The universe wants to play with you (21)

The darkness, tiredness, soullessness and accumulated crap of all the years of lies and deceit had lifted away from Gillespie, like an old coat thrown in the corner of the room.

 

It didn't even matter that he had hardly slept,

energy fired inside him, sparking off a host of plans, including some clever sabotage ideas; none of this was a way to make amends, as the past was done and over but wherever he might end up had to be an improvement.

As he showered, ate and dressed, he had music blasting out loud through the house, not something he'd done for years, part of the process of draining the poison out of himself. By 8.30, he spoken to both Aaron and Merlin about different things he needed them to do but mainly to slough off any possible backlash from what he'd said to them the day before.

 

Gillespie needed a reason to ring the office in Wellington and invite himself round next week to do a bit of snooping around; go through cupboards, computer files and anything else he could poke in. He also wanted to go to Dunedin again to see if he could contact Hawthorn Villan, thinking of her during the night as the key to the unravelling

of something that he couldn't quite put his finger on yet.

As he was about to leave the house, his cell phone rang, 'Gillespie, it's Gerry Ashley, I need you to come to Wellington urgently. You're  booked on the 9.50 plane. There's a major incident up here, panic at the top and we're on the inside. I need you to head it up. I'll meet you at the airport, ok'?
 'Er, yes, of course'.
'Bring some clothes and stuff, it might take awhile. It's completely secret, no mention to anyone. See you later'.
'Ok, Gerry, I'll be there'.

Fuck, what's going on-he switched on the TV as he got his laptop and clothes together. No report of anything of course, wonder if it's to do with his talk with Merl and Aaron, nah, Gerry wouldn't cough  up an airfare for that. No this was a real situation.

Before he left the house, he went into his spare room which was essentially his library. He'd still bought books until a few years ago but had stopped reading anything other the occasional light fiction long before. The things he used to read were too close to the bone, too critical to what he's become, it would be like facing himself in a mirror.

But now it didn't matter, now was the right time, he was ready to get critical again. He picked a book up at random, a weirdly titled book he didn't even recall buying, 'Art, Class and Cleavage: A Quantulumcunque Concerning Materialistic Esthetics',

and put it in his bag.

Arriving in Wellington Quigg felt somehow transformed, his mind had exploded into an alternative universe that demanded cerebral attention or else. Bits of his brain were firing up in a way that hadn't happened for years. Whoever Ben Watson was, his writing style was a subject/object lesson in tearing reality apart, examining it disdainfully and putting it back together in a more satisfactory arrangement, with the understanding that he would probably do the complete opposite to it on the next page..

The experience also helped prepare him for the performance that Ashley produced when he met him  at the gate; 75, 6ft 3, bald, hugely overweight but also jumping up and down with irritation at the plane's 10 minute lateness.

'Come on, hurry, I'll fill you in, we've got to back to the IC as soon as possible. I've already got you official accreditation as our rep on the investigation. This is our big chance to show we know our stuff and can play with the big boys. What's happened is so bizarre and macabre, a horrible murder or assassination, we don't yet but that's what it's beginning to look like. It's just the tip of an iceberg and we're lucky to find out about it as it was top secret and it was only captured on video at the bunker by accident. We're lucky we've got a police escort'.

Sirens blaring front and back, sitting next to a driver overdosing on self-importance and self-delusion, Quigg had no clue what was going on or why he was apparently needed and repeated pleas for a simple statement seemed only only to extend the convoluted 'explanation' into the linguistic version of the rock drum solo: loud and pointless.

Eventually, after almost killing a couple of cyclists and a group of small children, Ashley managed to provide the bare bones of the story, though it still mystified Quigg as to why the company and himself in particular, belonged in this particular field of enquiry.

Just before arriving at their destination, the police cars turned their sirens off and Ashley pulled into an underground car park. Quigg was expecting a James Bond style lift down into a bunker instead they climbed piss stained stairs to the street,

crossed the road and entered a shabby looking warehouse. Inside a policeman said hello and let them in.

After sorting security passes out, Quigg was introduced to a few people who seemed so bizarrely pleased, almost grateful, for his presence, that Ashley had obviously been spinning some outlandish yarns about him.
'Hi Mr Quigg, I'm really pleased to meet you. So cool to be finally meeting the kiwi Fox Mulder'.

Jeez, so that's what he said. 'Thank you, you're too kind', growing more uncomfortable by the second.
'I'll show the video at normal speed, then we'll replay it and I can enlarge any bits you're interested in'. Quigg watched the footage,  the quality of which showed it hadn't been bought from Harvey Norman, aware that other people were sneaking glances at him, already thinking he could use all this to his advantage.

'Go back to just before the wall opens, slow it down and enlarge it please. I want to see the room beyond the wall'.
They watched the three women dressed in black, wearing face masks, gloves and plastic bags on their feet coming through the gap. They came from behind a huge curtain, so nothing could be seen in the room. The only interesting thing was a sheet of paper, one of the women was holding, like a leaflet. Quigg wanted to keep this to himself so he didn't mention it. The one word he could make out was a heading, dea...ess.

A number of people were gathered around him and Greg now, so time to get into role. 'Well, I think we are seeing a breakdown in space and time, they could be coming from anywhere, see how the solid wall fades into a gap; something is keeping it open, a machine perhaps or a person with heightened psychic powers. The whole operation is very well planned. 'We can't see into the room beyond the wall as there is a curtain up. They meant no harm to her or anyone else. It's her who tackles them and they try to get her off. They obviously knew they only had a short time available before the wall closed up.  Her death is a tragic accident. My guess is they'll be traumatised by this and the head will be left somewhere it will easily be found'.

'Interesting', said an American voice behind him. "I think it's time to discuss what to do next. I'd quite like you to repeat this to everyone please, Mr Quigg'.