| By: Nils Durban |
"You've got some nerve, lad," said Kevin O'Mara, "turning up out of the blue like this." He finished
pouring the pint, before setting it down on the counter before Sleet.
"I had good reason, Kevin, believe me," Sleet replied, "and I'm sorry about it."
"It's not me ye need be apologisin' to, you know that I presume?"
Sleet picked up the drink, not having allowed it time to settle sufficiently, and quaffed the froth from
off the top.
"You mean Helen."
"Of course I mean bloody Helen!" O'Mara vented as he fussed about the optics at the rear of the
bar, "who else might I be referrin' to?"
"I have an explanation, Kevin, like I said. I'm sure she'll understand."
Further down the bar, Declan choked on his Guinness and a series of coughs and gasps ensued.
Once he had recollected himself he glanced over at Sleet, "just went down the wrong way, that's
all."
Sleet raised his eyebrow quizzically, "yeah, thanks for the vote of confidence!"
A series of brisk footfalls heading through the kitchen at the rear of the bar allowed Sleet to
exchange a concerned glance with Kevin before Helen bustled into the room. She did not notice
his presence initially and preceded to stack glasses beneath the counter from the tray she had
carried through with her. Sleet remained silent, whilst Kevin began whistling a little Irish ditty in a
somewhat nervous fashion and Declan stared into his pint, as if some miraculous salvation would
rise up from it at any moment.
She picked up on the atmosphere immediately. "Is there something wrong....," as she turned
around to scan the bar their gazes locked, "Oh, it's you, is it?" she said haughtily, raising her chin
up in an unconscious attempt to look down upon him, as she might upon some vagrant that had
wandered in, scrounging for scraps of food. It wasn't that long ago, he thought to himself, that he
had been in exactly that position.
"And what do you think this is, Sleet James," she demanded, "some kind of drop in centre you can
waltz into just whenever it suits you?"
Declan looked up from his pint. "Isn't it?" he enquired, with apparently genuine concern.
The look that he received for his troubles could have turned men to stone, "You can mind your
own, Declan Moran!"
Declan immediately returned his attentions to his drink.
Helen ploughed on relentlessly, "have you ever seen one of these?" she asked in her most
sarcastic tone, waving a mobile phone in the air before her. "It's the latest craze you know, all the
kids have 'em."
"Look, Helen," Sleet attempted to interject, "if you'll just let me explain..."
"Oh, you've nothing to explain," she shot back, "it's all as clear as crystal, isn't it. Clear what a
bloody idiot I've been!"
And with that she spun about like a whirlwind and fled back the way she had come, leaving a single
pint glass teetering on the brim of the counter. It wobbled momentarily before finally deciding to
end it all with a resounding smash upon the vinyl covered floor, which served as a particularly fitting
climax to the exchange.
Silence ensued, and the three men pondered their individual situations. It was Declan who was first
to reach a solution to his particular dilemma.
"I'll have another Guinness, then."
Kevin stared at him in disbelief, but then stepped forward to acquiesce. It was Sleet, however, that
he addressed.
"I think you probably got what you deserved there, son," he said, "but I'm thinkin' that you're not a
bad lad, so I'll be tellin' ya how it is. I know her better than any, since her mother passed away
anyhow, so I know full well that she can come across a bit sharp sometimes - but I suppose our
ancestry's to blame for that. You've got two choices and not much time to decide. You can go
after her right now and give her whatever explanation ya have, or you can choose the other way -
the one behind you," he indicated the door which led out onto the street.
"Are you sure she'd really want to see me, after that?" Sleet asked.
"Like I said," Kevin replied, "I know her. I know what she's like. I also know that your time's running
out."
Times running out. It was the second time he'd been told that recently.
He took a swig of his drink for Dutch courage, before heading around the front of the counter
towards the private rooms at the rear of the pub.
"Good luck," Declan muttered as he passed by.
"Yeah, cheers."
When Sleet pushed through the door into the kitchen, Helen was moodily washing up the crockery
from lunch time. He winced as the plates were repeatedly smashed against one another, soapy
water splashing about her, much of it ending up on the quarry tile floor. Inevitably, one of the plates
proved insufficiently robust as it was slammed into the rack on the draining board (it was not
proving to be good day for fragile goods at O'Mara's). It shattered, and Helen cried out in
frustration, pulling her fingers sharply away and cradling them with her other hand.
