by Tony Telford
I must have cried out, because suddenly Matty was clutching at my arm. ‘What is it? What, what?’
I couldn’t speak. I was hypnotised by the shape at the railing, down there in the pool. But it wasn’t really down there, was it. It was up there… I dragged my eyes away from the pool and raised them to the real balcony high above my head.
The shape had gone.
‘Someone was up there,’ I gasped. ‘On the balcony.’
At that moment we heard a sound like footsteps somewhere above. Matty snatched the torch and shone it upwards. The thin beam caught the rails of an iron balcony about thirty feet above. There was no one there.
‘Look,’ Matty whispered. He shone the torch on a ladder leading to the balcony. ‘I’m going up. Stay here.’
‘No!’
‘Either that, or we go back.’
‘Listen, Matty—’
‘I won’t be long, I promise. Just a few minutes. I’ll shout if anything happens.’
‘Wait, Matty—’ But he was already gone. I couldn’t believe it. How could he just leave me in the dark? I started to follow him, but stopped. Maybe best to wait here, after all.
I watched the torchlight bobbing and swaying as Matty crossed to the ladder. Then the light went off and I heard his shoes clinking on the metal rungs. For some reason he left the torch off when he reached the balcony, but I could still see him there in the dim grey light. For a while he stood at the railing, exactly where the shape had been. I waved, thinking he could see me down below, but he didn’t wave back. Then he was gone.
A couple of minutes went by. I kept completely still, straining my ears for the tiniest sound and counting the seconds under my breath. ‘One hippopotamus, two hippopotamus…’ Five more minutes passed, then another five, and another, and another.
And then I stopped counting.
The silence got louder.
Darkness took me in.
Nothing left of me now, in the darkness.
Nothing much left of anything.
Just darkness.
Jesus! I shook my head and looked around. What was happening to me? How long had I been standing here? And Matty—where the hell was Matty?
That’s when it hit me, the simple and completely obvious thing I should have seen all along. It was a trap. Yes, a trap, and Boo was the bait.
Suddenly I couldn’t breathe. The thick, greasy air was clogging up my throat. My face felt like a tight, hot mask. Oh God, oh God, why didn’t we call the police?
Of course, the phone! What was wrong with me? I tore it from my satchel and jabbed at the keypad.
Not working. Completely dead. And yet just this morning it had been okay.
Fear rose up inside me like a black wave. I tried to ignore it. I tried to think, think, think. Should I look for Matty, or go back for the others? Where were they, anyway? Why hadn’t they come looking for us?
It was no good, the wave was rising over me. ‘Matty!’ I shouted at the dark. ‘Matty! Matty!’
The silence shrieked back at me like a billion frenzied insects.
Get out. That’s all I can do now. Get out and find help. I turned and ran through the darkness, slipping and stumbling over loose heaps of metal, dodging black hulks of machinery. It was easier once I could see the light from the white room. I reeled in through the bright doorway, giddy and wheezing—then stopped. The other door, the one to the tunnel, was closed. I flew across the room. Yes, it was shut tight, and there was no handle on this side. No magic button, either. I got my fingers round the edges of the door and tried to wrench it open. Impossible. It was as thick and solid as the door of a safe.
So now I knew why they hadn’t come looking for us. ‘Drae!’ I screamed so hard it hurt my throat. ‘Drae! Miri! Are you there?’ I paced up and down like a beast in a cage. Then I screamed again—no words, just a wild, lunatic scream. My head felt like a balloon, and everything was pointless and dead and unreal. Suddenly my last bit of strength just drained out of me and I collapsed on the bed, crying like a baby, choking, sobbing, gasping. Alone, just like I always was. And now my lovely Boo’s gone, too.
I don’t know how long I lay there, drifting on my sea of tears, but eventually the tears stopped and I began to feel a bit calmer.
I sat up and looked around at the bare white walls, the empty fireplace, the chess set, book and pencil on the chair. Everything so still and quiet. Cold air flowed in through the door to the factory. I tried to visualize Matty walking through that doorway. Come on, Matty, you’ve been out there long enough. But what if it wasn’t Matty? What if—
I jumped up and started pacing back and forth again, trying to stay calm, trying not to panic. But then, in a flash, the fear turned to rage—boiling, churning fury. I picked up the book and hurled it at the wall, kicked over the chair, tore frantically at the bed sheets.
