Extract Taken from 'THE FUGUE': a novel by Matthew James
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
He went for a drive along the early morning roads of the Somerset countryside. He had much to contemplate, and could think of no better way of passing the time. He could have sat below Magog, but somehow the prospects of a trudge along the sodden paths within the Albert Memorial park did not seem one bit appealing to him on this particular occasion. No, he knew, even before he'd set off, that the gently rolling countryside would offer him more solace than any man made counterpart.
Daniel had found it impossible to get back to sleep once he'd woken. The bedside clock had registered 5.23 - and his hands had been burning with kundalini fire; a side effect of his healing work the night before. He'd been so exhausted, at the time, that he'd forgone his usual closing down ritual; sleep had been too appealing a prospect to delay any further.
His dreams had been stunning. Presenting him with many a thinking point to muse over as the miles passed him by. In one particularly memorable dream he'd been once more the Elf, Elund, and he'd found himself not surprisingly inside of Glastonbury Tor. Within a massive cavern he'd discovered the legendary Faerie city of Caer Siddi! Yet, during the dream, he'd taken the discovery in his stride, walking surefootedly along well familiar streets without so much as a second thought.
With the dream still forefront in his mind, he'd wandered clumsily into the front room and over to his multi-media system; calling up a fresh file in which he'd quickly recorded the experience in poetry form - his photographic memory abling him to recount it's narration as he took in the road sign for Cheddar with one quick automative glance, and instinctively steered Lisa's car to the right to negotiate the turning.
He caught his reflection in the rear view mirror and smiled, Caer Siddi had been his first poetic effort in over three years, and was possibly one of the best he'd ever written. Another quick glance to the left revealed a lay by; on an impulse he changed down a gear and manoeuvred the car off the road and into the lay by, pulling on the handbrake then reaching over to the glove compartment.
Moments later he'd retrieved the pen and note pad he'd hurriedly flung into the glove compartment earlier and felt himself sufficiently inspired to attempt another verse. He felt the suddenly tingling flow of energies course through his finger tips as the inspiration grew in power; his eyes witnessing the uncomputed lines that passed directly through his mind without any recollection - his fingers being effectively controlled by a seeming outside source; a source that he knew was in truth a higher aspect of himself:
I battled through the deception; the false trails; the smoke screens
coming upon Ines Witrinyesterday with a burning in my heart
for it be truly the place I know so well
back whence I walked its shining streets with another's feet
seeing with another's eyes.
It would do.
He knew from memory that he could do better, much better. But, he was bound to be rusty - The Poet had been exiled from his conscious mind ever since his last night with Bets Gordon; which had in fact been the last time he'd ever seen her alive. He shivered, taking in the still frame image of her as she'd wandered into her living room wearing the grey Stewart tweed shawl that had been her trademark in the six months Daniel had been privileged to know her. It was ironic that it had been nearly eighteen months since her passing, and for nearly seven of them Bets had been in contact with him - Daniel knowing her longer now in spirit form than he had when she was alive and in body.
It had been on that night that they'd devised together the identity that had been christened Marcus Brady; the same identity which had ventured the very next day back down south from Glencoe to Preston and had closed down Daniel Stevens's business account; the same identity that had somehow been able to ignore the hostile looks from the red headed cashier who'd so obviously recognised the name and the face upon his arrival at the desk. Quite coolly, he'd announced to the girl that the request had been made the day before, and if she would care to check up she would find it so. Twenty five minutes later, after being referred to her supervisor and subjected to a stringent security check, he'd walked out of the bank with a banker's draft tucked safely away in his wallet.
It'd been at that point he'd closed his lower self off from his extended awareness, and all that went with it. Daniel Stevens had been relegated to the dark recesses of his sub-conscious.
On his return back to his car in, the Avenham Centre multi-storey car park, he'd randomly chosen a place name from out of the index pages of the Bartholemew Road Map that had sat on the passenger seat of the clapped out D reg Ford Escort he'd had at the time.
Farmborough - that had been it! Strange how he was suddenly remembering the event. How come then he'd ended up in Bath?
He tensed as his mind went momentarily blank, the amnesia causing panic to build inexplicably then fade as the recollection returned to his conscious mind. It was almost as if some presence was placing the memories in his mind, like a cassette being added into a cassette player; or a floppy disc loaded into a computer memory.
What the ...? It truly was weird. His then fear of recognition obliged him with it's timely resurgence through his still numbed senses. Warning bells began to ring and he became aware of his lurker-on-the-threshold looming defensively in the back of his mind.
No wonder!
