous breath. “By Osiris you need a good toothpaste.” I said, sitting up and firing a bolt of light at her.
“What ?” she screamed as I felt my physical size increase and the now strengthening sun powered up my solar disk.
“You have blasphemed me once too often. Take this to your master.” I felt the words reverberate from me followed by a bolt of light which would have melted a battleship. She disappeared in a flash, quite literally.
I felt the pain of the re-entry of my spirit into my body. It had been placed in a mortuary, in a cool drawer awaiting post mortem. God; it was cold. Upon recovering consciousness I began to shiver, then as my limbs began to regain some movement, I began to kick and bang on the sides of the drawer. No one seemed to come for ages. When they did, I’d nearly died from hypothermia.
I came to in a hospital bed. “I have never known an adult recover consciousness after no vitals for three hours,” said the man in a white coat. He was talking to my parents. "Some children do if they get very cold, like falling into icy cold water. They go into a sort of suspended animation.”
I coughed. If I had caught a cold because of that bloody fridge, I was going to sue them. They all looked round at me, blinking back at them. Then my mother in customary fashion burst into tears and nearly hugged me to death. This was nearly more dangerous than Harriet.
The family reunion was a very tearful and emotional affair. I seem to have this habit of waking up in hospital with my parents at my bedside. Something my father remarked upon. What he said was, “Jamie; I thought that becoming a nurse meant you spent some time in hospital, not a hospital bed.”
“Well, Daddy it’s very tiring being a nurse, so you have to take your perks where you can.”
The conversation continued in this vein for some while until they decided I looked tired and they left. I dozed for a while, and when I woke there was Don, his large dark eyes beaming. “John’s going to be okay. I thought you’d like to know. I’d like to say thank you for saving that ungrateful mule who also happens to be my best friend.”
“How do you know I saved him?” I wasn’t sure at this point I had.
“There was a lioness seen at the place they were holding him. A local plod investigated, there was a gunfight, and John and the ambassador were rescued. I think it bears all the hallmarks of a Jamie instigated event.”
“If you say so.” I yawned, “But I’m so glad he’s safe.” I was nearly dozing off again, when he produced the biggest bunch of flowers I have ever seen. He noticed my eyes grow larger.
“These are from a certain lady in a large white house; somewhere across the sea. She says, “With grateful thanks, Susan.” I didn’t know you were on first name terms with a US President.”
“Oh yeah,” I said, “Susan and me, we’re like that.” I crossed my fingers over to illustrate the point. He stood and shook his head in disbelief.
“You are one helluva girl, Jamie Curtis.”
“Tell me about it,” I responded.
“I mean it. I don’t think anyone else could have saved the Americans and our lot.”
“But I didn’t. The troops on the spot did that.”
“Only because you gave them a signal.”
“Can you prove that?”
“You know I can’t.”
“Well then, all I did was collapse in my chair and end up in hospital.”
“When you feel better, I’d like to talk to you about that,” he said.
“No. What is gone is over. No past reflections,” I said firmly.
“But there are some guys who will want to know exactly how you did it. They will keep asking until you tell them.”
“They can ask as much as they like. No one can prove I had anything to do with anything.”
“That would please Col Bell.”
“Bollocks to Col Bell.” I said. “I’ll bet he was mightily disappointed when I recovered.”
That Don didn’t deny it, meant I was correct in my assumption. Hopefully, now it’s all over we can get on with our lives. Sadly, my naivety meant I was wrong; yet again.
I didn’t hurry my recuperation. I decided that I had earned my rest, so effectively took a month off. Apparently, it was decided that because of my high standard of work, they passed me in my exams without me sitting them. Now that was magick.
I stayed sick to avoid the questions I know would be asked of me, by the men in suits. I couldn’t answer them. No, rephrase that; I wouldn’t answer them. I know how I do what I do and why it happened, sort of. They would be unlikely to believe me and would submit me to all sorts of tests. I don’t want to do that. I just want to be ordinary, but we rarely get what we want.
I was at home one day when I had a visit from Dr Fellowes. It was quite a shock. He told me he had come to Oxford to see a colleague and popped by on the off chance I was in. He asked me if I ever wore the pearls he gave me, and I said I did, but would understand if he wanted them back.
“No, Jamie, I don’t. I’m pleased that you’re making use of them.” He paused, “Have you had any contact with Beryl?”
I felt embarrassed. “No, I haven’t. Surely you of all people should know that you need to move on.”
“I know Jamie, but I do miss her.”
“She’s standing behind you, Richard,” I said, seeing her exactly as I said.
He spun around. “I just wish I could see her. What is she saying? Is she okay? Will I ever see her again?” Tears were rolling down his cheeks, but he was smiling with happiness.
“She is well. She tells me to tell you to get a life.” I chuckled at the next part of the message. “She says for you to ask Liz to go out with you. She was smiling as she said that.” I related to him. “Who is Liz?” I asked. This was like a psychic soap opera.
“Liz is my secretary. Her husband died with cancer about two years ago,” he was blushing.
“Well Beryl approves of her, and someone called Vince approves too,” I chimed.
“That was her husband. So he thinks it’s okay?”
“Seems like,” I said.
“I’ve brought you some more of her jewellery.” He said pushing a box onto my lap. “I’m sure Beryl would like you to have it.”
I wasn’t and pushed it back. “Why not give it to Liz if your relationship blossoms?” I asked.
“I’d rather buy new for her. Beryl was so special to me that the only person I can think of as being equally special; is you. I hope you’ll accept this in recognition of that specialness.”
I was not at all happy to do so, but not to seemed boorish. “Please Richard, promise me that if I accept this, you won’t give me anything else, ever again.”
“I can’t promise any such thing,” he replied in great disappointment.
“Then I can’t accept this,” I said passing him back the box.
“Jamie, I am a very wealthy man. I can afford to do this, and I want to do this. You have given me immense pleasure, reassured me of something beyond this life and rekindled my faith. I think it is worth every penny. So please accept it.”
“I have my pride too, Richard.”
“It isn’t about pride, it’s about love. We had no children, I see you as my substitute daughter. I’m sorry if that offends, but it’s a dream I have. So please take them now, or I shall leave them to you in my will. You’ll get them one way or another.”
How could I refuse after that? I just don’t like being spoiled. No, that isn’t quite true. I love being spoiled, but not with material things.
The day after, I got a phone call. “Hi Jamie, it’s Don. John is out of intensive care and they’re hoping to fly him home on Tuesday or Wednesday. Would you be available to meet the plane?”
I’d had the odd message from John, but he was very poorly. I couldn’t go to Egypt for reasons I’d rather not discuss here, and besides I was having a sickie. So I got regular updates on his condition. After all we’d been through together; one way and another; I wasn’t sure how I felt about the relationship anymore. He had apologised for all he’d said, but that didn’t unsay it. He’d agreed he was wrong, but that didn’t unsay it. He had hurt me to the bone. I wasn’t sure I could afford to let him close again. The problem was I loved him. My question is; is love enough? I don’t know the answer.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
I decided that I wouldn’t meet him when he arrived, but I would go and visit him soon afterwards. I’d let him stew for a couple of days. It would do him good. I’d been exploring Qabalah, trying to see where it fitted in with my view of the universe. Interestingly, I’d got things upside down. It isn’t so much how it would fit my universe, but how my universe fitted inside it.
For the uninitiated; Qabalah, is the ancient Hebrew mystical tradition based upon the ‘Tree of Life’. There are three traditions associated with it. Spelt with a ‘K’ as in Kabbalah; it tends to be primarily based on Judaism. Cabala; is mainly Christian in its system. Whilst Qabalah, is the Western Mystery Tradition. In other words, an occultist/mystical tradition.
There are reputed to have been many famous Qabalists. The best known is probably Jesus; who was allegedly killed because he revealed its secrets. St Paul, writes in a very Qabalistic way. More recently, Da Vinci and Newton are names who have studied the Tree. Newton even learnt Hebrew to aid his studies. More modern occultists and scholars like Waite and Regardie, made Qabalah accessible to many, as did Dion Fortune; whose book I was reading.
Qabalah is the origin of the major arcana of the tarot; it is an oral tradition probably dating back millennia. Some suggest to Abraham and certainly Moses. It’s possibly older than Judaism, by which I mean the religion which developed from earlier middle eastern traditions, elevating Yaweh from an agricultural god, to one of the first monotheistic traditions.
It’s all fascinating stuff, and in exploring such traditions; enabled me to find my own sense of self amongst those who had pondered these same questions many years before. I was mixing my traditions, but then haven’t we always? The universal model of the Tree, adapting to all things. The ‘Lightning Flash’ or ‘Path of the Serpent’, showing how all things come into manifestation, even this my little tale. However, like all things esoteric; it requires a pure heart to work properly. In other words; it is about intention.
I could see that in serving up justice ‘Old Testament’ style; Sekhmet was at times emanating from Geburah; one of the spheres or sephiroth of the Tree. At other times, it could have been a lower sphere through my intent or influence.
The ‘Lord’s Prayer’ is Qabalistic in its original form, ‘the power and the glory’ and ‘the kingdom’; relate to spheres on the Tree. It is an older tradition than Christianity, and I like the idea that Jesus was trying to share his vision; a Qabalistic vision; with the ordinary folk. The Kingdom is here. It is too, at least Qabalistically. The Kingdom is Malkuth, the lowest sphere of the Tree, and it represents the material world. It is all here for those with eyes to see it. Sadly, most of us are blind, and even Jesus couldn’t make us see. What chance a mere adolescent, with no aspirations to save the world or deliver the ‘Kingdom’?
I went for a ride as I pondered this latest acquisition of spiritual information. It’s all a giant jig-saw puzzle. There is no picture and all the parts are the same. It can therefore be put together in myriad ways. Each one of us does it differently, because we are different. You are unique, just like everyone else.
I rode past the woodland where I had encountered the elementals, and where they had helped me hide from Oliver after the strange encounter in the hotel. It still struck me as bizarre that we could be so fooled by something which didn’t happen. But we nearly were. I’ve had discussions with my father since. He finds it very hard to accept, let alone understand. Since then; I’ve done many things I find hard to accept; especially the taking of a human life. Not only that but they’ve given me bits of metal to glorify it; to wear with pride. I can’t get my head around that at all.
Perhaps, Sheila Brice is right. It’s courage which is rewarded not the acts which are committed. On the occasions when people died; others were saved by my actions. I must concentrate on that positive element. It was Sekhmet in Geburah, dispensing justice.
I had read quite a bit about, my friend with the lioness’ head. There is masses on the internet. Even though I served her many lifetimes ago in ancient Egypt; I don’t remember that much. Apparently, I could join a religious group based in Wisconsin; who worship her and other Egyptian deities.
I don’t know how real these things are. Can they really know religious rite from three thousand years ago? I know some was recorded in their writings, but there’d be much which wasn’t. Do they make it up? Channel it in some way? Have past life influences? Why do I always have more questions than answers?
I would go on acknowledging my mistress, and communicating my servitude in my own way. I honestly didn’t think I needed advice or courses to help me; though those are available on the internet too. She looked after me; I was bonded to her. I had no choice other than to accept my fate. I did, albeit with difficulty on occasions.
I just wished I could do more of her positive work. We know all about the ‘destroyer’ stuff. But not so much that she was a goddess of healing. That aspect was far more enjoyable than the other side of the coin. It was obviously no coincidence that I was involved in nursing and health care; was it?
While I was out on my bike; where everything makes sense; even the imponderables I had been trying to ponder; the ‘bat phone’ rang. I didn’t hear it because I was out. Can you believe they had a helicopter out searching for me?
It appears that Oxford had got its first suicide bomber. I found out as the helicopter located me and called up a squad car. I was beginning to feel more and more like a comic book hero. Then reality kicked in. The problem was in a hall where my parents were amongst the hostages. They had gone to a recital of Bach, in one of the colleges. A bomber then dropped his coat and was seen to be covered in a belt of explosives. He gathered hostages around himself to prevent a marksman spoiling his fun.
Why? That was the question I was asking myself as I sped along in the car towards the college. It seemed an incongruous, almost inconsequential sort of place.
So it had to be who? Who was the target? I had a horrible feeling it could be my parents. I asked the police inspector who was with me, who was in the audience. It was no one especially important in a political sense. I could be right. I felt a shiver run through me. I was pretty sure it was an attempt to get me or those dear to me. I was trying to remain calm; to control the anger and the fear which was trying to build up in me.
My next question was, What do they think I can do? I can hardly zap someone with an energy bolt if they are wrapped up in high explosive, can I ? Gee whiz, sometimes life is a real bastard!
We arrived at St Thomas’ College. Locally we call it ‘Doubting College’, after the questioning disciple. More usually, it’s a case of, ‘I doubt’ you’ve ever heard of it. It’s my dad’s college. At least it’s where he lectures, when he does lecture. This is assuming Robert Browning allows him the time to do any teaching, and he seems to do quite a lot of admin these days. He’s a reader, which is one up from a lecturer or even a senior lecturer, but less than a professor. The professor of English Literature has been off sick for months, so dad almost runs the department at the moment.
Obviously that isn’t literally true, as he’s sort of tied up with this mad bomber, but assuming we can get him out, he’ll be running the department again tomorrow.
“Captain Curtis, glad you could make it.” Said a very senior looking policeman. I had almost forgotten my temporary rank. “We’ve got the professor of Islamic studies on his way to try and talk this guy down.”
“Professor Khan, he’s a lovely old chap. Played cricket for Pakistan in his youth.” I rambled on. “If anyone can do it, I’m sure he can.”
“Quite so.” He coughed politely, “Look here Captain, I was expecting someone a bit older than you, and a man.” He looked embarrassed. “I mean, you are the Captain Curtis who helped free the ambassador the other week?”
“Which one?” I asked.
“I’m sorry,” He said, “Was there more than one?”
“Apparently.” I said. “It’s rumoured the Americans also had an ambassador missing who was mysteriously freed the same night.”
“You were involved in both?” He spluttered.
“Was I? I might have been. Does it matter?”
“Look I know you chaps…” He looked at me, “Sorry you people; like to keep out of the spotlight. But can you help us here? A Colonel Bell, suggested you might be able to give us a hand.”
“Yes,” I thought, “Probably hoping I’d get myself blown up, or half of Oxford. I don’t think he likes me too much. But then it’s mutual. He thinks I’m a crazy, who has the ear of the PM. Which is probably correct. I think he is a giant arsehole with a colonel’s commission.” I tried to move my thoughts on beyond the knee jerk reflex brought on by mention of the colonel. That was a pleasing thought. My knee in a tender spot in that jerk! I brought my attention back to the present.
“Is this the Bach concert?” I asked, knowing it was.
“I believe so.”
“Good.” I said, “If it had been Beethoven, I’d have had to kill him.” He looked aghast at me. “Just joking.” I said, although I didn’t really feel at all amused. However, if they got any idea that my parents were in there; they wouldn’t let me near the place.
I mean what was my father doing there? He was a jazz nut. I suppose Bach is the most logical of all the composers, very mathematical in his structure. So was the sort of jazz my dad liked. I presume mum must have talked him into it. She could even have bought the tickets.
“What have you done so far?” I asked the unimpressed chief copper.
“Obviously sealed off the area. We’ve called for plans of the building, to see if there is any way we can sneak in to it.”
“There is. Come with me.” I led him round the back of the building. The central hall of the college is made of Portland stone, and is quite beautiful. It’s a large, domed building and has a gallery to which there is a safety access. It isn’t widely known, but my dad showed me years ago when he was directing something in a festival they hosted . It’s a bit of a squeeze to get through, but in my cycle kit, no bother for my svelte figure. The copper found it a hard job.
First we had to force the lock. Well the police did it, without any ceremony or much noise. Then up a very narrow flight of steps. To avoid advertising our presence; we had to do this in the stygian gloom which the windowless corridor offered. Through a small half door, almost a trap door; on we crawled feeling our way. Then, though another door, and we were in a small gallery which ran around the edge of the dome of the hall. About forty or fifty feet up, we could see quite well the group of people surrounding a central person. The central one, we couldn’t see much of at all.
The Israeli army deals with suicide bombers by shooting them several times in the head. It works by killing them before they can detonate their explosives. It is high risk. If the shots aren’t on target, the bomb goes off. If they are carrying a grenade, pin out, it doesn’t work either.
Instinct told me the bomber wasn’t working alone. Now; were I Superman, I could use my X-ray vision to see who else was rigged up. Sadly, I’m not the caped one. Mind you my form of dress would look bizarre enough to an outsider looking down on us; cycling shirt and shorts.
“There’s got to be another one. One on his own would have just blown himself up.”
“Yes, I thought it was a bit odd,” said the chief copper.
“That woman, over in the corner by the door. She looks a bit strange, compared to the others.” I said. I don’t know why I said it, but there was something not quite right about her.
“I think I see what you mean. She’s all huddled up with her hands in her pockets, and it’s hardly cold is it?”
“She would also cause mayhem to any rescuer going in through the main door.”
“She would, not to mention civilian casualties,” agreed the chief cop.
I felt my mind wanting to drift. Something else here was not right. There was a third, but my remote viewing was being blocked. Someone knew I was here, but who?
“I feel there’s another one here as well.”
“Can you see him?” Asked the cop.
“No, but he knows I’m here.”
“How could he, no one has seen us yet.?”
“Call it intuition or instinct. I have a strong sense of it; which is why I’m here. My opponent has a similar sense of me. Don’t ask me to explain it, just accept it.”
“If I do will it make life any safer for the people down there, or my men trying to rescue them?”
“I don’t know. It may or may not. You see, I am probably the target.”
“What? Why all this then?”
“Because they knew I would come.”
“I hate to disagree with you. From where I am, I can see three hundred reasons for being here. How could he know we’d send for you?”
“My parents are in the audience.”
“What down there?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“If I do, they’ll kill many of the hostages and have to find another way to get me, thereby putting more innocents at risk.”
“Are you trying to tell me, this is a set up to get you, because I don’t believe it?”
“Sorry, but it is. You don’t know how special I am.”
“Look here young lady, no one is that special.”
“Look behind you, but keep absolutely still when you do.” He turned round and came nose to nose with a large lioness. As I felt him tense, I made it disappear.
White and shaking, he turned to see me decked out as an angel, complete with flying gear. He went even whiter. “Jesus Christ!” He exclaimed under his breath. “Who the fuck are you?”
“I am not Jesus. Who I am or what I am is not important. But we are dealing with someone just as clever down there. However, I’m with the good guys, he isn’t. He alas; is with the ‘Dark Side’.
“Don’t tell me he’s Darth Fucking Vader? ‘Cos it sounds like Star Wars.”
“If I said his energy was Qlipphotic; would you be any the wiser?”
“No, I guess not. What is all this about?”
“The battle between good and evil.”
“Do we win in the last reel?”
“I hope so, especially for the sake of my parents.”
“You are serious, your parents are down there?”
“Deadly serious. Yes; my mother and father are down there.”
“What’s with the angel outfit? Are you an angel?”
“Never mind who or what I am, our task is to get those people out safely and neutralise the danger.”
“Absolutely.”
“For my enemies, I am the Angel of Death. Let us say a pal of Mikael.”
“I can’t believe this is happening?”
“Don’t worry Chief Superintendent, once it’s over you and all the others will forget it ever happened.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, I shall have to write a report on it.”
“Believe me, you won’t.” I replied, he still looked very pale, but it could have been the light coming from the dome.
The police were bringing up marksmen to take out the bombers if the need arose. I wasn’t going to argue, but I hoped it wouldn’t be necessary. Suddenly the place was rocked by noise. Someone was playing the organ, ‘Jesu joy of man’s desiring.’ At least it was Bach. It’s incongruence was astonishing, but something else was trying to enter my mind. Then a single shot was fired, we didn’t see by whom and the music stopped. There was screaming from down below. The top cop, was now very anxious.
“Look, we can’t just sit here and wait for them to kill everyone. I’m going to order an assault.”
“If you do, then you will kill many people.”
“But someone has just been shot.”
“Yes I know, pity, their playing wasn’t that bad.”
“How can you be so callous about it. Someone is dead or injured.”
“Are they?” I asked. “Did you see them shot?”
“No, how could I? We’re unsighted up here.”
“Interesting isn’t it?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I, that’s what’s so interesting.”
“You’ve lost me.”
“Yes some while ago. It will be light for another two or three hours, we need to act before then. If it gets dark, they will be stronger and I will be less able to stop them.”
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind. You sit nice and still and forget what you are about to see.”
I slipped back down the passageway as he and the marksmen sat with eyes on stalks as the hall began to fill with strange creatures. Lionesses appeared from nowhere, men with falcon heads walked through the walls, a man with a jackal’s head appeared from behind a pillar. Above them flew an angel, a brilliant white figure holding a flaming sword.
The audience were as astonished as the police, at the circus which was appearing all around them. I managed to borrow some jeans and a sweater and wore them over my cycle kit. I slipped in through the door. People were falling about in trances, or sitting believing the end of the world was about to happen. If I got it wrong it could, for them at any rate.
The two bombers were as transfixed as the others. I simply walked up to them and with a small sleight of hand, made them unconscious for the duration. Then walking towards the organ, I said. “Welcome Oliver. It is you isn’t it?”
The man lying in front of the organ sat up. “I thought it was a bit over dramatic, but it made something happen. I knew you were here; Jamie.”
“Why are you here?” I asked Oliver.
“To destroy you of course.”
“Shame you wasted your time and spoiled their concert.”
“Oh I don’t think so Jamie. Prepare to meet your maker.”
In a loud bang, he began to turn into a figure composed of large black snakes. I had a sense of déjà vu. He began to grow becoming easily ten foot tall. The snakes began to writhe towards me. I stepped back, and as I did so felt myself growing, my solar disc was powering up even though the sun was beginning to set.
A large snake moved towards me, I grew even larger and my glance caused it to wither. I was drawing in so much energy, it was easy. Too easy. It was a trap.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
Have you ever had the feeling you might explode? I hadn’t until that moment. I was drawing in so much energy, it became a definite risk. How to reduce the risk? Good question.
I moved back from where I was standing, it might have been some sort of energy point. It wasn’t and I felt just as overcharged. I threw more energy at Oliver’s snake object. Instead of burning up he was absorbing it and growing stronger. It seemed not to be one of my better days.
“You foolish girl, how can you realise Sekhmet when you are dressed in such colours.” I was wearing a blue sweatshirt and jeans. What was he on about? I’d never found it necessary to wear special clothes before. In fact I had no idea what he was on about.
I tried creating more lionesses and Egyptian figures. It wasn’t working. As soon as I gave out the energy more flowed in. I almost felt myself glowing. I was certainly growing. My head was becoming very fuzzy and I had difficulty seeing straight. There was a throb in my brain, just like a classic migraine.
I moved behind a pillar, the snakes began to reach around and hold me to the masonry. If I didn’t do something quickly it would be too late.
I fell to the floor and rolled away. My head was pounding. Snakes followed me. I grasped one and energy discharged from my hand caused it to burst into flames. I threw it at Oliver.
He advanced towards me again. I ran behind another pillar. This was definitely a sticky moment. I imagined me emerging from behind another pillar and calling Oliver. He turned to pursue me. It had worked. I imagined another replica of me from another pillar.
He became confused, especially as I created another ten replicas. I felt the energy depleting as it was transferred to my replicas. They weren’t able to zap him very much, but they were a distraction and enabled me to recover somewhat.
The headache was easing and my sight returning to normal. I pondered on his comment about colour. I had no idea what all that was about. I was in blue, the colour of Chesed in the queen scale. Sorry, more tree stuff. So if it wasn’t right, what was?
A snake began to move towards me and I zapped it. I began a lesser banishing, creating a safe space around me. The pentagrams held out the snakes with their wall of fire, at least on a temporary basis. The question of colour nagged away at me. I bolstered the pentagrams, nothing would get in for a few minutes.
I needed help, but from where? Then something occurred to me. I knew the answer all the time. Justice or Geburah, is red. The colour of Sekhmet is red. It would be, she is the justice of Re. Impartial and at times merciless. A question of reaping what is sown, to be biblical about it.
Oliver was not being very nice to me, or to the others, come to think of it. I pulled off the sweatshirt revealing my cycling shirt. It’s very red. So were the cycle shorts I revealed by removing the jeans.
The snakes surrounded my safe space, almost enveloping it. A single ray of sunlight shone through the long window in the west of the hall. I walked through the fire of my circle breaking its power, and into the sunlight.
The snakes swarmed over me as I chanted the ancient words, invoking the goddess herself. I felt another surge of power. I continued my chanting. I felt myself growing, the solar disc was back. As I grew the snakes began to snap and bits of gooey reptile flew all over the place, often smoking as they went.
I spoke some ancient language in a voice that caused the windows to rattle. I was now about ten feet tall and an incarnation of Sekhmet. I was here to dispense justice. I did exactly that.
A series of coloured rays of light seemed to emanate from my solar disc. They focused on Oliver’s centre. It seemed they were a rainbow of colours. It began with violet, then blue, green yellow, orange… Then red. Once red appeared, the lights became more concentrated and focused, they became like lasers. They began to pulsate, each pulse larger than the previous. There was a strong smell of burning, of burning snake.
Suddenly there was a giant pulse, followed almost immediately by a scream, then a loud bang. Oliver exploded- again. I got covered in the slimy shit, again. So did everyone else.
This was not funny, but it was better than being rather dead; which seemed the alternative. This was the third time I’d encountered him and so far had won each time. I needed to track him down to his creators, to go on the offensive. But how?
For now, I commanded a spell which made them all forget what had happened, making it appear that a sewage pipe had exploded. It was easy enough. I had two lots of explosive, once I’d stripped the would be bombers of their murderous belts.
I let them go, they were innocents bewitched into doing as they had. They went off feeling very confused. My headache was nearly clear. I crept back up to the police watching in the gallery, they were all sat with a vacant look on their faces. More vacant than usual, I mean.
I conjured up a story for them to believe about a methane gas explosion from an underground sewer pipe. They accepted it, then set to rescuing the people within the hall, who were all a little shocked from the bangs.
No one would know I had even been there, so I mounted my bike and rode off home, anxious to get the slime off me before my parents got back.
I was organising some food for our evening meal when they arrived. “What happened to you? I asked, looking at their dishevelled states.
“You would not believe it, Jamie. A sewer exploded just like a bomb, right in the middle of a Bach cantata.”
“You’re joking?” I said, trying to keep a straight face.
“We are all covered in excrement and goodness knows what else.” Said my father, my mother was already getting into the shower.
“So it was a pretty shitty concert then?” I said, smirking.
“There is no need to be crude.” Cautioned my dad. “I’ll bet Browning didn’t have to put up with such things.” He chuntered on as he went towards the bathroom.
“Which do you mean, crude offspring or exploding sewers?” I called after him.
“Both,” he shouted back. “Do me a favour, get me a large Scotch and water.” He then disappeared into the bathroom.
I got him his drink and my mother a glass of white wine, which I also had. Then on with the dinner. The chicken portions I’d put in the slow cooker earlier were pretty well done, it was coq au vin. I finished the sauce and did some vegetables.
I knew I was in for an entertaining evening as they gave me their accounts of their experiences. I put another bottle of wine in the chiller, it could be a long night.
I was right. We talked until midnight and they were convinced it was a natural occurrence, methane in a sewer. At least I didn’t have to explain anything and it was a pleasant enough evening.
We did talk about other things too, but my mind kept wandering to how I might track Oliver to his source. I had absolutely no idea myself, nor any of who could help me. I needed a psychic detective.
I woke the next morning still wondering where I might find a helper. I purified myself and preyed at my little altar for help from my goddess. She had saved my life last night, once again! Perhaps I could prevail upon her to assist me once more.
Once I get into my prayer ritual, something older takes over and I speak in this ancient language. I have no idea where it comes from, but it would have been ancient before the first pharaoh was born. Nothing of it remains in my recall afterwards, as if I am used as a vessel or channel, nothing more.
I continued my prayers, and suddenly a picture of a man appeared in my mind. Moments later a name came to me. Was this the person who could help me or the instigator of the problem? The problem with oracular stuff is it comes as a two edged sword.
I wrote down the man’s name and tried to remember his face. I finished my devotions and thanked her highness for her help. I looked at the pad. I had written it in cuneiform script. Life was not getting any easier.
At breakfast I spoke to dad. “Know anyone who can translate Egyptian cuneiform?” I asked.
“Not offhand,” he replied. “I’d try the school of Ancient and Oriental Studies, up near Kate’s (St Catherines, to you). I used to play rugger with Andy Wilson. He might still be there. If so, give him my regards and remind him he owes me a fiver.”
“You can collect your own debts.” I chided, “But I will give him your regards. If he’s still there.” At least I had some possible help.
I cycled to the school of A&OS, and spoke with the receptionist. “Excuse me, does a Mr or Dr Andy Wilson still work here?”
“Yes he does, but he’s in a meeting at the moment. Are you a student?”
“Not really.” I said, thinking, “How do I get around this one?” I paused and then reached inside my handbag. “I’m with the SIS.” I said flashing my ID.
“Captain Curtis.” She said reading it, “Goodness you are young for a captain especially in the intelligence services.” She shook her head in some disbelief. I can hardly help my age can I? “Curtis, no relation to Tom Curtis in Doubting?”
“Yes.” I sighed, “He’s my father.”
“I’ve known him for years, I used to live over that side of town in those days. I typed his first book manuscript. What was it called now?”
“John Keats, the man and the mythology.” I answered.
“That’s right. He’s so clever your dad.”
“So he keeps telling me.” I answered. This was tedious.
“Didn’t I see your picture in the paper, you won some medal or other?”
“Yeah, I got one for swimming.” I lied, just to pass the time of day.
“Swimming was it? I thought it was for something else.” She looked confused. “I’m sure it was for something else.”
“No. Do I look like someone who could win medals for anything much?” I asked winding her up.
“An oscar for fibbing, Captain. You won a medal for something in Iraq.”
“Okay. You win. I got one for killing Iraqis. Actually they gave me two. Kill two get one free sort of offer.”
“Why are you being so sarcastic to me?” She asked, almost hitting me between the eyes with the question.
“You started it.” I said in self defence.
“What do you mean?” She huffed back at me.
“You said I was very young to be a captain.”
“Well you are.”
“….some of us have greatness thrust upon us.”
“Look here Miss Sarky Boots.” She paused for a moment. “I always thought Tom had a son, not a daughter.”
“He always wanted a daughter, so I got a sex change.”
“Very funny. Are you really his daughter?”
“Yes, sadly I am.”
“Do you have a brother?”
“No. It’s just me.”
“Why did I think he had a son?”
“Probably because they gave me an ambiguous name. Jamie can be either boy or girl.”
“So I see. I always thought it was a boy’s name.”
“Neither I nor Jamie Lee-Curtis, would agree with you.”
“You could have a point.” she said.
“Point? I think that’s game set and match.” I declared, almost smugly.
“Now I can see you’re Tom’s kid. Same sort of pretentious point scoring over an inferior opponent.”
“My father may be accused of many things, but that is not one of them. Neither I hope am I. However, if you want I could probably persuade Special Branch to examine you and your family with the usual toothcomb, or would you prefer MI5 to do it?”
“Are you threatening me, young lady?”
“I never make threats. Look how long is this meeting going on?” I was bored and tired of the old tart’s insinuations.
“Your dad would never have threatened me.”
“My dad was probably terrified of you.”
“Just what is that supposed to mean?” She almost spat at me. I was beginning to wish I had never started this conversation.
“My father has a long history of being terrified by his secretaries. I recall him being awake half the night because he needed something to be retyped by some old bat or other. Apparently, some new evidence had just been discovered and the article for the “The Spectator,” had to be rewritten.
“I remember retyping that article. So I’m an old bat am I?” She said standing on her dignity. I had gone so far down this road, there was now no opportunity for retreat.
“Weather’s stayed fine.” I mused attempting to change the subject.
“I think I might call your father and tell him how rude you are,” she threatened.
“Feel free, but it won’t come as any news to him.”
“No; I don’t suppose it would. Young trollop!” She muttered the last part under her breath. Now I was many things, but that was not one of them. A lesson was on its way for this woman. I almost chuckled with anticipation.
A moment later, a door opened and two or three people emerged. I hoped one was Dr Wilson. A man about my father’s age approached the receptionist. “Any calls for me, Monica?”
“No, Dr. Wilson, but you have a visitor.”
“I’m not expecting anyone, probably a journalist, tell them I’m out or something.”
“I don’t think I can…..” She hesitated and I interrupted.
“Actually, it’s me Dr Wilson. My father suggested I come and see you.”
“Look I’m not interviewing students for next year yet, leave your name and I’ll write to you.” He tried to dismiss me.
“I’m not a student.” I drew out my ID card again.
“Sorry, I don’t have time for the press either.” He began to move off.
“You had better speak to her.” Said Monica in a loud voice. “Her dad’s Tom Curtis.”
This brought him up sharply. “I always thought Tom had a son?” He said to himself.
“I can assure you I’m all girl, and he is my father.” I countered.
“Oh! Look I can give you a few minutes. Through here.” He pointed along a corridor and then an office two doors along.
We entered a room full of books and pictures of ancient Egypt. I recognised many of the places and figures immediately. “So you’re Tom’s girl?”
“Yes, Dr Wilson.” I sat on the chair he indicated.
“So how is your dad?” He said, sitting behind a huge oak desk.
“Pretty well, thanks. He asked me to remember him to you.”
“Please return the favour.”
“Of course.” I replied. I looked at this man sat opposite me. He was tall, with a grizzled beard and straggly thinning hair, greyer than his beard. His brown eyes twinkled as he spoke.
“To business. How can I help?” He said.
“This.” I said, handing him the paper I’d written the day before.
“Egyptian cuneiform.” He said as he glanced at it. Then a moment or two later said, “Is this a joke? Where did you get it?”
“Why?” I asked.
“Do you know what this says?”
“If I did, I wouldn’t be here.” I replied.
“Where did you get it?” He asked again.
“I can’t tell you that at present.” I lied. Well, he’d hardly believe me anyway.
“You better had, or I won’t translate it for you.”
“That’s your privilege.” I said, “I’ll take my paper back.” I stood to leave.
“You have no idea what’s written here, do you?”
“I told you that already. So please tell me or give it back to me and I’ll find someone else.”
“Is this a joke?” he asked again
.
“If it is, I’m not laughing.” I responded.
“No you’re not, are you?” He mused for a moment, adding, “Okay, I’ll tell you what it says. Please sit down again….um.”
“Jamie.” I offered.
“Jamie, please sit.” I did as asked. “You’re sure this isn’t a joke?”
“Quite sure.”
“Okay, I believe you. What this says is, ‘Dr Andrew Wilson, School of Ancient and Oriental studies.’ Now do you see why I thought it was a joke?”
“Yes I do,” I added.
“So are you going to tell me who wrote it?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I did,” I answered.
“Try me,” he countered.
“It’s a long story and you said you were busy,” I riposted.
“That was before a beautiful young woman threw me a puzzle. I have plenty of time for this sort of thing. It’s a nice piece of script, who wrote it?”
Thinking for a moment about whether the truth was a good idea or not, I decided it was. After all, I’d been told to contact him. “I did.”
“Is this some sort of game?” He said, the twinkle had gone from his eye.
“No it isn’t. It’s deadly serious, and I mean deadly serious. This is going to take some time.”
“Fine, I’ll get Monica to get us some coffee.” He picked up the phone and issued a request to Monica. As he did so, I hurriedly rethought the lesson I was going to give her, reversing the collapse of her knicker elastic as she next walked along the corridor. I blushed as I did it.
I explained about my link with the ancients and Sekhmet. He of course pooh-poohed it, so I was obliged to produce a lioness. He seemed impressed with that, especially as it licked his face. He was most interested in the ancient language and asked me to do a ritual for him sometime, which he could record and use as a research project. I wasn’t sure about that, one bit. But the wisdom of the goddess was not to be questioned and he was there to help me.
“So what does your goddess expect me to do for you?” He asked an hour later as I concluded a précised narrative.
“I don’t know. I suspect it’s in finding who the group are, who seem intent on destroying me.”
“But I’m an Egyptologist, not a magician or occultist.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t see how I can help.”
“The goddess Sekhmet does not make mistakes. It must have been important that I contact you to assist me in tracing this group and neutralising the threat.”
“Exactly what does that mean?”
“Doing what is required to protect myself and those dear to me. Twice, they have come close to hurting my parents. It is intolerable. As far as I know, their attacks were unprovoked. They seem almost Qlippothic.”
“Hey, that’s Hebrew, not Egyptian.”
“I know, but the Qabalah is such a universal model, and besides I like its universality. I’ve been reading quite a lot recently. “
“Do you belong to some form of group?”
“What Qabalah group, no why?”
“Shall we say, I have more than a passing interest,” he said in an almost hushed tone.
“You said you weren’t into occultism?”
“You said you were Tom’s daughter.”
“I am.”
“He had a boy.”
“Feel free to call him.” I said blushing deep red.
“Yes, I’ll do that.” He picked up the phone, “Monica, can you get me Tom Curtis. Thanks.” He put the phone down again. “So who are you?”
“I’m Tom’s daughter.”
“You have a brother?”
“No.”
He stood and shook his head. The phone rang. “Hi Tom, yeah she’s here now. I thought you had a son.” He listened to my father’s response. “I could have sworn it, still I’m sure you know your own child. I owe you a fiver? As I recall you owed me the money.” He laughed, and after some further small talk he put the phone down.
“It seems my memory isn’t what it was. I apologise for doubting you. What are you doing tomorrow evening?”
“Nothing as far as I know, unless HM Government decide otherwise.”
“Come around to this address at seven thirty sharp. I’ll ask the group to allow you to talk with them. I can’t promise they’ll do so.”
“I understand.” I said and took my leave of him. I had to speak to my goddess and see if it was a fair trade that he research my ancient language. ”Small world,” I thought as I left him.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
“Fine. He translated the piece of script I had, which was what I wanted.” I decided to keep quiet about the other stuff.
“I thought he might, run of the mill stuff for him. So he thought he remembered I had a son?”
“Yes, sorry about that.” I blushed as I apologised, it was a cross I would always have to bear.
He hugged me. “Never apologise for something that wasn’t your fault.” He said quietly as he held me.
“No, Dad,” I said, sniffing back the tears. This man meant so much to me. It was humiliating for him to have to explain this discrepancy every time I met one of his old friends or colleagues. “But it isn’t your fault either,” I said, as tears spilt down my face.
“I love you,” was all he said, it was more than enough.
“I love you too, Daddy,” I responded, and we tearfully embraced for several minutes. I could smell his manliness, and feel the strength of his body. I felt comforted by it. Even if my life had not been detoured courtesy of the army, I don’t think I would ever have become something like my father, a man. I would have been a shadow of that archetype, maybe even a parody. Despite my initial resentment of what happened, I now considered it had been for the best. Whether I had been fortuitous or my fate had been long decided, I wasn’t sure: but now; I considered I had been lucky; however that luck had originated.
I stood, protected by this masculine strength, yet embraced by its paradoxical gentleness. My father was a gentle and sensitive man, who could shed a tear of joy for beauty as well as sadness, and yet balance it by tackling someone hard on a rugby pitch. Or at least he did when he was younger. His gentle-ness was not weakness.
It struck me as almost ridiculous, that I, as a woman, and I hoped a reasonably feminine one, had at times behaved more physically aggressive, than he had ever done. I had taken life several times, not hesitating in the act. Now I was seeking to find and neutralise, the group who were trying to destroy me.
Although at times appearing like a comic book heroine, I acted always in response to someone else’s instigation. I didn’t start it, but I was developing a reputation for finishing things! Sadly, this seemed frequently to mean, a life.
‘For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.’ So says Kipling. Who am I to argue? It’s true of many species, spiders, mantids, birds of prey and of course, lions! The ancient Egyptians, or their forebears, knew that nearly all the hunting of prides of lions is done by the females. Adult male lions have little function other than breeding and holding a territory. When eventually usurped by a younger male, they will eventually starve or be killed by hyenas. They are simply too heavy to hunt successfully. So the ancients made the server of the justice of Re, viz. Sekhmet, a lioness; an effective huntress and killer.
Was I simply a manifestation of that energy? I hoped not. I hated doing its work. I just wanted to be an ordinary person: a job; a home; a partner and some children. Not necessarily in that order. The irony of life had made sure that I couldn’t be a natural parent and there was a shortage of children for adoption.
I accept that at twenty years of age, well nearly; I was too young to have children, or at least to care for them properly. I didn’t have enough life experience, and still had developmental needs of my own. Mary may have purportedly had Jesus at age twelve or fourteen but I wouldn’t think it was a particularly good idea. For me to have a child would require a bigger miracle than happened to Mary.
The mixed-up thoughts which washed over my mind as I embraced my father ran pseudo-logical trains as in the above or became a morass of emotion. An example was the recent event in the concert hall. He could have been killed. I would then have lost him.
Alright, being mediumistic, I may have been able to see him occasionally or even talk to him, were I lucky, but to hold him as I was now…no chance. I wept again, my mind torturing itself with that thought. It reminded me of another man I loved, who seemed fated never to be with me, and I cried some more.
Whether my dad understood or not, it mattered not; because he continued to hold me and cry himself. An act which I have since considered possibly his love for me, holding me while I dealt with my distress; or perhaps dealing with some of his own; the loss of his son, for starters.
When my mother came home from a meeting and saw us hugging and howling, she joined in the emotional mess and we made it a family occasion. The catharsis of it certainly cleared my emotional banks, probably washed clean by the gallons of salty water which flowed down my face. So it had been useful and perhaps a family who weep together, keep together? Who knows, but it sounds right.
That night, I performed my ancient ritual, communing in a tongue I didn’t know but which seemed to flow through me. I asked my goddess if I might reveal the ritual to another. Her answer was ambiguous and rather cagey. Oh well, I’d have to see how I felt about it myself and make a decision. It didn’t need to be tonight in any case, other than to have provided a yea or nay to Wilson, tomorrow.
I went to bed, tired but happy; the ritual, as usual, leaving me feeling drained but spiritually lifted. Later, in a dream, I found myself walking down a long corridor, at the end of which were two doors. The doors had some sort of sign on them, but it was so small, and the corridor was dimly lit, I couldn’t make them out. Nevertheless, something told me, they were important. I returned from whence I‘d come to try and find some sort of light or magnifier, or even both.
I returned with a box of matches and a candle. Once more I approached the doors. Feeling pleased with myself, I drew out a match and attempted to strike it. It broke, the head flying off it. I did the same again, and so did the match.
I tried another dozen or more times. Each one was rewarded with the same outcome, the head broke off. I felt so frustrated. No matter how carefully I tried to strike and light a match, I failed. I became angry and threw down the empty box and the candle.
What did it all mean? Clearly, the message was about cutting off heads or something similar. I tried to remember how many matches had broken, but as I’d not been counting them, I couldn’t. So if it was about taking the heads off so many something or others, I’d rather missed the point.
