For those of you who may not know, there is a community of crazy people who spend time blogging and interacting on the Internet. They meet once a month in Kampala and to keep themselves amused till the next meeting, they make up games and challenges and visit each other’s blogs with these challenges. They have considerable brains and it is dangerous to leave big brains unattended for too long, you see.

The latest game was to take a story and have each blogger add to it bit by bit and see where the wind would blow the tale. They called this latest game Blogger’s Whispers, and someone whom I previously thought was my friend has whispered the tale to me. So I have to read his chapter, add to it my own and then choose another hapless blogger to continue with the madness. For the story to make sense you must start at the beginning, so follow the link brick road.

Part 1 with Princess; Part 2 from The Dark Knight; Part 3 at the Streetsider’s joint; Part 4 with Undiscovered and Part 5 on the Sunny Side.

Do not worry that none of these people has a first name. They are as wild and wonderful and creative as the titles their blogs possess. Plus, they are pretty cool in person. So, without further ado, here is Angela’s chapter:

BLOGGER’S WHISPERS

John is at his desk writing… probably notes on the next Project Jacob. It has been ages since I wrote anything with my husband, or for him. Ages since… well, since anything, really. When we’d had a son, John was overjoyed. Little Jacob was going to be The Son to our writing trinity. We had his brilliant path mapped out in gold. It was all sunshine and roses till the cruel twist of autism entered the equation. Jacob is brilliant, alright, but he is creepy.

I am his mother, but I am afraid of him. Of his steady intelligent gaze; of the things he says; of his intuition. I am afraid because I know he knows I am afraid. I wonder if he knows I go over every minute of the night he was born. I go over all the details; trying to collect facts that may prove I brought home the wrong baby. But I can find none. I was awake; John was there. The doctors never took the baby out of our sight… later in the night, perhaps. When I finally dosed off to the sound of John reading me poetry. Did he stay awake and watch over our child? Is it his fault we brought home this….

“Mummy?” Jacob said at Ellyn’s elbow, startling her out of her thoughts. “I’m sorry I tried to make a cake without permission.”

Great, Ellyn thought. Now he is apologising when I was the unreasonable one. One more point to make Ellyn feel like an evil stepmother.

Controlling her sudden burst of irritation, she crouched down (she would have hugged him close, but he didn’t react well to sudden personal touches, this son of hers. He reacted to reason and logic - when he chose to) and said to Jacob: “It’s okay baby. Mummy was just having a bad day and you did nothing wrong. Would you like to help me make the cake now?”

Deep inside, Ellyn hoped he would say no and go off to writing in that secret journal of his or staring out the window or something. But Jacob nodded solemnly and climbed onto a stool beside her. Well, she was stuck with him…

What the hell is wrong with you Ellyn!?

What is right?

Get a grip! Your son is ill and he did not do it on purpose.

I’m healthy and intelligent, so whose bloody fault is this autism shit?

All he wants is to bond with you

Well, why must we bond on his timetable, the little tyrant? Sometimes I think he does this on purpose!

And so the battle between Ellyn the Selfish and Ellyn the Compassionate raged. The only thing that calmed her down these days was Raymond…

Raymond, who was all action and no talk. Raymond, who knew nothing about her, except that she was married and it was not up for discussion. Raymond, who was all sex and no commitment. Raymond, whom she might see later today if John and Jacob went on their daily nature walk. Jacob liked to collect weird insects and John encouraged any form of “creative expression” their strange son exhibited.

She’d be cutting it a little close - kids would be arriving for the party at 3pm. But, she needed this, Ellyn told herself. She needed it for her sanity.

And when Ellyn came out of her daydream, Jacob had the cake mix almost ready. It was going to be a fantastic chocolate cake. Once again, Ellyn would be proved wrong.

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Midday couldn’t come soon enough. Isn’t it funny how time slows down when you have something (forbidden) to look forward to? Jacob would not leave until he had seen the perfect cake out of the oven and onto a cooling rack. “Creative Expression,” John grinned.

How she was starting to hate that grin! When they discovered Jacob was autistic, he suddenly became the centre of John’s existence. They’d co-authored every book since they met, but she had contributed little to John’s recent bestseller on raising an autistic toddler. For him Jacob was research; a project; something fascinating. Before Jacob they’d travelled the world; a new location with each new publishers’ cheque. Now they were grounded around Jacob’s needs. Broke and grounded.

Ellyn had receded into the background, along with Sarah, the accident that happened after too much champagne on the night he’d launched the autism bestseller. Was Sarah any less their child just because she wasn’t autistic? Ellyn had needs too, and while John and the two kids were stepping out to a nature walk, Ellyn, on the pretext of buying some whipped cream to decorate the cake, was off to a nature experience of a different kind.

Maybe John was so keen on these walks because walking was the one thing Jacob couldn’t do with Hezekiah, the grumpy amputee next door. Jacob and Hez were thick as thieves on most days, and try as he might, John could not get Hezekiah to tell him what Jacob confided in him. It didn’t stop him from trying, though, and for the purpose of being neighbourly, Hez had been invited to the party later.

In the good old days, John would have immediately noticed as she stepped out that Ellyn wore no underwear; her long gypsy skirt clung to her form, even with the still air, and her chest was unfettered under her sweater. It was Ellyn’s way - her mating call, if you like. But John had eyes only for Jacob, and with Sarah hoisted on his shoulders and Jacob walking a foot ahead of him, he set off towards the park with a brief wave. “Get us some mouthwash while you’re there, babe,” was his only concern.

“Sure thing, babe,” Ellyn replied, but John caught neither the sarcasm nor her meaningful smile. It was lost on the wind, like the ghost of their relationship.

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Raymond run his fingers idly through his short blonde hair. He was blonde for now, but he thought he might keep this over his natural fiery red hair. Platinum blonde suited his cold icy heart.

The author woman would come; he could smell it on the air. He preferred not to think of his victims by name. It made things easier. In fact, if he could call them clients, he would. Victims was a strong word.

He’d been paid a large enough fee to prevent him asking questions. His brief was to get close to her and await further instructions. It hadn’t been easy to arrange an accidental meeting with her; but it had been child’s play to get her clothes off.

Who was the target, Raymond wondered? The woman? Her author husband? The little girl for ransom? While they were successful authors and well off, they were hardly kidnap material…Surely not their crazy older kid? Though the way she spoke about him, you’d think she’d be glad to be rid of the boy.

Well, he’d been paid, so Raymond would do what he was told when he was told. For now he had to get Loretta out of his bed and the house before the author woman got here. Ellyn thought she was “the only one” and that this was “special” and he had to keep his story straight.

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And now, I whisper this tale to Fluorescent, who is Lit from Within. Why? Because you reminded me how to spell fluorescent. I don’t use that word much.  Many lucks and don’t shoot the messenger.