Endless pain and eternal despair. Blue eyes wide, screaming. Full mouth sobbing in agony. Brown eyes shut to fend off the vile torture and utter grief. Seething torment and absolute terror. Sharp knife slicing a delicate neck. Vengeful gaze of amber eyes entering, penetrating, thrusting, hurting, breaking. Faces, screaming, sobbing, dying. Black hair and amber eyes. Black feathers against a pale neck. Black...

Jack jerked awake from the nightmare, the thin sheets of his small bed in disarray around him.

"Bleedin' 'ell...!" he uttered, the harsh words forced out between clenched teeth. Sweat dripped from his brow, pooling in his tightly-shut eyes, as he reached a shaking hand across to his left, fumbling for something on his cluttered bedside table and knocking over small plastic bottles of pills in the process.

Every time. Always the same. A half dozen faces wanting release. When was it going to end?

"When will it be enough?" he said aloud.

But he knew it would never be enough.

His clammy hand found the small cardboard box, lifted it from the table and quickly opened the top. With his eyes still jammed closed, Jack withdrew one of the small white cylinders from inside with his right hand. His left found a plastic lighter on the table whilst the right held the cigarette to his lips. Within moments, he had taken the first of many drags of that unusual day.

After one smoke to calm his nerves and another to help him to face the world outside, Jack got up and dressed. He had a number of patients anxious to see him that afternoon but the morning was his to do with as he pleased. The benefits of a private practice, Jack mused. Still, as he made his way towards the cluttered kitchen, he realised that it was already well into the morning and nearing midday. Bright sunlight shone almost vertically downwards through the frosted glass of his front door as he stumbled past it. The beam of light, yellowed by condensed nicotine, illuminated a few rectangles of paper lying haphazardly on the faded mat.

"Post in the mornin'?" Jack said to himself. "Will wonders never cease".

Picking the envelopes up in his left hand, he headed over to the sink, filled a kettle and set it to boil. Most of the post was junk mail - ads for curry houses or invitations to apply for yet another credit card - but one item caught his eye. The envelope was made of some sort of thick parchment and his name and address had been handwritten, not printed, in black ink on the front.

Turning the strange letter over in his flaccid hands, he was surprised to see that an old-fashioned wax seal had been used to hold the envelope closed. Jack hadn't seen a letter like this in a very long time. Intrigued, he quickly opened it by sliding one of his fingers under the seal, noting as he did the symbol of some sort of bird pressed into the wax. The mental image of a black crow flashed through his mind for a moment but he paid it no heed. The bird in the seal wasn't one of the Corvus family at all but a significantly more majestic, and mythic, breed.

"A phoenix?" he pondered to himself, as one of his rough hands scratched at the stubble on his chin.

With bright blue eyes set in a tired face, he began to read the contents of the missive there and then, standing in his kitchen and holding the crisp parchment in his rough, old, yellowed hands. Hands that had touched so many and miraculously taken away their pain and fear, one way or another. Hands that would soon be required for more unusual work.

 The letter began terse and perfunctory.
 

'Dr. Hutchinson,
     Your presence is requested at the demesne of one Jeffrey Duvalle, President of the non-profit organization, The Phoenix Foundation. A casual dinner will be followed by a business proposal. Please call 065-333-4563 for directions. The appointment will be Friday, August, 21st at 8:00 pm.

The letter continued in a much less formal tone.

     'Your reputation precedes you, Dr. Hutchinson. I would like to discuss a proposition that would allow you to exercise your unique talents and knowledge in ways to further assist society at large. I'm a great admirer of your work, and would feel honored if you would accept my invitation. I suspect that you have experiences that need resolutions, and I, and my organization, are certainly in a position to assist. I can easily assure you that the time spent would be educational and well spent.

Sincerely,

Jeffery Duvalle
President, The Phoenix Foundation.

Jack finished the letter, thought for a moment, and then reread it. He wasn't sure what to make of it all. He'd never heard of this Jeffrey Duvalle person or his Phoenix Foundation and, at first glance, they all sounded vaguely Masonic.

