The video Gavin played showed a group of guys partying at the water’s edge. A couple of guys stick their faces up to the lens and scream yeah and I love you man as they hold their beers in the air. One girl leans into the screen and squeezes her breasts together inside her top and shimmies her shoulders, pouting as she does it.
Another girl pulls her top up over her chest and shakes her assets to the delight of the crowd.
Gavin, watching his phone is visibly turned on by what he sees. “Yeah, baby” he says, earning him a slap on the back of the head from Monika.
Maggie glanced up at Blake to see if liked what he saw. Blake looked down at Maggie. “Hey – sorry about that earlier.” He whispered. “I promise I’ll explain all later.” She smiled at him and gave him a peck on the lips.
“Shush shush you guys – Here it comes.” said Gavin. The noise of the video is a mix of screaming and whooping kids, and loud thumping music. The noise is broken up by more screaming. Not the celebratory kind they had been hearing so far, but a panicked, frantic scream.
The camera whips around to see Stuart Gibson running down the bank, arms waving at his side, body rolling and bouncing under the impact of each step.
The image zooms in to see his red face shouting for help, as the crowd around the i-camera man laughed. A male voice shouted “Look at him man, he’s such a fat fuck! Look at him wobble – that shit’s retarded!”
The screen fizzes for a second, and re-focused on Stuart, who appears to be in distress.
“Come on, guys, he’s trying to get help for Maggie’s brother. He’s still in hospital. That’s not funny.”
Gavin locks his phone. “Ah come on, dude, it’s just a fat kid running. Come on it is funny.” That earned him an elbow in the ribs from Monika. “Yeah, well, how is err... Robbie?”
“Its Bobby, and he is out of hospital now” Maggie said.
“Oh, oh. Well, that’s cool. Err...”
With that, the bell rang to signal the start of lessons. Saved by the bell. Maggie thought.
“Hey – I’m glad he’s OK” said Blake as they walked arm in arm towards the building.
“I know babe. You ready for the media scrutiny?” Blake gave her a quizzical eye.
“Ma’am” he said, putting on a southern drawl. “I guess we better go into battle.”
“Got your shooting iron, sir?”
“Damn straight – we go down fighting!”
Maggie grinned and slid her arm around Blake’s waist as they walked into class.
Fifteen
Maggie coped with the loss of a parent early in life in a very grown up way. Maybe it was because girls can grow up faster than boys, or she was just naturally more emotionally intelligent than her twin brother, but she handled her mothers’ death with a level of maturity way beyond her years.
She spent a lot of time with her aunt and uncle, talking to them about her feelings and what she was going through. Karen, in particular, was a great sounding board for her emotions, having lost a sister in Maggie’s mother.
They would reminisce about old times, share stories of their lost mother and sister, and help each other come to terms with the feelings they had.
Whenever Maggie was feeling down about her mother’s death, or anything in general, for that matter, she would seek out her Aunt for a girl to girl chat. Often they would end up crying into each other’s arms, or more often, laughing at some story of Bobby getting into trouble, or some old boyfriend of Karen’s.
She would always carry the scars of losing a parent young, but she kept a positive outlook that the past was in the past, and the future was bright.
Bobby, on the other hand, retracted back into himself. It was his uncle Steve that spent time with him in the days and weeks after his mother’s passing. Steve tried his hardest to get Bobby to open up and share his feelings, but he went in the other direction.
Bobby’s starting point was a shy child, but both Steve and Karen watched helplessly as he became more and more quiet, more and more of a recluse, and found solace in video games and comics.
His friends slowly lost touch with him when Bobby did not return phone calls, or show up for play dates, and Bobby slipped from quiet and grieving, to a dark depression.
His aunt and uncle tried to intervene and take him to a child physiologist, but Bobby would make a few agreeable sounds, but never open up. The doctors said that he would finally come out of his slump, if given if enough time and space.
Steve took on the role of sponsor to work with Bobby and help him out of his shell. For a non-parent, Steve had the patience of a saint. He would spend time with Bobby in his room, playing video games with him, talking about the latest comics and helping him to cope as best he could.
This was all progressing well. Slowly, but well. That is until the day Steve came into Bobby’s room to find a stack of new comics that Steve had not seen before.
As soon as Steve walked in Bobby tried to hide them by shoving them under the duvet. When he questioned Bobby on the new comics he became very defensive. Very angry. He said he had borrowed them from a friend, and that he should mind his own business and threw Steve out of his room.
After that first incident there were many more similar ones where Steve would find new toys, games and objects that he claimed to have borrowed from friends or teachers.
This all came to a head one spring afternoon when Steve came to pick Bobby up from school. He was standing by the gate when one of the teachers approached him and asked to speak before he met Bobby.
He told Steve that there had been some complaints that Bobby was stealing from fellow pupils and in some cases, the teachers. Steve was told that whilst the school understood that Bobby was going through a tough time, and that they had much sympathy for his situation, they could not tolerate his behaviour any more.
