Read Online The Alembic Valise by John Luxton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: John Luxton
Ads: Link
predates Freud but he adopted it. It is the dark secret that Freudian analysis seeks to find, and bring kicking and screaming out into the noonday sun. Anyway, the pathogenic secret is much more than just a bad memory or a negative experience that we can forget or somehow ‘get over’. It is damage that must be healed or it will rot within us, poisoning our lives for all eternity. In cultures where shamanic healing is practised, the secret is often seen as a serpent or a stone that must be expelled or exorcised.”
“I never knew you were into this stuff,” said Joel waving away the proffered jazz cigarette.
As Joel listened and gazed out of the window he began to feel a sense of foreboding. A dozen or so brightly coloured canoes were passing by in a line, like a row of ducks following their mother. He stood up to open a window, noticing that Dave was looking at him strangely.
“Hey are you alright? You look like you are having a minor white-out.”
“Suddenly need a little fresh air, that’s all,” said Joel opening the metal-framed window to the maximum of it’s limited travel. “Maybe I am having a paranoia attack on your behalf. I think I might have a condition, paranoia by proxy. What do you think?”
“Hmm maybe,” chuckled Dave.
Joel carried on standing by the window.
Chapter 13
Lorna Z took the same route home from school every day. If it was raining it was a two-bus journey to the mansion flat in Chiswick where she lived with her father. But when the weather was fine she preferred to walk the first part of her journey. Every time that she crossed the bridge, whether on the bus or on foot she looked towards the cluster of boats where she knew Joel lived.
Today the sun was shining so Lorna was walking. Last night she had gone with her father to the Gate to listen to Sophie’s lecture about the causeway, and afterwards had met and talked to Sophie and was still aglow from being included in the adult world of ideas and creativity. Also on her mind was the fact that her father had that night gone on a mission of some kind with Joel, about which he had remained tight lipped, thus allowing her imagination to fly in a thousand speculative directions.
As she reached the centre of the bridge she saw that someone else was looking towards the same area that interested her so much and as she drew along side she recognised the man. He had been at Sophie’s talk but something was different; his hair was no longer in long braids.
She thought it would be ungracious to pass by without saying something and seeing him switch his gaze from the group of moored houseboats, to the swirling currents that contorted the surface of the water around the stone piers of the bridge, she broke the silence.
“Hello! You were at the Gate last night, for the talk about the lost causeway, I thought it was so interesting.”
Deacon turned, looked confused for only a second then smiled at her.
“Well I am glad you enjoyed it. Unfortunately I missed it. But you must have met my twin brother Jim there.”
Lorna’s hand went to her mouth, “Oops, I am sorry you look the same.”
His smile broadened, “Well we are identical. I’m Deke, pleased to meet you.”
“I’m Lorna, is Deke short for Derek?”
“No it’s short for Deacon.”
Lorna now felt able to ask the question she has wanted to ask from the start. “Do you know Joel Barlow? He lives down there and I saw you looking at his boat just now.”
When Deacon replied in the negative she spent the next few minutes telling him all about Joel, and her father’s escapade in the fog with him the night before.
“So why,” he asked when Lorna finally paused for breath, “would your father do that?”
“Well he is a detective and he knows Joel Barlow because of the man with the turtle tattoo who died here.”
“Died where?” he enquired with a frown.
“Right there,” said Lorna pointing towards an area of exposed shingle and mud beyond the north pier of the
“I never knew you were into this stuff,” said Joel waving away the proffered jazz cigarette.
As Joel listened and gazed out of the window he began to feel a sense of foreboding. A dozen or so brightly coloured canoes were passing by in a line, like a row of ducks following their mother. He stood up to open a window, noticing that Dave was looking at him strangely.
“Hey are you alright? You look like you are having a minor white-out.”
“Suddenly need a little fresh air, that’s all,” said Joel opening the metal-framed window to the maximum of it’s limited travel. “Maybe I am having a paranoia attack on your behalf. I think I might have a condition, paranoia by proxy. What do you think?”
“Hmm maybe,” chuckled Dave.
Joel carried on standing by the window.
Chapter 13
Lorna Z took the same route home from school every day. If it was raining it was a two-bus journey to the mansion flat in Chiswick where she lived with her father. But when the weather was fine she preferred to walk the first part of her journey. Every time that she crossed the bridge, whether on the bus or on foot she looked towards the cluster of boats where she knew Joel lived.
Today the sun was shining so Lorna was walking. Last night she had gone with her father to the Gate to listen to Sophie’s lecture about the causeway, and afterwards had met and talked to Sophie and was still aglow from being included in the adult world of ideas and creativity. Also on her mind was the fact that her father had that night gone on a mission of some kind with Joel, about which he had remained tight lipped, thus allowing her imagination to fly in a thousand speculative directions.
As she reached the centre of the bridge she saw that someone else was looking towards the same area that interested her so much and as she drew along side she recognised the man. He had been at Sophie’s talk but something was different; his hair was no longer in long braids.
She thought it would be ungracious to pass by without saying something and seeing him switch his gaze from the group of moored houseboats, to the swirling currents that contorted the surface of the water around the stone piers of the bridge, she broke the silence.
“Hello! You were at the Gate last night, for the talk about the lost causeway, I thought it was so interesting.”
Deacon turned, looked confused for only a second then smiled at her.
“Well I am glad you enjoyed it. Unfortunately I missed it. But you must have met my twin brother Jim there.”
Lorna’s hand went to her mouth, “Oops, I am sorry you look the same.”
His smile broadened, “Well we are identical. I’m Deke, pleased to meet you.”
“I’m Lorna, is Deke short for Derek?”
“No it’s short for Deacon.”
Lorna now felt able to ask the question she has wanted to ask from the start. “Do you know Joel Barlow? He lives down there and I saw you looking at his boat just now.”
When Deacon replied in the negative she spent the next few minutes telling him all about Joel, and her father’s escapade in the fog with him the night before.
“So why,” he asked when Lorna finally paused for breath, “would your father do that?”
“Well he is a detective and he knows Joel Barlow because of the man with the turtle tattoo who died here.”
“Died where?” he enquired with a frown.
“Right there,” said Lorna pointing towards an area of exposed shingle and mud beyond the north pier of the
Similar Books
