Bermuda Jones Casefiles Box Set

by Robert Enright

  Was he really thinking about proposing soon?

  He knew his Mother would be ecstatic—the thought of her only child starting a family with such an incredible woman would cause her to overflow with emotion.

  His dad, strict and retired military, would shake his hand. He knew his career in IT hadn't exactly made his father proud, but he knew that having Carla on his arm had garnered a few nods of acceptance.

  Yes, he would propose.

  The decision was so huge; he wanted to tell her about it and chuckled at having this little secret. His eyes shot about and eventually landed on the ring. To anyone else, it would have been just another golden hoop in a row of hundreds more.

  But to him it jumped out.

  It demanded his attention.

  Thin and understated, it displayed one jewel, a white diamond that glittered gracefully in the shop lighting. His heart began to flutter as he imagined sliding it onto her perfect finger, completing a hand he would hold for the rest of his life.

  'Boo!'

  Carla's whisper hit his ears, causing him to jump. She laughed playfully.

  'Why are you so jumpy?'

  'Sorry. Was in a world of my own,' he replied, smiling and running a nervous hand through his thick, curly brown hair.

  'What you looking for?' she asked with interest, peeking over his shoulder at the expensive rows before them.

  'Just a new watch.'

  He smiled convincingly enough for a frown to fall on hers, her hopes of jewellery seeming quashed for now. She sighed, two shopping bags swung from her hand as she linked his arm. She looked at Kevin and smiled, his dopey face causing her to squeeze him tighter.

  'Where to next?' Kevin asked, knowing their shopping trip to Shepherd’s Bush was far from over.

  'Well, I wanted to pop into Top Shop to see about those shoes. Then I thought maybe we could stop for some food?'

  'Sound's good to me. I'm starving. What do you fancy? Cheeky Nando's?

  'Babe, it's not cheeky if you plan it.'

  They chuckled, walking through a sea of consumerism, waves of people crashing through shop doors and flooding them with purchases. The faint sound of a trashy pop song could be heard, doing its best to float between the thousands of voices of happy shoppers.

  They walked silently, Carla scanning the windows of shops, ranking the fashion choices bestowed upon the mannequins that posed awkwardly. Kevin was trying his hand at quick maths, working out a saving plan for the huge decision he had just made.

  The sign above stopped him.

  TOILET.

  'Oh, hang on a sec. I need a pee.'

  Carla playfully rolled her eyes as he let her go, shuffling beside an elderly couple as he made his way towards gents. She watched him pass the vending machines, as well as the large queue of people waiting to pay for their parking tickets before they tried their best to tackle the London traffic.

  She did not see the large man in the top hat, whose jet-black eyes had followed her boyfriend the entire walk.

  She did not see him follow him through the door, into the restroom.

  Nobody did.

  She did not know that he would never return.

  A loud thud against the front door drew Bermuda from his fiery dream, pushing himself up from the desk he had slumped over. Empty cans of Doombar clattered to the floor as he hoisted himself upwards, paper and files strewn erratically around the desk.

  He had no idea what the time was; the only thing resonating with him was his ever-growing hangover, his brain on a conquest to escape his skull. The moment he saw Argyle, he knew what had happened.

  Another stolen.

  In a silence that only amplified their failure, Argyle waited whilst Bermuda got ready. After a shower, coffee, and a few smokes, the BTCO agent was out of the door, the brisk spring breeze returning and ensuring his long black coat made a reappearance.

  Argyle walked beside his partner, carefully dodging the pedestrians that lined Bushey High Street as Bermuda ventured to the shop before heading to his car. He could sense the pain in his partner, the lack of patience he seemed to have and the bags around the eyes. He understood, the notion of sadness, and could only sympathise with the human race for being brought to such a sad extreme it results in actual tears.

  Pain so hard it manifests physically.

  Bermuda had spoken no more than a greeting as he roughly ripped the plastic off of his cigarettes, lighting one up and coughing out a cloud of poisonous smoke. He thought of his sister's words, the answering machine message that did its best to rearrange his heart through a million breaks.

