

The Cull

Jon Jacks

Other New Adult and Children's books by Jon Jacks

The Caught – The Rules – Chapter One – The Changes – Sleeping Ugly

The Barking Detective Agency – The Healing – The Lost Fairy Tale

A Horse for a Kingdom – Charity – The Most Beautiful Things – The Last Train

The Dream Swallowers – Nyx; Granddaughter of the Night – Jonah and the Alligator

Glastonbury Sirens – Dr Jekyll's Maid – The 500-Year Circus

P – The Endless Game – DoriaN A – Wyrd Girl

Heartache High (Vol I) – Heartache High: The Primer (Vol II) – Heartache High: The Wakening (Vol III)

Miss Terry Charm, Merry Kris Mouse & The Silver Egg – Seecrets – The Wicker Slippers

Text copyright© 2013 Jon Jacks

All rights reserved

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com, where they can also discover other works by this author.

Thank you for your support.

Blessed are the first one-hundred and fifty-three. For they are the very first Jasmines, who will spread their branches, take root, and suffuse the world in the glorious scent of Truth.

The Book Of Jasmine

# Chapter 1

'Sure I said I hoped she'd die! But that didn't mean I actually _wanted_ her to die!'

I couldn't believe it.

Nobody could believe it.

Mary Salford was dead.

And somehow her friends seem to think I'm somehow responsible. And all because we'd had an argument yesterday.

Hey, if having an argument with Mary made me a possible suspect for murder, that made half the school potential suspects!

'It's a figure of speech, Liz, that's all. You know what a figure of speech is, right? Like, "Get out of my face!"'

Jeez!

Haven't these girls got anything better to do than pester me about this?

I mean, we're all shocked, right?

Even I didn't hate Mary that much that I wanted her dead!

You don't, do you? When you say, "I hope you die", you're just angry; that's all!

You're not really contemplating murder!

Besides, just how do these numbskulls figure I managed to get Mary to step out into the road in front of an oncoming car?

'She was upset!' Liz screams back in my face.

Obviously, Liz doesn't understand everyday expressions like 'Get out of my face!'.

'Mary wasn't thinking straight! That's why she wandered out into the road!'

Wow, so _that's_ it?

_That's_ how Mary's friends think I'm responsible for her death?

Not because they think I somehow pushed her out into the road.

Not because they think I was secretly driving the car that sent her flying back onto her own lawn.

No no; they think I'm responsible because I'd _upset_ her so much she was walking around in a daze!

'Since when was Mary upset by what anyone said to her, Liz? And if being upset was a reason to wander out in front of a passing car, I think Mary would have an awful lot of deaths on _her_ hands, wouldn't she?'

Mary was Miss Sarcasm _par excellence._

She could hit you bang centre where it hurt most. Hit you with a comment dripping with acid. One that would burn away at your very core for days afterwards.

Like, 'Hey, Jaz; is that your idea of makeup. Or have you just taken up professional boxing?'

Yeah, that's what our argument had been about.

So, Rest In Peace, Mary.

It will certainly be a lot more peaceful around here without you.

*

How did I get into an argument about makeup?

It sounds like I've got one heck of a short fuse, right?

But look, Mary had been ribbing me for ages about a number of things, right?

That's how she does – well, how she _used_ to do it.

She had that knack of knowing just which parts of you to tweak. And she'd know it no matter who she was talking to.

A tweak here. A tweak there.

A push of this button. Then that button.

Pulling this nerve. Putting this nerve on edge.

It was an enviable skill, I'll give her that.

She was testing your tolerance. Seeing how much you could stand before you cracked.

If you were _really_ stupid, you'd take it to a physical level.

_Big_ mistake.

You'd be flat out on the floor before you knew it.

Me, I stuck to the snappy come back.

She respected that.

Saw it as a game.

A game she'd always flatter herself that she'd won whenever you finally parted.

*

Truth is, Mary's comment about the makeup had really stung.

How come?

Well, I'd be the _first_ to admit I'm not the most attractive girl around.

But, you know, I always try and do my best with what I've got. As you do.

Every 'miracle' beauty product that's advertised, I'm a sucker for.

It's crazy, I know. I should know better.

But, see, I don't go letting anybody fool me that being attractive isn't important.

Sure, I'd like to buy into the _theory_. The _theory_ that there's no great advantage in being attractive.

If _everybody_ bought into the theory, that would be just great, wouldn't it?

Experience tells me, though, that _no_ one's buying into it.

Not unless, of course, you're already stunningly gorgeous. In which case, when you're twittering away that being attractive's no great shakes, it's up there with some rich prat making out money isn't all it's cracked up to be.

Then you get those poor things right out at the other end of the scale. Those who seem to be under the delusion that if they just keep repeating the mantra, well, everyone will start to believe them, won't they?

If only, eh?

Thing is, if they _really_ believe what they're saying is true, what's the problem?

The guys they fancy will be the ones no one else wants anyway, right?

Me, I reckon life runs a whole lot smoother for you if you're blessed in the looks department.

Does stating the obvious make me a bad person?

In many people's eyes, it probably does.

In _my_ eyes it makes me a bad person.

There are intelligent kids out there who suffer heartache and worse simply because of their looks.

Then there are others who just breeze through life purely because they've got great bone structure.

Course, I'm not saying this is an _ideal_ state of affairs!

It's ridiculous.

It's unfair.

But that's how it is.

So get over it.

It isn't helping _anyone_ to try and pretend it isn't really like that.

Because it means no one's facing up to the facts.

Me, I'll admit right up front that most of my own personal suffering comes from lusting after guys who, to be honest, are _way_ out of my league.

And, of course, they _wouldn't_ be out of my league if I was even half-decent looking.

So for me, when it comes to light reading, it's the magazine articles on clever makeup shading. Brightening up your hair with tints. Getting the dress that makes the most of some curves and hides the others.

All invaluable stuff.

Then again, it was thanks to one of these articles that I ended up with a face way too heavy on the blue eye-shadow and yellow blusher.

Yeah, what was I thinking, right?

Mary, you'd got me dead to rights on that one.

Oops, sorry; it's just a figure of speech, okay?

*

'Jaz! Jaz!'

It's one of the kids from the lower years; Josie, Jolie, or something like that.

What's she want?

'Yeah?'

'You're wanted in the headmistress's office. I think the police are there!'

The police?

You're kidding me!

_Crap_!

Surely the _police_ don't think I had anything to do with Mary's death?

What the heck's Liz been telling them?

*

# Chapter 2

'Now Jasmine, I need you to be perfectly honest with me on this; did you have an argument with Liz and her friends when classes ended for the lunch break?'

Miss Pollitt says it all calm and nicely. The tone she'd use if she were asking a five-year-old if she'd seen a nasty man hanging around the playground.

Me, I've been sat in an oversized chair placed directly in front of her desk.

You know, like I'm some poor guy who's just about to be told his firm's downsizing. He's surplus to requirements. They're going to have to let him go.

To add to all the scenarios my mind's conjuring up here, there's a sternly glaring policewoman standing behind Miss Pollitt. Her arms folded like she's ready to march me off to the cells. Her expression hard, unforgiving, like her patience has already run out.

All this because I said I hoped Mary would die?

'Please miss; I know what all this is about.'

'You do?'

'Yes, I know Liz thought I was involved in Mary's death, bu–'

_'Mary's_ death?'

She sounds surprised. She swaps a quick, puzzled glance with the policewoman.

You ask me, the policewoman's frown says she reckons I've just blurted out something tantamount to a confession.

'Well, yes miss. That's what all this is about, isn't it?'

'No Jasmine; it _isn't_ about Mary's unfortunate accident.

She glances the policewoman's way once more, this time like she's asking permission to continue.

The policewoman gives an almost imperceptible nod of her head.

Miss Pollitt pauses. The way people pause when they're preparing to say something they're not going to find easy to say.

'Jasmine...Jasmine...you were the last person to be seen talking to Elizabeth, Sarah and Zoe, yes?'

'The _last_?'

'Jasmine, I'm afraid...afraid that Liz, Sarah and Zoe have all died in a suspicious car crash.'

*

What am I? Some kind of Jonah?

I came out of the office in a daze.

This was getting crazy!

Mary. Then Liz, Sarah and Zoe.

All girls I've had an argument with. Then whhooomphh, they're all suddenly meeting their maker.

No wonder the police are a bit suspicious!

Especially as it turns out that the car Liz's mum had picked them up in had been tampered with!

'Where were you this morning? Can you prove you were in class all morning?'

The policewoman hadn't bothered with any of Miss Pollitt's niceties.

She was hoping, no doubt, that I'd fess up to skipping most of the morning's classes. Right after Automobile Maintenance and Sabotage.

She was way heavy on the hints that she understood why I might have done it.

That I was the bright kid gone frustrated, gone bitter, gone wrong.

Well, I'll give her two out of three for that one.

Frustrated, tick.

Bitter, tick.

But _murder_? _Multiple_ murder?

And we'd have to add the perfectly innocent Mrs Salford to the tally too. And all because she'd picked her daughter and her friends up for lunch.

What on earth would I want to kill _her_ for?

Like dad says, there's only one way you can trust people in authority these days.

You can always trust them to get it completely wrong.

*

One thing that the cop missed out on her list was bright kid gone feeling betrayed.

Back in the lower school, I was seen as a bright kid.

One with 'a sharp, inquisitive mind', as they always liked to put on the reports.

Now, come parent's night, when all the parents get to meet the teachers, I'm the kid with the 'unfortunately sharp tongue'.

Somewhere along the line 'inquisitive' was also transformed into 'prying'. Or 'seems to be getting her information from dubious websites'.

Yeah, thanks Miss Believe-everything-the-state-tells-me.

I _love_ the web!

It tells me stuff I'd never pick up from the newspapers. Still less from the TV news. From our lying, thieving politicians.

You've probably guessed by now I'm not a great admirer of authority.

Too right.

Rules are there for a reason, agreed?

So if you've got a good enough reason, ignore them.

As far as I'm concerned – although I'm really sorry about Mrs Salford and Liz and everyone – the police might as well go whistling up the wall before expecting any help from me.

*

'I'm going to have to take you down the station, Miss!'

The voice behind me is gruff, authoritative.

I whirl around, shocked and angry.

'What? Are you kiddi – Pat! You stupid prat!'

Patrick Everet, grinning like he was surrounded by his usual little harem of hanger-ons.

'Wow! Your face, Jaz! I'm glad I'm _not_ a cop. You'd probably have taken my head off just with that evil glare of yours!'

_'Evil_ glare?' I glare evilly at him.

He raises his hands in mock surrender.

'Okay, okay; _angry_ glare then. I bet that really made your day, didn't it? Being called to the headmistress's office, _and_ the police are waiting there for you! I bet you just couldn't wait to give them whatever help they wanted, right?'

'Word gets around quick in this school, doesn't it? In this case, Pat, there's not much to be joking about; Liz, Zoe and Sarah have all been killed in a crash involving Liz's mum's car.'

'Jeez! Yeah, I heard some sort of rumour about that. But I'd thought that's all it was; just a rumour.'

I shake my head.

'It's real enough. Thing is, it doesn't look like it was an accident either. Someone had tampered with the brakes.'

'You're kidding me! Why? Why would anyone want to kill Liz or her mum?'

'Or Zoe or Sarah. Beats me too.'

'You're not telling me the police were talking to you about _that_? Surely they can't think you sawed through the cable or however it's done these days.'

'I don't think a brake cable's even visible these days, is it? Don't modern cars have underbellies or whatever you call them?'

'Hnm, now if I was the detective interviewing you, I'd have to say, "But how did you know it was a modern car, Miss Hopley? And how did you know the brake cable is sealed behind an undersill?"'

'And if you _were_ the detective interviewing me, I'd tell you you'd just infringed my rights, accusing me of a crime without a caring adult being in attendance. I'd also slip in a mouthful about the police being an army of occupation, forcing the undemocratic views of our self-appointed elite upon us.'

'Hah, I can see the police are _really_ going to get an awful lot of help from you, Miss Chez Guevara!' Pat chuckles. 'Obviously, Miss Pollitt hasn't told them yet about the problems you have with authority!'

'Oh, she's probably told them all right; that's probably why I'm prime suspect number one.'

'Do you reckon it might have been Mrs Salford's old man? You know; trying to knock her off so he can move his Asian mistress in? But his plans have all gone horribly wrong?'

'I reckon what's all gone horribly wrong here, Pat, is the warping of your imagination by whatever you're watching on TV these days!'

He laughs. That deep-throated laugh that has all the girls giggling in embarrassed pleasure.

I laugh with him.

Like we've already forgotten we're talking about the deaths of three innocent kids and a mum here.

*

# Chapter 3

Next morning, the school's going all out to make sure no one's going to forget we're talking about the deaths of three innocent kids and a mum here.

And we're not going to be allowed to forget that laughing and having fun doesn't fit in with mourning their passing.

Morning assembly is all tearful speeches, reminding us how wonderful Liz, Zoe and Sarah were. And how we're all going to really miss them.

The audience, too, is all tearful kids.

You wouldn't believe how many of them are suddenly making out they were the very very very best friend of Liz, Zoe or Sarah.

So _they're_ particularly affected by their sad loss.

Wow, the amount of friends you suddenly gain when you're dead is truly amazing!

Me, I'm just the opposite,

People couldn't give me a wider berth if I were carrying an infected rhesus monkey around on my shoulders.

It's like I'm death personified. On the lookout for any possible candidates to wave my scythe over.

It's quite funny seeing all these kids stumbling over their feet, trying to make sure there's someone between them and me.

They all gawk worriedly at me, then suddenly avert their gaze, like I could zap their life away just by meeting their eyes.

Jeezus!

_Give_ me a break!

*

More or less the same thing happens when we're boarding the bus taking our class out on its field trip.

By field trip, I mean the sort of walk in the woods that will somehow be turned into a lecture on climate change. You know; how all the glorious flowers we're picking to be neatly pressed when we get back to school will all soon be gone. Unless we all start going to bed early to save electricity.

Even so, everyone looks forward to these trips. They're the perfect opportunity to lark around. To get as far away as we possibly can from the teachers.

Today, however, I reckon everyone sees it as the perfect opportunity for me to strike them down dead. Somewhere out amongst the wilds of farthest Forthingham Wood, where no one will know they're missing until it's too late.

As they board the bus, each and every one of the kids gives me a swift, nervous glance. Taking in where I'm sitting, Figuring out which is the farthest seat away from me that's still available.

Fortunately, Pat isn't so ridiculously superstitious.

He's the last to board the bus before it sets off. When he sees me sitting alone, he gives everyone a disgusted glare before sliding in besides me.

I say 'sliding in', but Pat's one of those naturally athletic guys who swings into a seat with admirable grace. Like it's the perfect finish to an elegantly smooth, ten out of ten triple flip on the gym's rings.

Yeah, _that's_ why all the girls are always chasing after him.

'So, how'd it go last night?' he says. 'I mean, explaining to your mum and dad about the police interview?'

'Ah, you know my mum and dad,' I say to Pat with a satisfied chuckle. 'First thing they did after I told them was call Miss Pollitt. They gave her a rocket for allowing me to be interviewed by the cops without them being present. I think she must have said something along the lines that she was present throughout the interview, because dad shouted down the phone that it certainly _wasn't_ the same as _him_ being there. Which, yeah, knowing dad, it sure as heck _wouldn't_ have been the same!'

'So Jaz, we're both in agreement that you've got a cool mum and dad, right?'

'Pat, _no_ one thinks their mum and dad are _cool_. Least of all me!'

'Okay, way cooler than mine then.'

'You're proving my point, you understand that, right?'

'What I understand is that this stroppiness is just the very thing I was trying to lead up to anyway, Jaz; something that's been puzzling me for quite a while now. Like, how come you're all seething away inside, like you're this angry girl who thinks life's been unfair to you? What've you got to be angry about? You've got friends–'

He chuckles at this point, glancing around at the empty seats surrounding us.

'Well, okay, you _did_ have friends, until all this thing with you seeming to be Death's apprentice came up. But apart from _that_ , life's looking just great for you, way I see it. I mean, you're bright, and you're not bad looking either – how many people get to get both those things right, huh?'

'Hah! Not bad looking? You should see the raw material on a morning, before I put in a lot of hard work on the cold face.'

To show him what I mean, I lean my face in closer towards his, letting him see the makeup I've applied so deftly that it even passes unnoticed at school.

'You've got makeup on? Wow! It looks so _natural_!'

'Shhuussh! We're not allowed makeup in school, remember? So it's got be applied _intelligently_!'

'And this is why you're angry? Because you figure you weren't first in the queue when the straight teeth and what have you were being handed out?'

I give a weak, partly embarrassed shrug.

'You wouldn't know it, Pat, but it's surprising how being one of life's fives rather than eight or nines can drag you down when you're moping over some guy who'll never give you a second glance. Besides, I suppose I'm really angry because I read; anyone who reads about what's going on in the world today has just _got_ to be angry.'

'Maybe that's why I'm so free and easy, yeah?'

'That and your straight teeth.'

'I'd prefer straight "A"s, like you.'

'Yeah, me and nearly ninety-five percent of kids in school. Where's the point in that?'

We both rock and jiggle in our seats as the bus slowly but noisily rumbles over the railway tracks of a level crossing.

We're suddenly thrown violently forward. We nearly bang our heads on the back of the seat in front.

The bus has come to an abrupt halt.

'Get out of the way you idiot!' the driver furiously yells out. 'What the hell do you think you're doing?'

He's standing up in his seat, leaning over his steering wheel. He's wildly waving his fists at someone I can't see lying beyond the bus's large glass front.

He turns back to us to explain the delay.

'There's an idiot blocking our path! He swung right out in front of me as we were crossing the tracks!'

Pat moves a little way down the aisle between the seats, lifting his head up high so he can see what the problem is.

'He's right; it's some jerk in a car who's just sitting there on our side of the road!'

'What if a train comes?' someone behind me anxiously wails.

Right on cue, the crossing's warning alarms and lights begin to ring and flash.

*

# Chapter 4

'Get out of the way! Get out of the way!'

The driver screams uselessly at the car blocking our path. He presses his horn again and again.

The teacher, Miss Druen, is standing close to him. She looks flustered, frightened.

'Back up!' Pat cries out to the diver. 'Back up, then swing around him on the other side of the road!'

