The Absent Man

by Robert Enright

  ‘So they can afford a fancy handprint thingy-ma-jig for a doorbell, but they can’t get a goddamn lamp for the hallway?’ Bermuda muttered.

  ‘The darkness has no bearing on our eyes.’

  ‘Your eyes, maybe,’ Bermuda continued, taking each step carefully as the large, double metal door loomed ahead. ‘But we are not the same, are we?’

  ‘That is true. Yet we have loyalty.’ Argyle stated. ‘That means we are equal.’

  Bermuda stopped and peered into the darkness at Argyle, who proudly stood to attention. Bermuda cracked a smile.

  ‘Can I have a hug?’ He opened his arms.

  ‘We do not require a physical interaction.’ Argyle stepped past Bermuda, who was smirking.

  ‘Just a quick one.’ He followed his partner down the final remaining steps. ‘Like a quick squeeze.’

  ‘We have a murderer to find,’ Argyle stated, ignoring his partner’s attempts at irritation. He stomped towards the metal doors, stopping a few feet from the handle.

  ‘So let me get this straight,’ Bermuda began, following his partner through the darkness. ‘You can say things about how our loyalty makes us equal. You would willingly lay your life on the line for me, yet you won’t give me a hug?’

  Bermuda arrived next to his partner, smirking as he gazed up to his stern face. Instantly he regretted it as, like on so many occasions, Argyle was showing emotion that didn’t exist on the Otherside.

  Emotion that barely existed on our side.

  After a few awkward moments, Argyle’s calm, authoritative voice sliced through the tension. ‘Why don’t you request one from McAllister? You have already laid with her.’

  ‘Not going to happen.’ Bermuda shook his head, patting his pocket for Tic Tacs. ‘I’ve disappointed her professionally and sexually within the space of twenty-four hours. Even for me that’s bad.’

  ‘You lack respect.’

  ‘For her? No. She is just very volatile,’ Bermuda said, waiting for Argyle to open the door.

  ‘For yourself.’

  ‘Ouch.’ Bermuda chuckled to himself. Argyle shocked him at times, with an insightful view on the world – and him personally – which would probably cost thousands in therapy bills. ‘Let’s just crack on, shall we? This crazed, murderous, heart-stealing creature isn’t going to stop itself.’

  Argyle reached out and grasped the metal handle with his mighty fist, the golden bracelet that held the Retriever glistening as light escaped through the crack in the door. He hauled it back, opening the secret BTCO Glasgow Office to Bermuda. Compared to the Shard, it was incredibly small, with old, wooden desks pressed against each other, separated by flimsy plastic dividers. A few basic, lifeless PCs sat atop them, a thin layer of dust over everything. A few neon lights hummed above, one of them flickering intermittently.

  Bermuda let out a whistle.

  ‘You sure this place is open?’ Bermuda asked as his partner strode between the desks.

  Right on cue, a PC chair whizzed by, the wheels screaming for WD40. Atop it sat a plump, middle-aged lady with a ginger bob, thick-rimmed glasses, and teeth a little too big for her mouth. Her eyes were wide with adoration.

  Her accent was more Scottish than a bagpipe-playing haggis.

  ‘Bermuda Jones! This is such an honour.’ She rose from her chair, her stumpy legs poking out beneath her neatly ironed skirt. She wore a green, knitted jumper with a floral shirt beneath it. ‘Welcome to our office.’

  ‘Thanks … err …’

  ‘Kelly. Kelly McDonald.’ She curtseyed in front of the uncomfortable agent.

  ‘Thanks. I’m Bermuda …’

  ‘Jones. The legendary agent who has been to the Otherside, stopped Barnaby from unleashing hell on earth, and is widely considered the best agent in the organisation.’ She beamed as she sat back down. ‘Your legend precedes you.’

  ‘Right.’ Bermuda looked over to Argyle, who was carefully studying pictures that symmetrically lined the walls, all of them of pompous-looking men – undoubtedly former agents. ‘Do you have a lab here?’

  ‘We do,’ Kelly squealed, zipping off on her chair behind a stack of files that lined a desk hidden behind a filing cabinet.

  Bermuda waited for a few moments for her return, but nothing. Gently massaging his temples, he stepped across, peering over the cabinet. ‘Could I use it?’