He was slightly perturbed by the phrase "I'm a great admirer of your work". He'd actually winced at that. It made him sound like an artist. What "work" did he mean? The only work anyone knew he did was that of a doctor and psychiatrist. Sure, he walked a fine line between letting those that desperately needed him know that he was a healer and letting everyone else with even the smallest ailment flock to his surgery. Marie helped with that. But that work was hardly admirable.

Jack read aloud another line that stuck out to him.

"I suspect that you have experiences that need resolutions", his deep voice mumbled.

That, indeed, was true - though how this Duvalle chap knew that was beyond him. And he doubted his organisation would be able to help. Still...

Jack put down the letter, poured himself some tea and made himself some toast under the grill. As he munched his way through a late breakfast (some would call it brunch, but not Jack), he kept looking at the parchment, considering its old fashioned invitation.

It would mean missing a drinking session with DCI Swanson. But a free dinner did sound appealing.

Heading out of the kitchen, Jack went back to his bedroom, opened a drawer in his bedside table and took out the first tie that came to hand. It was a bright green affair with small pictures of yellow smiley faces dotted randomly across it. Nodding in satisfaction, Jack looped the tie around his thick neck and began to knot it.

Perhaps, he thought as he struggled with the tie, he should seek some spiritual guidance before making his decision.

~ Later ~

Yawning, Jack unstoppered the bottle of pills, shook out a couple of tablets into the palm of his right hand, and hastily put the top back on. He threw the pills into his mouth and swallowed them both with a little help from some watered down whisky. Rubbing his eyes, he stared down at the sealed envelope in front of him again.

He'd already made his decision regarding the invitation. It appeared to promise a possible resolution to his current condition - or at least a step in the right direction. Of course it could all be some sort of wind-up, or would lead absolutely nowhere, but if it was what was the point of it all? And who was this Jeffery Duvalle?

He could leave it, decline the invite, but then he'd always wonder what it was all about. No, it was better to try it and see. What had he got to lose?

Jack had considered phoning this response but that seemed impolite. He was a man of old-fashioned values and, because the chap had sent him a written invitation, Jack had decided to reply in kind. He'd already written his reply, a simple one indicating that he accepted and that he would arrive by the required time on 21st August. He'd even handwritten it rather than typing it, just like the Duvalle chap had. Of course, he'd have to phone for those directions but he'd do that closer to the time.

Now he sat there, at his small writing desk, looking again at the envelope containing his return letter. The amphetamines were beginning to kick in, sharpening his senses and staving off the sleepiness that threatened to engulf him with the crippling nightmare of dark feathers and amber eyes. The fear that this Duvalle might know who he really was, that he was watching and hounding him, perhaps even spying on him right now, wound his nerves tight. It was probably just the drugs but Jack still couldn't shake his uneasiness.

Pocketing his letter, Jack stood up and paced his tidy but small living room for a moment whilst his hands twitched within his old leather gloves. It was very late but he needed to get out of his flat. The cool night air would help to clear his head and hopefully keep him awake. And, if he passed a postbox, he could pop the letter into it before he changed his mind.
 

***

When the post arrived Monday, there was yet another cream parchment envelope, again showing no sign of postage and closed with the wax seal with the Phoenix rising sigil.

The letter inside was almost informal.

Dr Hutchinson,

     It is with sincere joy that I received your acceptance. If it pleases you, I intend to send a car to gather those that have no means or desire to provide their own transport. This will allow you meet the other attendees in a more leisurely manner, thus eliminating much of the dread and nervousness that always accompanies such events.

     If you have any further questions, please, feel free to contact me and I will do my best to answer them. Please bear in mind that, in then ame of fairness, I may ask you wait until we are all gathered before revealing some information.

Sincerely,

Jeffery Duvalle.