He stepped towards her, "here, let's look at that." As he came up behind her she momentarily shied
away, but she did not struggle as he turned her around and carefully took her hand in his own. Her
index finger was finely cut, not at all deep, but enough to cause blood to rapidly well up and smear
both of their hands.
He reached to the sink with his free hand and spun the tap around until there was a steady jet of
cold water. "Hold it under here for a bit," he told her before turning away, conscious of not
embarrassing her further by dwelling upon her wet eyes and damp swollen cheeks.
He went over to the cupboards on the back wall of the kitchen and, opening the uppermost one, he
drew out the red and white first aid box. The role reversal certainly felt odd. It had been on more
than one occasion that she had administered to him with the contents of this little box. Now it was
his turn to return the favour, even if it was only an Elastoplast that was required. He set the box
down on the counter and began rummaging through it, eventually unearthing a pack of plasters and
selecting a suitably sized specimen from it.
Back at the sink, he reached for her hand once again, withdrawing it from the streaming water,
"how is it?" he asked.
"Numb."
"Well, it's stopped bleeding for a bit. Dry it quickly and we'll stick this on it," he said, unpeeling the
sticky plaster from its wrapper. She did as she was told and he carefully applied it around her
finger.
"That'll do it," he asserted as he viewed his handiwork, "Now, are you going to let me talk to you,
or do you need to smash anything else?"
She glared at him, but he could see that her anger had dissipated, "just your head, maybe."
He laughed, "others have tried, but so far without success."
"Enough joking, Sleet," she stared him in the eye, "why don't you tell me where you've been, and
why you just disappeared without as much as a by your leave?"
He pulled a chair out from beneath the big wooden kitchen table and plonked himself upon it,
grateful that she deigned to follow his lead, sitting down across from him, even if it did feel as if he
was about to be interrogated.
"Helen, that's why I'm here," he began, "I want to explain to you. I want to tell you what's been
going on up here," he tapped the side of his head. "But it isn't easy you know. There was a time
when I'd pretty well convinced myself that I really had lost the plot. The way that my brother died,
and the things that happened afterwards. It seemed like the only plausible explanation. There was
this doctor," he continued, "I'm sure he wanted to have me locked away. Anyway, I never took the
medication he prescribed me. I decided that I could sort myself out by running away, so I did. I've
told you some of this before, I know, how I'd been sleeping rough for I don't know how long. But
when I found that second creature, or maybe when it found me, I realised that I wasn't cuckoo after
all, not completely anyway. They were as real as you or me. Living, breathing, animals. Horribly
ugly nightmare things, maybe, but definitely real."
"I know that," she said, "you're not forgetting that I've actually seen one, are you?"
"No, of course not. But I don't want you to have to see one again."
"Well," she snorted, "I'm not in any particular hurry myself, to be honest."
He decided to change tack, "do you remember that night the fight broke out, Helen?" he asked.
She stared up into the air, feigning concentration, "let's see. There was last Saturday, and then
there was the Friday night the week before. Or do you mean that Wednesday when we had the
Champion's League on the telly?"
"You know when I mean. The last time I was here."
"Yes," she said, deadpan, "I know when you mean."
He pursed his lips in exasperation, "you can be bloody difficult, Helen. You do know that don't
you?"
"You deserve it," she replied, smiling sweetly at him.
Sleet held his hands up, "okay, okay, can we have some kind of truce here so that I can say what
I've got to say? If you decide to crucify me afterwards, then fair enough."
She folded her arms across her chest and leant back in her chair, "alright, I'm listening."
He took a deep breath before ploughing on. "That night, there was a man here, a young man. You
saw him first, remember? He was in the bar asking after me."
"Yes," she said, "I remember. He was nervous looking. There was something about him that I just
didn't trust."
"That's the fellow. Anyway, I went and had a chat with him, didn't I? And let's just say he had a bit
of a revelation for me."
"About what?"
"About the creatures. The Shadows." He let it hang in the air between them before going on, "It
was pretty bloody obvious really when I actually stopped and thought about it, but I'd become so
single-minded. So full of myself, really. Convinced that I was on some vengeful mission to kill
monsters. But he said something very simple that changed my whole perception, something that
made so much sense that I instantly knew it to be true."
Helen was listening intently now, giving him the time and space to tell his story at his own pace.
The plaster that he had applied was already red through, yet she barely felt the throb of her cut
finger.
