by Agatha Frost
“Ready, crew?” Damon roared as they climbed off the bus. The excitement amongst the three men was palpable. “Dawn Ship awaits!”
The grand, early twentieth-century stone hall served many purposes. Claire had seen a few stand-up comedians there over the years, and her father had even been lucky enough to witness David Bowie perform his Ziggy Stardust Tour there in the early 1970s. Today, a line of costumed fans of all ages wrapped around the long building. Before they even had a chance to join the line, three separate people wanted pictures with the crew. By his grin, Damon, in his cyberpunk pirate costume, was loving every second, as was Taron, who wore a blue lieutenant space suit similar to Claire’s, but made of hard plastic and with actual knobs and buttons rather than her painted milk caps and whatever else her mother had found to stick on it. Sean’s dark grey engineer’s jumpsuit, complete with bulky tool belt, reminded her of the uniform from the candle factory, and though he didn’t complain or refuse, he didn’t seem as keen to pose for the pictures.
“Do you think Mark and Daniel will come on their own?” Damon asked as they joined the back of the line. “Mark was adamant he was going to win the tournament. Said it would make good clickable content for his channel.”
“Channel?” Claire echoed.
“He’s trying to build an online following,” Taron replied flatly. “Streams himself gaming and keeps recording himself for vlogs. Nobody watches. It’s pathetic at his age, but he keeps trying. Desperately.”
“His numbers are growing,” Sean offered as they shuffled down the slow-moving line.
“And it couldn’t happen to a worse guy.”
Mark and Daniel had come up a handful of times over drinks at the pub the night before. No one had gone into what had suddenly caused the rift in the friendship group, but Taron’s dislike of Mark was obvious. Claire vaguely remembered Mark from Damon’s birthday six years earlier, but the details were foggy. He was an extremely tall man, and he and Taron had seemed to be friends. They’d played indoor mini-golf together, at least.
By the time they showed their tickets at the door and entered the convention, Claire had received more compliments on her outfit than she’d got in a lifetime wearing her normal clothes. Though she’d never judged Damon for dressing up in cosplay now and then, she was starting to understand the appeal. People usually overlooked nerds (his word) like Damon, but at places like this, they were rock stars. Today, Claire felt like Ziggy Stardust himself.
King George’s Hall was divided into three sections. The principal part of the convention took place in the large concert hall, with the usual seats cleared to make room for stalls and booths. They had set rows of computers up on the stage, no doubt for the tournaments. According to a sign, the Windsor Suite was where private meet-and-greets were happening. Finally, Blakey’s Café and Bar served refreshments.
“Let’s stick to the plan, crew,” Damon announced, passing out maps taken from a display stand. “Captain, are you with me?”
“Sure?” Claire hurried after Damon into the concert hall as the others followed their maps and went their separate ways. “Splitting up already?”
“We all like different things,” he explained, consulting the map before marching off through the thickening crowds between the stalls and booths. “We’ve been to enough of these things to know how bad the lines get. First, you meet who you want to meet, then you game, lunch, and shop, in that order. Nothing worse than getting stuck in a queue trying to meet someone, especially when you have a tournament.” He nodded at the stage. “Dawn Ship 2 starts at eleven, so there’s not much time to cram everything in.”
Claire half-jogged to keep up, head swivelling as she tried to take everything in. Some booths displayed props; others contained racks of comics and games to dig through. Most had desks and people to meet – not that Claire recognised anyone. A handful of the science fiction logos were familiar, but most were alien to her. She didn’t need to ask where Damon was going first; it had to be the Doctor Who section.
“Cool costumes!” beamed a woman with a strong jaw and a toothy grin as she signed a photograph for Damon. “Dawn Ship?”
Damon gulped and nodded, barely able to speak. Probably sensing his nerves, the woman’s grin widened, and she directed them over to the area where they’d seen her taking photographs with people. She posed with Damon for one and then ushered Claire in for a group shot. When they’d finished, she waved them goodbye before returning to the desk to sign more pictures for the quickly growing queue.
