by Ruby Loren
I followed the sound of the footsteps, wondering where they would lead. I’d never wished for a mobile phone with its comforting light (not to mention call function) more than I had in this moment, but all the same, I pressed on. I wanted to know the truth.
A cool breeze brushed against my face and I felt the chill of the night air. Somehow this corridor led outside. The sound of the footsteps had disappeared but I pressed on, feeling my own heartbeat resounding through my chest.
I continued through the darkness, fearing that at any second I would bump into the someone, or something, that I’d been pursuing. The footsteps had stopped, but might the person have heard my own steps and be waiting for me in the darkness? I tried to reassure myself that all people were afraid of what lurked when there was no light, but deep inside, I was sure that there were some who felt more at ease in the dark than in the light. It covered their ill intentions.
My outstretched fingers touched nothing and it wasn’t long before I became aware that it wasn’t quite as dark as it had been. The breeze had got stronger, too. I walked a little more quickly towards the open doorway that led outside, hesitating only when I was just inside of the threshold. Without realising, I’d somehow made my way up to the bunker roof. It was only with hindsight that I remembered the corridors I’d walked along had been sloping upwards. They’d twisted and turned so many times I’d lost track, but I must have climbed a reasonable amount in order to be up here.
More interesting than the roof itself was the dark figure I could see standing on the edge.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” I called, pleased to hear how steady my voice was considering the circumstances.
The figure turned around. “Who else would be snooping around on the roof at the dead of night? I thought you used logic to draw conclusions,” Fergus sniped.
I felt my shoulders slump as they relaxed. “But I heard you snoring in bed!”
“It’s a recording on a very old mini-tape player. I brought it with me just in case.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Just in case you needed to sneak out at the dead of night?”
“No… just in case something needed recording. I always knew I was going to use it to sneak out late at night.”
I considered this new information.
“Before you even think of asking the question ‘was I in my bed last night’ the answer is yes, of course I was,” Fergus told me patiently.
I tried to recall if I had actually seen him last night and thought that I had. “You stayed in your bed all night?” I wanted to be sure.
“Of course I did. I needed to make sure I got my rest… in preparation for tonight.”
I walked over to join Fergus on the edge of the bunker roof, feeling resignation wash over me. He had that effect. “Are you going to tell me just what we’re doing on the roof?”
“Signalling,” Fergus said, flashing a torch and a mirror at something unseen up in the sky.
“You’re trying to communicate with flying saucers,” I said, remembering something similar being written in the Close Encounters of the Seventh Kind book I’d been reading.
Fergus pulled a face. “Please don’t call them that, it’s so crass. But essentially, yes. That’s what I’m hoping. There’s a good reason why this place has been impossible to access for so long. They’re hiding something here at Fennering Bunker, and tonight I’m going to find out what it is.”
“What exactly are you expecting to find?” I was genuinely curious.
Fergus lifted one shoulder and then the other. “I’m not actually sure. It’s like I said to you earlier, this sort of thing isn’t really my bag. I’m a minerals and ancient dark energies kind of guy. Extraterrestrials are way too mainstream, but I’m never one to say no to an opportunity, so here I am. There are two prevalent theories about the bunker. The first is that the mysterious owner, and, or, the military are still hanging onto the remnants of the craft that crash-landed here back in the fifties - which is why this place is shut up so tightly, but run with such limited personnel.”
I silently acknowledge that he was right about the personnel. There was no one guarding the gate out front but you certainly couldn’t get in or out without ending up in some serious and potentially fatal trouble. Razor wire, electric fences, landmines, sharp pointed objects - the bunker’s perimeter had it all.
“What’s the second theory?” I asked, but I had a feeling I was already watching it.
Fergus waved his mirror at me. “For some reason, this site is a hot spot for UFOs. It's likely that they have some kind of special interest in it. I’m hoping that signalling might draw something here.”
We both looked up at the distant stars in silence, and for just a moment, I wondered. Even though I prided myself on being a scientist at heart, all of the best scientists were those who had dared to wonder, those who had considered possibilities that no one else had. When Joseph Lister had put forward the idea that an antiseptic approach to surgery, which included washing hands before operating on patients, could save lives, he had been ridiculed. It was only further on down the line that we looked back in horror at the lack of understanding our ancestors had shown when it came to what was responsible for illness, disease, and infection. I was certain that one day our future selves would look back on some of the practices we conducted now and be equally aghast at our lack of understanding.
Still. There was no way I was going to start chasing aliens.
“Don’t most alien sightings turn out to be secret military jets?”
“They don’t ever turn out to be secret military jets because the military never admits to having craft like the ones that people report,” Fergus corrected.
“Because the military would want to keep their secret projects a secret in the interests of national security,” I surmised.
Fergus sighed. “No. It’s because they’re messing around with alien technology.”
I looked at Fergus, who was still flashing his messages at an empty sky. “You really were in bed last night? You didn’t climb out of the window?”
