by Tim O'Rourke
As if Roc knew what was coming, he began to giggle. It sounded like that of a child. The sound of it was chilling as it echoed all around the courtyard.
The old man scratched his whiskered chin with his free hand. “I’m not hungry, lady, I just ate my supper. But if you’ve got a bit of cake, I’ll take some. Can’t go wrong with a bit of cake.”
“Then eat,” Araghney whispered, her blue eyes turning black as she fixed them on the old man.
Suddenly, the old man gripped his broom with both hands. His eyes grew wide with confusion as he raised the end of the broom handle up toward his mouth. He began to shake as if trying to fight with the broom somehow. He glanced over at Araghney, who was continuing to stare at him.
“What’s happening?” the old man croaked, phlegm rattling in the back of his throat.
“Eat,” Araghney whispered again.
As if unable to stop himself from doing so, the old stableman raised the end of the broom handle to his lips. Then, as if realising what was happening, he shut his lips tight. But still, his hands and arms refused to respond to his will. Despite him trying to move the end of the broom away from his mouth, it was like he had lost control of his own actions. He glanced once more at Araghney, who was staring into his eyes. He made a mumbling and groaning sound behind his lips. They were still pressed tight. Araghney continued to stare at him as Jack watched on and Roc continued to snigger.
The old stableman began to force the end of the broom against his own mouth. Jack heard the sound of the stableman’s teeth breaking behind his lips as he continued to resist the broom handle that he was ramming into his own mouth.
“Eat it all up like a good boy,” Araghney whispered, a cruel smile dancing across her lips.
Blood began to stream from the corners of the stableman’s mouth. He continued to ram the end of the broom handle against his mouth. When the pain of his broken teeth became too much, the old man opened his mouth and screamed.
As soon as his jaws were open wide, he was forcing the end of the broom into his own mouth. He made a gargling and choking sound as he rammed the broom handle deep into the back of his throat.
Jack glanced at Araghney, then back at the stableman. He had never witnessed such sorcery before. The stableman jerked his head back as he continued to force the broom handle into his mouth. Blood sprayed out of his throat as he continued to choke himself. With his arms fully extended before him, fists gripping the broom handle, he repeatedly rammed it down the back of his throat. It was like watching someone try and unblock a drain.
The stableman fell backwards and down onto the cobblestones. His chest rose sharply up and down as he tried to draw breath around the end of the broom handle that was now jutting from his throat. Even by Jack’s own brutal standards, he had never seen anything as weird as this. What he couldn’t understand was why Araghney hadn’t killed the stableman with her own hands. That was where the true pleasure lay in killing someone. There was nothing quite like squeezing the life from somebody—tearing their throat open—with your own hands. He realised that Araghney had a lot to learn. And he would happily be her teacher.
Jack, Araghney, and Roc stood and watched the old man jerk and spasm at their feet, until eventually he fell still. His dead hands slid weakly down the length of the broom handle and his arms flopped to the ground. He lay on his back, bloody mouth stretched open, broom protruding from his throat.
“Wow,” Jack breathed, removing the baseball cap and scratching his emaciated skull. He felt that twinge of excitement and stared down at the corpse.
“Come on,” Araghney said, walking away, long scarlet dress trailing behind her. “We have a prisoner to set free.” She yanked on the chain wrapped around her fist and Roc obediently followed.
Jack followed, too.
Chapter Fourteen
The year 2067
It wasn’t Jake Stranger himself that had left Annora feeling so unsettled. It was how he seemed to know her. Had it really been him who had left the umbrella in the cloakroom at the Night Diner back in 1973 at the request of Noah? Such a notion seemed incredible. Unbelievable. What kind of world had she stumbled into the moment she had placed that gold token into the jukebox at the Night Diner? She now seemed to have a whole new list of questions at the forefront of her mind. Before she had a chance to ask even one of them, someone else stepped into the underground chamber behind Jake Stranger.
