Presentation of opportunity Chapter 1

Presentation of opportunity part 1

         With the cheers of the audience still echoing in his ears Stuart Marken followed the hunched figure through the clammy twilight towards his destination. The murky luminance revealed little so he had to focus on the shadowy form in front of him and hope that he would not stumble over the detritus that seemed to litter everywhere. He could avoid some of this, white paper cups stood out well against the dark floor, but wrappers and sticky cellophane scrunched underfoot making him feel as though he was walking through a swamp of cast-offs.
         The guide seemed to have no problem with the litter; he expertly picked his way through, nimbly shifting his feet without moving his head. He marvelled at the guides balance thinking to himself that the boy had showed little intelligence when Marken had approached him five minutes ago to ask for an audience with his employer, the renowned Karl Halmonth, mind reader and popular circus act.
         Marken smiled to himself at the remembrance of Halmonth's show, a powerhouse of an act that left the participants gasping in awe at his ability to pluck their thoughts out of the very air and their deepest desires from their well guarded souls. In the same line of business himself he could appreciate a good display of the hidden arts, although he would have performed a little more subtlety. He liked his audiences smaller and more personal. Marken’s talent could not possibly work in such a giant arena; all the inner voices would have drove him to distraction and put him off his reading.
         Not that he didn't have any admiration for Halmonth, exactly the opposite, the very fact that he could work up the audience to the height of astonishment and disbelief was testament to his skill, but his skill was as a performer not as a psychic such as Marken. That was the difference between himself and Halmonth; he was genuine while Halmonth was a charlatan.
         He was here to give Halmonth a gift, a gift so unusual that Halmonth may refuse it. If he did Marken would make him see that the gift was worth having, although that may be tiresome he had no doubt he would succeed because he was Halmonth's superior in every sense of the word.
         He was so lost in thought that he nearly trampled over his guide who had stopped in front of a humped shape. He looked up and saw the muted gleam of chrome trim in the darkness, trim that formed the outline of a decent sized caravan, nice to live in but looked like a hell of a job to transport. The guide climbed the trailers steps that lead to its dimly lit door and rapped three times.
         The front window spat out light as the curtains were split apart by an inquiring hand followed by the bob of a head that rotated somewhat until it focused on the couple and then bobbed away again through the curtains stealing the light and leaving a residual flash in Marken’s eyes. Footsteps made the floor of the caravan creak and pop as the inmate traversed towards the door. It opened making the small whooshing noise all plastic doors seem to emit. Light spilled from the open door and then dimmed somewhat as the bulk of Karl Halmonth hindered its passage out.
         "Come on in Mister Marken I've been expecting you."
         Marken suppressed a smile, of course you been expecting me your a mind reader aren't you, he though sarcastically.
         Halmonth was a large man, he had a muscled build that was running to fat but carried himself well. Smiling artificially he offered his hand to Marken who returned the grin and climbed the first two steps grasping the outstretched hand in a firm handshake and pumping it in a friendly fashion.                    
         He spoke in the deep voice that he used to great effect in his show "Welcome to my humble abode, please make yourself at home," gesturing with his arm towards the main room of the caravan.
         He followed Halmonth over the threshold and into the caravan’s body and was hit by the overpowering smell of artificial scents and incense; he could almost taste them at the back of the throat. Another trick of his trade, he fought the impulse to wrinkle his nose, overwhelm the senses with a powerful stimuli and the participant will be distracted and more susceptible to suggestions and perhaps give away more information than they know to his questions.
         Bowing his tall frame he made his way into the caravan’s main room whose walls were garnished with occult decorations, another ploy to distract the senses. Amongst the decorations were photos of Halmonth with seemingly satisfied customers, posed either shaking hands or with Halmonth's arm around their shoulders, all of them grinning from ear to ear as if to confirm the fact that they really were satisfied.
         In the centre of this room rested what looked like a large oak table, it was very impressive but dominated the room a little too much, not leaving enough space between the walls and its edges for a person to comfortably manoeuvre. Halmonth indicated a chair at the opposite side with a smile and trying his best not to knock any of the photos from their place Marken squeezed through and sat down in the offered place. The seat was far from comfortable, wooden with no cushioning, it pressed against the lumps of his spine Marken squirmed and smiled at the same time.