The blaring horn. The clanging of the alarm bells.

The frightened chatter. The nervous shrieks.

Everyone's standing up in their seats, their faces white, deathly.

At last, the driver sits down in his seat, his arms a whirl as he throws the bus into reverse.

And there's a new, even more frightening sound to add to the mix; the sound of gears whirring uselessly as they refuse to mesh.

*

Everyone seems to be screaming.

Even the driver, who's yelling out curses as he tries time and time again to force the bus into gear.

Miss Druen, by contrast, is a frozen statue, her eyes wide with confusion.

'Open the exits,' Pat cries out, spinning around and pointing out the large windows designed to be used as emergency exits. 'There's one at the back, one on either side. And someone get the driver to open the door!'

His last words are almost drowned out by a loud whirring of machinery, the clanking of metal on metal.

'The gates! The gates are coming down behind us!' someone shrieks out from the back of the bus.

I whirl around in my seat.

Through the huge rear window, I can see the automatic gate gradually dropping into position.

'The train's coming and we can't get off the bus!'

'Let us off the bus!'

Most of the kids are panicking now. A few of them, however, have managed to cling on to enough sense to wrench back the handles on the exit windows.

The windows fling open. Cool air rushes in. The sound of the clanging alarms and descending gates are suddenly louder than ever.

There's a chaotic scramble as the kids rush towards the nearest exit.

They're tripping over each other's feet.

They're pulling angrily at anyone they think is blocking their way, or jumping in front of them.

At last, Miss Druen has woken up from her trance.

'One at a time, one at a time!' she yells, like it's going to do any good.

Outside the coach, a few brave adults have rushed onto the railway line. They're reaching up to help the first of the kids clamber out of the exit windows.

The door at the front has also been opened at last, the kids hurriedly filing out.

As soon as they're outside the bus, the kids dash for the safety of the other side of the gates.

Pat worriedly glances my way. He turns round, starts heading back towards me.

Like me, he's noticed that I'm a good way from any exit.

I'm going to be one of the last to leave, unless I push and pull and barge my way to the front of those scrambling to get out.

Other kids are staring at me too.

White faced. Open mouthed.

Scared.

Angry.

They think it's all my fault.

Think that I'm responsible for bringing them here.

Bringing death down upon them.

Outside, I can now hear the very worst sound of all.

It's the rails.

Hissing. Like a huge, deadly snake.

Hissing louder and louder, as the train hurtles towards us.

*

I'm still on the bus when the train smashes into us.

*

# Chapter 5

One minute – no, one _second_ – I'm at the back of a mass of kids, all trying to get through a window exit that only lets two through at any one time.

The next, there's a blinding flash.

The sound of two planets colliding.

The force of a hurricane-like gust of wind.

I'm suddenly flung upwards, spinning, tumbling.

Pat's with me.

Unconscious. Holding my hand.

When did we first hold hands?

I don't know.

Wreckage is flying everywhere around us.

Shards of glass. Chunks of metal. Shattered seats.

Bloodied body parts.

Strangely, we're moving slower than all these other things.

Like we're in an invisible bubble.

We drop back to the ground, just slightly after everything else.

We tumble across the ground as lightly as if we've slipped and fallen on a grassy hillock.

It doesn't make any sense.

We should have struck the ground at a back-breaking, bone-shattering speed.

As I finally come out of my dizzying, tumbling roll, I look about me in amazement that I've survived – and that's when I see him.

An angel.

He glows. Shimmers. Like the sun sparkling on water.

Then, pulsating like the heat haze above a roaring fire, he vanishes.

*

# Chapter 6

This time, the loss of life is so great that the school is shut down for a few days.

Miss Druen died too. The driver was amongst the severely injured.

Fortunately, the train involved in the accident had been a goods train. The engine driver had died so quickly he wouldn't have suffered, we're all assured.

The press and news channels have descend on the area, seeking to interview anyone they can. Particularly survivors of the crash like myself and Pat.

I avoid them, naturally.

Already, there are whispers circulating the neighbourhood that I shouldn't have survived the crash: that I was seated in an area farthest from any exit points; that I'd still been seen standing on the bus as the train struck.

The rumour that I'm Death's emissary seems to have been accepted as fact by most of the other kids.

Whenever I see them out on the street, they deliberately move out of my way.

They suddenly change the direction they were taking. They glare at me with a heady mix of loathing and fear.

Only Pat's standing by me.

He thinks they're all talking crazy. Sure we survived, but obviously it was one of those freak situations where the force of the impact threw us clear.

He's not against talking to the journalists. He wants to explain the 'miracle' of our survival.

There was a blinding flash, he told them. Then we passed out.

(That's what I've told Pat; that, like him, I passed out. He didn't see the angel. So I'm not going to give him the idea that I'm a little bit crazy by telling him we were rescued by an angel.)

We woke up off to one side of the accident, he'd told the eagerly listening press corp. We were safe and only a little bruised.

They'd all lapped it up.

Me, I tell them I'm too shook up to want to talk about it.

'She needs time to adjust to the sad loss of her friends,' Mum says, holding back a horde of clamouring journalists besieging our house.

The headline writers just love the story.

The miracle amongst the tragedy.

A million-to-one chance; the survivors of the Forthingham school bus disaster.

As the nation weeps, a cause for joy.

My picture is plastered across TV screens and the papers.

My pictured is scattered, torn and ripped, across our front lawn.

*

After a few days, even I'm beginning to doubt that I was rescued by some sort of guardian angel.

I mean; it just seems so incredibly farfetched, doesn't it?

Why would an angel bother rescuing me? Why would he let all those other poor kids die so horribly?

Perhaps, as Pat explains it, we were simply lucky enough to be thrown clear.

The blinding flash of light was just a part of the shock of impact. The sight of the angel just my eyes or my mind playing tricks as I recovered from that dizzying roll.

After an accident like that, I'd be bound to be a little dazed, a little confused, wouldn't I?

I've got plenty of time to try and work out what really happened that day. Obviously, I'm not exactly inundated with visits from school friends asking how I'm feeling, how I'm coping.

Pat comes round, but he prefers not to talk about it.

He's done enough talking, he says. Now he just wants to forget all about it for a while.

Unlike me, he didn't steadfastly refuse the offer of counselling.

It helped him, he says. Letting all those conflicting emotions pour out.

Horror. Relief.

Feelings of inadequacy. A sense of impregnability.

Exuberance that he survived. Guilt that he did; a sense that he didn't deserve to.

While he's here, we revert to normal and have a bit of a giggle on the computer. As we usually do, Pat hacks into various websites where I can add a few choice bits of misinformation.

Why?

Why not?

It amazes me, the way you can post something up on the web and, a few months later, it's become an accepted fact. Quoted everywhere you look. As if it's from a reliable source.

Did you know that wasps' stings are the new, natural Botox? Well, you and few hundred million people do now.

Ohh; and have I just let slip that I've been circulating another bit of false information?

Like, how come such a hot guy like Pat is a bit of a geek when it comes to hacking into sites?

Those things rarely go together, right?

He's a guy, too, who said he'd like to get straight 'A's?

Well, sure he's not too hot when it comes to the schoolwork. Like me, he's bored with it. Unlike me, he pours all that frustrated intelligence into a passion for computers and music.

As for Pat being physically edible; well, in _my_ eyes he is, see?

Beauty in the eye of the beholder and all that, right?

And in this case, _I'm_ the beholder.

He does move _lithely_ , if not exactly _athletically_.

And yep, he's got the most regularly straight teeth I've ever seen on anyone that hasn't splurged a fortune on dental work.

I just _exaggerated_ a little when I said all the other girls were so into him.

Well, that's what I fear, isn't it?

That one of them will snap him up before I do?

I simply can't understand why they don't all fancy him as much as I do.

Oh, and while I'm in confession mode, all that about him taking control on the bus?

It might _not_ have happened _quite_ like that.

It was all so chaotic; people shouting everywhere.

The diver _might_ have been paying attention to Pat. He might not.

Come on, be serious; you _must_ have been wondering how the Pat I'd been describing earlier was always hanging around with someone like me?

I've already said, haven't I, that I'm no great shakes in the looks department?

Or did you think I was lying about _that_ part?

Sitting beside me, Pat chuckles as he reads what I've added to a site he's latched us into.

It's a site that's already spouting some pretty wild theories about 'The Mysteries of the Ancients'. Me, I've just made up and added a few extra equivalents of Shamir, the stone-splitting serpent Solomon recruited into the building of his temple.

'They'll never go for _that_ , Jasmine!'

'Ahh, these wilder, pseudo-scientific sites _always_ go for it, Pat! There's already so much weird stuff on there, they can't tell when someone's just made something up!'

Downstairs, I hear a heavy rapping on the front door.

I'd know that knock anywhere by now.

I trot over to the window.

Yep, I was right.

The police car is parked outside by the kerb.

*

# Chapter 7

Either mum or dad will send the policewoman off with a flea in her ear.

As they always do.

'If you get any problems from her, let me know,' dad had said to me after she called round the first time, just after the accident.

Now she comes round at least once a day. Sometimes even twice.

'If I could just have a word with Jaz, then–'

That's usually about as far as she gets before either mum or dad cuts her off.

They'll cite whatever law or restriction they can that's basically telling her to go take a hike, unless she's here to make an official charge.

She's persistent, I'll give her that.

We can't keep turning her away for ever, can we?

Sure we can.

I haven't been able to follow the conversation taking place downstairs.

But I hear the door being slammed shut.

I watch as she languidly makes her way back to the car, ignoring the hailstorm of questions thrown her way by the journalists camped outside.

Suddenly, she glances back and up, catching me at the window.

There's a sour, determined look on her face.

A look that says, I'm going to get you one day.

*

Today, the school is opening its doors once more.

The journalists are out in force. They're hanging outside both the school gates. They're hanging outside the homes of each kid who survived the accident.

The police are also out in force. They're there to keep the news crews from pestering any of the school kids, their parents, or the staff.

Survivors like me have been offered a police escort into school. Not wishing to face any questioning from the waiting paparazzi, I've accepted the offer.

But if I so much as catch a glimpse of that bloody policewoman waiting outside, I won't be going anywhere.

Thankfully, when the cops arrive she's nowhere in sight. It's two policemen I've never seen before.

Even so, I use a pair of binoculars I've borrowed off dad to peer through the upstairs window. I zoom into the car they've parked at the kerb, making sure that she's not waiting for me in there.

The cops stand either side of me as we make our way to the car. They aggressively fend off any journalist moving too close to us.

They open the car's rear door, helping me slip into the back seat. Just to gain the space we need, they have to threaten some of the journalists with arrest.

The cops quickly clamber into their own seats up front.

The driver starts up the car. He begins to pull away from the kerb.

Suddenly, before the car has picked up any real speed, the rear door on the other side to me is wrenched open.

Someone wearing an old jacket and jeans slips in beside me.

It's her.

It's the policewoman.

*

# Chapter 8

The car's now going too fast for me to open the door and jump out.

I might as well face up to whatever it is she wants to say to me.

What can she really do after all?

Tricking me like this breaks God-knows how many laws and legal rights. Anyone employed to defend me would easily have any charges against me thrown out of court.

'I just want a quick, friendly word,' the cop says, smiling like she's here to bring joy to the world.

'Seems like you're already having one. Whether I want to or not.'

'Why did you refuse counselling, Jaz? It could help you, you know?'

'It's just indoctrination; the authorities catching you at a weak point in your life. Using it to instil their own ideas of what's right and wrong.'

'That's one heck of a hard-headed attitude for a girl like you to take, isn't it? It might have actually helped you channel all that anger and aggression you're feeling into something more positive and worthwhile. I can see that you flatter yourself you're tough enough to handle all that shock; but I reckon you're in more danger than anyone else that it's going to affect you badly. And you probably won't even recognise the effect it's having on you.'

'See what I mean about authority? You're already using it as an excuse to change me. To make me come round to your way of seeing things.'

'You might not realise it Jaz, but I really am trying to help you here. See, I've seen what's happening to you happen so many times to other kids. Bright kids, full of potential, going astray because school's no longer giving them the stimulation they need. Everything's too easy, right? Meanwhile, you have to hang around waiting for the dumber kids to catch up.'

Not a word I expected; dumber. Not PC at all, that word.

I give her a closer look. One a little more scrutinising than the one I could manage last time, when she was standing at the back of Miss Pollitt's office.

She's nowhere near as young as I'd first thought. It's clever use of makeup. Like she's been reading the very same magazine articles I've been tapping into.

I'm beginning to believe she might know what she's talking about.

*

See, I reckon – I _know_ – this cop's on the right track here.

When it comes to the source of my anger, I mean.

Sure, as Pat pointed out, when it comes to life, I've been dealt a good hand.

Good, caring parents. Strict at times, but that's supposed to be a good thing, isn't it?

Intelligence.

Reasonable if not great looks.

Lots of other things a lot of kids aren't getting.

If I hadn't managed to figure out for myself how fortunate I am, I'd sure as heck know it by now. I couldn't count how many times I've been told that I've been blessed with opportunities denied most other kids.

It's just about the first thing a teacher brings up whenever I make the mistake of complaining that I'm being given tasks I've already learnt in lower school.

I was being selfish, wasn't I, thinking I had a right to lessons matched to my ability?

What about all those other, more unfortunate, more _vulnerable_ kids who were already struggling to keep up?

How much harder would it be for them, eh, if I insisted on everyone being taught the same as me?

Didn't they deserve the chance in life I'd been lucky enough to have been given?

Didn't they deserve more attention than me?

I was the bright kid, after all. I didn't need the attention they needed.

Did I really want all the attention to be focused on me? To soar while they all fell further behind?

Equal opportunities for all, see?

And how can we prove we've provided that unless it results in equal outcomes?

Strange thing is, there's a part of me saying these teachers might have a point; that yeah, these poor kids do need more of a helping hand than I do.

So I end up hating the other part of myself that says it can't be right that I'm being held back at school, simply because I'm lucky enough to have good parents.

I mean, what next? Will the good parents have to swap their kids for more unfortunate ones to make things fair?

Then again, do you reckon the kids of the politicians who've forced all this on us are held back like this?

No chance,

See, it's all to the rich kids' advantage, isn't it? No matter how dumb they are, there's no bright kids coming up from below to threaten their positions, are there?

*

'How come you know all this?' I say to the cop.

'Like I said, I've been there myself; seen other intelligent kids going through the same thing you're going through. You're bored by school, even though you used to enjoy it. You see kids getting praise even though they're getting it all wrong. See them getting lenient treatment when they're messing round. You, though, you get told off for even minor infringements. All that intelligence in that head of yours is just churning away with nothing to focus on. So you start looking for _other_ forms of stimulation.'

She says _other_ like it could mean anything from drug running to masterminding a multibillion heist on a city bank.

She smiles. She knows she's got me down to a T.

'So you no longer think I had anything to do with Liz and her mum's death, right?' I give my question hints of both doubt and hope.

She chuckles, shakes her head.

'I've got to admit, at first I was a bit suspicious. I thought, maybe, that it might have been a prank that had gone horribly wrong. Something that was supposed to do nothing more than scratch the car. Or shake everyone up a bit. I've seen the kids I've mentioned do worse, believe me. But when it came to the...well.'

I can tell she's wanting to avoid mentioning the accident. Just in case it reawakens bad memories I've managed to keep in check so far.

'The bus,' I say to help her out.

'Yeah, the _bus_ ; well, it was pretty obvious you had nothing to do with _that_. So it made me start to think, well, maybe I _had_ got you wrong.'

'Are you any closer to catching the woman who caused it?'

I'd seen on the news how the driver who'd held up the bus hadn't been a man, like we'd all first assumed. She'd escaped by reversing back through the people trying to block her way. She'd abandoned the car only a few miles away.

'We traced her through her car–'

'But she'd vanished, right? Along with her husband, her kids. Her parents and his parents too, according to some of the sites I've read. How can they all just disappear like that?'

'Truth is, they can't. They might be hiding out somewhere, but her youngest is terminally ill. She needs a regular supply of drugs just to keep going. They're going to have to give themselves up soon.'

'You're going the wrong way Brian.'

The cop in the passenger seat is pointing back the way we've come.

The driver's turned off the main road into a quiet side street. He's slowing down, squirming in his seat, unclipping his seat belt like he's uncomfortable.

'I just need to–'

Before the diver's finished speaking, there's a loud yet muffled bang.

The cop in the passenger seat violently jerks to one side. He strikes the door with a dull thump.

Blood spurts everywhere, spreading in a sudden thick splurge across the door window.

'Gerry!' the policewoman shrieks, leaping forward in her seat to try and help her injured friend. 'Brian, what's happened to Gerry?'

The driver whirls around, bringing up a gun and resting it on the seatback.

'Sorry Jane.'

The gun goes off again, this time with a deafening bang.

Jane's thrown back, the side of her body erupting. A fountain of flesh and blood splatters against the seat and rear window.

Brian swings the gun, aiming it at me.

'Out! Out now, or I'll shoot!'

Neither Jane nor Gerry are moving.

They're both dead.

My fumbling fingers slip on the handle, but I manage to wrench open the door.

I half clamber, half throw myself out. Something dull and heavy strikes me across my back. For a moment, I wonder if I've been shot.

Then I'm tumbling painfully across the ground.

The driver roars off, the open door swinging shut with a sharp clang.

*

# Chapter 9

I pick myself up.

I'm shaking. Wringing my hands.

What...what just happened there?

How do I explain this to anyone?

What do I say?

I look about me, seeing people standing at the windows of their homes. They're staring out blankly, like they're trying to figure out what all the noise was about.

Where do I go?

To school?

Should I start walking to school?

Should I cry out for help?

How _can_ they help me?

I'm not in any danger any more.

Wait? Wasn't I hit?

I feel my back, where I'd felt something hit me as I'd fallen from the car.

I'm half-expecting it to be wet with my blood. But it's dry. And there's no pain, even when I press hard against it.

But I could have sworn I'd been hit there by something. Like the driver had thrown something at me.

Looking back to where I'd fallen from the car before tumbling across the grass, I see something by the kerb edge.

A book. A large, black book.

Drawing closer, I realise it's a Bible. The pages are creased and squashed where it's fallen open on the ground.

What would the driver want to throw a Bible at me for?

