A New Beginning

'A New Beginning' is another of my literary experiments, this time a parallel story in two parts. Part 1 was the story as told by Patrick. The second part is the same story told by Rachel, ending with a convergence of both parts that lead into the conclusion. The conversations between Rachel and Patrick remain the same, highlighting what was going on in the lives of each of them at the time. This, Part 2 is Rachel's story.

*****

I had been standing here for at least an hour, looking out over the beauty of this scene that I had enjoyed for as long as I could remember, hoping that it would take my mind off my problems. But it just wasn't happening for me, not this morning, but why? I couldn't have asked for a better morning, the sun was shining, warming my face as it rose up from the horizon, there was a slight breeze, blowing softly in my face, that was just enough to take the edge off the sun's heat. I was about to give up and wallow once more in self pity, when this guy, that I'd noticed out of the corner of my eye as he approached, said "Good morning, as he passed.

"Is it?" It might have been for him, he probably didn't have a care in the world, although there was no smile in his voice when he said it.

"Why would you say that?" He had stopped and was looking closely at me. "It is a beautiful morning, just enough sun that it doesn't burn, just enough breeze that it keeps you cool, not enough people around to bother you, how could you not think that this is a beautiful morning?"

We looked at each other, I don't know what he was thinking, but he didn't look the type that went around hitting on strange women, so I felt reasonably safe talking to him.

He got in first. "There's a seat down here a bit, why don't we sit down and you can tell me all about your problems." I was just about to say something less than encouraging, but again he got in first. "No strings attached."

"Okay, but why are you doing this?" I still wasn't sure about him.

"Because I don't like to see someone like you unhappy. You would look much better with a smile on your face." I gave him my best cheesy grin. "Not that kind of smile."

"I have nothing to smile about." At least I didn't think that I had.

"Then tell me what you have that's not to smile about, and I'll see if I can help you."

Fat chance of that happening. "No-one can." I said quietly.

"Try me."

Did I dare tell him my sad tale of woe? What can I lose by telling him? Nothing, I have nothing more to lose. " I have just been told . . . , that I will not be given a passing grade unless I go to bed with my Professor. The more often I go to bed with him, the higher the grade."

This shocked him. "I thought that sort of thing didn't happen any more."

"It does, believe me. What he initially thought was that I was some dumb bimbo who would go to bed with anyone." I remembered thinking that he obviously hadn't looked at my academic record to date, otherwise he would have realised that to be not the case. "When he read my first assignment he realised that I wasn't dumb, so he began to mark me down, to give me lower grades than the assignment merited. When I questioned this was when he hit me with his suggestion that I should go to bed with him, go to his office couch with him. He is married, so his bed was out of the question."

"Can't you complain to the University authorities, the Vice Chancellor for instance?"

"I doubt that that would do any good, the rumours around the campus is that he's one of the worst offenders, or at least he used to be before he was promoted."

"I wish that there was some way that I could help you."

He seemed to genuinely want to help me. But at what price, would he expect me to go to bed with him? "May be we can help each other."

He probably doubted it, but I had piqued his interest. "What do you mean?"

"I noticed you as you walked towards me, the body was walking towards me but the mind was way off there somewhere else. You were so deep in thought that I was surprised when you spoke to me. I didn't think that you had noticed me."

"It would be hard not to, you'd stand out in a crowd."

"Thank you. Now getting back to you, what is your problem? Is it your wife?"

He looked sharply at me, I had struck a nerve. "Why would you ask that?"

"I noticed the wedding ring, that usually means that a man's problems are with his wife. My immediate thoughts were that you were separated, and divorce is a distinct possibility." That had been my experience a couple of times in the past. I had learned not to believe that one.

"I no longer have a wife." He said it so softly that I barely heard him. He was really hurt by this.

"She left you and you have been unable to let go, is that it?" A reasonable enough assumption, straight out of Psych 101.

"She died a year ago, she was murdered."