         "Good show tonight," Marken said through his smile.
         Halmonth returned the same smile that was on Marken face, uncomfortable and fixed.
         "Thanks."
         "I must say you had the crowd quite enthralled."
         "It's my job to work the crowd," his smile was fading a little, although Halmonth's job was based on falsity he didn't like to reproduce that falseness in his features.
         "Your readings for them were pretty accurate as well."
         "Thanks again," he gave up on the smile and replaced it with his normal features. He was handsome in a brutish sort of way, though the only feature in his wide face that held your attention was his eyes. They were steely grey and piercing and reminded Marken of a photograph of Rasputin he once saw, it was almost as if the eyes belong to someone else, to Marken the eyes and the face didn't match.
         Halmonth let out a sigh, one that indicated that he was growing tired of the pleasantries and sat slightly forward. “No offence Mr Marken but what are you doing here? I know of you and of your reputation, what’s here for a man like you?" The question is asked with a hint of accusation and contempt.
         The big cheese eating grin on Marken’s face died and with a stifled huff of a laugh he replaced it with lopsided grin. "Thank you for coming to the point so quickly."
         "I am a busy man Mr Marken."
         "Yes I’ve noticed, three shows a week now isn't it?"
         "There's enough demand for them," Halmonth let a smile of satisfaction take possession of his face "now that the word has got about."
         "And what is the word?" Marken raised his eyebrows questioningly.
         “That I'm damn good at what I do, that I get results," he lent back into his chair and gave Marken a hard glance” but that's not what your friends at the guild say is it."
"As you very well know the guild of professional psychics represent the most honest of our trade." He replied with an air of snootiness.
         Halmonth snorted, it was a sound that resonated in the small enclosure of the caravan. "I tried three times to get into your guild and each time I got knocked back and now this is where I have to perform, a freaking circus!"
         "As I said only the most honest gets represented and to be truthful Mr Halmonth your not entirely that, are you?"
         "Honest and truthful? I'm none less than any of your precious guild, oh I can see where this is going, now that I'm on the rise, drawing in the crowds, you lot want a piece of me," Halmonth thumped his chest with indignation, "join the guild and share the fame eh? Wasn't honest enough for you before but now I'm popular I'm sure as hell am now."
         Marken kept his tone calm and even as if he was trying to explain algebra to a dullard. "Even with your popularity the guild would still not accept you, as I have already said you are not honest enough, you are not a true psychic."
         Halmonth's broad shoulders jiggled with angry amusement. "Ha ha, oh come on your not telling me that I couldn't join the guild because my powers ain't real." A sardonic grin split his face. "Christ! You of all people should know our profession is nothing but one big scam, it’s just another way of making a living."
         "Mr Halmonth..."
         “A true psychic ha!!" Halmonth was carried on a wave of his own merriment. "I can just imagine you lot when you get together to discuss your noble gift, how you help the unfortunate, guide lost souls along to their destination." Halmonth's face reddened as his amusement threatened to choke him and he coughed the next sentences out. "Christ there’s not one of you that are any better than I am. The only difference between you and me is that you have deluded yourselves that your not con-men. Is that part of your honesty?"
         Marken fixed Halmonth with a chastising stare as he waited for him to regulate his breathing. "Mr Halmonth this is getting us nowhere. I think you have misinterpreted the point of my visit."
         The ruddiness of Halmonth's face faded a little as he regained his grip on his mirth. "Ok ok," he let out a rattling bark as he cleared his throat "sheesh thanks for the entertainment. Alright I give in what are you here for?"
         "I'm here to enlighten you about your closed attitude to the true meaning of our profession. Your attitude that our ability is somehow only there to be profited financially from is a shame. To be honest it didn't matter to us what you thought when you were not so popular, but now you are beginning to be noticed and it falls to me to...” Marken searched his vocabulary for the appropriate phrase," point you in the right direction, to show you things you might not be aware of."
         Halmonth crinkled his face with the expression of a youngster about to get a lecture from a very stuffy elder. "Hey, I’ve been in this business for more than twenty years and I know all the ins and outs, believe me there’s nothing that the likes of you can show me."
