Chapter 3.2

When Staff Seargeant Stewarts walked in for his mid-shift coffee 20 minuted later, he found the group holding their sides as Sarah recounted stories from her latest tour.

'...And then, wait wait wait, it gets better,' she was saying as he picked up his coffee from Mary with a nod. 'So after all of that, the flat tire and the broken timing belt and the ticket and everything, we still had to get to the gig cos I still had to get on stage and make people laugh and you know, get paid. So we limp into the parking lot of the theatre and there's a team of security guards around the place cos the show is sold-out, booked solid. And I'm thinking, I cant find my I.D. badge.' Groans. '”They're not going to let me in, I'm going to be shut out of my own show. This is the end”. Come on in Mike, good to see you.'

'Good to see you too Sarah, please go on,' Stewarts said, taking a seat at the table. 'I'm already hooked, keep going.'

'So all of this is running through my head and I'm starting to panic. But luckily, the head of security was a big fan, he told me afterwards that he had pulled some serious string to work my gig, so when I showed up at the stagedoor, he recognised me straight away and whisked me inside. I was that close, the audience was already sitting down when I arrived at the door. The theatre head was having kittens but they stuck a bottle of water in my hand and shoved me out on stage just in time. And that's when I realised that my shirt was torn, my clothes were covered in grease and mud and my hair was an absolute mess. The audience was clapping their welcome and this was it, fly or die.' She paused dramatically and the Seareant's eyes darted around, noting the rapt attention of the little group. 'So I turned to the audience and I said, “Winnipeg, I heard your mosquitoes were bad, boy was that an understatement. Just look at what they did to me on the way here!” They laughed, and I flew!' The group laughed heartily on cue and Sarah beamed. Mike smiled to himself and sat back with his coffee.

Mary did another tour with her coffee jug and smiled to hear the group head down yet another conversational road.

“No, I mean it's inherently doomed to fail. The moral or edcational status of it's followers has little to do with it over more than the immediate short term.”

“What?” Barkus was clearly baffled, but lifted his coffee mug for Mary to refill.

“Okay,” Sarah adjusted her seat, flipped hair out of her eyes and spread her hands as Mary went around the table. “I propose that the true underlying principle of organised religion is that of elitism and superiority. You have a system of salvation that hinges you belonging to a certain group ideology, right? The door is firmly shut against everyone else. Everyone who by reason of having the wrong language, educational background, childhood indoctrination, even the wrong time and place of birth. All of those billlions of people, the door is locked solidly against them. Once you have a system so elitist and that panders to the human ego so thoroughly and contains as part of its framework the justification to act inhumanly towards other human beings, because after all, they're sinners beyound redemption anyway, well, any kind of atrocity becomes easy because they're not really people. They dont really count. And this is for damn-near every organised religion going by the way, picking which one to concentrate on is just splitting hairs.”

“So what are you saying?” Barkus asked, puzzled.

“Oh, just that its not faith that's causing the pain. Faith is a beautiful part of the human condition. Humans need faith to get up in the morning, if only faith that today will be better than yesterday. Where people go wrong is in thinking that faith and religion are comparable.”

“Okay, I didnt know I held that asumption,” Barkus laughed, looking at the rest of the around the table. In doing so, he caught sight of a man staring, no glaring, over at them. He was eating breakfast in betwen snorting like a bull. Gus, who was facing that way, winked and made a conciliatory gesture. Sol was frowning at the ceiling, Lynn had stars in her eyes and the law enforcement representatives were siting with their mouths open, coffee forgotten.

Sarah smiled, “Most people don't realise it,” she said. “Until it's pointed out and that I fear, says several things all at once and none of them good. But I digress.” In the breath she took to collect her thoughts, Barkus shot a glance towards the angry man's table, now wiping his mouth and musing over his coffee, apparently paying them no attention at all.

“For the sake of this conversation, let's say faith and belief are free emotions, they arise in the human heart without any control from the brain. They either happen or they don't. Religion is a different thing. Religion happens when a group of people sit down and decide on a set of behavioural norms and group ideologies around an item of faith. They then make it look like the same thing. If you follow the rules you'll receive faith and if you have faith you must obey the rules. It's a parlour trick, one that has worked for a very long time, but still a parlour trick.”

“You're calling the Church a parlour trick?”

“I'd go so far as to say a con-job in fact,” Sarah seemed unruffled by George's incredulous expresion. “Especially for you and your heritage George, if you don't mind me saying. Groups of elites dictating from their ivory towers how the masses should behave in every situation in thier lives and they get paid for it. It's a great gig if you can get it, you have to admit.” Barkus's eyes darted back to the angry man's table, but he was scribbling furiously in a notebook.

“But you hold that faith is seperate,” Gus questionned.

“Completely, absolutely seperate,” Sara nodded. “I would even go so far as to say that faith may be our saving grace, if only we could get religion the hell out of the way.”

“But how can faith be our saving grace if you deny the role of religion to harness it?” Sol asked. Sarah spread her hands.

'Why does faith need to be harnessed? Why does it need to be a tool for division? Or suppression? Instead of unity and the aknowledgement of what makes us actually unique in the Animal Kingdom?”

The angry man paused in his scribbling, then shook his head and restarted at an even more furious pace. Now Barkus had joined in the open mouth chorus, though he couldnt help noticing a curiously elated expression on Gus's face and a darkly amused one on Sol's. Lynn's smile was huge.

“I'm sorry, but huh?” Mike said. “You're starting to sound vey hippy-ish to me now Sarah and I know that's not you. So how about getting down to the nuts and bolts of it and explain what you're actuallly trying to say in a way that this poor ol' back-water police officer can understand.” Sara put down her coffee and looked him with her head on one side for a moment.

“Allright then, but I'm going to have to pick on you a little bit to do it first.” Mike shrugged and had some coffee. “I guess we all, with the exception of Barkus, know that you're a Church-going man Seargeant, is that correct?”

“That I am, or that you know I am?” Chuckles. “Alright I'll play properly. Yes, I am a Church-going man.”

“My question is, if you had to describe the reason, the real reason why you choose to attend Church as a fully autonomous adult male, what would you describe?” To his credit, Barkus thought, the Seargeant sat back and thought about this properly, instead of going for the flippant reply.

“Now, this doesnt happen everytime,” he stated at last. “But sometimes, I get this feeling of, connection I guess, of peace that made of stillness, of a silence made of noise and it's like,” he paused slightly embarresed but, emboldened by Sara's smiling nod, he tried again. “Do you know when, you've spent every ounce of energy you got running, or playing sports or.” He grinned. “Any other physical activity that adults may care to name.” Laughter. “And just after that, when you're getting your breath back, and your muscles are screaming at you but you dont care because your mind is completely clear and it feels like the edges of yourself go on forever and you're filled with, the feeling of fantastic.” He joined the laughter. “Pure fantastic-ness is filling every cell in your body and your mind is clear and free.” He paused. “Make that a PG image and that's the reason why I go to Church.”

“And that's faith,” Sara said excitedly. “That feeling of connection and benevolence and being re-charged from exhaustion, that's faith. All of the constraints and rigidness surrounding that feeling, that's religion. And the sad part is, religion started as a way of protecting that feeling and giving the faithful a reliable place to find that feeling and instead became the valve that choked it off by supplanting the search for that true moment of bliss with the search for sin i.e. breaking the rules.”

“You saying we dont need rules missy?” George asked in mock-severity.

“I'm saying we dont need the burden of sin, we dont need the fear-mongering and sure as hell dont need the shame.”

“I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that you were raised Catholic,” Barkus observed. Sarah nodded as she took a sip of coffee.

“I tell people I'm RC, was Roman Catholic, now Recovering.” The men guffawed at this while Lynn winked at Sarah and squeezed her hand.

“How's the burden of shame doing?” Sarah looked sideways at Lynn mischeivously.

“Getting lighter every day.” Lynn punched her on the shoulder as the table burst into laughter again. 

“Alright then,” Barkus said later. “What else would you describe under the heading of faith?” Sarah looked at him quizzically. They were alone at the table, George had checked the time and hurried off home, the Sherrif had begun his rounds, and Sol and Gus had their own errands to run. Lynn had “gone ahead home” and Barkus was on watch duty to “make sure she gives me a half-hour headstart.” He hadn't asked, just agreed to do as he was told in exchange for a future muffin. The Cafe had a few occupied tables but it wasnt as busy. Angry man was still there, on the third page of his notebook, still writing though at a much slower pace.

