Jamie 3

[Lothian]

Jamie 3
Part 1 - Part 2

I’ve been and thought. Then rethought. And changed my mind back again. But I reckon I’ve got a plot now. I’ll be amazed if it doesn’t change as I’m typing. Scarily enough, a bit of the next chapter changed just between the fullstop and the S just then. Honest – another musical cue presented itself. The plot doesn’t quite hold up as yet, but it has the potential to.

Thanks, all, for reading. I was delighted with the number of views part 1 got and fucking beside myself that almost all of you returned for part 2, which you’ll recall ended in the alley behind the Clutha Vaults near the Clyde one summer evening …


‘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.

Inside the pub, the band has just kicked off. Greg returned to the table, somewhat bemused that it was now empty. Just as he set Jamie’s pint down, the big guy in the white shirt that had been sitting nearby flew through the open fire escape into a neighbouring table, knocking it over and spilling drinks onto the group of young women sat around it. Smiling at the impromptu wet t-shirt competition, Greg noted that the band had stopped playing and instead were gazing slack-jawed at the fire escape behind him. With a Herculean force of will, he turned his attention from the best entertainment of the evening thus far to follow the band’s gaze.

Framed in the doorway was the largest man Greg had ever seen. The man stooped to enter the room – he had to be seven foot if he was an inch – and blinked, allowing his eyes to adjust from the harsh daylight to the welcoming foggy gloom of the pub. One blink was all it took as the figure determinedly marched into the room. ‘He’s a predator,’ Greg thought, ‘a heartbeat to adjust to new conditions, then on with the hunt.’

As the fire door swung shut, the band awoke as one and, using the telepathy shared only by professional card sharks and particularly tight musicians, launched into the next number in their set

I'm looking for a visionary
Someone just exactly like you
I'm looking for a visionary
Someone just exactly like you

Greg glanced from the stage back towards the figure, which had now disappeared into the crowd. Slightly shell-shocked from the events of the past ten seconds, his mind jumped back. ‘He wisnae wearin’ onae claes …’

Jim was alive. Finally. So long spent, barely conscious, in the purgatory of the box, then trying to communicate with the kid who’d liberated him; sensing the world around them filtered through Jamie’s perception and tasting the hormones flooding through his body. Finally, he’d been able to take control and he had every intention of making the most of the opportunity. Dismissing White Shirt had been easy, the element of surprise had decided that. White Shirt’s gang, on the other hand, had seen Jim, had an inkling of his capabilities and had a fifteen second start on him.

Pushing his way through the crowd, Jim found that the majority of bodies melted away before him, instinctively making way for the looming figure. One or two responded differently, and Jim felt the odd lingering touch against his arm or chest. As he neared the door, he felt a firm hand grasp his balls and squeeze. Looking up, he saw an inviting, smiling face. Flashing a grin back, Jim continued towards the door, smiling under his breath, ‘I’m alive.’

A second later and he was at the door to the pub. The doorman, a compact, balding man in his fifties looked up. He’d seen it all before. ‘Neds, eh, big yin?’ has asked. Jim nodded. ‘Oot tae yir right – taewards the Clyde.’

Jim moved stealthily out into the street.

****

Jamie awoke. The light was streaming in through the large windows at the foot of the bed. He flung an arm out to grab his clock, but it wasn’t there. Puzzled, he sighed and sat up, blinking in the glare. His head exploded in pain and he quickly lay back down again.

‘What the hell …’ He’d been hung over before, but the ferocity of the headache was something new entirely. Swallowing dryly, he squinted into the light and repeated rising, a little more gingerly this time.

This was not his room. This was about three times the size of his room and he was pretty sure that he didn’t have a four poster bed. Around him, the sheets lay crumpled and half a dozen pillows were randomly strewn about. He edged his way to one side of the bed, quickly withdrawing his hand as it brushed past a wet area of the mattress. ‘Ugh’ he wiped his hand on the sheet and rose unsteadily to his feet.

Uncertainly he made his way over to the window and looked out. The scene was unfamiliar – an extensive gravel drive gave way to an impeccable lawn, edged by rose beds with occasional patio areas and garden furniture. His head still wasn’t working. Outside was clearly still beyond his grasp, so he turned back to practicalities. He was naked. Clothes would be good. Glancing around the room, he seemed to be spoiled for choice as various items lay strewn around. He quickly dismissed a pair of cargo pants that were about a foot too long for him, but threw on a black t-shirt that came down to his knees. After a moment or two, he found a pair of trousers he could turn up. The crotch on them appeared ripped, but the t-shirt would cover that. The shoes were like clown feet on him, so he left them behind as he walked over to the full-length mirror in the bathroom. He looked bad. The clothes smelled bad. It’d have to do. Just as he turned, a flash of light caught his eye. Returning to the mirror, he noticed a small medallion or charm hung round his neck, tied on to a thin leather strap. Pulling the charm out, he saw it featured two figures. Dropping the necklace back, he moved to the sink and turned on the hot tap, splashing water over his face and hair. A close inspection in the mirror did not make matters better. Prodding his red-ringed brown eyes, he sighed. ‘I look like shit,’ he commented, ‘and I’ve gotta get a haircut.’

