Doorways

by Robert Enright

  Rows upon rows of stalls, all of them displaying goods that Bermuda could never comprehend. Others didn't exchange in currency, their lack of financial dependency replaced with a noble notion of providing what one can with everyone. It didn't promote a healthy economy but it brought those who walked across the divide a kinship with each other that humans would never amount to.

  Capitalism is a very human trait.

  Bermuda walked a few paces behind Argyle. Every step that echoed through the dock drew more attention, the Others silent in their movements. Hundreds of eyes latched on him, many willing him to be ripped limb from limb.

  They hated him. Because they feared him.

  Bermuda stopped at a stall, its offerings bizarre—a long, black material cut into thin strips. He had seen an Other wearing something similar before, a fashion statement he would never understand.

  Suddenly, the commotion ahead of him drew his attention.

  'TRAITOR!'

  The large Other reached out and slapped Argyle across the face, an army of its smaller minions circling like baby sharks. Argyle stood calmly, his face a picture of sternness. A few more Others joined the group, one of them hurling a strange, orange stone that clattered against Argyle's eyebrow.

  'HUMAN LOVER!'

  'KILL HIM!'

  'YOU'RE A DISGRACE!'

  Bermuda felt the rage boiling as the large Other, a brute with an unseemly lock jaw, the bottom teeth sticking up over his top lip, approached Argyle with menace. Argyle gallantly stood his ground, refusing to engage in any form of altercation.

  He was the living embodiment of the BTCO's creed.

  Two Worlds. One Peace.

  The large Other drew back and then spat a large batch of saliva straight into Argyle's face. Bermuda saw red.

  Fuck the creed.

  Bermuda pushed past Argyle, his hoody zipped up to cover the body armour that encased his frame. The Other took a small step back, its ragged teeth upturned in a snarl. The gathering spectators fell silent, a number of them cursing the very human before them. Staring straight at the large Other, Bermuda clenched his fists.

  'I think you all need to back off, right now!'

  'Bermuda.' Argyle reached out, trying to draw him away. He was shrugged off.

  'You're in our town now, little man,' the Other provoked, prodding Bermuda in the shoulder.

  'You're in my world.'

  The Other grinned.

  'Well let me show you what I think of your world.' Its yellow eyes glistened as it suddenly reared back, hawking up another dollop of phlegm. As it lurched forward to spit in Bermuda's face, a human fist collided fully with its nose. Blood and bone exploded forward as Bermuda landed a perfect punch, sending the Other reeling and the entire audience into a frenzy.

  Shaking with fear, the Other swung a lazy fist at Bermuda, who ducked expertly, locking the arm and wrenching it backwards, slamming the Other face-first into the random items that scattered the table.

  The entire 'town' had come to a standstill.

  'Listen and listen good!' Bermuda yelled, wrenching the arm slightly. 'We are here on a case. Someone or something from your world should not be here. We have been sent here to find the one you called Jared.'

  Bermuda looked around, his gaze returned by a hundred worried faces. He wrenched the arm, the tendons twisting as the Other howled in pain.

  'WHERE IS HE?' Bermuda addressed the room, his words reverberating off the hollow walls.

  A few Others sheepishly pointed towards the far exit, leading to some of the more illustrious stalls.

  Another jerk of the arm.

  Another shriek of pain filled the air.

  'As for you. If you so much as look at me or Argyle again, I will snap this clean off. Understand?' Bermuda twisted the arm again. 'UNDERSTAND?'

  The Other nodded before mumbling in pain. Bermuda released his grip before storming off, barging past a few of the terrified onlookers. All eyes rested on Argyle again, who slowly followed his partner, striving to maintain his indifference. The large Other sat on the ground, its back against the wall and its arm hanging loosely from its socket.

  Bermuda walked to a clearing near the corner, sparking up a cigarette and slowly quashing his rage.

  'I do not need you to fight my battles.' Argyle calmly approached.

  'I know.'

