Crow Of Thorns

by Richard Mosses

  “I think I'm more Spock than Kirk.”

  “Let me know when it's mating season then. Can't have your blood boiling can we?”

  “That's very altruistic of you.”

  “I'm sure I'd get something out of it.”

  I'm pleased Rachael is back to her normal self but I'm feeling sick with guilt. I leave her and run into the arms of another woman. It may all be in my head, but I'm a coward when it comes to real life. “When I get my final papers through we should celebrate.” How romantic, Kolya.

  “I thought you'd be drowning your sorrows.”

  “It has been suggested to me I wanted out a long time ago, but didn't have the balls to say so. I should take the freedom I'm granted and move on.”

  “I hope you'd be able to tell me if you wanted out.”

  “I already live in a tent. If I move to another country I'm sure you'll get the hint.”

  “I'd track your ass down and shoot you if you did that to me.”

  The line goes bad as Rachael is saying something – it's all chopped up into fragments. The lamp in the tent begins to fade. I hear Stevie cry out, shock more than pain, like he's having a bad dream. Then the lamp burns bright and I can't see anything but the light.

  I fumble my way out into the tunnel. The light is here too. The aliens. It can only be. I can't find Stevie next to the tent, but I can barely see. I try to get out of the light. The golden beam is oppressive and my eyes ache. The light still fills the tunnel, but along on the platform I'm out of it. Looking up through the air vent I see a bright jellyfish shape, luminescent strands running across the surface and trailing out over Great Western Road. The tendrils pulse with colours.

  A smile sneaks across my face.

  I stagger up the steps and push through the spindly undergrowth into the park. Any question of this just being a vision is gone. The light from the craft casts long shadows behind the tents and twenty or so people stand, staring. People have left their cars and are gazing up, the changing traffic signals paling into insignificance when compared to the vivid iridescence of the ship.

  The smile turns into a grin. I did this. Finally something went right.

  Coming out of their initial surprise I see hands reaching for mobile phones. Some to film, some to call. There can be no doubt where the column of gold is aimed.

  Then it comes down on me. What have I done now? Stumbling from one folly to the next I seem to have no concept of the consequences of my actions. Stevie better be okay.

  I realise I'm freezing, having crawled out of the tent without my coat. I still have my phone clamped in my hand. The call is dead. I hope Rachael sees this on the news and doesn't think I hung up on her.

  The golden light ends, shadows snap into darkness. The ship looks brighter and more beautiful. Then it simply fades.

  I head back down to the tunnel. Stevie is lying on his cardboard bed holding his head, a smear of blood beneath his nose. Has this been another of my foolish ideas? Another dead person I should have done something more for? “Stevie?”

  Stevie moans, nothing coherent. He sits up, illuminated by the glow from the light in my tent. He looks at me. I see a change in his eyes. He no longer looks like he's trapped inside himself. He's fully present. “Got any painkillers? My head is killing me.”

  I come back with a blister pack and some water. Stevie pops out two and takes a swig from the bottle. “Thanks.”

  “No trouble.”

  “Space alien abduction? That's the best you could do?” He's smiling.

  “Yeah. Sorry about that. I think half the planet will know about it by morning.”

  “Not from me,” Stevie says. “I was asleep. Didn't see a thing, Ossifer.”

  As if on cue, I hear sirens coming from, well, everywhere, it seems. Even down here we can see the reflected flash of blue and red as they converge.

  “Maybe you should find somewhere safer to recover.”

  “And leave you to face the circus on your own?” Stevie says. “After what you did to me? No chance.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No trouble.” Stevie laughs. It's weird to hear it. “I was a lawyer once, had a wife and kids. Buggered if I know if they'd even know me now. Hell, I can't even remember the last time I remembered them. But the law.” Stevie taps his head. “It's all here again, now.”

  “I doubt it'll come to that.”

  “What's the scout motto? Be prepared. You had any media training? No, didn't think so. Keep it short. Sound-bite size. Say what you want to say. Not what they ask you.”