         Marken stood up and reached for the buttons on his jacket. Halmonth also stood and backed away a step, which was all that the room in the caravan would allow him, his eyes suddenly became very guarded, the probability of a concealed weapon crossed his mind. "You're either getting ready to leave or you better be taking that coat off real careful." The danger in his voice hung in the air between them like a threat.
         "Don't be worried it’s just that I can see you're going to take some convincing and I like to work in my shirt sleeves, may I continue. “ He nodded his head to indicate his jacket. His reply reminded Marken of the stereotypical dialog most old thriller films would use "Yeah but real slow."
         He took his coat off, real slow as he had been advised, hung it on the back of his chair and sat back down. Marken indicated that Halmonth should do the same. He did. "Are you ready?" Marken asked
         "Ready for what?"
         "To have you're eyes opened."
         "I'm more likely to have the wool pulled over them, but go on." Marken let out a sigh and fixed Halmonth with the most sincere gaze he had ever witnessed "When you were twelve you witnessed an accident involving your best friend didn’t you? His name was Mark, it was late summer, you had both just left the classroom and you were on your way to the playing fields. You were playing football on the way there....."
         “Hooooh No way," Halmonth held up his hand with its palm facing Marken as if to physically stop the words coming from his mouth. "You can't trick me like that, don't forget I know every con in the book and that incident is common knowledge, you could have picked it up from any old news rag or any friend of mine, if they would talk to you.
         Marken continued undaunted “You kicked the ball high and it went over a wire fence. You were unwilling to go over the fence and since it was Marks ball he climbed up instead. He was angry at you and you thought it was funny especially the way he struggled to get a foothold in the chink of the fencing. When he reached the top he had had enough of your laughing and turned round to shout at you..."
          As he listened Halmonth's face darkened with anger that quickly shone from him. He made no effort to rein it in. “Don’t you dare use the death of my friend as an example for your pathetic attempt to sucker me into this charade.
         Marken once again continued unfazed by Halmonth's outburst. "He was so mad he lost his concentration, missed his footing and fell...”
         "GET OUT, Get the hell out NOW!! I know all the tricks Marken and you aren't going to pull a fast one on me." Veins knotted on his forehead as he commanded Marken to stop.
         Marken held his gaze and carried on. "And landed badly, by the time the ambulance got there he was unconscious. He never regained consciousness and he died three days later."
         Seeing that his demands were not being met by this infuriating shit that sat before him made Halmonth take direct action. If he could not make him shut up with his persuasion then he would physically stop him. The words that fell from Marken mouth hurt and he didn't take kindly to being hurt. "Do you think you can con a con-man? I've use the same procedure a thousand times and...."
         Marken said something that stopped him advancing, stopped him talking. "He says he regrets it, he regrets what he said." Halmonth stood there, his eyes betraying the falsehood of his reply. "He didn't say anything."
         "That’s the thing though isn't it Mr Halmonth, he did say something and what he did say is something you have kept to yourself for all this time." He lent back and relaxed somewhat now that he had sensed that the anger was leaving Halmonth. He was shocked by this revelation. He had not told anyone that Mark had spoke to him after the fall. He had kept that close to him, not telling the police, not telling his parents, hell not even telling marks grieving parents. The anger he felt at this supposed charade was now replaced with a cold uncertainty that Marken may very well be telling the truth, either way he decided to call his bluff. "Alright then what did he say?"
         "That he thought you and he were friends and that friends should not behave that way to each other."
         Whatever colour had been in Halmonth's face bled away leaving him ashen. The potency of his memories stopped him from communicating and he stood there with his jaw bobbing not saying anything.
         Marken carried on. "He also said from that point on in time you two were no longer friends."
         He staggered back to his chair and collapsed back into it as if the weight of the memory were too great for him to bear. His jaw stopped bobbing as he found the right words, which he uttered in a heavy whisper. He could not say them any louder because the act of dragging them from his past was taking all the energy he had. "As... as soon as he said that he stared to fall, I tried to get to him, to stop him from going over but I couldn't, he was to high up, the fence was in the way and..."