  ‘Malcolm is out at the moment. But you are welcome to stay.’ She flashed him a grin, one that he was sure greeted a plethora of cats when she got home at night.

  ‘Malcolm is the techie?’ he asked, studying the mountains of paperwork on her desk, oblivious to the red tape that surrounded his work. Being out in the field, he realised he took it all for granted. Someone probably had to process the countless bills he had racked up. No wonder Montgomery Black hated him. Still, as Kelly clattered her fingers aggressively on the keyboard, he wondered which form was the annual leave request of the agent who should have been there.

  ‘Malcolm does all the Other-worldly stuff,’ she explained, slurping a large mouthful from her coffee cup. Her glasses wobbled on the end of her button nose, littered with freckles. ‘His Knack is stronger than mine.’

  ‘You have the Knack?’ Bermuda asked with genuine intrigue.

  ‘Barely. I mean, I can see your partner but I don’t really know what he looks like.’ She wildly motioned in Argyle’s general direction, beyond the cabinet. ‘No, my strength lays in looking after the office and keeping things in order around here.’

  Bermuda glanced to the shelving unit above her, with a hazardous pile of folders stacked worryingly, all of them with protruding sheets. The dust was thick and in blatant contrary to her claims.

  ‘So when will Malcolm be back?’ he asked politely.

  Kelly stopped her vigorous tapping and clicked into a calendar on her screen. Bermuda scanned over the office, noting Argyle had ventured beyond his vision. Before he could look any further, Kelly’s disappointed tutting brought him back to her.

  ‘I’m afraid he is out at a conference today.’ She snorted to herself. ‘I did think it was pretty lonely today.’

  ‘Today?’ Bermuda mocked, scolding himself for letting her irritate him. ‘Could I possibly leave something with for him? It’s important.’

  ‘Oooo … is it case work?’ she clenched her fists, shaking with excitement like a toddler being handed the keys to a toy store.

  ‘I would love to be here purely socially, but yes, Argyle and I are working a case and I need Malcolm to run a print on this.’ He handed her the envelope which housed the mundra print he had obtained at Nicole Miller’s flat. At that moment he took stock. He was stood in a secret office of an organisation dealing with paranormal crime while handing over evidence printed on a material that couldn’t be seen by normal humans.

  This was why he couldn’t be at his daughter’s birthday.

  Slowly, the usual anger and resentment began to seep in over the corners of his mind. The booming voice of Argyle shook him back to reality.

  ‘That print will take at least a day to process. We should return either to the latest scene or the tomb once again.’

  Bermuda nodded in agreement, turning back to the eagerly smiling secretary. ‘Can you put that to the top of his list?’

  She nodded enthusiastically. Bermuda offered her a warm smile and nodded to Argyle to head towards the door. She called after them.

  ‘If you are heading back to the Necropolis, tell Toby we all said hi. It’s been a while since we have seen him.’

  Bermuda stopped and turned on his heel, his brow furrowed. ‘Is Toby still a BTCO employee? I kinda figured he worked at the Necropolis now.’

  ‘Oh, he does. He’s the groundsman. He used to be employed by us when the gateway was there. However, when they closed it down, he didn’t want to leave. It’s sad, really. Must be lonely.’

  Her words trailed off sadly in understanding.

  ‘You ever think there was something a bit odd about him?’ Bermuda asked, revis
iting his conversation with the ancient groundsman, how something didn’t sit right.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Kelly asked, her green eyes wide and innocent.

  ‘I don’t know. I mean, he looked a little a funny.’

  ‘Well he’s no Tom Selleck, let’s put it that way,’ she replied, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

  Bermuda smiled inwardly, especially after his Magnum PI reference had fallen on Toby’s deaf ears.

  Argyle stood patiently by the door.

  ‘Okay. Well, thank you for everything,’ he offered as he again turned to leave.

  ‘Although I am surprised that Toby didn’t mention the others,’ Kelly said, her eyes locked on her screen as her fingers tap danced across the lettered keys before her. ‘If you saw him earlier.’

  ‘Others?’ Bermuda asked, his voice rife with confusion. ‘Like Argyle?’

  ‘No. The other girls. Years ago.’

  Bermuda looked blankly at her. ‘What other girls?’