‘You think you’re so clever, don’t you?’ I bawled. ‘You think you’re sooooo clever. Can you hear me, Bernard? I’m talking to you, you stupid, ugly, heartless creep.’ The only answer was the wind whistling in the chimney.
I took another kick at the chair then resumed my pacing. Eight steps from the fireplace to the other end of the room, turn, then eight steps back. How long was I going to be stuck here, then? And what was I going to do about food? I was already feeling quite empty. I searched my satchel, found an old biscuit wrapped in foil and nibbled it as I walked. Eight paces and turn, eight paces and turn—
And that’s when it I saw it. As I was swinging round again towards the fireplace, something caught my eye at the back of the hearth. I went closer. It was an iron bar, like a big black staple, set horizontally in the bricks. Nothing unusual about that, I thought, probably just part of an old grate or something. Without thinking, I bent and looked further up the chimney. There was another bar, a foot above the first. And another above that. And another, and another.
Rungs.
I crawled into the fireplace and twisted so I could see right up the chimney. The rungs disappeared into blackness.
‘Ha, ha,’ I snarled, remembering the Father Christmas bookmark. Then I started climbing.
At first it was quite easy, but then, about thirty feet up, the rungs suddenly got narrower and more difficult to stand on. Then I started having trouble seeing them in the dark. But I kept climbing steadily. All the time, I could hear the sound of the wind high above me. Why wasn’t it getting louder? Surely I was near the top by now. Then it dawned on me. I was inside the tower, wasn’t I, the huge brick tower that I’d watched sailing through mist and cloud.
I stopped dead. The only sensible thing to do now—the only sane thing—was to get back down. Yes, just get down as calmly and carefully as possible. Okay, I could do that. I was sure I could do that. I took my right foot off the rung and stretched my leg down, feeling for the rung below. I couldn’t find it. I just couldn’t find the stupid thing. Leaning back, I peeped down over my shoulder, trying to see the rung in the dark. Instead, I saw the view below. Oh my God, it was just air curving off into a blind hole—
Suddenly the whole tower seemed to sway and my left foot slipped clean off the rung, and then I was just hanging by my hands, pedalling air, scrambling for a foothold as my fingers slowly unwound from the iron bar. For five, maybe ten seconds I knew I was finished. I felt death move over me like a shadow. But then the toe of my boot caught on a rung and I managed to wedge both feet onto the few inches of iron.
For a long time then I just clung there, trembling and whimpering, convinced that I was going to faint and drop like a stone into that blind hole. Somewhere far above me, the wind sounded like canned laughter on TV. Oh God, I knew I had no choice now. I had to keep climbing. I just didn’t know if I could do it.
All right. Okay. Just try to calm down a bit. Take a deep breath. Good. Now, what about if I just try one rung. Don’t think about anything else. Just this one step up.
Terrified and shaking uncontrollably, I hauled myself up to the next rung. And then I did it again.
And again. And again. I was talking to myself the whole time, trying to encourage myself. Comforting myself, too, I guess. Five rungs, ten rungs, twenty rungs, thirty. There was wind coming down the shaft now, and I felt a few spots of rain. Forty rungs, fifty rungs, sixty. Squinting up, I could make out a small silvery square. The sky. The sky at night. With every step the square got bigger. Seventy, eighty, ninety. Now the wind was roaring past me, the rain stinging my face. My arms and legs burned with pain, but I was nearly there. A hundred, a hundred and ten, hundred and fifteen, hundred and twenty. A few more rungs, just a few more, yes—I’d done it. I pulled myself up through the square hole and slithered over glassy wet concrete, the wind shouting in my ears and the clouds spinning so low I could have reached up and touched them.
I was on a long narrow platform just below the top of the tower. Above me, at the pinnacle, a huge red beacon glowed through swirling veils of cloud. I remembered how I’d seen this light from across the other side of town on my first morning in the City.
At the front of the platform there was a low concrete wall, a parapet, with a railing along the top. Someone was there at the far end of the platform. I could only just make them out through cloud and streaming rain, but I knew right away who it was.
