Sunday 16 October 2011

What the hell happened to wosisname? (5)

What then indeed happened to wossisname on this warm day?
 Charlie might imagine that he walked back the first mile at an angry pace, perhaps a little hurt but all the more determined because of it. For the second mile and that thereafter he would become thirsty. The third and final mile would see him increasingly frustrated for a hiker though he appeared in truth he clearly was not one that walked for pleasure. He would cough for his throat would not only be dry, but sore and no amount of saliva would make a difference. His top would become a burden and his t-shirt become wringing wet about back and sides. But the knight errant is on his quest and his obsession lends him energy, but then what else can he do? Return to the village no better placed than when he left? He has a need. In Charlie lies his justification, she thought. Perhaps having spent so long comparing conspiracies this field trip is now the most important thing in his life. To validate that life, to disprove those who might have said he had no life at all?
            Or maybe that was playing too close to stereotype. There was every chance Charlie allowed that he had a girlfriend, a cat and a circle of friends being as interested as he in the occult and the mysterious that he enjoyed his time immensely. There was nothing to say he watched the X Files. There is every chance he knew who Charlie was. In the Punch they would have discussed her and however guarded a name is enough for wossisname, for wherever he is there is the internet and there also, Charlie’s Mum.
Of course he knew who she was.
An insane murderer is one thing, an insane murderer about whom Nine Inch Nails released a classic song quite another. He most likely owned the album. He might even have called it up as he walked and Charlie could imagine him playing it as he arrived at the field.
There now where the earth lies in a mound over the pit does he dig with his hands, eager but fearful to find the truth? No, for Charlie remembers she left the spade not far away and a man looking for a pit would easily find a spade.
            So then wossisname digs. He does not call the Police because he would have done that before now and a man of such clear and fragile dignity would never wish to look a fool. Or if he did would find them now rather busy with the catastrophe. So he digs because he knows what he expects to find and that says rather a lot about him, for he must have grisly expectations. And having dug and found a bin bag does he tear it open, or like a scene from a television show wish to leave things undisturbed? Whatever he does Charlie is sure he takes pictures and perhaps then to prove his determination might he then call her?
            If he does then Charlie won’t hear it but she would have liked to see his face when the first bars of Boys Don’t Cry comes from the pit, and then? Charlie no longer cares. Dressed and painted Charlie is going to the pub. Hair spiked. Pale faced, black lippy and eyeliner, happy again. She had been a happy Goth. 

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