  'I made peace with their hatred a long time ago.' Argyle looked at Bermuda's fist, the balled hand shaking slightly. 'Hatred and rage will only lead to downfall.'

  'Look, I know you can handle yourself. And I know we need to maintain the peace and blah blah. But I'll be damned if they are going to spit in your face and get away with it.'

  Argyle reassuringly reached out, placing a fingerless-gloved hand on Bermuda's shoulder.

  'Your gesture is duly noted and appreciated.'

  The two of them nodded, thankful for the other one's presence. Ghoulish monsters of another world slithered around, all of them with nothing but pure hatred for the two of them. They needed each other.

  'I'm going to locate Jared.' Argyle began to walk. 'Are you coming?'

  'I'll be there in a minute.' Bermuda motioned with his cigarette.

  'Well, don't do anything rash.'

  'As if I would?' Bermuda smirked. Argyle, stern-faced as always, shook his head and took his leave. Others parted, letting the solider through with fear and hatred circling him in equal measures. As soon as Argyle exited through the doorway to the other section of the dock, Bermuda quickly whipped his notebook from his back pocket, the pages flicking until they landed on the crude sketch.

  The top hat was clumsily drawn. The face was misshapen.

  But the eyes.

  The dark, black eyes.

  He could feel them. Just as he could when he was put in the back of the police car last night and just as he did earlier that day in Regent's Park. He shook the horrible stare from his mind and turned to a sheepish, rat-like Other that scuttled past.

  'Excuse me. Have you seen this guy?' Bermuda flashed him the drawing. The vile-looking creature muttered in a tongue Bermuda didn't recognise before slinking off.

  With a sigh, Bermuda strolled back into the group of Others, flashing the picture and asking the same question.

  Had anyone seen the gentleman in the top hat?

  A few Others recoiled at the image, a fear that Bermuda thought he witnessed in Vincent back at the HQ. A few of them shrugged. The majority, however, retorted with venomous threats and lurid insults.

  After ten minutes of nonstop and utterly fruitless questioning, Bermuda found himself standing to the side, eyes closed, slowly massaging his temples.

  'OUT OF MY WAY, HUMAN!'

  A large Other pushed past, knocking Bermuda into the wall. His already bruised cheek slammed against the stone, his body armour absorbing the impact in the chest. Bermuda muttered under his breath. The Other turned, egged on by a few more creatures scuttling across the walls.

  'Didn't see you there. I don't pay attention to garbage.'

  The Other chuckled, its large jaw displaying three crooked teeth. Its eyes sat back in its skull, the bones jagged like broken glass.

  Bermuda again muttered, his fists clenching.

  The Other leaned right into Bermuda's personal space, its mouth a mere inch from his ear.

  'What did you say? Speak up.'

  'I said.' Bermuda's whisper rose in volume. 'How are you going to eat shit with only one tooth?'

  The Other frowned in confusion, then stumbled backwards as Bermuda swung a vicious elbow straight into its mouth. The crack shook the room as blood spurted up the wall, two of the large teeth ricocheting off the brickwork and clattering to the floor.

  The Other scurried around on all fours, weeping and trying to secure its teeth as Bermuda slowly walked through the crowd, annoyed at losing his temper once more. Word would get back to Ottoway and Vincent. Complaints would be made of excessive force, and once again Bermuda would face the Committee and his 'punishment'.
<
br />   Only it wasn't punishment to be suspended.

  It was punishment to be at goddamn Others’ Town.

  Downhearted, Bermuda squeezed through a group of Others, making his way up the corridor towards Jared's shop. A few Others scarpered from him, climbing the walls and making their getaways on the walkways above.

  He opened the door to the outlet, striding towards the counter that Argyle was patiently waiting by. Behind it, an Other with an angular head embraced him with his eyes.

  The Other had no mouth.

  'Jared,' Bermuda offered, nodding his hello. It was reciprocated.

  'Jared has agreed to construct our lock.'

  'Goody gumdrops,' Bermuda said, uninterested. He slowly scanned the bizarre shop. Jars and trinkets lined the shelves, all of them containing substances this world could never comprehend. Jared scratched the counter in a systematic fashion before gesticulating with his free hand. Bermuda raised an eyebrow.

