‘Chloe, go back inside.’ Her mother demanded, spinning back to Franklyn with a look of devastation on her face. ‘You can’t be here, Franklyn. You just can’t.’
At that moment, Ian stepped out, hoisting Chloe up to his hip and turning to put himself between her and any potential danger.
Like a real parent should.
Swallowing his sadness, Franklyn watched his former wife march back to the home they’d shared together, snatching their daughter from her new lover’s grasp, and stomping back into the house. Ian, still in his smart shirt and trousers, offered Franklyn a useless shrug of apology and turned back to the house.
The door slammed shut.
Franklyn was no longer welcome in their lives.
Time passed. At what rate, Franklyn didn’t know but by the time he’d returned to the real world, the house before him was cast in darkness. All the houses were. Lost in his pity, the night had shifted on, the world had gone to sleep, and the temperature had dropped further. His breath plumed like a faint cloud of smoke, instantly activating his craving.
He would gladly smoke himself to death now that he couldn’t be with his daughter. All duties of protecting her had been passed over to Ian, who would soon be her stepdad. Franklyn had noted the ring on Angela’s finger, the thick jewel replacing the modest one he’d placed there many years ago.
As the rain began to pour down around him, he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his ill-fitting trousers and turned on his heel, ready to head off into oblivion, wondering how long it would take to reach his sister’s house. Charlotte, who he affectionately called Charles, was a few years younger than him but had always been the sensible one of the two. Franklyn put it down to her having a different father, but the two of them were close.
She’d visited him regularly while he was locked away. He knew there was a bed and a hot meal waiting. He just needed to figure out how the hell he’d get to St Albans with no money or sense of direction.
He took one step and then stopped.
On the wall opposite the house, the creature sat, staring at his daughter’s home. Its skin was a dark, powerful navy that blended with the shadows around it. No more than four feet tall, it hunched over, like a gargoyle on a gothic church. Its arms rested over its knees, each finger tipped with a razor-sharp claw. Its eyes, grey and shining in the moonlight, slowly met his own.
It drew back its lips, revealing a row of sharp teeth that would tear flesh from bone.
With nothing left to lose, Franklyn decided to do one last thing for his daughter and defend her from the creature. As he made a beeline towards it, the creature growled with fear, before scurrying away into the shadows. Franklyn watched it gallop down the street before losing itself in the darkness.
As the rain fell from the sky, he arched his head, and looked back up to the window of his house. The curtain had been pulled back and resting on the window sill, was Chloe. She stared at him, her hand pressed against the glass, a look of wonderment on her face.
Franklyn loved her with all his heart.
He could still protect her.
He could still be her father.
As the moments passed, and the rain pressed his overgrown hair down against his head, Franklyn waved to Chloe. She didn’t respond, slipping away from the window as the light in the room burst to life, a concerned parent undoubtedly entering the room.
Franklyn marched back the way he came.
The pain in his feet subsided, his mind focused on returning to London. As the miles fell from the journey, so did his sense of worthlessness. Whatever the hell was happening in the world, whether anyone would ever believe him, there was still a role for him to play.
He still had a purpose.
Without even realising it, he rounded the corner, and the strikingly sharp point of the Shard came into view, the glass littered with rain drops that shimmered like fireflies in the moonlight. As he marched past London Bridge Station and onto the concourse, he scoffed to himself at the figure stood by the revolving door of the building itself.
Vincent.
The Neither, still wearing its heavy robe, was soaked through but unmoved in his stance.
‘Vinny.’ He offered as he approached. ‘Did they not even offer you an umbrella?’
‘The elements have no effect on me. Moisture is purely decorative.’
‘Sure. Hang on, how did you know I would be coming back? How long have you been out here?’
Vincent pressed his badge against the lock mechanism and the revolving door buzzed to life. The lights to the reception illuminated, casting their glow across the marble floor and impressive, rounded desk.
‘I’ve been waiting as long as it took.’ Vincent calmly ushered him to the door. ‘Lord Ottoway is waiting for you. Enjoy the view.’
