Argyle was honoured to protect him.
The sword swung slowly from its clasp, gliding across his powerful back with each step. The sheer number of his own kind that had met the end of the blade would mean he would never be accepted back.
Never be able to cross that threshold again.
This world was his home now.
Ever since his earlier years on the Otherside, the gruelling training and punishing regimes, he knew he would protect. His rise through the Legion's ranks to one of their top-ranking warriors felt as natural as breathing.
Then they found out.
Once they knew, he was never allowed back. They would have slaughtered him and all he had held dear.
Bermuda would never know. The facts would remain between himself, Ottoway, and his trusted Neither.
He would die before revealing it.
With large, silent steps, he turned a corner, almost colliding with Saira Hunter, a highly-respected agent with a penchant for flirtation. Her black hair was tied back in loose ponytail and her brown eyes complemented her brown skin perfectly.
Argyle found her one of the most beautiful of the species.
'Well hey, there, handsome!' she offered, her thick Texan twang escaping her voluptuous red lips.
'Miss Hunter.' Argyle nodded with respect.
'What brings you here? Don't tell me your gorgeous partner is in trouble again?'
Argyle shook his head as she searched the corridor for Bermuda. Her attraction to his partner had been evident the few times they had acquainted. Behind Saira was her Neither, a small, childlike being with grey skin and a mess of dirty brown curls that covered its eyes. Argyle was sure it was a female, yet never said a word to it. She was a true outcast of the species, not even named.
Yet she was one of the most deadly Neithers within the entire organisation, linked only to Saira, and Argyle prayed for mercy on any creature, be it human or otherwise, that ever had the inclination to lay a finger of Saira Hunter.
Around its fragile, bony neck was a metal collar, prepared to administer an almost-fatal dose of electricity should it get too feral.
Saira loved it, yet was fully aware of the danger that was encased within its tiny frame.
'Well, tell that fine boy of your to give me a call when he is free. Been dying to take him to the rodeo, if you know what I mean.'
Saira nudged Argyle’s chest plate with her elbow, winking playfully. Argyle nodded politely before slowly stepping aside. He watched as Saira's heels clicked against the marble floor, admiring the beauty of her body as she headed towards the lifts. Behind her the Neither scurried, a mop of curls bouncing.
Argyle watched until they disappeared into the lift, the small creature reaching up to grab Saira's hand.
Even a creature as dangerous as that needed some measure of comfort.
Argyle made his way to the agent chambers, passing a few doors until he came to his own. It slid open, the mechanism recognising his unique DNA on the pad that rested to the side of the entrance.
Once in, he unclasped his weapon, the mighty blade was rested on its stand, Argyle lighting a few incense sticks before falling to one knee.
As he spoke his silent prayer, he wondered of the validity of it all. Should he still persevere with these trainings, his spiritual connection to the life of a Legion Warrior, when they were so ready to turn on him?
Was he still linked to the Otherside at all?
Tired, he collapsed onto his bed, not thinking of the Otherside at all.
He thought of his new world.
The danger that was coming and the seemingly inevitable battle that would ensue.
His fingers reached under his pillow, wrapping themselves around a small ribbon of fabric that was not of this world, but was rich with memory. It intertwined with his fingers, causing a small sense of calm to drift through his veins as he remembered her embrace.
Even a creature as dangerous as he needed some measure of comfort.
His eyelids collapsed over his pupil-less grey eyes.
He slept.
'YEAH. AM PRETTY SURE you looked like a crazy person.'
Brett offered a kind smile with his words as he raised his pint glass, the last few drops of Doombar slithering down his throat. Sat in the beer garden of the Lord John Russell in Euston, Bermuda nodded in agreement, sparking a cigarette to life and sighing out a cloud of disappointment.
'I just don't know if I can fix this one.'
'I've heard that before,' Brett responded, twirling a cigarette into existence with his fingers. Bristles of tobacco fell from the end, escaping through the cracks of the bench between them. 'Pretty sure you sorted that one.'