         Halmonth swallowed unable to complete his statement, Marken did it for him. "And as he fell he shouted for you but didn't manage to get all of your name out before he hit the ground."
         Halmonth nodded and found the strength to continue. "He was still awake when I reached him and....."
         Like an echo of each other the conversation moved from one to the other, both of them completing each others sentences. "He whispered to you, when you reached him you bent down to him and he whispered two words." Wrapped up in the pain of that moment more than twenty years ago Halmonth said nothing. He just sat there and waited for Marken to say those two words to him. "I forgive."
         Marken was so close to truth but those were not the last words that Mark had said to him. Mixed emotions sparked through Halmonth as he realized he was being played for a fool, he had to admit that Marken almost had him but in the end the truth had won out. Now he would tell Marken what he really thought of his psychic ability, now he would...
         Marken slowly raised his palm to stop the emotional fireworks going off in Halmonth’s head, he hadn't finished. “But he said them in Latin didn't he. You were both studying Latin, in fact that was the lesson you had both left no more than twenty minutes ago. Your finals were in two weeks time and you both had taken to the habit of talking to each other in that language so that you would both be converse in it by the time they came around."
         Again the cold hand of realization fell upon Halmonth and he then knew Marken was telling the truth. There was no doubt, none at all he was what he claimed to be, a psychic. Those two words were shared between two boys all that time ago and no one but Halmonth knew of their existence.
         "I’ve never told anyone that, kept it to myself for twenty years because I felt that last sentence was his parting gift to me and to share it with anyone would demean his gift to me. Oh god I have a million questions for you since this...” he opened his hands palm upwards out in front of him "I don't even know how to explain what this is, if ..."
         Marken stopped him mid sentence. “I would like to answer your million questions but if you listen to what I am about to tell you most of those questions will answer themselves." Halmonth was still under the shock of his discovery and once again his jaw started to bob.
         “Well now that I have proved myself to you shall we get down to the business in hand?" Marken graced him with a patient gaze.
         Two more bobs of the jaw and he had himself under control again, He took a deep breath." OK, OK so its true, its all true and that's why you’re here, to stop me dragging the profession into disrepute," he felt his rebellious streak emerge again despite of what had been revealed to him," well let me make a revelation to you I still don't give a shit about your guild."
         "Your actions are aggravating members of the guild and there is a process going on to try and.... persuade you to alter your course, but I'm not here to stop you doing anything, in fact Mr Halmonth I am here to offer you a proposal or perhaps you could view it as something of a gift."
         Thrown from his line of thought, Halmonth was still suspicious. "Why would you or anyone from the guild want to offer me anything?"
         "This has nothing to do with the guild, in fact if they knew I was here they would probably disown me for what I am about to suggest to you."
         Totally puzzled at the turn of events Halmonth moved forward on his chair." Listen I'm getting punch drunk here, too many revelations."
         "Then what’s coming next is going to knock you out, so to speak." Marken’s smile carried a hint of excitement. "With you not having any experience of the guilds workings I shall have to enlighten you to some of our practices. When we reach a certain point in our lives our powers start to wane, probably something to do with the aging of the mind and body and although at this stage we are not as potent as we once were we do have the benefit of experience, experience that we tend to pass on to someone younger, an apprentice if you like."
         A shock ran through Halmonth as he began to see Marken motive for coming.  “You want me to be an apprentice?”
         “No Mr Halmonth you are a little to old for that. Although I did say it was common practice to take an apprentice, it doesn't always happen that way. Some guild members never find a suitable candidate or perhaps the apprentice turns out to be inadequate, or some like me choose not to take an apprentice, an action that the guild frowns heavily upon.”  His serious face was flawed by a small smile that indicated he was glad Halmonth had caught on.
         “So you're not flavour of the month with your fellow guilders?”
         “You could say that, not that it matters at this point. What does matter is what I'm about to offer you. The reason I didn’t choose any one to nurture was because I knew I would encounter you at the right time.”  His small smile grew.  “Being prescient does have its advantages.”
         “Did you know specifically that it would be me?”
         He shook his head lightly. “Not at first but as time progressed your aura and your face became more defined and then finally your position was revealed, which led me here.” He tapped the table with the palm of his hand.
         “And you can see all of this?”
