The Dandelion King

By J.P.Lockhead

JoJo, has never seen the world as we do, as from an early age, hes always felt as if hed crash landed onto a planet whose alien inhabitants were a hostile breed of canine origin. With his comms device damaged beyond repair, all attempts to communicate with the indigenous species proved disastrous, forcing him to live life on the run, a life feeding from latrines of solitude and isolation. He was now a bone marooned in the bowl of a dog eat dog world! The story follows the internalized struggles of a young autistic, whose turbulent years through adolescence leave him at a cross roads in life, where failing school grades and an uncertain future, force him to make a judgment call. When a computer virus called Humphrey infects JoJos computer, rules of engagement are set to change and deep friendships, sorely tested. His teacher, the key to his survival, suspects there is more to JoJo than meets the eye and the journey in search of a puppet master more sinister than either could have imagined.Soon, JoJo may have to face an adversary much closer to home than he thinks, in an epic battle of wills - winner takes all!

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Mar 27, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491891797

J.P.Lockhead

Born and Christened in 1957, James lived in West Yorkshire until the age of five, before moving to Falkirk, where he spent most of his childhood ‘Doon the Bog,’ a rugged ‘no frills’ council estate, within spitting distance of Grangemouth’s Oil refinery, a fire breathing dragon whose giant fireballs soaring into the night sky, poured scorn over nearby residents, their poisonous breath polluting the very lungs that depended upon them for their existence Fondly remembering the place as ‘The second star to the right’, deep within a ragamuffins den, scallywags drunk on adventure, cared not a jot, sipping potent secrets like fine wine, playing pontoon for old pennies, and regurgitating many a tall tale from damp, dank car seats unceremoniously ‘borrowed’ from the local scrapyard nearby. It was a life a child was meant to live! Returning to West Yorkshire some time later, James experienced a ‘calling’ and reaffirmed his Christian beliefs, after painting a crucifixion scene for the local church. During this time, James also met his wife and soul mate Lynn. They have now been together for over thirty six years and are happily married with two children Kayley and Matthew. God has walked with James ever since.

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DANDELION KING

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J.P.Lockhead

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AuthorHouse™ UK Ltd.

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403 USA

www.authorhouse.co.uk

Phone: [phone]

© 2014 J.P.Lockhead. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse   03/25/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4918-9121-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-9109-4 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-9179-7 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Dedication

Acknowledgement

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

The Final Chapter

DEDICATION

To all who suffer in silence.

Do not search for the living amongst the dead.

Pick up thy dreams and walk.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

To my wonderful children Kayley and Matthew whose boundless enthusiasm, endless encouragement and invaluable help were assets readily available unless requested.

To God for refusing to acknowledge a voice in my head screaming

‘Turn the whale around!!’

To my beautiful Wife Lynn, whom I love very much – I couldn’t have done it without you. The constant drone of the dryer was all the inspiration I needed.

To my mother – the last of the true masochists. She managed to read the mercurial manuscript at least three times – until finally sectioned – luv ya mum! ‘Hope you like the new jacket!’

‘To the Angel who walks the earth!’ my cousin Jean - for a shot of infectious enthusiasm spreading like wildfire.

To my nephew Jonathon, who resting a while, found a flawed Miss Robinson in desperate need of resuscitation

A Very, Very Special Thanks

to

Teddy in the Summerhouse.

He listened Intently and never complained once!

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When all but God had fled.

He stayed by my side to the bitter end

Thanks Teddy!

CHAPTER 1

LEONTODON DREAMS

Dandelion seeds, rising on the wind know not where they fall or why, mere ghost riders of unknown steed—outcasts in mortal eye, such was the life of Humphrey Bumphrey.

At the bottom of the ocean, the sea serpent lay still as if dead. Its nibbling enemies arrive, each taking a bite, yet, it never moves. More enemies arrive, each taking a bite and still it never moves . . . . but when the sea serpent is sure its enemies surround it, then with salivating lips, it open its eyes and gobbles them all up!

(Gladiator)

In truth, there is a sea serpent asleep in all of us!

Ssssssssssshhhhhh!

‘This is a very strange place!’

‘Shut up Deano and stop whinging, behind that coat quickly!’

‘Oh… jeeeeeeeees… its smelters… he stinks!’

Jacko sniggered

‘Hey shur up Jacko he’ll hear you bozo!’

‘Who you calling bozo!’

