The Book Keeper Read online

  To my left the sash window was completely open, the organza curtains billowing in the strong wind. Rain was thumping against the glass, and entering, uninvited, into the room.

  My legs gave way on the slippery wet floor as I moved at speed to close the window. But finally, I slammed it shut, and exhaled through my lips. I ran my hand through my hair and turned to discover that the room was a complete mess, papers strewn everywhere.

  With resignation, I lowered myself onto my knees and collected all the papers, haphazardly piling them untidily on the floor, slamming the very last piece down on the top in exasperation, only to find a smaller white piece of paper come shooting out before my eyes, and then gently gliding down onto the floor.

  It was white, blank. Not new though. A little aged in appearance. It looked smooth,

  but on closer inspection with my hands, it felt slightly bumpy. Confused, I ran my finger over the paper again. Mmmm, definitely bumpy.

  Oh…..The piece of paper belongs to the bloody book!

  Standing, I dragged my feet over to the table where the bloody book sat. It’s leather cover was open, exposing the internal intelligences of the written word. But there was none.

  The pages were unblemished by ink, by words, letters or illustrations. Yet, the book looked used and worn. I slid the escapee page of the book back inside with the other pages, and slammed the cover closed.

  The End! Strange bloody book!

  I walked away.

  But only to return. It had it’s little nasty hooks into me. I hate books! I am not a book sort of guy! Frustrated, I returned to it, and removed the extrovert page, the escapee. My curiosity needed quenching.

  At once, I made my way to the study room and turned on the desk lamp, placing the paper onto the glossy glass top. Without looking up, I reached for a soft sketching lead pencil, and another piece of paper, and then proceeded to do a texture rubbing over the blank page.

  Initially, flowers appeared on the rubbing, and vines with leaves. Quite childish really. Perhaps it was a child’s sketchbook? But then some lettering appeared.

  A name. Female.

  I smirked to myself. Well, it didn’t surprise me really. Boys didn’t tend to go about drawing pretty daisy flowers and scroll vines on paper.

  Then to my unguarded attention, an address appeared, complete with email and phone number. So the book is not as old as I had assumed that it was. I smiled to myself, and then frowned. Why no ink?

  It is not my book. I don’t do books. End of story. I returned the page to its fellow offenders and closed the damn leather cover.

  I covered my face with my hands. I cannot simply burn this book now? It has a person’s name and address in it. It has an owner. I breathed out loudly through my nostrils. Bloody book!

  My laptop computer purred as I engaged it, keying in my security code. I went immediately to emails – new message.

  FROM: Cohen Darcy

  SUBJECT: Your Book!

  DATE: May 08 2011 16:37

  TO: Georgia Harrison

  Hello,

  I have found your book. How can I return it to you?

  Cohen Darcy

  Send…..

  I watched the computer screen for a few minutes, my hands cupped in each other, twiddling my thumbs. No reply.

  Until twenty-five minutes later, the ping of a new message alerted me.

  FROM: Georgia Harrison

  SUBJECT: Your Book!

  DATE: May 08 2011 17:02

  TO: Cohen Darcy

  Hello Cohen,

  It is not my book. Is this a pick up line?

  Georgia Harrison

  Great – girls! Always assuming that a guy is trying to get into their pants!

  My fingers twitched with agitation as I replied.

  FROM: Cohen Darcy

  SUBJECT: Your Book!

  DATE: May 08 2011 17:05

  TO: Georgia Harrison

  Georgia,

  The book has your name, address, email and phone number contact in it.

  IT IS YOUR BOOK! You need to claim it before I use it as fuel for the fire. I hate books!

  Cohen - #thefireisburningbarely.

  Send….

  FROM: Georgia Harrison

  SUBJECT: Your Book!

  DATE: May 08 2011 17:13

  TO: Cohen

  Dear, Dear Cohen,

  I have not lost, misplaced, deserted, thrown out or ditched a book. Feel free to use it as fuel for the fire.

  Georgia

  FROM: Cohen Darcy

  SUBJECT: Your Book!