I got up and took a few steps towards him. Yes, it was him. Bernard O’Hare. He was facing away from me, leaning on the rail as he looked out over the City.
I took a few more steps. He didn’t move. I went closer, close enough to touch him. The rain was cascading down the back of his coat. His long hair, once black, was now completely white. It hung over his collar like a bundle of sodden rats’ tails. In the huge gulf of air beyond him, the lights of the City flared orange, yellow, watery blue.
‘You took your time.’
His voice nearly made my heart stop. But there was no going back now. I moved to the railing and stood right next to him, facing out into the endless wind and rain. For a time we stood in silence, like strangers on the deck of a ship. I was too afraid to speak, too afraid to look him in the face.
‘Where’s Boo?’ I said, finally, but still I couldn’t look at him.
No answer. I glanced at him, not sure if he’d heard, but then couldn’t help staring, open-mouthed. He was withered, yellowish, an upright corpse. His waxy skin was stretched as tight as a drum across the sharp cheekbones. His fingers, clasping the railing, were like long yellow talons.
‘Bernard? What is it? What’s happened?’
Still no answer.
‘Bernard, listen. I don’t know what’s going on here. I just—you need help, Bernard. Have you seen a doctor?’
‘Oh dear,’ he murmured. ‘The wench is alarmed by mon apparence.’
The sarcasm stung. ‘I nearly died climbing up here, do you know that?’ No reply. ‘All I want is my dog. I just want my dog, Bernard.’
He sighed as he surveyed the lights. ‘How little you know.’
‘That’s true,’ I said. ‘So why don’t you just tell me what all this is about? What are you doing here, Bernard? Why are you always following me? Why did you take Boo?’
No answer again.
‘Go on. Enlighten me.’
He was looking at something in the distance and smiling faintly to himself. He seemed to have forgotten about me entirely.
‘What do you want from me, Bernard? What do you want?’
‘Ah, ich bin deiner Fragen überdrussig.’
‘I don’t speak German.’
‘Never mind. Just spare me the questions.’
I couldn’t believe it. ‘Spare you the questions? You stalked me. You drove me away from home. You followed me halfway—’ I stopped. He was laughing now. Laughing at me.
Anger spread through me like a sudden heatwave. I didn’t care anymore how sick he was. I just wanted to wound him, cut him with my words. ‘I know what your trouble is,’ I said, dropping my voice. ‘You’re mad, aren’t you, Bernard? You’re insane.’
He lifted his chin and the skin round his mouth went tight like old leather. ‘Speak to me like that again, my little on’na noko, and I’ll make you wish you were never born.’ I could see his thin chest rising and falling inside his coat. Then, for the first time, he turned to look at me. Something terrible had happened to his eyes. They were like wounds, shrivelled and black. All the light had gone out of them.
‘You dreary little hominid.’ He almost whispered it. ‘What do you know about what’s going on in here?’ He jabbed his finger against his temple so hard it must have hurt like hell. ‘What do you know about anything, mmm?’ He leant towards me, his eyes like two gaping mouths. ‘What do you know about BCI? What do you know about the Singularity?’ Even above the wind I could hear the sharp, wet sound of his breathing. I shrank back, thinking that any second he was going to hit me, strangle me, squeeze the life out of me. But instead he just turned away and looked out again at the city.
After a while I heard his soft laughter. ‘Ye olde-worlde humans. Yes, the cheated ones. Sometimes I watch them in the clubs, gyrating to their own funeral music…’ His dead eyes returned to me. ‘Ta-ta, olde-worlde human!’ He pulled a sad, droopy clown-face and gave me a little wave. ‘Ta-ta, girlie primate! Your lot are on the way out, I’m afraid. You see—’ His voice began to quaver with some emotion I couldn’t understand. ‘You see, a new sun is rising. Yes, a new sun—a midnight sun! A sun that will never die!’ Suddenly he was like one of those televangelists, his chest pumping, his body swaying, his black eyes glistening like two lumps of coal. ‘The whole fleshy song and dance, the mouldering, moth-eaten carnival of mens in corpore—it’s all being swept away.’ He was in a frenzy now. ‘Don’t you see? Don’t you see what’s coming? We’ll be one with Death! We’ll be inhuman…’ He closed his eyes and tipped back his head and let the rain stream down his saffron face.
