Bermuda Jones Casefiles Box Set

by Robert Enright

  As she disappeared into the shadow, her footsteps echoed and bounced off the surrounding walls.

  With a calm quickness, he followed her into the black.

  She wouldn't emerge from the other end.

  CHAPTER THREE

  'Help me!'

  Bermuda sat up in his bed in a cold sweat, the final words of the dream still echoing in his mind, clinging to him like a bad smell. He took a few deep breaths, his eyes scanning the room rapidly before he collapsed backwards. His damp hair hit an equally damp pillow. The dream was always the same, had been for the last two years, and he knew there wouldn't be a shrink in the world who would be able to decipher it. There wouldn't be one brave enough.

  He opened his eyes again and stared up at the ceiling of his bedroom; four separate dreamcatchers swung gently above him. Handwoven from various parts of the world, they did more than just decorate the room. They kept him safe while he slept, the patterns that hung over him repelling the Others that wanted him dead.

  He didn't know exactly what it was about the embroidered designs that fended them off, but he wasn't going to complain. Having killed a number of their kind, he understood the Otherside's want for revenge. As they rocked slowly above him, he cursed them for not protecting him from nightmares.

  He sat up again, the duvet falling off to reveal his toned body, acquired by a fairly frequent training routine and fighting practice with Argyle. His defined muscles, however, were hard to see due to the tattooed scribe that covered his body from the neck down. Incantations and symbols that, over the years, had proven effective in warding off Others and their weaponry. Sweat dribbled down the words etched into the skin of his spine.

  The little girl's voice still haunted from the dream, and he sighed as he swung his legs to the floor. Perched on the edge of his bed, he stared towards the window; the spring sun was cutting through the blind in segregated strips. He slid the bedside drawer open and pulled out a small envelope. Feeling his heart sink. He slid out the photograph, immediately regretting a decision that would ruin the rest of his day. Staring back at him was a six-year-old girl, her blond hair framing her freckled face. Baby blue eyes and a smile that wrenched every string of his heart leapt from the small snapshot.

  His Chloe.

  A small tear ran from his eye, weaving across his stubbled cheek. He wiped it away with the back of his hand before planting a kiss on his beloved image. It went back into the table. Back where it would be safe, where the Otherside wouldn't find it. Bermuda missed her deeply.

  As the beads of water hammered from the showerhead and drenched his ink-covered frame, he closed his eyes. Bowing his head to let the water filter through his hair, he cursed the world for what it had done to him. Everything about his life had been ruined: The childhood that was trimmed with visions of evil. The odd looks, the words of anger from his mother, who refused to believe in monsters.

  The world that had declared him certifiably insane and locked him away in a hospital for three months.

  The wife he had loved, who had left and remarried.

  The daughter he refused to see.

  All because he was born with the ability to see the truth. 'The Knack' is a rare gift, bestowed upon only a few people throughout the world. Those who can see beyond the usual parameters of our planet.

  To the Otherside.

  Bermuda punched the tiles that ran around the shower cubicle, unsure if the impact broke a knuckle or not. As he shook the pain away, he switched off the shower and stepped out. Reaching out for the towel, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

  He knew he looked like a madman.

  But when the world tells you that you are crazy, but can't see the truth, it's better to step away than speak up. That is what the BTCO does. They quietly exist, maintaining the balance and treaty between our side and the other. Bermuda had tried to stay within the realms of a 'normal' life, but it didn't work. His ex-wife, Angela, tried her hardest to understand. But when you are the only one in the room who can see the demon hanging from the ceiling, you tend to become the only person in the room.

  The BTCO found him not long after he 'escaped' from the London Institute of Mental Health, a hospital for those suffering with mental illness. He knew he didn't belong in there, but he was declared insane by three separate psychiatrists and locked away for three months. Three months of padded cells, judgemental looks, and incorrect diagnoses. Then one day, as he lay on his bed staring up at the whiteness of his room, a hole emerged in the wall. Burning through like a match through paper, it appeared from nowhere, revealing a dusty world filled with dark smoke and furious winds.