Picking it up, I discover that one page has been deliberately folded back on itself a number of times. Unfolding it reveals a passage circled in red marker pen; John 21:11.

'Simon Peter went up, and drew the net to land, full of large fish, a hundred and fifty-three; and although there were so many, the net was not torn.'

The number 'a hundred and fifty-three' has also been circled.

One-hundred and fifty-three. I'd heard of Jesus and the fish, of course. But I'd never realised the Bible had referred to such a specific number.

Why has it been circled?

And why has it been circled in a Bible that has just been thrown at me? And right after I've witnessed such a horrific murder too?

*

No one's stepped outside of their house to see what's going on.

Even if they had heard the shots, they've probably put it down to nothing more than a car backfiring.

All they can see when they look out of the windows is me holding a Bible. Like I've been dropped off here to introduce them to the Good News of The Watch Tower.

I take out my mobile.

'Pat, where are you? Are you still on your way to school?'

He is; he's almost there.

'Look, can you get the cops with you to come and pick me up at–' I look for the road sign at the end of the street – 'Mayhew Drive?'

He wants to know what I'm doing there. Asks why I'm not already on my way to school.

'I'll explain when you get here; well, I'll explain as best as I can.'

*

No one can explain why the cop shot his friends.

He'd worked with them both for ages.

He'd been a close friend of Gerry, a friend of Jane.

I handed the Bible that had been thrown at me to the cops. But they couldn't see how it could be connected to the murders.

'One-hundred and fifty-three? What's that got to do with it?' a detective had wondered out loud.

It wasn't long before they found the abandoned police car. The bodies of Jane and Gerry still strewn across the blood-splattered interior.

The gun had been left behind too. The fingerprints, the gunpowder residue, the calibre of the bullets and barrel; all these things beloved of murder mysteries weren't going to make much difference in pinpointing the murderer, were they?

Besides, Brian had vanished.

Vanished along with his wife, two kids, parents and in-laws.

I actually felt sorry for him when I heard that his boy was so ill he'd only been given a few more weeks to live.

*

# Chapter 10

Yahweh, the Hebrew name for God, occurs one-hundred and fifty-three times in the book of Genesis.

Archimedes referred to the number one-hundred and fifty-three as being 'The Measure of the Fish'.

It's amazing how quickly you can finds things out just by googling it.

Each month, the average American watches one-hundred and fifty-three hours of television.

Oh, and the chances of a DNA molecule forming by chance? Ten to the power of one-hundred and fifty-three.

Despite the mention of fish, the piece on Archimedes doesn't really seem to have anything to do with the Biblical passage.

It's one of his mathematical principles, in this case regarding the almond shape you get when two circles intersect. According to Archimedes, it's shaped like 'the bladder of a fish', or 'vesica piscis'.

The ratio of the height to the width is one-hundred and fifty-three to two-hundred and sixty-five, or the square root of three.

Yeah, I was getting a bit lost at this point too.

Where's it all leading me?

Nowhere, far as I can see.

*

Pat's had no more success than I have.

'It's all a bit mystical, this 'vesica piscis'. It's that oval shape you sometimes see around statues of Jesus on church fronts, like he's coming out of the overlapping of both the spiritual and material worlds. I can't see what it has to with those poor cops being killed.'

'Me neither, unless it's a wild goose chase we've been sent on.'

'Could be this Brian was religious and that particular passage interested him.'

'Could be. But then why throw the Bible at me if it was important to him?'

'Why throw it at you, full stop. Why kill his friends? We're never going to figure this out, Jaz.'

'Yeah, suppose you're right.'

He looks at me, narrowing his eyes in what could be either a quizzical or a concerned expression.

'You sure you're okay Jaz? I mean, after all that you've been through...'

He means why haven't I taken the opportunity to take a few more days off school.

Everyone expected me to. Most people _wanted_ me to.

As it is, they all stare at me like I'm about to bring the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse charging down on them at any moment.

To say I'm avoided like the plague is being unfair on plagues.

'What would I do if I wasn't coming into school? Hang around with my friends?'

Pat chuckles.

'Well you could do what most girls would do, I suppose; get your hair done, wander around – ouch!'

I give him a playful nudge to his gut.

'Sexist! Are you saying my hair needs doing?'

'Course not! I like it.'

His eyes wander over my hair, like he really does appreciate the way it looks.

'Come on Pat! I try my best, sure. But I know I'm seen by all the boys as being just a little bit geeky!'

'Geeky? No, no, not at all. When you were younger, maybe. When you were just a bit goofy and – ouch!'

I scowl. He laughs, letting me know he was winding me up.

'You've changed, changed a lot since then Jaz!'

'What, me a swan? Oh, go on!'

Yeah, like 'go on' with all this flattery please!

Sure, I'm acting all nonchalant, all coy. But hell yes I'm pleased.

Any guy says that to you, it's the same effect as a couple of Prozacs. But coming from Pat, for me that's like three in a line.

(Not that I'm actually advocating taking them, understand? It's just an expression, a figure of speech. Which, I suppose, is where we came in, right?)

As we've talked, we've been getting closer.

I'm looking up at him.

He's looking down at me.

His face close to mine.

Closer.

Our lips almost touching.

My lips opening slightly, moistening.

And then the bell for class goes off.

*

School isn't exactly back to normal, but it's making headway in that direction.

The classes have been changed around, intermingled. Just so we don't have empty desks, reminding us that some of our friends are no longer with us.

Not that you don't notice they're not there, of course. But a series of empty desks, that would be too much for anybody to bear.

Kids openly weep in the corridors. Some can't stop bursting into tears in class.

Everyone's understanding, including the teachers.

Naturally, those who survived the crash tend to be the worst.

They're still suffering from shock.

Shaking. Wide-eyed. Ashen.

Many of them are still at home, unable to attend school.

The level crossing has been transformed into a shrine, bouquets of flowers everywhere.

Kids congregate around it when school has finished. Some even walk out there at lunch time.

They gather in groups, consoling each other. Remembering happier times. Times when we were all together.

Me, I'm not a part of all this.

I'm not allowed to be.

I'm still regarded as being somehow responsible for their deaths.

Like I led them out there that day on purpose. Like I arranged the stalling of the bus, the arrival of the goods train.

Like I knew what was coming. And that's how I managed to be saved.

It hurts, hurts to be thought of in this way. Hurts to be excluded from the sharing of suffering and the remembering of better times.

I miss those kids too.

I'm horrified by the way they lost their lives.

But if I have to deal with this hurt without the help of the other kids, then I will.

My mum and dad and Pat are all the help I need.

No, I'm not hard-hearted.

I'm just...resilient.

*

Science is one of the easier classes.

Well, what passes for science these days, anyway.

You know the answers they want. I used to put up arguments against certain points, but was rewarded for my insights by fails and low marks.

Today there's no chance of any form of discussion. The questions come with the answers, a, b or c.

You could get a pass by flipping a coin a couple of times. A fail by pointing out it's a much more complex area than they're making out.

Still, it gives me chance to quickly flip through my paper, then make out I'm conducting a bit of research on one of the room's computers.

I really want to find out if there's any progress on the murders of Jane and Gerry. And if there's any possible link between them and the number one-hundred and fifty-three.

Thankfully, all the reports on the murders that come up are still withholding my name. Each time, it simply refers to an unnamed student who was a witness.

One of the shots of the abandoned car doesn't look right. Then I realise why; it's not the police car. It's the car the woman abandoned.

I wonder; did they find a Bible in the back of her car?

I google it, but nothing comes up.

Even when a report mentions what had been left inside the car, it's only to say there weren't any clues pointing to why she might have caused the accident. Or why she'd fled with her entire family.

Wait; it says that a printed sheet had been left on the back seat.

It says a passage had been printed off on it.

But it doesn't say what that passage was.

Could it be the Biblical passage about the fishes?

It takes a while before I find a site that highlights the passage's content. After all that, it's disappointment.

It's not Biblical; it's a passage taken from a scientific report.

'Atomic frequency comb memory with spin-wave storage in 153Eu3 +:Y2SiO5 is a very attractive candidate for a long-lived, multimode quantum memory due to the long spin coherence time.'

Wow. Straight over my head that one. And I flatter myself that I'm intelligent?

What was this doing in the back of her car? From what I'd read of her so far, she didn't have any scientific background. And neither did her husband.

She was a social worker. He, ironically, was a teacher. But he'd taught art.

Wait!

One-hundred and fifty-three.

It's right there, in the formula!

153Eu3.

But what does it mean?

Does it help me?

No.

I'm just more confused than ever.

*

While I'm trying to work all this out, alarm bells ring.

No, I mean they really _do_ ring.

The fire alarm.

Miss Furrier remains calm.

'Now, I want you all to leave your things and...'

I'm not sure anyone is listening.

They're all looking at me.

Even Miss Furrier is looking at me.

Everyone is looking at me with fear and hatred in their eyes.

*

# Chapter 11

How can I be held responsible for a fire?

I didn't start it.

I've been here all along.

Do all these people really think I'm somehow bringing all this bad luck down on them?

They're not saying. They're all filing out in good order. Joining the other smoothly, swiftly moving columns out in the corridor.

It's all well organised. There's hardly any panic. What there is comes from individuals who are soon calmed or taken under the wing of a teacher.

Pat!

Pat always skips his class at this time.

History. He's had enough, he says, of trying to empathise with being a Tudor servant or Victorian workhouse inmate. Or writing about an important event as if he's a modern-day journalist.

He heads off down to the cellars instead, where he's discovered a quiet spot where he can listen to his iPod and browse the web on his phone. No one misses him; he's been doing it since the start of the year, so everyone assumes he's in a different class.

As our own little column worms its way amongst all the others towards the exit door, I drop away from it. I mingle amongst a more confused grouping where the lines aren't quite so distinct.

As my class safely files its way out of the door, I slip into one of the side rooms used by the school's maintenance staff. As I'd hoped, there's another door, one leading back into the rapidly emptying school.

Keeping a careful eye out for any malingerers, I make my way to the stairwell leading down into the cellars.

I can already smell smoke.

This isn't any drill.

This is a _real_ fire.

*

Even down in the cellars, you can still hear the urgently ringing alarm.

Pat, though, is merrily shaking his head to some happy beat emanating from his headphones.

He smiles in surprise as he sees me approaching. He slips off his headphones.

The smile immediately disappears, replaced with a worried frown.

'Is that the fire alarm?'

I nod.

'Yeah; it's no drill either.'

He sniffs the air.

'Smoke! Where is it? Where's the fire?'

'I don't know. But we'd better get out quick. Everyone else has already left, I reckon, so–'

I both jump and instinctively duck as something nearby cracks loudly. Thick, black clouds of smoke rush towards us, like they've just been released from confinement.

'Over there! Look!'

Pat points off towards the rear of the cellar. Even through the increasingly thick smoke, I can see the flickering orange and red glow of leaping flames.

I grab hold of Pat's hand.

'Quick! We have to get out of here!'

*

# Chapter 12

The smoke swells and undulates around us as if it's alive.

It's hard to see where we're heading. The smoke makes everything indistinct. Our eyes are weeping, stinging.

We're choking, gasping for air. Even though we've got our faces covered with our hands.

We know we're supposed to get to the floor, where the air will be clearer, more breathable. But if we did, we'd be dead anyway. The flames are moving rapidly, rushing towards us like we're in a race.

A race to the death.

Behind us, everything the flames touch cracks, explodes. Becomes yet another part of the hungry, ever-growing fire.

We can feel the heat on our backs. Our necks burn hotter and hotter as the flames advance.

'Where are we? I can't see where we're going anymore!' Pat splutters. He gasps, he weeps.

We're going nowhere, I realise.

We're losing the race.

*

We keep on running, agonisingly barging into things in our way that we don't see even as we knock them aside.

Ahead of us now, it looks like there might be a door.

Perhaps even the door to the stairwell.

There's a light there, glinting at us now and again through the swirling smoke.

Suddenly, like a cat that had been toying with us, the flames erupt out of nowhere with a whoosh right by the door.

They surge upwards, crackling and spitting against the ceiling.

Charred timbers and beams crash down, the flames hungrily licking along their lengths.

A wave of dust, soot and smoke sweeps towards us, enveloping us, shrouding us in its thick cloak.

We cough, choke, gag, unable to prevent the cloud's poisonous breath flooding into our lungs.

'Jaz, I can't...can't...'

Pat's hand slips from mine.

He crumples to the floor.

'Pat!'

I bend down towards him, lie with him. Hold his unconscious body close.

I've brought Death down on us all once more.

And this time, I'll be his victim too.

*

# Chapter 13

I'm no longer choking, gasping for air.

I'm breathing naturally, easily.

Am I dead?

I touch my chest, almost expecting my hand to pass through it as if I'm already a ghost.

I look about me.

The fire is still raging around us, still feeding hungrily off the cellar and its contents.

But I can't feel its heat.

The booming and cracking is subdued, like I'm hearing it through water.

As I rise to my knees, I'm almost expecting to see myself leaving my body behind, my soul floating upwards to hover above it.

I look down at Pat. He's still unconscious.

I _hope_ he's unconscious.

I hope he isn't dead. Hope he hasn't breathed in too much of the toxic fumes.

'Pat! Pat, wake up!' I shake him gently. 'Something odd's happening!'

'He's still alive.'

I whirl around, wondering who's spoken.

'What? Who said that?'

'I did.'

The hazy, unclear silhouette of a man appears amongst the surrounding fire and smoke. The harsh, dancing light of the flames gives him an unearthly glow.

He approaches calmly, languidly, untouched by either the flames or the falling timbers.

It's not the fire that makes him glow. He shimmers with his own light.

A glorious, luminous white.

It's the angel.

*

# Chapter 14

The angel smiles.

Smiles as you'd expect an angel to smile; beatifically.

'Who...who are you?'

'You would have died. I had no choice but to reveal myself.'

'Died?'

'So it is written in this world.'

'And Pat? Is...is he...?'

'He has passed out, that's all. The smoke. It's for the best; he shouldn't see me. I would have preferred that you didn't see me either. But one of you needs to be conscious to make the final part of your journey.'

Pat's prone body rises up from the floor, hovering above the ground like some elaborate magician's trick.

'Journey?'

Does he mean...as in our _final_ journey?

He smiles, even chuckles.

'Your journey to safety, of course! Obviously, I can't be seen taking you both outside.'

'What of the other children? Can they be saved too?'

'They are already saved. None have died.'

It might seem strange calmly conversing like this while the fire surges and ebbs around us.

But the angel's glow has expanded into a glimmering ball of white light. It holds back the flames as if they're taking place in another dimension, incapable of touching or harming us.

We've already started moving towards the door. It falls away on its hinges.

We unhurriedly mount the steps, Pat's sleeping body remaining perfectly horizontal.

'Who are...are you?' I realise he still hasn't answered my first question. 'Why do you keep on rescuing me?'

_Is_ he an angel?

It's impossible to tell if he has wings or not. The shimmering light suffusing his body is so intense that it's painful to study him closely for too long. I can only stare directly into his face, the light sparkling around the edges of my vision.

'As I have already explained, I'm someone granted no choice but to reveal myself to you, because you continue to endanger yourself. To reveal myself is bad enough; to explain more is worse.'

'But why _me_? Why rescue me, but not the others?'

'I've rescued your friend – twice.'

'But not the others.'

'No other children have been harmed today.'

'But what about the bus? Why didn't you help them?'

'I cannot help everyone. That is not the task set me.'

'Task?'

'To help bring the Truth to those who live in lies. But I have told you enough, I believe.'

We've already passed into the corridors lying beyond the doors at the top of the stairs.

The fire still rages here, but not as strongly as it does downstairs. Even so, it would be impossible to walk through this spitting, snarling inferno if it weren't for the protective ball of light.

'How am I a part of your task? And Pat? How do we fit into this task of bringing truth to everyone?'

'At first, your friend aids your development.'

_'My_ development? I _still_ don't understand!'

'You provide us with the Book.'

'Book? What book? I honestly don't know of any book you might mean!'

'I am forbidden from telling you more of the Book. You have to discover the Book for yourself, for all things to be as they should be.'

'How can I find it if I don't know what I'm looking for?'

'You will know. You will find it.'

'Can't you at least tell me what _type_ of book it is?'

'So many questions! That's good, yes that's good!'

We've reached a corridor that doesn't lead anywhere except towards other rooms leading off from its sides. A blank wall blocks its end.

There's no immediate route outside.

The angel sees the disappointment on my face.

'Firemen are already entering via the doors. This will be your way out.'

With the simple raising of an arm, he causes the end wall blocking our exit to explode outwards. In the same move, he extinguishes the flames nearest to us.

The ball of light rushes back into him, increasing the intensity of his own glow.

'You can make your own way from here, I believe.'

Slowly, Pat drops to the floor alongside me.

'If you cannot manage with your friend,' the angel continues, 'you will have time to alert your friends outside. There will also be time to send someone back in here to aid him before the fire regains its strength.'

He gives me the beatific smile again. He begins to back away from me, to shimmer like sparkling water.

He's preparing to leave, to vanish as he did last time.

'Wait! What does one-hundred and fifty-three mean?'

Why I'm asking him this I don't know.

Perhaps because I'm taking it for granted that angels must to be all-knowing.

Perhaps because I'm desperate and can't think of any other way to arrive at an answer.

I'm rewarded for my urgent curiosity with the beatific smile once more.

'Blessed are the first one-hundred and fifty-three. For they are the very first Jasmines, who will spread their branches, take root, and suffuse the world in the glorious scent of Truth.'

_'Jasmines_? But there's only _one_ of me!'

'So there is; for now.'

'An angel? Are you an angel?'

Pat speaks groggily as, still dazed, he regains consciousness.

'Ahhh.'

The angel sighs as if both disappointed and wryly amused.

Then, in a sudden, violent twinkling of white light, he vanishes.

*

# Chapter 15

The damage to the school wasn't anywhere near as bad as everyone had originally feared it would be.

It was thankfully confined to a relatively small section too.

And, of course, there wasn't a single loss of life.

No one knows how the fire was started yet.

No one suspects me.

Well, no one suspects that I _physically_ started the fire. I was in class when the alarm was raised.

Even so, every pupil, every teacher, eyes me suspiciously.

Like I'm working in collusion with Death himself.

Like I brought all this bad luck down on them all.

Sure, I was the one that almost died this time.

