T H I R D S E S S I O N
The next day Alturus arrived early; cleaned, groomed and ready for his session. Mrs. Godfrey settled him at the waiting area and offered him a cup of tea.
“There you are, Mr. Burk,” she said, placing the cup down on the table with a small plate of ginger biscuits. “How is everything with you today?”
“Okay, thanks. I like Doctor Baum. I’m feeling a bit better.”
Mrs. Godfrey gave him a knowing smile. “Well that is nice to hear. The doctor is very good at what she does. She’ll be ready for you shortly,” she said, returning to her desk.
It wasn’t long before Alturus saw the impatient starlet exit Doctor Baum’s office. She still hugged the small white dog and ignored him altogether sitting on a chair away from the sofa.
“Hello,” said Alturus with a small wave. “Double session?”
The starlet turned her head away.
“How’s it going?” Alturus continued regardless. “Doctor clearing your problems?”
“Excuse me!?” She spat, setting the dog down. It spun around in tight circles then scurried over to Alturus’s foot sniffing his scruffy boots.
“Hello little animal,” said Alturus, picking up the dog and holding it to his face. His spirits lifted a bit as it wriggled in his hands then it lunged forward and licked him in the mouth. “Hmm... oh, I like. Someone loves me? Do you... do you love, Alturus... do you?”
The starlet sprung up and plucked the dog from Alturus’s grip. “Don’t kiss my munchkin,” she hissed. “Should I know you?” her abrasive tone turned slightly inquisitive. “Are you special or something?”
Alturus dabbed his mouth with the napkin. “I was special and if you want my number, just ask. I give it to you...”
“What?!” she snapped.
“I know this trick with dog. It comes over... you make an introduction... we have dinner...”
“You’re crazy!”
Mrs. Godfrey interrupted them. “The doctor’s ready for you Mr. Burk,” she said rather loudly.
Alturus patted the dogs bulbous head and jumped up. “See you soon,” he said. Alturus entered Doctor Baum’s office as if the heavy chains had been lifted from around his neck. Perhaps it was the dog, or even the girl. He grinned. “Hello doctor,” he said, closing the door behind him.
“Hello, Alturus,” said Doctor Baum. The room was ready for the session—the lights were already dimmed, and a full glass of water waited on the table near the couch. “Please have a seat, let’s move it along.” There was an edge to her voice that rattled him. She sat at her chair, tapping on her note pad with a pen.
“Everything good?” Alturus asked, his grin fading.
“Alturus, SOTS have asked me to speed up. Honestly, they need a name and they need it soon. They think I am taking too long getting you to that point. Although I have assured them you are doing very well, they’re getting impatient.”
“I try... I try and remember.”Alturus felt like the heavy chains were being put back on. Only heavier than before. “I told them—Archy Rushbury.”
“But they’re saying that there’s no record of that name. Hopefully we’ll be done during this session and we can get them that name they so eagerly need.”
Alturus yanked on his collar. “I don’t know... I need time doctor, I can’t just come up with name if not remembering.”
“Intriguing Alturus. Why do you need time? The object of these sessions is to bypass these conscious thoughts and get to an answer quickly.”
“...but I need to do things to get ready.”
“Sit back now and let’s start...”
“No. I don’t want to go down escalator.”
Doctor Baum reached over and touched his shoulder. “Of course you do. You’re now on the escalator.”
“No... no, I’m not!”
Her voice took on command he couldn’t resist. “One... lower and lower... two...”
“Noooooo!... I feel...”
“Yes, you feel sleepy and... three... four... and five.”
Alturus melted into the couch.
“What happened to the baron while you were looking after him?” Doctor Baum probed.
Alturus let out a deep, relaxed sigh. “I keep a close eye on the baron. He has changed. His sense of humor gone and he keeps to himself in stateroom. I bring him light food. The baron spends lots of time scribbling notes in old journal. I wait another day then The Commodore docks in Palma. All guests left for shopping and sightseeing. After I help them get taxis I return and the baron calls me back to his rooms.
“Is everything good, baron?” The baron looked tired his face gaunt and gray. He was lying on the bed with a laptop on his chest.
“Hmmm? No... nothing good,” the baron wheezed. He closed the laptop and pushed it away. “I made some mistakes during the last months. I lost a great deal of money.”
“So sorry,” said Alturus, placing an extra pillow behind the baron’s head.