"Perry, his name was. Shaun Perry. I thought he was some kid that had been following me about at
first. But I could soon tell that he knew what he was talking about, and that he probably knew more
than I did myself.
"He knew that I'd been hunting the creatures, or rather that I thought I'd been hunting them. He told
me that I was wrong about that. That, in actual fact, they had been hunting me. I was their prey,
their quarry if you like."
"What?" Helen gasped.
"It's true. I knew straight away that he was right. All those nights waiting in the darkness. Skulking
about in the shadows. And invariably they came. I kidded myself that I had sussed them out, that I
could map out where and when they would be likely to appear. I even stuck coloured pins in a map,
believe it or not, and kept a bloody diary. But that's why they really came, all those times, they'd
sniffed me out, followed my scent.
"But that's not the worst part about it, Helen. It's the people. The people who died. There were
those I saved, I know, but that only made it worse somehow. I'd created some kind of hero out of
myself. But the fact is that those who were murdered by those monsters died for one reason only -
because I was there. And it started with my own brother."
She leant across the table, this time to take his hand in hers. "You can't blame yourself for that,
Sleet. You just can't. Even if it's true, and you can't be sure it is, you didn't do anything knowingly.
You didn't bring this on yourself. You were just a regular guy, getting on with his life, just like the
rest of us. And anyway, you saved my life, and I don't care about the reasons that bloody thing
was there that night. You didn't have to do anything. You could have just legged it and let it get on
with its business, but you didn't, did you? You were braver than anyone I've ever known, and I'll
never forget it. So no wonder I'm bloody livid when you go awol for weeks on end. For all I knew,
you were dead. Didn't you think I might be worried sick?"
"Look," he said, "it just got to a point where I'd convinced myself that everyone would be better off
if I just disappeared. I didn't want anybody else to suffer because of me. And how do you think I
could ever forgive myself if something happened to you?" he gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
"For a while, I thought it would be best if I just slipped away. I knew you'd hate me for it, but at least
you'd be alive to hate me. Can you understand that?"
"I went to your flat," she replied, intentionally avoiding the question, "on more than one occasion."
"I haven't been spending much time there. I was on the streets again, mostly. Just walking and
thinking. The nights are okay during the summer."
She stared him in the eye once more, "and did they come for you?"
He turned to look out of the window distractedly, "sometimes they did."
Helen stood up abruptly, bringing him instantly back to reality, "I'll put the kettle on, shall I?"
"Sure," he replied, "thanks."
"Don't thank me, you're making the tea," she quipped, wiggling her injured digit at him. She filled the
kettle at the sink, before setting it back down on its base and switching it on. "So, what are you
doing here then? You haven't actually explained yourself very well so far, you know. Aren't you
endangering us all just by being here?"
"I think I got a bit paranoid to be honest, but I'm not going to be hard on myself about it. Some of
the things that have happened, they just defy belief. I think anyone would question their sanity if
they'd seen the things I've seen. But they've never arrived in daylight, it's always been in darkness.
So I think you're safe for a little while. But I've been going around in circles, Helen. I could have
driven myself mad just thinking about what to do for the best. I decided that I needed some help.
That I needed your help."
"Do you mean," she said, her brow creasing, "that you want me to help you decide what to do?"
"Yep. As I see it it's either taking a step back or one forward. I can try and run - maybe putting
some distance between London and me would make some difference, like several thousand miles
or something. But, for all I know, it would change nothing, perhaps I can't outrun them."
"And a step forward?" she prompted.
The kettle reached its boiling point and Sleet stood up to fetch the mugs. As he did so, he passed
to her a folded piece of card that he had been clutching in his left hand. She stared at it without
comprehension. "Unfold it," he told her, as he busied himself with the tea.
She did as he said, and then held the small card up before her and read aloud from it, "Shaun
Perry. He gave you this?"
"Yes. That night when it kicked off in here. And then he did a disappearing act."
"Who is he, do you know?"
Sleet shrugged his shoulders, "the man with all the answers, maybe? A step forward?"
He returned to the table with their tea and sat down once more. She joined him, tossing the card
back across the table as she did so.
"Well, his number's on there," she said, "are you going to call him?"
"If you think it's the right thing to do," he sighed, "I don't know whether I want to hear what he's got
to say or not."
Helen sipped at the steaming tea, her face a study of concentration. "I don't think you're a runner,
Sleet. And I think you know what you need to do, otherwise you wouldn't have ever come back
here. You could be on the other side of the world by now if you wanted to. Ring him. Find out what
he knows. What harm can it do?"
