by C. R. Berry
The decision was made. “Come here now,” Edward said. “We’re doing this.”
“But brother –”
“There’s no time to argue. I’m your elder brother and you will do as I say.” Edward had been trying to cut back on the bossiness, but this wasn’t the moment to worry about appeasing his little brother. He needed to assert his authority – now.
“What if they’re coming to let us out?”
Now the heavy stomp of approaching footsteps was throbbing through the walls.
“They’re not.”
Both of them were dressed, as they were every day, just in case they had a guest. All Edward needed was the satchel with the book, now locked away in its box again, and the pot of red pills. He grabbed the satchel and flung it over his shoulder, plunged his hand inside and pulled out the pot. Then he grabbed Richard’s wrist and tipped a pill into his palm before tipping one into his own.
“We’ll do it together on three,” Edward said, immediately continuing, “One, two, three.”
Though his eyes were glazed with uncertainty, Richard followed Edward’s lead. In unison they placed the pills in their mouths. Edward swallowed. He saw the small undulation in Richard’s throat as he did the same.
They stared at each other, waiting for something to happen. The stomping footsteps were now so close the visitor was a mere moment from being in the room with them.
But then…
A loud and constant humming sound buzzed through Edward’s ears, like a hive of bees swarming around in his head. It drowned out everything else, including the footsteps. His brother looked confused and frightened. His mouth formed the word brother but any sound that came out was engulfed by the humming.
Dizzy, Edward felt his eyes fall shut in a slow blink. When they reopened, the room was suddenly heaving with people. People that were hazy and transparent like ghosts. There were men, women, children and persons whose genders he couldn’t easily discern. They were wearing the most peculiar of garments and were all around him, crossing the room, walking into each other, through each other. His eyes couldn’t process it. If he’d tried to count, he could’ve counted hundreds, maybe thousands of people in their bedchamber all at once – except that that defied all manner of possibility.
He was dreaming. He must’ve been. Only in dreams could this kind of absurdity occur. He was obviously still ensnared inside the nightmare from this morning and none of this last day had really happened.
Light-headed, he was compelled to shut his eyes again.
He opened one a crack. Ghosts everywhere – still. And it wasn’t just the people that were transparent. So were the walls. Edward could see through them, beyond them. The sky was visible through the ceiling. All the furniture was see-through. Their four-poster bed. Their chest of clothes. Their table and chairs. In front of him was a large burgundy leather chair he’d never seen before. And the ghosts walked straight through all the furniture just as easily as they walked through each other.
Were the princes dead? Had the red pills killed them? Was this… Heaven?
The humming persisted. Richard clasped his hand around Edward’s wrist and squeezed. He was the only solid thing in the room.
Richard spoke again. This time Edward heard his voice, but only faintly. A soft murmur nearly lost in the whirr, “Edward, w-what’s happening…?”
Edward couldn’t feel the floor. He looked down to check it was still there. It was but it was see-through like everything else. Edward could see into the lower chamber, also flooded with ghosts in strange attire.
He blinked hard, shook his head, but nothing changed. He stepped forwards and found he could walk as normal, but it was as though his feet were numb or he was floating. He felt Richard’s fingers slip off his wrist. He crossed the room, passing through – literally through – the ethereal figures that filled the space around him.
Edward floated towards the window and looked out. Water Lane was no longer deathly quiet. Well, not quiet anyway. It thronged with ghosts – hundreds of them – all blurred into one, so ‘deathly’ was actually quite apt. St Thomas’s Tower and the outer curtain wall were still there, but they were transparent too. Edward could see the river, jammed with dozens of unusual phantom ships all passing at once.
A couple of people caught Edward’s attention, running through Water Lane. Two ghostly soldiers in red tunics, armour and bronze helmets with neck and cheek guards and huge red crests, carrying red, half-cylindrical shields adorned with yellow painted lightning bolts and eagles’ wings.
Romans? How could that be?