“You're gonna have to catch me up there Barkus,” she replied as she got up to refill her mug from the jug on the counter.

“You said, “for the purposes of this conversation, lets say that faith and belief are emotions”. Oh thank you,” he added and held out his coffee cup in answer to her profferment. “What would you call them for the purposes of another conversation?”

“Like this one for example?” Barkus shrugged. She doctored her coffee and sat staring into space for a moment. “Okay,” she said at last. “Since this is a one-on-one, I'd like to try something if you dont mind.”

“Do I have to stand up?”

“Nope, stay right you are, exactly as you are. There's an exercise called the 'Conscious Breath'.”

“Exercise? I thought I didnt have to get up,” Barkus joked nervously, though he had no idea why. Sarah's face held an amused expression.

“Don't worry,” she told him. “You wont be doing anything embaressing, though you might find it easier to close your eyes the frst few times.”

“Oh, okay.” Barkus scanned the room, no-one was looking their way, though he got the feeling that the angry man was trying to watch them out of the corner of his eye. Annoyance flashed, what was that fat idiot doing?

“Never mind him,” Sara said in a low voice and Barkus looked back at her. “Dude in the too-small ballcap? You'll get angry people everywhere, you can't let them into your head.” Barkus glanced towards the other table again and Sara laughed. “Come on, I'll teach you something that's pretty damn handy when dealing with those kinds of people.”

“Is funny music required?”

“Nope.” Barkus sighed and put down his cup, straightened up in the chair and folded his hands in his lap.

“Okay then, lead me through it.”

“So fatalistic!” Sarah laughed again. “But okay. What I want to you to do is breath in through your nose, but when you do, you must follow the path of the air as it goes into your nostrils, down the back of your throat and into your lungs.” Barkus opened an eye and looked at her quizzically. “I know what it sounds like, just trust me. And when you exhale, follow the air back out from your lungs, up your throat and out.”

“And what does this do?” Barkus asked as he tried to follow the insructions without feeling like a bit of a fool.

“It puts you solidly in the moment, where no fears or worries can touch you.” Barkus looked at her sternly. “No seriously! Think about it, all your stress and worries and fears and doubts and regrets are in one of two places: the future or the past, yes?”

“Okay.”

“So when you are able to concentrate on the feeling of the breath you are taking right now, you are placing yourself completely in the present and none of the other stuff matters. It can't touch you.”

“Is that I'm trying to do?” Barkus laughed and Sara grinned.

“Okay so I'm not the greatest teacher. But that's the general idea, yes. When you concentrate solely on how it feels when you breath, you calm your mind and allow yourself time to think.”

“Oh, is that all?”

“Actually no,” Sara deadpanned. “The extra rush of oxygen increases the amount of oxygen in your brain which allows you to make better decisions. The break from the ego, the part of us that is the eternal shit-stirrer, lowers your stress levels when practised on a regular basis and helps lower the related doctor's bills. And,” she paused, looking at him with her head on one side again.

“And?' Barkus prompted.

“It makes you realise certain things about yourself,” she said slowly. “It makes you see things clearly, forces you to re-visit assumptions and beliefs.” She laughed suddenly. “It also helps you drop some baggage, some big-time baggage. Baggage that you didnt even know you had.” Barkus stared at her.

“Okay,” he said at last. “Lead me through this again.”

Barkus jumped and his eyes snapped open as a fist slammed onto the table. The angry man was looming over them, lit with righteous indignation and glowering fiercely at Sarah. Who in return merely took a long, slow breath and sipped her coffee. Barkus realised what she was doing as she gestured to an empty chair.

“Please sit,' she invited. “Since you are so obviously eager to join the conversation you might as well.”

“I'll not sit with the likes of you,” the man growled. Barkus shifted in his chair, watching the man's fists. He was dimly aware that while there was still a buzz of conversation in the cafe, everyone was keeping an eye on the goings-on. “You heretic! You witch! You burner of souls!”

“Well not today,” Sarah admitted. “I left my matching kebab skewers in the last hotel fireplace. They're the very devil to replace, you know.” Barkus choked back the laughter, there was no telling what would happen. Though the fanatic didnt appear to notice as he drew himself up with dark relish and pointed to his vacated table.

“I was sitting over there and I heard what you said, you Satan's whore! How dare you attempt to turn people from God!”

“Clearly you didn't actually,” Sara replied calmly.

“Yes I did! I heard every filthy lie you said!”

“I try not to lie, its habit-forming.” There was, Barkus noticed, actually foam on the mans lips.

“You said that the faithful are fools and are being conned!”

“So your Church is your God?” came the quiet but razer-sharp question.

“You have no understanding...” But Sarah cut off the attempted recovery using a level tone that cut through every voice in the place..

“No, you have none. You had neither properly heard nor understood the conversation you so rudely and blatantly eavsdropped. I would never try to take someone's faith from them.”

“Liar! You said...”

“Religion and faith are not the same thing.” The mugs rattled to Sarah's emphatic denial. The stranger's brows climbed down his nose and her empty hands rose as if cupping two spheres. “Look at the Sun and the Moon. One,” her right hand rose. “Gives warmth and light and supports and encourages life freely as part of its physical construct. The other,” her left hand rose. “Is a pale reflection, serving a purpose, yes, but in no way, shape or form capable of supplanting the first.” Right hand rose. “The Sun is faith.” Left hand. “The Moon is religion.” Right, left, right, left. “Not the same thing.” Her hands dropped. “Which of course leaves you in quite a pickle, doesnt it?” The stranger blinked at the apparent change in direction.

“What do you mean?” he demanded gruffly.

“Things should be known by their true names, don't you agree?” she said suddenly.

“Huh?”

“To make sure that things are kept straight, for a little less confusion about important things that trip up a poor soul, don't you agree?”

“Agree with what?”

“That things should be known by their true names. Don't you agree?”

“I, I guess.”

“Oh, good. Let me start then.” The stranger goggled as Sarah rose unstoppably from her chair to her full height. 'Ye shall be known to all by thy true name,' she boomed, fury in her eyes. Her arm swung up to point directly at the man. 'I name thee, Idolater'. The man's eyes went wide and he plunked down on a chair, pale-faced. 'You see, I have no fear of the afterlife,' she growled, looming over him. 'Either I'll have to apologize to God's face for not believing in Him/Her, or I don't. It's not up to me either way, so I just get on with it and do what I can to make life a little easier to bear for other people. But you...' The fanatic cringed back as she planted her knuckles on the table and leaned right in until they were nose to nose. Barkus leaned back as the ferocity in Sara's glare threatened to set the air on fire. 'You will die and stand before your God in all his awe-full glory and explain why each and every day you shattered the 1^st Commandment. Yes, that is what you have been doing. You've turned from the beauty and wonder of an incredible world that you profess to believe was made by His Will and His Word, down to the very last crumb and you've instead hidden your face in a book written by pens held in fleshy hands. You sir, are an Idolater of the highest degree. With every breath, with every beat of your poor, confused little heart, you have placed a human book of words above your One True God.' She stared into the sweating man's eyes, then said with relish. 'You, are going to burn.'

She drew herself back up to her full height, pulled a note out of her pocket and laid it on the table, nodded at Barkus and left without a single backward glance. The religious fanatic goggled at her, then at Barkus, before scuttling back to his own table, and then out the door, taking care to go in the opposite direction of Sarah. Conversation started up again but with shocked laughter riding through the undercurrent. Mary walked over with the jug of coffee.

“I'm I glad I didnt miss that,” she said in slightly awed tones. “I hope she can take that on stage, that'd be a show to see.”

Chapter 3.1

Chapter 3

He heard the crackle of fires surrounding him, felt the heat under his feet, the smoke stinging his eyes. He was yelling desperately, trying to force his body to move faster when the very air seemed to be holding him back. A crack under him and he was falling, hurtling into a fire that reached hungry arms up to claim him...

Thump!

Barkus opened his eyes and found himself on the floor, wrapped so thoroughly in bedsheets that his only recourse was to wriggle, worm-like out the top of the cocoon. He was in the apartment above Mary's Cafe, and it was nearly dawn. The place was really very nice. It had been clearly designed for 2 people who liked to socialize. One permanent bedroom, a guest room/office, a compact but pleasantly functional kitchen and a sizeable, open-plan living area. Large bedroom windows showed the line of brightness that signified the coming sun and the birds outside were celebrating the new day.

