‘The fuck is going on?’ Franklyn asked, not realising his eyes were watering.
It’s not every day you see a pile of dead bodies.
Especially ones that had been mutilated by a hidden truth the world kept hidden behind a curtain.
‘Let’s go.’ Denham offered with a commanding hand on the elbow. ‘We can come back tomorrow.’
Reluctantly, Franklyn allowed himself to be guided towards the darkness, a sudden feeling of calm coursing through him as Denham stood protectively by his side. Whatever had killed those humans would be back, they both knew it. Slowly, they began to climb the gradient, headed back towards the safety of the family park, where the distant sound of music and civilisation beckoned.
As they moved through the shadows, another set of eyes watched from the shadows, a hand rested on the handle of a blade, and a silent thank you that Franklyn was okay.
He needed to be kept safe.
That was the order.
As he watched Franklyn ascend to the steadier ground, with Denham carefully helping him over the log, Argyle relaxed his hand on his blade, then dissolved into the shadows that surrounded him.
CHAPTER NINE
‘That’s better.’
Franklyn sat back on the adequate sofa, the footrest propping his feet up. In his left hand, he held a packet of peas, extortionately priced in the local supermarket. In his right, a bottle of Doom Bar, his favourite ale. Taking a long, hard swig, he still felt the shudder of fear course through his body at the very thought of the bodies. All of them, wide eyed, and skinless.
All of them dead.
As if he could read his mind, Denham interjected.
‘It gets easier.’
Franklyn snapped back into the room. The BTCO had booked him a chalet within the Centre Parcs, a small, two bed apartment that was set back in the outer ring. The roads looped through the forest, with adjoining roads leading into the centre to the complex, complete with the swimming pool, bars, and shops. From outside, Franklyn could hear the echoes of a good time, grimacing at the horrifying reason for his visit. With a deep sigh, he placed the bottle of ale between his legs, and fished the cigarette box from the side table.
Denham, perched at the dining table, sat forward, his thick, leg-like forearms resting over his knees. His arms bulged, like watermelons in a sock.
‘This is a non-smoking apartment.’ He warned.
‘So?’ Franklyn shrugged, sparking the cigarette to life. ‘I saw skinned humans today. I really don’t give a shit about the expense policy.’
Franklyn tilted his head back, resting it on the questionable cushions of the sofa and shot a cloud of smoke upwards. With the horrors of the evening wrapping themselves around him like the straight jacket from yesteryear, he slowly turned to Denham.
‘I don’t want it to get easier.’
‘Excuse me?’ Denham pushed himself up, his near seven foot frame almost causing his head to scrape the white ceiling. The room was relatively sparse, with the sofa Franklyn had commandeered sat opposite a plain, oak unit, with a small, flat screen TV perched on top. The white carpet spread across the room to the kitchen, replaced by tiles in the small, open plan area. The dining table that Denham had been stationed at sat beside the breakfast bar. The room had three doors off of it, two to the bedrooms, and one to the bathroom.
It was nice enough, but nothing he was going to thank Montgomery Black for when he returned. In fact, considering he’d been smoking in both the room and the hire car, Franklyn was sure their first meeting wouldn’t end in a hug and a Facebook friend request. Denham’s grey eyes latched onto him, like the stone that clung to his breast plate.
‘I said I don’t want it to get easier.’ Franklyn stared into the quickly dissipating cloud of smoke before shooting another behind it. ‘I don’t ever want there to become a time when I see a human being, skinned and snacked on, and just brush it to one side.’
‘I meant the fear. The fear gets easier.’
‘I’m not scared.’ Franklyn retorted, a little too quickly.
‘Well you should be.’ Denham sighed. ‘My world isn’t like this one. Yeah, I’ve seen you humans rip each other apart based on religion or ethnicity or whatever shaky justification another human deemed viable. But here you have a sense of right and wrong. Here, people have ...’
‘Humanity?’ Franklyn offered, stubbing out his cigarette.
