Together

By Alexander Hawksville

Together is the story of Josh and his friends. They are of one mind - they have become a human gestalt.

Josh is on the run from his dangerous, controlling father, Professor Cameron. Can Josh escape the punishment his father will mete out if the young man is caught?

Together with his friends he will do what he needs to do.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alexander Hawksville
• Release date: Oct 13, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465804181

Alexander Hawksville

I live in Scotland where I appreciate the beauty of my rural surroundings. Landscape and how it influences people is a large part of my work. I have been involved in many different areas of the performing arts. On a regular basis I travel to 'the big city' and perform in Poems and Pints nights. I write and self-publish poetry. I also do this for other writers.In the past I was with Borderline Theatre where I took part in, and wrote plays for their Community Outreach project.Science Fiction, Fantasy and Horror are my favourite genres, and my books on these subjects feature on SmashwordsWriting is a hobby and a passion and has allowed me to meet and perform alongside a lot of people I would never have encountered otherwise. I am part of a community and that has been the most valuable part of the writing experience for me.

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Together

Published by Alexander Hawksville at Smashwords

Copyright A. Hawksville 2011

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Together

by

Alexander Hawksville

Josh sat at his computer. It was the latest kind. Of course it would be. Only the best For Josh Cameron, son of the great professor Cameron.

He was running the maths programme when his father came in. Of course it was a Wednesday and his father had a half-day to supposedly catch up with student papers and make preparations for his lessons. Not that his father was a maths expert. He was a professor of Psychology and Philosophy.

How are the lessons going? asked father. His thin face wore an expression of polite enquiry but there was that undercurrent of sarcasm there that was present in all his observations.

If only it stopped at sarcasm.

I'm dealing with quadratic equations, said Josh.

His father examined the screen critically.

What's this?

Nothing.

You've been running through differential calculus. I thought I told you to wait until I worked these out with you.

Yes but -

But what?

Nothing.

Josh stood up. He was nearly as tall as his father now and more muscular but his fine upper lip twitched in alarm.

He knew the signs.

Is this what I have brought you up for, educating you privately with my money and my time? Who is the teacher here?

You are father.

Then you shoudn't have advanced the lessons on your own.

But I just thought -

Thinking is very fine, very fine indeed my boy, but I think you need a little lesson we don't normally have in the curriculum.

Josh hung his head.

Please father.

Please? Yes that's what you did. You pleased yourself. Steps have to be taken, just like your lessons. If you go in advance. What does that say?

I was exercising intellectual curiosity.

Very well, that is a good sign. But young minds need discipline. I think we've had enough talk.

Professor Cameron crossed to the cupboard in the corner. There, among the usual schoolboy accoutrements was a long cane.

Josh moved back towards the open door. His computer buzzed merrily in the background. He was trembling now, like a young puppy.

Don't, I didn't mean -

You never do? Do you? You never mean to trangress but you do. You're a bad boy Joshua. As he advanced the Professor snicked the cane rapidly from side to side, seeming to enjoy the low whistling noise it made cutting through the air of the small room.

Josh turned, but the cane caught him on the back of his legs stinging him through the thin material of his trousers. The sound of thin wood on flesh seemed to galvanise the professor. At the end of it he threw the cane aside.

Perhaps that will teach you not to advance yourself at the expense of your education, said his father. No supper tonight. He went out, locking the door behind him and went downstairs to prepare his own meal. They had no servants for obvious reasons.

Josh wept for a while but some of his tears were of relief.

This way was better than the boot in the ribs.

Being thrown down the stairs.

The Black Hole. He thought of the Black Hole often. He hadn't been in there for a while.

He hoped he never would again.

Anna sat looking solidly ahead. She was in her carved wooden chair, the one with the rockers. From time to time she moved backwards and forwards. Her carer, Charmain knew what to do, in a sort of way. She just had to talk to Anna, talk and joke and laugh until Anna came out of it.

How are you today? asked Charmain again.

Anna was a blocky girl. Her long chestnut hair cascaded down her back and seemed to belong on someone else, for Anna was big. Her face was fleshy and she wore big solid glasses.

Come on Anna, said Charmain. Don't you want to watch a film or read a book?

But Anna did not respond. She rocked back and forth every few minutes tick-tock just like that then rested, pudgy hands staying on massive thighs that were encased in black cotton slacks.

They called it late-onset autism. The visible symptoms were that Anna seemed lost in a world of her own. She did not respond to the spoken word and would spend many hours just like this staring into space. At times like these she had to wear huge nappies because she would not even go to the bathroom and at eighteen stones it was an effort to get her there.

Brockbank, the Children's Centre, just didn't have the staff to cope with toileting her five or six hours a day. So the truth was that Anna sat there for days on end, her body functions going on quite happily while her mind circled round and round.

Anna, would you like to hear some music ? asked Charmain. No answer, nor did she expect one but she had to go through the process. They called it 'talk therapy' and Charmain spent an hour every day talking to Anna while she was like this. Charmain often felt like giving up and walking out, but after days, sometimes weeks the old Anna would come back, the Anna who could read and write, who liked to walk around the grounds (albeit slowly on her big legs and swollen feet) the Anna who could hold a sensible conversation and even seemed to show some signs of deeper intelligence.

But that Anna was retreating fast and her mother had contacted the Authorities when the lapses became more and more frequent until her daughter was like this; a blocky, fleshy statue with only the odd movement and her regular breathing to show she was still alive.

The periods of 'real-Anna' were growing less and less as she entered adolescence. Her own mind seemed to be an eternal verity to her. It wasn't like the autism Charmain had seen before where the symptoms were at least those of faulty socialisation.

I'll open the windows, said the carer, let a bit of fresh air into things, then I have work to get on with, okay?

Nothing.

Anna sat and looked straight forward. She might as well have been alone. Charmain felt a flash of resentment. All this effort for nothing, then she sighed and opened the window. It was a beautiful day. She left Anna, looking back once as the door of Room 23 closed on her charge. Anna rocked forward her jowls quivered, then she was still. Charmain felt a tear spring to her left eye.

There was a sense of someone trapped in there.

Like a wild animal in a cage.

She shook the notion off and moved on.

First he checked the holiday home for intruders. There was no-one there. Marcus felt a sense of relief. He looked at his watch. 9.30 am. He had managed to sleep for eight hours, he felt comfortable and relaxed. He went into the kitchen and poured cereal into a bowl, opened the fridge and took out the milk, poured it over his chocoflakes and sat down at the breakfast bar to eat. When he was finished he put the bowl and spoon into the sink along with the others. He poured a glass of water mixed with some diluting orange and went back to the breakfast bar, finishing the orange in a minute or two.

He looked at his watch.

9.40 am.

It seemed like such a good idea at the time. Plan it all out and put himself in a 'home alone' situation.

His mother and father had planned a second honeymoon in Florida. They had arranged for Marcus to stay with an uncle and aunt in Kent. His parents being computer buffs the whole thing had been arranged by e-mail. Marcus would leave Scotland by train, meeting his aunt at a station down in England. He would leave the same morning as his parents.

Two