Barkus stared around the simple, yet comfortably furnished room, his heart still pounding in his throat, the sweat cooling on his skin. He'd had nightmares before of course, but it was so vivid, so real. It was like he had really been in a house fire, but he had never been in one...

Well said a recently-awakened voice. You haven't, but your family has...

Barkus jumped at the slam of a door under his feet. In the Cafe below, the usual noises of opening up an establishment for the day began, including several voices raised in greeting. Barkus took a swift, scalding hot shower to chase away the demons, dressed hurriedly and clattered down the apartment steps, turning the corner to the entrance of Mary's just as Mary herself was turning the sign to 'Open'.

'Oh good morning Barkus,' she smiled as he walked in. 'Did you sleep well?'

'For the most part,' he replied, then he saw who else was there. 'Sol! Gus! How are you two doing?'

'Oh cant complain now Barkus,' Sol replied with a wide grin as Barkus made his way over to them. 'The sun's rising, everything else is a bonus.' Barkus paused in the act of pulling out a chair after an inviting gesture from Gus.

'That's a pretty good way of looking at it,' he admitted, sitting down. 'I have to say that I never thought of it that way.'

'It's a different approach, that's for sure.'

'So how's Barkus this morning?,' Gus rumbled. Barkus opened his mouth to deliver the usual inane answer, then shut it again. Instinctively, he felt again that Gus brooked no lies.

'In need of a working dreamcatcher,' he said instead. They waited politely, Mary quietly deposited a cup of coffee by his elbow, for a moment it seemed like there was a crossroads looming, then he shook his head and it passed. 'I don't know,' he mumbled. 'It's a funny thing, dreaming.'

'That it is,' Sol nodded as Barkus took refuge in his coffee. 'It used to be believed that a dream was always true, not even allegorical, just plain true. Then it was thought that they had to interpreted through standard texts and translators. At some point they were dismissed as nothing more than images and random leakages while the days events were being filed.' He shrugged, while Barkus stared right through a picture of a bespectacled Dave Brubeck at his piano. 'I'm sure tomorrow they'll find something else to reason them away.'

'You sound ever so slightly acerbic,' Barkus pointed out, dragging himself back into the here and now.

'Do I?' Sol seemed surprised, then he shrugged again. 'I suppose I prefer to see dreams as slightly more significant than the 'random filing' theory.'

'How so?' Sol pursed his lips and gazed at the ceiling, Barkus realized that the spot he was staring at corresponded to where his bed was upstairs, but shrugged it off as coincidence.

'Certain things weigh heavily on the human mind,' he said slowly. 'Unfulfilled expectations, unfinished goodbyes, regrets, pain of all kinds, they all pull on the subconscious regardless of whether or not a person is actually aware of it. Dreams are many things and one of the functions is to allow the unconscious mind to,' he waved his coffee cup. 'Leave a note on the door I guess. Though sometimes,' he laughed. 'It's more like breaking the door down, grabbing the conscious mind by the scruff of the neck and demanding it's attention.' Barkus laughed weakly, but he remembered the feeling of terror as the boards broke under his feet to pitch him into the flames. His hand began to shake.

At that moment, Gus rose to fetch a fresh jug of cream from where Mary was filling them for the day. As he did so, his shadow fell across Barkus and Barkus felt a moment of calm. He took a huge, shuddering breath, then snuck a look to see if either of the other two men had noticed his discomposure. Both appeared engrossed in their tasks, Gus almost replacing his coffee with cream and Sol scanning the breakfast menu on the wall.

'Would you guys like something to eat this morning?' Mary asked, bustling over. 'The grill's warmed up and the eggs are fresh, so what can I get you?'

'I'll have pancakes, please Mary,' Sol said. 'Just three, loaded with fruits and chocolate please.'

'That sounds pretty good actually;' Barkus mused. 'Make that 2 orders please Mary. And an orange juice.'

'And I'll have the melted cheese and ham on brown bread please,' said Gus. 'Thanks Mary.' And with another smile, she was off to the kitchen.

'So I hear you're almost ready to present to Council,' Sol said, matter of factly. Barkus grinned, what else did he expect?

'Nearly, I have to get to grips with the material first. When there are, entrenched interests there are entrenched ideas ,' he paused, Sol and Gus were both grinning at him as he tried to stay diplomatic. 'And those can be hard to...'

'De-trench?' Gus suggested. 'You're not far wrong there, though the issue is more that while the Council would love a 'John Barkus Built' square, they'll want Paul Taylor to be in charge of the actual building.' Barkus thought about this. Up in the flat, there were sepia-toned pictures of the town over the last 100 or so years. When he was shown the flat yesterday, he had taken great care to memorize the section that contained the building where Paul Taylor's clothes shop was, then went back out again to look at the building as it was today. He was not struck by Mr Taylor's taste in building decoration, and said so. Both of the other men burst out laughing.

'You know,' Sol said, wiping at his eyes. 'I kinda had the feeling you'd feel that way.'

'Well, I really had better start studying then,' Barkus mused. 'Cos the best way to call someones ability into question is to catch them out in a question and never let them regain balance. And I don't feel like tottering in front of the Village Council.'

'Oh, you better be careful who hears you there Barkus,' came a new voice. Barkus twisted to see George accept a coffee from Mary and wander over to their table. He was out of uniform and as he sat down, Sol asked;

'Day off today George?'

'You know it,' George replied, putting his hat under his chair and sitting back with a sigh. 'Giving the wife a lie-in and came out for a guilty breakfast.'

'Her granola getting any better?' George put on a look of mock-offence.

'That's my wife you're talking about there buddy, her granola has always been amazing.' Pause, contemplation of coffee. 'It's the muesli that could do with some work.' Laughter.

'My wife used to put coconut flakes, nuts, berries, maple syrup and some ginger,' Barkus paused. 'And I think a pinch of salt too, all in a bowl and mix it up, put it into muffin tins, and pop them in the freezer. When they came out they were these sweet, nutty, hard snacks that went perfectly with a coffee.' Barkus paused, then glanced down at his left hand. 'Ex-wife, I mean,' he mumbled. The other men looked at him sympathetically, then George cleared his throat.

'You know,' he said thoughtfully. 'I don't like hard snacks, but a mix like that sounds like it would be really tasty along with muesli.' he paused and grimaced. 'I cant believe I just said that. She's wearing me down boys.' Mary came over with three plates and slid them in front of their owners.

'Having breakfast with Lisa today George?' George shook his head.

'Nope, giving her a break and letting her sleep in so I'll need some feeding.' Mary waited, eyebrow raised as George stared longingly at Gus's plate, then he sighed. 'You know what Lisa allows Mary, just do your best to make it interesting.'

'You know she only wants to make sure you live forever,' Mary commented, as she turned away.

'Well, if second prize is making it feel like forever, then she's certainly getting that medal.' George's smile robbed the words of sting and Barkus felt a wave of jealousy suddenly wash over him. He bent his head over his pancakes to hide it, and missed the look that flashed between Sol and Gus.

'Oh wow,' he said, mouth full. 'These pancakes are amazing!'

'Yeah,' George said morosely. 'They are. It's the high percentage of butter and cream.' Barkus paused.

'That's true' he admitted. 'But I think the nutmeg might also have something to do with it.'

'Shush there Barkus!' Mary called from the counter where she was polishing cutlery. 'Stop giving my secrets away!' George stared at Barkus.

'Nutmeg?' He twisted in his chair. 'Hey Mary, am I allowed nutmeg?'

'George, you know full well that you're allowed all flavourings except chillis and salt. It's not Lisa's fault that they're the only ones you think you like. Don't worry, Jamie's on the case and he's got taste-buds that are only half-atrophied.'

'How's Jamie working out for you?' Gus asked as Mary wandered over, the cutlery chore forgotten.

'You tell me,' she smiled. 'This morning he did everything himself from scratch.' Sol and Gus both stared down at their plates and back at her.

'So these aren't your pancakes?' Sol asked, sounding heartbroken.

'My recipe, my kitchen, Jamie's hands on the whisk.' Mary smiled. 'He learns fast that kid, he gets a recipe perfect after 2 tries and by the fourth he's bringing it home to see how far he can take it.'

'How's his Pop doing?'

'Better now that his son makes sure he's eating properly. But he's not walking as much as the doctors tell him and that's making him seize up.'

