Read Online The Exiled by William Meikle - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: William Meikle
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said, the import of John’s words taking their time to sink in.
John nodded.
“I saw them. I couldn’t tell the super—he’d think me daft—but I let him know that I believe them all to be dead. He asked for my proof. I couldn’t give him any… but I can tell you. First things first, though—is there any chance you could smuggle me in a smoke?”
Alan had come prepared for that one. He closed the blinds to the outside corridor, opened the small window and passed John his lighter and a pack of smokes. John lit up and coughed his way through three puffs before he could keep smoke down.
“I don’t know where to start,” he said, flicking ash into a water cup by the bedside.
Alan played a hunch.
“How about starting with the sea cliffs and the black bird?”
He’d never seen John look quite so confused in his life, and both of them laughed almost simultaneously.
“It seems I’m not the only one with a story to tell. You’re remembering what happened in the farm?”
“No… I’ll have to back up a bit…”
Alan told John about his visit to the bird sanctuary, and the vision he’d had there, and John confirmed that he too had a vision of the same place, before even getting Alan’s message about Galloway.
“What does it mean?” Alan asked.
“Let me tell you what I saw, and we’ll discuss it,” John said, lighting a second cigarette from the butt of the first and wafting the smoke away with his good hand.
Alan sat, stunned as the older brother told his story.
“So, wee brother,” John said as he got to the end. “What do you think? Am I ready for the loony bin?”
“If you are, I’m going in with you—I don’t understand the half of it, but I believe you. What I don’t know is what we do now. We can’t tell anybody…”
“…or else we really will be sent away. I know. Besides, I’m going to be stuck in here for a while yet. I think our first step is what you do best—hit some books, do some research. We can’t be the first that this kind of thing has happened to, can we?”
“I bloody well hope not,” Alan replied.
Alan left half an hour later after a nurse came in, gave John hell for smoking, and confiscated his lighter and what was left in the pack. Both men were smiling as they parted.
* * *
Alan went back to the office.
He needed something to focus on, and John’s idea about research gave him the perfect opportunity. He spent the next few days deep in esoterica both online and among the shelves of specialist bookstores in the old town. Sporadic checks to make sure John was still progressing towards being well, interspersed with a couple of stolen hours of relaxation in some of the town’s bars meant that he was relatively inured against any news on the big story. When he finally caught up, it was only to find that the police were no further forward—Galloway hadn’t been found, and there was still no news of the missing kids. Having heard—and believed—John’s story, Alan was just thankful that no more kids had been abducted.
His research, however, seemed to be getting nowhere. There was plenty of myth and folklore regarding both swans and other realms, but nothing he could find that connected the two. He was on his way out of the last bookstore of the day, about to buy a pamphlet from the sixties entitled Faerie Folk in Border Legend , when he spotted a small stack of five books tucked away behind a pile of magazines on the counter. It was the cover that caught his eye first—a gigantic black swan, wings pulled forward in a hood, crouching over a map of Scotland. The title was in a bold lurid font—THE CYGNUS DECEPTION—and the author’s name, Brian Ferguson, in smaller print at the bottom. Later he would wonder whether there was more than just an element of random chance involved in his finding it, but for now he was almost too astonished to consider the implications.
The shopkeeper saw him looking at the books, and looked embarrassed.
“I’m
John nodded.
“I saw them. I couldn’t tell the super—he’d think me daft—but I let him know that I believe them all to be dead. He asked for my proof. I couldn’t give him any… but I can tell you. First things first, though—is there any chance you could smuggle me in a smoke?”
Alan had come prepared for that one. He closed the blinds to the outside corridor, opened the small window and passed John his lighter and a pack of smokes. John lit up and coughed his way through three puffs before he could keep smoke down.
“I don’t know where to start,” he said, flicking ash into a water cup by the bedside.
Alan played a hunch.
“How about starting with the sea cliffs and the black bird?”
He’d never seen John look quite so confused in his life, and both of them laughed almost simultaneously.
“It seems I’m not the only one with a story to tell. You’re remembering what happened in the farm?”
“No… I’ll have to back up a bit…”
Alan told John about his visit to the bird sanctuary, and the vision he’d had there, and John confirmed that he too had a vision of the same place, before even getting Alan’s message about Galloway.
“What does it mean?” Alan asked.
“Let me tell you what I saw, and we’ll discuss it,” John said, lighting a second cigarette from the butt of the first and wafting the smoke away with his good hand.
Alan sat, stunned as the older brother told his story.
“So, wee brother,” John said as he got to the end. “What do you think? Am I ready for the loony bin?”
“If you are, I’m going in with you—I don’t understand the half of it, but I believe you. What I don’t know is what we do now. We can’t tell anybody…”
“…or else we really will be sent away. I know. Besides, I’m going to be stuck in here for a while yet. I think our first step is what you do best—hit some books, do some research. We can’t be the first that this kind of thing has happened to, can we?”
“I bloody well hope not,” Alan replied.
Alan left half an hour later after a nurse came in, gave John hell for smoking, and confiscated his lighter and what was left in the pack. Both men were smiling as they parted.
* * *
Alan went back to the office.
He needed something to focus on, and John’s idea about research gave him the perfect opportunity. He spent the next few days deep in esoterica both online and among the shelves of specialist bookstores in the old town. Sporadic checks to make sure John was still progressing towards being well, interspersed with a couple of stolen hours of relaxation in some of the town’s bars meant that he was relatively inured against any news on the big story. When he finally caught up, it was only to find that the police were no further forward—Galloway hadn’t been found, and there was still no news of the missing kids. Having heard—and believed—John’s story, Alan was just thankful that no more kids had been abducted.
His research, however, seemed to be getting nowhere. There was plenty of myth and folklore regarding both swans and other realms, but nothing he could find that connected the two. He was on his way out of the last bookstore of the day, about to buy a pamphlet from the sixties entitled Faerie Folk in Border Legend , when he spotted a small stack of five books tucked away behind a pile of magazines on the counter. It was the cover that caught his eye first—a gigantic black swan, wings pulled forward in a hood, crouching over a map of Scotland. The title was in a bold lurid font—THE CYGNUS DECEPTION—and the author’s name, Brian Ferguson, in smaller print at the bottom. Later he would wonder whether there was more than just an element of random chance involved in his finding it, but for now he was almost too astonished to consider the implications.
The shopkeeper saw him looking at the books, and looked embarrassed.
“I’m
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