Prologue - Book 1 - Chapter One
Well, I've never been able to properly post a Fan Fiction here before and I've never been able to pull off a Live Journal Cut, so if it doesn't work then I'm sorry please forgive me. :( That and my account is OLD so it doesn't seem to work like other accounts. :(
On top of this I've never written a Fan Fiction before, and I helped write this one with a good friend of mine, you may know them they have an account on here now, it's GalssesG33k so go check them out, I'm extremely proud of this and all the hard work we (She really) put into this ( read, edited, proofread, and wrote on it but she came up with it) so if you could go easy on me (us really) it'd be really GOOD. :)
Well, here you go. :)
Please if you like it let me know! :D
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jigsaw Memory
Feigning Happy, You & Me
Don't let me know
that
Three Months Later
It'll all be
Numb Silence
please
Stay away from me
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter One
John drove along the dusty highway, the heat barring down caused everything to shiver in those liquid waves he had always liked.
In Wisconsin just south of Canada it was a rare phenomenon to see such a thing, down here though just north of Texas, John was finding that it was a constant.
John Sheppard had been South before during the 30's when he'd been told to take a hike and decided to do just that. He'd gone entirely Hobo, riding open box cars from one end of the country to the other. It was an interesting experience and he'd eventually gotten himself a job, working first manual labor, then a typing position for a reporter out east for a while. It was his love of writing that had gotten him the position as a reporters assistant. He was grateful for his fathers far seeing demand that his sons all learn how to write and do math well. It was John's love of reading encyclopedia's and automatic understanding of diagramming sentences that had gotten him the position.
He had been sitting there, in California at the end of a cross country hike like no other when a guy with a camera came up to him and a few of the other vagabonds. Since no one was hiring there was nothin' to do, which for that time was usual. Oddly this Alfred or Al as he later called himself took interest in this. By this time it was right around 1935 or so, John and the rest of the hobo's were sitting at the bottom of a pile of rotting fruit, not allowed to take any. Suddenly John's world went sharp and white, the guy with the camera had snapped a few shots blowing John's eyes out with the flash. John winced and was about to ask them to stop when he heard a guy talking to him. He looked up to find a young man no older then say 25 staring down at him, he said he was a reporter and apologized for his colleagues rudeness. The two guys started asking questions which John answered and they struck up a conversation. As an apology Al the photographer and Bill the reporter boiled up a pot of meat and potatoes on their own dime and shared it with everyone around. John found out that they were on assignment, recording the dust bowl and the plight of the people who'd traveled to California. The reporter had a soft spot for everyone he was encountering and simply because of that offered John a job that very night. Next thing John knew he was on a plane to New York where he would spend the next several decades of his life.
It was that lucky break that had given John Sheppard the means to eventually buy the car he was driving, a car he'd bought the 60's, a Cherry Red 190 SL Mercedes convertible. Before he knew it he was what the Hobo's had called a barnacle, staying at one job for a year or longer. He'd never entirely sworn allegiance to the Hobo lifestyle, nor wanted to be one, things had just happened that way for a time. So it made sense to take jobs that other people would have wanted. Despite his breaking code he lived in a dump for the whole of 30 years. Maybe is was guilt, maybe it was the Hobo Ethics he'd had drilled into him for far to many formative years. Whatever it was he was unable to bring himself to shell out for anything better then the, one step up from the gutter flat he rented. Instead of allowing himself the luxury of heating or even electricity John saved every damn penny. In the last five years right around the 25 year mark he'd gotten a bit loopy. Tied down for too long and not able to admit far to many things caused John to one day wander on by a guys drive way and on a whim offer the whole of his 30 years worth of savings to buy the damn Mercedes. The owner at first wouldn't part with it, but as John kept getting higher and higher the owner softened. It was a bit like robbing, and for whatever reason it felt good to win the odd somewhat of a fight between them. John had driven it away and had been unable to part with the car ever since.
By the time John decided to retire from the reporting and desk jobs he'd amassed enough money to either buy a house and retire nicely, or go cross country.
In the end he traveled out of the US.
In one year he went all the way to the tip of North America and then “jumped the pond” as they say and hung out in England for a while. He was hoping for some good English tobacco but was never able to find any. When he came back home he checked out Hawaii for a bit then ended up settling back in Wisconsin.
By this time it was 1966 and he settled into another secure position. Once again he spent another good 20 years hanging out at another job, unfortunately it soon turned uptight, pressured and so rage inducing that he had to either quit or he'd die, for sure.
By now it was 1986 and well, to say things were looking down would be an understatement. Most people didn't seem to notice. Maybe it was because they hadn't been around, maybe it was because they were so darn young and therefore ignorant. Maybe it was because they were willfully in denial but whatever it was the very atmosphere of the U.S. had changed. Everywhere John looked people and things either ignored it or just didn't notice and the few that did had no idea what to do about it. People were suddenly suspicious and not of anyone who was truly responsible for anything but of each other. Everyone was also starting to point fingers of blame and not at those in power, but to the guy sitting right next to them, the powerless ones just like them.
