Bermuda Jones Casefiles Box Set

by Robert Enright

  He had grabbed its arms just in time and now, as rows of razor-sharp teeth snapped at him like a wild dog, he shifted his weight, letting out a yell of fury as he began to push the creature back. As he took one step the creature suddenly twisted, its shoulders turning at such a speed that Argyle was whipped from his feet and the momentum sent him shooting towards the wall. The sheer power sent him clean through the wooden panels, and he erupted into the side streets amongst a downpour of shards and splinters. Crashing face-first against the concrete, he lay motionless, faintly hearing two terrified policemen radio in for an Armed Response Unit for a potential terrorist attack at the Cutty Sark.

  Inside the ship, the crazed beast immediately gave chase to Bermuda, dashing past the recently created hole in the wall, its powerful legs bounding as it used its claws to scale the wall, the entire ship rocking as if it were in the eye of a storm.

  Bermuda ran as fast as he could, his eyes fixed on the brightness of the moonlight that reflected off the glass doors.

  Ten more steps.

  The beast dropped down in front of him, its eyes glistening and teeth shimmering. Bermuda tried to slow down, but his momentum carried him forward and the sharp claws slashed his chest. The beast swung its thick, tree-trunk-esque arm, its claws striking Bermuda straight in the chest.

  The impact was unlike anything Bermuda had experienced, the strength of the Otherside colliding with him at full speed. He left the ground at such a speed, his back clattering into the roof of the ship, his body smashing through the wooden planks. He shot another ten feet into the cool summer air before landing with a sickening thud on the deck.

  Another call was put through on the police radio.

  Another hole had been blown through the ship.

  Bermuda cracked the side of his head on the hard wood; his skull shook his brain like a maraca. He could already feel the blood trickling down the side of his face as the darkness of the night began to mould itself to his vision.

  He knew he had to run.

  The world around him spun, and his last vision was of the arm of the monster reaching through the hole, its jaws snapping with anticipation as it clambered through.

  It would finish what it had started.

  Bermuda wanted to get up. Fight or run.

  The blood trickled down and joined the small puddle that was pooling from the three jagged gashes across his chest.

  He lost consciousness.

  Through a sea of broken wooden splinters, Argyle placed both hands flat on the concrete and slowly pushed himself to his knees. He had hit the concrete a few feet back, his face scraping against the unforgiving stone as he skidded. His face was screaming in agony, the rawness telling him he had lost the top layer of his cheek.

  It would heal.

  As the two police officers stood back, looking wearily around the hole in the ship, he heard a crescendo of sirens ripping through the apparent calmness of London. Backup was on the way, but not for him.

  He was the backup.

  He pushed himself to his feet with a grunt of annoyance, dusting himself down as he turned back to the face the ship. Bermuda was still trapped within its confines, being hunted by something worse than death itself. He took a few steps towards the ship as a white van hurtled around the corner, its blue lights casting a glow across the entire battlefield. At that moment, another loud crash exploded from the ship as the body of Bermuda soared into the sky, followed by a downpour of wooden raindrops.

  He didn't have much time.

  Twelve heavily armed men leapt from the back of the van, their faces hidden by black visors, their arms carrying heavily loaded rifles.

  He heard the roar from the deck above, the cracking of more wood as it was breaking through, ready to finish his partner.

  The man he had sworn to protect.

  As the police went over their tactics quickly, Argyle broke into a sprint, barging past a few of the officers, who yelled in bemusement. His armoured boots hammered the pavement as he rounded the front of the ship, looking up towards the decking. Raising his right arm, he aimed his 'Retriever' at the large wooden mast that sat proudly above. He released the spike, the chain cutting through the air before impaling the wood with a large crack. Picking up speed, he took a few more steps before he began the retrieval.

  The chain began to retract, lifting him into the air and zipping up into the night sky. He shot upwards, beyond the deck, where he saw the beast finally emerge from the hole, violently thrashing into the crisp night air.

