THE SHAPE OF THINGS UNTOLD 1

 THE SHAPE OF THINGS UNTOLD  (part 1 of 2) 

By Richard Banks 

When Kevin Bonner left his home in the early evening of the summer solstice no one knew where he was headed or why. That he took his passport spoke of his intention of travelling abroad. But when no trace of him was found on the passenger lists of airports and cross Channel ferries the search for him went no further than Cromer where the family had a holiday home. His mother feared that he had been abducted but the orderly manner of his departure indicated that this was not so. He had packed his rucksack with over forty items of clothing and toiletry, plus his wallet which - it was assumed - contained the three hundred pounds he had withdrawn from his bank account. His debit card and mobile phone he had not taken. As the use of these would have revealed the places through which he was bound it seems likely that the leaving of them was no oversight.

         Had he been younger than his seventeen years the police search for him would have been more thorough and details given to newspapers and TV, but as the police sergeant said, he was almost a man and had evidently left of his own free will. Perhaps, he surmised, the young man was anxious about the exam he was due to take, or upset by the lovers tiff that seems to have happened.  Whatever the reason he would likely be back home in the next few days or weeks. The three hundred pounds he had would not last long. If he was still missing by the end of the week his photograph would be added to the police database of missing persons with a request that if located he should be approached to ensure his physical and mental well-being.

         Mrs Bonner was far from pleased. They could at least have spoken to Leila. That girl knew more than she was letting on, and wouldn’t even admit that they had fallen out, but they had. Of this, Mrs Bonner was more than sure. Why else had he returned home early that evening with a face as long as a kite and an expression on it that she took for grief; but not just grief. Did she also see fear and confusion? She wasn’t sure.   

                                           *****

Leila sat on her bed and shuddered. On a warm summer’s evening her body felt as cold as ice. Even now she struggled to believe what she had seen, but what choice did she have? After all, she wasn’t on dope. She saw things as they were, and besides it wasn’t just a matter of seeing, there was also what she had heard and felt. Perhaps what happened was a punishment from God. She didn’t believe in God, but something unearthly had happened and given a choice she would rather that God was the reason for it than Satan. A third possibility occurred to her, that Kev was an alien undertaking biological research on the human race, but even for her this was a stretch too far. She had known him from kindergarten, and anyway, he played violin and piano and aliens don’t do that kind of thing, at least not the ones she had seen in films. Anyhow, it stood to reason he would look different, and having observed him in his entirety Kev was as human as all her other boyfriends. So that left God or Satan, Kev being the human conduit through which one or the other worked their magic - like the turning of him into a violin.

         That this was as much a surprise to him as it was to her was plainly evident from the expression on his face when the music stopped and he went back to being Kev. “Get off me!” she screamed, and he did, falling over the side of the bed onto the floor, where he hastily retrieved his clothes before leaving, his lips quivering as though attempting to say something, but he was too stunned to make it happen. An hour later her parents came back from the cinema and she had to act as if nothing had happened. This she was well use to doing but this time it was different; no one but no one must know, not even the girls at college. Of course, if Kev chose to spill the beans there would be nothing she could do to stop him but it was his word against hers and she would deny all, make it sound as though he was deranged. After all who would believe him if he said what really happened. That would be a one way ticket to the funny farm. No way would he risk that. Best she say as little as possible, even to the girls. They would be wanting to know everything that had taken place but would soon lose interest when she said he was no better than a six. Not worth bothering with she would say dismissively and hopefully none of them would.

 

                                            *****  

 

Kevin’s mood was as black as the clouds filling-up the evening sky; the east wind chasing them along stirring up the sea now buffeting the Pride of Birkenhead. At least it wasn’t raining, he thought, then it was, and he reluctantly joined the other passengers on-deck taking cover in a crowded mall in which there were two fast food restaurants, a pub, and a gift shop. This was the last thing he needed; his nerves were at breaking point. There were too many people, too much noise. For a few moments he was almost overwhelmed by it all, then he saw the toilets and took refuge there locking himself into one of the cubicles.

