When Evil Wins (9 page)

Janus was walking back and forth across the small area of lawn which belonged to his flat, mowing it.

What with no commissions for him to investigate further paranormal phenomena, and his manuscript finished, there was no reason for him to put off the chores he had been avoiding for the last few months.

As he pushed the mower across the overly long grass he was surprised to find it was one of the most relaxing things he had done in a long time. Listening to the buzz of the electric Flymo and letting his mind wander freely with no grammar or punctuation to correct, no deadlines to hit and just the time to pass before his holiday, it was as if this was a holiday in itself.

He looked down at his leg, ready to brush the insect from his jeans, but seeing nothing he realised the sensation was being caused by his mobile phone vibrating against his leg. He turned the mower off and took his mobile from his jeans pocket.

“Janus speaking,” he said.

“Janus, it's Richard,” his publisher replied.

“Oh!… Hi, Richard,” Janus said, not expecting a call from his boss.

“Janus, why haven't you done this before? It's bloody brilliant.”

“Done what before, Richard? What's bloody brilliant?” Janus said, with no idea what Richard was talking about.

“Your manuscript, Janus. What else?” Richard responded. “The history, the person,” Richard continued enthusing, “this is just excellent. I'm going to get it out into the bookstores as soon as I possibly can; probably within the next four weeks or so, if the printers can pull their bloody finger out for a change.”

“That's great news, Richard — you liked it then?”

“Of course I bloody liked it. What a take. I can certainly say this work will pay dividends. What you've done this time is something new, something that no one else has done, I'm sure. You're a genius,” Jameson finished.

“So my manuscript was okay then?” Janus repeated, not quite understanding how to interpret what he was being told. He’d never received a call like this before.

“Of course it's okay. I'm going to call the BBC and ITV. There's certainly a lot more in this than just peculiar happenings. Well done. Don't go away or leave the country; I'm going to ask Amanda to organise a formal dinner at the house for interested parties. You're going to be in big demand you know.”

 
“Okay. Thanks, Mr Jameson. What do you want me to do now?” Janus asked, stunned.

“Stay put. I'll call you when necessary.” With that last comment Jameson put the phone down, he was obviously in a rush to organise things.

Janus was more than surprised; he'd never heard his publisher this excited in all the time he'd been with him. Perhaps this was the break he'd been waiting for, something that would enable him to get to the next level, whatever that was.

Janus cancelled his plane tickets and reservations; this was not a time to be going away for a rest. Richard had made that abundantly clear during his call.

***

By the time Janus would have been taking in the views Norway had to offer, adverts had started to feature on the commercial radio stations announcing that the best book of its ilk, in a decade, was about to be published.

A week later huge roadside posters had been put up featuring the cover of the book to be with Janus's name splashed across the posters in four foot high letters.

Soon after the appearance of the roadside posters and local radio advertisements Mandy had started calling him; she had questions about his availability for spiritualist meetings, book signings, interviews for the newspapers, national and local, plus all other manner of P.R. opportunities.

Janus's life changed from a quiet and steady pace to a helter-skelter of travel, talks and radio shows; culminating in the publication of his book about Mr Mark Royce and the history of the area the man lived in.

Richard had insisted that the name of the person referenced in the book be changed but, apart from that, the publication was as Janus had written it.

Janus was now an in demand, big time author.

After a few weeks of publicity even the literary critics acclaimed his book as “
a melding of contemporary paranormal investigation on a foundation of historical fact
.”

Although extremely busy now, Janus Malik was over the moon, even though this meant that his time was no longer his own. He was being pulled from pillar to post by the demands of his publisher and the people who wanted to talk to him about his book. He didn't resent it one bit. He felt his life had started again from the doldrums it had been in since the split from his wife and the death of his father, which had followed closely behind.

***

During the same week Janus was being pulled from pillar to post a phone began to ring in Darren Brown’s office; but as it was lunch time he was out having a meal with his secretary. The phone continued to ring until one of the salesmen of Brown’s Automotive Services and Sundries in Chorleywood answered the call, from the extension in the showroom.

“Brown’s Automotive Services and Sundries,” the salesman chirped Mr Brown’s required sales pitch; “How can I be of assistance?”

“I was just wondering whether you may have finished my car’s service early,” a woman’s voice said.

“To whom am I speaking?” the salesman requested.

“Of course, silly me. It’s Mrs Jameson,” the woman responded.

“Let me just take a short moment to check for you,” the salesman answered and put Mrs Jameson on hold whilst he rang through to the garage’s workshop.

Todd answered the phone. “Yep,” he said.

“Is that you, Todd?” the salesman said sneering; he didn’t much like the long haired and tanned temporary mechanic.