  There was no life worth living through there.

  But his life in the padded cell was worse.

  Saying goodbye to the world that had turned its back on him, he stepped through. His body exited our world with the intention of never returning.

  But he did.

  The only person to cross to the Otherside and return. He hadn't wanted to, but Bermuda recalled the chase. The fiery red eyes that latched onto him as he ran for survival. The hole in the wall that he fell through, emerging on a dusty alleyway in Taroudent, Morocco. Lost in another continent with nothing but his white priory-issued clothes; it took only a matter of hours before the BTCO found him. An organisation built and run by some of the most powerful men and Others, with a reach that crosses two worlds, finds needles in haystacks.

  They wanted to recruit him with the promise of clearing his record.

  He wanted to hold his daughter again.

  He didn't realise that the cost of his curse would be so expensive.

  KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

  Bermuda snapped back from his wretched memory and looked around the room. He was sat on his bed, streaks of sunlight cutting across the unmade duvet. He had half dressed, his jeans tightly fitting his legs as he pushed himself up.

  KNOCK! KNOCK!

  A fist pounded the front door of his spacious two-bedroom flat.

  'Give me a sec!' he yelled out from his bedroom, the front door to the flat further down the hall. With a sigh, he pulled a plain white T-shirt over his head and straightened it as he exited the room. He wandered down the hallway, passing the kitchen and living room, both decorated with a simplistic eye. The furniture was expensive, the sofa showing signs of age. The BTCO may have hoisted him from a normal life of insanity, but at least it paid well.

  KNOCK! KNOCK!

  'Jesus!' Bermuda exclaimed as he forcibly pulled the door open to be greeted by the stern face of Argyle. 'Oh, hey Argyle.'

  Bermuda turned and pottered back down the hall, turning into the kitchen and flicking the switch on the coffeemaker. It gently rattled as it started boiling. A quick shuffle of hands and a flick of a lighter and Bermuda puffed smoke out towards the open window. The grey, toxic cloud filtered out into the beautiful weather beyond.

  Argyle strode in powerfully, his pristine armour glimmering in the rays of sun that broke through the windowpane. Combined with the smoke that was filling the world, the vision before Bermuda was dream-like.

  'Coffee?' Bermuda nodded towards the machine, brown liquid falling into his comical mug about disliking Mondays.

  'Your need for such stimulating sustenance will result in ill health.' Argyle spoke calmly, his grey eyes offering sympathy to his partner.

  'So no, then?'

  Argyle shook his head. Bermuda grinned and reached out for the mug, taking a sip of the piping-hot beverage before recoiling slightly. Steam rose from the cup, replacing the smoke that he stubbed out in the ashtray. He exhaled, blinking the remnants of sleep from his eyes and focusing on the imposing figure of his friend.

  'Haven't seen you in a while, Big Guy,' he offered with a smile.

  'It has been eleven days since the Cartwright case.'

  'Ah yeah. How did that all pan out?' Bermuda took another sip of his coffee.

  'The humans have restored to normal life. However, the maid has sought other employment. This was all
in the report that was filed.'

  'Oh yeah, I definitely read that.' Bermuda arched his eyebrows in sarcasm. 'Did the banishment go okay? Any hiccups?'

  Argyle shook his head. Bermuda could see the discomfort it caused him; the knowledge that he was effectively deporting his own kind back to such a vicious world obviously hurt Argyle. Bermuda could appreciate how hard he tried to conceal it and thought better than to ask any more questions.

  'Are you ready?' Argyle asked, changing the subject and taking a few steps towards the door. His mighty sword latched to his back, the blade shimmering in the gleam of the outside world that reached in. Bermuda chortled as he finished his coffee.

