by Mark A. King
The other man in the gardens was not like the Emptyman. I sensed a goodness and light in him, but he had become lost and tempted. He was nearby, just a silhouette in the background. I focused on him, who he was, who he wanted to be.
He doesn’t want any part of this.
As the Emptyman grabbed my hair and started to yank me up, I remembered the fear I always felt towards the end of Block Alchemy, that this devil creature was so intent on darkness and destruction that it was almost impossible to defeat and destroy.
The man called Pigeon edged forwards. At first, I thought he would help the Emptyman, but then he hesitated.
He’s unsure. He’s not who he wants to be. The life he has chosen was a quick fix. A temporary feeling of importance and value. Now, in this moment, he realises that filling an empty hole with hate and violence means he has to carry that weight. The decisions and outcomes play through his mind as he walks towards the Emptyman.
Something deep within me tells me that I am not supposed to interfere, that it is wrong to influence the minds of men. But there is more at stake. This is not about me.
It is about the weak, the desperate. I think of Isla, the girl all alone, nothing more than a tool to be used and discarded by people who should be protecting her. Boys like Archie, who have found themselves the victims of the darkness of others. Alone in the night, they cry inside themselves. Who will listen to them? Who will protect them?
So many people suffer at the hands of the Emptymen.
As the tall man wrenched my hair further back, my head tilted against my neck, so my throat was exposed. He fumbled for something. Then I saw the glint of the knife in his hands, and for the first time, I saw his emotion. Happiness.
In the game, as much as I feared the Emptyman, there was a creature above him. The boss, a hidden, sweeping, and demonic creature of death, the Emptywing. Controller of all the dark lands of Purgatory.
As he stretched out his arm, he looked into my eyes. Then I saw his emotions for the second time. His eyes widened. His mouth dropped.
Confusion? Fear?
The man with the grey hair and neck tattoos grabbed the Emptyman in a chokehold. The knife clattered to the ground. In my haste and panic, I searched for it, scanning the ground as the two men wrestled and thrashed in the garden square.
I tried to shake Archie awake.
He mumbled.
I prodded him again, again, again. Like I could turn the light switch on if I kept pressing it.
“Wake up! We need to go,” I urged him.
He stirred and groggily eased to his feet. He fumbled for something in his pocket and retrieved an old-fashioned phone. It was not the phone he’d stolen from me. His fingers typed a message at a speed I could hardly believe for someone who was hardly able to stand.
Despite my lack of strength or conviction in my balance, I hooked Archie’s arm over my shoulder, and we eased backwards into the shadows, seeking an exit.
Ahead of us the two men tangled. The Emptyman was losing consciousness. The man named Pigeon was raging, shouting at man he was slowly strangling. “You didn’t have to hurt the kid. I won’t allow you to hurt another. You’re just like my Dad. I dealt with that pathetic loser, too.” The resistance from the Emptyman was less urgent; his strength was ebbing away. His eyes were closing, and the only colour on his face was a faint tinge of blue.
“That’s enough,” I called from the darkness. “No more. Stop it. This doesn’t make anything right.”
Pigeon paused. His hold on the Emptyman relaxed. He tried to search the darkness for me, for us, but we were well hidden. The Emptyman slumped to the ground, choking and gasping like a sea creature washed ashore.
Pigeon stood above him. He reached down and retrieved the phone from the pocket of the injured Emptyman.
Perhaps this is a mistake. The Emptyman will not stop until we are dead. The man with the silver hair is a problem. Soon he will be dead. But not before everyone who is close to him is killed. The Emptyman is consumed by darkness and he has loyalty to his leader.
Pigeon scanned the shadows, searching for us. He crept forward, and for the briefest moment I held my breath and my heart thumped in my chest like a drum. He looked right at me and grinned. It was like he could see me, but that was impossible.
He leaned across and gently lowered the phone from the robbery onto the park bench.
Suddenly, there was shouting.