  I'm amazed. “Slow down. You sound like you're on Speed. I'm glad you're not yelling at me to move my stuff, but, man, take it easy. You've only just, I'm guessing, had parts of your brain removed or lasered or something. You should rest a bit.”

  “Nikki, I've spent God knows how long fucked in the head. I've been on the longest vacation. What year is it by the way? I'm not resting ever again.”

  There are footsteps on the metal stairs. It's the police. Their flashlights dance across the platform. “Be careful,” I say. “Those steps are rusted through in places.” When they get to the bottom the beams are turned on us. I'm dazzled again.

  “What are you doing down here?” one of them says.

  “I live here.”

  “I see.” He lowers his torch. “You realise you're open to a charge of trespassing.”

  “If I may?” Stevie steps forward, crooked arm shielding his eyes from the beam on him. “There is no law of trespass in Scotland.”

  “Ah. We got a smartarse,” says the second cop. “That's not strictly true. But I'm not the landlord and frankly it'd be pretty hard to show you were damaging the place.” He lowers his beam. “I wouldn't bet you're making it better.”

  “Did you see anything unusual this evening?” first cop says.

  I close the gap now it looks like these two aren't about to give us any serious grief. “What do you mean by unusual?”

  Cop One shrugs. “Anything you consider odd.”

  “No, I was in my tent. Although I was on the phone when the signal got all choppy. It's surprisingly good down here. Must have been half an hour ago.”

  “What about you Robinson Crusoe?” Cop One says.

  Stevie shuffles up behind me. I'm not sure if he's acting or if he's moving out of muscle habit. “I was sleeping.”

  “Are you alright?” Cop Two says. “Your nose is bleeding.”

  I turn to Stevie. Fresh blood gleams on his fingers. “Ah, shit. Not again. I'll be all right.” He sinks to his knees.

  “Shit, Stevie.” I catch him in my arms as he collapses. Hang in there, man.

  Cop Two gets on his phone. “Despatch can you send the medics down into the tunnel. We have an unconscious male, bleeding from his nose. I'll meet them up top to show them the way.” He leaves.

  Cop One comes over and puts Stevie in a recovery position on his side. “You got a blanket or something?”

  I get back, pulling my coat on, and see two guys in fluorescent jackets negotiate a gurney down the broken stairs. I put my sleeping bag over Stevie, who's still breathing.

  The paramedics trundle along the platform. “Ah didnae even know there wis a station here,” one says.

  “The station rooms burned down in the seventies, well before my time never mind yours. So what happened?”

  The younger paramedic starts checking Stevie over.

  “He collapsed with a nose bleed just after we arrived,” Cop One says, standing up.

  “Do you know anything else?”

  Cop One looks at me.

  “He was a guy who showed up here almost incoherent, about a week ago,” I say. “Said I was camping in his spot and not much more. I think he had a brain tumour.”

  “He was complaining of headaches, had nosebleeds, something like that?” The paramedic's tone suggests I have no medical training so what do I know. He's right.

  “No. I had…” It feels stupid to say it out loud. Corbie and the others unders
tand. I feel my face get hot. Fucks sake, Kol'ka, this isn't about you. “I had a dream. And in it I saw what I thought was a tumour inside his head. I told him about it, but he didn't confirm or deny it.”

  The paramedics glance at each other. I can't tell what the subtext is.

  “Anyway, this evening it was like he was suddenly a different person. He was chatty, happy. He asked me for some painkillers. That was just before the police officers arrived.”

  “So this was after the neon jellyfish in the sky?”

  “Yeah.”

  Cop Two turns on me. “So you saw that then?”

  Shit. Me and my big mouth. “Yeah.”

  “That didn't count as unusual to you?”

  “Ah think we should take him in.” The paramedic examining Stevie interrupts.

  “He can't pay for that and I've no money either.” I feel a cold dread rising in me, almost a panic. What can I do?

  “We can still help in emergencies, you know.”

  “Can I come with him?”

  “I think you've still got some questions to answer.” Cop Two moves in front of me.

  “Like what? I didn't want to say anything about the goddamn spaceship in case you thought I was a nutter.”

