Bermuda watched him trundle off, the enigma of a man doing his best to ward the demons knocking at Bermuda’s door.
Vincent cast a caring eye over the crumpled mess before him. ‘You don’t look good, Jones.’
‘Funnily enough, I don’t feel that great either.’
‘Quite.’ Vincent’s eyes scanned him. ‘Several breaks, a number of of internal bleeds. You will heal but it will be painful for a few days.’
‘Days,’ Bermuda scoffed quietly, reminded once again of his condition. The world that had just tried to beat him to death was alive and kicking inside him. ‘How did you guys find me, anyway?’
‘The Oracles can track the activity of our world. After the overload at the Necropolis, we went there first. A number of soldiers slaughtered. We counted eight dead.’
Bermuda raised his eyebrows, impressed at Argyle’s kill count.
Vincent continued. ‘General Mandrake was found, incapacitated and ready to surrender. He has been taken back to the BTCO to be transferred back to his world for his sentence.’
‘His death,’ Bermuda corrected.
‘His sentence.’
After a few moments of silence Bermuda turned to Vincent, his eyes slightly watering. ‘What will happen to Argyle?’
Vincent paused. ‘It is out of our hands now.’
‘Vincent,’ Bermuda snapped, a tear rolling down his cheek. ‘Will they kill him?’
‘I am sorry, Jones.’
Vincent turned and walked away from the growing confrontation, leaving Bermuda to drop his head back to the pillow. His left arm had been tied tightly across his chest in a sling, a bag of ice had been forced into the crushed remnants of his left hand.
‘Vincent,’ he called out, the senior Neither turning. ‘Do right by Gordon, okay? He needs something to reach out to him.’
Vincent nodded. The homeless man who had spoken to them earlier in the evening had already been accompanied back to the BTCO HQ. They would afford him a shower and a change of clothes. Anyone who was aware of the world that enveloped humanity was an asset.
They would look after Gordon Foster.
He was one of their own.
As Vincent disappeared into the crowd, Bermuda felt the bed shift slightly before being lifted into the back of the ambulance. The paramedic, a petite lady with mousy brown hair and a cute smile, spoke calmly to Bermuda, assuring him that he was going to be okay.
He ignored her, already aware of his body piecing itself back together. Suddenly, a knock rattled the inside of the door.
‘Can I have a moment?’
The young paramedic looked to Bermuda, who nodded his approval. With a smile she left the ambulance, allowing McAllister to climb up into the vehicle and take a seat next to him. Her dress, clinging to her slim body, was soaked through, but she held a towel in her hand and had evidently dried her hair slightly.
She offered him a warm smile, looking with shock at the extent of his injuries.
The sheer brutality of the beating he had taken.
For her.
Silently, a few tears ran down her cheeks.
‘Bermuda, I have to say that what you did this evening was the most …’ she struggled as another tear raced down after the others.
‘Heroic thing ever? Brave?’ Bermuda flashed his cracked grin.
She laughed, shaking her head. ‘Idiotic was the word.’ She squeezed the only hand still intact. ‘But you saved my life.’ She leant forward and gently kissed him on the cheek.
‘You’re welcome.’
‘I just wanted you to know that you were right. There are things I can’t control in this world. What happened to my little Emily will always stay with me. But it can’t dictate the rest of my life.’
‘It can’t,’ Bermuda agreed, nodding slowly.
‘I’ve spoken to Ethan. We have agreed to meet this weekend for dinner. Cards on the table. Get everything out.’ McAllister’s eyes filled with hopeful tears. ‘I just want my husband back.’
Bermuda lifted his free arm and beckoned her in for a hug. She leant in, squeezing his broken body. Bermuda ignored the pain, squeezing with as much energy as he could muster before she slowly pulled away.
‘Look after yourself, Bermuda.’
‘You too, Sam.’ He smiled. ‘You too.’
She waved delicately before stepping back out into the rain, lifting the towel over her head. Butler approached her, nodding his goodbye to Bermuda, who returned in kind. The paramedic returned, closing the door, and the engine roared to life. As the ambulance pulled away, Bermuda closed his eyes.
Images of his bizarre life danced through his mind: The scarring first case he ever worked, being chased through the Cutty Sark by that dangerous creature. The jet-black eyes of Barnaby, his own fingers gripping the edges of a doorway at the top of Big Ben. He thought of Kevin Parker, the various dead women he had encountered this past week. Slowly his thoughts faded to the real world, to having a beer with Brett, discussing all things inappropriate. A flash of Sophie Summers made his heart ache.