"How sad for you." That was a reactionary response. Not as bad as 'I know where you're coming from', probably the most cringe-worthy of all of the programmed responses, but it possibly didn't help. Then he looked very familiar. I had seen him on TV about a year ago, tears in his eyes as he pleaded for his wife's return. "Wait a minute, you're that man that was charged with murdering his wife, but when it came to your trial the judge threw it out. He called it a travesty, a miscarriage of justice and recommended that the police in charge of the investigation be suspended." I had wondered after the trial what happened to him, he just seemed to slip under the radar.

"That's the one."

"Patrick O'Laughlin, that's your name isn't it? I saw it on TV, your wife was missing from home and you were pleading for help in finding her. The speculation was that you had done it, and those were crocodile tears that you were shedding."

"That's what the police thought. Because many such cases are usually committed by a spouse or close family member, they assumed, wrongly in my case, that this was yet another of these. They spent more time searching for a motive as to why I should have killed her, than actually finding the real murderer."

"I never believed that you did it for one minute. I just couldn't see you doing it."

"Thank you. Even now there are still some out there who think that I did it."

"But why would they think that? You were never convicted. There was no evidence to suggest that to be the case."

"Because the real killer has not been caught. To these people, with the lack of a viable alternative, there is still some doubt as to my innocence."

"So what have you done about this?"

"Nothing. What can I do? The police are reluctant to help. I had made them look bad, at least that was how they looked at it. I did nothing to even hint that they were incompetent. I kept my feelings hidden inside, I couldn't afford to let them out in case they took it as me trying to divert attention from my guilt."

"So, you're not doing anything about it?"

"I didn't say that. I have not been thinking straight this past year, what with being slammed in gaol, and now having to try and get back into work while still thinking about the kids having to go to their grandmother's house every day after school. I just haven't had time to get my head around all of this until now."

"So, what are you doing about it now?"

"I have been going through in my mind everything that happened in the lead up to her murder to see if I can find a reason, or if there is any evidence of someone either stalking her or who had some other motive for killing her."

"Any luck yet?"

"This is pretty much a cold case. My lawyer has applied for access to all of the police evidence to see if there is anything in among all of that that can give us a lead. I'm just on my way to see him now."

"Can I tag along, just for a little while, I feel less alone now thanks to you stopping to chat."

"Sure thing. Do you realise that you are the first woman, apart from Mother and Rosie's mother, and the Psychologist that I was advised to go and see, and probably supermarket checkout operators, although they hardly constitute a meaningful conversation, that I have spoken to in the past year?"

"It's no wonder that you feel down on the world, you haven't had the scintillating conversation with a woman to brighten up your day." I smiled at him, it was my best smile, he had no real alternative but to respond.

"For once in a long time, I actually felt like I was a human and not some zombie stumbling through life." He said.

We arrived outside his Lawyer's office. "Look, I don't think it would look good me coming in with you. He might not take this the right way, you swanning around the countryside with someone young enough to be your daughter."

"I'm not that old." Wow, that hit a nerve.

"See, before you stopped to talk to me you would have shut up and not said anything. I've had some impact on you. There's a cafe a couple of doors down, I'll wait for you there. If you haven't arrived in half an hour I'll take it that you've stood me up and slink off back into my hole and die."

"I can't have that now, can I? Do you have a phone on you?" He looked at me and realised the stupidity of that question, there was nowhere on my person where I could carry a phone.

"Yeah, sure, it's in my bra propping up my left tit." I smiled to let him know that I was not worried by his faux pas, and was relaxed in his company.

"I tell you what, I'll give you mine, and if I'm going to be held up a little longer than expected, I'll borrow a phone and call you. You can read out the menu for me and you can order for me. I'll pay, so you see there is no way that I'm not going to come to you. There is one little request."

"What is that?"

"No peeking at my SMS or MMS messages, okay?"

"As if I'd be interested in what you or your friends had to say to each other."

