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The Reunion
Published by Paul Jackson
Copyright © 2014 Paul Jackson
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
Please download a separate copy for each recipient.
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The Reunion
Jacob Foley laid his jacket over the back of the armchair and sat down.
He was about to conduct his first ever interview and was feeling a little nervous. His mouth was dry and he could feel his heart beating strongly.
He placed a digital voice recorder onto the coffee table and then grabbed his notebook from his satchel. Trying hard to appear calm and relaxed he began flicking through his notes, glancing at the old man who was sat opposite him, as he turned each page.
Harvey James, the interviewee, sat quietly as he watched the young reporter prepare himself and get comfortable, he had waited quite a while to tell his story and knew that a few more minutes would not make any difference.
He could tell that the young man was nervous about the interview and had guessed, taking his age into consideration, that the job was still new to him.
It made no difference to him who came to record his story. He only hoped that the young reporter could handle what he had to say.
Jacob had tried convincing himself that his mild perturbed state was down to first time jitters but he knew the anxiety stemmed from the fact he had told lies and was there under false pretences. He was not a real reporter.
Jacob was a salesman for a small privately owned advertising monthly but, had always dreamt of better things. His ambition stretched far beyond the realms of telesales. Jacob believed he had the potential of becoming a great reporter and had planned to use the local rag as a springboard to success. Unfortunately, the main problem with Jacob's plan was that 'The Bargain Trader' was not a newspaper. It employed sales people, not reporters.
Occasionally it did run stories and articles about local events but the people who sent them in still had to pay for the space used, a fact that Jacob had not realised at the time of gaining employment there. Wanting so much to get his foot in the door he had accepted a menial job in the printing room hoping to advance up the ranks to reporter. He had felt so disappointed when he learnt that telesales was as far as he could go but had decided to keep the job anyway. The pay was very welcome and it would suffice until he was able to look for a better job, something with prospects. It was hard for him to believe that he had been there two years already and was now part of the sales team.
Mr James, the old man, had called the paper one afternoon claiming to have a story that would make headlines around Britain, if not the world, but none of the team had given him a chance to explain himself. Because the old man was not asking to advertise he was viewed as a waste of time and rudely hung up on. He had no idea that the people he was trying to talk to were only interested in selling add space.
Harvey had called back several times before finally speaking to Jacob who found the old man's claim intriguing.
Luckily, no one had explained to Harvey James that the paper did not have a reporter and that it had no interest in true journalism, unlike Jacob.
The old man wanted someone to visit him at home so that he could explain his story in detail. He said that it would be the scoop of the century and well worth their while. He would waiver all rights to the article and give the reporter complete freedom to sell it to the highest bidder as long as it got published.
Jacob was hooked. His imagination was in overdrive. The old man was giving him a chance to realise his dream, a dream that he had almost given up on ever achieving.
He decided there and then that he would meet Mr James in secret. He would act as a bogus correspondent and conduct the interview.
It hadn't occurred to him before that, to be a reporter, there was no need to work for a newspaper but simply sell his articles to them.
Harvey James had, inadvertently, given Jacob the idea for a new career path.
He knew that he had nothing to lose by listening to the old man and, at the very least, would gain valuable experience at actually interviewing someone in person and not just talking to them over the telephone. His time in telesales had been easy. Having never met the people on the other end of the line he had always felt disengaged from them, no eye contact or invasion of personal space. He felt that a face-to-face meeting with the old man would help him gain the confidence needed for future interviews. His life’s ambition had been reignited and he felt that freelance journalism was now his true calling.
Harvey James lived in a double fronted detached property with tall bay windows and a large central door. Jacob had entered via a spacious hallway with doors either side, each leading to a front reception room. A carved timber staircase to the right stretched up to a gallery landing that spanned back across the width of the hall and a small chandelier hung high above.
The house was clean and tidy but smelt strongly of petunia oil and the over powering scent took a little while to get used to.
Jacob had been shown into the reception room to his left and was now sat in an armchair flicking through his notes. The old man was sat opposite waiting patiently for the interview to begin.
The absence of any family photographs told the bogus reporter that the man had no children and he made a note of that in his pad. There were, however, several pictures of Harvey with a woman, that chronicled their journey through time together, and they were the type you paid holiday photographers for as they wondered around taking random snaps of people. They both looked very happy in their deliberate poses but, glancing around the big house, Jacob felt that Mr James now lived alone and that the woman had passed away, another note in his jotter.
To help him with his interview, Jacob had been busy the previous evening writing questions he wanted to ask, the first one read 'Why no police?'
He began by talking to the recorder on the table. He briefly explained where he was, mentioned the name and age of the interviewee and stated the reason why he was there. He then looked at Harvey James who was smiling back at him.
