Chapter One: Arrival
It should have been a fortnight’s holiday, but in fact, two months had passed while no one knew what was going on. His mother and father had been annoyed, mainly because they had received phone calls from him asking for money. Then, eventually, a travel agent had contacted them, saying it would send him back to Britain, if they paid the fare. When Jason set off two months ago, he had arrived in one part of Greece, but was being sent back from quite another. Only his mother was waiting at the airport to take him back home. She had not wanted to travel all the way down from Norfolk to Gatwick, but had had no choice. He was arriving back in England penniless and without transport. She would do her duty, like she always did, hating silently, but noticeably. She glanced at her watch; it was just a couple of minutes past six o’clock. As she sat in the airport lounge the sunlight streamed in through the long vertical blinds. The plate glass coruscated here and there and bathed all who were present in a beautiful glow. Her hair was silver now, but her complexion was still like that of a much younger woman. As she turned her head her hair glinted in the sunlight and it was then that she caught sight of her son. He was tanned of course, looking very relaxed, and basically, pleased to see her. She was not so bothered. After two months he had lost weight. Being lost in Greece he had probably been living on berries, and getting water from a public drinking fountain. He apologised for being a nuisance, and assured her all would be well. Disinterestedly, she tossed her head and headed for the car park. It was obvious Marion Mitchell was co-operating because she had to. Her only son, Jason, was difficult in her mind, but probably in no one else’s. Although this time he had got into a bit of a scrape. She wanted an explanation, but only in a half-hearted way. So far, she had not asked for one; it would come sooner or later she thought, but in any event it would be too late, the damage had been done. She had a son who didn’t seem to be capable of independence. She was the one who had to clear up. Other parents would take it all in their stride, Jason always thought. Somehow his mother couldn’t; a molehill would become a mountain. But it wasn’t all plain sailing. Used to difficulties she had perfected the art of agonising over her small family. The only thing she wanted now was to complete the long journey home.
As they sat in the car Jason was shocked by his mother’s silence. Although not surprised by anything she did now, he couldn’t help thinking that she was totally cold, and that was shocking. Any other mother, he knew, would be full of questions; not so Marion. He began to wonder if she had buried him, at least in her own mind, two or three years back, and everything that she did now with regard to him, was simply meaningless, a date with a ghost. Her silence made it easy for him. He didn’t have to find answers, where possibly there weren’t any. When he was on the plane, flying back home, he had been going through some practice answers to try to make himself look better. One thing he had definitely decided to lie about was his money. He had simply gone on holiday with insufficient funds, and then on finding that he couldn’t pay for his hotel accommodation, had concocted some cock and bull story about losing his money on the beach. Didn’t his mother want to know how he had lost his make-believe money? Apparently not. Didn’t she want to know how he had travelled around the mainland looking for work to try to earn some money? No she didn’t. She had about as much interest in his recent difficulties as he had in gardening. His mother liked him to do the gardening when staying with her, so she won again. He would do the gardening; there would be no interest in Jason or Jason things. Knowing she expected to play by her rules, Jason was circumspect about his stay with her and his father. He didn’t want it to be too long. He had friends, or so he told himself. To most people they would probably appear as hangers-on, but whatever the nature of them, he could probably stay with them until he found a place of his own. Things would work out, he thought; he wasn’t going to panic.