‘Exactly. My world is devoid of anything bar devastation. There are towns, in fact, I served proudly for the Overwatch for decades. We kept the world within the walls safe. Beyond those walls, where the darkness touched the fields that would haunt your dreams.’ Denham cast his only eye over his trainee. ‘You should know?’
‘I should know?’
‘That’s where you passed through. How the hell you survived, I’ll never know.’ Denham ran a meaty hand across his shorn skull that shimmered under the lampshade. He was so large, Franklyn was sure he would knock it from the ceiling.
‘All I remember is blackness.’ Franklyn stared ahead of him, a horrifying memory gripping him. ‘There was a dark, thick fog, and the ground was so cold. Then the eyes.’
‘Eyes?’
‘Yeah, red eyes. Latching onto me through the smoke.’ Franklyn’s hands shook as he raised another cigarette to his lips, his thumb clumsily trying to roll the lighter. ‘Then I remember moving. Well ... sort of floating and before I knew it, I was slamming against a wall in a dusty street and then you fuckers found me in Morocco.’
Denham chuckled and rested both his hands across his thighs, the brown skin was criss-crossed with white scars.
Signs of battle.
He wore them proudly.
‘That was it?’
‘That’s all I got.’ Franklyn took a swig of his beer. ‘This stuff probably doesn’t help.’
‘Nothing else happened?’ Denham’s voice was stern, almost agitated.
‘I don’t remember. What the hell is the matter with you?’
Denham stood up, his entire frame engulfing the light of the room and bathing Franklyn in a dark shadow. Instantly, he felt colder, the sheer intimidation that pulsated off the creature was more than enough to convince Franklyn that Denham had been one hell of a soldier. As the hulking warrior approached, Franklyn drew his knees upwards in protection. The smile that cracked across Denham’s face told him he needn’t have bothered.
‘Agents usually require six months in my training centre before they even get a sniff of a case.’ Denham squatted down, his rippling, vein riddled forearms resting over his knees. ‘But not you, Frankie. Because you are different.’
‘You said that earlier.’ Franklyn threw his mind back to a smart comment Denham had made about his genetic makeup. ‘What the hell is going on?’
‘Vinnie didn’t tell you, did he?’
‘Tell me what?’ Franklyn flicked another cigarette out of its packet and ignored the effects of chain smoking.
‘No human has ever crossed to my world and come back.’ Denham nodded with admiration. ‘Whatever you got inside you, we ain’t ever seen it before.’
As the truth floated in the air between them, Franklyn took a few moments before he realised he was shaking. His fingers fumbled with the lighter and soon the sweet, calming release of nicotine rode in smoky waves to his lungs. Denham gave him a moment before continuing.
‘That Other you hit. Marco.’ Denham gave his student a moment to recall the confrontation in the underground hallway. ‘That was a hell of a punch.’
‘Well, you know.’ Franklyn let smoke gently cascade from his nostrils like a dragon. ‘Us web designers are known for throwing down.’
‘Marco wasn’t wearing a latch stone.’
Again, another statement that shook the room like a tolling bell. Franklyn’s mind trembled, the information etching itself through to realisation, while his yearning for a normal life tried its best to hide it. What Denham had just said made no sense.
Not yet.
‘H
ow is that possible?’ Franklyn finally managed.
Denham offered an apologetic shrug.
‘We have no idea. Like I said, it’s never happened before. A few have tried. But my world, its atmosphere killed them like that.’ He snapped his finger for effect. ‘But something happened to you. Something had changed and now, it seems you can interact with my world. Whether that’s me patting you on the shoulder without wearing my stone. Or you rocking the hell out of a right hook.’
Silence followed, the only noise the burning of the cigarette paper as Franklyn took one final drag. Denham, showing incredible leg strength by maintaining his squat, watched as the confused human stubbed out his cancerous habit and pushed himself to his feet. Denham felt sympathy for the man, who despite his constant need to talk back, was as genuine as he was persistent. There was little doubt that Montgomery Black would despise him, and that Ottoway would be continuously flummoxed by his behaviour. But behind the smart mouth and the plethora of vices, Denham saw a man with the capability to be more than just an agent.
