People in Season Read Free

were that easy. But this is why he comes here. The landlord’s certainty, and the zeal that comes with it, is something he doesn’t have in himself. He borrows it in cupfuls like sugar for his tea. Picturing his cold bed in the flat underneath their feet, he struggles to climb out of the cushions.
    ‘We need to upgrade from this cheap Tesco wine. What time is it? I’m up early tomorrow. There’s a whole media organisation of potential UPD to process.’
    ‘A perilous trek to where the obelisk stands.’ The landlord rises and claps his hand into his tenant’s to pull him up.
    ‘Do you think there’s a lot of them working for ChatterFive?’
    ‘I could pick five just browsing their website,’ he brags.
    ‘I’ve got a few suspects myself, but I’m going to have to put that aside. It should be easy enough. This isn’t a government office where their jobs depend on them acting untouched, right?’
    ‘Huh.’
    ‘Then again, maybe your creepy Danny friend will be working there. Something tells me he’d make a fine columnist. Whatever happened to him?’
    Francis holds the wine to his lips while he awaits an answer.
    ‘I couldn’t say. Once people leave that town they disappear for good. God knows I did. And don’t be so hard on him. Maybe he did meet the Devil. His wish came true didn’t it?’
    Francis, looking at the dark pool in the bottom of his glass, inhales the scent as he considers the words and swallows what’s left of his drink along with any superstitious misgivings he might have. ‘I suppose,’ he says, and dips to the low end of a seesaw.
    ‘Well,’ the landlord opens the three locks on his door, a chub, a key and a chain, in that order. ‘Go on.’
    Francis wobbles over, tipping left and right as he returns the deck of cards.
    ‘You have to try harder,’ the old man places his hands over the tenant’s, pushing the deck away. ‘Don’t forget what I said, watch out for yourself.’
    ‘I’ve got a pack downstairs,’ Francis says, ignoring the warning.
    ‘You need a fresh one. They’re useless once the edges are frayed. Keep them. Practice always. Get another deck in a week.’
    ‘Thank you,’ Francis accepts, knowing the landlord won’t let go until he does.
    ‘Don’t thank me, I’ll add it to your rent.’
    As he steps through the door, another idea lights up in Francis, that he should check his landlord’s eyes to see if there’s a hint of any scar tissue in the brow, but by the time he decides to turn the door is already closed and three locks are sounding from the other side. Untouched? It wouldn’t be the first time he’s had such a thought. It’s a fairly regular one at that. There are occasions when he can read more from the back of the man’s head than he can from his face, a sure sign if ever there was one. But he’s a lonely man, Francis, and chats with the old man help hone him – he has done good work and tomorrow in ChatterFive, scalpel sharp, he will do some more.

CHAPTER 2
     
    ‘In the untouched personality, we are dealing with a disparate collection of individuals who stand among us, but remain separate. This sounds vague. You think it’s a description that could be applied to yourself. I’m sure you don’t feel especially attached to your colleagues when you chat over rushed espressos each morning. But you are. There’s a sense we share, a network which they are not connected to, that exists to help us grow organically as one group. Empathy, the ability to understand and share the feelings of another, is completely lacking in the UPD. Impaired in this regard the signals they send and receive are mere facsimiles. A mouth drawn downward becomes a tool to demonstrate sadness, while pinched eyes are only an approximation of what you and I would call being happy. You might wonder what it’s like to exist in such a way. To that I will suggest, in the same manner a computer can scan the expression on your face and alter the lighting and music in your