Jason, who was twenty-five now, had had one or two girlfriends, but nothing really serious. All that would change he thought, as he sat tanned and handsome in his mother’s car. Girls would be falling at his feet; a tan always improved your chances with the opposite sex. The friends he already had would see him as a more attractive accessory. Possibly Paula would show a more positive interest in him than she had done before he went away; either her, or Kristin. He hadn’t known either girl very long. He had met them at a nightclub about three months ago, and they had seemed interested in him. Now they would definitely be interested he thought, and his mother would be even more put out, because to hear her speak of them you would think you were talking of loose women. Jason thought his mother wouldn’t know a real ‘lady of the night’ if one jumped out of the dark and grabbed her. Paula and Kristin weren’t prostitutes. They were just everyday modern girls that liked enjoying themselves, and having the proverbial ‘good time’. But, and this was what his mother did not understand, it did not make them ‘good time girls’. All he knew was that he would like to get to know them better, no harm would come of that. It’s a wonder that Marion hadn’t made a mummy’s boy of Jason. It wasn’t that she fussed him to death or anything, but she never seemed to show enough interest in encouraging healthy relationships. Everybody needs some encouragement to do the right thing, its how people are, but for Marion Mitchell it was too much trouble. Let him get on with his own life, she thought. She didn’t want to get involved, he will make mistakes anyway, no matter what she said or did, or so she thought. In everything with him she was a defeatist. Jason’s blue eyes would get him into trouble, that together with his natural charm. No girl was safe while this paragon walked the streets. Jason was coming home with a sense of excitement. Certainly there were things in Jason’s life even he thought were dark. There were so many unanswered questions about the recent past. Some answers would have to be found, a way forward opened up. He was not going to rest until he got to the truth about several mysteries in his life. He came back from Greece a new man wanting some solutions. He knew his mother and father would not be of much help to him, but this did not discourage him. He was eager to start on his journey of discovery, nothing would stop him now, not even his mother’s cosy refusal to disturb anything that meant a ruffling of her well-ordered feathers. She would not hear of it. What he was about to do, he would have to do alone. It was for the best, he would be unhampered and single-minded in his quest. He would be a success in what he wanted to do, because he was ambitious, and he had big ideas about just what he could become. No one had any idea about just what he wanted to achieve, or what he hoped the future would bring. His mother would have dismissed his ideas straightaway, as unrealistic and illusory. Not Jason, there was something inside him which propelled him forward. He was probably not sure what it was himself, but it was that perseverance and the ability to go on and on that he alone possessed. If he could control his life he would. He had his head on his shoulders, and nobody was going to tell him what he could or could not do. He knew certain people already who he thought might be able to help him. He had met, quite by chance, a television director and his family, and he hoped one day they might be instrumental in giving his career a leg-up. He had done a lot of writing since he left school, and the dream in his mind had always been that of penning a Hollywood blockbuster. One day he would make it. One day they would all see, but until then he must sort out the problems of his life, so that a way forward might be carved out.
As all this flooded through his mind Jason grew weary. His mother wasn’t saying much in the car, so he had plenty of time to think. Now the journey was over, and as they came out of the dell to the left of the main road, they entered the small town of Radley that was home. In two minutes he would be back inside the family home face to face with his father, but somehow he wasn’t relishing the prospect. His mother wound the window down to get some fresh air as if she wanted to revive herself before arriving at her destination. The pleasing zephyr played over her features in a soothing and caressing way. At that point the car shot forward into the road where they lived, and in no time they were both stood on the doorstep. Unfairly, Marion Mitchell rang the bell. Jason’s father would have to answer the door. After a slight delay the door opened slowly, and a middle-aged man stood there alone.
‘Can I help you?’
‘Its all right, Maurice, we are back’, Marion said as his blind eyes looked on the whole world the same. Jason’s father had been blind for about six years now. It had been a very nasty car accident that had taken away his sight. The glass from the windscreen had exploded in his face. He was lucky to be alive. With this cross to bear, Jason’s mother was grudging in nearly everything she did that was not absolutely essential. It even extended to not bothering to making Jason toast in the morning. He could do it himself; she would probably have to do something for her husband, so her hands were full. She was a creature resigned to her fate, but not liking it at all. She knew in her heart that she would never get used to the idea that her husband was a liability. It was just an irksome task, this whole life of hers, until one day it would peter out completely. It would not be totally wrong to say she looked forward to that very day. She was not a happy woman. This morning she looked tired. The long drive yesterday had taken it out of her.
‘You should have stayed in bed, mum’, Jason offered, seeing her look dishevelled and unkempt.
‘Oh, I’ll be alright’, she said half-heartedly, a line she had rehearsed millions of times, but could still not deliver with any conviction.
