Doorways

by Robert Enright

  The buildings shot up to the sky like a row of jagged teeth, all of them filled with employees, unrealistic targets, and minimal profit margins. The hustle and bustle of everyday life. The human condition, evolved to the modern society in which we live.

  The rat race of life.

  Lord Felix Ottoway III looked over it all and smiled.

  At eighty-one years old, he had watched the world rebuild itself into the technological labyrinth it was today, and he couldn't have felt prouder. To be part of a species that could not only create such wonders but be driven to further develop. A species that could construct the capability to walk on the moon. One thing that he knew, having been part of the BTCO for over sixty years and the UK Director for over thirty.

  Humans are survivors.

  Ironically, it was that moment that the cancer tightened its grips on his lungs, causing him to splutter violently into his handkerchief. Pulling the cloth away, he saw the blood and sighed.

  It wouldn't be too long now.

  He tucked the handkerchief into the pocket of his navy blazer and straightened up. Dressed in an immaculate three-piece suit, he straightened the cuffs of his shirt that were rudely protruding from his sleeves. His waistcoat, neatly buttoned, held in the considerable gut that retirement from being a field agent was always going to bring.

  He missed it.

  He and Vincent had been partnered for over sixty years, since he first became an agent. His 'Knack' was never the strongest, but his gift for puzzle solving had been lifesaving on numerous occasions. He afforded himself a smirk when realising it was now used on the daily Sudoku at the back of his newspaper.

  The city of London.

  Knowing the work he had done to preserve the peace between the two worlds, unbeknownst to the inhabitants of the fine city, made him swell with pride. And standing on the sixty-ninth floor of the Shard, before the viewing gallery was open to the public, he felt like he was gazing protectively over all of them.

  'Sir?'

  Ottoway turned slowly, offering a warm, world-weary smile as Bermuda slowly walked through the high staircase, his footsteps echoing slightly on the wooden floor.

  'Ah, Jones. I'm glad you stopped by. Come, join me.'

  Bermuda slowly meandered next to his superior, following his gaze out of the large, ceiling-high pane of glass before them. Below them the SS Belfast lay dormant on the Thames, the glass creation known as City Hall nearby on the bank of the river.

  'Look at the city, Jones. Everyone going about their lives with the mental clarity that they are safe. That their world is as black and white as they believe it to be. It's a truly mesmerising view, don't you agree.'

  'It's high,' Bermuda mused, cautiously looking downwards and battling vertigo.

  'Indeed. From here, we can see it all. The heart of this city beating.'

  Bermuda nodded, allowing his boss this speech. The wind whipped through the gaps in the corner of the viewing platform, ricocheting off the panels.

  'You caused quite a commotion last night.' Ottoway's voice was rich with authority.

  'In my defence, sir, I was under attack.'

  'Quite. You will be happy to know that our extraction officers removed the body during the aftermath. Although slain by Argyle, it has been sent back to the Otherside for burial.'

  'Let me know if they cremate it so I can piss on its ashes.' Bermuda gently placed a hand over his chest, the pain emanating from his stitches.

  'Now now. Let us show respect for the dead, this side and the other.' Ottoway rested a reassuring arm on Bermuda's back. 'Our gift is designed to bring peace and order to between our two worlds. Not to scorn each other nor to bring bloodshed.'

  'Hey, I am all for a better world. But that thing attacked me. What's more, I don't think it was a ‘wrong place, wrong time’ kind of thing.'

  'No?' Ottoway spoke as he walked, his slow steps leading him towards the west side of the gallery. Beyond the glass, the sun exploded against the Houses of Parliament, the shadow of Big Ben drenching the streets below it.

  'There is no way something that big would live in a place that small. I think it was invited.'

  'Invited? By who? And for what purpose?'

  'By the guy with the top hat. He was there, watching as they put me in the back of the car.'

  Ottoway seemed dismissive.

  'His eyes, they were so black.'

  Suddenly, Ottoway looked slightly uncomfortable. He slid a hand through hair that was so grey and fluffy it was as if he had his own personal rain cloud.

  'Are you sure?'

  'Yeah. Why? Who is he?'

