Doorways Page 24

  The pain was unbearable.

  He would not let go.

  'The pathetic animals that you call a race will know no different. They will all perish, wiped from this canvas, and a new world will be created.' Barnaby gazed towards the clock face, peering out and over the land he would soon conquer. 'So just let go.'

  Bermuda groaned slightly, the grip around Sophie tightening and he felt the tendons in his shoulder strain as she lurched nearer to the portal.

  He felt a sharp, burning sensation between his shoulder blades.

  It would soon claim him.

  'Tell me, Bermuda. Before this whole display of defiance comes to an end.' Barnaby balanced the tip of the blade against the floorboards, leaning both hands on the handle nonchalantly. 'What exactly are you fighting for?'

  Bermuda took deep breaths, trying his best to manage the pain.

  A finger slipped, his grip shaking, but he held still.

  Blood trickled down the frame of the recently created doorway.

  'You are willing to sacrifice yourself for a world that wouldn't even know that you did?'

  Barnaby shook his head, failing to comprehend the fight in Bermuda. He slowly raised the blade, approaching the doorway and the obstacle delaying his convergence. His eyes twinkled with excitement, his final effort to consume the world building to a satisfactory crescendo.

  'Very well.'

  Barnaby swung the sword up, spinning it expertly, the jagged blade cutting through the wind that stormed through the top of the clock tower.

  Outside, the rain slashed the glass, a spring storm erupting over the city of London.

  Bermuda clutched the glass.

  Slowly, the crude blade rested near his arm, Barnaby slowly teasing up and down his arm, the pressure of Sophie pressed against him causing his muscles to stretch and his arms to shake.

  Blood trickled down the cracked glass.

  His back roared, his exposed flesh slowly disintegrating.

  'Where, oh where, should we make the cut?'

  Barnaby spoke with a mocking swagger, his misshapen teeth contorted into a crude smile. His jet-black eyes hooked on Bermuda.

  'Hmmm,' Barnaby mused, still waving his sword. 'Above or below the elbow, that is the question.'

  Bermuda gritted his teeth, refusing to look at the sharp instrument that would soon remove his limb and resign the human race to a premature end.

  As he shook through fear, he recalled the entire case. The disappearance of Jess that brought Sophie into his life—the woman he was refusing to lose to the world that had ruined his own.

  The attacks. The pain.

  Hugo dead.

  Argyle gone.

  Sophie next.

  Furious, he arched his back, expelling his anger with one long roar of anguish. The motionless body of Sophie hung before him, pressing against him and begging his will to break.

  Wishing for him to let her pass through.

  Let her be stolen.

  Barnaby rested the blade on Bermuda's arm, a decision close to fruition.

  'Above or below the elbow?' He offered, knowing it was a loaded question. Bermuda refused to answer.

  Defiant to the end.

  Spinning the sword above his head, Barnaby tightened his grip. Bermuda gritted his teeth, bracing himself.

  'Hey Barnaby.' Bermuda's words were straining against his pain threshold. 'I have a question.'

  Barnaby hesitated, loosening the sword slightly as his marble-like eyes flickered with curiosity. Holding the sides of the doorway, Bermuda readjusted himself.

  The strain reaching its limit.

  'Go on,' Barnaby humoured.

  'What do you do when something finally loses its power?'

  The question hit Barnaby with a slap of confusion. Bermuda had just relayed his own question back to him, the dots refusing to connect. Bermuda loosened the fingers of his right hand, all of them coated in a thick scarlet.

  A chain dropped, hanging from his bloody digits.

  It was Barnaby's latch stone.

  Every essence he had stolen trapped inside.

  Frantically, Barnaby reached inside his blazer, his elongated fingers searching in vain. Bermuda had taken it when Barnaby had toyed with him.

  Barnaby roared with anger, his voice ripping through the wildness of the room, his fury engulfing everything in a venomous explosion of aggression.

  He lifted the sword as Bermuda dropped the stone to the floor.

