Jamie 2

[Lothian]

Part 1

‘You see, it’s really not funny, Jamie.’ The Professor glared at him over her bifocals, ‘We’ve wasted a day cleaning your ‘find’ up, a day I can’t afford. Here; it’s all yours.” She shoved the box across the table in his general direction, then got up and left without waiting for a reponse.

Jamie sighed. He’d tried to do the right thing, but even that had backfired on him. Realising that he’d unintentionally pocketed the small, dark box he’d returned to the dig the following day and confessed all to one of the regular staff. Initially, the find caused much excitement and many middle-aged men sporting beards as impressive as their beer guts had been called to the site. Around the middle of the day the atm,osphere had taken a turn for the more sedate, and by the middle of the afternoon, Jamie had taken to concentrating on his work to avoid the dirty looks which where regularly being shot his way. Finally, as 5pm (and freedom) approached, he’d been called into Prof. McCaskill’s cluttered office. She’d begun by retreading the ground rule of never removing objects from the site, but the lecture had seemed half-hearted and rushed; as if she were keen to leave for the day. Soon, she’d moved on to the object itself and her demeanour became more icy.

‘It’s a good try. Certainly it took us a few hours to work out, but work it out we did. Would you like to know where you slipped up?’

Jamie looked blank and made a non-committal hand gesture.

‘On reflection, there’s a number of fundamental errors but three were most obvious to us. I say ‘us’, but I do in fact mean Mr. Edwards’ team. You know Mr. Edwards? The man responsible for our funding? The man I got straight on to the phone to speak to once you’d handed that’ she gestured towards the box on the table ‘over this morning? The man I’m going to spend the next six months convincing that my qualifications didn’t come from a cornflakes packet? Mr. Edwards?’

She smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant smile, and Jamie felt his testicles retract.

‘Uh … well … yes, Mr. Edwards.’ he concurred, squeakily.

‘Oh, shut up Mr. Renton,’ she cut across him curtly. ‘Rhetorical? No? Not even slightly?’

Jamie wisely remained silent. He had no desire to antagonise her further. He’d had very little sleep and simply wished to get through the day unscathed. Besides, any further activity in the bollock department and only dogs would be able to hear him.

But of course, she was a bitch so that wouldn’t be an issue. Involuntarily, he sniggered. She was not amused.

‘Wonderful. At least someone’s derived a bit of happiness from today. The characters, the design and the lock.’

Jamie looked blank.

‘The errors, Mr Renton, the errors. Yes, Baliticaurus by all means. Not the most common, but certainly active in this area at the relevant time. But then you tried Senua. Senua. Why? Did you expect us to assume it was Minerva? No? Well we ... I mean, they didn’t. Bit too far north and wrong time period.’

Jamie tried to fix his face in a non-committal mask.

‘And the design? Really! Once we’d cleaned it up it was obvious it owed more to Rennie Mackintosh and the bloody Romans! And let’s not get started on the Chinese puzzle lock you’ve added. All very amusing. I’m sure you’ll be delighted to know that we couldn’t get it open, no, by that stage only Claire was left working on it. Perhaps if we’d used someone with a full compliment of fingers we’d have achieved a successful outcome, but …’

She trailed off. Jamie looked hopefully towards the door, but then she continued, ‘Well, it’s not a total loss; you won’t be wasting our time again. You’re fired Jamie. You won’t be paid for this week and you won’t be back again. Recovering your salary isn’t much of a bonus, but it’ll have to do.’

Jamie let out a sigh. The rent was going to be difficult this week. McCaskill continuted, ‘It’s really not funny, Jamie …’

He stopped replaying the incident in his head, pocketed the box and left the room.



It was verging on midnight and Jamie lay on his bed. The room was dimly lit and in the gloom he could see the box, in the far corner of the room, whilst in the background music played.

If you don't want to be seen
You don't have to hide
If you don't want to believe
You don't have to try
To feel alive

Alive in the superunknown
First it steals your mind
And then it steals your soul

“Aye, Chris.’ he agreed, closing his eyes absently, ‘Best not let it, eh.’

