Joseph Bridgeman and the Silver Hunter

by Nick Jones

  Vinny shakes his head. ‘I’m really sorry, Cash,’ he says, ‘I don’t know who you’re talking about. I can’t afford to employ anyone.’

  I stare at him. Ice runs from the nape of my neck straight down my spine.

  ‘Oh, crapola.’

  He doesn’t know her. I think back to all the times I’ve seen Solanine. Was she ever with Vinny? No... she was always alone.

  Deception. She acted the part, and I filled in the rest.

  I grit my teeth. ‘Damn it,’ I say, a little too loudly. I glance around and lean closer to Vinny. ‘There’s a girl who’s been pretending she works for you, and she persuaded me she was your friend, too.’

  Vinny gasps. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes,’ I nod, anger and adrenaline pulsing through me. ‘She was here yesterday; she told me you were in a medically induced coma.’

  ‘A coma!’ Vinny’s mouth hangs open. ‘What?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I tell him. ‘She laid it on pretty thick, made sure I knew it was all my fault.’

  ‘If I had been in a coma, I would have been in ICU.’

  ‘IC what?’

  ‘Intensive Care Unit.’ Vinny frowns. ‘Don’t you watch Casualty?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What about ER?’

  ‘I don’t watch TV.’

  Vinny looks utterly bemused. As though I just said I don’t eat. ‘Well, you can't just walk into ICU. They have a buzzer system for entry.

  I hadn’t really noticed how much security was surrounding him. The world loses those details when you're consumed by guilt.

  Vinny shrugs. ‘I was knackered and beaten up, they drugged me to my eyeballs and kept me in resuscitation for a couple of hours. Said it was just a precaution, but I was alright.’ He glances down at his leg. ‘My knee is only badly bruised, they say the extra layers of fat helped.’

  Pieces fall into place, showering my mind like hail on a pond. ‘She was determined to make me feel guilty, feel responsible.’

  Vinny nods, blinking. ‘Why, though? What was she trying to achieve?’

  It’s a good question. We both ponder it in silence for a while.

  ‘I saw Bill this morning.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Well, there were two of him, for a start.’

  ‘Really?’ Vinny grins. ‘That is so cool.’

  ‘He told me to come and see you,’ I explain, ‘said my final jump would be to the night of the robbery. He also gave me this.’ I show him the key.

  ‘What’s it for?’ Vinny asks.

  ‘No idea...’ I shrug. ‘All will be revealed, apparently.’

  Vinny nods. ‘Bill is one of the good guys, I think.’

  ‘What?’ I snort, staring at him. ‘He might seem like he’s trying to help but we can’t ignore the facts. He’s the reason we’re in this mess.’

  Vinny hoists himself up in the bed and, even though he’s clearly in pain, fixes me with a determined stare. ‘Maybe he’s like Obi-Wan. He might be trying to help you, you just can’t see how at the moment.’ Vinny tilts his head. ‘Do you trust him?’

  I consider this carefully. ‘No… I can’t.’

  ‘But could he be acting for some sort of greater good?’

  ‘Blimey,’ I laugh, ‘you sound like him!’

  ‘Well, you never know.’

  No. I think of Solanine; you never do. But I understand what Vinny is getting at. Bill does seem to be trying to help me succeed but it’s impossible to trust him.

  The seconds tick by. I stare at my hands, not sure what to say.

  ‘Don’t give up, Cash,’ Vinny says. ‘Nothing is impossible.’

  Vinny is trying to make me feel better, but there are plenty of things that are completely impossible. Levitation, for example. I look up. ‘Thanks, mate.’

  Vinny looks excited. ‘So, when are you off again?’

  ‘A few hours.’ I absently place my hand over my chest.

  ‘Are you ready?’ he asks.

  ‘I’m scared,’ I admit and then exhale loudly. ‘I think I’m a coward, Vinny.’

  He pats my arm. ‘You’re not a coward. You’re confusing fear with cowardice,’ he says. ‘Courage means doing things even when you’re scared.’

  I sigh and feel a little of the weight lift from my shoulders. ‘What would I do without you?’

  A little voice reminds me I’m about to find out.