  Bermuda raised a boot and stamped down.

  The latch stone shattered.

  A sword pierced through Barnaby's spine, shooting out of the centre of his chest. His eyes quickly went vacant, his own blade falling from lifeless hands as he slowly went limp.

  Dark, navy blood oozed from his mouth and dripped down the blade to the handle.

  A handle that was firmly in the hand of Argyle.

  PLUMMETING TOWARDS his death, Argyle thought of what the world would become. The vulgarity of Barnaby's imagination, the tyranny with which he would rule.

  He had escaped that himself when he left the Otherside, the BTCO a saving grace in a world that accepted him as much as it could.

  In Bermuda he had found more than just a partner and someone to dedicate his life to protecting.

  He had found a friend.

  A friend who was fighting to save the world on his own and protect a family he never got to see.

  He would not die.

  Not in this tower.

  A hundred feet from the floor he slowly turned, the pain of a severed pectoral muscle burning through his armour. Facing back up, he shot out his right arm, the Retriever flying back up through the tower he had fallen.

  It shot into the Big Ben bell, piercing the famous metal and latching on.

  Twenty feet from death, Argyle started retrieving, his shoulder wrenched from its socket as he started to climb. The room lined with lifeless humans and carpeted with fallen Others disappeared as he shot back up to the battle.

  To finish the fight.

  He had slowly scrambled through the hole, silently and slowly recalling his hook as he saw Barnaby approach Bermuda, his dear friend nearing the end of his battle.

  Gritting his teeth and willing himself silent, Argyle wrenched his shoulder back into place, tendons snapping correctly into place.

  The left side of his chest hung from his body, disconnected and aching.

  He reached down, collecting his sword as he approached Barnaby, who lifted the sword, ready to amputate his partner.

  He saw the gleaming of the stone.

  Slowly approaching, he waited for Bermuda to break it, the power of Barnaby slipping away as the humanity left him, his convergence reversing and rendering him nothing more than what he was.

  An Other.

  Not a god. Not a second coming.

  Just an Other.

  Argyle felt a measure of victory as he plunged his sword through Barnaby's spine, his flesh ripping easily and the battle coming to an end.

  He looked at Bermuda; the strain on his face told him the fight was over.

  He reached an arm into Barnaby's blazer, rummaging around as he flopped lifeless on the end of his blade. He removed The Gate-Maker, the crude key that unlocked all of this mayhem.

  Bermuda released his grip, his sliced hands wrapping around Sophie as he pushed away from the doorway, the Otherside severing its connection as he ripped his back free.

  Blood splattered down to the floor.

  Instantly, Argyle tossed Barnaby's body through the portal, back to the world he had run from. Holding the Gate-Maker, he retrieved the lock from his pocket, the two instantly attracting to each other like magnets. With a mind of its own, the lock latched onto it, the mechanisms clipping to each other and solidifying.

  It followed Barnaby through the portal.

  Instantly it closed and Sophie dropped to the ground, Bermuda catching her and collapsing next to her, his back causing his eyes to water. The rawness of his wounds felt like
he was being slowly roasted alive.

  Suddenly, with an earth-shaking crash, the panel the doorway it had replaced shattered, blowing a massive hole in the clock face of Big Ben.

  Joining the rain on its plunge to Earth, the shards of glass twinkled in the night sky like fireflies, scattering the grounds of Westminster below. The wind swirled around the inside of the tower, splashing both Argyle and Bermuda with rain.

  Bermuda sat up and faced it, allowing the water to collide with his face.

  It was over.

  He looked up at his partner, appreciating what they had been through. Argyle’s face was dripping blood from the wound above his eye, his chest was splattered with blood, and his shoulder was beginning to swell.

  Bermuda's face was slashed, claw marks that drew red lines from ear to ear. His back was bleeding, a layer of skin removed, and the feeling that someone was holding a blowtorch to his spine.

  His hands were dripping with blood; the slashes across his palms were deep and painful.

