Rosecoven

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I’m standing in front of Major Blake. 

“Why were you in the drone control room, Jenkins?” he asked, checking his clipboard.

“I had to ask Flight Corporal Winslow a question, sir.”

“And for the record, could you tell me what happened, please? In your own time.”

I retold my version of events in detail.

“Are you aware of how much these drones cost, corporal? Let me tell you, shall I? One of these drones costs around three months’ worth of your salary. Were you aware of that, corporal?”

“No, sir.”

“Are you aware of how much it costs to send out a recover and repair team? Let me tell you, shall I? It costs the equivalent of a month’s salary for you. Were you aware of that, corporal?”

“No, sir.”

The guy’s really pissing me off. I don’t care about your drone, or the money. The important thing is Leah got away without you finding out where she’s going. 

“I’m so sorry, sir. I don’t know what came over me, sir.” I did what I had to do. 

“You know me, sir. I’ve never done anything like that before. Probably won’t again.” Maybe if I sound worried enough, he’ll think he’s won and will let me get back to my post.

“Let me be clear, corporal, if this happens again, I will deduct the costs from your salary, and then you will be dishonorably discharged.”  

“Yes, sir!” I’m struggling not to laugh as I imagine my boot stamping on his smug, superior face. 

“If that happens, you will never be able to work again. Am I clear, corporal?”

”Crystal clear, sir.”

“Now, get out of my sight!” 

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. Thank you, sir. It won’t happen again, sir. I promise.” 

God, I hate him. Creepy old bastard!  

Elma’s right. I have to be true to myself and follow my path. But what path? 

God, I want her now! 

*****

I feel like I’m caught between two worlds. How can I keep working like this?

On the one hand, I’ve got my settled life, living with my mum, saving for the security of getting married to a nice girl, settling down and having kids and so on.

On the other, there’s Elma and the girls, who look after my every need and make me feel the best I’ve ever felt in my life.

I believe what the girls say about my work conflicting with my nature, but if I just jacked it in, where would my money come from? What about my car? What about buying Elma things? We wouldn’t be able to go anywhere, would we?

But if I keep at it, and keep trying to get promoted, then that conflict will just get worse and worse and I’ll probably go crazy or something. Maybe kill myself, or worse, kill someone else.

What the hell should I do?

I can’t make up my mind. I need someone to talk to. The problem is, everyone I can talk to about it is involved.  

I try my mum, my sergeant, and even my uncle. They’ve no idea what I’m on about.  

I can’t tell them everything. They think I’m just being an arse. I should get this new girlfriend pregnant, marry her, and concentrate on family life. 

I turn to the person I first thought of but wanted to avoid.  

Elma.  

“I’m stuck. I’ve no idea what I want to do with my life. Everything used to be set out, easy to follow. Now, I’m confused. I don’t even feel like the person I was six months ago.”  

“I’ve told you everything, Elma. What do you think I should do? Honestly, I’m cracking up here.” 

“You know me, love,” she soothed, stroking my hair. “Maybe you think you should leave your job, but I think it’d be really hard for you to change. Let’s do your cards. They’ll give you a completely different perspective, won’t they?” 

So, we do my cards. A few times. Each time the answer is clear.  

We make love like there’s no tomorrow. I’m desperate to please her, and her, me. My feelings are running over. What’ll happen if I lose her? What then? The answer is clear.

A warm relaxing shower, and it’s obvious that my answer is clear. It’s my life; it needs my answer.

We go to Zingy’s for a meal with the other girls. Their presence is a tide; warm and inevitable. Wonderful food and such a good time. Can I go back to what I had before? It’s clear. 

I’m calming down again. I know what to do, but I haven’t told anyone, not even Elma. When the thought occurs, the panic passes. 

Calm. My calm.

I am calm and composed at work the next morning. In fact, I feel that way all day. It seems to be the new me. How long will it last? A few more hours, or forever? Who cares? 

It’s a lovely day. The good weather has made everyone noticeably happier than on the usual grey-day drudge.  

It’s good to be alive. 

Calm. A cool breeze, a relaxed mind, and a relaxed body. 

Checking papers. Checking papers. Flag a high school teacher for drone surveillance. Dish out a few badges that’ll record anything and everything a couple of eighty-year-old dog walkers will do because they forgot their permit. 

Just recently, some days I feel disgusted with myself.

That’s a good thing. 

Calm. At one with the world. 

