An exploration of the spirit of place and its symbols.

This area surrounded by the River Thames on three sides was originally marshes prone to inundation. This time is still remembered by its place names - Marsh Wall, Mudchute. Later Dutch technology helped drain it by placing mills along the Marsh Wall thus providing a name for one area - Millwall.

The East India Co. used the area for warehousing and docking for ships from colonies. Once this industry declined in the 20th Century a long period of decay set in until the 1980's. A monumental re-building took place and the northern part has become a new financial area. The buildings, designed to overshelm and impress, but there is something too inflated, out of kilter here.

A mythology began to emerge. This centaur, dismembered and with lifeless eyes, treading a headless limbless human torse is part Trojan horse. Should we beware the gifts he brings? The centaurs were descendents of Ares/Mars and prone to aggression, drunkenness and cruelty. As likely to take by force as to trade. This is not to say they couldn't be wise teachers too.

I was reminded of the words of Oswald Spengler in his 'Decline of the West'. He talks of the 'civilisation' of the Romans as compared with the Hellenic culture.

"that the Romans were barbarians who did not precede but closed a great development? Unspiritual, unphilosophical, devoid of art, clannish to the point of brutality, aiming relentlessly at tangible successes they stand between Hellenic culture and nothingness."

The Romans too built in a monumental style.

Body parts litter these streets.

'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings,
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair.'
(PB Shelley)

This Isle of Dogs is split in two like Native Americans on their reservations the native Isle-dwellers are confined to the south whilst new developments spring up on ancestral burial grounds.

Instead of peace-pipes, totem poles and pollen path pictures, the working tools of yesterday, anchor and cranes are the new 'object d'art'.

The corpses of the dispossessed litter these streets.

There is a siege mentality here a feeling of 'us & them'. In both places there are no-go areas of door-keepers politely blocking the way.

On Westferry Road toward the southern tip was this strange graffitti

'VENUS PASSED THE SUN'

I thought at first it related to the Venus transit of the sun in 2004 but it is written in chalk it could not be so old? A strange thing to write on a derelict warehouse wall.

In Greek mythology the sun 'Helios' rose in the east from a marsh island in Ethiopia, the area, surrounded by a river-ocean. His chariot fashioned by the blacksmith Hephaestus. Nothing escaped Helios' all-seeing eye. Not even Aphrodite/Venus' infidelity. It was Helios who informed Hephaestus of his wife's unfaithfulness - with whom? Ares/Mars the totem god of the Romans and ancestor of centaurs.

A reminder that nothing stays the same. Each opposite has its cycle. The one supercedes the other.

Nature waits nascent, quiescent till it reclaims the streets again. Every crack in the pavement reveals the thinness of the borderlands.

A dark path wandering feels its way instinctively toward home.

A reminder placed on the threshold. A twilight place where dreams of the past resurge and history is undone.

The machine mortally wounded retreats to its basement Avalon to await the future call.

Emerging from this vision 'interfused' I am met by such beauty and majesty on the Grays Inn Road. Yet even here this exhuberence is kept under watchful eyes.

Behind me the stranger gone the ripples smooth to leave no trace.

"Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backward,
When the plunging hoofs were gone."
(Walter de la Mare).

Psychogeography is the investigaton of the 'genius loci' or spirit of place. According to Peter Ackroyd's 'London: A biography', the ghost writer Arthur Machan thought the area north of Grays Inn Road, exposed the "grey soul of London". In his words "its mark could be witnessed in those worn and hallowed steps!"

In particular Great Percy Street, Lloyd Baker Street and Frederick Street are cited as examples of this soul laid bare.

The investigative drift started on Kings Cross Road. Even before the target site was reached my random snapping provoked sudden interest from a shopkeeper. The closed subdued atmosphere reacting to this attempt to see beneath the skin..

A man on a bike stopped me asking for directions to Hatton Gardens. Soon another asked the way to Holborn. A message, perhaps, this place to be passed through rather than visited. A sign there is nothing for the visitor here.