         “Not all of it, not all at once. Each glimpse is like,” he wrung his hands together as he tried to think how to explain it, “it’s like watching fish swim in a tank. You can focus on one fish but you loose your concentration on all the others and they dart around outside of your vision but if you were to stand back and look at the tank you can get a general idea of where all the fishes are. Its the same with the thoughts, takes some self control but that comes with practice as you are about to find out.”
         Halmonth sat there with a million questions digging their claws in him and took a deep breath to try and organize them into some sort of coherent form. He was about to expel the breath when he became aware of the scope of what he was about to be offered. He let the breath go slowly out and put on his best poker face hoping his eyes didn't betray his greed.
         “To cut a long story short when our apprentices have matured and have reached a certain point in their training they are subjected to the ultimate test. This test for which they have endured at least five years of tutoring just to reach, verifies them as failures or successes at their art. It doesn't matter how much promise or ineptitude they have shown over the years if they fail this test there’s no coming back, some of the brightest students have failed this test and some of the most unsuitable have passed ,there is no benchmark, no indication of how each student will fair until he attempts the test.”
         “You gonna test me?”
         “In due time. You see the apprentices have to be brought up to a certain level to ascertain whether or not they are physically capable of manipulating the power they will weld, to test whether their minds are strong enough. The years of training beforehand are to prepare them in case they cannot hold this power. We teach them how to defuse this unwieldy power if they cannot control it and diffuse it before its strength ravages their minds and damages them beyond help.
         You see the power we give to apprentices comes from us directly; it is part of us, much more than say a limb or any other physical part. For us to part with the power is to part with ourselves, we transfer the power and what is left is nothing more than a shell, useless and drained.”
         Halmonth was still only half listening to him; his thoughts were more occupied with what he could do with his new given ability when a question broke into his mental wanderings. “Then why transfer in the first place, why not keep it to yourself surely this idea of self sacrifice, almost suicide, cannot be to everyone in the guilds liking there must be someone who wants to hold on to it.”
         “If we had a choice? Of course we would hold on to the power. It is the most wonderful and exhilarating thing in the world, or should I say having the ability to use it is, but the truth is that we have no choice. To use the power you have to pay a price and that price is a shortening of our mental lifespan. The human body can hold the power but only for a relatively short time, thirty years at the most and then the power starts to escape, burning its way out of your hold and feeding on its own energy as it shreds through you.”
         “Wooooo!! Your sales pitch needs some work my friend, your offering me a ticket to an early grave. “Halmonth’s humour had increased greatly he felt that he was on the verge of winning the lottery.
         Marken didn't appreciate his levity and the furrow that appeared on his brow showed this. “Think of what you gain, of what you could do with such a gift. You would be able to see and do what many men would give up their own souls for, what some people would …”
         Halmonth held up his hands in a mock surrender. “Ok ok don't get all preachy on me, I understand the gravity of what you’re offering."
         “Do you? I doubt it, imagine to have the ability to read peoples thoughts, to see what they think and once you are in their thoughts you are connected to everything that is connected to them, their past, their hates and loves, everything. You can even hear the whispers of the people who have walked through their lives whether their still living or deceased, as I did in the case of your friend, though the connection grows steadily weaker after the moment they died.”
         “Does that mean I could control the people I read?”
         Even though he had been expecting the question Marken let shock play across his features. “No! Control is something that is forbidden by the guild, only the most powerful psychics can even begin to attempt it and those who have succeeded have all met a bitter end. The power itself forbids misuse and turns upon its abuser.
         What we try to do is influence the person who has been read into doing the things they should do, doing the things that will benefit themselves and others. They have to do the right thing by their own free will; if they chose not to we can only warn them of the consequences that may befall them.”
         “You become their moral compass.”
         “Exactly. Our power is a gift, one that should be only used for good and not for any other purpose. To even try and misuse it would be like spitting in the face of fate.”
“Hmmm, quite a responsibility. I must admit now I know the power exists it makes all of this,“ he gestured with a sweep of his arms to indicate his circus, “seem ... I don't know the word to describe the feeling, 'false' perhaps, no I guess 'corrupt' would be more the descriptive term. And if all of this seems corrupt then that makes me corrupt to and I don't like that” Don't lay it on too thick, Halmonth thought to himself, just make him feel that he has enlightened you, changed your direction.
