“I say he’s too feckin’ dangerous to let live,” says Kayla. “I say we—” Then she stops. Her brow furrows. “I say we feckin’ end him.” It almost sounds like a question.
And this is it. This is where everything becomes too late. This is where he kills Clyde, kills Felicity. I need to do something, need to break free from this.
“To be fair,” Devon says, “you say that about a lot of people.” She says it slowly, hesitantly.
Now. Now! Everything is sluggish and offline. It’s like a dream where nothing works. I beat at the control panel of my own body. I just screwed time for this. I just died for this. I am not going to do it again.
“Boy bands are a blight on the face of feckin’ humanity and they feckin’ deserve it.”
Everyone turns to stare. Everyone except Leo Malkin. Everyone except Leo Malkin and me.
NINETY-TWO
Clyde’s mask. He’s going to go for—
I fling myself at Clyde. At his face.
Malkin speaks. A syllable. Another. A bright spark.
My hand connects with the mask at the same moment that it lights up. There is a crack like a storm cloud spitting thunder directly at my eardrums. Pain spikes up my arm in a jagged wave, thrusting into my neck, my chest. My fingers slip over the mask’s surface. My knuckles connect. A near perfect roundhouse.
I slump to the ground. The mask flies into the air. A great spark still spitting from its heart.
The mask reaches the apex of its curve. Starts to descend.
Leo Malkin screams.
I gasp. Pain still blazes.
There is something wrong in how Clyde’s mask falls. Something out of kilter in the way it twists and tumbles.
In the way it bisects.
No. No. Not again. I saved him this time. I saved him.
Clyde’s mask falls in two splintered halves.
Guns fire. Kayla slices.
Leo Malkin bucks as the bullets smash into his body, as one tears through his neck, as one punches bone shards from his sternum into his heart, as one plows through the breadth of both his lungs. And then Kayla’s sword stops him from moving at all.
And then, very abruptly, very painfully, Leo Malkin dies.
NINETY-THREE
No. Not again, no.
Tabitha howls.
Then Felicity. I spin. No, this can’t be all for nothing. This can’t be.
But Felicity is clutching her completely unharmed body. She stares at where her hands are clasping her chest, a look of utter confusion on her face. Kayla is staring at Malkin’s corpse as if she can’t quite believe it. Aiko, Devon, and Malcolm all stand looking completely nonplussed.
Only Tabitha is pure in her emotion, her horror. She races to Clyde. She cups the two shattered halves of the mask. Massive splinters of wood stick out of them. Smoking circuitry.
And I screwed up. I couldn’t move fast enough. Couldn’t save him in time. He’s still dead.
“I’m alive.” Felicity’s words tear my attention from the mask, from Tabitha’s horror. She looks at me as if she can’t quite believe it, as if she doesn’t know why she should. “What’s going on?” She presses a hand to her head. “Why do I think I should be dead? What the hell is going on?”
“I need to go back.” I look up at Big Ben. It’s the only thing I can think of. “I need to go back in there again, try this again, go back further.”
“He’s dead.” Aiko points at Malkin. “We… I…” She shakes her head. “Why does this all feel so messed up?”
“Kayla!” I shout at her. “Take me back up to the Chronometer.”
Both Kayla and Felicity look at me as if I’m insane. “The Chronometer?” Felicity asks me. “What does that…”
“I turned back time!” We don’t have time for me to explain this. Clyde is dead. “But not far enough. I didn’t get it together enough in time to save Clyde. I just… I saved you.”
God it hits me then. I saved Felicity. I violated time and space, and I saved her.
Felicity looks at me in utter bewilderment. And she doesn’t remember. She doesn’t know. She died. I died. Kayla died. And they just don’t know.
And then a look of wonder fills Felicity’s eyes. And then horror, and then she just stares at me.
“I died.” She says it so quietly, I barely hear it over Tabitha’s howls. “I died. He killed me. And I’m alive. And it never happened.”
“I turned back time,” I say. It sounds so small. So ridiculous. But I did it. I saved Felicity Shaw.
And she knows it.