  Kelly looked at Bermuda and the blurry outline of his dominant partner. She sighed, locking her computer and pushing herself up off of her seat. ‘Follow me.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Kelly led Bermuda to a cubicle, and a crummy computer on a wobbly desk that was sprinkled with dust. She booted up the ancient machine, the insides churning against each other like a car trying to get out of gear. He stood back, awaiting the explosion.

  Microsoft XP unsurprisingly flashed upon the thick, white-rimmed screen. Bermuda shook his head in amazement. At HQ, they had automatic doors and Oracles plugged into state-of-the-art computers. They had tomahawks forged on the Otherside and an ancient gateway which Bermuda constantly referred to as Stargate.

  Here, they didn’t even have a supported OS.

  Kelly clicked away on the keyboard without even a hint of realisation, her gentle humming strangely soothing. Bermuda felt an odd emotion.

  Jealousy.

  She was content – clearly happy with her role and what the world had given her. She had been pushed to the side with all the other freaks and weirdos that compromised the BTCO’s roster, but she took pride in it. She thought she had everything she needed.

  His heart ached for Chloe.

  For Sophie Summers.

  For a cigarette.

  He shook the incessant craving away, his fingers rapidly diving into his pockets to retrieve his e-cig while his mind tried to lock away Sophie’s beautiful face. After a few puffs, Kelly flashed him a smile.

  ‘Here you are. I have just logged you into the Nexus.’ She pushed herself up out of the chair, gently bumping into Argyle. He instantly moved.

  Bermuda thanked her and took a seat, stretching his fingers until they clicked. The Nexus was a series of interlinking servers that channelled straight into the Archive. The Oracles, while linked to their computers, were linked to the Otherside, their knowledge of anything relating to their kind filtering through and being applied to the goings-on in the world. Should a child go missing, or a strange, heart-shaped hole appear in the chest of a young woman, they would calculate the possibility of Other activity and assign the case.

  They watched both worlds.

  The Nexus was a hard link straight into that data, a constantly updating, living server with knowledge bursting from the seams like an overstuffed mattress. Here, Bermuda could search anything, and the four naked, pale captives back in that wondrous library would filter through and send him what he needed.

  Their own personal Wikipedia.

  Just slightly more reliable.

  His fingers clattered the keys, typing in the keywords of ‘heart’ and ‘stolen’. The office was cold, the outside freeze slowly filtering through the old walls that ached for a repaint. Behind him, Argyle stood protectively, arms crossed and his eyes locked on the screen. Human technology fascinated him.

  All he knew was the sword.

  The Oracles went to work, the screen resolution flickering like a satellite battling for reception. Their connection wasn’t the fastest, but he started to see the icons of articles appearing on his screen.

  He clicked the first one, dated 18 September 1982, and began reading it out loud.

  ‘Police refused to rule out a ritual killing, as a young woman was found murdered in her house yesterday afternoon. The woman, who will remain nameless, was found by her husband with her heart missing. Police chief … yadda yadda …’

  Bermuda clicked the next one.

  ‘Hunt for Heart Snatcher intensified when a third woman was found within the last week with her internal organ removed. Police are asking for anyone to come forward with knowledge.’

  He clicked through a few more, the articles all dated from the early eighties. After a few moments, he turned and looked up into the grey eyes of Argyle, who had been watching in amazement.

  ‘We need to speak to Toby – see what happened all those years ago.’

  Argyle nodded in agreement and turned, almost squashing Kelly, who stood shyly behind him. ‘Can I help you, Ma’am?’ he asked, his tone formal.

  ‘I was just watching him work. It’s a real honour.’

  Bermuda disconnected, the computer shaking as it severed its ties with the all-powerful Neithers. Embarrassed, he pushed himself up. ‘It really shouldn’t be.’

  ‘But it is. You’re a legend.’

  ‘I’m not.’ Frustration grew in his voice as he slid his arms into his armoured coat, the material still damp from the weather, which was ready to welcome him again.

  ‘You are. You stopped Barnaby,’ she exclaimed excitedly. ‘You’re a hero!’

  ‘I’m not a goddamned hero!’ Bermuda snapped, causing Kelly to gasp. ‘A fellow agent died that night, because I goaded him again and again. I’m sorry but I don’t deserve whatever it is they tell you, okay?’

