'Hello, handsome.'
Jet-black eyes peered back as the Other raced through the doorway. Running on all fours like a beast of prey, it was completely black, its back covered in gothic-looking spikes, shards of its spine that had grown through its otherworldly skin. Hanging from its open mouth were long, sharp teeth that mirrored the claws that framed its beastly hands.
As it bounded towards Bermuda, he slipped his coat to the side to reveal his weapon, a tomahawk which he whipped up from the latch with a quick spin. The hoarder raced towards him and leapt, and Bermuda dropped to the ground and swung up.
The screech of pain shot through the house, cracking the windowpanes throughout. Outside, the two officers were quickly calling for backup, panic-stricken at the carnage they could see from the driveway below.
The hoarder latched onto the wall, a large wound across its chest as it crawled across the stored body of William Cartwright. His wife looked on in despair, seeing only Bermuda, watching him rolling on the floor. She watched as he got to his feet, spinning the wooden handle of the small axe, the head a material she had never seen.
Otherworldly.
The hoarder was clearly feral; one of the more beast-like Others that had escaped to our side. It roared again at Bermuda, its thick claws clattering against the wall as it raced around the room.
'Are you ready, Argyle?' Bermuda yelled, spinning on the spot to keep the beast in his eye line.
'Ready.' Argyle raised his arm, the metal band around his wrist aimed straight at the monster. Resting atop it was a thick spike, attached to a metal chain that disappeared within it. The Retriever.
The Other bounded off the wall to the floor and then leapt again at Bermuda, its mighty claws cutting through the hurtling wind. Bermuda spun to his left, dropping to one knee, and swung his tomahawk. The metal, forged on ‘the Otherside', ripped through the back of the hoarder's leg. It roared again in agony, falling to the floor and shaking the room on impact.
Eleanor stood completely still thanks to Argyle. Without hesitation, Argyle shot the Retriever, the sharp metal racing off his arm with marksman’s precision. The spike burst through the damaged leg, ripping out the other side and spraying a grey blood across the floor. Instantly, the spike opened out into four sections, hooking back round and locking itself inside the leg of the hoarder.
It mustered a whimper of anguish before finally relenting, rolling onto its side in resignation. Bermuda stood, latching his tomahawk back to his belt before taking careful steps towards the defeated visitor. As suspected, attached to the front of its stomach was a small blue rock known as a latch stone. Found on the Otherside, it allowed the Other who possessed it to combine itself with our world. To latch onto it.
When in possession, the Other could physically interact with humans, an ability that the BTCO only wanted reserved for its Neithers. Without one, Argyle would not have been able to protect Eleanor, who stood in complete confusion. The wind howled through the shattered windows, causing the broken doors to creak on rickety hinges.
The glass crunched under Bermuda's feet as he took his final steps before reaching down and removing the stone with a hard tug. Instantly, all four inhabitants of the wall fell to the ground, their captivity over. As their bodies crashed against the hard, wooden floor, Eleanor screamed in horror. Out of nowhere, her husband and dog had returned to her.
From thin air.
With confused steps, she shuffled through the glass to the elderly man on the floor, proof that the painting above the fireplace was a few years old. He slowly began to stir, a wrinkled hand speckled with brown spots reached up to cradle a head that was frosted with white hair. Laura and Cordelia were both starting to move, the confusion of their disappearance soon coming. Bailey sprung to life first, bounding towards Eleanor, who carefully accepted his welcome.
'Banish him,' Bermuda said to Argyle and watched intently. Argyle, with the grace of a true solider, bowed down to one knee and held a small relic above the fallen Other. He muttered words of a distant language, a speech that Bermuda knew he would never understand. The blades retracted into the spike and slid automatically back up the chain before returning to rest on Argyle's wrist.
The fallen Other turned slowly, a slow, painful groan escaped it as it slowly began to disappear, a small trail of black smoke rising from its chest and into the open relic in Argyle's grip.