Then his eyes flicked open again and he was looking right at me—looking with an intensity of hatred I could never have imagined. ‘But as for you—’ His face twisted and his jaw worked violently. ‘You and all those like you. The mushy, soulful, ditty-loving, time-haunted, star-gazing ones. Your project is finished, don’t you see? Fini! Kaput! We’ve plucked out the heart of your silly, tiresome, overrated mystery. Your lovely big adventure, your voyage of discovery, your wretched heart-warming story, it’s all nothing…nothing but delusion. Neural flotsam.’ He gave a short hoot of laughter. ‘Ah, every day we’re so busy. Busy, busy, busy! Have you noticed how busy we are? That’s because we’re building hell, right here on earth. Hell for you, that is, but paradise for us!’
I understood enough of all this to know that I didn’t want to hear any more. ‘Just tell me where my friends are.’
‘Oh, Lordy,’ he sighed. ‘Must we speak of your friends?’
‘Where are they?’
He gave a little snigger. ‘They say one may know oneself by one’s friends.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, they’re a sorry crew, aren’t they, by any standard.’
‘You don’t know anything about them.’
‘Don’t I? Let me see now. We’ve got the stuttering bed-wetter, the moony-eyed mystic, the ginger-haired shoplifter, the gypsy streetwalker’s bastard.’ He ticked them off on his fingers. ‘And as for the Darwinian throwback—’
‘You’re a monster.’ I said it very calmly, and for several seconds we faced each other without speaking.
Slowly his lips curled into a smile. ‘And you,’ he said in a soft, small voice, ‘you’re the vile grey mess behind your face. You’re a cipher, an emergent property.’
There was a beeping sound. He pulled up his left sleeve. On the inside of his forearm, about four inches above his wrist, a small rectangle of skin glowed with bright colours—a touch-screen made of flesh. A deathly cold passed though me.
O’Hare studied the little screen, amusement ghosting the corners of his mouth. ‘I see our little confab is about to be disturbed. Quel dommage! Your pal from the jungle, by the look of it.’
I heard footsteps on the ladder, then Draemon calling.
‘Up here, Drae!’ I shouted. ‘Hurry!’
O’Hare calmly continued studying the rectangle of glowing skin. Then, with a leisurely tap of his finger, the screen faded away and he pulled down his sleeve. ‘Oh well, time for me to be off, I suppose.’ He sounded almost bored.
Then, with one quick, light movement he swung himself up onto the parapet and stood upright, his arms outstretched, his coat billowing, his long white hair streaming like a comet’s tail. For a moment he looked down at me and I saw his lips moving. I strained to hear above the wind. Something about ‘last time’, was it? Or ‘next time’? Then he turned and stepped off into air.
I was still staring at the empty space where he’d been when I felt Draemon’s hand on my shoulder. ‘Pearly, what goin’ on? You all right, man?’
‘He was here,’ I said.
‘Who? O’Hare?’
‘He was here, just a few seconds ago. He got up on the wall—’
‘Jesus.’
‘He got up here and just—’
I leant out over the railing and looked down through wind and rain. It must have been eight hundred feet to the ground. There was a concrete yard down there, a car park, maybe. That’s where he would have landed, for sure. But there was nothing. Nothing at all. I scanned the wall of the tower, all shiny in the rain. It was straight down. No ledges, no hooks, no ropes.
Draemon peered over the railing. ‘Shit. He couldn’t have gone down there, man. You sure you saw ’im?’
‘I told you, he was here. He was standing right where you are. We were talking for ages. Oh my God, Drae, you should see what he looks like now, it’s incredible. I asked him what he’d done with Boo, but he wouldn’t tell me anything. He’s mad, Drae. He’s really crazy. I couldn’t understand half the stuff he was talking about. And he’s got this gadget thing on his arm—no, in his arm, under the skin. That’s how he knew you were coming. And then he—he just jumped off. I swear to you. I saw it as clearly as I can see you.’