  ‘Hey,’ Vinny exclaims, making me jump. ‘We’re in a hospital!’ He looks around the ward as if I’m supposed to understand something. He hauls himself up further. ‘I came out of my pretend coma just before your final confrontation.’

  ‘What are you on about?’ I say.

  ‘It’s like the scene in Rocky!’ he cries, eyes huge. ‘I’m Adrian,’ he says, looking at me like I’m the one who’s crazy, ‘and you’re Rocky.’

  ‘Well, that’s good.’

  Vinny is clearly frustrated. ‘Come on, you have to ask me what I want you to do.’

  I hike an eyebrow.

  ‘Ask me!’

  ‘Okay, Vinny,’ I play along, ‘what do you want me to do?’

  He beckons me to lean forward so he can whisper in my ear. ‘Win, Joseph,’ he says, ‘I want you to win.’

  Vinny is so serious it makes me laugh. He mimes hitting a bell. Dong, dong, dong and then erupts into the Rocky theme tune. He begins with the trumpets and then moves on to the part where the choir sing ‘getting stronger’. He attracts interested looks from some of the visitors in the ward. Vinny doesn’t care one jot.

  Something occurs to me. ‘Hang on, doesn’t Rocky lose at the end?’

  ‘Yeah, he loses, but that’s not the point,’ Vinny explains. ‘He learns something.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That trying is the most important thing, even if you fail.’

  I love Vinny. He means well, but sometimes he’s a bit like morphine; he has the ability to make me feel great and horrendous all at the same time. A nurse arrives and inspects the nearly empty syringe of pain medication. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Hungry,’ Vinny announces with a comedic growl. ‘All these drugs give me the munchies.’ He smiles, playing up like a naughty boy. She places a tray down in front of him. ‘Pudding!’ Vinny groans with pleasure, utterly focused.

  Unlike me.

  I check the pocket watch. ‘I’d better go, mate,’ I tell him.

  He nods, smiles, and a brief moment of deep understanding passes between us. I turn to leave. Vinny holds up his dessert and says, ‘Joe, guess who I am?’

  I stare back at him and frown. ‘I don’t know. Who are you, Vin?’

  ‘I’m PC Green and I’m taking this rhubarb crumble into custody.’ He starts to chuckle and then guffaws at his own joke. ‘Get it?’ he asks, tucking in. ‘Custard-y.’

  ‘I get it,’ I tell him, smiling.

  ‘Good luck, Cash, and don’t forget; I’m coming with you next time.’

  I nod and walk out of the ward. I don’t look back because I can’t help but feel it might be the last time I see him.

  Chapter Seventy-One

  As I walk home my thoughts drift to Solanine, my deceptive little observer. She was clever, positioned herself in my life as though she belonged. And the more I think about it, the deeper the rabbit hole goes.

  At every turn, she was trying to influence me.

  I play through all of our interactions. The first time I saw her was at Vinny’s shop after she called me. She told me that the big man had gone away, that he was totally freaked out. She suggested I shouldn’t bother trying to find him because he had gone away for a while.

  It would have been so easy to have taken her word for it. Instead, by chance, a customer tipped me off, and I found Vinny in the pub.

  Then I saw Solanine again at the hospital. She arrived at the worst possible moment, of course. I was alone and feeling lost. She did an excellent job of persuading me what a piece-of-shit friend I was.

  Basically, she twisted the kni
fe. She acted like she really cared about Vinny. I recall how I suspected the young, impressionable goth had a bit of a crush on her music-loving boss.

  Maybe her job was not to fight me directly or even try to stop me. Maybe her job was simply to nudge me off course, like a boat on a long journey; a single degree of change can extrapolate into a huge error of navigation over time. Why would she do that? Who is she working for? The next time I see Bill, I will ask him if he knows of her. He told me to be vigilant, mentioned an anomaly. Perhaps this is what he meant.

  If I were a betting man, I would say she is another time traveller.

  What I do know is that she nearly broke my spirit at the worst possible time. My anger builds. She was so persuasive, and what scares me the most is that I almost listened.

  I almost gave up.

