Enlightened Man , livre ebook

Andrews UK - W. Hixon Gary

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207 pages

English

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What should a deeply religious man do when he is shown an artefact that its current custodian believes contains the cryptic clues to the whereabouts of an ancient document, that when found, would destroy everything he has always believed?When events conspire to send Dr Thomas Bass's life spiralling out of control - at a time when his mind is tormented by the consequences of how he has lived that life - the search for the 'truth' contained on an ancient piece of parchment takes him on a frenzied, turbulent journey of self-discovery. But Dr Thomas Bass is not the only one searching for 'the truth'.

Informations

Publié par	Andrews UK
Date de parution	24 avril 2019
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781789820966
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0200€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Contents
Front Matter
Title Page
Publisher Information
Epigraph
An Enlightened Man
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Back Matter
Also Avilable

Front Matter

Title Page
An Enlightened Man
Gary W. Hixon

Publisher Information
First published in 2019 by
AG Books
Digital edition converted and distributed by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
Copyright © 2019 Gary W. Hixon
The right of Gary W. Hixon to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Any person who does so may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Epigraph
‘We are all like fishers for eels. In still waters we catch nothing, but when we thoroughly shake up the slime, our fishing is good.’
Aristophanes

An Enlightened Man

Chapter One
Dr Thomas Bass was having a bad day. Perhaps the worst day of his life. He certainly could not recall any other that had caused him so much stress and sadness. His mind – a strong, scholarly mind that had hitherto dealt with anything that his life had thrown at him – was in turmoil. He entered the small, cold office – at the end of a long, insignificant corridor at the university where he taught – and threw his papers onto the desk; pulled out his time-worn chair and collapsed into it. It was quiet in here. The tumult and ordinary chaos of this faculty was now on the other side of the heavy, panelled door, and he was pleased to be safely ensconced in his private space. As he rubbed his weary face with his scabrous hands, he considered the news that had been given to him earlier that day.
Terrible news. The worst news anyone could have given him, and he felt terribly sorry for himself. ‘I shouldn’t have to go through this!’ he thought. He leant forwards and placed his head in his hands, staring at the threadbare carpet on the floor. ‘Yet here I am, back in this dreadful place when I should be with her. But she told me to come back to work. She said that she wanted to be on her own. I don’t want to be on my own. I want to be with her. She’s my wife for Christ’s sake. What am I doing here?’
Thomas took a minute or two to feel sad and sorry for himself, then decided that the best thing that he could do would be to throw himself back to the real world of his work. Perhaps then, his troubles would ebb away. It was wishful thinking, and to that end he began to open his post but saw nothing of interest. So, he shuffled the papers that were scattered messily across the desktop, attempted to put them into some sort of order and added others that he knew he would shortly need. ‘The book of Isaiah!’ he grumbled to himself despairingly. ‘I don’t know if I can be bothered with Isaiah today. What’s the point? They won’t listen to me in any case.’
The idea of delivering a lecture about Isaiah’s prophecies to a hall full of over-eager first year undergraduates filled him with dread. Although his prepared notes and his own knowledge would ensure that the lecture would be easy and would start and finish at precisely the times that he intended it to, it was the incessant arm raising and questions at the end that was worrying him. ‘It’s not their fault, I suppose,’ he mused charitably, pushing his notes into a neat pile. ‘I’ll just do it and hope that they all want to go to the pub as soon as I’m finished. I could never wait to get to the pub!’
He grabbed his notes and rose from his chair, when his phone alerted him to a text message. He delved into his pocket in case it was from his wife, Emily, perhaps asking if he was alright or requesting that he come home straight away, in which case Isaiah would have to wait until another day. But the name displayed on the screen was from the one person whom he did not wish to hear from: Charlotte . Even by looking at the name – the fact that her number was stored on his phone – filled him with guilt and regret. More so today than at any other time. The message read simply: Turn on the TV.
Thomas, aware of the time, intended to ignore the instruction, but his curiosity got the better of him. He sat back down, discarded his notes and reached for the remote control. The TV flicked into life, and since it was always set on the news channel, the reason for the text became apparent straight away. His attention was fully diverted to the scene playing out on the screen above him on the wall. A chaotic vision of emergency vehicles – sirens blaring and lights flaring – amidst plumes of black smoke emanating from the transept of a church or cathedral. Canterbury Cathedral to be precise, which he recognised straight away. It was confirmed once he’d taken the time to read the banner going across the bottom of the screen: An explosive device has detonated in Canterbury Cathedral, killing two and injuring several more.
‘My God,’ he said to himself. ‘What kind of nut would want to blow up a cathedral?’ He turned the volume up but heard nothing further other than the newsreader interviewing an eye witness. He listened for a while, but there was no mention of the perpetrator or a motive. Just an old man eagerly retelling his witness to smoke and flames. ‘Obviously, you old fool.. a bomb has exploded!’
He watched for a little while longer, before sighing deeply at the awareness that as a lecturer in Theology and Divine Studies at the north’s premier university, he was going to be prodded and probed about this incident all afternoon. He had neither the time nor the inclination to ascertain all the facts. Time was something he was short of today, even though it felt like the longest day of his life. He knew that people would expect him to care, when in fact he had more personal matters on his mind. ‘This is all I need,’ he bemoaned, grabbing his notes again. ‘What a day!’
Thomas scurried along the corridor towards the lecture hall, weaving awkwardly between loitering students with nowhere better to be. Ahead of him, he noticed the tall, slender figure of Professor Harry Nutter looming large and speeding towards him. He thought about turning back but suspected that the professor had seen him; confirmed when Harry Nutter started to wave his arms to catch his attention and began to stride with increased rapidity. He remembered that he’d simulated sudden deafness when Nutter had called out to him in the car park earlier that afternoon. This time there was no way he could avoid meeting him; they were on a direct trajectory towards one another, and he knew that Nutter would not let the opportunity to stop and talk to him pass.
It wasn’t that he disliked the old professor – he did like him – but oh, was he dull; and when he tried his hardest not to be dull, he just came across as being condescending. Harry Nutter was the kind of academic that Thomas tried to avoid as much as he could, even though this venerable university was full of them: hairy, unkempt and a tad aloof. Also, undoubtedly a genius, which Thomas was not. An exemplary professor – not because of his total grasp and mastery of his subject (classical history with a penchant for medieval tapestries) but because he looked and sounded just like a university professor should and carried with him an aura of intellect and otherworldly wisdom. Nutter was so in control of his subject, and so consumed by it, it was as though he did not have either the time nor the care to worry about what he looked like. What he looked like was a man without anyone in his life to tell him what he looked like. Thomas though – being three decades younger and centuries trendier – did care about a great many things before his chosen field of academia. He cared about life, his friends and the broader world beyond the perimeter wall. He wondered whether Nutter ever left this place and if he did, did he long to be back with his nose in a book in the corner of the library?
Nevertheless, in one vain attempt to avoid Professor Nutter, Thomas scurried along the corridor with his back to the wall and his arms out in front ready to push past the older man as though to suggest that he had no time to talk. “I promise I’ll come and see you by the end of the week, Harry,” he said. “I’m late already. Sorry.”
“Dr Bass,” the professor said sternly and loudly. “You can at least afford me a minute of your time,