“Yep,” Todd said once more, knowing it would wind up the salesman further. “What d’you want dude?”

“Todd! I’m not a dude. Just tell me whether you’ve finished working on Mrs Jameson’s car.”

“It’s not due to be finished until tomorrow,” Todd said, duly adding, “dude” for effect.

“Todd, is it done or not? And please just answer the question,” the salesman replied, getting more than rather irked by Todd’s crappy attitude.

“It’s done.”

“Thank you, Todd,” the salesman said, then thought,
you obnoxious toe-rag
.

The salesman reconnected to the external telephone line.

“I’m very pleased to say, Mrs Jameson, that your car is ready.”

“I must say your service is excellent,” the woman said.

“We aim to please, Madam,” the salesman smarmed.

“Would it be possible to pick it up in about thirty minutes?”

“Most certainly,” the salesman responded. “I’ll make sure all the paper work is complete so you can collect it in half an hour.”

“Thank you very much,” the woman said. “I’ll make sure my husband hears of this excellent service.”

“Thank you again, Madam, and just in case you need to know for the future; my name’s Philip,” the salesman said. Finishing his goodbyes he replaced the phone’s receiver.

***

The phone in the Jameson’s house started to ring and Natasha Ericsson, the Jameson’s nanny answered.

“Hello, the Jameson household,” she said.

“Hello,” the voice on the other end of the phone started, “Could I speak to Mrs Jameson?”

“I’m afraid she’s not in at the moment,” Natasha replied.

“Oh! Okay. Would it be possible to leave a message for her?”

“Of course,” Natasha said.

“My name’s Joan and I’m just calling on behalf of Brown’s Automotive Service and Sundries to let Mrs Jameson know that we’ve had to park her car on the road as we’ve had such an influx of late; we just don’t have the space to keep her car on the premises. Could you let her know she can collect it just a little way from our forecourt?”

“Of course I will.” Natasha said, adding; “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name. What was it?”

“It’s Joan from Brown’s Automotive Services and Sundries,” the woman repeated.

“Thanks, Joan, I’ll let her know.” Natasha replaced the phone and, making a note of the call on a post-it note, stuck it on the fridge door; it was the place Liz Jameson preferred all telephone messages to go.

There were only two days left.

During the previous week Mandy had rung Janus to inform him that the formal dinner at the Jameson's residence had been arranged, and he ought to make sure he had the appropriate dress for the occasion.

As was his habit he'd left organising himself for the occasion until the last minute. It was time he sorted out his dinner suit for the party, especially as he was the reason for the dinner party in the first place and, in effect, he was to be the featured guest. This time the dinner wouldn't just be Janus and Richard's family, it would be some of the top players in the publishing world and even, possibly, Greg Dyke, schedule permitting, as Mandy had told him.

After a few phone calls to dress hire shops in his area he found one which still had stock available for two days’ time. Janus made his way down the stairs from his flat, shutting the front door behind him as he left for his fitting.

He couldn't believe what was happening and now that he was on his way to the shop the reality of the situation struck home. He was going to mix with the rich and famous and this wasn't just in the writing sense it was TV as well.

Janus drove to Benfleet; to the dress hire shop on Essex Way. He pulled up in the car park next to the converted semi-detached house and killed the engine. As he opened his car door his mobile phone rang.

Janus got out of the car, stood up and retrieved the phone from inside his jacket pocket, then pressed the answer button. Before he could say anything he heard Richard's voice.

“Janus, this is Richard.”

Subconsciously Janus registered an unusual timbre in Richard's voice but continued in his usual cheery manner as he always did when his boss phoned.

“Richard. Hi. I was just going to get my dinner suit. How are you? Looking forward to your dinner party?”

There was an uncharacteristic pause before Richard answered. “Janus. I'm sorry. I've had to cancel the party.” Another uncharacteristic pause, then; “My wife's been in an accident.”

Janus was dumbfounded. Liz of all people, he thought.

“Oh my God. Is she okay? What happened?” Janus asked.

“Her car went off the road, something to do with the steering; she's had quite a bad smash… But she'll be alright.” It seemed that Richard was trying to reassure himself more than anyone else, let alone Janus. “Just in hospital at the moment,” Richard finished.

“I'm truly, really sorry, Richard.” Janus wanted to know more but didn't feel it appropriate to ask. “Which hospital?” he said.

“The Royal Free but as soon as she can be moved I'm getting her into a private one.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Janus said, wanting to help Richard in any way that was possible.

“No. But as soon as I can get this situation sorted out I'll rearrange the party,” Jameson said; his usual business-like manner reasserting itself once more.

“Richard, please forget that. For the moment you need to focus on Liz.”