         “Mr Halmonth…” He stopped himself, lent forward in his chair and made his face take a friendlier look. “Karl now I've made you aware of the process of how and why we transfer, we have come to the point where I have to ask you the question and the answer has to be of your own free will, it has to be your decision, will you…“
         “Without seeming to snatch your hand off” Halmonth interrupted, “I'm gonna answer yes, of course I want this power. All my life I have known that it would come to something like this, that there was something else behind reality, some other power or control guiding us and that all I had to do was look for it and eventually I would find it.” He chuckled with irony. “All that looking and what happens, it finds me. All of my career I have tried to help people.” As well as make some money along the way he thought. “I have always given the advice that I thought would improve or better the situation they were in. If I had this power I could really make a difference. How could I turn you down after being presented with this sort of opportunity, this chance to take myself into places very few human beings have witnessed?”
         Marken offered a satisfied grin. “I'll take that as a yes then.” The grin was swallowed by the seriousness that appeared on his face. “There’s also something else you need to be aware of. I afraid I don't have the time to test you or give you the training you need to survive if our transference goes wrong. My time is almost used up and I can already feel the power within eroding through my mental control, when I was younger I could command it, now it's taking most of my resolve to contain it. The transference will be a one off, either it will work and you will survive or it won't and then there will be two corpses in the room, still want to partake Karl?”
         “As I have said before your sales pitch stinks, let’s get this done. “ He looked at Marken with a shade of martyrdom. “This circus is a way of making a living and apart from giving good advice every now and then I don't know what else I can do with it but if I had the power I could really make a real difference to the folks and that's worth the risk.”
         “I knew I was right to hold on for you Karl, I'm can now see you've got the guts its going to take for you to get through this.”
         “Hey don't compliment me just yet, we could be both catching the train to ghostville pretty soon.” So how do we proceed, do we need some sort of ceremony, joss sticks, pentagrams and all that shit?”
         Marken reached across and laid his hand palm upwards in the centre of the table, Halmonth noticed it trembled slightly. “Just hold my hand Karl, that’s all it takes.”
         His hand reached out tentatively towards Marken open digits, hovered over them and hesitated. His gaze was nailed to that open palm. He could feel the power emitting from the psychics hand and was surprised at the potency of it. On the outside Marken was worn out, almost a shadow, what he held inside him had too much ferocity to be kept in check.
         Halmonth could feel the steel of Marken personality striving to master it, it was a steel that was incredibly focused and he realized how strong Marken was to have kept this power caged for almost thirty years. The strength of it frightened him and even though he desired the power more than anything he had desired in his life he had an unconscious desire to whip his hand away.
         He frowned and tried to overcome his instincts and make his hand connect, make it grasp all the power he had ever yearned for. He couldn't. Marken saw his hesitancy and made the decision for him. His resources were nearly used up and with one last effort of will he focused on his hand. It stopped trembling and rose to meet the suspended hand.
         Halmonth was lost in the inability to come to a conclusion and didn't see but felt the hands come closer. Pin pricks of attraction tingled in his palm as Marken’s hand closed the gap and instead of his hesitation Halmonth could fell a force similar to magnetism pulling their hands together. It was impossible for him to pull away now even if he wanted. The force had enveloped his hand, pulling his palm with a concrete determination for them to join. His initial fear was overcome with a needing desire to own the power and he thrust his arm downwards.
         The skin felt as if was being twisted around in his palm as their hands met. He saw a shock wave of pressure travel up his forearm. The texture of Marken’s hand, though skinny, felt spongy, boneless and unresponsive. There was no grip from the old man’s hand but the two palms were glued together with a forceful attraction.
         The prickly pin sensation had softened and his hand felt as if it had been dipped in warm mud, he bent down for a closer look. His balls crept up into his throat when he saw how the two palms were joined, they weren't clasped, they were melded. No joint between their hands were visible, that was enough for Halmonth, unlimited power or not this was freaking him out and instinctively he pulled away. He realized he couldn't budge his hand and panic took a greater grip upon him and gave him more strength. Frantic yanking overtook pulling. The muscles in his shoulder and arm creaked in protest of the sudden movements. He squirmed from left to right, up and down trying any movement that might break the union.