  'What is he saying?'

  'He says that it will take an hour of Earth's time to create the mechanism.'

  'Earth’s time?' Bermuda asked. Blank looks. 'Never mind.'

  Argyle turned back to the shopkeeper.

  'We will wait. Thank you.'

  Jared motioned again before scuttling sideways from the counter like an anxious crab. Argyle slowly retreated to the seats that lined the wall of the empty shop, slowly lowering himself down.

  'You should rest,' Argyle offered, his partner looking agitated.

  'I might step outside. Ask some questions.'

  Before Argyle could answer, Bermuda stormed to the door, hoisting it open and stepping outside. Thousands of eyes landed on him; the entire section filled with Others was looking straight in his direction. He could feel the anger and hatred swirling around him like a furious tornado.

  He placed the cigarette in his lips and leant forward, cupping his hand protectively around the flame.

  He didn't light the cigarette.

  He could feel them.

  The black eyes.

  Slowly, he raised his head, above the swathes of other worldly creatures before him.

  They were burning into him.

  His vision continued to climb.

  The walkway above Others’ Town cast a large shadow over the hustle and bustle of the world below it.

  The grey hands clasped the rail tightly.

  Bermuda latched onto the stare and could feel it goading him, daring him to come and play.

  The man with the top hat stared back at him.

  He had found him.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THE TIME WAS ALWAYS going to come.

  Locked away in his cell for over a hundred years, he knew the moment would arrive when he first heard the rumours. The muted whispers of a human who could survive in their world.

  A human who crossed over and didn't perish.

  And that moment when he himself would rest his jet-black eyes on such a specimen was upon him. While the embarrassment of his people hid in the dark corners of the world, he stood in plain sight, wishing and waiting for this human to look up at him.

  He had locked eyes at the ship, the ghastly welcoming gift dying slowly on the deck as the human was led to safety by his own authorities.

  By the river, where the young boy had become his. Just like the other ten.

  They all belonged to him.

  This world would be next. Be his.

  All that stood in his way was this moment. Standing above the insult of a town led by his own kind, his bony grey fingers tightened their grip on the railing. His top hat slanted across his hard skull, the shadow hiding the three brutal scars that dominated his face.

  His black eyes fixed on him.

  The man looked up.

  The invite was offered in silence and the man's sudden dart towards the stairs told him it had been accepted. The final phase of the plan.

  The only possible obstacle that would stop him remodelling the world. The chosen human, a man whose ability was not befitting the despicable race he belonged to.

  With slow, measured steps, he strode into the back room, the windows boarded up and the brickwork old and decaying. The shadows adorned the wall like curtains.

  They would be alone.

  There would be no audience for this.

  The meeting would be completely private.

  His mouth crookedly twisted into a smile, two rows of razor-sharp teeth zigzagging across one another like a broken bottle.

  Time to meet the one they call 'Bermuda'.

  BERMUDA TOOK A DEEP breath as he reached the top of the staircase. Bounding up the steps two at a time combined with years of smoking usually equalled discomfort. He took a few moments, straightening the hoody that rested over his body armour before slowly walking along the narrow walkway.

  The wooden platforms, held up by pillars, were lined by glass railings. Below him, Others’ Town was scuttling about, a dark mass of shadows all crashing over each other like a furious ocean.

  Each step echoed, the hustle and bustle below fading out so all that Bermuda could hear was his own footsteps and beating of his heart.

  Another step forward.

  The man in the top hat was gone.

  Deflated, Bermuda took a few more steps, drawn to the place where he stood merely seconds ago. Nothing but empty space and another dead end.

  'Almost.'

  The voice cut through him like nails down a chalkboard, the s playing out like the hiss of a wild python. Bermuda spun suddenly, following the booming resonance of the voice through an archway, and stopped dead.