'Not this time, mate. This one is different.'
'Why?' Another cloud of smoke into the air.
'This is unlike anything I've seen. Yeah, I've had the odd nasty bastard from their world come over here, but not like this. This thing, this Barnaby...he is more than just a bad shadow.'
'Really?' Brett asked, his eyebrows fraught with concern.
'He threw me through a wall like it was wet tissue. He moved faster than anything I have ever seen. And with every person he steals, he gets stronger and closer.'
'Closer to what?' Brett stubbed his cigarette into the ashtray between them. Bermuda took a final puff before following, looking at his friend with resignation.
'Ending the world.'
Brett slammed his hand down on the table. 'Okay, that's enough.'
'I'm not drunk,' Bermuda proclaimed, sipping the remnants from his glass.
'No, I mean we need more alcohol.' Brett flicked his empty glass with a harsh ping. 'This is getting morbidly depressing.'
Bermuda chuckled, edging his way out from the bench, almost colliding with a couple of foreign students who were stood in the alleyway that ran alongside the old pub.
'It's my round.' Bermuda stood, collecting their two empty glasses. 'Watch my stuff.'
Brett gave a thumbs up, watching with a regrettable sadness at the pressure that hung from his friend’s neck like a medallion. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he was best man at his friend’s wedding, struggling to hold back tears as his friend tied the knot.
Comparing those times to now, following the divorce, the commitment to a mental hospital, and this ongoing war between worlds that he truly believed he was a part of, Brett knew he didn't get the good moments anymore. All those evenings when he was starting out in his band, the lame pub gigs, crammed in the back of baking rooms, performing for the inebriated for minimal credit and constant heckling.
Bermuda was there.
When he fell off the wagon all those years back, the constant stream of parties as Frozen Death Cull began to pick up fans, their singles slowly beginning to chart. The time he had to be rushed to the hospital due to one sniff too many.
Bermuda was there.
Brett sighed, rolling a cigarette between his fingers as he made a silent promise to never turn his back on his best friend. To always make sure that, despite everything, Bermuda was not alone.
All he needed was to just let someone in.
As he tapped the now complete cigarette on the table, he glanced through the large glass windows that ran down the side of the alleyway. There, inside the cramped pub, Bermuda was by the bar, fumbling for cash as the barmaid passed across two more pints.
On the table before him, Brett found Bermuda's phone, the last call registered to him, begging him to join him for a pint. They compromised on Euston.
However, it was not his own number that had caught his attention, and Brett smirked as his thumbs quickly began to scatter over the screen as quickly as possible before his friend could return.
EMPTY PINT GLASSES began to pile up.
Slowly, the surrounding buildings began to blur, the concrete merging like one constant shade of grey. Bermuda hiccupped, the alcohol bubbling inside his stomach, sitting heavy over his lack of food.
The ashtray was overflowing, cigarette butts slipp
ing over the edge like a melting ice cream.
The world was ending and no one believed him.
Sat staring at the fine indents that ran the length of the wooden panel he rested his arm on, he envisaged the end. The darkness seeping in over the edges as he tried wildly to wave a torch above his daughter.
Chloe.
His Chloe.
'Hey, dipshit. Lighter.'
He snapped out of it, lifting his head and catching the glazed eyes of his heavily drunken best friend. Sat next to Brett was a pretty blond lady, late twenties, with a large grin that flashed pearl-like teeth. Without answering, Bermuda scrambled his fingers over the table before him, somehow gripping the lighter and obliging his friend.
Trying his best to look composed, Brett lit his cigarette before continuing his conversation.
'So, Elena, what do you do?'
'It's Elaine, and I'm a nurse.' Her accent was thick and deep.
'You're a Scots person?' Bermuda asked, trying his best not to sound accusing.
'I am Scottish, yes.' She flashed her smile again. 'However, I have to go, so are you giving me your phone or not?'