  “Who said anything about a spaceship? So you saw aliens too?”

  “See what I mean? I thought it was a spaceship like out of Close Encounters. I didn't see any aliens. What more do you want from me? Can we take this guy to get some medical care?”

  “Okay. Calm down, sir,” Cop One says. “I'm just trying to get a picture of what just happened from all the witnesses I can find. Did you record it?”

  “No. I didn't. I just saw this beam of light, well was blinded by it. Came out of the tunnel and saw the whatever it was.”

  The paramedics place Stevie onto the gurney and head back up the steps.

  “Do you know anything more about this guy?”

  “He told me he used to be a lawyer. He said his name was Stevie.”

  “Okay, thanks. We may come back and have another chat. Any other way we can contact you.”

  Giving him my number, I realise he's not writing anything down. He doesn't need to. There's a camera and microphone fitted to his uniform. It's all recorded. Voice recognition will have transcribed it all. Walking CCTV.

  I run to check on Brutus, and Janice's things, before I catch up with the paramedics as they take the gurney through the gates. Loads of people are still milling about, but the cops have got the traffic moving again. Two fire engines are parked up on the pavement along Queen Margaret Drive, lights still flashing. I climb into the ambulance for the short journey to the Western A&E.

  We seem to wait in the cubicle forever. They wheel Stevie away for scans and he hasn't yet returned to consciousness when they come back. I've retold almost all the events I can. I want to tell them the tumour has been removed by aliens I summoned from the spirit world, but I'm afraid. Not that they won't believe me, that goes without saying. More that I'll get locked up for practicing medicine without a license, or for some other thing like they used to shut down the psychics and mediums. You're no offense as a witch – it's the trade descriptions act you've got to look out for.

  A woman not wearing blues comes in. A young man follows her round the curtain. She is startled to see me, shocked to see Stevie. “Sorry. I didn't expect anyone else here,” she says. The man stares at Stevie then returns his eyes to his phone screen. She's late forties I guess. Tanned, healthy, well-dressed, expensive hair do, rich perfume. If I was in Paris she'd be the average middle-aged woman on the street. In Glasgow it's another matter.

  “You must be Mrs Stevie” I say. “I'm Nik.”

  “Stevie? No, Rutherford. Glinda. But yes, I'm Stephen's wife. Technically ex-wife. We had him declared dead last year.” She looks at Stevie more closely. Holds his heavy hand in hers, checks to see he's still breathing, checks his pulse, then peels up his eyelids. She lifts the short sleeve of the hospital gown they changed him into revealing a small skull tattoo. “It may have been only a little premature. Where was he?”

  “I don't know what you mean, Linda.”

  “Glinda.” Her look tells me not to take the piss. So much for her bedside manner. “Where did you find him?”

  “He was with me, up in the Botanics. We were lucky. The emergency services were already there en-masse.”

  “Have they told you anything yet?”

  “No. Just done scans.” Should I tell her about the tumour? “I didn't really expect them to tell me anything. Surprised they let me in here.”

  “So, Nik, what's your story?”

  “Financial collapse, bankruptcy, divorce, tent city.”

  “Banker,” the boy says, like he's swearing and laughs. Maybe he's younger than I thought.

  “Physicist, actually,” I say. “Far worse.”

  “What?” he says.

  Glinda continues as through there's been no interruption. “And what do you know about my husband?”

  “Nothing really. I only met him a few days ago. Claimed I nicked his sleeping space. He wasn't very chatty.”

  “He must have told you about us,” she says. “How did the police know to call?”

  “He told me he used to be a lawyer, but that was only a few hours ago. He was a different man.”

  A doctor comes in before Glinda can interrogate me further. What kind of sick parents name a child after a Good Witch?

  “You're, er, Stevie's family?” the Doctor says.

  “Stephen's. Yes.”

  “I can go.” I stand up.

  “It's okay. Please, stay.” Glinda waves me back.

  “Alright then,” continues the doctor. “It appears that Stephen has been suffering from cancer. His blood tests show a tumour is present in his body. The CT scan we did looking for it showed an absence in his brain.”