  'And here I was thinking you had popped by for a social visit.' He shoved the empty mug into the sink, the porcelain rattling against a crowd of unwashed plates and knives. He walked past Argyle and back down the hallway to his bedroom. Quickly tossing the duvet back over to half make the bed, he threw on some socks and trainers before wrapping a hoody over his toned arms. He returned to the front door, a patient Argyle stood with his arms folded and a look of disappointment on his face.

  'You should dress more formally. There is nobility in an agreed uniform.'

  'Argyle, you may like dressing like a World of Warcraft reject, but I like to be comfortable when I work.'

  'What is this world you speak of?' The question was genuine.

  'Never mind.' Bermuda and Argyle exited the flat, the door slamming behind them. They made their way to the stairwell, casually descending them. 'So what's the story?'

  'A young lady went missing after a party last night.'

  'Went missing or got lucky?' Bermuda asked cheekily, then frowned as he realised it had been over four months since he had last experienced any intimacy.

  'She went missing on her way back from a celebration last night. Her friend has concerns to her whereabouts.'

  'Is she not just drunk and passed out on someone's couch?' Bermuda asked, turning back to his partner. A middle-aged mother crossed them on the stairs, the two of them stepping to the side. She glared at Bermuda with a curious eye, concerned at the man talking to himself.

  He was used to it.

  'She contacted her friend when near home and then never showed.' They reached the bottom of the stairs, the double doors opening to welcome them both into the glorious sunshine. The beginning of June, whilst hinting at a wonderful and welcome summer, was still shrouded in the briskness of a spring breeze. Without a cloud to cover it, the blue sky shone with a powerful glow. A few birds swooped by, and the only noise was the distant hum of traffic.

  'So where are we going?' Bermuda asked, walking towards his car, the locks retreating at the push of a button.

  'The young lady's last known location was Peckham.'

  Bermuda stopped walking, the car key hanging from his hand. He turned and looked at Argyle, disappointment etched across his handsome face.

  'So I may as well get the train.' He shook his head and began walking towards Bushey High Street, the local train station a fifteen-minute commute by foot. He lit another cigarette, walking briskly.

  'The police have attended the scene and are awaiting our arrival.'

  'I'm sure they can't wait.' Another cloud of smoke floated away behind them. 'If this turns out to be a general kidnapping, I am going to be very upset.'

  'The woman was taken from a place where it is physically impossible for a human to disappear. There is evidence to show her entering the alley but not returning.'

  'I see.' Bermuda finally registered some interest.

  'There are no doors or exits through the alleyway. They have footage of her entering but not exiting. No one else is shown to be in the vicinity.'

  'Interesting.' Bermuda finished his cigarette and the two of them walked in silence, the world only seeing one. Bermuda began to speculate the cause, knowing now why this case had been assigned to him.

  The same as the Cartwright case.

  His reputation, beyond his capabilities that surpassed any agent, was for finding people who vanished from the world. The people who disappeared with no trace or reason. Like the ships in the ocean.

  It was how he had earnt his nickname, a name that sent shudders of fear and loathing through the Otherside in equal measure.

  They stopped outside of the station and Bermuda shuffled around in his pockets as he checked the time board. The electronic screen, faded and in need of replacement, fuzzily showed he had five minutes before the next fast train to London Euston. Despite living in Hertfordshire, the train links ensure he could get to central London within thirty minutes. His hands returned with a box of Tic Tacs, two of which quickly found their demise in his mouth.

  'I take it you're not getting on?' Bermuda lazily asked.

  'I will meet you there,' Argyle stated firmly, nodding to underline his point. Bermuda didn't quite know how, but Argyle always appeared at the places they needed to be. As if his means of travel were outside the confines of our world.

  Bermuda took a deep breath and took a few steps forward. He stopped at the station door, turning back to smile at the armoured warrior before him.

  'Time to go to work.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The London sun beamed down on the streets of Peckham, casting its warm blanket across the concrete landscape. The roads were lined by impressive houses, all set back beyond thick steps, front doors with round knockers that hung from the wood. Trees were rising from the earth in symmetrical patterns down both curbs, the only green in a vast grey world. Peckham itself had changed over the years; a younger, trendier crowd had ascended onto it, replacing the bad reputation with a slew of pop-up bars and pretentious coffee shops.