‘Hey… . shit for brains… If you don’t both shut up… . I swear I’m gonna…’

‘Shhhh! . . . He’s here’ . . .

‘Who’s here?’

‘Undercracker Fudgesnacker!’

‘Who?’

‘Mr Whimpy! . . . you Div!’

Running the gauntlet was what I could only describe as a stick insect, a tall stick insect at that, a harmless creature just minding its own business, going about its daily life doing what stick insects do when suddenly it stopped dead in its tracks. Its neck appeared to be craning to the left, its bulging eyes fixed on one spot and one spot only… the cloakrooms—the perfect place for an ambush. Something wasn’t quite right, it could sense it, deadened feet welded to the polished tile floor told it so, feet not designed for flying

Its body swaying from side to side, looked uncomfortable, a pensive look etched deep into a worried face, a face demanding it take another route—if only… if only…

‘But this is the route you are destined to take!’

‘It spun around—trying to locate the ‘voice!’

Delicate shoulder blades flapped like wings as a hurricane’s teeth sank into the neck of New York.

‘Should I dare step forward?’

‘What will happen if I do?’

‘The world will change!’ whispered the voice…

‘Good or Bad?’

‘Who’s to say but God?’

‘Then I will not move from this spot… not now… not ever!’

‘But you must? sighed the voice ‘you must!’

‘Why… why must I?’

For the world will change… if you don’t?’

It heard footsteps behind it… a girl’s footsteps perhaps, light and airy like the inside of her head, precise stabbing sounds closing in on its position.

Registering the probability of a ninety eight-point niner, it made a swift guess

‘Jane Ellison!’

Jane Ellison swung by… her widening hips little more than a rolling pendulum swaying to the well-tuned rhythm of a finely calibrated metronome.

She counted eyes unseen, four pairs in all carving sugar sweet eye candy from sea salt air—an offering given gladly to those trapped beneath duffel coat suns.

Wolves in need licked their lips

A sultry glance, a furtive smile, all part of the game, her eyes dropped quickly examining a stick insects crotch before briefly brushing aside drainpipe legs. It was the kind of attention to detail only a girl well versed in male window-shopping could do and do well. Rolling onwards, her gaze hitched a ride along mustard yellow walls stretching as far as the art block hopping from painting to painting before finally dripping onto drab grey skirting boards Her beautiful nubile body, the sway of her curvaceous hull, a smell of overwhelming perfume, a rising swell of bitter tasting air, its death rattle rolling in the space between them confirmation of a recently emptied spray can or two. No hot-blooded male ever made could resist a girl like that… not even one from planet stick insect, a fact she knew and knew well, a girl sixteen years in age, forty of them already behind her. A quick peak in her rear view mirror was all she required—a quick peak!

Turning quickly, a sideward glance nothing more… assured her of a prize—burning eyes welding themselves into her ass like a limpet on a rock

Yet not today… not today! for the tall bean pole shaped boy she’d glided by a moment ago, a tall bean pole shaped boy seemingly unperturbed by hypnotic cheeks quivering like jelly on springs focused his attention on something far less edible—rustling coats swaying to the rhythm of her body.

Her stomach wrenched ‘He must be gay!’ she snapped.

Slipping passed painted shadows panting in pockets of stagnant air, her mind tripped over a red carpet of lolling tongues.

She stopped again… this time teasingly flicking long flowing hair into the yawning mouth of a hungry reflection.

A gloomy sky trapped between towering glass bookends screamed in silence. Deliberately she dropped her keys, stepping backwards, another pause, each one deliberate, each one calculated, a lethal injection sank deep into life’s arteries… Occupied coat pegs swung as groaning gallows, her gaze rolling into darkened alleyways—a bowling ball heading for a strike. Slowly she began her descent, her whimpering skirt teasingly riding its luck on an ebbing tide of gingham exposing muscular thighs to the painful sound of adolescent groans.

‘Thank you’ whispered the wolves… their eyes met… an undulating ass riding a space hopper all the way to hell.

Between knees perfectly bent, picking up keys, a juddering ass finally ran out of pole, a flicker of a smile stolen from Judas robbing a baying crowd of a repeat performance.

A voice in her ear whispered ‘You know what you must do!’

Turning to the stick insect, she smiled

‘Hey Fudgy… It’s ok… there’s no one here… honestly!’

Violet eyes shifted to the left, unconscious reflex spilling beans yet unnoticed.

The stick insect never moved!

