ADORN THE PRESENT- A 'Prisoner' / 'Walker' Short Story

 

I first got into The Prisoner when I was around 10. I was on a family holiday to Wales and we stayed a few nights in a cottage in Portmeirion. Each night at '6', an episode was shown. I was immediately hooked. 

For years I hunted out VHS copies until I finally had all of the episodes. I joined the Six of One fan club, searched for everything Patrick McGoohan had ever done & have been pretty obsessed ever since. So, for the heck of it, here's a Prisoner inspired short story, featuring my series character, Mick Walker. 

Be Seeing You.

Adorn The Present
By Simon Maltman

 

 

Walker comes to with a start. He is lying on an empty beach, turquoise sea stretching out ahead of him. He scrambles to his feet. The sun is rising above the vast ocean. Walker spins around, completely disorientated. 

 

Where am I? 

 

Behind him on the cliff above is the outline of a beautiful Italianate village. Coloured in pastels of yellow, orange and green are villas, a tower and a dome. 

 

Walker stumbles, blinks a few times. He looks all around him again. 

 

Am I asleep? Am I going mad? 

 

He looks up and down the beach. The only thing on the sand is an empty bottle next to the imprint of where he had lay. He reaches and picks it up. ‘Paddy’s Whiskey.’ 

 

I don’t feel drunk. 

 

Walker strains to recall anything about the night before or where he might be. 

 

Nothing. 

 

He glances down at the bottle in his hand. There is another label on it with a penny farthing symbol beside the text. ‘No Alcohol. 50 work units.’

 

Walker notices his sleeve for the first time. He looks down. He is wearing a dark brown, piped blazer. He doesn’t recognise it. This isn’t his. On the breast pocket is a penny farthing badge with the number six. 

 

“It is another beautiful morning!” 

 

Walker spins around, looks up towards the village. A cheery woman’s voice continues to reverberate through a tanoy someplace. Walker searches his pockets for a cigarette, can’t find any. 

 

“The brass band will be performing at ten this morning, by the colonnade. Afterwards, feel free to join the chess tournament on the lawn. Have another wonderful day.” 

 

His heartbeat pulses in his ears, beads of sweat cross his forehead. 

 

Get yourself together. 

 

Walker steadies his breathing, brushes his jacket down and starts along the beach, heading towards the cliff and the village beyond. The sun is now high in the sky, hanging like a bright white ball. 

…

 

 

Walker pauses at the top of the hill to catch his breath. He gazes through the large ornate gates to see a bustling village centre. There are many different coloured cottages, a pond, and various statues and columns. A few dozen people are hurrying about, all dressed in bright stripes, some with hats, cloaks, and several carrying umbrellas. 

 

“Good morning, Number Six,” calls an old man pushing a small penny farthing bicycle. 

 

Walker just stares at him. 

 

A middle-aged couple walk past, smiling widely at him. 

 

“Be seeing you,” they say in unison, offering some kind of salute. 

 

Walker searches again for his cigarettes. No luck. He walks on. 

 

 

Suddenly a mini-moke car pulls up abruptly alongside him on what is barely a road. The vehicle itself is barely a car- only just big enough for the two burly men inside of it. The exterior is adorned with a striped canopy and a penny farthing symbol on its side. The two men dressed in red and white striped clothes and caps jump out. 

 

“Number Two wants to see you, come with us,” announces the first, his face set. 

 

“Oh aye, does he? I don’t know any Number Two, except when I visit the bathroom. I’m going nowhere with you.” 

 

Walker smiles sardonically at them, but there is an assuredness and a sense of threat in his hard Ulster tones.  

 

The two men exchange a look. 

 

“We’ll see about that,” continues the first man. “Just get in the car, we’re taking you to the green dome. He’s waiting for you, you wouldn’t want to keep him waiting.” 

 

“And who is Number One?” Walker says evenly. 

 

“You are Number Six.” 

 

“I am not a number. You’ve got the wrong man.” 

 

“The Village doesn’t make mistakes. It’s simple, you come quietly or you come the hard way. Six of one, half a dozen of the other.”

 

All at once, Walker steps forward, punches him hard in the face and when he doubles over, hits him again in the stomach. The man falls to the ground. The second comes at Walker with a billy club. Walker blocks it, grabs his wrist and twists. The man cries out as he drops the club. Walker releases him before sending two jabs into his face. Both men are now in the dirt. Walker skips over them and hops into the mini-moke. The rest of the villagers pass by impassively, going about their business.

 

“The green dome you say,” he calls, starting the engine. “I’ll take myself there thanks, be seeing you,” he shouts with a salute. 

 

A few minutes later and Walker is parked up outside the huge dome. Villagers cross in front of him, all silent, all ignoring him. At the door he pulls the bell cord. There is a loud chime as the door buzzes open, operated by some unseen electrics. 

 

Walker passes through an ornate hall as a butler appears from nowhere. He is no more than four feet tall, wearing a suit with tails and a blank stare. Another door opens with a buzz and Walker is led into the inner dome. 

 

“My dear chap, so good to see you,” bellows the man inside. He is middle aged, rotund, wearing a blazer with a badge marked Number Two. His manner is affable, his appearance that of a barrister full of bonhomie or that of a mad scientist.