He fell asleep.

****

And was back in the underground room. Walking forwards, stepping into the known yet unknown. Then the roar, as loud as before but also partly comforting now that it formed part of a familiar routine. He moved towards it and glimpsed the shape, pacing back and forth behind bars. The shape remained unidentifiable, possibly human, certainly humanoid. And big. Dear God, was it big, both in height and in girth. It moved to the left, then back to the right, pausing to grab the bars and scream unbowed defiance at the unseen captors. The arm muscles tensed and the bar began to bend, almost imperceptibly at first, then with growing momentum. The Beast cried in triumph, and redoubled its’ efforts, wedging a hairy and impressively formed leg into the left bar, allowing both arms to focus on the right. Jamie continued his slow pedestrian motion towards the cage, noticing a plaque for the first time. As the seconds passed the text became clearer, reading ‘Baliticaurus quod Senua parvulus nunquam vindico.’ He felt a cool breeze upon his cheek, breathed in and looked up. He was now little more than a foot away from The Beast’s frantically swinging arms, which reached out to embrace him. Involuntarily, he stepped back and the scene froze, quickly dissolving, but not before Jamie had observed a pair of glittering blue eyes set above an unruly fair beard.

****


He awoke, sitting bolt upright. The room remained dimly lit and music continued to play. Jamie was no longer asleep and grabbed a pad and pen to begin jotting down the fading memory of his dream.

Sleep did not return that night, so Jamie arrived at the university campus long before 9am. Nodding at a porter more engaged in his copy of the Daily Record than the yawning procession of undergraduates sent to complicate an otherwise perfect job, Jamie entered the Royal College and headed along the curving tiled corridors towards Greg’s room. He’d known Greg since his first few months in Glasgow, meeting in the pool room of the nearby student union. They had been drawn together in an early round of a pool competition.Greg had narrowly beaten Jamie in the final game and then taken him to one of the union’s numerous bars to commiserate. Then in the final year of his degree, Greg was now engaged in postgraduate studies - Roman archaeology to be precise, which had led to Jamie’s recent temporary employment. The door was locked, so Jamie settled down on the floor outside, trying to doze. Every time he did so, he found himself back in the underground chamber and either his subconscious or a passing conversation jerked him back awake.

Opening his eyes with a start, Jamie noticed the office door was open, so he entered. Greg looked over from the coffee machine. ‘Looks like ye could do with one, eh?’ he commented before hunting for a comparatively clean cup.

‘You know what happened?’ asked Jamie.

‘Sure. Ye took advantage of my uncharacteristic generosity and fucked me over up at the dig. I hope it was fun, certainly it’s left me a bitty the worse for wear. McCaskill’s more pissed than I’ve seen her in years. Whit possessed ye?’ He handed Jamie the black coffee. ‘Nae milk fir pricks.’ His expression was harsh, but there was a mocking kindness to his voice, ‘Whit happened?’

Jamie explained. The find, the distraction, the return and finally the retracting bollocks. Well, perhaps not the latter in so many words, but the gist was got. ‘There’s no plot, no scheme, no hidden camera. I found the thing and handed it back.’

‘Aye, the Scouts’ll fuckin’ love you, mate. They’ll have a badge fir that sortae stuff; unbelievable honesty in the face o’ numbfuckery’ replied Greg. ‘Ye got the article tae hand?’

Jamie produced the box and handed it over.

‘D’nae worry, man. I believe ye.’ Greg smiled, ‘Fuckin’ business student like you widnae know one end of a trowel from the other.’

‘Bollocks. I know fine; it’s a trick question – you’ll take either end up your arse an’ keep oan smiling.’

The formalities over, Greg looked at the box. ‘Mind I keep haud o’ it fir the day?’ he asked.

‘Sure,’ replied Jamie, ‘I finish up about four. Meet you then?’

‘Aye.’ came the response.’ Pub?’

‘Sure. Where?’

