by Amy Cross
***
“Oh my God,” Robinson muttered sarcastically, as he stood with Katie and Milhouse on the platform and watched an underground train slowly reversing out of the tunnel. “Whoever would have believed it? You've located a train in a train tunnel, just outside a train station. How surprising, you really are very good at finding things! Good detecting, detective!”
“Very funny,” Milhouse replied, “but wait a moment until the front carriage is out, alright?”
“I've seen trains before,” Robinson said with a sigh. “You said this one had been destroyed. It doesn't look very destroyed to me. It looks intact and boring.”
“I didn't say it'd been destroyed,” Milhouse continued, “I said it'd been attacked, and it has. In the tunnel. Wait for it.”
“I don't have time for this,” Robinson muttered, checking his watch. “We both know who's going to show up sooner rather than later.”
“I don't think he's on his way yet,” Milhouse replied.
“Who?” Katie asked.
“Oh, no-one,” Robinson told her, even though he was clearly concerned as he glanced both ways along the platform. “Just the most loathsome individual in all of London.”
“The surviving passengers had to be evacuated along the tracks,” Milhouse continued. “There were six carriages in all, only the front one was affected, and even then it was only the driver's cab and then maybe the first twelve or so seats. So far we've found seven bodies, including two kids, plus the driver's missing and we're fairly sure he was incinerated.”
“Incinerated by what?” Robinson asked. “Come on, can't you just come out with it?”
“Wait for it,” Milhouse replied.
“This is interminable!”
“Just give it a second,” Milhouse continued, as the train continued to be backed slowly out of the tunnel.
“I've already given it several seconds,” Robinson replied, clearly frustrated. “Why can't you -”
Stopping suddenly, he watched as the front of the train finally emerged backward from the tunnel: the driver's cab had been completely torn apart, leaving nothing but a few badly burned sections of metal, and the first few seats in the carriage had been burned to ash.
“Oh,” Robinson said after a moment.
“Yep,” Milhouse replied.
“Oh,” Robinson said again.
“Bloody hell,” Katie added. “What happened?”
“I don't suppose,” Robinson continued, still staring at the wrecked train, “there's any chance whatsoever that it's supposed to look like that, is there?”
“The driver had been in contact with the control room for a few minutes prior to the incident,” Milhouse explained. “He reported two unusual things. First, there was apparently a hole in the tunnel roof, and second, there was a person on the tracks.”
“A person on the tracks would have been electrocuted,” Robinson pointed out, stepping over to the edge of the platform and reaching out to touch the charred, twisted metal on the front of the carriage. “Hot,” he muttered, quickly pulling his hand back. “It must have been exposed to one hell of a heat source. Pun possibly intended.”
“There's more,” Milhouse continued. “The driver was asked to send a photo from his phone, showing the hole in the roof. He did that.” Holding out his phone, he showed Robinson a grainy image that – just about – revealed a gap in the top of the tunnel. He swiped through to a couple of other images, which showed more or less the same thing. “Then he took one final photo.” Swiping to the next image, he held it out for Robinson to see. “That's the figure he saw on the tracks.”
“I can barely see a thing,” Robinson replied, squinting at the photo. “We'll need to get it digitally enhanced and -”
“Already way ahead of you,” Milhouse said with a faint, satisfied smile, swiping to the next image, which revealed an artificially brightened photo, filled with digital noise but showing the unmistakeable outline of a human figure standing on the tracks, with some kind of large protuberances extending from its back and up behind its shoulders. “I've already had two different labs take a look at this, and none of the inconsistencies are causing by digital artifacts or any problems with the lens. That is exactly what the driver saw about two seconds before the front of the carriage was incinerated.”
Taking the phone, Robinson paused for a moment, before showing it to Katie. “What does that look like to you?” he asked.
“Well...”
“Don't worry,” he continued. “Just say what you think, no-one will think any less of you.”
“Well, I mean... I don't know what it is, but it definitely... looks like an...” She paused. “Those look like wings,” she added finally, pointing at the screen. “See those things that seem to be rising up from its back? They definitely look like wings to me.”
“So what you're saying is...”
“It looks like an...”
She opened her mouth to say the word, but it seemed to stay stuck on her tongue.
“Bollocks,” Milhouse said suddenly.
They both turned to him.
“I know what you're gonna say,” he continued, “and I know where you usually end up going with these things, Robinson, but even you can't be about to get suckered into this one, right? I know your 'forgotten science' bullshit gets you a long way sometimes, but please, save it this time, yeah?”
“The hole in the tunnel roof seems important,” Robinson muttered.
“Well, sure, but -”
“Hang on,” he continued, looking up at the station's ceiling for a moment. “The church,” he said finally. “We're more or less directly beneath the church of St. Barnabus, where the body was found this morning. There can't be more than twenty or thirty meters' difference as the crow flies.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning we might have found the other end of the hole that starts in the crypt.”
“What hole in the crypt?” Milhouse asked.
