Room 119

by T F Lince

  “Time and pressure…”

  Death put his finger to his lips. “Shhhhh.” The sound resonated around the room as if an enormous wave was crashing down onto a pebbled beach. Then there was silence. Jodie had done what she could. It was now up to her dad.

  Death and Dean took their seats at the chess table, Dean thinking that Jodie had never beaten him at chess and now she was telling him to give all his pieces away. It was madness, but if it was going to be his last day on earth, he couldn’t think of a better way to go down than trusting his daughter.

  “Here goes, Jodie, I hope you’re right.”

  The game started.

  In the hospital, Dean’s heart monitor was gathering pace and had triggered the alarm. Darren was at Dean’s bedside, watching his rapid eye movement. This would normally have been a good sign, showing there was still a mind in there somewhere, but his heart rate was racing, and that was bad.

  “Come on, Dean, fight it.” Darren put a cool flannel on Dean’s head, trying to cool him down. Dean’s blood was pumping around his body quicker and quicker – 150 beats per minute now. This wasn’t in any of the books that Darren had studied at med school with Sarah. If anything, Dean’s heart rate should be getting weaker, not stronger.

  Darren was joined by his team, getting ready for the cardiac arrest that looked to be heading their way.

  Dean was spending no time on the clock. It was easy to play badly; it took no thought. He had managed to slip his pawn forward three spaces and the bishop’s way was clearing, mainly due to the fact that his white pieces were quickly disappearing off the board.

  Death was in feeding frenzy mode, just like Kyle had been before him. Rather than going for the win, he was enjoying the feast, turning down opportunities to check the white king in order to wipe out more pieces. Dean was winning on the clock – thirty seconds played twenty, but he could see the end was inevitable.

  Dean glanced at Jodie. “Come on, Dad,” she said under her breath as she gripped Benjie’s hand harder. “He’s got him. If Death goes for the rook, my dad’s got him.”

  Death had ten seconds left on the clock and was going in for the kill. Instead of heading to check the king, he opted, like Kyle before him, to take the rook in the corner, thus paving the way for the bishop to do a runner to the other side of the board.

  Death moved the black knight back, but it was too late. The gap was there, and the bishop had the little pawn back for him to take down the black king. Dean, his own clock down to four seconds, eased the pawn forward.

  “Checkmate.” Like his daughter before him, he stopped the timer with two seconds on the clock. Death had been defeated with five unused seconds.

  Death looked over to Jodie and gave her a nod of appreciation. Then he stood and held out his hand to Dean. Dean’s hair was stuck to his head with sweat from the battle. He shook the tall man’s hand. Death was not sweating, but to be honest, he didn’t look the sweaty type.

  Dean had lived to fight another day.

  Jodie ran across to her dad.

  “Dad, I’m so proud of you. You did it.”

  Dean gave her the biggest hug.

  “It was all about you, JoJo, I would never have done that on my own. Thank you.”

  Benjie prised Jodie off her dad.

  “I have to take her back, Dean.”

  “Right, Jodie, I love you and your mum very much. I promise I’ll be back soon.”

  Benjie the clown walked Jodie into Dean’s bedroom where they stepped back into Jodie’s.

  Death made an annotation in his book, touched the rim of his hat and bade Dean goodnight. He clicked his fingers and he and the chessboard were gone. Dean was left standing alone in his living area.

  Chapter 30 – Room 117

  Dean was no longer fazed by the fact that only a few people acknowledged Platform 19 at Liverpool Street Station. He knew it didn’t exist, but that didn’t stop him using it. The train line was no longer in use – he knew this, too, but all of these things were part of the game. Just closing his eyes and waking up at the hotel would not be half as much fun as the journey. It added to the drama of it all.

  Dean had his normal chat with the smiley guard, who topped up his knowledge on diesel engines and coupling rods, but didn’t once mention what had happened last week at Cockfield Station. That is if it was last week. Jodie had said it was five months since they’d started their game of chess and Dean was still trying to work that one out. It was one more item on his ‘not making sense’ list.