What else could it mean? I racked my little brain until it ached. I almost felt like cutting my own head off, but then how would I work things out? Stupid question.
Or was it? I approached the doors again. I was unable to see the signs upon the doors, and I had been unable to work out what they were. So what would happen if I stopped thinking, effectively breaking off my own head? How could I choose a door? By feelings perhaps? I stood in front of each door and tried to experience at an emotional or feelings level, which one I was meant to open.
I felt a glow begin in my heart, and I waited for it to resonate with something behind one of the doors. I waited some time, and eventually, it did as I’d hoped. I entered the right-hand door.
Traditionally, the left-hand path is associated with the dark side. The Latin word ‘sinister’ simply means left or left-handed, but it has connotations in modern parlance far beyond its original. Qabalistically, the dark side is the Qlipphothic side accessed either through Daath or by a tree growing inverted from the roots of the normal tree. There are possibly other methods, but they are the ones with which I am most familiar.
I might seem a bit of a prude or even a little pious, but the dark side is not somewhere I believe anyone who is working spiritually likes to go. I accept in the completeness of things, we all have a dark side, which we have to integrate. But working with it generally means a heavy measure of ego and enjoyment of ‘having power’. It’s an illusion because eventually, the ‘power’ has you. Then you work for it. Not a nice outcome, as Dr Faustus discovered.
Back to my dream; I chose the right-hand door, and after knocking upon it, entered. I stepped into a strange landscape. Before me, stood a very fine suspension bridge, wide enough only for one to pass. It traversed a very deep canyon or abyss. Behind me, I could see a place that appeared made of gold, which shone with a bright yellow light. I knew where I was, facing the abyss in Daath.
“Jamie; Jamie wake up!” My father was shaking my arm very gently. I was miles away, if not universes. I struggled to come back to consciousness, to wakefulness.
“Wha…., what’s happening?” I managed to splutter to my father, who was standing over me, wearing his PJs and dressing gown.
“You have a visitor,” he said rather tersely.
I sat up and rubbed my eyes again. “I have a what?”
“A visitor.”
“Who? Crikey it’s three o clock.”
“I am well aware of the time!” Said my father with an edge in his voice, “Shakespeare was just going to tell me about the play he never published and the bloody doorbell rang.”
“Oh,.” I said.
“Who is it?” I asked getting out of bed and grabbing a wrap.
“Someone from your office.”
“Office, I don’t have an office,” I challenged.
“One of your SIS chaps. Look I don’t care if you have an office or not, can I get back to my flipping bed?”
“Sorry, Daddy.” I kissed him on the cheek and went down stairs to meet my mysterious visitor.
I was more than a little apprehensive as I went into the room, not forgetting how clever the ‘Oliver’ set were in disguising themselves; and poor Dad wouldn’t recognise them if they wore labels. The energy felt okay, so I believed the visitor was real and not a threat. However, I wasn’t infallible, so I prepared myself for fight or flight, magickal style!
“Hello flower,” said my visitor, “even in the middle of the night you look a million dollars.”
“Don,” I said and threw my arms around him. We hugged and pecked each other on the cheek.
“So dis is how de posh peoples live, while us poor niggers lives in slums?” He joked regarding the décor of the lounge.
“Don, you sound more like Al Jolson than Al Jolson.” I gently chided. Then with a resigned seriousness, “What trouble is he in now?”
“Who?” asked Don with feigned innocence.
“Look, I know you weren’t making a social call at three a.m. So it has to be John. What’s happened now?”
“That’s just your suspicious mind.”
“The only time you want me, sorry I’ll rephrase that….” I smiled and he sniggered.
“I want you all the time girl, but my missus would kill me.”
“Every time John is in trouble, you send for me. It’s happened two or three times, so it seems to me to be a reasonable deduction. Do you want some tea or coffee?” I wandered towards the kitchen with Don following close behind.
“Yeah, I know,” he replied, “and with all your magical powers an’all, we can’t fool you.”
“Cut to the chase, Don,” I said switching the kettle on.
“Okay, ma’am.”
“What?” I said.
“Well, you are still an acting captain,” he smirked at me.
“Since when have you taken any notice of that?” I fired back at him.
He stood at attention and saluted me. “Staff sergeant Don Masters reporting for duty, ma’am.”
“I’m not the duty officer, sergeant,” I replied, making up two mugs of instant coffee.
“Black or white?” I said then realised what I’d said.
“I’m always black, ma’am,” He said back, struggling to keep his face straight.
“Your coffee, you idiot,” I replied.
“Like my body, black, ma’am.”
“Very funny, Don. I suggest that unless you are going to drink it at attention, you stand easy.”
“Yes, ma’am, thank you, ma’am.”
“Stop the crap Don, what gives?” We walked back to the sitting room.
“When you have finished your coffee, I have instructions to drive you London.”
“Do I get to dress first?” I asked in between sips of coffee.
“Personally, I’d prefer you didn’t, but the PM might not have the same rampant lust that I do.”
“The PM?” I put my cup down. “So it’s not John?”
“I don’t recall saying it ever was?” he winked at me.
“Yeah well my second sight isn’t working tonight, I think I got conjunctivitis in my third eye.”
“You what?” he said looking confused.
“Forget it, I was cracking a joke but my audience wasn’t up to it.”
“Yeah, right.” He shook his head, “Sometimes I worry about you girl.”
“You worry, how do you think I feel?”
“I should imagine you feel pretty hot.”
“Down boy,” I snapped at him. “I’ll go get dressed.”
Thankfully, I had showered before going to bed, so a quick wipe with a flannel and I was ready to dress. “Geez, what do I wear?” I said to myself. I opted for a navy suit with a contrasting red silk blouse, red court shoes and bag. Then I combed my hair and slapped on a little makeup. It was about an hour or so to London, plus whatever time we had to wait to see the PM or whoever was designated to deal with us. I was ready in fifteen minutes, okay twenty.
As we sped towards London in the Jaguar, driven by an army driver, I asked Don, “Do we know what this is about?”
“Not yet, ma’am.” He indicated the driver as a potential security risk, and we then chatted about any and everything to pass away the journey.
“Where are you taking us, driver?” I asked of the young man at the wheel.
“Whitehall, ma’am.”
Obviously, this was high-level stuff. I was lost in my thoughts as we raced through the relatively empty London streets. I half noticed the speed we were going, it was fast.
We stopped and were ushered in through a large wooden door, along wainscoted corridors and plush carpets, up a flight of stairs, then into an office bigger than my parents’ lounge. “Please wait here,” was what the minion said, so we obliged him.
“Something heavy going down?” I whispered to Don.
“Must be if you’re here,” he whispered back.
“Ha bloody ha, now come on, what’s happening?” I hissed back at him.
“I don’t know any more than you, didn’t you check your crystal ball before you came out?”
“Any more of that, sergeant, and I shall forget I’m a lady and an officer and…”
“And what, ma’am?”
“Turn you into a toad.”
“As long as it’s a black one, I don’t care.” We both began to giggle. Of course, that was when the big cheese walked in.
“Captain Curtis, Sergeant Masters?” we shook hands, “Thank you for coming at this early hour. I’m Sidney Chafey, under-secretary at the Home Office.”
Before we could settle to our meeting, the minion returned with coffee and croissants. I was starving. We all tucked in and for several minutes nothing was said.
“Thank you Mr Chafey, those were delicious. Would you be so kind as to explain why my beauty sleep was disturbed?”
“Of course. You are both aware of the impending visit of President Susan Carlton?”
“Mr Chafey, I was asked to do this detail before and I declined.”
“Captain, you won’t be asked, you will be assigned as and when, the powers that be, decide. You might be an officer, and a very young one, but you do what you are told, same as the rest of us.”
I stifled my indignation. I had turned down a request from the Prime Minister to look after the US President, why should I be bossed around by his underling? I know he had a point, I’m supposedly a soldier and follow orders etc. But I thought I was supposed to be a bloody nurse.
“I wasn’t sure I was up to it,” I added.
“Others beg to differ, including the President herself.”
“Oh bugger,” I said to myself. “Now I am stuck with a week of being a lackey. I don’t move in this world or with these people, why couldn’t they have left me in bed?” I yawned.
“We, in conjunction with US intelligence (I was tempted to ask if that was an oxymoron?), believe that an attempt might be made on the President’s life while she is a guest of HM Government.”
Don and I looked at each other, the word, ‘heavy’ was shared silently between us.
“Do we know who specifically might be posing this threat?” I asked, trying to sound interested.
“There are three possible groups,” he handed us each a file, “You can read up on those later. “Your orders are in these envelopes. You will read them later. Any questions?”
“Yes, I have one. What about clothes? I don’t have the sort of wardrobe to escort a President about.”
“I’ll arrange a one-off contribution.”
“Will we be armed?” asked Don.
“Yes, usual issue of weapon and clip of ammunition. Are you both fire-arms certified?”
Don nodded, I shook my head. “I have no idea?” I said. He rose and went to his computer.
He punched in various things, then drily said, “It would appear, Captain Curtis, that you have a maximum score.”
“Which means?” I asked.
“You’re a better shot than Robin Hood.”
“Not with a bow and arrow,” I threw back at him.
“Just as well you’ll have a handgun then, isn’t it?”
I did not like this man, but I wanted to read my orders and the file, to see how much I was going to be involved. Plus I was going to need some time for shopping. What a bummer it all was.
“If the US President is in danger, why not simply cancel the visit until it’s safer?”
“Do you know how long it takes to set these things up? Years.” He answered his own question. “This was all in motion before Mrs Carlton won the election. There are all sorts of meetings and receptions as well as visits to hospitals and other worthy causes. A stay at the palace, visit to Parliament and lots of other equally sensitive sites. It takes years to set up.”
“But if she gets hurt or killed, wouldn’t postponement have been better?”
“It’s your job to see she doesn’t get hurt or killed, just like it’s mine to ensure everything else runs smoothly.”
“I wonder if Armani do shoulder holsters?” I said pointedly.
“Try Marks and Spencer,” said our host as we left.
Our driver was still waiting as we emerged into the weak daylight. “I cannot believe that they are using me on this one,” I said rattily to Don.
“By special request, too,” he smirked back at me.
“Get stuffed.”
As we drove back to the office I didn’t know I had, we chatted again, deferring the opening of orders until we were in more secure surroundings.
“So where is he, then?” I asked.
“Who?” replied Don.
“As if I would be asking about anyone. Your usual partner in crime, that’s who.”
“Oh him. I haven’t the faintest.”
“I thought you two worked together,” I said, surprised by his answer.
“Sometimes, but he’s been on royals.”
“What do you mean, royals?”
“He’s off with a member of the royal household, somewhere or other abroad. Dunno where.”
“What; bodyguard stuff?” I asked concerned.
“General security, which would include bodyguard, checking places out, routes, vehicles, schedules, all that sort of thing. You didn’t know?”
“I’ve heard nothing from him for weeks,” I said, suddenly feeling sad about it.
“Well I told him to snap you up or someone else would.”
“I think I was a bit short with him the last time we met.” Now I could add guilt to my sadness.
“He probably asked for it.”
“I thought you were his friend?”
“I am, that’s why I tell him the truth. When he comes back I’ll send him to you. I promise.”
“Only if he wants to come.” I began to understand how Bridget Jones felt, except she was older than me.
We arrived at the office. I had no idea about being based here, I didn’t even know if I was on secondment or anything else. Don led the way up to his office, the one he shared with John. “You might as well have his desk for the moment.” He said, then after dumping stuff on his desk he said, “Tea or coffee?”
I chose tea and sat down at John’s desk. It was full of his energy, and it felt good. I opened a drawer and found a photo of me. I nearly began to cry. I wanted to speak to him so much. I wanted to tell him, that we had both made mistakes and needed to start again. I wanted to start again. Damn, I missed him. I heard Don’s approach just in time, shoved the photo back in the drawer and was opening my orders as he came in.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
I began to flick through the file. It seems the intelligence services were watching three groups who might want to assassinate a president. The first was the obvious mad Islamist group; the second was a different Arab group; and third was a group of Americans. I was shocked.
“Don, I cannot believe that a group of Yanks want to kill their own president.”
Dumping my coffee on the desk, he replied, “Why not, they’ve done it before.”
“They have?” I asked.
“Geez-usss Jamie, where have you been? Haven’t you ever read up on the Kennedy murders?”
“I thought there was only one.”
“Only one was a president, but the other was favourite in the then forthcoming elections.”
“JFK and his brother, Bobby.” I said, smiling with triumph at recalling this ancient fact. It had happened before I was born.
“Those two were killed by Americans with links to the mob and possibly some ultra right wing group, it’s all a bit shadowy. They’re still arguing about it now. Remember how one group tried to destroy Bill Clinton by a number of methods, including his spurious impeachment, and the Whitewater investment thingy, which was a fiction.”
“I wasn’t aware of that.” I said.
“So it stands to reason, our current client may be as much at risk as her husband, and from her own side.”
“You’ve been watching too much television, the X Files; or 24.” I shook my head.
“Conspiracy theories abound in the States. But if it was so true, why aren’t they sending for Jack Bauer, instead of us?”
“And I watch too much TV? Look here, just ‘cos you’re bright and beautiful don’t make you right. There is so much that goes on behind the scenes, as we both know. In the US the stakes are bigger…..”
“I know,” I interrupted, “I couldn’t eat a whole one. No wonder they’re all so big.”
“Stakes, as in taking you out and burning you at one! Now stop interrupting, ma’am, and listen.”
“Sorry,” I squeaked.
“The stakes are higher in the US, simply because of the amount of money involved. Many think the war in Iraq was about oil, although the US and UK governments denied it. How many weapons of mass destruction did they find? We also know, that much of the terror stuff was exaggerated in the early days to boost the Conservative/Right wing vote.”
“Was it?” I was appalled. I was also very naïve.
“Of course. One of the ways to make people vote for you is to offer to protect them against a mythical enemy.”
“It is?” I said my voice rising in pitch.
“Christ, Jamie, you don’t have much of a research background.”
“Until a month or two ago, I was a nurse. I didn’t ask to be brought into this murky world. In fact I tried to avoid it, but I keep being brought back, so there must be some reason for it.”
“Must there. I keep buying lottery tickets, but I never win anything worth having.”
“That’s because you choose the wrong numbers.” I quipped back.
“I suppose you could give me the correct ones.” Don threw back at me.
“Probably, but I’m not going to waste time on trivia.”
“You could predict the lottery numbers, and you call that trivia?”
“Yes. Life isn’t just about money.” I tried taking the moral high ground.
“I know that, but it would ruddy well help.”
“What if I said there was a price to pay for it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Say I told you the jackpot numbers.”
“Yes.”
“And you did them, and won several million….”
“I like it so far.” Said Don, beaming.
“If it wasn’t in your destiny to win it, or to acquire all this cash, then in altering your destiny, you also alter those around you. In order to adjust the balance something else has to happen. The consequences may not be what you’d like.”
“Oh I think for several million, I’d learn to live with the consequences.”
“What if it involved losing your wife or children?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, how would that balance anything?”
“If you’ve drawn more out of the bank than you put in, the bank will repossess what it can to repay the debt. The universe does the same, if you claim something to which you are not entitled.”
“Are you serious?”
“Deadly.”
“So people who get things they don’t deserve, have to pay it back?”
“Effectively, yes.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever buy another lottery ticket; as long as live.”
“That would be different. If you won by pure chance, either choosing the numbers yourself or getting a lucky dip, then it would be your destiny to win. If I reveal the numbers and you win, you have taken advantage of something you shouldn’t. It is not your true entitlement, you would therefore pay for it.”
“I don’t see much difference.”
“Shall we concentrate on more mundane things?” I brought us back to the task in hand. “According to this, you and I will be part of the official entourage for the State Visit. It lasts four days. I’m down as a liaison officer, and will be present when the president leaves anything but secure accommodation. You’ll be liaising with US and British intelligence, on the ground teams.”
“Food’s usually good when there’s a top VIP around,” said Don.
“We’re not paid to eat. I’m going to be so nervous for four whole days, I won’t eat much anyway. Secure accommodation, why does that worry me?” I’d felt this unease as soon as I’d read it.
“Maybe your conjunctivitis has cleared,” offered Don.
“What?”
“Conjunctivitis, your second sight, remember?”
“That was a joke.”
“Yeah, but your feeling isn’t, is it?”
“No it isn’t. My feeling says she is most at risk when we think she is safest. Her greatest danger is from those she thinks are friends.”
“What does that mean? Jamie…… Oh shit, she’s gone off again……Jamie, you alright?”
“Beware those you think are friends, they are enemies in disguise.”
“Jamie……Why the funny voice?......Jamie, can you hear me?.............”
“Oh my God, Don. They are going to kill her. They are going to blow up the US embassy. They are going to fly a plane into it, but that’s just to disguise a bomb which is hidden inside.”
“How can you know that?”
“I just saw it. That is how it is going to happen.”
“How do we tell anyone that?” Asked Don. “I believe you, but I’ve seen you in action. Who the hell else, is going to believe us?”
“I hope the PM, but I’m not entirely convinced. Besides, we have no jurisdiction in the US embassy.”
“That didn’t stop us wiring into it.”
“We didn’t did we? But it’s sovereign state stuff.”
“You are so naïve, girl, so is the Russian, the Chinese and all the others, but we monitor them. In Washington, the Yanks do the same to us. It’s all a big game.”
“I don’t think the murder of the US president is much of a game. I think it’s a tragedy, and what would it do for Anglo –American relations? Not to mention the wider view. The neo-cons, for I’m pretty sure it’s them who’ll do it, have some Arab crash a light aircraft into the embassy. The plane has a bit of a bomb on board but they have a larger bomb inside and nearer to where they will take the president under the attack.”
“You saw all that?”
“Most of it. The rest is intuition, but it is how it will happen.”
“How are we going to stop it, Jamie, without alerting the would be perpetrators? They’d just go to ground or try something different,” said Don, shoving his hands deep in his trouser pockets while pacing up and down the room.
“I don’t know yet, but there has to be a way. We need to tell Susan without anyone else finding out. Maybe, I’ll get a chance during the first day.”
“I doubt it, she goes to the US embassy on the first night.”
“I thought it was a state visit?”
“It is, but the Americans were so alarmed about security, they insisted she slept at the embassy.”
“That’s just dandy.”
“Can’t you send her a lioness to warn her?”
“No, I tried that once before, there’s some shield or other which prevents me from doing so. I can’t think why.”
“Maybe someone has tried a psychic attack before.”
“Quite possible.” I answered casually, while trying to think of how I could prevent the attempt but catch the would be assassins. If we could, then the stupidity and nastiness of this group could be shown up for what it was. Except, I doubted the US public would believe it, even if I could prove it.”
“Well you’re the officer. What do we do?” said Don, bringing me back from my reverie.
“I think we plan how we can stop them,” I said tersely.
“Fine, I’ll follow your lead,” he said sarcastically.
Now it was my turn to pace. “We don’t know who we can or can’t trust, on theirs or our side. Except each other.”
“Agreed.”
“So we keep quiet. To start with, I could be wrong.”
“True.”
“Thanks for your confidence, but I’m not. I can feel it in my bones.”
“Oh well, that’s different, that makes it certain.”
“Unless you want to wake up every night with a lioness licking your face, I’d be careful about your wit, if I were you.”
“Sorry ma’am. I believe you, I do. But like you said, we don’t know who’s in on it and who isn’t, and those who aren’t wouldn’t believe it anyway. Hang on, what about the PM, he’s seen you in action?”
“Are you certain whose side he’s on?”
“Ours I hope, but I take your point. What would he gain by helping to kill the US president?”
“I don’t know, but we can’t trust anyone. Not yet.”
“So it’s just you and me Batman?”
“Looks like it.” We looked at each other and simultaneously said, “Oh shit!”
“Don, can you find out who compiled that report for us?”
“I can try. Where are you going?”
“I need to look for some clothes and check out a hunch. Then I’m going home. I need to pack some stuff and tomorrow find somewhere to stay.”
“You can stay with me. I’ll get Sonia to make up the spare bed.”
“That’s very kind but it would be too dangerous for us both to stay together at night.”
“Why, do you snore or something?” asked Don.
“No you idiot, look there is a group who are trying to kill me. If I stay with you it could harm you or your family. Besides, if my hunch is right, and they find out, and we are together all the time, it’s easier to silence us.”
“Can you send your family on a little holiday, to relatives in Scotland or France or somewhere?”
“Is it that dangerous?” He said looking paler.
“It could be. If we take the lid off this can of worms, some of them are going to be senior people in government and industry. As you said, the stakes are high and they won’t be taking prisoners.”
“Will we?”
“Until they tell us what we want to know.”
“You’re a hard nut under all that hot chick stuff, aren’t you?”
“I have no sympathy with traitors. Geburah, is ‘justice’: it is the energy which drives me. It is balanced by ‘mercy’, but the mercy may be surgical strike to protect the innocent. Like removing a cancer.”
“Crikey Jamie, you sound like a terrorist.”
“Terrorists and the folk trying to catch them are often equally ruthless or pragmatic.”
“I suppose we are. I had never quite thought of it that way before.”
“I’m off, see you tomorrow. You’ve got my mobile number.”
“Yeah. See yah.”
I had remembered my appointment that evening with Andy Wilson’s group, and felt in need of a sleep and shower before then. I got home by lunch time, and after a snack and a two hour nap, felt a bit more human.
The shower was bliss, and I relaxed under its soothing waters, as they cleansed me. The warm dry towel was as soft as cotton wool, and it too felt delicious. I dressed casually and sat to meditate for an hour, contemplating the Qabalah and how I might meet with this group.
I’ve got quite good at meditation, practise helps, and I do as much as time permits. It helps to keep my blood pressure down and mind calm. I have every confidence in my protection, so can really lose myself and just be at one with the universe.
My parents came home around six, and I helped my mother make a meal, of which I ate a small portion, then left to attend Andy Wilson’s house.
It was a lovely Victorian house, made of yellow and black bricks. The drive way was full of cars and the street outside was also pretty congested. I’d borrowed Dad’s Rover, and being bigger than Mum’s car, took me ages to park. In my defence, I can say that the space was only just large enough to put three buses in, so you will appreciate I found it tricky.
I trotted up to the door and rang the bell. Thank goodness, it just rang on a single tone. I hate those things that play three movements of Mozart before they stop, which is usually after you’ve left.
A middle aged woman answered the door. “Yes?” she said.
It rather startled me for a moment. “Dr Wilson,” I replied, glad I had actually remembered his name; “Invited me around for seven thirty.”
“You must be Jamie Curtis.” Said the woman, smiling half heartedly.
“Yes I am.” I smiled back, trying to defrost her.
She led me into a hallway which was tiled in red quarry tiles interspersed with decorative ones, making a sort of chess board design. “Wait here.” She bade me and went into a room through a thick, multi-panelled door. I could hear muffled voices, then a moment later Andy Wilson appeared.
“Ah, Jamie, glad you could come. Sadly the group isn’t all here tonight, two members had to cry off. But the others are happy to meet you. Do come in.”
He led me through the same heavy wooden door, into a large sitting room. On the various sofas and chairs were seated six others, not including the woman who’d let me in. I was invited to sit in an easy chair, in the middle of the semi-circle of seats.
I wasn’t sure what to expect, a temple or something normal. It was obviously the latter. The energies felt okay, so I knew they were friendlies. Andy introduced them all, but I’m hopeless with names and had forgotten them as soon as he said them. Except for the smiling one who let me in. Her name was, Sandra, his sister.
They all smiled a greeting at me and I responded. I told them my background was Egyptian magick, I also mentioned my reincarnation link with Sekhmet. They found this interesting and we talked about it for quite a while.
While we were talking, I became increasingly aware of a group of people standing outside the seated semi-circle. They were listening but not saying anything and I recognised them as spirit folk, but they were as clear to me as the seated group.
“I’m aware we have others listening to our discussion and wondered if it was protocol to allow them to speak as well.”
“Can you see them?” asked Andy.
“Yes, very clearly.”
“Some of us have an impression of the others, but our seer, is one of those absent tonight,” said a youngish woman, wearing a hand-knitted top and corduroy skirt. I think her name was Chloe. “Can you hear them as well?”
“Yes, I can. Only one has spoken, an elderly gent, who tells me his name is known to you as Rabbi Eli.”
“Indeed it is. He is one of our guiding lights,” said Andy. “Does he have any advice for us.”
“He’s nodding. He says, “To read your Zohar. The answer is there if you look for it.” Is that any help?”
“He couldn’t be more precise could he?” asked Andy again.
“He could, but he won’t. He is shaking his head and telling you, you need to research whatever your query was. He is suggesting the group needs to read it together.”
“Okay. Thanks Eli, we’ll start next meeting. Thanks Jamie.”
“I need to talk to you about a personal difficulty I have.” I said quietly, looking around the room. The Rabbi was nodding, so at least he thought it was an appropriate time to discuss it.
“Did you want to speak to the group or me individually?” asked Andy.
“The group, if that’s alright?”
They all nodded assent, and he encouraged me to start.
“I told you about the past life link with the Egyptian goddess, Sekhmet. What I didn’t tell you was that she acts through me, sometimes with devastating effect,”
“What you mean, you can call her up?” asked a young man sitting opposite me.
“I become her, grow in size and throw lightning around the place.”
“Cool,” said the young man, whilst everyone else looked on in horror.
“It isn’t cool, I’m afraid, it gets very hot. However, that isn’t the problem.”
“It isn’t?” said an astonished Chloe.
“No. The Sekhmet stuff only happens when I am threatened.”
“Cool,” said the young man again, it seemed to be his only response to anything. I had a lioness sit beside him. He suddenly added, “Fuck me,” then wet himself when it licked his hand and began purring.
“Well Daniel, you always said you wanted to see or feel something. Now you have.” Said Andy, but Daniel went very pale, and I think fainted. He slumped back in his chair. The woman next to him went to look at him, but Andy said, “He’ll be okay.” Then to me, “You can materialise things as well then?”
“Yes.”
“If you are such a competent and powerful magician, why are you here? None of us have skills or powers anywhere near yours?”
“I need your help.”
“You need our help? How?” asked Chloe, now suitably impressed.
“Despite all the Egyptian stuff, I can make things happen, play with time, read your mind, heal the sick occasionally, I am being pursued by a group from the dark side, who are trying to kill me.”
“I don’t wish to sound unhelpful,” said Andy, “but with all these powers, how do you need us? Are they just pissed off with you for something you did?
“No. I haven’t done anything to any of them except when they have attacked me first.”
“Look I’m sorry, but it isn’t the place of this group to get involved in magick fights. We try to rise above the level of Yesod and the lower triangle.”
“Rabbi Eli, thinks you can help.” The old fellow was gesticulating like mad to me.
“How do I know you aren’t just making it up?” said Andy.
“She isn’t,” said Chloe, “I can hear him too.”
“That might just be one of Jamie’s tricks, too.”
“I need your help. There is no trickery, and I hope no danger to any of you.”
“I’m sorry, Jamie, but I don’t think it’s appropriate for this group to get involved in personal feuds.”
“Very well.” I said, “I’m sorry to have wasted your time. It isn’t a personal feud, it’s something across the ages, and I have a feeling that unless I can resolve things in my favour, something awful is going to happen. Then you will become involved.”
“That’s a risk we’ll have to take,” said Andy, indicating I should leave. “Thanks for an interesting evening, your tricks were very accomplished.”
“I don’t do tricks Dr Wilson. I am trying to save the world. It is that important.”
“I’m sure it is to you.”
“Don’t patronise me. Goodnight.” I said curtly and left.
As I drove away, I felt saddened that they couldn’t help because they didn’t understand what was happening. This wasn’t some petty squabble between two oversized egos, this was the forces of darkness trying to destroy the forces of light, viz. moi. I was sure that the threat to Susan Carlton was part of it, but I couldn’t prove anything. Surely, there had to be someone who could help. But who?
I drove home in despond, and did my ritual homage to my goddess. Time was running out and I needed what help she could give me.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
If Sekhmet could help, she didn’t as far as I knew. I spent a troubled night tossing and turning, worrying about this assignment and how it was all going to end in disaster unless I could do something.
At one point I went to the loo, and decided to have a cuppa while I was up. For some unknown reason, I checked my mobile. I had a message from Chloe. Curiouser and curiouser. How had she got my number? What was all this about?
At three in the morning, I could hardly call her back, so I sent her a text. “Can we meet? Tell me where ’n’ when. Jamie.” After this I went back to bed, but took my mobile with me. Just as well, it rang as I was starting to doze.
“Hello.” I said.
“Hi Jamie, I got your text message. I would like to help with your problem,” said Chloe.
I wasn’t quite sure how she could anymore than she was, but things happen for a reason and I needed to see what that reason was. We chatted on, and agreed to meet later that day, for lunch. I then decided it was too late to sleep and did some more meditation.
For the uninitiated, meditation can supply the same sort of ease as sleep. If you’re good at it or lucky, it can help your brain relax and produce Theta waves. I was at it for three hours, after which, while no further forward, I did feel relaxed and slightly rested. I then went for a ride on my bike.
At six or seven in the morning, with a slight crispness in the air, I enjoyed the simple challenge of pushing the bike up hill and down dale. I was concentrating on the effort, but my unconscious mind was playing with answers to my current dilemmas.
By seven thirty, I was back and in the shower. I ate a simple breakfast with my parents, who both rushed off to work at eight. While the eco-friendly part of me preferred the bicycle as a means of transport, I needed a car. I mentioned this to dad, who told me one of the neighbours was selling a reasonable runabout and to contact them. He’d underwrite the cost, but as a loan. It seemed I was growing up.
I spoke to the neighbour, agreed a price for the car and then spent two hours trying to insure it. It cost almost as much as the car. The trials of youth and no no-claim bonus. Eventually, it was organised and I took possession of my very own car, a seven year old Mini cooper, with 65,000 miles on the clock. The car was dark green, and called British Racing Green, from the colours used in the early Twentieth Century, Britain was green, Italy red, France blue and so on.
I took it for a short test drive and it had quite a nippy acceleration and had been looked after, it was immaculate. I was very happy with my new toy.
I had spoken to Don who was still pursuing some leads and chasing up the report’s author. I continued trying to rack my brain into providing some useful answers, but could think of nothing either for my own difficulty, or the more immediate one of prevention of an assassination of a US president.
I decided to bless my car, and having purified some water with an ancient Egyptian ritual, performed one that I might have been involved in many lifetimes before. I almost had flashbacks to being a priestess blessing the war chariot of the pharaoh, but it could have simply been my imagination. This was now my war chariot.
I drove my new acquisition to the quiet pub Chloe had suggested. When I was a kid, I had imagined having my own car and driving out to little country pubs with a girlfriend. Here I was, doing exactly that; except the script had gone wrong somewhere. This wasn’t a date in the normal sense, and despite Chloe being reasonably attractive, it seemed I wasn’t interested in her in a sexual sense.
However, some more friends of my own age group would be good, especially ones with arcane interests. So this might prove a useful liaison in several respects.
As I had dressed for this meeting, I’d felt slightly embarrassed, suddenly aware of my recent conversion to the female sex, compared to Chloe having presumably been born one.
My embarrassment had surprised me. As I stood before the mirror clad only in my undies, I recognised that I was actually quite pretty and with a reasonably voluptuous body. Most men would probably find me sexier than Chloe, yet she would have had a lifetime of being herself, while I had not long passed out of the novice class. John had taught me a lot about interacting with men, although I’d never managed the final test, yet.
So this strange feeling made me want to girlify myself more than I usually did, compensating in some way perhaps? I wasn’t sure.
I dressed in very well coordinated separates, a matching skirt and top. The skirt was long and gathered, edged with lace and the top was scoop necked with short sleeves. The neck and sleeves were edged in matching lace.
The pattern of the outfit was a mixture of greens and reds and pinks in the shape of roses. I wore brown boots with a two inch heel, and a string of beads around my neck. My makeup was subdued, lip gloss, mascara and blusher. My hair, I wore down and straight, the ends curling under at the shoulders. A squirt of a light perfume, and I left.
Chloe was waiting for me in her car in the pub car park. She had a three year old Corsa, in blue. So far so good. The energies were okay, so I got out of the car. We waved to each other and she got out of her Vauxhall.
We hugged like long lost friends, which surprised me slightly, then went into the pub. She ordered a soft drink for each of us and we found a quiet table in the corner where we could talk.
She was as tall as I was, and was wearing a cord suit in russet colour. We explored the menu and ordered a bar meal. There were perhaps half a dozen people in the bar, and as I perceived no threat from any of them I paid them no further attention.
We chatted quietly about trifling things waiting for our food, then after this began to move things along a bit. “How do you know Andy?” I asked her.
“I was student of his a couple of years ago. I was interested in the Israelite exodus from Egypt and did my dissertation on it. Good old Rameses.” She smiled as she said this and blushed.
I pretended to ignore it, and carried on eating. “I read palms.” She suddenly said, “Would you like me to read yours?”
“I don’t know.” I said, being taken aback somewhat by this sudden revelation. I put down my knife and turned over my hand, displaying the palmar surface for her examination. “What do you think?” I asked with an element of apprehension.
“It’s a very interesting hand,” she said. “You are very psychic, you have a long hand. Your life line is extraordinarily long, although it seems to have a break quite early on as if your life changed suddenly, maybe about your teens or early adulthood. How’m I doing?”
I felt a discomfort, how much could she actually tell from contact with me, and boy was she having contact, stroking my hand. “Your Venus and Mars areas are very interesting, you are very sensual and have, how shall I put it, an experimental approach to sex.”
I wanted to draw my hand away, this was all too true. I was also aware that we were becoming the object of attention of the whole bar. I felt like I was being chatted up. Shit! I was being chatted up, by a girl. She was several years too late, and possibly a whole life time. The current dilemma, to avoid her advances without all the pub becoming involved.
“Sorry,” I said, “but you’re way off. I’m very conventional in my attitude to sex ask my boyfriend, he’ll tell you.” I withdrew my hand from hers, leaving her feeling a little rejected.
“Are you sure?” she asked, “Because that wasn’t what I saw in your hand.”
“Yes, I am certain.”
“My guides told me that you were someone whom I should get to know.”
“Into spiritualism are you?” I asked pursuing the non-contact element.
“I am mediumistic. I sat with Mrs Carver for three or four years.”
“Sorry, I don’t know Mrs Carver.” I offered in genuine ignorance.
“She is the most respected medium in this whole county, perhaps the whole of southern England.”
“I didn’t know. What guides did she give you?”
“A red Indian medicine man called, Soaring Bird, and an African witchdoctor called, Matubetu. Why?”
“I can’t see anyone like that with you, but you have a woman wearing what looks like sixteenth century peasant clothes, her name’s Jenny something. Hang on, she said Jenny Wren, like Sir Christopher who was a distant relation. She apparently helps you with your clairsentience, and behind you is a man in a white coat, Dr Whittington I think he said. Yes, he did. He helps you with your healing activities. He said,” You need to practice more often.” I can also see an Indian, as in Sikh, he is your doorkeeper and protects you. His name is Dal Singh.”
I could see a group of folk around her, growing by the minute. “Hang on your grandmother is here. She sends love from your mother, who is busy at the moment.”
“You can see all this can’t you?” she said, once her open mouth had closed, and begun functioning again.
“Yes. I’m sorry you lost your mother.”
“I haven’t.” she retorted.
“Oh,” I said, “I’m sorry, I must have got it wrong.” As I said this, a younger looking woman appeared in front of her grandmother. She announced her name was Sylvia Blackstone, and was Chloe’s mum. She had died ten years ago from a kidney infection.
I related this to Chloe who was denying it, the denial growing louder each time she said, ”No, my mother isn’t dead.” Tears ran down her face, and then she rose up and ran out of the bar.
I followed at a discreet distance, paid the account for the meal and even turned around to deal with a lose comment I heard from one of the men as I went through the door. The voice said, “Lover’s tiff,” to which some one replied,” looks like it.”
I turned around facing the bar, with its assembled bunch of know-it-alls and quietly said, “Wrong boys, I’m her therapist. It’s the first time she’s been out for ages.” Then as the astonished looks spread over their stupid faces, I turned smartly and left.
As I got to the cars, she was speeding out of the car park and into the country lane. I reflected on our conversation, it was no help at all. In fact my insistence on being honest probably proved destructive. I had no problems with Chloe being gay, after all, I could hardly throw stones myself. I just didn’t want a girl on girl relationship.
I got into my new chariot and drove back to home. There was a message on the ansafone. “Message for Jamie Curtis, could she please call Dr Wilson…..”. I immediately called back.
A female voice said, “Hello, School of Ancient and Oriental Studies.”
“Hello,” I said hesitantly, recognising the voice and recalling the sparring I’d had with this woman. “It’s Jamie Curtis, Dr Wilson asked me to call.”
“Ah, yes he did. I’m sorry he’s busy for the moment, can I ask him to phone back?”
“Yes, that’s fine. Look, I’m sorry about the other day, I was rather off with you. I do apologise.”
“Yes you were rather. Still it’s not every day that I get threatened by the security services.”
“Yes, I’m sorry about that too.”
“So you should be.” I felt firmly put in my place. “However, you are Tom’s girl, and a very pretty one at that, so I’ll accept your apology this time. Don’t however, try it on again.”
“Of course not. I had been up all night chasing terrorists, so I wasn’t at my best.”
“What!..... Here in Oxford? ……Surely not?” Suddenly her confidence seemed vulnerable.
“Fraid so.” I answered almost casually, “They get everywhere these days, and universities are prime recruiting grounds.”
“Oh my goodness. I suppose they could be.” She sounded flustered. This surprised me, after all, it was a well known fact that most hotheads are young men, and universities are full of them. They are often idealists and see life in black and white. They are easy prey for the manipulative, terrorist recruiters. There was obviously something she wasn’t telling me.
“Do you have suspicions about someone?” I asked gently.
“No. No, of course not.” She snapped back at me rather too quickly.
“We can be very discreet, no one would know they were under observation or investigation, and they certainly wouldn’t know who told us.” I felt like someone from the Stasi encouraging people to rat on their families. “Have a think about it, remember terrorists are not nice and the mayhem they cause is random and non-specific. It could be one of your family or friends who just happen to be walking past the bus or train when it blows up...”
“Alright.” She said stopping me in mid-flow. “I’ll think about it.”
“It sounds as if you have someone in mind. They tend to change in some way after they’ve been recruited, often it’s quite subtle, but someone like you would notice.” I was buttering her up.
“I don’t know, he’s…” she paused.
“Would you like me to get someone to pop over and see you?”
“No, I’d rather speak to you, I think.” So despite my unimpressive entrance previously, she had obviously forgiven me.
“Would you like me to come over?” I asked.
“Yes, you can speak with Dr Wilson and see me afterwards, we can pretend I’m catching up with your dad’s news.”
“Fine.” I said, “I’ll be about twenty or thirty minutes.”
I left after making a quick call to Don, he was pursuing the author of the report we’d seen. So far it seems to have been written by that great poet, ‘Anonymous’. Such is the Civil Service, now if the military functioned like that…Oh well.
The traffic was beginning to build up as I headed into town. I’d have been quicker on my bike. Then, the joys of parking. As I have previously admitted, it is not my forte, but with a space on the end of a parking zone, even I could do it. Alright, it took me three goes, but hey with a huge car like mine, well…
I managed to extricate myself from the car without showing too much underwear, and went into the reception area of the School of A&O studies. Monica seemed happy to see me, smiling as she said, “Dr Wilson is waiting for you.”
“Thank you.” I replied smiling back in as friendly a manner as I could, without over egging the pud. I knew where to go, and knocked on the door bearing his name. I was obviously a natural detective.
I entered as he called out. “Ah Jamie, do come in.” He seemed friendlier than when I’d last met him as he kicked me out of his group.
“Thank you.” I replied, taking the seat he offered. As far as I was concerned, he or his group had been nominated to help me by my Lady. She didn’t make mistakes, so maybe things were moving forward. I could only wait and see.
“Thanks for coming.” He said. “I’ve had a call from Chloe.”
My heart sank. If she really wanted to she could stir things up to mean I’d never get any help from him. “Oh yes.” I replied trying very hard to remain neutral.
“She seems to like you very much. I hear you had lunch together.”
“Yes we did.” I said.
“You’re very gifted, and I’d like to invite you to join our group.”
I was completely wrong-footed by his statement. It must have showed because he said, “I take it you would like to join?”
“Yes very much, although my job means I probably wouldn’t be able to come as often as I liked.”
“I think we all understand that element of everyday life.” He said smiling.
I paused before saying anything about my lunch with Chloe. “Is Chloe married?”
He chuckled as he replied, “Unlikely, she’s gay and very happy for you to know, she’s quite open about it. I’m surprised she didn’t try to chat you up over lunch. She can be a tad predatory at times, especially with someone as pretty as yourself.”
“Actually, she did.” I said blushing profusely, finding the room temperature had doubled suddenly.
“I take it you weren’t interested?”
“Not in that respect, although I’d be happy to be just a friend.” I was blushing like an infra red lamp, giving off enough heat to run a power station.
“Don’t worry, she won’t try it again. She is a lovely girl, so don’t be too put off. She is still recovering from learning that she wasted lots of time sitting in a development circle with some local psychic. When she learned all these guys are stuck in the bottom triangle, mainly Yesod, she was rather upset.
(He was referring to spheres on the Tree of Life or Qabalah, where the spheres of Yesod, Netzach and Hod, make up the bottom triangle. Yesod, is the sphere of illusion, dreams and psychic stuff, like the Astral Realms. Those aspiring to higher spiritual insights usually aim above this area. Having said that, all the spheres are sacred, and offer an aspect of the Godhead).
“On another matter, and do tell me to mind my own business.” I felt myself blushing again. “I’m still astonished that I thought Tom had a son, looking at you it’s quite obvious that he didn’t. I just had this memory of him handing out cigars at the rugger club.”
“Can I tell you something in complete confidence.”
“Of course.”
“Please, I have to have your absolute word.”
“You have it.”
“There’s nothing wrong with your memory. Dad thought he had a little boy, but I was wrongly identified as a boy, which was put right soon after.”
“Well one reads of these things, and over the years I’ve had all sorts in my classes, so it doesn’t worry me a jot. A few years back we had a transsexual girl who went from Jacqueline to Jack during the second year. I was delighted the way most of the students supported him. He’s out in Africa somewhere supervising a dig, if I remember completely.”
“Thank you.” I responded.
“Don’t worry, I’ve forgotten it already.” He smiled, then said, “Can you have babies and things?”
“Only after sex.” I chose to answer obliquely to avoid telling a lie, as it was none of his business it seemed a reasonable decision. He roared at this, and we shook hands.
I went out to see Monica, she was smiling but was very nervous. So was I, it was my first time for questioning someone about a possible terror suspect. “I’ll make some coffee.” She said and disappeared through a door.
We sat at her desk and sipped the piping hot drink. “I’m probably making a huge mistake,” she said.