He would be an asset.
As Franklyn paced the room, he heard Denham push himself to his feet. The hulking creature didn’t reflect in the glass, patio doors that lead out to a dismally maintained stone garden, which merged into the grass on its way down to the lake. Feeling his abused lungs scream for fresh air, he threw the door aside and stepped out, the glowing moonlight bathing him in white. The cool, summer breeze danced along his bare forearms, intricately working its way through the hairs. His mind raced with what he’d been told, that he’d done something that no human had.
That he now possessed what no human had.
Did this mean he was different? That he would slowly turn into a creature? Or had he been poisoned, and was spending his last days skulking through the woods, looking for a creature with a penchant for hikers? Every time his brain settled on a specific question, the panic rose up inside him and spun them all like a blender, causing his body to shake.
He stood staring out at the water, the moonlight skimming across the top like a thin layer of icing. A few ripples gently pushed themselves across, fanning out across the surface. An hour passed. Then another. The world went to sleep, with drunken parents noisily making their way through the woods to their expensive bungalows, their kids eager to get to sleep for another day of activities. The simple, happy world of a normal family.
Something he’d been denied.
Now, with this other world coursing through him, it was something he would never have.
Eventually, as the world faded to black and fell into a deep slumber, Denham stepped through the doors, his mighty feet clapping against the cool concrete.
‘Are you okay?’
It was only then that he realised he was crying. Tears had slowly descended down his cheeks, dripping onto the ground below. He turned, his bloodshot eyes seeking comfort.
‘What will happen to me?’
They spoke for another few hours.
Denham tried to offer solace in the fact that they didn’t know, but that Vincent would be the best creature to have involved. While it may be scary to know that you’re now unclassifiable, Denham offered him insights into the world that were usually taught in strict lessons back at the HQ. His world was one of great beasts and furious devastation. They had already felt Franklyn’s presence before and now that he was linked to it, the world would call for him.
He would feel it with every touch.
As the idea of being pulled further from the two point four consensus enveloped him, Denham spoke of the peculiarities of his world. Superstition and fear ran writhe through many of his kind, especially those that grew up beyond the walls. While Franklyn was sure that Vincent had spoken of the great cities that hid behind numerous walls throughout his world, Franklyn was also pretty sure it went in one ear and out the other. As he questioned the reasoning, Denham could only offer a shrug and a single raised eyebrow.
‘There is so much of our world that we don’t even know, and I’ve lived longer than this handsome face gives away.’
Despite the gentle humour, Denham could see that Franklyn had been hit hard by what he’d said. The notion of being completely unique in a population of over six billion wasn’t an easy one to swallow. Being a needle in a haystack was one thing.
But being a needle in two?
Franklyn opened a fresh bottle of Doom Bar and in one arch of his head, didn’t bring the glass away until the entire bottle was empty.
‘So what can I do?’ He eventually mustered.
Denham continued, handing him a plethora of sketches of certain symbols and incantations that different species of his race would step away from. It wouldn’t stop them baying for his blood, but it would at least slow them down. As Denham relayed the dangers of what was to face Franklyn once the rumours of his presence spread through his kind, Franklyn slumped back into his chair, another bottle of Doom Bar popped open and another cigarette slowly burning itself into oblivion.
Denham had finished his explanation and watched the young human, the fear, and self-doubt slapped across his face like clown make-up. With a gentle sigh, he pushed himself to his feet, his mighty legs not registering the pain of squatting for such a period of time. Franklyn looked up with interest as Denham reached to his belt and slowly detached a small, green rock from its holster. In his meaty hand, it resembled a single pea on a plate.
‘This is my latch stone.’ He spoke with the air of a general. ‘It binds me to my world with enough freedom to interact with yours. Forged in the dark fields beyond the walls, we still study, and hope to find its power.’