  Bermuda wasn't moving.

  As Argyle continued his climb above them both, he pulled the hook from the wooden pillar. It ripped through, the chain retracting rapidly to the gauntlet around his arm. With twenty feet of air between himself and the boat, Argyle hurtled back towards the boat.

  The beast leant forward, its jaws opening as it readied itself to rip the motionless Bermuda apart.

  Argyle reached a powerful arm over his shoulder, his hand gripping the handle of his sword. As he plummeted towards them, he swung it out from its clasp, spinning the blade around. The moonlight bounced off of the pristine metal with a mesmerising beauty.

  Swinging it into position, he steered the blade straight into the back of the beast’s neck.

  The sword burst through, exploding out of the other side of the creature’s throat before impaling itself in the wood. Argyle dropped down next to it, landing on a bent knee to steady his massive frame.

  The life left the Other instantly, its huge body slumping forward. The weight of its head caused it to slowly slide down the sharp, bloodstained blade until it hit the deck. Argyle slowly returned to his feet, sliding the sword from the lifeless body before spinning the blade up and resting up against the back of his armour. There would be no banishment, not for this Other. The BTCO would be here soon; they would remove the body. Word would spread of how he had slayed another of his kind.

  It didn't matter.

  Bermuda had almost been killed.

  He turned towards his motionless partner, concerned for the blood that was pooling around him. Suddenly, the doors to the roof of the ship burst open, a flurry of flashlights and footsteps breaking through. The Armed Response Unit slowly circled Bermuda, their guns focused on him, itchy fingers ready to squeeze triggers.

  'I will see you at headquarters,' Argyle muttered before trotting to the edge of the ship and leaping off into the darkness of the light.

  Loud voices and shouted commands rang through Bermuda's ears as he slowly returned, his eyes blurry and his head feeling like an overstuffed balloon. He could feel the stickiness of blood against his forehead, his hair trapped in it. He slowly murmured, instantly drawing the aim and attention of all the armed officers around him.

  'Don't move!'

  'He's awake!'

  'Hold your fire!'

  His vision solidified, his return to consciousness welcomed by the nozzles of a dozen guns. Beyond them, masked men faced him, their bulletproof bodies surrounding him completely. He recalled the mighty beast, being chased...

  'Fuck!'

  Bermuda murmured before resting back on the deck. Moments later, he was roughly lifted to his feet, his T-shirt ripped and bloodstained from wounds the officers would never understand. Beyond them, the motionless body of his attacker was slumped, its wounds fresh and fatal. He knew Argyle had saved him.

  Again.

  With the weapons trained on him and with slow, measured steps, he was led back through the Cutty Sark, the formerly dark ship now glowing from the torches around him. He woozily reached for a cigarette, only for the officer behind him to roughly tighten his grip of his arm.

  They pushed him through the glass doors, the coolness of the air registering with him, allowing him to take a few deep breaths to return to something resembling normality.

  He had been brutally attacked by one of the most terrifying Others he had faced. It wasn't luck that the creature was there. He knew that much.

  He was now being arrested for
what he remembered was blowing two large holes in a London landmark.

  Argyle?

  Before panic set in, he knew his partner would be safe. An officer said something about his rights, which he barely heard: the throbbing pain in his head had returned. The feeling of someone hosting a rave inside his skull drowned out the world. The door to the police car opened and he was roughly shoved into the backseat. As inconvenient as it was, he was glad to be safe. Soon he would be taken to a police station and away from this place. He had found the mark.

  Twelve sides.

  The two disappearances were linked.

  As the night sky around the ship interchanged with darkness and bright blue lights, Bermuda planned his next move. He needed to go to the BTCO HQ. There, he could use the archives to find the symbol and solve this case. Two officers, both armed, entered the front of the car and the engine kicked into gear. Almost smiling to himself, Bermuda laid his head to rest, taking one final look at the ship.

  A man with a top hat stared back.