         He panted in horror as he saw that all his energetic thrashing had not snapped the bond but had somehow mixed the substance of his and Marken’s hands together leaving a large node of flesh into which were fed their two arms. The shock immobilized Halmonth and he stood there transfixed by the way the two hands had melded together.
         His hypnotic state was interrupted by Marken groaning and suddenly he became aware of the smell of him in his nostrils, not only that he could feel, sense, taste Marken in himself and it dawned on him that it was not only their hands that were melded but the flesh inside as well. His blood was flowing into Marken and vice versa, the very essence of each other was flowing and blending together.
         He looked up at Marken and was shocked by how much he had deteriorated. Halmonth's struggles had slid him from his chair and only the wall aside him had stopped him from collapsing to the floor. He looked as if he had aged ten years in as many seconds; his skin was taut across his cheekbones. His eyes although glazed fixed upon Halmonth with a fierce intensity. Karl noticed something in those eyes, something he sees in the mirror every morning, he shook his head as the feeling of duality increased.
         Marken blinked, Halmonth blinked, the entity that was Marken/Halmonth blinked. His vision was overlapped. Two points of view were offered to him; in one he could see the prone figure of Marken in the other he could see himself, in both was the sight of both figures spliced at the arm.
         Halmonth's strong independence took control. He was Karl Halmonth; he could never be anything else, anyone else. His cry filed the caravan and his own ears as he used the last of his will and strength to make himself singular again. Leaning back with all his might he tried to rip his arm away from the pulsating mass before him. He moved backwards with a jolt and Marken moved with him, off his seat and forward onto the table.
         Halmonth kept pulling.
         Marken slid off the table and onto the floor.
         Halmonth kept pulling.
         Marken was dragged across the floor rippling the rug that lay underneath him.
         Halmonth kept pulling…. and stopped with thud as he smashed into the wall behind him. A feeling of constriction filled him, a phobic sense of being hemmed in, having nowhere to go. The desperation lent him strength and with a grunt he planted his foot against Marken chest and heaved away from him. Beast like growls escaped his lips as he pushed with his leg and pulled with his arm, he could feel his joints ready to separate with a wet, gristly click.
         The straining pressure gave way a little as a ripping, gurgling noise emanated from the mass of skin, Halmonth could see a small gash running down a ridge in the malformed bulk. He could heave no harder so he kept the tension between the pull of his arm and the thrust of his leg as intense as he could manage. He was rewarded with another rip, this one smaller than the first but growing as the seconds passed. He continued to yank away until several tears threaded the mass, making it resemble a ball of fleshy yarn.
         The tears gave him hope, the hope gave him strength and he turned the fleshy yarn into stretched strips, each strip taut and strained. The insane thought of trying to reach out and pluck them, to try and get a tune out of them occurred to Halmonth and his lips let slip a squeal of manic laughter. With only the strands of his former arm binding him to Marken he was able to put a little more distance between them.
         The idea of finding something sharp to slice himself away, to sever the connection of horror buzzed inside his frantic skull. He looked around, he was too far from the kitchen to reach any knives there and he doubted he had enough strength left to drag Marken over. He spied his desk and a shiver of hopeful chance went through him, he was sure there was a pen knife in one of the drawers, which one he couldn’t remember, but if he could just….he stopped dead.
         After their arms had melded he had felt no pain, as he had tugged and strained, no pain. He had felt the pressure and strain in his shoulder and elbow joints but there had been none from his ex-hand only a sense of emptiness, emptiness that was now being filled. It trickled at first, so minute he had not been aware of it but by the time he did notice it, it was gently flowing into him. It was not an unpleasant felling, rather like the glow of a good whisky as it slides down the throat. He was lulled by the warm, glowing sensation, almost hypnotically enjoying it. He was anaesthetised, wrapped up in a state of almost heavenly nonchalance. His mind floated free, away from the terror and anguish of the past few minutes and in this relaxed state he surveyed his surroundings.

The second half of this story is to be found in my portfollio