Influence (20 page)

‘It’s a
long story Vic.'

‘Does it
have something to do with all this?’ he asked pointing to the book.

‘I honestly
don’t know, maybe.’ Vic saw the apprehension in Lizzie’s face.

‘Here, give
it over, I’ll put it away and we won’t mention it again.’ Lizzie was grateful
for his sensitivity, and she considered handing back the book.

‘Thanks
Vic, you know I’ve spent the past few weeks trying to decide what to do with
all this. I’ve considered going to see-' Lizzie caught herself just in time,
she had been about to say - Hilary’s dad. ‘-the Police again, but it seems
pointless given how little we know.’

‘So what
now then?’ asked Vic. Lizzie looked down at the journal, and flipped open the
page again.

‘I guess we
try to know more.’ She read the text in front of her, the handwriting wasn’t
quite as neat and uniform as most of his entries:

”
The
council covets, denies, dictates under the guise of academic abstraction. But
what do they actually achieve? Cowardice, what can they do? What can they
really do? Warnings empty as heads.
”

There then
followed a section heavily scratched out, then a short section in some hand she
did not know. On the following page was one of Robe’s silly looking
diagrammatic entries, with text written in another foreign language. Turning
the page, the last page, Lizzie read a passage Robe had completed in English:

”
Fools,
selfish dangerous fools. He’s gathering them to him, his pompous troth
abandoned. And what then Curate? When the Lockwood scrolls are reunited, What
then?

What
do you hope to achieve with such power?

The
spiral is too shallow, too shallow, too shallow…
”

Lizzie read
the last entry aloud, disappointed with the now familiar vague cryptic
nonsense. ‘Is that it?’ she asked dissatisfied.

‘That’s all
I could find. After you were attacked I went back through all the stuff, and
that’s the only other thing I could find. What do you think it means?’

‘I have no
idea. Your brother’s mind, as brilliant as it was, just didn’t spin the same
direction as everyone else. There’s this bit about a spiral he mentions, and
then there’s this page in between the two English entries.’ She opened the page
at the foreign worded diagram which had a certain spiral form. Vic shrugged.

‘Does it
mean something? What does it say?’ he asked.

‘Probably
nothing, it’s more gibberish. Listen. She voiced the words slowly, spinning the
book as she went. ‘Patefacio. Porta. Atrum,’ she started, instantly feeling a
warmth envelop her, ‘Unus. Permissum. Vestri,’ she continued feeling the shroud
of comfort she felt in the Bodleian Library creeping over her again like a drug
taking effect. Vic listened to her words take on a strange echo, the light from
the ceiling buzzed and dimmed, and an atmosphere, that had not been present
seconds before descended. A great chill crept down Vic’s spine as he saw that
Lizzie was completely unaware, her focus was instantly transfixed on the book.

‘Liz, what
the hell?’ he asked, but there was no response. She continued the short passage
unhearing.

‘Liberi.
Existso. Solvo.’ The bulb above their heads blew raining tiny glass shards over
them both. Vic shrieked and sprang backwards on the bed. Lizzie continued,
oblivious.

With the
curtains drawn the room should have been plunged into complete darkness, but a
pale light was cast across the room from the mirror above the sink. Lizzie made
to continue, but Vic reached over and snatched the book from her with trembling
hands and threw it to the floor. The room rushed back to Lizzie, the darkness,
the glass, the look of horror on Vic’s face. She reached over to take his hand,
to try to reassure him, but a noise from the mirror stopped her dead.

A voice, a
groan rumbled from the grey illumination. Lizzie stood and stared at the soft
light, confused and curious. She took a step toward it; Vic grabbed her hand
stopping her.

‘What the
hell Liz?’ he repeated with a voice close to tears.

‘I, I don’t
know,’ she released herself from his grip and took another tentative step. The
light from the mirror was shifting and churning, as if a silver cloud was floating
just behind the glass.

The groan
returned, like some giant waking from long slumber. A jolt of adrenalin made
her flinch. She was close enough to the mirror that she should be able to see
her reflection, but there was none, the mirror was a window. She turned her
head, about to ask Vic to come have a look when a hand slammed against the
reverse side of the glass making one of the screws holding it in place fall
into the sink. Lizzie sprang back, as did Vic, but the bedroom wall would not
allow him to retreat any further.