“No you’re not.” I replied trying to be supportive of her, encouraging her to report this student, whoever he or she was. What had I become? “We’ll be very discreet and no one will get hurt. They won’t even know they’re under investigation, unless we find something. So they’ll be okay if you’re wrong, and if you’re right, hopefully it will save many lives.”
“You’ve killed people haven’t you?” she said sidetracking me.
I felt like saying, “what relevance is that?” but I didn’t, instead I said,” Yes I have, and it’s not something which I intended nor enjoyed doing. It happened in a defensive action, which I hope saved the lives of colleagues.”
“They gave you a medal, I saw the picture in the paper.”
“They gave me two.”
“Gosh,” she said, “I thought they gave those to some nurse up country.”
“That was me.”
“How come a nurse had to kill people, don’t you take some sort of oath…”
“As a serving soldier at the time, the only oath I had taken was to serve my country and my king or queen. We were attacked by insurgents in Iraq, I fought back. Sadly, some of them were killed.”
“They gave you two medals?”
“Yeah, the other was for something that happened in this country.”
“Not the attack on the motorway?”
“No, not that one.”
“That was you too?”
“Yes, unfortunately.”
“There must be a third, then.” She said in increasing surprise.
“There was a gangster attack on a club I was at with a group of friends. I helped the police, they overreacted and pinned some stupid medal on me. Like the other one, it was totally undeserved.”
“What medal did they give you?”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it does.”
“Why? It’s not important to me.” This wasn’t false modesty, I had always protested that I was undeserving of the awards.
“Please tell me.” She had switched the interrogation, becoming the questioner. It was not comfortable.
“They gave me the George medal.” I looked at the floor as I said it.
“Why are you frightened to accept your courage, and the respect of others for it?”
“I’m not.” I protested, but I knew she was right.
“So look me in the eye and tell me what the other medal was.”
It took me several seconds to do so, but I did.
“I am honoured to be sitting in the company of one so young yet so brave, and so beautiful. Your parents must be proud of you.”
“We don’t talk about it.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to.” Pausing to try and regain the initiative, “Can we get back to the reason why we are here, your suspect student.”
“Oh, it isn’t a student.”
I was wrong-footed again, it was becoming a habit. “It isn’t?”
“Oh no, it’s Dr Wilson.”
“Are you winding me up? To get your own back for the other day?” Once more I found the room getting hotter as I blushed.
“Certainly not young lady. I am serious.”
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
I was gob-smacked! Dr Wilson a terrorist? It seemed absurd. But I thought about it for a moment. He was an Egyptologist, many of the founders of Islamist terror were Egyptian. It could prove an opportunity to make contact with people in Egypt. Supervising a dig or going around sites there could enable all sorts of extra-curricular activities. However, my gut instinct was that Monica was wrong. Could she have an ulterior motive for reporting him, such as jealousy? Hell hath no fury…etcetera.
“You seem shocked Captain Curtis?” said Monica, who had not only stolen the initiative earlier, but had kept a firm hold on it.
“If I’m honest, yes I am.” I blushed as I spoke.
“I thought you were experienced in chasing terrorists?” she said almost casually.
“I have never claimed to be experienced in anything. Is this a wind up?”
“No, I wouldn’t do that to you. I should have thought you knew me better than that.” She was still claiming the initiative.
“So what makes you think Dr Wilson could have some involvement in terrorism?”
“He has strange messages from the middle east, he spends quite a bit of his time in middle eastern embassies and consulates. He has a very anti- British opinion at times. When I try to put my finger on it, there’s nothing tangible to show, it’s rather more a hunch than a fact.”
Just then, my mobile rang. I excused myself and went outside to take the call which was from Don. “Yes I’m at the university now, investigating a lead as to a possible cell.”
“I don’t know about terrorist cells, but the guy who runs the Egyptology department is a Mossad agent.”
“How do you know that?” I asked incredulously.
“I can’t remember how exactly, but it came up some while ago. It stuck in my mind because it seemed incongruous that someone who studies Arabs, should spy for Israel.”
“Don, Egyptology is about ancient Egypt. It isn’t about Arabs, there were no Arabs in those days.”
“Don’t get all pernickety with me, you know what I mean. Anyway, he’s the guy somebody Wilson, I think.”
“Why did you call me?” I enquired.
“I’ve finally identified some of the authors of that report. Seems it was done by a committee. I’m going off to speak to a couple of them, thought you might miss me.”
“Okay, I do miss you, but don’t tell your wife. Let me know what you discover.”
“Of course I will, ma’am.”
“I thought we were a team?”
“We are, but you’re still a captain to my sergeant.”
“Right sergeant, carry on. Stand at ease, etcetera.” He rang off before I could finish. I went back in to continue my conversation with Monica.
“That was a colleague. I’ve initiated the process.”
“What process is that?” she asked almost absent-mindedly.
“The investigation process, surveillance and all that.”
“That was quick,” she seemed shocked.
“Once we perceive a threat, we act very quickly. If I thought there was any danger from say explosives or weapons, I could have a team here within the hour. In a few hours, I could seal off the whole city. I can also get a shoot to kill policy operational within an hour, and I obviously have a firearms certificate myself.”
“Seeing as you have shot several people, I’m glad to hear it. It’s reassuring to learn you have some competence with a gun. It makes it less likely that you’ll shoot me by mistake.”
Once again the barriers were up between us. Was she reacting to my apparent pompousness? Or was there some sort of female rivalry occurring, her the old hand being undermined by the younger, faster gun. I wasn’t at all sure. But my respect for her was diminishing. “It wouldn’t be by mistake,” I said and left.
I reflected on my position. The progress I had made was nil. I knew something about Dr Wilson, which may or may not prove useful, and I suppose I also knew a bit more about Monica and Chloe. I couldn’t see much value in any of it. So why had Sekhmet sent me here? It didn’t make much sense at all, yet I knew from past experience, she didn’t make mistakes. Therefore, it had it be me. I was or wasn’t doing whatever it was I was supposed to be doing. Sadly, working that out didn’t constitute much in the way of progress.
I decided I would go and sit on the college green and have a little think, maybe some inspiration would occur. I couldn’t think of anything else to do, so a sit and a think it was.
As an investigator, I made rather a good nurse. I needed out of this and on to something I considered useful. What good was I doing here? Absolutely none. What was I trying to achieve? Prevention of an assassination of a US president on British soil. The British soil, was very much secondary, because given a chance I would help to prevent the former wherever it happened.
I had intuited the attempt would take place at the US embassy, with a faked air crash covering for a previously planted bomb. It had a high probability of success, it was simple enough and even if the plot was finally uncovered, it would be too late to save the lives that would be sacrificed.
As I cogitated on this dilemma, I unconsciously watched a small aircraft circling around above me. “Yes, one like that.” I said to myself. Then a moment later, I thought. “My God, that is the one. No wonder I was made to come here. That is the actual plane which will be used, and perhaps the same pilot.”
Seconds later I was walking quickly back to my car. I needed to get the number of that plane. Then, a moment of inspiration. Opposite the college was a camera shop. I borrowed a pair of binoculars and two minutes after that, I took them back. I still couldn’t see the number on the aircraft. I’d have to get it the hard way. I set off through the traffic towards the airfield. What is it they say about writing? “ten percent inspiration, ninety percent perspiration.” I began to see that intelligence work had a similar ratio.
Theoretically, even if I went to the wrong airfield, I should be able to discover who was flying and where the plane was kept, air traffic should resolve that. However, this was the real world, where things don’t happen in accord with theory…and this damned traffic.
I took nearly an hour fighting the rush hour traffic to get to the nearest airfield. I made myself known to the security people and was escorted to the air traffic control tower. It drew a blank, I had a feeling it would.
Back outside, I called the office. Don was back. I quickly explained what I believed was about to happen. He accepted what I said, after a couple of demonstrations, without question, however crazy it sounded. He would get a list of all aircraft flying over Oxford that afternoon.
There was still a risk the people, and I use the term loosely, who were planning this would be one jump ahead of us. As I drove home, my mind was in fast forward. Even if I knew which plane it was, the person flying it may not be the one who flies it into the embassy. It could be anyone. For all I knew, it was one available to rent, like a car.
I pulled over at a petrol station and bought a road map. This was last ditch inspirational stuff. Opening the map out to the Oxford area, I took off my bracelet and using it as a cord, attached a ring to the end of it. Would I be able to dowse with it. “Damn.” I couldn’t.
Oh well, nothing else for it. I grabbed a long hair and pulled. My scalp felt it detach. I then tied the ring to its end and tried again.
“Give me an answer for yes.” I instructed the makeshift pendulum and it spun in a clockwise manner. ‘No’, was anticlockwise, and ‘don’t know’ was back and fore. I was in business, perhaps. I’m not the world’s best dowser, but sometimes it worked.
“ Will you show me the airfield from which the plane I saw took off and landed.” I asked the pendulum. It responded affirmatively.
For those of you who have never dowsed, I recommend you try it, it can be good fun. I still feel self conscious when talking out loud to an inanimate object, but it focuses better for me that way.
In map dowsing, you split the map up into sections, and running a finger from the other hand over each section, simply ask if the thing you want to find is in this one. It can be time consuming, and there are obvious shortcuts. I took some and eventually determined the area I needed to investigate was closer to Abbingdon than Oxford. There were no airfields shown on my map, but the pendulum went berserk as I homed in on a particular place.
It was going to be dark by the time I got there, I would return early the next day better dressed for prowling about the countryside, and with torch and sandwiches. My stomach was rumbling, and I felt the need for food. Home it was.
My parents approved of my new car, Dad was pleased I’d taken his advice and told me how I would pay him back. As he’d been so generous I could hardly disagree. Mum was glad I should no longer need to borrow hers. In a way, so was I. I had a car of my own to fill up with empty drinks cans and crisp packets.
More importantly, Mum had cooked some pork chops and saved me one plus some spuds and vegetables. I was famished, my meal with Chloe seemed long ago.
They’d already eaten, Dad was busy with Browning, he reminded me I had some more scanning to do for him. Why he refused to learn the basics of computers, defeated me, except he’d have to do things for himself then.
Mum was dashing out to a meeting with one of her charity’s biggest contributors, so I was left to my own devices. It wouldn’t be the last time. I took the meal out of the oven, it smelled divine. I blessed my mother for keeping me back some. It tasted pretty good too, especially with the glass of wine Dad had left for me in the bottle on the table.
Replete, I was able to go up to my room and speak to Don. I told him what I planned to do the next morning. “If there is anyone who has a plane they are hardly going to show it to you, are they? Especially if it’s going to be used for something nasty.”
“Except, they aren’t going to think that some whacky student, looking for crop circles is with the security services.”
“That’s your cover is it?”
“Can you think of a better one?”
“Are you armed?”
“What for? In case there’s any little green men in the crop circles?”
“Don’t be facetious with me, young woman. You know as well as I do, these are desperate characters and just in case your crazy theory is right, you could be in danger.”
I had a proper map out on my bed, an Ordnance Survey one, and from the contour lines, there were only a few places a small aircraft could take off and land. I told him these places, and promised to call in each time I explored one.
I didn’t like guns, even though I seemed rather good at holding the safe end and pointing the other at people, who subsequently expired. So I rarely carried one. I hadn’t brought such a thing to my parent’s home, that would be beyond the pale.
I did the scanning my father wanted, and left him still deep in his thoughts of Browning. His work could run to several volumes and take him ten or more years to complete. He barely noticed I was there, such was his concentration on his subject. It gave me hope, that when I got to his age, I’d be able to do study or just completely absorb myself in something. It’s something they say wanes with time, but obviously not in his case.
I stood watching him, cross referencing some notes, his fountain pen scratching away, nineteen to the dozen. I poured love at him, he did look at me at one point but in reality he looked through me. I eventually left, after kissing him on the cheek, which he barely acknowledged. It wasn’t a rejection, I kept telling myself, just him being too busy to breathe. I went to bed.
At some godforsaken hour I was awakened by my alarm clock bleeping. I dragged myself out of my nice warm bed, washed and dressed in jeans and sweater, then went for breakfast. I ate heartily, a big bowl of porridge and then some fruit.
I made up a flask of coffee and some sandwiches, which I put in my small rucksack along with a camera and my small binoculars. I had my small handbag which was big enough to include a purse and a few other small items. I laced on my walking boots, grabbed my anorak – yes an anorak, it’s a Gortex walkers’ one, and carried my stuff out to the car.
It was light now, but there was a thin film of moisture on the car and the hills in the distance were veiled in a light mist. The car started first time and I was off to test my hunch. I left a book on crop circles on the front passenger seat. I’d bought it second hand, so it looked well used, just in case someone should challenge me.
I’d tied my hair back in a pony tail, so looked every inch the student, slightly scruffy but otherwise clean. Okay, so I resembled a middle class stereotype of a student, but then I was probably investigating people whose ideas would conform to that stereotype, I hoped.
The traffic was easy, I’d beaten the rush hour, and about fifty minutes after embarking on this task, I was at my first prospective site. I drew out the dowsing rods I’d brought from the house. Originally I had used ones made from old wire coat hangers, but more recently had progressed to brazing rods which were more substantial and worked better in a breeze.
I consulted the rods, they showed me a direction and off I set. Sadly, they were wrong, nothing resembling a landing strip or place suitable to keep an aircraft appeared after half an hour's walking, so I turned back to the car and the next one.
I admit I know next to nothing about flying. Usually when I get on an aircraft, the bloke in the driver's seat gets paid to do it for me. I did know that things like wind direction is important to take off and landing, and had noticed wind socks at farms, presuming they had a plane or helicopter. So this was what I was looking for, primarily, with a barn big enough to stow an aircraft and sufficient regular ground to act as a landing strip.
The next place I searched was more promising, but the farmer didn’t like the idea of crop circles and declared, “there were none on his land yesterday.” I did my little girl lost act, and his manner softened a bit, giving me permission to look if I promised not to tell everyone else before him. They can be quite lucrative if you charge people to view or walk in them.
“I promise if I find any, I shall come back and tell you about them before anyone else.” I said and he let me go. I knew then I wouldn’t find the aircraft I was seeking, but twenty minutes later I did find a crop circle. I photographed it, and measured it as best I could. As I got closer to it, my head felt quite strange and I had to walk away.
Three times I had to retreat, from what I can only suggest felt like a strong electromagnetic energy. It drained the battery on my camera and my mobile.
It was fascinating, about thirty metres in diameter with several smaller ones around it. I could have quite happily played there all morning but I had work to do. I informed the farmer on the way back and his face lit up. Sadly I couldn’t show him any pictures, my camera being dead.
I plugged my phone into the charger, and managed to call Don for the second time. Two more to go.
On my way to the third one I spied a windsock. My heart began to quicken and my solar plexus flipped. It seemed to look promising. My dowsing rods were moving very quickly. Something was definitely happening.
I closed the car and locked it, pulled my rucksack on and set off. I walked a wide circle around the farm, wishing my camera had been available because in no more than fifteen minutes I saw a plane. From memory, it resembled the one I saw yesterday, a single-engine job, which could have been anything. From my binoculars I could see its registration letters and noted then down, I think I could see the word ‘Piper’ on it too, presumably the manufacturer’s make or model.
I reached for my mobile to call Don and get him to start identifying the owner, but as I reached in my handbag, I realised I’d left it in the car, plugged into its charger. I noticed a buzzard circling round, waiting for thermals to help it soar. I felt envious of his ability to fly.
I continued my circle of the farm, and as I completed it and approached my car two men stepped out of the hedgerow, one of then bearing a cocked shotgun.
“Find what you’re looking for?” said the gun man.
“No.” I replied feeling very uncomfortable.
“What were you looking for?” he asked intimidating me with the gun.
“Would you mind pointing that at something else?” I asked politely but firmly.
“ ‘n’ if I don’t, what you gonna do, take it off me?” He laughed at his own joke and his colleague chuckled with him.
I didn’t feel it was appropriate to tell him it is impolite to laugh at one’s own jokes. Instead, I said, “Look those things are rather dangerous, so please point it at the floor.”
Of course he waved it in my face. At which I pushed it to one side and brought my boot up into his crutch. The gun roared, firing pellets into the tarmac, which ricocheted everywhere. He dropped the gun, and fell to his knees. I wasn’t quite quick enough for his friend, who managed to spring upon my back and knock me down on my face. He rolled off me, and was faster in the recovery. I rolled away but he jumped on me and hit me in the face, my head rocked back against the road and things went black.
I woke up a little later, I was trussed up tighter than an oven ready turkey and about as likely to escape. They noticed I was awake.
“Who are you working for?”
“I don’t work. I’m a student.”
“What are you studying?”
“Parapsychology. I’m looking for crop circles. I found some over the other side of the valley.”
He slapped me on the face, “Liar.”
My head was aching, and I had slight double vision. “Who are you?”
“Janet Curtis.” I said, being slightly economical with the truth. I had left all my identifiers at home just in case. If they had found my ID card, I’d be dead by now.
“Where’s your union card?” He said referring to a student’s union pass I would have if I were a student.
“At home.”
“Where’s that?”
“Oxford. I live with my uncle and aunt, he teaches at the university, at ‘doubting’.
“So you know some uni jargon, eh. It don’t mean anything. Why did you attack me?”
“Why did you wave a shotgun in my face?”
“I’m asking the questions or had you forgotten?”
“My head hurts, I feel sick.” I said.
“Good,” he snapped, “my fuckin’ bollocks hurt.” He rubbed them very gently. I knew I’d made a good contact with my boot, he’d be black and blue for days. “Now unless you want another slap, tell me why you attacked me.”
“I am scared of guns, my father was shot by one.” I began to cry, hoping tears would work where reason didn’t. It didn’t either, he slapped me again telling me to shut up. Of course I screamed even louder.
“Well unless you tell me who you are working for, you are gonna follow in his footsteps, missy. So stop blubbing and start talking.”
“Sob……Profes…..sob……sor……sob…..Pon…hic…. ting.”
“Who? Speak more clearly.” He grabbed my face in his huge hand and squeezed it hard. I tried to bite him. He slapped me, I screamed.
It seemed to go on like this for hours. I was eventually left a sobbing ball of pain, my face was bruised and my head ached. I knew I had a black eye starting, as seeing out of it was a problem. I knew I was still alive, I hurt too much to be dead.
I heard a third man approach, I couldn’t see him, but I heard him. His accent was American. I could be in the right place, in which case my life was definitely in grave danger. Should I have carried a gun? If I had, could I have shot both of them?
Improbable, one was behind me. If I’d been carrying one, they’d have known I wasn’t a student. I could see the contents of my bags on the floor, together with the remains of my mobile and the torn up book on crop circles.
I tried to call up help, but my aching head stopped me concentrating enough to visualise a lioness, or anything else. I slipped into a pain-filled sleep, at least I think it was a sleep, except I remained aware of the pain. Perhaps I was drifting into more unconsciousness.
My head was splitting and I couldn’t see through my right eye. I could taste blood in my mouth. I hoped none of my teeth were loose. I was gagged and thrown behind some bales of straw, some more were thrown on top of me. I began to think I was going to die.
I wasn’t so much frightened as angry. So many people I needed to say goodbye to, and now there was no time. The ignominy of being killed by suffocation or starvation, it could be days before they found me. The attack on Mrs Carlton would work, and we’d both have died in vain, trying to make the world a better place.
I felt so sad, I would never see my parents again or John. I began to weep silently. Breathing was an effort, lying on my face, my hands behind me covered in heavy bales of straw. Then I heard a strange noise, a crackling noise. It was muffled by the straw, but there was definitely a noise. I tried to work out what it was but my head was muzzy and breathing was difficult.
I think I blanked for a moment, then I came to with a jolt. The crackle was becoming a roar. They had started a fire. I was going to die.
I visualised John and said my goodbye to him, wishing we’d been able to sort things out, as I did love him. Then I said goodbye to my parents, and to Sharon, and Chloe and Dr Wilson. I don’t remember much else, but I think I could smell smoke.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
In the final moments of consciousness, I resigned myself to my fate, probably to be asphyxiated by fumes. I had no worries about death, I was seemingly stuck on a treadmill of reincarnation, so death was a recurring experience.
However, I was sad that I hadn’t said goodbye to those who were dear to me, and that they would be sad. Would they ever find my body? Probably, the fire service would arrive too late and a murder enquiry would commence. By which time, there would be an investigation into the death of a president, too.
I had failed. Then things went dark and I felt myself falling down a long tunnel. Had I been conscious, I might have considered ironic, the fact that I was a servant of a fire goddess.
Had I been conscious, I might have been able to call up my goddess to help me escape. The only difficulty was, I was unconscious and lying in a barn which had caught fire before.
Unbeknownst to me, the barn which I believed was going to be my crematorium, was only twenty years old. It had been built to store hay and straw. Its predecessor had been consumed by fire and the insurance company, which had been plagued by barn fires, insisted that any rebuild incorporated anti fire devices, like a sprinkler system.
Since its reconstruction, the barn had not been used much for hay until recently when it was acquired by its present owner, a gentleman farmer, whose income came more from business interests than the land. His wife kept horses, and they needed hay. There had been no further fires and the sprinklers had not been tested for years.
However, when the smoke alarm/temperature alarm went off, the sprinklers spluttered and some of them began disgorging water onto the area below them. The problem was, they continued pouring into the barn after the flames were extinguished. With the doors partly closed, the water began to collect in the bottom.
I came to, feeling water dripping down my face, the bales of straw or hay on top of me were consequently heavier and breathing was even more difficult. The concrete floor under my face felt wet, and after a while I realised the water level was rising. I wasn’t going to burn or choke to death in toxic fumes, but drown.
I tried to move, but the bales were getting heavier. I felt as if I could be crushed by their weight. I imagined this was something like being stuck in an avalanche or landslide.
I tried to visualise the sun about my head, but I inhaled some water and began to cough. I thought I could hear some sort of engine. Was it my captors returning or a potential rescuer? I tried to project my mind outside, but another lot of water up my nose, meant I lost concentration again.
My head was pounding and swimming, almost literally. With a last effort I visualised a lioness outside the barn. I tried to see through its eyes, but the darkness was returning. I tried to keep my head up but it was so difficult.
I coughed again, my head pounding with each effort of my chest, but it roused me slightly. The pressure of the bales was now making my legs numb and breathing was nearly impossible, just rapid shallow ones. The water was now lapping against my lips. A little while longer and I would be dead.
Feeling alone and frightened, I called my lioness to come to me. It couldn’t help my predicament but at least I would have its company as I died. I tried to imagine it moving the bales which were pressing on me.
Then thinking I was going, I imagined the weight being lifted off my body. I knew it was just an illusion and I was dying, but it felt good. Things went black again.
I could not believe that I was lying on my back with two paramedics holding an oxygen mask over my face. I was dead, wasn’t I? If so, from my good eye, I could see a rather attractive looking man in green overalls looking at a machine and at me. If I was ‘fancying’ this guy, then surely I couldn’t be dead, could I?
My head was pounding like I had a full orchestra of percussion instruments practicing inside it. Things began to get distant, and I had a dreamy recollection of being loaded into a helicopter, I think it was a helicopter, and the sensation of flying.
When I awoke, apparently a day later, my parents and John were sat there. I had died and gone to heaven, this was now obvious. But if I had, how come they couldn’t stop this blessed headache.
I felt someone squeezing my hand. I tried to open my eyes and keep them open. “We must stop meeting like this.” Said a voice I knew and loved, “Do you know how much you have cost me in flowers since I first met you?”
I was about to say something smart in reply, but instead my chest heaved and I coughed, my mouth filling with some horrible fluid. My mother helped me up and held a plastic container for me to spit into. The fluid was green and slimy. I had a chest infection, and how.
My parents went for a little walk after seeing me awake. John clasped my hand and told me he thought he’d lost me. He was in tears and so was I.
“Do you know how close you were to dying? Seconds. You weren’t breathing when they found you and your heart had stopped. They thought you were dead, but decided to revive you just in case.
I had a vision of you engulfed in flames, and phoned Don. He told me you were late calling in but had gone to investigate some farms. I got him to scramble the police helicopter. They were looking for a fire or your car. Don tells me you have a mini.”
I went to reply, but he hushed me. “They couldn’t see either a fire or your car and there was no signal from your phone. I knew there had to have been a fire, the vision was so clear. Then I remembered, I told them to look for the lioness. They checked it out three times, but they saw one and they saw it enter the barn. When they followed it in, it was trying to dig away some bales of straw and as they approached so it disappeared. I suppose that was when your heart stopped.
Thankfully, they investigated where the lioness had been. They found you with your face in water. They got you out and began CPR. They kept you alive long enough for the air ambulance to arrive and they revived you. You’re a very lucky lady, Jamie Curtis, doubly so because I want you to marry me.”
Now I knew I was dead and hallucinating! I felt tears welling up in my eyes, and one of the hot drops of water ran down my cheek.
“What’s the matter, princess?” said John.
I couldn’t speak, I was so choked with emotion. I simply shook my head and more tears flowed. The headache, or the orchestra involved in it, were now on crescendo. The pain was blinding me. John was saying something, but I couldn’t hear him. I felt very hot. No, I was on fire, my whole body was ablaze or felt like it. There wasn’t enough air, I began to struggle to breathe. I felt myself flop back on the pillow and in the distance someone was shouting, but it wasn’t important, I wasn’t there anymore.
I could see my body. It was lying on the hospital bed. John was pacing back and fro just outside the cubicle. Inside a team of doctors and nurses were doing something to my body. I didn’t care, I wasn’t there, I was free.
I floated up through the hospital, the John Radcliff in Oxford. Looking down I could see people like ants scurrying about, the cars were like toy ones. I was glad to be away from it all. The earth was a beautiful place full of stupid people who seemed incapable of learning the most simple of lessons. Cooperation achieves far more than conflict, but then most of us are so up our own backsides, we can’t see it.
I began to leave the earth, sucked up a tunnel of light. Finally, after some time, although time seemed unimportant now, I found myself in a garden. I had been here before. I had mixed feelings about it, having been sent back last time. Surely they couldn’t do it twice, could they?
I thought it best to just sit about and not draw attention to myself, then it would be too late to send me back, or so I thought. However, I just sat my mind empty.
“Jamie, what the he…, what on earth are you doing here?” The voice belonged to my grandmother.
“Looks like I got a chest infection, while trying to save the earth, and it took a turn for the worse….”
“Don’t be ridiculous child, you can’t die yet.”
“Sorry, Gran, but it looks like I have.”
“We’ll see about that…” She said firmly and strode off not hearing my comment about leaving the dead in peace.
A short time later, my grandmother returned. “We have a choice for you.”
“Who’s we?” I asked.
“The Committee, Jamie. You know this, so don’t be obtuse.” Her sharp way of speaking to me was unexpected. She had never spoken to me like this before. “Your choice is to stay here or go back.”
“I think I’ll stay.” I said, feeling comfortable in the garden.
“It wouldn’t actually be here.”
“Why not?” I asked, puzzled.
“Because you wouldn’t be welcome.”
“Why not?” I could feel tears in my eyes. Was this possible? Probably not but it was happening. How could my favourite dead relative be so unpleasant to me, her favourite dead grandchild?
“First, because you surrendered your life without sufficient effort to protect it. Second, and this is by far the more important reason, your negligence will enable the forces of evil to carry out their wicked plan and ultimately many thousands, perhaps millions will die.”
“How can you accuse me of that, Gran? All I did was catch a chest infection. How can that kill millions?”
“The American president will die in two days. A war will erupt, weapons of mass murder will be used.”
“What, like nuclear?”
“The same.”
“How can you blame it all on me? It isn’t my fault….” I began to cry, this was so unfair.
“It is your fault, Jamie. We gave you skill which should have kept you safe enough to prevent it. Saving the world was your destiny. I told you, you had a special mission. That was it. Goodbye, Jamie. Please take her away.”
Two burly characters approached me and began to drag me away. I tried to resist but it was hopeless.
“Gran, what if I agree to go back to try and stop the assassination?” I called to her as I was pulled away.
“It’s too late now….”
“Please, Gran, let me try.” I begged as they continued to pull me. I gave a final effort and managed to get clear of my captors. As they pursued me, I imagined a net falling on them and it happened. I was astonished, but it gave me another idea.
I imagined my grandmother coming to me for the first time in the garden, and it happened
.
“What are you doing here?” she asked me again.
“I need your help, Gran. I need to beat this infection and be well enough to stop some evil men doing something dreadful.”
“We can’t intervene in your world.”
“Oh well, it will be on your conscience if I die and the events happen which I might have prevented, and a war occurs. It could involve many thousands of dead.”
“Nonsense. If I am already dead, how can it be my fault?”
“Because you and your committee have the power to heal me and I have the power to prevent this unnecessary catastrophe.”
“Your confidence borders on arrogance, young lady. I did not bring you up to behave in such a manner.”
“No gran, you brought me up to protect the innocent and to fight for what I believe in. I believe that while we stand here wasting time, a group of evil men are intent on murdering a president. If it happens, it will be a tragedy for many and the consequences could perhaps launch a major world war of biblical proportions. Every hothead with an axe to grind will use it as a call to arms, it will pit east against west, and Moslems against nominally Christian countries and Israel. It could become an Armageddon.”
“That’s not my concern.”
“No, Gran, it’s mine. It’s my job, if not my destiny, to try and stop it. I have been trying to stop it, but sadly I failed because the tools you lot gave me weren’t enough. Even my beautiful Lady Sekhmet, could not stop it.” I began to cry again.
“How do you know that?” She fixed me with a powerful stare, “Have you asked her?”
“N...no, I haven’t actually..” I almost whispered.
“Well, perhaps you better had,” snapped Gran.
“How do I do that?” I felt about an inch tall, and incredibly stupid. This was all against the clock, I couldn’t seem to think and panic at the same time.
“How do you normally contact her?”
“I meditate and pray.”
“Goodbye Jamie, give my love to your parents.” With that she was gone.
I sank to my knees and tried to calm down. I visualised my Lady before me and prayed for her help. I begged and beseeched her for help, offering anything she wanted in return.
Just as I felt I had failed, I felt a light approaching me. It was so bright and the heat coming off it, threatened to engulf me. A voice of stentorian levels boomed through my whole body. “Who dares to disturb our rest?”
“I do, your holiness.” I kept my face to the floor in submission, but also to protect it against the ferocity of the light.
“For what reason do you disturb us, slave?” boomed the voice.
“I am in danger of failing in the mission upon which you have sent me. My physical body is very sick and gravely ill. I need your help, your majesty, to heal my body to continue my mission.”
“Why should we care if you succeed or fail?”
“Because mankind has misunderstood you for countless generations. You are seen as the Lady Sekhmet, The Eye of Re, the destroyer of worlds. This is without doubt a power you have, and you have exercised. However, my Lady, you are also a powerful healer and queen of mercy. Again, you have exercised this power many times but alas the stupidity of men has never recognised it as such. Please, I beg of you, enable me to show them the error of their ways, to show them you are not just some image from the past, but a relevance of today and forever. Please mistress, allow this humble slave to finish her task, so that many may sing your praises.”
I stayed in my pose of submission, could my flattery have possibly helped or would I be consumed by the fire? Time was ticking by. I had no idea how long my body had been without my spirit, it would be ironic if I got sent back and physically recovered only to have severe brain damage. To be stuck in some form of living nightmare. I shuddered at this thought.
“Rise slave,” boomed the voice.
“We are not impressed by your flattery,” echoed the voice and my heart sank. I prepared to be consumed by the fire.
“However, we are impressed with your audacity. Go, save your worthless planet and its brainless populations, save them from their own stupidity and wickedness. Fail in your task, and you will be punished for eternity. Go, leave our presence.”
No sooner, had the voice resonated and I felt myself being sucked back into my body. The pain was so intense I must have passed out. I felt paralysed but knew I was back in my physical state.
“I’m sorry Mrs Curtis, there was nothing more we could do. Do you want to see her?” The voice was a man’s, I took it to be some doctor or other. I heard my mother crying.
I desperately wanted to move or speak or say something, but I couldn’t. Was my nightmare beginning, was I locked in my body, aware of the outside world but unable to respond to it? The eternal fire seemed an improvement on this torment.
I heard and felt my parents stand and touch me. They kissed me, and rubbed my cheek. Inside I was crying too. I felt like Sleeping Beauty, except it would take more than a kiss to wake me from my slumber.
I felt John come in and stand beside me. I heard him give his speech of what might have been, and how he would seek and destroy those responsible. He would kill them himself, if it took him the rest of his life.
Inside I was screaming for him to stop and to listen to me, but he couldn’t hear me. How could I make him know I was still there?
I felt him walk away, I felt his pain as he slowly stepped down the corridor, I could also feel his anger.
How could I make him see me? I drifted into a sort of dreamlike state, I saw our stormy relationship, the good and the bad times. I recalled how he had saved my life when his curiosity over what he thought he saw, caused him to come and find me being attacked. He saved my life. I repaid the compliment. We were even. This was it. They would cremate me, alive and the fire would last for eternity. Oh bugger.
I sent a lioness to guard John, if this war erupted as it seemed likely, he would need protection. I tried to think positive ideas as I prepared for my fate.
I felt my body being taken to be stored in a mortuary. I was loaded into the metal coffin trolley. I could feel every bump of the floor as the wheels thumped and bumped. How could they do this to people, didn’t they know the dead have feelings?
I tried to return to my meditation as the trolley stopped. Some sort of altercation was going on. “Gee whiz!” I thought, “What have you got to do to get some peace around here?”
The altercation was getting worse, something bumped against the trolley and seemed to hit the floor. Then the trolley lid was opened. “Jamie, wake up my princess. Wake up girl.”
The voice was John’s. I felt him lift me out of the trolley. Someone else shouted, “That’s him,” and footsteps were running towards us.
“Put her back, sir,” demanded a deep masculine voice.
“She isn’t dead. I know it,” shouted John.
“Come on sir, I know you’re upset, but please put her back in the trolley.”
“She isn’t dead. Why don’t you morons listen to me?” John’s voice was getting more excited and agitated.
“According to the doctors, she is, sir. Now please put her back.”
I felt John hoist me over his shoulder, as he was clearly going to try and keep me against the wishes of these others. I heard someone else approach him, there was the sound of a punch and a plop on the floor. As this was happening, my abdomen was lifted and dropped on his shoulder. The compression caused some air to be pushed from my stomach and out of my throat. I groaned.
“See, she’s alive.” John screamed at them.
“No sir, that’s just air escaping from her lungs.” Said another, new voice.
Then I coughed.
“Oh fuck!” said the new voice, she’s alive. “Get the emergency team, quick. Here let me help you lay her down.” I was manhandled to a trolley.
“She’s breathing.” Someone shouted, “and I’ve got a pulse.”
Running footsteps, several, then the trolley was pushed at a running pace, presumably to A and E. One voice asked, “How long was she flat lining?” referring to my lack of signal on a monitor.
“About an hour, I think.”
“Shit, it’ll be another cabbage, but we’d better go through the motions. Arrange an EEG and possible brain scan.”
“Can I have a drink please?” I croaked.
“Fuck me,” said the main voice.
“Not until I’ve had a drink.” I croaked back.
“Get Campion down here asap,” said the voice.
“Who’s he?” I croaked, “a waiter?”
“Can you open your eyes?” asked the voice. I felt him pull open the eyelid and shine in a torch looking for a pupil response.
“Where’s that drink?” I asked.
“Coming,” he said.
“Do I have to fuck you first?” I croaked.
“Not unless you want to,” he retorted.
“Nah, I want the drink.” I said, opening my eyes and sitting up.
“Jesus Christ!” said the voice, which actually belonged to a young and rather hairy looking doctor.
“No.” I said, “But he is a friend of mine.” Then I hopped off his gurney.
“You can walk?” He said his face going rather pale.
“Of course. I can fly as well, but I left my wings at home. I’ll bring them next time.”
He stood shaking, saying nothing.
“Thanks for the ride.” I pecked him on his bearded cheek, and strode back towards the direction I knew my clothes were in. My parents had them, although I suspected they were probably filthy and wet. They had probably been dumped by now. I needed some more. John was calling from behind me. I walked on, he could run. Time was of the essence and work came before pleasure. I needed a rewrite on that adage.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
John caught up with me at the end of the corridor, he wrapped the blanket he’d ‘borrowed’ from the trolley, around me. Then, to a series of strange looks and muttered comments, we walked across the car park to his car.
“Here,” he said, “phone your parents.”
So rapt in my mission was I, I had temporarily forgotten their angst. Just before I tried to send a mind message, like a telepathic one, to mum warning her of the shock that was coming. I also sent a lioness, which I hoped they would both see, and make them think how it could get there.
The call was traumatic, but it did at least warn them I was alive and needing some clothes. John, drove furiously back to the house. If I hadn’t been dead a couple of times already, this journey would have frightened me. Now, it was simply terrifying.
My parents met me at the door, and we had a tearful reunion. We hugged and howled like a pack of demented wolves. The neighbours came out to see what was happening, and someone suggested a party to celebrate the apparent miracle. I asked for a deferment, I had work to do.
As I showered, ridding myself of ‘hospital smell’, I tried to summarise what I knew. It wasn’t much. I sent John off to speak to the local plod about the farm. I was going to meet him an hour later at the farm.
So far, the only evidence I had of wrong doing was the attack on me. So that should convict the gang and stop World War three. I needed to look around the place, to find something, anything we could use to tail the gang. I also needed some sort of evidence of their conspiracy. I had to have something more than intuition to get the authorities to act.
As I dressed, I managed to call Don. He was surprised I had recovered so quickly, I promised to tell him about it another time. I also asked him to contact whoever could arrange for some air cover of the US embassy. I thought an Apache attack helicopter would be useful, plus some fighters in the vicinity. Should only cost a few thousand a minute, but better than a major war. Anyway, arranging it as a contingency, was his problem. I had my own.
Knowing I was going to be poking about in barns and things, I dressed casually. A pair of Levi jeans, a soft cotton top and some trainers. This time I carried my official ID and tucked into the small of my back, under the top of my jeans, some reassurance. I slipped on a denim jacket to hide the bulge. I grabbed my bag, borrowed mum’s mobile phone and got dad to drive me out to the farm.
Dad was still in a sort of daze, but managed to get it together enough to follow my directions to the farm. The trip was enjoyable, insofar as we could be together for a few minutes. It was difficult however, because the recent roller-coaster ride, had left us all, somewhat emotionally frazzled. I leant back in the seat, and moved as the Smith & Wesson, dug into my back. I wondered if bringing it was absolutely necessary, after all, I had some pretty powerful weapons of my own. I thought I should put it in my bag as soon as the opportunity arose.
“I can’t get over how you recovered so quickly. Apart from the pneumonia, you had a shiner which would normally take weeks to fade. Yours has gone.”
“Yeah, I heal pretty quickly, Dad.” I said sighing and looking out the window.
“Are you bullet proof as well?” He asked.
“Dunno, never tried it.”
“I just wondered what the bulge was in the back of your jeans.”
I blushed and said, “Oh.”
“It’s a gun, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It is.”
“Next time you have one in the house, please tell me.”
“Sorry, Daddy, it’s standard issue.”
“Does it make you feel safer?”
“I don’t know.” I said, pulling it out of my trousers and placing it in my bag.
“I’ll get you a safe for your bedroom.” He said, as if he was discussing new curtains.
“According to John, they found my car under a lean to. I hope it’s alright.”
“Judging by the policeman flagging me down, I suspect we’re here,” said Dad as he slowed the car to a stop.
I pecked him on the cheek, thanked him and stepped out of the car to speak to the copper.
“Sorry Miss, you can’t stop here. It’s under police investigation.”
I flashed my ID card. “I know officer, that’s why I’m here.”
“What’s it got to do with the military?” he asked.
“You know I can’t tell you that.” I replied as I walked past him and waved to my father.
I found John with a Chief Inspector Murdoch. “Pleased to meet you Miss Curtis. You seem rather young to be the senior officer on this case.”
“Appearances can be deceptive.” I smiled back at the tall, middle aged man.
“I’ve had to bring the Chief up to speed on the terrorists activity, as we know it,” said John, winking at me.
I grimaced back at him, just what had he told the local plod.
“I have given all we know about the occupants, to your sergeant. We’re trying to trace the aircraft as we speak. Do we know the target, yet?”
“Not to my knowledge,” I lied.
“Since your agent was found here, we’ve gone over the whole place with a toothcomb, but there is absolutely nothing out of the ordinary here. How is your agent?”
“Okay, thanks for asking.”
“Why is this military not Special Branch?” asked the tall detective.
“Why shouldn’t it be?” I asked.
“Usually, anti-terrorist stuff is Special Branch, not SIS.”
“We all work together. Look there is a reason, but I’m not at liberty to say.”
“I know, speak to your commanding officer.”
“Exactly.” I replied nodding.
“Who is?”
“Try Number ten.” I said.
“Number ten, where? Downing Street?” he joked.
“That’s the one.” I said smiling smugly, as he nearly choked himself.
“You’re working for the PM.”
“Directly. Now do you mind if we continue our investigation?”
“I’m astonished, firstly we were given no notice of your investigation, secondly that it’s a military investigation, and finally, it’s under the command of the youngest captain, I’ve ever met.”
“Have you finished, or do you want to add some sexist remark as well?” I snapped at him.
He stepped back. “I think I shall ask to speak to your immediate superior.”
“Go ahead if it will stop you getting under my feet. Just don’t get in my way, or your pension may come early.” I glared at him.
“Don’t you threaten me,” he huffed.
“Chief Inspector, if you don’t piss off now. I shall ask my sergeant to remove you.”
“How dare you! I shall speak to your commanding officer immediately.”
“Go ahead, his name is Mr Green, as in George. Goodbye.” I walked past him and John carefully placed himself between us. The inspector was about to say something, but desisted, changing his mind and he turned away instead. As he left, muttering under his breath he somehow managed to slip on a cowpat, sitting in another, bigger, deeper and smellier one. It was not his day.
I went into the barn and shuddered. The remains of the fire and the water were still obvious and the smell was horrible. There was nothing to be gained from it. John showed me where the aircraft was kept, and the field used as a landing strip. There was nothing here either.
We began to go over the house. Neither the local constabulary, nor us had found anything of any use. A pile of burnt paper had been fished out of a fireplace and taken off for forensic examination, but that could take weeks. We had just over a day.
“This place is cleaner than an operating theatre.” I said, feeling despair very close, and disaster not far behind. “What if they change their method or timing? Then we’re scuppered.”
“I feel a snafu moment coming on,” said John, “but then, that’s usually the fault of the establishment, which we have to sort.”
“Nothing’s changed then.” I quipped, trying to see the absurdity of it all. “I mean, all of this is because I somehow picked it up on the psychic airwaves.”
“Yes, Don said something like that.” He shook his head. “A few months ago, I’d have had you locked up for wasting police time. But I have seen and felt things which I would not have thought possible. I don’t know if I believe in this mumbo jumbo stuff or not. In fact, I don’t know what I believe any more, or if I believe anything. But I do believe in you.”
I was very moved by this declaration and it was a few moments before the lump in my throat enabled me to respond.