Franklyn shuffled through the door and strode across the large, open plan entrance towards the lifts. One of them was open, a small creature stood in the doorway like a bizarre, monstrous bellhop. Once he’d entered, the creature turned its key, booting the lift into life, before slithering around the corner like a snake.
Franklyn shuddered.
This new world was going to take some getting used to.
The elevator shot upwards, with Franklyn’s ears popping as it flew to the sixty-ninth floor at over six metres per second. As it finally came to a stop, the robotic voice welcomed Franklyn to floor sixty-nine, with him immaturely noting that would be a great name for a porn film. The corridor, which offered some spacious toilet facilities, was dimly lit, a few bulbs bursting from strategic points in the flooring, casting everything in an upward shadow.
With measured steps, he walked towards the large panes of glass, his jaw dropping at the stunning view before him.
The beautiful city of London was aglow, the numerous tourist attractions, and iconic land marks bathed in both light and majesty. Big Ben shot up, neighbouring the breathtaking Houses of Parliament which towered over the River Thames. The well-known river arched through the town like a giant eel, the city surrounding it was alive with colour and activity.
From both worlds.
As he lost himself in the beauty hundreds of feet below, he heard the click of the cane and turned, the generous Ottoway approaching slowly.
‘Welcome back.’
Franklyn shuffled uncomfortably on the spot. Ottoway finally approached, extending a hand which he shook gratefully.
‘Sorry about before.’ He offered, unable to take his eyes off the city. Ottoway followed his gaze.
‘Stunning, isn’t it? You can see everything. From Battersea Power Station to Wembley Stadium. And everything in between.’ Ottoway fell into what Franklyn assumed, was a pre-written speech. ‘This city is a heartbeat for this country. Millions live here, but they are not alone. The Otherside is on every street, an Other slithers through every shadow. For the most part, they are like us. They seek a peaceful existence and a safe haven. A place to call home.’
Ottoway slowly turned to Franklyn, offering him a smile.
‘Tell me, Mr Jones. Why have you come back?’
For the first time in his life, Franklyn was lost for words. The heartbreak of his life came flooding back to him like an overrun bath tub, the final images were of his daughter in her window just hours ago. The pain in his feet roared from the miles he’d walked to find what he’d been looking for. He turned his gaze back to the wonderment before him.
‘I’ve spent my whole life being terrified of the things I saw. The creatures, or Others, that followed me. That ruined my life. That took my daughter from me.’ He gritted his teeth. ‘I grew up without my dad, and although I can’t be there for my Chloe, I can at least do something. I can keep this world safe from the things they don’t know about.’
Ottoway straightened, flicking open his blazer, and taking a quick glance at his pocket watch. Franklyn run a hand over his face, wiping away the last of his pity.
‘I’d like to join the BTCO, sir.’
Ottoway grinned
and extended his hand.
‘Then let’s get started.’
The two men turned and headed back to the elevator, ready to plummet deep underground to the heart of the organisation. Franklyn stole a quick glance back over his shoulder, wanting to view the beauty one more time before his life changed forever.
CHAPTER FOUR
A 6.00 a.m. call came via a thudding fist on his metal door and Franklyn slowly stirred on the bed. It had been the same for the past ten days, the BTCO putting him through a gruelling regiment of early starts, healthy eating, and basic training. While he should commend them for taking his health into consideration, he cursed them for disrupting his sleep.
An early bird he was not.
The modest chambers they’d accommodated him beat his original plan of a shop doorway, the white room equipped with an adequate bed along with a table for his minimal belongings and a wardrobe filled with black trousers and black T-shirts. Shuffling out of the bed, he entered his en suite bathroom, splashing water against his face before slipping his clothes off and stepping into the shower cubicle. The shower burst forward with an ice-cold frenzy before gently calming him as it warmed up. After a few minutes of hard scrubbing, he slipped out, a towel wrapped around his waist, and he scrubbed his teeth vigorously. He looked at his pale body through the steam of the mirror, the ten days of training already beginning to show.
