by Paul A. Rice
Striding across the room from an entrance that Jane hadn’t seen open or close, he crossed the gleaming floor and came to the side of her bed. Placing the box on the table next to her, George moved closer and took hold of her hand.
‘Hello my Lady, how are you?’ he asked.
Jane felt his hand tremble and then, to her utter amazement, George began to cry. She stared into his face and watched as the faded blue eyes filled with tears. He stood looking down at her, letting the shining droplets roll down his face without making any attempt at wiping them away.
‘Oh dear, George, please don’t do that,’ she whispered. ‘I’m fine, I’ll be okay.’ Jane squeezed his hand and he smiled through the tears at her.
Reaching into his breast pocket, George extracted a fine, black silk handkerchief. Using the cloth, he brushed the tears away and then tucked it back into his trousers. He sat on the bed next to her. ‘Yes, yes you will be fine, my dear,’ he whispered. ‘I am so overwhelmed with relief that I cannot begin to tell you.’ He breathed deeply. ‘We were this close,’ he said, holding up his hand, showing her the tiny gap he left between his thumb and forefinger. ‘So close – too close!’ he exclaimed. ‘We very nearly lost you, and if it had not been for…for something quite…’ George stopped, almost as if he was confused, or perhaps in fear of alarming her.
Jane finished the sentence for him. ‘If it hadn’t have been for my father, is that what you mean, George?’ she asked, looking him in the eye. This time it was Jane who smiled knowingly.
He nodded. ‘Yes, I am not quite sure what to say about that, it is not something we have experienced before, my dear,’ he replied, whilst looking serenely at her.
Jane gave him another smile. ‘Well, let me tell you something, George,’ she said. ‘It’s not the first time that my Dad has come to me – I used to see him regularly, until Ken came along. He is always in my thoughts and I have asked him many times before to help me. It’s no surprise to me that he was there when I needed him the most. My Dad was an extraordinary man, and I know he loved me dearly. I know that.’ She squeezed George’s hand and tried to sit up. George helped, and then, when Jane was upright, plumped the pillows into a better position behind her back.
‘There you are, my dear, is that better?’ he asked, softly.
Jane said it was just fine and asked if she might have a drink. Leaning across to the bedside table, George handed her a crystal goblet. It was quite beautiful, the intricate etchings and fine golden rim were almost hypnotic in their design. Just as Jane thought about all the things Ken had spoken of, George kindly introduced her to an astonishing, self-pouring jug. One slight motion of the hand was all it took for the water to swirl from the jug and into the goblet, like a living thing, the water simply slipped from one vessel into the other, and all without any help from Jane. The double-act was so amazing that she very nearly dropped the mesmerising goblet. She glanced at George, her bemused expression saying all.
He nodded in understanding, saying: ‘It is quite normal, Jane, water is the essence of everything, the very centre of all that we are – please, enjoy it!’
Jane nodded and drank. After two glasses she was sated.
Turning to stare at the old man, she said, ‘So, what should we do now, George, what happened to me? I felt as though I’d been shot. Where do we go from here, how are the boys by the way, did they finish with O’Hara?’ In all honesty, Jane felt much better and was really just working up to the point where we she was going to ask about getting back to Ken.
George told her that she had, indeed, been shot. He said that she had been both extremely lucky, and also very unlucky, if there was to be such a thing. The small calibre round had passed harmlessly through the fleshy part of her hip, that was the lucky part. But then it had glanced off her pelvis, the impact fracturing the slug to send a minute piece of its copper jacket on a detour, a detour leading straight towards one of her main arteries. The fleck of metal had left a hole the size of a pinprick in the vessel. Jane had begun to bleed to death, and that was the unlucky part. The rest of the bullet had exited through the small of her back, narrowly missing her spine and fortunately not hitting anything else vital on its way out. But she had been in trouble, deep trouble.
