Flux

held him back, deep down he really didn’t want to know.
    After a silent, uneasy wait with much shuffling of feet, the bus pulled up at the stop. Getting on, Iain found enough change from his pocket for himself but realised he hadn’t enough for his companion. He glanced at the driver, and then at Bert who grinned and shrugged his shoulders.
    “Well?” asked the driver, “Are you getting on or what?” Of course; Bert was invisible to all but Iain, and ghosts apparently.
    As it was the morning rush hour the bus was relatively full but they managed to find the last two seats which were together. As the short journey towards town progressed, the bus filled until all the spare seats were taken and people were standing in the isle. Nobody however, attempted to take the place next to Iain. It was almost as if although the old man was invisible to them, people could sense his presence and chose to shun it. A few glances and turned up noses from their fellow travellers caused Iain to rethink his theory. The stench coming from his companion was enough to rouse the dead; or in this case, the living. Iain blushed, wanting to explain the smell wasn’t him, but didn’t know how without appearing insane. What would he say? ‘Sorry about the smell but it’s my invisible friend!’ That quite simply wouldn’t work so he sat ignoring Bert, looking sheepish and occasionally smiling at the passengers as they stared.

    The receptionist peered over her glasses and smiled with thick red lips as they entered the waiting room.
    “Great tits!” Bert said, indicating towards the ample cleaving showing above the low cut of her blouse.
    Iain let out a sharp ‘shhh’.
    “Pardon?” said the receptionist.
    “Oh, sorry. Nothing,” replied Iain. Thinking that speaking to himself probably wasn’t the best way to begin a visit to the psychiatrist.
    The receptionist flashed him a small smile tinged with pity he thought, before returning to the paperwork on her desk. By this time, Bert had moved around the back of her chair, the look on his face so sleazy as to do the phrase dirty old man an injustice.
    “Phwoar,” said Bert, his hands reaching around to clutch a breast in each one. She squirmed uncomfortably in her seat and Iain wondered what physical influence Bert could exert on the living. Feeling ashamed by association, Iain gazed at the floor, not wanting eye contact with Bert or the woman behind the desk.

    Fortunately, so Iain thought, he was then called through to see Doctor Jenkins. It was still with some trepidation however that he rose to enter the doctors office; not knowing what reaction he would receive, whether or not his answers would satisfy and ultimately, whether he might once again be locked away. The continual presence of Bert did little to alleviate his anxieties.
    As it turned out, any fears relating to Bert were well-founded. All the time the doctor was speaking to Iain; asking how he was feeling, whether he was continuing with the medication and if he was still having visions, Bert was pacing the room, pulling faces, interjecting the conversation with lewd and offensive comments and generally trying to be as distracting as he possibly could. Iain however, did a fine job of convincing Doctor Jenkins of his sanity, often having to concentrate hard to hear what the doctor had to say while Bert talked, ranted and shouted over the top of him. Eventually, the old man appeared to give up on his attempts to have Iain committed and simply dematerialised, leaving Iain and the doctor to finish their conversation in peace.
    Following the session of blatant lies, Doctor Jenkins announced how happy he was with progress made and Iain was free to leave. Walking back into reception wearing a broad grin, he was horrified to see Bert standing on the desk, in front of the receptionist and facing her with soiled pyjama bottoms around his ankles and erect member in hand, which he levelled at her face while pumping it vigorously. Iain tried not to look as he hurriedly exited the room, not even turning to reply when the receptionist said goodbye.

    While at the hospital and with Bert seemingly otherwise engaged, Iain thought he’d go and visit Tim. The clergyman was easily located, sitting in his chapel deep in thought.
    “I think the end is coming.”
    “The end of what?” Tim turned sideways in his seat, his face etched with concern.
    “The world!”
    “That’s a bit strong isn’t it?”
    “All the signs are there; the