“Didn't I mention that?” Robinson turned to him, before sniffing the air. “What's the foul smell? No, wait, I recognize it. The distinctive combination of cheap alcohol and cheaper cologne.”
“Oh Christ,” Milhouse muttered, turning toward the nearby entrance as he heard footsteps approaching fast. “Sorry, Robinson, I guess he was always gonna show up when he heard about this.”
“If we had a glass of water on a dashboard right now,” Robinson continued, turning to Katie, “it would be trembling.”
“Where is he?” a voice boomed, before the imposing figure of Commander Wagoner arrived on the platform, with several uniformed officers just a few steps behind. “I know he's here! I can smell him!”
“Sir, there's really no need to get upset,” Milhouse replied, before turning to Robinson. “It's just that, well, given the current situation -”
Stopping suddenly, he looked around and realized that both Robinson and Katie had managed to slip away. He turned again, half-convinced that they'd turn out to be right behind him, before finally accepting that they'd somehow vanished.
“I thought I made myself clear,” Wagoner continued, heading over to take a closer look at the train, “that I will not have that charlatan involved in any more police investigations. He's already done more than enough to embarrass both the force and the government. The man is a fool and he lowers the tone of every crime scene he attends!”
“Well...” Milhouse paused. “Yes, but he's also... solved a few -”
“Shut up,” Wagoner said firmly, turning to him. “Now what's this I hear about photos showing some kind of man down in the tunnel?”
“Right,” Milhouse replied, “yes. I've got them on my phone, Sir.”
“Well,” Wagoner boomed, “let's see them!”
“Of course,” Milhouse continued, reaching into his pocket.
***
“You stole his phone?” Katie asked as she and Robinson made their way across the deserted ticket office. “You can't steal a policeman's phone!”
“I didn'
t steal it,” Robinson replied, scrolling through the photos, “he literally forced it into my hand and then I just forgot to give it back. Don't worry, I'll let him have it next time I see him. Or the time after. Or the time after that. Or maybe later, depending on how long I need it for. Do you know, this phone grants me access to certain very important police computers?”
“And who was that other man?” she asked. “You seemed very keen to get away before he saw you.”
“Commander Wagoner,” Robinson muttered darkly, leading her up the steps toward the exit. “He and I have met before, and unfortunately he doesn't like me very much. That's why we've had to rush around so much this morning, I needed to get certain things done before Wagoner showed up. I don't understand what his problem is, I've helped several of their investigations, even if the outcomes were a little unconventional. I swear, that man will be the death of me.” Stopping for a moment, he peered more closely at the photo of the figure in the tunnel. “Now we can relax the pace a little and try to work out what's really going on.” He tilted the screen toward her. “You can say the A word now, Katie. Come on, what does that really look like to you?”
“Well...” She paused. “It looks like...”
“Go on.”
“It looks like an angel.”
“Agreed.”
“But angels don't exist, do they?” she continued. “I mean, you said it yourself.”
“Exactly,” he replied, staring at the grainy photo. “Unfortunately, I don't think the chap in the tunnel realizes that yet.”
Chapter Four
“Hello, Meg. Open your eyes.”
At first nothing happened, but finally Meg's eyes began to flicker open. Her pupils – dilated as much by the head injury as by the drugs that had since been pumped into her body – tried to close as bright electric lights shone down at her, but as her sphincter pupillae muscles tried desperately to contract and close the iris, they began to tear and come loose, causing a hint of blood to fill her eyes, and bringing a gasp of pain to her mouth.
“Oh dear,” Hanson muttered, leaning close to her face with a surgical mask over his mouth, “now you're blind. Still, I don't think that'll be a problem, not once we've finished the surgery. You'll start to see things so much more clearly than the rest of us. Truly, I envy you.” He reached down and ran a gloved finger across her cheek, wiping away a bloody tear in the process. “You're going to be so beautiful when all of this is done.”
Meg's mouth opened again, but all she could manage was the faintest of gasps.
“You might not realize this yet,” Hanson continued, “but you are without doubt the luckiest woman in the whole world right now. Do you know where you are? You're on the verge of a transformation that has been dreamed about by mankind since the dawn of civilization. You, Meg, are the lucky one.” Grabbing a cloth, he wiped away a couple more bloody tears that had begun to run from her right eye. “You'll thank us eventually,” he told her. “Your mind will still be very much intact when we're done with you, and you'll be able – after a period of adjustment – to recognize your new form, and that's when you'll realize that you were so very right to accept my invitation today. No matter how bleak the situation might seem at the moment, you just have to wait a little while longer.” He tapped the front of her forehead. “A great revelation is coming.”
He ran a finger against the side of her neck, as if he was momentarily mesmerized by the sight of her skin.
“Do you know how hard it is to find someone who lives on the streets, but whose body is still pure?” He smiled. “There are no drugs in your system, there's no alcohol, you've never been tainted by a man... The extra effort to procure your involvement was so, so vital. We have to use a pure base, otherwise the whole operation is doomed.”
“We're ready,” said a female voice nearby.