Here on Prideaux Place located betwixt Percy Circus and Wharton Street even the paving slabs show their teeth to warn off the driver who veers from the thoroughfare.

Many houses with shutters closed and blinds drawn even though it's only mid-afternoon.

The alien is everywhere!

"But only a host of phantom listeners
That dwelt in teh lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
To that voice from the world of men."

"He felt in his heart their strangeness
Their stillness answering his cry."
(Walter de la Mare)

Even where there are signs of life - such Nature - the untamed - is contained behind bars not able to spill out onto the street.

(to be continued - Friday 20th January)

An Occult Crime Investigation Unit Mystery

Jamie Gregory

Dedicated to the memory of Austin Osman Spare – Artist and Sorcerer
(1886 – 1956)

Acknowledgements

The work and ideas of many magicians and sorcerers, past and present, have been of use in my own workings and directly or indirectly in writing this book. Some names must be mentioned. SL MacGregor Mathers and Aleister Crowley for their translation of the Preliminary Invocation of the Goetia. The Enochian vocabulary and pronunciation of Lon Milo DuQuette, the works of Chaos magick writers Ramsey Dukes, Peter J Carroll and Phil Hine. For information on aspects of belief my thanks to the work of Maya Deren and the Church of Satan website.

Jamie Gregory – London 2006.

Copyright

This work is not copyrighted and may be downloaded and used free of charge. However I would be grateful if it is used for any public purpose that its author be acknowledged. Perhaps you could let me know if you do intend to copy or distribute it before you do? – Thank you.