‘Clutha? Redd Kross tribute band oan later … ye know ye want tae.’

Jamie paused, ‘I’m not getting paid this week …’

Greg smiled, ‘Ach .. it’s oan me. Aifter aw, whit ur research grants fir?’


During the day, it was all Jamie could to do stay awake. He was ejected from the library for snoring and dribbling on a copy of Business Accounting. Lectures were no different. Whilst he tried to hide at the back, there was no escaping the overwhelming desire to doze. Eventually, he found a quiet and sheltered spot under a tree, curled up and slept, abandoning education for the rest of the day.

His sleep was peaceful and he awoke several hours later. It was almost 5pm. Gathering up his gear, he jogged down the hill to the Clyde and the Clutha Vaults by its north bank. Despite the downhill journey, his jog slowed to a pacy walk after a minute or two.

Fifteen minutes later, breathless, he arrived in the bar and spotted Greg once his eyes had adjusted to the gloom. Sitting at a table near the small stage and near the fire exit, Greg was engaged in an animated conversation with a stranger Jamie guessed was with the band. Waving and making the international gesture for ‘another pint, mate’ Jamie ordered three drinks and headed over to the table. The stranger, Colin, was the tribute band sound engineer and regaled the pair with tales of escapades on the road.

Just as he was finishing his drink, the door opened and a gaggle of guys a year or two younger than Jamie entered. Colin caught their eye and gestured backstage. They wandered off. ‘Support group’ he explained, returning his glass to the bar and ambling off to begin work.

‘Whit kept ye?’ asked Greg, before holding up his hand. ‘Nae matter, ye’re here. An’ here’s yir boax. Ah’ve nae idea whit’s gaun oan there, mind. McCaskill’s right enough, it’s nae Roman. An’ ah’ve hid a wird wi ‘er an’ explained thit yir a numpty, but an ‘onest wan. She’ll nae tak ye back, but she kens ye wurnae gaunnae pit wan ower her deliberate, like.’

The box was offered and Jamie pocketed it. ‘So what is it?’

‘Ah’ve nae idea, mate.’ Greg was suddenly serious. ‘Once the dirt’s oaff it, it’s clearly nae genuine – the lock an’ the design fir a start – bit it’s nae bin pit thegither by an amateur. Yir guess is as guid as mine.’

Silence descended for a moment. Then Greg turned to Jamie with a grim look on his face. ‘Fuck. Mah turn at the bar, eh?’

An hour or so, and a couple of drinks or so, later the pair remained at the table. The pub had filled up around them and the support act was about to begin. A gang of half a dozen lads in their mid twenties arrived, some sitting at the table and others standing in the vicinity. The support act arrived on stage and lurched into their set. That they lacked in talent they made up for in enthusiasm, but they weren’t to the crowd’s taste.

Jamie turned to Greg, shaking his head, Greg laughed and shook his head in agreement. One of the lads, sitting beyond Greg caught Jamie’s gaze and looked over. He was a big guy, his clearly defined upper torso visible through a tight white short sleeved shirt which also struggled to contain his biceps. Jamie continued shaking his head and laughing with Greg. He winked at White Shirt, who smiled back.

The band finished and Greg headed back to the bar. Equipment arrived on stage and was quickly plugged in. Jamie felt a cool breeze, turned round and saw the fire escape open. White Shirt stood beyond, smoking a cigarette and gesturing to Jamie to join him.

Jamie got up, a little unsteadily, and headed for the door. Outside was a back street. Sucking the cool night air down, he turned to White Shirt, who was strolling gently down the street.’They were awful, eh?’ Jamie laughed. ‘Still, you pay your money and you take a change.’ He stuck out a hand, ‘Jamie.’ he offered.

White Shirt turned round and glanced at the hand. Striding forward to grasp it he advised ‘That’s my brother’s band, you queer sack of shit.’ Realising the danger, Jamie tried to turn, but saw the doorway back into the pub blocked by the rest of the lads. White Shirt’s other hand grabbed Jamie by the hair and he was lifted clean off the ground by White Shirt, who punched Jamie in the face and dragged down the alley, the others following.