  Think about it… Consider how a single conversation has shaped your life, altered your direction positively or negatively. There’s no doubt a piece of advice can nudge your life on a totally different course. Add extra points if you love, fear, respect or hate the person giving it.

  I wonder how many poets put down their pen when an overbearing parent suggested they shouldn’t give up the day job. How many voices were silenced too early? How many dreams squashed with a single word?

  I know.

  Plenty.

  But the reverse is also true.

  A single word of encouragement at just the right time, even a smile can turn the tide.

  Win, Rocky, win.

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  When I arrive home, my pocket watch tells me I have two hours to kill. I juice an entire drawer of fruit, shower and dress appropriately for a trip to December 1962.

  I know it’s going to be cold, so I layer up, figuring it’s easier to strip off than find more clothes. The fog was nasty and polluted, so I rummage around in a few cupboards and eventually find what I’m after: one of those white masks you get in DIY shops, ideal for sanding, odd jobs and time traveling. I shove it into my pocket and head to the Mac.

  I research the hell out of the robbery. Most of it is stuff Vinny and I already discovered, but I make extra notes, adding them to my now very long shopping list. I’m about to wrap up when a possible scenario occurs to me.

  What if I go back to 1962 and get killed in the process of saving Lucy? Presuming Bill honours our agreement and leaves her timeline alone, Amy will be safe, but I will have disappeared, and she will never know what happened to me.

  I’ve been on the flip side of that nightmare.

  I’m not going to let that happen to anyone else.

  I spend the next hour writing letters. One for Amy, Alexia, Vinny and a final one for my parents. I place them in my desk drawer. If I return, I will burn them. If I don’t come back, then at least I will have said some important things to people I love and given them closure. I know how important that can be. In the case of Alexia, my letter will probably just offer relief. I can imagine her thought process: ‘Stalker who then believed he was a time traveller is now dead.’

  Phew!

  I sit in silence for a while.

  Nasty ripples of fear flicker around in my stomach. I visualise it, creeping through the darkness like Solanine, thinking I’m unaware. ‘I can see you,’ I murmur and decide that if this is to be my last day, I deserve more than a healthy juice.

  Unlike me, Previous Joe keeps his wine cellar well stocked. I work my way along a seemingly endless rack of expensive booze. Some of the champagne bottles are stored upright. Probably some posh reason.

  ‘Oh well,’ I say. ‘You can’t take it with you.’ I blow the dust from one. It’s a Bollinger, or “Bolly” if you’re a wally. I grab it, head upstairs and step out onto the terrace. The air is cool. Alone, I pop the cork, pour some fizz and raise my glass.

  ‘To Previous Joe,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry I killed you.’ It crosses my mind that if I don’t save Amy, his death will have been utterly in vain. Man, if he knew that, he would be really pissed off.

  Hmmm. That isn’t the kind of speech I had in mind.

  I try again.

  ‘To Previous Joe. I will do my absolute best to protect Amy’s timeline. Thank you for your sacrifice.’ I take a sip of champagne. It’s good. ‘Actually, PJ, thinking about it, without me, you wouldn’t have had the life you did, so I’m going to stop saying sorry now.’

  My mind turns to Alexia, and I raise my glass again. ‘Alexia,’ I say, ‘we had something once, something really good.’ I pause, searching for meaningful words, but in the end, the simplest are the best. ‘I miss you,’ I tell her, ‘and I love you.’

  Words like this would have been difficult for me once but, perhaps because of what I’m facing now, they come easily. I down the glass.

  Bollinger is really, really good.

  I decide to propose more toasts.

  To Amy, I promise that I will do everything I can to keep her here, to continue this timeline. I promise to avenge Vinny’s beating and tell him that when I get back, I will buy him lots of pies. He loves pies.

  It seems fitting to end with Lucy.

  ‘Lucy. I will do everything in my power to prevent your murder, to give you a chance at life and time to raise your son.’ I clench my fist. I mean it. And not only because I need to keep Amy safe. I’m committing to Lucy because I want to do it for her, and for Gus, too.

