It was an exciting time to be alive. Six months ago, Rudi would have said the opposite, but now – Wow! Disclosure, the new financial system, the mass arrests, the pause in the wars, the Cabal Tribunals – it was all happening so fast you could hardly keep up with it.
The teachers were less enthusiastic.
‘What are we supposed to do now?’ wailed the Head of History. ‘How can we go on teaching the same old stuff, when we know it’s a load of rubbish and they know it’s a load of rubbish?’
‘We don’t have any choice,’ said the Head of Science. ‘If it’s on the curriculum, we have to teach it. At least it gives them something to do, keeps their brains active.’
‘But what motive do they have to learn?’ protested the Head of Religious Instruction. ‘Absolutely none. And it’s a matter of principle, anyway. I absolutely refuse to ram a lot of falsehoods down their throats.’
‘Why not? – you’ve been doing it for twenty years,’ said the Head of English.
‘But I didn’t know before. And don’t be spiteful, Henry.’
‘Any goss about Red Rudi?’ asked the Head of PE, to change the subject.
There was silence. He’d put his foot in it. Mr Whitcliffe was present, and they never discussed Rudi in front of him – partly because he was Rudi’s Form Master, and partly not to disturb the fragile balance of his mind.
‘What’s that?’ asked Mr Whitcliffe. ‘Did you say Rudi?’
‘Is that the time?’ said the Head of PE. ‘Gotta go.’
Had Mr Whitcliffe not been present, the goss about Rudi would have focussed on his blog, in which he shared the aims and experiences of the Meditation Club. It had inspired copycat clubs all over the country, and the teachers were keeping a close eye on it. The Head of English was analysing it for meaning within context, and the Head of Mathematics was trying – so far unsuccessfully – to identify and crack any secret coded messages it contained.
The blog had earned Rudi some unexpected enemies. Okay, he’d expected the trolls, but he hadn’t expected a group of older boys to waylay him in the dark on the way home from school. One of them grabbed him from behind and held him while the others launched their attack. But suddenly he wasn’t there any more, and they were left punching each other in the face and kicking each other in the shins. In the dark it took them a minute or two to realise that Rudi had disappeared, by which time they had hurt one another quite badly.
Meanwhile, Rudi found himself on his own front doorstep, three kilometres away. This was almost as much of a shock for him as it was for his assailants. He fumbled with his door key, dropped it, picked it up, unlocked the door on the third try, called ‘Hi Mum,’ in a strangled voice, and stumbled up the stairs to his room.
It didn’t occur to Rudi to confide in his mother. Like many children, he preferred not to disturb his parents by telling them things he didn’t think they could handle. (Oddly enough, the teachers felt very much the same way about the Headmaster.)
Instead, he lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling, his heart thumping. He’d teleported. That’s what he’d done. He’d been and gone and teleported. This sort of thing wasn’t supposed to happen till after Ascension, was it? But he’d done it now.
How? Maybe because he needed to. Maybe because the Ascension energies were getting stronger every day. And Ascension might be a gradual process, anyway. But somewhere inside he must know how to teleport, or he couldn’t have done it. He’d have to explore inside himself and find out. This didn’t seem as impossible to Rudi as it might have done six months before. Meditation had opened the door to his inner self, and he was getting to know his way around in there.
So every day he spent time looking inside himself for this hidden knowledge. Eventually he found the faintest trace of it, and followed it further every day until it opened out before him like a three-dimensional map, simple and clear. Like something he’d always known.
He successfully teleported across his bedroom. He teleported back again. He practised going back and forth until it was second nature. He practiced in the playing field after dark, teleporting ten, twenty, fifty metres. He teleported home and back to the field again. It was easy. Easy-peasy. Why couldn’t everyone do it?
Well, maybe they could. He reported his experience at the end of the evening Meditation Club. Half the boys stayed behind to hear more, watch a demonstration and have a go. Within a few weeks, they could all do it.
Rudi started reading up on other psychic skills, and the recommended exercises to develop them. He brought them to the club, and after meditation some of the boys would stay on and have a go. No problem. Levitation, Telepathy, Clairvoyance, whatever – they could do it all. It was amazing, it was thrilling, it was tremendous fun.
It was also useful. For example, if they’d forgotten to hand in their homework, they could send it directly to the master’s desk by Telekinesis…
Every so often a member of staff would drop in on the clubs unannounced, just to make sure nothing was going on which might lead to parents writing Letters Of Complaint to the Headmaster.
So when a teacher turned up at the evening meditation session, Rudi just nodded to him and carried on as usual, apart from announcing that they’d be finishing at four-thirty prompt tonight. This was code for ‘No Psychic stuff in front of the teacher,’ which everyone understood.
The teacher reported back the following morning. ‘He’s hiding something,’ he said, ‘But I’ve no idea what it is.’
At that moment Mr Whitcliffe walked into the staffroom, saying, ‘I think there’s something funny going on.’
‘What’s that then, Gordon?’ asked the Head of Mathematics, in the hearty tone of voice he always used when speaking to Mr Whitcliffe.
‘I’ve got homework turning up on my desk without anyone putting it there.’
‘Happens to me all the time, mate.’ And everybody laughed.
Jason overslept. He was going to be late for school again, and this time he probably wouldn’t get away with it. So he decided to teleport, aiming for the back of the classroom between the animal cages and the stationery cupboard.
All the boys except Rudi were facing the front of the room, so they didn’t see Jason materialise. Mr Whitcliffe did, however. He stood transfixed, opening and closing his mouth and whimpering softly, then stumbled from the room.
Rudi followed, catching up with him at the door of the staffroom. He saw the tears in his teacher’s eyes.
‘I’m sorry sir,’ said Rudi. ‘That wasn’t fair. You shouldn’t have seen him do that.’
‘I, I, I… Did you see it too?’
‘Yes, he teleported. I’m sorry if it came as a shock.’
He found a crumpled tissue in his pocket and gave it to Mr Whitcliffe, who blew his nose.
‘What shall I tell the class, sir?’
‘Shall I tell them to read, and say you’ll be back in ten minutes?’
‘Yes… do that.’
The Head of History and Head of Geography were sharing a brew when Mr Whitcliffe staggered through the door of the staffroom. They saw he was feeling a bit more unstable than usual, and poured him a cup of tea.
‘One of the boys teleported, you see,’ he explained. ‘And it came as a bit of a shock.’
‘Well, it would do,’ they sympathised, and patted him on the shoulder.
When Mr Whitcliffe had gone, the Head of Geography said, ‘About Red Rudi. You were saying…’
‘Yes, I was just thinking out loud. What’s our next step? We still haven’t a clue what he’s up to.’
Part 3 soon.
© Sue J Davis 2015
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