Along with this things started to tighten down, you couldn't just go anywhere and do whatever you liked any more. You were asked where you were going, what you were doing, and how long you'd be sticking around no matter where you went. People played it off as friendliness and neighborly concern but it was still unnerving.
(It reminded John of the extremely short amount of time he'd made the mistake of initially driving south. He'd gone down past the Mason Dixie Line in hopes of thawing out for a while. He was immediately told to, “Git back home ya' damn yank.” )
Now though the whole nation was going south.
Before you didn't need a permit for a gun, you didn't need more then your word to get a new license, you didn't need any kind of paper work much less a pass port just to go to Canada for a day. And for the most part you didn't have to prove you were old enough to drink just to buy liquor, or hell a pack of smokes. And what was worse all the darn cigarettes were filtered or “Low Tar” hell they were even making them “light” now, it was down right ridiculous! Before if you ever got snockered and went driving it was no big deal, the cops wouldn't arrest you, put a permanent mark on your record. There was no three strikes anything, much less any worries. People trusted strangers and strangers like now were trustworthy.
Now though, now they were making it an offence just to drive over to the corner store with a few under your belt and making out every unknown person as an automatic criminal. Nothing was free any longer. It used to be that when you saw someone in trouble you helped them out, now if anyone did stop by and help they'd have their hand out expecting some kind of pay instantly afterwards.
It was this and many other things that finally made John decide to move on. He hopped around, going vagabond again but this time living out of his car. It was different then when he'd been riding the rails, without a single permanent item to keep him company. The loneliness had been intense then but at least he wasn't burdened. Now though he had a car and a few other items that he had to constantly care for and keep in good condition. It was a burden and he nearly dumped the car but in the end he never could let go of it, why he had no idea.
It was right around Christmas of 1987 or so when it happened, he'd taken a trip to England again disgusted with the way things had been going in the U.S. To John's ignorance certain things had been lifted in Great Britain and become common place.
The first time John had gone to England he'd never visited Scotland or Ireland nor the surrounding islands. This time he decided to start in Ireland being partially Irish himself. He did fairly well, a bit scary in a few places but he made sure to keep to the tourist areas and didn't stay long, only a day and a half or so. Then he went across straight into Scotland which turned out to be a terrible mistake. He had been traveling around checking out what turned out to be the country side when he'd become lost as all get out. Finally in an attempt to get some kind of bearing he worked his way to a partially paved road and kept walking till he hit a somewhat public looking establishment. He hoped he was correct since he was in an area that was clearly back woods, a public eatery was just as soon someone's house as it was an actual restaurant. John walked up tried knocking and when he didn't get an answer shoved the door a little, it gave and to his relief it was a cozy tight knit bar. Now Yankees a.k.a. Americans were not welcomed in certain places and sadly this pub seemed to be one of them. John had walked in totally ignorant of what was going on when a guy from across the way caught his eye. The broad heavy set man waved at him in greeting as if he knew John. John waved back being polite and then proceeded to try and make his way up to the bar. He was buffeted and the rather thick crowd wasn't allowing him near the back where the drinks were served. Giving up he went in search of a booth, or at least a stool. Everywhere he turned someone would either scoot into the seat he was about to take or block him entirely. John was glancing around when the burly blonde guy started to make his way over to him. Right about that time John realized there wasn't even standing room. A leg stuck out and John tripped bumping into another person, the guy who'd waved came up and blocked the angry patron. The man introduced himself as Carson and let John know that if he was going to drink Carson would, out of the spirit International Neighborly-ness be buyin', “but it might be best to move on after one mug”. The guy was dressed in an up to date sport jacket and had his hair spiked in a way that was popular back in the states now. Carson signalled ordering them both drinks then led John over to a booth that magically opened up.
John thanked him glad to be able to sit for a while and get in out of the constant rain. It was foggy and cold out the wet soaking right through to John's bones. He'd done his best to hold off the shivering that kept threatening to over take him but he was starting to lose. When the beer came John thanked the manager who not very politely chucked the mug down in front of him. Carson said something to the man and two guys at the bar, who were clearly about to get up and start something, settled back down.
Carson seemed to easily disarm the manager and the rest of the people with in ear shot. In a few minutes he and the large aproned manager were laughing. The two guys at the bar smirked silently then turned away, satisfied it seemed.
John was more then grateful but started to gulp his beer none the less. When the manager finally walked away the burly Carson turned to him, “I didn't get te' properly introduce me'self, I'm Carson Beckett from a small town in the Isle of Skye. I'm visiting from Wales for Holiday, School an' all.” he stuck out his hand.
John put his mug down and shook it,“nice ta' meetchyeah.” He smiled his best, I'm damn harmless, smile and burped into his fist. “Sorry!” He laughed it off, but Beckett frowned, “Why ye' got ye' coat on?”