Yet I'd survived, hadn't I?

Miraculously too.

The way the fire had oh-so conveniently blasted a hole in an otherwise solid wall, enabling me to escape.

The way I'd managed to drag an unconscious Pat through a blazing inferno. Without either of us even suffering a singed hair.

Yeah, it's hard to explain, isn't it?

*

Me and Pat, we should have got our stories straight before we'd talked to anyone.

We didn't have to admit that Pat had been unconscious, the smoke he'd inhaled knocking him out.

(Thankfully, he hadn't breathed in too much; he's been given the all clear.)

But we didn't have time to rehearse our stories.

Even as we'd been dragged clear of the fire, even amongst the exhilarated, grateful thanks that we were alive, there had also been the recriminations.

Why had we gone off like that, rather than keeping in line like we were supposed to?

Didn't we think that everyone would be worried?

Didn't we realise the danger we were putting the fire crew in, or anyone else who might have come searching for us?

Didn't we know how lucky we'd been that no one had been injured or killed?

Didn't we know that the chances of a fire blowing a hole in a wall without causing a terrifying backdraft – a sudden surge of oxygen causing the flames to explode in an almost sun-like intensity – were, as a fire officer put it, 'beyond all reasonable belief.'

If it hadn't been for that incredible stroke of luck, he'd added, we'd probably both be dead.

Only Pat and I know better, of course.

It wasn't luck.

It was the angel.

*

Even though we hadn't co-ordinated our stories, both Pat and I had enough sense to stay clear of mentioning the angel to anyone.

Besides, at first Pat hadn't been wholly sure what he'd seen.

It could have been nothing more than some form of mirage. Something conjured up by his dazed state.

'It couldn't have been an angel,' he said to me afterwards.

'What else could it be?' I ask. 'We were trapped down there, remember? How do you think we got out?'

'I dunno,' he admits, shaking his head in bewilderment. 'Some sort of International Rescue?'

'Yeah, like _they_ exist, right?'

He smiles, shrugs. A shrug that says, Yeah, okay, you got me!

'There was something odd about him.'

'Odd? Something _odd_ about an _angel_?'

'No, no; I mean the humming. Didn't you hear the humming?'

I'm just about to point out that the humming was probably nothing more than a buzzing in his ears caused by his fainting when I realise he's right; there _had_ been a constant humming hanging around us.

A relaxing, _musical_ humming.

'Like a chanting you mean?'

'That's right; like monks. You know the way they chant?'

'Suppose that makes sense; monks, angels. Go together like a horse and carriage, don't they?'

Pat grimaces doubtfully, rubbing his neck like he's perplexed.

'Yeah; or like angels and people who aren't quite right in their heads go together.'

*

The school's closed once again.

'To give everyone a chance to come to terms with what could have been another tragedy,' as Miss Pollitt explained it to the newspapers.

You'd think that I'd at least get some thanks for this, if everyone seriously believes I'm working hand in hand with Death.

But no.

No one calls round, except Pat.

No one makes out they even recognise me when I'm out on the streets.

They all shy away from me. Like even being close to me is an invitation to Death to come calling.

Jeezus.

As I've got nothing better to do, I settle down at my laptop with the intention of working out the meaning behind the number one-hundred and fifty-three.

Even the answer provided by the angel had been less than helpful.

I mean, 'Blessed are the first one-hundred and fifty-three'?

And all that about _Jasmines_?

What _was_ all that about?

Looking at the rough notes I've made on the passage containing the scientific formulae, one-hundred and fifty-three could have anything to do with frequency, memory or quantum mechanics.

Or perhaps none of them at all.

There doesn't seem to be any obvious links to the notes I made after finding the highlighted Biblical passage; the Measure of the Fish, the 'vesica piscis', the ratio of one-hundred and fifty-three to two-hundred and sixty-five.

The thing is, no matter how weird the angel's answer was, at least it demonstrated a connection between him and the number one-hundred and fifty-three.

There was also that strange, Gregorian-chant like humming, which I suppose also gives us a link to _frequency_.

And a _ratio_ is linked to harmonies, right?

It's not much to go on; but it's all I've got.

Frequency is measured in Hertzs, so I google '153hz'.

Nothing.

Well, nothing that seems immediately relevant to whatever it is I'm searching for anyway.

Though as I don't really know what I'm searching for, that makes it pretty difficult to know what I should be looking for, doesn't it?

So, what about the second part of that ratio, 153: 265?

I google '265hz'.

Ah! There's something about 'Music of the Spheres'; and didn't Pat say that the 'vesica piscis' is created by the overlapping of the physical and spiritual worlds?

When I click on the link, however, it seems to be another dead end; one of those situations where the web search has become curiously confused, because the frequency referred to here is 2 _56_ Hz, not 2 _65_ Hz.

Back on the google page, there's a link entitled 'Honeybee Neurobiology and behaviour.'

Bee's apparently respond to vibrations of 265 Hz. It's interesting, but I can't see any relevance.

When you double a ratio, it's still the same. So instead of 153: 265, that gives me 303:530.

'303hz' brings up 'Chakra Balance', which seems promising until I click on the link and discover it's a music album.

'530hz' gives me 'Neutron star with spin frequency of 530 Hz'. That might be a good lead if it ever turns out I'm dealing with an alien invasion here.

They're all dead ends, as far as I can see.

Am I trying to complicate things here?

Is the frequency I'm looking for just a part of a musical scale, one linked with the angelic humming?

I try 'music scale'.

Wikipedia comes up with a list of scales; different cultures, different types of music, different periods.

Great. I could be here all day searching through that lot.

I need something more focused.

We're talking angels here, right?

I add the word _mystical_ and google 'mystical music scale'.

There's a link to Chakra again, this time the actual types of chants. But when I click through, I can't see how they could be of any use to me.

Damn.

Wait; how about ' _angelic_ music scale'?

Is there such a thing?

Probably not, but I might as well – well, whaddya know?

Second down on the list; 'Solfeggio System – Sounds of Wonder.' And in the passage just beneath, there's a listing of frequencies.

I click through.

Oh no!

It's just another list of links!

Lots of them!

It could be any one of them that I need!

Or none of them!

But wait a minute: 'DNA and Solfeggio.'

Didn't the number one-hundred and fifty-three have a connection with DNA?

Oh yeah; it was the chances of a DNA molecule forming. Ten to the power of one-hundred and fifty-three.

Come to think of it, DNA is also the perfect form of _memory_ storage, isn't it?

What the heck; I click on the link.

A pdf starts loading up.

Oh oh; _too_ much info!

Where do I _start_?

I start by quickly scrolling through it, hoping something catches my eye – and yes, thankfully it does!

A chart of some kind, containing frequency figures.

Across the top, there's a number of different music scales once again.

Down the side, there's a list of a variety of things linked to or affected by the scales and their frequencies.

One of these is DNA. I run my finger along the row.

Two frequencies immediately next to each other grab my eye; 528 Hz and 531 Hz. That's just either side of 530 Hz.

I run my finger up the columns to the scales listed above.

528 Hz is in the _Earthly_ Scale. 531 Hz is in the _Divine_ Scale.

That's it!

530 Hz lies between the intersecting physical and spiritual worlds, the earthly and the divine!

Which means...

Nothing, actually.

But it's the nearest I've got to an answer so far.

Okay, one last try.

So, if we're talking of an _Earthly_ Scale, what happens if I google 'Dna 528hz'?

Oh my...

'Can 528 Hz frequency heal your DNA?'

And it's just about a whole page of links like that!

Even more amazingly, we're talking real scientists here too, rather than pseudo-scientists and crackpots.

That's got to be it, the link I've been searching for, hasn't it?

Or has it?

Wasn't I really trying to find out how one-hundred and fifty-three was connected to the _deaths_ , the _murders_?

How is healthy DNA connected to someone being killed?

Eradicating _faulty_ DNA?

*

# Chapter 16

As a reason for murdering someone, eradicating faulty DNA doesn't really make much sense.

Even so, I try and find what I can about each police officer's medical history.

Sure, I realise I'm not going to come across their medical records. But I might be able to find the odd reference to any illness they might have suffered in the various newspaper articles featuring interviews with their relatives.

There's a surprising amount of information about them

Jane in particular comes across as a really genuine, take-me-as-you-find-me-because-I'm-great sort of person.

Like she hinted to me, she was the bright kid at school who went off the rails for a while. Because she didn't feel she was being challenged.

She got herself back in order. Saw it as her purpose in life to help other kids who might permanently go astray if there's no one around to put them straight.

If Jane were still around, you know what? I could have really liked her.

Provided, that is, I'd actually _got_ to know her.

And, truth is, I've only started to get to know her because she's no longer around.

Because she's dead.

Odd that, don't you think?

We only know so much about these people now because they're no longer alive.

If they'd still been around, the newspapers wouldn't have seen it as their role to find out so much about them, would they?

And we wouldn't have wanted to waste our time reading it even if they had, would we?

Even amongst everything I can now find out about Jane and Gerry, though, I can't find anything close to what I'm looking for: any indication of illness, of problems, either physical or mental; any sign that could be interpreted as even a hint that faulty genes might be involved.

They both seem to have been reasonably healthy.

Gerry was struggling to keep his weight down. But if someone's got a master-plan to go around killing people like that, we're in real trouble, aren't we?

Ironically, any mention of illness in the articles isn't linked to the victims but to the accused.

PC Brian's son was terminally ill. As was the youngest daughter of Erin Walters, the woman who'd held up the school bus on the level crossing.

You could say _that_ involves faulty genes.

But _they_ weren't the ones who were killed.

They're the ones who are still missing.

So even after all this hard work, I'm not sure I'm really getting anywhere.

I'm tempted to give up. Pat's the music expert; I'll have to get him involved.

Me, I need a rest.

Well, just after a little more research into DNA anyway.

I mean, it's really interesting, isn't it? Like the fact that less than ten percent of your DNA actually carries the genetic code. And the rest of it is all just junk.

Bit like my research so far, basically.

Only that's one-hundred and fifty-three percent junk.

*

'You might be on to something.'

Pat's surprisingly reassuring when I speak to him on my mobile, telling him everything I've found out so far.

'The Solfeggio was the scale used in Gregorian chants,' he continues. 'We use a different scale in modern music.'

'Wow, really? How did you know that?'

'Same way you find out your facts; I just googled it while you were speaking.'

'Does that help us in any way?'

'Well, all that chanting, it was a way of reaching up to God, wasn't it? Contacting his angels, that sort of thing.'

'But what's that got to do with the murders?'

'Ask him.'

'Ask who? Brian? They've all vanished.'

'No, not _him_! I mean your guardian angel; ask _him_!'

'What, ask him out for a coffee at X-Presso you mean, so we can have a nice chat?'

'You could try a Gregorian chant or two,' he replies, breaking into song: 'Why we...re they murrrr...durrrr...edddd.'

'That's pretty sick, you know that Pat?'

'Tonally, it was perfect.'

'Tonally, it was lacking in taste.'

'Look, he's _your_ guardian angel; can't you threaten to throw yourself off a bridge or something? Won't he show up then?'

'And if he doesn't?'

'I could write a song about it. It could be a Country and Western hit.'

'I'm not going to risk my life just to–'

BLLLLLAAAAAARRRRRRR!

A car horn!

I whirl around.

No; a _bus_ horn.

And I've stepped out into the road right in front of it!

*

I'm frozen.

I can't move.

With a screech of brakes, the bus strikes me brutally.

I know it does – it's far too close for me to avoid, even if I could move.

It's far too close for the driver to swerve to one side.

Besides, I know it hits me because I feel the intense pressure on my body as God-knows how many tons of metal strike me head on.

*

# Chapter 17

I'm shrouded in mottled light.

A mix of wavering, intermingling dark shade and bright light.

Am I dead?

No; I'm standing in the thick cover of a copse of large bushes and small trees off to the side of the road.

Through the overhanging branches and leaves, I can see the bus continuing on its way.

But I can smell the burning rubber of urgently braked tyres.

Horns are blaring. Drivers are shouting angrily. Like they can't understand why the bus suddenly screeched to a halt like that.

What's going through the bus driver's mind? Did I suddenly vanish?

Does _he_ wonder why he suddenly braked like that?

Whatever he's thinking, he's moving again.

'Thankfully, even those who saw anything are confused; they're telling themselves they must have imagined that a stupid girl was standing out in the road.'

It's the angel. He's alongside me.

'Jaz, Jaz! What's happening? I heard a horn, a screech!'

Pat's voice is muted, squeaky, anxious. My mobile's still on.

I lift it up to my ear.

'Pat? I'll speak to you later. Something urgent's just come up; sorry.'

I turn towards the angel.

'You can do that? Make everyone think they imagined it?'

'Everything happened so quickly, no one's really sure what they saw. That's the nature of accidents, yes?' He looks at me with the nearest I've seen so far to an admonishing expression. 'I presume it _was_ an accident? You realise it isn't right to test me in this way?'

'Test? What do you mean, test?'

'Did you deliberately put yourself in harm's way? Unnecessarily putting yourself in danger?'

'Of course I didn't! I wasn't even sure you'd show up if I did! How did you do it anyway? Rescue me, I mean. I'm sure I felt the bus hit me.'

'You felt the bus striking the protective shield I cast around you. If the _bus_ had struck you, it would have been a far more brutal result, I assure you.'

'Why? Why do you keep on rescuing me?'

'As I have explained, you are destined to provide us with the Book. The Book that contains all knowledge.'

He tips his head back slightly, closes his eyes, like he's concentrating, slipping into a trance.

'Yes, yes; I sense that you have _already_ circulated the Book! Good, good!'

'Circulated it? I haven't even _found_ it yet! I don't even know what it is!'

'And yet you have recognised it, and you have set in motion its circulation.'

It's the benevolent smile again. It's creepy, but it's better than the admonishing glare.

Then, like Alice in Wonderland's beaming Cheshire cat, he vanishes once again.

*

'Have you ever thought of writing a book?' Pat asks me as we walk towards his house. 'I mean, _any_ type of book?'

'He's says it's already out there; already circulating.'

'Circulating around in your head maybe?'

'Well, I _have_ always wondered if, using something like mathematical game theory, I could write a book covering just about everything; you now, giving advice on how to approach any situation you might face.'

'Wow, mathematical game theory; nothing ambitious then, eh?'

'It's crazy, I know; but you'd be surprised how it's been used to predict how people will probably behave when faced with a problem.'

'So, to find out if I'll finally get a date with the girl of my dreams, I just have to call my looks Y, her looks X, and how much money I've got Z, right? Takes the romance out of it all, though, doesn't it?'

'There's definitely a formula that predicts when I finally get around to hitting you for being such a smart ass!'

He chuckles.

'So this is the book you're thinking of writing? A book of formulas?'

'No way! Who do you think I am? Einstein? I said it _might_ be possible. But really, it would have to be a whole lot simpler than a mass of formulae if there's any hope of anyone using it!'

'But this _might_ be the book they're after, might it? A book providing answers to _any_ problem you might face–'

'A _theoretical_ book I've actually got no chance whatsoever of completing!'

'The Book of Jasmine; it has a certain ring to it, don't you think?'

'Sounds a bit pretentious! Like it's some kind of mystical book!'

'But isn't that exactly what an angel would be wanting? A _mystical_ book?'

'A book that's not even written.'

'One that's _circulating_ in your head.'

A young girl is heading our way.

I can't help but notice her as, far from crossing the road to avoid us, she's actually smiling at me.

Jodie. Or is it Jolie? She's from our school anyway. So she should be _definitely_ making sure our paths don't cross.

'Hi Jaz, Pat,' she cries out happily.

'Hi,' we reply.

'Gariel sent me,' she says, drawing closer.

'Gariel?'

'You know, Jaz: the man you probably think is an angel.'

*

# Chapter 18

'You've met him? You've met the angel?'

'He saved my life; like he saved yours.'

'When? When did he save your life?'

'When Mary died. I would have died too, if Gariel hadn't saved me.'

'How do you know his name's Gariel? What do you mean, when Mary died?'

This is crazy! I don't know which of the questions I've got flowing around my head to ask her first.

'Why did he save you? No, no sorry; I'm asking you too many questions aren't I?'

She giggles.

I still haven't asked her for _her_ name!

That will have to wait.

'Okay, okay,' I say, trying to slow my own whirling mind down. 'Mary first, right? Do you mean you were there when Mary died?'

She nods.

'She was pulling me. That's why we both ended up out in the road.'

'What was she pulling you for?'

'Because she was Mary. She was always hitting me, teasing me. She said she was going to throw me in front of the next car. Laughing, like it was a joke. When the car came, I didn't think she really meant to do it; but she did.'

'But she stumbled, ending up falling in front of it instead of you?' Pat frowns as he tries to guess what might have happened.

'More or less,' Jodie/Jolie agrees. 'Although she also took me with her. We would both have died if Gariel hadn't saved me.'

'Probably how he saved me,' I say, looking at Pat. 'But why _you_ Jodie? Why did he save you?'

'Jolie,' she says with a wide smile, correcting me. 'And he saved me because he said I was destined to be one of the first Blessed Jasmines – and that you would let me know more about that when the time was right!'

*

Jolie hadn't mentioned to anyone that she had been present at Mary's death.

'Who'd believe me? You know, when I said I would've died too if an angel hadn't rescued me? I knew I'd just get into trouble. Someone would start saying I must've somehow made Mary end up in the road.'

'Why didn't he save Mary if he was there? It wouldn't have been too hard, would it?'

I say it out loud, but I'm not really expecting Jolie to have an answer.

'I asked him that. He said it was her time.'

'Her time?' Pat repeats. 'As in her time to die?'

Jolie nods, her eyes bright.

'It has to be as it was written, Gariel said; or something like that.'

'And how do know his name.'

'I asked him,' she says innocently.

I never thought of asking him his name. It seemed a bit impolite somehow, a bit silly, asking an angel if he has a name.

'Did he tell you anything else before he left you?' Pat asks.

'He didn't tell me his name the first time. I asked him his name the second time he came to me.'

'He came to you again? He had to rescue you once more?'

'No, not _rescue_ me!' She says it like she's having to answer a ridiculous question. 'He came to me to say you would need my help.'

'When? When did he visit you? And how are you supposed to help us?'

'Just an hour ago. He said I'd soon know how I could help you. He said that you would let–'

'I would let you know, right?'