‘You were but a few minutes from death, Jane,’ George said. The sincerity in those old blue eyes told the truth. ‘Had the puncture been any larger, then I am afraid that we would not be having this conversation. We had to act quickly! We sent Melias to you.’ George smiled once more.
Jane was surprised. ‘Melias?’ she asked. ‘Who the heck is Melias?’ She couldn’t remember seeing anyone else, but then again, Jane couldn’t really remember much except the pain, and Ken’s green eyes. She stared at the old man, trying to regain some reality.
‘Melias is what I suppose you would refer to as a ‘Flying Doctor’,’ George said. ‘He was despatched to your aid and very quickly brought you back to us. Even with his expertise we still nearly lost you. In fact, at one stage we did lose you…’ he paused. With a strange gleam in his eye, the old man continued. ‘Then something happened, the thing with your Father…’ He paused to take a breath before continuing, ‘Once again, events have changed the way in which we view you and your parallel!’ He shook his head, saying: ‘That was most strange, most strange indeed!’
They sat in utter silence, staring at each other for a while.
‘What is beginning to become apparent to us,’ George eventually said, ‘is the fact that there are so many things we have never even considered before – we are the advanced worlds, and therefore we must have all the answers, must we not?’ He shook his head again, and it was a gesture filled with humbleness. ‘How wrong we have been – how arrogant we are!’ He laughed. ‘We thought that we had chosen you, but it is starting to appear as though we were destined to choose you, almost as though you chose us, or at the very least, as if something made us choose you…’ He went on to explain about how the Council had found it strange that Ken and Jane had both turned out to be quite extraordinary in their own right. He said it baffled them.
It was probably an understatement, Jane guessed, because, by the look in his eye, George seemed a little bit more than simply baffled. ‘I guess the thing with Dad has put the wind up their knickers,’ she thought, the idea nearly making her giggle. Turning to George, Jane asked: ‘When can I go, George? I need to see Ken. I must have been here ages and he’ll be worried sick.’
He nodded in agreement, saying: ‘Yes, the time has come for you to leave, the men are both fine and I have kept them updated on your progress.’ He turned away and then paused. Rotating back towards her bed, George said, ‘Oh, there is one other thing, Jane, before you go…’ He picked up the box from the table and placed it on the bed next to her. ‘Open it,’ he said. ‘It is a gift.’
Jane lifted the box and slid the metal clasp open. Lifting the hinged lid, she looked into the box. Inside, nestling amongst the ruffed silk lining, lay what appeared to be some sort of medal. It was, in fact, larger than a medal and was fashioned in the shape of an arrow. When she looked closer, she saw that the exquisite object was a miniature spearhead. It exuded a strange, liquid shimmer. The object did not have any particular colour, seeming to change its shade depending on the angle of observation. Whatever the colour may have been, one thing was for certain – it was truly beautiful.
Along the bottom, in small letters, lay an inscription: ‘For Sacrifice.’
The words were simple but extremely poignant. When Jane extended her fingertip and touched the object, she sensed an energy that lay within the strange piece of metal. It flooded up her arm, filling her with the most electrifying of sensations. It was as though she was able to see everything, her whole life blazed with clarity. Her past, her present, and, she had no doubt, most likely her future, too. They all came rushing through her mind, as though she had a direct connection to life itself. The sensation filled her with light.
She whispered: ‘What is it, George?’<
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He looked at her, saying: ‘It is merely a small token of our gratitude and admiration, a symbol of thanks for all the sacrifices that you and Kenneth have made. It is one of only two such things. They have been hewed from the rarest of metals, one so rare that only a handful of people have ever seen and even less have touched. We are still not quite sure of what its true reason is.’
Jane looked at him, saying: ‘Some things don’t need a reason, George. Some things are just the way they are, that alone is reason enough.’
Her words brought only silence from the old man.
George blinked, looking at her in admiration. With a slow nod, he replied: ‘Yes!’ Then he smiled in such a way it was as though the sun had just come out. ‘Yes, I shall tell them that!’ he said, joyously. Remaining sitting, he asked: ‘There is one other thing we would like you to do – I wonder if you would be interested?’