'Well, lets be honest here Mary,' Gus rumbled. 'Where they live there's nowhere to walk to, just out and back and James Hornet has never seen the point in that. He may have lost an arm, but it hasn't changed him that much.'

'And old men like James Hornet will never 'make himself a burden' as he puts it.' She sighed and turned as the door opened to admit 3 more customers. 'So unless there's a purpose for him to take walks besides his health, he's not going to take them.' With a last glance at the volumes of their coffee cups, she went to look after the 3 newcomers.

'Where do they live?' Barkus asked. A phrase from last nights study had popped up during the conversation.

'You know that road going between Jim's Place and the blue building? About 3 miles out that way,' George said.

'Huh.' Silence reigned for a few moments. 'How many people live out that way?' Sol, Gus and George regarded each other for a moment.

'Over the whole road?' George shrugged. 'About 200 people, but spread out over 10 or 15 square miles. You know, clusters of related families, gap of couple miles, more clusters.'

'But they're not all on the road neither,' Gus added. 'Most are a half-mile and more further back. For some, half the way into town is getting off the driveway.'

'Huh,' Barkus said again, with a far-away look in his eye.

'Why, whatcha thinking about? Thanks Mary,' George added as Mary slid a bowl and small plate in front of him. 'Oh wow, what is this?'

'Muesli, fruit and yoghurt, with vanilla and maple syrup,' she told him. 'With a side of sliced pears and Jamie's special fruit cake.' George raised an eyebrow.

'”Special”?' Mary laughed, then lowered her voice.

'Gluten free, just don't blab cos no-one will want to try it and it's too good to be refused.'

'Well,' George sighed. 'Okay, I'll give it a try.'

'We appreciate you taking the risk,' she replied solemnly, before heading away again. George regarded the cake slice suspiciously, then turned his attention to the bowl.

'So what were you thinking about?' Sol asked Barkus, who was grinning at George's examination of his breakfast.

'Hmm? Oh, sorry. What was I thinking about when?' Gus chuckled, his melted sandwich had already disappeared, now his finger was chasing the last of the salad dressing.

'When you were asking about the road past Jim's Place?' Sol hinted.

'Oh my, this is good,' George enthused suddenly. He had finally taken the plunge and a spoonful from the bowl, now he was staring into it with the expression of a man on the verge of a revelation. He looked up into three bemused expressions. 'I'm sorry, please continue.'

Amidst chuckles, Barkus said; 'I want to ask Sheryl what she could come up with for that road.' The three other men looked him quizzically. 'Just out of interest,' he said, a shade defensively.

'Sheryl Monroe,' Sol mused, while Gus regarded Barkus with an unreadable expression. 'I been hearing some strange things regarding...'

George coughed and held his napkin to his mouth. He coughed again and this time managed to clear the problem. He looked up.

'Sorry, he said for the second time in a minute. 'It seems that tasty muesli is a dangerous thing, liable to choke you if eaten too fast.'

'I wonder is that the first time anyone's said that?' Barkus asked as he got up to re-fill his cup from the jug on the counter. Mary was at the other end of the restaurant, entertaining a small, hyperactive child while it's parents tried to doze over their coffee. There was a mirror here and Barkus saw George shoot Sol an annoyed, meaningful look, while Sol raised his shoulders in the universal “who, me?” gesture. When he got back to the table, all was normal, though Gus was regarding the ceiling with a repressed smile and folded arms.

'Well,' Barkus said as he sat down again. 'I've been reading the books she lent me and they're fascinating. I want to see some different applications though,' he paused, he had lost them. 'Do you guys have any idea what I'm talking about?'

About ten minutes later, Barkus realised that he had gotten himself into a hole, but was momentarily saved by Sol looking towards the door and breaking into a large smile.

'Sarah! Welcome back my dear, it's been far too long!' he boomed, standing to give the tall stranger a hug. She was so much taller than him in fact, that his face ended in her breasts, a fact that he did not seem to mind at all. She laughed a rich, warm laugh and wrapped her arms around the top of his head.

'With a welcome like that, is it any wonder I stay away so long?' Gus and George laughed as Sol emerged with a loopy grin, before standing for their hugs of welcome. Gus even lifted the woman off her feet momentarily, resulting in another thrill of laughter. Lynn, Barkus noticed, was grinning from ear to ear and her eyes sparkled as she drank in Sarah's every move. He put two and two together and was thankful that he had not embarressed himself. Then it was his turn to greet the newcomers.

Sarah turned a broadly smiling face and dark eyes on him, and he was momentarily tongue-tied. She was one of these rare people who almost created electricity with an arm gesture, who vibrated with inner purpose, and focused that energy on whoever was the subject of their attention. The fact that she was drop-dead gorgeous did not help at all. As he muttered an inane greeting to go with his handshake while Lynn introduced them, his eyes fell on a vivid red and black badge pinned low to one side of the scoop-neck top she was wearing. It had a slogan on it.

“ 'What does it mean?',” he echoed, not realising he spoke aloud until the sound of his voice hit his ears. Sarah regarded him with her head on one side, eyes sparkling. Barkus hoped he wasnt blushing as he stumbled on in embarresment. “Your badge, it says, “What does it m...?” So, what does it mean?”

“Are you completing the thought on the badge or are you asking me the meaning or purpose of the badge?” Barkus paused, the woman's face held the same expression as his younger sister's had when she was in a playful mood.

“I think I've guessed the purpose of the badge and so may have reached the meaning also.” The smallest change in her expression told him that he had won a prize so he plunged on. “I think people fill in words that they expect to see, that resonates with their frame of mind at that time. By dangling a badge like that where people are bound to look,” he was rewarded by a bark of laughter. “You have a sure-fire way of assessing a person in a short period of time.”

Sarah smiled ruefully and turned to Lynn.

“You're right,” she said to her. “I do like him despite myself.”

Chapter 2.3

'Why do you want to know where she lives?'

'I have to present to the Council.' Barkus gestured to the briefcase -the papers were returned safely- and then towards the door Annie had just left by. 'I need to meet with Sheryl to make sure that I get everything straight and that she's okay with the changes I propose.' Lynn put her head on one side.

'Okay, I've a better idea then,' she said after a few seconds. 'I go get her and we all have lunch together while you two discuss it.' She looked around while Barkus' stomach growled its agreement with the plan. 'You get that round table with the red flowers and we'll be back in ten.' And she was gone.

Barkus obediently moved his coffee cup and the briefcase to the new table, then glanced around for the washrooms. Mary, the smiling owner pointed for him as she retrieved the used crockery.

On the way back, Barkus noted the framed pictures along the walls. Someone liked Jazz, that was for sure. You couldn't tell from the background music. He sat down at the new table and noted with a smile that the waitress had not only added a large jug of water and several glasses to the table, she had also replaced his half-empty, half-cold coffee cup with a new, full one. He sipped at the fresh coffee and looked around for more pictures. In so doing, he absently noticed that his seat gave him a perfect view of the entire interior.

In fact, he mused. If anyone were to come in from any point of entrance, I'd see them and I could leave through 3 other points of exit He thought for a moment, then switched seats so that he sat at an oblique angle to the first seat. He had barely gotten comfortable when Lynn entered, just ahead of Sheryl. The woman was pale, but she seemed determined.

'Good morning.' Barkus stood, but didn't move around the table as they walked over.

'Good morning,' Sheryl replied, not quite looking at him. She gravitated to the 'perfect view' seat as Lynn moved to the one opposite Barkus but near enough to Sheryl to give moral support if necessary. They all sat down.

'So, Lynn tells me you need to modify my design.' Sheryl said it in a matter-of-fact way, but Barkus saw her white knuckles.

'In minor ways,' he replied soothingly. He slid the papers out of the briefcase again and spread the relevant pages in front of her.

Lynn sat back and looked for Mary, but she was already on the way over with a fresh jug of coffee. She made small talk and asked for menus, then looked at the other two. Barkus was using a capped pen to illustrate whatever he was saying. Sheryl was engrossed in the discussion and was waving her own pen in time to her comments.

'There you go Lynn,' the waitress handed her some menus.

'Thanks Mary.' Mary nodded and went to see to a young family that had just walked in. Barkus looked up.

'Good idea Lynn,' he said and took the menu that she offered. 'I am starving.' He checked his watch. 'Oh wow, no wonder. Its past 11 o'clock and I haven't eaten anything yet.'