  Kelly stood, tight-lipped, looking straight at the ground.

  Bermuda looked at a disapproving Argyle and sighed. ‘Look, Kelly. I’m sorry,’ he offered. ‘I appreciate it, I really do. But when we are a team, there is no space for a hero. And we are a team, right?’

  She smiled, eventually nodding and thanking him with her eyes.

  He nodded and headed for the door, his mighty, armour-clad compadre in close pursuit. The metal door clattered behind them and Bermuda felt a calm wash over him like a cooling breeze, the need for some fresh air and a pale ale beginning to overwhelm.

  They ascended the stairs in the dark, in silence for the majority. As they neared the reappearing door in the soggy cardboard that awaited them at the top of the stairs, Argyle broke the silence that flittered between their strides.

  ‘I believe you to be a hero.’

  They stood as the daylight filtered through the slices that began to appear in the cardboard panel, the mystery of the Otherside slowly peeling it back and opening a doorway for them. As a show of appreciation Bermuda slapped his partner on the back, and the two of them set out into the rain with no clue how to stop the murderous rampage.

  The police presence had all but evaporated by the time they returned to the residence of Katie Steingold. A panda car was parked a few cars down, a few strips of police tape criss-crossed the door like a disturbing Christmas gift. The bitter chill in the air danced along the wind, sending a shiver down Bermuda’s spine and causing him to lift the coffee to his lips. The warm caffeine trickled down his throat, sloshing into his stomach and becoming one with his many other vices.

  He clenched his teeth, hissing slightly at the freezing gust that snapped at him. Argyle had met him at the scene as usual, perplexing Bermuda with his speed of travel. With a careful eye, Argyle glanced to the alleyway to the side of the house, the hooded figure he had seen long since gone. He checked the alley behind them – again there was nothing.

  They had been there.

  He was sure they were being followed, but he didn’t want to alarm his partner.

  Not unless he had to.

  Bermuda pulled him back to the freezing late afternoon in ‘b
onny’ Scotland.

  ‘Why the hearts?’ Bermuda questioned, to himself more than Argyle.

  ‘Hearts are the life force of you humans,’ Argyle offered, both men staring at the flat. ‘The easiest way to kill you is to remove it.’

  Bermuda shook his head, taking another sip from the red corrugated Costa cup. ‘No, that’s not it. If he wanted her dead, he could have choked her or snapped her neck. He’s strong – strong enough to punch a hole through a rib cage.’

  Bermuda took a few steps towards the gate, the metal creaking as he pulled it to the side. A gentle rain clattered against the stone steps as he ascended to the front door, his eyes fixed on the unwelcoming tape.

  Do Not Cross.

  Bermuda crossed.

  He pushed the blue front door gently, the warmth of the house beckoning him inside. With a cautious step he crossed the threshold, slowly wandering through the quaint hallway. To his right was the homely living room where he could imagine the young lady cuddled up in a blanket, binge-watching Netflix and relaxing in the wonderful life she had made for herself.

  A life that had been taken.

  Snatched from her chest in front of her own eyes.

  He shuddered, a bolt of anger rode through his body, and his knuckles clicked as his fists clenched. To the left was the kitchen where he had met McAllister. Well, where he had been introduced to her, merely a few hours after their drunken liaison had turned into a myriad of expletives and hurled objects.

  Another wonderful night in the life of Bermuda Jones.

  Slowly he gazed around the kitchen. A row of brightly coloured mugs hung from a specially designed rack. A matching kettle and toaster sat proudly next to it. The cleanliness alone was alien to Bermuda, but the regiment and order of it was baffling. No matter how hard he tried, his kitchen always looked like someone had let off a bomb in a coffee shop.

  He reappeared into the hallway, noting that Argyle was stood in the front room, arms folded and surveying everything. It reassured him.

  He wasn’t alone.

  With slow, soundless steps, Bermuda climbed the stairs, his mud-spattered Converse squelching slightly from the rain. The landing was small but proudly displayed a photo frame branching out to hold multiple photos – family, friends, and memories all pinned to one wall. All belonging to a person who would no longer remember them. To the right, the bedroom was shut tight, another cross of brightly coloured police tape tacked to the frame.