Jason’s father was sitting at the large dining table alone. Marion always did her breakfast first, leaving her free to serve Maurice. In the middle of the table was a silver rose bowl covered in crimson ‘Fragrant Cloud’. It was ‘Fragrant Cloud’ because it exuded a delicious perfume therapeutic to Mr. Mitchell. Marion had dabbled in aromatherapy to try and help her husband, but like everything else she did it was a half-hearted attempt at helping him, and now the full rose-bowl was the last vestige of her interest. It is a known fact, of course, that if you lose one of your senses, you immediately make more of the others, and they in turn become more actively sensitive to the environment around them. Jason would spend some time with his father he thought, going over some of his experiences in the Aegean. He was full of good intentions at this point of his life. There was a lot he needed to know himself, not from his father, but he would not begrudge telling the old man a thing or two. When he first thought of the stay at home he hadn’t been too keen, but on getting back home he had changed his mind. After all, it was a comfortable home. It was a three-bedroomed house, detached, with pleasant gardens to the front and rear, and placed as it was at the head of a cul-de-sac had a good view of the leafy trees that lined the road. Inside the house, it was light and airy; the lounge with its pale lemon walls was a sunny room even on dull days. It made Jason feel secure that he was back in familiar surroundings; he didn’t knock it, even if his friends would make better soul mates. Apart from anything else it would be cheap to live at home for a while. He could eat there for a small cost; his mother would not take much from him. And they would agree quite silently a makeshift compatibility that would get them through, however long they stayed together. To any onlooker it would seem an uncomfortable ‘menage a trois’, but they could handle it, and that was all that mattered.
Chapter Two: Working out the past
The time had come for Jason to work something out. Just before he had gone on holiday he had stopped taking drugs prescribed for an ear infection. Unbelievably he had been on them for six years. Jason came from the sort of family that trusted implicitly the doctors of the medical profession. His family would argue that they had no reason to do otherwise. No doctor had ever cheated them before. After six years on what seemed to be the wrong medication Jason was going to act. Before he went away he had thought it over, and now he was back he wanted to get to the truth about Dr. Hillier. The tablets had made him lethargic and generally uninterested in life. They had had a sedating effect, and all they had told him was that it was necessary to take the tablets or his balance would be adversely affected, as long as the ear was infected. This had gone on for six years, and as Jason now realised it had gone on for so long because the tablets stopped him from complaining. On these tablets you would accept anything. Dr. Hillier wasn’t a psychologist or psychiatrist but there was something about the tablets that suggested that he was operating in the regions of the mind. The whole thing was suspect, and Jason wanted the police involved. It wasn’t going to be easy convincing anyone that something was wrong, but it was as plain as day that something underhand had been afoot and Jason was not going to flinch from doing his bit to get justice.
When he looked back he thought of the night in one of the clubs in Norwich. Some people thought it was a red light district and now Jason was in two minds as to the nature of the clubs there. They could very easily be involved in anything, sex for sale, drugs, anything, and the more Jason thought about his night at the Dakota Club the more he became convinced that it had something to do with his long-term medical problems. It was only a fortnight after his visit to the club that the prescription for the tablets began. It had been downhill all the way after this: nights in, no motivation to mix socially with anybody, no interest in talking to people, no nothing. Something was very wrong. If he hadn’t stopped taking the tablets against Dr. Hillier’s advice he would still be the quiet dummy that the drugs had made him. Thank goodness he had stopped taking them; he congratulated himself mentally every time he thought of his decision to come off them. Somebody was going to pay. What Dr. Hillier was trying to cover up was anybody’s guess. Jason was going to have to reveal the truth, but what was the truth? Had he just forgotten to stop the treatment or did he have a personal interest in keeping Jason drugged. Jason was convinced it was the latter. He hoped to reveal the truth about Dr. Hillier once and for all. In Jason’s opinion he was the sort of doctor that had got away if not with murder then something that came very close.