“Thank you,” I said. A simple phrase with libraries of meaning. He smiled back at me.
“As your psychic stuff got us into this shit, any chance of us using it to get out of it?”
“The only one in real shit, was that plod chappie. Did you see, he got covered.” We both laughed at this recollection of Chief Inspector Murdoch sitting in the cow pat.
“Just remember, his lot did save your life,” John cautioned.
“Yes, I hadn’t forgotten.” I suppose I did owe them something, so maybe I shouldn’t be so contemptuous of them. I just didn’t like the arrogance of their senior officer. I also disclaim any responsibility for his dip in the shit, it hadn’t entered my mind, honest."
“So what about the fluence, then?” said John, “Do we give it a go, or just go?”
“I don’t know.” Suddenly, I felt rather self conscious and my confidence shrank accordingly. “I’ll try and see if I can get anything.”
I sat in a large easy chair, my legs hardly touching the thick pile of the carpet below me. I closed my eyes and tried to tune into the energies of the room. For what seemed like hours, but was probably only minutes, nothing happened. Then, suddenly I saw the room I was in occupied by six people. I recognised the two who’d attacked me, but not the others – three men and a woman.
Something niggled in my mind, I had a feeling I’d seen her before, but where? I was still sitting in the chair, but they seemed oblivious to me. At one point, one of them was about to sit on me, so I don’t think they could have seen me. It almost felt like theatre in the round, where the action happens all around the audience.
Who was the woman? Tall, dark, very dark, sharp eyes. Could have been Hispanic or similar, her skin was olive and dark compared to my milk-bottle stuff. I wondered if she had a problem with facial hair, as some dark haired women do? Then I wondered why I was thinking about such trivia?
The three men, all casually dressed, one more expensively so than the others. He seemed to be the ringleader. I tried to concentrate on what he was saying, it was difficult. I also found that when I really concentrated, the picture got worse, too. Talk about contrariness.
Eventually, I sat back and let it unfold before me. The ringleader was saying something about a girl. “She’s either a spy or a copper.” One of the others said something I didn’t catch. The boss continued, “I don’t care how young she looks, I reckon she’s dangerous. Find anything on her?”
The other person, whose back was towards me, said something else but I didn’t hear. Then the leader added, “Well I don’t reckon she was a plane spotter, so get rid of her. Stick her in the barn, cover her up with bales and torch it. They had a fire here once before. If it burns that hot, they may never find the body leave alone identify it.”
I took an active dislike to this man. Given the opportunity, I would introduce him to Nemesis, even if it is rather mixing my deities. I hoped we’d meet again.
Then the bastard, turned away from me and gave instructions to someone, who asked,” if the tanks were full enough to get there?” Damn, I’ll bet that was the pilot of the bloody aircraft.
He left, and called another man I hadn’t noticed until then; a small, swarthy man who could easily have been of middle eastern origins. He looked distracted, there was no emotion in his eyes, they seemed almost as if no one was at home. Could he be drugged or under some form of mind control? Was he the patsy who would fly the plane on its last flight? Anyway, he followed the other man, like he was somnambulant. “Come Tariq,” the pilot man said, putting his arm around his smaller companion. The expression in the latter’s eyes didn’t falter. There was definitely something odd about him.
The woman set fire to the papers in the hearth, tearing them up first while the leader sent the others to do something else, possibly kill me? Sadly, I couldn’t hear anything he said, as his face was away from me. So, after all that, I was none the wiser.
I came back to the real world. John was sat opposite me, watching me. “Well?” he asked, “Get anything?”
I shook my head. “I know who is going to fly the plane on its last mission, a little man called Tariq. Otherwise, I couldn’t hear all they said, the leader was faced away from me much of the time.”
“I saw you concentrating, and moving your head trying to hear. I also saw a look of pure balefulness at one point. I suppose you ain’t all sweetness and light.”
“I am a positive angel,” I said smiling at him.
“Yeah, the angel of death.”
“Got it in one,” I said, “Still it makes a change from flying over the houses of Egyptians at Passover.”
“Eh?” said John, looking blank.
“Final plague, Moses, Exodus. Got it yet?”
“Gee bloody whiz Jamie, I’m here in the twenty first century trying to make sense of things, and you’re off to bloody ancient Egypt, on about some bloody old curse or other.”
“It was a plague, not a curse.”
“Hexes, vexes, spells bells, Jamie. What the hell does it matter? Get with it girl.”
I felt rather upset by his outburst. He made feel about two feet tall. “I’m sorry, but I’m doing my best. If you think it’s so funny, you try watching someone order your murder.” With this outburst, the tears broke and I cried.
“I’m sorry.” He said, taking me in his arms. “I am sorry, princess. I forgot for a moment what you’d gone through, I’ll try to do better in future.” I unashamedly wept on his shoulder. Then he led me to a chair and sat me on his lap. I cuddled into him, aware of the roughness of his chin and the coarseness of his jacket. I drank in his smell. Manliness mixed with a hint of deodorant, Paco Rabanne, I think. I could sit here forever.
Time seemed to stop as we sat there, me cuddling into this wonderful man, even if I did hate him on occasions. I open my eyes and became aware of others in the room. John had dozed off. There were three others before us. Jesus! It was the three who had tried to kill me, they’d come back. Oh shit!
A moment later, I realised they were just running through their re-enactment as before, only this time I could hear what was said. I was sitting in the chair opposite where I’d been previously. The plane was going to Surrey, not far from Croydon. I woke John with my news. We left in our separate cars minutes later, and headed back to the office.
The journey back took twice as long as it should have done, the traffic was abysmal. John had arrived back about half an hour before me, but then he drives like a lunatic. Don made a great fuss of me glad that I had survived the fire and water. Sounded like a mediaeval trial by ordeal, but with my pedigree was that too far away?
He related to us how he’d tracked down the report writers, there were two. Neither had much to add, so once again we’d drawn a blank. When I asked him about the air cover, he went pale, and remember he’s coloured.
“I spoke to a squadron leader, then a group captain, then an air vice marshal. None of them wanted to help at all. Apart from needing several weeks notice, who would they be able to bill for the use of the aircraft? I tried to point out, the seriousness of what was going to happen, obviously without any specifics. None of them were interested.”
“So how are we going to protect the Americans, then?” I asked.
“I don’t know. God knows what fire-power they have inside of their own.”
“Don, it’s an inside job remember.”
“Yeah, I know that, but they can’t all be involved.”
“I’m sure it’s only one or two who are, but without knowing who, we can’t trust anyone.”
Don handed me a letter. “Oh bugger, I am instructed to be at Whitehall tomorrow, from where I will receive my schedule for my attachment to the Presidential party.” I shook my head in disbelief. “I told them, I didn’t want to be involved in the officialdom. It also gives me a dress code.”
John and Don laughed, although it wasn’t really very funny. I wasn’t laughing, I now had to rush home again and then back to London for eight o clock the next morning. It was now eight in the evening.
I left Don to try and identify who Tariq, might be. John was to try and locate any sort of flying club or landing strip in Surrey near Croydon. The clock was still against us.
As I drove home, I tried to mull over the information we’d gained. It didn’t take long. I tried to recall the people in the farm, particularly the girl. Who was she? And more importantly, how did I know her and from where?
So full of this task was I, that I missed the turning into my road. As I passed it, I had a very strange feeling in my solar plexus. Something was wrong. I just knew it.
I drove on and parked round the corner. I took the gun from my bag, then locked the latter in the car boot. I shoved the gun down the back of my trousers again. I would have to use the holster one of these days.
I crept across the space behind our rear garden, it’s part of a field with a footpath alongside the backs of the houses. All the gardens had a six foot wall around them, exactly what I needed, I don’t think. But then it was designed to keep out opportunist thieves, give privacy and clear boundaries to the occupants of the houses, viz. our family and those of the neighbours.
I took a run at the garden wall, and managed to get my hands over the top and pull myself up and over, slithering over the top and dropping quietly the other side. So far so good.
We have quite a big garden, with a lawn in the middle with shrubs and small trees around it. I hid behind the garden shed, deciding how I was going to get up to the house without being seen. I checked for my gun, it was still there.
I scurried from bush to bush, sneaking my way closer to the house, my gun in hand, safety catch off. I was now about twenty feet from the house, crouching behind a lavatera bush. I could make out figures inside the house, but not who they were. My dad’s car was in the drive, so he was home. Behind it was parked a black Mercedes.
Whose car was that, and how many of them were there? Were my parents in danger? What did these people want?
I knew, intuitively, that our visitors were not friendly. I could feel the energy coming from the house. I needed to get closer, but there was very little cover nearer the house. Then I saw a man walk to the French windows and look out and down the garden. I crouched lower and froze. He looked familiar, one of the louts who’d attacked and captured me. He also looked uneasy, as if he was waiting or watching for someone.
He spent some moments watching the garden. I was aware of my heart beating, the pounding in my ears was deafening. My legs were aching, so was my back as I held my position, daring not to move. Even my breathing was quiet and controlled.
Finally, he turned and walked back into the room. I ran towards the house, standing flat against the blank wall next to the back door. Like most British houses, we have PVC covered, double glazed doors and windows. I peeked in the back door, there was no one in the kitchen. Slowly and quietly, I put my hand on the door handle and pulled it down. “Damn.” It was locked, and I had no key.
How was I to get in? That was the question I had first to answer, then decide after, what I was going to do once I achieved it. I stood there contemplating my next move, when I was spotted by one of the neighbours. It was the last thing I needed.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
Just before Gwen Johns was about to call out a greeting, I managed to put my finger to my lips and showed her the gun in my other hand. I hoped she wouldn’t squeal or scream, I know what women are like...I am one!
To her credit, she didn’t. She went a sort of greeny white colour and fainted. Exactly what I needed, not. Sometimes, life seems so futile, other days it’s simply a waste of time. Ducking under the window, I nipped over to her garden and helped her back into her house.
“What are you doing with a gun?” she gasped as she came round and was able to sit up.
“I’m sorry, but I had to show it to you in case you spoke. I had to let you know it was serious. Sorry about the shock.”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Where are the kids?”
“They’re out with Brian at his parents. They’ll be back in about an hour, I expect.”
“Call them and tell them to stay there until you call again.” I instructed her. “I have some unwelcome visitors to deal with.”
“What, on your own?” she gasped in astonishment.
“Yes, believe it or not, if I wait for a support team, World War Three will happen.” I said deadpan, “If you hear shots, or I don’t come back within half an hour, call this number and tell them what happened.” I said scribbling down John’s mobile number.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Jamie?”
“No, I make it up as I go along.” I smiled back at her, wondering if my gift for flippancy had outlived its usefulness. “I’ll be okay, back in half an hour. Stay away from windows and keep down, you’ll be safer that way.”
“Good luck.” She hissed to my back, as I crept quickly out of the door and back towards my own house.
“Now what do I do?” I said to myself as I slipped back into my own garden. I reached the side wall of the house. I needed to know how many of them there were, and where they were. I leant against the side of the house and imagined myself upstairs in my bedroom. I could see they had been in there.
Remote viewing the rest of the upstairs, I started on the downstairs. My parents were in the lounge, huddled together on the sofa, my father had a cut on the side of his face. Someone would pay for that! One of the goons from the farm was watching them, he had some sort of gun in his hand.
In the dining room, the one I had seen from the garden was pacing to and fro. Were there any more? I had a feeling there was, the woman was there, I just knew it.
“She draws near.” Said the dark haired woman, from the kitchen, “I can sense she is near.”
“You don’t expect me to believe all that mumbo jumbo stuff, do ya?” said goon number one from the lounge.
“What you believe is your affair.” She dismissed him, “I am saying what I believe.”
Outside, I was becoming increasingly agitated. If I called for help, my parents could be hurt or worse. If I went in gung ho by myself, we could all be killed. I needed an alternative. I had a strong sense of wickedness from the house, somebody in there had some nasty connections to the other world. It was time to call in some extra help.
I sealed the house with a giant pentagram. No one was leaving unless I said so. I then began to systematically fill the house with light. I began in the attic and moved down through each of the rooms. The effect of this was like microwaving each room. Thankfully, we had no pets, but mum’s orchid would be destroyed, along with any other house plants.
As the minutes ticked by, I closed my web upon them. I heard shrieks from within. “She is here, quickly, you must get her or we are dead.” So screamed the female voice from within the house.
I felt one of the men begin to search the house. If he returned to the dining room, he would survive. If he continued moving about, he had less than three minutes to live.
I heard him scream. Then seconds later, the second man opened the door and met the wall of fire outside it. He shouted and fled back in the house. Unharmed, I walked in through the open door.
“I tell you, the place is surrounded by fire.” I heard the male voice speaking frantically to an accomplice, obviously the woman.
“It’s an illusion, she is playing with your mind.” Replied his colleague.
“Well you fuckin’ try it then, smart arse,” he screamed back at her.
“I shall.” She snapped back at him. She walked into the kitchen and straight into me. “I knew you would come, and vanity makes you think you can save your parents by yourself? Kill them,” she shouted to the man. I heard two shots.
“You bitch,” I shouted and hit her across the face with my pistol. She fell back, but then stood up without a mark on her.
“For that you will die,” she spat at me. She then sprang at me and knocked me over, the gun flying from my hand, clattering across the kitchen floor. I rolled away from her, and up into a crouched position. I knew her energy felt strange, she began to transform before my very eyes into a gorgon.
Her long dark hair became a sea of writhing snakes, and her facial features became horrible. With great difficulty, I managed to close my eyes, and throw myself out of the room.
In the hallway, I grabbed the mirror from the hallstand and from its hanging on the wall, I grabbed the samurai sword dad had brought back from Japan when he did a lecture tour there. I shook free the scabbard, which fell to the floor with a clonk.
I walked backwards towards the kitchen. “That’s right, Jamie, come and die,” called the coldest voice I have ever heard.
“We’ll see about that,” I whispered to myself.
“Oh very clever,” said the voice, seeing me advancing with the mirror, “All you need now is a sword and a cloak of invisibility. What a pity, most modern homes don’t have them these days.” She cackled this last bit at me.
I walked, awkwardly to within about a yard of her. The smell was ‘orrible. I could feel the air moving from the gyrations of the snakes. She still hadn’t seen the piece of Japanese steel held close to my chest, in my other hand. So far so good.
“Turn around girl, prepare to meet your doom, you know you cannot resist me.” I could feel her trying to control my mind, I had to act and quickly. I closed my eyes and spun round in a circle slashing with the sword as I went. As I did so, I prayed I’d held it the right way round, cutting side outwards.
The slashing felt some resistance and a gurgled shriek. I stepped away and slashed again. My eyes still closed, I stepped away again, I heard something thud on the floor, the gurgling was horrible. I stepped from the room, feeling for the doorway. I did not look back, the sword in my hand, my now trembling hand, had a mixture of red, bloodlike fluid and something else – a thick, green, viscous goo.
I ran into the lounge, my parents were still huddled on the sofa. The man with the gun was stood in front of them. “One more step and I will shoot them next time.”
I stopped in an instant. “What do you want?” I asked.
“Drop the blade.” He snapped at me. I did as I was told.
“I want you to tell me what you know, then I shall kill you. I will probably then kill your parents.”
“What if I don’t tell you.”
“Then you can decide which of them dies first.”
“Why didn’t you kill them earlier, when I heard the shots.”
“I thought it might be a good idea to see how good you were. My friend Medusa, thought she was strong enough to take you. I see she was wrong.” He looked at me, “Oh the old mirror trick. I’m disappointed in her.”
“ It worked for Perseus. If you come up to my room, I’ll show you what I’ve got.” I said to the gun man.
“I’d be delighted to see what you have, it looks very nice. However, seeing as Sid was daft enough to meet you earlier. I think I would prefer to keep you at arm's length and with these two to bargain with.” He indicated my parents with the gun.
“Your friend walked into a trap.”
“I’m sure he did. Now, turn off the fire outside.”
I did as he instructed. The sun began to shine on the large, Victorian mantle mirror in the lounge. It began to reflect on to my face. I felt its power entering me. If I did this it would have to be very quick and with the gun pointing away from Mum and Dad.
I called up one of my little helpers to wander behind him and attract his attention. She did as I asked. He spun round muttered some imprecation and fired at my little friend. As he did so, I saw the solar disk form above me and I grew to fill the room, an instant later he was hit by the equivalent of a super laser, which blackened his skin as he was thrown backwards against the wall. He was dead before he hit it.
In Sekhmet mode, I went into the kitchen and cleansed up the mess, scorching the head with its still wriggling hair and then the body which lay in a pool of gunk by the sink. As I finished this job, I heard sirens and saw flashing lights outside. “Just what I needed,” I said to myself. “They are not going to believe this.”
As they approached the house each one of the armed response team saw a flash and forgot what they were there for. The neighbours watched them suddenly stop and appear confused before re entering their cars and speeding off again. My day was improving.
Before the goddess left me, I rushed back into the room and touching my father’s head healed the wound. I then touched them both, and they went to sleep. When they awoke, they would remember none of the ordeal they had undergone.
Sadly, I had no captives to question, so that was a wasted opportunity. However, my priority had been my parents and they were safe. I called up some help from the department and the mess was cleaned up two hours later. While I was waiting I phoned Gwen Johns and told her everything was now safe.
During my wait, I also had time to consider what clues they had given me. The last man I dealt with, the one guarding my parents, “Wondered how good I was.” What was the context of his query? Did he know about my Egyptian connection? He knew his friend was able to transform into a gorgon, so why wouldn’t he know about me? Yet, he didn’t believe her when she told him I was near.
I knew this lot were involved with the impending attack on the president, and obviously they had contacts with some dark group, from which, presumably Medusa had come. I presumed further that she had a similar sort of link with the energy of the ancient gorgon as I had with Sekhmet. Thankfully, mine was more adaptable. I did wonder how she would turn someone to stone, maybe like the White Witch in Narnia, or would it be more metaphorical, simply paralysing them? I didn’t know, nor would now unless they had her sisters around. I didn’t fancy the idea too much, maybe I should keep the sword handy.
It’s always bothered me that in fantasy stories, despite the high tech aliens or whatever, who have travelled zillions of miles or through time, they still end up sorting things with swords and spears. Why? I chuckled as I recalled the scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark, where Indiana Jones attempt to rescue the damsel in distress, was blocked by a sword wielding giant, whom he shot. Because that is how real life is. All right, I know I just used a sword, but then the only way to kill a gorgon was by decapitation – read your Greek myths. I had a horrible thought, if they all end with the good and bad guys slogging it out with swords, I hope John and Don are better at it than I am, I was rubbish.
I still could not remember where I had seen that woman, the one with the funny hair cut. It was bugging me. Who was she? My search of the house and the car gave little or no information. She left no handbag, the car was on false plates. There were no clothing labels, nor anything in the pockets of anyone. Fingerprints would be checked, but it all took time, a commodity of which we had little. What’s that Chinese curse – may you lead an interesting life? Oh boy!
Once things were cleaned up, I was able to bring my parents out of their sleep. They seemed well and accepted the suggestions I gave them of it having been an ordinary day, except for a minor accident in the kitchen where there were some scorch marks. I claimed responsibility for them, well that part was true.
After I settled them down, I showered and packed my bag for the morning. It would be an early start.
It was, at four thirty I left home. I yawned most of the way to London. The traffic was light but increasing as I parked at my office, changed and had breakfast with John and Don. Their eyes practically came out on stalks as I described my latest adventure, and they both issued a warning of concern for my safety.
“It’s amazing, a year ago I would not have believed any of this paranormal stuff existed outside the walls of a cinema, and that would all be fake. Now, I seem to be faced with it all the time. I don’t understand it, I don’t like it but I have to accept that something is happening I can’t explain. It has both saved and threatened my life and that of my friends and colleagues. So it’s both unreal and real.”
“It is manifested by men.” I added to John’s statement.
“And women,” chipped in Don.
“Okay, and women. But that’s why we are witnessing it. Usually it happens on another plane, on the astrals, but we, humans, that is, are making it happen here.
Qabalistically, we’re bringing it down into Malkuth, the sphere of the physical world.”
“Can we keep it simple?” asked Don, “I don’t have a PhD in occult sciences.”
“Qabalah makes it simple, it gives us a map.” I hurriedly drew a diagram of the tree on a paper napkin, and showed quickly how things pass down the tree into the realm of the physical. Of course it involves four worlds which overlap…” I said, really getting into my subject.
“Whoa,” said Don, “Too much information. I believe you, can we leave it there and concentrate on the business in hand. You’re off to the US Embassy,” he said to John, “and you, great leader, are off to Whitehall. While l’il ole me, is off to solve the rest of the case while you two sit on your fat arses and drink tea.”
“That’s about it,” quipped John, “and who said slavery was dead?” We all laughed at this, especially Don.
“As we can’t get air cover, we need to find that plane. Tonight, the president sleeps at Buck House (A slang reference to Buckingham Palace, which began life as Buckingham House). Tomorrow she’s at the embassy for two nights. We have about thirty hours to stop this thing.”
“Jamie, it’s got to be worth making this better known to the intelligence world.” Pleaded John, “We haven’t got a hope in hell of stopping this by ourselves. I mean even with your Egyptian friend, I doubt you can shoot down a plane, even if you saw it coming.”
“I don’t know, I’ve never tried. I’d prefer we stop these maniacs before they get airborne. But what power is available, I wouldn’t know. Sekhmet did once set out to destroy the world, according to Egyptian mythology. She was stopped by being tricked into getting drunk.”
“Better keep you off the booze then,” quipped Don.
“I suppose you had. However, I don’t want to destroy the world or anybody else. I’m actually trying to stop that happening, however ironic that may seem.”
“We know princess,” said John with a smile that melted my heart all the way to my knees. “which is why, we’re trying to help you.”
I leant across and kissed him, while Don hid his eyes and muttered things about, “not in front of the horses.” The people with whom I work, are bonkers.
I changed into what I considered to be appropriate clothes, a navy silk suit with a light blue fleck in it, matched with a light blue silk blouse and navy bag and shoes. I left my hair down, I would be wearing an earpiece later, so my hair would hide some of it. I also had a holster secured to my inner thigh containing you know what. It wasn’t very comfortable, but a shoulder holster would have shown under my jacket. I paid quite a lot for this suit, wearing a transceiver would be bad enough, giving a small lump at the back of my waist, but a gun tucked under my boob with a fitted jacket…no way! I had practised releasing the gun, it was a fiddle but okay, and took no more time than it would from a shoulder thingy. All I had to remember was not to cross my legs.
I put on my ID and went to Whitehall, the briefing was brief. “Protect her life at all costs.” As this was a nonsense, I could have protected her with an Apache or a fighter jet, but they would neither believe nor fund it, ‘all costs’ became meaningless civil service jargon. Maybe I should have asked if the ‘all costs’ came in triplicate. I was sent to Buck House, to await the arrival of our VIP. I cadged a lift with some other security personnel, mainly MI5. No one said anything, but the atmosphere in the car was heavy enough to reduce the miles per gallon significantly.
We were all admitted to a service entrance, no need to disturb HM, and sent off to our various posts. In the entrance we all set off the metal detector. “Are you wearing a gun, sir?” asked the security guard of the agent in front of me. His response was not very polite, “I think that is uncalled for. Please remove it and re-enter the detector.” The snotty agent was going to make an issue of it, until the security guard’s backup, clicked his Heckler & Koch safety catch loudly. The upshot was, we all had to show our weapons, and walk through the metal detector without them.
There were a few whistles when I removed and replaced mine. Was I blushing or had it suddenly got warmer in here?
If I could only get near the President, I could warn her. However, I suspected that was not going to be possible. Whoever was keeping her from my communication was unlikely to stop until they had succeeded in their dreadful plan. It wouldn’t stop me from trying, then I hardly expected it to work. But who knows, sometimes these guys are so rapt in their scheme they overlook the obvious. I certainly hoped so.
The security plan was simple. US secret service form the immediate body guard, we provide a guard to them. Simple, on paper at least, in practice… Well, things have been known to go a bit awry.
Our liaison was an MI5 senior agent, a Mr Acland, who had worked with Royal Protection for years and overseen overseas VIPs as part of his brief. We spoke briefly and he explained my duties, keep my eyes open and follow instructions coming through the transceiver. “Any questions?”
“Just one, what happens if the threat is from inside rather than outside the security services?”
“What did I mean?”
“Exactly what I said.”
“If I knew anything I should report it to a senior officer at once.”
“Tried that, nothing happened.”
“Look here, young woman, every agent here has been vetted at least three times by different agencies. I have every confidence in them. With the exception of yourself, they are all experienced agents. How you came to be included, is a mystery.”
“I know exactly why.”
“Oh yes, and how’s that?”
“I saved her life last time she was over here and she requested I was included.” I saw his superior sneer turn to a scowl, maybe this could be fun after all?
“I have no record of this.”
“No you wouldn’t, it’s secret.” I said quietly and smugly.
“If you are taking the piss, Curtis, your arse is in big trouble.”
“If you are doubting my integrity, your pension could be coming early.” I replied so only he could hear it.
“Don’t you threaten me, you…you… schoolgirl.” He became very red in the face.
“I shall speak to the PM about your sexist behaviour, unless you apologise immediately.”
“You, speak to the PM! Don’t make me laugh.” He made a self conscious false laugh as he said this. He reminded me of Basil Fawlty, and it was all I could do to keep a straight face.
“I happen to know the Prime Minister personally. I have been to Chequers and sat next to him at a dinner, as his guest. I also know President Susan Carlton, having met her more than once. Please don’t write me off because of my apparent youth, I’m older than I look and have a higher kill rate than Billy the Kid. I am waiting for your apology.” I maintained eye contact as he struggled with his conscience and his future prospects. Finally, and with great difficulty he managed to croak an apology.
I’m sure it made his day, and I know he’d be checking my file as soon as he finished, ‘the little girl who bit back’. I hate bullies, especially sexist wankers like him.
I collected my transceiver and made my way to the reception room, Christ, it was big enough to hold a football match in. Anyway, in two hours Her Majesty would receive the US President, they would exchange symbolic gifts, shake hands and speak briefly to the assembled dignitaries, media and security personnel. It would be a nightmare to police, and although I was sure how the real attempt would be made, there was always the potential for another individual or group to try something. So we were all on high alert. What fun.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
There was enormous distraction in the room, filled with pictures, wall hangings, painted ceilings and gilt covered furniture. In the antiques market, there must have been thousands if not millions of pounds of stock in this one room alone.
Despite my enjoyment of this distraction, I tried to centre down on the job in hand. I began to survey the room for places where I could hide a bomb. The one which nearly killed Maggie Thatcher in Brighton, was planted weeks ahead in a video recorder.
There were not that many, save for a few French made cupboards, which I suspect were Louis XlV, or thereabouts. Dad was always better at these things than I am. When I began poking about around them a furious young man came running up to me.
“Hey lady, keep away from those. They are private property of Her Majesty.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Gavin Spencer, from Her Majesty’s housekeeping and furniture section.” He was a caricature of a gay man. Dressed immaculately, he made me feel scruffy and I was wearing a Chanel suit. He flounced and lisped all over me. It was embarrassing.
“So who are you?” He flounced at me. I pointed at my ID badge. “Captain Jamie Curtis, SIS/RMP. Category: 00” He read out aloud. “Ooh, what does all this mean?”
“What it says, Special Intelligence Service with double O category.”
“What like double O seven?” He asked mouth agape.
“The same.”
“I thought that was just Ian Fleming’s bit of nonsense. License to kill and all that stuff.”
“Think again.” I hissed at him.
“Oh my God,” he gasped to himself, “I’ve just met Jane Bond, licensed to kill. Oh my God. This is amazing.” He was twittering to himself, drawing attention to us, and getting up my nose.
“Gavin, when were these cupboards last inspected?”
“They are checked and polished every week, why is there a problem?” He stood with one hand on his hip and the other on his cheek. It was as much as I could do not to laugh.
“I’m just doing my job, making sure they aren’t containing a bomb or similar device.”
“Oh my God, that would be sacrilege. These are Louis XlV, they’re priceless.” He turned pale at my question. “That would be so uncouth.”
“Terrorists tend to be a little on the vulgar side, they kill people as well as damage old bits of furniture.” I said deliberately touching his precious antiques.
“Ooh how awful! I hope you shoot them all.” He produced a clean white hankie and began polishing where I had touched his precious furniture.
“Is there any way we can do a quick check to make sure there are no nasty bombs in them?”
“Ooh, I don’t know about that,” he lisped.
“Have it your way, but don’t blame me if one of your precious cupboards gets blown up.” I said miming something blowing up. His expression was priceless, his mouth fell open and he nearly burst into tears. Much more of this and should need to find a toilet.
“Oh alright then, but I shall touch the furniture, you just look.”
“Fine by me Gavin, let’s get going.” We set off and began the long haul of opening and checking each one of the cabinets. I didn’t expect to find anything, and thus wasn’t disappointed, but it was better than standing around. About an hour later, we had finished and another security officer came up and told me to move to my station, the VIPs would be here within the hour.
More standing around, my feet and back were aching. I watched the man sat in the gallery in front of the high windows. He must have been over twenty feet above us. He wasn’t moving and the angle of his posture looked uncomfortable. There was something not right about him, or the way he was sitting.
I walked over to another security man. “Who’s that up there?” I asked, “He looks very uncomfortable.”
“Dunno.” He answered then spoke over his mini radio. “Captain Curtis is concerned about some guy in the gallery. She thinks he’s fallen asleep.” I heard him laugh and supposed that the person he was talking to, was also laughing. I turned on my heel in disgust.
I spotted Gavin, wiping a soft cloth on one of his Louis cabinets. “Gavin, be a love and help me,” I said to him.
“Just let me wipe this. Look, some pleb has left bloody finger prints all over this.”
“Gavin, please.” I implied urgency in my tone.
“Ooh, alright then. What do you want me to do?” he asked standing upright.
“How do I get up there?” I asked pointing at the gallery.
“What do you want to go up there for, you’ll get a much better view down here?”
“Gavin, I need to go up there, now.” I emphasised the ‘now’, then added, “Please.”
“If you must, follow me.” He minced off at a sedate pace, which quickened when I told him we needed to run. I followed him up and down corridors of wainscoting bedecked with portraits of goodness knows who. Some with lights fitted before them, others without. Some were very large, others much smaller. As we hurried along I began to think there was something very wrong with the man in the gallery.
“Up here,” he said as he turned abruptly up a narrow flight of stairs, they were stone and our footsteps echoed. “Not long now.” He puffed as we reached the top. “Round here.” He was about to move off, when I grabbed him and pulled him back. “Watch the suit, Miss,” he began to squeak.
“Shush.” I hissed at him. “There’s something not right here.” I felt the presence of evil, now very strongly. I pushed him behind me, why I wasn’t sure, except I didn’t really feel he’d be much use if anything started. Who was I trying to kid? I couldn’t knock the skin off a rice pudding either, but I was supposed to be the security officer here, not him.
We crept forward, now only about fifteen feet from the man in the gallery. He was slumped forward in his chair. He was either ill or unconscious. I approached him very warily, feeling his neck, he was cold and with no pulse. He was dead and had been so for some time. The clown I had spoken to earlier was waving to us from the floor below.
“So captain,” he sneered over my transceiver , “is there anything wrong with him?”
“No.” I replied, “He’s probably the fittest looking corpse I’ve ever seen.”
“Corpse!” shrieked Gavin, and promptly fell into a faint.
“Isn’t life just too wonderful!” I thought to myself. I now have a corpse and a casualty.
“What’s going on up there?” came a new voice, one I recognised from earlier, the man in charge, or thought he was.
“We have someone who appears to have died and a palace monkey who has just fainted.”
“Is that you Curtis?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What the hell are you doing up there? I’ll deal with you later.”
“I think you need to deal with our recently departed colleague first.” I bent down to read his name from his ID badge. It was then I noticed the wire. It was barely perceptible and I only saw it because it caught the sunlight. It was as fine as a hair. In fact, I first thought it was a hair. But on closer inspection, it was too long and taut.
“Sir, I think we may have a small problem.” I said down my microphone.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Came the response.
“This man is wired.”
“Of course he is, the same as the rest of us.”
“No sir, wired as in bomb.”
“If you are pissing me about Curtis, you will be on a bomb. I guarantee it.”
“This is no joke, sir. I can see a fine wire running from his body.”
“Keep still woman, I’ll get someone straight up there.” I also heard him talking off mike. “Bloody idiot woman thinks she’s found a bomb. Time of the month I expect. What are women doing in here anyway?” “One of them is a Queen and the other a President,” someone replied, which made me smile.
The floor below looked a long way down. There was now much more activity. I presumed they were considering where else they could hold the reception. I wondered about this human bomb. It was too far away to do much damage, but it could cause panic and pandemonium, and perhaps cause a dropping of our guard to enable a shot at the president or Her Majesty, or maybe there were other bombs.
I glanced down at Gavin, he was coming to. He looked very pale, I hoped he wasn’t going to be sick. The rush of multiple feet meant the cavalry had arrived. Three agents rushed in. I pointed out the wire. The one in charge, whistled through his teeth. “Christ woman, you must have wonderful eyesight. Looks like you are right though. Commander, we have a situation here, looks like a device, and I can confirm we need a body bag.”
I heard a reply that sounded like ‘duck’, but by now I was trying to get Gavin to his feet and back downstairs.
“Well done, Gav, you might well have saved the day and all these wonderful bits and pieces.”
“What do you mean?” he asked somewhat groggily.
“The bomb you spotted up there.”
“Bomb!” he gasped, “What bomb?” Then collapsed again. I managed to help him slump into a chair. It looked old and probably valuable. I hoped he wouldn’t be sick, but that was his problem, mine was now to try and work out what the hell was going on. Was all this related to the plot we had uncovered or a separate one. Who was responsible? Who was the agent they had killed and was he involved or just unfortunate?
I stood to one side as a screen was brought up to hide what was happening, followed shortly by lots of sandbags, and eventually someone in heavy protective clothing. Presumably, the bomb disposal man. Sooner him than me.
This was all getting so convoluted, or was it. If there were separate groups involved, all oblivious of the other’s actions, it would make more sense than just one doing several distractions before the main event tomorrow. Surely that would just cause everything to tighten up. Or would it? Would they consider the safest place to be the US Embassy, and bring forward the attack? If that was so, things were getting even more desperate.
I made my way down to the reception room. Why did I have this strong sense of evil? Noises off meant the president was arriving. I glanced around the room once more, the American secret service guys were rushing in. I watched as they went through their paces. Then my blood froze. One of them was Oliver. Surely not? He looked straight at me and gave me a lurid smile. It was him. “Oh shit!” I thought,” how many times have I got to zap him so he stays zapped?”
I’m sure, someone must have wished me, ‘an interesting life’. It couldn’t get much more complicated, unless the Devil himself, appeared. Obviously, in his absence, we had Oliver. Just how had he managed to infiltrate the US secret service? Don’t answer that, I think we all know. New question, ‘How do I deal with him now, in front of all these people, plus the world’s press stroke media? Was he on his own? Was he involved with the bomb up in the gallery? My intuition thought he was. Why was a magickal group using bombs? This was all getting too much. I knew I should have stayed in bed.
I began to feel his evil presence trying to affect me, it began as a sense of nausea, with a choking sensation in my throat. I threw a wall of light and fire around myself. The sensation eased. I knew the next attack would be worse and I would fend it off, then they would escalate and so would my defences. What were they hoping for, me to set off the bomb? Could that be it? Provoke me into throwing so much energy around that the bomb detonated, and then in the confusion……what? What were they going to do? Kill me, or the president or the Queen, or even the PM? There seemed only more and more questions. The truth was, I had no idea, except that I needed to deal with Oliver more subtly than I would normally. This was making the big assumption that I could deal with him. Were any of his creators here, too? If so, would they be helping him?
With my shield of light around me, I couldn’t scan the other people in the room. Maybe that was the plan, tie me up in a battle of the psychics and then someone else I would normally spot, pops up and pops off one or all of the VIPs. Simple and dreadful. But was I only daydreaming?
Oliver began to up the ante, as I knew he would. Along the floor marched an army of ants. They were about six inches long and there were thousands of them marching towards me. Normally, I’d flip into Sekhmet form and give them a quick sun tan. Given the bomb upstairs, this now seemed a less than good idea. As the insect army clomped, yes clomped, their way towards me, I imagined a glass chute into which they all marched. The glass then curved its way back to Oliver. I was tempted to run it into his trousers, but it was time to be more serious.
As the ants dropped off the chute above him, they disappeared. I seemed to be the only one who could see all this going on. We were fighting the battle of the thought forms.
I set a lioness in each corner, they were microscopic until I gave the command to grow. It was becoming like a psychic chess match. What would he do next? I waited, I needed him to move towards a corner and one of my girls. He wasn’t moving anywhere, damn.
I moved away from his line of vision, behind a very large cabinet. The world’s media were filling up the assembled chairs. I needed a distraction. I imagined one of the reporters tripping over a carpet and knocking some others over as well. It happened, Oliver glanced at the melee and I was gone. I slipped through the door and walked as fast as I could down the corridor towards the door at the other end of the reception room. A US secret service man, stopped me as Her Majesty and the President, accompanied by the PM were processing up the corridor towards me.
Suddenly Oliver emerged from the room, saw the processing VIPs and hurled something at them. Everyone seemed to stop, I imagined he had hurled a feather and it became so. He quickly scanned around him as his colleagues hurled themselves upon him. He just threw them off. Others shepherded the VIPs into a side room.
I imagined time stopping. It was going to be a difficult one, requiring some multitasking. I needed to see a clock with a stationary second hand, at the same time call up the heavy brigade. Oliver advanced towards me, so he didn’t see the lioness leap upon him from behind.
He dealt with her, and although torn and bleeding continued his advance towards me. I was working on a vortex just in front of me, which was hidden by just the carpet and a layer of light Oliver would not be able to perceive. He walked on towards my trap. Another lioness jumped him, but he stopped her before any contact was made.
“You’re slipping Jamie,” he called at me, smiling.
I had erected another firewall before me, hoping it would work like one on a computer and keep out nasties. It did until he got within a few feet of me. Then I felt his horrible energy, it hit me in the solar plexus and I fell backwards, as if kicked by a mule. Despite the pain, I had to maintain my time stopping concentration. No one else was moving or even aware of what was happening.
I crawled away backwards pretending I was more hurt than I really was. Oliver took the one step too many and disappeared into the vortex. I sealed it and cleaning up the mess, ran the clock backwards. Once more I was stopped by the secret service agent, but this time the VIPs were unhindered. The PM and his American guest both saw me and smiled.
Now I was able to talk my way past the security and observe the room. I began scanning the assembled throng as they were addressed by the politicians and the monarch. She was quite remarkable for someone in their eighties.
I picked up on a man sat right at the back of the press seats. He had a mobile phone out. This was against all the protocols of such an occasion, did anyone else see him. I saw him press the keys and the person next to him, gestured for him to put it away. He ignored his neighbour’s instruction, which was becoming ever more insistent. The tussle between them continued culminating in the neighbour snatching away the phone. It was like two choirboys squabbling in the stalls, trying not to draw attention to themselves. I saw the blade flash and the neighbour screamed and collapsed in a writhing heap, blood spurting from his neck. A secret service man fired once and the attacker fell dead. It was some shot.
Once more the VIPs were shepherded away by security men. The place was buzzing. I moved towards the stab victim, someone was trying to staunch his injury, with not too much success. I called upon my Lady to spare him, and saw the blood flow stop, and although unconscious he was still alive. The mobile phone he had confiscated was examined by another secret service agent.
“Be careful with that, I reckon he was trying to detonate the bomb above us in the gallery.” I said this quietly to the agent, there was already too much movement and restlessness.
“What?” he hissed at me.
“Up there,” I indicated with my eyes to the screen on the gallery, “there is a device, which I hope they have neutralised, but just in case don’t press anything.”
“You reckon this is the signal.” He said, showing me the phone.
“Why else would anyone be wanting to make a call during something like this?”
“Taking a photo for his family?”
“Is it a camera phone?” I asked.
“No it isn’t,” he replied examining the instrument in his hands. “It’s a very basic phone, especially for a reporter. I’d have expected a something better.” I nodded my agreement.
The body had been removed, and was being searched. Apart from a security pass, he had no identifier upon him. The rest of the public and press group were now buzzing and wanting to get off and file their copy. Thankfully none of them had twigged what was going on. But they had a story to write up and the wires would be buzzing.
We had demanded they not use mobiles until permission was given, citing some sensitive surveillance equipment which would be damaged by them. For some reason they accepted the instruction. A wave from the gallery, meant the bomb was defused and the mobile ban was lifted. The first one to use their phone caused a small bang up in the gallery, which caused some to turn around, but the story of an assassination attempt at the palace. Well, that was story enough.
“How did you know about the bomb?” asked my companion.
“They discovered it just before the VIPs arrived.”
“And they let the reception take place?” he was horrified.
“It was all under control,” I said tersely.
“You have gotta be joking,” exclaimed my associate.
“Did the bomb detonate?” I asked, to which he shook his head. “Well then, how much more did you want?”
“But someone got stabbed, possibly fatally….”
“He’ll survive.” I said optimistically.
“Thank you, Dr Kildare.”
“I mean it, I used to be a nurse.”
“Did you now?” He paused for a moment and I was unable to guess what he was thinking. I half expected him to be considering, ‘nurses as swingers’ instead he said,
“Why the career change?”
“I couldn’t stand all the sex and violence,” I said. His face was a picture.
Computers were flashing details of the dead man around the world, searching databases for anything which might identify him. The president was safe for the moment. I needed some fresh air. As I walked towards the door I was accosted by Mr Acland. “Just what I need!” I sighed to myself.
“Ah Captain Curtis, just the person…” he caught my arm and led me off into an alcove. “Good work earlier Curtis, I’ve been asked to tell you to contact your office. Oh and I think they want you to go to the US Embassy.”
I nearly jumped for joy. If I could get in there, I might be able to make a difference. On the other hand, were Oliver or his creators involved with the embassy? If so, it could be the last place I needed to be. Life continued to be interesting.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
In the taxi, I tried to reflect on what had happened so far that day. The presence of Oliver meant that whoever his controllers were, they had access to someone in the US hierarchy. So it very much looked as if the people who were trying to get me were also the ones after the president. In some ways that made things feel just a tad simpler, if not easier. Why, I wondered had they attacked me before all of this. I mean, if Superman had been expected, I could understand them stocking up on Kryptonite, but me?
I did have friends in high or low places, depending upon where you placed the ‘Otherworld’, and my connection with Sekhmet had proved life saving a few times. I felt the gun against my leg, I wasn’t sure if I felt more or less safe with it.
According to the ‘plan’, the president would be assassinated the following night by a mad pilot, suicide bomber, crashing into the embassy. Of course we all knew, the bomb was actually in the vicinity of the room she would be occupying, already. I also knew, the assassins were Americans using the Muslim extremists as the scape-goats. I shuddered to think what would happen if the plot was successful, partly because it would mean I was likely to be dead myself, but also on a more global scale there would be massive fall out. I could see cruise missiles or bombers on their way to some Middle Eastern country and lots of bloodshed as the US took its supposed revenge. Whereas in fact, it would be probably closer to the truth to bomb Dallas or Boston, or wherever these monsters originated or now dwelt.
