A Survivor's Guide to Eternity

by Pete Lockett

  “Mia, I’m Mia,” replied Mia, feeling anxious and repulsed by the individual as she reached down to manhandle Ed from the bench.

  “That’s a nice name. It means ‘golden flower’ in my native Polish,” replied the man, lying outright.

  “Oh,” replied Mia, her eyes staring emptily over his right shoulder as she grabbed Ed, just as the dog caught clear sight of the date at the top of the folded page: September 21st 2009. Excitedly, he accepted Mia’s embrace and looked into her perfect face, big blue eyes and glowing dark-red, shoulder-length hair. His muddied paws dirtied her white blouse as she turned away from the man, flustered and confused.

  “Bye, darling,” he exclaimed, as she retreated, clutching Ed whilst trying to fix the lead back onto his collar.

  “Yeah, bye,” she replied with dismissive contempt as she clipped the clasp and gently put the dog down onto the short grass, extending the lead to its maximum to let him roam a little more freely. The man returned to his paper, whilst Mia dusted her blouse off as they proceeded back across the small park towards the gate. Ed now knew he had a whole day before the death of Ed Trew and decided to go along with her back to the house.

  “Beamer, why did you do that?” she whispered angrily at the dog as they passed through the gate and along the road, restricting his lead back to the shorter length. Ed looked up at her adoringly and continued on his way. He was hungry and hoped for some food once they got back. All those days in the tunnels without food, hunger or taste. It really built up a big appetite when reincarnated as an animal again.

  Soon they were back at the house and he was off his lead and in the kitchen being presented with a big dish of doggie meat lumps. He tore into them like an animal possessed, and then followed it down with the whole bowl of water.

  “Naughty little fella, you’re hungry today, Beamer,” exclaimed Mia, as she came back into the room having changed from her muddy shirt. She refilled his water bowl and then gathered together her laptop and handbag and disappeared from the front door. “See you tonight, baby,” she exclaimed upon departure.

  Ed was relieved. He had the whole day to himself to chill out and make a plan. He could really spend time thinking about what to do the next day and what plan of action was available to him. Should he just sit by and observe the tragic events or should he try and influence the outcome? He got more and more confused as he thought through the various options, making the whole thing much more complicated in his head than it actually was. This was exaggerated further when he came to consider the choices he would have to make on his future transitions.

  He also started to analyse the logistics of the plan. How would he get out of the house and over to the diner undetected? If he did escape when she took him walking, then he would have the collar on. The collar would surely result in him being returned back to Mia. How would he get around that? The best option would be to somehow get the collar off and escape from the house. How would that be possible? Then how could he get to cross paths with Ed and what would he do if he did? He had so much to think on and organise, he didn’t know where to start.

  Well I guess the first thing is to go and check what sort of dog I am, thought the hound, as he leapt out of the kitchen, through the living room, into the corridor and on into the bathroom of the bungalow. Soon he jumped up onto the toilet, up again onto the sink and stared at what he saw.

  Oh that’s ridiculous, thought Ed, as he looked in the mirror to see a scraggly light brown, long haired, terrier puppy. He inspected the collar, a firm looking black leather strap about an inch wide with a regular looking belt buckle and restraining strap. From it hung a very clear ‘Beamer’ pendant with an address and telephone number. It looked difficult to undo and he was certain he would not be able do it. Disgruntled, he jumped down from the sink, danced across the bathroom and back through the living room into the kitchen. He jumped up onto a chair and then up onto the work surface and decided to check the windows for a possible escape route.

  At the back, they all looked prohibitively secure, big sturdy security locks on the top and bottom of the windows, too high to reach and too awkward to tamper with. Disillusioned, he jumped down and ran over and up onto the sofa and then onto the front window ledge. These looked a little more likely with the windows having brass Victorian casement bars on the bottom and handle fasteners on the side. He was sure he could reach up and dislodge one of these handles and then lift the brass casement bar off the protuberant nodules screwed to the window ledge. He tried squeezing his paw under this brass fitting and hey presto, after a couple of attempts it sprang off. Then he batted it backwards and forwards from side to side until it settled back in place. He then reached up to the window handle which was very loose and lifted easily. He stopped just before it came open and jumped back down to the sofa and further onto the sandy carpet. It felt so warm under his paws, just like the climate of the house with its central heating on a reasonable thermostat setting.