  Stood on the other side of the room, with his back to the entrance, was the man in the top hat. From behind, Bermuda was surprised by how tall he was, his wiry frame deceptively hiding the slight bulk of a strong back. The white hair flared out from under the hat like a scarecrow.

  Bermuda slowly entered the room, standing directly behind his adversary with a distance of another ten metres between them. The shadows on the wall stopped dancing.

  The noise of Others’ Town fell to below a whisper.

  It was just the two of them.

  'So, who the hell...'

  Bermuda was cut off by a raised finger. The Other let it hang in the air, refusing to turn. His voice, deep and booming, ricocheted off the walls with a fury.

  'Do you know what power is?' Rhetorical. 'Power is what controls the outcomes of so many insignificant moments. Having the power to walk, one foot in front of the other, can change the outcome of whether or not you make it work. The power to do the mundane, such as turn on a lightbulb, affects whether or not you see the intruder in the house.

  'These tiny outcomes are taken for granted by you humans, these powers are considered nothing more than everyday tasks. You and I know that real power, the power to change worlds—THAT is the power of true consequence.'

  Bermuda shifted uncomfortably on the spot. The Other before him hadn't turned, although he had shot a few sideways glances, permitting Bermuda a brief glimpse of those harrowing eyes.

  'You humans know nothing of consequence. Even a man such as yourself, bestowed with this unique gift, has reacted with such ignorance and disdain of his circumstance. But that will change. Oh, it will change.'

  The man in the top hat chuckled, the sinister laugh spreading through Bermuda's body and chilling him to the bone.

  'Who are you?' Bermuda asked, his voice shaking.

  'I am the consequence.'

  'Turn around and let me see your face,' Bermuda ordered, trying his hardest to reinforce his authority. 'I am an agent of the BTCO and I am ordering you to turn around.'

  'I do not bow to such meaningless authorities.'

  'Tell me your goddamn name!'

  'I am your reckoning. Humanity’s chance at a new beginning.'

  He slowly turned, the black eyes trembling with fury. The mouth twisted at the side in an incomprehensible snarl that disturbed the three thick scars. Bermuda took a moment to compose himself. The O
ther before him oozed nothing but pure danger.

  'But you, my friend. You can call me Barnaby.'

  Bermuda held the gaze for a moment, every second passed with a feeling of foreboding.

  'You had me attacked and almost killed. You are no friend of mine.'

  'Ah, yes.' Barnaby smirked. 'How is the face?'

  'Better than yours.'

  Barnaby nodded, the three scars that ruptured his skin a testament to a darker time.

  'Do you know why they gave me these scars? What they stand for?'

  Bermuda curiously looked round the room before responding.

  'Can't say I care too much.'

  'This is the mark of a traitor. They branded me for having the gall to try and save my race. I watched my people, day after day, surrender to your race and I grew to loathe you both with equal measure. They branded me a traitor. Ironic, really, considering this is a mark they should bestow upon your precious Argyle.'

  Bermuda turned sharply, angered by the insult of his partner before an increasing awareness of loneliness spread through him.

  ‘Argyle isn't a traitor.'

  Barnaby scoffed, his sharp laughter roaring through the air like a freed demon.

  'Tell me, Bermuda, what would you call a man who judges, arrests, banishes, and slaughters his own kind?'

  'He is just keeping the peace...'

  'PEACE!' Barnaby's black eyes flashed with fury. 'There is no more peace than there is an understanding of one's place in the food chain. Tell me, on what level of peace sees my people resigned to the shadows and afraid to walk amongst humans? In what way does peace constitute a constant stream of analysis of their behaviour and swarms of agents keeping them in line?'

  Bermuda could sense the emotions within Barnaby heightening, regretting not equipping his tomahawk when he left the house over a day ago.

  'Well, this is our world. Rules are different here.'

  'Under whose authority? The humans’?'

  'Well, yes. As the dominant species of this planet, we have authority. So when I ask you what you have been doing and where the hell Jessica and the rest of those people are, I expect you to tell me.'

  Barnaby looked to the ground, his jaw flexing a cruel smile.