“Who’s in there?” a male voice shouted. “Are you okay, Archie?”
“Stay where you are. Police!” a female voice hollered.
Robbie stepped back and started to run away from the voices.
The injured Emptyman looked around. He patted his pockets several times before cursing under his breath. Then he quickly stumbled after Robbie, into the edges of the park.
I approached the bench and grabbed the phone. I knew that somewhere on the phone were answers and evidence. I also knew this was the closest I had been to Dad, and there was nothing in the world I wanted more than to see him.
An ache filled the pit of my stomach.
New people clambered over the fence.
The heavy weight of umbra eased. The gardens felt fresh and cool, like the passing of a thunderstorm.
I thought about the police coming. Was this really the end of the ordeal for me? For others? But deep inside myself I knew this wasn’t the end. In Block Alchemy, as in most games, it wasn’t the end until the hero had the courage to find the monster in charge. I realised what I had to do. I was more than just a scared and vulnerable child.
I am Merla Kali. More than a goddess of darkness, dreams, and desires, I am the protector of those who suffer from darkness
The time for running is over.
Cal
I phoned Danielle after I left Iona and Raf at Queenhithe. “Thanks, for that. I didn’t fancy staying there much longer. I was tense, to say the least. What did you say to Coleridge to let me go?”
There was a pause. “Haven’t you seen the news? It’s just broken, a few minutes ago. You didn’t hear the sirens or see the lights?”
The mischief in me wanted to remind her that I’d been a bit tied up with other things and hadn’t stopped to put my feet up, brew a cuppa, and watch the news. “No, what’s that got to do with anything?”
“Coleridge was found dead, at Queenhithe dock.”
“Are you serious?” I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth. “What happened?”
“I don’t know, it sounded like she fell, or jumped. That’s not official, it’s the information I’ve managed to obtain.”
“It wasn’t that long ago that I was with her. You don’t think—”
“That Iona and Raf had something to do with it? No,” Danielle said with certainty in her voice.
“Last thing that happened was that she let me go. What did you say to her?”
“I told her I was interested in her views about police corruption and then asked her if she had anything better to do, other than harassing innocent Londoners. Iona and Raf were being questioned by Coleridge?”
“Well, that’s the strange thing. Coleridge really didn’t seem to be a colleague of Iona’s; it was fairly clear they didn’t get on. Coleridge had brought a tall guy called Ryan … Thistle with her. I heard Coleridge say he was working as a police consultant, but she hinted he hasn’t always operated inside the law.”
“Ryan Thistle is bad news, Cal. As for Coleridge, she is—was—as likely as anyone to be part of the problem”
I thought about the corruption Danielle had mentioned previously. How a specialist IT unit would be more than capable of hiding the evidence trails. Someone like Coleridge resorting to using known criminals to help quieten threats made complete sense to me. Danielle thought that Verity Armitage was involved, too, and Gerry’s suicide—and his missing note and memory card—probably held the answers we all needed. I felt the compelling need to find Iona and Raf, but I had my own mission. Merla Kali had told me that nothing wo
uld be fixed until I recovered the data that Gerry had on the memory card—and here.
Despite everything, I wanted to see Danielle. I thought about her copper hair and the way it glittered, her lips, the way she moved and smiled. How she made me forget about the sadness that grew inside me like an illness. “What are you doing now?”
“Pardon?”
In hindsight, it might have sounded like one of those dodgy phone conversations couples, or strangers for that matter, might have late at night on the phone. “I meant, I’d like to meet you. Now, if you can make it. I’ve remembered something about Gerry Armitage. Something important. If you’re free, then I can meet you and we can work on it together.”
Danielle paused. “It’s half-eleven, Cal.”
“I know. But I need to go to King’s Cross. Gerry Armitage left something there. It could be important, but I can’t get it until the trains have stopped.”
“What time is that?”