  Sophie lay motionless beside him—the hope that the rain splashing her face would soon bring her back to consciousness.

  Looking out over the city, Argyle and Bermuda shared the silence. The world would never know what had happened. How close it had come to being wiped clean.

  All that remained was humanity and another London landmark with significant damage.

  Argyle looked at Bermuda, finally smiling before speaking.

  'I bet you ten pounds that Ottoway blames you for the glass.'

  Bermuda chuckled, nodding his agreement.

  It didn't matter.

  Stories will be concocted as to what happened, the reasons behind the hole in the clock. They would lie to the world, keep it safe and secure in its own naivety. The world would never thank Argyle or Bermuda for what they had done.

  It didn't matter, Bermuda told himself. There was only one thing that did:

  It was over.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  RAIN CLATTERED AGAINST Sophie's face as she began to stir, the coldness of the wind slithering around her like an anaconda. Her vision was blurry, her blinking doing little to alleviate the sensation of not being quite there.

  She felt heavy, as if she only recently suffered at the hands of gravity.

  She was floating. Her dream felt so real, as if she was being transported to a new world.

  A new sense of freedom.

  Now she was on a cold floor, her head resting against something soft, her face wet and cold as the rain whistled through.

  Where was she?

  Bermuda had been sitting for fifteen minutes at the top of Big Ben, looking out through the hole that had been ripped through the famous face of the clock. Sophie had been lying in his arms, her head rested against his thigh as he quietly contemplated the severity of what had happened.

  The sense of relief that the world was still intact.

  She now stirred, moving gently and battling the confusion of time spent in the void between worlds. She would return to him, he knew that much. It was just safer for her to arrive there herself.

  He would sit for as long as it took, a cigarette burning in his hand that dropped lazily to his side.

  Sure enough, after a few minutes of bewilderment, she spoke.

  'Bermuda?'

  He smiled down at her, his face recently wiped clear of blood but the cuts remaining fresh and prominent.

  'Hey.' He flashed a grin, lifting the cigarette and exhaling deeply. 'Welcome back.'

  Suddenly a penny dropped, her eyes widening with terror as she sat up, drawing her knees in and hastily looking from corner to corner.

  'It's okay.' Bermuda reassured her.

  'He's here. The top hat,' she murmured, shaking slightly. 'Those black eyes.'

  'Hey!' Bermuda's sternness got her attention. 'It's over.'

  She hopefully looked into his eyes, confirming she was worth the fight. All the pain he had gone through, the shattered ribs, the slashed face and chest, the sliced-up hands.

  All of it worth it.

  Her face shimmered in the moonlight, the water sending a wet gleam dancing across her cheekbones. Her dark eyes were slowly relaxing and she leant forward, wrapping her arms around Bermuda's neck and hugging him powerfully.

  He winced, accepting the pain.

  They were finally safe.

  Time stopped as they embraced, and Bermuda allowed his tiredness to wash over him as he held her, his eyes heavy as he slowly rocked to the timing of her breathing. She pushed her cheek against his, slowly withdrawing so their lips brushed and she kissed him.

  Only gently and for a few seconds.

  It was a thank you.

  The gratitude for not giving up on her. For going to the ends of the earth to keep her.

  'Guess what?' he asked her, her eyebrows raising with intrigue. 'I found her.'

  It took a second, then Sophie stood up instantly. 'What? Where?'

  Bermuda struggled to his feet, the evening's battle taking its toll as she steadied him. 'Downstairs. Argyle is with her and the others.'

  Sophie raced towards the door; the number of steps between her and her friend was irrelevant. She descended as fast as she could, each step taking her closer to safety, to a feeling of normality.

  Her world had been turned upside down, literally. She had learnt truths about her world that she should never have had to, exposed to the Otherside and the very real danger that rested on the edges of her existence.

  Now she would be able to return to normal.

  Step by step.