"Hopefully none," he said with a grimace, "but what he said to me that evening turned my whole
world upside down. I don't know what to expect next."
"Find out," she suggested, sliding her mobile across the wooden table top. "Use this. All the kids
have 'em, you know!"
The phone rang out several times before it was picked up.
"Hello?" came a quiet voiced query.
"Shaun Perry," said Sleet, recognising the voice nonetheless, "this is Sleet James."
After a noticeable pause, Perry replied, still in a hushed tone, "hold on a minute." This was followed
by what sounded like the creak of a door. Moving away from where he could be overheard by
others, maybe? Sleet thought. "It's good to hear from you," Perry said, "I was beginning to wonder
when you were going to call, I must admit."
"Well you can stop wondering, and start talking. I want some answers from you."
"Whoa, calm down Sleet. Let's take it one step at a time shall we?"
"I just want to know what you know," Sleet said through gritted teeth, "about me, and about them."
"Of course, of course," Perry answered, "that's why I gave you my number in the first place. But
listen to me, please. We really can't be having this conversation on the phone. Why don't we
arrange to meet up and we can have a pleasant exchange of information?"
"What, like last time?" Sleet laughed, "We were having a perfectly good conversation then, until
you vanished that is!"
"Things got a little heated in there, if you recall. It just didn't feel like the safest place to be."
"It's safe enough, trust me."
"Well, I'd be a little happier if we met on neutral territory, so to speak. Somewhere public, but where
we can still have a private conversation. Maybe a wine bar, or something like that?"
"I don't do wine bars," Sleet said, "and why a public place? What have you got to be scared of?"
A high pitched whirring noise was his only reply. It rapidly faded, presumably as Perry distanced
himself from its source. Sleet imagined him stood in a dentist's waiting room, the tools of oral
surgery at work in a room beyond.
"It's not fear, Sleet. I just want us both to be comfortable, and somewhere we won't be interrupted.
I..."
"Where are you?" Sleet interjected, hoping to catch Perry off his guard.
There was a momentary hesitation before Perry spoke, "at work. But that doesn't matter. Do you
want to meet, or not?"
It was Sleet's turn to deliberate. He considered his options again, glanced over to where Helen
was sat, staring intently at him and mouthing "go on."
"Okay, where and when?"
Perry's reply, for Sleet was almost too readily to hand, "Do you know Finsbury?"
"I've got a feeling you know I know it," Sleet answered, deadpan.
"There's a little cafe bar, Eric's, just off The Seven Sisters, near the reservoir. Do you know it?"
"No, but I can find it."
"Good. How does tomorrow at one sound?"
"Make it two," Sleet replied, desperately wanting to retain some measure of control over the
situation, no matter how petty it might seem.
Perry replied readily, "no problem, I'll see you there at two. But let's sit out front, on the street.
Agreed?"
"Fine," Sleet answered, curtly, "I'll be there." He promptly hung up.
"Well?" Helen asked, impatiently.
"Two o'clock tomorrow. I'll get some answers, hopefully."
Helen could not help but notice the look of consternation upon his face. "Then what's the problem?"
Sleet mulled it over before answering her. "I just feel at a disadvantage. He seems to know so
much about me and I know next to nothing about him."
She attempted to brighten him up with her trademark 'back to business' grin, "well, tomorrow you
can change that, can't you," she glanced down at her still throbbing finger, "now are you going to re-
do this, or am I going to bleed to death?"
Tucking his phone back inside his jacket pocket, Perry made his way back to the viewing panel and
looked once more upon the macabre scene within the cell.
This latest creature had been much smaller. It had been dead already when they'd brought it in, and
yet The Rector, for some unfathomable reason, had still seen fit to have it dissected. He stood
there now, the animal’s skull cap held aloft in the crucible of his right hand, his attention held raptly
upon as if he were auditioning for the role of Hamlet. The focus of Mendelsson, the doctor,
meanwhile, was centered upon the exposed blue-grey matter of the creature's brain, before which
he was seated, carefully probing it with a number of specialist instruments. The brightly white tiled
interior of the cell was splattered liberally with freakishly pink blood.
Perry felt the bile rising in his gullet once more and turned away before he was forced to retch,
unaware of the nervous tic that had suddenly begun to twitch uncontrollably at the corner of his eye.
pouring the pint, before setting it down on the counter before Sleet.