“At the moment, there are no Night Tubes from the platform we need. Last train is normally half-twelve, but I’ll need to be there beforehand to talk to the staff.”
“Okay. Give me half an hour and I’ll meet you there.”
Under the criss-cross lattice arches of the King’s Cross glass and metal ceiling, I saw Danielle approaching like a vision, almost gliding across the concourse.
I knew I shouldn’t think of it as a date. She was a skilled manipulator, highly proficient at extracting information from people who would naturally hide it. She could charm the birds from the trees and then gut them ruthlessly.
Yet. Yet.
Despite every attempt to control my feelings, my stomach twisted like rope and my legs felt like those of a schoolboy.
She leaned in and placed a kiss on my cheek, so gentle I could barely feel it.
This is pathetic. What have I come to?
I gave her a half-smile, the sort that would imply I was happy to see her but, hopefully, not give away that I was dancing inside.
I still carried my staff card. There was no chance of me returning to work anytime soon, but it made me feel like I was still part of the working heartbeat of the city.
I swiped my card, walked Danielle through the security door, and headed towards the staff lounge. Even when the trains didn’t run, there was always someone working in the bigger stations. Cleaning, track maintenance, upkeep, deliveries—the station only slowed, never slept. I hoped to find someone I knew; it would be good to see Henry.
I approached the double-doors of the staff area. To my surprise, Danielle followed without hesitation. She was not nervous about being questioned; I guessed she frequently had to sneak into places and act like she was supposed to be there.
True to my wishes, Henry was there. It was like the guy was always there.
He’d worked there longer than anyone could remember. Nobody knew if he had family. His life seemed to be the station, the people working there, and the commuters travelling through.
“Alright, Henry?”
He smiled warmly at me, threw his oversized coffee cup down on the table, and wrapped me in a bear hug. It’s not like I was close to anyone at work. I mostly kept myself to myself, but Henry had a way with people that mesmerised me. As if sensing my mild discomfort, he released me from his pillowed embrace.
“So good to see you again, Cal. Terrible shame about the jumper. Nothing you could do. Nothing, you hear me? We’re seeing more of it each year, wouldn’t you say?”
“Sadly, yes. It does seem to be getting more frequent. That’s why I’m here, Henry. I want to see if Gerry, the victim of the incident, left anything behind. Was there anything that was found that day?”
He rubbed his wiry grey sideburns. “You know the authorities check the pockets of the poor folk who jump. They do it to seek identity and a next of kin. Sometimes there is a note. Sometimes not. Do you want me to ask the police officer who dealt with the case?”
“No!” I shouted, louder than I wanted to.
Henry looked towards Danielle. “Don’t I know you?”
“Danielle Greene.” They shook hands. “You might have seen me on the news or in a paper.”
Henry nodded in acknowledgement. “We don’t normally let the public in here, Danielle. Reporters are seldom welcome, either.” His eyes were wide and alert, and his voice suddenly had a mischievous and youthful tone to it. “But there are always exceptions to the rule. I trust Cal; he’s one of us, and if he’s brought you here, then that’s good enough for me. What can I do for you, Danielle?”
“Is there any chance we can see the track? To search for small items Gerry might have left behind?” I said. I felt like a dick for jumping in. Danielle was more than capable of giving her own answers. Worried I’d screwed things up, I looked at her. She smiled reassuringly.
Henry fetched some keys. “There is no maintenance planned on that track or platform tonight. Obviously you’re not supposed to be down there. I don’t have to tell you that I don’t want to see any of this in the news or in the papers, Cal, Danielle.”
“Of course not,” Danielle replied. “This is about finding answers. As much for Cal as for any story behind it.”
Henry briefly mumbled to himself and then said, “Who am I to deny a good man answers? Follow me.”