"So, you have the scoop of the century?" asked Jacob, glancing down at his notes again. "Is that correct?"
Harvey nodded. "Yes." he replied, leaning slightly towards the recorder.
"You said on the phone that you had not been to the police. Why is that?"
"If I did, they wouldn’t give me the chance to explain!" replied Harvey.
His head wobbled slightly while speaking, making his voice tremble a little.
Harvey James appeared to be a proud man who had clearly smartened himself up for the interview. He had put a lot of effort in to making himself presentable for the meeting but Jacob could see that he had relied heavily on cosmetic aids. The man obviously hated getting old.
His beaming smile, for instance, revealed teeth too white and even to be real ones for a man of his age and his hair was clearly a wig. It was grey and combed back across his head, a common enough style for old men, but a couple of raised edges betrayed its authenticity. He had also used a tanning lotion on his face and neck. His shirt collar was dotted with brown smudges where it had rubbed against his skin, he'd also neglected to spread some beyond his jaw line or on his ears.
The more Jacob scrutinised the old man's face the more unusual he looked.
He was clearly a vain man and it was sad that his conceited effort to fight old age had failed so dismally. His appearance was artificial and he had tried a little too hard in his preparation for the meeting.
Jacob fought back a wry smile as he impressed himself with his eye for detail.
He was now feeling more like a detective than a reporter.
"Have you approached any other papers at all?" he asked, still
smirking.
Harvey nodded slowly without replying. His disappointment was clear to see.
"Weren’t they interested?"
The old man shook his head. "My reluctance to explain anything over the phone proved to be a powerful deterrent."
Jacob sensed that the old man had tried very hard to be heard and that being shunned by everyone had deeply upset him.
He had probably tried all the popular newspapers before finally having to resort to 'The Bargain Trader' as his only hope of being heard.
Perhaps a last ditch effort to tell his story before he died.
Jacob felt as though fate had guided Harvey to him and that destiny had forced their paths to cross.
Each had longed for something that only the other could help realise, no one else would have done.
For Jacob it was a shot at being a reporter, being given the idea of becoming freelance, and for Harvey it was disclosure, finding someone interested enough to bother meeting him and having the chance to reveal his secret.
"Does your story relate to some sort of crime?" enquired Jacob.
"Yes, it does." Replied Harvey, nodding.
"What kind of crime?"
"The very worst kind."
"Murder?"
"Yes."
Jacob jotted the word 'MURDER' down in capitals. His interest was increasing.
"Past or present?" he continued.
"Both."
"Were the police involved?"
"Yes."
"Were you personally involved?"
"Yes."
Jacob paused briefly before asking his next question.
"Are you the murderer?"
"No."
The young man took a sip of hot tea. He was beginning to relax a little. He still felt uncomfortable about lying to the old man about being a reporter but felt that his deceit had gone undetected.
He asked Mr James to start his story whenever he was ready.
The old man sat silent for a moment as he pondered on how to begin.
"Will that thing hear me from here?" he asked, eventually.
Jacob nodded, readying his pencil to take notes throughout the interview.
Having key words to look back on would prevent having to stop and start the voice recorder to recall what had been said if ever the interview was paused for any reason.
"Some of what I have to say may sound as though I'm reading it from a book, is that ok?" enquired the old man. "it's how I've been able to remember parts of it you see."
"That's fine Mr James!" replied Jacob.
The old man cleared his throat and began.
"My name is Harvey James and this is my confession." he said, his eyes fixed on the digital recorder. "I feel that the time has come for me to reveal a dark and sinister secret that has plagued me for decades. I have a moral obligation to make an account of what happened for the sake of all those involved before it’s too late!"
The more he spoke the less his voice trembled.
"This is the story as I know and understand it."
He paused for a moment as he grabbed his mug of tea. He was now looking directly at Jacob.
"I think I will start with Patrick Webb.” he said. “It was what happened to him that made me realise how much danger I was in, you see, and that my worst nightmare had become a reality. It’s not the true beginning, I’ll get to that shortly, but I think it will give a better understanding of the story. Is that ok?”
Jacob nodded with approval.
####
It was a Sunday afternoon” began the old man. “Julie, Patrick's long term girlfriend, was in the kitchen tidying up and putting things away.
They had just moved in together and Patrick was unpacking the last of their belongings in the lounge when someone began pounding on the front door.
They were hefty thuds and it sounded as though the person was very angry.
The house had a porch that stuck out from the main building so Patrick could not see who the visitor was without going to the front door but, by the time he got to there, the person had gone.
As he closed the door, he heard the sound of breaking glass coming from the kitchen followed by Julie screaming hysterically. He ran to see what was happening and was shocked at the sight that greeted him.
In the kitchen, surrounded by broken glass from the back door was a strange, badly burned, man with his arm around Julie’s throat.