The school was prepared to be lenient given the circumstances, but if he was caught stealing one more time they would have no choice but to take disciplinary action.
Steve hit the roof. He saw it as an insult to him and Karen that he would do this.
The child physiologist told Steve and Karen that this was a typical behaviour seen in some people after a traumatic event, and that they should not blame themselves, but instead carry on being supportive and talking to Bobby, and he will grow out of it soon.
That’s when Karen introduced family mealtime every Sunday. One family member every week would get to choose the meal. Be it take away, or a meal that Karen would cook, it became an important family time for the four of them.
Some weeks it would be a fun challenge where often Maggie would grab the recipe book and challenge Karen to cook the most obscure dish, and take great delight when she got it right, and give them a new favourite to add to the Sunday menu roster.
It was at one of these Sunday meal times that a breakthrough finally came.
They were eating a pizza that Karen has cooked form scratch (including spinning the dough).
Karen had challenged her to do it after seeing the chefs in the local Italian spinning pizza base discs like plates to the delight of the cheering customers.
The first few had landed all over the kitchen floor, but on the third attempt she got the knack, and produced a pretty good pepperoni pizza.
They were half way through their meal when Steve mentioned something about one of his work colleagues who had had to take time off through long term sick. When Maggie asked if was cancer, Bobby started to cry.
The rest of the family looked at him for a moment, as this was the first time he had shown emotion since his mother had passed nearly a year earlier.
The all crowed around him as the floodgates opened and a year’s worth of emotion came pouring out.
By the end of the evening Bobby, Maggie, Steve and Karen had all cried, laughed, talked and bonded over there loss, loves and a handmade pizza.
After that Bobby started to change. The old Robert Finlay started to show himself once more. Crucially, the stealing se
emed to have left in the past.
Bobby was still a shy child, and as he entered puberty he slipped a little back into his surly characteristics, but Karen said that the doctors had told her to expect that to happen, and it was natural for teenage boys to behave in that way.
As the years rolled by they behaved more and more like any normal family. Karen insisted on sticking with the Sunday mealtimes, although some of the spark of the pizza years had gone, the family bond was stronger than it had ever been.
Sixteen
Dark. Dark and cold. The ebb and flow feels like a blanket being gently pulled back and forth across a bed that goes on forever.
So dark, akin to an alien world, where creatures’ unknown to man live a life cycle beautiful and desolate.
Noises penetrate the gloom. Deep groans from far away, pops and crackles alerting nearby passers by to movement. The only reference to position in a sightless world.
Drifting, floating, flying. Objects unseen darting left and right, backwards and forwards. Jumping at every movement and sound.
But now a sharp sound. Different to what has been heard before. Much more darting left and right, backwards and forwards.
The sharp sound again. Pinging around everywhere. Getting louder. Getting closer. Getting louder because it is getting closer.
It is above now. Searching, moving. An alien noise. A noise made by a creature not yet known.
Pressure is changing. Noises coming from above.
Now another noise. A fast sound. Alarming. Not heard before.
Frightened.
Something coming fast. Something heavy breaking through.
Everything is shaking. The disruption has split open the sanctity of the world and we are escaping. Climbing higher now, gaining speed. Sounds changing. Light growing brighter from above. Much brighter.
Racing higher, climbing to the light. Suddenly we burst through. The brightness is overwhelming.
Seventeen
Tom Simpson was back behind his desk in the office he had acquired from some other poor sap who had failed his or her previous assignment. The guys in the compound jokingly referred to it as room 101, or the departure lounge, as it was often the last port of call for failing captains before they were given their marching orders.
A strong wind lashed the rain against the outside window, and inside the grey seventies decor reflected the mood Simpson was in.
He wondered about how his life had turned out the way it had. He started to think of Linda. They had been married young, when they were both nineteen. Their parents had tried to talk them out of it but they went ahead anyway. They had had a small registry office service in front of about ten friends and family. Linda wore a dress found in the local second hand shop, and Tom had borrowed his friend’s tuxedo.
He remembered the flowers in the room, and the smell of Linda’s perfume. He remembered feeling nervous, so nervous; in fact that he momentarily forgot his wife’s name, much to the amusement of the congregation.
Maybe they rushed into it; maybe they were both too naive to understand what the lifelong commitment of marriage really was. All in all he knew that the hours spent away for his job put a strain on them both. As he watched the rain fall outside, he wondered if people just change.
As the night drew closer he looked out of the window and sighed. The darkness caused him to see his own reflection in the window. As he looked at himself, he wondered who the aging man was looking back at him, and what had happened to the young cadet that married Linda and forgot her name all those years ago.
He pressed the button on the intercom. “Emma has Professor Brightside arrived yet?”
“Yes Sir, just this minute” came the reply.