 

“What’s it all about?” Walker snaps, stepping inside.

 

The door buzzes shut behind and the butler disappears. Walker begins to pad through the room. It is a metal cavern, with screens on the walls, a half sphere chair and strange lava lamp images floating across the walls. 

 

“Sit down and I’ll tell you,” Number Two booms. He hits a switch on a panel with his hunting stick and a chair rises up from the floor. 

 

“I’d prefer to stand.” 

 

“Have it your way, old boy.” 

 

Number Two sits back in his globe chair and places a file on his knees, flicking through it. 

 

“Now, let me see. Ahh yes… good.” He hits another switch, and a table comes up through the floor with a plate of food and pot of coffee.

 

“A full Ulster Fry and strong coffee. Please do help yourself, Number Six.” 

 

“It’s Walker. You know that very well.” 

 

Walker steps across and inspects the breakfast. Sausage, bacon, fried egg, potato bread, sliced soda and baked beans in a bowl on the side. 

 

“We know everything about you, Number Six.” The older man smiles slyly at him. 

 

Walker picks up the bowl of beans, meets Number Two’s eye and slowly pours the beans onto the metal floor. 

 

“Never beans with an Ulster Fry.” 

 

Walker sits down and begins to eat. Number Two tuts. “I’ll bring your file up to date.” 

 

Walker watches him coldly as he takes a sip of hot coffee. Number Two lifts out a small dictaphone and speaks into it. 

 

“Number Six prefers no beans with his breakfast. His table manners have a lot to be desired.” 

 

He stands and releases a loud guffaw.

 

“Come now, you really will have to settle down, Number Six. You can’t go around punching people and throwing food on the floor. You will learn to live quietly and peacefully in the Village. Or we shall make you learn. We are a community. Remember, ‘no man is an island.’” 

 

“And as Wilde once said, ‘No man is rich enough to buy back his past.’”

 

Walker leaves his breakfast half-finished and begins to pace the room, circling the other man. 

 

“Cigarette? They’re your brand of course.” 

 

“Of course, naturally,” says Walker, accepting one from a silver case. 

 

Walker lifts a lighter from the table and sparks his cigarette, before raising his head and blowing out a long, thin trail of smoke. Number Two is now also pacing the room, flicking through the file again as he does so. They meet in the middle of the room. 

 

“We have everything in here, you know? We know all about your time in the IRA, your defection to MI5. But then you resigned, didn’t you?”

 

Walker ignores him, looking away at the strange projections on the walls, chewing on the cigarette. 

 

“You resigned,” Number Two says again in a whisper. “But why? That’s the only thing we don’t know. Cards on the table, that’s it. We know absolutely everything else. That’s all we want. But we will get the answer, I’m quite certain of it.” 

 

“Good for you.” 

 

“Then you will find this place rather nice, somewhere to retire to. You’ll be left alone. Free to do as you please. It really is the most beautiful place, what about that view, ay?”

 

“I shall miss it when I’m gone.” 

 

Number Two crackles with a theatrical laugh again, “You really are the limit, Number Six.” 

 

Number Two punches a few buttons on his control panel and one of the huge screens on the wall comes to life. Walker throws the butt of his cigarette onto the floor and grinds it under his foot. 

 

On the screen he watches as a man in a dark suit strides along a hallway. The man bursts into an office and slams down an envelope on a desk. The man sitting behind it looks up impassively, a balding man right out of a Cold War spy thriller.  

 

“You’ll tell me everything I want to know.” Number Two’s voice from behind is hollow and unworldly. “You’ll come to me, whimpering.” 

 

Walker turns back to look at Number Two. 

 

Something is wrong. 

 

Something is very wrong. 

 

Number Two appears to disintegrate in front of him, his features dissolving into dust. The room spins. Walker tries to steady himself. The dome around him is a blaze of light now, spinning and burning like a dying star ready to explode. Walker is on his knees, clutching his head. Consciousness is retreating… 

 

“Whose side are you on?” he screams. 

 

“That would be telling,” comes back the answer, echoing from somewhere very far away.

 

“Why did you resign?”

 

“No!” 

 

He is slipping away, perhaps to somewhere with no pain. 

 

Pop.

…

Number Six blinks, opens his eyelids, only a little. Everything is cloudy, a haze of blurred vision. He squints. He is lying on a bed and a woman in a white gown is standing over him. Beside her is a thin man with glasses and a Number Two badge attached to his suit. 

 

Who am I? 

 

Not Walker. John? Daniel? 

 

The woman leans over and stokes his brow. Number Six’s eyes shut closed. He has not the strength to open them again. Sleep… 

 

Where am I?  

 

A party, a groovy party. People dancing, people laughing. He is wearing a tuxedo, upbeat music plays in the background. He looks in the mirror on the wall and straightens his bowtie. The mirror is crooked. No, the room is crooked. Number Six straightens the mirror and stares into it. It is the same face from the screen in the dome that stares back.

 

A woman’s voice with a French accent calls from somewhere behind him. 

 

“Darling, so good to see you…” 

 

…

See the 'Walker' series here-  Amazon