         The sea was getting rougher, the ferry shifting one way and then another, sending him tottering against the partition wall. He sat down on the toilet lid, peeling-off his rucksack and pushing it against the door. Outside, too close to ignore, the rest of the toilet was rapidly filling with his fellow passengers, who having eaten or drunk since leaving the mainland were now regretting that they had. The cubical doors were opening and banging shut as they either vomited or defecated the half digested food within them. Never had he felt more in need of an aerosol. He pictured the one at home that sat on top of the lavatory system and emitted an odour called Blossom Delight. But no, this he mustn’t do; he had to repress his thoughts because if he didn’t his thoughts sometimes became him and everything got weirder than weird.

         He remembered the first time it had happened. He had been walking in the woods, bird spotting, when he saw a Crested Lark, four hundred miles north of where it should have been, sitting on a tree stump as if offering itself for a photo opportunity. But he had no camera, had inexplicably left it at home. He berated himself for doing so. He always took his camera with him when bird spotting. How could he have forgotten it?  At that moment he wanted that camera so badly that he became it, saw the bird through the viewfinder, but without fingers to manipulate the controls could only watch it fly away. That had been a month ago. He told himself that this transformation had never happened. How could it have happened? No, it was nothing but his imagination, a hallucination, which while worrying in itself did at least make sense. He had been studying hard for his music exam, not sleeping well. It was a warning that he needed to ease off a little, and if he did, all would be back to normal. At least, he hoped so.

         Then it happened again. He was watching Top Gun 2 in his bedroom wishing he could be as cool as Tom Cruise when suddenly he was Tom Cruise, glimpsing him in his bedroom mirror through eyes very much connected to Kevin Bonner’s brain. He tried to keep the moment going but was glad he couldn’t when a knock on the door heralded the arrival of his mother with his laundry. But that was as nothing compared to the catastrophe with Leila. Had he turned into Tom Cruise on that occasion the change would, no doubt, have been much to her approval, not that she seemed unappreciative of his energetic, if inexpert, efforts to open his account. He was almost there when his passion for Leila became strangely confused with his love for the violin and the concerto he had been practising. The look of horror on her face he would never forget. Life as he knew it was over, maybe for her too. What came next, he had no idea. There were different rules now and he needed someone to explain them, someone who had been there, done it, a father figure like the father he had never known, whom mother never spoke of. By the time he got home, he had a half-baked plan verging on the crazy, but any plan was better than none.

         Someone was hammering on the cubical door almost pleading to be let in and Tristan’s overloaded brain was vibrating like a bomb about to explode. He took a deep breath. He must be in control, think nothing mad, no thoughts of bombs, he must concentrate on everyday doing things, like getting out of this awful place. No matter how bad the weather he was better off on deck. He needed to be alone.

 

                                           *****               

 

 

It was raining again, and after parking up in the free car park at the back of the library, O’Shea was now in the Old Port Inn looking out through a bay window at the harbour below. He was to meet a passenger off the overnight ferry and drive him to the old mill house by the river just off the Mundon road. It was an odd sort of place, a brick-on-stone patchwork, a mile from town, and no one knew much about the fellow who lived there and worked the fields nearby.

         He had come knocking on his door the previous evening with a job for the morning. “How much to the ferry and back?” he asked, without so much as a word of introduction. He was, thought O’Shea, a queer fellow to be sure, but on being given a price he paid-up in advance and promised him a bonus if all went well.

          It was not the first time that O’Shea had picked up someone from the harbour. Normally the arrangement was to meet the fare by the lifeboat station, but this one had no idea he was to be collected. He was a young fellow, he had been told, name of Kevin, carrying a rucksack and dressed in a khaki jacket and jeans. It was not much of a description, there would be other young men like that; he would need to be sharp and spot him on the pier or in the terminal building. Once out of there, he could well disappear into the press of folk waiting to meet people off the ferry or board the trip back. This had happened to O’Shea once before and he was determined not to let it happen again. He had written Kevin’s name on a piece of cardboard and would hold it up, shouting out his name just to be sure. The bonus that had been mentioned might be a generous one, no way was he going to risk that.  

 

Copyright Richard Banks