She nods ferociously, her eyes sparkling with eagerness.

'Thing is Jolie, I'm afraid I haven't got the faintest idea what I'm supposed to be doing. So I don't know how you're supposed to help me!'

Jolie looks a little hurt by my frustrated outburst.

'Sorry Jolie, sorry! I'm not angry at you, honest! I'm just...just so exasperated because I don't know what the heck I'm supposed to do for him! I don't even know what these Blessed Jasmines are that he says you're going to be!'

'One of the first one-hundred and fifty-three, Gariel said!'

Her whole face lights up.

'You _sure_ you didn't _ask_ the angel what he meant?' I say.

'Angel,' Jolie giggles. 'I thought he was an angel too!'

_'Thought_ he was an angel? Meaning what exactly? That he _isn't_ an angel?'

She both nods and shakes her head, like she's unsure what the correct response to my various questions should be. She laughs.

'How do you know he's not an angel?' I say.

'I asked him.'

'Figures. And he said – what?'

'He laughed. He said he wouldn't want me thinking that he was an angel; he said it might cause complications.'

'Complications? How would thinking he's an angel cause complications?' Pat voices the question that was on the tip of my own tongue.

'And if he's not an angel, how does he happen to have all these powers?' I say, wondering if we've just been presented with yet another mystery to solve.

'I asked him that,' Jolie says. 'He said that if I could travel back to, say, Elizabethan times, wouldn't the technology I carried with me seem like magic to them?'

'He's from the future?' Pat's enthralled, amazed. 'Is that what you mean?'

'Oh, I didn't ask him that.'

'Is that possible?' Pat now looks bewildered. 'To travel back into the past from the future? Isn't that impossible?'

'A few days ago,' I say, 'I would have thought being saved from an oncoming bus would have been impossible.'

*

# Chapter 19

'No, no; it still doesn't make sense,' Pat insists as we sit down around his computer. 'There's all that thing about travelling back into the past being impossible! If you killed an ancestor, you wouldn't exist. And so you wouldn't be around to go back and kill him.'

'So don't kill your ancestor,' I say smugly, even though I know what Pat means and I agree with him.

Jolie chuckles.

Pat purses his lips, like he's not quite sure if I'm joking or not.

'Jaz, you're bright enough to know that paradox applies to any small change you might make. Over the years, the knock on effects become so huge that the time you came from has changed. Chances are, even if you're around, _you_ wouldn't be involved in any time travel project, even if it is up and running.'

I nod.

Jolie nods. She understands too.

'So, is he an alien then?' I say. 'All these powers; that could make sense.'

'So now we're saying someone coming back from the future's impossible,' Jolie says, 'but an alien visiting us? Hey, why not? That's _real_ easy, isn't it?'

We all swap amused glances.

'Okay Pat,' I say, 'so what have you got to show me?'

Pat calls up on screen a few grabs he's saved.

'That scale you mentioned? The Solfeggio scale? It turns out that used to be the scale everyone used way back when all those monks were chanting their praises to God.'

Reaching for a tuning fork, he taps it on the edge of the table.

'That's an A above middle C,' Jolie says.

Pat's impressed.

'She's right. This is our, modern standard tuning fork. Vibrating at 440 cycles per second. And you know why that's unusual?'

I've no idea. Thankfully Jolie excitedly answers for me.

'It's only divisible by two rather than three; the frequency I mean. And all the other notes both above and below it are affected too.'

Pat's even more impressed.

'You like music, obviously.'

'Sure; I'd like to be a singer, in a band. But I love all those mystical, chanting tones too. They really seem to penetrate deep inside you, know what I mean?'

Pat nods.

'I do now, thanks to what we've been finding out.'

He points to the figures he's called up on the screen.

'This is the Solfeggio scale; UT, RE, MI, FA, SOL, LA. See this Jaz; MI? That's the 528 hertz we're so interested in. The MI–ra gestorum; that's Latin for _miracle_.'

He calls up another page, this time one of an intense close up of what looks like hexagonal crystals.

'The clustered water molecules forming the supportive matrix of healthy DNA,' Pat explains. 'And guess what frequency they vibrate at? 528 cycles per second, our "miracle" frequency.'

'If my geometry serves me correctly,' I add, 'you draw hexagons using intersecting circles. Which means the distance between parallel sides is our square root of three again.'

'So if these frequencies are so good for us,' Jolie says, having quickly latched on to where all this is leading, 'why did we change to our modern standard scale?'

'Well, funnily enough,' Pat answers, 'it seems the changeover was backed by both the Rockefeller Foundation and Hitler's Third Reich. And whatever you want to read into that, that's up to you.'

*

If this Gariel really is from the future, does that mean our futures are all neatly laid out for us?

How would we go about finding out what's waiting for us?

Could this be something to do with the book Gariel's expecting of me?

Is this what my Book of Jasmine's supposed to be about?

A way of predicting the problems lying ahead of us. A way of setting out the ways we should approach those problems, to lessen or even negate their effect?

Would it be possible to create such a book, utilising the discoveries we're making here?

Natural frequencies. Hexagons. DNA – perhaps linked in some way to something like the unique arrangement of chromosomes it's made up of?

Is this the book I'm supposed to write?

*

A relaxing, sonorous tone fills the room.

'This is MI,' Pat explains.

The continuous note is emanating from the speakers of Pat's computer.

He's got it turned up way loud, as his mum and dad are out and the nearest houses are either side of their large garden.

'It's like a mantra; like the humming of Tibetan monks.'

Jolie has her eyes closed, like she's meditating. She's beaming, happy.

'I think America's Indian tribes used to use something similar in their rituals,' she adds dreamily.

'Ah, I _knew_ Jolie would be of help to you!'

It's Gariel.

And he's standing right alongside us in Pat's room.

*

# Chapter 20

Within the confines of Pat's room, Gariel's glow seems more intense, more painful to the eyes, than ever.

We've all instinctively jumped out of our chairs. Pat immediately switches off the humming tone.

I could be wrong, but Gariel's glow seems to flicker and fade slightly. Even so, he's still shining, sparkling, as if he were made of nothing but vibrating light.

'Was it the tone? Did it call you?' I ask.

'Even a bee, through the flapping of its wings, creates an electromagnetic charge that dislodges the pollen it seeks. Even a spider's web can turn that same charge to its advantage, drawing the bee into its embrace. The queen of an ant colony transmits her building plans to her workers from far away; and when she dies, all work in the colony stops. If insects can do this, why not man?'

Wow. How comes Jolie gets straight answers to her questions but all I get is all this?

'The Schumann frequencies influence the weather, and those same frequencies are produced in our brains. Just like the animals, in earlier times we were connected to the group consciousness. You returned that understanding to us. Without relationships, we are nothing. With relationships, we are everything.'

_'I_ wrote that? You sure? It's all pretty deep and mystical for me! I'm not sure I even understand what you're saying.'

'I must not aid you more than is necessary.'

'I think I understand.' Jolie could be one of those kids who think they've seen the Virgin Mary, going by her ecstatic expression. 'If you can't relate to someone, they mean nothing to you, right?'

Gariel nods, smiles like he's waiting for her to continue.

Jolie closes her eyes, as if she's meditating again, as if she's drawing her inspiration from somewhere or something outside herself.

'But if you have a _strong_ relationship with someone, _they_ change _you_ , and _you_ change _them_. So it isn't the _physical_ body that's important, but the relationships flowing between us, linking us.'

She opens her eyes, gasps like she's just come up for air after being underwater too long.

She smiles ecstatically.

Her eyes shine.

When Gariel was talking, was I right when I heard him say 'in _our_ brains'? Which would mean, as Jolie said earlier, that he's a man, not an angel.

'Gariel – what are you? You're _not_ an angel, right?'

He bows his head slightly, demurely.

'I am a Prefect of The Perfection.'

'The Perfection?' Pat pulls a puzzled frown. 'Is that some kind of... what... religious cult or something?'

Gariel chuckles quietly.

'The Perfection is the religion of my time.'

'The future? You're from the future?'

He nods in answer to my question.

'So this book you're expecting me to produce; is it the Book of Jasmine?'

He laughs again.

'So much _more_ is expected of you, Jasmine! Yes, the Book of Jasmine is regarded by many as an admirable work; but it is not _the_ Book!'

'So that's at least two books expected of me. And I haven't written either one of them yet!'

'Should we say, you are _predicted_ to write it?'

He grins wryly at his own joke.

'Are you saying the future _can_ be predicted?

'For the many, yes; their future is already written. But you are not of the many. So you may alter it, and alter it too for the many. Your influence will be timeless, as my own presence demonstrates.'

'But all this is crazy! You're making me sound like some kind of god!'

'No no; not at all. But you showed us that we are _all_ God, in our way.'

'You're just making me more confused with all these riddles!'

'These are truths.'

He smiles.

He shimmers, vibrates.

He vanishes.

*

'Isn't all this something like that paradox you mentioned?' Jolie says before I can give Pat a high five for his work on the frequencies.

'The time paradox, you mean?' Pat asks.

Jolie nods, her face a picture of childish innocence. She's one of those girls who looks at least two years younger than she actually is, yet it's a face hiding an obviously sharp mind.

'If Jaz doesn't do what's expected of her, then Gariel wouldn't be who he is. So he wouldn't come back here, would he? Yet he said that Jaz's life isn't predetermined like everyone else's. But if she does what's expected of her, obviously it is.' She stares at us both, wide eyed. 'Does that make sense?'

'In the sense that you're saying it's confusing, yeah.' Pat nods in agreement.

'So, if I _don't_ do what's expected of me, he wouldn't be who is, so he wouldn't be here?'

Jolie looks as bright-eyed as the sweetest little deer you've ever seen as she nods away.

'Phew,' Pat sighs. 'We could all get a little bit lost in our thoughts here; but, as he _is_ here, then that means...'

He pauses, like he's trying to work it all out in his head before he goes any further. Or like he's already lost and confused.

'That he could be from a parallel world!'

As Jolie elatedly finishes his sentence for him, Pat's face lights up.

'Yes! Of course! That's how the time paradox has always been resolved! You can't go back in time within your _own_ past! But you _can_ slip over into the past of a parallel world!'

He slips back into his chair, starts typing urgently on the computer keyboard.

'I don't need to tell either of you what a parallel world is, right?'

'Right,' I say.

Every time a choice is offered to someone, every possible outcome takes place, each outcome creating a whole new, parallel world. Some of these worlds are almost like our own. Many diverged long ago, so that we would find them unrecognisable.

'Wow! Got it straight away!' Pat leans back and swings the screen around so we can get a clearer look.

'To get here, they'd have to use something like a wormhole – a warped area of space-time creating a tunnel, right? So I searched "wormhole" with what we've been working on; "frequencies".'

He points to the fifth item on the google page: 'Wormholes in Our DNA.'

The words beneath point to a further connection: 'The scientists also proved that using frequency can repair ... found out that our DNA can produce magnetized wormholes.'

'Looks promising,' I say. 'Click on it.'

Pat opens up the link.

As soon as I see the second paragraph, I know we're onto something.

'Oh, that's interesting,' I say, pointing out the passage.

Pat leans forward to read it.

'What? That most of our DNA is junk?' He sounds confused. 'That's not what we're after, is it?'

'No, sorry; I mean it's a bit of a coincidence. After I'd given up researching frequencies, I'd got side-tracked finding things out about DNA.'

I point to a particular line in the passage.

'See this bit about the so called junk actually following the same rules as language? That's right, I reckon; it doesn't say it here, but if you make a graph of how frequently certain words crop up – you know, words like "the" as opposed to words like "zebra" – every language comes out looking the same, following what's called Zipf's Law. And so do the alkalines of our DNA.'

Pat chuckles grimly.

'You're joking? You're saying there's a _message_ in there?

'Not _a_ message. You could write anything you wanted in there. It would make the Encyclopaedia Britannica look like a shopping list.'

'Wow!' Pat eyes me suspiciously. 'And you found all this out – and you weren't tempted to leave your _own_ little message?'

I blush.

'Well, I, er – look, no one will _ever_ believe it anyway Pat, okay?'

'You're going to get yourself in real trouble one day Jaz!'

'I wasn't stupid enough to put it under my own name, Pat! Let's just say that if anyone's upset, Harvard University has got an awful lot to answer for!'

'Getting back to our wormholes,' Jolie says, pointing out a passage lower down the screen, 'it looks like our DNA can also produce "tunnel connections between entirely different areas in the universe...outside of space and time": which I think is _exactly_ what we're looking for, isn't it?'

'Maybe; maybe not,' I say doubtfully.

I expect Jolie to look either hurt or crestfallen. Instead, she frowns thoughtfully, saying, 'You're wondering why Gariel would bother coming here, right?'

'Sure. I mean, all this DNA forming magnetised wormholes might give us an idea how Gariel gets here from this parallel world – which, let's remember, we've simply conjured up to try and make sense of what's going on. But if he's really from a parallel world, how would _anything_ I come up with affect him? I'd be affecting _this_ world, not _his_.'

'Can I smell burning?' Pat sniffs the air.

'Hey yeah, I think I can too!' Jolie says, looking about the room anxiously.

There's a fizzing, a sputtering noise.

'I think it's the computer–'

Suddenly, the whole room shudders violently.

The chairs jump.

The table rattles.

The computer leaps, slides across the table, goes blank.

We're bounced into the air, sent stumbling ungainly.

We're all shocked, clinging on to whatever we can grab nearest to us.

'Did something just hit the house?' Pat wonders.

Then the ceiling starts tumbling down around us.

*

The whole room is shaking once again.

'It's an earthquake!' Pat screams, even though he doesn't sound like he believes it himself.

We all rush for the door. It isn't easy; the floorboards beneath our feet are shuddering, warping, breaking free. We're sent rolling from side to side.

It's like the Fun House from Hell.

The table, chairs, computer and even the bed are leaping around like there's a whole army of poltergeists having fun in here.

As if we've suddenly been transported back to some Victorian ball, Pat stands aside at the doorway to allow us girls to dash out first.

The stairs are bucking, like they've come alive. And they're wanting to throw off anyone foolish enough to think they can tame them.

Even so, it's the only way out.

We rush down them, missing steps, half tumbling against the leaning, pulsating walls, the snaking, cracking bannister.

Sometimes, somehow, we find that we've managed to put a foot back on the step we thought we'd just left behind.

The crack of exploding wood. The harsh snap of shattering brick. The crash of tumbling walls and timbers.

Abruptly, it's all drowned out by a thunderous roar.

We all turn, look behind us, look up.

The entire roof is collapsing in on itself.

On us.

Then, suddenly, even the violently rocking steps beneath our feet drop away. Like they're being sucked into a vast vacuum cleaner hidden underground.

'Arrrrgggghhhhhhh!'

We all shriek in terror as we plummet downwards. And the whole house shatters and falls around us.

*

# Chapter 21

How can we be falling so far?

Where's the earth gone?

Where's Gariel?

Isn't he going to save us this time?'

*

It's true; time slows down as you rush to meet your death.

Something to do with your mind working at superfast speed.

I can hear that relaxing, melodious note; MI, the miracle tone.

Then I realise it's Jolie. Jolie's hit the note perfectly.

And suddenly Gariel's there. His glow suffusing everything.

Slowing everything.

Slowing everything _physically_ , not just _mentally_.

Our fall is languid now. As is the falling of the remains of the house raining down around us.

It's probably my imagination, but Pat seems to be falling a little faster than Jolie and me. He hits the ground – at last, the ground! – sooner than we do. It's hard enough to knock the breath out of him too.

I float down to a soft landing, closely followed by Jolie.

The remains of the house land around us just as unhurriedly. Whether huge chunks or small, shattered sections, they touch the rock of the ground with a dull crump.

They slowly topple, slowly settle, like everything is taking place at the bottom of a deep lake.

I glance over at Pat.

He seems okay, shaking his head like he's just a little bit groggy, a bit dazed, but otherwise fine.

Beyond Gariel's iridescent light, walls of jagged rock loom everywhere about us.

The sky is high above, a small patch of blue, as if I'm looking through a dark, roughly-hewn tunnel.

Odd clumps of grassy earth continue to fall away from the edges, dropping towards us at normal speed.

Something else is rushing towards us.

Hurtling down the cavernous hole like a deadly, dark missile.

It's a massive roof timber.

And it's heading directly towards a dazed, unknowing Pat.

*

# Chapter 22

'No!'

Leaping to my feet, I throw myself at Pat, barging him out of the way.

I glance up.

I've saved him. I've knocked him out of the way.

Now _I'm_ the one lying directly in the dark missile's path.

*

I shut my eyes tight.

Like that's gonna help, right?

The crushing impact never comes.

Slowly, I open my eyes.

The huge wooden beam is hovering over me, upright, towering. Like I'm looking up at a mysterious monolith.

It's stopped just a hand's breadth from striking me.

It glows with Gariel's glittering light.

With a sweep of an arm, Gariel directs the beam to gracefully topple off to one side.

'You shouldn't have done that Jasmine!' I can tell from his stern tone that Gariel is angry. 'It was his time.'

'His time?' I glance Pat's way anxiously. I realise what he's saying. 'You were going to let him die?'

'It is written. It was his time.'

'Why would you rescue us but not him?' Jolie demands.

'I rescued you because you called me. You should not have called me.'

'We were about to die?'

It's a strange question to ask. A moment ago, I was _sure_ I was about to die. But I suppose there's a part of me that's got used to Gariel being around to rescue me.

_'You_ were _not_ about to die. It is written that you and Jolie would have survived.'

He indicates Pat with a slight nod.

'It was _his_ time only. To save him now is to change what was destined to be. It might jeopardise the mission.'

'The mission?' Pats asks irately. 'Is all this some sort of military mission?'

'No; we don't believe in such things. We are of The Perfection. It is a mission to ensure the spreading of the Truth.'

'You're like a _missionary_ , you mean?'

Jolie says it like she's impressed, enthralled.

Gariel nods demurely, like some obedient monk.

'We must bring the Truth to everyone so that they might be saved.'

'Saved? But not Pat?'

I know he didn't mean saved in this way. But I'm furious that he was about to let Pat die.

'His role in your development is over. His presence from now on would only deflect you from your task. It is not only the difference between the success or failure of the mission, but the difference between billions saved and billions lost.'