“Never mind.” The baron let out a heavy sigh, “there is always another chance for people like me. If I had the time I’d get all the money back and more.”
Alturus felt the words had some sort of direction, so he waited.
The baron leant over and pressed a number on the phone. “Pullman. Have the crew come down to my quarters now, please.” When he hung up he gazed back at Alturus. “I am surrounded with sycophants, Alturus. Big money can make people look at you differently. Silly, no?” He reached for a glass of water on his bedside table but Alturus got there first and passed it to him. “How they will be now that it is gone, huh?” The baron waved the thought away with a flick of his hand. “Never mind, I have something more precious than money. Alturus—do you understand?”
Alturus had to admit to himself he was quite lost. But if he looked confused the baron didn’t pick up on it because he continued.
“Time is not on my side.” He heaved himself out of bed and got hold of Alturus's elbow. “Alturus, I am dying. I know it,” said the baron in a matter-of-fact tone. Alturus searched for the right words to reply, but the Baron shook his arm gently. “No don’t start now. I haven’t the time to explain. I am like a dog. I just know that it won’t be long. The trouble is, I don’t trust people—you Alturus, you I trust. My fancy guests, the pretty girls, are with me for my money. Ha! If they all knew of my losses they’d jump to a better ship. You wouldn’t do this, my friend.” He pushed himself up and Alturus followed him into a large walk-in closet. He parted suits hanging from chrome rails, leant in and tapped numbers into a digital panel on the wall behind.
A knock came from the living room door.
“Get that, Alturus. Tell them to come in.”
The baron emerged clutching his leather bag. His bathrobe pockets bulging and clinking of metal as he walked. Alturus stood looking as bemused as the rest of the crew while he approached.
“Right,” said the baron. “Please stand here, everyone.” He pretended to draw an invisible line just in front of a coffee table and the crew dutifully shunted into position. “I missed many of your birthdays, most holidays too, so let me make up for this...”
The baron plucked watches out of his bathrobe’s pockets and gave them out like candies at Halloween. Marlow, the deckhand, gingerly took a bejeweled piece with a frown which gave way to a loud gasp when he held it under the light. Another fine timepiece went to the chef and another one to the engineer. The baron dropped two but bent to pick them up and gave both of them to the helicopter pilot. He unstrapped a super thin one on from his wrist and handed it to Gordon. “There now—it is done. It’s official—I have no more time.” The silly joke made everyone but Alturus laugh.
After emptying his pockets the baron grabbed a solid gold sextant off a low table and pushed it into Vicki’s arms. He then pulled off both rings from his little fingers and held them out to Amanda. He shuffled over and lifted an oil painting off the wall. Alturus could hear the crew murmur. He’d noticed the big, ugly yellow flowers
in a vase but never gave them much thought. The baron ambled back to the line and handed the painting to the captain. There, Pullman,” he said. “A Dutch owner of a Dutch painting—should make you prouder than the Commodore 2, no?”
While the captain stumbled to find words the baron finally came to Alturus. He stood before him gripping the leather bag close to his chest. He closed his eyes for a moment of undisturbed silence then gave a single reaffirming nod and handed it over. The second he released it to Alturus an almost imperceptible sense of relief swept over the baron’s face. Alturus was bursting to peek inside. “There!” said the baron with a hint of pride.
Alturus pulled the bag open to see neatly folded, monogrammed shirts. “Nice. Thank you! Baron. Thank you!” He quietly crumbled inside but a smile masked his disappointment. Where were his watches—his paintings?
“Let’s hear it for, the baron, everyone,” the captain said. “Hip! Hip!”
“Hooray!”
“Hip! Hip!”
“Hooray!”
Captain Pullman held the door open and the baffled, yet overjoyed crew filed out—babbling all the way. There was not a sullen face to be seen.
“Alturus I want you to stay,” the baron called out. “Close the door, open the bag, and take out those silly shirts.”
Alturus placed the bag on the floor and knelt beside it, pulling the monogrammed shirts out like tissues from a box. When he pulled out he last shirt the baron stepped over and looked down into the bag. “That is the Shroud of Ururtu,” said the baron proudly. Alturus pulled out a rug. It had a strange feel to it and it shone even under the soft lights of the stateroom. “Unfold it here...” he pointed to an open area. “...and stand back. Do you have weak heart, Alturus?”
Alturus shook his head.