The hand,
deathly white and perversely long slid down the glass with an unbearable squeak,
and then was gone. Lizzie stood, frozen to the spot. The light from the mirror
dimmed and went out. After a few seconds Lizzie’s courage returned and she
ventured forward to ensure the mirror was again a mirror. She leaned in looking
for her own face but the one that appeared was not her own.

White,
almost translucent skin pulled tight over a massive skull. Empty eye sockets
filled with unfathomable darkness seemed to stare into the abyss of Lizzie. She
stumbled back in shock expecting the face to recede in kind but it remained. It
opened its huge toothless maw and screamed. The terrible noise made the whole
room shake. She clutched her hands to her ears and watched as the face was
joined again its massive hand which began to slam harder and harder against the
glass, the whole wall bounced from the blows. More screws came loose and fell,
the mirror swung on one last remaining anchor, but the image of the creature
behind did not sway, it remained still. A large crack had appeared on the
surface of the mirror and the clawed hand clutched at the tiny fissure, opaque
and pointed nails tried to gain purchase on the crack. The face scrutinised the
fracture it had created, but failing to find a way through it screamed again,
and returned to the pounding, more cracks webbed the glass and the nails began
to peel at the weakest points.

Lizzie felt
a hand on her shoulder. Vic pulled her aside and launched what was left of the
lamp at the mirror, still glowing and swinging on its pivot. The scream died
instantly replaced by the explosion of porcelain and glass. And then silence
and darkness.

Vic and
Lizzie looked through the near blackness at the wall where the mirror had been
a moment before expecting a hole to God knows where, but the wall was perfectly
substantial. Vic pulled the curtains wide, bathing the room once again in
light. They examined the pile of glass and lamp fragments filling the sink,
thin trails of smoke rose from them. Vic placed his hands on Lizzie’s
shoulders, ensuring this time she would have to listen to him. His face was
ghostly white and he trembled uncontrollably.

‘At the
risk of repeating myself Liz,’ he said his voice still breaking in shock, ‘what
the effing hell?’

‘God knows
Vic,’ she said, herself shaking and breathless, ‘but I think I need to fill you
in on a few things. For now though, let’s just get the hell out of here.’

It was a
part of the university she had never before visited. The full glory of the
University of Oxford lay mostly behind high walls scalable only by the
fortunate and gifted.

Lizzie’s
disguise was ill conceived, her black Metallica top with the hood pulled up
over her head ensured anonymity but made her stand out like a clown at a
business meeting. After the fourth or fifth person had looked at her
suspiciously she gave it up as a bad idea. She removed the offending item and
tied it round her waist, the baseball cap she had also elected to hide behind
remained. It seemed to do the trick; a tomboyish girl standing on her own
listening to music raised no more eyebrows. Removing the top had the added
benefit of comfort, given that it was the middle of the day and the sun was
trapped in this little corner of academic Oxford.

That
morning the entrance to Pembroke College had proved difficult to find. As with
so many of the University’s buildings it was secreted within labyrinthine
walls, but after traversing its outer limits she had discovered a tight cobbled
road flanked with bicycles, which she had decided must mean she was on the
right track. She had waited for the best part of an hour watching people come
and go, without achieving any real sense of the place. After a while a UPS
delivery man had made his way up the road on foot, his van no doubt abandoned
some distance away. Sensing an opportunity she had followed the man through an
iron gate and then through a set of double doors giving access to the building.
She had waited by the entrance and watched as the man approached a reception
area, handed the woman behind the desk a box, took a signature and left. Lizzie
had held the door for him. Having identified the main entrance Lizzie had taken
her position back out on the road keeping the door in sight, but from safe
distance. And she waited.

The sill of
one of the long gothic windows of the building had made a useful place to sit.
She watched with begrudging envy and a fresh sense of sorrow as students
congregated, laughed, chatted, arranged to meet and dissipated. Despite the
holidays the place was still busy, far busier than Lizzie had guessed it would
be, but that, she thought, could only work to her advantage.

This was a
long shot, there was no doubt about that. Not all of the students, if that was
indeed what they were, came and went by the main entrance, therefore it stood
that professors could equally make use of some side door, she relied on the
assumption that Sully, as a faculty member, would have to sign in and out of
the building.

God, she
wished she had brought water, a rookie spy’s mistake. She was unsure just how
long she had been waiting and watching, but she did know she had changed CDs
four times and batteries once. She was beginning to consider abandoning the
plan, or at least attempting some fresh approach. The concept of the plan had
been simple enough, the less convoluted the elements, the less could go wrong,
she had thought.