Brett smiled, handing his phone but then playfully pulling it back. She scowled.
'Babe. It won't work.'
'Oh really? Why's that?' She was playing along, slowly getting to her feet, revealing a lovely black top and skinny jeans which Bermuda followed all the way to her boots.
Brett had pulled.
Successfully as well.
'Well let's face it, darlin. I'm a musician. You're Scottish,' Brett offered, as she snatched the phone and typed what he hoped was her real number. Handing it back and giving him a playful slap on the side of the face, Elaine and her friend, who Bermuda hadn't met, disappeared up the alleyway and into the darkness of the London night.
The darkness.
Those black eyes.
The end of the world that was fast approaching.
'Hey.'
He looked up, shocked at the mesmerising beauty before him.
'Sophie?'
Drunkenly, Bermuda stood up, straightening his T-shirt and trying his best not to fall over. She smiled, appreciating he wasn't completely in control of his movements.
'What are you doing here?' he asked, holding the glass-covered table for balance.
'You texted me, telling me you had something important to tell me?'
Bermuda scowled in confusion.
'No I didn't.'
'Err, yes you did. You said it was about the case and to come here quickly.'
As the mystery wafted around them like the thick clouds of smoke he had blown into the night sky, he couldn't help but notice how beautiful she was. The flickering bulbs that lit the beer garden cast a small shadow that revealed her strong cheekbones, her dark hair tied back in a bun. Her thin summer jacket hung over her stunning physique.
'You look amazing.'
Bermuda cursed his drunken honesty, failing to realise the effort she had made and the subsequent blushing his compliment had garnered. She didn't know why, but she wanted him to notice her. To look at her as more than just the shouting and crying friend of the recently missing.
She wasn't a hundred per cent sure, but she knew there was something about this man that she found attractive.
'Thank you,' she gushed, looking away.
Awkward silence.
'So did you invite me here to tell me I look amazing?'
Bermuda shrugged, trying hard to stand straight and appear sober.
'I don't know. I didn't message you.'
'Then who did?' Sophie demanded, a small frown creasing her immaculate eyebrows.
'Guilty.'
Both of them turned as Brett stood up, both hands raised as he surrendered. In one hand he held his glass, which he quickly emptied with a satisfying 'ahhh'. Bermuda scowled at his friend as he slid his arms into his jacket and stepped from the bench with wobbling legs.
Sophie stood to the side, a look of disappointment etched across her gorgeous face.
'What the fuck?' Bermuda muttered through gritted teeth, leaning in close for Brett's ears only.
'You're welcome'. Brett patted him firmly on the shoulder before turning to Sophie. 'Seriously, you are more beautiful than he said.'
Turning back to Bermuda, he threw him a wink before strutting confidently to the end of the walkway and trudging towards the train station. Out of sight, it was just Bermuda and Sophie stood in the empty beer garden. The spring night was warm, the lights illuminating their evening together.
'Sorry,' Bermuda eventually offered.
'Never mind, eh?' Sophie said, smiling as she stepped into the bench. 'Mine's a white wine.'
As he happily headed for the bar, Bermuda allowed himself something he hadn't for a while.
A genuine smile.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ASH FLICKED ONTO THE wooden bench, missing the recently changed ashtray by a few centimetres. Within seconds a light breeze swung by, capturing it and dancing away to the unknown. The alleyway had slowly retreated to silence; patrons had either embarked on the rest of their evenings or ventured into the small pub, steeped in an old-fashioned charm.
Sophie watched Bermuda as he stared into the shadows at the end of the alleyway, the metal gate leading to a local business's carpark, shrouded in darkness. She saw nothing of interest—a few shadows flickering across the iron bars.
Bermuda saw them. The two Others slowly scuttling across the floor, as if a few frames were missing from their movements. Juttering and glitching, they rummaged through the bins. Any human would merely mistake the commotion for a rat or the wind.