Then, beyond the curtain wall, a bizarre sort of carriage went past. Huge, red and rectangular, it rolled along the bank of the Thames on thick, black wheels, the passengers inside on two levels. But what was most disturbing was that the carriage was driving itself… Where in the world were the horses?
And then Edward noticed the dragons. Not that they looked like dragons, or at least how Edward imagined one. Huge, frightening creatures with dome-shaped bodies, stumpy legs, long, tapering necks and tails, small heads, and no wings, wading through the river.
This wasn’t Heaven. This was Hell. But what had they done for the Lord to punish them like this?
Edward was about to pull away from the window, then his eyes were drawn to the spectre of a sad-looking woman in a broad, green gown and gold-trimmed bonnet. He concentrated his gaze. As he did, her ghost started to lose its transparency and become clear. The hundreds of ghosts in Edward’s periphery appeared to be fading away as this woman and the people accompanying her looked as real and solid and tangible as he and his brother were.
Maintaining an unblinking stare, Edward watched her climb the slippery steps from the water gate beneath St Thomas’s Tower, flanked by guards. Then she dropped to her knees at the top of the steps, sobbing. Her sobs began to pierce through the humming.
As a guard went to lift her to her feet, she snapped her head back, face fierce and wet with tears, and swiped his arm away, roaring, “Do not touch me!” The humming was low now and her voice was clear.
The same guard stooped to grab her arm again. This time he was able to hook his sizeable arm in hers before she could swipe it away, and haul her to her feet. “Please, milady,” he said, “do not resist.”
“Milady?” the woman screamed. “I am the queen. You will address me as Your Grace!”
The queen? Edward had never seen her before, and the only woman in the country who could lawfully call herself queen was his mother.
“Edward, what are you looking at?” Edward heard his brother’s voice over the woman’s protests. He turned his head. Richard had moved to the window and was standing next to him. When Edward returned his gaze to the woman, she was a transparent wraith again, blurring into the melee of people and creatures that overwhelmed the Tower and the river. And the humming was back.
If he focused on something, it became clear, while everything else started to fade away.
If he lost concentration, the chaos returned.
The key to their escape?
Edward faced his brother and took his hand. He was about to focus his gaze on one of the spiral-shaped walnut posts of their bed – something familiar – when something else drew his eye. A framed painting on the wall beside the bed. Like several other items in the room, he’d never seen it before.
Edward peered through the crowd of ghosts. Initially dim and transparent, the painting sharpened and the humming began to fade.
Two boys in black tunics and hose and gold livery collars, looking frightened and huddled together on a four-poster bed much like their own.
Lord have mercy. It’s us.
Edward’s stare persisted and before long, the painting of the two boys had solidified completely, the humming was gone, and the blur of people in Edward’s periphery had fallen away.
Then everything turned white.
A burst of light flashed underneath the door to the princes’ bedchamber just as two of Anne Neville’s guards
were unlocking it.
“What was that?” said the taller guard.
“No idea,” said the shorter guard. “Just go in. Let’s get this over with.”
They opened the door to an empty room, silent as a crypt.
“What?” said the taller guard. “Were they moved to a different room?”
“No. Upper chamber of the Garden Tower. That’s what the queen said.”
They checked beneath the princes’ bed. Nothing. They looked behind their clothes chest, then inside it, pulling out every garment in case either of the boys was hiding inside.
“Someone must’ve let them out,” said the shorter guard.
“What are we going to tell Her Grace?”
“She’ll blame us. I know what she’s like. She wanted their hearts. She’ll have our heads on spikes for this.”
“What should we do?”
“Well I’m not losing my head, so we’ll just have to find some alternative hearts.”
“What if the princes come back?”
“If they know what’s good for them, they won’t. If they do, we’ll finish the job.”
14
October 24th 2019
A sliver of light. Jennifer’s eyelids peeled open slowly, stiffly, like they’d been stuck down with glue. She felt an uncomfortable pull and tickle around them, but nothing else. She was a disembodied pair of eyes.