Had he not been spotted by a particularly offensive looking coloured lady as he'd ventured nervously out of Barclays Bank and onto Fishergate? He had, it was true. He'd shit himself when she'd shouted out his name and drawn the attention of her friend to the fact; at the same time bringing all eyes in the immediate vicinity bearing onto him. He'd still been in the headlines at the time; the Police still in the throws of debating whether or not to charge him with the manslaughter of Katherine.
Why was it all coming back to him at that particular moment - what the fuck was happening to him?
'You asked for this.'
'What?' he cried out aloud, partly in reaction to the unfamiliarity of the clearly female voice that had broken his train of thought, and partly in shock.
'You want to remember it all. So be it!' The stranger's voice obliging him with a prompt reply to his question. He chanced a trepidatory glance in his rear view mirror as he'd immediately become aware of a chilling presence over his shoulder. He was alone in Lisa's car. He heaved a sigh and gazed up at the clock and immediately brought to mind the image of his wife still sleeping obliviously to his albeit improvised adventure. 7.06 - give her another hour and he'd ring her to explain his absence.
Why had he gone for a drive? He attempted to string together an explanation to satisfy his wife's curiosity. She'd first want to know why he'd ventured out in the freezing cold first light, and then would demand his return in her next breath. He would have to come up with something but what?
'You seek the Holy Grail, brave knight!' The same female voice sounded loud in his ear, disturbing his thoughts; causing a shiver to travel the full length of his spine.
'Who are you!'
'Kundrie!'
'Who?'
'Kundrie, The Grail Messenger.'
'What? Forgive me. I do not understand.' Daniel voiced his concern aloud, hoping the contact would follow suit and make its presence known to him in the physical.
It was true - he did not know of the name.
Daniel became quickly aware of a powerful pulling in the centre of his forehead - his third eye was activating. A series of swift images began to wander before his eyes; his eyes stinging painfully due to his senses heightening and reacting alarmingly to the bright sunlight filtering into the car.
He closed his eyes.
Before him stood an ugly and misshapen Old Hag - Kundrie. Behind her, he perceived further hags, though their images were insubstantial - being surrounded by a grey and menacing mist. They were the Black Hags, reflections of The Black Goddess. His sentience had flared, bringing with it access to his higher modes of realisation.
He stood once more in the sphere of Geburah!
'Young man!' The Old Hag Kundrie coughed and wheezed in a deliberate attempt to draw his attention back to her dread countenance.
He gazed back round at her and perceived almost instantaneously there was a further image beyond the personification she chose to present to him - in the tradition of all inner plane contacts, within her lay the stunning beauty that represented the contrast to the harsh energy that was being presented to him.
Pass the test and he would gain the wisdom from her.
'Young man!' Once more her guttural vociferation stung his senses.
'What?' He said officiously, choosing not to give any ground or any respect to the archetype that stood before him. If the hag was hiding it's true nature from him, then he too would hide his true identity from it. In similar meetings, in the past, this reaction Daniel knew usually proved to be the best - gaining from the wraith what was being offered
'Young man, I demand you give me the respect I am due!' Kundrie began to walk slowly towards him, her grizzled and clawing fingers reaching out to him. He froze - had he not had this apparition bearing down on him once before?
He knew instinctively he had but where?
'I know you!' He caught himself shouting triumphantly. 'Why have I returned to this place? I passed this test - or have you forgotten?'
'Oh you have, have you?' Kundrie roared then, resuming once more her slow and steady passage toward him.
Daniel felt anger surge through him and permitted himself to go with the instinct, 'show your true self. I am no longer in the mood for silly games!' He seethed, walking slowly and fearlessly toward her; his fists clenching and unclenching in an act of brash defiance.
She stopped in her tracks; pure contempt inflamed her eyes, the manner vaguely familiar to him; her voice then metamorphising itself into something recognisable; 'okay clever clogs! Tell me who I am and you can move on!'
A kaleidoscope of images flashed before him: a mad woman hellbent on his destruction relentlessly pursuing him through a mental institution; a shadow darting into the undergrowth of Albert Memorial Park; a line of aromatherapy bottles on a bedside cabinet; a hammer bearing down on an anvil; the mighty Thor raising his trusty hammer, Mjóllnir; the entrance reception of Bath Royal United Hospital; a blue denim shirt with its top three buttons undone; the associated feelings of arousal the image generated.
Gaining an impulsive insight, Daniel brought the last image once more to mind and skilfully expanded the image - forcing his eyes to travel upwards along the perfect soft skin of a neckline toward the equally perfectly sculptured cheek bone; then the full red lips and finely boned nose of a visage he knew so well. Until his exploration came to rest on the disconcerting gaze that had first captivated him all those months before.
The live wire blue eyes of Trainee Nurse Sara Turnball!
