by Mark A. King
I didn’t want to be here. It was all a mistake. I wanted to undo events and go back in time. I thought about home. The morning sun warming my skin and bones. The afternoons I used to spend hiding under the shade of the coconut-palm forests, away from the white-heat and the purple bruises in places the adults wouldn’t see—away from the school bullies who saw me as entertainment—a canvas for their cruelty. In the forests I was safe. I was an invisible insect. It was all I ever wanted to be, just myself.
I thought about my church, and Saint Thomas who had come to our village shortly after the time of Jesus. They called him Doubting Thomas, but the stories said he had the greatest faith in our people and communities. I prayed that he would give me strength, that I had been through enough. That I was one of his people, one of those he’d promised to protect. I thought about Am’ma. Could she help me, too? But why would she? I saw her ghost crying in my mind, and she was crying because it was all so avoidable, if it wasn’t for my selfishness.
I knew with all my crushed heart that I would never stop thinking about her or stop blaming myself.
Am’ma had not wanted to come to England. She had not wanted to see my father again.
If I had not been so insistent, then we would both be home. She would be safe and alive.
The man holding my arm was strong. I tried to wriggle, dive, and jerk, but he held firm. People buzzed around us, but they were too busy, interested only in their devices, rushing for that next connection.
The man dragged me farther away from the people. I started to panic. No witnesses.
This man was no cartoon villain come to life. He was a real monster in every sense.
I didn’t want to draw attention to myself, and I didn’t want to hurt him, but what choice did I have?
I stamped my foot down onto his, crushed it deep and screwed it in. I smiled as my body did as it was told—with such a precise movement, there were no guarantees. But my smile was short-lived.
The Crawler jerked with pain. He opened his mouth as if to shout. I tried to clamber away, but he held tight, with even more pressure than before.
“Scream and I’ll break your arm, you little bitch. If you try to hurt me again, I’ll—”
He dragged me past a service room door. Inside the room it was black.
The Crawler told me what he wanted.
I felt sick.
I was helpless.
How had I let this happen?
This was my fault.
I prayed for help. From Am’ma, from anyone.
Nanma Niranja Mariyame, Swasthi.
Hail Mary.
Cal
I’d like to say that I collapsed and found myself at home, in bed, unaware how I got there—wondering if it was all just a dream. But no, Merla Kali made me depart from the cockpit of the train and walk through the crowds of open-mouthed passengers standing on the platform. They were not looking at us, but they were frozen, gawping at Gerry as he hung, suspended in mid-air a few feet in front of my train.
Despite the feeling that I was falling into the centre of a super-massive black hole where nothing made sense and the rules of normality were just a memory, I did, at least, have some answers:
I had actually heard the voice of Churchill in an abandoned station.
I had met the angel of darkness in London.
She could manipulate time and space.
Laughably, she thought I was the other, counterbalancing angel or entity in this version of London.
Merla had told me that the answers to Gerry’s suicide—and more—were on the small pink bundle, hovering above the huge gaps between the rails. She mentioned a memory card and evidence of some kind.
I teetered on the edge of the platform, reaching across to try and tug Gerry back to safety.
My hands moved through him like he was a hologram.
Merla laughed at me. Then, when I faced her, she had returned to the cockpit of my train. “Come on, Cal, we have work to do.”
I reluctantly returned to the train. Merla nodded at the controls, indicating for me to continue.
I looked ahead at Gerry’s perfect smile. “What about—”
“We can’t change what has already gone, Cal. Those are the fundamental rules. They apply to me, to you, and to everyone and everything around us. Close your eyes, drive through. It will be gone in a moment.”
I did as she said.
I felt no bump, and the train did not stop. When I was brave enough to open my eyes again, I noticed we were on a different line. Travelling south on the Circle line. “Where are we going?” I rubbed my temples. This feeling was more than the compression of depth changes plunging through tunnels. My nose felt moist. I dabbed at it with a tissue and noticed a streak of red.
