That Elusive Cure 48

I stayed with Sally for the rest of the morning, holding her hand while she fitfully slept. Wendy came back after a few hours, her eyes swollen and a tissue clutched in one hand. I relinquished my seat beside Sally and left the sisters to say their peace to each other.

Besides, I had places to go. I drove from the hospital to the church, ignoring the hunger pains in my stomach. Maybe the machine had recharged early. What if it had? I could admit the truth to Wendy and together we could get Sally here. Fix her, and not just from the overdose.

My key struggled in the lock as usual, and I decided I had to get Dad over to loosen up the mechanism. Spray it with WD40 or something like that. He’d know what to do. The door swung open and the first thing I noticed was the envelope on the floor.

Thinking it was probably junk mail of some sort I picked it up. The envelope was A4 size, and creamy white, an expensive paper, not the sort where you’d find a double glazing leaflet inside. There was nothing on the front, no name, not even: to the occupier. I ripped the flap open and pulled out a wad of papers, a second key falling out from the bottom.

“Oh my God,” I muttered. Realising the door was still wide open I closed it and on a whim used the new key to lock up. “Huh.” I popped the key in my pocket and took the post over to my favourite seat. During the week I’d moved one of the pews so that I had the perfect view, with the pod in the foreground and the cross directly behind. If I squinted it seemed as if Jesus had his feet resting on the lid.

The first page was a title page and simply said: To the current Key Holder. Then underneath it said: In the event of the death of Richard Newland. How very odd. I flipped over and started reading through the following pages. There was a lot of legalise that I had to admit I didn’t understand. But the gist, if I understood it, was that the pod was to be signed over to the current key holder – which was me.

There was a separate document that needed to be taken to a named solicitor. I’d sign and be witnessed, and the church and contents would become mine. And there was further provision to carry on this method of ownership in the event of my death. On top of that I would then be named as caretaker. I flipped the page to find that as caretaker, I would be paid.

“Seriously…?” I scanned the document again. No, I’d read right the first time. My wage would be more than I’d ever earned in my previous life as a teaching assistant.

And, to go along with owning the church and becoming the caretaker, there was a generous fund for repairs. The church was to be kept looking neglected, but in a safe state. The papers explained this was to keep the church from being noticed. The fund had so many zeros behind the initial number that I had to look twice. All repairs had to go through the named solicitor, and seemed very secure. No sneaking money out of this fund.

“Bloody hell.” I put the papers down and stared up at Christ. “This is huge,” I said. “I’m not sure I’m the right one for the job. Look what’s happened since I’ve had the key.”

This was more responsibility than I think I’d ever had in my life. I thought of Janie, she’d be far more suited to this than me. She was caring and compassionate and reliable. She thought of others and set about making a difference. With me having Jimmy around, who knows what would happen in the future? What if he got another urge to poke around in the machinery? Since I knew him he’d been talking about how one way or another he’d make millions. Over the years he’d tried to perfect various inventions and ideas. If he had this wonderful pod within his reach how long before he tried to copy it? He didn’t have the expertise to go it alone, so it would be him and Bob in league against me. I wouldn’t stand a chance.

“What do I do?” My words echoed around the church.

Christ didn’t seem to be in an answering mood today. He hung there from his cross, his expression pained, yet there was peace there, a serene expression hidden in the torture that I’d not noticed before.

“Okay, I’ll do it. But make a deal with me. Help me. Can you do that? Make sure I don’t cock this up.”

Silence filled the church, and as I stared up at the cross the sun broke through the clouds and streamed through the stained glass windows, blanketing Christ in a rainbow of colours.

“That’ll do for me. Thank you,” I said. Dipping my head in respect I took a moment of reflection before gathering the papers and leaving.