The Book Keeper (5 page)

One directly next to the light in the middle of the room, another implanted near my computer so that the keyboard and screen were seen, and the other just above the skirting board, obviously for a view under surfaces in the room.

I proceeded with the rest of the apartment in the same manner.  My acting was superb, Oscar worthy even. And in my mind, I formulated the plan for revenge.  Their sight would be taken before their very eyes, without their knowledge or recognition of loss of vision.  There were two cameras in every room, except the study where there were three, even the bathroom was not sanctuary.

I needed to use my laptop.  In fact, it was imperative.
I was desperate to google Georgia Harrison.  But I dared not.  If my apartment had been searched, sterilized and had surveillance installed, my laptop would also have been tapped, tracking every move that I make, recording every word that I typed. 

Using
any technology in this apartment would be fatal to the game – for me.  I could not even trust my cell phone now.  My calls were probably being tracked and monitored as well, GPS of my whereabouts was certain to be installed from the CAI intelligence office.

I needed to ditch the phone.
When I go to the University library for research purposes tomorrow, I will leave it there somewhere, or accidently on purpose drop it into the dark and deep fish pond, for personal use by the overfed goldfish.

No….I couldn’t.  That would certainly arouse suspicion, and make them watch me more closely. I would keep it for normal conversations with my friends and family, and so that Mr Bastard Rubin could contact me.  I would leave it in the apartment when I did not want to be tracked.

Play the game. Play it better.

I went to bed.  But did not sleep.  I could not sleep, my mind overloaded and way too alert to enter the REM zone.

Chapter 7

As the dust specks floated about in the filtered beams of the morning sunlight that crept into the bedroom, I rose from my pretend slumber, dressed and headed to the gym for a workout – no cell phone.

This morning’s workout was intense. I pushed myself to my absolute limit, forcing my mind from the knowledge of lack of control of my life forced upon me in such a short, unwelcomed time.

I jogged home, showered, and dressed in my faded jeans and long sleeved white cotton shirt, then headed out the door again to go to the university library for research.

My personal taxi driver was waiting outside the apartment building, a most unwelcome sight.  My body tensed in revulsion at the lack of freedom.

Play the game.  Play it better.

I opened the taxi door.

‘Mr Darcy.  Good morning.  W
here are we headed on this beautiful day may I ask?’ the driver inquired, his manner polite.

‘To Oooh La Laa Café for breakfast please.  And may I ask, what shall I call you, since you have been given the privilege of chauffeuring me about?’ I asked, starting to make connections to those involved with me, building alliances so to speak.

He looked at me through his rear vision mirror, studying my face.  He answered after a while.

‘You may call me Max
, Mr Darcy.  We will arrive at the café of your choice in approximately twenty minutes, Sir.’  I looked at his eyes through his rear vision mirror, and nodded my head briefly, acknowledging his reply.

‘Well, if we are going to be spending all of this time together, let’s have some music on in the car Max. Your choice of music today,’ I instructed him
. I was testing him, to see if he was to follow my orders or Mr B. Rubin’s.

He looked at me through his rear vision mirror, and then nodded to me.  He switched on some music.  His choice classical, surprising me, it would have been my choice as well.

‘Thank-you for the lift Max.  How shall I contact you when I finish research at the University Library?’  I asked as I was getting out of the taxi.

‘Use this number on my card. You are my number one priority Mr Darcy.’

I took the card from him, and nodded, then closed the door of the taxi, noting the number plate as he departed.

I entered the Oooh Laa Laaa Café, the dingle of the door bell welcoming me.

I sat at the same table that I sat at yesterday with Georgia, and looked over the breakfast menu.  Eggs, bacon, toast, coffee. Excellent. It wasn’t my normal practice to eat out for breakfast, lunch or dinner.  But I had decided that I would do it more regularly.  That way, I wasn’t being watched, as if I would be if I was still in my apartment.

The clang of the door bell heralded my exit.  I loped off down the busy street towards the University. The walk was a good thirty minutes, but refreshing, giving me time to clear my head, and focus on the research that I was planning to do.

I walked through the enormous expanse of glass entry doors to the library and headed up to the fourth floor by the stairs, to the home of medical information.

I found a table with a comfortable cushioned seat and organised my gear.  I was going to be here for a while.  I gathered my thoughts and wrote down the necessities of my research, before I left the table to hit the nerd shelves. 

Yes, I was officially now a nerd! Except, I didn’t have the glasses or the over controlled hairdo going on.  Cliché I know.  My eyes were still perfect, and my hair dark, in a business cut, short sides and back, trendy side burns, and longish fringe  – that had a mind of its own - Now control that Mr B. Rubin!

I scoured the
shelves containing the anatomy of eyes, and carried a few books back to the table to study in detail.  I needed to plan where the mind reading implant would be fitted into the eye structure, and the sizing of the components for maximum effect.

Hours passed as I thoroughly researched the subject, making copious notes and drawing extremely detailed diagrams. When I sat back satisfied with my research gathering, I realised that I was famished, and head
ed down to the cafeteria for food.

Here I sat among a thriving metropolis of nerds and geeks.  I played a game of people watching,
labeling them as popular or unpopular, psychopathic or not, doctor or engineer.

Then I spotted a guy trying to pick up a girl.  I decided that this would be quite entertaining to watch as I ate.  I
observed their body language, their facial expressions, the games that the girl would play, word wise, body wise.  Girls gave such confusing signals at times.  It was damned frustrating I tell you.