With a shrug of her shoulders, her cheeks grew large, her pursed lips puckered, a cupids bow firing its arrow, a large bubble of gum exploding with such intensity, it rocked the walls of the corridor where the stick insect stood.

‘Ok… suite yourself?’ she whimpered shrugging guilt from immoral shoulders

Watching the Art room door shudder behind her, an eerie silence filled the space between them.

Sucking the last lollipop of breathable air, the stick insect braced itself

‘Perhaps there isn’t any one there this time?’ it thought

‘Why would Jane lie?’

‘Why indeed!’

Nervously moving forward, one hideous step at a time… pensive fingers hooked into an exposed clavicle, almost snapping it in two.

It was at times like these where one knew why stick insects were green… and it was nothing to do with camouflage!

‘I know you’re there!’ I cried foolishly giving away my position…

‘Oh Yeah… fudgy boy… there’s no one here?’ whispered a ghostly form behind me

‘Grid locked!’

I heard a voice inside my head cry ‘I’ll take it from here. A slurry of groaning bowels, triggering the tightening of watertight buttocks

‘500cc’s of adrenalin quickly!’ My rib cage burst wide open, my heart falling into mid-air. Picking up speed, I feared it would splatter into the floor like a ripe tomato, yet it didn’t—it didn’t—it never did!

A stirring wave of resignation washed over me.

‘Let’s get it over with!’

I cannot remember what happened next; I never could, not even to this day—a kind of safety device or so I’ve been told by those whose settees are always wider and more comfortable than mine. I’d taken this kind of abuse for years—well as long as I can remember, a birth right I guess—yeah some birth right!

When it was all over, when hell had tired of me, hurriedly I collected my things from as far as the science block, zipped shut my battered school satchel, the one mauled from my shoulder by lion cubs pretending to be kids and moved on.

Without warning, one broke loose from the pack, grinding bared teeth

‘Hey Geeko! . . . what ya doing!’

A bell rang—round two.

By the age of fifteen, I was the undisputed Olympian champion in the gym shoe shuffle and duffle coat triathlon, a Guru knowing precisely where I would land before plunging headlong into boss and Armani, not many kids can boast that… or perhaps would want to! but as I dubiously enjoyed an encore of maniacal laughter, rolling down the corridor, waiting what seemed like an eternity, wailing sirens screaming in my head told me things were set to change. I felt my hand unconsciously squeeze the memory stick in my pocket, my only means of escape, everything I was to be depended upon it! ‘It was still in one piece!’ I felt relieved, almost grateful, arising to do what every self-respecting geek did under the circumstances… ‘Nothing!’

‘They’re gone!’ I whispered nervously to myself

I was a little unsure, hiding beneath a make shift shelter of plimsolls and duffle bags, but falling into the passageway, still locked in the foetus position, I could see past the refectory and realised it was over.

‘That was close’ said the voice ‘Too close—you need to make more backups!’

If I was really lucky—if I was really lucky perhaps I’d survive another beating tonight… perhaps?—but for now… for now, the usual audit began—inspecting myself for damage.

‘A couple of buttons missing from my shirt, the hem line of my trousers slightly torn, a doc martin boot print framed squarely in the centre of my blazer not as bad as I’d first thought!’

It was strange how I felt… praising the cubs for sparing me the usual hammering

‘They must have been in a playful mood today!’

I was fast becoming sicker than I thought

‘Yes playful… that’s the word!’

By the time I’d walked across the school playing fields summing up my defence, I had a well prepared portfolio of well-timed excuses, tucked tightly under my arm. Excuses were as important to me, as the clothes I wore… for without them I was naked.

‘And on that note, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I rest my case. A playful gesture nothing else… a symbol of endearment nothing more, besides my client has on more than one occasion admitted to himself, that he doesn’t really mind a bit of rough and tumble… I’m sure it’s… nothing more than that, nothing to truly get upset about and therefore there can only be one plea’

‘Not Guilty!’

The jury of course would comply, I would magnanimously decide not to report the incident to my form teacher, and that would be that—case dismissed!

That’s how I led my life, a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach coinciding with the fumbling of a lock… the point where I’d arrived home. I didn’t hate that person, the incapable one, the embarrassment, the source of public amusement, I couldn’t hate anyone but the one inside me could!

‘Oh I think I’m going to wrench!’ he spat, the one sick to his stomach of who I was, his bloated belly already full, his slithering fingers tapping my head with the precious memory stick!