  DATE: May 08 2011 17:17

  TO: Georgia

  Dear, Dear Georgia,

  Your wish is my command. I will begin destruction of YOUR BOOK in exactly 60 minutes and counting. The fire is hungry!

  Cohen – #temporarykeeperofYOURBOOK!

  Send…..

  End of communication.

  Yay! I had permission to cast the bloody book into the violent bowels of the raging fire, to be eradicated, all evidence of its existence obliterated. Soon it will be burn baby burn! I smiled a lopsided smile. The book problem was about to be solved.

  As I bided my time, I absent mindedly flicked through the pages of the bloody book. What a stupid book, empty pages with writing indentations into it. Whoever would write in such a manner? How utterly absurd!

  I angled the book towards the flickering flames of the fire. If I held it on a certain angle I could actually read the inkless words in a sort of fashion.

  To my surprise, it was a diary of sorts. For goodness sake, the childish expression of schoolgirl ranting and raving, she said this, she said that, and he DID WHAT?

  I leaned forward to concentrate in a focused manner on the inkless text, and continued to read. It was very personal. I snapped the book closed. I had no business reading the personal diary of Georgia Harrison. But oh she wrote with such intricate details. It was quite intoxicating, addictive.

  I closed my eyes and shook my head.

  This is not my book.

  I hate books.

  I don’t do books.

  I looked at my watch. It was well past the allotted sixty minutes that I had given Georgia to claim her book. Obviously she didn’t want it.

  I flicked through the pages again, and then tossed it into the not so raging fire. It started to crackle and spit embers as the ping of the laptop caught my attention.

  I opened up emails.

  FROM: Georgia Harrison

  SUBJECT: Your Book!

  DATE: May 08 2011 18:30

  TO: Cohen Darcy

  Hello Cohen,

  Please don’t burn the book. YES IT IS MINE!

  Georgia.

  My eyes widened in panic. I had already tossed it into the fire. I raced over to the hearth and fished the book out with the fire tongs. The book was blackened, damaged and alight on the edges. I quickly dropped it onto the slate and stamped on it with my shoe. Smoke rose to the ceiling, and the book looked like it had been exposed to the violent flames of a fire wielding dragon.

  Oh well, at least it wasn’t burnt to cinders! I returned to the laptop.

  FROM: Cohen Darcy

  SUBJECT: Your Book!

  DATE: May 08 2011 18:40

  TO: Georgia Harrison

  Hi George,

  I still have it. Where can I send it to?

  Cohen – #thekeeperofYOURBOOK!

  Send….

  FROM: Georgia Harrison

  SUBJECT: Your Book!

  DATE: May 08 2011 18:43

  To: Cohen Darcy

  Hi Cohen,

  Meet me at Café Ooooh Laaa La at 3pm. And don’t call me George!

  Georgia -#I’mgladthatyoudidn’tfeedmybooktothefireofdoomx

  FROM: Cohen Darcy

  SUBJECT: Your Book!

  DATE: May 08 2011 18:47

  To: Georgia Harrison

  Apologies George.

  What do you look like? How will I know that it is you?

  From Cohen #iam
stillthekeeperofyourbook!

  Send….

  There was no reply.

  And now there was another complication with the bloody book!

  I had to meet a girl to get rid of it.

  Chapter 5

  My personal taxi was waiting for me as I expected. I climbed in to hear a personal welcome. Personally, I didn’t care for any of these frivolities. I preferred to have control of my own destiny, and not having another person choosing my pathway in life.

  Play the game. Play it better.

  I was personally escorted up to the 28th floor of CAI, hand-scanned for entry and then personally escorted to my new office. I shared it with no-one, personally. Thank heavens it was not sterile white. Instead it had three different wall colours – blue, green and purple, plus an entire wall of floor to ceiling windows overlooking the city.

  My drawing desk was white, the work desk white, and my high backed leather chair white.

  I had only settled into my new flashy office for about ten minutes when Mr Rubin walked in unannounced.