Jane asked him what it was.
‘As you know,’ he murmured, ‘there is a man called Red. He has been at the centre of this story, this situation. He and Kenneth have a history…’
Jane nodded in acknowledgement of the issues between Ken and Red.
George said, ‘Well, no matter what we have tried we cannot seem to navigate our way around him. At every twist of the tale, and in every dimension, Red is always there. Lord knows that we have even killed him on several occasions…’ He sighed, saying: ‘But the changes we tried to make never seem to have worked. He outwits us every time, or at least fate and the Dragon do!’
‘What…Dragon? I don’t understand,’ Jane said, in bewilderment.
George elaborated. ‘It is simply a term of reference,’ he whispered. ‘The Darkness, the Demon, the Devil, the Dragon… call it what you will, but something of that nature makes moves amongst us, it is the reason why we are here, well… one of the reasons. But, whatever the reason may be, one thing is certain – we must stop Red becoming the man he does, the one whom Kenneth and Michael battled with in the end-game, the final scenario in the other parallel. Although, there is still the possibility we will ultimately send him into the heavens, it is not certain by any means. Red causes so many differing changes to be made that he very nearly changes everything!’ He paused for a while, frustration clearly visible upon his lined face.
After gathering himself, George continued. ‘We are totally unsure as what to do next – the only thing we have been shown, by those with the ability to see these things, is that if Red continues along his current path, then we will probably end up dealing with those inevitable events, which we have already seen.’
With a sigh, he stood and walked around the white room for a while. Then, stopping near one of the walls, he turned to Jane, and there was a smile on his face. If Ken had been there, he would have warned his wife about George’s smiles, and about the type of things that normally followed such a look. But he wasn’t there, so Jane had to find out the hard way.
The old man didn’t disappoint.
‘I think you are ready for this now, my dear,’ he said.
Still smiling, George reached across to push a button on the wall.
Jane watched as a section of the whiteness dissolved into a window. To her utter amazement, as she looked through a wall that had turned into glass, she saw the stars. She saw the blackness of the universe, the vivid colours of other worlds, ones that that lay both near and far. She saw so many things, crazy, insane, wondrous things, things that were impossible to comprehend. Sitting propped up in some far away hospital bed, talking to a man who may well have been hundreds of years old – Jane saw space. As she sat there, looking through the window, she felt an odd sense of being. She leaned forward and touched the brooch once more. It filled her with the strange sensation again. In a sudden rush of emotions, she knew exactly what they must do.
‘It’s obvious, what a bunch of idiots! Why hadn’t we thought of it before?’ The clarity of the thought which rushed through her mind was almost overwhelming. She said, ‘I know what to do, George – I know what to do about Red!’
George smiled at her from the window.
It was just about that time when Jane realised: ‘He knows exactly what I’m going to say!’ She laughed at him, and at her own, crazy thoughts.
George laughed back. ‘Ah, my dear child,’ he said, returning to the bedside to sit next her once more. He picked up Jane’s hand and sat, staring into her eyes.
Together they made a plan. It was a big plan with very big ideas, a plan that was going to need some very big people, with even bigger helpings of courage, to see it through to the bitter end. George already knew the ending, and he was pretty sure that the people he had chosen were going to be more than big enough to make the changes needed. They would have to be, as it was they who were about to be chosen to deliver the ultimate gift to all of mankind – the gift of salvation, salvation from the Darkness.
20
The Plan
Mike’s Communicator buzzed, green lights flashing repeatedly. The glow caused Ken, who was ambling upstairs, to rush back down into the kitchen. As he passed Mike’s room, he shouted: ‘Mikey, something’s happening with your box of tricks again!’ Ken hadn’t reached the kitchen door when he was joined by Mike.