'You haven't had breakfast?' both female voices asked in unison, then they looked at each other and laughed.

'You two are definitely best friends,' Barkus observed. 'But to answer your questioning, no I have not. The motel doesn't exactly run a 5 star kitchen.'

'You're at the Motel?' Sheryl sounded surprised. 'Oh I think you can do better than that, don't you think so Lynn?'

'Absolutely, Mary rents out the apartment upstairs, I think its empty at the moment.' They turned expectant eyes on him and Barkus coughed to hid the sudden laugh.

'Thank you ladies, I must say that the thought of having breakfast here in the mornings does appeal to me.' He meant it, the place had a certain charm about it.

'Ready to order?' Mary bustled up.

'Well, I know what I want,' Barkus began as both Lynn and Sheryl scanned the menu guiltily. 'I'll take the Big Breakfast, over easy, ham, home-fries, whole grain toast.' He waited while she jotted that down. 'And Lynn and Sheryl tell me that you have a room to rent.'

'Oh yes, do you need a place to say?' Mary asked, in the act of taking back the menu.

'He's at the Motel,' Lynn supplied before Barkus could say anything. 'And I'll take the muesli and yoghurt, and some peanut butter please.'

'Ugh, gotta get you out of there. What'll ya have Sheryl?'

'Soft boiled egg with whole grain toast and fruit preserves please Mary.'

'Sure thing, honey. Well,' Mary paused after writing the order and looked at Barkus. 'Come see me today when we both have time and I'll show you the place, deal?' The door bell tinkled as more customers came in.

'Deal.' And with a smile she was off.

Barkus stared at the ugly, weed-filled flowerbeds and his creaking stomach sent him a prophecy of what would happen if he even thought of trying to clear them himself. Well, what was the point of being a self-made man if you couldn't take advantage of it? He looked around and sighted on the gang of teenagers sprawled in the sun just off the square.

They exchanged sullen expressions and started pulling their various items together in preparation for being yelled along as he walked towards them.

'Hang on, hang on,' Barkus called out. 'I'm not gonna tell you to push off, I want to ask you something.'

'Oh yeah,' said an apparent leader non-concomitantly. 'What's that?'

'How'd you all like to earn some money?' Only after saying it did Barkus realize how dodgy that sentence could sound. But the teenagers didn't turn and flee. The leader regarded him impassively.

'And how would we be earning it, exactly?' Barkus pointed back towards the dreadful flowerbeds.

'Clear those god-awful patches of weeds. Pick up all the trash, pull out every single plant by the roots, prep the ground for planting then cover them with tarps.' Barkus hesitated, every teen had turned a thoughtful eye to the flowerbeds. 'Do you know how to prep ground for planting?' The leader nodded.

'Most of us prepped and planted those beds the last time they were done,' he mused. 'Got a day off school for it.'

'Oh.'

'We knew they were ugly as sin when we planted them,' said someone else. 'And they've only gotten worse since.'

'So you're John Barkus I take it then,' the leader continued, looking him up and down. 'You're the one who's gonna decide what our town centre looks like then?'

'No,' Barkus replied honestly. 'The Town Council is.' The chorus of derisive snorts and hoots let Barkus know their opinion on that.

'In this town, that means the Taylors will decide it,' the leader informed him solemnly. 'And that means Paul Taylor will be the one designing it. Again.'

'Not necessarily.' Barkus eyed the group, a strange idea growing in the back of his head. 'How would you like to be a part of making sure that doesn't happen?' Now he had their attention.

Ten minutes later, Barkus was whistling his way into Jim's Place.

'Well aren't you a happy fellow,' Jim said in surprise as Barkus sat at the bar with a grin. 'Suspiciously happy I would say for a fellow who has to clear all them beds on his own.' The statement had a curve in the end.

'But not for a fellow who has just found people to do the work for him,' Barkus replied. 'Turns out that teenagers can be motivated, you just need to find the right way of presenting it to them.' And the right account balance he mused as Jim placed a beer in front of him. The leader of the teens, his name had turned out to be Gareth, was a shrewd negotiator and Barkus had been forced into promising a bit more money than he had bargained for. However, he had been assured that it would be worth it.

'Oh yeah, and whats that then, showing them the lounging options available?'

'You were a teenager once, what was the single biggest thing you wanted to do?' Jim sighed in nostalgia.

'Nancy Chase.' Laughter. 'No, I think I see what you mean. So you've convinced them that picking trash and weeding is gonna screw things up for 'Tha Man'?'

'It can be if 'Tha Man' is the chance that Paul Taylor is going to design the square again apparently.' Jim paused.

'You're a smart bastard, you know that?' Barkus grinned and saluted slightly with his beer. 'So what, they get the beds cleared out and ready to plant and then you present the design to the council and force an agreement on a time-limit basis because Paul is gone for another 2 weeks?' Barkus was surprised.

'You're pretty smart too, you know that?' Jim smiled self-deprecatingly. 'But yes, that's my devious plan to get the job done. Here's hoping it works.'

Barkus decided to leave Jim's before closing time for once and strolled along the sidewalk towards Mary's Cafe and where his suitcase now rested in the hallway of the flat above it. He meandered, taking the long way around the square, eyeing the lines and buildings and where people had made their own paths in the grass verges, leaving some pieces of concrete walkway worn and some like new. He strolled, enjoying the cooling evening air and the 2 beer buzz, not thinking of anything in particular. He idly wondered when people stopped using the square as a gathering place and the maintenance became a nuisance.

' “You see,” a voice rumbled out of memory. Barkus could see him now, his father sitting in his big chair by the fire with his friends. He, the second youngest son, between the chair and the dog, afraid to move or make a sound in case he was spotted and whisked away to bed. “What I think you're doing is mixing up a Unicorn and a Draft Horse. A unicorn is this incredible, fantastical beast representing purity and innocence and vast power to a select few based on easily violated requirements. It's elusive, it's awe-inspiring, it's fake. A draft horse is this huge block of hair and muscle and it's got it's own wants and needs and it's real. You dont get much realer than scrubbing down a draft horse after a long day, I can tell you that. And they have thoughts and feelings and if you can understand that and work with them, then they will give you everything that they have. But if you start thinking otherwise they can and will do anything, up to and including kicking your fool head clean off.”
“What's your point Dave?” said Jonas Brown, a neighbour.

“My point is that unicorns dont need anything from us, they're a dream. They will always have waterfalls and forests and happy times because we imagine them there. So we can go along and do whatever we please, what we do in our real lives has no impact on the unicorn. Now the draft horse is a whole 'nother matter. It needs us. It needs us for food and water, shelter and care and maintenance, doesnt it? They are hard work, they require an investment from us not just in money but also in care and time and love and responsibility. It is our duty and our actions and choices that affect them. And at the end of the day, that long hard day, it is our attitude that determines how drudgerous it all is.”

“So what are you saying?”

“Sometimes you gotta stand back and look at a situation and wonder; Is it a unicorn or is it a draft horse? Am I just thinking happy thoughts, pretending that things are ticking over properly, that it doesnt have anything to do with me? Or is it a draft horse where there are things to be done that need to be done and maybe arent being done?” '

The headlights of a truck cut into Barkus' thoughts and he realised that he was staring out over the square, chewing on his shirt collar. His chest hurt and his eyes burnt, but he smiled and blinked away the tears, then turned and walked up the stairs to the flat.

Chapter 2.2

Two hours later, Jim slipped a menu under his nose.

 'I thought you might like something to eat,' Jim explained as Barkus blinked and rubbed his eyes.

 'You have a kitchen here?' he asked. He blinked again at the menu. 'Smoked burgers?'

 'Chefs Special,' Jim confirmed with a dreamy grin. 'They're good.'

 'Are you the chef?'

 'Nope, its Turner's Spot just down the road. They bring it on a real plate cos I always make sure they get it back.'

 'Well, I'll take the Chefs Special then please. And' another beer was plopped onto the coaster. 'Thanks.'

 'Just doin' my job,' Jim replied with a grin and, retrieving the menu and empty beer bottle, went back to his buddies at the bar.