As the figure stepped into the lantern light, Annora could see that it was a young female, who was similar in age to Jake Stranger, herself, Kiera, and Potter. The young woman was strikingly beautiful, with long blonde hair, which rested on her shoulders in pigtails. And just like Kiera, Potter, and Jake Stranger, her skin looked unnaturally smooth and pale. Her lips were rose pink. Was she a Vampyrus, too? Annora wondered. Was Jake Stranger a vampire? Werewolf? Or something else altogether? Perhaps he was a wizard like Potter had mentioned? He had been wearing a pointed hat, after all. The young woman was dressed similar to Jake. She wore a long black leather coat and tight black leather trousers. On her feet she wore boots, and underneath her coat, which was open down the front, she wore a white T-shirt. Her eyes shone sea-green in the lamplight.
The young woman smiled at Annora as she came forward, stopping at Jake’s side. “Hey, Annora, I’m really pleased to meet you at last. My name is Franziska Rubik.”
Annora didn’t say hello or anything like that. Instead, she replied, “Why does everyone act as if they know me? What do you mean when you say you’re pleased to meet me at last?” Annora shot a look at Kiera, who was coming back across the cavern holding a fresh cup of tea in her hands. She handed it to Annora, and as she did, their eyes met. Annora believed she had made a connection with Kiera and hoped that she may be able to answer the question she’d just asked. But Kiera didn’t answer her question; instead, she crossed to the threadbare-looking sofa and sat down. Potter sat beside her, while Jake and Franziska remained standing.
“Annora, why don’t you take a seat and we’ll try and explain,” Jake Stranger said.
Annora did as he suggested and sat down in the armchair. She took a sip of the sweet, hot tea Kiera had made before resting the cup and saucer on her knees.
Jake glanced at Franziska before looking once more at Annora. He took a deep breath before speaking. “What seems like many lifetimes ago—back in 1985—I saved the life of a young woman named Carol. But in doing so, I killed three men. As punishment, my people banished me to a town called Grey Edge. It was there that I met Franziska and Noah, who some called the railway man or The One of Many.”
“Noah told me he was called that,” Annora said, remembering the conversation she’d had with Noah in the kitchen back at the house in 1973. Then, thinking about what Jake had just explained to her, she added, “What happened to the girl?”
“What girl?” Jake asked.
“The girl named Carol,” Annora reminded him. “The girl you saved.”
“As far as we know,” Franziska answered for him, “Noah pushed Carol into a layer where she would be safe.”
Starting again from where he had left off, Jake continued. “In return for his help, Noah asked me to place that umbrella in the cloakroom at the Night Diner. He didn’t explain why, other than that one day, back in 1973, you would need it. He said the umbrella would save your life. Back then, I found it hard to believe, and during the years since, I have often wondered whether you found the umbrella and whether it did really save your life.”
“Well, as you can see, I found the umbrella, and yes, it did save my life,” Annora said. “But what I don’t understand is how Noah would have known that I would have needed that umbrella and that I would have even gone to the Night Diner? None of it makes any sense to me.”
“If you haven’t realised already, Noah doesn’t make much sense to anyone,” Potter said, pitching out his cigarette and lighting another one.
Annora looked across the cavern at him. “So why do you follow him?”
Potter puffed out his chest. “Who says we follow him?”
“Then why are you here?” Annora asked. “Noah told me that he pushed you into this layer—this where and when I think he called them. He says you came to help him prevent a war between the humans and the supernatural creatures.”
“Just because we’ve come to help out doesn’t mean Noah is our master of some kind,” Potter said, still sounding affronted.
Annora made eye contact with Kiera. “Noah told me that you were part of some kind of team called the ‘Six Clicks’. He said you and five other women had great adventures that you pushed back and forward through the layers—”
“What else did Noah tell you?” Potter cut in, sounding irritable and pissed off—again.
Annora felt a lump forming in her throat. She felt suddenly hesitant.
“Well?” Potter pushed.
Annora took a deep breath. “Noah told me that Kiera’s heart wasn’t really in the ‘Six Clicks’. He said her heart was broken because your… daughter, Cara, died.”
Hearing this, Kiera got up from off the sofa. With arms folded across her chest and head down, she crossed the room, stopping before the bookcase, her back to the rest of them.