The Australian was still pulling his jeans on. ‘Yeah, I heard it, I wonder what the hell is going on now?’ he said, stumbling into the kitchen, still zipping his flies. Lifting the machine’s lid, Mike ordered: ‘Display on, please.’ On his command, they were joined by the silvery screen. It rose above the table and sat there in darkness, just as they started to think it was a false alarm, a stream of words flooded onto the screen.
‘Standby, incoming personnel, wait!’
The men looked at each other in surprise, and then the air began to do its treacle impression. With a slight wobble, it thickened and then pulsed. Ken felt it in his temples and held onto the side of the table with his left hand. As quickly as it had started, the air in the room resumed its normal, everyday ambience.
‘What now?’ Ken said. He had the overwhelming desire to search under the table, which he was still gripping tightly. There wasn’t any other place in the kitchen where the supposed ‘incoming’ person would be hiding. Someone who, judging by previous experience should have appeared before their eyes like a melting ice cream cone… He turned to Mike and saw him checking the screen.
‘Transfer complete.’ It blinked unhelpfully and then turned itself off.
‘Okay, I give up!’ was all Mike said, shrugging his shoulders. He turned to speak and then, apparently forgetting what he was going to say next, stood looking over Ken’s shoulder with his mouth hanging open.
Ken swivelled his head to follow his friend’s startled gaze.
There, on the staircase, stood his wife. Jane was in the process of leaving the bottom step, as calmly as if she had been returning from a short nap.
Ken blurted out: ‘Jane! Bloody hell, woman! Where’ve you been? George said that you weren’t too good… are you okay, what’s happened? I mean…’ He was halted in mid-flow by the cool fingers that Jane placed across his flapping lips.
‘Ssshhh…I’m back, stop talking, you old fool!’ she said. Placing her hand on his shoulder, she reached up and kissed him on the lips. Ken shut his eyes and gently encircled her within his ropey arms.
They stayed that way, embracing, until Mike said, ‘Okay, okay… why don’t you two get a bloody room?’ Reluctantly they broke their embrace and turned to smile at him. ‘Damn it, woman, you sure as hell know how to make an entrance, don’t you!’ the Australian exclaimed. He walked over to them, bent down and kissed Jane on the cheek. ‘How are you, crazy lady?’ he asked, pulling a chair out for her.
Jane sat down gingerly. ‘Put the kettle on, love. I’m absolutely dying for a brew!’ she said, smiling weakly at Ken.
Both men started laughing.
It felt good. In fact, Ken laughed so hard that it made him cry.
They sat over their mugs and listened whilst Jane told the
m of her tale. She never omitted any part of it as she walked them through her story, leading them by the hand through the corridors of fear and darkness, before telling them about the light of her discovery. Throughout her tale the two men sat and merely stared at her in wonder. The calm way she recited her adventure to them, put lie to the horrors of the reality. The voice of Darkness and the feeling of being close to the edge were things that neither man would have wished to encounter themselves.
When she had finished, there was a moment of silence, during which they simply sat and stared at her in amazement. Then, jerking back into the present, one in which his wife was back in their parallel and returned safely to them, Ken sat forward and took her hands in his once more.
With a soft smile upon his face, he said, ‘That must have been a wild experience; I’m surprised you haven’t gone nuts! It must have been completely scary, too. Makes the stuff us two have been through sound like a bloody fairy-tale!’ He looked at Jane in amazement. ‘But you’re okay now, sweetheart, yeah?’ he asked. ‘How’s the stomach?’ Ken was still petrified at the thought of having so nearly lost her.
She smiled back at him, saying: ‘Yes, I am, my stomach is good and my mind is even better. I am really tired, though. The small of my back is killing me, too, but I guess it might have been a lot worse…’ Jane held out her mug for a refill. ‘How long have I been away, it must have been ages, what month is it?’ she asked, looking at the clock. Why? She had no idea, it may well have been dawn or dusk on any day of the year and she still wouldn’t have known the difference.