  “Absence?” Glinda says. “What kind of absence?”

  “I'm just getting to that. If the tumour was in his brain, it is not there anymore. I have to say that we wouldn't have operated on it. It was advanced and the tissues we would have had to remove would have been considered too much. So far as we can tell, the tumour was removed surgically and probably recently. Clearly he did not have his skull opened to do this. Frankly, we're at a loss as to how it could have happened. It's like it was just beamed out of his head. As with anyone who has been in such a severe state he will need post-surgery care and there will need to be tests to see if the cancer hasn't spread to other parts of his body. There will always be a chance that a tumour could return at the site.”

  Glinda sits down on the edge of the bed. “Thank you, Doctor. Can we take him home?”

  “I think it would be best if we kept him in for observation. If you want to arrange transport to another hospital, that's okay. Otherwise, we'll move him shortly to the Beatson, up the road.” He leaves us. Stevie stays asleep.

  “What do you know about this?” She stares at me.

  “You wouldn't believe me if I told you.”

  “Try me.”

  “I'm a shaman. I asked the spirits for help. This evening they did that.”

  “I thought you said you were a physicist?” says the boy looking up from his phone for a moment.

  “The glowing mushroom on TV?” Glinda says. “That's why you now look like the cat that got the cream. I don't whether to believe you or slap you.”

  I shrug and then yawn. The ache from my bones hasn't gone, but at least it's warm in here. “I'm going to get some sleep. I've got work in the morning. Stevie knows where to find me. I'm sure he'll pull through and I'm glad you'd not forgotten him.”

  As I walk up Byres Road I realise I should have grabbed another jumper as I pull my coat tighter round me.

  Chapter 19

  In the night I have to put on a jumper and trousers and I still struggle to keep warm. I'm sorely tempted to get up and go to the hotel over the road and beg some space in the kitchen or somewhere hot and out of the way. I know in my co
ld aching bones that none of us will last up top unless we've got Arctic quality tents and maybe some heating gas. How explorers at the poles survive I don't know, but I bet it isn't with tents bought from a supermarket for ten quid or hand outs from NGOs usually used in sub-Saharan Africa. I'd light my stove but I'm worried I'd kick it over in my sleep. Even with us all down in the tunnels, pitched in the middle and with the ends closed over with boards I don't know if we'd make it. So far as I can tell it's our only option as I don't see too many wanting to share tent space.

  I awake again shivering a few hours later. I make some weak tea and go back to sleep until my alarm wakes me. We need action today. I check in with work remotely and make breakfast.

  Frost flakes disintegrate into a fine mist when I unzip the tent flap. I'm glad Stevie is in the hospital as I don't know if he'd have made it through the night out here. Everything is covered in a thick frost and it even extends a few metres into the tunnel. It sparkles in the early morning light. The sky is clear and blue.

  Should I call Rachael and see if she'll take me in for a couple of days? It would be a lot to ask. Things are delicate enough as it is. I don't owe the locals anything, but if we're going to avoid several deaths and maybe start to build a real community here then we need to act together.

  There are still chunks of snow that haven't melted. Now they're like treacherous ice rocks, sharp and hard. I shatter a few and try not to slip on some of the ice underfoot. Brutus is fine when I look in on him. He'd buried himself amongst Janice's clothes but he's up for a walk and a sniff about. The air makes my lungs clench it's so cold then great billows of steam burst out. Each breath leeches away some energy. I don't think I've much fat left to burn. Any serious work and I'm going to need serious fuel.

  There's no water moving in the toilet block, so I can't flush and I can't wash my hands. Washing anything else had already made me think twice. I leave feeling slightly soiled.

  Borrowing a pan and a spoon from Janice, I start beating the bottom. It's an unwelcome way to be woken, especially as the excitement of the night before must have kept everyone up late. Heads poke out of tents and tell me to piss off. When I don't stop bodies emerge before quickly returning for more layers. Eventually a surly crowd gathers round. Still not everyone, but I feel forced to stop under the glares.