Tonight he would go back to the nightclub that he had visited six years ago. That seemed the most likely lead he had. After all, his troubles started after the visit. If he was just imagining that the club was sinister, only time would reveal the truth. But also if he could find anything out it may just clear Dr. Hillier’s name and stop the suspicion Jason had in that area. For although he thought Dr. Hillier’s medication was wrong, perhaps he had been made ill by something completely unconnected to the doctor. A spiked drink for instance that he had received at the club. But a drug that could have a detrimental effect on your health for six years, no, he thought not, but he wasn’t going to close his mind to any solution, until the facts could be established. Jason was nothing if not fair. He wanted to uncover the truth in an unprejudiced way. He was ready to do so; would fate be on his side he wondered, certainly time was not. Six years is a long time, and as he considered his plight he suffered the first pangs of doubt and helplessness. It was going over and over in his mind - Will I be able to find out the truth, or will they just close ranks and do a big cover-up that will ridicule all the efforts I make? Life is lousy, Jason thought, the six years that have been wasted can never be recouped, and it could possibly all end in disgrace. An innocent man can be made to look guilty by the unscrupulous and the unlawful if they think they are being exposed. He would have to be very clever about this and as discreet as possible, even then the guilty parties would probably twig. Realising that, is when Jason knew it was dangerous, but this did not deter him. He had a kind of bravery in spite of too much molly coddling as a youngster by a confused mother. In some ways the thought of death did not bother him; he was philosophical about it. He was a great believer in destiny, che sera, sera, and all that. We all have a time to live, and a time to die; he wasn’t afraid. In the release from the drug he had a release from a long drawn out boredom. In some ways he felt he could achieve anything. Having said that he did not see himself as a force to be reckoned with. He was mistaken really, because he possessed a certain power. Along the way many would come to realise the truth of it - his persistence and tenacity standing him in good stead against the forces of evil. Because that was what was against him, evil, pure evil and not even he could have imagined the scope and variety it was to display before his journey was finally over.
Marion Mitchell had been to the shops earlier on that day and was now preparing dinner. They usually ate about six. Jason planned on leaving about seven, so he would just have enough time to eat the meal and then leave to catch the train. As he sat in the lounge of Cherry Tree Avenue, his family home, he thought about his last visit to the Dakota Club. There had been some weird and wonderful characters there; indeed some thought it was a gay bar. The truth was it embraced all sorts and if you were looking for sex, you would probably have got it. It was six years ago, but Jason thought it would be the same, although he did allow for the fact that most of the clientele would be different. He would deal with that problem when he got there. Just to be there would be something. It would represent rebellion, in his mind. Rebellion against a regime that had confined him to couch potato status. He knew that he was doing the right thing by going, that was all that mattered. He would be careful this time about what he drank and he would watch them a lot more closely. Other than that he would act as naturally as possible so as not to arouse anyone’s suspicions.
Jason’s father was already sat at the table when his mother called them in for dinner. It was his father’s favourite, not his, a special way of presenting monkfish. Anyway it would fill a hole, that’s all that mattered. His father could sense his son’s impatience, although he had said nothing about going out. He therefore decided to lie and said he was going to see one of his old friends across town. His parents swallowed this, while he made a decent job of the monkfish. Although Mr. Mitchell was blind there was not much that could be kept from him. Jason didn’t like having to keep anything from him, but he refused to be obvious about what he was doing, and he had silently promised to himself that all he did regarding his investigations would be conducted in complete secrecy.
Having finished his meal, Jason made a quick change of clothes and left the house. Although the house wasn’t exactly near the station, it wasn’t that far away, and he decided he could walk it. Also it would be good exercise. He was conscious of his fitness or lack of it, since arriving back from Greece and was thinking of possibly attending the local gym. He would visit the gym if he got any free time, meanwhile he would walk whenever he could and get that most natural of all exercise.
As the station came into view Jason could just make out the time on the clock tower. It was half past seven. He wondered to himself how long he would have to wait for the train into Norwich. It would probably not be that long, as it was a fairly good service. Surprisingly to himself, he was a little bit nervous. Angry inside that he felt that way, he became impatient with himself, for above everything else he was not a coward. He could not understand feeling that way. He snapped out of it almost immediately but somehow it seemed he could sense a dimension of danger that in the cosy world of Cherry Tree Avenue had never been experienced before. A lot of the angst that he had felt over the last six years seemed to have rushed in on his mind all at once, but it was alright now, the feeling subsided almost as quickly as it had reared its ugly head. The renewed and self-assertive young Jason was ready to go on his journey - nothing would stop him now.