Preface

The sorcerer alighted from the underground train onto the Northern line platform. Three teenage girls, a riot of pink and white, brown and gold, shot past him absorbed in gossip and shrieking with delight. The blonde girl unawares as she bumped against the rather old-fashioned leather doctor's bag the sorcerer was carrying. He gripped it tighter and moved it in front of him protectively as if it were a small child. He held back to allow the crowd to filter through the tunnel exits moving toward the up escalators. Already a breeze was flapping the torn Budweiser advert nearby. The sound of the next train could be heard echoing on its way from Euston station.
It was a hot September evening the breeze, on the sorcerer's face, was welcome. The digital clock at the far end of the platform turned to 8:29pm. The seconds marched lazily on. There was plenty of time for what needed to be done he thought. He did not wish to hurry and risk damaging either the contents of the leather bag or dissipating the carefully constructed mental state built up for the work ahead.
The last few passengers funneled through the exits and the sorcerer joined the tail-end passing up the escalator to the midway section where all the lines exited up to Kings Cross station, one of London's busiest. The even ascent on the long escalator helped him as he counted the breath in, held it and then out again. The secretion of endomorphins produced a blanket of well being that relaxed him so he could bear with ease the sticky atmosphere endured by his fellow passengers. By the time he stepped of the escalator he was collected and calm.
Having passed through the barrier up the few steps and straight ahead he ascended the steps that led to street level. A twilight world surrounded him. The clock above him on the gothic edifice above St. Pancras station read 8:33pm. Kings Cross station was still busy with tipsy-suited commuters heading homeward. The sorcerer sidestepped two redheaded boys guarding an overstuffed suitcase. Meanwhile their diminutive mother tried her best to make her broad Glaswegian accent understood to a tall African information officer who had been having a quiet cigarette outside. The huge re-building project on both stations was nearing completion and to his left the arches built into the side of St. Pancras station were still swathed in scaffolding and polythene. Only two archways were exempt and these revealed two shops. The first shop was 'Northern Lights' and it had already closed for the day the proprietor, whom the sorcerer knew, was busy cashing up. The window blinds were half drawn looking more like the eyes of soporific children after a long train journey. He crossed the road and as he did so pulled out the key chain attached to his Levis and came to a halt in front of the shop next door. The sign overhead read "Mirror, Mirror on the Wall". He turned the key in the lock but before pushing open the door the thirty-two year old caught sight of his own handsome features reflected in the glass by the street light behind. The drawn blind accentuated his straw blond locks as one fell foppishly across his right eye. He flicked his head back and pushed open the door with his free hand and stepped inside. The brickwork arches ensured that the air was cool even though the shop had been locked all day. He saw the light on the motion sensor flick on and heard the now familiar beep-beep as the alarm gave him thirty seconds to push in the four-digit code to disarm the system. Placing the bag down carefully on a pine dresser to his left he moved to the panel on the wall and silenced his electronic sentinel.
Returning to the door he closed and locked it leaving the blinds down on both the door and the large display window. The shop, stuffed with furniture and with its characteristic wood and varnish smell, was evocative in the amber half-light. The shop's specialty was, as its name suggested, mirrors sold in frames and in wardrobes, dressing tables, the surface of coffee tables as well as bathroom cabinets. As he walked through the sorcerer watched his reflection jump from mirror to mirror along the wall as he collected his bag and moved to his desk. Moving along the aisles of dressers and mirrored wardrobes he unconsciously wiped the perspiration from his face on to his blue Chelsea Football Club shirt. He caught sight of two old birthday cards, now a week old, curled in the humidity and with a half smile re-read them before placing them in the bin.
He walked through to the storeroom at the rear of the shop. An ornate curtain with arabesque swirls separated the rooms and was fixed by large wooden loops to a rail that ran the length of the opening. He found the light switch and a bare bulb lit up the gloom of the back room. This room the same size as the shop, was also stuffed with furniture and mirrors pushed back against the walls to make an oval space in the centre of the room. Here a large Persian rug covered the floor space with mosque like geometrical designs in black and red. The sorcerer knelt down at one end and carefully began to roll up the carpet revealing what was hidden to a casual visitor to this place.
An elaborate magic circle was painted in white upon the bare concrete floor. It consisted of two concentric circles one inside the other. The outer one was nine feet across. The sorcerer had made quite sure that all measurements were correct when he laid it out, according to the grimoire or book of demonology. However his eye was drawn to the huge snake that was painted stretching two and a half times around the gap between the circles. Within its body were inscribed numerous letters in Hebrew. He recalled, with a sigh, the hours it took to make sure that every letter was correctly written, not easy for him, as he had no expertise in this alphabet. Within the inner circle were painted four six pointed stars the word 'ADONAI' marked within each.
"Lord" he nodded recalling the translation of the Hebrew word one of the many appellations of God. Each of these hexagrams marked out the cardinal points of the compass. Beyond the outer circle marking the halfway points between the compasses axes were four pentagrams with uppermost spike pointing away from the circle. To the east outside the circle was a large triangle painted in black inside it was a circle painted in green. Around the three sides inscribed in large red letters were the words PRIMEUMATON: ANAXAMATON: TETRAGRAMMATON. The sorcerer moved over to a small upright freestanding cupboard that reached up to his waist and about two feet square. He opened the door and withdrew a small mirror on a stand covered with thin black gauze. As he removed the covering he saw his reflection again in the black painted surface. He touched the glass with his fingertips - the magic mirror, how many spirits had he conjured to visible appearance in this mirror? As a teenage novice he had discovered the twin powers of Will and Imagination that could compel strange landscapes and persons to appear in crystals, water and mirrors. At first he thought only that they were figments of his fervent imaginings. However when he spoke to them they told him things of which he had no previous knowledge. In addition experience showed him that they could deliver the 'goods' as laid out in the grimoires, the binding of enemies, restoring health, getting the desired promotion or acquiring knowledge.
He placed the mirror within the triangle facing the circle and moved the small cupboard to the centre of the circle to act as the altar. He covered it with a piece of white silk, which he removed from the cupboard. His storeroom had now become his temple. He went over to his bag. Reaching inside the bag he carefully pulled out a wand, twelve inches long and wrapped in red silk held in place by two pieces of golden cord. Next, out came a small bottle wrapped in a Sainsbury's bag and held in place with a rubber band. After this came a plastic box, li

This story was inspired by an article from the London Evening Standard some years ago. The first part about the change of identity in the bar and the party are true the rest is fiction. It did make me wonder however where it could lead. Enjoy the read and come back soon for more stories...