“We just met Ace,” Damon said in disbelief as he stared at the photograph of the same woman, much younger and wearing a bomber jacket covered in pins and badges. “We just met the Seventh Doctor’s best companion! Can you believe it?”
“I can’t if you can’t.” Claire laughed, patting him on the shoulder. Years of listening to Damon talk about his favourite show had given her a vague understanding of the concepts and characters, but considering the show had been going for six decades, the names were still mostly lost on her. “Wherever we’re going next, just remember to breathe, okay?”
Damon nodded, his cheeks beetroot-red – although that could also have been from the rising heat in the rapidly filling hall.
They spent the next hour hopping from booth to booth, having things signed and taking pictures with the signers. Each line was longer than the last, but Damon seemed to calm down with each new interaction. When Damon wasn’t asking for pictures with people, people were asking for pictures with them. Claire had never had so many photographs taken, and it was probably a good thing she’d likely never see most of them. As the day wore on, the heat increased, and the hotter it got, the more Claire’s mousy bob stuck to her forehead and face. Why they couldn’t have held the convention in the dead of winter, she didn’t know.
“It’s half past ten,” Damon announced as they left a booth, carrying bags stuffed with vintage issues of Doctor Who Magazine painstakingly chosen to add to his already massive memorabilia collection. “We should probably meet up with the other two.”
They pushed their way back to the entrance. People were still spilling into the convention. Five minutes passed, and then ten, with no sign of Taron or Sean. Damon tried calling both several times; neither picked up. By quarter to eleven, Damon, lost in his own panicked world, was pacing in the hall, bumping into people.
“They should be here!” he snapped. “We made a plan.”
“Maybe they forgot?”
“They wouldn’t forget.”
Just when she thought Damon was about to have a heart attack, Sean pushed through the crowd, a few plastic bags in his hands.
“Sorry,” he said, his always red cheeks darkening. “Got stuck in a line to meet David Prowse. Waited for nearly an hour and didn’t want to lose my place.”
“You’re here now.” Damon breathed a sigh of relief. “Have you seen Taron?”
Sean shook his head, and Damon returned to his pacing.
“He wouldn’t miss this.” Damon tried calling him again, but there was no answer. “He’s our best player. He plays more than any of us. He lives for the competitive circuit. Where is he?”
“Maybe he’s stuck in a line?” Claire suggested. “What else does he like?”
“He said he was going to see if he could meet some Star Trek people,” Sean offered as he scanned the contents of his bag. “I think that’s up in the Windsor Suite.”
“Stay here,” Damon ordered them both. “If we don’t register in the next five minutes, they’re never going to let us play.”
Damon stomped off in the direction of the suite, leaving Claire and Sean in the middle of the crowded entrance. Claire smiled at Sean, and he smiled awkwardly back.
“Get anything cool?” she asked, nodding at the bag.
Sean pulled out a picture of Darth Vader signed with a silver pen. He put it straight back in the bag and said nothing else. Claire didn’t hold it against him. Even last night, he’d been incredibly shy with her, only really talki
ng freely with Taron and Damon, although he seemed most comfortable talking to Taron. She wasn’t sure how a man could get to his mid-thirties and still be so introverted, but she wasn’t going to make him uncomfortable for the sake of small talk.
“Last call for Dawn Ship 2 players,” a voice called over the speaker system. “That’s last call for anyone competing in the Dawn Ship 2 tournament.”
Claire gave Sean another smile, but this time, he didn’t return it. He sighed and looked out into the crowd as though waiting for Taron to come and rescue him. Instead, Damon squeezed through the tumult, his face redder than ever and dripping with sweat. He was alone.
“Great!” he cried, throwing his arms wide. “Just great! Could this weekend go any worse?”