  ‘Mr Darcy, I trust that you are happy with your office and location.’ His voice was serious, no frills.

  Play the game. Play it better.

  ‘Yes, thank-you Sir.’ Politeness was not warranted, but part of the game.

  ‘Your designs Mr Darcy. Update me at 2pm daily, without fail, without tardiness.’

  He drummed his knuckles on top of the desk, his eyes piercing mine with icy coldness. Then he turned and left the room.

  Rude bastard.

  I looked around my little abode to find the security cameras. Maximum security meant that I was being watched at all times. I located the cameras, all five of them. According to my calculations, they had a blind spot with their overlap.

  I could have perfect invisibility if I played my cards right. I would need mirrors though to rebound an image of myself working. The plan formed in my head. The prototype designed. I would work on the device at home and then bring it in when it was ready.

  I felt happier about my circumstances now, if that were at all possible.

  At 2pm, I descended a level to Mr Rubin’s office. White girl was there. I bowed my head and smiled at her as I walked past.

  ‘Mr Darcy, Mr Rubin is waiting for you,’ she squeaked, exposing me to her blinding white teeth. I squinted as a walked past her.

  I entered the open door of Mr Rubin’s office. The back of his red high backed chair was facing me, again.

  ‘Mr Darcy, you are two minutes late. I despise tardiness. You and I will get on better if you lose the trait of bad time management. Project details.’

  And I despise bad manners Mr Rubin. I doubt that we will ever get along …..

  Play the game. Play it better.

  ‘I have spent a large portion of my time today revisiting my design, making notes. As you are aware, the mind reading communication device was only a creative outlet for my mind, a purely science fiction piece of work. I will need you to give me details on the anatomy of the brain and eye, medical procedures and also a time line, to see if I can produce what you are wanting in this field of communication. I also cannot guarantee that this idea of an eye implant for mind reading will work. Furthermore, I request a flexible time schedule, to allow me to come and go as I see fit. For instance to visit medical universities for research, to watch eye or brain surgeries, and to visit places of creative inspiration. And..I do not need a personal taxi, or escorting on or off the premises,’ I asserted in a polite manner.

  Mr Rubin stared at me, his left hand supporting the weight of his bald shiny head in a pencil grip formation under his chin, as if in deep contemplation of my debriefing and request.

  I maintained eye contact with him, my blue eyes to his cold callous black beady eyes.

  ‘I shall permit all of your requests, except the personal taxi service and escorting onto and off the premises. I repeat to you again Mr Darcy. You are currently our most valuable employee, and we look after who and what we value. You may vacate my office now. 2pm again tomorrow, and daily unless I choose to change the time to suit my needs.’ His voice was void of emotion, very business like. He turned his sterile red high backed leather chair away from me. Rude bastard. I turned and exited his office, fully aware of the security cameras watching my every move.

  As I passed white girl, I smiled coyly at her and nodded quickly, acknowledging her presence.

  ‘Mr Darcy.’ Her large brown eyes followed me, but her face remained expressionless. I like a good challenge. She will smile at me someday soon.

  At precisely 2:45pm I left my office, escorted, scanned my handprint and briskly headed to Café Oooh La Laa by foot- the meeting place with Georgia Harrison. The owner of the Bloody Book.

  I stopped at the entrance to the café and took a deep breath. As I pushed the door open and stepped through onto the wooden floor, a metal bell dingled announcing my arrival. I stopped walking as the door closed behind me, and scanned the faces of the patrons.

  What on earth does she look like? E-mails didn’t give a clue about appearance. At least over the phone you could form a possible image of someone by the sound of their voice. Was she young or old perhaps? No idea!

  No-one even looked up at me as I entered the café. Maybe she wasn’t here yet, running behind schedule. Or maybe she was leading me astray because she thought that I was trying to pick her up?

  I sat down at a vacant square wooden table, and tucked my bag under the chair. Before I even had the chance to look up, I heard a soft worded ‘hi’, and saw her hand resting on the table.

  ‘Hi!’ I replied back, looking up at her.

