'I don't think I'm laughing anymore,' she finally offered.
'I'm not trying to bullshit you. Know that.'
'I do.'
'This other world, it exists. The things that go on behind the curtain, you would never comprehend. But what I do know is that your friend was taken by something that doesn't have a happy-ever-after for us.'
'What do you mean?' Sophie retreated a little, her eyes watering with fear.
'I have looked him dead in his eyes and have seen nothing but hatred. For humans. For this world. It's just a matter of time.'
Bermuda slid his last cigarette from the packet, tapping it on the table before popping it between his lips. A click of a lighter later and smoke surrounded the two of them.
In the darkness, one Other stood proudly over the corpse of the other.
Sophie was pale.
'Time for what?' she asked, her voice laced with terror as Bermuda took another long drag.
'Till the end of the world.'
Sophie shuddered, her belief growing with her fear. Bermuda leant forward, a smoky mist surrounding him.
'Everything you think you know, forget. Every time you feel something watching you or whenever you see a shadow skip and wonder if something is there—there is. You won't see it, but trust me, it's there. And right now, I have no idea how to find the piece of shit who has your friend or what he has done to her.'
They sat in silence, allowing the cigarette to slowly complete its journey to ash and smoke. Eventually, Sophie broke the silence.
'Will you bring her back?' Her words cracked with sadness. Bermuda slowly dabbed the cigarette into the ashtray. He looked at her with as much hope as he could muster.
'I'm gonna try.'
ARGYLE AWOKE IN HIS chambers, the lights flickering on at the mere stirring of his body. He slowly sat up, his chiselled, muscular body aching from the attack on that glorious ship a few nights back. The bruising had faded, yet his brown skin would have concealed any notion of injury.
He stepped from his bed, only wearing the loose-fitting trousers that were provided by the BTCO. Shirtless, he approached the mirror, daring his torso to heal completely.
Like the rest of his kind.
The reflection never lied. Before him stood a warrior, his broad chest slashed with scars that should have healed. Rips in the skin that were now a part of his identity, a permanent tapestry of war.
He scanned his arms, the veins popping against bulging biceps. They too wore scars, criss-crossing his skin like Bermuda's artwork.
He drew a finger across one, feeling the coarseness of the tissue, remembering the valiant battle in his home world. The demon that confronted him that fell at the end of his sword.
His grey eyes took in the reflection one more time, allowing him to make peace with what he was. His world had turned their back on him a long time ago.
This world had taken him in.
He would protect it.
He would protect his partner.
He walked across the spacious room, his footsteps silent despite his large frame. Along the cabinet, his sword rested on its display unit, the mighty blade that had saved Bermuda's life so many times. With lightning speed he clutched the handle, spinning the blade around his torso before lunging it forward.
Whatever was coming.
Whoever Barnaby was.
Argyle would be ready.
As he sliced the air, his mind wandered to his partner. The abject sadness that resided within him, the need to self-destruct. A twinge flickered through his body, his pity for his partner shuddering through him.
Bermuda had already had his world turn its back on him.
They were both outcasts.
As the blade cut through the room with deadly precision, Argyle made a solemn vow.
They would stop Barnaby.
He would keep Bermuda safe.
Swirling the blade between his hands with a display of extreme dexterity, Argyle knew that he needed his partner.
They needed each other.
As two beings that could walk in both worlds, go beyond limits that no other creatures could, they only had each other.
Argyle drew his blade up, the light gleaming off it, and he swung it towards the wall, determined to never lose his partner.
'WELL, THIS HAS BEEN fun. Awkward, but fun.' Bermuda smiled as he stood, patting his coat to ensure he had enough nicotine and Tic Tacs for his journey home.
'Where do you live?'
'Not in London.' Bermuda smiled, almost boasting.
'How come?' she asked as she stood, sliding her coat over her toned figure. Bermuda struggled not to look.
'Well, I am just not trendy enough to wear loafers with no socks, grow a huge beard, and sit around drinking strawberry beer out of jam jars.'
Sophie laughed, her rapturous happiness echoing out of the alleyway.
'That is so unfair and inaccurate,' she playfully protested.
'You live in Peckham, so you can fuck off.' Bermuda chuckled, tensing his solid chest for the punch Sophie teasingly threw at him. 'I live in Bushey. It's not too bad. Twenty minutes from Euston.'
They walked in silence for a few moments, circling a small park amongst the towering London buildings before making their way towards Euston Road, the giant concrete line that sliced through London. As they strolled towards Euston Station, Sophie linked Bermuda's arm.
For the first time in a while, Bermuda felt attached to the world.
She retracted it quickly as he lit a cigarette as they stopped at the crossing.
'You do know smoking is bad for you?' Obviously rhetorical.
'I know. But then there are an awful lot of things that are bad for you as well. Eating too much chocolate. Drinking too much alcohol. Listening to ABBA.'
Sophie chuckled as Bermuda politely blew his smoke away from her. The cool evening sprinkled them with a slight breeze as they obliged the green man and crossed the road.
