Dreams of Origami (14 page)

‘But what about Matthew?’ Triss looks miserable. ‘The police have given up on him, I know they have.’

‘Well,
we
haven’t.’ Lacey wraps an arm around her shoulder. ‘Audrey, you said you might be able to find out more about the history of the schoolhouse?’

‘Yes, indeed. The secretary of our local history society put me on to Robert Carter, firm of Carter and Histhorp, solicitors. Family
firm, been in Cambridge for generations. They dealt with the original acquisition of the land when old Samuel Gainsborough Street set up his housing scheme. They still hold the paperwork, or so they reckon, right back to the early eighteen-hundreds. Hardly relevant now, of course; it’s of archive interest only. But he said he’d found some employment contracts and financial accounts from when the school was running.’

‘Wow, that’s fantastic. Can we get a look at them?’

‘Well, I was thinking of taking the bus into town tomorrow. Not that I believe we’ll find any answers there, mind you, but it would be interesting to get some background.’

‘I’ll take you,’ says Lacey. ‘It’s my day off. Then we can both take a look.’

Drew throws back his head and gazes at the ceiling. He’d been looking forward to Cromer: a walk along the shore; lunch in that little restaurant overlooking the sea; crabs, freshly caught that morning and still with the tang of sea salt on their shells. Ah well.

‘Do you want another drink?’ Drew closes his own front door behind them. Gideon has also gone back in next door, leaving Triss with Audrey. ‘Don’t know about you, but I’m starving.’

‘I could murder a cup of tea.’ Lacey flops down on the sofa, kicking off her shoes and pulling her hair loose. ‘I can’t seem to get warm.’

‘If you’re really that cold, I’ll turn on the fire.’ He bends down and flicks the switch, igniting the gas. ‘Here, pull a chair up. Well, that wasn’t exactly what I had in mind for a Sunday afternoon.’

‘I’m sorry. About everything, I mean. This was just a story—I didn’t know I was going to drag you into all this.’

‘Bit late to drop it now, I suppose, not with Mystic Meg moving in next door. It feels like the world’s gone crazy since you got involved with these people.’

Lacey reaches out her hands, catching a little warmth from the dancing flames. ‘Drew, have you thought about yourself?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Gainsborough Street—people are getting hurt, going missing. You live here, too, you know; right at the centre of whatever’s going on. Have you considered that?’

‘What, you think I might fall under a tractor or vanish into hyperspace?’

‘You could be in danger. So could I, for that matter. I wish you’d start taking this seriously.’

‘I am. Look, I’m as concerned about Matthew as anyone. And I was at the hospital yesterday, remember? I won’t forget that in a hurry. But right now I’m more concerned about what this is doing to you.’

‘Gideon said you’d told him about Michael. That wasn’t the reason I got involved with this, you know. At least I don’t think it was. But Gideon might have some answers.’

‘What, about survival? About where we go next?’ Drew, still on the floor, leans against her chair and takes her hands. He speaks quietly, almost a whisper. ‘It won’t bring him back, you know.’

‘I know that. But I don’t know what it means, don’t you see? Things die around us all the time and we can’t stop it. People, animals, even the bloody pot plants keel over no matter how many times I water them. Every day I go and listen to police reports about people dying in cars and in rivers and in their beds. But I don’t know what that
means.’
She pulls a hand away, wiping her eyes with the heel of her thumb. ‘I know Michael’s dead. But nobody can tell me what dead is.’

‘And you think Gideon will?’

She rummages in her bag for a tissue. ‘I’m not making a choice, you know. It’s not a matter of you or Michael. What I feel about you, and what Michael and I had together: they’re entirely different things. Because I want to know about what happened to him, that doesn’t mean you’re not important to me. I think this place is dangerous. Supposing I lose you, too?’

‘Move in with me. It’s about time.’

‘Don’t be silly; there’s not enough room.’

‘Well, next door then: I’ll knock a hole in the wall.’ At least he’s made her laugh.

‘I can’t think about that now. Anyway, Gideon’s renting it for a month.’

Drew sighs heavily. ‘Tell you what. Why don’t I put the telly on? There must be a Sunday-night film. You put your feet up, and I’ll make us a pile of sandwiches. Let’s get back to being normal for a few hours.’

She pushes his hair back from his face. ‘Cheese and pickle?’

‘Of course cheese and pickle. What else does one put in a sandwich?’ A moment later, he calls from the kitchen. ‘You didn’t say no.’