  The train journey flew by, partly because Dean’s mind was not taking much of it in. As nothing was real anymore, there seemed to be no point in dwelling on it. The one thing he did notice was a worried and confused looking older man sitting opposite him. The guard spent a lot of time with him, probably telling him all about the line and the disused station of Cockfield which they were currently creeping past.

  “Welnetham Station, ladies and gentlemen. Welnetham is the next stop.”

  The guard opened the door and the old man got off. His case was under his arm as the handle appeared to be broken.

  “Excuse me,” he said to Dean, “do you know where Welnetham Hall is, please?”

  Dean looked at the man, who seemed scared, dazed and confused.

  “I have a room booked there, you see.”

  “I’m going that way myself,” Dean replied. “I’ll show you. Can I take your case, sir?” Dean took the old man’s battered case before he had time to reply. They walked out of the station and made their way up the hill.

  “Have you stayed at Welnetham Hall before?” the old man enquired.

  “Yes, I’ve been a couple of times.”

  Dean stopped to get a good look at the old man, who had fear in his eyes. “I’m frightened,” he said unnecessarily.

  “Don’t be,” replied Dean. “You will be guided to find your own way. It will all be OK.”

  Dean didn’t know this for sure, but the old man seemed to be better for hearing it. They continued up the hill, chatting as they went.

  “Well, here we are, sir, nice talking to you.” Dean put the old man’s case next to the hotel reception and rang the bell. A pleasing ding resonated around the open hallway.

  Mrs McCauley had her officious head on again, the one Dean had seen on his first visit. He laughed quietly as she went through her routine with the old man. He knew she was a caring pussycat really, but she had to win the early exchanges with people to obtain the higher ground. The old man was putty in her hands by the time she turned and gave him his key.

  “Mr Thompson, have a good day. I hope you enjoy your room. It’s Room 119, the best we have in the hotel.”

  Dean looked at Mr Thompson’s key with 119 written on it. Still bewildered, Mr Thompson crept up the stairs to his room.

  “Hi, Mrs McCauley.”

  Her face lit up.

  “I’m so pleased you’re still with us, Dean.” She probably knew all about the events on the train station and the chess game. All the people he had met – his guides, as they called themselves – seemed to know exactly what had gone on, even if they hadn’t been there personally.

  “OK, you’re in Room 117 today, Dean. It’s the best room in the hotel.”

  Dean decided not to mention that fact that a few seconds ago, she’d told Mr Thompson that Room 119 was the best in the hotel. He guessed Mrs McCauley thought every room was the best room in the hotel.

  “I would have preferred Room 119, Mrs McCauley.”

  She raised her eyes above her glasses and gave him that look.

  “You no longer need that room, Dean, and you know it. Mr Thompson needs to find his way now. We have picked him, although I personally think it is a very long shot indeed.”

  She looked back at her book and continued to fill in the register.

  “Is the bar open, Mrs McCauley? I might have a quick drink before I go to my room.”

  Mrs McCauley put down her pen.

  “Yes, you will find David i
n there. If you ask him, he’ll get your case for you. It was handed in last week – it appears that you left it on the train platform. Everything was a bit wet, so we have taken the liberty of washing and ironing it for you.”

  Dean had forgotten about the case that went flying all over the platform after last week’s visit.

  “You didn’t have to do that, Mrs McCauley.”

  Without looking up, she said, “I know we didn’t, but we did.”

  Dean headed to the bar to get his case and see the barman. David looked about forty years older than the youthful, vibrant David Dean had met last week. He still had a moustache, but his blond locks had turned to grey. Wrinkles, nooks and crannies covered his face, giving him character. He was cleaning glasses as usual.

  “Hello, Dean.” David offered his hand; Dean shook it.

  “Hi, David. I didn’t get much chance to thank you for last week.” He gave David’s hand an extra two shakes and gripped it a little harder.