'But smoking is medically proven to be bad for you.'
'Sorry, but the 'medical professionals' had me certified as insane and locked in a white room for three months. I would rather take my chances.'
Sophie stopped for a second, letting the information sink in and registering the bitterness in Bermuda's voice. He marched on, past the few shops and eateries that adorned Euston Station. He weaved through the wooden benches, his mind and heart wrenching back to a few days earlier, when his ex-wife spoke of their daughter.
His Chloe.
Shaking it away, he glanced up at the screen above the entrance to the station; rows of destinations were listed with their departure times. He had ten minutes before his train.
'Well, I guess this is where I leave you.' He offered her a warm smile.
'Is it really true?'
Her voice was sincere, a look of fear across her beautiful face. Bermuda took a step towards her, the breeze reappearing to blow his hair carelessly across his forehead.
'Is what true?'
'Everything. The other worlds. The reason Jess has gone missing. Everything you said. Is it true?'
'Absolutely.' He had never meant a word more in his life.
Sophie anxiously bit her lip, her eyes scouring from the entrance to the station and then back to Bermuda. He took a final puff on his cigarette, flicking the remainder towards the wall.
'Show me.'
'It doesn't work like that.'
'Then make me believe.'
They stared at each other, time ticking between them as he sized her up, his eyes searching for any shred of doubt.
There was none.
All he saw was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on and her desperation to be reunited with her friend. He cursed the world for dragging her into the murky space that existed between the two worlds.
The place where he resided.
'Are you sure?' Bermuda asked, taking a small step towards her. 'Once you see it, you won't go back.'
'I'm sure. I need to find my friend
. Besides, if what you have said is true, then next to you is the safest place to be.'
She smiled at him, her eyeliner smudged by the few tears that accompanied the thought of her missing friend. Turning on the spot, she walked into the station, towards the platform that led to Bushey.
Bermuda sighed, following her slowly and doubting her last statement.
CHAPTER TWENTY
LIGHTNING STRUCK OUTSIDE the window, a clap of thunder soon following. Rain pelted down at a ferocious rate, each drop a wet missile that collided with the planet. Inside the small flat, a five-year-old Franklyn Jones sat up in his bed, his covers pulled over his knees, his face buried behind it.
The fear came every night.
In years to come, he would use it to monitor the activity, but the curse was something he was yet to understand.
All it brought was fear.
He yearned for his father to race into the room, to tell him everything was going to be all right. However he knew his father was never there and didn't even know what the man looked like. His mum had said he 'wasn't man enough to be a dad', but Franklyn didn't understand.
Mum was probably in the kitchen, drinking that red drink she did every night, an empty bottle being added to the collection as she dealt with her loneliness.
She had given up on his nightmares.
She always told him to stop being a baby and to go back to sleep.
There was no such thing as monsters.
He slowly pulled the duvet back, sliding his head out of the end to take a quick scan of the room. As he did, he saw the creature, hunched on his chest of drawers. Its eyes shimmered in the bolts of lightning, its clawed hands scratching at the wall. It slowly turned his head, baring its large, sharp teeth.
It shrieked.
A five-year-old Bermuda screamed.
No one believed him.
When he opened his eyes, he was sat at school. Eleven years old and keen to learn, he watched as his teacher, Mr Stevens, led the class, his voice a mumble of words pertaining to a book he was holding.
He envied the other kids, the ease in which they formed friendships and the carefree way they played during the break times.
They shunned him.
He was the odd one out.
They had heard his stories. The monsters that lived in the shadows. The beasts that adorned his walls in the middle of the night, gnashing at him with sharp teeth and glaring at him with ferocious eyes.
As he sat, he looked through the window to the outside world. The wind was alive and loud, throwing the crisp autumn leaves through the air with reckless abandon. The sky was heavy and grey, the clouds prepared to break at any moment and drench the world below them.
He looked across the playground to the wall, where he usually spent his lonely lunchtimes.
There it was.
Long and jarring, it moved with irregularity. Its limbs, too long for its body, were trimmed with sharp, child-killing claws. The eleven-year-old Bermuda began to shake.
It slowly turned, almost as if it knew he was watching.
It had no facial features.
Slowly it began to move forward, as if Bermuda had accidently triggered a magnet. It progressed into a gallop, hurtling at great speed towards the school, Bermuda's window directly in its path.
It leapt.
Bermuda screamed and fell to the floor, his classmates panicked, and the sound of scraping table legs filled the room.
The beast had gone.
No one had seen it.
The class began to laugh as a urine-soaked Bermuda rose to his feet and ran from the room crying, a mixture of fear and embarrassment pouring from him.
The odd one out had become even more odd.
As he ran through the door he stepped into his university halls. A group of drunk lads were staggering down the corridor and cheered him as he walked by. He caught a glimpse of himself in the window as he turned towards his room, his twenty-year-old self shining back in all his handsome glory.
He opened the door to his room only to find his friend Brett in there, a bong in his hand, a fresh cloud of smoke circling the room.
