Cartoon Heroes: Book One of the Dark Skies Series

by Anthony Harwood

  Stacey lifted his camera, “Don’t worry, love, I’ll get some shots for you. But we have to get to confectionery. It’s the next floor down.”

  “How are we going to get down there?”

  “As I said, we have to push against the flow.”

  She shook her head; “This is crazy!”

  He had to agree with her but: “The kid could be in danger.”

  She looked slightly miffed, her earlier bout of lethargy gaining a hold on her again, “Aren’t they always?”

  “Come on! This way!” He grabbed her arm and hauled her into the crowd. It was sink or swim in the shopping world. All they had to do was stay afloat long enough to make it to the lifts or escalators. After that, they could just follow the flow down again.

  He felt a tug from a group of shoppers seemingly trying to force their way to the escalators down. Their bright lights seemed like a heavenly stairwell taking people to a subterranean land of wonder.

  He hitched a ride on this surge and dragged Pam along with him. He could hear her muttering to herself, but couldn’t understand what she was on about.

  When he felt the contact of grated metal under his shoes, he nearly cried out in joy. They had made it to the Escalators.

  He turned to Pam who was still pulling against him, being dragged onward by the ever flowing ebb of shoppers, trying to suck her back out into the sea of people where she would eventually drown.

  But something was wrong.

  She was being pulled. In fact it looked as though she was pushing against the people trying to get onto the escalators.

  And her mouth was moving at a million miles and hour, her words being swallowed by the roar of the ocean of shoppers.

  “What?!”

  She pulled on his arm, harder this time, using both hands.

  He fought his way against the current until he was practically on top of her.

  “Look! Over there you dipstick!”

  Stacey followed her hand as she pointed upward to the escalator going up.

  It was Russell. He was calmly poised on the moving escalators heading for the upper levels. He was dressed in civvies and at the rate the two journalists were going, they would lose him in seconds.

  “You take the lift!” She shouted, “Go up floor by floor. I’ll move around to the other escalator and try to keep an eye on where he goes.”

  Together they dove into the oncoming waves of customers, fighting against the pull, trying to drag them back toward the escalators. Once they had overcome the initial undercurrent, they divided and made their ways slowly but determinedly toward their prospective modes of travel.

  Pam cursed under her breath. If all these people weren’t around, she could do what was necessary to keep in eyesight of the boy. Then again, her logic argued, if these people weren’t there, there wouldn’t need to be any drastic measures taken at all. She cursed again and moved on.

  Stacey was having a bit more trouble, trying to fight for a position on the elevators. As one door opened, scores of people poured out, only to be replaced by scores of others, of which he couldn’t manage to be a part.

  Even his London accent was getting him nowhere. So he had to do something.

  He reached his hand into the next group of people that clambered onto the lift and grabbed a loose arm, which automatically went flailing about. He pulled hard and found there was little resistance. As his captive was pulled out of the lift, He nudged his way in to the gap that was left. As the doors closed, he noticed a little old lady of about eighty shaking her fists at him, swearing profusely. He felt slightly ashamed, but, hey, he reasoned, this could be a matter of life and death.

  Pam all but leapt onto the escalator, just in time to see Russell take the next flight up. He was going to level two. She just hoped Stacey would too. Squashed behind a slightly obese man with his shorts riding low on his buttocks and a small group of oversexed teenagers behind, she felt like a hot dog in some sort of kinky sex dinner party. The sweat from both sides was almost unbearable, not to mention the other unmentionable fumes that came from the guy in front. She held her breath and kept an eye on the boy who, for all that had happened to him, looked remarkably docile.

  As she rounded the floor to the escalator up to the second floor, she could see he wasn’t going up any higher. Second floor it was.

  Stacey grabbed the doorframe to the lift on the first floor, feeling himself being pushed outward by the hordes of people alighting the lift. His feet weren’t touching the ground, but he held on for dear life with his hands, at least until the new rush of customers began to enter the carriage. He fought for his position by the door and found himself squashed into the corner where the buttons were located. This would give him a slight advantage. He could hold the door open long enough to get out or chose which floors they would go to. He opted for the third floor as he would have had to have passed the first by now, but if he hadn’t reached the third, Stacey would be there to grab him. Or at least stop him and ask for directions in order to keep him in one spot until Pam arrived.

  The noise and claustrophobic feel of the cramped lift was starting to affect his brain, he feared. His thoughts just weren’t coming out as clearly as normal. It could have been the thought of Pam. He’d always had a crush on her, but she’s also always been seeing someone else. He shook his head, no. That wasn’t it.

  A foul smell arose in the cramped elevator. Everyone knew what it was, but only one person knew the origin. Oh shit, Stacey thought, as he was sure everyone else was thinking the same thing. Third floor was out of the question. There was no way he was going to stay in this.

  When the door opened on the second floor, Stacey jumped out in relief. It wasn’t so busy on this floor. It looked to be Manchester and the like. Somewhere nearby he heard an odd, “cluck”. A camera. An old one and it didn’t have an automatic wind. Not as good as his own. But taking photos in a department store? Could be an avid photographer doing a study, or a student doing an assignment. There was any number of possibilities. Still, Stacey let his eyes wander the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse. Sure enough, there amongst a group of women, looking like a small bridal registry organisation, a short man disappeared, his camera, which he had had at the ready, along with him. He was being watched.