“Ahh.”
“Ye' can take ye'r coat off, get warmed up for a minute, no hurry.” Carson nodded at him.
John squirmed, to take it off was to make himself vulnerable and show he was staying, to leave it on was rude and might insult. What the hell, “well I might need to go here,” he glanced around then pointedly looked at his watch.
“Don't worry about it.” Carson leaned back and put his arm up on the back of the booth, “ye' can dry off by the fire at least, no harm in tha' now.” He gave John an odd assessing look, one far kinder then the look John thought he was going to get.
It was then that John should have known something was wrong.
Very very wrong.
One drink turned into three more and an invitation to meet Carson again. This time though they'd be meeting up in another pub somewhere far safer and from what Carson said better then this place.
By the time John got back to where he was staying he had apparently found a travelling companion. Carson had offered to show him around Whales and then take him “deep into Scotland, places they usually keep the tourists and Americans out of.”
“So all the bombings and whatnot, the political unrest,” John looked at Carson, “is it as bad as America is making it out to be?”
“Well,” Carson leaned back gripping his mug tight, “I wouldn't worry about tha' if I were you. Don't worry though, if ye' stick with me I can keep ye' safe.” The man nodded giving him a broad smile.
Over the course of about a month Carson was the consummate tour guide; polite, engaging, friendly. The guy knew how to hold a conversation and how to keep ones attention. He taught John all about Scottish History, Gaelic and the background on the language even teaching him how to speak a few phrases. He showed John all the ins and outs of first Scotland then Whales, John had never had such a good time in his life.
It was about half way through the second month that things took an subtle yet odd turn. John had been a bit blurry eyed with booze, his head laying on the table in the pub they were in when a grand idea hit him, “we should start drinking our way across Ireland!” They had been done with Scotland and Whales for a good week now and had been holed up in a Hostel, bored out of their minds.
Carson leaned back in deep seriousness, squinted one eye at him and pronounced, “Ye'd never make it ye' lightweight,” then downed the rest of his mug.
“I would too!” and John proceeded to down the rest of his beer.
John and Carson put their well thought out plan into action. Granted the whole time was spent in perpetual marination but John was sure of one thing, the guy kept getting closer and closer to him, almost cozy.
At first it was constantly bumping into him, a shoulder, the back of a hand, a kick of the foot under the table even; this one really unnerved John. But before long the man was literally leaning on him, or walking so close that their shoulders all the way down to the wrist rubbed against each other.
Granted these last few were only when they left one pub to either get sucked or stumble half
blottoed into another one merely a few feet down. Most nights they were either waking up on bar room floors, or half trying to lean slash carry each other to their place of residence for that night. It was Because of this John didn't think much of the odd familiarity of Carson, how close he would get at awkward or inopportune moments.
By the time John managed to make it to the end of the month he'd had enough of the drunken blurr. Drinking and partying was fine but he wanted to feel good again, and as of late his nose for whatever reason was perpetually bleeding, along with his mouth. Decades later he'd find out the reason for this, but right then, in February of 1988 he figured it was cause of too much drink. He wasn't inclined to sober up one bit till Carson had taken a sip of his glass and spit it out sayin' it tasted terrible. The guy glared at him as if John had tainted the booze on purpose. John decided it was time to quit drinking for a bit and try to get himself some actual nourishment.
It took a good month to sober up and by the end of March John had enough of Carson constantly trying to drag him back into the not so dry lifestyle.
It was after this that John really noticed it, the light taps, slight bumps, feather soft brushes.
To John's surprise after he told Carson he was leaving since the guy couldn't stay sober the man went cold turkey.
It was after the inevitable month of perpetual hangover and shakes had passed that John asked if Carson was truly in college and they got to talking.
He found out that Carson was from a poor family with far to many kids, his parents having been Catholic. His Dad was a bit more then abusive and Carson had been the one, for whatever reason, automatically designated to try and patch people up after his Dad got mad.
Carson gave John that piercing smile, it was like the guy saw straight through him and smirked at what he and only he could see.
“You know I gotta admit,” Carson clutched his coffee mug tight, “before I met ye' I had decided te' quit.”
John chocked on his coffee and looked up, “What?”
Carson's look intensified and John scooted back smashing himself into the booth. They were in a local pub having a nibble after their morning constitutional.
“I had decided te' not go back but you like the idea of me being medically informed heh'?”
John cocked his head to the side and tilted his chin down, “excuse me?”
Carson scooted back himself, thankfully withdrawing a bit, “if I learn medicine then I'll know many a thing about the human body won't I?” the guy gave John what was clearly a partial wink.
John shook his head, lost.
“I was about to quit Medical School but comin' upon you I've decided to go back. I didn't have a reason to continue, but since you're here now I think I'll return.” Carson clutched his mug with a big meaty hand, “You make me want to be a better person John. Thank you for tha'” Carson nodded at him, his eyes filling with some kind of soft emotion.