“You know I didn’t kill Christine Montague. I had no reason at all to do it,” Fergus said, already frowning at the implication.
“I don’t know… maybe it was an alien sacrifice,” I tried to joke, but Fergus’ frown only deepened further.
“Sacrifices are for ancient gods and demons, not aliens. Don’t be so crude.” He kept his eyes fixed on the distant stars. “It’s like I told you - I was sleeping in preparation for tonight. Everyone expects you to make your move on the first night, so I always make it on the second.”
I thought about that for a bit and concluded the evidence showed he was correct. Christine had been killed the first night we were stuck in the bunker together, and Fergus had picked a much quieter night to go walkabout. “Too bad. You might have seen the killer,” I commented,
Fergus shrugged. “You actually did see them running away from the scene of the crime, but it hasn’t helped you to get any closer to the truth, has it?”
There was something in his words that suddenly struck me. Running away from the scene of the crime. I’d been assuming that the person I’d seen rushing down the corridor had been the one responsible for the murder. But what made me so sure of the timeline I'd constructed in my head?
I stood at the edge of the roof and went back through the events of the previous evening in chronological order. First, I’d woken up 2:10 a.m. when there'd been the loud bang. I’d poked my head out when Lorna had come and asked if everything was okay. A female voice had replied that they’d seen a spider which had startled them into breaking a mug. I’d made the assumption that it had been Christine talking, but could I really be sure it had been her voice? Next, I’d heard some muffled thumps and Sylvia had screamed, before her door had slammed. I’d looked out and had seen the figure run down the corridor. Jack had arrived a moment later - which did make me think he wasn't the person I'd seen running away. Not unless he possessed super
speed. The next day we'd discovered that the murder weapon had been abandoned in Sylvia’s knitting bag - presumably where it had been dropped by the killer. Sylvia’s window had been open and Christine’s had been, too, when we’d found her body the next morning. I'd hypothesised that the killer had gone from one room to the other using the windows. It would explain why Christine’s door had been locked from the inside.
When was the last time Christine had definitely been alive? Tanya had knocked on her door at around ten before going to bed. She’d then had a conversation with Christine, although I assumed it hadn’t been a long chat, due to Tanya describing Christine as ‘not too happy to see her’. That was the last time anyone was admitting to having seen Christine alive. I’d assumed that the stabbing had taken place right before the person had run from the scene - even the smashed alarm clock was frozen in time at the same moment I’d woken up to the great commotion - but what if it had happened earlier? And if it had… what did it change?
I considered the conundrum of the window climbing. To my knowledge, there were no ladders on site. Or at least - none that were accessible to the guests. I’d concluded that the person doing the climbing in and out must be able-bodied enough to haul themselves through a window without the aid of a ladder. That certainly wiped a few suspects off the list.
I shut my eyes for a moment, standing in true darkness whilst I felt the vast empty silence of the night around me. Did the killer really come in through Christine’s window and then do the same with Sylvia’s room next door? I asked myself and ran several possible turns of events through my head. I may not have a chemistry lab at my disposal, but I knew that - once you eliminated all of the impossible scenarios - the one left, however improbable, must be the one that was true.
My mind drifted back to the tragic case of Elliot Harving. I opened my eyes and looked at the stars and slowly, but surely, a lot of things started to fall into place.
“Did you see that?” Fergus asked, breaking into my silent reverie.
I blinked and looked at him.
His shoulders slumped. “Typical. The one time there’s actually something to see… look!” He pointed up at the sky and I followed his finger. Out in amongst the bank of stars something blinked in an admittedly similar rhythm to the flashing Fergus had been making.
“It’s probably an aeroplane or a satellite,” I said, reaching for the most logical explanation.
Fergus shook his head and did some more signalling.
“Is it a message?” I asked, out of curiosity.
“Heck if I know. Never bothered to learn morse code.”
I opened my mouth and then shut it again, looking at Fergus with sudden fondness. He was an endless source of frustration for me, but he also had his moments. Deep down, I still wasn’t convinced that the conspiracy theorist was as kookie as he claimed to be, but I was sure that one day he’d get serious, or he wouldn’t. And either way was just fine with me.
“So… you saw off that Rich guy pretty effectively,” Fergus commented when silence had fallen for a few moments. “Don’t know how he ever thought he had a chance with you. Not with those buck teeth.”
I frowned. “He doesn’t have buck teeth!”
Fergus made a sound of disbelief. “Are we talking about the same guy? He’s got more in common with a chipmunk than a human being.”
I shook my head and smiled. Rich definitely didn’t have bad teeth or anything else bad about him. I just wasn’t interested.
“What about Tanya? She’s got a thing for you, hasn’t she?” I wasn’t sure why I phrased it as a question - it was achingly obvious.