Suddenly, I was in Grosvenor Square. I paid the taxi and walked up to the security guard at the gate. I had called at the office and collected a pass. I showed it to the guard, he pointed to a man stood just inside the door. I thanked him and followed his instructions. I entered the door and passed the armed marine inside, we nodded at each other, but I could see the safety catch on his M16 gun, was in the off position. I hoped he didn’t drop it.
There were queues of folks trying to get visas and other everyday stuff, and I walked past them to the man indicated by the original guard. I showed him the pass. “Ah Captain Curtis, we have been expecting you. The president requested you personally. I guess you must have met someplace, ‘cause it’s quite an honour.” I acknowledged this fact, without saying I’d rather it hadn’t happened. I began to understand another reluctant participant in a big game who had second thoughts in a certain garden, called Gethsemane. I however, stopped the parallel there, I was certainly no sacrificial god-king.
Colonel Scott, the man to whom I was speaking, or who was actually speaking to me, continued, “Have your office actually instructed you on what they mean by liaison, ‘cause to me, it don’t mean a darned thing.”
“I think, it’s about making sure that we interact in unison with what you’re doing, so we don’t duplicate or end up shooting each other.” I had no idea what liaison meant in this sort of mission. To start with all this sort of stuff would have protocols to be followed which would be the domain of some desk jockey on both sides. I wouldn’t be much use because I didn’t know anyone on either side, so I could hardly be an introduction service.
“That’s all taken care of, come with me.” He led me down a corridor to a suite of rooms where there was every surveillance gadget known to mankind. “I also know you’re carrying a weapon, in a very interestin’ place, Miss Curtis.”
I blushed and declined to see the footage on tape of where my gun showed itself to the machine. “I hope you know how to use it,” he said, and I wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic.
“I’m pretty sure which bit is called the trigger, and I suspect I will be able to work out which end the bullets come out of,” I said, playing the blonde bimbo.
“Sure glad to know that. I think it may be best if we team you up with one of our women operatives.” What Col. Scott didn’t say was, “To keep you out from under the big boys feet. The only reason you’re here at all is because the president asked for you. So we’ve indulged her, you’re here. However, we’re going to put you on knitting patrol, or some other such distraction to which women are supposed to be suited.”
An attractive woman walked into the room, “Ah Cassie, this is Captain Curtis from the British secret service, I wondered if she could shadow you?”
“Why of course sir,” she walked to me and we shook hands. “Hi, I’m Cassie Mulholland, President’s liaison service.
“Jamie Curtis, SIS, how do you do?” Her hand was cold and soft. I didn’t sense any untoward energy.
“Come with me, let’s get out of this bedlam. Fancy a coffee?” she led me down a series of corridors.
“I prefer tea, if you have it,” I replied to her question. Inside, however, all I wanted to do was sit down for a bit, my shoes were killing me.
Ten minutes later, we were sat in her office sipping Earl Grey and talking like old friends. “You’re like in SIS?” she asked me, almost rhetorically.
“Yes,” I answered, wondering what was coming next.
“So that’s like MI5 and 6?” she asked, raising an eyebrow, “You don’t look like a spook to me?” Given my previous reputation at the hospital, I had to stifle a laugh.
“Sorry to disappoint,” I said lamely.
“I mean, they’re all licensed to kill and all that stuff. You’re not, are you?”
“Why? Aren’t you armed and dangerous?” I threw back at her.
“I don’t need a gun to be dangerous darlin’, I can stop them with a look.” We both laughed at her sense of humour, which was a suitable riposte to mine. “Yeah, we carry guns, but I’ve never shot anyone. Have you?”
Deciding that honesty was not necessarily the best policy, I was economical with the actuality, “Do I look like a hired gun?” A quick flash of the Magnificent Seven, went through my mind.
“Hardly. So what you wanna do?” She asked, pouring me another cup of tea.
“We have a choice?” I said, surprised by her answer.
“Sure do.”
“I’ve never been in an embassy before, so could you show me round.” I thought it was the easiest and quickest way to see the area I believed was at risk.
“Don’t see why not,” she replied smiling.
“Can we see the presidential suite, I’m sure it’s something special.” I pleaded, pretending I was interested in the furnishings.
“That’s usually off limits.” She said, looking very serious.
“Oh,” I said looking very disappointed.
“Let me see,” she looked through some sort of rota, “Hal Butcher is on after lunch, he owes me one. I’ll see what I can do to accommodate your request,” she said pretending to be officious. Then she smiled and we both fell about laughing.
“So how long have you been in this business?” I asked Cassie. She was about thirtyish, I’d guess.
“About five years, I went back to college and got my doctorate and then joined the company.”
“What, the CIA?” I asked in genuine surprise, though why, I didn’t quite know.
“Who else?” she said, looking at me as if I was some sort of retarded schoolgirl.
“Sorry, but I’m pretty new to all this cloak and dagger stuff.” I said, using the same sort of approach which had worked before. One day, I’d be too old to use it, but until then…
“So how come the president knows you?” she threw back at me.
“That’s a long story,” I said hoping she’d get the hint that I didn’t want to talk about it.
Sadly she didn’t because a moment later she said, “We have plenty of time before lunch, so why don’t you just spill those beans for your aunt Cassie.”
“Okay, edited highlights. I’m a nurse.” I started on my saga, leaving out the seeing dead people, and my connection with Sekhmet etc. “And I get these hunches, which are usually right. It helped with one or two things and the PM got to hear of it, I was invited to attend a dinner and your president was there.”
“You’ve kinda brushed over one or two things according to my computer, like a couple of rather nice awards for bravery. A George Medal? That ain’t to be sniffed at, neither is a Distinguished Conduct Medal. I presume they don’t give them out for being the tidiest nurse on the block?”
“In my case they did.” I blushed as I still felt unworthy of both of them.
“According to this, your CV is one long catalogue of derring-do. Not bad for a greenhorn nurse.” She looked me up and down.
“How do you know all this?” I asked, blushing some of which was embarrassment and some indignation.
“Shall we say it’s our business to know about our friends as well as our enemies. It says here, you’re, “Extremely psychic and capable of significant psychokinetic energy.” She paused for a moment before saying, “What’s that mean?”
“Probably that I’m a total nutcase.” I blushed again.
“You saved the president’s life at Chequers. Wow, this is some CV.”
“Both of us were set up by your NSA people, and I use the latter term advisedly.” She grinned at me, but I was angry with them. At her badgering I told her briefly what had happened.
“Now, why are you really here?” she asked looking me straight in the eye.
“I was invited.” I replied, trying to evade her question.
“Shit, you were.” She stroked her chin with a long index finger. “Now tell me the truth, it won’t go outside these walls.”
“I’m afraid I can’t.” I said feeling very pressured.
“Can’t or won’t?” she said back to me.
“Can’t. I can’t explain a feeling I have.” I was lying but it was near enough the truth.
“About what?” she asked, her gaze almost burning through me, all pretence and giggling schoolgirl humour was gone.
“I believe someone will try and kill the president,” I said.
“So they sent you here to stop it. A one woman task force.” She shook her head as she spoke.
“Not quite, because they don’t know about it, you’re the first one I’ve told.” I was lying and I hated doing it, but I really didn’t know who I could trust and who was a threat.
“So you’re here by coincidence?” she asked and I nodded. “That is sure one big coincidence.”
“Well according to Jung, his theory of synchronicity…” I began, but she cut me off.
“Look honey, I majored in psychology, I have Jung and Freud coming outta ma ears. So don’t you BS me with psychobabble. Why are you here?”
“Alright, I’ll tell you,” I said and she leant forward to hear every word. “Her Majesty is fed up with Phil and thinks if she kills off Susan, she can have Billy boy all to herself.”
Cassie sat back and nodded her head, pretending she was considering my fantasy as a possible line of enquiry. Then she looked me in the eye and said, “I didn’t figure you for a timewaster Jamie, so cut the crap. Tell me what you really think.”
“If I told you the president was to be killed here, you wouldn’t believe me, unless you were in on the plot.”
“You are one crazy Brit. This is the safest place in the world outside the Whitehouse.”
“I don’t believe you,” I replied.
“Look, Missy, I haven’t got time for the whys and wherefores, but you take my word for it, it is very safe.”
“What if you were plotting to kill the president?”
“Don’t be stupid honey-bunch, I’m here to prevent that happening, along with two hundred other folk.”
“Okay, I’ll just go back to my office and file a report which they can use in the enquiry which will follow the assassination. It’s a great pity because I quite like your president.”
“Now hold your horses there, who says you’re going anywhere?”
“I did.”
“Not until you tell me more about your hunch, and I tell my boss, unless you’d like to tell him yourself.”
“It’s a classic conspiracy, I don’t know who I can trust and who is the enemy. I feel I can trust you, but I’m not sure about anyone else. So I refuse to tell anyone else.”
“Look, Missy, we’ve been under surveillance ever since we got here, they only need to run the tapes and it will all be on there.” She smirked a little as she told me this.
“I know, but they’ll be greatly disappointed.” I said smiling broadly.
“What do you mean?” she demanded.
“They’ll have footage of you talking to yourself, I won’t appear on the tapes nor will my voice.”
“Don’t be silly, hon, of course you’ll be on there.”
“Like your computer?”
“Well, yes.”
“Look again,” I said.
“Oh my God, what have you done to my computer?” She shrieked at me, “What is this stuff?”
“Fawlty Towers,” I said, “It’s very funny.” Now it was my turn to be smug.
“How did you do that?” she said, frantically trying to call up my dossier.
“Who said I did it?” I smirked.
“Well I sure didn’t, and there’s no one else here.”
“What about the little cat behind you?”
She turned around and was eyeball to eyeball with a full size lioness, It purred and licked her face, at which point she fainted and fell back in her chair. “Oops,” I said.
At this point, I erased the whole tape and all any current surveillance would see was an empty room. I then dealt with my ‘sleeping’ friend. She gradually came around, and looked at me very strangely. After collecting her wits, she said, “That was real clever, you really had me fooled.” Then she began laughing, until the loud purring from behind her suddenly made her turn very pale and she went silent. “Turn it off,” she said loudly, “Stop it, whatever it is. Stop it,” then she quietly added, “please.”
“You are quite safe.” I said reassuringly, “She’s one of my little helpers, and very friendly. She would be mortified to think you didn’t like her.” I smiled at the wide eyed look I got back.
After a short hesitation, when she appeared she was going to speak but didn’t, she managed to say, “I’m not dreaming am I?”
“Not as far as I know,” I replied.
“In which case, how is there a freakin’ lion in my office?”
“I brought her.” I said, smiling at her quite smugly.
“How the holy shit, did you get her past the security system?”
“The same way as I got all the others in.”
“What? Just how many are there?” She slumped back in the chair.
“Six or seven, more if I need them.”
“Six or seven freakin lions…”
“Lionesses,” I corrected her.
“Lions, lionesses, what’s it freakin’ matter?”
“It matters to them, and to another one; besides, lions are nowhere near as biddable or courageous.”
“Okay, so you’re Joy freakin’ Adamson, and Elsa behind me is real nice. How come security ain’t seen ‘em, let alone neutralised them?”
“They’re invisible until I tell them otherwise.” I told her.
“Right, so I just got licked by an invisible freakin’ lion.”
“No, I told her to let you see her.”
“I’m losing my freakin’ marbles here. Just who the fuck are you?”
“You are quite sane, things are strange and shall we say, I was sent by the universe to prevent this mischief which could have catastrophic implications, were it to happen.”
“You’re like some heavenly agent? An angel?” She looked more bewildered and frightened than ever. “Do you know, like Jesus, personally?” She seemed to be reverting to an almost little girl mode.
“No, not personally, I come from a time long before his.” I tried to smile reassuringly.
“Why have you involved me?” she asked looking very fearful, “I’m a good Christian girl.”
“Your beliefs are irrelevant to me,” I told her, “What you feel or believe is your affair, none are better or worse than any other in theory, it’s their practical application which causes the problems.”
“I guess so.” This was said in a little girl voice. The purring from behind her seat continued. “Can I look at her?”
“Of course you can, you can touch her if you like.”
She slowly swivelled her chair around and looked fearfully at the lioness. Then she hesitatingly reached out, drew back her hand quickly, paused and then touched the head of the lioness. In return, the lioness rubbed her head against Cassie’s hand, like a large domestic cat. Then she flopped down on the floor, and presented her tummy for a rub. Cassie squealed at first, then began to laugh. The lioness wriggled about on its back, and Cassie, probably thinking she was completely mad leaned over from her chair and rubbed the tummy of the big cat, who purred even louder.
“This is insane,” she repeated to herself, several times.
“Maybe,” I allowed, “but it’s nice, all the same.”
“Wait till I tell my kids about this…”
“I’m sorry, but that won’t be possible,” I explained to her.
“Why not, I think it’s kinda cute?”
“I’m glad you’ve taken to Sheba so well, and she is certainly enjoying it, but you’ll forget this ever happened when we leave this office.”
“How can you be…?” she began.
“Trust me, I know about these things.”
“So are you from another planet, some sort of ET?”
“No, well yes, I’m from Planet Oxford, it’s a little world all of its own built mainly of ivory towers, inhabited by creatures whose brains are so big they are carried around in brief cases.”
She laughed at my spoof. “Are you gonna tell me who you really are?”
“Jamie Curtis.”
“No you’re not.”
“That is my name, this is the body into which I was born twenty years ago.”
“You’re twenty and a captain in the secret service, man, you are special?”
“I thought we’d established that fact. I think you’ve seen enough of my tricks, so how about we go and find your little friend and allow me to see the Presidential suite?”
“You could earn a fortune, doing this stuff?”
“I am here to try and save the world as we know it, making money is not one of my priorities. If others perhaps felt the same, this might be a better place in which to live.”
“I guess so,” she said looking a little shamefaced.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
Cassie led me down a series of plush carpeted corridors. She was still shaking her head, “You’re not gonna believe this,” she said; “we’ve just talked for an hour, and I can’t recall a darned thing. What did you freakin’ do to me?”
“Who said I did anything?” I replied playing the innocent.
“Come off it Jamie, it had to be you; no one else has been in my office.”
“That you can remember,” I said and watched her sense of confusion grow.
“Am I crackin’ up girl?” she asked looking at me strangely.
“No you’re as sane as any other American I’ve ever met,” I said waiting for the penny to drop.
“Well thank you ma’am,” she said, then a moment later added, “Hey you, are you implyin’ we’re all crazy?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said looking very interestedly at a piece of wallpaper. “If you want real barking, then you need a royal family who over centuries of intermarriage and breeding, produce pedigree loonies.”
“Honey, back in Kentucky, incest is the game all the family plays; if you take ma meaning.”
“Is this to do with poor television reception?” I enquired.
“Honey, they got cable with over a thousand channels; but then did ya hear about the Kentucky woman who phoned a computer helpline?” I shook my head in reply, “She couldn’t get nothin’ on her screen. The helpline assistant went through the checklist, turned out it wasn’t plugged in to the electric.”
I laughed politely, I’d heard this one before.
“So the assistant asks her if she still has the box, and the woman says, yeah. The assistant tells her to put everything back in the boxes in which they came. The woman asks what next, the assistant tells her to send it back to the shop. Is it faulty, asked the woman, the assistant told her no, she was too darned stupid to have a computer.”
“So which part of Kentucky did you say you were from?” I asked trying to keep a straight face.
“Hey you,” she shrieked laughing, “You are the cheekiest sonofabitch, I ever did meet.”
“I used to be a son of a bitch, but then I had a sex change,” I said.
“Jamie Curtis, you are one funny lady,” she patted me on the shoulder, “It’s just up here.” She led me to an area which opened into a large hall, there were armed soldiers at strategic points. Once more, I didn’t know if I felt safer or more frightened by all this hardware. What I needed was to locate the bomb, and so far I was nowhere near it.
Cassie bid me wait while she went to speak to one of the guards, he was a sergeant by the stripes on his sleeve. She obviously knew him well as her body language was very flirtatious. A moment later she called me over and introduced me to her friend, he seemed nice enough as I scanned his energies, although there was something a bit niggling at the back of my mind. However, he let us into the presidential suite, shutting the door behind us. I threw a flaming pentagram at the door to keep out unwanteds.
“So what’ya think?” asked Cassie, oblivious of our previous conversation.
“It’s really lovely,” I said and meant it. The room was furnished in a style that could only be described as opulent, but not in any sense vulgar. The Adam fireplace and polished wood floors with Chinese rugs showed how much had been spent on this room. The desk was pure mahogany with a grandfather clock that seemed nearly half as big as Big Ben. I walked up to it. I was trying to scan the room but something was blocking me, the energy suddenly began to feel hostile. I turned around to speak to Cassie and she was slumped in the arms of the sergeant.
I started, almost jumping out of my skin, he was pointing what looked like a Colt pistol at me. “Seen enough, darlin’?”
“What have you done to her?” I asked feeling a now very hostile energy in the room. It felt almost as if the walls were radiating hatred at me, trying to crush me or make me feel ill. I was beginning to feel the latter. I tried to put a cordon of my own energy around myself, but it was very difficult.
“She’s expendable, so are you girly. Huh, send a babe in arms to do a man’s job eh?” I saw his thumb move as he drew back the hammer on the gun. I swallowed hard.
“I’m not alone,” I croaked, my mouth feeling as dry as sandpaper.
“Tough.”
“If you kill me, someone will take my place,” I said trying to sound braver than I felt.
“I’ll kill them as well,” the answer was scowled back at me.
“I really don’t think I like you,” I said.
“Look, girly, I don’t freakin’ care. I’m gonna kill you anyway.”
“In which case, I certainly don’t like you,” I said playing for time. The sun shone through the huge French windows and was beginning to reach my feet.
“As if I care,” he threw back at me.
“Do you realise I am going to die a virgin?” I said to him coquettishly.
“Tough,” was his response. The sun reached my leg and I felt its warmth, then I felt its power. I had delayed enough. In a matter of milliseconds, perhaps less than that, I simultaneously morphed into a certain Egyptian goddess look-a-like, and threw a bolt of light at him. At the same instant,t he pulled on the trigger of his gun. The bullet absorbed some of the energy from the light and melted, then vaporised. A fraction later, he was bowled backwards his face blackened and scorched and his head burst open as his brain, which is mainly fatty tissue, boiled.
I rushed to the fallen woman agent, she was lying on a sculpted rug. I felt for signs of life, there were none. She had been dead for barely a minute, I was tempted to start CPR, instead, I laid a hand on her chest and commanded her body to live again.
A moment later I felt her heart begin to beat again, and I knew she would be okay. So, I’d be getting Sekhmet a bad name, I did try to remember she was also a goddess of healing, and if she didn’t trust me with her powers, she’d have to lump it. Gods and goddesses don’t make mistakes, erring is a purely human accomplishment I told myself; trying to avoid a charge of hubris.
While Cassie recovered, I stuffed the smouldering remains of her would-be assassin inside the clock, made sure the CCTV and other surveillance equipment was suitably ignorant. There was a bit of a smell, but it would pass in a week or two.
The door opened and one of the domestic staff came in, “My God, what happened here?” he practically screamed at me, “And who the fuck are you?”
“Don’t just throw a hissy-fit you overpaid wanker,” I said to him, my interpersonal skills are legendary. “Get your dainty arse over here and help me with the lady, I think she MI’ed.”
“She what? He sniffed the air, “What is that smell?”
“Cardiac arrested, and I thought it came in with you.”
“Look lady, I don’t know who you are but don’t fuck with me I’m….” he paused in his comment as I helped him with his identity crisis, “Mickey Mouse,” he squeaked in a very high pitched voice. “I must go and find Pluto.” With that, he ignored me and left the room.
I almost called after him, ‘it’s out beyond Neptune’, but then Cassie started to come around. “What the freakin’ hell happened?”
“That would be telling,” I offered.
“I feel like shit,” she announced.
“Be thankful for small mercies, “I cautioned, “the other guy is shit.”
“What other gu….what is that smell?”
“That is the other guy, come on I think we might have outstayed our welcome.” I helped her to her shaky feet and we struggled back down the corridors to her office.
As we made our journey avoiding both staff and surveillance cameras, I did wonder if the eventual finding of the charred remains would instigate an alert and the President being moved to another safer place. And if it didn’t happen, I decided it would show the level of complicity in the plot. Mind you, it would take some time to get shot of the smell, let alone the body. I apologised in my thoughts to housekeeping and to the president, for a few marks on the wallpaper and possible damage by body fluids to the clock.
I didn’t want to go back into that room, especially at night. The sensation of nastiness or darkness was very strong and even goddesses can have limitations. If I went there again I might not leave it alive. I also had to reconcile having taken another human life. The sergeant wasn’t a thought form, he was real and perhaps under someone else’s control, but he had been prepared to kill. Effectively he had killed Cassie, but a bit of ancient magic had captured his escaping life force and given it to her. This wasn’t his soul, but his spirit, which is indestructible because it’s a pure energy form and not personalised like a soul. Catching it as it escapes and pushing it into another body, however, is quite a party trick. I thought I’d have to work on it before I did exhibitions.
“What happened back there?” asked a very pale looking Cassie.
“It would save you a lot of grief if you don’t know,” I said, trying to sound reassuring. Sadly, reassurance was not her highest priority.
“I wanna know.”
“You most definitely do not,” I said firmly.
“That smell, it was like burnt meat…it was horrible!” She shook her head as if trying to remove the smell from her nose.
“It was burnt meat. The prezzie invited us round for a burger and forgot she’d left them under the grill.”
“Very funny, Jamie, why do I feel like I just died?” She fixed me with a stern look.
“Okay, okay; I’ll come clean. You did.”
“I did what?” she asked.
“You died.”
“Very funny, lady. Now tell me what happened.”
“It’s true. You were attacked and the shock stopped your heart. I got rid of the assailant and managed to start your heart again. That’s what happened.”
“Oh yeah, look here buster; I saw my daddy in coronary care after he’d had an arrest, and he was real ill for days.”
“You’re younger, so you recovered quicker,” I replied almost absently because something wasn’t right, then it came to me. “Are there smoke detectors and sprinklers in all the rooms?”
“First you tell me that I died and now you’re asking about the safety equipment. What the hell are you on about?”
“I think I’ve just found another part of a jigsaw. However, which part has yet to be identified.”
“Do all you Brits talk in riddles?” she said quizzically.
“No, only those from Planet Oxford.”
“Ha ha,” she said, “You guys are weird.”
“I wondered if you’d notice,” I replied, “It’s the two heads, go on tell me that’s what gave me away.” I was joking with her but my mood was far from jocular. She laughed at me and I was pleased to see her colour returning, she was looking healthier by the minute.
“What’s with the fire extinguishers?” she asked, her head slightly tilted as she spoke.
“Sprinklers and smoke detectors,” I corrected her.
“No, extinguishers. In the Presidential suite we have powder sprays. The furniture in there is worth a fortune, the grandfather clock alone is worth half a million dollars.”
I felt myself blushing as I said, “Oops!”
“You didn’t do anything to it, did you?” she asked anxiously.
I wonder if James Bond gets this problem, I thought to myself.
“Who me?” I asked in a horrified tone.
I was getting better at acting by the moment, I’ve heard it pays better than nursing…..I could be a Bond Girl, the first from a transgen….. , wrong again, Caroline Cossey got there before me.
“Yes you, did you do anything to the clock?”
“Of course not, what sort of person do you think I am?” I felt myself blush a bit more, “I simply examined it’s…..ah bodywork, …..yes, that’s it, bodywork.”
Oh God, my lines are getting as corny as James Bond.
“Bodywork is for cars, clocks have cabinets.”
“Of course they do, I meant it was a nice body of work….” Was the room getting warmer or was it just me?
“You sure are one strange lady,” she said, “but, for some reason I like you and know I could trust you with my life.”
As she finished this sentence there was a rap at her door which made us both jump.
“Ladies, you are advised to stay here for the moment. Something bizarre has happened in the Presidential suite, so for your own safety, stay here; Okay?”
“What’s happened, Chuck?” asked Cassie.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, and those friggin’ cameras ain’t working neither. We got one of the house staff walking around saying he’s Mickey Mouse ‘n’ a body which looks like it shoved its head in a microwave.”
“Good gracious,” I said, “how could he say he was Mickey Mouse if he’d micro-waved his head?”
“Look erm, Miss…”
“Curtis, Captain Curtis,” I offered, proffering my hand as I spoke.
Thinking; it doesn’t sound quite as good as, Bond, James Bond. Still; we all have our crosses to bear.
“Yeah, course,” he shook my hand. “You’re the Brit liaison person?”
“I am, although so far I’ve only liaised with Cassie and drunk lots of Earl Grey.”
“I’d liaise some more if I were you, the security staff are walking about with safety catches off; if you catch my drift.”
“In case they meet Mickey Mouse?” I asked with feigned innocence.
“Geez girl, no, it’s in case they meet Goofy. Now stay here.” He left pulling the door shut with a slam which made us both jump.
After we recovered, Cassie looked me straight in the eye and said, “ You wouldn’t just have something to do with all this would ya?”
“No I promised my mummy I wouldn’t talk to strange cartoon characters; why do you ask?”
“Because strange things seem to happen when you’re around,” she said with a sparkle in her eye, “don’t they?”
“That is an enormous generalisation from which I could be accused of the disappearance of the Marie Celeste or where Elvis really is.”
“No, we all know where Elvis is, but he only shows himself to true believers. I don’t know who Marie Celeste is.”
“It was a boat, found drifting in the Bermuda Triangle with the crew missing. It’s one of those unexplained mystery things which probably has a mundane answer, but keeping it a mystery sells more books.” I sat down opposite Cassie, “So when did you last see Elvis?”
“Last Thursday, shouldn’t we be trying to discover what happened? I mean micro-waving Mickey Mouse, is like, so anti-American.”
“I don’t know; I think he might be just a little dated, but if they do Donald Duck; I hope it’s in orange sauce,” I quipped, wondering how I might ask a much more pertinent question.
Cassie was laughing at my little joke, “That is so funny, Donald Duck a l’orange ….”
“Cass, do you have access to wiring diagrams and things?”
“What for?”
“Okay, I’ll confess, I’m a wiring fetishist, I get orgasms looking at pictures of wiring.”
“You are so funny Jamie, course I don’t, why would I?” She was almost giggling.
“Is there any way we could access them from your computer?”
“Why?” she stopped laughing, “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”
“Deadly,” I replied fixing her with a serious stare.
“Can’t help ya, sorry,” she shrugged her shoulders.
“Is that simply because you don’t have access, I mean, they could be accessed?”
“Probably, but don’t ask me how,” she shrugged again.
I sat in front of her computer, and she watched me, muttering something about, “this should be good, you don’t have a password or code.” However, her jaw dropped when after a moment of laying my hands on the keyboard, I typed in at frantic speed and after screen after screen appeared, finally the one I wanted showed.
“How did you get in? I mean, whose password did you use?”
“George’s.”
“George who, like Washington?”
“Cassie, even a technophobe like me knows computers weren’t invented until Abraham Lincoln was on the throne.”
“Ha ha,” she said sarcastically, “very funny, now Missy, George who?”
“Bush, who else?”
“What as in Presi…?”
“Yes, well actually I tried that and it failed, so I used George Brush; that worked a treat.”
“Jeez girl, how did you break his code word?”
“I just tried, ‘woronterrer’ and it worked fine.”
“Hey, you implying he’s a bit stupid?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, over-egging the pudding is so passé.” She gave me a sharp look, then it softened into a smile.
After the nonsense, we poured over the plans. Sure enough, the smoke from my encounter with the unfortunate sergeant should have activated the alarms and we would have been showered with masses of fire-resistant powder; so why didn’t it. Obvious, someone must have switched it off. Now the key question is why, and what relevance does it have to my quest for an explosive device which will be detonated later tonight?
I didn’t know, neither did I know how successful my colleagues were in trying to locate and stop the aircraft or in getting some sort of aerial defence to back it up. I couldn’t phone them because any calls would be monitored and if I played with the system, it would affect my cell phone too.
For the moment I couldn’t do anything except sit tight and wait for an opportunity to play whatever hand I could deal myself. I felt I’d made some progress if only in confirming that there was ‘something rotten in the State of Denmark’. I still had to convince others except for Cassie without giving it away to my enemies. Some days it hurts like hell, others it’s just excruciating.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
I had some more pieces of the jig-saw puzzle, but without the picture, construction was going to be difficult if not impossible. I’m not a very technical person, so planting a bomb is not amongst my usual skills. I know they say such things are available on the internet; but it wasn’t going to help because time was limited. There was also the fact that I wouldn’t be interested. I’ve seen people with blast injuries, limbs missing, lungs damaged and so on, it’s horrible, it really is and I find it hard to believe anyone in their right mind wants to do this to another human. It’s a strange world in which we live, with even stranger creatures walking on the face of it and man has got to be the strangest.
I was missing John. I was sure he’d have more idea than I did about positioning of explosives. I tried to think about what the bad guys were trying to achieve. Firstly they wanted to kill their president; secondly, they wanted to make it look like a terrorist attack from the outside by a lone aircraft. So what would they need to do to achieve it?
I began to scroll through page after page of plans of the building. After an hour I realised that the presidential apartment rooms were bomb proof, unless there was a direct hit with a nuclear weapon. If the bomb was inside, it would kill everyone within the rooms, but it would also be obvious what had happened to investigating teams. Despite the Kennedy assassination and September the eleventh attack, the evidence of an internal conspiracy was scant and I had confidence that an investigation would find the facts and eventually publish them. Unless the conspirators had some very heavy duty assistance to negate the findings, they were going to be detected. I suspected that involved too many people.
What else? Do it outside the apartments, but where? Somewhere near the roof or an external wall. It suddenly occurred to me that if I looked for recent building or decorating work within the past couple of weeks, I might find the required spot more easily.
“You gonna be on that dang blasted machine all day?” asked Cassie.
“Aw Cass, I just got to level two on Spider,” I groaned, but kept searching.
She continued whingeing in the background. I kept rattling computer keys and swishing the wireless mouse. “Bingo.” I said to myself.
“What?” asked Cassie standing behind me.
“Do you have an itinerary for the President?”
“Oh sure, like she consults me before she does anything!”
“There has to be one.” I insisted.
“If there is, no one is gonna show it to us,” Cassie waved her arms to emphasise the futility of what she knew I was going to ask next.
“There has to be someone Cass, who can tell us.”
“Cain’tcha find it on the computer?” she asked, hands on hips.
“If I could Cass, I wouldn’t be asking. I know you’re CIA, but even they must have taught you something about logic.” My irritation escaped my control and I regretted saying it immediately.
“You sayin’ I’m freakin’ dumb or somethin’, Missy Smartass, I come from Oxford, England don’t you know.” She rubbed her finger under her nose to indicate snobbery, “You’re the blonde here Missy.”
“I’m sorry Cass, I didn’t mean it to sound like that.”
“Well how about telling me why ya need t’know?”
“Okay, they’re going to try and kill the President tonight. Don’t ask me how I know, but it’s true.”
“Holy-moley,” she said and stood looking bemused.
“I know how, but not where.”
“That’s why all the plans?”
“Yes. I know the attempt will be here, a single light aircraft.”
“It won’t do nuthin’, this place is bomb proof,” almost swaggered as she said it, as if to say, “So there!”
“Not quite. I’ve discovered two places where it might work. Besides, it won’t be the plane which kills her but the bomb inside the building.”
“What are you tryin’ t’ tell me; that there’s a bomb in this building?”
“Yes Cassie, a bomb; you know one of those things that goes boom and lots of people die.”
“Holy freakin’ moley, there cain’t be, security is like super tight, even more now the President’s here.”
“So how come I was able to go into the presidential apartments and kill someone without being seen?”
“You do some trick with the cameras an’ all.”
“If I can do it, so can they.”
“Oh shit!” she said.
“Of the deepest and smelliest kind;” I added.
“So you think there’s a bomb already inside?”
“I just said that Cass,” was she thick or was it the seriousness of the plot that made her seem slow, making sure about everything?
“How’d it get here?”
“I don’t know. When the IRA blew up the hotel in Brighton, the bomb had been there for weeks.”
“Omigosh!” she gasped, “Freakin’ holy moley, this is serious!”
“Just a bit, my government could be very embarrassed and more seriously, I could be very dead. Embarrassment I could probably live with, death could be difficult.”
Cass looked at me, I watched her lips moving as she repeated to herself, what I had just said. I watched her eyes flicker as she pressed ‘process’ and then the dawning.
“Ha, that is like so freakin’ funny.”
“In which case maybe if we tell each other jokes all day, we could die laughing instead of being blown up by some creep who can’t be bothered to wait for an election.”
Sadly, she laughed at that statement too. I began to seriously worry about the state of US humour, then thought about “Friends” and realised it had been dead for some years. Still, I wasn’t here to discuss comedy and concepts of humour, but to try and save some lives by frustrating a heinous plot - all in a day’s work for Superman! The problem was, he wasn’t here, I was.
“So who would know the President’s itinerary?” I asked without much hope.
“I could have a word with Todd Fox, I suppose.”
“His parent’s had a sense of humour,” I remarked.
“Whaddya mean?” snapped Cass.
“Well; a tod is a dog fox.”
“So!” she snapped again. Clearly her thinking processes were impaired by resurrection, which could have serious consequences for Christianity.
“Todd Fox,” I said and she looked blankly at me, “T-O-D-D F-O-X,” I repeated very slowly.
“Oh!” she said and giggled, “I see what ya mean.”
If this was to be my last day on earth, it looked as if it could be a long one if stayed in Cassie’s company much more. “We need to speak with this gentleman,” I proposed, “URGENTLY,” I said this loudly in case it had an effect upon her brain processes.
It did because she nodded and picked up the phone. “Security, have they lifted the alert yet? Oh good, is Mr Fox about? He is, can you send him up to us Captain Curtis needs to speak with him urgently? Thanks.” She put the phone down, “They’re gonna send him up.”
“Thank you Cass, you might have saved the day. If you haven’t, I can’t think of any American I’d rather die with.”
“You say the sweetest thangs, Jamie Curtis.” Then the penny dropped, “Whaddya mean, if it comes to the crunch we’ll have to evacuate. No one needs to die.”
“I think they will have covered that possibility.”
“Like how?”
“I don’t honestly know, but if their aim is to kill a specific person, they will do their damnedest.”
As we continued our largely pointless conversation, we were interrupted by a knock on the door, a friendly looking face looked around the door. “You wanted me, Cass?”
“Hi there, Todd, come along in an’ meet an alien.”
Todd stepped into the room looking bemused. He was tall, dark and handsome but not in a clichéd way. His sparkling white teeth dazzled me for a moment. I wondered how nearly all Americans have sparkling white, even teeth and the rest of the Western world has creamy, uneven ones?
“This here is Captain Curtis from planet Oxford. They all live in ivory towers and have greatly contributed to the demise of the elephant and the walrus. They talk all hoity-toity, mainly through their asses, or in her case, “arse”. They look sweet and inviting but are hazardous to health. Anyways, I’d like you to meet my new best friend, Jamie.”
I was taken aback by Cassie’s introduction, it was verging on humorous and showed that some of her brain was beginning to function. From the shocked expression on his face, Todd Fox, was also surprised.
“Nice to meet you, Captain Curtis,” said the handsome young man, proffering his hand.
I took it in mine and we shook hands, “And you, Mr Fox.”
“Huh,” said Cassie, “You were supposed to say, ‘How do you do?’, you Limeys are so unreliable!”
Still holding Fox’s paw, I shook it again and said, “How do you do, Mr Fox?” using a very plumy accent.
“Fine thanks, and how do you do?” said Fox. He looked at me and we both burst out laughing, when we looked at Cassie her expression nearly caused me to wet myself. Then all three of us swapped looks and laughed some more.
“So what d’ya want me for?” asked Todd Fox.
“Cassie thought you might be able to solve a little problem we have.”
“Can it wait, the President is due here anytime and I’m kinda busy,” he said apologetically but his eyes were dancing and I think were inviting me to tango.
“It won’t take more than a few seconds,” I said as innocently as I could.
“Well that’s about all I can spare.”
“I’m the liaison officer to the President, but someone has forgotten to give me her schedule, I wondered if you had a spare?”
His expression changed in an instant. “That’s classified Captain, nice to meet you.” He turned to leave the room.
“Mr Fox, please come back in and shut the door.”
“Sorry ladies, gotta go.”
“Mr Fox, if you want to save the President’s life I suggest you come back here now.”
He stepped back into the room, “You have two seconds,” his tone was almost threatening.
“Please don’t threaten me Mr Fox, I’m here to keep your President alive.”
“I think we can manage that well enough ourselves,” he was about to leave again when Cassie spoke.
“I think you’d better hear this Todd.” He looked at her, paused for a moment and nodded at me.
“I work for a British agency which answers directly to the PM, it is so secret even MI5 and 6 don’t know it exists.” He looked at me with more disbelief than anything, but there was a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes, so my waffle was working.
“We’ve been working deep undercover for weeks and have discovered a plot to assassinate your President. Because we know there are some hostiles within the embassy, we’ve had to be careful who we inform. Your screening suggested you might be an ally.”
“I’m listening,” he replied, “but I’ve heard nothing that convinces me you know anything.”
“Okay, I shall tell you how it will happen, or at least how they plan it to happen. I have to swear you to secrecy.”
“You’d better save your breath then, because if I know of something I have a duty to inform my section head.”
“If he’s a bad guy, that means I have to kill both of you.”
“You’re very funny Captain.”
“The sergeant in the grandfather clock didn’t think so.”
“What do you know about that?”
“There’s no point in telling you, because then I would have to kill you.”
He stood up and was obviously posing for the hidden camera to get on tape what I had just said. “What do you know about the incident earlier today?”
“Mr Fox, my job is to protect the President at all costs. I am aware of a plot and that there are insiders involved. Cassie seemed to think you might help, I am now doubting that, you may go but before you do, you will do two things: firstly you will tell me what the President’s itinerary is; secondly, you’ll forget everything we have discussed.”
“I don’t think so,” he said.
I looked him straight in the eye and beyond, right into his soul. I clicked my fingers, he seemed to jump slightly, then he said almost mechanically, “What do you want to know?”
Over the next few minutes, he gave me detail of the schedule they had planned for the President, Cassie wrote it down. I thanked him for his cooperation and then said,” Mr Fox, you will forget everything we have discussed. You will believe you came here because you thought Cassie was setting you up with a blind date. You are very disappointed because you don’t fancy me. I’m too English for you, too stuck up and probably too expensive. You have also learned that I am engaged to an aristocrat, and way out of your league. However, you have reassessed your view of Cassie and find her irresistible. Now go, Mr Fox and think nice things about Cassie for the rest of the day.”
Without blinking, he left the room and Cassie started to laugh. “Whadd’ya do to him, hypnotise him, or somethin’?”
“Sort of, but it’s a bit deeper than that, I wiped his mind of our conversation.”
“Howd’ya do that?”
“It’s easy when you know how.”
“Yeah but how?”
“Sorry Cass, if I told you I’d have to wipe your mind after, so you wouldn’t be any the wiser.”
“Is it like NLP or somethin’?”
“Yeah, something like that,” I lied.
“Cool!” she paused to assess what she had just witnessed. “I like the implanting my ‘irresistibility’ into his brain, that was real clever.”
“I thought you might like it Cass, the only rider is;” I paused here to ready her for the big one, “If we don’t find this here bomb soon, we might not be around afterwards for you to enjoy his attentions.”
“Oh shit!” she exclaimed, then added, “You Brits have always gotta spoil things!”
“Well ever since you lot wasted a whole load of tea at Boston, we’ve had to watch you carefully. Please note, before your President was allowed into the country, we passed a law making it an offence to allow her access to a tea bag.”
“You are one crazy sonofabitch,” she laughed.
“No Cass, ever since the sex change, I’m a daughterofabitch, except my mother wouldn’t appreciate the term.”
Her response was even louder peals of laughter.
Back to the task in hand, I had considered all I had to do was to match the itinerary to the places I’d decided were at risk, and we should have our site of action. Sadly, nothing quite matched up, so we were no further forward. It was not turning out to be a good day.
“Things can only get better,” I told myself, but I wasn’t sure if I believed it. I was puzzled by the lounge in which I had dealt with the hostile guard. Why did I feel so uneasy in what was ostensibly a beautiful room? Was there something there, or could it be trap? Whoever was responsible for all of this would know how curious I am and that I was bound to pick up on the atmosphere if I survived the attack by the guard. So what were they thinking?
Cassie kept suitably quiet and produced some more Earl Grey, which I drank and enjoyed with a chocolate biscuit. “I need to go back to that room.”
“What room? said Cassie, munching on her biccie.
“The President’s lounge.”
“Okay,” she continued dunking her biscuit in her tea. “Oh shit,” she exclaimed loudly.
“Yes?” I said, expecting some long explanation about how we nearly died and so on.
Instead I heard, “I dropped my biscuit in my tea and it’s hot.”
“Would you like me to inform the President?” I said intending to make it sound rather cutting.
“No; she can buy her own biscuits,” offered my colleague.
I looked at my watch, it had stopped. I then went to look at the time display on the computer, it wasn’t working. Things were getting curioser and curiouser. “What’s the time Cass?” I asked and she casually looked at her watch, then looked up from it with bemused expression.
I felt the atmosphere in the room turning colder, they were coming after me, whoever they were. I pulled back the blinds in the office, the day was still light but the sun would be unlikely to find its way into this window.
“Feeling scared?” said a voice.
I spun around; there was no one but Cass in the room. She had put down her cup and was staring blankly ahead. “Oh no,” I said to myself. I hate it when they take over people I know and like, just in case they get hurt. This was a distinct possibility. The room grew colder.
“Cassie, can you hear me?” I spoke loudly and shook her. Her eyes were open but she didn’t respond to my stimuli, now we were in trouble. I had a few seconds at most to do something. I slammed shut the door and wedged a chair under the handle. Then turning to Cassie, I said, “Sorry about this,” and pressed on both her carotid arteries. She struggled for a few moments then became unconscious.
As I laid her on the floor something began trying to open the door. I slipped off her belt and tied her hands behind her back. The noise at the door was getting louder. Thankfully it was a fire door and would take some punishment before it gave in.
I had to get out from there, the ceiling had those suspended tiles. A plan was beginning to form. I threw open the window, then as the door was being loudly assaulted I moved a ceiling tile and to my relief saw a network of pipes and cables in a space of at least a yard. I grabbed my little bag and pulled myself up off the desk, using the computer monitor as a step.
Once up in the ceiling space, I lay along a narrow beam and repositioned the tile I had moved. It didn’t fit perfectly and I could see a very narrow slice of the room. I watched as they burst through the door, finding Cassie coming to and mumbling something I couldn’t hear.
