His chest and stomach had been ripped open, the ribs jagged, and reaching out like desperate fingers. Several of his organs were missing, a half-eaten lung lay near his feet. The blood had splattered the wall like an overeager toddler with a paint brush and his right arm had been ripped from its socket. Although the blood had stopped, Franklyn still felt woozy at the cartilage, muscle, and broken bone that hung from the ruptured socket.
Ken had been mauled. Alive.
Still covering his mouth, Franklyn slowly stepped around the blood, careful not to contaminate the scene. Resisting the urge to vomit everywhere, he wondered how the BTCO would even explain this to the authorities. People go missing all the time, and Franklyn was sure that there were government agencies within government agencies, each one vaguer, and more terrifying than the last.
But how do you explain this?
A pack of wolves? In Norfolk?
Denham stood watching from the porch, his huge fists resting on his hips.
‘You were right,’ he said coldly. ‘It was her.’
Franklyn didn’t look back as he responded, so fixated he was on the horror before him.
‘Like I said, it isn’t her anymore.’
Quick as a flash, a shadow leapt from the corner, causing Franklyn to back up in terror, his foot catching one of the misplaced tables in the junkyard of a front room. He toppled backwards, sending sheets of paper, and empty cans shooting through the room. The creature scurried back across the far room, the skin of Tabitha hanging loosely from its frame. Denham stomped in, unaware of the impending threat lurking in the shadows behind him.
‘You okay?’ he asked, reaching forward, wobbling slightly off balance.
‘Look out!’
Franklyn’s warning was too late, the horrific hybrid of beast and OAP leapt from the shadow, its hooked feet slamming into the side of Denham’s scarred head. Its sharp talons ripped more flesh, sending Denham hurtling through the walls and back into the outside world, followed by a downpour of broken, wooden shards. Then it turned.
Franklyn saw the creature that had killed Tabitha Rowe.
That had killed Kenneth Rowe.
And all the other decimated humans from the feeding ground.
With Tabitha’s face stretched horribly over its own, Franklyn now realised why she looked so ill the day before. This creature had butchered her and taken her skin, trying to hide from whatever horrors its own world held, and disguised itself as a human. Ken, in his old age, had assumed it was his wife’s age finally catching up with her. The creature stood, its black eyes shimmering in the sunlight that dared to peak through the cracks in the shutter.
Franklyn had its full attention.
It was that purposeful stare that had led him to the truth. Ken had said all the hearing aids were broken, that Tabitha could hear nothing. When Denham had sent the box of broken aids tumbling to the floor, they’d all turned in shock.
Including Tabitha.
It had bugged him for the whole day that something had been staring him in the face the entire time. Her corpse, with the surgical holes in the skull for her hearing device was the final clue.
Now it truly did stare him in the face.
Under the loose, wrinkled lip, it reared its teeth, a zig zag of razors that overlapped each other like an overstuffed bouquet. Franklyn scrambled back on his bottom, his hands trying desperately to drag him away but falling slick and useless in Ken’s blood. The sun burst through the hole in the side of the building, the motionless Denham lay in the wreckage of the wall.
The creature fell back on its haunches, the saggy breasts of Tabitha swinging low to the ground, gently tapping against the motionless, incomplete body of her husband. Franklyn scrambled desperately, before his back collided with the coffee table, the jingle of bottles, and mugs as they shook and fell to the floor.
The creature took two small bounds and then pounced towards him, its clawed tips ripping through the skin suit, its mouth open, ready to feast once more.
Franklyn slammed his eyes shut, accepted his death, and wondered one final time if Chloe could swim.
The sound of glass shattering filled the room, followed by the sound of metal ripping skin. The creature screamed in agony, its wail shaking Franklyn’s eyes open. It was ripped from the air, shooting backwards across the room and through the window, the glass shattering, and filling the air with a million twinkling shards.