Barkus was sure that he had eaten the meal, because the plate was wiped clean and there was no longer a hollow feeling in his belly. But, besides that, he wasn't entirely aware of haven eaten. More to the point, he wasn't entirely aware of anything other than the spread of paper in front of him. Sectors and swales and zones, oh my! It was like a revelation, only second-hand. All the issues that had been plaguing him, all the stress and worry and confusion disappeared as he followed Sheryl Monroe's design through all the layers of inputs and outputs, intricate simplicities and common-sense mysteries. There was nothing that she had not thought of, nothing that was not backed up by references, diagrams, cost analysis', glossaries. At every point where Barkus felt his knowledge was not enough to understand her, he found the pages in her books that explained it to the minutiae and he was off again.

Finally, after another 2 hours and when Jim was sweeping up the floor, he emerged, blinking, from the avalanche of knowledge and staggered to the bathrooms. When he returned, Jim had paused by the table and was scanning a diagram of Sheryl's.

 'She always was an artist,' Jim commented as Barkus drew nearer. 'I remember her lobbying the school to change the colours in the classrooms. She reckoned that the bland, boring beige was sending students to sleep and having more vibrant, energetic colours would help increase scores.'

 'Did it?'

 'Maybe it would have, if they had listened to her.' At Barkus' motion, he slid into the other side of the booth, sweeping forgotten.

 'She said that she had submitted this basic design last time the common ground was done.'

 'I don't know about that, though it wouldn't surprise me if she did. She's always trying to improve things for people,' Jim picked up another diagram, this one a view of the park that looked towards Jim's Place. The signage for Jim's was obscured by foliage, but a signpost featured an eye-catching sign that made up for it. 'See?' Jim smiled as he tapped the signpost. 'She thinks of everyone.'

 'How come she didn't get the contract last time?'

 'You'll have to ask Lynn's cousin that one. Though the fact that Paul Taylor got it when literally half of the council are his family was not a surprise.'

 'Nepotism?'

 'Its a family business.' Jim sighed and got to his feet again. 'Well I gotta get this place cleaned up and sitting here aint doing it. Oh, good evening Mike, George.' Barkus twisted in his seat to look at the door and saw that the Police Officers who had "explained" his situation to him had entered.

 'Good evening Jim. Orange juice please.' The staff sergeant scanned the almost empty bar and his eye alighted on Barkus. 'Well well, it doesn't usually take long for people to find this place but it's rare to find them surrounded by paper.' He paid for his juice and wandered over while George went to have a quiet chat with the other resident of the bar. Without waiting to be invited, he slid into the booth opposite and looked for a clear spot to put his glass.

 'Here,' Barkus said, automatically handing his coaster over, his latest beer was long empty and the condensation had disappeared. 'Sheryl will kill me if I damage these, and I couldn't blame her.' The officer paused in the act of putting the glass down.

 'Sheryl Monroe?' Barkus nodded. 'Sheryl Monroe gave you her design.'

 'And some of her books.' The shock on the sergeant's face was brief, but strangely satisfying. Then, he reached over and carefully lifted the cover of one of the books. 'Sheryl Monroe' was on the flyleaf in an elegant hand.

 'Well I'll be,' he grunted eventually, letting the cover fall back. 'I'll admit to not expecting that.' He stared at Barkus while he sipped at his juice and Barkus could see the readjusting of assumption and expectation.

 'Officer,' he paused. The staff sergeant was staring at him in that special policeman's way. 'What would be your particular need for this area?' It wasn't what he was originally going to ask and he got the feeling that the other man knew it.

 'My particular need as a police officer or as a resident of the town?' he asked at last.

 'First one and then other,' Barkus turned to a new page on the pad, automatically noting the date, time, location and... 'I'm sorry officer, I've forgotten your name.'

 'Stewards, Mike Stewards.' Mike smiled slightly as Barkus jotted this down. He didn't ask why Barkus was making a note of this kind of thing, most people asked, but he already knew. 'And to answer your question,' he took a sip of juice to arrange his answer. 'As a resident I'd really like to have an open air, recreational zone for a variety of uses and age-groups. As a police officer I need that space to be safe, and completely age-friendly. Jim's is one of the better bars I know, despite its appearance. But its still a bar and in order for Jim to hold a family-friendly event in here he needs to go through more red tape than its worth. In fact,' his voice dropped conspiratorially.' I know for a fact that Jim deliberately keeps the place looking Stone Age honkey-tonk to keep the ambiance but he's ruthless when it comes to codes.' Barkus glanced at the stained walls, the rickety stage, the leaning bar, and raised an eyebrow. 'When Jim got the place, he shelled it,' Mike continued. 'Ripped her down to the bare bone, replaced any bit of wood that looked the slightest bit dodgy, and rebuilt her from the inside out. Nothing that you see here is older than 10 years, besides the bottles at the top of the bar and the pool table. That one was a nice find, he did replace the baize though.' He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the stage that looked as safe as walking barefoot on glass. 'That stage was deliberately built like that and Jim maintains it by getting his buddies to jump up and down on it once a month and replacing it whenever he aint happy. You ever seen 300 lb men leaping about like kids on a bouncing castle?' He grinned at Barkus' disbelief. ' You wait another week and you can see it for yourself. Trust me, you will never get the image out of your head.'

 'So, this is all deliberate?'

 'Yep, peeling posters, speckled mirrors, stained walls, the works.' The background music of a lost 50's rock star crooning about the stars started skipping. Barkus watched as Jim left his broom at a run and tried to leap over the bar for the kill-switch. George got there before him and the start of the high-pitched electronic screech was abruptly cut off. 'Except for that,' Mike admitted. 'No-one has a sainted clue about that.'

 'I find myself wondering if anything in this town is what it seems,' Barkus admitted, looking again at the design on the table. The sheriff grinned.

 'It'd be a damn boring world if everything did what it said on the tin.' He chuckled at Barkus' surprise. 'F'rinstance, when you showed up and destroyed the beds the other day, I had you pegged for a drunken fool who was looking to spend some time in a cold cell. When you got your sentence delivered, I took you for an arrogant so-and-so who'd do a quarter-assed job so he could get shot of this place as fast as possible.' Barkus shifted uneasily. 'Instead, I find you shoulder-deep in work and questioning my needs for the public space that you're in charge of designing.' He drained the juice as Barkus stared at him. 'See what I mean? The world might be a lot simpler if everything went the way people expected, but it sure as hell wouldn't be as interesting.' Barkus stared at the glass in Mike's hand, as his thoughts went wild. Suddenly, without even realizing it, he thrust his hand out just in time to catch the fat bead of condensation that would have fallen onto the papers on the table. They both stared at the water, then at the diagram it would have landed on. 'See?' The sergeant said eventually, getting back to his feet and automatically adjusting his belt. 'Surprises everywhere.' He patted Barkus companionably on the back and returned the glass to the bar. George tossed a set of keys to Jim as they both strolled out the door, just ahead of the drunk who was now definitely walking home.

'Yeah,' Barkus murmured, staring through the beautifully and painstakingly sketched diagram of the completed design that had just avoided disaster. 'Everywhere.'

'Hey, Barkus!' He looked around to see Lynn and Arthur along with a woman he hadn't met yet. He waved and saw that they were coming over to meet him, so he reluctantly left his spot and retreated to the footpath, to avoid ruining Lynn's heels in the grass.

When's the last time you thought of something like that? An inner voice accused. You've made clients climb over everything to get to you, regardless of wardrobe!

 'Good morning Lynn,' he greeted her warmly, ignoring the too-true voice. 'And Arthur of course.' the spaniel had already done his flop onto the grass beside the path and wagged his tail in acknowledgement.

 'Good morning Barkus,' Lynn answered with a grin. 'I'd like you to meet my cousin, Annie Williams.' The woman beside her was a good foot taller, had a mass of brown hair, minimal, elegant jewellery and a broad smile as she extended a hand.

 'Pleased to meet you at last,' she said.

 'At last?' Barkus replied with a grin as he shook her hand. 'I've only been here 3 days, if you count this morning.'

 'Has it only been 3 days?' she asked. 'I swear I've spent more time than that just in Town Council Meetings. You've created a lot of work for me, Mr. Barkus.' The tone was mock-serious and Barkus could definitely see the familial resemblance. Then she sighed. 'I just really hope that you're able to come up with something to replace the beds, cos that's all I've been hearing about and frankly, I have many more things on my plate.'

 'Well,' he paused. Now that he had the time to look properly, both women showed signs of stress and fatigue. His father loomed in the back of his head. 'How about we go and get a coffee and I show you what I have.'