‘What’s that?’

‘About next door, you moving in there. You didn’t say no.’

Many esoteric systems, of both the Far East and the West, teach that everything in manifest existence—all that is physical, mental and emotional—is created from a blend of Earth, Water, Fire and Air. It must be stressed that these are not substances, but principles or qualities. In the West, these are usually referred to as the Magical Elements, the concept being adopted from the ancient Tattvic philosophy of India. However, similar systems can be found in even older philosophies, such as those of Ancient China.

Of major importance, and common to both East and West, is the concept of Aether, the fifth element, or the Akasha as it is also known. It is the prime Element, for it contains the blueprint of life. It is out of Aether that every form comes, and it is in Aether that every form lives. Although not physical, it is the essential, underlying material of the universe, the matrix upon which all levels of manifestation depend. It is the quintessence.

The Aether—Akasha—contains all memories of human experience and the ‘collective unconscious’ of Jungian psychology.

But beyond that, it contains all future ‘history’ in seed form.

Extract from
The Cosmos of Illusions
by Gideon Wakefield

D
REW AND LACEY UNTANGLE
themselves from the sofa and each other,

as the credits roll up the screen. Lacey wipes her eyes, but it was the film that caused the tears this time; something sad and poignant and, they are agreed, completely soppy. The room is now dim, that half-light that comes when the sun has gone down and the darkening sky is still fringed with gold along the horizon. Drew stretches as best he can, his hands brushing the ceiling beams. He goes over to the window, glancing in either direction. Up on the main road a few cars are passing, but Gainsborough Street itself is hushed and empty.

Lacey comes up behind him, slipping her arms around his middle. ‘The wind must have got up again. Look, the weather vane’s turning. Ugly-looking thing, isn’t it? Why did they make them as cockerels?’

‘Don’t know. Some sort of tradition, I suppose. I’m going to put the kettle on. Do you want some more tea?’

‘Let me make it; you did the sandwiches.’ Lacey gathers up their empty plates and mugs and carries them into the kitchen, leaving Drew looking out of the window.

‘Actually, I don’t think the wind has increased,’ he calls out. ‘In fact, it’s quite still out there. So why is that thing moving?’

‘That’s a bit weird, isn’t it?’ A moment later she’s back with Drew.

‘You know, I hate to admit it,’ he says, ‘but you’re right. It
is
weird. Look at the way it’s turning around.’

‘Isn’t it supposed to do that?’

‘No. It’s supposed to point in one general direction to show which way the wind’s blowing. Of course, if the wind isn’t steady there would be buffeting on the sides and it would swing about a bit. But the movement would be erratic. To turn through three hundred and sixty degrees, the wind would have to be changing direction continuously.’

Lacey is all attention now. ‘So why is it going around?’

‘God knows. And see how slowly and smoothly it’s turning. There’s no way it should do that, even if there was a wind, and I don’t think there is. Look at those trees next to the schoolhouse. They’re not stirring.’

‘No, they’re not.’ Lacey’s already at the door. ‘Let’s get a closer look.’

Outside, everything is silent and, although the air is cool, Drew is right about there being no wind. He follows her, and they both stand in the road looking in every direction for some sign of activity. ‘It’s like the only thing in the whole world that’s moving is that stupid-looking bird. You went up on the roof this morning, didn’t you Drew? You said there was nothing up there, nothing that could make the bell ring.’

‘No. And nothing that could make that thing turn. That, I grant you, is weird.’

‘What’s that?’ Lacey jumps as the sky lights up.

‘Lightning. Listen for the thunder, see how close it is.’ But the fields and the sky are silent.

‘Wow. Would you look at that?’ At that moment Lacey’s attention is caught by the black dome above them. She turns her face to the sky, lost in the wonder of it. ‘From horizon to horizon, skies like you’ve never seen. Someone said that to me recently.’ Yes, she could understand why Charlie was in his garden; he went out to meet the stars and never came back.

Another flash.

‘Must be one of those dry electrical storms,’ says Drew. ‘You get them out here sometimes.’

Gideon’s door opens and he joins them. ‘I saw you out here. Thought there might be something wrong.’

‘Look at that,’ says Lacey, pointing at the roof opposite. The three of them watch in silence as the bird turns steadily against the sky. Another flare of lightning momentarily transforms the backdrop with a green glow. Lacey notices Gideon shiver. ‘Are you cold?’

‘No. The air’s full of energy. Can you feel it?’