After spitting out the excess tooth paste, Franklyn ran a brush through his short hair, the BTCO affording him a neat haircut and a fresh set of razors. His brown hair, now cut short and brushed into a neat side parting, topped a stubble covered face. He looked and felt human again, which was important when his days were dominated by creatures not of this world.
He turned off the tap, wiped his mouth on the hand towel and left the bathroom with a gentle chuckle.
A crude sketch of a penis drawn into the steam on the mirror.
Moments later, he was walking down the bright corridors, thirty feet below the entrance to the Shard. It amazed him just how much the world didn’t know. While only a select few people knew of the Otherside, the thousands of tourists who would flock to the Shard that day would have no idea the work being done below them.
The fate of two worlds being managed beneath their excited feet.
After stopping into the staff canteen for a measly bowl of porridge and passable coffee, Franklyn made his way towards the Training Hub, the rooms designed to prepare and teach the new recruits how to marshal the other world and the best ways to maintain the truce. Franklyn had found the first ten days tough. Never the most natural of students, he found the continuous number of rules and laws to be overbearing, especially as authority had always been something he lacked. But he respected what the BTCO was trying to project.
A true sense of right and wrong.
That’s what the worlds needed.
Vincent, who had taken a keen interest in his learning, had scheduled a one-to-one session for what felt like the rest of Franklyn’s life, their twelve-hour sessions ranging from the history of the truce to the limitations of the latch stones. As Franklyn begrudgingly walked through the corridor, he passed the two iron doors that reached from floor to ceiling, slammed together with a powerful grandeur.
The Archive.
Yet to be given the full tour, all he knew was that was the heartbeat of the operation. Behind those doors, lived the very essence of the Otherside, the pulse of the BTCO and a tapestry of information that stretched further than the Great Wall of China. It would make one hell of a holiday read.
Franklyn rounded the corner, his mind wandering to the last time he’d been on holiday when his shoulder collided painfully with the oncoming agent. The air turned blue, with a strong French accent.
‘You fool.’ The handsome man yelled at Franklyn, gesticulating wildly with his hand. Hugo LaPone was one of the BTCO’s finest, with the good looks to match the arrogance that clung to him like a bad smell. His Neither, Marco, slithered beside him, his reptilian nature causing Franklyn to shuffle uncomfortably to the side.
‘Sorry, mate.’ Franklyn offered, placing a hand on Hugo’s shoulder to steady them both and immediately having it swiped away.
‘Don’t touch my jacket.’ Hugo spat, squaring up to Franklyn. ‘What the hell are you smirking at?’
‘Nothing. Well, nothing of any consequence.’
Hugo snarled, taking another step towards Franklyn, trying his best to intimidate.
‘Do you know who I am?’
‘You’re obviously some sort of arsehole.’ Franklyn offered, watching the Frenchman’s eyes light up with fury. The Neither took a few slinking steps forward, provoking Franklyn to lash out.
He did.
A firm fist caught the Neither between its beady, black eyes, causing it to scurry back and scale the wall slightly. Both it and Hugo looked on in shock and Franklyn immediately held both his hands up in apology.
‘Woah. Sorry.’ Franklyn took a step towards the shocked creature, only to have his pathway blocked by Hugo.
‘What the hell did you do?’ His French accent dominating each word.
‘Look, I’m sorry.’
‘How did you do that?’ Hugo demanded, envy pushing his temper to its limit.
‘Do what?’
A loud cough interrupted the stare down and the agent and trainee both turned to find the authoritative figure of Vincent standing at the end of the corridor. The sleeves of black robe overlapped, his hands clasped beneath them like a holy man.
‘Monsieur Vincent.’ Hugo nodded.
‘Vinny.’ Frankly followed.
‘Enough. I will not have our agents desecrating our hallways with their differences. Put this behind you and walk on.’