As ready as he’d ever be to face the outside world, Jamie left the room and found himself in an ornate hallway. The outside face of the door read ‘68’. ‘Hotel’ he thought to himself, and then he panicked, ‘I’ve no money, no cards, no nothing.’

Jamie made his way down to the reception area. A tall man with a moustache suddenly rose from behind the counter. ‘Yes?’ he asked abruptly.

‘Uh … well … could you … well …’ Jamie’s tongue felt an unfamiliar object between two of his upper teeth.

‘Cup of teas? A compress to soothe your troubled brow? Why, Sir, we are here to help!’ the man bellowed, sarcastically. ‘How can we be of service this fine afternoon?’

‘I’m in room 68.’ suggested Jamie, desperately.

The man’s expression visibly changed. His mouth opened. Then closed. He licked his lips nervously, glanced at the ceiling and then offered ‘Mr. Baltius? You? Really?’ He looked vaguely surprised.

Tongue exploration over, Jamie’s hand produced a curly hair, about an inch or so long, from his mouth. The hotelier was visibly appalled, then his expression changed, ‘Ah, you’ll be his plus one for today. Splendid. He said you might be along.’

The main doors at the far end of the room opened and a compact middle-aged lady moved determinedly towards the pair. The man looked appalled, then recovered and whispered urgently to Jamie, ‘It’s the old ball and chain. You’d better make yourself scarce. Pop through to the dining room; we’ll see you right.’ He ushered Jamie off, then greeted the woman, ‘Sybil!’


Half an hour later, a fed Jamie, spoke urgently to Greg on the phone, ‘I’ve no idea how I got here! The bloody east coast of the Highlands!’

Greg was barely listening. ‘I thought ye wur deid! Ye fuck oaf wi no a wurd tae onywan an reappear three days latir inna fuckin’ Heelands? Whit thi fuck haeppened?’

Jamie explained what he could, about being attacked in the alley and simply waking up in bed. ‘I’ve no idea,’ he protested, ‘all I know is that I ache, I stink and I’ve no cash.’

‘An’ ye’re shaire it wisnae a stag do?’ Greg was beginning to calm down. ‘I’ll get some cash up tae ye. Enough fir yer train an’ some flip flops.’

‘Shoes, surely?’ asked Jamie.

‘Nah. Yir still a prick, flip flops’ll dae ye.’



Within the hour, Jamie was on a train back to Glasgow and Greg was calling phoning the police to cancel his missing person report. As the train sped through the Perth countryside, Jamie idly flicked through a copy of the day’s paper, left by a now departed passenger. It was the usual mix of tawdry scandal and betrayal, dressed up as public concern, but one item grabbed his attention immediately; a report of several assaults in the centre of town. They started with an incident in the back alley of the Clutha and then appeared to follow a rough line to the south of the city. The victims had literally been knocked back into last week; all six were amnesiac in hospital. The police had issued a descripton of their suspect. Apparently he was very tall, extremely muscular and bearded, with long blond hair and blue eyes. Police were playing down on the reports of his height and stats, suggesting that an element of hysteria may have crept in to the descriptions. They were focusing on the local athletics and sports clubs.



Once the train had arrived in Queen Street, Jamie returned to his flat and changed, before getting ready to head back into the town centre to give what little information he could to the police. Despite having eaten earlier, he was ravenous and seized the opportunity of having the flat to himself to scavenge the kitchen for leftovers. As he finished and headed into the shower, two of his flatmates returned and began arguing amongst themselves as to who’d eaten the last of the chicken curry. One pointed a finger at the bathroom door, “Aye, bit whit aboot him, eh?’ ‘Naw,’ said the other, shaking his head, ‘he’s bin a fuckin’ veggie fir years.’



Later, Jamie sat in an interview room in the bowels of Anderston Police Station. He’d been kept waiting for an hour before being seen and the interview had gone on for almost as long. He’d seen nothing, and despite being taken over the incident time and time again, had been unable to add anything to his first telling of the tale.

‘Right, so he’s grabbed ye and tried tae drag ye off,’ said the sergeant, bored. ‘An ye’ve no idea what was goin’ on with his mates? Didn’t see this other big guy? That’s aw ye saw? Ye’d never met any of them before?’

Jamie fingered the strap round his neck. He was bored, tired and overdue to meet a friend. ‘As I’ve said a dozen times …’

‘Ur ye getting’ stroppy wi us?’ demanded the constable, clearly bored and looking for a little entertainment.

Jamie stood up and leaned across the table, his face only a few inches from that of the thin blue line. His biceps bulged against the thin material of his shirt and his blue eyes flashed as a vein jumped from his neck, ‘Fuckin’ right. Instead o’ daein’ yer jobs ye’re here takin’ the piss ootae me!’ He breathed in, visibly relaxing, and straightened his posture. ‘There’s nothing more to tell. Can I go?’ The sergeant nodded and Jamie left.


