Garnet And Gold

Chapter 7

The negative CAT scan and Dr Morgan’s assertion that there was nothing wrong with his brain did little to reassure Rick. A month had passed since his traumatic experience and thus far he had not spoken to anyone about it. Unless he did, he suspected he would end up in a mental institution. For this reason, he made the decision to call Gary with the intention of confiding in him.

“Look, why don’t you come down for the weekend? There’s something I need to discuss with you.”

“The fact is I’m supposed to be in Little Carlton then – doing detecting work.”

“For God’s sake, don’t go there!”

“What is the matter with you?”

is“That’s what we have to talk about. It’s urgent!”

The sigh from the other phone gave new meaning to ‘heavy’. But to Rick’s relief, it came accompanied with acceptance.

“If I set off early I could be with you for lunch on Saturday. I’ll leave the car in Queen Anne Terrace again. Where should we meet?”

“Can you come to my place? I need privacy and have something to show you that I can’t really wave around in public.”

“Are you all right, Rick? You don’t sound your normal self.”

“Not really. That’s why I need to see you. Saturday then, bye for now.”

The week seemed never-ending to Rick. He couldn’t concentrate on his research and his leisure activities of reading and listening to music provided no respite as he struggled to give meaning to what had happened in Lincolnshire. The irreverence of Gary, and his flippancy but reassuring common sense, was, he believed, exactly what he needed.

Rick opened his door to the peremptory knock to be faced with a hand extending a six-pack of lager. He took the cardboard confection, soggy with condensation, and carried it over to the fridge where he accommodated the four survivors. The other two he took over to the armchairs, handed one to Gary and simultaneously they pulled the ring tabs to a spluttering hiss and chirped, “Cheers, mate!”

Settled in an armchair opposite Rick’s, thirst slaked, Gary gazed in disbelief at his friend.

“Are you telling me you time travelled? What is this, some kind of joke? We both know that’s impossible.”

“I can prove it to you.” Rick half-rose from his seat but flopped back at Gary’s incredulous expression. “Seriously,” he added lamely.

“Seriously? Have you lost your marbles, old pal? I think you must have suffered some cerebral damage when you blacked out at Little Carlton.”

“Dr Morgan wouldn’t agree. I’m telling you, I walked around the Saxon settlement in 870 and met my double and Dr Drake’s too.”

“Listen to yourself. The ravings of a loony! There’s no such thing as time travel – and meeting your double! What you need is professional help. I’m worried about you.”

“I can explain a great deal of what happened to me. It’s down to the pendant you gave me. Some kind of key to entering the past. I don’t know yet how it works but it went like this...”

Rick recounted everything that occurred from when he touched the reliquary at the field boundary up to his second loss of consciousness. When he’d finished, he glared at Gary’s disbelieving face.

“I thought you might be the one person I could tell this to. You know me better than my own parents. Would I lie to you?”

“Sure, you wouldn’t, but you must admit what you’re saying is crazy. Would a psychiatrist help?”

“What I need...is you to believe me. So I’m going to show you something.”

needRick leapt up from his armchair and opened the cupboard under his bookshelves.

“Take a look at this,” he pulled out the seax and passed it to Gary.

His friend took it, turned it in his hand, tried it for balance and admired the bone hilt and its binding.

“Are you saying you brought this back from 870? It’s obviously a reproduction, new, no trace of the passage of time.”

“Exactly! Don’t you see? It is new...it belongs – belonged – to Rinc, my double. It would only show signs of age if he had inherited it from previous generations, right?”

heGary frowned, “True, but you’re still asking me to believe you went back in time and quite frankly, I don’t.”

Exasperated, Rick snapped, “How else can I prove it? Unless you’re willing to come back with me.”

Gary laughed, “Don’t be ridiculous! But even if you could somehow persuade your trinket to take me with you as well, didn’t you say it’s dangerous?”

“But you’ll consider it? Promise!”

“On these conditions. First, you agree to a psychiatrist’s appointment and meanwhile you leave this in my safekeeping. It’s rather a splendid reproduction. Oh, and I’ll be needing the pendant.”

Rick gazed aghast, “The pendant, no! You can have the seax and I will go to a psychiatrist but I won’t part with the reliquary.”

Gary’s handsome features corrugated into an impression of the Lincoln Imp.

“I’m no shrink, but I think you’re fixating on these objects and they are convincing you of your delusions.”

“If I give you the seax and see a psychiatrist, will you promise to try to come with me to 870?”

“Only if you do everything the shrink says.”

“We have a deal. Let’s go grab a beer before lunch, the lager will keep.”

The weekend flew by and Gary left in the late afternoon of Sunday. His light-hearted company had distracted Rick for the first time since his transit into the past. A sense of normality caused him to reflect on the soundness of his friend’s advice. Whatever happened, a meeting with a psychiatrist might only reinforce this refreshing feeling of rationality.