Jack read the letter, raising an eyebrow first at the phrase "sincere joy" and then at the man's obvious foresight. He spent most of his time in London usually travelling by foot or taxi (not, if he could help it, by Tube. The Underground was too close to the Devil's domain, or so Jack thought). A private car would certainly make things much simpler.

He still had to accept this offer of transportation and ascertain a few other details. This Jeffrey Duvalle seemed very caged on details and Jack still had no idea what this was all about. Either he was being headhunted for some unsavoury job with this Foundation or being asked to join a secret society. Or, of course, it was some con to get him to sit through one of those time-share presentations.

Taking out the first letter he'd received, he looked down the missive and noted the telephone number. He could send a letter back but, as wonderful as the Royal Mail was, it would probably get delayed on the way. Better to phone the man, hear his voice, ask a question or two. Yes, that's what he'd do.

Jack went over to his phone and stood there looking at it.

Seconds later, he was still looking at it.

Sure, in his line of work he used telephones quite a lot. You had to. But it didn't mean that he liked the damned things.

Eventually, he lifted the receiver and keyed in Duvalle's number. The earpiece emitted its usual series of electrical shrieks and whistles until the call at the other end was answered.

A woman's voice answered, her voice was warm, throaty, professional yet sensual at the same time. "Thank you for calling The Phoenix Foundation. My name is Madigan. How may I help you?" 

Thoughts flew through Jack mind as his call was answered. Madigan? Unusual name. Sounds American. Parents couldn't go with something normal, like Alice or Elisabeth, then. I guess she must be the secretary.

"Yeah, hello there" he replied, his voice calm and almost professional although slightly rough around the edges. "My name's Jack Hutchinson and I'd like to speak to Mr Duvalle please. It's about a dinner invitation on Friday".

"Ahh, Dr. Hutchinson. I was wondering when you'd call. You're the last. Unfortunately, Mr. Duvalle is unavailable at the moment, how can I help?"

I'm the last? thought Jack. I wonder how many others received this invitation?

"Well, I just wanted to accept Duvalle's offer of a car to pick me up and find out what time it would arrive at my address. That sort of thing."

He paused for a moment, considering things over. He had wanted to question Duvalle directly but he didn't want to cause a fuss and disturb the man. This Madigan woman would have to do.

He wondered what the woman on the other end of line was like. Her voice sounded so sensual and sweet over the phone. Was she young and pretty, he wondered. What colour were her eyes? Was her beauty natural and refined? Or merely painted on top of a crude canvas, like the others...

"Also", he added, the slight gap since his last words lasting only as long as the beat of a raven's wing, "can you tell me anything more about this dinner on Friday? What's it all about? Is it a job offer or something? You mentioned I was the last, so could you tell me who else will be there?"

"Unfortunately, I don't know much more than you do," Madigan began, her voice dropped to a conspiratory tone. "Mr. Duvalle is a secretive man, some would consider him eccentric. There are five others invited, but I've been asked to allow them to make their own introductions, two will be travelling to dinner separately, however you'll be sharing the car with three others. I can have the driver at your address no later than half past six. Would that work for you?"

"Half past six is fine", replied Jack whilst thinking to himself 'Curiouser and curiouser'.

"So you're in the dark as much as me, eh?" Jack rambled on. "It all seems vague and unexpected - it's not like I even know this Duvalle chap nor anyone else who's going".

He sighed briefly whilst running a hand across his nearly bald head. As a 'sign', as Dan had called it, it was a pretty mysterious one at the moment.

"But if you can't help me then can you just let him know that I'll accept his offer of transportation and I'll see him on Friday".

He discovered a few other insignificant items of interest, like the dress code at the dinner, politely said goodbye and finished the call.

Then he stood there for a moment wondering about it all, but received no flash of inspiration. Not that he had expected any. He'd just have to wait until Friday to find out what it was all about.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, Jack noticed that time was getting on. If he didn't hurry up he'd be late to the surgery. Clearing up a few bits, pulling on his coat and picking up his briefcase, Jack headed out into the polluted London air. It was time to go to work.