They conversed.
About what, he couldn't decipher.
The bong was passed back and forth a few times, the evening becoming a series of photos as opposed to memories. Somewhere in the dark corners of the building, creatures walked. He had seen them a few times but had kept it quiet.
Only Brett knew what he could see, and had been the only person not to laugh it off.
He finally had a friend, and as a cloud of intoxication began to cocoon around him, he realised that he wasn't completely alone in the world after all.
He sat up, his body naked and streaming with sweat. The bedroom was grand; the bed he lay upon was surrounded by four large posts. Beyond the room was the balcony which overlooked the Pacific Ocean.
Something moved next to him.
It was Angela.
Asleep and also naked, Bermuda recalled their honeymoon. A time when they were happy. The night had been filled with passionate lovemaking, the feeling that his curse had finally released him to a normal life.
As the waves lapped at the beach, he heard their gentle echo.
He slowly nestled back into bed, his hands gliding through the sheets until he felt the soft skin of his beautiful wife.
He leant forward to kiss her.
His lips gently kissed his daughter’s head, a lame attempt to stop her from crying. The delicate child was held close to his chest and he looked at himself in the mirror.
Finally a father.
Little Chloe screamed in a mysterious agony that he couldn't decipher, but he rocked her gently as he stood in her nursery. The room was a light pink, framed with small teddy bears that danced around the skirting board. A selection of multicoloured toys lined the room, all of them bought out of love for the small creature he had created with his wife.
Angela slept in the next room, the change to parenthood hitting her hard as she tried to recharge.
Bermuda held his daughter close, never wanting her to grow another inch nor for time to tick another second. To spend eternity slowly rocking her to a quiet, comfortable sleep would have been perfect.
That was when he saw it.
Its jet-black eyes peering through the cuddly toys that were bundled in one of the corners. No bigger than a cat, but with sharp spikes that ran the length of its spine, it leapt out, hissing violently before bounding out of the nursery on its claws.
Bermuda sank into the small chair, holding his precious daughter close to his tattoo-less chest.
He wept.
They were not gone.
They clutched both of his arms, dragging him against his will as he yelled for help. His screams were in vain; he could only see Angela getting further and further away from him, the corridors of the hospital a pale cream that exuded blandness.
He couldn't recall what he yelled.
Nor could he contain the sheer panic as he knew they would throw away the key once they had locked him inside. The world had certified him as insane; the investigation was at the request of his wife.
Angela.
She had finally given up hope. She had turned her back on him, seeing him as a threat and a danger to their daughter.
All he wanted was to protect her.
For two years, they had been arguing about his needless worry, the crazy idea that he saw these beasts in the shadows and how they were never safe. The constant public humiliations of his behaviour. The endless nights she spent crying herself to sleep at the thought of her beloved husband slowly losing his grip on reality.
The courts had sentenced him to the hospital, where he would not be a threat to himself, others, and—in particular—his family.
He screamed that he wasn't crazy.
They shoved him into his padded room.
His memory made it seem cramped, as if the white, cushioned walls were slowly creeping up on him.
They locke
d the door as he slammed his fists against it, trying his best to smash it from its hinges.
He took a few steps back and launched himself at the wall. He stumbled out onto the wooden floor of the Tobacco Docks. Somewhere below him, Others were busy, rustling about one another as the Others’ Town market burst into life.
The walls were thin, broken brick and then suddenly he saw him.
Barnaby.
Instantly the dark eyes took hold, latching onto him and never letting go.
The jet-black eyes.
The imminent threat of the world ending became very real. He slowly stepped into the room, the walls disappearing to blackness.
He stood opposite Barnaby, with nothing but emptiness around them. His enemy seemed to grow in stature, the imposing threat that loomed over Bermuda and his world.
Within seconds he turned to a blur, zipping through the darkness and then appearing face to face with Bermuda, his dark eyes centimetres from his own.
'BERMUDA!'
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
INSTANTLY BERMUDA AWOKE, his hand shooting up and angrily snatching the wrist that was in front of him. His eyes blinked away sleep, his sense returning as he realised himself back in reality.
Sophie stood above him, her face a mask of concern as he quickly released her hand.
'Bermuda,' she repeated. 'We are nearly at Bushey.'
Slowly Bermuda looked around, ignoring the glares from the drunken passengers. Slowly he composed himself, lifting himself off of his seat and following Sophie towards the door of the train.
'Sorry, I must have dozed.'
She smiled at him, pressing the button to open the doors as they stopped at the station. They trudged along the platform, exiting the station and passing a few pubs littered with drunken regulars. They walked in silence, the breeze dancing around them playfully as Bermuda obliterated a cigarette and topped it off with a couple of Tic Tacs.
They entered his building.
As they stood in the hallway outside of his flat, he sheepishly turned to Sophie, her perfect eyebrows raised in expectation.
'Right, not gonna lie. The place may be a bit of a tip.'
'Please. I live with a model. Do you think we do cleaning?'
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