by A. M. Shine
Every head bobbing amidst that sea of shoulders was making headway in some direction, and it was this direction alone that held their interest. All, that is, with exception of one. She was taller than the rest. Mina recognised her immediately. The face’s proportions were as perfect as she remembered, just as she had drawn them. The skin was sleek as plastic. It was the android, and she was staring directly at Mina; expressionless, and altogether indifferent to the comings and goings around her. Mina gripped the arms of her chair for anchorage, as the sight of her induced a sudden, fearful weakness. It was as though Mina was the only other person on the street that day, so focused was the woman’s attention upon her.
‘Madeline?’ she whispered as she lifted the sunglasses from her nose.
Mina’s sore eyes reeled against their sudden exposure, and when they regained focus the woman was gone. Evening’s early shadows had begun to peel down the wall. Though still under the sun’s guardianship, Mina pulled her hood over her head, suddenly cold, her jaw clenched, fingers fidgeting. Every face now seemed insidiously sinister, all posing some veiled design against her. Mina’s unease must have shown.
‘Are you okay?’ the man seated at the table asked her.
Mina turned sharply. He wasn’t as old as she had earlier speculated from his voice. The face put him in his early fifties, and despite its seriousness, it was quite handsome; rugged features ripped out of a comic book, but now lined and loose from a life’s adventuring. He wore a long, big-fitting coat; charcoal grey, a shade or two lighter than his hair.
‘Yes,’ she replied as she stood, hands shaking as they placed the sunglasses back on her nose, legs weak. ‘I’m fine, thank you.’
Mina was not ready for this. These weren’t the shallow waters that she and Ciara had discussed – their soft reintroduction to society. This was the deep end. Mina wasn’t fine, thank you. She was drowning. And on that street, beleaguered by dizzying waves of faces and bodies, the dark waters were rising.
Mina’s first thought was to get out of there – to run home, to lock her door, to hide. She stepped awkwardly over the man’s long legs and walked with her head down, averting her eyes from anyone who might be looking at her, for they could each of them be Madeline. The sunglasses slipped from her nose and cracked off the ground. One of the lenses popped out and skimmed across the cobbles. She kept moving.
‘Let me get that for you,’ the man called after her.
‘No,’ Mina said, waving him away, flustered, ‘please, just leave them.’
For months she had studied Madeline, trying to read what she was thinking. The android’s face evinced the same qualities – the intensity of the eyes, those inert features so dispassionate that they insinuated no definable emotion. But Mina had seen this woman before. Madeline must have mirrored her appearance. There was no other explanation.
It has to be her, she repeated to herself in muttered panic. It has to be her. Had Madeline been watching Mina without her knowing? She stopped and turned, tempted in the confusion of that second to run back and find her. Madeline might have sought Mina out for help. They had all kept their mouths shut. There was no reason to be afraid.
‘No, Meens,’ she said, catching her breath. ‘Go home and call Ciara.’
But she hesitated. Some part of her wanted to talk to Madeline. She couldn’t keep running from the past. So, Mina stood, scanning the crowd for that face, just like she used to. People were milling around the street, going about their own business, paying no heed to Mina’s. And then she saw her. Standing at the end of the street from where she had just come, taking no measures to conceal her interest in Mina, was the android. It was the expression – or the lack of one – that could only be Madeline’s.
The shadows cast their black limbs down from roofs of moss-ceiled slate, where gulls and crows kept their distance, watching with wary eyes the one who didn’t belong. Bereaved of sunlight, the street was now deathly cool. Smells and flavours are said to spark old memories. For Mina it was the cold, the darkness, and that fear she knew all too well.
She had tried to bury it deep in the back of her mind. But the friable soils of her subconscious broke easily, and the memories wouldn’t rest. They would always claw to the surface. Peace would never come unless Mina seized it for herself, and so she took the first step forward, her gaze set on the mask that was, to all but the birds, so terribly convincing.
‘I see you, Madeline,’ she said, the words shivering between her lips.
There were people everywhere. Madeline would never break character with so many witnesses. Mina was safe in the company of her own kind, though their number had lessened. What could she possibly have wanted? And why appear now after so long?
‘Okay, Meens. It’s just a talk. She needs your help, that’s all.’
Mina stopped. Another had come to stand shoulder to shoulder with the android. She had dark hair styled short by her ears, with a face uniform and pretty. No feature was too weak or prominent, but she was tall. Both women stared at Mina with the same chilling vacancy.
She felt a hand grip her shoulder. Mina turned, startled and flushed with fear, and was met by the man who had sat across from her earlier. He was taller than she had first thought.
‘Mina,’ he said. ‘You can’t stay here.’
‘Who are you?’ she asked, swiping his hand away.
But she knew. Despite the masculine tenor of the voice, there was no mistaking who it was. It was in the eyes, and those myriad nuances that betrayed no hint of emotion.
‘Madeline?’ Mina said in disbelief.
‘I was wrong. I thought I was the only one.’
‘What do you mean?’ she asked, backing away.
‘You’re not safe here anymore. They’re everywhere, Mina. They’ve been watching you.’
About the author
A.M. SHINE is a writer and advocate of the Gothic horror tradition. Born in Galway in the west of Ireland, there he received his Master’s Degree in History before sharpening his quill and pursuing all things literary and macabre. His stories have won the Word Hut and Bookers Corner prize. He has published two collections, Coldwood: the haunted man and other stories and 13 and is a member of the Irish Writers Centre. The Watchers is his first full-length novel and his second, The Creepers, will be published in 2022.
An Invitation from the Publisher
We hope you enjoyed this book. We are an independent publisher dedicated to discovering brilliant books, new authors and great storytelling. Please join us at www.headofzeus.com and become part of our community of book-lovers.
We will keep you up to date with our latest books, author blogs, special previews, tempting offers, chances to win signed editions and much more.
Get in touch: [email protected]
www.headofzeus.com
@headofzeus
@HoZ_Books
Head of Zeus Books