She steps towards me. She’s shorter than me. Her head comes up to my nose. She tilts it back to see me clearly, as her arms slip round my waist. I tilt my head down.
We kiss. We kiss like it’s the last kiss, like it’s the first. We kiss like I just broke the laws of the world just to save her life.
Because I just damn well did.
“I knew.” Felicity has her hand against my cheek. “I goddamn knew I was dating you for a good reason.”
I close my eyes. This. This right here is what the world is meant to be like.
NINETY-FOUR
Something bounces off the back of my head. I grunt and turn. Turns out it was half of Clyde. Tabitha is standing, gripping the other half, staring at me, eyes red-ringed, mascara streaked.
“Back,” she demands. “Go. Fix this. Fix this right. Don’t fuck up again.”
Felicity’s arms are still around my waist. Kayla is standing next to Tabitha. She has her hand to the spot in her skull where I saw the bullet enter.
“Go!” screams Tabitha. “He’s dead! Make him alive!” The strength in her voice ebbs. “Fix him. Please.”
And Clyde’s been dead so long. He just never stopped moving. And I have gained so much. And I don’t know if I can repeat the performance. And what if I don’t make it to the Chronometer this time? What if I die?
I am scared, I realize. I have fought and won, and I don’t know if I can do it again.
“No.” It’s Felicity who denies Tabitha. Maybe she too feels her own mortality. Maybe she too fears what Clyde was becoming.
“We do not casually play with time,” Felicity insists. “This should never have happened once.” She doesn’t look at me when she says that. I have a hard time believing she is really chastising me.
Tabitha’s face crumples, her mouth twists. She turns away from us. Even now, she cannot bear to share her emotions. Even now she can’t let us past the barriers.
I step towards her. “Tabitha—” I say. I want to make her see. This isn’t cruelty. This is just playing the odds.
Tabitha abruptly lunges at Aiko. She grabs at her pistol. Aiko yells. Tabitha slams an angular elbow into her jaw. Aiko’s hands fly to her mouth. Tabitha grabs the gun.
She points it straight at me.
“Now. What about?” she says to Felicity. “If I shot him? For him—would you turn it back? How fucking heartless are you?”
Oh crap. “Tabitha—” I start again.
“Kayla.” Felicity’s command is as short and simple as the blow Kayla deals to the side of Tabitha’s temple.
Tabitha collapses like someone hit the power button.
I look at her lying there, crumpled and broken. Aiko standing next to her, still rubbing her jaw, looking pissed. Felicity is still next to me, she’s put one arm around my waist again.
Felicity is alive. Clyde is dead.
Can I sleep with that? Is that a trade I can live with?
And in the end… we fight for what we can. We put the world back as best we can. We lose as best we can.
Aiko is pissed. But Felicity is happy.
Leo Malkin is dead. And the world survived.
Happy or not, I’ll take those endings.
NINETY-FIVE
Felicity starts making phone calls. She looks at the hand I used to interrupt Malkin’s spell. She says the burn is bad enough that she should add an ambulance to her list of calls.
Aiko and Malcolm
hang around looking awkward. To my surprise Devon is the one who puts Tabitha in the recovery position. She places the two halves of Clyde’s mask next to her. It’s almost reverential. Kayla puts a hand on her shoulder. I expect Devon to shrug it off. But she doesn’t. They stay there, quiet. Finding what peace there is.
The police beat the paramedics. Coleman does too.
His BMW screeches up against the curb. He steps out and strides towards us, his mustache wobbling in time with his gut.
“What in the name of all holy fuck do you think you are doing?” He sprays spit as he yells at us. A good quantity gets stuck in the mustache and hangs there glistening. “You think that diverting police resources is somehow helpful? That distracting essential attention will somehow speed things up? What sort of dull-witted fucktards are you? Even you Felicity? Is this some grandiose career suicide? Some swan song of incompetence?”
Felicity glances over her shoulder, away from the two policemen who are being bewildered by her clearance levels, and says, “Oh do be quiet, George.”