The baron stepped into the middle. Pulled the corners in with his feet like he had done it a thousand time before. He turned to Alturus and said: “Bye, bye,” and vanished.
“That’s really how it happened, Alturus?” Came the startled voice of Doctor Baum. “That’s how you became The 57th Keeper?”
“Yes. That night the baron showed me the Shroud’s powers. First, he gave me an old book, the Keeper’s Log, the one he had been writing in all those days. He told me to study it carefully. Then, from his private deck I took my first fight—around the harbor and back to the boat. Crazy thing. I couldn’t believe I had it then and I can’t believe I don’t have it now.”
“That’s incredible, Alturus. You were chosen.”
“Yes, me, Alturus from Istanbul.”
“What else, Alturus? I interrupted you. Please continue,” said Doctor Baum.
Alturus writhed on the couch, his eyes still shut. “The next day, during the passage to Ibiza, the baron fell while walking on the main deck. Another big seizure. He gripped my hand very tight and made me promise three things.”
“Which were...?” Doctor Baum prompted.
“One—to be careful with the most precious thing in the world. Honor it and do good things.”
“What else?”
“To stay in touch with SOTS,” said Alturus.
“And three?”
“To never get Shroud wet.”
“So this is how you became a Keeper... now, tell me, who did you pass on to?”
Alturus arched his back off the sofa feeling skewered by the question. “No,” he fought back. “I made so many mistakes. I have regrets. I was the most powerful man—Keeper number 57...”
“It’s alright Alturus.” Doctor Baum soothed. “You can talk openly here. Tell me what’s troubling you.”
“The Shroud is too powerful—too powerful for Alturus. I tried to do good, I did. But after the baron passed I left the Commodore and I stole.”
“You used the Shroud to steal?” asked Doctor Baum.
“Yes... I wanted to do good, honestly. I made up my mind to honor the baron’s words. But it’s difficult. Temptations are too big for one man when he can be invisible. When I started thinking bad thoughts I kept reminding myself like this...” Alturus knocked his knuckles on his forehead as if it were a front door. “I tried so hard... first afternoon away from the Commodore I decided to help someone in need.”
“And?” she prompted.
“Very tough to find near the marina in Ibiza. But late in afternoon I saw a man selling newspapers in the street—he walked between the cars. I wait in a café. When he’s finished I followed him back to his small apartment.”
“Go on.”
“On the way I used the Shroud and took money from a grocery shop—so easy when you’re invisible. But now I have to give the man money so I put paper bag over my head—cut holes for eyes—hide my face. When in front of the man’s door, I knock and try to give him money—he became scared and slams the door in my face. So I get on the Shroud and fly upside of the alley—up, up to his window and called out to him.”
“So, what happened?”
“He heard me but can’t see me. So, I open his window and flew into his place. I show up in front of him, and tried to push money in to his hands. I wanted to help but—he screams like some crazy women.”
“Wait, Alturus. Tell me if I understood you. You flew into his apartment invisible, appeared with a paper bag on your head, then tried to give him a wad of money?”
“Yes. Isn’t this simple enough?”
“Yes but, but... never mind. Please continue. What happened then?”
“I went to give him money but the man tripped back and fell on to an electric fan... and passed out.”
“And...!?”
“I put money on his chest but the fan blew it all over the room.”
“Dear me, Alturus. What a mess.”
“Yes, I left quickly.”
“Let’s move on Alturus. What’s next?”
“I still want to do good. But this gives me an idea. Perhaps with paper bag I can become a masked superhero like Batman. I could be—Bagman! Genius idea, no?” There’s was a long pause. “Anyway,” Alturus continued, “the next day I saw two hitch-hikers—they were playing guitar and asked for money when I walk past them in street. I felt bad. They look hungry so I decided to go and do something about it.”
Alturus hunted for a grocery store or a supermarket so he could load up and return piles of food to the two boys. He drifted invisibly, twenty foot above the pedestrians scanning left and right when the sparkling wares of a jewelry shop baited him from a side street.
The security guard near the entrance never felt a thing as he glided right passed him. Within seconds Alturus’s plan to get food had derailed and he now hovered, poised just above the display counter. As soon as the assistant stepped away to serve another customer, he swooped down and pulled as many watches as he could off the velvet cushions. In his rush a watch slipped out of his grip and clanged on to the glass—alerting security. A loud alarm started to wail from all directions. Alturus rose up quickly and nimbly swept out of the shop, giving little thought to the shouts and chaos he left behind.