“You have to be conscious,” Hanson explained, wiping another tear from Meg's cheek, “so the pain will be... noticeable. But these moments are transitory, and once the operation is over you'll get to experience a completely new level of existence.” Leaning closer, he gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead. “The pain is part of the beauty,” he whispered finally. “If you stop fighting and let it into your heart, you'll find that it's the most wonderful feeling in the world. Trust me, I know from personal experience that pain can reinvigorate a tired and lost soul, it can transform you and change the way you see the world forever. It will also be the last pain you ever feel, so try to enjoy it while you have the chance. One day, it will be nothing more than an echo.”
He paused.
“Of course, I've made this speech several times in the past, but this time I really think I'm right. You, my dear, are going to be the one. There will be no more abominations, only... divinity.”
Turning from her, he watched as two of his assistants wheeled a long wooden box into the room and parked it next to the table upon which Meg's naked body had been strapped.
“Open it,” he told them.
With plastic gloves on their hands, the assistants began to carefully remove the box's wooden lid, finally pulling it away to reveal the skeleton inside. Its head tilted back and its mouth open as if it had died screaming, the corpse had its hands clasped across its chest, while several large, unnatural bones seemed to be protruding from beneath its back.
“We've wasted enough time already,” Hanson said after a moment, taking a scalpel and pressing the blade against Meg's breastbone, before pushing down and starting to cut her open. As her skin was split open, the tip of the scalpel began to grind against bone. “Let us correct our previous mistakes and bring forth our vision to the world. Doctor Leach, I think it's time for the first dose.”
Chapter Five
“And how was the Great Library?” Robinson asked as he took the book from Quix's hands. “Oh, how I miss my old trips to the place. The smell of the books, the wax of the shelves glinting in the afternoon sun, the possibility of afternoon tea with Lady Pirrin of the Abject Debasement while listening to screams in the distance... Perhaps I'm being a tad romantic, but sometimes I long to -”
Grabbing the book back, Quix opened it to the first page and pointed at the due date.
“Yes, I know,” Robinson replied testily, trying to pull the book back.
Refusing to let go, Quix held the book closer to his face, while still pointing at the date.
“I will be ready to return it way before then,” he continued. “What's wrong, do you have no faith in me at all?”
He waited for her to let go of the book. Her hands gripped the cover firmly for a moment, before finally she relented.
“Thank you,” he added, finally slipping it from her grasp. “If it's any consolation, I am enormously grateful to you for making the journey, and this particular title is likely to be of great use to me as I research the current situation.” Turning and heading to his desk, he set the book down and busied himself with his pens for a moment, before glancing at Quix and seeing that she was still scowling at him. “Are you sure you don't want to find your tongue and put it back in?” he asked plaintively. “You've been very... starey lately.”
“I've done what I can,” Katie said as she hurried through to the office, balancing two laptops in her arms. “The police guys did a good job enhancing that photo from the tunnel, but I tried a few other things.” Setting the laptops in front of Robinson, she looked over her shoulder just in time to see Quix heading to the bookshelf at the far end of the room. Turning back to Robinson, she lowered her voice: “Remind me again, why doesn't she want to go and get her tongue back?”
“She's sulking.”
“About her tongue?”
“Apparently it's a matter of principle. Besides, she was never very talkative anyway. Singing, on the other hand, was her thing. My God, she could fill a theater in her heyday.”
“But how did she lose it? This time, I mean.”
“Delicate subject,” he said cautiously, keeping his voice hushed. “I mean once was unfortunate
, but twice? One might speculate that she was playing fast and loose with that thing, and not taking very good care of it.”
“Can't she just -”
“Don't ask her,” he added, interrupting her, “she'll just get angry, and her anger is rather demonstrative now that she can't rant and rail. She'll end up venting.”
“And then what will she do?” Katie asked. “Glare at me?”
“For hours and hours,” he replied, peering at the first of the laptops. “She's very persistent and... Well, in some weird way she's better at sulking now she can't talk.” Pausing, he tilted the screen back for a moment. “You've done well with this, there's much more definition on the outline, even some texture starting to show through on the wings -” He caught himself before he could go on. “Texture on the alleged wings,” he continued. “Very good work indeed. I've obviously taught you extremely well, you're progressing much faster than any of my previous apprentices.”
“What exactly happened to your previous apprentices?” she asked.
“Nothing. Why, what have you heard?”
“Nothing. That's why I'm asking.”
“They all...” He paused again. “I can't tell you. Privacy rules. Plus, you know, the coroners never really came to any firm conclusions.”
“Coroners?”
“Joking.”
“Were you?”
He paused. “Yes,” he said finally.
She sighed.
“Stop letting yourself get distracted by unimportant matters,” he continued. “Right now, the only thing you should be pondering is the true nature of the figure in this photograph. Believe me, this is more than enough to keep an intelligent mind occupied.”
“You still don't think it's a real angel, do you?” she asked.
“Do you?”
“I... To be honest, I don't know what to think anymore.”
“Is that because you don't know what you're looking at, or because you're trying to second-guess the right answer, or because you're too worried about what I might think?”