Her brain connected with the rest of her. She was lying on a bed with a thin cover draped over her. She still had limbs, still had a waist and back, still had fingers and toes. But everything hurt. Her head throbbed and spun. She felt bruised all over. She felt like she’d been at the gym and overdone it, seriously overdone it, so that all the muscles in her body, even the littlest ones, were torn. She shifted her head slightly. Shit. Her neck twinged and forced a low murmur from her lips.
“Jennifer?”
Eyes now open, the sliver of light had become a blur of different light sources, white and grey shapes, and eventually, when she gasped at the pain in her belly, a bit of a blurry face leaning into her periphery.
“Jen?”
The voice was miles away, echoing down a long tunnel, even though the person was next to her.
“She’s waking up!”
The voice was nearer now. The person leaned over the left side of her bed, face now at the centre of her watery vision, but still a pinky blur, patchy with brown.
Jennifer’s normally perfect eyesight began to return and she traced hazy but familiar lines and curves across the face. She knew who it was even before his green eyes, brown crew cut and designer stubble sharpened into view.
Adam.
“Kerry! Nurse!” he shouted. “She’s waking up!”
“Jennifer?”
Jennifer heard her mother’s voice and the familiar clack of her heels, getting louder till she was standing over her, gently stroking her face. “Jennifer, my darling, thank God.”
A nurse was close behind – Jennifer could see him checking monitors and adjusting drip bags in the corner of her eye. He said to her mother, “If you could just step out of the way for a moment, ma’am.” Mum stepped back.
“Miss Larson, can you hear me?” said the nurse, adjusting her drip bags.
“Y-yes, I can hear you,” Jennifer croaked weakly.
The nurse leaned over her, smiling. His name was Tim, Jennifer could see from his name badge. “How are you feeling?”
“Been better.”
“I’m sure. I’ll go and get your doctor. She’ll examine you and explain everything. Okay?”
“Yep. Sounds good.”
As Tim left her bedside, Jamie arrived, clutching three small vending machine coffees. “Sis, you’re awake!”
“Hey Jamie,” Jennifer wheezed. She shifted her gaze to her mother. “What happened?”
“Just rest, darling,” Mum said firmly. “We’ll talk about it later.”
“But – but how did I get here?”
Then came her motherly scold, “I said, rest. Let’s wait until the doctor gets here. Alright? The main thing is, you’re alive, you’re safe and you’re awake.”
Last thing Jennifer remembered was heading to the pub to meet Adam; everything after that was hazy.
Dr Liz Royan arrived minutes later and examined her. While doing so, she explained that Jennifer had been in Deepwater Hospital since last night. She’d been in a road accident, but Dr Royan wasn’t specific about what kind or what had happened. She’d suffered bruising, cuts and abrasions, two cracked ribs and some minor head trauma, and she’d been unconscious but responsive since she was brought in. She was in the Medical Assessment Unit so they could monitor her, but Dr Royan was confident – certainly now she was awake – that Jennifer would be able to return home in a few days. She was lucky, Dr Royan said.
Then, as Dr Royan shone a small torch into her eyes, the bright light triggered something. She saw a flash. A burst of light. Two lights. Oh my God. She saw the glare of two headlights rushing towards her face.
The doctor’s words faded into the screech of tyres, the roar of an engine, the blood-curdling crack of Jennifer’s own bones against a bonnet. She felt her whole body tighten, then loosen sharply in a shudder.
“Are you alright?” asked Dr Royan.
She saw her mother and sister step closer to her bed.
“I know what happened…” Jennifer whispered. “I remember…”
“What do you remember?” said Dr Royan.
“Someone ran me over.”
“Mmm. A hit-and-run, it looks like. There are some police officers here who need to speak to you – when you feel up to it.”