  Maybe it’s the champagne, but my feelings have changed. In the beginning, I wanted to run away from this, pretend it wasn’t happening. But if you live in someone else’s shoes for a while, you become emotionally invested; you start to care because it becomes relevant, imaginable and personal to you. If I have the power to stop Frankie Shaw, to save Lucy... well, that’s enough.

  A line from the second-best movie ever made (The Shawshank Redemption) arrives in my thoughts: “Get busy living or get busy dying”. I smile. I remember Mum saying, “Joseph! Get busy washing or get busy drying!” I was a bone-idle teenager.

  My final toast is to my parents. I hope I see them again.

  I stare at the half-empty bottle. I’m a bit pissed now. Oops. Oh well, time-travelling sober is massively overrated.

  Hic.

  I look out over a town that I’m beginning to love again and feel my watch buzz.

  My final countdown.

  I stand stock still… Wait a bloody minute…

  Spotify comes to my rescue. “The Final Countdown” by Europe blasts out of the balcony speakers. Vinny did a good job on those; they sound epic. The keyboards soar as the eighties permsters wail about ‘leaving together’ and wondering if they will ‘come back to earth again.’

  You and me both, boys.

  I feel strangely calm. Being half-cut probably helps. Colours shimmer as I begin to phase. I think of my mortality, how I might face death tonight in order to succeed.

  Europe asks if things will ever be the same again.

  No idea. But I changed the past once, I can do it again. I lift my chin and smile. ‘Screw you, death,’ I say, loud and confident. ‘And if you do take me, at least I will die during the coolest era ever.’

  And with that, my body becomes weightless, and the present fades away.

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  ‘The Final Countdown’ is rudely replaced by a silent, icy darkness. My first thought is that I must be dead, which I suppose makes me a pessimist, but if this is heaven (optimist?), then I would have expected it to smell better. The smell is so bad I can taste it, like rotten eggs.

  A single disc of light emerges from the gloom, like a full moon piercing the mist that surrounds me. It glows brighter and bigger, accompanied by a deep rumble and the shockingly loud wail of a horn.

  I dive to my right as a huge vehicle thunders past me, way too close. I land hard, banging my elbow and shoulder, cursing my sluggish reflexes. I look up to see a double-decker bus disappearing back into a blanket of fog. Being flattened would have been a really disappointing start.

  I scramble to my feet. The toxic air reeks. I pul
l my mask over my face, stare into the frigid darkness and gather my thoughts. I’ve landed on the night of the robbery, just as Other Bill told me I would, the night London was shrouded in a thick pea-souper: December 1962.

  A street lamp glows faintly in the gloom. I move towards it, my eyes burning so much I have to wipe them every few seconds. I reach the lamp and check my trusty silver hunter. The gems within the skeleton mechanism glow, which would be mesmerising if it weren’t for the fact that I can barely breathe. I hold it close to my face. It’s calibrating, the departure times still blank.

  I work my way between street lamps like a mountaineer in a blizzard. People emerge like ghosts, drifting in a haunted world, coughing and spluttering, all wearing some kind of makeshift mask. Close to me, I see a man collide with a woman. She cries out, there’s a struggle and he runs away with her handbag.

  ‘Hey!’ I cry, my voice muffled by my mask and the heavy air. I consider chasing after him, but I need to stay focused.

  I continue moving through this poisonous yellow hell, wheezing and coughing uncontrollably. I have to pause occasionally to lift the mask and eject bitter phlegm that feels like glue. The cold works its way through my thick clothing. My hand finds a wall; it feels greasy, everywhere is coated in thick slime. Shivering and spluttering, I become just another pedestrian groping their way along an unknown street in an unknown neighbourhood.

  I feel my watch buzz, lift it close and see the local time is eight fifty-five p.m. The robbery was estimated to have taken place between ten p.m. and midnight. I just make out the word CALIBRATING as my eyes fill with burning tears. It’s like being inside a house filled with burning plastic. I slide down a wall, wiping at my eyes, lightheaded. Someone walks past. I call out for help, voice croaky and thin.

  ‘You should get indoors,’ he says gruffly before slipping into the mist.

  How am I supposed to get through this if I can’t see? That thought bites into me, cold and numbing.