“I could fill in?” Claire suggested, glancing back at the stage as players took their places behind their computers. “If we run, we might just make sign in.”
“No offence, Claire, but it’s not something you can just pick up and play.” Damon pulled off his pirate hat. “I can’t believe he’d do this! What could be so important that he’d miss the tournament?” He groaned. “What a birthday this has turned out to be. I need some air.”
“Want me to come with you?” Claire suggested.
“I need a minute alone.” Damon could barely look at her, his brows tight over his eyes. “Go back in and have a look around. You never know, you might discover something you like.”
Damon pushed his way through the front door, and Sean wandered off without saying another word, leaving Claire alone in the entrance. She barely knew Taron, but a random kiss years ago wasn’t enough to spare him her dislike in that moment. Damon had been looking forward to this weekend all month; he’d made that much obvious. After all the last-minute changes, she could hardly believe another had cropped up. She hoped Taron’s excuse was worth it.
Leaving the entrance, Claire wandered back into the hall. If there were candle stalls, or maybe even some nice soaps or home décor, she might have found something to peruse. The onstage tournament had started, rubbing salt into a wound that wasn’t even hers. With nothing else to do, she approached the nearest shop and started flicking aimlessly through the comics. Whenever one caught her eye, she pulled it out and had a look through the plastic, but they all went back in.
“Claire?” a familiar voice called from further down the aisle. “I thought I saw you earlier!”
Claire turned, never happier to see Ryan, one of her oldest friends. They’d grown up next door to each other in the cul-de-sac, and even though he’d left the village at eighteen to start a new life with his now-estranged wife in Spain, he’d been back in the country for most of the year. His two young children, Amelia and Hugo, trailed behind him, their wide eyes taking in all the wonderful delights on show.
“Nice costume.”
“My mum made it.” She gave a mock twirl. “I think I’m going to dress like this all the time.”
“Suits you.” Ryan winked. His red hair was especially orange under the bright convention lighting. “I didn’t think this was your thing.”
“It’s not.” She looked around, but there was still no sign of the people she’d come with. “I was filling in for one of Damon’s friends. The day’s gone a bit south.”
“Is this his birthday thing?”
Claire nodded. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be working at the gym today.”
“Booked the day off months ago.” He checked on his kids, standing in a nearby booth and staring through glass cabinets at the spinning figures within. “Hugo’s mad for this sci-fi stuff. When he saw an advert online, his eyes lit up so much I couldn’t not bring him. Kept it a surprise until today.” He scratched at the back of his head, his tight white t-shirt straining at his bulging bicep. “Are you on your own?”
“Damon’s around somewhere. One of his friends bailed on this tournament thing and he’s a bit upset. Giving him some space.”
Ryan’s children walked over. Hugo, the younger of the two, smiled as sweetly at Claire as he always did when he saw her, but Amelia stuck out her tongue, which was as friendly as it got for the little rebel.
“Daaad?” she moaned, swinging on his sleeve. “Can we have some more money? Hugo’s seen a figure he wants.”
“How much is it?”
“Three hundred pounds.”
Ryan chuckled. “Nice try.”
“Who are you even supposed to be?” Amelia asked, turning the full weight of her judgemental nine-year-old’s gaze upon Claire’s costume. “Looks like it’s falling to pieces.”
“She’s Captain Murphy!” Hugo replied. “I think it’s cool.”
“Whatever.” Amelia rolled her eyes before turning back to Ryan. “Daaad, I’m hungry.”
“Me too,” Hugo echoed.
“Me too,” said Ryan, pulling them in for a hug on either side. “Let’s get some lunch. Fancy joining us, Claire?”
“I’d love to,” she said without needing to think about it. Her cheeks prickled a little, and this time not from the heat.
No sooner had they started off in search of the nearest food establishment when a commotion began rumbling by the entrance. People stopped in their tracks one by one. Whatever news was being passed around made them all gasp and talk in whispers. It spread through the entrance and into the hall before reaching as far as the nearby comic stall.