  He headed back through the house into the kitchen and his basket, still confused about how to get out of his leather collar. He knew that was going to be a tricky one.

  When in doubt, sleep, thought the dog, as he settled down on his blanket to nod off.

  Before he knew it, night had drawn in around and Mia was back at home, feeding him more doggie lumps and lavishing more attention upon him. She had changed into her jeggings and a loose white tee-shirt that was kind enough to let her pert nipples arouse and dent the surface. He was a happy dog sitting on her lap watching inane TV.

  “You’re being a good boy tonight, Beamer. What’s gotten into you? You’re usually tearing all over the place,” she said, as the ‘strictly come cooking’ theme tune blurted through the speakers offensively. Soon Ed jumped down and returned back into the kitchen. As he took refuge in his basket, he drowsily wondered what exactly causes animals to be so sleepy for vast portions of the day.

  Chapter 21

  17.49, 17.52, 17.56, 17.59

  The following morning, things were a carbon copy of the previous day: the strained lead tugging at his neck, then the walk in the park followed by the meat lumps and Mia’s departure for work. Ed was then left alone. It was September 22nd 2009, the day he once died. He wandered around the house still a little bemused how to get out of the collar. He strayed from room to room looking for something that might assist with the task, finally ending up in the kitchen and on the work surface by the window. He looked around at the cutlery and general utensils in the small plastic drainer beside the sink. Then he ventured over to the other side of the work surface where the plates and saucepans were stored, along with a wooden knife block with three of the five slots filled.

  Cautiously, he nudged it with his black button nose, knocking it over and causing two of the knives to shoot out and onto the floor. The other one remained half in and half out of the wooden retainer. He looked at the knife on the surface and the two on the floor knowing that whatever he’d attempt with them would be dangerous. He remembered what the Viking had told him about the time continuum getting messed up if he went around again. This might be his only shot at being there for the fateful day. He looked around the kitchen for other articles that could help, but all to no avail. Distraught, he sat thoughtfully back on his haunches, staring down at his basket, blanket and bowl of water.

  He sat on the work surface for over an hour, stuck for an idea. The collar was far too securely fastened for his paws to be effective in opening it, and so he soon came to the conclusion that one way or another, he had to cut it off. Again he looked round at the knife on the work surface and then – bingo! It all clicked into place. Excitedly, he went over to the wooden block and nudged it out of the way, forcing the knife to come loose and lie in the open. It was a bread knife with a ten inch serrated blade and a five inch handle. He batted it with his paws into the tiled corner. Patiently he manoeuvred its length so it was face down and upright on the surface with the handle directed into the corner at forty five degrees. He stooped down ove
r the knife with his chin resting on the unsharpened back edge which was erect towards the ceiling. He put his paws either side of the blade and manoeuvred his neck so the tip of the knife was slipping between his neck and the collar. He was soon juggling with the elements to get them perfectly aligned but time after time the knife slipped loose and fell over.

  He persisted again and again until finally he got it wedged in the gap, the blunt edge rubbing on his neck and the sharp serrated edge digging into the leather like a saw. He manoeuvred back and forth, keeping the knife lodged into the corner with the pressure and weight of his pushes. He was well aware that one wrong push at the wrong angle and the knife would slip right into his body and most likely kill him. Undeterred, he continued, determinedly cutting through the collar until finally, after what seemed like an eternity, it cut right through. Quickly, he stepped back from the knife and dug with his paws at the severed collar, prying it from his neck and down onto the work surface. His throat ached agonisingly from the friction of the blunt side of the blade.

  Excitedly, he jumped down, thirstily drank his way through his bowl of water and leapt across the room and up onto the window ledge via the sofa. He levered up the window casement bar with ease from its receptacle and turned his attention to the brass side handle, just within his reach. Soon he had loosened the latch and the window swung open, assisted by a gentle nudge with his head. He crept out onto the wide ledge outside and pulled the window shut with his furry front paws, giving it a firm push with his bum to make sure it stayed closed. It was a fairly tight fit so it was quite secure once shut. He didn’t want Mia to be burgled because he’d left the window open.

