The Others – Eighteen

Image credit: yevgeniyll

Image credit: yevgeniyll

On the screen a further mystery unfolded. Natalie had turned to look at the man and he had turned from his companion to look at her. They stood for one instant, one regarding the other, no awareness of or focus on anyone else in their field. Importantly, no-one else was watching them in this instant either. The friend had turned to say something to his companion next to him at the bar, and everyone else was occupied elsewhere. Something very odd started to happen on the film. Static covered both of them, as though their proximity and mutual awareness had created a distorted and problematic electrical current. They both seemed to struggle to be. The distorted, ugly form of the man seemed to fall back, defeated, and he disappeared, reappearing further down the bar a few moments later, ordering a drink from another of the barmaids. Natalie had disappeared completely as though the shock of the interaction had forced her into her invisible exile.

But the man was looking in the direction she had recently vacated. I zoomed in again and his eyes were intent, moving slightly from side to side and up and down as though he was seeking her out. He hadn’t forgotten her it seemed, he hadn’t forgotten to remember to look. He had a real knowledge of himself, and of her, and whatever it all meant and a better capacity to stay conscious of it in the moment.

“It’s so interesting!” I almost shouted. “Let me show you some other film of him!”

“I know who he is,” Natalie said, stretching back as I changed the film. “He’s well known in the club. But I’ve never really spoken to him or served him directly.”

“Not for want of him trying I suspect,” I said, “But it looks like that might be difficult for both of you. Who is he? What do you know of him?”

“Not much. I know his name is Gabriel.”

“Like one of the seraphim?” I remarked, laughing slightly, “That’s fitting!”

She understood the reference. “Fallen angel I think” she added, “He’s the one a lot of the girls like. But he’s also a bit strange, a bit mysterious. I think Angie, one of my colleagues, slept with him once. She never talked about it though. I thought he just probably didn’t call afterwards and hurt her pride.”

“Perhaps, or perhaps it was something else. Perhaps she forgot it happened. Anyway, I don’t think he’d be interested in her really. I think he’s interested in you.”

Natalie made a huffing sound as though to refute the stupidest of suggestions.

“Why wouldn’t he be, if he knows what he is, and he knows what you are?” I asked, “Besides, as I keep telling you, you’re very attractive.”

“Sorry,” she responded, “Force of habit.”

“Fair enough, but watch this, see what I mean. I’ve spliced a number of sequences together here, to give you the whole affect.”

Gabriel was shown to repeatedly try to approach her, or to apparently be watching her, even from the shadows. He also seemed to stay watching her even when she disappeared. It was impossible to tell from the camera angles if he actually saw her, or just an approximation of where he thought she would be. In any case, he seemed to have an unerring accuracy about which area of the bar she would re-appear on, and when she did, he was always smiling to himself. Maybe he was testing himself in some way, or testing her.

She spoke of a lacuna in the world’s fabric, I think that was her term, for how it felt to be invisible in the midst of her family. Was that it? If he couldn’t see her, could he see the lacuna? Could he sense that place that he also inhabited from time to time?

Whatever it was and whatever he knew, his individual approaches were always unsuccessful, for similar reasons to what I had seen before.

“Look, I can’t prove that he’s looking at you, but you can see it’s always roughly where you are, or where you reappear. And then, he’s always trying to get close, he’s tenacious, I’ll give him that. But it’s like coming across another like you causes something to erupt in the electrical field, to jam your frequency. But look at this, this is the closest he ever gets, he’s talking to someone you are serving, and in doing that, he looks like he’s about to try to talk to you because the frequency is still ok when there is the other person as part of it who is still aware of you both. But you get called away, just at that moment, which makes me think…”

She wasn’t following me, she was remembering the situation.

“I remember that night. I’ve been kind of aware of him but I didn’t know why. I remember feeling a bit frightened then, frightened of him. I felt a bit sea sick or something, but it passed when I served the other person…”

“I felt that, with you, the first night, because you were only just holding on, I think, to whatever purchase you have in this material world. I felt frightened of you, and a bit sick..”

“Did you? I’m so sorry…”

“I don’t think it’s your fault, and its fine now, after all, one on one is just fine, and maybe that only happens when you don’t know the other person or something, who knows. But it means that you react to him as I did to you, but the more interesting thing, if you ask me, is that some contact between you, which he clearly seems to want, was almost possible in that moment..”

“Why do you think he wants contact? Do you think he knows about himself and recognizes me?” Her voice was hushed, hopeful and a little bit dread.

“Yes. I think he does, I really do, and I think he’s figured out something, just as I have. That it is possible, it is possible for you to circumvent the frequency problem, if you have an intermediary…”

She turned and looked at me, realizing where I was going. She was shaking slightly in anticipation.

“So,” I said, “What I propose is that I am that intermediary.”

(c) Helen M Valentina 2015, All Rights Reserved

About Helen

I'm drawn to blogging as a way to share ideas and consider what makes us who we are. Whether it's in our working life or our creativity, expression is a means to connect.
This entry was posted in Serial Horror Stories, The Others and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to The Others – Eighteen

  1. I was hoping he’d say that.


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