Annie leafed through the pile again, her coffee growing colder by her elbow.   'This is, way, way beyond what I could have possibly dreamed of. How did you?' She looked sharply at him. 'Where did this design come from?'

 'Sheryl Monroe.' She nodded slightly, he could tell that she had already arrived at that conclusion. 'She gave me the whole thing last night and I've barely slept a wink since. When you found me I was trying to orientate it on the ground.' Both women stared at him, then at each other.

 'I've checked you out, John Barkus,' Annie said slowly. 'You're a top level architect, worldwide projects, international fame. Why are you here?' He was subjected to twin searching gazes as the unspoken part of the question hung in the air.

 'Personal issues,' the cliched phrase slid easily off his tongue now. The stares did not deviate. 'I didn't know how badly, certain recent episodes were affecting me until I was convinced to go on sabbatical.' He shifted, uncomfortable as the half-truth rang in his ears. 'I chose driving around the country as my initial plan and I wound up here. You know the rest,' he finished a tad defensively, but they didn't seem to notice it. They did, however turn off the searchlights and looked sympathetic.

 'Okay, well, I don't know how else to put this, so I'll say it flat out. In your professional opinion, do you think this,' the word and gesture took in all of Sheryl's meticulous plans. 'Will actually work for this town? Will this be a good investment of our money and our time?' The stare she turned on him this time pinned him to the seat. He had a sudden flash of why she was Chairperson. There was no way of lying, fudging or slipping under that gaze without getting fried.

 'In my professional opinion,' he paused. 'There's very little that needs to be altered. And the only reason I say that is because Sheryl doesn't know that the codes are due to change in the next couple of years.' They waited. 'In practical terms related to this design, these changes are extremely minor and can be done before I even present it to the Council.' The stare intensified. 'In my professional opinion, this design is practical, useful, easy to maintain and will cater to the needs of every age group in the community.' The relieved sigh that that statement released sent pages scattering.

Chapter 2.1

Chapter 2

'Clients fight amongst themselves to hand over thousands of dollars to get you to look at their site and these schmucks have you working for free?!' Barkus held the phone away from his ear as his old friend burst into laughter. He was sitting on the bed in a motel room, his suitcase still lying on the dresser.

'You better make the best of this Roger,' he warned when the hoots turned into wheezes. 'If I come back up there and I'm still lapping you on projects there will be no mercy.'

'At least I know what's going on in my projects John,' Roger batted back. 'Do you even know when they're breaking ground on most of yours?'

'Hey, by the time they break ground my job's done,' Barkus said airily. The returning snort travelled 700 kilometres and lost none of its derision.

'So how are you doing down there John?' Roger asked carefully after a pause. Barkus lay back and stared at the ceiling fan.

'Its so weird being back in a small town again.' he confessed. 'I know you wouldn't get it, big city boy that you are.' Barkus could imagine the shrug and half-smile that would have been delivered with Roger's 'meh'. 'And thanks to this bloody Judge I'm stuck here until the job gets done.' He was expecting a jibe or maybe another howl of laughter but all he got was a pregnant silence. 'What's going on Rog?'

'Lots of things are going on John, that's what life in the big city is all about.' Barkus could hear the clink of ice in glass, hear the rhythm of cigar-smoking and suddenly wanted more than anything to be sitting in Roger's study with nothing to do but drink and discuss whatever topics two old friends could devise. He sighed.

'What's going on that you don't want to tell me about?'

'There are a lot of things in the big..'

'Roger.' Silence.

'Gina came to see me today.'

Silence.

'She's looking, well. She's healing well. She was asking about you.'

In the ringing silence, Barkus closed his eyes.

'So I told her the news.' They snapped open.

'You did what?'

'Well, I should say that I corrected her version of events.' Barkus groaned and covered his eyes with his elbow. 'There's a hundred and one stories for your apparent disappearance up here you know. Some serious damage control has been necessary.'

'Clients?'

'Nope, you got them all covered before you left, so that side has been okay. The number of future clients looking specifically for you has dropped but that's what happens when people hear that you're on a sabbatical.'

'Oh yeah? Is that what I'm on?' Barkus started breathing again.

'Officially, yes. Much easier to gloss over, you know.'

'So what about Gina, Roger?' Pause. Sigh.

'She wanted to talk to you John. She wouldn't tell me why, just that she needed to talk to you when you're ready for it.'

'When I'm ready for it?' Barkus paused, staring at himself in the mirror, then turned his back and downed the whole thing, throwing it in the trashcan.

'Yeah, I'd say she remembers the hospital pretty clearly, despite the pain meds she was on.' Silence. Roger sighed. 'Look John, I'm not going to pretend that I know what you're going through. I'm not going to pretend that I have any answers for you.' Barkus stared at the cracks on the wall. 'But you need to start resolving this. I don't care who you find yourself able to talk to, you have got to start getting this shit off your chest. I know that you cant talk to me like you need to,' Barkus winced at the gentle reproach. 'But you need to talk to somebody.'

Roger, sitting 700 kilometres away in his comfortable study with his feet towards the fire, finest scotch in his hand and a top-dollar cigar smouldering in the ashtray, listened to his friend sigh down the phone.

'Thanks Roger, I'll call tomorrow when I have a more permanent spot.'

'Alright John. Sleep well.'

'You too.' Click.

Barkus sighed as he hung up and stared out at the glowing MOTEL sign, looked around the sparse, darkened room, grabbed his coat and slammed the door behind him.

 'Well there's the fella you want right there Sheryl,' Barkus heard when he sat down at the bar. He looked around and saw Jim leading a scrawny woman towards him. 'This guy is in charge of the new beds, so I'm sure he'll resolve your problems. John Barkus, this is Sheryl Monroe, she's got something to talk about with you.' Barkus looked apprehensively at the woman who stood, staring at him while Jim continued to his post. She was clutching books to her chest and “clutch” was the word. When they were placed lovingly on the bar, Barkus half expected to find nail-prints on the covers.

'I hear you're the man re-doing the beds,' she said without preamble, almost perching on a stool, giving the impression of trying to keep as far away from Barkus as possible while still speaking to him. 'I have a design for you.' Barkus paused at this, he hadn't really thought about it in any depth yet.

'Oh yes,' he said noncommittally, accepting a beer from Jim with a nod. She was, he decided, almost like a rabbit that was determined to stare down a rattlesnake. All nerves, but she clearly had something on her mind that was keeping her there.

'Yes, you see there's a bit of a dilemma here,' she told him seriously.

'Oh yes?'

'Yes, and the dilemma is, we as a town need a functional, useful square and you as a stranger coerced into a distasteful task, are determined to get out as soon as possible.' Barkus paused with the beer at his lips, then shrugged and said;

'That's as accurate a summary as any I suppose.' He took a pull and noticed that she relaxed slightly when he wasn't looking directly at her. So he kept his gaze in the middle distance of the bar and asked, 'So what kind of design are we talking about here, doodles? Text descriptions?' He only realized after he said it how harsh he was being, but the woman pulled a sheaf of papers out of a briefcase like she hadn't noticed.

Fwhump! Barkus' jaw dropped when he examined the first page, then the second and finally rifled through the whole pile. There were minutely detailed AutoCAD plans including power, sewer and phone lines, sun angles, wind directions, preferential views, lists of plant species and best locations and even, near the end, a deceptively delicate pagoda with materials lists and recommendations for suppliers.

'What, what is all this?'

'My design.' She said it matter-of-factly. 'Its an improved version of what I submitted to the Committee last time. When Paul Taylor did it.' Her voice went flat on the last sentence.

'I thought Gus did the work,' Barkus glanced up as he continued exploring the papers.

'Oh, he set up and planted the beds with the local kids from the school and did his best to maintain it but it was all Paul's.' Barkus' fingers caressed a diagram of a water feature that would provide the sound and sparkle of rushing water and still be useful as part of an irrigation system. In his minds eye, he could see it all as a complete unit and made his decision. But first...

'How did you get the idea for all of this?' She motioned to the set of books on the bar.

'Its an, interest of mine.' Barkus glanced at one of the books as she went on, but it was the design he was interested in. 'It's a design concept called Permaculture. It's, a great many things to a great many people and can be adapted to any space and human need. In this instance I'm taking the unused space in the middle of the town and adapting it so that people will want to spend time there together.' Barkus nodded absently, but he had already seen that in the diagrams. Each part of the large-ish space was occupied and yet seemed open. The central pagoda, big enough to contain a band of musicians, drew the eye towards it from every angle without jarring into view and when a band played, people would be able to see them from nearly everywhere on the green.