She had
confirmed his attendance this morning by phoning reception from a call box,
giving her name as Professor Smith from the English department and hanging up
when she had been put through and heard his voice. Now she just needed him to leave.

A conga
line of dark haired, olive skinned people appeared as if from nowhere. A small
woman with a raised umbrella led the group like a standard bearer into battle.
They passed Lizzie snapping cameras at will and made their way towards the entrance.
Lizzie jumped as she caught sight of Sully who was almost trampled by the
tourist stampede but managed to sidestep them on his way out of the door.
Lizzie cursed her lapse in concentration and had to think quickly. If she
stayed where she was he would walk straight by her, but to turn on her heels
now would look suspicious. She searched around, aware Sully was almost on her.
There was nowhere to go. In desperation she sunk to her haunches, turned her
back and began playing with a bicycle lock, turning the combination dial
randomly. She allowed a good minute to pass, hoping the owner of the bike
didn’t turn up, before allowing a glance. He was gone. She stood and waited
another few minutes to ensure the coast was clear before removing her hat and
entering the building.

Magnificent
high ceilings and solid wood fixtures gave a feeling of opulence to the place.
A busy looking woman sat at a desk and seemed to be doing several things at
once, she balanced a phone between shoulder and ear while searching through a
pile of papers. She held a single finger up to Lizzie with an apologetic smile.
Call concluded, the woman turned to Lizzie.

‘Can I help
you love?’

‘Hi, I’m
here to see Doctor Sullivan.’

‘Do you
have an appointment?’

‘Actually
no, he just told me to come by, is that a problem?’

‘No problem
love, but I think he just stepped out,’ she held the wait-a-minute finger in
Lizzie’s face again. ‘Jill, was that Doctor Sullivan going out?’ A woman Lizzie
hadn’t noticed looked up from a file cabinet she was partly submerged in and
nodded, unable to answer for the apple in her mouth. ‘Sorry Love. But he
probably won’t be long, would you like to wait? Or I can take a message if you
prefer?’

‘Could I
wait? That would be great, I’ve come quite a long way.’

‘Course you
can love. Come with me.’ Lizzie had assumed she would have to wait in reception
and her plan had involved a fake trip to the toilet to make her move, however
the woman led Lizzie along the hall and down a small set of stairs to a deathly
quiet and austere looking corridor; every so often, between doors leading off
the corridor, sat pairs of chairs.

‘This is
Sully, sorry Doctor Sullivan’s office,’ said the woman, ‘There’s a ladies at
the end of the corridor, and there’s a water cooler there too. What’s your name
love? I’ll let him know you’re here when he gets back.’ Lizzie hesitated.

‘Lizzie
Dean,’ she said.

When the
woman was out of sight, Lizzie tried the handle of his office and couldn’t
believe her luck when it turned and clicked open. She closed the door back over
and walked to each end of the corridor, collecting a plastic cup of water while
she checked the coast was clear. She returned and entered the office and set to
work as quickly as she could. She checked through the large mahogany desk first
finding a few of the drawers locked. A massive computer monitor dominated the
top of the desk, and she considered booting the machine up, but her limited I.T
skills would probably prove a waste of the very limited time she had.
Bookshelves covered one wall while another displayed a mix of photographs of
Sully in exotic locations with equally exotic looking people, and academic
diplomas in his name. An incongruous wardrobe sat in one corner with a jacket
hanging from one of the handles. She opened the door, finding a few other
jackets but otherwise it was filled with nothing but boxes of papers. Lizzie
huffed her dismay at the volume of material but set to work peeling through the
various folders and books. Almost everything appeared to be work papers, but
the speed she had to sift through the piles meant she could easily have missed
something important.

At least
ten minutes had passed and Lizzie knew she was now running a real risk of
discovery, it was time to give up. She returned the boxes to their original
positions as best she could, wishing she had taken more notice of the lay out
before delving in, and closed the door over. She looked around the room trying
to spot any sign of her trespass but it all seemed in order. She opened the
door to the office, paused, and closed it again, an itch of an idea pulling her
back. She returned to the wardrobe and pushed her hand into the pockets of the
jacket, finding a set of keys in one. Lizzie sat at the desk and visually
matched the appropriate key to the small lock of the top drawer. It turned.

She found
more papers, and a small bottle of whiskey. She pulled everything out of the
drawer and placed it on the desk, a yellow folder jumped out at her straight
away.

E.C Minutes
1992/1993.