  Ottoway shook his head, dismissing the idea.

  'What is it, sir?'

  'For an Other that size to pass through, we would have registered it. It was too feral to be allowed in our world.'

  'I found this too.'

  Bermuda handed Ottoway his sketch of the Gate-Maker. Ottoway squinted, his beady eyes magnified by his spectacles.

  'A Gate-Maker? It can't be.'

  'It was at the scene of Jessica Lambert's disappearance too. And I believe this guy has it.'

  Bermuda flicked the page to the sketch of the man with the top hat. Ottoway mumbled under his breath. Bermuda was sure he murmured 'It can't be'. Ottoway snapped the pad shut.

  'Your number one priority is to find this Gate-Maker. We cannot have unsanctioned travel between the two worlds.'

  'I'm gonna find this guy and I'm gonna kick his arse.'

  'No!' Ottoway's voice rose, bouncing off the glass walls surrounding them. 'Leave the personal attack aside and concentrate on the case. That Gate-Maker needs to be destroyed.'

  Bermuda looked agitated but nodded. Throughout his life, be it school or on the rare occasion he held down a job, he hated authority. Teachers and managers had encountered his attitude, yet he had nothing but respect for Ottoway.

  'Say I even find this Gate-Maker. How do I destroy it?'

  'You will need a lock. One that can fuse with this shape. Combine them both, and when put through the doorway it creates, it will close it for good and render it useless.'

  'I don't see why we don't just close the fucking door altogether. Then maybe I could have my life back.'

  Ottoway shot Bermuda a seething glance.

  'The door stays open for the continued development of our very existence. Do you even understand the leaps we have made thanks to the Otherside? Do you truly believe that our species would have evolved so far without their help? Who do you think cured the Plague all those years ago?

  'The advances in science we have procured thanks to our truce with their world is why we fight tooth and nail to maintain the peace. What you call a curse is seen as a gift by all. Especially a gift as strong as yours.'

  Ottoway nodded in triumph and Bermuda scolded himself for letting his woes embarrass him. All he longed for was a normal life. Where he could hold his daughter without the fear that those waiting in the shadows for him would target her.

  A lonely existence described as a gift.

  Crestfallen, he slowly turned and walked back towards the door, the flight of stairs that led to the lift that shot through the building at an ear-popping speed.

  'Jones,' Ottoway called after him. 'You will find the lock at Others Town.'

  'Oh no. Not Others Town. I'm about as welcome as a shit in a swimming pool.'

  'Look for an Other named Jared. He should still have a shop there. And in regards to your comment, yes, you will probably be met with hostility. Be careful.'

  'Yeah, yeah.' Bermuda waved it off, again turning to leave.

  'I want you to visit Denham before you go. He will provide you with some protection. Stay safe out there and try not to break any more of London.'

  Bermuda grunted as he approached the door. A trip to see Denham was usually as painful as the striking sensation in his chest. Ottoway called out one final time before turning back to his view.

  'Remember, Jones: two worlds, one peace.'

  Berm
uda descended the stairs, with the BTCO slogan echoing behind him. He waited for the lift, behind him the line of unisex toilets that allowed someone to relieve themselves to an incredible view. The doors pinged open and Bermuda entered, hurtling his way through the building at over thirteen miles per hour and with a scowl that would scare Satan himself.

  OTTOWAY WATCHED THE world below him, the silence of his surroundings only penetrated by the doors of the lift closing as Bermuda left. He sighed, knowing how troubled his agent was.

  From the shadows, soft footsteps approached him.

  'You did well to protect him,' Ottoway said, not turning. Argyle stopped next to his boss, his grey eyes scouring the world below—the world he had sworn to protect but still was yet to fully understand. His mighty sword lay strapped to his back. His mighty arms crossed across his armour-covered chest.

  'It is my duty to protect him.'

  'That is why you were selected, Argyle. You and I both know how important he is.' Argyle nodded forlornly. Ottoway continued. 'The truce is creaking, Argyle. I know you had no other option, but the more dead bodies we send back through the doorway, the more that come through with a bloodlust.'

  'I only draw my blade when it is the last resort.'

