by R. E. Weber
‘Who never believed what, sweetheart?’
‘Theo, Dad.’
‘Ah, him. You’re still missing him, aren’t you?’
‘No Dad, it’s not that. It’s…. you know, all that stuff I told him, all that rubbish I said before he went. He didn’t believe it.’
‘But you don’t know that, do you?’
‘It’s all your fault,’ she said, suddenly angry. ‘You made me lie to him. All that I can see the future stuff, and I can feel when things are going to happen. He didn’t believe a word of it.’
‘How do you know, did he say that?’
‘No, Dad, he wouldn’t, would he? He’s too nice for that.’
‘So you don’t know for sure then, do you? You’ve got no proof?’
‘Would you believe it, Dad? If I had told you that one day, would you really have believed me?’
‘If it was you and nobody else but you, then yes, I would.’
Jules took another deep breath, then turned to her father.
‘What matters my darling,’ he continued, ‘is that you had to let him go. Let him follow his own path. You know that, don’t you?’
‘But I don’t even know where he’s gone, do I? And you told me not to ask him. He trusts me and he would’ve told me. But you stopped me asking him. Why, Dad, why?’
‘Didn’t he even drop a hint?’
‘All he said was that he was going to be living in a different time zone. That’s why he asked me to send the occasional email to his auntie – you know, so she believed he was in France when he wasn’t. He didn’t want to have to get up in the middle of the night and do it himself. But he…’
‘Look, it’s simple, darling,’ her father said, leaning over and putting his hand gently on her back. ‘You miss him. You are allowed to, you know. I think you’ve been bottling this up for so long, you don’t know how to let it go.’
‘I… I don’t know what to do, Dad?’ said Jules tearfully.
‘Just remember the good times you had together,’ he said handing her a tissue. ‘Remember how he made you laugh with his terrible jokes.’
‘I don’t think I’m ever going to see him again,’ said Jules, now sobbing uncontrollably.
Her father shuffled his chair towards her and wrapped his arm around her, squeezing tightly. ‘Well, wherever he is and whatever he’s doing, I’m sure he’s been thinking about you. And I bet he wouldn’t want you feeling like this, would he?’
‘Guess not,’ she said, rubbing her eyes and blowing her nose.
‘Dead right,’ said her father.
‘Dad?’ said Jules, looking her father directly in the eye.
‘Yes, darling?’
‘Do you know where he’s gone? Is that why you told me not to ask him?’
‘How would I know? We never really talked much, did we – me and Theo, I mean?’
‘No, I suppose not.’
They both sat in silence for a few moments, deep in thought.
‘Anyway you,’ her father said finally, gently patting her back before getting up. ‘This won’t do, will it? Why don’t we go out after lunch? It’s a lovely day.’
‘Yes, Dad,’ said Jules sniffing and wiping her nose. ‘That sounds nice.’
‘So where d’ya wanna go then? Down the park perhaps? I heard there was a fair on. Or what about the cinema?’
Jules thought for a moment. Then she turned to her father and smiled. ‘How about the bowling alley?’
‘Whatever you want. I’ll go and dig out my bowling shoes.’
‘Your bowling shoes? I don’t know why you even bought them. You never win.’
‘Hey, what are you saying, squirt? I’m the best.’
‘Yeah,’ said Jules. ‘I used to say that to Theo. He beat me every time.’
‘Well you’ve got to give an old man a chance,’ he said, holding out his hands as if pleading.
‘Never,’ said Jules, grinning as she wiped away her tears. ‘At last, somebody I can beat, every time. I ain't givin that up.’
‘Whatever you say, darling,’ said her father, happy that at last he’d seen a smile on his lovely daughter’s face. ‘Whatever you say.’
*
After her trip to the bowling alley, which she had very much enjoyed, Jules had gone up to her room after dinner, tired but also happier than she had been for some time.
As she lay on her bed with the rays of the setting sun peeping through her half-closed curtains, she noticed that her laptop was still on standby in the corner of the room. She rose from her bed, walked over to her desk, lifted up the screen and swiped the touch pad to bring it out of hibernation. Just as she was about to shut it down, she noticed that the forum she’d been logged onto earlier was indicating that somebody calling his or herself simply Frank, M.T, had opened an online chat session with her.
‘Bloody fruitcakes,’ Jules mumbled as she clicked on the chat window, readying herself to close it down and logoff. But when she looked at the message in the window, her interest was suddenly piqued:
Hi, Kings, J.
Do you want to know a secret? If so, then click on this link. But do not wait too long.
Frank.