The rattle of Tic Tacs, and Bermuda popped another one into his mouth as Argyle finished his sermon, the beast on the floor finally disappearing as the last trail of smoke filtered in. Argyle snapped the lid shut and attached it to the grand belt that wrapped around his waist. It would be deposited when he returned to HQ.
'Let's go home, Argyle.' Bermuda smiled, his trainers crunching the glass. His partner nodded, his face etched with a slight sadness that always accompanied a banishment. Sometimes Bermuda mused that Argyle was more human than anyone else on Earth.
As they crossed the threshold of the door, Eleanor yelled out to them.
'Thank you. Thank you so much.'
Bermuda turned back and smiled. The old lady was kneeling beside her husband, cradling him as he awoke from a dream he never had. Bailey circled them excitedly, his tongue hanging out of his mouth as he panted. Laura had gotten to her feet and was bent over and helping Cordelia. Bermuda nodded to Eleanor, whose wrinkled face, splashed with tears of happiness, returned one in kind.
The front steps and driveway of the house were littered with the odd shard of glass; the windows at the front of the building had cracked or broken. Instantly the two officers strode towards him, their faces a mixture of anger, fear, and confusion. The younger, brasher one took the lead.
'What the hell happened in there?' he demanded angrily, pointing towards the large home. Bermuda just kept walking, his head down and the gravel scraping. The elder policeman hurriedly walked towards the door of the house, speaking rapidly into his radio. 'Hey, I asked you a question!'
Bermuda reached his car and then turned back, the wind sweeping the hair from his forehead.
'I found them.'
He swung open the door and dropped into the driver’s seat as the young officer looked round in bewilderment at the emergence of Laura and Cordelia from the house. His colleague gently helped them down the steps and he took one last, cautious look at Bermuda before jogging over to assist. Bermuda turned the key and the engine roared into life as Argyle approached the car. After clicking in his seatbelt, Bermuda pressed the button and his window slid down with a faint hum.
'You owe me a tenner.'
He smiled upwards at Argyle, who responded with a less-than-impressed look. Bermuda smirked as the window began to climb again.
'I'll stick it on the tab.'
With a small spray of gravel, he drove off back down the driveway and into the night.
CHAPTER TWO
The large, red bus slowly rattled to a stop, jolting slightly at some poor brake-work from the driver. Jess Lambert jolted from her drunken doze, startled by the sudden jerk. She looked out of the window on the upper deck at the streets below, her eyes fuzzy with the final strands of sleep clutching at her. It took a few moments before she realised that she still had a few more stops, the 343 bus making its final route of the night towards Peckham in southeast London.
Dressed in a tight-fitting red dress, she adjusted on her seat and rested her head against the glass. Scanning the bus, she saw an old man, his hands firmly clasping his carrier bag that swung between his legs. Sat further down, a young lad, no more than twenty, was fast asleep. She could almost see the alcoholic aroma wafting from him.
She sighed, closing her eyes again, and smiled.
The launch party for a new designer perfume she had attended was a step in the right direction. Employed as one of the show models, she was actually starting to feel like she could have a career in modelling. She was approached when she was eighteen, attending university to gain a degree in English. With flowing blond hair that cascaded down her defined
face, she was aware that she garnered a lot of attention. Whilst doing small modelling jobs to help pay her way through university, she signed up with Vision, a fast-rising talent agency in London, as soon as she graduated. Now, aged twenty-six, she was starting to make a name for herself, performing at catwalk shows and launch parties for some high-profile clients.
She sighed, regretting the few extra cocktails she had drunk at the after-party, but the excitement of mixing with TV personalities and musicians overwhelmed her. Rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous of London was why she moved to the city after graduation—the chance to live a life of luxury that teaching wouldn't have brought her.
Her phone buzzed in her designer handbag, a warning that her battery was critically low. She also had a message, sent at just after midnight from her best friend, Sophie Summers.