"I had good reason, Kevin, believe me," Sleet replied, "and I'm sorry about it."
"It's not me ye need be apologisin' to, you know that I presume?"
Sleet picked up the drink, not having allowed it time to settle sufficiently, and quaffed the froth from
off the top.
"You mean Helen."
"Of course I mean bloody Helen!" O'Mara vented as he fussed about the optics at the rear of the
bar, "who else might I be referrin' to?"
"I have an explanation, Kevin, like I said. I'm sure she'll understand."
Further down the bar, Declan choked on his Guinness and a series of coughs and gasps ensued.
Once he had recollected himself he glanced over at Sleet, "just went down the wrong way, that's
all."
Sleet raised his eyebrow quizzically, "yeah, thanks for the vote of confidence!"
A series of brisk footfalls heading through the kitchen at the rear of the bar allowed Sleet to
exchange a concerned glance with Kevin before Helen bustled into the room. She did not notice
his presence initially and preceded to stack glasses beneath the counter from the tray she had
carried through with her. Sleet remained silent, whilst Kevin began whistling a little Irish ditty in a
somewhat nervous fashion and Declan stared into his pint, as if some miraculous salvation would
rise up from it at any moment.
She picked up on the atmosphere immediately. "Is there something wrong....," as she turned
around to scan the bar their gazes locked, "Oh, it's you, is it?" she said haughtily, raising her chin
up in an unconscious attempt to look down upon him, as she might upon some vagrant that had
wandered in, scrounging for scraps of food. It wasn't that long ago, he thought to himself, that he
had been in exactly that position.
"And what do you think this is, Sleet James," she demanded, "some kind of drop in centre you can
waltz into just whenever it suits you?"
Declan looked up from his pint. "Isn't it?" he enquired, with apparently genuine concern.
The look that he received for his troubles could have turned men to stone, "You can mind your
own, Declan Moran!"
Declan immediately returned his attentions to his drink.
Helen ploughed on relentlessly, "have you ever seen one of these?" she asked in her most
sarcastic tone, waving a mobile phone in the air before her. "It's the latest craze you know, all the
kids have 'em."
"Look, Helen," Sleet attempted to interject, "if you'll just let me explain..."
"Oh, you've nothing to explain," she shot back, "it's all as clear as crystal, isn't it. Clear what a
bloody idiot I've been!"
And with that she spun about like a whirlwind and fled back the way she had come, leaving a single
pint glass teetering on the brim of the counter. It wobbled momentarily before finally deciding to
end it all with a resounding smash upon the vinyl covered floor, which served as a particularly fitting
climax to the exchange.
Silence ensued, and the three men pondered their individual situations. It was Declan who was first
to reach a solution to his particular dilemma.
"I'll have another Guinness, then."
Kevin stared at him in disbelief, but then stepped forward to acquiesce. It was Sleet, however, that
he addressed.
"I think you probably got what you deserved there, son," he said, "but I'm thinkin' that you're not a
bad lad, so I'll be tellin' ya how it is. I know her better than any, since her mother passed away
anyhow, so I know full well that she can come across a bit sharp sometimes - but I suppose our
ancestry's to blame for that. You've got two choices and not much time to decide. You can go
after her right now and give her whatever explanation ya have, or you can choose the other way -
the one behind you," he indicated the door which led out onto the street.
"Are you sure she'd really want to see me, after that?" Sleet asked.
"Like I said," Kevin replied, "I know her. I know what she's like. I also know that your time's running
out."
Times running out. It was the second time he'd been told that recently.
He took a swig of his drink for Dutch courage, before heading around the front of the counter
towards the private rooms at the rear of the pub.
"Good luck," Declan muttered as he passed by.
"Yeah, cheers."
When Sleet pushed through the door into the kitchen, Helen was moodily washing up the crockery
from lunch time. He winced as the plates were repeatedly smashed against one another, soapy
water splashing about her, much of it ending up on the quarry tile floor. Inevitably, one of the plates
proved insufficiently robust as it was slammed into the rack on the draining board (it was not
proving to be good day for fragile goods at O'Mara's). It shattered, and Helen cried out in
frustration, pulling her fingers sharply away and cradling them with her other hand.
He stepped towards her, "here, let's look at that." As he came up behind her she momentarily shied
away, but she did not struggle as he turned her around and carefully took her hand in his own. Her
index finger was finely cut, not at all deep, but enough to cause blood to rapidly well up and smear
both of their hands.