What was I doing? This is the recurring question that I have yet to find an answer to. Here I was, sitting down in a cafe, having told the hovering waitress that I was waiting for someone, I had his phone on the table where I could see it, but why? Why didn't I just hand him his phone back and leave him to whatever it was that he was doing? My only answer was that I found him attractive, and vulnerable. My experience, before I learned to avoid them, with vulnerable men is that they either drag you down to their level, or they start blubbering when you try to get close enough to them for intimacy to take place. In other words, their memories impair performance and they are less than useless in bed. What was I thinking of? Would he be any different from those others? I don't know why I decided to give him a chance, but I did.

I was exploring available fall back plans when I saw him come through the door. I stood as soon as I saw him enter the cafe. "I was beginning to worry." I said as he arrived at the table. "I kept looking at the phone and wishing it to ring, just to let me know that you were not a figment of my imagination who somehow lent me his phone." I handed it back to him. "I think that you should give me your phone number, just in case I need someone to talk to, a shoulder to cry on."

"I will if you will." I held my hand out for his phone. Within seconds I handed it back to him. He glanced at the screen. "Thank you Rachel Becket, I'll treasure this. Now what looks interesting?" He looked at the menu card that was standing in this holder thing, along with those long skinny tubes of sugar and condiments.

"I'm starving, I've just realised that I left home without breakfast. I'll have the spicy chicken foccacia with salad, a slice of the disgustingly fattening double chocolate cheesecake and a Latte, thank you." He chose a club sandwich and a flat white coffee. I had worked for a while as a Barista, and I learned that there's no difference in the amounts of milk and coffee in both the latte and flat white. For the latte, the coffee is poured through the frothed milk, while the flat white the milk is poured over the coffee. He didn't want the dessert.

"I was thinking," he said, "while I was waiting for Guthrie, he's my Lawyer, to find time for me."

"Oh, oh." I said.

"Hear me out. Why don't you start up one of those 'name and shame' Web sites and encourage others to name Professors who obtain sexual favours in response to giving higher grades. I'm sure that you're not alone among the female student population that has been hit on like this."

"I know that I'm not. Let me think about this. I need to speak to some of the others to see if they'll back me up on this before I go ahead with it."

"If you don't use your real names there'll be no come back, at least I hope not."

Our food arrived and we exchanged bits and pieces of conversation between mouthfuls. "When you hand your assignment in, are you in a group, like a tutorial group, or is it in person?" He asked.

"In a tute group, and they're handed back in the group as well."

"When you questioned his grading, was that in his office or within the group?"

"In his office. He does not like to be questioned in public. He has made that very clear."

"Okay, what are you like as an actress?"

"I can get by most of the time, what do you have in mind?"

"Have you seen the last film of the Millennium Trilogy, 'The Girl Who Kicked the Hornets Nest'?"

"Yes."

"Do you remember Lisbeth Salander's trial, how she was dressed?"

"Yes. If you're suggesting that I get a million piercings and a punk hair style you can forget it."

"You don't think that Noomi Rapace looks like that in real life, do you?"

"No, but I bet she spent hours in make-up to achieve that look."

"A lot of that was to make her face look as if she gone ten rounds with a threshing machine. I'm sure that a competent make-up artist could achieve something like that in a short period of time. I think a punk wig would cover your real hair, so there'll be no need to cut it, although, if you wanted to, you could revert back to your real colour and have it cut in a punk style." He was waiting for my reaction, was I going to deny that my hair colour was fake?

"I could do that. I'd feel strange, it has been this colour for years."

"You do realise that being a brunette would add another ten percentage points to your IQ, don't you?" I've lost count of the number of times that I've heard that one before, hundreds of times, but I laughed just the same.

"What do you intend that I do with this get-out?"

"When you go to your next lecture with him dressed as a punk, you approach him after the lecture and tell him that you're ready to have sex with him. See what he says, chances are that he'll bail. If he doesn't, in amongst your lecture notes and stuff in the bag that you'll have over your shoulder will be a miniature cam-corder, I can provide that if you can't get hold of one, but they're freely available from most electronics stores. You shouldn't have sex with him, just fight him off, kick him in the balls if you feel that way inclined. You now have a record of his attempt to coerce you into sex for grades. Put that out on the Web and see what happens."