  Bermuda shot up, his face pressed against the window as the figure stood on the edge of the boat, looking down at him. His black eyes, like two pieces of coal embedded in a grey stone, burnt through him. The wind whipped his wild, white hair in sporadic directions, all kept in place under his tatty black hat.

  The stare was relentless.

  As the car pulled away, Bermuda tried to turn in his seat, his handcuffs and seatbelt straining to stop him. He eventually struggled through, and peered out the back window.

  The man was gone.

  'Hey!' a rough voice yelled from the front of the car. 'Sit still.'

  Bermuda slowly turned back, his mind, still bursting with pain, trying its hardest to make sense of it all. Those black eyes. They bored through him with sheer disgust. It took him a few moments to realise that the hairs on the back of his neck were standing to attention.

  A voice broke his thought pattern.

  'I don't know what the hell you were doing tonight. But man, I can't wait until the sarge gets a few minutes with you.'

  The officers in the front sniggered to each other and Bermuda just rolled his eyes. Suddenly, the stress and pain of the evening washed over him like a tidal wave. He rested his head back and closed his eyes.

  'Just give me my phone call.'

  CHAPTER NINE

  As soon as they had arrived at Greenwich Police Station, a nurse led Bermuda into a guarded room. She strapped a bandage across his chest, the gashes crudely interrupting the tattoos that crawled across his skin. She threaded eight stitches to close the cut on his head, assuring him the pain would subside.

  He needed a drink.

  Instead, with an icepack firmly pressed against his battered cranium, he was led into an interrogation room where a Detective Bright was waiting for him. Sarcastically asking how his head was, Bermuda would have retorted if it didn't feel like someone was chipping away at his skull with a chisel.

  As the detective began, Bermuda asked him if he could have his phone call, knowing full well he would be out soon enough. Under the impression he was merely humouring his suspect, the detective handed him his phone.

  He called a number that not even a blow to the head would cause him to forget.

  It rang four times.

  'Hello. Please state the destination of your flight?'

  'I tried, but the damn light is still green.'

  Bermuda forced a smile as he hung up the phone, sliding it back across to the sceptical detective. Bermuda pressed the ice against his beating brain, slowly counting down in his head.

  Three...

  Two...

  One...

  Knock! Knock!

  The door opened, a young officer beckoning the detective out. Flashing Bermuda a suspicious gaze, he pushed his chair back and exited the room, the door slamming firmly, sending an extra jolt of pain rattling through Bermuda's skull.

  He winced, pressing the cold ice against his head. He knew he would be free within a few minutes; the BTCO held considerable influence that baffled even him.

  As he sat quietly, he slowly turned his head to the left, catching his reflection in the two-way mirror. His face was starting to bruise, a faint purple spreading around the stitches. They had provided him with a new T-shirt, but a little blood was seeping through his bandages that strapped his chest.

  Goddamn, he needed a drink.

  He sat back, exhaling, and closed his eyes.

  All he saw was the two black eyes staring at him. The pure hatred in them.

  Who was the man in the black top hat?

  Suddenly, the door swung open and Detective Bright marched in. The frown on his face brought a smile to Bermuda's. Without making eye contact, the detective began to mutter.

  'You are free to go.'

  Bermuda nodded, slowly lifting himself from the uncomfortable chair. His body ached and he slowly walked towards the door, the icepack held firmly in place. As he was about to cross the threshold, Detective Bright reached out with a powerful arm, his fingers wrapping around Bermuda's bicep. He leant in close.

  'Just for the record. I don't like you.' His words were full of menace.

  'Don't worry about it,' Bermuda said with a smile. 'Not many people do.'

  The detective roughly let go and Bermuda entered the corridor, feeling the eyes of the entire Metropolitan Police follow him as he made his way to the front door.

  Yet the only eyes he could see were those black eyes.

  They had almost been daring him to come looking.

  Those black eyes.