  He jumped down into the garden and over to the gate, peering around the corner before diving out and speeding along the lanes towards the Fox pub. He rushed along ‘Yew Tree Close’, and then onto ‘Cuckoo Lane’, not a soul in sight. A little further on and he was in the village centre with its post office, police station and corner shop all collected around a small central war memorial and flower bed.

  Stealthily, he ducked and dived behind bushes, between parked cars and onto the main road which led to the Fox pub and M3. He sped down into a small ditch which ran parallel to the road, and continued at full pace, reaching the Fox pub some fifteen minutes later. Outside, two elderly, plump men came out dressed in tatty farmer’s attire, getting into a rusting Ford transit van before speeding off. Ed continued on his way, unconcerned whether they saw him or not. He was feeling nimble and fast enough to get away from anyone and anything.

  The grass-covered ditch carried on for another half mile or so before petering out and up into flat land beside the road. Ed ducked in behind the hedgerow and sped further towards his destination, undeterred by the odd cars that zapped by on the quiet route. Soon he reached the M3 and followed it along, weaving through the matrix pattern of fields he’d marvelled at from the skies not so long ago. In no time at all, he was darting across the small airfield and towards the off-road trials bike course he recalled was next to the diner. It was deserted, its muddy, ragged, trail criss-crossing its way back and forth across the small piece of land, no bigger than a football pitch. He ran impatiently along its straights and around its bends with excitement as he came to realise he’d nearly reached his destination. Continuing with determination he proceeded and forced his way through a bush at the edge of the course and into the grounds of the diner.

  He snuck across the car park, up a small grass embankment and took refuge behind a small concrete post. He wasn’t sure what the exact time was but by the look of the sun’s position in the sky, it was nearing late afternoon. Nervously, he peered around from the hiding place hoping to see Ed’s silver Volvo estate appear on the slip road. Each new vehicle noise marked another chord of disappointment in the dog as they passed by the diner and drove out onto the dual carriageway. He waited anxiously, his ears shooting bolt upright every time anything moved or made the slightest noise. He could see the lights in the diner and the steam coming from the kitchen vent. The bright yellow waitress fizzled past the window every now and then, carrying oversized cups of tea and bacon rolls to lonely customers.

  Ed looked on nervously until the sound of an engine drew closer and closer. It was a silver Volvo estate, just like Ed’s. It stopped along from the diner on the slip road just past the petrol station. The engine revved as the driver looked at the big sign:

  ‘FULL ENGLISH BREAKFAST - £2.99’

  Next, the silver car reversed backwards, causing a minivan coming past to swerve, resulting in a meaningless exchange of horn abuse. Then the car steered over to the left and into the diner car park, pulling up just along from where the small furry dog was hiding. Excitedly, he leapt out from his position under the adjacent van and over towards the door of the diner where he peered out from behind another of the big breakfast signs. He watched in complete disbelief as he saw the car door fling open, revealing Ed’s feet, then legs, body and head. He was shocked to be staring at himself. Of everything that had happened so far, this was by far the most extraordinary to come to terms with. Two Ed Trews.

  He pulled a jacket from the car, put his iPhone into his shirt pocket, slammed the door shut and headed over to the restaurant. Ed could smell him even from that distance, the familiar aftershave, the slight underarm development from a day in the car. It was all so instantly recognisable and comfortable. He got closer and closer, brushed past the sign and pulled open the heavily sprung glass door, walking in to let it slowly close behind him. Sneakily, the dog popped in through the diminishing gap and dived behind the paper stand. Ed turned around as if he had seen him, went over to the stand and grabbed one of the free papers before turning around and heading over to the table with the ripped seat.

  “Can I sit you here, sir?” he heard from one of the ultra yellow waitresses, pointing to a completely different table.

  “No thanks, I want to sit here by the window.”

  “That’s for six, sir, can I sit you here?” replied the waitress unhelpfully pointing towards a two-seater.