“Of course,” Jameson said, putting the phone down.

Janus felt deflated, he knew he shouldn't feel like this, his friend's wife, his friend, was in hospital, but he couldn't help it, he'd been preparing for this moment for a long time.

He shut the door to his car and wandered into the hire shop to cancel his fitting.

Poor Liz
, he thought as he drove back home, wondering when he would get a chance to give Liz a friendly hug.

A week had gone by and Janus hadn't heard a thing from Richard. He needed to find out what was happening but felt too awkward to intrude in his boss's life. Janus wondered why his publisher hadn't contacted him yet.

He consoled himself with the thought that Richard would be in touch as soon as there was something to know. In the meantime he ought to do some work but Liz's car crash had been a complete distraction and he had found it hard to focus on anything, he hadn't even checked his emails in the last few days. He knew he had to do something; he’d been distracted from his work for long enough. As a start he decided to tackle the mess that was his writing desk; bits of paper, bills and junk mail had built up over the last few weeks cluttering his entire work space.

One by one he opened the junk mail, checked it and threw it in the bin.

Then he came across the anonymous note that had been left for Richard on the table in the Royal Dragon and he read it again; “
If you carry on publishing work of this kind expect an accident within your family
.”

Was he reading the note correctly, he wondered, shaking his head? It couldn't be referring to Liz's accident could it? It was an accident after all.

The note's ominous tone still rang through his mind; “
If you carry on publishing work of this kind expect an accident within your family
.”

Richard had dismissed the note as nothing untoward and Janus had accepted his boss's stance. But now Janus was not so sure. Nothing had happened since receiving the note but now Liz had been in a car crash and this had occurred after his book had been published.

No
, he thought to himself,
this is just a coincidence; my imagination running away with me
.

Janus was trying to convince himself that there was no link between the two. There really couldn't be. But despite this final logical feeling he could not stop his mind focusing on his original supposition.

Could there be a link? Should I tell Richard about this? He didn't know. If he was going to mention this to his publisher he ought to get more information, but how? He was not a detective, well, not a detective in the normal sense of the word.

Janus stopped clearing his desk and leant back in his chair, staring at the note; thinking. Perhaps his spirit guide, the entity he’d become familiar with during his self-devised training, could give him some information.

As he had no other way to approach the question, he decided to attempt a connection between himself and his guide, and perhaps after that he would have some idea as to whether there was a connection between Liz's accident and the note or not.

Janus got up from the chair at his desk and walked around his lounge, closing the window blinds as he did so.

This process he followed was down to another discovery he had made during his research and training: blotting out all worldly distractions helped when attempting contact with the other realms.

He turned on his radio and tuned it so that it was between stations; a low level hiss filled the darkened room; he’d now dealt with the visual distractions and the audible ones also.

Janus sat back down in his chair and closed his eyes, emptying his mind as he did so.

Now that there was nothing apart from the hiss of the un-tuned radio and the darkness of the room, he concentrated.

“
My guide of guides are you there and ready to speak to me?
” Janus thought. There was no response.

“
My guide of all guides, are you able to help me?
” Janus continued, concentrating harder.

“
Yes Janus, I am here,
” came a reply, his spirit guide manipulating the radio's hiss into sibilant words.

“
Can you tell me what malevolence has caused the accident of my friend's wife?
”

“
Janus, in this plane there is no malevolence focused on your friend's wife, there is no incorporeal entity wishing ill of you or your friends at this time.
”

“
You cannot tell me of the incident?
” Janus's mind queried further.

“
I have no knowledge of the incident
.” The random hiss of the un-tuned radio filled the room once more.

“
My guide of guides you have told me of your thoughts and for this I thank you. Please now be at rest
.”

Janus opened his eyes and got out of his chair turning the radio off and opening the blinds.

If there was something going on it had nothing to do with the afterlife and he was stuck, he had no other avenue to go down in order to unravel the link he had made between the note and what had happened to Liz, his close and good friend.

Probably there was no link and it was just his paranoia. Janus certainly hoped this was so. He looked at his desk; the note was sitting there taunting him; “
If you carry on publishing work of this kind expect an accident within your family
.”

Janus grabbed the note and tore it up, then shoved the pieces into his paper shredder.

Enough was enough and that was the end of it. When the last bit of the note had been consumed by the shredder he started to relax. All he had to do now was get in touch with Richard and check that Liz was alright.

Janus hated this forced separation from Liz. He didn't understand how Richard could do this to him. He was their friend and they were his. Janus mourned the loss of the witty and incisive conversations he used to have with Liz whilst Richard was at the office. But perhaps Richard was so distraught about what had happened to his wife he had little idea of what he was inflicting upon him.