The Fool - Chapter Fifteen ========================== I - It is Sunday afternoon, and I am drinking coffee, when I notice a long blonde hair on the back of my coat hanging up. That's not my hair. That must be one of Beth's hairs. It occurs to me that in the event that I was to be so stupid as to attempt to perform some kind of ritual to get Beth back, I'd need something that belonged to her. Like a hair or something. I try to put the thought out of my mind, and sip at my coffee. I am absolutely not going to attempt anything of the sort. Just to be certain, I flick through first the contents and then the index of Secrets of the Society of Mysteries. Nope, nothing. The next thing I know, I am on my knees before my bookcase, checking that none of the other books I own happen to contain any examples of Low Magic in this way. No, none of them do. I sit back in my chair and light a cigarette. I don't believe it is ever a good idea to actually perform rituals that are intended to mess with other people's lives like this. I can't believe that I am even considering it. I am astonished at myself. I retreive the hair, which is strong and thick, and start absently winding it around my finger. What the hell am I doing? I open the drawer in the table containing my altar things, and remove a small box containing a bunch of small crystals. I remove the hair from around my finger and place it in the box. I put the box away. There. Gone. I feel vaguely disgusted with myself. II -- The phone rings, and my heart does flip-flops. It is not Beth. "Hello," I say. "Hi mate. It's Simon. You sound happy." "Fabulous, yeah. You sound stoned." "Yeah, I am." Simon laughs. "Haven't spoken to you in ages. What you been up to?" "Oh, not much. Temp work. Data entry. Getting dumped." "Oh mate, that's shit." "Yeah. How about you?" "Yeah, you know. The usual. Parties, signing on, trying to write." "You never tell me about any of these parties." "You never come to any of these parties." "True." "Anyway, I haven't seen you in ages so I thought I'd ring and say hello. What are you up to this week?" "Got a new job starting tomorrow, other than that, not a lot." "Oh, right." There is a silence. "Adam," says Simon. "Question. Have you ever heard of a group called the Society of Mysteries?" "Woah," I say immediately. "Do I take that as a yes?" "Uh, yes. Jesus. What on earth made you ask that?" "Oh, there was a bloke who stayed round the squat this weekend talking about them. Runs their Brighton branch apparently." "Dave?" I say, guessing. "That's right, yeah. You know him?" "I've, er, met him. If it's the guy I think. Ponytail." "That's right. Anyway, I thought I'd ask you about it because I know you know about these things." "Me," I say, "I don't know shit. I really don't." He laughs. "Whatever. So, what are they all about?" I am silent a while, not sure what to say. "Don't want to tell me over the phone?" he says. We both laugh. "Tell you what, let's meet up for a drink this week," I say. "Ok. I'm free tomorrow and Thursday." "Alright, tomorrow, then. I'd say tonight but there's this party. You want to come?" "Nah, I've got to work tomorrow." "See, I said you never come to these things." "Whatever." III --- The day passes in a hungover melancholic daze. I weep a bit, reread The Little Prince, weep some more, then wash and do some yoga. As I am relaxing after the yoga, lying in the corpse position, trying to clear my mind, I hear a car pull up outside with the radio blaring. They are playing Simon and Garfunkel's version of Scarborough Fair. Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme. "You could do it," you know, says a voice in my head. "You've got those herbs in the kitchen. Mix them up and burn them with that hair. Then she'll be a true love of mine. Ha." IV -- I try to let the thought go, but it does not go. I feel disgusted and ashamed for even thinking this, but I also feel a small surge of something electric in my heart. What if it worked? I am relaxing now. I should not be thinking about anything. I let my mind blank completely and relax a little more, but later, as I am dressing, I find myself wondering if I really do have all four of those herbs in the kitchen. No harm just having a look, is there? In a little while, I am standing in the kitchen part of the bedsit, waiting for the kettle to boil, standing in front of the shelf with the herbs. Parsley, yes. Rosemary, yes. Thyme, yes. Basil, bay leaves, pepper, garlic powder, chilli powder, cumin, turmeric, paprika. No. No sage. The kettle boils, and I discover I also have no milk. I pop down to the shop and, feeling as if I am in a dream, I find myself buying a small pot of dried sage as well as the milk. I need to get sage anyway. After all, sage protects against negative influences. I can't remember where, but I have definitely read that somewhere. I get home, and place the sage on the shelf, next to the thyme. On impulse I sort them into order - Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, Thyme. I make tea. V - I am kneeling before my altar, in my robe. The smoke from the mix of herbs and hair in the bowl before me does not smell pleasant. If it be for your highest good and for my highest good, I think. Beth. There is a small blue flash from the bowl, and when I close my eyes, I see more blue flashes. I can almost feel Beth here, in the room. I can hear her voice. "Just what the FUCK do you think you are doing," I hear her saying. "Get out of my head!" I open my eyes, feeling suddenly sick. The bowl is full of ashes and no more smoke is rising. I feel drained. I am struck with the chilling certainty that I really oughtn't have done this at all. I clasp my hands and close my eyes. Let my intentions be pure, let only my pure intentions have results, let... "Yeah," says Beth's voice, in my head. "Pure." "Now who's in who's head?" I tell her. She seems to go away. I complete the ritual and clear the altar things away, feeling my body ache. I am flushed and hot, and wonder if I don't have a temperature again. But the thermometer seems to say I am normal. I don't know. VI -- After an early night, I dream of devils and inverted pentagrams, and wake up scared shitless at about four in the morning, my heart racing. The nightmare is unpleasant enough that I really don't want to go back to sleep, so I put my dressing gown on and switch on the computer. I brush some dust off the keyboard and the monitor. Haven't used this in a while. The dial-up internet connection still seems to work, at least, and after about half-an-hour, my email finishes downloading. There is precisely one email that is not spam, which is from the agency, telling me about the new job. Report to Peter Chapman, same place as before, blah blah. I briefly consider setting my clock back before I send my reply, but realise this would then mean I was replying to a message before it had actually arrived, which would make it obvious. No, I won't bother. I type out my bland confirmation and send it. Done. I come offline. It's quarter to five in the morning, and it's Monday. I'm not exactly wide awake, but I don't want to sleep. I am sitting in front of my computer. The thought of wanking briefly crosses my mind but I blot it out. No. I will play a game. VII --- I am running around a nameless installation, armed with a pistol, ready to blast anything that moves to hell. I have a vicious, if slightly stupid attack dog with me. I sneak up by a wall, and wait. A man with a rifle comes down some stairs, just out of view. I shoot him. Another man follows. I shoot him too. I sidestep away from the wall and shoot quickly, once to the left, once to the right. My vision reddens and I am hit. Missed the one on the left. I swing round and shoot again. Got him. The dog is going bezerk. I am going bezerk. I run around in ridiculous circles, collecting the rifles, helmets, blue vials of health and shiny green body armour. I leave that area and head down a corridor, rifle at the ready. Open the door and bam, bam bam. Three men fall dead straight in front of me. Now in quickly, to the right, shoot, bam. Got him, but I am hit from behind, I spin, shoot again. Slide to the left, another one. Bam. He falls. Round the corner, and again. Bam. Got him. That's all in this area, I think. I collect the ammo and objects and slide slowly down the corridor leading to the path across the slime pond. I clear that area, and the area behind it in a burst of running and shooting, then come back and clear the hidden areas. After all the monsters are killed, I spend some time wandering around looking for my dog, who has ended up getting trapped by its own lack of intelligence into a corner somewhere. Seeing me it perks up, stops running around in circles, and follows me through the exit. I chop my way through the beginning of the next level easily, and collect the nail gun and chainsaw. I forget to switch weapons back, though, and end up caught in the maze by three soldiers and a monster. I chainsaw two of the soldiers, but the third one gets me, and my vision spins to the floor in a red haze. Ok, I think, my heart pounding. That's enough Doom for another six months. VIII ---- I shower, do some more yoga, and sit in silent meditation for a while, which calms me down, and realise that if I leave now, I will have time for breakfast at the caff before being actually on time for work for once in my life. On the way to the caff I buy a paper, and scan through it for any news from Brighton. Here. "Mystery Brighton Pair Were 'Secret Satanists' "The Brighton couple found dead in a car this week belonged to a satanic secret society called the Society of Mysteries, according to their local vicar. The Reverend Peter Chapman told our reporter that he was aware of the existence of a Society of Mysteries coven, or branch, in Brighton, and that Jason Reeves and Annie Fry had both been members. "We discovered who they were when they tried to hire our church hall for a meeting," he told us, "When we found out what it was for, we asked them to find somewhere else. They were very polite about it, and seemed very sincere, though I did try to warn them against what they were involved with. It's such a terrible tragedy, for them and their families." Police refused to confirm or deny whether this new information had any bearing on the current status of their investigation, and repeated to us their request for members of the public who do know what happened to Jason and to Annie, or who might have seen them in the days prior to their disappearance and death, to come forward and contact Brighton CID in confidence on 01234-567890." IX -- I arrive at Peter Chapman's office slightly before he does, and he opens the door with a newspaper under his arm and a grim expression on his face. "Ah Adam," he says. "Good morning. I'm afraid we haven't got a login for you yet, so you'll be twiddling your thumbs until lunch time. Get me a coffee would you, white with one, then come back and I'll explain to you a few things." X - I am tired, but the coffee fortifies me, and I do my best not to zone out as Peter Chapman explains to me in a dull voice that I will be reporting directly to him, and that I will be working on special projects that he would give me. He also seems to be half-asleep. Maybe this won't be so bad. My eyes stop glazing over when he tells me that he isn't going to introduce me to the rest of the technical team today for two reasons, firstly that they didn't actually work in this building, and secondly, that he doesn't want me to meet them yet, for reasons which, he said, would become clear as time went on. My heart sinks and my throat tightens. What the hell kind of poison-chalice role have I just let myself in for? I calm myself down, and breathe deeply. I'm about to find out. He hands me a sheaf of documentation and tells me to spend the morning reading it over. He'll meet me again after lunch, by which time the login should be working, and he'll be able to show me around the system a bit. I nod sagely, sitting at my coffee. After a while he says, "Did you see the paper today?" "I did, yes," I say. "It said that Jason and Annie were satanists." He frowns. "Maybe they were, Adam."