  “I’m just glad you’re still here, Dean. I think you have him confused. Well done on the chess game, by the way. Benjie told me all about it. That game has earned you a lot of respect. You’re not in the clear yet, though, so keep on your guard.”

  “Can I have a drink, David? God, I need one.”

  David poured him a pint.

  “On the house, sir, it’s our pleasure.”

  “Oh, I nearly forgot – you have my case, I believe?”

  “I’ll just go and get it for you, Dean.”

  Jodie was having a bite to eat with her mum before Sarah headed off for night time visiting.

  “Mum?”

  Sarah looked up.

  “Yes, Jodie, what’s up?”

  Jodie took a deep breath.

  “Right, I know you’re not going to believe me, but will you let me at least finish?”

  Her mother sighed.

  “Jodie, we’ve been through this. If it’s about clowns, chess or both, you have to stop it. Your dad is seriously ill in hospital and I need you to be there for him, not just making up stories.”

  Sarah threw her knife and fork down onto her plate. She’d lost her appetite.

  “Don’t you believe me, Mum?”

  “Jodie, put yourself in my position. I’m trying to be there for your dad and be there for you. I don’t think I can cope with this bullshit anymore, and I know that’s swearing.”

  “But, Mum, I think Dad is going to come back.”

  Sarah gave Jodie a stern look. Jodie had had enough – she was going to say what she had to say.

  “Right, Mum, LISTEN. The clown took me to Dad’s house last night just after midnight and he played this man in black at chess. I told Dad what to do and he did it brilliantly. It was all about time and pressure. We put him on the clock – two minutes, thirty seconds each, and Dad won with two seconds to spare on his clock, and the man in black had five seconds left…”

  Her mother grabbed her bag and keys. “You’re unbelievable, Jodie, you really are.” She started to cry.

  “I knew you wouldn’t believe me, Mum, you never do!”

  “Jodie, enough! I love you, but can you just think about things, please? This isn’t a game; chess is not going to bring your dad back.”

  Sarah hugged Jodie more through duty than love then headed off to the car, tears flowing down her cheeks.

  Dean entered his room, which was a carbon copy of Room 119. Best room in the hotel, he thought, laughing. Well that’s because they are all the same, aren’t they, Mrs McCauley? He had more or less the same view as he did from Room 119 – nothing but fields, and nothing going on. He lay on his bed, and before long was asleep.

  When Dean awoke, coloured lights were reflecting through the window and dancing on the ceiling. He ran over to the window and there was his old friend the funfair, the Big Top of the circus as its centrepiece.

  Hearing noises coming from next door, Dean rushed to put on his shoes and checked he had his Ferryman coin in his pocket. Anything could happen now, and he needed to be prepared for more than anything. If he did end up queuing for the ferry, he did not fancy suffering a hundred years of turmoil just for not having his fare.

  He heard the door slam next door and the footsteps of Mr Thompson leaving the room. Dean finished lacing up his shoes, grabbed his key and opened the door, slipping through and closing it behind him in one movement like he’d been rehearsing it for weeks. Right now, Dean’s mind was slick. Everything was sharp; everything he did had a purpose.

  Mr Thompson was turning down the stairs. Dean followed, keeping his distance. Mr Thompson left the hotel and took time to orientate himself, getting his bearings and working out where the noise and lights were coming from. He then headed off through the darkening gloom, back down the hill towards the funfair.

  Dean didn’t want to scare the old man as he’d looked scared enough at the station. He gave Mr Thompson a head start, letting him get a good way down the road. Dean then left the hotel entrance and followed, keeping his distance.

  Mr Thompson turned on to the track in much the same way as Dean had done a couple of weeks ago. Or was it a few months ago? His ‘not making sense’ list gave his mind a nudge as he followed Mr Thompson quietly. He saw the old man approach the fork in the road. The silver cane, complete with its owner, came tapping its usual rhythm up the hill from the other direction.