“The window,” someone shouted, “She coulda got through there.” I heard footsteps rushing to the window. “Quick run downstairs and search the gardens.” Footsteps ran out of the room.
“Cassie, wake up girl. Who did this to ya?” The questioner was male and I could only see part of his back. “Who did this, Cass?” he spoke clearly enough for me to hear him so she should have been able to. “Was it that British girl? Was it Miss Curtis?”
I heard Cassie mumble something. “You sure about that?” I heard the man say. “Are you absolutely damned sure of that?” Cassie mumbled something else. “Okay, get the medics for her;” he said to another man stood immediately below me. Then he picked up a phone and said, “Security alert, station red. British agent, female with blonde hair and navy suit, believed to be intent on assassinating the president. Is armed and very dangerous, treat with extreme prejudice.”
“Oh my God,” I gasped in silence, the hunter was about to become the hunted and with a very short life expectancy. I would be shot on sight. The day was not improving and Cassie was still under the power of the unseen enemy. I couldn’t stay where I was for two reasons, they would find me eventually and secondly, I had to try and do my job because it was the only way I might get out alive. “Shit, shit, shit.” I said to myself, then I noticed my suit was covered in dust and cobwebs, “Oh bugger.”
There was barely enough light to see where I was or where I could go; however, I managed to make out in the gloom a series of these little crossbeams about every four or five feet, like the one on which I was laying. I stretched across and with some effort and snail like speed, I managed to crawl across the office and into the corridor beyond it. A guard was posted outside Cassie’s office, and the place was bristling with security men running up and down. I paused to listen but nothing was said I could hear and thankfully, no seemed to have heard me.
Big buildings can be disorienting enough when you have signs to follow or can ask for directions. It also helps to be able to walk about at a comfortable pace. In my ceiling space, it was hot, dusty and dark. My progress was slow and I wasn’t sure where I was going.
I tried to recall the plans I had been searching, but there were so many. I needed some help but who or what could help me. I was close to tears, except the effort of crawling over the crossbeams was taking too much effort to leave any for crying. Now was not a time to get all girly. The gun on my leg grew more and more uncomfortable, and my heeled shoes were not exactly designed for this activity.
As I crept along the ceiling space, I tried to think how they had got to Cassie and perhaps the man I had killed. Now I felt remorseful, if he’d been ‘taken over’ without his consent, it was too painful to think about. He was going to kill me, to do my job I had to stop him. Could I justify it? I was going to hand in my notice as soon as got back to the office, assuming that I got back. Think positive, they say, some days it’s harder than others.
I glanced ahead of me and shuddered, something moved. I froze, barely daring to breathe. I squinted to try and see what it was. I shuddered again when I thought I could see a pair of demonic eyes. “This is it by the look of it,” I told myself, feeling really certain I was going to lose any confrontation that occurred. I was too tired to fight anymore, exhausted from crawling along the beams.
I tried to see what rooms or corridor I was above, maybe I could drop down and escape. It was too dark and the eyes looked to be getting closer. I lay on the beam and tried to sit myself up. I did think about pulling out my gun, but shots would mean the security men would come and I had a feeling the eyes were otherworldly.
I tried to surround myself with light, but the eyes kept coming. I could hear some vague noise, a low rumbling noise. Whatever was going to happen was now moments away.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
“I’m sure things like this don’t happen to James Bond,” I thought to myself as the eyes drew closer, the rumbling noise growing louder. Then I could smell it, a horrible pong which nearly defied description. But at least I knew my fate.
A moment later it happened. The eyes drew closer and so did the noise, then a warm, wet but rough tongue played across my face. The lioness which had helped me so often was here again, her sisters wouldn’t be too far away. I pushed her away, unfortunately not down wind. Try staying with a large cat in a warm confined space, they stink.
Thinking I was playing with her, she purred louder and rolled over on her back for me to rub her belly. Even if I had been in the mood, I could not have complied with her wish, because she rolled off the beam and fell through the ceiling taking about a dozen of the tiles with her. She crash landed on two security men, pole-axing one and making the other a little shocked to say the least. Following my command, she bashed him on the head, just hard enough to put him to sleep as well.
I managed to swing down from the ceiling cavity and land safely on my bare feet. I’d thrown my shoes down first. I was covered in dust and I suspected my clothes were ruined, but if I didn’t act quickly a few bullet holes would make them beyond repair not to mention their wearer.
Thankfully all these secret service men wear ties and belts, so tying them up was easy as was gagging them. I then dragged them behind some furniture so they wouldn’t be seen immediately.
Beating off some of the dust, I stepped back into my shoes and collected the extra guns. I shoved one in the waistband of my skirt and emptied the magazine from the other, placing it in my bag. I looked more as if I was demolishing ceilings than working for my government, curious that.
The room was some sort of ante-room near the presidential suite from my recollection of the plans. Neutralising the cameras was easy, taking no more than a thought, dealing with the woman who came through the door was another matter.
As I saw the door moving I ran to the wall from which it opened, to try and strike her from behind completely forgetting seven foot of lioness sitting in the middle of the floor washing her paws.
“Oh my lord!” she gasped as my little helper glared at her and roared, whereupon she fainted. Maybe my luck was changing.
I dragged her into a corner and stripped her down to her underwear. She was slightly bigger than I was, but at a pinch her suit would do. Once dressed, I searched for something to restrain her with, only a telephone flex seemed available. That was too harsh, so I whipped off her bra and tied her wrists behind her with that. Her legs I did bind with the telephone cable. I hoped her embarrassment might also act against her calling for help, not to mention the pair of tights I’d tied around her mouth.
Wearing a lilac coloured suit and hoping my face wasn’t too dirty, I stepped through the door and began to make my way to the library. This had been refurbished in the recent works and was one of the rooms where the attack was possible.
The lioness went into invisible mode. Okay, if this sounds a bit too convenient, remember they are thought forms which only appear solid in the mind of the beholder, in this case mine, although I hadn’t actually sent for any of them, I was glad of the company.
I spotted two security men stood either side of a doorway ahead of me. As they were looking for someone with a navy suit and I was wearing lilac, they didn’t twig who I was. Nor did they see the invisible lioness, well they wouldn’t would they until she revealed herself stood on her hind legs between them, two deft smacks with her paws left yet more of the secret service with headaches and bout of unconsciousness. I left her on guard as I restrained them with ties and belts, and removed the projectiles from their guns.
“Hal, where are you you SOB.” Called the voice as a third member of the security team entered the room.
“No,” I hissed too slowly, as the lioness bounded over and flattened him. This time the floor did the work for us, sadly breaking his nose in the process and a few of his expensive dental prosthetics.
I pushed the lioness out of the way, and scolded her, “I wanted this one conscious so I could get some directions, you could have eaten him later. Bloody cats!” With that she gently swiped me at the ankles and I went sprawling onto the carpet.
I was just about to retaliate when I realised someone else had entered the room. The lioness crouched ready to spring; I made her disappear because she couldn’t help against my new foe. It was Oliver, I could sense him and the temperature began to fall.
“Come out, come out wherever you are,” called Oliver and I felt my blood run cold.
The problem with thought forms is that you can’t actually kill them. If you zap them hard enough they might just dissemble enough to be beyond reforming; obviously I hadn’t zapped Oliver hard enough. Now we were playing on his home territory which made the encounter even more interesting.
“Jamie Curtis; I know you are in here; you cannot escape so why not stand up and take what’s coming?” called the voice in mocking tones.
I looked towards the windows; it was still daylight although the sun wasn’t shining directly into the room. Looking at the situation, I began to wonder if this was as far as it was going to go; in which case I hoped John was having more luck. I held onto the Sekhmet pendant and prayed for help, rapid fashion.
I needed a miracle and fast. Oliver was moving around the furniture and getting closer to my hiding place. Then a couple of things happened; he was no longer between me and the window – a possible emergency exit. I began to creep towards it as he continued to call me to show myself. I had barely made it level with the window when someone in an office at ninety degrees to the room opened a window, a flash of reflected sunlight streamed through the window and onto my body, I immediately felt the energy rush and with it knew I had received my miracle.
Transforming into a living facsimile of the ‘Eye of Re’ it became difficult to remain behind the sofa as I was now longer than it. I stood up as Oliver turned around and looked into the solar disc above my head. A moment later a beam of light not unlike a huge laser flashed at him. He laughed and exploded. I hoped this time I’d hit him hard enough, but I had my doubts.
The noise would bring security men and the smell of burning would make it difficult to evade them. My current manifestation would also not exactly help me to blend in, I needed time.
As one of the security team began to open the door, I threw energy at the handle. I heard a yell of pain and the door swung shut again. I remembered they were fire and security doors, with a thick piece of metal through the middle of them. The frames would be similarly constructed, an idea came to mind.
I’m sure that a solar disc has never before been used for welding, but that was what I did – welded the door to its frame. I could hear the shouts of incredulity the other side of the door as they could see the charring around the edges. At first they quite naturally thought the room was on fire, hot handle and burn marks. However, they couldn’t see any smoke or flames from the windows which were open.
It would only be a few minutes before they attacked from the other door, I needed to make myself scarce because in this mode any human who mixed it with me was doomed to meet his ancestors and I’d had enough of killing unless it was absolutely necessary.
My body modified back to its normal shape and size. A security man came rushing in sprawling headlong over my outstretched leg. The second one stopped with my gun pointed at his head, he dropped his weapon and raised his hands. I gave him one of my stares and he began to look very blank. I told him his colleague was madly in love with him as he was with his colleague and that they should kiss cuddle and do all sorts of lovely things together, now! He gave me a beaming smile and waltzed into the room, shutting the door behind. I smiled and moved on.
It struck me as I walked through the building that the sprinkler system or fire alarms had failed to activate when I was welding doors or blowing up thought forms. I wondered if I was heading on the right track.
A second thought occurred to me: they must have a full scale alert on at the embassy with me running amok. I had no idea how many personnel they had there but now, they had about eight less active than originally. If they didn’t have real guns this could have been good fun, sort of adult hide and seek.
“Good fun?” I said to myself, then mentally berated myself for such a dumb thought. I should be home now making John’s dinner or making something else with John, but that sort of thought was distracting me. I dropped it and began to go back to my more appropriate ones. A full scale alert would mean they wouldn’t allow the president to enter the building. Surely that would be the case, wouldn’t it?
Maybe it would depend on who made those decisions and whose side he or she was on? That made life difficult again. If I’d run amok in Sekhmet mode they would have had to have taken the president somewhere else; however, I hadn’t and now it was too late for that particular strategy. I had to find the bomb and disable it.
Where was it? I had absolutely no idea, not an inkling or even the germ of an idea. I tried to imagine where I’d put it and decided I’d have blown up the car on its way into the drive or on the road. Enough explosive and you can destroy a tank let alone a limo.
Their plan required the stooge flying the aircraft, so it had to be somewhere that could be reached by aerial attack. To my mind that meant rooms on the outside or as the building was roughly square with a small courtyard, one of the rooms adjacent to the courtyard.
I was now three rooms away from the reception room where I’d zapped Oliver, I stepped into the corridor and walked away from the direction of the trouble, my ID badge flapping as I walked. It bore no resemblance to me, but I had enough skill to make anyone who looked at it not notice the difference.
Who was I anyway? I read the badge, “Marlene Krupps;” I read out loud, “Intelligence Analyst,” whatever one of those is?
“Miss Krupps,” a man in military uniform said nodding at me. At least my psycho-fogging was working. I was glad of that as he was carrying a powerful looking pistol on his hip.
I needed somewhere to stop and think and then I spotted a sign for restrooms. Why do they call them that? They’re toilets or lavatories not even bathrooms, hardly places to rest. But whatever they were called, I entered the ladies one and realised I needed to use its facilities. Afterwards; I washed my face and hands and combed my hair and tidied up my make up; all the while trying to figure out where to start looking for the bomb.
The windows were frosted glass presumably because women used them to change clothes and things. There were lockers and one or two pairs of shoes there. Mine were nicer, so I didn’t swap any. I went to the window and discovered that it could be opened and it overlooked the courtyard.
I began to mentally scan the rooms I could see. I suspected there were about twenty I could see from the window. I would need about ten minutes once I got into that mode and I began to centre down, projecting my mind into each room.
I had no idea what shape or form of explosive they would use. My gut feeling was Semtex, because there was loads of it about, it was easy to keep and safe to handle. It also kept for relatively long periods. Terrorist groups had used it many times and it was a very efficient explosive. I had vague recollections of it being manufactured in Czechoslovakia or somewhere in that direction before the break-up of the Soviet Bloc. Presumably, it was made all over the place now. Sadly, I didn’t know if that was what I was looking for, so I tried to home in on very negative feelings, such as murder.
My premise was simple, whoever made or planted the bomb was feeling very negative towards a person they wanted to destroy. If I could home in those feelings, I might find where the bomb was planted. Well, I liked it anyway and it was as likely to render a solution as looking for explosives of indeterminate nature.
I set to my task and was making modest progress when a woman walked into the room. “Whatcha watchin’?” she asked chewing gum between words.
“The latest Harry Potter movie,” I replied.
“Ha freakin’ ha!” she mock laughed, “Shut the freakin’ window will ya?”
“I can’t do that,” I apologised.
“Why not?”
“It’s not in my job description.”
“What?” she said and chewed half a dozen times before adding, “What are you talkin’ about?”
“My job description, I’m employed to open windows not close them, that’s Amelia’s job.”
“
You outta your freakin’ mind?” she practically screamed at me.
“No, but you are;” I replied quietly and stared into her eyes.
For a moment she stood very still, then placing one hand on her hip and raising the other arm, flexed it at both the elbow and wrist after which she began to sing, “I’m a little teapot short and stout…” I returned to my task of ‘window shopping’.
With the musical accompaniment, my task did not become easier and I sent her into a sleep mode, from which she would awake back as normal but without any memory of meeting me. Maybe I should become a psychotherapist if I survived the day?
I scanned all the rooms but found nothing that led me to suspect any of them. I tried to recall the schedule Todd had shown me, but it was gone and someone pointed up at the window through which I was looking. Time to move on, and quickly.
With footsteps sounding behind me, I stepped through a doorway and found myself in a stairwell. Footsteps from below, meant I began to climb and quickly. Running up the steps on my toes meant there was little sound of my heels and I slipped through the doors onto the next floor.
“Hi Marlene,” called a guard and I sent him chasing wild geese to the floor below. I was now on the top floor but no nearer finding the bomb. Oh for a sniffer dog, or even a sniffer cat if there is such a thing. I felt like crying, I was hot, bothered, hungry and thirsty not to mention tired and dispirited.
I stepped into what looked like someone’s apartment, smiling at my silly idea of a sniffer cat. I had a quick scan around the place after jamming the door shut. A bedroom, a sitting room, bathroom and small kitchen. I stole a hunk of bread and cheese and drank a glass of grape juice.
I checked out the wardrobes but the clothes were too big for me and the wrong sex. Trying to think what to do next, I laughed at my earlier idea of sniffer cats once more, trying to envisage cats doing anything to please mere humans unless they felt so inclined. Then I had a brainwave. Sniffer cats might be difficult, but not sniffer lions, well okay, lionesses and invisible ones at that.
I assembled my troops and telling them that I had no idea what they were looking for, sent them off to find what they could. The three of them could cover more ground than I could and hopefully would be just as efficient. I instructed them to hide if any danger threatened them and to report back to me. Then I sat down and made myself a cup of coffee and waited. The noise from below seemed to quieten down and I somehow slipped into a snooze.
It must have been more than a snooze because I didn’t hear anyone enter the apartment, let alone work out how they got past my door jam. “Well, what have we here?” said a voice and I woke with a start. “Keep perfectly still and put your hands on your head.” My sleepy eyes focussed on the barrel of an automatic pistol.
“Who are you, because you ain’t Marlene, and where is she?”
“I’m a British secret service agent who is trying to keep your president alive.” I told the truth because I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“You’re the woman they’re looking for.”
“No that’s my twin sister.”
“I could shoot you.”
“But then I couldn’t introduce you to my evil twin.”
“Don’t bullshit me, you’re trying to kill the president.”
“If that was the case, why haven’t I killed you?”
“I’m not the president,” he smirked back at me. This was becoming tedious.
“But you are in my way, preventing me from carrying out my terrible plan.”
“Yeah, I guess I am.” He seemed rather pleased with himself.
“Unfortunately, one of my accomplices is right behind you. I would therefore suggest you lower your gun and surrender it to me.”
“Haw haw,” he laughed like a donkey braying.
“If you don’t you could get hurt.” I gave him a last chance and he laughed again. “Not too hard,” I said to my little friend and she whacked him around the head with a large paw. His gun tumbled to the floor and I picked it up. The safety was still on it, and it had no ammunition.
My girls had returned, none of us were any the wiser about the bomb, or its placement. I was now becoming seriously worried for the safety of the president and myself.
I sent a text to John. “Not doin 2 well. No further 4ward. Being hunted, they think I’m the villain. Do what you can and quickly. Love Jamie xxx.”
I received one back. “Have spoken to HQ, will advise US of mix up. They say 2 surrender, I say keep moving. Will do what I can. Love J.xxx”
There was no way I was going to surrender, not until it was all over whatever that meant. But what could I do, sit on the roof and try and shoot the plane down? Well it was one solution, but not realistic with a pistol or three. A quick transformation and zap it with Sekhmet bolt? Not if it was dark, and besides what would stop them blowing up their bomb anyway? Not much unless I could find it. I felt like crying, this was so frustrating. Even James Bond would have trouble with this one and he’d have the support of Q or P, or whatever and a bag of special effects; all I had was three lionesses and an Egyptian goddess, plus a few special effects of my own.
Despite John contacting the embassy, I suspected I would be shot on sight. I glanced out of the window, the day was turning to dusk and the president would be here soon. I cursed myself for falling asleep, it had wasted precious time.
My cats had searched much of the building with no result. This meant they either missed the explosive, or it wasn’t there. I had to go back to the presidential suite and see why I felt so negative about the atmosphere there. Was there something happening there; was it a trap; could it be a diversion?
If Oliver was here, his controller or controllers must be near. They know I’m here as the spanner trying to get in their works. The problem is, who is safe and who isn’t? I have to treat them all as potentially hostile – nothing new there then. They were certainly treating me hostilely.
There was a loud knock at the door, my heart skipped a beat. I moved towards it, gun drawn ready. “Rog, aren’t you ready yet?” called a woman’s voice, “the President will be here anytime. Rog, you okay?”
Standing by the side of the door, I threw it open and grabbed the unwitting visitor and yanked her in. The gun in her face tended to focus her attention. She was a captain in the Marines, and I half expected some sort of response from her but there wasn’t any. I watched as her face went almost white and then she keeled over in a faint.
She was about my size and blonde, at last things were going my way. I undressed her and tied her up, then slipped into her uniform. Okay, I could now be charged with impersonating a US officer or shot as a spy – no change there. I tied my hair back and pulled on her hat and tinted glasses. I looked a bit different. Sadly, her shoes were too small so I had to keep on my own but I was in a dress uniform and hoped no one would notice too quickly.
I told my girls to patrol and inform me if they found anything. I set off for the presi suite, toutes suite. I saluted and blustered my way down to the first floor, time was running out. My mind kept bringing up the absent fire prevention equipment and I reasoned that a large water type fire extinguisher could contain enough explosive to do the job. However, the problem with this argument was I hadn’t seen any near there.
My stomach began to churn as I approached the rooms that had given me such a bad feeling and I knew I could be walking directly into a trap. I had no choice. The air began to feel colder and heavier. I flicked off the safety on my most accessible pistol. It was probably pointless but it gave me something protective to do.
Grabbing a folder off a desk I passed, I managed to blag my way through the security on the door. Then someone shouted that the British agent had been spotted and they all took off in that direction. I slipped through the door.
“Switched allegiance have we Captain Cutis?”
I jumped, spun around and pointed the now cocked gun at the voice.
“That will do you no good in here,” said the man stood opposite me.
“I reckon I could put at least three slugs in you before you could do anything much,” I replied, meaning every word of it as my finger eased on the trigger.
“Very possibly, but you would die with me.”
“Perhaps, I don’t see how but I’ll take your word for it.”
“No you won’t see how, cunning isn’t it? What are you seeking Captain Curtis?
“You know damned well what I’m searching for! I threw back at him.
“A bomb, perhaps?” he said smiling.
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“Please don’t mess with me, we know all about you and your little helpmate from Egypt. There are no windows here, so you are on your own Captain, or might I call you, Jamie?”
“I’d prefer to keep it formal, I try not to kill friends,” I offered as a retort.
“Very droll, Captain. Yes, very good. Would you like me to show you the bomb which is going to kill the president?”
Feeling very uncomfortable but having no other strategy, I nodded. He gestured around the room.
“Well, where is it?” I demanded.
“Here,” he said pointing all around the room.
“Where?” I said loudly pointing the gun at his face.
“All around you Captain.”
“What, in the fire alarms?” I checked out my suspicions.
“No, in the walls. The room is plastered in explosives, the fire alarms are the detonation system.”
“What? But that will blow up half the building?”
“Yes it will, obviously the plane was carrying a bigger bomb than we thought,” he smirked at me. “It also means if you shoot me, it is highly likely that one of your bullets will hit the wall and set it all off.”
“It would save the president’s life,” I spat back.
“No, it would just mean we would kill her as she got out of the car.”
“Why not just do that in the first place?”
“We want to start a major war in the Middle East.”
“But a lone assassin in an aircraft won’t do that?”
“Who says he will be alone, you’ll be there too.”
“I don’t have any Middle Eastern connections,” I declared.
“But you do dear lady, an Egyptian one and it so happens that is where all the participants who we shall implicate, are from. So you see, we have enough to make life very difficult for your leonine friends.”
I began to feel my muscles becoming stiff and my arm dropped towards the floor. I tried to resist but it was hopeless.
“Ah, I see you’re beginning to succumb to the power. I have to congratulate you as a worthy opponent, but the dark side always wins.” He laughed at me as my gun pointed at the floor and I squeezed the trigger.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
Mine didn’t nor did I feel the carpeted floor as my body slumped on it. All I was aware of was being drawn into a vortex of darkness, my body spiralling down.
I awoke, if that is the right word, wearing a linen dress and sprawled face down on a stone floor. Oh shit! I was back in ancient Egypt.
“You continue to interfere, as the ‘cat’s paw’, yes we like that, how appropriate, of our sister. We are however, tired of these games and your time as a player is over. For a mortal, you have played well, but we tire of them and you. Before we despatch to the Underworld for eternity, is there anything you would like to say?”
I mumbled something.
“Stand up woman, as a priestess of our sister, you should stand before us.”
I knew who was talking to me, Set, God of the Underworld and brother of Osiris, the good guy, but who was enfeebled like Jesus and killed. My chances of survival were zilch rising to zero on a good day. This didn’t appear to be one of those. In the presence of Set, my goddess would be unable to assist me, so my final moments would be up to me. I had nothing to lose.
One of the strange things of being reincarnated, then slammed back into one’s original body at speed, is the memories of all those other incarnations seem available. As Jamie, I could only remember bits as a priestess of Sekhmet, as my original incarnation, I could remember all of Jamie’s stuff.
I stood and continued my mumblings, repeating them over and over before the Egyptian God of Chaos. Thankful that he still hadn’t heard them.
“What are you saying, girl?”
I continued my mumbling which was actually chanting, the internal resonance was much louder than my voice.
“What does she say to us?” asked Set of one of his retainers.
“She is talking in Hebrew, my Lord.”
“What game is this you play?”
I could have said three dimensional chess, but I didn’t, instead I kept chanting and visualising the Qabbalah or Tree of Life. I reckoned I was in Yesod, where most of magic and mythologies exist, on the astral plains. I just needed to move myself somewhere else. With work unfinished in preventing World War Three, I thought Malkuth, the world of the material was quite suitable.
“Adonai ha-Arets.” I kept repeating and seeing myself back in my body.
I felt two pairs of hands carrying me and then dumping me unceremoniously in a corner. “Just leave her there, she’s dead anyway, and we only need some bits of DNA or a few teeth for them to see she was implicated. That should piss off the Brits more than somewhat. Jane Bond kills U.S. President. Ha ha.”
“So how did you kill her?”
“Magic, simply more powerful stuff than she could use. See our master is just a bit bigger than her little lioness, classic male dominance stuff, stupid bitch. Can’t believe she walked right into it.”
“Come on the President is due in the next ten minutes or so. The plane is airborne. We need to be away from here in twenty.” I heard a door close.
My body felt like I had been thrown down a flight of steps, and hit every one of them on the way down. I did manage to open my eyes, even though they didn’t focus too well.
As for moving limbs, ouch, they hurt. It was a real effort to struggle upright into a sitting position. I was still in the US Army uniform, one of my shoes was off, but had been tossed nearby. I heaved myself onto my feet, and managed to get the missing shoe on. Then I pulled the cap back on.
If I was correct, I had pulled the trigger of my gun, so why wasn’t the whole building rubble? Getting my bearings, I worked out they had carried me into a storage room next to the presidential suite.
I now peeked out the door and there were two marines stood outside the president’s apartment.
I pulled my cap off and with one hand on my head partly covering my face, staggered down the corridor towards the soldiers. “Oh, that British gal just hit me,” I said in my best mid-west accent, before collapsing into the arms of one of them.
“Where’d she go?” asked the non supporting combatant.
“Up there I guess,” pointing to the direction whence I’d come, or they presumed I had.
He went rushing off, calling into his mike, while the other one made the mistake of looking into my eyes and then seeing a lioness there. He stumbled backwards and fell over a rug. He didn’t move afterwards. I pulled his unconscious body into the cupboard from where I had recently emerged.
I went into the presidential suite and told the flunky in there that I had to check the computer for a lethal virus. He took one look at my uniform and left me to it.
I had five minutes before the President arrived and ten more beyond that before everything went bang.
I logged onto the computer using George Dubya’s password, and went into the plans of the building, I needed the wiring charts, oh hell where were they?
The clock on the bomb was ticking down, well not literally because it wasn’t a time bomb, but you get the picture.
Finally, four minutes after I started I got to wiring diagrams, fire alarms in particular. God I wished I’d spent more time listening to the one lesson I’d had in Tech Drawing. I made more sense looking at Hebrew letters.
In the end, I had to do what I should have done in the beginning, I dowsed for it. I needed the entry point for the alarm system, the live feed. There wasn’t an alarm per se here because the refurbishment had removed it except to leave fuse wires running through all the walls and ceiling.
Holding my hand before me, I began to ask my body to show me where the alarm power feed came in. I expected a ceiling job and wondered how I’d affect it, when I discovered to my surprise, it fed in near the door.
Grabbing the expensive and lethal looking paper knife from the ornate rosewood desk, I began digging at the plaster on the wall by the door. I could have done with more strength, then remembered the gun tucked in the back of my skirt. I used it as a hammer.
“What ‘hell are you doin’ Captain?”
“Keep out of the way, this whole room is one big bomb.”
“What the fuck, are you nuts, they only just decorated it all.”
The flunky grabbed my one arm and pulled the other around my shoulder, dragging me away from the wall. We staggered backwards against a table dislodging a vase.
“That’s a priceless antique, now you’ve made me mad, you stupid bitch!”
We rolled on the floor, wrestling with the gun and the paper knife. The skirt was too tight for much leg movement I made a mental note to complain when I saw the president.
The flunky grabbed for the gun, and I grabbed his nuts and twisted hard and violently. He screamed, unsurprisingly and lashed out at me unfortunately driving the knife into his chest. He stood up staggered backwards and fell onto a presumably priceless chesterfield.
I picked up the gun and realising the President was now in the building, did all I could do now to save her, fired a single bullet at the site where the wiring came in.
I waited for the huge bang, but nothing, only the fairly loud one of the pistol discharging and the smell of cordite – horrible.
Footsteps rushed into the room and I put the gun down and raised my hands.
“What the fuck is goin’ on?” said the marine who entered first.
“Aren’t you supposed to salute an officer?” I asked, these youngsters had no manners.
“Get on to your superiors, there is a single engine aircraft on its way here now, it needs to be stopped, it has a bomb on board, get the President out of the building as quickly as you can.”
“Are you fuckin’ nuts?”
“As a chat up line, young man, that sucks, now do as I say.” He looked me in the eye and suddenly turned and ran back out of the room.
An NSA man rushed in, “Help him, he’s been stabbed,” I said pointing at the groaning figure on the sofa.
He walked over to the injured man and spoke into his microphone. I holstered my gun and was walking out of the door when six more of them appeared and behind them the President. Oh no, don’t they ever listen?
The drone of an aircraft sounded overhead.
“Oh shit!” I mumbled to myself. Life in the fast lane does have its disadvantages, although the restaurants are very good.Two secret service men grabbed me and started to pull me away from the entourage.
“Get the President away from here, it’s a trap,” I screamed until they pushed me face down into the carpet.
“You dirty scumbag,” one of them called, pushing my face against the floor.
“Get her away, it’s a death trap. Hurry! Umph!” I shouted until somebody hit or kicked me in the side. God that hurt.
“What is going on?” said cultured female voice.
“Sorry Madam President, we’ve been trying to apprehend this woman all day, we think she’s an assassin?”
“Who are you?” She looked at my face, my nose was bleeding and so was my lip. “I know you, don’t I?”
“Please, Mrs Carlton, get away as fast as you can, that plane has a bomb on it.”
“What?”
“Please just getaway! Now, run for it!” I struggled with the two clowns who were holding me.
“It’s probably a trick Madam President.”
Just then the plane sounded to be in a dive and the engine noise was getting louder.
“Get down, everybody down!” I shouted.
The sound of gunfire outside made the men holding me loosen their grip enough for me to pull free and throw myself on the President, knocking her flat and against the wall. A split second later, a deafening blast flashed though the door way sending a wave of glass and other projectiles down the corridor and around us.
The fire alarms began to ring and I waited for oblivion, it didn’t happen. My shot at the wiring had worked.
I lay there for a moment, “You okay?” I asked her.
“Yeah, messed up this suit though,” she replied.
Hands dragged us upright. I was taken off for interrogation, whilst the President was helped up and taken to safety, presumably to the bunker in the basement.
Thrown down in a seat my hands were handcuffed behind my back, although the blood had been wiped from my face.
“Okay Miss Would –be- assassin, what went wrong?”
“For me, well I broke a nail yesterday morning...”
“Cut the bullshit, now we can do this the easy way and you tell me what I want to know or I beat the crap outta ya?” He paused, presumably for dramatic effect.
“How d’ya wanna play it?”
“I prefer gentler laxatives, so if you’ll sit down and listen, you’ll learn something.”
“You sonofabitch!” he went to strike me when someone behind him obviously stopped him.
“I’m a woman in case you didn’t notice, and my mother is a respectable middle class woman, not a bitch. We don’t have bitches in Oxford, they’re lady dogs.” I said this in the most plummy voice I could, although my thick lip didn’t help.
“Very funny Miss Curtis, or should I say Captain Curtis of the British SIS. Release her hands.”
The cuffs were removed.
“Hi I’m Robert Storey, The President’s Security Advisor, she sends her thanks for possibly saving her life.”
“Check out the walls of that room, they are lined with semtex.”
“Are they now, how do you know?”
“I’ve been tracking a gang for weeks, we glean bits and pieces. You have insiders here who set this up. I can’t trust anyone, I’m sorry, not even you.”
“Okay, check out the walls – CAREFULLY!” he said to someone else behind me.
“So there would have been a real big bang?”
“How was the chap on the chesterfield? He tried to stop me disabling their bomb.”
“He died.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to hurt him.”
“He’s twice the size of you, I’d ha’ thought it would’a been the other way about.”
“Perhaps I was lucky he fell on the paper knife I was holding.”
“Oh that didn’t kill him, the two foot piece of glass stuck through his neck, killed him, along with three secret service guys and several more injured. Why didn’t ya let us know about the plot?”
“They would have known we were on to them. I did try to get a gun ship to protect the building, but my superiors didn’t believe me any more than you lot would have done.”
“I hear your methods are a little unusual?”
“No more so than all the high tech you have.”
“Why are all these guys telling me about lions and tigers, are they off their heads or just victims of meeting with you?”
I went to turn to meet the voice, but it was prevented.
“I don’t think so, Jamie, stay facing forwards, I don’t want to retire with mental health problems just yet and that seems to be a consequence of looking into your eyes.”
I heard him chuckle behind me. “We appear to have some woman who thinks she’s a teapot, and two happily married men who are ‘so in love with each other’.”
“It seemed better than hurting them. It’s only temporary. There it’s stopped,” I said shrugging my shoulders.
“You can stop them from whatever you did to them just like that?”
“Not quite, but essentially yes.”
“Jee-sus Aitch Christ! You are like a secret weapon, you don’t got an ‘S’ on your vest do ya?”
“No just Miss Selfridge on the tab.”
“Ha ha.”
“If I promise not to hurt you, please stand before me, I won’t frazzle you with my X-ray eyes.”
“I got some kryptonite anyhow.”
“Trusting sort, aren’t you?”
“Me, I don’ trust no one, I even have my mother checked before she comes to stay at Christmas.”
He walked around in front of me, a man in an expensive suit and tie, wearing very dark sunglasses. His energies were okay.
“I think I can trust you, Mr Storey.”
“I’m glad to hear it, by the way how long ya been in the US Army?”
“It was a very short commission.”
“You realise I could have you charged with impersonating a US Army officer?”
“Yes I do, but you need me to track down the bad guys in case they try again, because they will.”
“How d’ya know?”
“They have to, they want chaos, it is what their lord and master requires and it’s about the only way they will escape, by plunging the world into a major war.”
“Okay, so who’s the big guy at the top?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you?”
“Try me, you said lord and master, sounds occult, so this is Satan or Lucifer, right?”
“Right idea, wrong pantheon.”
“What?”
“This isn’t Judaeo –Christian, it’s older than that, this is a spat between Egyptian gods and goddesses, or two in particular.
“So how do you fit into this, how does a little girl from Oxford-shire get involved with Egyptian gods?”
“I appear to have been involved for about four to five thousand years?”
“Jeez if you look this good at that age, my wife will want your secret.”
“Very good, Mr Storey, a Yank with a sense of humour, a very rare animal.”
“Hey you jus’ cut that out, there are three of us in this building alone, not countin’ the President.” He smiled and I chuckled. “Damned Brit superiority, we’re not the colonies now, ya know.”
“No, if you were things would be better run, however, back to the story, Storey. I believe I am the reincarnation of a priestess of Sekhmet, who died around four to five thousand years ago, when agents of Set, plundered her temple and attacked the priestesses. I apparently swore to serve my Mistress forever and it seems to be true, although in a very twenty first century way.”
“You really want me to believe that?”
“You can believe what you like, but we need to catch these people or they’ll keep trying, and one day I might not be here to stop them.”
“Oh, right, oh I’m so sorry to waste your time, Miss Egyptian Priestess wonder woman. Stop patronising me, without my help, your ass would be in jail for ever and a day.”
“Without mine, you’ll be out of a job and needing a new President, although I forgot, you guys have a spare, as long as it’s not Dan Quayle. Now if you’ve finished with me, I’d like to go home, take a bath and sleep.”
“The President wants to see you and you’re staying here, until this is over. Message from your boss, coded as ‘G’, says, ‘To stay on the case until it’s finished, and well done,’ end of message.”
“I hope you can find some clothes to fit me, then. I only left the army to get out of uniform.”
“That ain’t what your record says, says you were seconded on account of your special skills with electronics and deception. Also says, ‘A trained nurse, with several awards for gallantry in Iraq and elsewhere.’ Having seen you in action, I can believe it. So maybe James Bond ain’t such a fantasy after all, maybe all you Brits are superhuman, although it musta happened after you lost the colonies,” he chuckled to himself.
“Go and have a bath and change, then come and see The President, have some dinner with me, and we’ll start catching the bad guys, how does that sound?”
“I’d like to bring in my own team as well, if that’s okay?”
“How many?”
“Two or three.”
“Two or three? We’ll be using two or three hundred, if not thousand.”
“Well you did say we were special in this Sceptred Isle, guess we’ll be about even then.”
Before he could retort with something rude, he was called away and I was led up to my room by a woman clerk.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
I lay in the bath, soaking up the warmth from the hot soapy water, it was bliss to my aching muscles and bones. It was also something I didn’t believe would happen a matter of hours before. Then I was beginning to think, I would be blown apart rather than gently shuffling off this mortal coil.
There was a knock at my door and the same clerk who’d brought me to this room entered and held up a black and gold dress. “I got this from the same woman whose uniform you borrowed, she’s pleased to help.”
I looked at the dress, it wasn’t my idea of style, but it should fit and it was better than my birthday suit or the robe hanging on the back of the door. “Tell her thanks, I’ll get it cleaned and returned to her,” I said back.
“No that’s fine, she wants you to have it.” I lay there wondering what was wrong with it that she wanted rid of it. “She’ll be able to tell everyone that she helped foil the plot by loaning you her clothes, when she gets Stateside.”
I felt a little sad at this revelation. Surely she had helped as best she could anyway? Oh well, I waited for my visitor to leave and got out of the bath after showering myself down. I dried my hair and improved my appearance with the mascara and lippy in my returned handbag. I used the perfume on the shelf - Chanel No 19. Hmm, it’s quite nice. I slipped on the underwear they’d supplied–Playtex–is this standard US Army issue? It wasn’t as nice as my own but it fitted reasonably well. I pulled on the tights, or pantyhose as the pack said, and slipped on my own shoes. Despite the bashing around they’d got, they’d cleaned up really well, as had my bag.
I was ready to meet the President, without needing to save her life, I hoped. The woman clerk was waiting for me outside my room and led me down to the smart apartment they had turned into the Presidential Suite, it was apparently for the Vice President, when they visited. My mind boggled at the expense involved, it seemed nearly as plush as the Presidential one.
“Do come in, Captain Curtis, or do you mind if I call you, Jamie? “
“Not at all, madam President.”
“Mr Storey reported to me about your Ancient Egyptian yarn, surely you don’t believe all that stuff do you?”
“Not only do I believe it, it happens to be true.”
“Oh come on, Jamie, it might do to play games with a security officer, but surely you can tell me what’s going on?” I felt my heart sink, head and brick wall came to mind.
“What is preventing you from believing me? Your religious upbringing, scientific beliefs, or what?” I said challenging the older woman.
“It’s preposterous, you know it is.”
“Any more than the son of a Jewish carpenter being declared a god after he supposedly resurrected from a sealed tomb?”
“That’s different, it’s documented in the holy scriptures.” She blushed, possibly at my blasphemy.
“They aren’t contemporary with the events they describe, and have been doctored since. I’m not trying to disprove your religious beliefs, I’m trying to get you to think outside the box, or however you lot describe lateral thinking.”
“You have to admit, believing in the powers of ancient gods, is pretty unusual?”
“Is it? I used Qabbalistic stuff to escape from Set.”
“Isn’t that Jewish?”
“Originally yes, and yes I used the Hebrew names of God from it.”
“Doesn’t that prove that Judaeo-Christian stuff is stronger than these old pagan ideas.”
“It was Christian insofar as Golden Dawn had Christian roots, but the magick I used predates Christianity by a long chalk.”
“I’d heard it was all done in twelfth century Spain.”
“Only the written commentaries by people such as Isaac Luria, remember it’s an oral tradition, supposedly dating back to Moses if not Abraham. It probably has its origins in Babylonian or Egyptian magick and religion.”
“Anyhow, that’s all academic–how are we gonna catch these sonsofabitch?”
“I’m still working on that. You’re safe for the moment, please don’t go anywhere without telling me.”
“Jamie, I’m President of the United States, I can’t let a few dead Egyptians stop me carrying out my duties.”
“I’m sorry, Madam President, you might have to. If they get it right next time, possibly on a permanent basis.”
“But I’ve got you to stop them.”
“I’m not Superman, you know.”
“I know, Jamie–you’re better–you’re a woman, we’re stronger than men.”
My heart sank a little, how many presidents did they have to kill, she only got in because they got her predecessor, and his vice president was taken ill. After Kennedy, you’d think they’d learn, but Reagan was shot as well although—fortunately—he survived. They don’t seem to learn. “I’ll do my best, ma’am.”
“I know you will, Jane Bond with magical overtones–how can we lose?” I didn’t like to contradict her, but she had more confidence in me than I did. I almost felt like saying,
‘Don’t you realise how bad these guys are?’ Instead, I went to dinner with Mr Storey.
He was very good company, telling me about his childhood in Baltimore. I suppose staying at the embassy was as close as I’d got to America, being called up and sent to the Middle East didn’t exactly give me much time to explore the world, and I was only nineteen now. I was also aware that I’d killed more men than Billy the kid. I tried to reconcile it with the fact that I might have saved many times that number. In the middle of the dessert this thought assailed me.
“You’ve gone quiet, have I said something to offend you?”
“What? Um no, of course not,” I blushed.
“So what is it?”
“I was just thinking how many men I’ve killed.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, that man in the Presidential Suite, the Sergeant I microwaved.”
“He was trying to kill you, wasn’t he?”
“Tell that to his wife and kids.”
“He doesn’t have any. Besides, we’re not taking any action against you, so we will describe him as being a casualty of a terrorist attack.”
“Aren’t there witnesses who will say otherwise?”
“I don’t think anyone will say anything, he must have been barbecued by an explosion, there was only one as far as we know. He was killed by person or persons unknown–that’s the official version. You’re not implicated in anyway. You are mentioned as trying to save the President, and succeeding in that task. You might even get a commendation from Congress.”
“No thanks. I’m not into commendations, besides wouldn’t it deflect from all you Yanks doing your best as well?”
He blushed at this remark. “We’re not doing a very good job are we?”
“I don’t know, this dinner has been delicious, even if I couldn’t manage all the steak. How do you people eat all of it?”
“We lead the world in conspicuous consumption, in obesity and diabetes. Need I say more?”
“So why don’t they start the scale down at the top. Surely if the elite ate less, the rest would follow?”
“The elite don’t eat that much; they already know what’s sensible and most are also health and appearance conscious.”
“What about drink?” I said this because he’d had three glasses of wine to my one.
“Ah that’s different,” he winked and ordered another bottle.
That night, I slept in the embassy, and despite all the excitement, I did sleep soundly although I did dream of Egypt and my past life. I knew Set would be livid at my escapades so far. If I lost, eternity would be very difficult, he’d make sure of that. Even in my sleep, I found myself chanting Hebrew God names to keep him at bay and the most vivid of these dreams occurred just before I woke.
I was seated at a table with Robert Storey, we were eating live animals, even the vegetables were screaming at us and bleeding as we cut them. He saw my horrified look and calmly said, “Collateral damage, there’ll be plenty more before my master finishes.”
I was feeling sick when I woke up, and almost vowing never to eat meat again, I’d even look twice at a carrot before I munched my way through it in future. I wondered if something in my dream indicated that Storey was also a bad guy. His master? What was that about? His energies felt fine, he could also have killed me, or was the plan to do that later; after they got the president ? By keeping track of what I was doing, there was more chance of stopping me or laying traps. Damn, this business was so difficult, not knowing who to trust.