Jackpot.

She dragged
everything else back into the desk letting it fall where it may and heard the
bottle crack hard against the bottom. She hoped it had survived the impact but
she had no time to check. She locked the drawer and replaced the keys into the
jacket. Voices from the corridor outside made her freeze.

She thought
about climbing into the wardrobe but realised it would be a waste of time, she
doubted there was room and it would make an enormous amount of noise. If that
door opened, she conceded, she was caught, plain and simple. The voices grew
louder and silhouettes appeared at the small frost glass window next to the
door. She waited for the handle to turn, but the conversing couple passed by
and their voices faded.

Pushing the
folder into her bag she walked swiftly back up the corridor, checking for any
signs of an alternative exit but there was nothing obvious. She pulled the
baseball cap back on and turned up the stairs into the main corridor. The guide
with the umbrella was using it to point at large portraits on the wall to her,
less than captivated, group. Lizzie was busy pushing her way through when the
sound of her own name grabbed her attention. The receptionist was handing Sully
some mail and telling him of her visit. Sully was already heading down the
corridor before Lizzie could decide what to do, she again had no choice but to
hide in plain sight. She turned side on and listened, uncomprehendingly, to the
history of Pembroke College in Spanish. Sully passed examining his letters and,
thankfully, little else.

Lizzie
waited until she had reached the train station before fishing the stolen folder
from her bag. It contained a disappointing array of boring bureaucratic
documents. Amongst them were minutes from the various gatherings of the
Esoteric Council over the last year and a half. Despite the bizarre nature of
the organisation the minutes were very ordinary in appearance. Times and dates
of meetings were listed, showing they were held every other month or so,
agendas for the gathering were detailed in bullet point form, giving the type
of ritual or experiment to be conducted followed by significant results, all of
which were in words and terms she didn’t really understand. In terms of damning
evidence, the documents appeared to be about as useful as Robe’s journals,
however they were not entirely without merit. Attendance and apologies were
listed at the head of each set of minutes. The first name mentioned at each
meeting was B. Sullivan, and, as she had suspected, two meetings from the
previous year listed an R. Adams as being present. After this he was not
mentioned as being present again, nor was he included in the apologies of subsequent
meetings. The date of his last meeting though was six months before his death.
It wasn’t going to convict anyone, but it was the logical link DCI Dunphy had
been lacking. It was something.

She closed
the folder over, removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes hard. She tried to
process the information, but again it all seemed to ask more questions than it
answered. It certainly wasn’t the result she had hoped for, but then what had
she been hoping for? Some diary entry detailing a malevolent plan? A blood
stained weapon?

Something
occurred to her then. She pushed her glasses back on and reopened the folder.
She checked back through the names. What was Void’s surname? Had he ever
mentioned it? She checked the first names, no Vs and no Fs either until the
last three meetings where an F. Darling suddenly appeared amongst the attended.
She left the train station and headed for her bench.

There was a
definite change in atmosphere at Jesus College. Far fewer students and far more
tourists lingered, gazed, studied guide books and maps, and endlessly snapped
away with cameras, giving it a very different feel, like the place was a museum
rather than an open space. An American family had turned her bench into their
own nest filling it with bags and bodies. It was a public bench, but she
couldn’t help but feel put out. Evicted, she sat instead beneath a tree, using
her Metallica top to sit on, sipped a take away coffee and waited, but not for
long.

A pair of
heavy black boots adorned with an unreasonable amount of silver buckles
appeared beside her. She looked up, squinting through the sunlight at a stern
looking Void.

‘Hey,’ she
said getting to her feet. ‘How you been? Enjoying you summer hol-‘

‘So what’s
the deal Lizzie?’ he cut in. ‘You run out of the library like you saw a ghost,
I don’t hear from you in over a month, I even had a friend check through the
registrar for every Elizabeth, Liz, Lizzie and Betty I could find to check you
were alright, and guess what, not one matriculation picture matched your face.
So what’s the deal? Do you even go here?’

‘Actually
no, but then I never said I-‘

‘And your
invite to the Council?’

‘Look Void,
I’m sorry. I had my reasons, and I never meant to get you into any kind of
trouble.’

‘Trouble?
Jesus Lizzie, you have no fucking idea how far beyond trouble I could be in.
And you know what, that’s not even the point, that’s not what bothers me.’ The
look on Void’s face was one of genuine hurt, to Lizzie’s surprise she felt
ashamed.