Sorry Jess, had to leave. God that guy was a dick!! Enjoy the rest of the party and don't do anything too naughty. ;) xx
She smiled. She had met Sophie on her first day at Vision and they bonded straight away. The same age as her, Sophie wasn't as tall as Jess but she was strikingly beautiful. Her dark, flowing hair was offset by her piercing brown eyes that were tinged with flecks of green. Her cheekbones were sharp and rested above gorgeous dimples when she flashed her beaming smile. Jess thought of her previous best friends and how they had almost turned their noses up at her pursuing a modelling career. Not Sophie.
Sophie went with her to auditions and attended all of her events. Jess did likewise, offsetting the quieter periods of work by temping in local offices. Their two-bedroom flat, which sat on the third floor of a building surrounded by a gorgeous courtyard of fresh flowers and well-kept trees, was slightly more expensive than she would have liked to have paid. But now, especially with this recent modelling contract, she was beginning to enjoy the more lavish lifestyle she was leading. Jess then cursed herself for being prudent, knowing a cab journey, although more expensive, would have meant she would have been home already. Old habits die hard.
She sat up straight and her fingers began clicking on the screen of her phone, and within a few moments a message was sending its way to her best friend.
Haha. I want to hear all about it. Just about to get off the bus so will be home soon xx.
She smiled, but then shuffled uncomfortably on her seat. Another message was sent to Sophie.
Really need to pee! :(
As soon as the message sent, her screen flickered to black and she was greeted with a no power icon. She tutted and dropped her phone into her bag. She ran a hand through her hair, making a note to wash it in the morning.
The bus turned a corner and drove down Peckham High Street, all of the shops dark and the shutters down. A few drunk civilians wandered aimlessly up the street, their footsteps anything but synchronized. A few cars sped past in the opposite direction, their headlights interrupting her half sleep. She opened her eyes, realised where they were and then pressed the button. A shrill ding echoed through the bus, notifying the driver of her exit at the next stop.
She took a final look around the bus; the old man had left at a previous stop without her realising. The young drunkard had slid further down his seat, waiting to be woken when the bus came to its final stop however many stops beyond his destination. The bus slowly pulled into the bus stop just beyond Peckham Rye Station and she carefully stepped up, her feet and calves killing her from the heels she had cruelly strapped to her own feet.
The doors hissed and opened as Jess waved her thanks and stepped off, the briskness of the spring night time catching her by surprise. She fished her cardigan from her bag and wrapped it around her, the effect minimal.
The road was dead quiet; the only noise was the reducing hum of the bus’s engine as it disappeared further up the road. A few lampposts illuminated the street, their light striking the roofs of the cars that lined the pavement. Jess wrapped her arms around her chest and began walking, her head down as the spring breeze whipped by. Her heels clopped against the pavement as she took extra-special care to navigate the crooked concrete as the night’s worth of alcohol suddenly hit her. She stopped briefly outside a grand house, the wall providing perfect support as she hunched over, feeling the impending burst of vomit on its way. She composed herself, resisting the want to throw up, at least until she got home, and turned left onto a small street.
It was another ten minutes to Garland House where Soph would undoubtedly greet her with a cup of tea, toast, and stories of the TV star that she ditched at the party. She willed herself to get home quicker and then stopped as she noticed a small walkway that cut through two blocks of flats. Both buildings were over four stories high, and as she tried to peer through the darkness she could just make out the streetlights at the other end. As she squinted, she was sure she could see the front gates of Garland House.
She looked around; there was nobody on the streets. It was almost two thirty in the morning and over two hours since Sophie had sent her message. Her want to get home to the warmth of her flat and the safety of her best friend made her mind up for her.
She had no idea of the two jet-black eyes that were staring at her, willing her to enter the dark tunnel before her—the piercing stare that was urging her to step in and be one with the shadows.