I showered and dressed in the clothes that had been left for me, a suit and blouse. If these were from the same donor, she must have a very depleted wardrobe by now. I’d just had breakfast when John and Don arrived. I introduced them to Robert Storey.
Storey led us to an office and we sat with cups of coffee while we discussed what we knew so far. John knew not to say too much, as did Don. “The trail has gone cold, we tried to intercept the aircraft, because at that stage we didn’t know if there was much of a bomb on board or what was going to happen in the embassy.”
“Our forensic team are still going over bits of the aircraft, they worked all night in conjunction with your Special Branch people.” Storey, looked as if he’d been up most of the night as well, he yawned and rubbed his eyes. “Sorry, it’s been a long twenty four hours.”
We all agreed on that. “So where do we go from here?” asked Storey.
“Ask Wonder Woman, she’s the navigator.”
“I hope that’s not a jibe at my sense of direction, John Anderson.”
“Jamie, would I do such a thing?”
“I think we keep following up leads and pool what we get, how does that sound?” As I said it, I knew that neither the Yanks nor us would tell everything, we’d be trying to neutralise any further threat.
“Maybe we should have sent one of our guys with you?” said Storey.
“What, and have one of us stay with you?” I asked.
“That wasn’t what I meant entirely, you know, have someone acting as a liaison between our teams.”
“Why don’t we just agree to inform each other of any new information?”
“Why do I get the impression that neither of us is trusting the other?” Storey looked at each of us in turn.
“Several of your countrymen have tried to terminate me. Could that have something to do with it?”
“Yeah, but that was before...” As he looked at Don, I caught sight of his eye, it looked rather reptilian. It was only for a micro-second, but when I tried to probe his energy, it was behind a firewall. There was something not Kosher about Mr Storey. I needed us to get away from here and from him and quickly.
“I need to get some of my own clothes, generous as you people have been, it isn’t quite the same as my own, I also need to visit the office–I asked for some searches to be done, I’d like to see what they found.”
John gave me a very strange look then seemed to read my mind and said nothing. I looked at him and he mentioned the car was outside and he and Don were ready when I was. I think Story was uptight when we left although I did agree to keep him informed of new developments, I think he began to realise that I’d twigged him, which meant we were possibly in more danger than before.
“We’ll meet again, Jamie, hopefully in more happy circumstances.”
I shook his hand and for a moment felt the energy inside it, it wasn’t nice. “For you or me, Mr Storey ?”
“Both of us I’m sure, we’re all working towards the same end, after all.”
“I do hope so, after all remember, the good guys always win.”
“Especially with you around, eh?”
“No, it is written, in the second Book of the Dead, that Set shall have his dominion amongst the dead, but that the world of the living, shall, under the protection of my lord Horus, triumph over the dead and celebrate with my lord Osiris, the victory over death. That means the good guys win...”
“Does it now, sounds more like wishful thinking of some old Egyptian, someone who couldn’t face his own mortality. But then you believe all that stuff, don’t you?”
“We shall see who’s right, won’t we?” The three of us walked towards the car.
“Nice guy,” said Don.
“So why’s Jamie got a problem with him?” John was getting better at reading me.
“I don’t know whose side he’s on, but I strongly suspect it ain’t ours. The car will be bugged and I have a bad feeling about it.”
“Like what?” asked John.
“It’s been tampered with. Oh, maybe I’m imagining things, it’s been a long few days.” I flipped the hair out of my eyes.
“We could get a cab back to the office, get someone to check ours out.” Don, ever the practical one ran ahead and flagged down a cab. About fifteen minutes later we were back at the office.
I checked my mobile, it had a text from Col Bell asking why I wasn’t with the president. I sent him one back, ‘Needed clean knickers!’ I practically savoured it going down like the proverbial lead balloon.
Don had managed to locate the airfield in Surrey, so he went off to sniff about down there. John felt that I was at risk on my own, and insisted on driving with me back to Oxford. We took my mini, because it wasn’t as well known as his 4x4, and an hour and a bit later we emerged at our house. Daddy was there, still researching his Browning.
“Hi, Daddy,” I said pecking him on the cheek, “How’s Bisto going?”
“Hello, darling, Bisto?”
“Yeah, Old Bisto, you know, browning, gravy browning...”
“Oh yes, very droll.” He looked at John and they shook hands, “How are you, young man?”
“Probably owing you and Mrs Curtis an apology.”
“What for?”
“I’ve said some awful things to you about Jamie and this family, and I want to say that I take them all back. I was totally wrong and out of line. I’m really sorry.”
“Apology accepted. I hoped you’d eventually understand what Jamie went through and that she’s as near perfect a woman as you’ll ever find, as well as being rather beautiful.”
“Agreed.”
“Look, you two, one of you put the kettle on, I need to collect some clothes, we can’t stop, Daddy, duty calls.”
I packed a suitcase and included some casuals as well as more formal stuff. I also changed into some corduroy jeans and a jumper. I could leave the case in the boot of my car and have small store of clothes to use—and thus, be able to change at the office. They had a shower there, so it could be worse.
After a cuppa and snack, I did some sardines on toast for everyone, we set off back to London, this time John drove and I snoozed. “We’re home,” he said patting my knee.
I looked around, “This isn’t the office.”
“No, it’s my flat.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t sure what I thought.
“Don’t worry, I haven’t brought you back to ravish you, I’ve got two bedrooms. I just thought it would be easier to get an early start than driving from Oxford.”
“Yes, good idea.” He took my case and led me up the steps to his flat. It was on the top floor of an oldish house, but not Victorian or that old. It was a three storey house, and his flat had its own staircase, outside. It was very narrow and the handrail was a bit rickety in places.
“Is this yours or do you rent it?” I asked.
“Why? Looking for a man of property, are you?”
“Not especially, I just thought it might be a good idea to fix the loose handrail and I wanted to know if I complained to you or your landlord.”
“Me. If you think that’s bad wait until you see the bathroom, and the kitchen—maybe you’d better not go in there...”
He opened the door to the flat and bid me enter. The place was immaculate, the bathroom was small but in good order, with a separate loo; as for the kitchen, it was super, smaller than Mum’s but everything was there and the sink was clean and clear of dirty dishes.
“Your room,” he said opening the door to a modest sized bedroom, with a three-quarter bed and small wardrobe and chest of drawers. I felt the bed, it was comfortable.
“Thanks,” I said and kissed him, “Where do you sleep?” He showed me his room, which was larger and had television on top of the chest of drawers. The bed was a double and there were two wardrobes. It looked out over the street. The back garden belongs to the guy on the ground floor, and the woman on the middle floor has the front garden. I however, have the garage, so officially the drive is mine. Did you want to make an inspection, ma’am?”
“Of the drive, Sergeant?”
“No the garage, ma’am.”
“I don’t think I need to do I?”
“It’s where I keep my bike and loads of other stuff.”
“I didn’t know you cycled?”
“Why, do you?”
“Yes, I thought everyone knew that.”
“No, not everyone,” he blushed, “please no jokes about military intelligence.”
“When I saw you and Don, it went up rather a lot in my estimation.” I put my arms around his neck and pulled him towards me, and our lips met. We kissed and my body ached for him, but he pushed us apart.
“Not yet princess, we have work to do.”
“We do?” I pouted feeling disappointed
“We have a band of would-be assassins to catch.”
“Oh, that, yeah.” I shrugged, he was right.
“There’s a nice little curry house down the road, hungry?”
“Um,” I tapped my tummy, “Yes, but not for curry, I’m not terribly keen on them.”
“They do an extra mild one.”
“Do they do any English food?”
“Yeah, I’m sure they do.”
“Okay, let’s go then.” I brushed my hair and put on some fresh lippy and we set off for this Indian restaurant.
The meal was adequate rather than memorable and I felt full and sleepy as we walked back to John’s flat. “So what was wrong with Storey?”
“I don’t know, it almost felt as if he was completely different from the man I had dinner with the night before.”
“What? An imposter?”
“Shit! John you are a genius,” I kissed him hard on the lips and broke off. His face was a picture. “Come on we need to get back to the embassy.”
“Explain, please,” he said as he followed me in running back to his flat.
“I will on the way, come on, we need to hurry or he’s going to be toast.” I didn’t add, ‘he may be already.’
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
“Just what do you think has happened?” John asked as he drove my car back towards Grosvenor Square.
“We met a chameleon.”
“What, one of those lizard things that catches flies?”
I nodded.
“Does Storey know someone is keeping pets in his embassy?”
“I’m willing to bet he does, or did.”
“Past tense—that bad is it?”
“I fear so. I couldn’t put my finger on what was so different about him this morning.”
“This morning? Why does that worry me?”
“You’re old fashioned and jealous; both very laudable qualities in a suitor.”
“In a what? Jamie, I thought it was your dad who was doing the historical research?”
“Can we leave my car somewhere near the office and get a cab?”
“I thought we were in a hurry?”
“We are, but I haven’t finished paying for it yet and I’d hate to lose it. Besides, it might help to disguise our approach.”
“Okay,” he drove into the office car park and we left the car, him handing me the keys as we ran out into the street to flag down a cab.
“Where to, Guv?”
“US embassy and make it snappy.”
“Ain’t the President there?”
“I don’t know, but I do know we’re not, so please step on it.”
“Right you are, Guv.” The cabby busied himself with driving his cab. I hoped he couldn’t see the edge of the holster projecting just beyond John’s jacket. I poked it back inside his jacket and told him to do his jacket up. I think he thought I was being flirtatious when I said, ‘your weapon is showing,’ and he glanced down at his trousers. My face fell and he blushed.
“So, what do you think has happened?” John asked changing the subject away from his armament.
“I’m not sure, but they’ve got Storey. The man I had dinner with last night is different to the one you met this morning.”
“Different? Couldn’t he just have had a bad night or something, he has got a lot on his mind.”
“It was a different man, he had lizard eyes.”
“I didn’t notice that, are you sure?”
“I saw them, John, his defences slipped for a moment and I saw what I was feeling: something was very odd about him.”
“You saw what you were feeling?”
“Yes, his energy was very funny, when we shook hands he felt very strange—nothing like last night when I shook hands with the real Storey. This was more like Oliver.”
“I thought you’d dealt with him.”
“Nah, he’s worse than a boomerang kid, he just keeps coming back.”
“Boomerang kid?”
“John, don’t you ever read newspapers?”
“Sometimes, why?”
“Boomerang kids are those who parents encourage them to leave, only for them to return home when they realise how expensive it is to live in their own place. It often happens several times.”
“Yeah, okay–I’ve got ya.”
“Good, now how much longer is this going to take?” I looked out of the window and didn’t recognise anywhere, “This isn’t Grosvenor Square.”
“Hey, Driver, what are you doing?” said John loudly banging on the glass.
“Getting rid of you two,” he called back and pointed a gun at us.
“As soon as he stops, get out,” I hissed at John, “and don’t look back until I tell you.” The cab stopped in a quiet street exactly below a street light. It would be just enough energy to enable me to transform.
In the moment it took him to pull the car into the kerbside, I’d pushed John out and switched into the Egyptian One. No shots were fired, but there was an awful smell of burning flesh and a mess over the cab as his viscera exploded with the sudden heat he felt.
“Jeezz-us,” I heard exclaimed as I switched back. “Did you have to kill him?”
“’Fraid so. Come on we have to run.”
As we did he said, “How long have you been doing that?”
“Doing what?” I glanced into his eyes and wiped that instant from his memory.
“What did you say?” he asked looking perplexed, “I was going to ask you something but I can’t think what?”
“Where will we get a cab round here, perhaps?”
“Could have been, there’s one.” He ran ahead and flagged it down and we jumped inside. This time we got to Grosvenor Square without incident although getting into the embassy was more difficult.
“Mr Storey is out,” said the guard, so I had to give him a little of the fluence and he let us in and gave us visitor badges. He then went and sat at his desk and I instructed him to arrest Storey if he showed up unless I told him otherwise.
“How do you do that?” asked John still trying to remember what I caused him to forget.
“Easy, why?”
“I hope you won’t do it to me.”
“Would I do a thing like that?” I asked innocently.
“Hmmm,” was all he’d say in reply. “Now, oh leonine one, where does your goddess intelligence tell you they’re holding Storey?”
“I think we need to ask it—or them.” John jumped nervously as I called up a pair of lionesses, “Find Robert Storey and let me know where he is—do not let yourselves be seen.” I sent off my search party.
“How long will they take?” asked John feeling less anxious now they’d gone.
“You don’t like my girls, do you?”
“They look so real.”
“They are.”
“Yeah, like real lions can simply walk through walls or doors?”
“How else will they search the place, he’s hardly likely to be sitting in his suite awaiting rescue, is he?”
“How would I know? He could be.”
“You wait here,” I said to John shoving him in an unused office. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Where are you going, Jamie?”
“To check out his rooms.”
“How do you know where they are?”
“Storey and I go way back—but that’s another story. Trust me,” I gave him a huge smile and went off. I met one of the big cats coming out of his rooms—he wasn’t there. Hardly a surprise.
“Excuse me? Should you be up here?” challenged a woman military cop.
“Yeah, just doin’ some liaisin’ with Bob, if ya know what I mean?” I winked at her.
“You that Brit agent who saved the President?”
“Why? You have a problem with that?”
“Hell, no, ma’am, I’d like to shake your hand.” She reached out hers and I’ll never learn, as soon as I put mine in it, she pulled out a gun and pushing it into my abdomen said, “Mr Storey said you was a double agent.”
“I think he might be mistaken. If I was why would I risk my neck saving your president?”
“Don’t evade the issue, you spies are a devious lot.”
“Put the gun away and lets go and see Mr Storey together.”
“I can’t do that, ma’am.”
“If you don’t I shall make a complaint about you.”
“Go ahead, but the gun stays.”
“I see. Might I suggest that a friend of mine is right behind you and she gets nervous when she sees me under threat. She then becomes unpredictable.”
“You cain’t fool me with that ol’ one.” I did try to warn her, I nodded then lioness growled quietly and my would be captress went white and turned around, whereupon four hundred pounds of large moggie reared up and knocked the gun away. I cautioned her to wait before applying any coup de grace, so she sat in front of the woman purring. The WMP went very white and collapsed in my arms. I emptied her pistol and put it back in her holster.
“In a moment you are going to wake up—you’ll feel great, as if you’d just had a refreshing sleep, and you won’t remember challenging me or seeing anything unusual. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” she opened her eyes and I helped her to stand up.
“Well, Doreen, you were going to take me to see Bob Storey.”
“I was? Oh yeah, I sure was, this way Capt Curtis.” She led me down to the duty
officer. “We need to see Mr Storey, Loo-tenant.”
“He ain’t here, who’s this anyhow?”
“Capt Curtis, British secret service.”
“You the woman who saved the President?” he asked.
“She is, Sir.”
“Sure good to meet ya, Captain.” We shook hands and this time no guns were drawn or lionesses appeared.
“You know this building pretty well?”
“Like the back of my hand, ma’am,” he replied.
“If I wanted to imprison someone here without being discovered, say for a few days, where would I best do it?”
“What illegally incarcerate someone, like after abduction?” He was quick, this young man, I could see how he’d become an officer.
“There ain’t nowhere, like that, someone would see ya or the CCTV would.”
“So every attic or basement storeroom has CCTV?”
“No, but most corridors do.”
“So, you can see me on TV now, can you?” I asked innocently.
“Sure,” he turned to his monitors and flipped through the channels. “Hey, there’s some malfunction, the camera is on but we cain’t see ya.”
“So they do go wrong then?”
“Not very often, ma’am. I’ll get maintenance on it.”
“Maybe it’s me, I have a funny affect on machines.” Coincidently, as I spoke his whole bank of screens went down.”
“Aw hell an’ tarnation, ma’am, we’ve got a real emergency.”
“Whoa, lieutenant, just wait a second, answer my question and they’ll sort themselves.”
“I cain’t, this here is an emergency.”
“Lieutenant, nothing is more important than my instructions, is it?”
“No, ma’am.”
“So, where would you incarcerate someone?”
“In the basement, ma’am, behind the cleaning stores. No one never goes there.”
“Do you know this place?” I asked the young WMP.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Take me there, would you?”
“Sure will, though it ain’t got nought but spidey cobwebs and dust.”
“I’m sure I’ll cope.” I said smiling.
She led me off to an Otis elevator, and we went down three floors. Then we wandered down several corridors, there was no one about but most of the doors seemed shut and probably locked anyway. On either side of the corridor, appeared a lioness and each of them checked out one of the sides of the corridor. Towards the end, they met with some resistance and came back to flank me. There was something odd about the end room.
“Do you have pass keys?” I asked her.
“For these I do, not the Pres or VP, or the Sec of State. Ya know, VIPs and visiting dignitaries.”
“Could you open this door?” I pointed to the one next to the suspect room. She did looking very perplexed. I put my finger to my lips. The room was an abandoned crockery store, with the odd broken cup and saucer lying about, and helpfully, an intact glass. I quietly shoved it against the wall and listened. Voices were murmuring on the other side of it. I beckoned my guide and invited her to listen. Her perplexed look got much worse.
“What in hell’s goin’ on in there?”
“I don’t know, but unless you have talking detergents and mops, it certainly isn’t cleaning supplies.”
“What d’we do?” she looked very anxious.
“Summon back up, and make sure we loaded our gun?”
She called on her security radio for back up and suggested I leave the area. I suggested differently and she accepted my opinion. The lieutenant arrived two minutes later with two more MPs, big strapping blokes.
He instructed one to open the door. The pass key wouldn’t fit. So the Lieutenant began banging on the door---not always the wisest thing to do when you don’t know what’s behind it.
For a moment nothing happened, then there was a smell of sulphur—God, that was awful and we withdrew to a safe breathing distance. He sent the woman MP to get gas masks. “What the hell is in there?” he asked me.
“I’m not sure, but I suspect it’s Mr Storey and some nasty things to guard him.”
“Nasty like what?”
“You don’t really want to know.”
“How can I beat them then?”
“With difficulty. Get me some salt and a bucket of water.”
“Salt and water? You’re kidding me?”
“It won’t work for long but there’s no sunshine down here, so I can’t do much to help.”
“Guns?”
“Not unless you want to waste ammunition.”
“Shit, what do we do?”
“Throw salt water over anything that moves.”
“Will that stop them?”
“Long enough to attempt a rescue.”
“Of who?”
“Mr Storey,” I smiled.
“But I saw him go out earlier.”
“Ah–ah, you thought you saw him go out.”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.”
“There is a subtle difference between actually seeing something and thinking you saw it.”
“Yeah, I know, I ain’t stoopid.”
“I know, Lieutenant, but I’m trying to explain something you wouldn’t understand if I told you the truth.”
“Try me.”
“Okay, we’re dealing with thought forms produced by a group of very powerful sorcerers who want to kill the President.”
“What like Harry Potter?” Oh boy what do these guys do when they grow up?
“Yeah, only this is real, not figments of JK Rowling’s imagination. They can and will hurt you.”
“No shit?”
“Absolutely none, scout’s honour.” I lifted three fingers to my temple to emphasise the point.
The buckets of water and containers of cooking salt arrived, as did another officer with a small explosive device. I took them into a side room and after performing a small ritual blessed the salt and the water. They all had expressions of horror on their faces. I then flicked a small amount of water and salt over each of them.
“This will protect you for about two minutes, once we get entry.” I doused myself with the same.
“I thought garlic was best, ma’am.”
“Not unless you’re planning on casseroling them, then I’d add celeriac, too.” This made everyone laugh and the mood lightened. I mixed the salt into the water and after the required incantations pronounced it ready.
“Throw the salt water over anything and anybody in that room. Ignore what you see, imagine that you have something like Luke Skywalker’s light sabre with you, powered by the sun. Also imagine you are surrounded by a powerful white light. Guns, are useless and you are more likely to get hurt with them—so no guns, Okay?” They all nodded. “I know it sounds strange but trust me, on this.”
Finally, I laid a line of salt halfway along the corridor and charged it. In my incantation I made it act like a firewall which would permit the passage of me and mine but no other elementals or thought forms. I set it flaming watched my two girls looking on from the other side of the line. They would protect our backs as we started the rescue.
The door was blown and with flashlights and gas masks we charged into the room, I cast pentagrams at horrible creatures, and was rewarded with bits of goo flying all over the place. Storey, or I presume it was he, was being guarded by a very large serpent which appeared to breathe sulphurous fumes at any who went near.
I threw a pentagram at its middle which caused the smoke to emerge from there instead, and followed it up with a bucket of the salt water across its face. It had the same effect as pouring salt on a slug—it melted into a mess of sticky slime. I and another MP grabbed the victim we assumed was Storey, he was swathed in bandages and I threw salt water on him just in case. We dragged him out and evacuated the room in just over a minute, closing the door with a padlock as we left. Then with two of the stronger men carrying our rescuee, we ran off down the corridor and back to relative safety.
Once the bandages were removed, we could all see it was Storey, except he seemed in some sort of trance. I couldn’t shift it, so decided to leave it to the doctors to try–it could just be drug induced. He was carted off to the sickbay and a doctor summoned.
“How did ya know he was in there?”
“I didn’t, it was a guess, but if I was the enemy, that’s what I’d have done.”
“Glad you’re on our side, then.”
“Yeah, the side of the angels.” I collected John and we called by to see how Storey was doing. It was a drug and before we left he was conscious and we spoke briefly. He was very tired but thanked me for saving him. I reminded him we hadn’t finished yet, and a nest of vipers in a supposed safe place wasn’t anything to be pleased about. He told me he’d organised a clean-up from a specialist CIA team who dealt with such things. If they were cleaning up for me, I’m not sure I’d be too happy, but they weren’t, so we’d have to make do as we could.
“Thanks,” said John as we left.
“That’s okay.”
“I was being sarcastic.”
“Why?”
“I’m supposed to be protecting you, not you keeping me out of the line of action.”
“You’re protecting me now,” I said shoving my arm around his waist and making him put his arm around me.
“It’s not the same though, is it?”
“Horses for courses. You keep me physically safe and I keep the bogeymen away.”
“Grrr,” he said as we walked to the cab and all I could do was chuckle.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
“I’m still trying to work out what is happening here,” John mused as we drove back to the office. “We have a renegade group of Yanks who are trying to kill their own President and start a crusade against the Muslims–is that about right?”
“It would be if you added that they are an occultist group of some expertise and power, and who seemed to know about me before I knew about them.”
“How would they do that?”
“I have one suggestion, but you won’t like it?”
“Hocus pocus stuff is it?”
“What if this was all preordained.”
“Like destiny?”
“Yes, that it’s no coincidence that I incarnated when I did, nor was it one when I was injured as a child stopping a normal puberty for a boy, and then the army mistake. Perhaps I did try to avoid my destiny and it didn’t work." I sat back overawed by what I’d just said.
“Which is?”
“To serve my Lady for all eternity.”
“What that Egyptian lioness thing?”
“John, please be respectful, she has saved your life at least once.”
“Oh okay, but probably only because she needed me to help you.”
“Probably, “I said glancing at him out of the corner of my eye.
“Oh great, that makes me feel really good.”
I smirked and he slapped my shoulder. “Why do we have to have all this Egyptian stuff anyway, why not some good old British hoodoo instead.”
“Essentially, because this is a battle between good and evil; the evil being the worshippers of Set. The good guys, viz. us, are supporters of Horus, Osiris and Sekhmet who represents Ra–the warrior goddess, but then there were a few of them in Egypt, even Baast, the cat headed goddess could fight her corner.”
“So why weren’t you with her? Pussy cats about the place I could cope with, but those bloody great felines of yours...”
“Frighten you? C’mon we’re here.”
John paid the taxi and I ran over to my car and quickly scanned it. Nobody had touched it, or disturbed the energies of it. I imagined throwing a golden blanket over it then a black one, carefully marking where it was, because shortly no one would see it.
It wouldn’t become invisible like under Harry Potter’s cape, but no one would notice it, unless they wanted to park there and then they be aware there was a car there but no more than that. It’s an old trick, try it sometime, see if the traffic warden misses you? Just remember where you put it though because you might not find it otherwise.
We’d barely made the first cup of tea when Don phoned. He had a lead on some of the names of the aircraft group. I told him to be careful, I had some misgivings about him working on his own, he laughed and told me he’d be careful.
I phoned Andy Wilson in Oxford. “Do you know of any groups in the States who might be into Set, in a big way and I mean big?”
“Over there they have groups who study or follow any and everything. I believe some even follow Sekhmet.”
“Yes, very funny. I’m hunting a group who have designs on creating enough chaos to possibly cause huge war between the West and Islam.”
“There’s plenty of those on both sides, aren’t there and they don’t need magick just Kalashnikovs and Semtex.”
“The group I’m hunting would be very much into chaos magick, but using Set as their master.”
“Chaos magick is much more recent.”
“I know, but the Ancient Ones are not averse to using new ideas, if it achieves their aims.”
“I believe you’re sincere Jamie, and I’m aware you have something very special in your gift, but I honestly think you’re off beam with this Egyptian stuff.”
“Could you use what contacts you have, Dr Wilson, and just see if there’s anything, particularly in the Washington DC area.”
“Are you joking?”
“No, why?”
“Washington is full of occultists. Have you never read Dan Brown’s books?”
“Eh?”
He laughed loudly into the phone, “I take it you haven’t?”
“No, why–am I missing something?”
“Only a good yarn based on pure hokum.”
“I see,” actually I didn’t, but I wasn’t going to admit to it, “Would you try your contacts–I’m looking for a group powerful enough to create thought forms which can kill people.”
“That is pretty powerful, are you sure you want to get involved with those sort of people, Jamie, sounds rather dangerous for a young woman.”
“If I told you I was probably nearer six thousand years old, would that make a difference?”
“I should imagine your pension scheme has folded by now.”
“Probably, look will you help me?”
“If I can find a few minutes later, I might.”
“Andy, this is vitally important, they’re trying to kill the US President.”
“Oh yeah, the other day, a plane crashed into the embassy. But that wasn’t chaos magick, just some loony suicide bomber.”
“They set him up, believe me, I have evidence.”
There was silence on the end of the phone.
“Andy? Andy are you okay?”
“Sorry, yeah–I was just trying to get my head round the fact that Tom Curtis’ daughter is trying to catch foreign agents who dabble in spookery.”
“Well ignore your prejudices and speak to your contacts before the world as we know it comes to a very bloody end.”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“How about, deadly serious?”
“Okay, I’ll make some calls.”
“Thank you.”
I left John making enquiries about any and all the leads we’d developed which weren’t many. I went off and sat on my own trying to get a feel for exactly who we were fighting. Most of the groups are harmless eccentrics who couldn’t call up a god or goddess if you gave them their personal phone numbers. They enjoy themselves and believe they’re unlocking the secrets of the past. Mostly they’re self deluding but do no harm, except to themselves–many are unbalanced to begin with, and it can tip them over the edge. I needed to find the name of the group who were powerful enough to do all they wanted and were clever enough to know how–add, psycho and megalomaniac enough as well, and you just about have the mix required.
I threw some pentagrams around the room and began to chant in a language I didn’t understand anymore, but could tap into. Sitting in a semi-lotus position, I tuned in to the energies of ancient Egypt and I hoped of my Lady.
Whilst my mind floated in the mists of time it began to hear names like they were whispered by the wind. One or two seemed to be repeated over and over. I tried to memorise them before I left the trance state I was in. Gettysburg, Arlington, Robert E Lee, Bastille, Naseby, Worcester.
“Jamie, are you alright?” called John’s voice from a distance.
“Oh my head is splitting,” I groaned, “but I know what’s going on.”
“There’s a Dr Wilson on the phone from Oxford, said you asked him to call you.”
“Oh did I?” I shook my head, “Of course, Andy Wilson, I’ll be straight out,” just as soon as I can get my legs to work again–I was so stiff. Looking at my watch, I’d been adrift for nearly three hours–there has to be an easier way to earn a living.
“Hello, Andy,” I hoped I spoke clearly down the phone.
“Right, I’ve got lectures in five minutes, write this down: Arlington Fallen Research Group, and Gettysburg Fallen Research Group–oh and there’s a funny lot who go under the Robert E Lee Restoration Society. They’re all occultists with a great deal of secrecy surrounding them and no one knows quite why?”
“Thanks Andy, that is a real help.”
“Is it? Good gracious, oh well if I’ve saved the prezzie, can they send the Congressional Medal over here, I hate flying.”
“How do you get to Egypt, then?”
“Yes but that’s pleasure not business.”
“I think the mention in despatches is probably all you’ll get, I’m trying to keep it all under wraps, these guys aren’t taking prisoners.”
“Oh shite–okay, ma’am, gotta go.” He rang off and I sat and drank the tea John so helpfully provided.
“Well?”
“I’m beginning to understand–and I think I know who these guys are.”
“Wow, give the lady a coconut.”
“No, they contain saturated fats. I prefer walnuts or hazel nuts.”
“What do you think you are a bloody squirrel?”
“You started it.”
I drank my tea and flirted with John–okay it’s against office policy but once this job is finished, that’s me, outta here, maybe I’ll go back to nursing or even think about doing a degree besides the nursing one. Egyptology? I could do, but it could get embarrassing if I found my previous body, couldn’t it?
“So, Miss Clever Clogs, how about explaining your understanding of what’s going on to this poor mortal, who hasn’t got a clue.
“It’s really very simple; at several times during the past millennia there have been major upheavals in various places, the English Civil War, the French Revolution, the American Civil War and even larger conflicts, crusades, World Wars I & II. These have been predicated by followers of Set.”
“Are you trying to tell me that World War Two was caused by some idiot Egyptian megalomaniac rather than some idiot Austrian megalomaniac?”
“Not quite, but nearly. Set has had followers for a very long time, several thousands of years and they have dedicated themselves and their resources to be close to their chosen one. So they can finance wars and political upheavals, massacres and other chaotic events such as Rwanda and probably the current Zimbabwean situation.”
“Oh c’mon, Jamie, that’s like saying the Devil is causing all this.”
“In Christian terms, he is.”
He started to laugh, “I thought you said you understood what was going on and you give me a fairytale. Admit it, you don’t know do you?”
“John, this isn’t fairytales, this is the countdown for a modern day Armageddon, if the West through Nato get drawn into a huge war around the Middle East, then the Russians or Chinese could get sucked in too and before we know it, World War Three is here and it could be the war to end all wars–if it goes, nuclear, biological or chemical.”
“If the Yanks nuke China, who’s going to make those little plastic things they put in cereal packets?” He frowned and pretended to be upset.
“Perhaps your question should be, who’s going to be able to grow enough cereal to make bread let alone toasted or puffed whatevers?”
“Convince me.”
“There will be two things that will happen to set it all off, then a number of minor ones. Firstly, they kill the US president–has to be seen as an attack by a mad Muslim, then someone like Syria or Iran attacks Israel. As the US gets ready to go to war, someone kills a high ranking Russian or Chinese politician and is linked to the current conflict–perhaps a Georgian kills the Russian president and war starts there. They escalate and before long you have big or superpowers up against each other and not fighting by proxy but directly. The world becomes unstable and chaos reigns. Set has achieved his goal.”
“But this used to happen before, and still does on a smaller scale.”
“It will always happen the scale is different because of the power groups involved, if you think Muslim, then there’s the middle east, Pakistan, Afghanistan and various other ‘stans up into Asia and the old Soviet Bloc, then there’s bits of Africa like Ethiopia and Yemen. Only South America avoids it, and they too could get drawn in by the warring countries.”
“Okay, so you’ve half convinced me it could happen, except I would hope that many of the governments would see the folly of their actions.”
“Yeah? So why did they invade Iraq?”
“Don’t get me started on that one, I’ve lost too many friends out there.”
“But it happens, so don’t worry it still could. Plus the fact these guys have the ability to make apparent clones. You met the cloned Storey, he fooled you, he may have fooled his president as well. They have weapons most governments couldn’t stop or even understand. How would they stop Oliver? Would they believe me if I told them? It would be like a survivor of a skirmish in the English Civil War telling his commander that the enemy had attack helicopters. He wouldn’t be able to describe something he didn’t understand to somebody incapable of understanding him. Would he have the concept of machines? So flying machines would be the devil’s work or flying demons spouting death to all they met. How would you counter them–cannons and muskets wouldn’t stop a helicopter armed with gatling guns and rockets.”
“Okay, you’ve made your point. How do we stop them?”
“We don’t, I do.”
“I thought we were in this together?” John seemed hurt by my seeming dismissal of him.
“Look my handsome hunk, I seem to be the only one who recognises these guys for what they are, which is why they keep trying to kill me.”
“Are you the only one who can stop them?”
“If I incarnated now, why haven’t others, my Lady is all seeing, so why have I no help to do this?” I had been so rapt in my situation before that it hadn’t occurred to me I might need help of similar reincarnatees.
“How am I supposed to know? Perhaps she thinks you can handle it by yourself.”
“I’m pretty sure I can’t.”
“Well that’s where Don and I come in, just a couple of run of the mill super-heroes who happened across you.”
“Oh well, no worry then.” I looked serious then burst out laughing, still laughing I added, “The only reason we’re not crying is we don’t understand the seriousness of this situation. We could all be dead in a few weeks.”
“How do we stop it?”
“In two ways, we stop them killing the president, and hunt them down.”
“What do we do in the afternoon?” John remained facetious.
“This could take weeks if not years–but I have a feeling, it’s prophesised to happen soon.”
“By whom?”
“Set and his little friends.”
“John get Don back and the two of you find out what you can about these US occultist groups, I’m going to Oxford to see Dr Wilson.”
“What’s wrong with UCL?”
“Nothing it’s a fine university, but I have a feeling Andy Wilson is holding back on me.”
“He’s not one of them, is he?” asked John.
“He isn’t gay as far as I know.”
“No–one of the Set set?”
“Very good, I don’t think so, but I have been wrong before.”
“Be careful, Jamie, once this is all over I’d like to get to know you better, I mean really better.”
“That could be arranged.” I answered and my tummy flipped, I think I was in love with this man.
I drove back to Oxford leaving John to do as much research as he could about the US secret groups, this investigating was so tiring that I felt my eyes closing once or twice and I stopped at a motorway service area and had a walk, a wee and cup of coffee.
I wasn’t sure if it was tiredness or imagination, but I felt sure someone was watching me. I kept looking behind me but couldn’t see anyone particularly paying me attention. I stopped at the fuel area and shoved in a few litres of petrol, still scanning for my stalker–the feeling was getting stronger.
I saw no one in particular–well not until I was on the exit road leading out to the motorway and I spotted an articulated lorry hammering down behind me. Bearing in mind this is a mini, one of the original type not yer German rubbish, it looked very dangerous. I had a second or two to act and just before he would have hit me–probably into the middle of next week, and certainly into the path of fast moving traffic, I pulled off the road and behind the crash barrier. He caught the edge of the barrier and it caused the cab to do wheelies, the next moment it flipped on its side and she slid out across all three lanes. The noise of screaming metal as it scraped across the carriageways was awful but not as bad as the impacts with smashing metal and glass.
The police were on the scene in seconds, they told me to stay where I was. I told them I couldn’t.
“Look ‘ere, Miss, I’m the officer attending and you’ll do as I say.”
“I don’t think so, officer.”
“Then I’ll have to arrest you.”
“I don’t think so, officer.”
“You takin’ the piss, Miss,” he smirked at his rhyming skills.
I reached in to my bag and he stepped back. I flashed my identity at him, “That lorry tried to kill me.”
“In which case, we need you to make a statement.”
“Tough, I think you have enough to play with, watch me back will you, I have some wanna be murderers to intercept.”
“Well if they’re as bad as this one, you might just catch ‘em.”
“ ‘Ere, aren’t you that nurse woman.”
“Well you got half of it right, I’m a woman.”
“No the one with all the medals?”
“Probably not, they don’t use nurses in the SIS.”
“Can I see your ID again.”
I sighed and showed it to him again. “So the double zero isn’t just fiction then?”
“No, I am licensed to do whatever is necessary for the safety of the country.”
“You don’t look old enough to shoot someone, anyway, shouldn’t you be going home to do your homework?”
“Officer, get out of my way, you’re impeding a serious investigation affecting the security of this country and her allies.”
“Yeah sure, I’m still not sure that I should let you go.”
“I have a license to shoot people who get in the way of my mission.”
“Shooting a police officer is a serious offence, besides, I’ve got a vest on,” he smirked again.
“That wouldn’t save you, from this range I would guarantee at least six headshots if not a full mag. You’d be dead before your brains hit the ground, now get out of the way before I demonstrate it.”
“Threatening an officer is a serious offence, and I have it all on video.” He pointed to the mini cam on his vest.
Apart from pissing me off, his second mistake was looking into my eyes. He was last seen sitting on the bonnet of his car, without his clothes, just his hat still in place, singing, ‘Nee naw, nee naw, I’m a police car, nee naw.’ Or at least that was all I could see in my rearview mirror as I managed to drive through the carnage and continue my journey. I put in a call to the office telling them to throw a bucket of cold water over him and he’d wake up, but I wanted to know about the driver of the truck–I’m sure he was ‘possessed’ and instructed to kill me. They would probably decide he was asleep if he survived the accident, which was unlikely.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
I couldn’t believe I was going to Oxford without seeing my parents; but it was the case—in fact as soon as I’d interviewed Andy Wilson, I’d be off elsewhere, probably back to London. Despite the near miss on her life, the President was staying to finish her state visit. I admired her courage, but then she was being protected by the best security service in the world—well the ancient world—viz. moi.
I drove up to his house and parked my car, marking where it was, I made it disappear again by throwing a black veil over it. I made my way up to his front door but something stopped me from ringing the bell. Something didn’t feel at all right. I glanced at my watch it was six o’clock yet the air felt as if it was midnight; it was abnormally cold.
Scrambling over his garden wall I ran down his neighbour’s garden and, trying to avoid stepping on their baby cabbages, I heaved myself over the fence and slithered down behind an apple tree. Andy was sitting at his desk, so what was wrong? Was tiredness and the bizarreness of this case getting to me? After all, I trained as a nurse not SIS operative—that I seemed to have a natural aptitude for the action may be explained by various incarnations—well that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
I knelt behind the apple tree and watched Andy; he seemed to be writing something—with a pen? Has he never heard of computers? Probably not, he was also likely using Egyptian hieratic script. How did I know that? Did he know that? I mean, did he know the protodynastic stuff which evolved into hieratic then the demotic scripts? Its existence is so rare, the papyri having perished, not many so-called experts, are actually fluent in it. Andy is special, he was able to understand something I showed him in this script, the protodynastic stuff. Could he also be another reincarnatee?
If he is why am I getting this horrible sensation that something is very wrong? I waited as the shadows lengthened and it became too dark to read in the garden, yet he was still at his desk, writing and yet I could see no evidence of a light. I suppose he could eat bin loads of carrots, but even that wouldn’t enable him to see in the dark.
Something moved further down the garden. I stayed still, imagining myself covered by a black cloth. I heard a footfall and slowly drew my gun from its holster and eased off the safety catch.
Something or somebody walked close to me. I eased the gun through between my left arm and my ribs and kept my finger on the trigger—trying not to move or breathe too loudly, although I could feel sweat dribble down my back and my knees were hurting after being in one position for so long.
Some more footsteps approached from the house, “Anything?” asked an American accent.
“Naw,” replied another.
“Well, keep lookin’, she’s around somewhere.”
“Yes, boss.”
“Remember, the master does not take kindly to failure.”
“Yeah, I know: has Wilson talked?”
“Not yet, but he will.” They parted, both walking away from me. Keeping my gun in my hand I pulled myself up off the ground using the apple tree as an aid. My knees were screaming in pain and I wondered if I’d ever stand up again let alone walk—a question that was solved by one of them walking in front of me. I stepped out behind him and brought the butt of my gun down on his nape. He fell heavily and I dragged his inert form into the bushes. I undid his belt and tied his hands behind him, then I unlaced his shoes and tied his ankles together and with a bit of discarded garden twine also tied his big toes together. I gagged him with his socks and put his underpants over his head, then his trousers and tied the legs together. I rolled him deeper into the shrubbery and after shoving his gun into the top of my trousers at the back, I crept away sniggering to myself. He would in future to be able to say he was found under a gooseberry bush.
I continued towards the house. I would have to use conventional warfare—hence the lack of lights—they knew so much as a torch beam alighting anywhere on me would enable me to transform into a fiery goddess look-alike and fry the lot of them. I had worried about the security lights coming on but when I’d watched the other guard move back towards the house, they hadn’t activated, so I assumed they’d been turned off or worse. It also explained why Dr Wilson was sitting in the dark writing. It wasn’t him.
Some of these older houses are huge, my parent’s is a modern one—about nineteen thirty something, built in a little close of detached four-bedroomed houses. This one I should guess has about six bedrooms, a couple for servants, plus dressing rooms for the larger bedrooms. There was also a cellar. It isn’t my usual method of entry, but I lifted the top off the coal hole and, lowered myself in, doing a sort of reverse of Father Christmas.
“How nice of you to drop in, Miss Curtis,” said a voice from the gloom. “I don’t know how you got past my men, but it hardly matters does it?”
A glimmer of light shone through the coal hole and I wanted to move to stop it highlighting me from behind. “Who are you?” I asked.
“I’d tell you but seeing as you’ll be dead in a few moments, I don’t think it matters do you?”
“How are you going to kill me?”
“I’m not going to shoot you if that’s what you think, I’ve sent for Oliver, he said he’d like to renew his acquaintance with you. Honestly, girl, I’ve never known him have such passion about someone before.”
While he was talking to me, I was whispering a chant and in my mind drawing flaming pentagrams around the room—it was obvious, whoever this man was, he couldn’t see them. Oh good, because that meant he couldn’t see three hundred pounds of female Panthera leo standing behind him.
She nudged his leg, he shouted and I fired three times at where his voice had emanated. I could have asked her to bash him, but I wanted him out of the running permanently. I did let her chase his soul and devour it. I felt for a light switch, it didn’t work. They must have turned the power off at the mains. I threw further pentagrams at the door—it would take Oliver some minutes to get through them.
I tried to make out the man I’d just shot. It felt as if one bullet had caught him in the neck and two in the chest. I could hear footsteps scrambling about above me. I continued my search of his pockets and shoved any papers I found—including his wallet—into my jacket pocket. I pushed his gun into the front of my trousers. I wouldn’t be able to bend down without shooting my foot off, but I had some spare ammo. I felt in my other jacket pocket and fiddled with the little device I found there. I’d almost forgotten I had it with me.
No sign of Oliver—that was puzzling—then I realised why:—he was coming in through the coal hole, my only escape route. I heard him slithering in. A snake form,
okay, I called up my two mongooses. And they began circling the room in opposite directions. The slithering got louder and I could hear his hissing as he came closer.
One of my mongooses intervened and I could hear the scrap going on—I bid it withdraw, which it did. I took the device from my pocket and twisted the cap and lobbed it.