“Don’t worry, Cal. Your body is adjusting to everything. It’s normal. It happens to us all,” Merla whispered. Her voice was calming and reassuring, like a mother’s soothing a sick child. “I need you to help with something.”
“How can I help you? Why don’t you just click your fingers or something?”
She looked at me with her eyes of emptiness. I turned away immediately. Infinity is hard enough to comprehend without seeing it. “I’ve told you that this is just one of an infinite number of worlds. Each one is as real as this. Each location is linked across time and space. I can move between them, Cal, as you will be able to, when you are ready. We can influence the thoughts, dreams, and desires of people, but physically changing past events is impossible.”
“So you influence other people to do what you need them to do.”
“It doesn’t always work,” she said. Her voice changed direction, and I turned to stare ahead at the tunnels and stations. “Besides, we’ve done this many times before. In different worlds, times, and cities. As I mentioned, unless we’re both strong, the city doesn’t thrive; it plods along—or destroys itself. This time, it is not me rescuing you, but you rescuing me.”
How could I save her? I could barely hold myself together. She had this wrong, and I feared her expectations of me were too great. I had no direction or purpose. I was the last person in whom others should seek light or hope. I feared being in contact with other people and had spent my life hiding in the darkness.
I felt the blur of the train through the stations—Farringdon through to Cannon Street. Then it slowed.
At Mansion House, Merla Kali told me to stop.
The platform was a vision—empty and quiet.
“Say goodbye to the ghost train, Cal. We won’t be seeing it again.”
Thank goodness for that.
She grabbed my hand. The chill was so sharp and deep, I almost snapped my hand away—but then the numbness became familiar. It was almost welcome in the constant hot breath of the Underground.
We moved over the deserted platform with speed and purpose. I trailed behind her like a slipstream.
“I need to go now.” Her voice was the gentle rustle of leaves in breeze.
She let go of my hand and pointed at a door marked Private. Staff Only.
“You want me to go in there?” I asked, but she had already walked away.
As she departed, I could hear the returning thrum of footsteps—commuters trampling down the steps—the warm humdrum of life.
I faced a choice. I had to quickly—
Walk away?
Or.
Walk through the door? Who was I to argue with Merla and everything she could do, everything she had seen?
I approached the door. Tilted my ear towards the surface without touching it. Nothing.
I clasped my hands around the handle. I paused. I tried to visualise what might await me when I opened the door.
A time machine?
A wormhole?
Abna Neito, surely?
My life was caution and hesitation, over-analysing and delay.
Enough is enough.
I turned the handle and threw all my weight against the door.
There was a thud, and on the other side a tall bloke lay spr
awled out like a drunk on the floor. Further back, in my direct line of sight, stood a shivering girl.
She looked like Merla.
Iona
Iona and Raf had said goodbye to Helena at the homeless shelter and were looking for possible signs of other teenagers who might be sleeping rough or homeless. Neither could believe that they’d stumbled on the boy only seconds later.
“Can you hack the CCTV live feed, Raf?” Iona asked as they followed the teenage boy into the Mansion House station.
He shook his head. “That’s not the answer to everything, Iona.” He swept his arms out in front of him. “It’s a small station, and he’s within our sight. I say we just do it the old-fashioned way.”
Iona nudged him playfully.
They followed the boy down into the guts of the station, in the wake of a distinctive teenage-boy odour. His hair was clumped and dishevelled in a way that wasn’t deliberate. His clothes were stained—the kid didn’t look like he’d had a proper wash in days, perhaps weeks. Iona bit hard on her tongue. The expensive suits filling the station stood in stark contrast to the teenage boy they were following.
The boy was quick and seemed to be heading for a departing train.
“Hey you!” Iona shouted. The boy glanced at them and propelled himself into full sprint.
The commuters were too busy munching on sandwiches or chasing virtual characters on their phones to intervene or ask questions.