“See what you’ve gone and done?” Potter shot at Annora. “You’ve upset her.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Annora said, setting down the cup and saucer at her feet. She stood up and crossed the room. She joined Kiera at the bookcase. “I’m sorry if I…”
“It’s not your fault,” Kiera said. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand then brushed the tears from her cheeks.
Annora felt her heart miss a beat. She really hadn’t intended to upset Kiera. But she could see that the death of her daughter still caused her great anguish. Tentatively, she placed one hand on Kiera’s shoulder. Kiera reached up, closing her hand over Annora’s. “I’m sorry,” Annora whispered.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Kiera whispered back. “I just need a moment, that’s all.”
“Okay,” Annora said softly before sliding her hand from Kiera’s shoulder and returning to the armchair once more.
A heavy silence hung over the room. Wanting to break it, Annora looked at Franziska and said, “Were you one of the ‘Six Clicks’, too?”
Franziska shook her head. “No, once Kiera left, Noah disbanded the team. All of that happened long before I had met Noah.”
Annora reached down and picked up the cup and saucer and took another sip of the tea. Still perched on the edge of the seat, she said, “Whether you follow Noah or not, we are all here in this room because of him for one reason or another. Why is that?”
Jake Stranger spoke first. “Because at some point in all of our lives, Noah has helped us. So it’s very hard to say no to him when he comes asking for help from us.”
“But I can’t see how he has helped me,” Annora said. “I met the man for the first time only a few hours ago, and now I find myself pushed from 2018, back to 1973, then forward in time to 2067. That doesn’t sound like someone who is helping me; more like someone who is messing with me.”
Kiera turned away from the bookshelf and faced the room. She looked at Annora. “So, apart from Noah telling you that you are to travel to this year to help my son, he told you nothing else?”
Annora shook her head and shrugged. “What else was there for him to tell me?”
Kiera and Potter shared a quick glance at each other before looking back at Annora. Jake and Franziska were also staring at her.
Feeling uncomfortable beneath their gaze, Annora said, “What? Why are you all staring at me?”
Kiera stepped away from the bookshelf and toward Annora. Kiera readied herself, trying to pull her senses and feelings together. This was the part she had been dreading. Kiera reached the armchair and knelt down, so she was at eye-level with Annora. “Noah gave you no kind of explanation as to why you had to come here?”
“No,” Annora said flatly. “He said the layers had chosen me because I was unhappy with my life. I was unhappy with the way my parents made me feel like some kind of failure.”
“Did Noah not tell you anything about your parents?” Kiera asked, heart beginning to race as she knew what was coming for Annora Snow.
“No, he didn’t mention them,” Annora frowned. “Why would he mention my parents? What have they got to do with any of this?”
Once again, a silence fell over the room. It was eventually broken by Potter. He got up off the sofa, dropped the cigarette he had been smoking to the floor, and ground it flat beneath the heel of his boot. He then faced Annora and said, “You know those people—the people who raised you…”
“My parents, you mean?” Annora asked, feeling more and more confused with each passing second.
“Well they’re not,” Potter said, the tone of his voice blunt and uncompassionate.
“Not what?” Annora asked, setting down the cup of tea once more and springing to her feet. She placed her hands on her hips and stared about the room at Kiera, Jake, and Franziska, and then back at Potter again.
“What I’m subtly trying to tell you, is that those two people you call mum and dad aren’t your mum and dad.”
“Have you lost your freaking mind?” Annora glared at him. Why was he saying this shit? Was Potter getting a kick out of trying to upset her?
Before Potter could say anything else, Kiera was once more on her feet. Very gently, she took Annora’s hands in hers. She brushed her thumbs over the back of Annora’s fingers. In some way, it was her first attempt at trying to smooth away the pain she knew Annora was about to feel.
“Although Potter hasn’t put it as eloquently as I might have done,” Kiera said, scowling over at Potter then back at Annora. “What he says is true; those people you grew up believing to be your parents, aren’t.”
Annora tried to pull away from Kiera, but suddenly felt too weak and dumbstruck to do so. “If my mum and dad aren’t my parents, then who are?”