John stilled then studied the guy, he couldn't figure out the strange expression on Carson's face. Was he, could he, nah! John looked away and picked up his mug again, “I need te' step out for some air.” By now he had gotten the accent and was spitting it back like a native born local, or he was as far as his ear could hear.
John wandered outside and lit up glad for the crisp bite to the fog around him. He stood thinking for a bit, reviewing what had been going on. If he didn't know better he'd swear Carson was some kind of a gay, heck a predator if he really thought on it. John looked up at the sky and breathed out letting it all go. He was just reading things wrong, he was in a foreign land surrounded by customs that didn't make sense at first.
It was all miss-communication that's all.
After a few minutes Carson came out and stood beside him, not saying a word. When the silence stretched far to long the guy finally spoke up, “Ye' okay mate?”
John narrowed his eyes wishing he could see the stars, his life at the moment was starting to seem as shrouded as the landscape. “Yeah,” the Southern twang he'd learned from his father surprised him. He only slipped back into that when he was upset at his core. John frowned and scratched his head.
“So ye' want another round?”
“Nah, nah, thank ya' though.” John nodded at his companion.
Carson swayed side to side and rubbed his hands, “ahh, I didn't mean te' set ye' off there. I just thought that you'd take it as a compliment. In Glasgow here we don' mind saying such things.” he rubbed his hands on his jeans then stuffed them into his sweater pockets. The guy looked like a twenty year old professor with the odd clothing choices he always wore; a thick collared cardigan under his outer coat.
“What I really meant was that you've given me a purpose in life. Before ye' came along I was a bit lost … despondent.” Carson looked up at the murky sky and inhaled long and tense. “I didn't have a reason to keep goin'.” he let the breath go deflating a bit. “But with all you've taught me these last few months I realized, maybe it is worth it to go back.”
“Mm.” John nodded at this, thinking. He wondered if it was the best thing to ask but after a bit he couldn't figure out a way to put it more gently.
“So,” John crossed his arms and scuffed the ground noticing his shoe was worn through at the toe. “How come … with the way you're Dad was; and your Mom … how come you got so depressed after they died?”
Carson stilled, then drew into himself, “well, I donno. I just” he went silent for a bit then crossed his arms. “I donno,” he shrugged, “I just loved 'em anyway.”
“Mm.” John nodded in a matter of fact way, “just couldn't help it.”
“Aye,” Carson sighed long and thin as if he were letting out a secret.
They stood for a bit looking out at the fog. John couldn't recall all the drunken conversations they'd had in the past three months or so, but he did recall snippets. John wondered if he had dreamed up the one where Carson had said he was going to do himself in, having no money and no prospects. He told John that the day he'd wandered into the pub Carson had promised himself to do one good deed to have a shot at getting into heaven. It was right after that John had walked into the bar as if on Que. Carson saw it as a sign from God and had made his way over, putting his own life on the line. It would be far to late when things finally clicked into place in John's mind. He'd look back over everything and realize that Carson had told everyone in Gaelic that John was his cousin and he hadn't known that he was coming for a visit. His Mum was close to the guy and there was no harm in letting a poor idiot drink for a minute. Then slick and as easy as ever Carson turned and told John in English that he was a good tour guide and would be glad to take him around.
Carson nudged John bringing him back into the present. He gave him that odd face which always worked to squeeze a smile out of him. John bowed his head and shivered blaming the damp for it. They went back inside and Carson let John know that the last thing he wanted was to be a doctor.
“So why in the world are you going back to medical school?”
“Because there's no other way to make a good living and move out.” It was at this point that Carson ordered them both a strong shot of whiskey. At first he refused then caved, it was clear Carson wanted to get something off his chest. As they drank Carson told him how he'd been different from the others as a kid and hated for it. His whole family had constantly harassed him, letting him know how worthless and pansy ass he was. Despite his like of wrestling and other manly sports he was always the kind one, the one taking his sisters dolls and dressing them up in bandages then seeing if he could hide it all under the clothing.
“I was trying to practise for when Dad hurt us. I figured if I could fix a doll I could fix a broken leg!” For whatever reason Carson got a kick out of this, John did too, Carson's laughter infectious.
He saw becoming a doctor as the only way to get out of the country slums he'd been raised in. In the end John realized that Carson was clearly vying for respect and validation and saw the title of a Doctor as his ticket to both.
John took pity on him and convinced Carson to stick by his side.
“If we pool our finances you can go to school and I can stay here a while.” John smiled broadly at the blonde haired bloke. He noticed his skin was smooth, soft even and kind of glowed in the lamplight.
“You can have a good life and I can get my green card or whatever.” John frowned at his empty stein.
