by Stuart Keane
He gave up his search after two weeks. The couple put the past behind them. They started enjoying the lives that had so nearly been taken from them. They never found out what happened to Delta, no one seemed to know. They never heard again from their saviour, Mr. Jones, either. But he was watching them, they could somehow feel it.
When Kieran/Frank proposed, Heather/Charlotte said yes immediately.
After all the trauma they had been through together, they knew that they would be together forever after.
FORTY-FOUR
ONE YEAR LATER
The room is nowhere.
A mystery, a myth. The room could be anywhere in the world, hidden in any country, any state, any home, any basement or any apartment block.
The room is an anomaly, a mere statistic. For all intents and purposes this room simply isn’t there.
The man’s face is covered by a beard. He hasn’t shaved for nearly a year. His red, puffy cheeks indicate an addiction to the bottle and his unkempt hair is the hallmark of a broken man. Every now and then, he touches his left arm. His finger caresses the scar, caused by a broken bone several months before. The finger automatically touches his now healed nose, not reset properly, and twisted to the left. A lump protrudes from his skull. Thinking back to that night makes his lips tingle with terror and brings him to the verge of wetting his pants. He can’t afford to do that, for he is only allowed to have one pair.
For the past year it has been just him and his bottles of booze.
And intermittent sleep.
Yesterday, the bottle was taken from him during his sleep, an unnatural slumber induced by sedatives added to his drink. He’d never tasted the medication, afterwards: he enjoyed his best sleep in years.
And now he was here, in this dingy cell. The bed was horrid, uncomfortable.
He hears a clank and a small LED light flashes green in the corner of the room.
The man is aware of both. Familiarity breeds contempt. He has seen and heard these things before.
It begins again, thought Delta. But surely it’s too soon, isn’t it?
Delta’s mouth opens, but no words escape. In his mind, he knows what he’s trying to say:
“Game on!”