  Her cornflower blue eyes sank into mine as she smiled at me. Her wavy mid-length brown hair framed her heart shaped faced perfectly, and my heart accelerated.

  “Georgia?’ I asked, raising my eyebrows. She nodded briefly.

  ‘Please sit. Would you like to join me for a tea of coffee?’ I asked, suddenly unsure of myself.

  ‘Yes please, tea,’ she replied as she sat down, her voice singing to my soul, taking my breath away. I smiled coyly at her, and nodded before I rose from the table to place our order.

  I returned to the table via a different route. I needed to watch her, to assess her character. She didn’t give much away. She sat with her back straight, and her hands clasped in front of as if she was in deep thought. She appeared gentle in spirit, and peaceful, her face giving out a positive vibe. But what was she thinking right now?

  I sat down opposite her, looked into her eyes briefly and smiled before averting my eyes to the table. She made me feel so self conscious. Damn!

  ‘Thanks for meeting me to change hands with the book Cohen,” she said softly.

  ‘Glad to get it off my hands Georgia. It arrived in some mysterious circumstances that I still do not understand. And….I don’t do books. I hate books. I’m not a book type of guy.’

  She smiled at me and then looked at the table, stealing her beautiful blue eyes away from me. Had I said something wrong? What was she thinking? I wish I knew. Girls are so hard to read, a closed book sometimes, so to speak.

  Our cups of tea arrived with a teapot. She took the liberty of pouring out the tea into our fancy white tea cups.

  ‘What is it that you do Cohen?’ she asked, not looking at me until she finished pouring the tea.

  I took a deep breath.

  ‘Oh you know, research, design, create, design, research. Nothing too exciting really.’

  ‘Really? Your eyes tell me a different story Cohen,’ she stated, her voice curious.

  I blinked at her and looked down and sipped my tea.

  ‘And what is it that you do Georgia?’ Tell me exactly what you do.

  ‘Research, design, create, design, research. Nothing too exciting really,’ she replied, smiling at me. She was playing games. Maybe she knew my motto.

  ‘What field are you in for your research?’ I asked inquisitively.

  She shook her head. ‘I can’t say…and yo
u?’

  ‘Same,’ I replied, looking deeply into her beautiful eyes, wishing at that moment that I could read into her mind.

  ‘Did you know Cohen, that digitally, you don’t exist?’ she said matter of factly.

  I placed my tea cup down before I spilt it, and stared at her, shocked.

  ‘I googled your name, searched data banks and profiles, and you don’t exist.’

  I narrowed my eyes at her. Why on earth would she be collecting data on me. Is there something wrong with her?

  ‘I like to keep a low profile,’ I replied, hiding my complete and utter shock. Mmm, interesting. CAI has eradicated my life details on digital data banks. What is their plan for me?

  I looked away from Georgia to my left, and my eyes came to a stop on a man staring at Georgia. He had short dark hair with the ‘in’ side burns, dark eyes and a day old growth of facial hair. His chiseled face sat perfectly with his perfect nose. Uncannily, he looked very similar to me. We could almost be brothers in reality.

  ‘Is that your boyfriend over to your right, dark hair, dark eyes, staring at you?’ I asked, watching as Georgia followed my directions. Her eyes stopped searching. She had found the guy I was talking about. She smiled, showing her dimples, lighting up her face, taking my breath away at the same time. I inhaled sharply, and shook my head to myself. Like books, I don’t do girls. They are way too complicated, unpredictable.

  Her big blue eyes found mine. She was still smiling as I sipped my tea.

  ‘No Cohen. He’s not my type,’ she whispered to me, leaning in a little, enough so that I could smell her sweet perfume. My heart sank a little. If he is not her type, then I am not her type. End of story. Why was I hoping anyway? I don’t do girls.

  I reached down and grabbed the bloody book out of my black leather bag, and placed it carefully onto the wooden table, leaving my hand partly over the cover, watching Georgia’s expression the entire time. I wanted to see her immediate reaction to the condition of her bloody book, after I had tossed it into the fire to burn.