  It was almost 2:30 a.m. when the cab pulled up outside London Bridge Station. The moon was still illuminating the sky with its magnificent glory, casting an eerie glow over the Capitol. Cutting through the sky was the Shard, its windows twinkling with the reflected moonlight.

  Bermuda paid the cab driver, handing him the notes in his wallet and leaving before the discussion of change arose. As he exited the car, the cool midnight breeze of London swirled around him.

  'I'm glad you are okay.'

  Argyle stood before him, his arms folded across his broad chest. His grey eyes reached out for Bermuda with relief.

  'Let's face it. I've been in worse states at two in the morning.' Bermuda smiled, then immediately scowled as his head thumped the joy from him. 'I guess they’re pissed?'

  'They are not impressed.'

  'Excellent. As if I didn't already have a headache.'

  Bermuda lit a cigarette, the smoke cascading into the air, reaching towards the mighty structure before them.

  'I informed them of your injuries and they have requested you rest before debriefing.'

  'How generous.' Bermuda slowly began to walk towards the entrance of the Shard, his slow steps minimizing the agony that pulsated from his chest. Argyle calmly walked beside him, scouting the area to ensure his safety. They noticed an Other sitting on a bench. With one solitary eye—a magnificent red—browsing the neighbourhood, it quietly turned away as it noticed them. It sat idly as they shuffled by, Argyle reaching a hand to Bermuda to steady him as he finished his cigarette.

  'I'm fine, Big Guy.' He smiled at his partner, who nodded. The large glass doors to the Shard were closed, guarded by a burly security guard who was used to some of the regulars talking to themselves. As Bermuda fished in his pocket for his badge, he glanced up to his partner.

  'I know I blacked out back there, but I have a pretty strong feeling that I'm only alive because of you.'

  'It is my duty to protect you,' Argyle replied uncomfortably, the scarring on his face beginning to heal. Bermuda smiled and flicked his cigarette.

  'Even so, thank you for saving my life.'

  Argyle nodded and Bermuda turned and presented his badge to the guard, who eyed him wearily.

  'Rough night?' the man asked, his eyes scanning the badge.

  'I've had rougher.'

  With a smile, the guard pulled open the large glass doors and Bermuda entered, Argyle following him with pow
erful strides.

  The ground floor of the Shard served as the concierge for the many business that were homed within. Large and profitable legal services, trading companies had clambered over each other to get their name on the list when the building was completed in mid-2012. The building, a masterpiece of eighty-nine glass floors, became the second-tallest building in the UK and shot to the top of the list for many tourists. With the grand observation deck raking in the money, the building became a hub of activity, shooting up towards the sky with a glittering beauty and hefty profit margin.

  With a separate entrance for the public, lined with history and tourist-friendly photos, the only foot traffic Bermuda met in the reception area were those who worked in the building.

  And at two thirty in the morning, that consisted of nobody.

  His footsteps echoed loudly through the hallowed foyer, the pristine hall containing an eerie silence. His head throbbed as if it had its very own heartbeat, and the slashes cutting through his chest were begin to overwhelm. As they approached the lift, Bermuda stumbled. Argyle shot out a steadying arm, averting an unwanted collision with the marble.

  'Thanks.'

  Argyle nodded, his face a mask of sternness.

  The elevator door opened and the two of them entered, the large metal container awash with the glow of the halogen light above.

  Bermuda approached the control panel, the circular buttons aligned symmetrically in rows of five. Each one would send the lift racing towards its destination at over thirteen miles per hour. Below the buttons was a small, dark glass panel which Bermuda pressed his ID badge against. Waiting a few moments, a little light flashed green and the doors to the lift slowly shut and began to move.

  The lift began to descend.

  As the metal box plummeted slowly towards the earth’s core, Bermuda caught a glimpse of himself in the large, wall-covering mirror. His scruffy hair flopped over his tired, bruised face. The stitches ran across his eyebrow framing his dark, sleep-hungry eyes. His police-issue T-shirt now bore large red patches.