Carson called for another round and John thanked him. By this time he was more then a few sheets to the wind. One conversation led to another and before John knew it he was temporarily moving into the guys flat. They finished the night off or must have for the next morning they were both waking up on a bar room floor again.
On top of this I've never written a Fan Fiction before, and I helped write this one with a good friend of mine, you may know them they have an account on here now, it's GalssesG33k so go check them out, I'm extremely proud of this and all the hard work we (She really) put into this ( read, edited, proofread, and wrote on it but she came up with it) so if you could go easy on me (us really) it'd be really GOOD. :)
Well, here you go. :)
Please if you like it let me know! :D
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jigsaw Memory
Feigning Happy, You & Me
Don't let me know
that
Three Months Later
It'll all be
Numb Silence
please
Stay away from me
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter One
John drove along the dusty highway, the heat barring down caused everything to shiver in those liquid waves he had always liked.
In Wisconsin just south of Canada it was a rare phenomenon to see such a thing, down here though just north of Texas, John was finding that it was a constant.
John Sheppard had been South before during the 30's when he'd been told to take a hike and decided to do just that. He'd gone entirely Hobo, riding open box cars from one end of the country to the other. It was an interesting experience and he'd eventually gotten himself a job, working first manual labor, then a typing position for a reporter out east for a while. It was his love of writing that had gotten him the position as a reporters assistant. He was grateful for his fathers far seeing demand that his sons all learn how to write and do math well. It was John's love of reading encyclopedia's and automatic understanding of diagramming sentences that had gotten him the position.
He had been sitting there, in California at the end of a cross country hike like no other when a guy with a camera came up to him and a few of the other vagabonds. Since no one was hiring there was nothin' to do, which for that time was usual. Oddly this Alfred or Al as he later called himself took interest in this. By this time it was right around 1935 or so, John and the rest of the hobo's were sitting at the bottom of a pile of rotting fruit, not allowed to take any. Suddenly John's world went sharp and white, the guy with the camera had snapped a few shots blowing John's eyes out with the flash. John winced and was about to ask them to stop when he heard a guy talking to him. He looked up to find a young man no older then say 25 staring down at him, he said he was a reporter and apologized for his colleagues rudeness. The two guys started asking questions which John answered and they struck up a conversation. As an apology Al the photographer and Bill the reporter boiled up a pot of meat and potatoes on their own dime and shared it with everyone around. John found out that they were on assignment, recording the dust bowl and the plight of the people who'd traveled to California. The reporter had a soft spot for everyone he was encountering and simply because of that offered John a job that very night. Next thing John knew he was on a plane to New York where he would spend the next several decades of his life.
It was that lucky break that had given John Sheppard the means to eventually buy the car he was driving, a car he'd bought the 60's, a Cherry Red 190 SL Mercedes convertible. Before he knew it he was what the Hobo's had called a barnacle, staying at one job for a year or longer. He'd never entirely sworn allegiance to the Hobo lifestyle, nor wanted to be one, things had just happened that way for a time. So it made sense to take jobs that other people would have wanted. Despite his breaking code he lived in a dump for the whole of 30 years. Maybe is was guilt, maybe it was the Hobo Ethics he'd had drilled into him for far to many formative years. Whatever it was he was unable to bring himself to shell out for anything better then the, one step up from the gutter flat he rented. Instead of allowing himself the luxury of heating or even electricity John saved every damn penny. In the last five years right around the 25 year mark he'd gotten a bit loopy. Tied down for too long and not able to admit far to many things caused John to one day wander on by a guys drive way and on a whim offer the whole of his 30 years worth of savings to buy the damn Mercedes. The owner at first wouldn't part with it, but as John kept getting higher and higher the owner softened. It was a bit like robbing, and for whatever reason it felt good to win the odd somewhat of a fight between them. John had driven it away and had been unable to part with the car ever since.
By the time John decided to retire from the reporting and desk jobs he'd amassed enough money to either buy a house and retire nicely, or go cross country.
In the end he traveled out of the US.
In one year he went all the way to the tip of North America and then “jumped the pond” as they say and hung out in England for a while. He was hoping for some good English tobacco but was never able to find any. When he came back home he checked out Hawaii for a bit then ended up settling back in Wisconsin.
By this time it was 1966 and he settled into another secure position. Once again he spent another good 20 years hanging out at another job, unfortunately it soon turned uptight, pressured and so rage inducing that he had to either quit or he'd die, for sure.
By now it was 1986 and well, to say things were looking down would be an understatement. Most people didn't seem to notice. Maybe it was because they hadn't been around, maybe it was because they were so darn young and therefore ignorant. Maybe it was because they were willfully in denial but whatever it was the very atmosphere of the U.S. had changed. Everywhere John looked people and things either ignored it or just didn't notice and the few that did had no idea what to do about it. People were suddenly suspicious and not of anyone who was truly responsible for anything but of each other. Everyone was also starting to point fingers of blame and not at those in power, but to the guy sitting right next to them, the powerless ones just like them.