He handed it to Franklyn, who raised his eyebrows.
‘I don’t need this, remember?’ He spoke, his words laced with defeat.
‘Stand up.’
‘Look, Denham. I appreciate the gift, but ...’
‘Stand up, soldier.’ Denham’s voice rocked with sternness.
Franklyn obliged immediately, pushing himself to attention, and surprising himself with his obedience. Denham reached out slowly, his single eye wide with astonishment as he placed his hand on Franklyn’s shoulder. His grip was firm, with warmth radiating through his palm and through Franklyn’s body.
Franklyn had no idea of the importance.
The latch stone was laying on the sofa. After a few awkward moments, a smile cracked across Denham’s face, like the sun peeking through the clouds.
‘You are truly exceptional, Bermuda.’
‘Yeah, that’s not going to stick.’ Bermuda instructed firmly.
‘We’ll see.’ The hulking creature offered, along with a toothy smile.
With that, Denham retired to the spare room, demanding that Franklyn get some sleep. As soon as he fell to his bed, Franklyn shuffled through the sketches, the crude drawings that he had to believe could at some point save his life. With everything else spiralling further and further down the rabbit hole, he figured putting his faith in certain symbols was no different to people who wore crucifixes round their necks.
He also decided to ruin another one of the ‘No Smoking’ rooms with his cancerous habit.
Denham’s words bounced around his head like a pinball, the future being laid out for him was one of horror and danger, where the world would possibly look to him to bridge a gap between a world it didn’t know existed.
As he tried to bury the idea of destiny in the darkest reaches of his troubled mind, he thought back to the missing hikers.
The old woman, crippled, and dying on her bed.
The feeding ground.
The bizarreness of the day came flooding back, threatening to overwhelm him. Without thinking, he strode to the back door and back outside once again, welcoming the soft breeze, and the pale moonlight.
Across the lake, he saw something move. It seemed large, possibly dangerous, but to a normal human, it was probably just a trick of the eye.
But he wasn’t a normal person.
There was no such thing as a trick of t
he eye.
Knowing that a creature from another world had skinned and eaten those humans, Franklyn felt his fists clench, driven by a mixture of anger and determination. Everything that had led to this moment had been out of his control. His knack was from birth, the BTCO had collected him and put him to work, and Angela had given up on his wild claims of things that go bump in the night.
Those things were bumping again.
With his knuckles turning white, Franklyn returned to the chalet, and within two minutes, was fully dressed, torch in hand, and marching back towards the woods.
‘Time to be exceptional,’ he muttered to himself, as he disappeared into the darkness, not knowing that his feeling of being watched was completely right.
CHAPTER TEN
The moonlight washed over the branches of the high trees like an unstoppable wave, the leaves gently swaying in the cool, evening breeze. Despite the early hours of the morning, Franklyn could hear the jovial chanting from a group of people, clearly a few too many beers in as they enjoyed their ‘staycation’. With their kids asleep, the parents had obviously decided to unwind, and Franklyn now wondered how long before the finest of Centre Parcs’ security were sent for.
As his feet crunched along the dried mud and twigs of the woods, his mind raced to Chloe, her delicate little frame which would undoubtedly be tucked up in her bed, a smile on her face as she dreamt of things she didn’t understand.
He felt his fist clench, the idea of his wife in the next room, in the arms of this new man turned his knuckles white.
Before the crushing devastation of his failed marriage wrapped its fingers around his throat, he shook the image from his mind and lit a cigarette. The filthy habit had become a necessity, the rigours of his training with Denham and the discovery of how in danger the world was had left him pining for any sort of crutch. Selfishly he drew in the nicotine, knowing his habit could one day deny his daughter her real father.
As he stood in the darkness, surrounded by the mighty trees and the echoing remnants of the drunken party, searching for a monster that no one could see, he wondered just how fit he was to be a father.
Bermuda Page 7