'This is, ' he rifled through the pages continuously as he sought the right word. 'Stunning.' He looked up to see... 'I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name.'

'Sheryl,' she said through the pleased blushes. 'Sheryl Monroe. And thank you.'

'I'm only telling it like I see it. But I'm not familiar with some of these terms here,' he automatically moved towards her to show what he meant, but she suddenly hopped up and started moving towards the door.

'The, the books I brought will explain everything.' she looked down at the briefcase in her hands and thrust it towards Barkus. He took it gently and she flushed red. 'You, you m-might find that useful.' Without another word, she turned and ran for it. Barkus stared at the swinging door, then looked at the briefcase, and then at the books.

'What a town.'

'Sheryl gave you some of her books?' Jim asked, astonished when Barkus recounted the events.

'Yes, but then she up and ran.'

'But she actually gave you, her books?' Jim persevered. Barkus paused for a moment.

'Tell me why that's the most interesting part of the story.'

'Cos she never lets anyone so much as touch her books.'

'The whole, up and running bit is, a bit more common then?' Jim looked pensively at the door, then round at the otherwise empty bar.

'Sheryl grew up here. Her mama ran off when she was three, her dad did a good job of raising her, for a while anyway. When she was 10, a drunk driver pushed him off the road. Grandparents took over full-time until she was 15, when they died. Ethel, the Gramma fell and broke her hip, though it was being stuck in the hospital that killed her. He followed her three weeks later.' Jim sighed. 'Never saw the heart being cored so thoroughly out of a man until I saw Zachariah Monroe without Ethel by his side.' Jim shook his head and the hollow place twinged in Barkus' chest. 'Sheryl took it as best as you could hope for, really. She went to live with Lynn and her parents. They were such best friends at that point that she was like Marie Robert's daughter already. She went to get legal custody of Sheryl since no-one could reach the mother or even knew if she was alive or dead. ' Jim stopped and sighed.

'She didn't get custody, I take it.'

'The Judge was about to give Sheryl to Marie, when the mother walked in and demanded custody, right there and then. What could the Judge do? The law is weighed towards biological parents, he had to hand Sheryl over. The mother didn't even let the poor girl say goodbye properly, just grabbed a bag of clothes and took her off.'

'When did she come back?' Barkus prompted gently when Jim seemed to get lost in thought.

'About 8 years ago,' Jim sighed again and Barkus felt the shadows get darker. 'She came back, different.' He got up and went to get Barkus another beer, even though there was still a third in his bottle. Barkus thought the man just needed a distraction right that minute. 'I went to school with Sheryl Monroe, she was one of those kids that got enthusiastic about everything, like everything. And wanted everyone to have fun. She was so friendly, and open and caring, and just wanted...' Jim's words trailed off, his eyes watching those times with a faint smile on his lips. 'And then she left,' he finished abruptly. 'And when she came back,' Jim's voice turned cold and hard. 'I don't know what happened to her, but there's a few things I can guess and if I ever catch hold of anyone who did those things to her, I'll go to Hell smiling.'

Right on cue, engines roared outside and were shut down and suddenly, the dark atmosphere was gone. Jim moved to where some glasses were drying and, grabbing a cloth, started polishing them to a brilliant shine.

'How's Jim?' roared a huge, redheaded man in biker leathers, leading a straggling group of fellow leather-wearers. Immediately the bar became full of light and laughter. Barkus gathered the papers and books together, picked up the briefcase and moved to a booth table with a decent pool of light. In setting up, he noticed that there was more in the case and pulled out...

'A writing pad?' Also, highlighters, an assortment of pens and page markers. On pulling out the post-it pad, he saw that written on the top sheet was a short note. 'I thought these may prove useful. In return I ask that you do not write on my books. Sheryl.'

John grinned, opened the fresh writing pad, took up a pen and began going through the papers properly.

Chapter 1.3

“Oi! You can't park there!” Barkus turned toward the shrill admonishment and nearly dropped his armload in shock when a pugnacious redhead seemed to appear out of nowhere, fists on hips, glaring at him. The elderly spaniel beside one tottering heel yawned and flopped to the pavement, obviously pleased with the respite. Barkus looked up and down the street which was full of parked cars. This was the only spot close enough to the flower beds where he could lug over the various rusting implements he had been supplied with without breaking various parts of himself. Of course, there was no wheelbarrow. “Are you blind?!” the redhead raged on. At Barkus' bewildered look, a beringed finger shot out towards a disabled sign that was hanging upside down by a single corner and so rusted that Barkus had immediately discredited it.

“That still applies?” Barkus joked. “Even when it's no longer blue?” Immediately he realised that this was the wrong tactic when the woman's eyebrows climbed even further down her nose. “Look,” he said to forestall the storm. “I'll move the car but if I park any further away, I'll be the one who's disabled from carrying all of this.” He made a nodding motion to the collection in his arms then stepped aside so that she could see the full backseat. When the woman registered what the implements were, her expression went from raging stormcloud to bright and sunny in the blink of an eye.

“Oh! You're John Barkus, I knew I didn't recognise any part of you. I'm sorry, I thought that you were someone's out-of-town cousin come back to sneer. I'm Marlyn, but most folks call me Lyn.” All of this was delivered in one breath with all the efficiency of a Sergeant Major on the parade grounds and simultaneous with 'Lyn', a hand with more bangles than rings and more rings than sense shot out. Barkus looked at it, then at her and just knew that his expression was priceless.

“How's about I shake that after I get rid of these?” he suggested weakly.

“Oh, I'm being such an idiot, here let me help you with that.” And despite his protests, she opened the back door, grabbed an armful and closed the door with her hip. The spaniel at her heel yawned again and pulled himself to his feet in a resigned fashion. “Shall we?” she asked brightly. Barkus could only smile.

“After you Lyn.”

“So what's his name then?” Barkus nodded towards the slumbering spaniel. After depositing the tools, Lyn was 'supervising' by sitting on her jacket in the sun and watching as Barkus got stuck in. Unfortunately, this had first involved pulling plastic gloves over his gardening gloves and picking up the accumulated debris of days-long-past. There were two garbage bags full of trash and Barkus was on the second-last corner of one of the smaller -admittedly hideous- weed-covered flowerbeds.

“Arthur.” On hearing his name, the dog opened his eyes and thumped his tail on the lawn. Lyn obliged him with a scratch behind the ears and he went back to sleep in the sunshine.

“And they call it a dogs life,” Barkus laughed and he bent to retrieve yet another condom. “Jesus, is this the site of regular orgies?”

“How could you tell?” Lyn asked innocently. Barkus straightened to look at her.

“Well, that's the 5th condom that hasn't gone gooey yet, I scraped up the remains of about ten more, not to mention all of the ones where only the bottom-rings are left. And,” he stooped, then showed her his prize. “I always find them within reach of either a beer can or the plastic rings of a six pack.”

“Real gentlemen in these parts,” Lyn commented as Barkus wiped his face with a forearm and bent down again.

“Yep, no champagne and a meal for these girls, no sir. Good cheap beer and a bed made of flowers.” Lyn looked at him strangely.

“You know, when you put it like that...” Barkus looked up at her and she burst out laughing.

“What?” Barkus asked, wiping his forearm across his face again as she shook with mirth. “Attack of the decomposing condoms?” This of course only made matters worse. “Arthur, you gonna let me in on the joke or what?” The spaniel cracked an eyelid at him, glanced at his shaking mistress, yawned, stretched and rolled over onto his side. Snores were heard before long. Barkus shook his head and continued filling the garbage bag. By serendipity or just good crushing skills, he reached the top of the bag just as he reached the end of the flowerbed. Lyn had calmed down by then so he peeled off his plastic gloves and dumped them into the bag, tied it off and let his frame flop onto the grass on the other side of Arthur. Lyn glanced at his face as he pulled off his gardening gloves and slurped down a good third from his water bottle. Her shoulders started shaking again immediately and she practically dove into her purse, rummaging for something in particular.

“Okay, what is it?” Barkus cried, thoroughly exasperated. His answer was a suprisingly large 'pocket' mirror thrust blindly at him as Lyn apparently couldn't trust herself to look at him again. Barkus stared at her, then shook his head and flipped the mirror open.

“Oh, for fucks sake!”