He flew back to the hitchhikers, put the Bagman superhero disguise over his head and ran up to the boys dropping a bejeweled watch into the open guitar case.
“Did that make you feel like a hero?” asked Doctor Baum.
“Yes—for a minute. But police saw me and started to chase me. I ran and escaped. I got back to my hotel room and watched the people below.”
“And what do you see, Alturus.”
“I see police—arresting the hitchhikers.”
“Oh dear.”
“Yes, oh dear.”
Alturus felt sure they’d be let off though. The police would replay the security cameras showing the spooky footage of the watches flying off the shelves, as if pulled by magnets. How could anyone explain that?
“The hitchhikers can blame masked man—they will be alright...” Alturus justified.
With sirens still wailing below, Alturus turned his attention to his loot. He perched like a gargoyle on the edge of the
bed spreading the watches out over the blanket. Thirteen in total. More than the baron gave out. He smiled. With adrenalin buzzing through his mind and body he strapped three watches on each arm, sprung up and started spinning in circles.
“Loving this... LOVING THIS.”
Over the next few days however, the thrill wore off. Stealing the watches was easy, but Alturus found them useless. He couldn’t exchange them or even give them away without raising suspicion. No, what he needed was real money—a big, impressive wedge of notes held by a gold clip!
In the centre of Ibiza, on the corner of Gaspar Puig and Vicente Serra Orvay, Alturus came across an elegant, detached building. Fiery red flowers overflowed from pots hanging off black window bars, and the gold plaque on the front pillars proudly displayed the name, Banco DevillaSante Privado.
Propelled by greed and confidence and armed by his own ingenuity Alturus swept in—the air conditioning welcome after the brief flight from his hotel, but not as much as the cash waiting the other side of the high glass partition.
He didn’t waste time. He picked up a half-filled coffee mug place near the teller’s kiosk and hurled it with great force against the opposite side wall. The brown mix exploded everywhere. Havoc broke out among the staff and without missing a beat, Alturus made bee-line for the cashiers open drawer. He seized as many notes as he could showing no finesse. It was even easier then stealing a loaf of bread.
The next morning, with an added spring in his step and a pocket full of cash, Alturus took a stroll to the most expensive cafe on the island. He took a table outside and positioned himself so he could see the people walking by, and with the easy grace of the baron himself, ordered a champagne breakfast. The news papers hanging by wooden rods swayed in the breeze. A headline jumped out at him:
Poltergeist Robs Banco Devillasante!
Alturus reached for the newspaper and read on:
Earlier this morning, Mr. Jaffa (62) owner of Banco Devillasante Privado battled a barrage of questions about a mysterious robbery that took place Thursday afternoon at the Juan Ponce de Leon branch. Mr. Jaffa was reluctant to answer any details stating that a full investigation is underway and Interpol are involved.
A first hand witness, Miss. Canalis (34) who had entered the bank just minutes before it was robbed, said she saw cups of coffee fired against walls, and ghostly images of money ripped from cashiers tills as panic ensued. "It was like a scene from poltergeist," she stated."I was very scared."
It has been suggested the bank did all they could to suppress news of the robbery however this backfired when one of the customers filmed the entire incident on his cell phone and uploaded it to YouTube. The surprisingly clear footage has only added to the bank's frustrations. The one and half minute video shows utter mayhem throughout the ordeal and has become a viral phenomenon attracting 7 million views the first day.
The case is now a top priority with Spanish Police officials who will make a full announcement pending the results of the investigation.
Even after reading it, Alturus was comfortably numb to the consequences. Whereas Mr. Jaffa’s problems had just started, all of his had just ended. No debts, no hunting for jobs. A torrent of possibilities flooded his mind. Alturus took time to be in the moment, sitting back and smiling warmly at everyone in the vicinity. I am going to be a very, very, very rich man.
“Alturus, Alturus!” a voice shattered his day dream.
Peering over the paper he saw Gordon and Vicki waving, smiling from the entrance of the restaurant. He groaned inwardly. “Oh Hello!” he said. “How are you both?”
“You look well, Alturus. Did you find a new boat?” Vicki asked.
“Oh no... not yet...” Alturus’s voice trailed off.
“I’m impressed,” said Gordon, flat as ever. “You must have won the lottery.”