He reached to the sink with his free hand and spun the tap around until there was a steady jet of
cold water. "Hold it under here for a bit," he told her before turning away, conscious of not
embarrassing her further by dwelling upon her wet eyes and damp swollen cheeks.
He went over to the cupboards on the back wall of the kitchen and, opening the uppermost one, he
drew out the red and white first aid box. The role reversal certainly felt odd. It had been on more
than one occasion that she had administered to him with the contents of this little box. Now it was
his turn to return the favour, even if it was only an Elastoplast that was required. He set the box
down on the counter and began rummaging through it, eventually unearthing a pack of plasters and
selecting a suitably sized specimen from it.
Back at the sink, he reached for her hand once again, withdrawing it from the streaming water,
"how is it?" he asked.
"Numb."
"Well, it's stopped bleeding for a bit. Dry it quickly and we'll stick this on it," he said, unpeeling the
sticky plaster from its wrapper. She did as she was told and he carefully applied it around her
finger.
"That'll do it," he asserted as he viewed his handiwork, "Now, are you going to let me talk to you,
or do you need to smash anything else?"
She glared at him, but he could see that her anger had dissipated, "just your head, maybe."
He laughed, "others have tried, but so far without success."
"Enough joking, Sleet," she stared him in the eye, "why don't you tell me where you've been, and
why you just disappeared without as much as a by your leave?"
He pulled a chair out from beneath the big wooden kitchen table and plonked himself upon it,
grateful that she deigned to follow his lead, sitting down across from him, even if it did feel as if he
was about to be interrogated.
"Helen, that's why I'm here," he began, "I want to explain to you. I want to tell you what's been
going on up here," he tapped the side of his head. "But it isn't easy you know. There was a time
when I'd pretty well convinced myself that I really had lost the plot. The way that my brother died,
and the things that happened afterwards. It seemed like the only plausible explanation. There was
this doctor," he continued, "I'm sure he wanted to have me locked away. Anyway, I never took the
medication he prescribed me. I decided that I could sort myself out by running away, so I did. I've
told you some of this before, I know, how I'd been sleeping rough for I don't know how long. But
when I found that second creature, or maybe when it found me, I realised that I wasn't cuckoo after
all, not completely anyway. They were as real as you or me. Living, breathing, animals. Horribly
ugly nightmare things, maybe, but definitely real."
"I know that," she said, "you're not forgetting that I've actually seen one, are you?"
"No, of course not. But I don't want you to have to see one again."
"Well," she snorted, "I'm not in any particular hurry myself, to be honest."
He decided to change tack, "do you remember that night the fight broke out, Helen?" he asked.
She stared up into the air, feigning concentration, "let's see. There was last Saturday, and then
there was the Friday night the week before. Or do you mean that Wednesday when we had the
Champion's League on the telly?"
"You know when I mean. The last time I was here."
"Yes," she said, deadpan, "I know when you mean."
He pursed his lips in exasperation, "you can be bloody difficult, Helen. You do know that don't
you?"
"You deserve it," she replied, smiling sweetly at him.
Sleet held his hands up, "okay, okay, can we have some kind of truce here so that I can say what
I've got to say? If you decide to crucify me afterwards, then fair enough."
She folded her arms across her chest and leant back in her chair, "alright, I'm listening."
He took a deep breath before ploughing on. "That night, there was a man here, a young man. You
saw him first, remember? He was in the bar asking after me."
"Yes," she said, "I remember. He was nervous looking. There was something about him that I just
didn't trust."
"That's the fellow. Anyway, I went and had a chat with him, didn't I? And let's just say he had a bit
of a revelation for me."
"About what?"
"About the creatures. The Shadows." He let it hang in the air between them before going on, "It
was pretty bloody obvious really when I actually stopped and thought about it, but I'd become so
single-minded. So full of myself, really. Convinced that I was on some vengeful mission to kill
monsters. But he said something very simple that changed my whole perception, something that
made so much sense that I instantly knew it to be true."
Helen was listening intently now, giving him the time and space to tell his story at his own pace.
The plaster that he had applied was already red through, yet she barely felt the throb of her cut
finger.
"Perry, his name was. Shaun Perry. I thought he was some kid that had been following me about at
first. But I could soon tell that he knew what he was talking about, and that he probably knew more
than I did myself.