Another drone for a delivery guy. Another badge for a teenage monster. A girl who can’t stop twirling her long black hair flagged for subversion; I let through. Checking more papers. 

Calm. No hassle. I could do this in my sleep. 

Elma’s made me a great packed lunch that smells so good, I have to give half of it to the others sitting at my table in the canteen. They really enjoy it, visibly relaxing afterwards.  

Calm. They like it too. It’s not just me. 

Nothing of note in the afternoon.  

Drive home to Elma.  

She’s going out. 

“I’m going to the meeting room, love. Come on, it won’t take long. Afterwards, we can drive up to the forest and have some fun. You like that, don’t you?” 

“Come on, then. I’ll drive.” 

The meeting room is just that. Posters on the wall show what they’re about. The cycles of the moon and planets, astrological charts, star signs, Chinese star signs, strange diagrams, aura colours. You name it, it’s there. Books on Tarot cards, reading the future in a multitude of ways, and something called astral projection. For sale ads for herbs, mushrooms and stuff their members grow themselves. It’s all way over my head. Gentle music is playing in the background.

There are about ten people sitting in a circle, eyes closed, holding hands, and having some kind of meeting that we can’t interrupt. 

Oh, my God! Is that the girl I let through the checkpoint this morning?  

Can’t be. That girl had long black hair. 

Can it? 

She looks different. She’s dressed in similar clothes, though. I can’t see her face. But she’s still twirling her hair, even though it’s blonde. Oh, wait! 

Is it her? 

If I’d said anything about feelings a few months ago, I’d have gone to the doctor. But these days when I know, I know. 

It’s definitely her.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

I can’t be here. I’ve got to get out. I’ve got to get out!

“What’s wrong, Chris?” Elma asks, tugging my sleeve. 

My palms are sweating, my mouth’s as dry as a bone, my heart is going haywire.

I can hardly breathe.

I want to throw up.

“You see that woman in the circle? The one with the red top?” I croak. “She looks a bit different now. I’m absolutely positive I let her through the checkpoint this morning, even though she was flagged.” 

The entire circle is watching me, even though their eyes are closed.

“I could get taken.”

“I could get tortured!”

“Have you ever seen someone when they get taken out of the Red Room? What am I going to do? I need to get out of here!” 

“Calm down, love. If you let her through, you let her through. Nothing’s happened. How can they know? Take it easy,” she whispers, putting her arm through mine and turning me away to explain one of the posters. 

Then, her mouth is right up to my ear. “Remember the cards. Remember how calm you’ve been today. You’re not fighting anything now.” And right there, with her words, I began feeling better.

“Now, let’s get out of here. I’ve done what I came to do,” she says, turning all cheerful, leading me towards the door. “Let’s go get messy in the woods!” 

I never even make it to my post in the morning. Just as I’m getting out of my car, three men approach, flash ID, one on each arm and the other speaking. 

They lead me away. 

“Patrolman Christopher Robert Jenkins, Patrol number 7326371. You will answer our questions. You have relinquished any rights you may have had by your actions.” 

Calm. There’s no point in fighting. Just let them take me. 

They walk me to a door I’ve never noticed before in all the time I’ve worked here. It opens just before we reach it and closes behind us. 

Through air-conditioned offices, some with glass partitions, others closed up tight, everyday chitter chatter and the tempting aroma of coffee.

Into a room.  

Just the kind of dull, grey room that you would expect for an interrogation. The reek of piss, disinfectant and stories that don’t end well.

Strapped into a cold metal chair bolted to the floor. Ankles chafing, clamped to the legs. Wrists manacled to the arms. Hands turning blue. Back aching.

A blazing light in my eyes.

I shiver.

Calm. I’ve seen what some people look like after an interrogation. One half-dead man dragged away, comes to mind.

One sits in front of me. The other two, I can’t see. 

“Christopher Robert Jenkins. We have evidence you purposefully allowed a flagged individual through the checkpoint yesterday at 10:43am. What do you have to say?” 

“If I did do that, sir, it’s highly unlikely I did it on purpose. It must have been a mistake, sir.” You’re not getting me for this. 

“Records show that you did, and if that was all we had, then you’d be right. It could have been a mistake.” 

Calm. He’s bluffing. Standard procedure.

“Unfortunately for you, we caught the woman in question and under interrogation, she stated she’d been told that if you processed her, she’d be let through unquestioned.” 