  'I know, dear friend. I know.' Ottoway reassuringly patted Argyle’s shoulder. 'I fear, however, that those moments are only to become more regular.'

  Ottoway shook his head and slowly stepped across the rooftop, taking in the views that South London now offered him. The Battersea PowerStation loomed over its surrounding streets.

  'Sir, you are afraid?' Argyle asked, joining him.

  'Bermuda spoke of a man, Argyle. A man with jet-black eyes.'

  He turned to face the loyal Neither, whose expression revealed his confusion.

  'Never mind. Just keep Jones safe. I have concerns that they are stepping up their efforts.'

  'They fear him. They hate him more than they hate me.'

  Argyle stood firmly, his jaw straight and powerful, covered in a thin, black beard. His dark skin shimmered in the sunshine.

  'You will always be a soldier, Argyle. No matter if you are on this side or theirs. You are a soldier who has never failed to follow his orders.'

  Argyle shuffled slightly, his eyes glowing with pride.

  'I am ordering you to keep him alive.'

  Argyle nodded. Ottoway's smile was fake, his own concerns betraying him. They both knew what would be expected of Argyle should the situation ever arise.

  'By any means necessary.'

  BERMUDA MADE HIS WAY back through the corridors that twisted underneath the Shard like tree roots. The whiteness of them leapt from the walls under the glow of the halogen lights that lined the ceilings above.

  A few analysts walked past, nodding at Bermuda, who returned in kind. He strode past the cells where Hugo had stashed two illegals, his brow furrowing at the thought of his antagonistic peer. Striding with purpose, he made his way to the training facility and slammed a fist against the steel door.

  'It's open!' A gruff voice echoed from the other side of the metal.

  Bermuda pushed forward, the heavy slab creaking on its hinges. The training facility was a series of long rooms, all designed to take a new recruit from shit-scared to field-ready in minimal time. His mind leapt back to his first ventures in this facility, the sheer terror of the scenario rooms, the expectant Neithers monitoring with their computers and clipboards.

  Then there was Denham.

  The owner of the rough voice that greeted his knock, Denham was a semi-retired field agent who Ottoway had placed in charge of new recruits due to his unmeasurable ability to be an arsehole who meant well. As tall as Argyle but stockier, with a shiny bald head wrapped in caramel-coloured skin. An eyepatch lay jagged across his aging face; his one good eye shimmered a wonderful shade of grey. Like Vincent, he was a Neither who lived by the creed.

  'Mr. Jones. Come and take a look at this.'

  Bermuda nodded, joining Denham, who stood opposite a large, tinted pane of glass. On the other side, a portly gentleman with short, ginger hair and beard was slowly meandering through a scenario, cautiously checking corners in what looked like a mock library. Denham, with an arm the width of Bermuda's body, reached out to the control panel, his mouth, framed by a goatee beard, angled upwards with a smile.

  'Watch this.'

  A pull of the lever and suddenly, demonic hands shot through the bookcases, ripping at the young recruit who screamed and fell to the floor, panic jolting through his terrified body. Bermuda shook his head in pity, remembering his experience with what Denham called 'the Angry Librarian'.

  Denham was chuckling unsympathetically.

  'Gets them every time.' He slapped Bermuda on the shoulder, sending a small shockwave of pain through his chest.

  'You are a cruel bastard, you know that?' Bermuda retorted.

  'Yes I do.' He turned from the glass panel and looked at Bermuda. 'Jesus, what happened to your face? That eye looks terrible.'

  'You can talk.'

  The two men smirked, a mutual respect existing ever since Bermuda's first six months with the BTCO, when Denham put him through his paces. Although strict and thorough, Denham was a Neither of principal, appreciative of hard work and a strong spirit.

  Bermuda begrudgingly had both.

  'What can I do for you?'

  'Ottoway sent me. Told me you could hook me up with a chest plate.'

  Denham turned and marched to one of the large metal cabinets that adorned the walls of the control centre. As he rifled through its contents, the door to the scenario chamber opened and the dishevelled recruit entered.

  'Everyone falls down the first time.' Bermuda smiled, offering a handshake which was duly taken.