“Okay.” Jennifer wasn’t prepared to talk to the police yet. She needed to process it all first. She wanted to be clear on what happened.
“Get some rest,” said Dr Royan. “I’ll come and check on you again a bit later.”
Dr Royan left. Adam, Jamie and Mum sat with her. They chatted, all three of them making every effort not to mention the accident. They were clearly brimming with questions about it but instead made semi-forced small talk about work, TV and the frostiness of some of the hospital staff. Mum probably thought talking about it so soon after might upset her, or perhaps Dr Royan had said something.
They were probably right to avoid it but Jennifer could think of nothing else. She had a feeling she couldn’t shake. A feeling that it wasn’t an accident, that the car that hit her was… aiming for her.
Later, Mum and Jamie returned home for dinner. Jennifer asked Adam to stay a while longer. She said she wanted him to be there till she dropped off, but in reality, she wanted to talk to him without her family present. She didn’t want to worry them.
“I think someone tried to kill me,” she said when the coast was clear.
Adam frowned, “What? No, don’t be silly.”
“I’m not.”
“Jen, the guy was a probably a drunk idiot who panicked. Completely cunt-ish, don’t get me wrong. But I doubt he was trying to kill you.”
Jennifer sighed. She really didn’t know what to think.
She caught Adam’s awkward expression. “What is it?”
“I wasn’t sure when to mention this,” he said.
“Mention what?”
“It’s… er… it’s Gregory Ferro.”
Jennifer’s heart skipped a beat. “What about him?”
“He’s dead.”
Somehow she knew it was coming. It was the look in Adam’s eyes, coupled with the dread that was rising inside her as she thought more and more about the ‘accident’. It didn’t lessen the impact, though. For a second the words didn’t go in, just washed right over her. When they did she felt winded, like something had sucked the air from her lungs and she couldn’t breathe. A wave of dizziness hit her between the eyes.
“Jen? You alright?”
She found her breath, and the dizziness lifted – slowly. “How? W-when?”
“There was a fire at his house. Last night, sometime. I saw it on the
news this morning.”
Murmuring between breaths, “But I was… I was there.”
“You were where?”
“At Ferro’s house. That’s where I met him yesterday, before I came to meet you.”
“Fuck.”
“Do the police know what caused the fire?”
“Not yet, no. They’re investigating it. Maybe you can ask the officers that are due to speak to you. They might know. But try not to think about all that now. You’ll only work yourself up and you need to get better so you can get out of here.”
Jennifer couldn’t believe it. Dead. Actually dead. She was only talking to him yesterday – now he was gone. Just like that. Ferro was the first person she knew who’d died. She hadn’t even lost any grandparents like a few of her friends had, because both her mother’s parents had died before she was born, and she had no contact with any of her father’s family.
It just felt so… weird. Weird and wrong. She didn’t even know him that well, yet a part of her felt like crying. She thought of his two kids, his estranged wife. They’d probably be beside themselves with regret given how they’d all left things.
“I just remembered something,” Adam said, bending down and picking up Jennifer’s handbag and a large brown paper Primark bag from beneath his chair. He placed both bags in her lap. “We brought you some stuff you might want. Some clothes, toothbrush, latest edition of Doctor Who Magazine, and your phone.”
Phone…
Phone! She left her phone in her work trousers on her bed. She remembered now. She took Jamie’s by mistake. That’s why she was hurrying back home from the pub, to give Jamie her phone back.
“So where’s Jamie’s phone?” said Jennifer.
“Good question,” said Adam. “It wasn’t found where you were hit.”
“That means someone took it.”
“Who could’ve taken it?”
“Same person who tried to kill me, I expect.”
Jennifer looked at her phone. She had five or six texts from friends wishing her a speedy recovery; Adam told her that her mum had put the news out to as many people as possible on Facebook. Among them was a text from Alison Fawke, wishing her well and reporting on Hitler’s latest rant about the dreadful untidiness of the office after finding a stray post-it note on the floor.