Why can I remember the name of a secretary who had only been in the job two weeks and forget the name of my ex-wife? Probably because my secretary out there has legs up to her neck and about thirty years less ageing than the other.
“Send him in.” Send you in and lock the door behind you, you dirty little minx. He thought. Who am I kidding? She would probably balk at the thought of an old codger like me. Dirty old man springs to mind.
The door opened and in stepped and even older looking man than Simpson. “Afternoon Professor” said Tom.
“Hi, how are you Captain?” Professor Brightside looked like a man who had spent the majority of his life devoted to science. He lived up to the cliché by wearing a bowtie, along with a brown corduroy jacket. He looked like a man who was not comfortable in his own skin, and even at fifty plus years old he still carried himself in an awkward, nervous way that some teenagers do.
However, Simpson knew that whilst he was uncomfortable in unfamiliar situations, and possibly borderline autistic, Alan Brightside was a genius in his field. And if the captain were to take advice from anyone, it would be the professor.
The professor stood awkwardly in the doorway, not quite sure of himself enough to know the protocol or social etiquette of what to do next. Most other military men would stride confidently across the room, thrust out a hand to be shaken, or make strong eye contact and start talking.
Professor Brightside studied the carpet
“Please, take a seat. Can I get you a drink? Tea, coffee?”
“Oh no, I’m fine thanks.”
Simpson offered his hand, and the two men sat down either side of Simpson’s desk.
“So what do you have for me?” said Simpson.
“Well, as you know, the initial results from the crash site showed that the event range was slowly but steadily reducing, to the point where it disappeared when we attempted to communicate with it.”
Simpson waited patiently. The professor was growing in confidence, now operating within his comfort zone.
“Now – the energy readings we took just before it disappeared were unique to this event, and had not showed up in any other place.” He glanced up at the captain to make sure he had his attention. “Until two days ago.”
Simpson was now leaning forward in his chair, listening intently. “Go on.”
“Our long range scans picked up a brief pulse on Saturday night over by the main highway, on the other side of the lake.”
“Did you get to it in time?”
“Unfortunately no. By the time a patrol car had reached it, it had gone, and we have had no readings since.”
Simpson puffed out his cheeks and leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. “So we know it is on the move. Do we know if it is dangerous?”
“Well, as you know, when it was at maximum strength, it could destroy cars – it even killed two police officers, but now it is down to around ten per cent of its original size, I guess it could still do damage, but really at this stage the only way to tell would be to trap it and analyse it. Unfortunately we don’t know when or where it will surface next.”
Captain Simpson stared back out of the rain soaked window. “Professor – my job is to ascertain if there is any danger to the public, and if there is, how to contain it. Now I need to know if I just have to issue a warning to the authorities to be on the lookout for any strange phenomena, or if I need to start evacuating cities. Now I know you and your team are working as hard as you can, but my priority is the people of this city. I need to take your advice – is there a danger to the people of this city or not?”
The professor stiffened.
“Honestly, I would say that the readings that we have taken suggest only low level interference. So most likely very localised electrical phenomena such as power lines, phones, but nothing too dangerous. I would say that the worst case scenario is that we see a few street lights knocked out.”
“Ok, thank you. I will put the word out to be on the lookout, but if you and your team hear of anything else...”
“You will be the first to know.”
“Our team here are scouring the internet – social media, news and the like to see if we can catch anything that way. But so far nothing that could be attributed to the crash site event that has caught o
ur eye.”
“Well, OK, but you are relying on people actually putting a seemingly insignificant event on the internet.”
“Ha! You’d be surprised what people put online these days. I know what most people had for breakfast.”
Eighteen
Bobby was sitting up in bed. He had been home for five days now, and the doctors in the hospital had told him to take a week off school to rest and to make sure the concussion had gone. Next to him on his bedside table were some painkillers, and a leaflet on head injuries he had been given on discharge. It told him and his carers to watch for any signs of vomiting, slurred speech or loss of motor control. Bobby had none of these, so it had been decided that his was well enough to go back to school on Monday.
The leaflet stated that someone should check in on him every hour through the night, but Bobby flatly refused his Aunt doing that, valuing his sleep over his health concerns.
He had a small scar on top of his head that Stuart said made him look like Harry Potter and a black eye that was going down, but apart from that he seemed fine.
Bobby’s room was normally quite messy, and today was no exception. It looked as though someone had taken about a hundred CDs, fifty DVDs and countless comics, books and assorted clothes and dropped them from a height so that they scattered around the floor. A couple of pizza boxes crowned the pile to finish the effect off. Bobby was constantly promising himself that he would clean up, but never actually getting around to it.
The only time he would make a concerted effort was when one of the left over bits of cheese in the pizza box would turn mould and start to smell. He would feel so disgusted with himself that he would have a sudden fit of cleanliness, and spend the weekend tidying up.
He would promise himself that he had turned a new leaf, become a changed person, left the old, messy room Bobby behind.
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