The bang and the light emitted are designed to blind and confuse an enemy—well one of physical form. I turned my back and fingers in ears began chanting as the thunderflash exploded.
Percy the python didn’t really have much chance:—transforming into the goddess, I thought I heard him hiss, “Oh thit,” just before he got barbecued along with his little friends—the ones the mongooses didn’t get.
Still in Sekhmet form I smashed through the door and ransacked the house looking for Dr Wilson, but of him I found no sign. I changed back and located the main fuse box and brought the lights back. I checked the house again—he didn’t seem to be there.
Sent out two lionesses to search for him, but he was gone. I remembered the wallet and papers from the man I’d shot—a Warren Z Hoffman, financial attaché to the US embassy. Oh dear, I’d shot me a diplomat, which was probably kinder than what his colleagues would do to him with their waterboards. I called in and asked the office to send in a clean-up squad—not forgetting to mention the sleeping beauty under the gooseberry bush.
Presumably the other guard took off once the shooting started, so I alerted the local plod to comb the area for an American wearing a suit, and to be careful, he was armed.
They called me an hour later to say he was in intensive care having decided to mix it with an Armed Response Unit. I spent the time looking through Dr Wilson’s papers—they were all academic stuff—and if I had time to spare would undoubtedly be fascinating, but I didn’t have time. My girls came back—no sign of the missing academic anywhere nearby.
The thought form which had been scribbling at the desk was gone, I probably disintegrated it earlier, but there wasn’t too much mess considering my search, it would only take him a few weeks to clean up with a few friends—um.
I sat in his chair and looked around the room—this was his study—his holy of holies, and although he used his drawing room for meetings of his local weird group, it was just an ordinary room. I glanced around again as I swivelled about in his chair—there was something not quite right here, something I wasn’t seeing.
I scanned his room much more carefully, then I found it—an energy blank, against a fireplace, which had a wood burner stove fitted in it. I poked and prodded, then by happenstance pressed something which clicked on the stove, and it swivelled round revealing a wooden square with a handle on it underneath which was a another handle. When I turned that something clicked on the other side of the room and a bookcase moved slightly. So much for my scanning.
I closed up the secret switch and returned everything to normal before squeezing through behind the bookcase. Through another door, I entered a secret room which was filled with regalia, statuettes and papyri—I could see now, Andy Wilson was a priest of the Egyptian god Thoth. Statuettes of baboons and ibis-headed figures were everywhere and a candle burned in the corner which I assumed faced east.
I pulled out my phone and did an around-room movie photo, which I then sent to my email address. Then I began to poke about—this guy was into serious magick with his god, but most of it was healing spells or academic stuff. Thoth was a bit of a latecomer in the pantheon and he didn’t use magick for aggressive purposes like someone we know, he usually delegated that to one of the more violent types whilst he tried to educate mankind into intelligent beings—arguably he failed, or maybe it’s a work in progress.
I left and sealed his room again—no need for anyone else to find it—although if he’d been in it, he might have still been there when I arrived rather than abducted by the bad guys.
I drove to the Radcliffe—the large hospital in Oxford, and made my way to intensive care. An armed policeman sat outside the injured man’s room. I approached and he challenged me. I flashed my ID.
“Sorry, Miss, no one is allowed entry except doctors and nurses.”
“I am a nurse,” I protested.
“Sorry, Miss, orders is orders.”
“Well done officer, actually, I’m here on a test and I’m delighted to say you passed with flying colours. I smiled at him and he foolishly looked into my eyes. He’s still on guard, but he can’t see me so he won’t see me go either.
The patient was one Alvin Peabody. No wonder he’s a hoodlum—with a name like that he’d either have to be a traveller in ladies undies or a bandit. Mind you if he’d been the other, I might have got some discount on my next purchase of Sloggis.
I sat beside the unconscious man and began to meditate. In maybe ten minutes, I was on the astrals and it probably took me another ten minutes to find dear Alvin. He was wandering confused and reeling from the shock of the bullet that hit him and then the surgery to retrieve said bullet—I wonder if they’re reusable? Mine aren’t, they’re hollow nosed, unless I wing you, you won’t need an ambulance.
“Alvin,” I said as I floated alongside him—I had disguised myself as an angel—okay it’s potentially blasphemous—but this is the astrals and anything goes, and he’d have recognised a lioness.
“Who are you?” he asked me.
“I’m a seraph,” I said fluttering my three pairs of wings while emitting a fiery aura—well I’m too bloody old to be a cherub.
“What do you want?”
“I’ve come to lead you away from here.”
“Am I dead?”
“Not yet.”
“Am I going to die?”
“That would depend on many things.”
“
Like what?”
“How did you come to be here?”
“Some copper shot me.”
“A policeman on earth shot you?”
“Yeah, the bastard—oh, beggin’ ya pardon.”
“I’d prefer it if you didn’t swear in my presence.” I tried to sound like a high level angel, and they don’t get many more brownie points than the seraphim at least in a Christian hierarchy. “Why did he shoot you?”
“I s’pose it was because I tried to shoot him first.”
“Oh dear, what are we going to do with you, Alvin? Do you normally go around shooting at policemen?”
“Just occasionally.”
“Hmm, I’m not sure if you’d be suitable for where I was going to take you.”I lied.
“Are you an ordinary angel?” he asked.
“No, Alvin, I told you, I’m a seraph—normally this interview would be done by an ordinary angel, but they’re busy, some earthquake in South America.”
“Why you got three pairs o’ wings—I thought angels only had two wings, not six—you ain’t no insect are you?”
“Seraphim have six wings: insects, I believe have six legs, you are wasting my time, Alvin, why do you shoot policemen?”
“ ’t’s my job.”
“What sort of job requires you to shoot policemen?”
“Okay, already, I’m a bad guy—does that mean I’m going to hell?”
“In a handcart, I’m afraid.”
“Eh?” he looked puzzled.
“It’s an expression, going to hell in a handcart.”
“Darn it, I go to confession reg’lar, too.”
“I think you might be missing the point of confession, Alvin.”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right?”
“I’m an angel, Alvin, I’m not only right—I’m righteous.” How I didn’t laugh out loud at that I don’t know I suppose it was concentrating on keeping six wings going and projecting a fiery light around me.
“Yeah, sorry. Look is there any way I can avoid going to ’ell? Some guys I used t’know are probably there and they’d probably gi’me a hard time, you know?”
I nodded, “Undoubtedly—especially a few of Sicilian ancestry, if I’m correct?”
“Yes, ma’am—is it okay to call you, ma’am?”
“That’s fine, Alvin, as to escaping your just deserts—that’s more difficult to answer. We don’t do plea bargaining.”
“I just wondered.”
“Were you involved in anything when you were shot, or planning something in the future in earth time—there is no time up here.”
“Yeah, yeah I was.”
“To confess that to me now, may help ameliorate any decision that is taken about your future with certain Sicilian persons.”
“Is that so—I dunno, I’ve never been a ratfink before.”
“You’re purely confessing future sins which enables your heart to float lighter and perhaps may save someone else on earth pain or suffering. That would all help.” Strewth—why can’t the idiot just tell me?
“Okay—I don’t know much—it’s all a bit secret, but they’re gonna kill that bitch Carlton while she’s in England.”
“And who is this Carlton woman?” I pretended to be above such things.
“Are you kiddin’, she’s only the President.”
“Sorry, we don’t have politics up here.”
“Jeez—um,” he blushed and looked away, “Sorry, ma’am.”
“I should think so—continue.”
“Well, she survived one attempt, but we got another lined up.”
“And do you know about this new attempt?”
“Not really, only that it’s gonna be a suicide bomber—some sucker Arab, and Shakespeare—that’s not an Arab name is it?”
“I don’t know, we don’t consider race or names to be indicative of anything. We are above all those things.”
“So do I get into heaven, then?”
“I shall go and consult with my superiors—is there anything else you could tell me about this plot to kill, Carlton—is that her name?”
“Nah—that’s all I know.”
“I’ll be back to see you later.”
“Thanks ma’am.”
I fluttered off and back down to earth. Shakespeare—I wondered about that. Then it suddenly came to me, she was going to see a play at Stratford at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre. Shit, they’ve only just redecorated it for her visit—that would be a crying shame to damage it again, oh and to start World War three wouldn’t be too good either.
I woke myself up and left the hospital—about half an hour later, Alvin was machine gunned along with Officer Muldoon who was trying to protect him and another patient also died. These guys don’t mess about do they?
And furthermore, no one seems to catch them doing it so they just fade into the landscape. I stopped a little way from the house and spoke to John using my Blackberry—I bought it after I heard their calls were harder to eavesdrop on. Mind you they should be, I was paying half as much again for the ruddy thing.
If the bad guys were going to Stratford, so were we. It’s only an hour or so’s drive from Oxford, so after giving John what I’d discovered from the late Mr Alvin Hoffman, I set off to Stratford and to book into a Travel Lodge hotel with adjacent rooms.
Thankfully they had a couple of rooms left. Stratford-upon-Avon absolutely heaves with Americans—after London and the various royal bits there, it’s probably the second most popular place in England for our colonial cousins. Shakespeare does have something special, however, when we came here as a family, I was about nine and Daddy gave us a running commentary the whole day. We had this group of Yanks following us about hanging on his every word. At the end of it they pissed both of us off by asking if they could take pictures of the professor with his cute daughter. I got my hair cut the next day.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
A quick bit of research showed me that the Swan Theatre was the one being used, it’s a smaller one on the side of the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, and presumably tonight’s show would be to the great and the good, as well as the president.
Any of it would be an easy target, it’s not designed as a place of refuge it’s a place for easy access—if you can climb stairs—disabled people might dispute the access thing. However, the road will be cordoned off, the river will be watched even perhaps the sky after the embassy attack—so how the hell will the bombers get in?
I pondered this while I waited for the rest of my team and the simple answer was the bomber would walk in carrying the explosive—some sort of undetectable variety—get as close to his or her target and detonate it. It isn’t rocket science. There will be accomplices, so perhaps the explosive will be one they assemble there—in the toilets or even in the foyer.
It was to be another Muslim person who would be sacrificed—so they’ll be seen as responsible for starting World War III. Rarely do politicians wait for all the facts, they knee-jerk their way via public opinion to reaction. The irony being that it’s all being caused by a bunch of neo-cons not some brainwashed fundamentalist, augmented by the master of wickedness, Set and his followers of chaos.
I wondered if John had managed to find out any more about those various groups we’d identified, I’m willing to bet if he has it won’t be much—they are ultra secret and I’m pretty sure a cover for this mendacity driven by the dark one.
I got a few minutes sleep with one of my girls stationed in both rooms—mind you Don had a surprise when he came in, John just looked uncomfortable. “Do you have to bring your pussy cats with you?” he asked.
“Definitely, when you’re not here to protect me, what’s a girl to do but have a guard cat?”
“Some guard,” said Don holding himself to the wall in terror, “can you call it off, Jamie?”
“Oh, Don, she’s just waiting for you stroke her tummy.”
“Not from the inside I hope?” he squeaked.
Even John laughed at that and I asked the cats to stand down, they disappeared although I knew they’d just gone into invisible mode for the benefit of my colleagues.
John had alerted the powers that be that an attack was imminent and at the theatre, which of course got pooh-poohed, ‘Everything is under control,’ stuff. He did point out they’d said that about the embassy but they ignored him.
I showered and changed into a clean suit and blouse and a pair of low heeled court shoes—I might need to be fleet of foot, and this time I was wearing a pleated skirt, so running would be possible. Once again I wore a holster on my thigh with my gun strapped in and a further magazine in my little handbag with my lipstick and compact, phone and purse.
John changed into a suit and looked very smart—I’d have to try hard to keep my attention on the job and not his body. Ridiculous—a couple of years ago I thought I was a boy, with no interest in anything ancient and certainly not anything girly. Now look at me—makeup and hormone changed body, long hair and women’s clothes and I happen to love a man. It certainly wasn’t what I was planning on when I was about thirteen, not that I can remember exactly what I did intend other than possibly going to Cambridge just to miff my dad.
I didn’t know if I’d ever get to university now—but if I did, it would have to be Doubting—quite what I’d study, I don’t know but Ancient Egyptian, it ain’t gonna be—no assuming I survive the end of this caper, I might do medicine or law or something useful like become a plumber.
John and I were going inside the theatre, Don would be our liaison outside. He’d be monitoring as much as he could all passing traffic while we scrutinised those inside. Everyone would have to be there an hour before the top VIPs arrived, and that included us. We took my mini and discovered we couldn’t park it within half a mile of the place—the gusty wind did wonders for my hairstyle, I don’t think and I had to borrow a comb from John to tidy my tresses when we arrived.
Once again we were searched despite wearing our sheriff’s badges, and my producing a weapon from under my skirt got loads of comments—none of them helpful. I did remind my searcher of my double 0 status so not to piss me off. The look he gave me was not one of happiness, nor the growl he made as he gave me my gun back.
The holster is a pain, it’s not terribly comfortable, the gun is heavy, and I can’t cross my legs without shooting myself in the foot—but it does mean I have a sporting chance if the bad guys show up with shooters—not sure about them, mind.
Inside the theatre, I wondered where a bomb blast would do the most damage—if you miss your target, kill or maim as many as possible—a fundamental of terrorism. Something wasn’t right, I was missing something. I glanced around and suddenly had a bit of intuition—what if they weren’t going to blow her up, and any bomb here would be a distraction—what if they were going to do something else—like what? A sniper would be quite literally a long shot, but poison gas—now there’s a thought.
I spoke to John. He thought it was ludicrous and was sure that the bad guys would stick to a proven method, explosives. I wasn’t so sure. It would need quite a large quantity to do a whole theatre, even a smallish one like the Swan. Air conditioning had to be favourite. I found one of the management team and asked about the last time it was checked.
“It’s done regularly because of things like Legionnaire’s Disease.”
“And last time?”
He went and got some sort of logbook, “Here we are, last week—different chap.”
“Different?” I asked as the hair on the back of my neck stood up.
“Yeah, usually the guy is one called Dan Crosby, but this was—can’t read the writing, Oliver something.”
My tummy flipped. “Okay, I want to see it, the pump and tank or whatever.”
“We can’t, the president will be here in half an hour.”
“We can and we’re going to.”
“I really must protest, Captain Curtis, neither of us are exactly dressed for messing with the maintenance of this place.”
“Where is the main tank?”
“On the roof, of course.”
It had to be, especially as I don’t like heights. However, I insisted that we checked it. Perhaps I should have asked John, he was actually wearing trousers. He saw me rushing off with the manager and came running after us.
“Wossup?”
“I have a feeling the air-conditioning has been tampered with and is there a gas called Sarah?”
“Not as far as I know, there’s a nerve gas called sarin—horrible stuff, it’s been banned—they used it in Japan in the nineteen nineties some terrorist group called Aum something or other, killed a dozen or so people. Surely you don’t think they’d try that here? You do, don’t you?”
I nodded. “They could do it three ways, carry little bombs of it and detonate them in the theatre, do it through the air conditioning or, through the sprinkler system.”
“It’s not terribly stable if I remember correctly,” suggested John, “Doesn’t keep too well, they had stocks of it in Iraq, broke down before they could use it, thankfully.”
“If this was planted last week...”
“Okay, okay, we’ll take a look.”
The two men rushed off and I waited anxiously for them to return. Fifteen minutes later, they did shaking their heads. “Nothing there at all, looks like rain though.”
“Sprinklers—that’s got to be it.”
“Well, Miss Smartarse, it can’t be, they come off the water main. If you want to see to that, you’ll have to get through inspection covers to do so. That was checked last week by the fire service.” The manager wasn’t impressed by my hunches.
“Can I see the log, please,” I smiled. He sighed but went to get it.
“There, Oliver somebody.”
“That’s the same signature as on the air conditioning.”
“So it is,” at least he allowed me that.
“I reckon, Oliver has been here,” I said to John.
“He certainly gets around, I thought you were going to fix him once and for all?”
“He keeps getting harder to fix,” I replied.
“The president will be here in five minutes—get to your places.”
The manager disappeared and I went after him, and John followed me. We could hear the hubbub growing as the VIPs neared the theatre.
“What d’you want now?” asked the manager.
“The sprinklers come on when there’s smoke or heat?”
“It needs both, but mostly heat.”
“So a fire or bomb?” asked John.
“Either would do it.”
“I can’t see anyone getting a bomb inside—I don’t think they’d let a ham sandwich in.”
“They don’t need one.”
“What d’you mean, Jamie?”
“Oliver is here, all he needs to do is force me to neutralise him and that will provide a heat rise.”
“Couldn’t you do it without the lasers?”
“I don’t know—but I suspect not—he’s going to cause such mayhem that he’ll force me to invoke the goddess and once that happens, everyone will be dead in minutes.”
“They like their safety equipment, don’t they?”
“The irony isn’t lost on me.” How could I do this without killing several hundred—but Oliver was there, he was tormenting me to attack him. Or his handler was. Oliver is a thought form, so he needs someone to control him, now if I could spot the controller, maybe we’d even things up a little, especially if I could get them outside.
I dashed up to the circle and scanned the crowds, someone was either prepared to die for their cause, or they had a gas mask and full bio/Germ warfare suit. Nobody stood out as obviously controlling Oliver. Then what if he didn’t need to be out in front of house—what if he caused me to attack him back stage or underneath it? Presumably the fire alarm would go off and the sprinklers would emit their lethal mist.
I was tempted to leave—without me they’d be stuck for an incendiary device, but then again, Oliver would be able to kill the president by himself. Then I had a brainwave. I called John and sent him off to administer my suggestion. He nodded and disappeared just as the secret service men accompanying the president arrived with her just behind them, dwarfed by their size; mind you so would I.
I gave John five minutes, after the president settled into her seat and the buzz died down to now do my job and protect her. I went to find Oliver and once I did, I was going to nuke him.
Everywhere there were security people, ours or the Americans, many of them knew me now, at least by sight so I got winks and nods as I moved towards the backstage area.
Sooner or later I would be challenged, this was it.
“You can’t come in here, Miss, this is cast only.” The man who gave me this message wore a brown overall on top of his shirt and tie.
“I was led to believe I could check out anywhere,” I said angrily, although it was more pretence than actual ire.
“Not once the show starts.”
“But I won’t intrude, you’ll hardly know I’m here.”
“Sorry, Miss, you’re not coming in here.” He then made the mistake of looking into my eyes, presumably to show his resolve. I walked round his inert, but still erect body and clicked my fingers, he woke up unaware of what I’d done—sadly, Oliver can do the same. I checked the dressing rooms and the actors waiting to go on stage, Oliver wasn’t there.
One place left to look, under the stage. I went below the dressing rooms and down a set of steps to a door with a padlock. Sadly the padlock was broken and door was unlocked. It was so obvious that Oliver wanted me to find him, especially when I could see the lights were on in the under-stage area, which would otherwise be dark.
I was being set up beautifully, and sure enough, there were smoke and heat detectors under here too. I crossed my fingers and hoped my plan would work, or the casualty rate was going to be enormous.
Where was his controller? I knew where Oliver was, down here—then it dawned on me, the man who I saw in the brown coat—it had to be, but I was expecting an American—then I thought about it—back at the farm when I nearly died, they weren’t Yanks—they were Brits and the poor patsy who was Egyptian.
I went back up to the backstage and searched for the man in the brown coat. I eventually found him standing behind a young female stage manager with a knife to her throat. I withdrew my pistol.
“If you shoot me, I’ll certainly kill her before you get me.”
“Please don’t hurt me,” the woman whimpered.
“In the general scheme of things, you’d be missed by your side more than this young woman would by us.”
“You’re very callous today, Jamie,” he taunted me.
I screwed the silencer on my gun as my response.
The girl watched me do it, then went very white and fainted, as he tried to grab her I fired twice, both shots went into his head and he was projected backwards away from the girl. I covered him up with a blanket and then went and got some assistance. She was led away and someone stayed to guard the body—John.
“What did ya have to shoot him for?”
“I wondered if he had some sort of device on him as a fail safe.”
“Does he?”
“Um—no—oh well, more forms to fill in.” I shrugged and went off in search of Oliver under the stage. He was capable of carrying out his instructions as far as they’d been given to him, but not to deal with new issues.
I went back under the stage having come prepared. He was bent over something.
“Hello, Jamie, come just in time to see me kill a president.”
“I can’t see from back here, Oliver.”
“Come forward then—you won’t stop me.”
I walked carefully round the various lifts under the stage trapdoor systems. To my horror he was leaning over a gun on a stand which was pointing through one of the ventilation grills.
“You can’t see anything through there.” I suggested trying to divert him to let me get close enough to zap him.
“Oh I can see well enough, we marked it up last week, so I just shoot at this point here.”
Now I could smell him, because I knew he wasn’t human, despite his apparent manifestation, I could smell the sulphur of his true being. “She isn’t sitting in that row anymore, we had her swop seats as a normal security manoeuvre.”
“Oh well someone is going to die, then I’ll kill you, Jamie—everything personal, of course.”
“The fat controller is dead.”
“Who might that be?” he asked.
“Your controller, Oliver. I shot him twice in the head.”
“Oh dear, now it will really be personal, won’t it?” He turned and pointed the gun at me but I was now close enough to knock it from his hands with my own weapon.
“You shouldn’t have done that, Jamie, it would have been quicker and less painful than what I’ll have to do now.”
“Rubbish, Oliver, your plans need me to transform and zap you.”
“Do they now, well if you don’t I’ll kill you and if you do you’ll die with everyone else. Good, isn’t it?”
“Good yes, but I’m better, pig-breath.” With that I let fly with the CO2 extinguisher, the very cold gas forming ice on him as he came at me. I let him have the whole of the charge bashing him on his frozen head with the body of the extinguisher. Then grabbing the rifle he was going to use, I took out the cartridges and dropped them in different places.
Once I could see him recovering, I began to run towards the steps, I knew he’d be in hot pursuit. Running up the stairs I felt him behind me. I just made it to the top of the steps and drew level with a window which I flung open. He grabbed me just as daylight shone upon both of us.
I felt myself growing and flung him off me, he laughed as the sun in my headdress began to pulsate and moments later fried him. I heard him pop like an egg in a microwave and felt bits of matter fly all over the place.
I heard footsteps and transformed back into my normal self, it was John. “Jeezuz, Jamie, what a godawful smell.”
“Yeah, barbecued Oliver.”
“Phwar, that is horrible.”
“Better than sarin.”
“Oh yeah, that worked a treat, once we worked out how to turn the water off.”
In a few minutes we had every available window open to rid the place of the smell. People were complaining that the toilets didn’t work, but that could be sorted tomorrow and the gas drained off.
Instead of commendations for saving the president, we got a bollocking from the colonel for not keeping him in the loop. Despite the risk of consequences, I told him if we had, we’d all be dead now—as it was just one of them was.
In punishment, I was sent back to the US embassy for the final night of the visit. I had a feeling it was going to be an eventful one.
This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.
After showing my pass, I was summoned by Robert Storey, who’d been in the VIP cavalcade with his President while I struggled through the traffic chaos all that caused. In the end I parked at a station and got the train in then took a cab to the embassy, getting a receipt for the outlay on both expenses. Okay so they were paying me as captain instead of a student nurse, although that would now be a nurse because they passed me in my absence, I still had to pay off my car loan so was going to claim my expenses—sod them.
I was led through to Storey’s office, another opulent room with a large desk and computer. The escort I had knocked the door and on the command of enter opened the door for me. Robert Storey stood and walked to greet me, “Jamie, we meet again,” he held out his hand and I offered my fingers which he shook gently but warmly. This was the real McCoy or so his energies told me.
“I’m so glad you could come.”
“I’m quite glad I was able to come as well,” he’d probably not heard of the little fracas we’d had back stage.
“I’d like to say thank you for saving my life, earlier.”
I shrugged, he was one of the good guys so what else could I do? “You’re welcome.”
“And the President would like to thank you for preventing another attempt on her life this evening.”
“I was just doing my job,” I said blushing.
“Ya know, we thought we’d be able to do all the security work ourselves, but without your very special type of assistance we’d have been up shit creek. Just how can ya beat some energy form enemy without detonating a nooclear device on top of it?”
“That would probably work, so would a laser if you had one big enough.”
“We don’t, not to prodooce the amount of energy you seem able to muster. I mean, you welded that door in moments.”
I blushed, “Ah—um—it seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“It was, it saved your life and those of our security staff who were trying to kill you.”
“I trust they won’t be trying to do the same again?”
“Ah, no, the President herself sent out an all personnel memo stating that you were one of the good guys.”
I blushed again.
“Where is the President?”
“She’s resting, they told her about the attempted nerve gas attack and how you guys foiled it; and how you dealt with Oliver again—can’t you just zap him for good?”
“I could if we could find the group who are responsible for creating him.”
“What about the guy you shot, did ya have to kill him?”
“Unfortunately, I thought it was necessary as he might have been carrying some sort of device. Do we know how the girl was he used as a hostage?”
“Sorry, that’s for your team to deal with, my sole responsibility is the President.”
“And other Americans, I presume?”
“No, just the President, everyone else is expendable.”
“I’ll bear that in mind if we have any further attempts.”
“Hey, that includes my sorry ass too, ya know.”
“So what’s new intelligence wise?” I asked.
“They found your friendly neighbourhood Mossad agent.”
“Dr Wilson?”
“So ya knew what he was?”
“I was told, yes.”
“A friend of your father, isn’t he?”
“He was, not sure if my dad would want to know someone who supports another country. Was he alive?”
“Sure, he’s told us what he told you.”
“About the secret societies?”
“The same, we’ve hit two of them but all their stuff is encrypted, could take weeks to break. Anyways, we’ve arrested thirty so far.”
“Which groups did you hit?”
“Arlington and Gettysburgh Fallen Societies.”
“Wasn’t there a Robert E Lee restoration group as well?”
“Them, we haven’t been able to find.”
“So they could have agents working here?”
“They could, I mean it sounds like a historical research group.”
“Does it? If I came across a Jacobite restoration group, I think I’d be a little concerned.”
“Why? That was two hundred years ago.”
“Over two hundred and fifty, but restoration groups worry me, unless it’s to do with furniture or that sort of thing.”
“Okay, but Lee died in 1870, and it would appear there are some hotheads in the South who think the confederacy should be resurrected. How’s that possible, it was a hundred and fifty goddam years ago?”
“Perhaps they live a long time in the south?”
“Anyways, I’ve got some of my analysts checking through the personnel lists to see if anyone here has something they might like to tell us about.”
“Who organised the redecoration of the President’s suite?”
“Someone who, conveniently, isn’t here—he’s on vacation, supposedly in Virginia.”
“Isn’t that where all those weirdo societies are supposed to be?”
“Yeah, we thought it was quite a coincidence, too. Pity you couldn’t identify who tried to kill you in there?”
“Apart from the guy who died?”
“He was just doin’ his dooty, as he saw it, you were damaging US property after all.”
“I suppose I was, but if I hadn’t a bit more would have been damaged.”
“He didn’t know that.”
“I did try to tell him before he jumped on me.”
“I’m afraid when we’re all worked up like we’ve been this past couple a days, we tend not to listen to someone shooting holes in the wall.”
There was a knock at his door and a young man in uniform entered and handed him a sheaf of papers. “Okay, bring ’em in.” He looked at the list, “Alive, if you can.” The young man saluted and left.
“Interesting?” I asked.
“We’ve got three of your Robert E Lee restoration society in residence.”
“Oh, a lead at last, perhaps?”
“Perhaps. I’m gonna have to ask you to wait here while I deal with this.”
“If they’re like the previous lot, you might need my help.”
“I think we can deal with this ourselves. I’ll shout if we need you.”
“Please do.”
He rushed out through the door speaking briefly to a secretary outside who wandered in and asked if I’d like something to eat or drink?” She led me to a small dining room where a harassed woman served me a latte coffee and a blueberry muffin.
While I was seated in a corner on my own, I managed to get the holster off and by playing with the straps, was able to fix it round my waist—okay, it was a bit John Wayne, but I’m at last able to scratch my leg which was itching like mad. In the end I dabbed a bit of vinegar on the inflamed skin and it eventually eased without smelling too much like a portion of pickled onions.
Despite the coffee, I was warm and full and the room was quiet and I suspect I might have dropped off to sleep, just for a few moments of course. I was roused by a young soldier who shouted as he ran towards me and I jumped out of my skin, reaching for my gun on my thigh only to realise it wasn’t there. Of course it was at my waist.
“Captain Curtis, follow me, ma’am.”
I jumped up and started chasing after him.
I was thankful that I’d worn flat shoes as the young man wasn’t waiting. I followed down corridors and guessed I’d got to the spot when I was confronted by a group of security men and secret service all standing round looking agitated. Robert Storey emerged from the group. “It’s your friend, Oliver.”
“We’re nothing more than acquaintances, what’s he up to now?”
“He’s somehow got into the communications centre and is threatening to kill everyone in there.”
“Unless what?”
“Sorry, Jamie, unless we send you to him.”
“I see, so your reasoning is that everyone but the President is expendable, and the one person who can stop Oliver and thus protect your President, you’re going to throw to the wolves?”
“I’m sorry.”
“You might well be if ever I get out of this mess. Okay, let me see a plan of the room and speak to someone who can tell me what’s in there including the personnel.”
I was led off to a side room well aware of the screams from the people in the room. I don’t know what Oliver was doing but it was bloody noisy and distracting. Essentially, the room was filled with computers and telecommunications stuff, most of which had gone down—there’s a surprise. There were four people in there, three women and one man. I wondered how many were still alive. I don’t like hostage situations, it’s far too easy to hurt the hostage or get hurt trying to avoid hurting them.
I asked them to makeup as much chopped garlic and salt water as they could find, and also if someone had a pair of trousers I could borrow in a size twelve, UK size. It took twenty minutes for the garlic and water to arrive by which time I was redressed in US army fatigues including boots.
I suggested I went in by the front door while a pair of volunteers simultaneously entered from the back with headlights, the room was bound to be in darkness to stop me transforming, they were to throw the contents of the buckets over anything and everything, especially people or monsters, it didn’t matter—people are generally water resistant and similarly for garlic and salt, monsters, however aren’t.
I spent a few minutes blessing the water/salt/garlic mix and then drawing down light around myself. There were to be no guns, we wouldn’t need them and they’d only serve to kill or hurt others. In the background a woman screamed, it made me wince.
The object was for the hostages to be rescued while I offered a distraction, and the rescue would itself also form a distraction and possible weaken Oliver, to give me a chance to zap him. Okay, it was predictable, but the only way to deal with an energy form, which is what Oliver was is to fire so much energy at him, he disintegrates, which is what I’ve done previously, but it is a bit predictable.
I had two thunder flashes and ear plugs, the rescuers would act as soon as the second bang and flash occurred, I hoped the flash would be enough to enable me to transform—if it wasn’t, my last meal was a coffee and muffin—yeah, right.
“Good luck, Jamie,” Storey patted me on the back.
“NOW,” I shouted and the door was pulled open and I lobbed in the fireworks. There were two loud bangs and flashes but no one else was there. The other door opened and in dashed the volunteers who threw their buckets of water all over me and then stopped.
“Where is everyone?” asked one of them.
I tried to shake off the water which was trickling in all sorts of uncomfortable places. There was no Oliver or hostages. Where had he gone? I looked up—Jeezuz—he’d broken through into the floor above—and the Presidential suite is on that floor.
I dashed out and was nearly shot by a dozen guns—why they had them out, God knows, I’d told them they were useless against thought forms. “Upstairs, quickly.” Thankfully, someone heeded my command and led us up the stairs. He was in the Presidential suite.
“What ya gonna do this time, Jamie?”
“If I go in there with thunder flash grenades it’s going to blow the whole building, which is perhaps what he wants. Do me a check on Naseby Fallen Society.”
“What now?”
“No, next month will do—of course now.”
Someone wrote it down and dashed off then dashed back, “Um, the communications are down, Ma’am.”
“Got a tablet?”
He nodded.
“Use that then, I need names of anyone here or elsewhere who’s a member, I think it’s they who are controlling Oliver and we need them to stop them.”
“Evacuate the President and everybody else, just in case leave only those who are absolutely necessary.”
Storey gave the order, the President had left as soon as Oliver was discovered and others were being told to go and assemble out in the street as per a bomb drill. I waited while the lad with the iPad messed about with his wi-fi.
“Oh my,” he said.
“What?” said Storey.
“Mr Fox is a member.”
“Arrest him,” ordered Storey.
“There’s probably at least one other, Fox couldn’t run Oliver on his own, he wouldn’t have enough mental strength.”
“There’s another, oh no, it’s Darla Wakowski.” A couple of secret service men were sent to get her.
There was the sound of shooting and I sighed to Storey, “We needed them alive.”
“You shoulda said,” was his rejoinder.
I had hoped if we could have persuaded the two double agents to release the hostages, I’d have had more scope to zap Oliver again, but it wasn’t to be, they were off to have their hearts weighed against a feather so the crocodile should get a good feed tonight.
The evacuation was pretty well complete and I’d been found dry clothing, so I agreed with Storey to try and call Oliver out into the central courtyard rather than blow a huge hole in the building. It was all a bit High Noon, but I couldn’t think of anything better.
I had another thunder flash, but I really didn’t know what was going to happen this time, except I had to try and rescue the hostages—why, I didn’t know any of them—’cos, I’m one of the good guys.
I wandered out into the garden which forms a central courtyard. It was as big as some of the gardens in the Victorian squares. I shouted to Oliver to let the hostages go.
A window opened above and one of them was flung out landing heavily on a paved area. It was the man and it looked to my nurse’s eye as if he’d been dead for a little while.
“Have you killed them all?” I shouted at him.
“Why, d’you want me to leave some for you to kill?”
“Oliver, you’re a naughty thought form.”
His reply was a gratuitous laugh. It sounded positively demonic—um—can a demon sound positive? I didn’t let syntax obscure my task and demanded he come out and fight like a thought form? I invited him, nay challenged him to come and fight. He declined.
While I’d been distracting him the security folk had scanned the room and decided there were no live beings in there. I apologised to Rob Storey, lobbed a thunder flash in through the open window which Oliver threw back at me. He’s not playing by the rules. I turned away from the blast and the flash of light and immediately felt myself growing.
Oliver sprang onto me as I was transforming and tried to wrench the sun from my headdress. He was too slow, and although he hurt me, the light poured into him and he exploded like a bomb in a bag of slime. It went everywhere, but at least it didn’t destroy the Presidential suite like my original plan would have done. The bang from there would have produced enough energy to dissipate him, but he’d be back until we found his creators and stopped them.
That was the next job. I grabbed my belongings and was driven by embassy limo to our office where John and Don were waiting for me. “The President flies out tomorrow,” I said with relief.
“Yeah, but she’s vulnerable to all sorts of attack on the way to the plane and in it.”
“Not if we can find the rest of this group.” I explained how the Naseby Resurrectionists were in this up to their replica cavalier hat feathers.
“Who won?”
“I did of course,” I answered John’s query.
“Doh,” he sighed and rolled his eyes, “the Battle of Naseby?”
“Cromwell and Fairfax, why?”
“Who killed all the women?”
“What women?” I asked and John showed me a report of the slaughter of at least a hundred women by the Parliamentary forces. I gasped. They were camp followers and probably Welsh, they resisted the soldiers with what weapons they had. It seems the soldiers thought they were Irish because they didn’t speak English, but it would have been Welsh they were speaking.
“Could there be a Welsh connection?” I asked out loud to no one in particular.
“Why not, so far we’ve had Egyptian, American, Iraqi and English, why not Welsh?”
“I simply thought of where we might find these malefactors, that was all.”
“Special Branch have found a list of members—only it’s encrypted. That could take hours or weeks to decode, let’s go home and get some sleep.”
John’s idea sounded like a good one and we drove to his flat where I showered and changed into a rather nice nightdress. He was in bed reading when I slipped in beside him.
“Your room is over there,” he nodded at the door.
“I’m cold,” I complained.
“You can stay until you warm up, we both need to sleep.”
“Yes, Sergeant—hey, I know a great way to get warm...”
It would have been nice to have had longer to spend for our first time, but we were fighting an action and either or both could end up dead, so we made the best of it—and it was good—albeit a bit painful, which I hoped would improve with practice, and I intended as much of that as we could get.
It not only makes you warm it also induces sleep and we slept wrapped in each other’s arms like the two lovers we were. John ever the romantic, declared as he slipped into sleep, “Jamie, you are one hell of a shag.”
I smiled with pride as well as pleasure and fell asleep lying half across him. Of course this meant when we were woken by Don ringing the bell, we were both as stiff as starched collars.
We hurriedly washed and dressed as Don explained that MI5 had practically cracked the code and we were to go to Whitehall. As I sat in the car I was sure a bit of something dripped out of me into my panties and it made me smile. Don saw me and smirked but nothing was said.
At Whitehall, Col Bell asked us to enter a room where about thirty of the great and good were seated. “This ladies and gentlemen is our own pocket battleship and her two escort destroyers. So far they’ve managed to frustrate the enemy and thwart several attacks on our important visitor.”
The seated assembly applauded and I blushed as we sat together joining the group. Questions were asked as to how a young women barely out of gymslips had managed to stop the attacks and Bell replied, “I’m sorry, Sir, that’s classified.”
“What? In this group?”
“Yes, Sir, even to this group.” He gave me a wink as he sat down himself.
Ten minutes later as they served coffee a young man came dashing in. “We have them under surveillance.”
I took a mouthful of coffee and grabbed a couple of biscuits as we rushed from the room to one with a video screen. “You three go and sort it, but we want prisoners if we can.”
We nodded and ran off to a waiting Jaguar which drove with blue lights flashing and sirens wailing out towards the west, including Oxford.
“Where are we going?” I asked the male driver.
“Oxfordshire, Ma’am.”
“Eh?” I said and the other two laughed.
“Brize Norton Airfield, Ma’am.”
“Oh, if we get this over quickly, we could be home for dinner,” I smiled at the other two.
“If only,” smiled John back at me, and he squeezed my denim clad knee.
It appeared in less than half an hour’s time the Presidential cavalcade would be here and Airforce 1 would take her home. Then we read the data which came through on the in-car computer. It seemed that three of the Naseby mob were serving officers, and who had all gone for holidays to Egypt recently.
“I’ll bet it wasn’t Sharm el Sheikh,” declared John and I suspected we both agreed with him. “Oh look, he studied Egyptology before joining up.”
“There’s nothing wrong with Egyptology,” I huffed.
“Are you going to study it, when all of this is over?” asked Don.
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not, you’d have a flying start.”
“It could be embarrassing if I dug up my own grave,” I whispered back.
“Hadn’t thought of that,” he acknowledged.
We arrived at the aerodrome minutes ahead of the president’s group and the three officers who were under covert surveillance spotted me. They managed to slip past their shadows and into small room off the main concourse. I picked up on some sort of wickedness and headed towards it. We stopped outside the room and I sent in one of my lionesses, she retreated very quickly as she was on fire. I quenched the flames and healed her, Don was standing watching and going very pale for a black man.
I could hear voices chanting and I picked up the odd word, it was ancient Egyptian they were using. “My god, they’re invoking Set, if he gets here we’re in deep do do.”
John fired at the lock of the door and kicked it open, as I rushed in gun at the ready, one of the men threw a ladle of fluid over me, which burnt like it was napalm he also chanted something at me.
The other two were still chanting something when John launched himself at them. Don took down the one who’d thrown the fluid over me. I was rolling on the floor and screaming.
Don shoved his gun at the man’s temple and demanded to know what he’d done to me. The pain in my abdomen and especially my groin was awful. The man laughed, “I’ve just taken away your secret weapon, we’ve changed her sex—and we all know, her little friend needs a female vehicle. He laughed again and Don hit him, he went down spitting teeth and cursing.
I scrambled to get upright as Oliver appeared and threw John across the room as if he was a feather. He walked towards me. “Hello, Jamie, goodbye, Jamie.” He said and let out a laugh which they must have heard in Whitney.
I felt very strange and spent a moment trying to clear my head. What had they done to me? John shouted, “Run, Jamie,” and Don fired at the still growing thought form. He knocked him aside and faced me, I screamed and legged it.
I slammed the door behind me but Oliver smashed through it, and the next one. Then I was outside and scrambling over a recently tidied flower bed with Oliver in hot pursuit. Then a funny thing happened, the sun came out from behind the only cloud and I was momentarily dazzled. I stumbled and fell, feeling really very strange. I was aware of others shouting and rushing to help me as I staggered to my feet and then fell again.
Oliver lumbered towards me laughing how much he was going to enjoy zapping me. He was mistaken, however, as the sun, Re or Ra depending upon your preference shone down upon his ‘daughter’, he wasn’t going to let a mere mosquito like Oliver annoy her. His healing rays did something to me and as Oliver allowed me to rise to my feet, I began to grow very rapidly, so fast in fact, that when I did hit him with the built in laser I have in my headdress he had a look of astonishment on his face, but only for a moment then he exploded all over Oxfordshire for the second time.
If you read the official reports of what happened, you’ll see a rather different tale. In it three SIS officers overpowered three renegade RAF officers who were planning to put a bomb aboard Airforce 1. In the ensuing fight one of the men managed to trigger some sort of explosive device which explained why people heard a loud bang. Of course, we know different as did those who witnessed what happened and the apparent clap of thunder from an almost cloudless sky, which no meteorologist could explain.
Of course those who witnessed the event were all bound by the Official Secrets Act so couldn’t say anything anyway, but someone who did see it and was extremely grateful was a certain foreign lady who we were all trying to protect. She was a little staggered by the incident though I believe she now has no problem understanding Egyptian mythologies.
This was my last outing for the SIS, I was let go on special leave for up to a year. About ten months after the Set worshippers ring was broken up, with further arrests here and the US, I was summoned with John and Don back to the US embassy, only now I was Captain Jamie Anderson wife of Lieutenant John Anderson. In my arms I bore our baby daughter, Sarah, who the ambassador’s wife made a real fuss of until she was sick over her.
My parents were there too, all three of us ended up with extra metal on our uniforms, as the Ambassador draped the star shaped medal with its blue ribbon over my head. “On behalf of the President, you Captain Jamie Anderson are awarded the medal of honour, as you were attached to the US military at the time of the several actions where your personal intervention saved the President’s life. This medal is only given for conspicuous and outstanding intrepidity and gallantry.”
John and Don got distinguished service cross medals, not to be sneezed at by any stretch of the imagination.
So I hear you ask, how did a boy become pregnant—ah well, the spell which nearly did for me, when they threw that stuff over me—did what it said on the tin, it changed my biological sex, and it seems I must have ovulated as it happened because one of John little wiggly things swam up and hey presto, Bob’s your auntie or in Sarah’s case, Jamie’s your mum.
Since the baby was conceived and none of my doctors could believe it, I haven’t turned into you know who, so the secret intelligence service don’t seem too bothered with me anymore.
So as soon as I get out of this uniform I’m going to set a new career path as Mrs Jamie Anderson, wife and mother and I can’t wait.