Franklyn nodded and turned back to the snooty Frenchman, extending a peace offering hand. Hugo barged past him, their shoulders colliding again, and Franklyn raised his eyebrows to Vincent. Vincent gently shook his head and floated down the corridor, urging Franklyn to follow him.
Marco looked at Franklyn with deep hatred before slithering around the wall, making a big effort to distance himself from his attacker.
‘Sorry about the punch.’ Franklyn feebly offered, instantly regretting it. Marco ignored it anyway, scurrying off after his arsehole of a partner.
‘Jones.’ Vincent’s voice echoed down the corridor, its urgency bouncing off the halogen lit hallways.
Franklyn scurried up the corridor, catching up with the senior Neither who sharply turned a corner, heading towards the Training Hub. Each room of the Hub was designed to create a realistic rendering of a real-life situation. While there were several small classrooms, Franklyn had been aching to venture to one of these simulations.
The legendary Denham ran the centre, but Franklyn hadn’t been introduced yet.
The rumours that spread through the underground complex had prepared Franklyn for his own, personal Full Metal Jacket experience. Denham’s reputation proceeded him. A former soldier who crossed the divide, he’d spent decades as a field agent, partnered with an Agent Morris who was no longer alive. Denham was now the one they sent the new recruits to.
If you could survive him, you could survive the job.
Franklyn couldn’t wait.
As they strode towards the centre, Franklyn turned to open the door to the library where they’d been studying, ready for another one of Vincent’s stimulating, multi-hour lectures. Surprisingly, Vincent continued forward, bypassing the door, and heading towards the barracks. Confused, Franklyn chased after him, his feet the only sound hitting the floor.
‘Where are we going, Vinny?’
‘It is time for your next stage of training.’
The calm words caused Franklyn’s words to catch in his throat, a comical gulp betraying his nerves.
They were heading to Denham.
‘But you said there was still too much for me to learn. You even insinuated that I wasn’t up to scratch.’
‘Up to scratch?’ Vincent queried, his eye
s still set dead ahead.
‘That I wasn’t learning enough. That I wasn’t ready.’
Franklyn found it fascinating that he wasn’t the only one learning. Vincent stopped at the mighty, iron door to the training rooms and turned to face his student. His stretched skin pulled tightly across his rounded skull. His piercing eyes cut through Franklyn, the lack of eyebrow only adding to the ghostly image.
‘You are not ready.’ Vincent placed his long fingers and palm across a glass box, the light beneath scanning it before a green bulb shot to life.
The iron doors creaked open, the heavy metal over a foot in thickness.
Nothing but shadow beckoned Franklyn in.
He turned back to Vincent with a plea in his eyes.
‘Look, if this is punishment for hitting that thing back there, I’m sorry.’ His eyes flashed to the blackness beyond the door.
‘Good luck.’
Franklyn took a deep breath and stepped into the darkness, the iron doors slamming shut behind him. Vincent waited in place, his eyes staring at the rigid, iron markings that crossed the door before him. Behind him, he could hear the gentle repetition of fine, Italian shoes slapping against the tiled floors. Mixed with the steps was the gentle click of a cane.
‘Sir.’ Vincent spoke, turning with respect.
‘Vincent, we’ve been friends for over sixty years. If you call me ‘Sir’ ever again, I will introduce you to the pointy end of my cane.’
‘Quite’.
Ottoway fixed his Neither with a warm smile, before turning back to the door.
‘Little bit soon, don’t you think? I mean, I have full faith in the lad, but Denham isn’t exactly one for niceties.’
‘Sink or swim I believe is the phrase.’ Vincent retorted, drawing a raised eyebrow from the BTCO chairman.
‘He isn’t ready though, is he?’ Vincent shook his head in response. ‘Is it punishment? For striking Marco?’
Vincent turned to his superior with surprise. In the six decades they’d worked together, he was shocked at two things. The way Ottoway spoke to and treated everyone with complete respect. And the fact that nothing happened without him knowing about it.
Bermuda Page 3