Alter Ego

I saw this programme on TV once about space and time. I remember this bit where it said that although we live in three dimensions of space there are many more. It seems the reason we don't see them is that they're all rolled up.
I can tell you the same is true for people too. At least so I've discovered. Less than a month ago I would have said that I've a pretty good idea of who I am, y'know, what I'm like and so on. I once put an ad in Loot the lonely-hearts section. It was only half serious and it was my friends who suggested it, as I'd come out of a relationship of three years, pretty intense! They said it would be a laugh and help get some confidence back to go out on a couple of dates. So we all sat round a table in a pub and after about two hours came up with an ad that everyone said gave a fair idea of who I was. It said something like

'Petite brunette Barbara Streisand look-alike, 29, city legal sec, shy but GSOH, WLTM Russell Crowe Gladiator for action-packed adventures.'

I had two replies neither were it, more Kirk Douglas or Roger Moore as they look now (yeah, I know only one is still alive!).

The thing is people think they know you and even if they don't know all of you, you think you know you but sometimes something happens and one of those other dimensions unfurls then you just don't know anymore and when it begins to take over then it became scary!

All this probably sounds a bit confusing so let me start by introducing myself, at least as I was then. The name I was born with was Sarah Monaghan, I'm 32, at least that hasn't changed, and apart from having a dalek in my living room I was just like anyone else. I watched the same TV programmes, went out to the pub with my mates, phoned mum and dad once a week (in Horley, Sussex), and bit my nails. That's about it, nothing special!

It all started when I met up with one of my mates after work. Her name is Jackie and she's a journalist. She gets to meet a few celebs and had been interviewing someone from the Big Brother house. We were both working a bit late that evening so we agreed just to have a couple in the West End before going home. There's a place I know just off Soho Square that does happy hour on cocktails so we arranged to meet there. I was early so I got both of us a drink in and a comfy sofa for two in one corner. We hadn't seen each other for a while and she had just come back from a holiday to St. Lucia so there was plenty to catch up on when she arrived shortly after.

I guess we had been there about an hour, I'm not really sure, you know how the time goes when you're lost in conversation. Suddenly the barman came over with two more cocktails and tells us that these two guys standing at the bar have bought them for us. I have to say although this isn't totally unknown its pretty rare. I crane round to see who they are but Jackie rolls her eyes and is non-plussed about it. She's in a relationship that is quite serious and hoping it will get a bit more serious. I'm having a bit of fun with a guy I met about six months ago, mainly just sex but we go out together as a couple too now and again.

Anyway, I could see straight away that they weren't English, maybe Australian or kiwis. As it turned out they were South African, but we learned that later. They both looked quite nice and I raised a glass and mouthed my thanks across the noise.
Jackie suggested we downed the drinks fast and move on before they moved in but I said 'no' we could always give them the brush off. So we just continued chatting. About another half hour later more drinks arrived and as we looked up the two were making their way across the bar towards us.

I don't know what prompted her but Jackie turned to me and whispered

"Look, I don't want to give them my real name so I'm Clarissa and I'm a lawyer from New York, OK!"

I must have looked like a goldfish out of water when the two of them arrived at our table and sat themselves down opposite us. But Jackie just beamed a huge smile in their direction and with the worst accent you've ever heard introduced herself as "Clarissa, and this is my friend.." At that moment out stammered "I'm Kelly" in an accent that might be halfway between Karen from Will & Grace and Marge Simpson. "We're from the Big Apple where the hell are you guys from?"

Well that was that, we were committed to the act. They introduced themselves Paul and Don, from Durban over here on a holiday-cum- stag outing as Paul was due to be married that October. Paul was dark and Don mousy in colouring but both of them were big guys, looked like farm-hands but turned out to be in IT. So Jackie, or should I say 'Clarissa' and I both nodded and smiled thinking they must rumble our dreadful accents but they didn't seem to notice. I couldn't believe it!