  'Thanks. I'm Thorpe. Bobby Thorpe.'

  'Jones. They call me Bermuda,' he responded, slight embarrassment at the goofiness of his nickname.

  'Wait? The Bermuda Jones?' Bobby looked ecstatic. 'Man, you are a legend. This is such an honour.'

  'Trust me. It really isn't.'

  Bermuda retracted his hand, an uncomfortable smile on his face. He hated the legend that seemed to precede him with the other agents; it made people like Hugo jealous and the higher ups like Ottoway interested.

  He just wanted to be left alone.

  To have a normal life.

  Oh, for a normal life...

  'This should fit ya.' Denham broke Bermuda's depressing trail of thought and tossed a black vest at him. He caught it with both hands, surprised by the lightness of the material. He knew the texture; it was called Argiln, a rare material from the Otherside. Removing his T-shirt slowly, Thorpe and Denham cast their eyes over his tattooed body. Although the scriptures curved with every defined line of his chiselled body, it was the three large scars that dominated his chest that drew their attention.

  'Jesus. I thought Argyle was supposed to protect you,' Denham said, a hint of sarcasm hanging to his words.

  'He saved my life.'

  'Yeah, looks like it.'

  Bermuda didn't respond. Denham had a long history of not liking Argyle, a trait that many of the other Neithers, as well as all of the Otherside, seemed to share. Bermuda didn't know why, nor did he want to ask Argyle.

  'Whatever. Thanks for the vest,' Bermuda said, tapping it under his shirt.

  'Just stay safe. Otherwise we will have to rely on Bobby here, and he is only good for shitting in his pants!'

  Bermuda flashed a sympathetic look to Bobby Thorpe, who was sheepishly looking at the ground. Denham gave him a playful slap, the muscles on his arms rippling beneath his black T-shirt. The man possessed so much power; Bermuda constantly wondered what he would be like in battle.

  He said his goodbyes and quietly left Denham to torture the new recruit, and as he approached the lift to take him back to the surface, Vincent appeared, causing him to jump.

  'Jesus!' Bermuda exclaimed, perplexed by the Neither's silence.

  'Apologies. The Oracles have been able
to abduct this information from the police. It isn't much, but it's something.'

  Vincent handed him a few sheets of paper and a photograph, a lone paperclip holding the sparse evidence together. Bermuda raised his eyebrows, unimpressed.

  'Thanks, I guess.'

  'It's names of people taken recently. They detected a pattern of two days between each one and mystery surrounding their disappearances. Witnesses have claimed they saw nothing except a split second between their existence and their vanishing.'

  'Existence? You think they are dead?' Bermuda asked, the swelling on his eye impeding his vision as he scanned the sheets.

  'It is likely. It depends on the gate. I suggest you see Jared at...'

  'At Others’ Town, yeah. Ottoway has already sent me.'

  'Then best of luck, Jones.' Vincent reached out with his ghostly fingers, patting Bermuda on his arm. 'Find these people.'

  The lift pinged open and Bermuda entered, grateful to see the imposing figure of Argyle, arms folded and ready for action. He pressed the button for the ground floor, eager to leave the building and to be back aboveground. As the lift ascended, Argyle broke the silence.

  'I do not wish to go to Others’ Town.'

  Bermuda didn't look up from his sheets of evidence.

  'Me neither, Big Guy. Me neither.'

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE SUDDEN BURST OF sunlight was blinding.

  As Bermuda stepped out onto the concrete, he shielded his eyes with a grazed hand. The air was clean; he could feel the stuffiness of the underground offices leaving him, the cool air swirling around him in the breeze.

  It was nice to be outside again.

  The BTCO Headquarters always got to him. Not claustrophobic, yet he hated being confined to the space where every move and rule was scrutinized. As he recounted his disdain for the authority, he clasped a cigarette between his lips and quickly lit it.

  'Your injuries will heal,' Argyle said assuredly.

  'Yours already have,' Bermuda noticed, smiling at his partner. Argyle's genetic makeup had always stunned Bermuda; his ability to heal had already begun to graft the skin back to his feet. 'What would it take to kill you?'