“Oh, that. After you left the dining room she came over to me and I told her that it would never work. My only great love in life is a love of finding the truth.” He stared dramatically off into the distance whilst I quietly snorted. Talk about cheesy! He shot me a sideways look. “Anyway, she and Rich seemed fairly okay comforting each other when I left the room. So there is that…”
“It’ll be good if one or two of us come away with something worth having after this crazy course.”
“I thought it would be a good present,” Fergus said, a little disappointedly.
I bit my tongue, feeling bad for a second before I remembered. “You just wanted to come to look for alien activity. I was your plausible cover story!”
Fergus grinned. “Let’s say it was fifty-fifty. I really did think you’d like the course. Haven’t you learned anything here?”
I considered. “I think I have,” I confessed, realising it was true. The interactive videos had been great. Although there was no ‘live’ interaction, the programmed responses were able to correct a multitude of mistakes and help you if you asked. I assumed that, if the course were to run in the long term, it would be more cost effective than employing tutors each time. It also meant that multiple locations could be used to create a franchise. I definitely saw the business potential, although I was less sure about the high pressure and extreme nature of some of the lessons we’d learned.
“It’s all supposed to make you remember it better - having to perform under pressure. You’ll be the best flower arranger around when we get out of here,” Fergus assured me.
“You won’t be too bad yourself,” I told him, surprised to discover that I was telling the truth. Fergus had started with less than zero experience and had displayed no enthusiasm whatsoever, but even so, he had learned, and his arrangements had improved.
He frowned. “Against my will! I’ve done everything I can to not learn anything.”
“But it happened anyway. Tough luck. Maybe you can help me out with wedding flowers in the future?”
“Only if you want them covered in glitter, bows, and all things tacky,” Fergus warned. “This is the first and last time that I’ll be messing around with flowers.”
I poked his arm. “You never know, it could be useful someday. What if there was a conspiracy theory about a genus of plant that caused minerals in the soil to turn people into zombies? This could be useful stuff to know!”
“I’d be able to arrange the zombie flowers. Fantastic.” Fergus said, making his voice drip with sarcasm. “Anyway, I’ve got you to help me out with any mineral analyses I need doing. And also that theory is completely ridiculous.”
I raised my eyebrows. “How so?”
“Soil minerals are highly unlikely to cause any zombie-like effects in humans or animals. Those substances tend to be caused by synthetically derived stimulants, which cause psychosis and hyperactivity - that can have the effect of making the user walk, run, or even drive without their full knowledge.”
I threw Fergus an impressed look. I’d been testing him and he’d actually displayed some decent scientific knowledge.
“Also, something like that would be simple to prove, and therefore wouldn’t be a theory I’d have anything to do with. Unless the government came along to try to hush it up. Then, in the interest of truth, I would be interested.” He looked at me and grinned sheepishly. “I kind of talked myself back into that one, didn’t I?”
Fergus cleared his throat. “You know, it’s been a while since we’ve hung out like this. How has your business been going? It looked good when I came to visit you. The new house and land is working out for you?”
I nodded. “Everything’s been great. Nothing’s killed my flowers this time around and business has been really promising. People really are starting to turn their noses up at goods which have been shipped halfway around the world when they have some excellent options on their doorstep. Especially with the political situation what it is right now.” We both pulled faces at each other. “I know it’s a bit insular to only look at my own business and live in my own little world, but things are going great. I’ve earned enough money to not have to worry too much over the winter. This year, I may even be able to eat something other than beans on toast,” I joked.
Fergus nodded understandingly. “I’ve always felt fortunate that I like beans on toast.”
“I know it’s none of my business… but after you left, Rich said something about you still being hung up on whatever last guy you were with. I just thought you should know.”
“Did you jump to my defence?” I asked, tongue firmly pressed into my cheek. I was a grown woman and could handle a little bit of sniping behind my back - especially when I knew it was just a rejected man licking his wounds.
“I, uh, might have been distracted by dessert.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’d have thought you’d be too full of cake to have dessert.”
“That would be impossible,” Fergus jovially replied.
We looked at the stars in silence before I finally decided to speak. I hadn’t really shared my true feelings with anyone about what had happened with the man whose name I avoided speaking, but now, underneath a carpet of celestial balls of burning gas, it felt like the right time.
“My ex-boyfriend George broke up with me because I was too focused on work and not focused enough on him. I didn’t take it well,” I said, remembering back to my time spent working at the London laboratory with him. “To be honest, I felt that it wasn't fair. He was just as dedicated to his career as I was, and yet, I was the one being blamed for focusing too much on it. At the time, I put it down to him being sore that I’d landed a promotion and he was suddenly effectively junior to me. I thought he couldn’t handle it.”
“It sounds to me like you probably hit the nail on the head,” Fergus commented.
I tilted my head from side to side. “Looking back, I think he might have had a point. I was trying to get ahead of him - ahead of everyone. I’d been competing ever since I’d been at school and I just carried on competing - even to the point where I was determined to beat the man I thought I was in love with.”