A discussion with Angela, her voice berating him for being a lousy father to Chloe, that his delusions were dangerous. His mind raced to Ottoway, the father he never had and the inevitable journey he would soon take to the afterlife.
He thought of Argyle, his partner and loyal friend, who had once again saved his life on numerous occasions. Who had gone to war with eight of the most dangerous creatures on either side of the divide and walked away victorious.
Who had protected him at all costs.
Bermuda’s one working hand clenched into a fist at the images of that sinister world welcoming Argyle home to an undoubtedly horrible fate.
Then Bermuda thought of Chloe.
His beloved daughter.
Her breathtaking smile that shone underneath her silky blond hair. Her tears when she had realised her dad hadn’t called on her birthday.
The continuous strain his life had on their relationship.
As the ambulance roared through the wet Glasgow streets, Bermuda thought of his daughter and the pain slowly filtered away. The mind-numbing agony of his broken body dissolved at the very idea of her.
With the image of his daughter firmly in his mind, he slowly closed his eyes to rest.
The case was over.
He’d be with her soon.
EPILOGUE
The afternoon sky had already begun to darken, the wintery night doing its level best to dominate the remainder of the day. It was only ten past four, but the dark fingers of the night were creeping in through the large floor-to-ceiling windows of Ottoway’s hospital room.
His bed was pressed to the far wall, poking out into the centre of the sparse room. He lay under the white quilt, his eyes firmly closed as he drifted in a medically induced sleep. Plastic tubes scattered out of him in different directions, hooking him up to a number of different machines, ready to be shocked like Frankenstein’s monster.
The beeping of his heart monitor synchronised with the heaving of his breathing apparatus.
All of this just to keep him alive.
The cancer eating away at him, winning the battle against Western medicine.
Bermuda stood in the doorway in jeans and a white shirt, leant against the frame with a sullen look on his face. His fractured eye socket had healed, his eye now framed by a deep purple bruise and a smattering of cuts.
His collarbone, for the second time that month, had healed, the bone fusing itself back together and allowing him movement. The rib that had punctured his lung had been reattached, the lung itself blocking the gap and keeping him alive.
His left arm was still strapped to his chest, his hand tightly wired to a metal cast. There was only so much they could do with a bag of dust. But they were confident that, given time, his hand would at least reform, but the muscle fibres and nerves might never recover.
Still, as Bermuda watched the closest thing he had to a father clinging desperately to life, he realised his situation was
n’t so bad. It had been a week since he had been flown back from Glasgow, treated by the BTCO in their secret medical facility on one of the Shard’s upper floors. With a view spanning the length and width of London, Bermuda was reminded of Ottoway once more.
The elegant chairman had always enjoyed the view, spending most of his days literally watching over the city from the viewing platform.
The city and the organisation was Ottoway’s life.
A life that was slowly fading.
Bermuda cursed the world for the way it worked, allowing good people to suffer such pain while the worst got to live healthy, full lives of sin and debauchery. He was a fine one to talk, the number of beers and loose women that had passed his lips.
Things would change.
He would change.
He had already met with Brett at their local watering hole, the Royal Oak, in Bushey, the quaint pub set back from the street and surrounded by the well-maintained green and expensive houses. Sat inside the snug, rustic property, Bermuda ordered a diet Coke to the shock of the landlord, Paul.
Brett was livid.
But after a thorough explanation of what had happened, including a detailed account of Argyle’s heroics for Brett’s benefit, his best friend understood.
Bermuda was changing his life.
The only thing he wanted was to spend some time with his daughter. Seeing the heartbreaking pain of Sam McAllister when he had discovered her empty nursery had been a wake-up call.
He had the daughter that she was denied.
And he wasn’t doing enough.
McAllister had sent him a message the day before, excitedly telling him that she and Ethan were going to make a second go of things. The marriage and family they had always planned for was back on, and she thanked him for being the worst mistake she ever made.
He replied with a middle finger emoji and congratulations.
When he had called Angela, she had instantly dismissed his notion of change. But as he had discussed his plan with her, she had slowly come around. Although their love had long since left, he admired how protective she was of their daughter.