"He knew that I'd been hunting the creatures, or rather that I thought I'd been hunting them. He told
me that I was wrong about that. That, in actual fact, they had been hunting me. I was their prey,
their quarry if you like."
"What?" Helen gasped.
"It's true. I knew straight away that he was right. All those nights waiting in the darkness. Skulking
about in the shadows. And invariably they came. I kidded myself that I had sussed them out, that I
could map out where and when they would be likely to appear. I even stuck coloured pins in a map,
believe it or not, and kept a bloody diary. But that's why they really came, all those times, they'd
sniffed me out, followed my scent.
"But that's not the worst part about it, Helen. It's the people. The people who died. There were
those I saved, I know, but that only made it worse somehow. I'd created some kind of hero out of
myself. But the fact is that those who were murdered by those monsters died for one reason only -
because I was there. And it started with my own brother."
She leant across the table, this time to take his hand in hers. "You can't blame yourself for that,
Sleet. You just can't. Even if it's true, and you can't be sure it is, you didn't do anything knowingly.
You didn't bring this on yourself. You were just a regular guy, getting on with his life, just like the
rest of us. And anyway, you saved my life, and I don't care about the reasons that bloody thing
was there that night. You didn't have to do anything. You could have just legged it and let it get on
with its business, but you didn't, did you? You were braver than anyone I've ever known, and I'll
never forget it. So no wonder I'm bloody livid when you go awol for weeks on end. For all I knew,
you were dead. Didn't you think I might be worried sick?"
"Look," he said, "it just got to a point where I'd convinced myself that everyone would be better off
if I just disappeared. I didn't want anybody else to suffer because of me. And how do you think I
could ever forgive myself if something happened to you?" he gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
"For a while, I thought it would be best if I just slipped away. I knew you'd hate me for it, but at least
you'd be alive to hate me. Can you understand that?"
"I went to your flat," she replied, intentionally avoiding the question, "on more than one occasion."
"I haven't been spending much time there. I was on the streets again, mostly. Just walking and
thinking. The nights are okay during the summer."
She stared him in the eye once more, "and did they come for you?"
He turned to look out of the window distractedly, "sometimes they did."
Helen stood up abruptly, bringing him instantly back to reality, "I'll put the kettle on, shall I?"
"Sure," he replied, "thanks."
"Don't thank me, you're making the tea," she quipped, wiggling her injured digit at him. She filled the
kettle at the sink, before setting it back down on its base and switching it on. "So, what are you
doing here then? You haven't actually explained yourself very well so far, you know. Aren't you
endangering us all just by being here?"
"I think I got a bit paranoid to be honest, but I'm not going to be hard on myself about it. Some of
the things that have happened, they just defy belief. I think anyone would question their sanity if
they'd seen the things I've seen. But they've never arrived in daylight, it's always been in darkness.
So I think you're safe for a little while. But I've been going around in circles, Helen. I could have
driven myself mad just thinking about what to do for the best. I decided that I needed some help.
That I needed your help."
"Do you mean," she said, her brow creasing, "that you want me to help you decide what to do?"
"Yep. As I see it it's either taking a step back or one forward. I can try and run - maybe putting
some distance between London and me would make some difference, like several thousand miles
or something. But, for all I know, it would change nothing, perhaps I can't outrun them."
"And a step forward?" she prompted.
The kettle reached its boiling point and Sleet stood up to fetch the mugs. As he did so, he passed
to her a folded piece of card that he had been clutching in his left hand. She stared at it without
comprehension. "Unfold it," he told her, as he busied himself with the tea.
She did as he said, and then held the small card up before her and read aloud from it, "Shaun
Perry. He gave you this?"
"Yes. That night when it kicked off in here. And then he did a disappearing act."
"Who is he, do you know?"
Sleet shrugged his shoulders, "the man with all the answers, maybe? A step forward?"
He returned to the table with their tea and sat down once more. She joined him, tossing the card
back across the table as she did so.
"Well, his number's on there," she said, "are you going to call him?"
"If you think it's the right thing to do," he sighed, "I don't know whether I want to hear what he's got
to say or not."
Helen sipped at the steaming tea, her face a study of concentration. "I don't think you're a runner,
Sleet. And I think you know what you need to do, otherwise you wouldn't have ever come back
here. You could be on the other side of the world by now if you wanted to. Ring him. Find out what
he knows. What harm can it do?"