Along with this things started to tighten down, you couldn't just go anywhere and do whatever you liked any more. You were asked where you were going, what you were doing, and how long you'd be sticking around no matter where you went. People played it off as friendliness and neighborly concern but it was still unnerving.
(It reminded John of the extremely short amount of time he'd made the mistake of initially driving south. He'd gone down past the Mason Dixie Line in hopes of thawing out for a while. He was immediately told to, “Git back home ya' damn yank.” )
Now though the whole nation was going south.
Before you didn't need a permit for a gun, you didn't need more then your word to get a new license, you didn't need any kind of paper work much less a pass port just to go to Canada for a day. And for the most part you didn't have to prove you were old enough to drink just to buy liquor, or hell a pack of smokes. And what was worse all the darn cigarettes were filtered or “Low Tar” hell they were even making them “light” now, it was down right ridiculous! Before if you ever got snockered and went driving it was no big deal, the cops wouldn't arrest you, put a permanent mark on your record. There was no three strikes anything, much less any worries. People trusted strangers and strangers like now were trustworthy.
Now though, now they were making it an offence just to drive over to the corner store with a few under your belt and making out every unknown person as an automatic criminal. Nothing was free any longer. It used to be that when you saw someone in trouble you helped them out, now if anyone did stop by and help they'd have their hand out expecting some kind of pay instantly afterwards.
It was this and many other things that finally made John decide to move on. He hopped around, going vagabond again but this time living out of his car. It was different then when he'd been riding the rails, without a single permanent item to keep him company. The loneliness had been intense then but at least he wasn't burdened. Now though he had a car and a few other items that he had to constantly care for and keep in good condition. It was a burden and he nearly dumped the car but in the end he never could let go of it, why he had no idea.
It was right around Christmas of 1987 or so when it happened, he'd taken a trip to England again disgusted with the way things had been going in the U.S. To John's ignorance certain things had been lifted in Great Britain and become common place.
The first time John had gone to England he'd never visited Scotland or Ireland nor the surrounding islands. This time he decided to start in Ireland being partially Irish himself. He did fairly well, a bit scary in a few places but he made sure to keep to the tourist areas and didn't stay long, only a day and a half or so. Then he went across straight into Scotland which turned out to be a terrible mistake. He had been traveling around checking out what turned out to be the country side when he'd become lost as all get out. Finally in an attempt to get some kind of bearing he worked his way to a partially paved road and kept walking till he hit a somewhat public looking establishment. He hoped he was correct since he was in an area that was clearly back woods, a public eatery was just as soon someone's house as it was an actual restaurant. John walked up tried knocking and when he didn't get an answer shoved the door a little, it gave and to his relief it was a cozy tight knit bar. Now Yankees a.k.a. Americans were not welcomed in certain places and sadly this pub seemed to be one of them. John had walked in totally ignorant of what was going on when a guy from across the way caught his eye. The broad heavy set man waved at him in greeting as if he knew John. John waved back being polite and then proceeded to try and make his way up to the bar. He was buffeted and the rather thick crowd wasn't allowing him near the back where the drinks were served. Giving up he went in search of a booth, or at least a stool. Everywhere he turned someone would either scoot into the seat he was about to take or block him entirely. John was glancing around when the burly blonde guy started to make his way over to him. Right about that time John realized there wasn't even standing room. A leg stuck out and John tripped bumping into another person, the guy who'd waved came up and blocked the angry patron. The man introduced himself as Carson and let John know that if he was going to drink Carson would, out of the spirit International Neighborly-ness be buyin', “but it might be best to move on after one mug”. The guy was dressed in an up to date sport jacket and had his hair spiked in a way that was popular back in the states now. Carson signalled ordering them both drinks then led John over to a booth that magically opened up.
John thanked him glad to be able to sit for a while and get in out of the constant rain. It was foggy and cold out the wet soaking right through to John's bones. He'd done his best to hold off the shivering that kept threatening to over take him but he was starting to lose. When the beer came John thanked the manager who not very politely chucked the mug down in front of him. Carson said something to the man and two guys at the bar, who were clearly about to get up and start something, settled back down.
Carson seemed to easily disarm the manager and the rest of the people with in ear shot. In a few minutes he and the large aproned manager were laughing. The two guys at the bar smirked silently then turned away, satisfied it seemed.
John was more then grateful but started to gulp his beer none the less. When the manager finally walked away the burly Carson turned to him, “I didn't get te' properly introduce me'self, I'm Carson Beckett from a small town in the Isle of Skye. I'm visiting from Wales for Holiday, School an' all.” he stuck out his hand.
John put his mug down and shook it,“nice ta' meetchyeah.” He smiled his best, I'm damn harmless, smile and burped into his fist. “Sorry!” He laughed it off, but Beckett frowned, “Why ye' got ye' coat on?”
“Ahh.”