Curiosity getting the better of her, she eagerly clicked on the link and her screen went blank. Then another message appeared with a flashing cursor:
Just one question, Kings, J. What is the man in the moon up to? _
Jules sat back for a moment, her eyes wide in surprise. Then she smiled to herself and began typing:
Gamma-ray bursts
For a few seconds, her screen went blank again. Then another message appeared:
Well done, Kings, J. Are you sure you want to go down this rabbit hole? _
Smiling to herself at the reference, both from a sci-fi movie and an old children’s book, she responded without a second thought and typed Yes. Another reply then appeared:
OK, so now you are here, I am guessing that you want to know what is going on – what is really going on. So I am going to tell you as much as I can.
Her heart thumping with excitement, she read on:
I am going to have to be vague, not because I want to be, but because they might be monitoring us. Any names or specific details could trigger their keyword searches. Well, the truth is that I have been somewhere. Somewhere amazing. Somewhere incredible. If I told you where, you would not believe me. When I arrived, they invited me to stay, but I could not because something felt wrong. I cannot explain it but I just felt like they were not telling me the truth, not the whole truth anyway. So I came back. I felt that my place was here, at home. I came back to help prepare us for what is to come, because things are going to change and we have to be ready.
Jules stared at the paragraph for a moment, unsure how to reply. The text of the response was strangely formal and precise, without shortcuts or slang. Was he just a crackpot or was there more going on here?
How do I know you’re telling the truth?
A short reply came back:
You do not.
Jules continued typing:
Then why should I believe you?
Because your mind is open. I have seen you on this site many times. You are looking for answers. For what, I do not know. Perhaps you have seen or read about something you cannot explain. Or something has happened to you or a friend. Either way, you are here because you want to know. You know the gamma-ray bursts on the moon mean something or we would not be discussing this now.
You said they were monitoring you. If that’s true, why have you set up a website? Won’t that draw attention to you?
Who is going to be interested in a conspiracy theorist like me? As long as they do not take me seriously, they will leave me alone.
Who are they?
I cannot tell you, not yet anyway.
OK, I get that you’ve got to be secretive, but you’re gonna have to give me more than that. I’ve lost a good friend to whatever this is. Isn’t there any way you can tell me more?
The
only way is to meet in person.
Meet? No offence but you could be anybody. You haven’t told me anything really. You could be making it all up. You might be a weirdo.
True. How can I convince you?
Tell me one thing. Something I can use. Anything.
That is going to be difficult without going into specific details.
If you can’t give me any more, then this conversation is over.
OK, I will have a think and when I have something I will send you another message. Can I use the email address you registered with this forum?
Yes, OK.
OK, let me go away and have a think. I will get back to you, I promise.
Righto, bye then Frank.
Goodbye, Kings, J.
Jules stared in silence at her laptop, her mind buzzing with both confusion and excitement. Then she clicked on Shutdown, folded down the screen, walked back over to her bed and flung herself onto her duvet. That night, sleep didn’t come easily.
*
The following morning, Jules got out of bed uncharacteristically late, her eyes heavy and bloodshot from lack of sleep. She took a quick swig of water from a glass on her bedside table, before wandering sleepily over to her laptop.
Within a couple of minutes, she had powered it up and logged onto her email. Inside the inbox was a single message:
Subject: [none]
Hi, it is me.
Sorry I could not reply to you sooner. First there was a power cut. Then I had to go and meet somebody. Anyway, here is the photograph I promised you.
Speak soon,
Frank
Confused at the somewhat cryptic email, Jules opened the attached photo and stared at the image, which showed a young man, perhaps fifteen years old, standing in front of what looked like a large maritime clock on a brick wall. The young man had long, black, wavy hair, a round, smiling face and very obvious dimples in his cheeks. He had a slight Mediterranean look to him and was quite handsome in an unusual way. Was this the mysterious Frank or somebody else? Then she looked at the clock behind him. It was difficult to make out any detail, so she zoomed in to take a closer look. The clock seemed to have the usual minutes and seconds around the outermost edge, but inside that, rather than the usual twelve hours, it had twenty-four. In the centre were the words ‘SHEPHERD PATENEE’, and just above the bottommost digits were the words ‘CALVANO-MAGNETIC CLOCK’. There was nothing else in the photograph to give an indication of where it might have been taken.
Jules stared at the photograph for a moment, confused. Then she opened up an Internet search engine, typed in both sets of words and clicked on Search. Within moments, a list of results appeared, the second of which was entitled Greenwich Observatory, Shepherd Gate Clock. She opened the article and a large photo of the clock appeared, along with a description:
This stunning 24-hour clock, with divisions marked in roman numerals, can be found at the Greenwich Observatory, London.
In 1852, during Queen Victoria's reign, Charles Shepherd built and installed this Galvano-Magnetic clock at the observatory. It is also known as the Master Clock and brought the now-common concept of coordinated time into existence.
Jules looked at the clock at the top of the article, then at the one from the email. They looked identical. But what was the significance? Then she remembered the online chat from the previous day, with the phrase, ‘what is the man in the moon up to?’
How could she find out what was happening on the moon? By using a telescope. And where might she find a telescope? At an observatory – an observatory like the Greenwich Observatory.