I have to say this, and if there are any guys reading this I'm afraid this is true that men like to talk about themselves and like women to ask them to do so. In fact it usually takes a bit of time for men to get round to asking a girl anything about herself. So I let him go on and telling me about his work and his fiancée but despite him making out how it was all going on this year for him I could tell he was bored with his life. It was the way he seemed restless and his smile never touched his eyes. Then came the next part of the charade because his eyes did light up when he told me he was writing a book, a novel. It was some kind of gangster yarn, based in London, East - End of course all modeled on the Krays but set now. He really came alive. As he was telling me about it and I was going "Yeah" and "Suuure" in my dreadful accent I could feel this idea rising from the pit of my stomach, I swear I tried to suppress it but it just popped out.
"Honey, you know I'm a literary agent, crime's one of my things, why don't you let me have a look at it?"
I swear, even 'Clarissa' swerved to look at me gawping in disbelief, but his face, if it was lit up before, became almost radiant.
There is something about stepping over a line, you don't really know you've done it until it's too late and then anything becomes possible.
By the end of three cocktails the alcohol too was loosening us both up and any reservations Jackie had were long gone so when the two invited us to a party they were to go to we said yes straight away.
We poured ourselves into a cab and made our way over to Earl's Court to some rented property where another South African couple was throwing a soiree, I can't even remember them saying for what occasion.
In the cab I was flirting like mad, despite, or maybe because of him being engaged. His embarrassment only made me worse. I was really enjoying the change of role, normally I am really quiet when I meet anyone new and worried about what they might think but I just could not have cared less. In fact I wanted to behave badly. A couple of times 'Clarissa' gave me some real looks and I toned it down for a bit.
The hostess met us on the doorstep and greeted Paul and Don who introduced us. As I shook her hand in my 'Karen' accent I said
"My God! Have you been sleeping in that dress?"
There was the really awkward silence as you can imagine. I just couldn't believe I'd said such a thing! But I waltzed past and into the living room. After that I was so shocked at my own behaviour that I toned it down - a lot. I thought Paul would refuse to speak with me but no! Not a bit of it he became really attentive, talking about the book and asking me about who my clients were. I told him that was confidential, by now I was feeling really guilty about lying to him and just wanted to leave. After about three-quarters of an hour I caught Jackie's eye and she came over. I told her that I wanted to split. So we make our excuses to leave but Paul and Don insisted on escorting us to the tube station. When we got there Paul asked if I really meant what I said about reading his draft novel. I tried to make some excuse about being very busy at the moment and perhaps it not for the best. But he just gave me a card with his name and mobile on it and said if I changed my mind he would be eternally grateful then he kissed me!
OK, I know you cynics would just say he was just softening me up but it was the look in his face of hope - all I can say he was being really sincere.
Which made me feel even worse!
Jackie was hooting with delight all the way back into town and I was swearing 'never again'.
That should have been that, throw away the card, London's a big place no need to worry about bumping into either of them again; so no problem!
Two or three days went past and it wasn't until I was scrabbling around for coins to pay for group lottery tickets at work that I came across his card in the bottom of my bag. As soon as I put my hand on it, before I had clapped eyes on it my heart lurched and I got really excited. I know it's stupid but even though I knew it was completely the wrong thing to do for all the reasons that you can imagine, I also knew in that moment that I would call him again for certain. I went off to one of the unused meeting rooms with my mobile, God! if anyone had walked in on me they would have thought me mad! Walking round and round having this conversation with myself trying to talk myself out of it. But underneath was this volcano about to erupt I was this tiny figure dancing on top trying to keep it all down.
There was one moment when I could see quite clearly just how badly this could all end and then I heard myself say "What the hell!" and I dialed his number. I remember hoping that his phone would go to voicemail then I could ring off and tell myself that I'd made the call and leave it there throwing away the card. But, of course, he answered.
He was really pleased to hear from me, he told me, and from his voice I could tell it was true. "Yeah, we'll meet up" and "Yeah, I'll take a look at the manuscript” and that was that!
When I rang off I wondered if I might still be able to stand him up but realized that after my call he would have my number now.
I was to meet him that evening; he mentioned a bar, The Glassblower's just off Regent Street.
It was on the way there that I decided that I needed to demarcate myself from myself into Kelly, so on impulse I stopped off at another bar just between Shaftsbury Avenue and Chinatown and ordered a bottle of wine with two glasses. I managed to find a table with two stools even though the place was filling up rapidly with post work drinkers. I loaded up both glasses and drank from one "That's Sarah" then I moved over to the other stool took a sip an in my mock accent said "And, that's Kelly, darling!"
This became my little ritual each time I changed into her and before each meeting with Paul, it seemed necessary not just to slide into role but to make it a definite change. I think even then I felt worried that the boundaries were becoming blurred.
Paul was already there when I arrived and as soon as I sat down he drew out a folder and handed it to me. I told him I would take it and read it but asked him to outline the story. He didn't need any more prompting. I've read a few crime novels so I'm not ignorant of the genre. To be honest from his description it sounded pretty cheesy and later when I did read it; well let's just say - The Long Firm it ain't!. It was the story of a rising star in the East End gangland circa 1950's but in modern times if you get my drift. The main character Mickey Halliday (see what I mean?), a general low life with ambition works his way up double-dealing and shooting everyone in his way until he becomes 'The Daddy'. It's all testosterone, drugs and vice girls you probably got the picture already.
By now I'm in full Kelly mode and in no mode to be my usual nodding quiet self so I tell him what I think, what I really think. I could hear myself speaking but the words weren't mine, not my usual vocabulary at all! I tell him he's broken the cardinal rule not to write about something he knows nothing about and it's obvious he knows nothing about any underworld let alone the London one of the period. So Kelly starts taunting him and he gets wound up. He doesn't say much now that his crest has fallen but his look is dark. I/Kelly feel exultant like I've really achieved something. So I ask him, as he talks about the drug scene if he's ever tried any he says some grass and ecstasy a couple of times. No! Certainly not dealt it. Then there are the prostitutes that Mickey regularly sleeps with what about that. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. He's mad and I think any moment now he's going to blow me out, this mouthy woman who is ripping apart his 'baby' but there's no response. So I say to him
"Well, don'cha think ya should try it honeeey?"
He looks me square in the face "All right then."
I'm on this roll, don't miss the beat "Well let's go find one” And we get up to leave the pub.