  'You seem distracted,' Argyle pointed out, standing a few feet away from and towering over Bermuda.

  'I'm fine.'

  'Do you wish to speak about your feelings?'

  Bermuda spluttered a little, smoke etching its way from his stunted chuckle.

  'No offence, Big Guy, but I don't think you would understand.'

  'Is it about a personal matter?'

  Bermuda gave a warm grin, a sign of appreciation to his warrior friend. He puffed a few more times before obliterating the cigarette against a wall.

  'Argyle, I'll tell you what. When we catch Barnaby, send his arse back to the Otherside along with a few broken ribs in a form of payback, you can get me on the couch for a whole fucking session.'

  They stopped walking as Bermuda pulled the door open, his Honda Civic welcoming him with a musky smell of stale nicotine. He dropped into the seat and slammed the door shut. Reversing out of his space, he drew the window down, his eyes meeting Argyle's. The genuine concern they emanated made Bermuda question how alone he was in the world.

  'See you there, Big Guy.'

  As he raced up Bushey High Street, Bermuda laughed at the hand life had dealt him. He had a child. He had friends. Yet the closest person to him was from a different world entirely.

  He turned off of the high street and hurtled towards London to revel in his own failure.

  It took a little over an hour to reach Shepherd’s Bush, the traffic growing in stature as he inched ever closer to the Capitol's centre. The concrete jungle that surrounded him was alive with movement, people scuttling everywhere like a human ant farm. Not far from the Westfield’s Shopping Centre was Loftus Road, the football ground of Queen's Park Rangers. Luckily for Bermuda, the streets weren't awash with a blue-and-white striped traffic jam.

  Further along was the BBC Head Office, a beehive of multimedia activity that did an adequate job of providing a service paid for by the British public. Bermuda slowly pulled into the parking lot that accompanied the Westfield’s, eventually finding a space after navigating the narrow floors and incompetent drivers.

  Bermuda took in the enormous shopping centre as he entered, recalling a visit with Ange a few years ago when it had first opened. Shopping wasn't exactly a keen pastime, and the idea of being swept up in the avalanche of needless consumerism wasn't one he held favourably. As he stood with his hands on his hips, watching the world slither in and out of shops, his focus was broken by the bass of Argyle's commanding voice.

  'Humanity’s obsession with money is incredible.'

  Bermuda nodded slowly, popping two Tic Tacs into his mouth.

  'I'm not going to argue on that one.'

  They both walked through the crowds, Argyle carefully weaving in and out of random groups of people and swinging shopping bags. Bermuda scouted the area, questioning why any place on Earth would need three of the same All Saints stores. On the first floor, just beyond the escalator, was where they needed to be.

  As they slowly ascended, Bermuda sighed deeply as he reached into his jean pocket for the badge that never worked, prepping himself for the same discussion he always had with the law.

  He approached the first police officer with a look of residual rejection.

  'Hello there. Special Agent Franklyn Jones, I believe you are expecting me.'

  'Ah, Agent Jones. We have been waiting for you. I'm Sergeant Matthews. Right this wa
y.'

  The senior officer strode quickly towards the toilets, leaving a bemused Bermuda standing, his mouth wide open in shock.

  It had never worked before.

  'Are you coming?' Matthews asked, raising his eyebrows in confusion.

  'Yeah. Sorry.' Bermuda followed. 'What's the situation?'

  'Kevin Brecker. Twenty-eight. Out shopping with his partner, Carla Peters. Goes to take a leak, doesn't come back.'

  The sergeant stopped as they approached the corridor towards the lavatories, the surrounded area taped off, police chattering with intrigued shoppers. A few SOCOs danced in and out of the doorway to the gents’, their white suits and masks adding a thin layer of excitement for the viewing public. On the few benches that lay opposite a GAP store, a weeping woman was seated, her eyes overflowing with mascara-laden tears and a paramedic taking a few tests to ensure her panic would subside.

  'That Carla?' Bermuda asked, knowing the answer.