A couple of hours later, Jamie lay sprawled on Greg’s couch. A couple of empty wine bottles sat nearby, as did an ashtray smouldering with the burnt roaches of a couple of finished joints. Greg waved the remains of his latest creation in Jamie’s general direction, but Jamie waved it away, ‘Naw, man, I think I need a cup of coffee.’

Moving back from the ashtray, Greg frowned, ‘You been bleachin’ yer hair in yer blackoot.’ He straightened and took a step towards the kitchen, before pausing with a puzzled look on his face. Reaching a hand into his pocket he pulled out the box that had caused all the trouble a few days earlier. ‘Aye,’ he lurched over to the couch, ‘ah found this, an’ aw.’ and dropped the box on top of Jamie. ‘A’hine the pub, when ye did yur mystery disappeerin’ act’ he said in a mock accusatory tone. ‘See hoo guid a pal ah am?’ He wandered over to the stereo and fiddled with the controls. An urgent drumbeat thumped from the speakers and Greg visibly perked up. Bouncing his way back over to the couch he gazed disappointedly at the prone figure, ‘Ach, cum oan ye misery!’ he said, before bouncing off to the kitchen.

Jamie was rapidly losing the battle for consciousness. The strain of the day was catching up on him; the unfamiliarity of his surroundings, the strange hotelier, the train trip and the police interview were all taking their toll. Not to mention a somewhat wonderful bottle of white complimented by some rather splendid class B drugs. His eyes closed and he drifted off into unconsciousness.

From the kitchen, a voice sang,

’ Here comes johnny yen again
With the liquor and drugs
And the flesh machine
Hes gonna do another strip tease.’

And a smiling face popped back through the door, ‘Ye’ve gotta love a bit ae Iggy.’ The face fell as he saw Jamie dozing on the couch. ‘Lightweight’ muttered Greg, before thumping down into the armchair, spilling coffee everywhere. He closed his eyes, breathing in the smoky air. Next to him he could hear a low moan of pain. As he listened, the moan shifted to one of pleasure. Confused, Greg opened his eyes to look at Jamie.

The tune continued,

’ Oh, a lust for life
A lust for life
I got a lust for life
Got a lust for life.’

Jamie no longer lay prone. His body arched and his legs, arms and head flailed. With a ripping sound, the arms of his shirt split, exposing hairy, muscular limbs. His legs grew, stretching out of his increasingly inadequate trousers, exposing solid calf muscles. A button, no two, flew from his shirt as it gave way to an exposed mighty torso and the tight trousers began to give way. The hulking figure’s moan shifted from an expression of pleasure to one of triumph as it sat up, leaving the remains of its clothes behind.

‘Whit the … how …?’ tried Greg, before settling on a surprised ‘Fuck me!’

Jim obliged.

[sexiscriptor]

cleverly done, well written, and still intriguing as ever if not more so. and just a bit hot to boot :P sounds like a winner to me; keep up the great work
~Palmer

[monkeyman2008]

keep it up, this is still a great story. lol the uh written accent of greg is sometimes hard to read i find myself reading what he says a couple times before i go 'OH!' but its a colorful accent so its no big

[ts1976]

Very enjoyable! It kind of reminds me of Jekyll, probably because I've been watching it on DVD recently. I look forward to reading more.

[Lothian]

Originally Posted by sexiscriptor

cleverly done, well written, and still intriguing as ever if not more so. and just a bit hot to boot :P sounds like a winner to me; keep up the great work
~Palmer

Thanks. I suppose it must be a bit intriguing at this point - I've not done the full reveal. Unless I've screwed it up, it should all become clear soon-ish. It's still a bit of a warm-up piece; I know what I should be conveying, but the flow still isn't quite there. Glad you're enjoying it, regardless.

Originally Posted by monkeyman2008

keep it up, this is still a great story. lol the uh written accent of greg is sometimes hard to read i find myself reading what he says a couple times before i go 'OH!' but its a colorful accent so its no big

Yeah, I know. I did consider that it might be a bit tricky, but Greg just felt wrong speaking perfect English and was worse if I stuck in a token 'aye' and all that sort of stuff here and there. I'm conscious that not everyone reading will be used to Scots, so I'm not being totally parochial and I'm trying to keep it vaguely understandable. Just read it phonetically and it should make sense. I reckon it might need to get a bit more inpenetrable later on though.

Originally Posted by ts1976

Very enjoyable! It kind of reminds me of Jekyll, probably because I've been watching it on DVD recently. I look forward to reading more.

Ah, interesting! I haven't seen Jekyll, but I had intended to watch it and I'm sure I'll catch it sooner or later. I am a big fan of the original book (read it, it's surprisingly brief!) and it's certainly the backdrop for the story, though we may wander off in a different direction in a bit.

Surprised no-one's berated me for sticking Basil Fawlty into one scene.