  Mr Thompson approached the turn off for the track ahead of Death, passing the apologetic signpost which was again doing its best to corral people into where the fun was happening. The silver cane made the turn off a few seconds before Dean did, and Death stopped and raised his cane to tip the brim of his hat upwards to acknowledge him. Dean could see in Death’s eyes that he was no longer was holding his interest; Death had a new target in his crosshairs. He was catching Mr Thompson without really trying – he was good at that.

  Dean followed at a watching brief. He saw when Mr Thompson noticed he was being followed, and much the same as Dean had done before him, he sped up, frantically looking over his shoulder. Death floated across the ground, and again the crowd parted under his control as if he was a magnet with the same polarity as the people. Meanwhile, Mr Thompson was bumping into just about everything and everyone as he fumbled his way forward.

  Dean could not really see them anymore now as they were working their way through far too much human traffic. They passed the stall where Dean had thrown the cuddly toys behind him and headed off through the gap between that and the next stall. Dean got a good sight of Mr Thompson who was deciding which way to go, looking left and right, even more confused than he’d been earlier.

  Death was like the lion and Mr Thompson was the gazelle. The lion was relentless, and the feeble legs of Mr Thompson were failing him. He had no run left in him and the lion was going in for the kill.

  Dean thought how he himself had fought all the way through every test, and Mr Thompson was giving up at the first hurdle. The old man was now in the clearing, looking for a way out.

  “Open the door,” Dean said under his breath.

  Dean made his way around the stall. Mr Thompson was still in the clearing.

  “The door, behind you. Open the fucking door!” Dean whispered, urging the old man into a decision.

  Mr Thompson made one last attempt to get away and staggered around the corner. Death gave Dean a regretful look before following Mr Thompson, raising his cane as he did so. Dean could see the shadow of the lion taking down his prey. The old man crumpled into the corner, then both the shadows evaporated into the tent’s canvas.

  Dean bowed his head. He guessed Mr Thompson had gone.

  Chapter 31 – Bobo

  Dean looked at the familiar door across the clearing – a door that had once saved his life. Hoping an old friend would be behind it – a friend he owed a big thank you or two – he pulled the door open and walked in. He was not disappointed.

  Without turning round, Benjie the clown watched Dean entering the room in one of the angled mirrors on his dres
sing table.

  “Hello, Dean, no Mr Thompson?”

  Dean shook his head and lowered it at the same time.

  “Shame.” The clown stopped putting on his makeup and they shared a few seconds of silence in respect. Dean was not sure exactly what was going to happen next for Mr Thompson, but he guessed from the silence that it would not be a good thing.

  Benjie broke the silence and tried lightening the mood.

  “Dean, well played in the chess game.”

  Dean moved closer to get a better look at the clown’s face in one of the other two mirrors.

  “Well, I think Jodie deserves all the credit.”

  The clown raised his eyebrows, and he had a lot of eyebrows to raise with the face he had chosen today.

  “It wasn’t about you winning, Dean.”

  Dean looked confused and a bit hurt. He’d gone through the mill in that chess game.

  Benjie laughed. “He could have beaten you whenever he wanted to, Dean. He has been on this earth since the beginning of time. He just about invented the game of chess.”

  “What was it about, then?” The clown turned and looked at him, and Dean added, “I know, you can only guide me. I get it.” Dean remembered Jodie telling him what to do and he’d doubted her, but in the end he’d trusted her and gone with her tactics. “It was about trust, wasn’t it? It was about me believing in the ones I love and trusting them.”

  Benjie smiled.

  “There is hope for you yet, Dean. You listened to her and trusted her judgment. Do you think you would have done that before you started on your journey?”

  Dean looked up and pictured some thoughts in his mind to help answer that question. He had always been telling Jodie what to do, or telling her to be quiet as he was talking to her mum. He couldn’t find one single memory where he had listened to her and trusted her.

  Was I really that bad? he thought.

  “No, you weren’t that bad, Dean. You just lost your way and ended up a bit of prick, to be honest.”

  Dean started to agree, and then it dawned on him.