“What do you have to say for yourself, patrolman?” 

“I… I… I can assure you that isn’t true, sir.”

Calm. Calm. Where are you? 

My calm was seeping away, drip by drip.

Elma could help.

But not now. Not here.

They would see me shaking if I wasn’t strapped in so tightly.

I have to do it.

Reach down and face your fear.

You can’t let it win. You’ll lose everything.

“You’ve seen the Red Room, Patrolman Jenkins. You’ve signed the disposal manifests for what comes out of it. We would so prefer not to have to prepare one for you.”

I chose you, Elma.

“You have an exemplary record, so I am giving you one last chance to answer. You deliberately allowed a flagged person through the checkpoint, didn’t you?” 

I can do this.

“You’re correct, sir. I did do that, sir.” I can’t. I’m lost. Elma, I’m so sorry. Everything’s over. 

“So, you admit the offence?” 

“Yes, sir!” my job, Elma, the girls… I’ll lose my car.  

“Are you aware of the consequences, patrolman? We could work on you and hold you indefinitely until we believe you cease to be a threat to the New Tomorrow Faction?” 

“Yes, sir. I am, sir!” My mum and her family will die of shame. 

“We also know you are associating with known anti-faction subversives, namely, The Witches of Rosehaven, or as they call themselves, Rosecoven.” 

“Yes, sir! I am aware of that, sir.” What does that have to do with anything? 

“What can you tell us about these people, patrolman?” 

The smell, the pain, the cold are all nothing now compared to the utter disgust I feel for myself and the pity I feel for all those I’ve betrayed.

“Anything you like, sir. What would you like to know, sir?” A flicker of hope? 

The questioning continues, and I give them all the answers I can, truthfully and fully.  

This goes on for about an hour until: 

“Would you spy on the coven for us, patrolman? Be our ‘inside man’ and report everything, and I mean everything, back to us?” 

Calm. Everything ends if I say no. Let go. 

“It depends, sir.”  

“You’re not really in a position to negotiate, patrolman,” says the faceless intelligence officer. “Does it depend on a raise, Patrolman Jenkins?” He says. “I’m sure we could arrange something like that to oil the wheels, so to speak.”

“No, sir.” I mustn’t cry. “If you want my help, I’d really like some kind of guarantee that my mum will be looked after, sir; protection, a new apartment, immunity.” 

“I’m sure we can come to some mutually agreeable arrangement son,” drawls the intelligence officer. “Take it as read you’ll be looked after financially.” 

“In that case, sir. Yes, sir, I can be your ‘inside man’ and report everything the coven gets up to.”  

I must be the luckiest man alive. 

“We knew you’d see it from our point of view, patrolman.” 

Calm. I made it through in one piece. 

I go straight round to Elma’s as soon as I finish my shift. They hadn’t allowed me to leave after questioning. We had to talk details, they were worried about what some of the other patrolmen would think if I left early. 

Elma greets me with a big hug and an eager kiss as I go in the door. “How were things today, love?”  

“I have to tell you. I’m terrified of losing you,” I cry. “They were going to write a disposal permit for my body parts! They threatened to torture me. With being banged up for life. I betrayed you, and I betrayed myself. To make it worse, I felt completely calm throughout the whole thing.” 

I’m frantic now. 

“It’s OK, love. Don’t worry. It’s been written.” 

What? 

She already knows. I can’t believe it.  

A chill runs down my spine  

Of course she does.

“What do you mean?” 

“We saw what was going to happen a few weeks ago. It’s been written.” 

“And you didn’t think of telling me anything about it?”

“If we did, they’d know. It had to be real.”

“This is what you’ve been working for, Chris. Think about it. Your mum’ll be better off, you’ll get a raise and probably a promotion later. You won’t need to lose your job, and the best part of all is that we’ll still be together.”

“You’ll make a great inside man. In fact, you’ll make the best inside man they’ve ever had. They’ll leave you to get on with it. It’s a win-win situation. You must see that, surely,” she said, smiling into my mind like she does.

“And you know what to tell them? Just enough to keep them chasing their tails.” 

“Just keep me and the girls informed, so we don’t suffer. You wouldn’t want us to suffer, would you, Chris?” 

“Of course not.” 

“It’s all going to work out for the best, Chris, you’ll see.” 

My head’s spinning again. 

Come here. I’ll take your mind off of it…

*****

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