I watch
ed how he would react to her, how he got around her confusing messages, or the games that she would play.

You know, guys – we are literal.  We mean what we say.  We don’t pussy foot around topics and subjects – unless we have learnt to do that to get what we want – and that is rare.  But girls, they say one thing but mean another.  They play hard to get, but
sometimes they actually want to be with you. But you don’t know if they like you or not.

It’s a game that I gave up on.  I had been burned at the stake far too many times.

Ha! – this guy had an interesting tactic.  He maintained total eye contact the entire time, he mirrored her body language.  If she stepped away, he would step towards her. He smiled at her a lot and made her laugh, he touched her shoulder, arm, hands a lot.  He obviously complimented her much, because of the way she would look down and blush. And then he carried her food tray to her table for her, and sat down with her.  Yep, this guy was good.  I bet that he has done this a million times before.

I sighed as I watched them interact.  Wouldn’t he love to know what she was really thinking?  Then I laughed to myself.  How ironic – a mind reading device – my
specialty, apparently.

I returned to the fourth floor
of the university library for phase two of my research – the brain. This was going to be far more problematic than research into the eye.  Grey matter, and the mapping of areas needing involvement in the mind reading implantation from the eyes.  I wasn’t sure that I could conquer this part of the research.  I really needed to talk to a medical professor with intimate knowledge of the workings of the brain I think.  But I would give it a go at least.  If I felt that it was out of my hands, I would request a medico from Mr B. Rubin.

My cell phone vibrated in my pocket.  I looked at my watch.  Crap! It was 2:05pm.  It was Mr B. Rubin.

‘Hello Mr Rubin. Yes sir…….I am at the university library conducting research on various facets of my design sir…….time simply got away from me, I did not realise how late it was sir………I cannot tell you over the phone, sir, it would not be wise….yes, I will report at 9am precisely tomorrow sir….and I apologize that I did not make it to report to you at 2pm today…..No, it will not happen again sir…’

He hung up on me. Rude bastard!  He needs to take a crash course on manners 101.

Angrily, I shoved my phone back into my pocket.  I looked above the shelf that I had been currently searching in to no avail.  Then there was the book that I wanted.  It had been placed entirely in the wrong area – perhaps on purpose? 

I reached up to grab it
, and was hit by the smell of her sweet perfume, Georgia’s. My heart accelerated.  I removed the book from the shelf and then turned and looked for her up and down the library isles.  She wasn’t there.

My heart decelerated, disappointed. How can the memory of a smell do that to someone?  Bloody Book!

I moved along the isle to locate another book that I was wanting for my research.  I found it easily and then removed the large book from the shelf, effectively creating a large gap between the books so that one could see into the next isle.

I could only see half of her face framed by her glorious brown wavy hair.  But it was definitely her.  My heart accelerated again, and butterflies fluttered in my stomach.

I opened the large book and spoke to her, not making any eye contact.

‘Miss Harrison,
we meet again.’

From my peripheral vision, I saw her move to the open space to look at me.

‘Mr Darcy,’ she said, her voice full of surprise. ‘Our paths cross again. What brings you here today?’

I smiled to myself.  That’s Georgia, straight to the point.

‘You know, design, research, create…I am in the research phase, and you? What brings you to the heart and brain of the medical floor?’

‘Psychology research,’ she said matter of factly.  I looked down at my book and smirked.  How apt, psychology, reading people.  That was something I needed to do with her.  She was unreadable, unpredictable.

‘Are you smirking at me Mr Darcy?’  she asked, her eyes serious. Then she appeared before me in the same isle.

“’No, not at all Miss Harrison,’ I replied, keeping my voice even, refusing to make eye contact with her.

‘Liar, liar pants on fire Mr Darcy,’ she said without an ounce of humour in her voice.

Then she snapped her book closed, and bumped into me as she moved away. She turned to face me, walking backwards.

‘There is a whole chapter devoted to people who exhibit your character traits Mr Darcy,’ she called after me, this time with a hint of humour in her voice.

I stopped reading the brain book, and stared straight ahead of me.  What character traits is she talking about?

Her voice then came from the book space on the shelf again.

‘The chapter is titled Stalkers,’ she added assertively.

I turned my face towards hers.

‘What?  You think that I am stalking you Georgia? How sad and boring your life must be if you believe that!’ I spat at her, my words fuelled with bitterness.

I snapped my book shut, grabbed the other two brain books and stormed off, back to my work space, dropping the books down and creating a loud ear splitting crack, disturbing everyone working on the fourth floor.  I looked around.  Eyes pierced me like daggers.

Bloody book.  Women.  Worse!

I rested my forehead against my left hand as I worked on in solitude, blocking out all reality in the library. Study of the brain made for fascinating reading. But it left me with more questions than when I started out.

What is it
that generates thoughts, where do they come from?

What is conscience, and how is it formed
?

Why do some seem to be void of conscience, knowing right from wrong
?

What about creativity, how can one think up something from nothing?

Why are some people gifted without even having had to learn what they are gifted in?

W
hat about belief in God and faith.  Where does that come from?

Why do some believe and others not?

What about conscious thought compared to unconscious thought?

And dreams – why? How?  What is its purpose in the meaning of life
?

I sat back in the chair and sighed
in deep contemplation. There seemed to be an area of brain function that cannot be explained, or measured. Frustrated was a word used lightly to as how I was feeling right now.  Was it the brain research, or Georgia’s derogatory comment that pierced my heart?