The University boasted a fine international reputation for its Psychiatry Department but Rick felt uneasy about approaching them. Far better to find himself a private practitioner in the town. His choice fell upon a Dr Amanda Fitzwilliam, selected from the internet, and who owned a studio within ten minutes’ walk. He read her qualifications with interest because apart from psychotherapy, she also practised hypnotherapy, which might prove invaluable in his case. He needed results, especially since he had to find £45 for each 50-minute session.

Whatever preconceptions Rick harboured about the professionalism of psychiatrists evaporated during his first encounter with Dr Fitzwilliam. She listened with attention to his account of the events in Little Carlton and only spoke to pursue their effect on him. This reassured Rick who gained in confidence from being taken seriously.

“Let’s suppose what you experienced is real to you,” she said, “even so, we have to eliminate possible clinical explanations.”

Rick understood and offered Dr Morgan’s number, which she promptly called. He followed her dialogue with interest as she said, “I see.” Occasionally, she glanced over the thin blue metal frames of her glasses at him as if to assess her patient. “MRI? No? Blood tests?” This all sounded satisfactorily scientific to Rick. She put her phone down, fiddled with her shoulder-length dark hair and smiled. “Dr Morgan assures me there are no physical grounds for your symptoms. So I must ask you a few questions.” She selected a pen and flipped over to a fresh page in a notepad. After a moment or two of writing, she peered over her glasses, adjusting them slightly down the bridge of her nose.

“Would you say you are an anxious person, Dr Hughes?”

“Not really. But I have been worried about what happened to me. Even my best friend thinks I’m crazy. But I know what occurred was real.”

“Are you stressed at the university? I mean, is your research proceeding to your satisfaction? From my time there I remember the difficulties of proving original theories.”

“The only stress is that I can’t concentrate on my academic work because my head is full of what occurred at the re-enactment. I admit to being anxious about this.”

“Um, I have to ask this, I’m afraid, but do you dabble in recreational drugs? Have you taken LSD?”

“Acid? No.”

There was a furtive hesitancy in his reply and her trained mind picked up on it immediately.

“You’re holding something back.”

“Three weeks ago, my friend gave me magic mushrooms and I ate them unsuspectingly.”

“Was this before the visit to Little Carlton?”

Rick nodded and added, “They had quite an effect on me. Surely you don’t think they have anything to do with what happened to me?”

“The fact is that hallucinogens have the unfortunate habit of causing flashbacks. What I need you to remember is whether, on the evening of ingestion, you and your friend talked about the re-enactment? And, if so, in how much detail?”

“I don’t remember much about what was said. The effects were weird: I recall the music and the colours, the changing shapes, but I don’t think we spoke about Anglo-Saxons that evening.”

“Please check with your friend and let me know at our next meeting.”

“When?”

“Tuesday at eleven o’clock?”

“Fine.”

“Would you like me to prescribe something to help you sleep?”

“I’m OK, thank you, doctor.”

Rick left the studio in a state of apprehension. Was it possible his mind had conjured up the whole experience? What if he had seen what he wanted to see? For example a complete Anglo-Saxon settlement, instead of the few worthy homes reconstructed by the re-enactors. What about the seax? Had someone planted it in his hand while he was unconscious? If so, why? A car horn blaring at him shook him out of his reverie when he stepped off a pavement without looking. He needed to think this through at home. For now, he would settle for ringing Gary. His friend was at work but assured him he did not mind being disturbed.

wanted“I went to my shrink. She’s very pleasant and competent and asked me to call you.”

“Me? Why does she need reinforcements – are you a hopeless case?”

“Very funny. We need to know whether you and I talked about Little Carlton when we ate the mushrooms.”

There was silence for a moment, followed by, “I don’t think we did, but I can see what she’s getting at.”

“Pity, I was hoping you’d say yes. I want to believe there’s a rational explanation for what happened, else I might go crazy.”

“No doubt about it, old son, you’re as mad as a hatter!”

“Thanks, pal, takes one to know one.”

Rick cut the call so he would have the last word, but he was disappointed when he climbed the stairs to his room. What next? His sanity might well be in the balance unless he could find a reasonable solution to the Little Carlton events.

He rebooted his computer and searched for the effects of hallucinogens. All the articles agreed that when you take them they change how you experience reality. They immediately affect the prefrontal cortex. This is the area of the brain that controls conscious thinking, cognition, and perception. This was undoubtedly true, but with just one meal of mushrooms could the effect on him be so prolonged or pronounced? He would discuss this with Dr Fitzwilliam on Tuesday. Today, Friday, he must resume his studies and try not to be over-anxious. With this in mind, he strolled around the circular lawn of the First Court and entered the Old Library determined to check the latest philology articles in journals he had missed.

In an American journal, he found an interesting article entitled Lexical Choice and Poetic Freedom in the Old English Menologium. Absorbed in his reading, making desultory notes, he looked up with the sense of eyes upon him. And what eyes! The dark brown eyes of Esme Drake smiled at him.

Lexical Choice and Poetic Freedom in the Old English Menologium. “I thought I might find you in here when you didn’t answer your phone.”