"All right, I'll think about it. I won't make any promises mind you. Now, I don't know what you have planned for the rest of the day, but I have an assignment to complete. I'll have to love you and leave you. I'm sure that you have enough to keep you occupied." We both stood to leave.

"Yes, I do. I have taken this morning off work to see my Lawyer, but I need to get back to work. I have some catching up to do, and now that I give the appearance of having shaken off the crap that I've gone through this past year, I can't expect them to carry me any longer. If you need me, call, okay?"

"I was just about the say the same thing. Good-bye then." I kissed him on the cheek, my hand that had rested on his shoulder moved up and caressed his cheek. I could feel him watching me as I walked away from him.

"Hey Chelsea." Chelsea was my best friend at Uni, we were both studying in the Geography department, she was studying Climate Science while I was doing Demographics. She stopped and waited for me to catch up to her. "I met this guy this morning, and he came up with a great idea. He suggested that we set up a 'Name & Shame' Web page, linked to Facebook and Twitter, that names predatory Professors, and to encourage others to do the same. What do you think?"

"Are you crazy? They'll track down who set it up and you'll never get your degree."

"Not if we play our cards right. We can convince someone in IT to set it up in such a way that the source can't be tracked, at least not easily. That way they can't punish us."

"You keep saying us, what makes you think that I want any part of this crazy scheme?"

"Because you're always complaining that you get hit on all the time. Now's the time to say no in such a way that it won't happen again."

"I guess that you're right, I need to do something. I need to forget that these old guys are all offering to make sure that I graduate, what young guy can offer that?"

"A young guy that can help you study."

"And where am I going to find one of those? All they're interested in is getting me into bed."

"And these old guys aren't? What's going to happen when you get your assisted graduation? Is it going to help you do the job that you were studying for? No. You will be on your own and un-prepared for the world out there. Will they help you then? No, they'll be shagging some new and gullible girl."

"All right, count me in. What can I do?"

"You can start by talking to other girls and get a feel to the extent of this problem at this Uni. If it's as bad as I think it is, then we get the Web page out there, and make sure that other Universities pick up on it. Today Australia, tomorrow the world."

We spent the rest of the day speaking to as many groups of girls as we could. The response was overwhelming. Those girls that hadn't actually been approached, wanted to support us anyway. We had close to a hundred percent who will support us. Tomorrow we would contact other Universities. Wait until Patrick hears what his suggestion has started.

The word had got around and girls were coming up to us and volunteering information. They were told to upload details onto the Web site when it was up and running, in the next day or two, and to also get it out on any social media site that they were on.

I was working on my computer, trying to design a Web page for my campaign. I had a list of the things that I wanted included, and ideas on how I wanted it set up. I was using a Web-page design programme that I had downloaded off the Net, and was just about to give up on it, when I rang him. "This is Patrick, speak to me." This wonderful voice said.

"Hi, it's Rachel. I tried ringing earlier but you must have been out."

"Yeah, the kids and I had dinner with my parents."

"I thought that might have been the case. I got your answering machine, I love your message by the way. I didn't bother to leave a message."

"I'm glad that you called. Have you given any thought to what we spoke about this morning?"

"Yes. I spoke to some of the other girls and we are going to put together a Web-page to get this problem out there and see what sort of reaction we get. How about you?"

"I rang one of Rosie's old work mates, she's not old, just that she used to work . . . . I think I'll shut up and tell you what happened. She told me that Rosie did have something bothering her in the weeks just before she was killed, and that the police weren't interested in that. I'm having lunch with her tomorrow and she has promised to tell me all."

"I don't know that I'm happy with that."

"Why, it's perfectly straight forward. Don't tell me that you're jealous?"

"All right I won't, but I am. I did a lot of thinking after I left you, and I came to the realisation that you were the first man, that I have had a private conversation with, who not only didn't try to get into my pants, but actually helped me. This was a new experience for me and I liked it. I like you, and don't give me that bullshit about our age difference, you're not that much older than me."