  Stacey moved toward the group, and the man behind them.

  Not surprisingly, he had gone by the time Stacey got there. But he wasn’t hard to follow. Stacey watched as he hurried along the pristine white tiles that circled the floor and proceeded to follow him.

  Pam had tried to keep an eye on Russell. He had managed to disappear in the meagre crowd, however. She moved from the escalator shaft on the second floor and surveyed the area as she went. That was when she spotted Stacey.

  “Stace!”

  The short cockney turned briefly to look for her, but continued moving around the periphery of the store. He mouthed something she couldn’t quite make out, but pointed toward someone in front of him. Was it Russell? Maybe. So she decided maybe it was best to head him off.

  She hurried around to the south side of the store, to where Stacey was heading. She should be able to catch him there. When she arrived in Kitchen goods, however, Russell was nowhere to be seen. Stacey appeared and hurried toward her, his head scanning the crowd.

  “Where did he go?”

  “Russell?”

  “No. The camera guy.”

  “What?”

  “I was being watched. A guy with a camera. I was following him.”

  “What about Russell?”

  Stacey shook his head, “Haven’t seen him.”

  Pam sighed, a little annoyed, “Let’s split again. You follow your man, I’ll look for Russell.”

  “I can’t find him.”

  “Who? Russell or the camera guy?”

  “Either.”

  “Then let’s just go look for Russell. So what, a guy was taking pictures.”

  Stacey looked at her; “You didn’t see him. Suspicious looking chap,
ducking behind people to avoid being seen.”

  “Maybe he was shy. It doesn’t matter. We have to find Russell.”

  * * *

  Someone was following him. At first he thought he was being paranoid. Why would they? Then he recalled the night before. The men and the van. Something was definitely going on. Were they back for seconds? He could hardly use his new powers in here, where he worked, let alone in public view. One was female. That was a certainty. She was the one eyeing him up the escalators and she was too damn good looking to be interested in anything unprofessional. Perhaps she was a journalist, unable to get through by phone, she was stalking him. But why hadn’t she asked questions yet? Just yelled them out over the din. That would have been preferable to being stalked. Working in Greyson’s gave him the advantage of knowing the reserves, back rooms, and all the nooks and crannies. Though the way he was dressed and without his nametag, that could still be difficult. All the same, he could make up some excuse or other.

  He made his way to the linen department, near the elevators, and ducked behind one of the freestanding displays of towels. He tried to think of people he knew who worked in the department, or even on this floor.

  There was Anna, in Kitchenware, but she was an odd sort. Not one he could trust too easily. Then there was Jackie. Perfect, he thought. A fresh faced lesbian with the kindest of hearts and the cleanest sense of humour. She had recently turned thirty, but Russell would have sworn she was only twenty-three, not only by appearance, but her manner. She was perfect. If she was working today, that was.

  He let his eyes scan the area. She worked generally on this floor, moving from department to department, so she was hard to find at the best of times. With the added bonus of not even knowing if she was working or not, it was darn near impossible. Well, he had time. It wasn’t like the woman following him would pull a gun in public. No one would be that stupid, would they? He didn’t exactly want to find out.

  She was nowhere in sight. Never mind. He could always say he was doing logistics work for Joseph and he’d lost his badge in the reserve, if he got caught. Most people didn’t care anyway, especially if they knew they worked in the store. Everyone seemed to take for granted that everyone else was there for a purpose and what that was, it didn’t matter. It was only when strangers appeared that people started to worry.

  He spotted the small doorway into the towelling reserve and made his way over to it, eyeing the crowd for that woman. He couldn’t see her anywhere. So he stepped inside and waited for a few minutes. Maybe she would give up and leave, perhaps try a different floor, giving him enough time to get out of the store.

 

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Where is he?”

  Eryn shook his head, “I’m sorry, Mister Peerson. We don’t have him.”

  Peerson rose from his desk; Eryn, who stood opposite him seemed to shrink into his neck.

  “But… But we do have this,” from inside his lab coat, he withdrew a photograph, “We got it this morning. Rickets wanted me to show it to you right away. I’d have to agree to its importance, sir.

  Peerson snatched the photo from his underling’s trembling hands and froze. His normally angry and imposing disposition melted away for an instant as he struggled for some sort of control on the inside.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “The photograph says everything.”

  Peerson sank back into his leather, ergonomic chair and studied the photo for a moment longer, “Leave me.”

  Eryn didn’t need to be asked twice.

  * * *

  They’d lost him. And it wasn’t Stacey’s fault. Pam would make it out like it was, but that was just her. Anything to boost her ego. Funny thing was he found that endearing about her. An arrogant woman; determined that she is never in the wrong. Every time he was around her, he could literally sense himself becoming stupid, if only for her. Maybe it was because his heart would contract in his stomach and stop pumping the blood to his brain and then that in turn would shrink. He wasn’t sure. But when he was by himself, he tended to think a lot more for himself. When she was around, he found himself trying to impress her all the time, and then finding himself failing miserably, like now. Russell had vanished from the floor. Maybe he’d gone to another. Which? It didn’t matter. They’d been looking for over half an hour and no luck. He could have left the city by now.