I can't believe what we are doing but I feel in charge, this is my protégé, it's like I'm teaching him about real life but I know nothing about this side of life either, so who's in charge?
I know exactly where to go, some phone boxes near Piccadilly Circus full of those cards with 'Busty Blond 18 and new in town plus phone number. Every kind you can imagine. The fact that she's probably 29, with dyed hair and press-ganged from Romania is not mentioned.
"Ring one,” I challenge him folding my arms keeping the door open with my body as he clutches the receiver.
"Which one?'
Now I roll my eyes like some life-weary know-all and pull one at random off its blu-tack dot and give it to him.
He calls and gets an answer almost immediately I can hear the details. What he wants, the cost, where to go, the voice on the other end does a practiced selling job of the merchandise and we're off through the back streets of Soho. The door is between two shops an intercom with one button with 'Press' in black marker ink. I put my hand over the button and look him in the face.
"When you done this, you can right about it, y'see?"
He looked at me, I swear like a kid about to take part in his first school play that wants to do it but needs his confidence boosting. I press the button and he's buzzed in.
"Will you wait?"
"Ah-ah!' I shake my head "Call you tomorrow".
After he went inside and closed the door behind him I went to a cafe a bit further down the street mainly to stop shaking and to collect myself together. I am my old self again. This may seem lame but I didn't feel guilty about what I was doing it was as if it was someone else doing and saying all this, like Kelly was real and temporarily in control. And to be honest, for the first time, despite myself I quite liked her. She scared me! But she was sure interesting to be with!
I call him the following day during my coffee break, he's with Don and they're sightseeing in Windsor. He can't talk but we arrange to meet that evening in a bar near the British Museum.
After doing my little ritual I go to meet him and this time I'm the first to arrive. I wondered what mood he was in but Kelly was clamouring to keep up the pressure. "You have confidence in what you're doin' an' he'll have confidence in it too". So that's that then!
When he comes in Kelly gives him the smile the teeth the whole personality. He's smiling, looking a bit sheepish but otherwise seems none the worse for the experience. I ask him about it and he says the sex was crap but he's in love with the idea of the seedy underground thing. I congratulate him and he's lookin' at me like he wants to know what next. A puppy dog eager to get on with his training. I tell him the excitement he feels is the same as Mickey's when he does his business; he's beginning to understand his motivation. He nods and goes into some long spiel about doors opening for him into his characters how they're coming alive for him. I know what he means.
"So let's go a bit steeper, the point about being a reckless gangster is, well...being reckless. Wanna try heroin?"
It wipes the smile off his face but I tell him not to go chicken on me, this is research, this is his career what he wants to do for the rest of his life and anyway no-one gets hooked on one hit. He takes a bit of persuading but he eventually goes for it.
I'm on a roll again, I feel hot excitement, and I’ve never felt so much in control, like I can make him do anything. There's a tingle between my legs.
Quarter of an hour later and we're hanging around the corner of Oxford Street and Tottenham Court Road just opposite Centrepoint trying to catch the eye of one of the hoodies hanging around there. We make contact and he goes over, there's a bit of a wait then he comes back and Paul goes off with him. I feel a pang of fear, what if he's mugged? But in ten long minutes he's back with his plastic pouch. We get a cab back to the hotel. I tell him for this its better if he's 'at home' so he can crawl to bed when he’s finished. I go to the shop and get the tin foil, straw, matches and night light candle. He asks me if I'm going to join him but decline say someone has to keep her wits about her to look after him and make sure he's OK.
He chases the dragon and his eyes don't see me anymore even though they're open. I wait about a half hour then, as he's on the floor put a pillow under his head and a blanket over him. I get rid of the remains down the toilet and put the used equipment in my bag to dispose of on the way home. Putting on a bedside lamp, I switch on the TV, flick off the main light and pull the door too behind me.
The next night I come round to his hotel and we have sex. It's good.
He tells me he's going back home in a couple of days but there's time for one more 'outing'. I've already worked out what it will be and this time there will be no coming back. This will be his secret life; he'll never be the same again, not quite.
"Hold up a bank"
"Are you mad?"