  She burst through the door, her eyes scanning the room at the people who were seated on the floor, their worlds altered as they tried to grasp the time they had lost.

  They had all been stolen against their knowledge.

  Each one had a vacancy in their eyes, as if they had experienced a dream and thought it real. As if they had seen something move in the shadow but know there was nothing there.

  She saw them all. A young boy who was crying gently, afraid of the people around him and the strange realisation that he wasn't at home. The last thing he remembered was counting to ten against a tree.

  An overweight American was reassuring everyone that they would be okay, that he was going to call the cops. The last thing he remembered was reading something about a boat.

  A young man puffed on a cigarette, wondering how he went from looking at engagement rings to being trapped in a huge tower, waking up and finding himself tied to the concrete wall.

  That was when she saw her, the girl who remembered only being on a bus, then walking towards her home.

  Jess.

  Sophie ran towards her friend, the two of them throwing their arms around each other and holding as tightly as possible.

  She was back.

  Bermuda had found her.

  They both began to cry, their happiness eking out through tears as the rest of the Stolen returned to the world, the wailing of police sirens reassuring them all that they would be okay.

  No one saw Argyle, the battered warrior, as he returned from the stairwell, helping his friend and partner Bermuda down the last couple of steps. He had previously been detaching them from the shackles that held them to the wall, gently placing them on the floor for them to adjust to reality in their own time.

  The police raced in, radioing through with excitement that eleven reportedly missing people had been held captive against their will.

  They arrested Bermuda, despite Sophie's protests. He reassured her to let it happen, that it would be fine.

  Reluctantly she relented, watching angrily as he was roughly helped out of the tower, a gathering crowd watching as he was plonked into a police car.

  The rain was flashing blue in the night sky.

  Bermuda rested his head against the window and begged for sleep, happy that the world was safe.

  It was over.

  SLOWLY BUT SURELY, each of the Stolen was tended to, the police taking statements and arranging safe transport
ation for them, a few ambulances joining the parade of emergency vehicles to administer safety checks.

  There were no injuries.

  No signs of any injury.

  As the Stolen were placed into the panda cars and taken home, Bermuda was awoken by his car door opening and him falling face-first onto the gravel, his hands bound between his back.

  'Fucking hell,' he bellowed as the young police officer helped him up, apologizing as he uncuffed him.

  'Your language is truly atrocious at times.'

  Ottoway stood before him, his rotund body wrapped in a waterproof jacket, an umbrella cascading overhead.

  Bermuda was soaked through.

  'Hello, sir.'

  'Bermuda.' He turned to the hulking warrior beside him. 'Argyle.'

  'Sir.'

  Argyle joined Bermuda, who slowly sat on the hood of the police car, the blue lights bursting every few seconds, lighting the raindrops up like fireworks.

  'I have been told your wounds will heal.' Ottoway's words were matter-of-fact. Bermuda shrugged, patting his jacket for his cigarettes.

  'That's no skin off my back,' he quipped, the red rawness of his back having been bandaged by the medical staff as he awaited his trip to the station. The skin was gone, as was the entire back of his jacket.

  'Well, let's review, shall we?' Ottoway demanded, waving away the plume of smoke that was shot his way.

  'You owe me a new coat,' Bermuda pointed out. 'And a new rib cage.'

  'You were under direct orders to maintain a level of calm, to ensure that we acted with complete secrecy and discretion and would reduce any evidence of the Otherside, including any damage to public buildings.'

  'I know.' Bermuda's words danced through the smoke.

  'You ignored your orders, desecrating one of the most famous buildings in the world, causing untold damage to it at a cost we dare not speculate. At the same time, you endangered yourself and your partner.'

  Bermuda sheepishly looked at Argyle, a ten-pound debt agreed between them.

  Ottoway broke into a smile.

  'And you saved the world.'

  Bermuda and Argyle both turned, looking at their superior with surprise, the rain trickling off the edge of his umbrella. Behind him, police cars were loaded with people looking to be returned home.