Before Kiera could come back with some soothing and sensitive reply, Potter cut in and said, “And that’s the million-dollar question. No one seems to know the true identity of your parents.”
Chapter Fifteen
The year 2067
The decrepit landlord heaved back a sheet of corrugated iron that covered the opening into the shipping crates. The bottom of the sheet metal scraped against the gangway. The sound was shrill and ear-piercing over the cry of the wind and driving rain that drummed against the shipping crates. Before stepping inside, Karl glanced back over his shoulder. Selina was still positioning the patrol car adjacent to the towering scaffolding. The flashing emergency lights gave the rain a dizzying effect. For the briefest of moments, Karl saw those flashing lights—the ones that came with the blackouts—encroaching at the very corners of his mind. He screwed his eyes shut and he saw them dancing like stardust on the inside of his eyelids. Karl snapped open his eyes and looked away from the police vehicle that Selina was still manoeuvring in the air.
“What are you waiting for, Officer Potter?” the old man croaked in his ear.
Karl flinched at the man’s cold breath as it drifted against his cheek. It smelt stale, too. Like the old git had been sucking up roadkill. Karl turned around and the old man stepped away to reveal a body stretched out across the floor of the shipping crate. As Karl snatched his flashlight from his utility belt, he couldn’t help but think that the body stretched out before him had been crucified to the floor. The arms were stretched out on either side of him and he wore noting more than a pair of shorts.
Karl held the flashlight steady, aiming the cone of bright white light down at the corpse. The body was that of a young man in his mid-twenties. His eyes were open and he appeared to be staring up at Karl. But Karl could see that there was no life behind those eyes. It wasn’t just the young man’s blank stare that suggested life was extinct, but the great gaping wound in his throat. It looked like someone had opened up his throat with an electric hedge cutter. In the glar
e of the flashlight, Karl could clearly see the jagged and frayed flesh that stretched from ear to ear across the deceased’s throat.
“And you really believe this is a suicide? An overdose?” Karl said, turning to look at the landlord, a look of disdain masking his face. But to Karl’s surprise, the old man was no longer standing behind him. It was like he had simply vanished. Before he had a chance to call out and ask where the man was, Karl’s flashlight began to flicker on and off.
“Oh, Christ,” he groaned, as the shipping crate flickered into darkness. He bashed the end of the flashlight with the flat of one hand. It flashed on and off and Karl dropped to the floor. The pain in his head was suddenly crushing—like the helmet he wore had become a vice. The flashlight rolled away, as Karl threw his hands to his head. He cried out in agony. The pain was all-consuming, as too were the lights that now flashed in front of his eyes.
He drew his knees up to his chest as he rocked back and forth on the floor, within reach of the corpse. Over the sound of his own cries, he heard voices. He was no longer alone in the crate. Had the old man come back? Had he brought Selina with him? With his eyelids flickering like a weak heartbeat, Karl peered through the lights that flashed and danced before his eyes. As the pain gripped his skull like a set of claws, Karl could see that he had been right and he was no longer alone with the corpse in the makeshift apartment. But there was no corpse lying on the floor just feet from him. The corpse was standing up. He was struggling with three others. Through the pain that screamed through his mind, Karl could hear raised voices—like some kind of argument was taking place.
The three that had hold of the young man were little more than shadows as they dragged him to the floor of the crate.
“Let me see your faces, you murdering bastards!” Karl roared, hands to his head, knees pressed to his chest. “Let me see you!”
But neither three looked back. It was like they couldn’t hear him. Like he wasn’t even there. And perhaps he wasn’t. Maybe he was seeing the past—the murder of the young man—and was therefore unable to prevent his death, however much he protested against it. Through the pulsating lights that danced and swirled before his eyes, Karl watched the three figures pin the young man to the floor. He thrashed his legs as if kicking against an invisible tide that threatened to drag him under. The three strangers set about him in a frenzy, bent over him, arms pin-wheeling through the air like cutting tools. Their heads jackhammered up and down, back and forth, as they fed from his throat.