'How can you fail?' Jolie asks worriedly. 'You wouldn't be who you are, a Prefect, if you failed.'

'She's got a point,' I agree. 'Obviously, I _must_ complete whatever it is that's expected of me. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here.'

'There will be failures in some worlds, successes in others. Some are necessarily harder to bring to a successful conclusion. Each Prefect accepts that. Yet he or she must nevertheless strive to achieve the best possible outcome, for the saving of so many people is dependent upon it.'

'Ah, so you _are_ from a parallel world!' Pat declares triumphantly.

Gariel nods.

'A world where the other me helped create...what?' I say 'This religion of the Perfect?'

He nods again, even as he corrects me.

'The Perfection. You provided us with the Book, the Book that granted us contact with God.'

'There's no such book in this world!' I declare adamantly. 'And even if there were, I wouldn't know where to even start looking for it! Obviously, this is a world that's completely different from the world you come from.'

'No, there are many similarities.' He doesn't shake his head. He simply looks my way, his eyes shining elatedly. 'And as for the similarities that didn't exist here, I have attempted to reconstruct them to ensure you are directed on the correct path.'

'Similarities? _Reconstruct_ them? You mean you _alter_ things?'

He nods once more.

'If it is essential to your development, it must be recreated in this world.'

'Such as my death you mean?' Pat says. 'That timber, that last part of the roof; why was it still falling long after everything else had hit the ground? Why was it coming so fast when you had slowed everything else?'

'The fall should have killed you. In which case there would have been no need for my intervention.'

'Intervention? Is that another word for murder?'

'I have saved you previously. In other worlds, you died on the bus, in the school fire.'

'But you saved him, right, because he was _essential_ for my development?'

Gariel nonchalantly nods in answer to my irate question.

'If you were prepared to cause Pat's death, how many others have you killed?'

'To save the many, it is necessary that some will be lost to us. In many worlds, the sacrifice of the school bus was enough to instil the dawning of understanding within you.'

'The school bus! You...you _made_ that woman block our path?'

'The convert has been amply rewarded for aiding the revelation of the truth,' he blithely replies, apparently assuming my emphasis on _made_ is an accusation of coercion. 'She and her family are now in our world, where her child can be cured.'

'She agreed to help you kill all those children to save her own?' Pat spits in disgust.

'She would have thought she was talking to an angel, remember?' Jolie points out.

'And Brian, the cop who killed Jane?' I say. 'I take it his family's there too now? And his kid's being treated too?'

'I explained the importance of our mission. They were eager to aid its completion.'

'Why Jane? How was that supposed to put me on the right path, or whatever all these deaths were supposed to do?'

'I am not responsible for all the deaths surrounding you that were necessary for your development. In this world, Mary's death was a natural accident. In the case of her friends, their bullying would have been a distraction. As for the police woman, in some worlds she persecutes you relentlessly for their deaths; in others, she believes she is helping you, but is actually drawing you away from the righteous path.'

'Oh my God; it's all been some sort of _culling_ ,' gasps Pat shakily. 'Treating everyone like they had some infectious disease!'

'What could be a more infectious disease than erroneous thought, than poor morals? And what inspires a person to seek the solace and embrace of their God more than suffering or witnessing a great loss? For some, obviously, the loss has to be so much greater than others.'

He glares at me accusingly as he says this.

'Sometimes, the loss also has to involve someone close to you.'

His gaze fleeting wavers towards Pat.

His light flickers, shimmers.

'Wait! Don't go–'

He isn't listening to me.

He vanishes.

*

# Chapter 23

It was a sinkhole.

Caused, we were told as we were finally lifted out, by an old coal mine running deep beneath the house.

I was worried that the newspapers would cover the accident under banners along the lines of 'The unluckiest girl in the world'.

Fortunately, of course, my name hadn't been revealed in relation to most of the other events. This time, too, my name is withheld, 'for essential reasons of privacy and to allow the victims space to recover from their individual traumas.'

I was offered even more time off school.

I took the offer up.

I can't face going in and being deliberately avoided by everyone.

And, let's face it, they have every reason to avoid me, don't they?

*

'Do you think he's planning on causing a _massive_ loss of life next?'

Jolie's eyes are wide, like the horror of some great calamity is already opening up before her.

'I mean, the way he said some people only turn to God when they suffer some massive tragedy?'

'Yeah, adding that it helps if it involves someone close to you,' Pat says miserably. 'Great, eh?'

'I think it's a possibility,' I say. 'But what could it be exactly? We've already had a school bus wiped out, a fire. What next?'

'An explosion maybe?' Pat looks like he's pondering the feasibility of this. 'The boiler's down in the cellar; he could cause it to explode easily enough.'

'How can _we_ stop him, whatever it is he's going to do?' Jolie wrings her hands. 'We can hardly go to the police, can we? Who's going to believe us?

'We could say evacuate the school, something like that?' Pat shrugs.

'Oh sure; they're bound to do that just on the whim of three school kids!'

'Even if we stop him, couldn't he just keep going back in time until he gets the result he wants?' Jolie's beautiful, doe-like eyes are now wide with worry.

'I don't think so,' I say. 'He spoke of possible failures; he wouldn't say that if they could just keep whipping back in time.'

'I wouldn't be here if he could, would I?' Pat says. 'He could have just travelled back a few minutes to make sure I died in the sinkhole.'

We all nod in agreement.

'There must be some constraints on their time traveling, like the time travel paradox, or something similar,' Pat says. 'Or perhaps they're allowed just one journey and that's it. The frequency of their DNA or however they do it might limit–'

'The frequencies!' Jolie almost jumps up into the air in her excitement. Those eyes are wider, more sparkling than ever. 'Every time, we come back to the importance of the _frequencies_!'

'Sure, but what about them?' Pat doesn't look convinced that Jolie's brought up anything of relevance. 'Unless you think we should call him to try and get him to change his mind.'

Jolie shakes her head.

'No, no; course not! But if that MI tone is good for DNA's health, and if we're guessing right that Gariel's relying so much on how DNA can produce these wormholes; well, couldn't we just disrupt everything with a dissonant tone? Something that sets everything on edge?'

Pat leans forwards towards Jolie, hugs her tightly, fondly.

'Hey, that's not a bad idea at all, you know!'

They both chuckle, like this is the happiest time of the year rather than the lead up to what could be the wiping out of the entire school.

'Sorry to put a damper on all this hilarity,' I say solemnly, 'but even if this dissonant tone thing really does have a chance of working, don't we have a problem in making sure he can hear it?'

'Well, he certainly seems to be able to hear the MI tone whenever we play it.'

'Sure, just as I'll smell and walk to a cookie counter if I see it. But you aren't going to get me anywhere near a pan of cooked sprouts.'

Jolie frowns thoughtfully.

'Hmn, we need _some_ way of making sure he can't get away from it; or at least, make sure he can't avoid it if he's anywhere near the school.'

Speakers,' says Pat, 'we need lots and lots of speakers!'

'And about how many million miles of wire?' I add, trying not to sound too downhearted.

*

# Chapter 24

I wouldn't have been able to get any of the other kids to help me, but somehow Pat and Jolie between them have managed to round up kids from just about every class to collect and setup the speakers.

Word's getting around that it's going to be the music event to end all music events. Music playing everywhere, unavoidable. A massive street party.

Pat's got all the wires he needs from some dump yard.

It's amazing how many people have spare speakers knocking around their homes, from old computers to even older HiFi players that have been shoved in the garage.

The school itself has large, powerful speakers in the hall and the music department that Pat sets up in readiness to be hooked into the system when we need them.

Boosters, amplifiers, and all sorts of decks come from all those kids who have formed bands only to lose interest when they realised they were never going to get beyond bookings at weddings and dodgy clubs.

Wiring is being spliced, taped, rolled out and connected via the amplifiers and boosters to Jolie's computer (Pat and his family are living in a hotel for the moment).

Jolie's dad seems strangely indifferent to all the comings and goings in his house, like he's got more important things on his mind. Her mum's not around, 'away for a few months receiving treatment,' Jolie explains.

I don't like to ask what Jolie's mum is suffering from. Jolie doesn't appear to want to go into details, although when she explained why her mum wasn't around she sounded bright and hopeful rather than down.

She enthusiastically throws herself into organising the setting up of the speakers. She's even persuaded a few of the kids to meet me and say hello without shying away as if my touch, even my glance, is deadly.

Altogether, but not counting myself and Pat, we've got one-hundred and fifty-three kids helping us.

I'm not sure if that's a good or a bad sign.

*

It starts to rain.

I mean _really_ rain.

Like the whole of the country has somehow been transported to an equatorial area regularly suffering tropical storms.

It pounds down on the ground. It bounces off roofs.

Running through it, you get drenched in seconds. It even soaks through your coat.

'It'll pass,' Pat assures everyone. 'Move the speakers to more sheltered spots. Cover the wires and any electrical points in polythene, plastic bags, anything waterproof you can get your hands on.'

The rain doesn't pass.

It gets heavier.

Cars have their full beams on in an attempt to see where they're going through the murky downpour.

It's hard to see where the road ends, where even the houses let alone the kerb starts.

The rain blends everything into an indistinct grey mass.

'How can we have a party in this?' the kids wail.

Their enthusiasm's waning.

They're soaked, mud-splattered, weary.

'It's like even the weather's against us,' Pat moans.

I glance up at the dark storm clouds from beneath my dripping hood. Every now and again there's a bright flash of lightning, a thunderous boom, like the far off guns of a battle that's gradually drawing closer.

'I've never known weather like this.'

'Didn't Gariel say something about weather being controlled by frequencies?'

Even though Jolie's hooded coat is soaking wet, she's still smiling, still bright-eyed.

Pat anxiously looks my way.

'You don't think...?'

I nod.

'I think.'

*

# Chapter 25

Putting such a large system of speakers together was never going to be easy.

In the violently pouring rain, it's even more difficult.

The raindrops batter against your hood deafeningly.

You slip, you slide, the wet ground like an ice rink. And that can be very painful if you're carrying a heavy speaker at the time.

Keeping all the electrics dry as you're installing them is only made possible by huddling in groups beneath interlocking shells of large umbrellas.

All the kids have now been told the truth.

It was the only way we could keep them working in this weather.

There isn't going to be a party.

There isn't going to be a musical event that'll just blow the school away.

We're actually trying to _prevent_ the school being blown away.

The most amazing thing of all this is that the kids actually believed us.

Or, rather, they believed Jolie.

Those innocent doe eyes of hers make her very persuasive, very convincing.

I suppose what she's telling them finally explains all the bad luck the school seems to have been experiencing lately.

Suddenly, all those deaths the school's suffered cannot only be explained but given a cause.

Now when the kids look at me, they're not quite so terrified anymore.

Some of them, when they pass me, they even stare at me with what I think might be admiration.

I'm not exactly sure what Jolie's telling them.

But if I _did_ know what it was, I'd go around telling _everybody_.

*

Now when the thunder roars, the ground itself seems to be shuddering.

Trees crack loudly, like they're being torn apart by their roots.

There have already been a few minor landslides across the hills surrounding the town.

The ground has been turned into a viscous sludge. When the wind whips through their branches, it uproots trees that no longer have a firm hold on the soil.

On any reasonably steep slope, this leads to a steady movement that gradually builds. Soon it begins to pick up anything in its way, adding to its own mass and power along the way.

A small storehouse on the edge of town has already been crushed and buried under one of these avalanches.

Shattered boulders lie amongst the sludge, as if the very rock itself has been ripped away in the onrush of debris down the hillside.

'You know, all this reminds me of our house; when it disappeared down that sinkhole.'

At first, I think Pat means that the wreckage of the shattered storehouse amongst the rocks and mud brings back painful memories for him. But far from looking sorrowful, he's deep in thought.

'You mean...you're wondering if it was such a natural event after all? Wondering if Gariel caused it?'

He turns to me, nods.

'If he did, it means he's controlling more than the weather.'

'Would that be possible?' I say. 'You're saying you think he's making the rocks themselves shatter? It's not the landslides tearing up the rocks; it's the cracking of the rock causing the landslides?'

He nods again.

'Can't you hear it?'

He tips his head slightly, like he's straining to hear a particular sound amongst all the howling and battering of the rain.

'I can't hear anything,' I admit, 'unless you just mean the sound of the storm.'

'No, not the storm.' He shakes his head, frowns anxiously. 'There's a humming tone behind it all.'

'The MI tone?'

He shakes his head again.

'No, this is more discordant, edgier.'

'Discordant? But wasn't that supposed to be our weapon against him?'

'I could be imagining it.'

He takes out his mobile, pushes a few buttons.

'This has got a mic app,' he says, bringing up on the screen a moving graph of the frequencies the inbuilt microphone is picking up.

It's a jumble of violently waving lines. He pushes a few more buttons.

'I just need to remove the sounds of the storm it's picking up, get it to focus on constant tones – yes, there it is, see?'

Now there's just the one line, registering a regular tone.

'That shouldn't be there,' he says.

He glances up at the surrounding hills.

'Gariel's causing all this all right; and he's controlling the very ground we're standing on.'

*

# Chapter 26

Undulating like languorously exercised muscles, the storm clouds rolling above us are so dark it could be late evening for all the little light we have.

We're heading up into the hills. Up to where the small river that runs through the town splits off as an offshoot from the larger river Ner.

The Ner continues down another, more or less uninhabited valley, a much gentler slope to the more precipitous route our own river Afon takes before it flattens out and passes through town.

That means a tiring walk for us. Although the Afon valley is the easiest way from town up into the hills, it's still steep enough to require a winding road.

'Do you know what most rivers are called?' Pat asks the handful of kids who have come with us, trying to take their minds off their aching, soaked feet.

They shake their heads.

'Don't know,' one of them says. 'What?'

'River,' Pat answers, 'or water. Like the Afon; it's just a word from an older language meaning river.'

'So this is the River River?' another one of the kids asks.

'That's right; as is the Humber, Mississippi, Connecticut, Tyne, and quite a few others.'

When we get to where the Afon breaks away from the Ner, even through the distorting heavy rain we can tell it's a hive of activity. Council workers and engineers are inspecting the banks as if, like us, they fear that they might be ready to break.

They're obviously not going to go letting a bunch of kids just stride up to see what's going on. I draw close to the nearest worker, shouting at him over the thunderous noise of the overflowing rivers and the pounding rain.

'Is it safe? Will it hold?'

He nods, smiles reassuringly.

'We're just shoring up the mud banks to be on the safe side. Everything's fine.'

I glance behind, back towards the town nestled in the valley below us. Veiled in the thick greyness of the rain, it already looks like it's been drowned in a deluge of murky water.

'Don't you think you should evacuate the town just in case?' I cry out to the man.

He shakes his head.

'We've had engineers and geologists checking everything out there. Worse scenario is, the soil banks give way. It'd be a bit more water than we're used to, sure, but won't be a catastrophe. Safe as houses, love, safe as houses.'

'But what if the banks completely break? The whole River Ner will come flooding down the valley, won't it?'

He shakes his head, smiles like he reckons he's dealing with an idiot.

'No way that's gonna happen. Underneath the upper soil bank, it's solid rock. Been there for centuries. Be there for centuries more too!'

Pat's alongside me. He's been listening too.

We swap anxious glances.

The engineers aren't taking into account a guy who can crack rock.

If we're right, Gariel is building his frequency up until he's ready to shatter it.

And once this river bank goes, it's not just the whole school that's gonna disappear off the map.

It's the entire town.

*

# Chapter 27

We move away from the work party, partially heading back down the hill so that we're out of their sight.

'We haven't got any choice,' I say to Pat and Jolie. 'We're going to have to call him; I'm going to have to talk to Gariel to see if there's anything I can do to persuade him to call all this off.'

'But the discordant tones!' Pat protests. 'We haven't tried them yet!'

'These are the discordant tones Gariel seems perfectly capable of using to his own advantage, right?'

'But there are others than the one he's using,' Jolie says. 'We just have to try a few–'

'By which time the whole town might have ended up under water. We don't know how long it will take to find a tone that causes him trouble. We don't even know if there _is_ one. We settled on this idea because it was the only one we had. And that was before we realised he could use discordant tones himself, in his case to destroy things.'

'Okay, try talking to him then,' Pat agrees. 'But what can you offer him? This book we still haven't found?'

I turn to Jolie.

'Call him please Jolie.'

Jolie begins to hum, letting her humming build until it's a deeply relaxing tone.

Even in the pouring rain, everyone suddenly seems at ease, peaceful.

Resigned.

I've let the kids stay to see Gariel.

They might as well. They deserve it; they've worked hard.

They've trusted us.

Now they can see that we were telling the truth.

As one, they gasp in awe as the light before us begins to shimmer, brighten.

Like a burst of light in a darkened room, Gariel suddenly appears before us.

Some of the kids fall on their knees, even though the floor's soaked, muddy. Others gape, their mouths hanging open.

Is it any wonder those people with the dying children wanted to believe he was an angel?

Gariel doesn't seem to mind the presence of the others. Perhaps he's no longer interested in keeping his identity secret.

'Jasmine? Why did you call me?'

'I want you to spare the town. Whatever it is you want me to do, I'll do it.'

He seems amused.

'It's not quite as simple as that though, is it?'

'What do you mean? This book; just tell me what it is, and I'll give it to you. Even if I have to spend the next ten years writing it.'

'But as I explained earlier, you have already granted us the Book.'

'Then what more do you want?'

'The Perfection. The Book alone will not create The Perfection. You must create the grounding for the beliefs to flourish and spread.'

'I'll do it; I'll make sure the book or whatever it is spreads, flourishes.'

'Whatever it is? You see? You _still_ do not understand; you cannot accomplish when you do not understand.'

'Then tell me! Tell me what it is, and I'll do it!'

'I cannot tell you. It has to come from within you to be genuine, to be The Perfection.'

'But this is crazy!' I wail in frustration. 'You're tying me in knots here! You're going to wipe out a whole town just to make me realise...what? I don't even know what it is I'm supposed to realise! Chances are, you'll kill everyone and I still won't give you what you want! Why are you making me responsible for the death of a whole town?'

'Because you are responsible for the saving of billions.'

'What gives you the right to do this?' I scream furiously.

He remains calm.

'Ultimately, when all things are balanced, the saved against the dead, I do no wrong.'

'And who determines that? Who determines that, "on balance", everything's fine?'