‘Hey Wimpy! . . . better make a back-up like the voice said!’

Trying hard to ignore him, I focused my attention on those inside, the ones who truly loved me, a different script to the one I wrote earlier prepared in advance!—that look of disappointment,—the patronising hugs, how could I do any other, I couldn’t tell them the truth, my shoulders weren’t broad enough.

Slamming the door hard, no—one appeared.

‘Thank God!’ I thought

‘Thank God—no one is home!’

It was a good omen for it meant I missed the part where I lied about having a good day… the fun that I’d had… the lessons I’d enjoyed… all that stuff… and… and… oh yes… the praise… the endless praise I received, heaps and heaps of it, all from teachers that didn’t give a toss!

The world raised the bar a little higher today in preparation for tomorrow’s games! ‘Tonight you will have to train long and hard!’ whispered the voice

Expectations were indeed high, how was I ever to meet them… my only chance conjuring an alternative ending to the day, a talent I’d developed into a fine art and something of second nature to me now!

Sure!—there were times around the corner, where I’d be caught pants down, tied to a chair, having my finger nails removed one by one… I knew that, I knew that only too well but it was a risk I’d have to take, my primary objective surviving the day in one piece, anything else was of little consequence to me!

So I grew good at telling lies… so what? Being a computer nerd and that ‘Hamburgers disease kid!’ what else could I do!

‘Hamburgers! Hamburgers!’ . . . they couldn’t even get that right!

‘Aspergers!’ . . . ‘Aspergers!’ I screamed in my head—

‘Aspergers! I’m Autistic—you morons!’

Oh how I wished I could find the balls to tell them to their many faces, but the voice in my head grew dumb, it’s echoing words only ever heard by my ears, words embedding themselves deep into my throat like a broken elevator.

‘Wimpy’ by name and wimpy by nature I guess?’

‘Wimpy?—well—you know the one—Popeye’s pal!’ The one stuffing his face full of Hamburgers—big, fat, bald, dumb looking—but I was none of them. I was as thin as a lat and bright as a button… and dare I say it… ‘pretty as a picture!’ yet ‘Wimpy!’ was my name and wimpy the game… as other kids loved it, having patented the title some time ago.

Leaking the news, I was slightly Autistic was a bad call, something I regret to this day. Until that point, I was simply an odd ball rolling with the punches—an odd ball still in with a chance of becoming ‘accepted’, a prize I craved like a woman craves chocolate.

I took each beating with pride, without so much as a blink of an eye, hoping for the day it would stop, dreaming of the moment they’d tire and accept me into their fold, another thug in the making! Thank goodness that day never came.

I don’t know why I told Mary Jane—punching above my weight perhaps?

A word of warning to all you wannabe’s—be careful what you wish for, if it was attention I sought, I had heaps of it now—the kind no one wants!

So began the journey—a journey leading me to this point, a point of no return, a place calling me as I write to you, a place where reality and fiction merge into one.

Telling lies, severing links, were mere stepping stones—that’s all, stepping stones to a place where a posse could never find me, a place where I could hide, a place where I could heal, a place where I could think, a place where I was in control. Yet how could I have known as I schemed and planned, what awaited lurking in the shadows a King without a kingdom, a computer nerd lost in a place where even I cannot find me! . . . I’ve been here ever since!

I was still feeling sorry for myself when the walls of my room shuddered…

My sister… was home! . . . I was sure of it, no one else ripped the door from its hinges like that—another boyfriend’s bit the dust I concluded.

Launching myself onto the bed carefully I unzipped my satchel, an icicle sliding down my back as a glistening black mouth gave a cavernous yawn… I daren’t look… I dare not, for fear of what I might find in there nestling in the pit… objects in disarray, a sight which made me feel sick.

No—one seemed to understand how I felt, not even I, well, that is not strictly true, Dr Jefferies on a Tuesday afternoon at Castleford Clinic—two o’clock on the dot did, and he was very nice. He seemed to understand me a little—he was the one who gave me the label, a label I thought I so desperately needed—it didn’t stop me feeling like an alien, but at least I now knew why I didn’t belong to this planet!

Apparently I am one of the lucky ones, ‘High Functioning or something’ which means I can almost pass as one of them!’ . . . Almost!’

‘Almost’ a thorn in my side as long as I care to remember, a bloodhound hot on my trail wherever I turn, I hear it howling in my ears, it’s hot arid breath heavy on my neck barking questions I cannot answer!’