It hit the ground outside, still screaming, the horrific creature ripping the skin of Tabitha to shreds as it struggled. Impaled through its left leg was a metal hook, separated into four that had burst through and latched in. The chain it was attached to was receding, the end of it rapidly disappearing into the golden clasp that adorned Argyle’s right arm.
Argyle stood powerfully, feet apart, his left hand clamped around his right elbow as he reeled the creature in like a prize fish. It thrashed wildly, trying its best to claw to freedom, the final remains of its human skin hung from it like a ripped T-shirt. Its skin was a coarse grey with small scales running across it in a wondrous pattern. Its body was compact, frail with elongated arms that gave it the look of a chimpanzee from hell. Its black eyes cried for help from its round head, the sides sprouting course, brown fur.
The shreds of Tabitha decorated the porch and surrounding ground.
After a few more moments, the creature resigned itself to its fate, its clawing stopped, and came to rest by the feet of Franklyn’s saviour. Franklyn pushed himself to his feet, respectfully took one final look at the butchered body of Ken and stumbled outside, still winded from his fall. Argyle was knelt beside the creature, a small vessel in his hand as he spoke in hushed tones. The creature whimpered underneath Argyle’s inaudible words, but Franklyn felt the power in what he was seeing. Sure enough, the creature slowly faded to an ashen smoke which filtered towards the trinket in Argyle’s gloved hands.
Within moments, it was gone.
Banished.
His jaw open, Franklyn watched as Argyle shook his head, slowly rising to his feet as the sun beamed down from the sky above. A few birds shot over head, their joyous song the first indication that the world wasn’t ending just yet. As the horror began to fade and he stepped into the sunshine, Franklyn stopped at the bottom of the steps and caught Argyle’s eye. For a minute they stood there, Franklyn eternally grateful that Argyle had saved his life.
It would be the first time of countless to come.
A groan echoed from the side of the chalet and Franklyn scurried round to the wreckage to find Denham slowly pushing himself to his knees, two large gashes ran from temple to chin. Franklyn looked at him uneasily.
‘Be honest.’ Denham spoke through pain stricken, gritted teeth. ‘How bad is it?’
‘Put it this way.’ Franklyn smiled. ‘You were an ugly bastard to begin with.’
Denham grinned and reached a hand up to Franklyn, who, with all his might, helped him clamber to his feet. Denham slapped him once again on the back, his hand rocking his spinal cord.
‘You’re all right, Bermuda. You know that?’
Before Franklyn could contest the nickname once more, Denham shot a furious glance to the front of the house, where Argyle stood, hands behind his back, shoulders forward.
A soldier ready for duty.
Franklyn stepped forward to inform Denham how Argyle had saved his life, that there was no need to reach for the blade but was stopped by Denham’s hand. Begrudgingly, Denham turned his slashed face towards Argyle, locked onto him with his one good eye and curtly nodded.
A thank you.
The best one Argyle would ever get.
Argyle nodded, before raising a fist to his chest in salute, which Denham ignored. As the sun bellowed down upon the woods, Argyle turned, and headed back towards the unknown, leaving Franklyn with Denham, a mutilated corpse, a broken house, and a few curious neighbours heading down the gravel path to investigate.
Franklyn slowly lifted a cigarette to his lips, lit it, and let it hand i
n his smile.
Life was about to get very interesting.
EPILOGUE
Franklyn sat on the edge of his bed, feet planted on the floor and his eyes firmly on the leather card holder in his hands. Resting over his knee, they held his new BTCO ID, assuring him that it would be wildly respected by all authorities. He stared at his picture, not even recognising the purpose that emanated from his own eyes. Pushing himself off the edge of the bed, he walked across the BTCO chamber to the mirror that sat neatly above the sink.
He blew out his cheeks nervously, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. A few flicks of the thumb and he lifted it to his stubbled face.
‘Hello?’ Angela’s voice was full of curiosity.
‘Hi, Ange.’ He felt his words choking. ‘It’s me.’