‘It’s the storm,’ says Drew. ‘A few clouds banked up there, but I don’t think it’ll rain.’

Light is now spilling from the other cottages. Audrey’s curtains are closed, allowing only a line of yellow around the edges. Lacey can hear the noise of the television blaring out, even from here. A good thing;
there’s no point in attracting Triss’s attention to more problems. But Tom’s window is uncovered and he can be seen moving about. ‘What’s he doing in there?’ Lacey peers through the window. ‘Looks like he’s decorating.’

‘He said something about a mural. Took all my old paint tins. So, what do you make of the cockerel, Gideon?’

He shakes his head. ‘I’ve no idea. You still think it’s some kind of trick, don’t you? There’s no one in the house; Triss is with Audrey. Even if it’s all down to some form of poltergeist activity, I doubt she’d be able to influence it from over here.’

‘I’m going to take a closer look.’ Drew walks across the road, but the moment he steps up to the schoolhouse gate the bird stops still. ‘Would you look at that? No, it’s got to be something mechanical, or remote-controlled. Whoever’s operating it saw me coming and turned it off. Must have done.’ He comes back to where Lacey and Gideon are standing. ‘This is one big wind-up. It’s clever, I’ll grant you. Nearly had me going for a moment.’

Green light pulses across the sky, silhouetting the scattered clouds. Bill’s door opens and he hurries over to join the group in the centre of the road.

‘What’s up now? Not more trouble, I hope?’

‘We came out to watch the storm,’ says Lacey. ‘We haven’t heard any thunder yet.’

‘An’ maybe yer won’t. Sometimes goes like that. Could be a long ways off or very high up.’ Another flash. ‘That’ll be sheet lightnin’, like someone’s flickin’ the light on and off.’

‘Should it be green like that?’

‘Oh aye, seen that afore. Weather can do strange things. Mind, wouldn’t have expected it today, not with that chill in the air. What’s peculiar is how regular it’s coming.’

‘What do you mean, Bill?’ Gideon is alert.

‘Well, for a distant storm, it’s quite frequent and it seems to be forming a pattern. You could almost time it with a stopwatch.’

Gideon removes his wristwatch, moving into the light of Tom’s window. They all look up now, waiting for the next flash. The sky
flares green, flickers, and darkens again. There is silence as Gideon tracks the second hand and Lacey counts under her breath. Another flash.

‘Ten seconds.’

This time they all stop breathing, but the count of ten passes and the second hand sweeps on. Another flash.

‘Twenty-five seconds.’

‘There,’ says Drew, relaxing, ‘it just seemed regular when we were talking—’

‘Shush, wait.’ Gideon’s attention is still on his watch. The flash comes sooner this time.

‘Ten seconds.’ A longer wait, then a flash: ‘Twenty-five seconds.’ Gideon starts a countdown to the next one as Drew removes his watch and studies the small hand. ‘…four…three…two…one…’
Flash.
Gideon starts the countdown again, this time at twenty-five. ‘…two…one…’
Flash.

‘Well, I’ll be damned.’ Bill pulls his cap off. ‘Ain’t seen nothin’ like this afore. Mind, ain’t never timed lightnin’ afore, so who knows.’

Drew looks up and down the road, as if the explanation will become self-evident. The Tivertons’ lights are on now. He wonders if they’ve noticed anything out of the ordinary. No, they’re probably too busy arguing.

Lacey moves over to the pavement where Gideon is still maintaining a second count. ‘What do you make of it?’ she whispers, afraid that her voice may cause whatever it is to stop. Suddenly aware of the late-evening chill, she shivers and remembers how icy her hands felt earlier that afternoon. ‘What was it you said about cold and the displacement of energy?’

‘So, you can feel it, too, can you?’ He speaks as if he is thinking out loud, allowing ideas to come together. ‘A powerful force field covering a large area. Accidents, incidents. Cold. The transposition of vast quantities of energy. Something trying to come through—’

‘Hi, what are you guys up to?’ Tom comes out onto the street, wiping his hands down the front of his T-shirt.

‘Watching the electrical storm.’ Gideon slips his watch back on his
wrist and continues the counting in his head. The lightning transforms the sky again, and Tom looks up.

‘Now
that’s
amazing. It’s alive.
Zap!
The work of angels.’ His eyes are over-bright and are strained. Despite the broad smile, he looks exhausted.

‘What have you been doing in there?’ Gideon sounds concerned, his attention now centring on Tom. ‘How long have you been working?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. When I get into it, I lose all track, especially when it’s going well.’