  Young men and women, all on the edge of the current trends, meandered through the streets, all of them wearing outfits that made Bermuda shake his head in bemusement.

  He stepped off the train at Peckham Rye Station, the over-ground from London Bridge only taking twenty minutes. As he gently puffed on his cigarette, he smiled at a gorgeous woman who crossed his path. She sheepishly returned it, scurrying through the doors of the station and away from his life forever. Rows of shops greeted him, the doors bursting open with different cultures and conversations. Afro-Caribbean hair salons, Asian food markets, Italian restaurants all greeted him, as if the world had decided to squash every nation onto a few overly packed streets.

  He walked to a peculiar soundtrack, every open door presenting a different song, each shop trying to outdo the previous. His own personal medley.

  He continued down the street, away from the multicultural hustle and bustle, turning towards the residential area, immediately seeing a small crowd of the fashionable locals, their interests piqued. He sighed, flicking his cigarette and fishing for his Tic Tacs as he approached them.

  'Excuse me, please,' he said firmly. A few heads turned, trimmed with beards or stylish haircuts. He felt very out of place. 'I need to get through.'

  'Can't get through, mate. The police have blocked it off.'

  'I'm with the police,' Bermuda lied, sucking the mintiness off the Tic Tacs as he presented his BTCO badge. He flicked it back before the obstructive local could read it.

  'Oh, right. What's going on?' he asked, a few others now turning their attentions his way.

  'That's a police matter. Now, if you don't mind.'

  Bermuda held back his smile as the crowd parted, impressed with his own faux authority. He strode through them; a strip of police tape ran from lamppost to lamppost, fluttering gently in the warm breeze. It read 'Do Not Cross'.

  Bermuda ducked under and crossed into the crime scene. A police car with the lights still flashing was parked across the road, blocking off traffic at either side, another one doing similar at the other end of the street. A large van was also parked nearby, with Scene of Crime Officers (SOCOs) scattered around the area, their white suits making them look like ghosts in a low-budget horror movie. PC Daniel Carter, a burly officer with scruffy black hair, took a few st
eps towards Bermuda, his stab-proof vest hanging from his large frame.

  'Sir, please return to the other side of the tape immediately.' He reached out a meaty hand, pressing it against Bermuda's chest. 'This is a crime scene.'

  'I believe you're expecting me,' Bermuda responded, flipping open his badge for the officer. With squinted eyes, Carter tried to make sense of it.

  'Oh, are you the specialist we were told is on his way?'

  'The very same.' He smiled warmly at the cumbersome PC before him. 'What's the situation?'

  'A young lady has gone missing.' He flicked open his notebook with large, clumsy fingers. 'Jessica Lambert. She didn't return home from a party last night.'

  'Maybe she is still partying?' Bermuda winked, knowing his charm worked on most people. The officer smiled.

  'Well her friend and housemate, a Sophie Summers, said she was almost home when her battery died, so we have reason to believe she was in the area.'

  'Any signs of a struggle? Or of her even being here?' Bermuda asked, scanning the area for anything that the regular police couldn't see. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  'We have her on CCTV going into the alleyway. She lives just at the other end, at Garland House, but she doesn't come out the other side.'

  'And you have CCTV on both sides?'

  'Yep.'

  'Maybe someone was waiting inside the alleyway?'

  'We have eyes on that right now, but from what we can tell so far, no one was seen going in and waiting.'

  Bermuda stroked his chin, thinking.

  'So she just vanished?'

  'Either that or she is playing a damn good game of hide-and-seek.' The officer chuckled at his own joke before casting a cautious eye towards the ever-growing crowd of people. Argyle stood straight and proud, his eyes taking everything in. Bermuda popped a few Tic Tacs before turning to the young, friendly officer.

  'I'm going to need to see the alleyway.'

  'Sorry, what organisation are you from again?'