“Hmm. What’s this mean?”
“This place. That watch,” said Vicki, pointing at the glistening watch on Alturus's wrist. “Did you sell the baron’s shirts already?”
“Oh!” Alturus laughed. “This... shhh...” his voice dropped to a whisper. “Don’t tell anyone.” he tapped the glass face of the platinum Patek Phillipe with his nail. “Fake. If you want, I’ll get you one.”
“Oh No! No thank you,” Gordon and Vicki replied in unison. There was an awkward silence, but Alturus simply grinned back at them.
“Well we must be off...” said Gordon, “we have found work on the Ellese.” He pointed to a magnificent yacht on the far end of the marina. “First port, Athens and then the Greek isles for two months—Captain Pullman helped us with that one. You should ask him, Alturus. You’ll spend what money you have fast in this kind of place.” Gordon glanced up at the restaurant’s sign and then back at Alturus. “Well. We’ll see you around, Alturus. No doubt.”
“Yes, bye—Buen viaje! See you soon,” said Alturus. He watched them out of the corner of his eye as the strolled along the sidewalk and disappeared around the corner. And that’s what Alturus felt he had to do too—disappear—away from prying eyes. He made the decision to leave Ibiza the very next day.
Early in the morning he stuffed all of his worn out clothes and possessions into large plastic bags and made a small ceremony of dumping them in to trash bins. There was nothing he needed or wanted of this old life. Now he would make a point of getting only the very finest clothes that money could buy.
It wasn’t until Alturus was at the airport that he decided where he wanted to go. He looked up at the digital departure board—a world of possibilities.
“Where, where, where?” he scanned down the list of destinations. “Las Vegas?” That magician guy already doing disappearing act... he thought. “Aspen?” Not yet... “London? “Hmmm...” The crown jewels...! “Moscow?” Too cold... “Rejivic—” where?
In his mind he could see himself living in a penthouse in Monaco, or a manor house in England, or a picturesque home with tree-filled gardens overlooking Cap Ferat. But none of them felt like home. Yes, that was it. That is where he had to go—home—to Turkey.
He didn’t linger a second longer and bought a first-class ticket for the flight leaving after lunch. Once there he could do all the things he missed out as a child. He could go to all the places that he only ever saw and was never allowed to enter. He would be treated with dignity and they would weigh on him like a Sultan.
Power and confidence bubbled up inside. He strolled the airport’s finest shops and bought the most expensive clothes. He knew the brands from the baron’s choices: Lambskin loafers, silk robes, cashmere jumpers, leather jackets and belts. With the labels still attached, he pushed them all into the baron’s bag, and checked everything in.
In the next few hours Alturus felt like he’d stepped into heaven—Istanbul. The sultry heat, familiar smells and sounds filled his heart. He was welcomed with smiles and tipped everyone on the way up to his hotel suite. Once settled in his luxurious surroundings he phoned down for room service.
“I’d like... fruit, cheeses, chocolate, and bottles of most expensive champagne, and... send up a masseuse, manicurist and pedicurist, please.”
“All together, sir?”
“Yes, of course.”
Days passed. He invited friends and they dined and laughed and when they questioned him about his money, he simply told them that a rich old man had left him huge amounts. They didn’t interrogate him. They read the news and assumed it was all true. It seemed plausible enough. And as for the Shroud—he told no one. And he felt it was best to keep it in plain view too—spread out in the middle of the suite. It wouldn’t attract any attention there and everyone who visited him walked right over it. The masseuse spilt lavender oil on it, and the cleaner even moved it to vacuum under the table. And during all this time Alturus gave only a fleeting thought to what the baron had gasped on his deathbed; that the Shroud needed protection and he, as a Keeper, was part of a great history.
This memory made Alturus squirm on the doctor’s couch. He took shal
low, rapid breaths. "I am a fool,” he cried out. “A fool!” And without Doctor Baum’s assistance he began surfacing from the hypnotic trance. “So many mistakes.”
“It’s alright Alturus come up slowly,” said Doctor Baum, but Alturus was already awake. A distraught expression contorted his face. “Let me help you process this. You need to get this out.” Doctor Baum got up and opened the blinds.
“I never did any good,” Alturus said wistfully. “I took the easy way and lied and stole. I never helped my family and never helped my friends... nothing works out this easy. The easy way is really hard way. Too hard because I had to give up the Shroud. I had to pass it on.”