‘And is it going well?’

‘Man, it’s just happening, flowing through my hands and onto the wall. It’s as if I can’t stop it.’

Drew, who has been looking over at Tom, raises his eyebrows and turns back to Bill.
A farmer all his life, Bill will know the weather and the signs,
thinks Lacey.
That’s the kind of knowledge Drew will respect.
She stays with Gideon, listening to Tom overflowing with ideas about his art and the sky.

‘Angels, that’s what I knew it needed. Angels and the hand of God.’ There’s something about the driving intensity of his voice, the burning in his eyes, that draws Lacey’s attention away from the sky. He looks manic. How unstable is he?

‘Why don’t you come through to my place for a while,’ Gideon is saying, ‘and take a break. I’ll make you some tea or coffee.’

‘No, no thanks. I can’t stop now. But look at that.’ Another sheet of lightning turns the world green. ‘That’s what it needs, lightning. And stars, millions of stars. Stars and lightning and angels.’ He turns and is gone, leaving Lacey and Gideon to look at each other and share their unspoken apprehension. Tom’s door closes behind him, and they make their way over to where Drew and Bill are talking.

‘…suppose it could have something to do with the national grid.’ Drew is obviously trying to reason his way around the impossible. ‘It’s all electricity, isn’t it? And with those main power lines going across the fields—’

‘Oh, come on Drew! Next you’ll be saying that the cockerel was sent into a tailspin by a short-circuit.’

‘Look.’ Gideon holds up his hand. ‘I think it’s stopped.’ They all remain motionless for a while, waiting, counting. Nothing. A sudden breeze tugs at Lacey’s hair. The air is fresh, the sky calm. ‘I think the show’s over for tonight, good people.’ Minutes pass and it seems that the world has returned to normal.

‘Well, I don’t know about anyone else—’ Drew takes Lacey’s hand, ‘—but I’m ready for that cup of tea.’ Goodnights are said, awkward jokes made about the British weather, and they all move to their own front doors.

Gainsborough Street is silent and empty again. Apart from the wind. An unseasonably cold Fenland wind that tosses the trees and blows clouds of dust across the pavement. And yet now, despite the turmoil in the air, the old weather vane is not moving at all.

Gideon is lying on the camp bed, shifting this way and that, trying to get comfortable. Alert to any further signs of lightning or abnormal changes, he has left the window uncovered, and therefore his attention is still focused outside, on the schoolhouse and the sky. He was even tempted to stay up all night in case anything further happened, but he must get some sleep. The events of the day have left him drained, and who knows what might happen tomorrow?

He feels the street settle around him, his neighbours also making their way to bed, finding sleep. He thinks of Lacey and Drew, warm together, and suddenly feels lonely. Not a familiar emotion for him. After all, the solitude of the single life is of his own choosing. And those times when he does feel alone, his thoughts usually turn to Cassandra.

He turns over, the small bed creaking, and now faces the wall which separates him from Tom. He can hear Tom moving about, but distantly, probably downstairs. He’d looked rough when he came out to join them earlier. Obsessed with his work, yes, but that’s how some creative people are, obsessed to the point of self-neglect. His behaviour is not really that abnormal, for an artist, that is. If he had encountered
Tom in any other situation, he most likely wouldn’t be concerned. But here, in Gainsborough Street…

Gideon tries some meditation exercises to help him relax, but his mind won’t be still. All his hard-won control and self-discipline are deserting him.

The energy field, she’d called it. The matrix, others might say, or the Aetheric structure upon which all matter becomes manifest—the natural force that underpins and sustains all physical form. You try telling that to a scientist, Cassandra! Yet a Buddhist would understand what she meant, as would a Qabalist, a Magus, a Pagan priest, a Spiritualist, a witch or a psychic; any number of adherents to a spectrum of belief systems. Granted, they might not all use the same words, but they would quickly find some ground for common understanding. And they would be swift to appreciate the implications of that energy field being disrupted.

But why and how could this happen? The disturbance seems to be localized. Could it be the result of some naturally occurring change in the physical body of the Earth itself? Or is this an effect of some external influence? In either case, does Cassandra know the cause? No, she can’t know any more than he does. She is him. Or some sort of projection of his subconscious self that manifests only in his dreams. Gideon goes back over the past three days, reviewing and evaluating the events yet again, searching for a pattern. Somewhere in the middle of it, he drifts away.