Raf bounded down the steps two at a time. He was closing on the scraggy kid. Raf had kept true to the off-the-radar lifestyle that Iona had dreamed of with him when they were first a couple. Iona could see it in the speed of his movements, in the spilt-second reactions between brain and muscle. Her own movements suddenly seemed ponderous, slowed by the mechanics of bureaucracy and an office chair.
Iona wished that she were a hacker in a film. She’d be able to hack the train doors while hurtling down the stairs. In reality, hacking was time-consuming, and unless you had a way in, it was often the result of trial and error.
Her instincts were right to chase the kid. He was twitchy, nervous, and paranoid—why was he running?
In his state of panic, the boy made mistakes, running the wrong paths between people. He reached the train just as the doors shut, with Raf right behind him.
The boy hunched over, heaving in big gulps of stagnant air. It was clear that he was going nowhere. Raf slowed and allowed Iona to catch up.
“We don’t want to hurt you,” Iona said.
“Yeah, right,” the boy replied, his voice broken and coarse. “That’s what they all say. You’re all just perverts in the end.”
She looked at Raf, and he nodded for her to keep going. “We’re not perverts. We’re trying to help you,” she replied.
“Yeah, like I said, old lady. That’s what they all say.”
Old lady? At the age of twenty-five. Nice. “Hey, you little brat. Who you calling old?” The words came out instinctively; she regretted saying them before they had even finished leaving her mouth.
The boy smiled as though it were all a game to him.
“I’m a police detective,” Iona said, hoping to wipe the smirk off his face. His smile became wider and more slanted. He’s used to dealing with the police.
The boy stood back from the lip of the platform. His posture was more relaxed, his movements more expressive and open, almost as if he were playing to an audience with Iona in the front row. “Don’t make me laugh. This is bullshit. How do I know you’re a cop?”
Iona reached into her jeans pocket and retrieved her warrant card. “Look here, this is my ID.”
“Look, old lady, I’m not gonna know if that’s the real, or if that’s your membership card for bingo. Even if I believed you were a cop, how do I know I can trust you? There are plenty of dodgy coppers who are just as bad, if not worse, than the regular pervs.”
Fair point. I’m not exactly telling him the truth as it is. What the hell has he gone through to make him so bitter, cynical, and mistrusting?
She put her warrant card away. “Raf, show him the images on your smartphone.”
“What are you doing?” the boy asked. His gaze was searching, looking for answers before they came.
“My colleague here is proving my job to you,” Iona replied. “These are images of hacked cameras. I’m not a traditional police officer. I work hacking the gangs and the criminals. I try to stop crimes before they happen. Look, here—”
She showed him the images of Maria Mathan disappearing into Upton Park Tube station.
He shrugged and started to walk away. “What the hell’s this got to do with anything? What’s this got to do with me?”
“A girl is missing.”
“Lots of girls are missing, lady.”
“This one was on the news.”
The boy looked angry at this. “Look old lady, don’t you know anything about being homeless? Just where the hell would I be watching the news? Even if I stayed in a shelter—which would never, ever happen—they don’t have TVs in each bedroom and an X-box library. It’s basic stuff. They’re creepy places, filled with creepy people and crap food. Not the sorts of places you want to hang around, if you know what I mean. What’s so special about her, anyway?”
Iona ran some searches on Raf’s phone. “Here, this is her mum, who was knifed and killed in front of her by two criminals. The girl went missing. She hadn’t been in the country long. She has cerebral palsy, which means she’s has limited mobility, and she is particularly vulnerable to life on the streets.” And if I’d have picked Leo Jeffers up earlier, Maria Mathan’s mum would still be alive. If I’d have stopped Maria instead of trying to save my own arse and solve the case, she’d be safe and we wouldn’t be here.
Iona visualised Maria making it out of this alive. The life she would have, without a mother to support her.
The boy’s eyes were scanning. He was looking for someone, or something. Iona knew he was withholding information. She glanced at Raf; he’d seen the shiftiness, too.