‘I told you not to call …’
‘Don’t hang up,’ Franklyn begged. ‘I just wanted to say I’m sorry.’
Silence. Franklyn shuffled on the spot uncomfortably, reaching out to the small cup by the tap and fiddled with his tooth brush. Fresh black ink poked out from under his shirt sleeve, the first of a number of tattoo’s he’d planned to get based on Denham’s drawings and advice. The skin was crusting, slathered with Bepanthen, and just a little sore. As the silence reached unbearable levels, Angela cleared her throat.
‘Sorry for what?’
‘I know I’ve scared you. For a long time. And they may have declared me sane, but I know that it’s not enough. I’m not calling you to make your life harder. God knows I’ve done plenty of that already.’ He could feel her smile. ‘I just wanted to say that you’re a hell of a mother to our Chloe and Ian seems like a good guy.’
‘He really is.’ Angela hammered home the point, like a thin nail through Franklyn’s heart.
‘I know. But I want you to at least think about the idea of me seeing her.’
‘Franklyn, we spoke about this and I just don’t—’
‘…Think it’s safe, yeah I get that. But, Ange, she is my daughter. And while you never believed in the monsters or the other world I told you about, you have to believe how much I love her.’
Another awkward silence before Angela hummed her agreement. Franklyn continued.
‘I’ll wait as long as I have to, and I will do whatever it takes to be part of her life. All of this is for her.’
Franklyn stared into his reflection, knowing that he’d never spoken truer words in his life. The reason he’d walked back to the BTCO in the first place. The reason he’d trained for three months and was nearly mutilated by a crazy demon in the skin of an old lady. The reason he was about to start his life, monitoring a world that no one else knew about.
All of it to keep Chloe safe.
‘Good luck, Franklyn.’
With that, Angela hung up, leaving him to stare dejectedly at his phone. The background image was of Chloe as a baby, the only photo he had of her. Allowing the sadness to wash over him, he straightened his shirt, and headed to the door, bursting out into the bright, white corridors that tunnelled beneath The Shard like an ant colony. A few suits marched past, heads down, not even acknowledging him. He shrugged, wondering if they were close colleagues of Montgomery Black.
Black was a long since retired agent and chairman of The Committee, the overseeing authority of the BTCO. Or, as Denham called it, a group of old, angry wankers. It was Black who had reprimanded both Denham and Vincent for allowing an inexperienced agent to take on a case and had also fined Franklyn for complaints from both Centre Parcs and the assets team, due to his disregard of the ‘No Smoking’ policy.
Black had gone as far as calling him a disgrace who wouldn’t last a week.
A hell of a confidence boost.
As he marched down the corridor, he turned the corner towards the elevators, raising his eyebrows with surprise as Vincent and Denham stood by the button. Both creatures were created in another world, but they couldn’t have been more different. Yet Franklyn knew, they’d both gone above and beyond to get him ready for this day.
To give him his purpose.
Vincent stood, his clasped hands covered by the baggy sleeves of his gown like a wizard and his face completely emotionless.
‘I must say, Jones, you’ve surprised me.’ Franklyn smiled at Vincent’s kind words. ‘I was certain you would have quit before now.’
Franklyn scoffed at the jibe and called for the lift. As it roared into life and plummeted below the earth, Franklyn patted Vincent on the shoulder. The Neither looked shocked, confirming to Franklyn that he wasn’t wearing his latch stone.
‘Thanks, Vinnie. I appreciate the confidence.’
The doors pinged open and the metallic cube beckoned Franklyn in with a promise of daylight. Suddenly, the massive palm of Denham clapped against his spine, shunting him into the container. He collided with the back wall, only just steadying himself with his hands.
‘Go get ’em, Bermuda.’ Denham smiled.
‘That’s not sticking,’ Franklyn retorted, knowing full well it had. The nickname was growing on him, but it was the budding respect and friendship between himself and Denham that was the cause of his own smile.