Switching back to the email, she read the message once more and her eyes widened in excitement. A year ago, she had pinned an article into her scrapbook from the local newspaper – an article mentioning the power cuts that had coincided with Theo leaving Lower Pinton. And Frank had mentioned a power cut in his new email, albeit cryptically. The power cuts and the gamma-ray bursts on the moon. They were linked. It wasn’t a coincidence. Smiling to herself, she typed a response and hit send:
OK, you’ve got my attention. Where and when can we meet?
About five minutes later, a reply came back:
Soon, I hope. But as I do not live near you, I will have to get back to you. Please be patient and I will respond to you, I promise.
Goodbye for now, Kings, J.
Frank
Irritated that she was going to have to wait a while longer to find out what was going on, she folded her laptop lid down to put it into hibernation. Then she showered and quickly dressed before heading back downstairs to eat her breakfast and help her mum prepare their Sunday lunch. She had a feeling it was going to be a long wait.
10 – Event Horizons
With a loud squeal and a sudden lurch, the old train screeched to a halt in the bright morning sunlight, on its daily trip towards Galle, on the south western coast of Sri Lanka. Confused at the unexpected stop, which had been nowhere near a station, the people in the cabin began murmuring to each other. ‘It usually makes good time,’ said one of the passengers.’ ‘I’m going to be late for my meeting with the bank manager,’ said another. Then as the passengers turned one by one towards the beach several hundred metres away, confusion turned to horror. A mass of dark, churning water was thundering towards them at frightening speed. Within moments, it had reached the train, surrounded it and was rising up around it on all sides.
Their voices raised – but not screaming – in panic, the passengers started pulling at the doors and windows of the train, forcing them open wherever possible. Some managed to pull themselves out of the train and climb onto the roof to escape the rising waters, while others simply lost their grip in the scramble and fell into the black swell.
For a brief moment, the rising muddy waters seemed to pull back towards the sea as if time had been rolled backwards. Then, without warning, an even bigger wave thundered in and crashed against the train, lifting the carriages clean off the rails and hurling them inland towards the houses and gardens of a nearby village. The water, debris and train carriages raced mercilessly forward, smashing the houses into matchwood, uprooting trees and destroying everything they came into contact with.
Eventually the carriages – shattered and twisted – came to a halt as further, smaller swells of water washed over them, pushing small trees, huts, clothes, bags and other passenger belongings further inland. Save for the larger trees, practically everything the wave came into contact with was completely destroyed. But within the thick, twisted branches of one of the few remaining upright trees, about fifty metres back from the wreck of the train, a young girl could be seen, desperately climbing as fast as she possibly could. Once she had wrapped herself around the thickest branch she could find, she then started looking frantically around, yelling to her parents, who’d been just behind her moments earlier. However, as she looked down at the base of the tree, the yelling stopped. Two clothed bodies were drifting slowly past, face down in the terrible black water. The little girl opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out.
*
With a terrifying burst of adrenaline, Ruby awoke suddenly and sat upright, clutching her chest and panting.
‘Ruby, are you OK?’ said Cristos, clearly alarmed at her sudden jerk back to consciousness.
Ruby sat for a moment in silence, breathing deeply to control the panic from her dream. Then she wiped the sweat from her forehead and turned to face Cristos, forcing a smile.
‘Just a bad dream.’
‘A bad dream? You were thrashing around all over the place. What kind of dream makes you do that?’
‘The one where I see my parents washed away in front of me.’
Cristos rose from his fold out bed, sat down next to Ruby and put his arm around her.
‘I’m sorry, I had no idea. Do you have them often?’
‘Oh, every now and then. It usually happens when I’ve been stressed about something. I suppose watching a friend nearly die would do that to you.’
‘Yeah, I suppose it would,’ said Cristos, his expression distant.
‘I guess you’re probably wondering what I was doing up there in the first place – you know, on the edge of that platform at the cascades.’
‘Well I did wonder. But you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.’
‘I wanted to see what it felt like.’
‘What what felt like?’
‘You know, to be like him – Theo, I mean.’
‘Like Theo?’
‘Yes, heights. They’ve never really bothered me much. But Theo feels the same about heights as I do about water. Well, maybe not exactly the same, but you know what I mean.’
‘And?’
‘Well I must admit, the first time I looked over the edge, I did panic a bit. But after that, I felt strangely calm.’
‘I’m not really one for heights myself, but as long as I don’t look straight down, I’m OK. I don’t get into a panic about it.’
‘Theo does. Just the thought of being high up makes his stomach churn. I suppose I just wanted to get inside his mind for a moment. Do you think I’m mad?’
‘No, of course not. You care about him. You want to understand him. I know how that feels.’
Ruby turned to face Cristos and smiled.
‘How come you’re so understanding? You always seem to do and say the right thing. How do you do it?’