“Ye' can take ye'r coat off, get warmed up for a minute, no hurry.” Carson nodded at him.
John squirmed, to take it off was to make himself vulnerable and show he was staying, to leave it on was rude and might insult. What the hell, “well I might need to go here,” he glanced around then pointedly looked at his watch.
“Don't worry about it.” Carson leaned back and put his arm up on the back of the booth, “ye' can dry off by the fire at least, no harm in tha' now.” He gave John an odd assessing look, one far kinder then the look John thought he was going to get.
It was then that John should have known something was wrong.
Very very wrong.
One drink turned into three more and an invitation to meet Carson again. This time though they'd be meeting up in another pub somewhere far safer and from what Carson said better then this place.
By the time John got back to where he was staying he had apparently found a travelling companion. Carson had offered to show him around Whales and then take him “deep into Scotland, places they usually keep the tourists and Americans out of.”
“So all the bombings and whatnot, the political unrest,” John looked at Carson, “is it as bad as America is making it out to be?”
“Well,” Carson leaned back gripping his mug tight, “I wouldn't worry about tha' if I were you. Don't worry though, if ye' stick with me I can keep ye' safe.” The man nodded giving him a broad smile.
Over the course of about a month Carson was the consummate tour guide; polite, engaging, friendly. The guy knew how to hold a conversation and how to keep ones attention. He taught John all about Scottish History, Gaelic and the background on the language even teaching him how to speak a few phrases. He showed John all the ins and outs of first Scotland then Whales, John had never had such a good time in his life.
It was about half way through the second month that things took an subtle yet odd turn. John had been a bit blurry eyed with booze, his head laying on the table in the pub they were in when a grand idea hit him, “we should start drinking our way across Ireland!” They had been done with Scotland and Whales for a good week now and had been holed up in a Hostel, bored out of their minds.
Carson leaned back in deep seriousness, squinted one eye at him and pronounced, “Ye'd never make it ye' lightweight,” then downed the rest of his mug.
“I would too!” and John proceeded to down the rest of his beer.
John and Carson put their well thought out plan into action. Granted the whole time was spent in perpetual marination but John was sure of one thing, the guy kept getting closer and closer to him, almost cozy.
At first it was constantly bumping into him, a shoulder, the back of a hand, a kick of the foot under the table even; this one really unnerved John. But before long the man was literally leaning on him, or walking so close that their shoulders all the way down to the wrist rubbed against each other.
Granted these last few were only when they left one pub to either get sucked or stumble half
blottoed into another one merely a few feet down. Most nights they were either waking up on bar room floors, or half trying to lean slash carry each other to their place of residence for that night. It was Because of this John didn't think much of the odd familiarity of Carson, how close he would get at awkward or inopportune moments.
By the time John managed to make it to the end of the month he'd had enough of the drunken blurr. Drinking and partying was fine but he wanted to feel good again, and as of late his nose for whatever reason was perpetually bleeding, along with his mouth. Decades later he'd find out the reason for this, but right then, in February of 1988 he figured it was cause of too much drink. He wasn't inclined to sober up one bit till Carson had taken a sip of his glass and spit it out sayin' it tasted terrible. The guy glared at him as if John had tainted the booze on purpose. John decided it was time to quit drinking for a bit and try to get himself some actual nourishment.
It took a good month to sober up and by the end of March John had enough of Carson constantly trying to drag him back into the not so dry lifestyle.
It was after this that John really noticed it, the light taps, slight bumps, feather soft brushes.
To John's surprise after he told Carson he was leaving since the guy couldn't stay sober the man went cold turkey.
It was after the inevitable month of perpetual hangover and shakes had passed that John asked if Carson was truly in college and they got to talking.
He found out that Carson was from a poor family with far to many kids, his parents having been Catholic. His Dad was a bit more then abusive and Carson had been the one, for whatever reason, automatically designated to try and patch people up after his Dad got mad.
Carson gave John that piercing smile, it was like the guy saw straight through him and smirked at what he and only he could see.
“You know I gotta admit,” Carson clutched his coffee mug tight, “before I met ye' I had decided te' quit.”
John chocked on his coffee and looked up, “What?”
Carson's look intensified and John scooted back smashing himself into the booth. They were in a local pub having a nibble after their morning constitutional.
“I had decided te' not go back but you like the idea of me being medically informed heh'?”
John cocked his head to the side and tilted his chin down, “excuse me?”
Carson scooted back himself, thankfully withdrawing a bit, “if I learn medicine then I'll know many a thing about the human body won't I?” the guy gave John what was clearly a partial wink.
John shook his head, lost.
“I was about to quit Medical School but comin' upon you I've decided to go back. I didn't have a reason to continue, but since you're here now I think I'll return.” Carson clutched his mug with a big meaty hand, “You make me want to be a better person John. Thank you for tha'” Carson nodded at him, his eyes filling with some kind of soft emotion.