‘Why am I not dribbling into my cup believing the earth is flat instead of round?’

‘ . . . Don’t I deserve to be hunted?’

Quickly I look away, for I know if I continue, something squeezing my balls, will drag me into the pit, a place where answers are as scarce as exit doors—I saw the portal opening, all I had to do was step in—a portal I’d created. Staring at my shoe laces, trying to draw comfort from the fact that they still seemed intact, two loops, identical lengths double knotted, remarkably un-scuffed and still gleaming—unbelievable—miraculous even, someone up there liked me… the portal vanished!

I blinked, feeling a little better, slowly twisting my neck in the opposite direction

Opening my eyes, a sharp intake of breath dug crampon like teeth into the vertical face of an ice-cold lip.

Trembling, I took out some books and began chanting a familiar mantra.

‘I must not panic… I must not panic… I must not panic’ . . . It seemed to be working.

Slowly and very carefully placing each item on the table in front of me, nervous sweat trickled from my brow. Handling the package, I felt the room spin and knew if I dropped this, I was a gonna for sure, for what was once mere maths books a moment ago, now took on the form of delicate bomb casing.

I could see the timer! I could see and hear it ticking! . . . tick, tock, tick, tock… its soothing sound seemingly calming, a beautiful, beautiful symphony of sound, now playing inside my head… a concerto in progress, my beating… its conductor!

Slowly the rhythm of life returned… the books stacked neatly on top of the table in the top right corner… a perfect square it had to be. Carefully I handled two hb4 pencils as if they were plutonium fuel rods, gently positioning them into horizontal grooves adjacent to the books. The pencil sharpener came next… always the pencil sharpener but not the spare one… no, no, no not the spare one, crikey not the spare one, that old thing was for emergency use only… it was scuffed and shabby looking. I hated it and tried to throw it away many times but every time I opened my case there it was… I… I don’t know why? . . . or how? . . . ‘it just was’ . . . ‘I just was’ . . . ‘life just was’ . . . until ‘the day came when… ‘we just was?’ . . . it’s been here ever since.

The spare pencil sharpener always remained in the zipped up portion of my satchel-a criminal in solitary confinement rationed only on bread and water. Next the rubber, the rubber always followed the ruler, both being placed together side by side one centimetre apart, three centimetres in from the left had edge of the table top.

‘Right!’ I felt better now… much better. I slowly opened the drawer until its handle gently kissed my knee.

I stared at the pattern on my desk, the books, pencils, sharpener, ruler… I stared at them all, I stared at them all as I always stared at them—two minutes… not a second more, two minutes… two minutes of silence as I read each name inscribed upon the cenotaph of my mind.

‘We will remember them!’

All present and correct… now and only now could assimilation begin. Gently I placed each item into the drawer exactly as they sat on the table top… . I would do this several times counting books again and again just to be sure.

Each had to be stacked a certain way… any fool could see that! from left to right, the red one first, its title facing towards me… and it must be Maths… GCSE Maths Second edition. Beside it, the form time schedule, on top, always a pencil case—my pencil case, plain olive green—a colour which didn’t attract any attention, my Initials J.D inscribed in Biro top right. Not the Daleks, please—not the Daleks-if I forgot and slipped the Daleks into my bag, I was a gonna!

I checked again. Olive Green—J.D a divide and plus sign clearly marked—not a Dalek in sight. I closed the drawer, counted to ten and opened it again—still olive green not a Dalek in sight.

I began to count, adding to my tally, always preparing to smuggle in another digit just in case I arrived at an odd number.

I laughed, people thought I was crazy but I didn’t think so, It wasn’t I who lived as Mr Topsy Turvy in Topsy Turvy world… my world was one of order—and if it made no sense to them—their loss—for it made perfect sense to me!

Thrown into life’s asylum—I never played by their rules, although mad men expected it of me, but I never did, why should I? I didn’t ask to be thrown in here, a place where the lunatics were in charge.

Suddenly I froze in my tracks… ‘Five books?’ . . . I was sure I counted six. I counted six… I almost passed out counting them again… ‘Five!’

I launched myself forward.

‘I must not panic, I must not panic, I must not panic!’

An odd number, a nightmare in progress,

I held the fuse in my hand not knowing which connection to cut… crocodile teeth biting through bone.

‘Six!’ I cried

The room fell silent

‘I knew I was right! I knew I was right!’

I fell back onto the bed drained… the room beginning to spin… . My