I open my mouth to join in, to let him know how badly things are going to go for him. But then I close it. I smile. I’ve done my fighting. I’ve won what I need to. This I’ll watch. This I’ll savor and enjoy.
“Quiet? Quiet!” Coleman roars at the top of his lungs. “I will fucking sing from the rooftops. I will do a whole song and fucking dance routine in the grave of your directorship, Felicity. I will—”
“They’re dead, George,” Felicity says. She’s got her back to him. So he can’t see how savagely she’s smiling. “The Russians. We killed them. One of them right here at the foot of Big Ben. The one location they were all racing towards. Because Arthur was right. Just like I told you he was right. But you didn’t listen, did you, George? You didn’t do anything to help. You just blew every electrical device in London. And you did it for no reason.”
Coleman swallows very hard indeed. “You,” he starts, “you haven’t heard the last—”
“Yes, George,” she says, “I have. So go home, write your letter of resignation, and leave it on my desk in the morning. My desk, George. My MI37.”
I take the time to kiss her. Because I can, and because she deserves it. And, although it is terrible manners, I open my eyes halfway through, so I can stare at Coleman while I do it.
Coleman’s face investigates the colors of the rainbow. I think he’s going to settle on red, but then he shifts to purple and gets stuck there.
“This is a fucking outrage!” Coleman bellows. The police start circling. The German tourists are still there and they start snapping photographs. “You’re a useless bitch!” he screams. “A fucking liar!”
He launches himself at Felicity.
She turns fluidly, bringing up the flat palm of her hand, and with an efficiency that even Kayla would admire, she lifts the fat bastard off his feet.
Coleman lands heavily on the ground. He doesn’t get up.
Felicity takes my uninjured hand. She squeezes it.
“You’re awesome,” I tell her.
“You’re not too bad, yourself.”
The ambulance arrives and I pull away from Felicity towards it as she continues to harangue detectives and chief inspectors. Paramedics get out, take in the scene, and move towards Tabitha. Who, I consider, may actually need the attention more than me. I stand and wait, and as I do, Aiko sidles up to me.
“I’m not good at goodbyes,” she tells me.
“This doesn’t have to be one,” I say. Except, I can’t see a way for it not to be. But sometimes lying is the decent thing to do.
Aiko gives me a sad smile. “I was wrong in Kiev,” she says. “Your girlfriend does still like you.”
“I like you,” I say. And I honestly do. “Just not…” I shrug. It’s easier not to get into specifics.
“Oh trust me, Agent Arthur, I am fully aware.” Another sad smile, and then something mischievous quietly sneaks in around the corners. “Of course, I don’t guarantee that you won’t change her mind. And when you do, you still have my number.”
I will miss Aiko. Despite all the shit this job throws at me, it has afforded me the opportunity to meet some of the strongest, smartest women I’ve ever known. Parting sucks. “You could stay,” I say. “Be part of MI37.”
Aiko shakes her head. “Don’t make me think less of you right at the end, Agent Arthur.” She steps towards me, then hesitates, then leans in and plants a soft kiss on my cheek. “There,” she says. “I won’t tell her about that one if you don’t.”
“Goodbye, Aiko.”
“Goodbye, Agent Arthur.”
She steps away towards Malcolm. She takes his arm. He tips an imaginary hat at me. Quietly they slip towards the shadows.
The paramedics load Tabitha on to the ambulance. Devon points in my direction. A lotion and a bandage later, they’re driving away.
Devon stares after them.
“What now?” I say to her. “Back bright and early in the office tomorrow?”
“Erm,” Devon hesitates. “No, I’m afraid. Nothing to do with any sort of personal feelings towards you Arthur, you understand. Love you. Not in, well, you know, the sort of way Felicity loves you. Totally platonic. Not at all interested in invading that territory. Not suggesting some sort of ménage à trois. Not my cup of tea at all. Far too middle class for that sort of thing. Leave it to the politicians. Power and perversity. Funny how often they go hand in hand. Like ketchup and mayo. Assuming you like mayo. Some people don’t. I can’t understand why. How on earth can you eat a sandwich without mayo? Which is sort of what I’m trying to say really. MI37, for me, and just me you understand, but rather like a sandwich without mayo. And you know, I did quit last week, and I really don’t want to come back.”