Bermuda could see.
'So you really believe all this?'
Sophie's delicate voice retrieved him from his self-deprecation and he looked up at her, his eyes gleaming with appreciation. His hand grasped the glass of Diet Coke he had ordered on a quest for sobriety.
'I don't believe it. I know it.'
'It's a pretty big idea,' she said sceptically, her pristine nails clutching her wine glass as she took a sip. Bermuda pushed another cloud of smoke into the air, and then politely wafted it away from his companion.
'Forget I said anything.'
'No, I want to know what you think.'
'Look, you don't have to humour me. You think this is the first time I have told someone exactly what is going on and they have looked at me like I just told them Hitler was actually a woman?'
She chuckled.
'I don't need you to pity me or anything.'
'I'm not.'
Bermuda shrugged, stubbing out his cigarette and glancing back to the alleyway. The two Others were now locked in a struggle, both ripping at each other with vicious, talon-bearing hands.
'The world declared me crazy a long time ago. Now you can either believe me or not, I don't care. But your friend is missing, and right now I'm the best chance you've got of getting her back.'
Bermuda took a swig of his drink, his eyes fixed on Sophie has she let the words sink in. Small tears began to grow in the corners of her beautiful eyes, one droplet escaping and gliding down her cheek.
'How did it come to this?' She spoke, her words meant for no one. Bermuda extended his arm, a gentle hand holding her shoulder.
'The world is so different to what everyone believes.'
'What happened?' she asked, her eyes reaching for him with hope.
'Somewhere along the course of history, we discovered their world. Or they discovered ours. To keep...'
'No. Not that.'
Bermuda looked puzzled.
'What happened to you?'
Bermuda was, for the first time in a long time, speechless. A man who prided himself on having an answer for everything immediately knew that this one escaped him. Where did it all begin to crumble for him? At what point did he finally discover the truth?
He forced a smile before taking a sip.
'How did you and Jess become friends?' he asked, changing the subject.<
br />
'Oh we met at the modelling agency.' It worked.
'You're a model?' he asked, sizing her up with an exaggerated glare. 'Yeah, I can see it.'
'Oh shut up.' She blushed.
'But you guys are close?' Bermuda offered, embarrassed as he lit another cigarette.
'Oh, she is like a sister. When I came to London, well, my family were not impressed. My dad wasn't exactly thrilled that I finished my degree and decided to become a model.'
'I can imagine,' Bermuda agreed. A twinge of pain rocked his broken and beaten chest—a pain calling for his daughter.
'Anyway, she really helped. I mean, London is a big city and I kind of don't know anyone here.'
'It's easy to get lost amongst a lot of people.'
'Tell me about it.' Sophie finished the last of her wine. 'She was in the same boat I was and we kind of found each other. Clung to each other. I just don't know what I would do if I lost her.'
Bermuda gave Sophie a moment to collect herself.
'The world can be a lonely place when you feel like the only person in it.'
She nodded, wiping away tears as they tried to break loose. He rattled the ice cubes in his glass before finishing his Coke. She took a deep breath.
'What about you?' she asked, trying to stay positive.
'What about me?'
'Tell me about yourself.'
'I'm an arsehole.'
Sophie laughed loudly, her cackle surprising the both of them as it echoed through the alleyway. Bermuda shrugged sheepishly.
'Nothing to tell you, really. Dad was a drunk and an arsehole. He left when I was about three. Apparently I was too much of a responsibility.'
'Oh, Franklyn.' She reached out and grabbed his hand. Bermuda, again, shrugged.
'Ah well, what you gonna do? I heard he died when I was about eleven. Drink and drugs. A real role model, you know? Since then, Mum sits in her little flat drinking the days away and I fight monsters from a world nobody believes in whilst this one points and laughs.'
Bermuda took a breath, his disdain for the hand life had dealt him quickly rushing to the fore. Sophie sat back, sizing Bermuda up with a pitying eye.
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