'God has spoken through The Perfection. We are the Truth. We are the Word.'

'I could kill myself.'

I say it out of desperation. Pat and Jolie and the kids are all shocked. But they don't interrupt, obviously hoping I know what I'm doing.

I don't.

I'm hoping something important dawns on me pretty quickly, so I can begin to resolve this dilemma.

'If I kill myself, there's no Perfection. Your mission fails.'

'You would kill yourself to save a town?'

I nod.

Do I really mean it?

Probably not; I can't see that it's easy, killing yourself.

'Yet you admonish me,' he continues, 'for killing a town for the sake of the billions you are destined to save.'

'There's a massive difference!' I insist.

'To save the town, you would kill me if you could?'

I nod again, this time more surely.

'You would kill me for the sake of what you believe is right?'

'I would kill you to save an entire town.'

He shrugs, like the difference is debatable, minor.

'I don't believe you could kill yourself,' he says. 'Or persuade any of your followers to do it for you.'

He looks over towards the others questioningly. You can see from their wary faces that he's right: even to save the town, to save their own families, it would be almost impossible to persuade them to cast me into the river, or push me off a cliff.

'Besides,' he adds with a wry smile, 'as I have said, we have accounted for the fact that there will be failures in some worlds. And who knows? Perhaps your very sacrifice would persuade your followers to complete the grounding of the Perfection.'

He looks over them once again, smiling benevolently, knowingly.

They're all still awed by his presence. Even Pat.

It's hard _not_ to be impressed by someone so certain of the righteousness of their cause.

'My mission is almost completed here,' Gariel says with a satisfied sigh. 'It requires just one more small piece to begin the finalisation of the whole. Just one more discovery for you to make, so that you may realise that which you already know. I am so close; I _cannot_ give up now!'

His body quivers, the light rippling like it's alive.

Then he's gone.

*

The earth itself rumbles ominously, like a waking dragon.

The ground beneath our feet shakes. There isn't one of us who isn't suddenly unsteady on their feet.

We all swap anxious, frightened glances.

Over the hills, a lightning flash briefly illuminates the peaks.

The crack of burning air and the menacingly rumbling thunder makes us jump. We instinctively yet foolishly duck.

The rain becomes an even more aggressive downpour, striking us, pummelling the ground, like each drop is a steel ball bearing.

'What now?'

Pat screams out to be heard over the violent drumming of the rain.

'We have to try the tones!'

I hope no one notices the hopelessness, the helplessness, in my cries.

*

# Chapter 28

I can hear the speakers humming in the town below us.

It's like I'm looking down on a huge hive of excited, even angry bees.

'Turn the volume up! As high as it will go!' I shriek at Pat urgently.

Pat fiddles with the controls of the mobile he's linked up to Jolie's computer.

'It's already loud; we're up here, where the sound's muffled by distance, by the weather.'

What the people down in the town must be thinking, I do not know. Even up here, it's an irritating, screeching wail. If anyone's close to a speaker, it must be hell for them.

There's another sharp snap of lightning. Another booming roll of thunder.

The rain continues to pound down.

'How will we know if it's working or not?' Jolie shouts out through the rain towards me.

Pat gives a nod that he agrees with what she's saying.

'It could be working,' he says, 'but it might take time before we see any results. But have we got time to just keep playing the same tone in the hope that it's working?'

I shake my head wearily.

'You're right, both right. We'll have to try a few notes first; then, if nothing seems to be working, try them again but giving them more time.'

Down in the valley, the continuous note changes. It's like someone endlessly scratching their fingernails on a chalkboard.

I cringe, grit my teeth.

Uuurrrgghhh!

The rain falls as hard, as unforgivably, as ever.

'Try another Pat!'

'May I?' Jolie reaches out for Pat's mobile. 'As they say in the movies, I've got a crazy idea, but it just might work!'

Pat hands her his mobile. Swiftly running her fingers over the keyboard, Jolie changes the tone to one that doesn't seem anywhere near as bad as the others.

'What have you done?' I cry out. 'What have you changed it to?'

Jolie looks up from the handheld she's holding.

'It's called the "Devil's Interval".'

*

The darkness and the Devil's Interval.

They go together so well. Like they were made for each other.

'Nothing's happening,' Pat cries out uneasily. 'Should we change it?'

'Leave it a bit longer,' I shout back. 'What else have we got to try?'

The rain rattles on my hood like machine gun fire.

Wasn't there endless rain in one of Dante's Circles of Hell?

Possibly not. I could be wrong.

'Where did you get it from?' I ask Jolie. 'This Devil's Interval? Where did you hear of it?'

'I've been looking at that Solfeggio scale; you know, the one that gave us MI?'

I nod.

Am I imagining it, or are we not shaking so much?

'Well, there was an interval between MI and FA,' Jolie continues, 'one so discordant they actually called it the Devil's Interval; and I thought that sounds promising.'

'I don't think it's raining so hard anymore,' one of the other kids cries out excitedly.

Some of us look up, like we're so stupid we think that's the only way to check if the rain's slowing down.

'The clouds,' I scream out to everyone, 'I think they're dispersing; I think they're breaking up!'

*

I give Jolie the tightest, most ecstatic hug I've ever given anyone.

Wow, what a prize this little girl is!

She giggles happily.

The rain's easing. The thunder still rolls, but it's passed over us now. It's weakly rumbling in the distance.

'Did _we_ do it?' one of the kids wonders out loud. 'Or was it just a natural storm?'

Everyone laughs, like he's crazy, like we're all a bit crazed after our experience.

'But has _he_ gone?' someone else wonders.

'Only one way to find out; Jolie, try and call him.'

Her beautiful eyes sparkling with joy, Jolie begins to hum.

Some of the other kids must be musically inclined too; they seem to recognise the note, join in.

They all grin ecstatically, like they're going to break into laughter any moment.

Pat's almost laughing too.

Me, I must look a fool; I can feel that I'm smirking from ear to ear.

The light just ahead of us wavers, rolls, glitters.

Gariel stands before us, his light still bright and beautiful but noticeably dimmed.

The light undulates, yet slowly, with less energy.

Yes, he's been hurt; I'm sure of it.

*

# Chapter 29

'Yes?' Gariel says proudly.

'Will you stop your attack?' I ask. 'Or should we continue to fight?'

'It isn't an attack; it is the bringing of Truth.'

'It would cost too many lives; no truth is worth that.'

'The Truth protects us, defends the many. Even though we benefit from the glorious presence of God within us, the Devil may enter and set up home in the unwary lest we take care.'

His body of rippling light is now like the waves of a sea dashing itself against rocks. The waves rush back on other waves, breaking them up, scattering them in glistening foam.

There's strain on his face, like he's struggling to hold everything together.

'Please,' he says, his voice harsh, strangled. 'Not for me; for all those people you will save.'

'No, this is for the people _we_ will save. _We_ have saved the whole town from you.'

'A minor victory. A high price. Think of the _immeasurable_ benefits The Perfection could have brought to your world!'

He's struggling for words now. Mumbling, like he's losing sense.

_'We_ are God's chosen. _We_ are God's message. _We_ are the Book. The Word lies _within_ us!'

'What? Wait a minute – that sounds...sounds like something I've heard before somewhere?'

'He's said something similar before; quite a few times possibly.'

Pat says it like it's of absolutely no importance.

But...he's wrong.

There's something here that's _incredibly_ important.

But I can't quite think _what_!

You know how it is when, sometimes, something seems ridiculously familiar to you, but you just can't quite grasp why no matter how hard you try?

That's what I'm going through right now, my mind a whirl as I realise it's getting harder and harder to figure out what it is I'm looking for.

'Of course you've heard it before,' Gariel gasps painfully. ' _You_ discovered it. _You_ informed the world!'

DNA! The language! The message hidden in our DNA!

God _within_ us!

_We_ are the _Book_!

'No no! It was a _joke_! Even in the world _you_ came from, it was probably just a _joke_! Didn't anyone ever check to see if it was true?'

'How can the Truth be checked to see if it is true? What kind of faith would that be? True, the message lying within us was not the one you first specified; yet it created the impetus, the need, to interpret the real message. The full message in all its beauty and profundity!'

'But it's _wrong_ , it's made up! It's _ridiculous_!'

'How could we be wrong when we are God?'

Despite the pain he is obviously suffering, his face brightens, beams.

He manages a beatific smile.

But this time when he dissolves away into nothing, I don't think he's still in control.

*

The rain is now only a light drizzle.

The sky's still an off grey, but sheets of brightness are flapping across the uppermost edges of the clouds. The sun is breaking out at last.

A gloriously bright triple rainbow arches across the far side of the valley. It could be taken as a sign, if you want it to be.

For me, the best sign that things are all right once more is that I'm holding Pat's hand as we walk back into town. Now and again he glances my way, grins stupidly.

Now and again, I look his way too.

I laugh when our eyes meet.

Then again, everyone's laughing. Or humming. Or smiling.

Jolie especially appears ecstatic, her eyes taking in everything as if she's seeing it all for the first time.

After the heavy rains, everything seem fresh. Cleansed. Renewed.

The people we see coming out of their houses seem a little bewildered, like they're amazed at the abrupt change in weather. Some of them kick at or even angrily wrench apart the speakers they've discovered.

What the noise must have been like down here, I wouldn't like to think.

Pretty horrendous, probably.

Having seen the effect frequencies can have on our world, I wouldn't be surprised if the townspeople had all gone half-feral, smashing up every speaker they came across.

Jolie sidles up alongside Pat. She's still holding his mobile.

'Before I hand this back, I think there's something you should both see; well, _hear_ actually.'

She plays a tone through the mobile's small speakers.

Pat pulls a puzzled face.

'So?'

'That's the peak frequency of the Devil's Interval,' Jolie explains, handing back his mobile with a satisfied grin.

Pat's obviously surprised, perhaps even shocked.

'What?' I ask.

'The tone; it's an A. The standard tuning fork I played you earlier.'

''You're kidding me? _That's_ the basis of all our music?'

*

# Chapter 30

As we approach Jolie's house, her dad opens the door and stands on the doorstep, like he's been looking out for her,

He's griming like he's won a few million on the lottery.

I can't remember ever seeing him look pleased, let alone happy.

Behind him, a woman appears in the doorway.

She's smiling too. Like she's a joint winner.

'Mum!' Jolie screams joyously.

She rushes forward.

All three of them throw their arms around each other. They hug each other like, yeah, they're _never_ gonna let go.

'Did it work? Are you cured?' Jolie asks.

'Yes, yes! I didn't think what they could do would _ever_ be possible!'

Jolie and her parents only partially let go of each other when Pat and I draw closer.

'Mum, _this_ is Jasmine!' Jolie exclaims excitedly, saying it like she's already told her mum an awful lot about me.

Her mum finally let's go of Jolie.

Already tearful, she looks like she's going to break down completely.

She reaches out to me, hugs me hard, like she's going to squeeze the breath out of me.

'Bless you Jasmine! Thank you for _everything_ you did!'

How does she know what we did? Did someone call her, tell her?

She lets me go to give Jolie another warm embrace.

'It wasn't just me,' I admit. 'Including your Jolie, there were also one-hundred and fifty-three young kids involved!'

'One-hundred and fifty-three!' she repeats happily, proudly looking down on Jolie and giving her an extra-warm hug.

'And Pat, of course,' I add, grabbing his hand, swapping embarrassed grins with him.

'Really?' Jolie's mum says doubtfully, giving Pat a fleetingly suspicious glance.

Then her face lights up once more in an ecstatic smile.

'Ah well,' she sighs blissfully, 'if that's how it has to be in this world, that's how it has to be.'

I smile.

Pat smiles.

Everyone smiles.

They're the sort of smiles that say we all realise Jolie and her mum and dad need time on their own. Time to enjoy their reunion in private.

Pat and I turn away. We walk off hand in hand.

I lean closer to Pat.

He thinks we're going to kiss.

Instead, I whisper to him.

'She said, "If that's how it has to be in _this_ world."'

Pat looks confused, a little hurt that we didn't kiss after all.

'Well, you know,' I say, 'that _is_ just a figure of speech, right?'

*

The above is a faithfully rendered transcript of events as related to The Blessed Jasmine Jolie by The First Blessed Jasmine.

It became the inspiration and foundation for the First Godspel Of Jolie.

End

Extra Material:

The Divinatory Book Of Jasmine

Hand copy or copy, paste and print off the hexagrams at the front of this book. Paste one on a piece of card and cut to shape. Paste the second hexagram on its rear.

# The Book Of Jasmine

The Seeker should toss the Jasmine Hexagram into the air, letting it fall onto a table top before them. (If the Seeker is not available, the Jasmine Reader may take their place while thinking deeply of the Seeker.)

Note both the Regulatory Element (Petal, Ovule or Locule) and the Outer Number that points towards the Seeker. If it is a flat side rather than a point, let them choose the number they prefer.

The Seeker tosses the Jasmine Hexagram a second time, and once again the Regulatory Element is noted. Read the Outer Number if the Jasmine Hexagram has landed with a different side up, the Inner ( _italic_ ) Number if it has landed with the same side as before uppermost.

Crosscheck the Jasmine Hexagram Numbers on the chart above to find the number of the Reading you should refer to (the Readings are listed lower down). These Readings will be determined by the Regulatory Elements you recorded.

Singular Regulatory Element Meanings:

Petal: Future, growth, blossoming, attractiveness, spreading

Ovule: ('Small egg') Present, gestation, inner-growth, potential, birth, rebirth

Locule: ('Little place') Past, compartmentalised, clinging, conservative, restrained, boxed-in

Double Regulatory Elements Meanings:

If two similar Regulatory Elements (ie. Petal & Petal) then the meanings are strengthened.

If the Regulatory Elements are mixed (ie. Petal & Ovule) then both apply. The first, or Primary, Regulatory Element has the greater bearing on the reading, but the Secondary Regulatory Element still exerts an influence.

If the Regulatory Elements appear to be in contradiction to the Reading (ie. a confliction of Past and Future), this indicates that the possibilities revealed in the Reading are being held back in some way. Similarly, a concordance of Regulatory Elements and Reading serves to strengthen the effect.

Readings 23 and 24

For Readings 23 and 24, the Regulatory Elements work in a different way, determining which Readings to take (ie. _24 Petal & Ovule_, rather than simply _24_ ). Each of these Readings offers three possibilities, so the Jasmine Hexagram should be flipped once more.

If it lands Petal upmost, take the positive interpretation.

If a Locule is pointing towards the Seeker, take the negative interpretation.

If an Ovule points towards the Seeker, regard it as an indication that a man/boy or a woman/girl will be exerting an influence on the Seeker.

The Readings

# 1

Revelation. Positive transformation. Progress. Clever. Focused. Diplomatic. Interesting.

Understanding that which is already known. Appreciating that which is already available.

The heights of achievement are possible, enabling the subject to utilise their talents and abilities to better advantage. Heightened communications skills and persuasiveness are also suggested.

An agent of progress and growth, but also capable of trickery and deception. A salesman who sells you on yourself. At his worst, a bit conniving and manipulative.

But if Regulatory Elements are two Locules:

Low self-esteem. Problems communicating. Options are lacking.

Progress is difficult, and opportunities overlooked. Sometimes overconfidence or poor planning that obscure understanding. Inability to utilise the tools available may result in self-deception. Also, take care to protect against head injuries.

A con man, user, phony.

# 2

Illumination, knowledge and truth. Modesty and discretion. Moody and aloof. Eminently feminine, mysterious, secretive and intuitive.

Surprising and unexpected revelations may be coming. A powerful advisor. Knowing all, but expressing secrets by measure, or through symbolism. A well of knowledge, but only a cup at a time is dispensed.

May often represent the subject, if female, or the object of the subject's desire, if male. Also, perhaps a suggestion for introspection or meditation.

But if Regulatory Elements are two Locules:

Passion. Indiscretion. Immodesty. Promiscuity. Seduction. Betrayal. Selfishness or shallowness.

Revealing secrets to cause embarrassment and hurt, rather than to share knowledge. May also be a warning to pay heed to feminine health issues.

# 3

Birth. Growth. Development. Nurturing. Fertility, wealth, marriage, a female family member.

A good mother. Fruitful, benevolent, loving and caring. A person of station deserving of respect.

When seeking answers about one's self, may indicate motherly worries about people or projects. It may raise the question of too much mothering or overprotectiveness. It may also be a reminder to the Seeker that patience and persistence are necessary when nurturing growth.

But if Regulatory Elements are two Locules:

Infertility, poverty, lethargy, infidelity. Disregard for others.

The opposite of nurturing and caring. Abandonment of those who need care. Perhaps an indication to learn to be a better nurturer or caretaker.

# 4

Power, stability and leadership. Fatherhood.

A person to be counted upon, trusted and respected. The character and will to keep the ship on course.

When seeking answers about one's self, might also indicate that introspection is suggested, and decisions may need to be made on whether the benefits of leadership are worth the sacrifices.

But if Regulatory Elements are two Locules:

Immature and controlling behaviour. Demand for power, but lack of character.

This may also negatively affect a family or organisation who rely on leadership. If the leader is dethroned, the empire will be affected.

# 5

Merciful, forgiving, kind, respectable, dutiful. A teacher and a counsellor.

A good and benevolent influence helping the subject understand the correct path. A priest, rabbi, or perhaps a guru. One who enlightens. Learning and living by the rules of society and of spirituality.

In some contexts, however, inflexible and unyielding. Unwilling to accept deviation from the conventional.

Also represents joining and accepting. Sometimes interpreted to suggest marriage.

But if Regulatory Elements are two Locules:

Rejection of traditional morals. A renegade. Anti-establishment. Breaking the rules. Conversely, could represent excessive stubbornness, stodginess, inflexibility or conformity. In certain contexts, could suggest divorce. Also, perhaps a warning of respiratory infections such as cold and flu.

# 6

Following the heart. Trust. Relationship. Responsibility. Commitment. Also partnership and cooperation.

May be an indicator of a love affair, but has more to do with making good choices. Recognise the difference between love and infatuation.

But if Regulatory Elements are two Locules:

Relationship problems.

It could be passionate lovers kept apart by their feuding families. It could be discontent resulting from a poorly considered marriage. The unhappy consequences of bad choices. In some contexts the harbinger of breakups or divorce.