  He spotted Pam back in kitchenware. He hurried over and tapped her on the shoulder, not before taking a few photos of her tall, and powerful looking frame. Not that she was muscly, nor that he was a pervert. But he liked photography and he liked her, so where was the harm in working two of his interests together, sort of like journalism and photography.

  He knew he was only trying to fool himself, but at least he’d have some decent photos.

  “Anything?”

  He shook his head. She sighed, unimpressed, “We can’t do anything until he turns up again.”

  “He could be dead.”

  “Not if he has as much power as you say. He’d stand a good chance in defending himself.”

  “But what are a few gusts of wind to a well placed bullet?”

  She didn’t respond immediately, and when she did, she changed the subject, “No point checking the other floors. It would be impossible to find him.”

  “Agreed. So what about hitting him where he lives?”

  She let out a little laugh, “Whose side are you on?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Hitting him? You’re getting too involved in this whole cloak and dagger stuff.”

  “Hardly,” see, he was looking like a fool already.

  “Still, it is worth a try. I should be able to pick up his address from the paper, say I’m doing a story.”

  Stacey agreed, “I’ll case this joint, get a bit of an idea of its layout, just in case.”

  “Case this joint? You gotta get out more, Stacey.”

  He rolled his eyes at his own stupidity.

  She laughed, “I’ll give you a call when I get his address.”

  He merely nodded and went on his way, heading back toward the dreaded elevators.

  She watched him go, a smile having found its way to her lips.

  * * *

  Along the original and longest business and finance streets in the city, Saint George’s Terrace, were a few cultural pinpoints of interest. Some lay hidden and unknown, a secret from the public. There were churches, cafes, even parks. One such park was the Saint George’s Square. Part of the original area of Perth, but still caught up in the highflying markets and dollar exchanges. This little garden sits behind two buildings, a small walkway the only access point from the terrace.

  Russell believed it to be the most beautiful and, if there was such a thing, magical place in the entire city. A man made and well-tended garden, it was divided into several parts. At one end was a small fountain, an iron casting of a woman, a dog and a chicken sat above it while water plants of varying colours and types filled the catchment. On either side of this are garden benches, wooden and painted green. Uncomfortable, but the view you get when sitting on them more than makes up for the back aches and blisters on your backside. In front of these are four small rectangular grass patches set in a square. Running the width of the garden and dividing two blocks from the other two, was a thin stream of water, ending on one side with a waterfall, disappearing off the edge of the garden, the other another fountain, supplying the stream with fresh water.

  The grassed areas are surrounded by knee high hedges and the centre of each is dug in with a symbol that looks almost musical in its pattern, made entirely of tiny rounded beads of gravel. Beyond the squares is a stairway of squared limestone that leads up to another grassed area, spotted with small trees and more comfortable benches. At the far end is a white statue, smooth and rounded of what looks to be two heads, joined together like some indefinable Siamese twin. Around a corner, behind another limestone wall is a third gra
ssed area, most of which is taken up with five large rocks, also smooth and rounded, their shapes seemingly defying the tag of “rock” placed upon it, as if they were striving to be something else, like glass. Their surfaces are pockmarked but only slightly. Weather worn but wonderful.

  There is a beauty to these gardens that lasts the year round. Each season bringing forth its own unique attraction, whether it’s the blooms and life of Spring, the browning and fading of Autumn or the starkness striving for life once more in Winter or just the blatant beauty in Summer. Any time spent here is time well spent.

  And Russell spent much of his free time here. It was his sanctuary, his secret. Though people that worked around here knew of it, had their lunch here, it was still special. People noticed you here, but regardless of who you were, they accepted you. It was like some kind of Garden of Eden. Everyone belonged, everyone was happy, even if you weren’t, it somehow created an inner glow that quickly nullified any bad thoughts and brought you back to life.

  The moment Russell stepped into the garden that day, everything seemed to brighten up. His thoughts took on a new clarity of vision. Everything seemed so clear. He almost expected all the answers to come to him, though that was too much to hope for.

  He sat in the upper area on one of the benches; ham and cheese sandwich in a neat plastic triangular container in hand. He took a couple of deep breaths before opening it and starting on the food. It was almost a religious experience, although he knew he made way too much of the situation. But he liked to think that this place was for him like no other church in the world could be. Pure, perfect.

  It took only a short time to finish off the sandwich and to dispose of the plastic in a bin. He then sat back down on the bench and reclined, arms stretched along the backrest and head tilted back to regard the blue sky.

  It was beautiful. There was no other word for it. The epitome of beauty. Fluffy white clouds crawled over the blue ceiling above, those now familiar silver wisps of air swirling around in the sky. The leaves slowly falling off the trees, one by one onto the freshly raked grass, which still held the crisp green freshness it had in Spring and would have for the year round. It’s newly cut shafts, soft and pliable under foot, like a cushion of air.

  “There he is.”