“They’re saying someone’s been stabbed!”
“Out in the alley.”
“A man’s been stabbed in the alley!”
“They’re shutting this place down.”
The titbits echoed around them, swirling faster and faster until an eerie silence fell on the hall. Claire looked up at Ryan, who had Amelia and Hugo clenched close. Without saying a word, she pushed her way out into the street. Multiple police cars were already pulling up on the crowded streets, and people were spilling out of the hall from every direction. Her heart stopped beating when she saw Damon sitting on a bench, blood on his hands. She sprinted over, unable to believe her eyes. Too much in a daze to notice that nobody else was looking at Damon, she didn’t realise the blood wasn’t his until she stood right in front of him.
“I kept ringing his phone,” he said, staring down at his red fingers, his face clammy and pale. “I heard his ringtone, so I followed it. Dawn Ship 2 Opening Credits Extended Mix from the 2014 remix album. He’s always talking about how much he loves the music from that game. I-I—”
“Damon?” Claire urged, her heart quivering in her chest. “What’s happened?”
“It’s Taron.” He gazed blankly up at her. “I found him in the back alley behind the hall. He’s been stabbed.”
Chapter Three
The taxi ride back to Northash was much shorter than the bus journey, although it felt twice as long. Claire sat in the front with the driver, and Ryan took the middle seat in the back with a child on either side. Questions poured from their young lips the whole way, none of them tactful. Ryan tried his best to quell their curiosity. Claire had to tune out. All she could think about was the now-solid memory of that moment in the nightclub all those years ago.
“No charge,” said Ste, the driver, when they crawled to a halt outside the shop. “Sounds like you’ve had a day of it.”
“I don’t—”
“The way I see it, I owe you one.” Ste reset the metre on the dashboard, vanishing the £21.60 fee. “Agnes would have got away with murdering my brother if you hadn’t put the pieces together like you did.”
Claire hadn’t seen Ste since he’d driven her to Preston train station to confront Agnes Reid on the night she’d attempted to flee the village. Claire might have figured out the former B&B owner’s guilt first, but she was sure the police would have got there eventually, even if they had been barking up several of the wrong trees beforehand. She could afford the fare, but she sensed it was important to Ste that he repay his metaphorical debt. She thanked him with a smile and joined Ryan and the children on the pavement outside her s
hop.
As drained as she was, life continued to swirl around them. The beer garden was full, as were the shops. There wasn’t a seat to be found on any of the benches, and cars filled every parking space along the edge of the square. The clock tower chimed twelve times. How could the day still be so young when so much had happened?
“He’s got a fighting chance,” Ryan whispered, breaking her from her silent observations. “The paramedics wouldn’t have put the sirens on otherwise.”
Claire had thought the same, but she hadn’t wanted to vocalise her hope. She’d barely been able to ask Damon any questions before he’d jumped into the back of the ambulance as the doors closed. She’d spent the next twenty minutes failing to find Sean in the disheartened sea of cosplayers as the convention emptied. Ryan had been the one to pull her away and call a taxi.
The inside of Claire’s shop was as busy as the square outside. Her father sat behind the counter on his stool, grinning widely as he served the small line of customers. A good chunk of the rose petal candles had already gone. Em, a mutual friend of Claire and Ryan’s, was restocking them from a box, whistling as she worked. The former tearoom had belonged to Em’s mother, and her grandmother before that. In an alternate reality, the sign above the door read ‘Em’s Tearoom’, but in this one, Em had, upon inheriting it, gifted the building to Claire without asking for so much as a penny. With her shaved head, tattoo-drenched skin, and bright dress sense, Em’s free spirit was perfectly suited to her role as a part-time yoga instructor in the gym across the square. She always lent a hand (free of charge) whenever she passed through and the store was busy. Em had pointed out the irony of her putting in time there after so many years avoiding the building.