“What’s any of this got to do with me?” the skeletal boy demanded. “I don’t even know who you are.”
Iona closed the gap between her and the boy. “I’m Detective Iona Stone,” she said before nodding to Rafel. “This is Rafel ... Cardona. He’s a ... police consultant.”
“Listen lady, I might not have police training, but I know lies when I hear them. You, maybe, I can believe, just about. But your friend is no more a cop than I am. He winced when you said that. Is he your boyfriend or something? I’m, er, Archie.”
Iona smiled. He was clearly trying to play the same game she was. “I guess I didn’t attend those lessons,” she said. “Rafel is not with the police. He’s an IT specialist. He sometimes helps me solve crimes.” Rafel snorted. “This isn’t about him. It’s not about me. It’s not even about you, as much as you’ll never believe it. This is about Maria Mathan, the young girl. She’s in serious danger.”
“We’re all in danger.”
“Is there something you want to talk about, Archie?”
Archie bowed his head and scuffed his toes across the floor. “No. I have nothing I want to say to anyone.”
Iona reached for him. She wanted to put her arms around him, make him feel safe and protected. She pulled her arm back. “Listen Archie, we’ve both slept rough.”
“I doubt that.”
“I’ve barely slept in the same place twice the last few years. Raf doesn’t have anywhere he calls home. In the past, we’ve slept in bus stops and in car parks. We’ve eaten out of supermarket wheelie bins. We’ve been chased by screaming drunks and school kids who thought setting fire to the homeless was funny.”
“It’s not the same! You’ve got no idea about my life. I think you better leave me alone now.”
“No you’re right. We’re adults. We did it through choice—a rebellion against the society and the state systems, if you like. We don’t know what it’s like for you. Or for Maria. Not really. But why would yo
u want anyone else to suffer?”
“Who said I’d suffered?”
Raf moved towards Archie. “It’s in your words, Archie. It’s in your reactions. All we’re asking is that you tell us if you’ve seen her.”
Archie paused. He rummaged in his pockets. “I know something, but it’ll cost you. How much money have you got on you?”
Iona looked at him with disbelief and disappointment. “I don’t think it’d be wise for me to pay you,” she said, crossing her arms. “I’ve no idea how you’ll spend it. I might make your situation worse. Besides, I’m a police off—”
The boy laughed. “Exactly! You should be used to bribery. Okay, maybe you can’t, but your boyfriend can. You said he wasn’t a cop, so he might as well be doing something useful.”
Rafel looked at Iona. She reluctantly nodded, silently telling him to get on with the transaction. He pulled out a bundle of notes and wrapped them around a mobile phone with an elastic band. He held it out to Archie. Archie clasped it and tried to take it, but Rafel held it tight. “As well as the money, I’m leaving you this mobile phone as well, Archie. It’s nothing worth selling. It has our number preprogramed and a small amount of credit. Keep it. If you get into trouble, or if you see her, you let us know.” Rafel released his grip.
Iona expected Archie to scamper, but he put the phone and money away and then started to talk. “I saw her, here, in the station about an hour ago. She was heading towards the toilets. But—”
“But what?” Iona asked.
“She’s going to have to keep moving. It’s not safe here.” Archie scanned the station again. Iona didn’t question him further. She watched him walk away, unsure if they’d done the right thing by giving him the money.
Iona and Raf waited a few minutes until they were sure Archie had disappeared.
Raf pulled out his phone and started tapping at the screen. His smile created dimples in his cheeks.
“Why the hell are you smiling?” Iona asked. “Maria was here, but we’ve missed her. Maybe we should look around, just in case.”
“That’s why I’m smiling. We know she’s alive, she’s been here, recently. The trail is warm. There are only so many places she could be and only so many routes she could have travelled. Besides which, Archie isn’t telling the truth, we both know that. That phone I gave him, it had a tracking device fitted.”