  'Yup.' Matthew leant in, his voice reduced to a mere whisper. 'If you ask me, the guy bolted.'

  'What? He ran?'

  'Come on. She said they were looking at rings at the jewellers. Probably shit him up and he made a break for it.'

  'Did she see him leave the toilet?' Bermuda asked, his eyes drawn to Argyle's hulking presence as he scanned the area, his gargantuan arms simmering, preparing to act at any moment.

  'Well, she said she watched him go in and then waited right there watching the door.'

  'So she would have seen him,' Bermuda stated, trying to end the lazy trail of thought.

  'Perhaps. Unless she was Facebooking or whatnot.'

  The sergeant chuckled, nudging Bermuda in his broken ribs with a bony elbow that sent an explosion of searing agony through Bermuda and made him immediately wish he had been rejected from the crime scene.

  'Bermuda.'

  He spun, the unmistakeable voice of Barnaby whispered nearby, coiling itself around his head like a snake before evaporating. With a degree of fear, Bermuda spun a few more times, his eyes frantically searching the crowd of people, looking for the black eyes, the top hat.

  For anything.

  Nothing.

  Suddenly, a hand grasped his elbow and he jumped.

  'Jesus,' Matthews retorted, jumping himself. 'Did you want to see the crime scene?'

  Ghostly pale, Bermuda nodded. With careful steps and a watchful eye, he slowly trudged behind the commanding officer, following him towards the toilets. As he walked, Argyle's muscular frame loomed over him.

  'Are you okay?'

  'Yeah.' He scanned the crowd once more. 'Have a feeling he is here right now. Watching us. Goading us.'

  'I do not share your worry. I cannot sense his presence amongst your kind and my own in this facility.'

  'Don’t you get it, Big Guy?' Bermuda stopped, looking up at his partner with a warm, sympathetic gaze. 'He is something else entirely now.'

  The words hung between with menace, a damning realisation of how powerful of an adversary Barnaby was becoming. Bermuda continued down the hallway, past the vacant ticket and vending machines before entering the facilities.

  The white, shiny floor was awash with forensic gear, the whole team scouring every inch of the bathroom, a few unluckily scanning the often-used urinals in search of a clue. The two cubicles were being dusted down, a hopeful SOCO believing they would find at least one breadcrumb.

  They wouldn't.

  Bermuda knew this was Barnaby.

  He had felt eyes on him since he stepped into the shopping centre. Never out in the open, but the eyes lurking from beyond the shadows. The vicious entity existing in the gaps left between people's movements. The final consequence just waiting whilst he played with his humans like pawns.

  Suddenly, a crackle from Matthews's radio brought Bermuda back into the situation, the sergeant excusing himself before making a swift exit, almost colliding with Argyle as they passed.

  'He was here,' Bermuda said, not even turning to his partner.

  'I agree.' The grey eyes covered the walls, searching for a sign. 'But where?'

  Bermuda slowly stepped forward. Carefully treading around the SOCOs as they worked, he approached the first bathroom cubicle. He sighed. Sure enough, on the inside of the divider, the same jagged symbol he had found before.

  An Arko Feld.

  A Gate-Maker.

  Bermuda shook his head, fighting back the anger of being too late again. There was no way of knowing. No set pattern that Barnaby was using, no selection process for those that he stole.

  He had no answer.

  Slowly, he felt his arm reaching forward, his fingertips waggling slightly as they yearned for the indent. With every fibre of his being he retracted his arm, unable to stop the contact his fingertips made with the burnt symbol. Instantly he could feel the Otherside, the darkness of its world trying its best to lasso him, wrap him up and drag him through.

  'Bermuda.'

  Argyle's voice boomed from outside the cubicle, severing the connection. Panicked, Bermuda stumbled backwards out of the cubicle, knowing that Kevin Brecker unsuspectingly walked into that cubicle and was now lost between worlds, his essence now residing in the swirling evil that was Barnaby.

  As he stumbled backwards, Bermuda almost collided with an SOCO, apologizing with stuttered words.