  “Look around, can you see any groups fighting over who gets the last six-seater booth, darling?” replied Ed angrily, gesticulating around at a virtually empty diner, apart from one elderly, bald man in a seedy-looking stained raincoat and a couple of old bikers recounting their youth.

  “Whatever. I’m getting off in half an hour so why should I care?”

  “Now you’ve said that, why should you have cared in the first place?” retorted Ed angrily, causing the woman to disappear behind the counter along with a massive sigh that could have taken at least fifty percent of the oxygen from the room. Ed remained unmoved, picked up the menu from the table, gave it a quick glance and headed over to the self-serve counter to order his £2.99 ‘all day’ breakfast, even though it was late afternoon.

  “I’ll need to bring it over to you; the sausages aren’t ready,” said the same girl, relocated behind the till.

  “That’s fine,” replied Ed, as he handed over a five-pound note, took his change and returned to the table with a generous mug of coffee. Meanwhile, the dog had slinked under the tables and was hiding next to Ed’s booth. Ed plonked his coffee down on the table, took out his vibrating iPhone from his pocket and stared at it in dismay.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” he uttered with annoyance, as he slid the screen lock and began tapping away at the device. Meanwhile his small furry alter ego had jumped up on the seat next to Ed, startling him and causing him to drop his phone next to the coffee, just as the two bikers took their leave.

  “Crikey, where did you come from?” said Ed, as he stared at the dog. He put his two front paws up onto Ed’s upper legs, trying to look as sweet and fluffy as possible, finally resorting to stretching upwards on his hind legs and licking under Ed’s chin. With this, Ed pushed him down onto the seat, grabbed his arms around him and holding him aloft, exclaimed,

  “Is this anyone’s dog? Hey, is this anyone’s dog?”

  The grumpy girl came over w
ith his bargain cuisine.

  “You can’t have pets in here. Didn’t you read the sign on the door? NO PETS,” she shouted nastily.

  “Christ, it’s not mine. It just came over and started licking me. What can I do?”

  “George, is this your dog? George?” she shouted at the only other person in the diner, getting a muted negative grunt in response. The seedy man continued to stare down at his empty plate, unmoved.

  “Well it’s not mine either. Sorry, but I’ll have to serve you outside. Come on and bring the bloody dog with you,” she exclaimed, as she marched off out the door with his food and coffee.

  “You’re polite. Where were you trained, Michelin school?” replied Ed angrily.

  “I’m just doing my job if you’ll let me. Come on. You’ll have to go outside,” replied the girl.

  “Chrissake. It’s freezing out there. Bloody hell!” exclaimed Ed, as he followed her out, dog under one arm, jacket under the other, the free newspaper left with disregard. Once outside, he put the dog down and tried to get rid of him.

  “Go on, go over there,” he exclaimed, pointing towards the bushes. However, the hound followed in the footsteps of the girl with the food as she plonked it disrespectfully on one of the tables outside the window. He jumped up onto one of the wooden slatted benches fixed to the table and waited for Ed. He remembered it was the very same table he had stolen food from when he was a falcon.

  Ed joined him as the girl rudely brushed past and back into the diner without a word. Ed put his jacket on and sat clasping his coffee with both hands. The dog sat obediently looking up at him with endearing seduction.

  “You mutt, look what you’ve done. I’m freezing out here,” moaned Ed, as he put the coffee down and began munching through the breakfast, accompanied by a pining, whimpering sound from the dog, outstandingly happy to be back with himself.

  “Christ, if I give you this, will you shut up?” exclaimed Ed, as he passed him down a piece of bacon, wondering what he was going to do with the refugee puppy. He devoured the tasty meat as Ed switched his attentions to yet another text, after which he put his phone down and drank more coffee. Soon the coldness bit a little deeper and Ed headed back into the diner for another plea to find the dog’s rightful owner, just missing a new text arriving on his phone. The vibrations shot through the whole table and into the wooden planks, shaking the dog’s internal organs like a mini-blender. Meanwhile, inside the diner, Ed headed across to the counter to speak to the girl once more.