He had to mean it.
And he had to prove it.
Starting with dinner that evening
As he stood in the doorway, offering his silent goodbye to Ottoway, he turned and almost collided with Vincent. He startled loudly before resting a hand on his chest.
‘Christ, Vinny. You almost gave me a heart attack.’
‘An exaggeration, I’m sure.’ Vincent glided past Bermuda towards Ottoway, the man he had partnered with for sixty years.
‘How is he?’ Bermuda asked.
‘So-so.’ Vincent spoke sadly. ‘We are trying our own ways to treat him. The results are sporadic. I fear he doesn’t have much time.’
‘He’s a great man. We all know that.’
Vincent nodded, his eyes not leaving Ottoway. ‘He would respect your decision.’
‘I know,’ Bermuda replied, the guilt of his decision to quit the BTCO clawing at him like a scared animal.
‘Is it because of Argyle?’ Vincent asked, turning to face him. ‘His crime is one that we cannot overlook. I assure you we have tried, but the law dictates he return to our world.’
Bermuda nodded, refusing to respond. While Argyle would face the death penalty, it was the fate he would face before then that worried Bermuda.
The Otherside despised Argyle.
The BTCO was doing nothing.
‘I’m going to go, Vinny. I am going to go and spend time with my daughter.’
‘Very well.’ Vincent extended a thin, bony hand.
Bermuda looked at it, slapped it away, and drew him in for a hug. Taken aback, Vincent eventually patted Bermuda on the spine which no longer twisted in pain.
‘Look after him, yeah?’
‘Of course.’ Vincent released him. ‘What will you do now?’
‘I don’t know.’ Bermuda shrugged. ‘Tram driver?’
Vincent looked at him blankly. ‘You know where we are.’
‘Yeah.’ Bermuda patted him on the arm. ‘You guys still owe me a new car.’
Vincent smiled, a rarity that caught Bermuda unaware, like when a dog winks.
‘I’m sure Mr Black will be thrilled.’ Vincent nodded knowingly. ‘Remember, Jones. Two worlds.’
‘One peace.’
With that, Bermuda turned and left the medical centre, riding the fastest lift in London down to the ground floor before navigating his way through the gift shop. He stepped out into the cold, wrapping his coat around his body and walking away from the BTCO HQ.
He stepped into London Bridge Station, ignoring the Other that sat in the cold, dark corner of the platform.
Venturing deeper and deeper underground, he eventually appeared on the Northern Line platform, hopping onto a train that was just about to depart.
It would take him to Euston where he would get the over ground to Bushey. The train grunted to life and disappeared into the darkness.
A smile cracked on Bermuda’s scarred face.
He was heading home.
The End
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Born in Edgware, North London, Robert Enright always wanted to write. From online roleplay games to drawing up comic book characters, it wasn’t until his mid-twenties that he finally finished a project. Laughably, it was a script for a romantic comedy! After the release of his first self-published novel, One by One, Robert signed with Urbane Publications to release Doorways. One year later, he decided to leave, and self-published Doorways followed by The Absent Man. A prequel, titled Bermuda is due to be launched mid-2018.
Robert lives in Buckinghamshire with his fiancé, dreaming of the day he can get a dog.
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Acknowledgements
I still can’t believe that I have written my third novel! This wouldn’t be possible without the love and support of so many amazing people.
Sophie Holland, my wife to be and my partner in crime.
Dan, Johnny, Matt and Saira, my beta readers and some of my closest friends who give me nothing but the truth.
My siblings, who through raising their children, running their own businesses and chasing their dreams continuously inspire me.
My mum, my Dad, my Jane, my Dave and my Tracy.
And the rest of you lot – Ben, Neil, Sam, Matt, Nick, Jason, Checi, Becky, Tobi, Thorpey, Brett, Elaine, Josh, Lucy, Lisa, Nan (you can keep pretending to read) and the rest of my family.
A big thank you to Emma Mitchell, for your incredible kindness. Also, a major shout out to the entire book blogging, author and reader community on Facebook. It’s so inspiring and constantly supportive.
To anyone I haven’t listed here, please forgive me and know that you mean the world to me.
And finally, a thank you to you, the reader, for joining me on this journey and giving me a reason to write..
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The Absent Man: A Bermuda Jones Case File (The Bermuda Jones Case Files Book 2) Page 29