# 7

Overcoming obstacles. Conquest, control. Exploration, journeys.

Triumph and mastery, not easy and swift but achieved through careful planning, hard work, force of will and foremost by harnessing disparate forces to work in unison. Self-control, confidence, commitment, effort and focus that produce success. Also, often relates to travel. A trip or a move may be coming soon.

But if Regulatory Elements are two Locules:

Rashness. Indecision. Accidents, defeats, delays.

Difficulty or failure coordinating disparate forces. Lack of control. Lashing out. Moving in circles.

Sometimes interpreted as a warning of stress related illness, such as ulcers. Also possibly vehicle or travel problems.

# 8

Fortitude, patience, perseverance, endurance. Mastery, focused inward. Force of will. Self-control.

The courage, confidence and persistence to follow through to the successful conclusion, in spite of difficulties. Harnessing one's own talents and strengths.

May represent providing a calming influence on others. Sometimes, love of animals, particularly cats.

But if Regulatory Elements are two Locules:

Anger, tyranny, weakness, cruelty, impatience. Avoidance. Cowardice.

Not in control. Unable to harness inner forces. Extremes of anger or timidity. Unable to break bad habits or overcome addictions.

Sometimes a warning of health problems related to anger and agitation, such as high blood pressure

# 9

Introspection. Spirituality. Wisdom, reserve, meditation, secrecy.

Looking objectively at the world around. Learning for the sake of learning. Increasing knowledge for the sake of doing so. Stepping back from the fast pace of life for a while to take stock of where you are.

It may be time to consider the lessons of the past. A need for space and time alone.

Possibly a wise confidant or tutor. A beacon of knowledge.

_But if Regulatory Elements are two Locules_ :

Antisocial. Withdrawn. Senile. Lost in the dark. Reclusiveness, isolation, loneliness.

Possibly a victim of betrayal. Perhaps fears of growing old or being alone. This could be a warning to think more objectively.

Also, beware of false or ignorant teachings. Be conscious of diseases related to aging, such as arthritis or hearing loss.

# 10

Fortune, good health, advancement. Unexpected good luck. Raises. Promotions.

Prosperity may be coming your way. Good news about health issues. Good luck for the prepared and the proactive.

But if Regulatory Elements are two Locules:

Ups and downs. Instability. Unpredictability. Negligence, inconsistency, speculation, cruel fate.

Apparent good fortune may not turn out to be so good after all. Possibly might suggest fluctuating health issues such as allergies or weight gain

# 11

Balance, harmony, equity, integrity, fairness. Truth. Fairness. Equality.

Doing the right thing, even if it is not the most desirable thing. Acting in fair, honest and just ways with one's self and with others. Perhaps a past injustice will be corrected. Getting one's just deserts.

Sometimes representing courts and the legal system, it could indicate winning a court case. Pay attention to promises, debts and obligations.

But if Regulatory Elements are two Locules:

Injustice. Imbalance. Unfairness. Inequality. Bigotry, intolerance, false accusations.

Not looking at the situation objectively. Disregard for what is right. Failure to be honest with one's self or with others. Unfair or excessive criticism. Possible legal problems. Inappropriate or overly severe application of the law. Abuse of the legal system.

# 12

Greater understanding. Sacrifice. Humility. Introspection. Acceptance. Contemplation. Selflessness, wisdom, suspension, entrancement, devotion, submission, intuition, regeneration. Meditation and revelation. Faith and trust.

Opening one's mind and overcoming preconceptions and prejudices. Disengage and look at the big picture. Perhaps others may be right about some things. Perhaps what had seemed so important really isn't when you stop to think about it.

But if Regulatory Elements are two Locules:

Stubbornness. Distrust. Narrow mindedness. Selfishness, procrastination, irresponsibility, lack of faith.

Refusal to see another's point of view. Unwilling to sacrifice or compromise.

# 13

Transformation and Rebirth. New beginnings. Mortality, destruction, deterioration.

A stern and unwavering messenger heralding change that is inevitable and is coming soon. Old habits and lifestyles will be abandoned for new and better ones. Discarding past encumbrances will make room for a better future. This will not be easy or painless, but ultimately will make things better.

Also, in certain contexts, may represent intense sexual experiences.

But if Regulatory Elements are two Locules:

Stagnation, immobility, pessimism, destruction. Resisting or delaying change.

Something that should die but won't. A cycle should end but is wrongly perpetuated. Inability to move on after a tragedy.

There may be an upside to the meaning, though. It might represent a "Blast from the Past", something that was lost but is once again found, or symbolise a threatening figure, possibly with sexual implications. Perhaps a passionate but dangerous relationship. Sometimes a warning of sexually transmitted disease or nerve damage.

# 14

Moderation. Balance. Harmony. Synergy. Adaptability, economy, unity, discretion, management, accommodation, and temperance.

Merging apparently opposite elements to create a whole greater than the parts. Adapting to the environment. Promoting, managing or directing to create a single product from the efforts of many. Perhaps apparently unrelated influences can be made to work in unison.

But if Regulatory Elements are two Locules:

Out of balance. Disharmony. Discord, bad combinations, lack of cooperation, conflict, competition, serious illness.

The attempt to merge opposite elements fails. Individuals you are working with may be uncooperative.

When focusing on health issues, warns of possible serious illnesses such as food poisoning or infectious diseases made worse by stress or an out of balance metabolism. Sometimes suggests religion and the church.

# 15

Excesses and extremes. Obsession. Giving in to temptations. Perversion. Alcoholism. Drug abuse. Careless and unrestrained sexuality. Violence, disease, force, drunkenness, passion, bondage, self-destruction.

Exploring one's deepest fantasies and desires. Unleashing the repressed animal instincts we all have inside.

A lesson on balance, teaching that extreme behaviour impedes achievement, progress and growth. Explore your inner self.

Someone powerful and persuasive, likely a controller or manipulator, but also perhaps a teacher. When looking at one's physical wellbeing, be alert for physical or emotional abuse, addiction, or sexually transmitted diseases.

But if Regulatory Elements include an Ovule:

Liberation, recovery, understanding, virtue.

Most often, escape from the bondage of self-destructive behaviour. The subject is likely to realise the damage they are doing, and start down a more constructive path. In a few cases, though, can represent succumbing totally to obsession or addiction; the darker meanings of pettiness, lust, bondage and bewitchment.

In health matters, suggests recovery from illness.

# 16

Unexpected catastrophe. Turmoil. Upheaval. Calamity, ruin, cataclysm, punishment.

A bolt from the blue smashes into your life, casting you out of your secure world. Complacency is shattered. Stability is gone. Comfort and confidence are distant memories. But may also represent new beginnings, not by choice but by necessity. It brings us back down to earth.

In a few situations, the bolt could be the electricity of irresistible passion or true love striking the Seeker.

But if Regulatory Elements include an Ovule:

Disruption, oppression, subjugation, persecution.

Illusions of solving the problem without really doing it. You may think you have smoothed things over, but catastrophe and turmoil are waiting for you around the corner because you have not really addressed the underlying problems.

# 17

Hope, inspiration, faith, promise.

Hope for the future. Rejuvenation will come, although perhaps not just yet. Though doors have closed, windows will surely open as time passes.

But if Regulatory Elements include an Ovule:

Disappointment, instability, poor choices.

A lack of hope, at least for the present. Opportunities are absent, and troubles persist.

# 18

Mystery. Nightmares. Dreams. Secrets. Hidden enemies, deception, illusion, danger, terror, lunacy, plots.

The fears that grow in the dark. The gateway between the physical and metaphysical, the conscious and subconscious realms. Entering this world is frightening, but can also be revealing and inspirational.

Suggests creativity and intuition. Possibly psychic revelations. Utilise the inspiration. Perhaps write or paint.

But also respect the dangers lurking in the dark. Beware of deceptions and phony people. The Seeker must be very careful to avoid hiding their fears behind alcohol or drugs, as they have an increased vulnerability to these self-destructive behaviours.

But if Regulatory Elements include an Ovule:

Inconsistency, instability, fantasy, ambush, fraud, usury. Heightened fears or denials.

Perhaps overly emotional or delusional behaviour. Irrational and intense fear could cause psychological problems. The wildness and chaos of the dark may be getting out of control.

Also travel, in a different sort of way. Even Astral Travel, the experience of consciousness traveling outside of the body.

When looking at health issues, represents sleep disorders, mental illnesses, drug overdoses and coma.

# 19

Revelation, enlightenment, success. A beautiful new dawn. New ideas. Creativity Radiance. Energy. Success. Prosperity.

Emergence from the darkness of the night into the light of the day. Clarity of thought, enhanced by previous trials, but also fuelled by youthful optimism. Pessimism is overcome. Depression fades. Enthusiasm merges with experience.

Sometimes suggests a marriage or childbirth.

But if Regulatory Elements are two Locules:

Lesser happiness, passion, pride, misunderstanding.

An obscuring of clarity. Refusal to open one's eyes to the possibilities. The enthusiasm and abilities are there, but the focus is clouded. Most likely this will be a temporary delay. Ultimately, the clouds should clear up.

The prize is right there, but to attain it, cynicism must be overcome

# 20

Resurrection. Renewal, awakenings, repentance, change.

Accepting the past and throwing off its burdens. Forgiveness, especially of one's self, but also of others. Major decisions which may result in major lifestyle changes.

But if Regulatory Elements are two Locules:

Inability to change or progress. Delay, stagnation, postponement, indecision.

Troubled or affected by the past. Perhaps held back by others. Possibly unable to move forward as a consequence of past deeds.

When looking at health issues, may suggest allergies and discomfort from allergic reactions.

# 21

Realisation. Reward. Recognition. Triumph. Completion, fulfilment, perfection, promotion, honours, good health. Understanding, success and achievement. Attainment of major goals.

Understanding the big picture. Everything falls into place. All the knowledge and experience you have gained can be used to do great things.

Perhaps a business leader opening new markets. A good omen for successful childbirth.

But if Regulatory Elements include an Ovule:

Delay. Inertia, stagnation, obstacles, failure, imperfection.

The tools seem to be there, but the successful completion is yet to be attained. Perhaps fear of what lies beyond is preventing completion. Sometimes thought to represent hollow or half-hearted efforts. A person with great credentials resting on their laurels.

Travel may be delayed or interrupted. Could represent failure or serious problems.

In health matters, generally represents good health and successful childbirth, unless negatively influenced, in which case it can suggest skeletal or orthopaedic problems.

# 22

Spontaneous. Endearing. Free of burdens. Free of worries. Living in the now. A suggestion of careless and excessive sexuality.

Fearlessly taking risks, not of bravery but of naiveté. A new start, and a blank page. An open mind, and an adventurous heart. A child sampling life. Exploring where your whims take you.

Anything is possible. But you may be studying the stars when you should be looking where your next step will land.

May be a likely victim of trickery and deception. An easy target for bullying or usury.

But if Regulatory Elements include an Ovule:

Foremost, the victim of recklessness. Excesses or irresponsibility. Foolish choices.

After a painful landing, you may shy away from risk taking, become suspicious, or fearful. In some contexts, may be seen as a call to accept responsibility and quit acting the fool.

# 23 Petal & Petal

A man or boy with yellow or auburn hair, fair complexion and blue eyes.

Or

Energy, inspiration and desire. Honesty, integrity, talent, genius.

A natural leader who has no doubt that he is in charge. Courageous, charismatic, generous. His ambition drives him ever onward toward greater achievements. His confidence, energy and enthusiasm infect those around him. He greatly enjoys social events and is a loyal friend. As a parent, he is more likely to lead his children by influence and inspiration than with discipline. He enjoys starting new projects, but does not always finish up.

But can also be intolerant, impatient, overbearing and domineering. He may be childish, selfish, short tempered or jealous. He might lash out at those he believes are not paying him enough respect. Perhaps the responsibilities of leadership are more than he can handle.

Excess, exaggeration, severity.

If looking at health related issues, pay attention to circulatory problems and be cautious to avoid head injuries.

# 23 Petal & Ovule

A man or boy with light brown or dull fair hair and grey or blue eyes. Or someone fair who is indolent and lethargic.

Or

Relationships, feelings, emotions, the heart. Fairness, honesty, integrity, consideration, supportiveness.

A good and decent man who cares deeply about others. He may be an artist, pastor, paediatrician, perhaps a teacher. He treasures his family and gives his all for their welfare and happiness. His weakness could be that he is too forgiving or soft-hearted with family members. He will not be soft-hearted or weak if they are threatened, however. Participation in community improvement or charitable organisations is possible.

But oversensitivity may result in emotional withdrawal due to feeling underappreciated. Possibly prone to escapism through alcohol or substance abuse. Also, this individual may use the loyalty and affection of others against them, perhaps developing a friendship to swindle the supposed friend.

Dishonourable, double-dealing, injustice, vice, scandal, corruption.

# 23 Ovule & Petal

A man or boy having hazel or grey eyes, dark brown hair and dull complexion. Or one who is dark but very energetic.

Or

Character, principles, intellect and communication. Honest, strict, intelligent. Fair and balanced, but unyielding. Judgment, command, authority, law, militarism, power.

A judge, military officer, police officer or physician. Someone of high ethics who backs his words with actions. Critical analysis of literary or legal documents, or technical writing.

But may take strictness to the extreme. He may be unsympathetic, uncaring, heartless. Excessively harsh penalties could be based on anger or vindictiveness. Possibly blind conservatism that blocks progress. In some cases, this behaviour might be a result of oncoming senility. Uncertainty or inability to make decisions could also be suggested.

Cruelty, perversity, inhumanity, barbarity, evil intentions.

# 23 Ovule & Ovule

A man or boy with very dark brown or black hair, dark eyes and sallow or swarthy complexion.

Or

The practical and economic facets of life.

A leader in monetary matters, and possibly in environmental matters. Likely to be involved in finance, and to be successful in the business world. A shrewd investor, but interested in value as well as profits. A lover of the finer things, but pragmatic about their acquisition. Perhaps a bit possessive about the people in his life. Steady, stable and dependable. Generous about providing guidance to others. Courageous, intelligent, intellectual, loyal. Mathematical aptitudes.

But may become a cheapskate or an exploiter. He may be a business owner who underpays his employees, cheats on taxes or operates dishonestly. He may be overly conservative, thereby impeding or preventing progress. He may view people simply as resources. Also, there may be financial problems. Mathematical aptitudes, dependability or pragmatism could be lacking. Could suggest environmental carelessness or usury.

Vice, weakness, ugliness, perversity, corruption, disorder

# 24 Petal & Petal

A woman or girl with yellow or auburn hair, fair complexion and blue eyes.

Or

A message. News of the new and exciting. Suggests enthusiasm and zeal. Surprising, consistent, faithful and helpful.

A youth with vigour and ambition, working hard to achieve a goal. Excitement and dedication for projects or hobbies.

But could also be bad news. Lack of interest or rejection of new projects. Unwilling to help others. Prone to tantrums and rashness.

Delinquency. Unstable, inconsistent, unfaithful.

# 24 Petal & Ovule

A woman or girl with light brown or dull fair hair and grey or blue eyes. Or someone fair who is indolent and lethargic.

Or

A message regarding love or relationship. Possibly news of an engagement or pregnancy. Helpful, innocent, loyal, studious.

An affectionate, sensitive, loving, but vulnerable child. Even an adult might feel some of this sensitivity and vulnerability. If the subject is a child, as with any child they will achieve and develop best in a supportive, nurturing environment. But this child may need a little bit of extra recognition and appreciation. With it, they can achieve great things.

But could also be bad news about love or relationship. Needy of reassurance. Possibly prone to use sexuality and seduction to attract or retain friendships. It may also represent a person who has been hurt in the past and is withdrawn as a result. When the subject is a child, it may suggest imaginary worlds and imaginary friends.

Weakness, heartache, adoration, supplication. Oversensitivity. Overcompensation.

# 24 Ovule & Petal

A woman or girl with hazel or grey eyes, dark brown hair and dull complexion. Or one who is dark but very energetic.

Or

Alertness. Readiness. Espionage or surveillance. Studying the situation. Possibly defensiveness. Awaiting something with expectation.

Often foretells the coming of an important message regarding a difficult or complex issue. Perhaps the message contains the solution. The news is often good. Caution with sharp objects such as scissors or knives is suggested.

But not someone to confide in. Often a liar or a gossip. Transitory communication problems are suggested. Errors in written documents, hesitation or difficulty speaking may occur. Can be spiteful and cutting. This aspect also represents important news, but in this case it is less likely to be good.

# 24 Ovule & Ovule

A woman or girl with very dark brown or black hair, dark eyes and sallow or swarthy complexion.

Or

A message about health, business or finance, most likely good news. Analytical. Pragmatic. Hands on. Scholarship, concentration, apprenticeship, work.

The down to earth child. An engineer and a builder. Serious about learning. Serious about money. Also a suggestion to pay close attention to business matters.

But could be bad news about finance, business, or health issues. Probably a cheapskate when it comes to spending on other people. Only interested in getting paid, not in doing quality work. Possibly problems studying or understanding assignments.

Dissipation, degradation, luxury, meddling. Overly materialistic. Obsessed with acquisition.

*

The Perfect Prediction

Blessed are the first one-hundred and fifty-three. For they are the very first Jasmines, who will spread their branches, take root, and suffuse the world in the glorious scent of Truth.

As recounted to The First Blessed Jasmine by the Perfect Gariel and added here by the Blessed Jasmine Jolie

**End** _The Book Of Jasmine_

*

If you enjoyed reading this book, please remember to click that you liked it on the Kindle Rating icon.

You may also enjoy (or you may know someone else who might enjoy) these other books by Jon Jacks.

The Caught – The Rules – Chapter One – The Changes – Sleeping Ugly

The Barking Detective Agency – The Healing – The Lost Fairy Tale

A Horse for a Kingdom – Charity – The Most Beautiful Things – The Last Train

The Dream Swallowers – Nyx; Granddaughter of the Night – Jonah and the Alligator

Glastonbury Sirens – Dr Jekyll's Maid – The 500-Year Circus

P – The Endless Game – DoriaN A – Wyrd Girl

Heartache High (Vol I) – Heartache High: The Primer (Vol II) – Heartache High: The Wakening (Vol III)

Miss Terry Charm, Merry Kris Mouse & The Silver Egg – Seecrets – The Wicker Slippers