Chapter Three: Finding the Riverdene
The train slunk its way into the station, as if it was on covert business. Jason was anxious to get off and be on his way. He didn’t need any tell-tale signs of secret dealing about him, but then his imagination was running away with him; the train was not really giving him away. As he left Norwich station he dropped a pound coin into the busker’s hat. They were usually playing or singing in that spot, he had noticed them before, and he never liked to pass them without giving something. Once out of the station his pace quickened; he was anxious to get to the club. Off the beaten track, the club was tucked away down a side street not far from the river. As Jason approached the vicinity of it, he thought how tatty it all was. It was even more run down in this part of the town than he remembered. Then suddenly he was there, standing before the old building in all its terrible faded glory. He did not need much time to realise it was empty. The building was finished being of any use to the public with its windows boarded up and its doors shuttered. It had probably been some time since it was filled with the laughter and shouts of its young clientele. A lot can happen in six years, and Jason realised the truth of this in a flash, as he stood somewhat desolate outside the club. He had made his journey for nothing, there was nothing left of the place he knew as the Dakota Club.
The building was still there, yes, but it was derelict. He could not see it being used again, and yet if it ever were to be, it would take a long time getting it ready, and even then it would probably have a completely different clientele to the original club. Before it had closed, it had changed its name from the Dakota Club to the Sunset Bar. The plastic letters stuck across the front of the building were thick with grime, but occasionally, there was a flash of bright primary colours where the rain had dripped down and eroded the years of neglect. The name of it seemed hopelessly irrelevant now. Jason had come to a dead-end. He didn’t want to hang around here; in fact it might even be dangerous. It was starting to get dark, so his mind turned to going back home. He began walking towards the station. And then after a fifteen minute stroll the notice outside the station deflated him completely. There had been a derailment and there were to be no more services that evening in the direction he wanted to go. Could it get any worse than this? He doubted it. He left the station and started walking in the direction of the river again. He would look for somewhere to stay. Before he had gone very far a taxi pulled up in front of him, and someone got out. It stayed parked there and did not move. He thought a while and then it occurred to him to ask the taxi driver to take him to an hotel; it would save him looking for one. So that was what he did. He dropped into the back seat and let the driver do the work, saving time and effort, if not money. Before very long there were outside somewhere, and the taxi driver was demanding money. Jason paid, without tipping, and got out of the cab. It was a small hotel and suitable he thought, as he entered by the front door. Perhaps this evening of mischance was not going to be so totally miserable after all.
The lobby was totally deserted; not a good sign he thought. He was struck by the feeling that there was something decidedly odd about it. It was quiet too, although he could see through an open door at the back of the reception area there was a bar open. He thought he wouldn’t learn much here about the Dakota Club, even if he called it the Sunset Bar, but he toyed with the idea of mentioning both if he could find a suitable drinking partner. He hadn’t intended to, but, when someone eventually turned up at reception, he gave a false name. It was a spur of the moment decision to call himself Mr. Foster, after all he didn’t want anyone and everyone knowing he was spending the night in the city of crime, for that is what he thought secretly in his heart. There was an undercurrent in this city of distinctly unsavoury goings-on. If he were to investigate successfully, he would have to be as discreet as possible. Certainly if somebody knew of him, they would recognise his name, and would be onto him straightaway. For the hotel he would remain Mr. Foster and in fact if he were to go to the clubs he would give the same name. It would be some defence against getting the cold shoulder treatment he expected to get from a place like the Dakota Club. Although it was six years ago, the people that he had come up against then would probably still know who he was. He had changed quite considerably however; the gap from nineteen to twenty-five is a big one, with a different name he just might be able to take people in, or at least some of them.