‘Just don’t trust your new partner.’ Denham sneered. ‘Oh, and don’t die.’
Franklyn lifted his middle finger, to which Denham howled with a muscular laugh that echoed down the corridors like a tidal wave. The doors began to slide shut and the smooth, motionless face of Vincent turned to him.
‘Remember, Jones … Two worlds …’
‘One peace. Yeah, yeah,’ Franklyn mockingly replied, before the doors connected, sealing off the bizarre world beneath London and shooting him upwards. He bypassed the ground floor and the truck load of tourists, all impatiently waiting to see the capital from above. He shot past the gift shop and the countless other businesses that comprised the tall, glass structure which shimmered in the warm, London sunshine. He eventually alighted on the viewing platform on the sixty-ninth floor, noting he’d never get over his immaturity at that number.
He walked towards the brightness, the floor to ceiling windows giving way to a breathtaking view of the city below. A city swarming with darkness, in a world entrenched in another. As his converse clapped against the marble floor, he saw Ottoway standing to the far side, his withered, wrinkled hand pointing out towards Wembley Stadium. Next to him, stood Argyle. The picture of nobility, with his hands clasped behind his back, resting neatly on the massive blade that was strapped to his spine.
Argyle was humouring the elderly chairman, who, as Franklyn approached, was discussing the sheer euphoria of the nineteen sixty-six World Cup final. Argyle turned as Franklyn approached, his grey eyes radiated a welcome.
‘Hey, big guy.’ Franklyn offered, nodding to Argyle who responded in kind. Ottoway turned, a smile stretched across his saggy face.
‘Franklyn!’ He exclaimed. ‘Or should I say, Bermuda?’
‘No, you shouldn’t.’
‘Bermuda?’ Argyle asked, an eyebrow raised.
‘It’s just a dumb nickname.’ Franklyn shrugged, patting down his pockets before retrieving a box of Tic Tacs. He popped two into his mouth before turning back to Ottoway, who slid a brown folder from the inside of his jacket.
‘Well, Bermuda. Here it is. Your first case as a full agent.’ He stopped as if expecting a reaction but continued when none was forthcoming. ‘Three separate railway engineers have failed to report to their shifts a day after they worked on the connecting tunnel out of Bank Station. Off you pop.’
Ottoway handed the file to Franklyn and patted him on the back. He nodded to Argyle too.
‘Also, if you hadn’t already guessed it. Argyle is going to be your partner. I hear he has already saved your life.’ He turned to Argyle and raised his eyebrows. ‘Have fun.’
The two partners watched as the elderly man ambled his way back towards the lifts, the tip of his cane clicking against the shiny, immaculately polished floor. As he disappeared into the corridor, Frankl
yn turned back towards the incredible view of London. The world was moving by at a breakneck speed, with the roads, and pavements a hub of activity. Each of the thousands of buildings was full, the rat race of life in full effect.
After a few moments of amazement, he remembered the incredible warrior stood beside him, knowing he wasn’t going to be facing the darkness that hid behind the curtain on his own.
For the first time in a long time, he felt safe.
With a smile taking his lips hostage, Franklyn made peace with the fact that he’d be known as ‘Bermuda’ going forward.
Argyle stood proud beside him, the city of London a safer place under his watchful gaze.
After a few more moments, Franklyn broke the silence.
‘Hey, I never thanked you for saving my life.’
Argyle turned to him, the confusion across his face told Franklyn that he’d probably never felt gratitude before.
‘You are welcome. It is my duty to protect you, Bermuda.’
Franklyn smirked, noticing the playful tone in Argyle’s voice. He turned back to take in the view one last time.
‘I bet you a fiver you won’t ever have to again.’
THE END
DOORWAYS
Bermuda Jones Casefile 1
DOORWAYS
ROBERT ENRIGHT
For Ford Dainty and John Baker,
Gone but never forgotten.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
Bermuda Jones Casefiles Box Set Page 9