I pass him back the cigarette and flick the ash from my pillow. I don't mean make off with the cash just make the teller put money in the bag and then split. It will be over and you'll be out before anyone can hit the panic button.."
"And then what?"
"Then you fly home. Look ain't about taking money or getting anyone hurt just so you know what it's like to hold up a bank and demand money. All you have to do is wear a baseball cap and pass over a note saying you have a gun and to hand over the cash. You don't even have to show any weapon."
The moment's hesitation was all I needed to keep going. I knew he was thinking about it and I made it appear like it was so easy and I would have a car nearby so he could run like hell and we could drive off and then one last fling before he went back to his 'normal' life.
It was settled for the next day. I called in sick to work to be honest I was feeling a bit ill with nerves anyway. We would be driving east to make our 'heist' where else? Having cleared out my car I passed it through a car wash and with my cover story for Paul about it being hired went and picked him up from outside St. Luke’s on Old Street. From there I drove down Commercial Street to the Highway and out to East Ham. We cruised the High Street and I saw a likely target a building society. It was nine forty-five and still quiet.
"Remember, don't wait for the money just deliver the note and when the money has been put into a bag just split. Probably won't even get reported, anyway that's not what it's about OK?"
Paul was breathing hard but nodded. We drove off the Main Street and I found a place to park that looking on the map gave us a clear exit so he could jump in and then we could be off back to his hotel. I was beginning to tire of the butterflies in my stomach and was looking forward to dumping Kelly once Paul was gone. It was fun but her sell-by date had passed and I was craving my old life back.
I watched him go back to the Main Street in the wing mirror. It had been fun but now it could all be put to bed. Looked like Paul had enjoyed it too and he could go face his bride and their future together with this under his belt. I guess in our dotage we could both look back at this time, something we had shared with no-one and no-one would know, at least from my lips. I switched the radio on the Scissor Sisters’ Comfortably Numb calmed my nerves and I must have drifted off into some kind of reverie.
It was the sound of hurried footsteps approaching behind me. I didn't have time to look before my door was pulled open and Paul stood there, cash bag in hand, he was breathing heavily and his face was red.
'Move over!"
"What the hell..?"
"Just move over"
I was mad, what was he doing with the cash bag the fool!
"No way what the hell did you bring that for?'
Suddenly I saw the gun in his other hand, he raised it and pointed it straight at me.
"Just move over, I'm driving."
We sped away, I had to give him directions, it was surreal; a gun lay between his legs, I had a bag spilling cash between my legs and an A-Z in my hands in the passenger seat.
"Where the hell did you get that from?"
"I had some adventure of my own, there's a change of plan"
"Shit we're in big trouble now"
He just grinned
"Do you realize what you've done?"
"Crossed the line and you with me too Kelly or whatever your name is?"
He just kept grinning stealing sideways glances at my face.
"What do you mean?"
"I followed you home the other night, you were sitting in the cafe when I finished with the call-girl you didn't even see me but I saw you go and I followed. I know where you live and anyway your accent stinks. It keeps changing; where you from really?'
"Sussex" I confessed
"Not any more"
"What do you mean?"
"You're Kelly now and you're coming back with me"
I had had enough the bile rose in me
"You're out of your mind, you get out of my car, take your money I never want to see you again."
"No, I've made sure you can't go back Sussex- girl. I left your baseball cap back there it has both our fingerprints on it. It's all right I wanted it to happen, all of it. This is the life I want now and it's you I've got to thank for it. "Without you I would have only half-lived but now, together, it's going to be perfect!" His grin turned my anger into fear. I didn't know what to say and then underneath a feeling of pure relief swept over me. It was Kelly the plan had worked. I thought I was going to dump her but somehow, behind my back, the two of them had conspired to dump me.
Kelly and Paul drove to Waterloo station via Sarah’s home where Kelly picked up a few clothes and her passport. Kelly boarded the train for Paris. Paul gave her a passionate kiss and a hug; he gave her money to buy a plane ticket for Johannesburg, he would meet her there.
Kelly settled back into her first class seat as the train pulled out of the station, what a week! The waiter came over.
"Complimentary glass of champagne M’am"
"Sure thing honey, only make sure you leave the bottle."