His skin was burnt to a crisp and there were patches of charred flesh hanging from his face and bare legs. His hair had gone and he was clearly in tremendous pain. His baggy hospital gown was stained with blood where his movements had forced the taught skin to rip and bleed and his eyes were bloodshot, flaming red, and wild. Small wafts of smoke were still rising from his blackened body and the aroma of singed hair was strong.
Quite a shocking sight for a Sunday afternoon I bet!" exclaimed Harvey.
####
The old man took a sip of tea and Jacob leaned forward to push the recorder across the table and nearer to him. The story was beginning to sound interesting.
The sight of the reporter’s eagerness to hear more made the old man smile behind his large mug as he swigged his tea. At last, he had someone to listen to him and his story was being told.
Harvey had felt a little apprehensive at first to reveal his secret. The decision to do so had weighed heavy on his mind for a several months. But, he knew that time was now against him and had been forced to come clean. His desire to tell all had been born from urgency rather than willingness.
"What happened then?" enquired Jacob.
####
“The burnt man spoke but was wheezing badly. The smoke from the fire he'd been in had obviously damaged his lungs.
“Long time no see, old pal!” he said, clenching his teeth with pain.
Patrick demanded to know who he was and took a step towards Julie but the man tightened his grip around her neck, forcing her to whimper.
It was then that Patrick noticed the man was holding a gun in his other hand and was forcing it into Julie’s side. Blood was dripping from his split fingers.
The stranger ordered him to back off.
Patrick stepped backwards into the lounge and he was told to sit as he neared the sofa. The charred man eventually relaxed his strangle hold from around Julie's throat, pushing her away. She clambered across the seat cushions towards Patrick with tears of terror streaming down her face.
The stranger lowered his arm slowly, grimacing as the skin clicked and rustled beneath the hospital gown.
“Don’t you recognise me Pat?” scowled the roasted man.
Although, burnt beyond recognition, the guy did seem familiar to Patrick and he had already guessed that it was someone from his past. Someone he wanted to forget.
The stranger obliged him with a name.
“Stuart Rice!” he said, through gritted teeth.
Patrick had been right and he knew the name instantly.
Definitely someone he had hoped never to see again.
“Why come to me?” he asked “and how did you know where I lived?”
“I bumped into Gaz a few days back.” replied Stuart “said you were renting this place and moving in today.”
Patrick shrugged his shoulders indifferently. He had told Gary about the move. He was the only one of us he had kept in touch with since we were kids and he felt a little betrayed that Gary had mentioned him to Stuart.
“And, why choose me?”
“You’re the nearest!”
They stared at each other for a few moments in silence.
At first it was direct eye contact but, feeling a little uncomfortable, Patrick turned his attention to the cauterized body of his old acquaintance.
He asked him what had happened. "You must be in terrible pain!" he added.
“I haven’t got time to explain Patty boy, I just want it to end!" Stuart hissed back.
Patrick hated being called 'Patty boy' and remembered just how much he disliked S
tuart Rice.
I don't think any of us really liked him to be honest.
“So, why are you here and not in hospital?” asked Pat. "and why the gun?"
Stuart's eyes widened with anger. "You mean you don't remember?" he growled, stepping closer. "You haven't guessed?"
Patrick coward away slightly as Stuart neared. At first, he was confused at Stuart's anger towards him but, as he looked at his old friend's seared face, at his scorched arms and legs, he began to realise why he was there.
But, surely, the thought that had crossed his mind was too farfetched.
“You can die for me of course!" added Stuart, menacingly. "Old friends through thick and thin, remember!?”
He pointed the gun at Patrick’s face.
“Do you remember what we did? Do you remember what she said to us!?”
For a few moments Patrick’s mind was thrown back in time, to the real beginning of this story, to the events that started the whole thing off. He did remember and far too well for his own liking.
Julie asked what Stuart had meant but Patrick shook his head and simply held her hand.
“It’s a long story Jules!" he said solemnly. "and one I’m not proud of!”
####
As he listened to Harvey talk, Jacob realised that the old man was describing a situation that he clearly wasn't in. He held up his hand as a sign for him to pause his story.
"Excuse me Mr James!" he said, interrupting. "but how do you know what happened and what was said if you weren't there?"
"I'll get to that shortly" answered Harvey. "All will be revealed."
"You must understand that I can't use 'hear-say' in your article as proof of what really happened!"
"I realise that but……..”
"Can your story be proved?" asked Jacob, interrupting.
“Yes.”
"How?"
"I’ll explain everything if you let me continue.”
He had no choice but to let the old man carry on with his story, he just hoped that, by the end, he would be able to prove it was true and not find he was wasting his time.
####
"Patrick's mind flashed back to when were kids." continued Harvey.