As the wind blew her long blond hair behind her, she took a deep breath and stepped into the alleyway, hoping to be home soon.
He had sat and watched the world go by for hours. Watching as all the people—male, female, black, white—walked through the streets, all convinced that their existence was linked to some sort of importance. All certain that the world would miss them should they suddenly embrace the insignificance of their miserable lives.
The cars, powered by a resource that was destroying their world, whizzed by. Humans, wanting to see and experience the world without even a thought of the cost. That was what angered him most.
The arrogance of man.
A whole planet, an entire world, which they felt was their birthright to conquer. Their attitudes to animals, other inhabitants of the planet, that they slayed for food, even for sport. Yet the moment their puny race faced any type of threat, they see it as morally wrong.
Foolish people. An abhorrent race.
As he sat on the wall of the large home, he watched as the family walked through the gates. The male, with his fading hair and large stomach, eagerly encouraged a young boy as he hazardly wobbled on a bike. They soon disappeared from sight, which he found pleasing.
More instances of human interaction, all blindly walking past him, none of them aware of the power or danger his very attendance demanded. His dark, black eyes stared out, watching everything he despised. They sat in his sharp marble-like face. His skin, a faded grey, clung tightly to his otherworldly skull. Three large scars ran down one cheek, the physical reminders of the torture he suffered. The branding of an apparent 'traitor'. His escape from the Otherside was marvellous, ripping free of their shackles and leaving a trail of bodies all the way to the gates.
He had removed the guards’ heads as he passed through, a final gesture of contempt to the world that tried to lock him away. He shook the memory from his mind, his white hair swaying as it hung shabbily to the bottom of his neck.
Soon the sun retreated and the world became more familiar, the shadows painting themselves over the street with an aggressive beauty. He saw a few of his own kind, Others who had been granted asylum on this side of the gate. They filtered past pathetically; none of them dared to make eye contact with him.
He smiled, his razor-sharp teeth coming together like a broken zip. The Otherside knew who he was, and if Earth had any idea—if the humans could see—him then they would run too.
That time was fast approaching.
He reached a grey hand into the inside of his black suit, the blazer frayed at the edges from wear and tear. His long, spindly fingers wrapped round the latch stone that hung from his neck. His sharp nails dug into his skin, its thickness absorbing the pain.
Suddenly his head turned; the sound of high heels clicking against the pavement echoed throughout the street. He saw her and instantly knew she would be the one. He was in the correct place, as he had been for all of the others, and he watched as the blond woman carefully walked down the street.
Another puny human, intoxicated on a needless beverage that rendered them even more useless and pathetic. There would be some of them who would shed tears, but they should be thanking him for his work. His eradication of the vile stains of humanity. She leant over near a wall; he could see her back arching as she took deep breaths.
He sat, strumming his long nails against the brick that he rested his hand upon. He knew she couldn't see him as she slowly turned the corner, her focus on just keeping herself standing.
He pushed himself up off the wall and lifted his top hat that had sat next to him the entire time. As jet black as his suit, he dusted some flint from the brim and then rested it atop of his shabby hair. He took a few slow steps towards her, his eyes sparkling with anticipation as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the crudely carved device.
Another one for his collection.
He could almost feel her, how good it would be when she belonged to him.
She stopped still.
For a second he thought she had seen him, her eyes focused dead ahead of her where he stood. She then glanced towards the small alleyway, the dark tunnel where they would become one.
Where she would be his.
He readied himself, his hand grasping the sharp edges of his device, and as he prepared to snare her and the inevitable screaming and panic as she fought against a force she could not see begun, a smile spread across his face. Jagged teeth lit up by the fading lamppost above.
She willingly turned and walked into the alleyway.
He watched with delight as she stumbled between the two buildings, her handbag swinging from her arm. It was all too easy.
The previous eight had all been easy; the human race had no way of stopping what he was becoming. But this was being served up on a platter.
Bermuda Jones Casefiles Box Set Page 11