THE END

Hello Everyone,

I'm pleased to announce the advent of Jamie Gregory to this virtual space. In case you're wondering Jamie is a figment of his own imagination who occasionally inhabits a human body. His human lives in London but his details are unimportant.

Jamie's interests range from creative writing to drifting through the city and trafficking with spirits. He would like to introduce some of his writing to you via this site so we hope you like it?

To commemorate the opening of his on-line publishing venture the first piece will be a whole novel!! Free and available to download from this site only! It's an occult thriller based in London concerning a special division of the Metropolitan Police called the - Occult Crimes Investigation Unit. What's that about? Well Imagine Dennis Wheatley writing CSI and that should give you some idea. What's it like? Well if it had been reviewed by the broadsheets this is what they may have said about it:

ELECTIFYING!! Sunday Times
DON'T READ IT WITH YOUR EYES OPEN! Daily Telegraph
I FORGOT TO FEED THE DOG FOR THREE DAYS The Independent
A POT NOODLE OF ENGLISH LITERATURE Germaine Greer
I NEARLY DROPPED MY KEBAB! Suzanne Moore (The Guardian)

So there you have it. When the police investigate an apparant arson attack on a shop they discover two charred corpses. But when it becomes clear that a ritual was underway to conjure ancient demons DCI Amanda Oliver and her team from OCIU are called into investigate. What they uncover reaches to the corridors of power in Europe.

So if you want to read this epic (180 pages only!), then call again soon to down load.

Come back soon!!

Regards,

Jamie