When we arrived at what was now becoming a familiar platform, Henry went into a locked control room and came out smiling. “Just turned the live rail off,” he explained. Henry unlocked a staff maintenance cupboard and pulled out a ladder. He handed the ladder to Danielle, eased the cupboard key away from the bunch, and said, “This is as far as I go, Cal. I want to help, and I am putting a lot of trust in you, but I can’t be seen here while you’re doing what you’re doing. Put the ladder back when you’re finished, lock the door, and return the key to me. I’ll then come back and turn the power on—I can’t let anyone in there, not even you. If there is anything I can do afterwards, just shout. No questions asked. You’re a good man, Cal. We look after each other down here. You’re part of the family, and families pull together when someone is in need. I hope you find what you’re looking for, Cal.”
Henry left Danielle and me, and for a moment we stood on the silent eerie platform. No trains. No people. Just the two of us in this place of trauma and loss.
Danielle said something, but I was lost in my thoughts. “Are you okay?” she asked. “Are you really sure you want to do this?”
“Sorry,” I said. “It’s hard. In my mind, I’ve been here so many times since it happened. Replaying events and seeing each time with more clarity. But there is never anything I can do to stop it.”
“We can’t go back in time to stop events from happening, Cal. Sometimes all we can do, all we can hope for, is to understand.”
I thought about Merla and the last time I was here on the train that could manipulate time. I thought about Gerry and his tranquil happiness just before I hit him. “You’re right,” I replied. “I need to move on. If this is all connected, then we need to find out why Gerry did what he did. If it leads to understanding his actions, and if they are in any way linked to corruption or exploitation in the police unit his wife leads, then maybe his loss is not such a terrible waste.”
I walked her to where Gerry had stood before jumping.
Danielle eased the ladder down onto the tracks.
In the pits between the rails, it was a land of grease, metal, and discarded junk.
“What are we looking for?” Danielle asked.
“A micro memory card, it’s probably wrapped in a slip of pink paper or cardstock. The card is sort you might put in your phone. Tiny. But look for the pink colour, it should be easier to find.”
If my vision had been right, then the memory card wrapped in paper that I saw Gerry holding was no bigger than a fifty-pence piece.
We scrambled around in the grimy dust and muck. It coated every surface, making it almost impossible to see anything.
Stupid idiot. Why didn’t I bring a torch?
&nbs
p; I thought about Merla and how time and space were just concepts to her. I thought about Abna, who I was supposed to be in this version of London. I turned away from Danielle and closed my eyes.
In the darkness I searched for Gerry.
Desperation. Loss and betrayal. Acceptance and redemption.
Through his churning feelings I could feel the eventual calmness appear. Through his eyes I could see my train approach. The memory card. His note. He knew I would find them. It was no accident.
I hurried back towards Danielle and scrambled around her feet. After a few moments of searching, I found the tiny pink parcel. “Got it,” I shouted, my voice echoing through the tunnels.
Danielle turned, her mouth open and her eyes wide. “Bloody hell, Cal. How on earth did you find that thing in the middle of this?”
I shrugged. “Let’s go. We need to get the ladder back and pay Henry a visit.”
We returned the key to Henry and waited for him to retrace our steps to turn on the power again.
“I don’t want to know what you found down there, Cal. But did you find any answers?”
I looked at Danielle. I thought about answers. “Not yet,” I said. “But I have something that might lead to answers. I don’t suppose you have access to a computer, do you?”
He smiled. “I’ve been here so long, Cal, that I have access to almost anything. In the lost property room, there is a PC. It’s not high end stuff, but it was replaced last year. We use it to catalogue items. I’ll walk you there now.”
We walked back towards the main station corridors. “We keep the older stuff in there,” Henry explained. “There simply isn’t enough room out front. You wouldn’t believe what some people leave behind. We have artificial limbs, glass eyes—there was even a stuffed weasel once.” He rolled his eyes, unlocked the door, and pointed towards the end of the room, beyond the categorised shelves of lost property. “Computer is over there. I have a log-in. I know how to search for lost and found items, but don’t ask me how to do anything else. I haven’t got the foggiest.”