John stilled then studied the guy, he couldn't figure out the strange expression on Carson's face. Was he, could he, nah! John looked away and picked up his mug again, “I need te' step out for some air.” By now he had gotten the accent and was spitting it back like a native born local, or he was as far as his ear could hear.
John wandered outside and lit up glad for the crisp bite to the fog around him. He stood thinking for a bit, reviewing what had been going on. If he didn't know better he'd swear Carson was some kind of a gay, heck a predator if he really thought on it. John looked up at the sky and breathed out letting it all go. He was just reading things wrong, he was in a foreign land surrounded by customs that didn't make sense at first.
It was all miss-communication that's all.
After a few minutes Carson came out and stood beside him, not saying a word. When the silence stretched far to long the guy finally spoke up, “Ye' okay mate?”
John narrowed his eyes wishing he could see the stars, his life at the moment was starting to seem as shrouded as the landscape. “Yeah,” the Southern twang he'd learned from his father surprised him. He only slipped back into that when he was upset at his core. John frowned and scratched his head.
“So ye' want another round?”
“Nah, nah, thank ya' though.” John nodded at his companion.
Carson swayed side to side and rubbed his hands, “ahh, I didn't mean te' set ye' off there. I just thought that you'd take it as a compliment. In Glasgow here we don' mind saying such things.” he rubbed his hands on his jeans then stuffed them into his sweater pockets. The guy looked like a twenty year old professor with the odd clothing choices he always wore; a thick collared cardigan under his outer coat.
“What I really meant was that you've given me a purpose in life. Before ye' came along I was a bit lost … despondent.” Carson looked up at the murky sky and inhaled long and tense. “I didn't have a reason to keep goin'.” he let the breath go deflating a bit. “But with all you've taught me these last few months I realized, maybe it is worth it to go back.”
“Mm.” John nodded at this, thinking. He wondered if it was the best thing to ask but after a bit he couldn't figure out a way to put it more gently.
“So,” John crossed his arms and scuffed the ground noticing his shoe was worn through at the toe. “How come … with the way you're Dad was; and your Mom … how come you got so depressed after they died?”
Carson stilled, then drew into himself, “well, I donno. I just” he went silent for a bit then crossed his arms. “I donno,” he shrugged, “I just loved 'em anyway.”
“Mm.” John nodded in a matter of fact way, “just couldn't help it.”
“Aye,” Carson sighed long and thin as if he were letting out a secret.
They stood for a bit looking out at the fog. John couldn't recall all the drunken conversations they'd had in the past three months or so, but he did recall snippets. John wondered if he had dreamed up the one where Carson had said he was going to do himself in, having no money and no prospects. He told John that the day he'd wandered into the pub Carson had promised himself to do one good deed to have a shot at getting into heaven. It was right after that John had walked into the bar as if on Que. Carson saw it as a sign from God and had made his way over, putting his own life on the line. It would be far to late when things finally clicked into place in John's mind. He'd look back over everything and realize that Carson had told everyone in Gaelic that John was his cousin and he hadn't known that he was coming for a visit. His Mum was close to the guy and there was no harm in letting a poor idiot drink for a minute. Then slick and as easy as ever Carson turned and told John in English that he was a good tour guide and would be glad to take him around.
Carson nudged John bringing him back into the present. He gave him that odd face which always worked to squeeze a smile out of him. John bowed his head and shivered blaming the damp for it. They went back inside and Carson let John know that the last thing he wanted was to be a doctor.
“So why in the world are you going back to medical school?”
“Because there's no other way to make a good living and move out.” It was at this point that Carson ordered them both a strong shot of whiskey. At first he refused then caved, it was clear Carson wanted to get something off his chest. As they drank Carson told him how he'd been different from the others as a kid and hated for it. His whole family had constantly harassed him, letting him know how worthless and pansy ass he was. Despite his like of wrestling and other manly sports he was always the kind one, the one taking his sisters dolls and dressing them up in bandages then seeing if he could hide it all under the clothing.
“I was trying to practise for when Dad hurt us. I figured if I could fix a doll I could fix a broken leg!” For whatever reason Carson got a kick out of this, John did too, Carson's laughter infectious.
He saw becoming a doctor as the only way to get out of the country slums he'd been raised in. In the end John realized that Carson was clearly vying for respect and validation and saw the title of a Doctor as his ticket to both.
John took pity on him and convinced Carson to stick by his side.
“If we pool our finances you can go to school and I can stay here a while.” John smiled broadly at the blonde haired bloke. He noticed his skin was smooth, soft even and kind of glowed in the lamplight.
“You can have a good life and I can get my green card or whatever.” John frowned at his empty stein.
Carson called for another round and John thanked him. By this time he was more then a few sheets to the wind. One conversation led to another and before John knew it he was temporarily moving into the guys flat. They finished the night off or must have for the next morning they were both waking up on a bar room floor again.