“I’ll miss you,” I say.
“Oh, I’ll be about,” Devon assures me. “Just not doing what you’re doing. I mean, just because I know there are terrorists, I don’t want to join MI5. And just because there are monsters, I’m not sure I want to fight them.”
She smiles at me. “I’m no hero, Arthur.”
I almost laugh at that, but it doesn’t seem like the right moment. Instead I go with, “Stay in touch.”
“Of course.” She smiles. “Look after Tabitha. I think this is going to take a lot out of her.”
I go to say something, to make some promise, but she’s already pushing away, already following Aiko’s lead into the anonymity of the night.
Oxford. Later.
Felicity’s bed. Back where it feels like everything began. Or this latest chapter of disasters. It’s not the first time that I’ve thought I should regret having met Felicity Shaw.
But I don’t. I really don’t.
She sleeps on next to me. She looks peaceful against the pillow, the light breaking through the orchid leaves along her windowsill, casting dappled shadows over her cheek.
I slip out of bed. I have no desire to wake her. She needs the rest. Forty straight hours of work, on four hours of sleep, have finally caught up with her. Trying to clean up after Coleman’s mess.
I should probably rest more too. But part of me really wants to double-check the world hasn’t exploded in the night. That no mutants have emerged from the center of the earth. That no avatars of fear and chaos have broken through from alternate dimensions.
I root through my hastily packed suitcase, recovered from the hotel in London. My laptop is buried under dirty laundry. I heft it out.
Something silver slips out with it, lies on the floor. I stare at it.
A flash drive. Where did I get a flash drive?
It’s Aiko’s, I realize. Given to me so I could copy Coleman’s files.
Except I never took that out of my pocket. That’s still in my jeans lying crumpled at the foot of Felicity’s bed.
So who else? Who…
Oh shit.
Hands shaking, I turn the computer on, jam the stick into the USB port. The laptop chugs and chimes through a million seemingly pointles
s start-up processes. My hands don’t stop their shaking. A little icon whirs on the bottom of the screen. Then a box pops up.
“This is an executable file. Are you sure you want to run Clyde.exe?”
Oh shit.
I hesitate. This laptop is a magic lamp and I am standing here with a cloth and a jar of polish. Should I be careful what I wish for?
But I only hesitate for a moment. How can I not? I click. More icons whir. The fan on the little laptop starts to whine. A progress bar slowly fills. Then the computer pings. “Installation complete.” I search the screen for an icon. “Come on. Come on.” Nothing. I open the Start Menu. Still nothing. Trust bloody Clyde to program himself into something that no one can access.
I’m about to throw the machine across the room when a window suddenly appears. A small black rectangle. I stare at it. The screen flickers. A room appears. Something grainy and out of focus. Another flicker.
Clyde’s head appears.
Really Clyde. Not a man in a mask. Not a blond giant. But a scruffy-looking chap with a tweed jacket and a straggly beard. Sitting in a gray featureless room. He blinks at me.
“Holy shit,” I say.
“Well,” says Clyde’s head, “not the name I usually go by, but I suppose I’ve been called worse.”
Oh my God. “It’s you,” I say. “It’s really you.”
“Well,” Clyde shrugs. “I’m Clyde 2.2, actually. I thought a numbering system might be clearest. Probably a terrible idea. Cause all sorts of release confusion. But, well, the thinking, if you’re generous enough to call it that, was that good old 1.0 was the one who died. So you get 2.0 in the mask. Then Tabby has 2.1, you’ve got 2.2, Felicity has 2.3, and so on and so forth. You know, independent paths of progress. Nature over nurture from this moment on. All that. Does that make sense, or am I making you go cross-eyed? I can never tell.”
“You can see me?” Not a direct answer, I admit.
“Webcam.” Clyde nods. “But the sense thing, I’m making it, right?”
Yesterday's Hero Page 37