  Argyle's massive frame blocked the other cubicle doorway, his sword shimmering in the light that rained down above them.

  'You might want to see this.' Argyle spoke, taking a few steps back to allow Bermuda entrance. He obliged, entering the cubicle.

  He saw what no one else had so far.

  What Argyle had called him to see.

  Smeared on the wall, in crude, dripping letters, Bermuda had his answer. Barnaby was mocking him.

  Goading him.

  He stared at the tiles above the toilet, his fist clenching with rage at what he saw.

  'Keep up, Bermuda. Keep up.'

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  'Bermuda, where are you going?'

  Argyle's voice boomed through the cordoned area of the shopping centre, the deep bass of his words reaching only Bermuda. Ignoring the question, Bermuda stomped through the cordon, ripping the tape and colliding with the agitated on looking crowd.

  As a few people gasped or muttered, Bermuda ignored the clattering of his broken ribs, the excruciating agony of injuries received for a world that didn't care. Breaking free from the group, he stomped towards a balcony, his hands grasping the pole and squeezing until his knuckles turned white.

  He was failing.

  'What is the matter?' Argyle's calm voice followed him. Bermuda shook his head.

  'You just don't get it, do you, Argyle?'

  'What is the ‘it’ that I need to retrieve?' Argyle stood proudly, his words sincere.

  'For fuck’s sake. There is no it. We have got people going missing and we can't fucking stop it.'

  'It is our duty to...'

  'Fuck our duty! Our duty is to stop the Otherside taking over this side, and right now I have as much to go on as anyone else walking in this building.'

  Bermuda shook with anger, ignoring the increasing number of eyes that had latched onto him, onlookers stopping to investigate the commotion.

  'Then we will find him.'

  'Don't you see, Argyle? He has found us.' With an erratic rage, Bermuda pointed to the nearby crowd. 'He is here, watching us. Fucking laughing at us.'

  A group of teenagers sniggered to the side, a few of them filming this one-man breakdown before them.

  'You are upset.' Argyle tried to reach out towards Bermuda, who batted his arm away in anger.

  'I'm not upset, Argyle. I am scared.' Bermuda shook his head, accepting the onlookers and their perceived judgement. 'Scared that this is one step too far for us.'

  Solemnly, Bermuda began to walk towards the exit, people quickly stepping aside, their fear of a crazy man apparent. Argyle took a few steps to stand directly behind his partner before reaching out
with his booming voice.

  'You are just scared. It's what you humans do. You get scared and you act out of character. You think everything is coming to an end and you don't know how to handle it.'

  Bermuda slowly turned to face his partner, his eyes watering as he heard his own words repeated back to him. Argyle, his concern evident across his face, continued.

  'But when you calm down, it's not so bad. Usually the solution is right there and it just takes a little perspective.'

  Nodding in agreement, Bermuda wiped his eye with the back of his sleeve. He took a few deep breaths, which rocked his broken ribs, before offering Argyle a forced smile.

  'There is no solution. Not this time.'

  With the grey, pupil-less eyes of Argyle watching him, Bermuda turned and continued to the exit. As he passed the rows of designer shops, he could feel the eyes of hundreds of people, all of them backing away and concerned for his mental strength.

  He refused to look up.

  He could feel one set, amongst the crowd, daring him to.

  They burnt straight through him.

  The black eyes of Barnaby.

  The lift doors opened, several feet below the Shard, and Argyle slowly walked out. His head down and shoulders hunched, the warrior carried the look of a man defeated. The empty hallways of the BTCO headquarters felt tiny, slowly closing in on him.

  Bermuda had given up hope.

  It was a rare feeling for Argyle, to feel genuine pain at the thought of another person. However, since being teamed with Bermuda, he had found himself genuinely caring for his partner. The sacrifices the man had made, not just for the good of the world but for the good of his family, were astonishing.

  Argyle was honoured to protect him.

  The sword swung slowly from its clasp, gliding across his powerful back with each step. The sheer number of his own kind that had met the end of the blade would mean he would never be accepted back.

  Never be able to cross that threshold again.