The man on the desk handed over the key. He was quite an old man, about sixty, the janitorial type that mooched around small hotels. He did not say much as he led the way up the staircase to the first floor. He opened room six with the key, handed it to Jason, then left him alone. Jason Mitchell, now Foster, had made inroads he was not aware of. He had booked into one of the city’s most notorious bordellos without even knowing. He was a bit suspect about the hotel, but as yet there was nothing to suggest it was seriously a whorehouse. Only time would give away the sort of place it was, and a few introductions to girls of a certain sort, that would leave you in no doubt as to the kind of hotel you were staying in. What Jason wanted to do was go in the bar for an hour or so before going to bed. It was after ten, but not late for this bar; often it was open to one or two o’clock in the morning. That in itself for a small hotel was suspicious. It was small things like that which gave away these places. What did they do to put on a respectable front? One thing was to encourage some old and past it guests; that would at least confuse people. On entering the bar that is what Jason was presented with, a couple of old men aged about seventy, both silent, although sitting together, and both looking really rather miserable. He went straight to the bar and ordered a Holsten Pils. He had thought this out before. He would only drink from bottles, thereby minimising the risk of getting drinks that were tampered with. It was a girl behind the bar, a working girl of course. Jason twigged from her smile, and he became surer of the type of accommodation he was staying in bit by little bit. He introduced himself to the girl and she gave her name as Cindy. One thing he did notice about her was she didn’t ask any awkward questions. Cindy was a pleasant enough girl, but as simulated as fur-fabric. There was no real conviction in her conversation; it was so lightweight it could have taken off. Yet beneath this front was a strong sexuality. Jason thought he would mention the Sunset Bar; it shouldn’t hurt he thought. Cindy knew of it and quite artfully made out it wasn’t the sort of bar she would go to, and anyway as she said it had been closed for eighteen months to two years. Jason thought it must have been a mecca for all the vice girls and boys in the area. What a pity that the club is closed, but there must be somewhere else. Maybe the new place is the one Cindy does approve of, quire unaware of anything risky connected with it, of course. Quite matter of fact Jason said,
‘Is there anywhere at the moment, Cindy, for a good night out?’
‘Oh, there are plenty of places in the centre of town. I go to them regularly.’ Well, she was giving nothing away Jason thought; maybe they think I ask too many questions, I won’t ask anything else. He thought he would sit in the bar for another few minutes just to see if anyone came in. He was just finishing his drink when a young man walked in. He was fairly handsome, about twenty-two. The man said nothing and sat near the two old men. Jason decided not to enter into conversation and left the bar. It was after eleven o’clock when he climbed the stairs to his room. He undressed quickly and slipped between the sheets. No sooner had he hit the pillow than he fell asleep. In sleeping however, did he dream? In the dream of his life Cindy and several other girls, a lot of them only fourteen or fifteen, were ministering to his every need. One or more of these beautiful girls fulfilled every sexual desire he had. After a marathon of sexual athletics the dream subsided and he slipped into deep unconsciousness. It had been no ordinary dream, despite his attention to Cindy at the bar, when she served the drinks, somehow something had got into the glass and he had hallucinated on falling asleep. When he woke in the morning he was suspicious of all around him. Obviously Cindy had felt he needed encouragement and the idea of the dream was to loosen up someone like Jason to stop him being shy. What didn’t occur to Jason was that they wanted him not so much as a customer, but as a male escort. There was always a shortage of men going into the business. Girls there were a-plenty, but men, not so many. He was young, handsome and still a bit tanned and as far as the business was concerned very presentable. When he came down to breakfast he knew he had no reason to trust them at all, but he was going to have to, if he wanted to learn anything at all, for although his stay was nearly over he didn’t want this to be his last visit. In for a penny, in for a pound, he would drink the coffee and hope for the best. What he knew these places never did, was outright poisoning, it was other things, less damaging, but sometimes quite frightening, that they specialised in. They used things like agers to modify behaviour and to harden and twist the personality. Today Jason knew he faced a new challenge. Could he be man enough to take on the personality of a male escort to further his quest? Could he become as vicy as Cindy or any of the other vice girls there, or indeed the men there - though he had only seen one last night. He thought this over, while he sipped the coffee from a slightly chipped cup. A lot had changed in his life this past couple of months; perhaps he should take the bull by the horns and change things completely. For as long as he was still in control, what had he to lose by making vice and sexual pleasure his raison d’etre, always knowing that behind it all he had a private quest of his own. It was with a distinct spring in his step that Jason proceeded to Norwich station for the train back home.