‘Shock and awe’ thought White Shirt. ‘Catch them unawares, make your big move and the fucking saps will be too busy pissing themselves to fight back.’

Inside the band launched into their set list –

Climb the mountain with your fingertips
Right hand strumming while the left hand grips
Broken fingers turn to broken dreams
Nobody splits until the hag screams

Jamie wasn’t sure what was happening. He knew what should be happening; he should be back at the table enjoying the band, but for reasons which escaped him he seemed to have been involved in some sort of an accident. As he began to lose consciousness the last words he heard were –

Jimmy's fantasy of love and affection
Jimmy's fantasy of love and deception
Jimmy's fantasy of love and affection
Jimmy's fantasy of everything that is bad in this world

Tonight’s real entertainment seemed to be getting lighter and easier to carry. White Shirt took a moment to compliment himself; the gym time was really paying off. He smiled and looked back at his friends. They seemed unusually distant, one or two looking pale in the street light. One pointed at the prone lump White Shirt was carrying. It wasn’t prone any more.

He’d previously had a good foot in height over the mocking little cunt, and probably the thick end of ten stones on him too. But the guy in his grip wasn’t the little cunt. This was a big cunt, one whose feet were firmly placed on the ground despite White Shirt’s arms being raised high above his head. ‘Fuck …’ he muttered under his breath as the figure twisted out of his grip. The skinny brown haired irrelevance was gone and hunched before him was a much larger blond figure. It appeared to be wearing the same clothes, or at least trying to.

Glancing at the ground, White Shirt saw the remains of a pair of boots, now unable to contain the massive feet of their wearer. His gaze moved upwards, taking in a pair or bulging and bare calf muscles which lead to equally massive thighs, partly concealed by the remains of a pair of jeans, which were continuing to hold out at the crotch. White Shirt didn’t reckon much on their chances. Continuing upwards, he observed firmly defined abdominals through a covering of hair, which continued upwards, covering the pectorals too. The shirt was gone. Head bowed, the figure thrust out a pair of arms, effortlessly lifting White Shirt at least a foot from the ground. The head shot up nad he found himself gazing into two piercing blue eyes, framed by a thick beard and a mop of hair which flowed over impressive shoulders.

‘Wha … Who … ?’ tried White Shirt.

‘The figure retracted one arm, continuing to hold him aloft with one.

‘Jim’ it growled.

The other arm returned with force, sending an unconscious White Shirt flying.

Jim turned. The remainder of the gang had gone. He nodded, smiled and entered the pub to pursue them.

[Jaypat]

Really well written. Really enjoyable. And like all good stories, it's left me hungry for more.

[sexiscriptor]

jesus mary & joseph.
i second jaypat, as usual but seriously man!
a most excellent story unfolding; hot AND well written. You know something? when i went to read the first part yesterday i'd off-handedly noticed jaypat had commented (on the "post your stories!" page, see) and somehow got it in my head he'd written it, despite having seen earlier that of course he hadn't--you had. but as i read it i found nothing too contrary to the notion, really, until i saw his comment and i suddenly remembered myself.
I'd say you must be doing pretty well if i could innocently mistake you for jaypat ;p
~Palmer

[ts1976]

Scottish accent ftw! Very nice!

[Lothian]

Thanks again, all, much appreciated.

There'll be a bit of a gap whilst real life does its thing. Maybe a few days, maybe a week or so. That's a good thing - it'll give me a chance to figure out where the hell I'm going with this. I have an idea, but it needs a bit of flesh on the bones. And, yes, I know, I have to bulk up the whole descriptive side of it.

It's been nice. I haven't done the whole writing bit in ages, but it's good to get back in to.


ETA : Suffice to say the box is open next time.

[Reeza]

I'm loving this story, man. Something different, very well written, intriguing, well paced. I look forward to more.

[monkeyman2008]

love the details. the locked up big guy 'coming out' is pretty awesome