True, he had set it to not disturb. What more heinous crime can be contemplated than a mobile phone trilling in a library, church or a theatre?

She continued, “I wanted to see you today of all days.”

“Why today, in particular?”

An expression of amused mockery he’d seen before on occasions lit up her countenance.

“Silly billy, I expect you don’t know what day it is with your head buried in some ancient text.”

“Friday?” he said, convinced.

“She laughed, “but not just any Friday, right?”

He frowned, what was she driving at? “What’s so special about this particular Friday?”

“It’s your birthday, pudding-head! Many happy returns.”

“Ah, I’d forgotten.”

“I can believe that of you, but don’t forget mine, or else!”

“How could I?”

“Oh, easily, like you have forgotten about my existence. You do still have a phone, I suppose?”

Rick frowned, feeling distinctly uneasy. How could she know that far from forgetting her, she was constantly in his mind?

“I’ve been very busy,” he mumbled.

“Haven’t we all. That’s why we need a break. What about dinner out tonight? My treat for your birthday.”

Rick’s heart leapt.

“Do you have anywhere in mind?”

“I hope you don’t object, Rick, but I took the liberty of booking a table for two at the Varsity Restaurant. It’s within easy walking distance and–”

“What if I had other arrangements?”

Her face fell for a second but she recovered gaily, “Then I’ll ask one of my many admirers.”

“I’ll buy you a phone with a larger memory for your birthday...if I remember it.”

“As I said, you’d better, or else! So?”

“As your greatest admirer, I am only too pleased to accept your invitation. The restaurant’s rather posh; I’ll have to go home and change.”

“I’ll come and watch,” she said with a mischievous grin.

Rick took out his cell phone and photographed the rest of the article, determined to transfer it to his desktop later.

They walked to his digs and, with more than a little anxiety, he admitted her into his sanctum. Once inside, Esme faced him and without a word, kissed him long and passionately.

“That makes up for our abstinence,” she smirked in triumph.

“A birthday kiss? Do I have to wait a year for another?”

“It depends on how you behave.”

Rick spread his arms and looked contrite, “Oh dear, Dr Drake, you know I’m a dunce as far as getting my behaviour to a pleasing level is concerned.”

“Why have we lost touch, Rick? I miss you.”

“Me too.”

He reached for her and she dodged away, laughing. “Not that much! Besides there’s a table waiting for us at half-past eight and you need a shave, you’re pricklier than a porcupine.”

She watched him strip to his waist and lather up to scrape at his face.

“Why do men pull such funny faces when they’re shaving?”

“To scare away demonic archaeologists, didn’t you know?”

Rick strolled out of the college feeling ten feet tall with Esme on his arm.

Over dinner and mellowed by red wine, Rick asked, “Esme, do you believe in destiny?”

“You mean like your beloved Norns determining the events of the world through the mystic spinning of threads that represent our fates? I can’t say that I do, why?”

“People have believed it since the beginning of time. I simply wondered whether we were destined to be together.”

“Is that what you think, Rick?” She smiled sweetly and raised a glass. “To us!”

“To us! And I do think we were meant for each other.”

do“Then perhaps we should spend more time together,” she casually ran her fingers down her neck and widened her eyes.

Rick’s heart beat faster; although there was nothing more he wanted, how could he build a relationship on secrets? On the other hand, how could he tell her about his experience without her thinking him insane?

“Do you think time is what we believe it to be?”

The question took her by surprise.

“You’re in a philosophical mood this evening. Physicists are beginning to doubt Einstein’s theory of relativity now they are working in the field of quantum leaps. All very complicated and might explain premonitions and other phenomena.”

He seized on this, “Like time travel?”

“I don’t think they are anywhere near making it possible, but yes, it might be a possibility in the future. Just science-fiction for the moment. But weren’t we talking about our relationship, Rick? Are you trying to side-track me?”

“Never, but I believe in a relationship, a couple should have no secrets from each other.”

Her face tightened and she screwed up her napkin, “Is there another woman?”

“I’d never do that to you. If it were ever to happen, which it won’t, I’d tell you at once. But for the moment, there’s something troubling me so much I even decided to go for help.”

She bit her lower lip, “You’re not ill, Rick?”

“Not physically. I had to visit a psychiatrist before my problem drove me crazy.”

“A psychiatrist? But you are one of the sanest people I know. Are you worried about work?”

“Not exactly as you mean it. But even Gary thinks it’s crazy. My doctor is supportive but it’s early days.”

“Can’t you talk to me about it?”

“That’s part of the problem. I’d love to but you’d agree with Gary. I can’t risk losing you. I might as well say it now, I love you, Esme. And I’m convinced we’re meant to be together.”

“In that case, you’ll have to find the courage to talk to me.”

“Not tonight. I don’t want to worry you. Let me speak again with Dr Fitzwilliam. She can advise me what to do.”

Esme stretched her hand across the table and took Rick’s. “I don’t know what’s troubling you, but thank you for being honest with me. I am worried but, you know, we can get through this together, whatever it is.

I wish that were true!

I wish that were true!