"Hopefully none," he said with a grimace, "but what he said to me that evening turned my whole
world upside down. I don't know what to expect next."
"Find out," she suggested, sliding her mobile across the wooden table top. "Use this. All the kids
have 'em, you know!"
The phone rang out several times before it was picked up.
"Hello?" came a quiet voiced query.
"Shaun Perry," said Sleet, recognising the voice nonetheless, "this is Sleet James."
After a noticeable pause, Perry replied, still in a hushed tone, "hold on a minute." This was followed
by what sounded like the creak of a door. Moving away from where he could be overheard by
others, maybe? Sleet thought. "It's good to hear from you," Perry said, "I was beginning to wonder
when you were going to call, I must admit."
"Well you can stop wondering, and start talking. I want some answers from you."
"Whoa, calm down Sleet. Let's take it one step at a time shall we?"
"I just want to know what you know," Sleet said through gritted teeth, "about me, and about them."
"Of course, of course," Perry answered, "that's why I gave you my number in the first place. But
listen to me, please. We really can't be having this conversation on the phone. Why don't we
arrange to meet up and we can have a pleasant exchange of information?"
"What, like last time?" Sleet laughed, "We were having a perfectly good conversation then, until
you vanished that is!"
"Things got a little heated in there, if you recall. It just didn't feel like the safest place to be."
"It's safe enough, trust me."
"Well, I'd be a little happier if we met on neutral territory, so to speak. Somewhere public, but where
we can still have a private conversation. Maybe a wine bar, or something like that?"
"I don't do wine bars," Sleet said, "and why a public place? What have you got to be scared of?"
A high pitched whirring noise was his only reply. It rapidly faded, presumably as Perry distanced
himself from its source. Sleet imagined him stood in a dentist's waiting room, the tools of oral
surgery at work in a room beyond.
"It's not fear, Sleet. I just want us both to be comfortable, and somewhere we won't be interrupted.
I..."
"Where are you?" Sleet interjected, hoping to catch Perry off his guard.
There was a momentary hesitation before Perry spoke, "at work. But that doesn't matter. Do you
want to meet, or not?"
It was Sleet's turn to deliberate. He considered his options again, glanced over to where Helen
was sat, staring intently at him and mouthing "go on."
"Okay, where and when?"
Perry's reply, for Sleet was almost too readily to hand, "Do you know Finsbury?"
"I've got a feeling you know I know it," Sleet answered, deadpan.
"There's a little cafe bar, Eric's, just off The Seven Sisters, near the reservoir. Do you know it?"
"No, but I can find it."
"Good. How does tomorrow at one sound?"
"Make it two," Sleet replied, desperately wanting to retain some measure of control over the
situation, no matter how petty it might seem.
Perry replied readily, "no problem, I'll see you there at two. But let's sit out front, on the street.
Agreed?"
"Fine," Sleet answered, curtly, "I'll be there." He promptly hung up.
"Well?" Helen asked, impatiently.
"Two o'clock tomorrow. I'll get some answers, hopefully."
Helen could not help but notice the look of consternation upon his face. "Then what's the problem?"
Sleet mulled it over before answering her. "I just feel at a disadvantage. He seems to know so
much about me and I know next to nothing about him."
She attempted to brighten him up with her trademark 'back to business' grin, "well, tomorrow you
can change that, can't you," she glanced down at her still throbbing finger, "now are you going to re-
do this, or am I going to bleed to death?"
Tucking his phone back inside his jacket pocket, Perry made his way back to the viewing panel and
looked once more upon the macabre scene within the cell.
This latest creature had been much smaller. It had been dead already when they'd brought it in, and
yet The Rector, for some unfathomable reason, had still seen fit to have it dissected. He stood
there now, the animal’s skull cap held aloft in the crucible of his right hand, his attention held raptly
upon as if he were auditioning for the role of Hamlet. The focus of Mendelsson, the doctor,
meanwhile, was centered upon the exposed blue-grey matter of the creature's brain, before which
he was seated, carefully probing it with a number of specialist instruments. The brightly white tiled
interior of the cell was splattered liberally with freakishly pink blood.
Perry felt the bile rising in his gullet once more and turned away before he was forced to retch,
unaware of the nervous tic that had suddenly begun to twitch uncontrollably at the corner of his eye.
| Choices |
| October 2009 |
| Serial Fiction |
| Copyright 2009 by Nils Durban |
This is the sixth part of Shadow on the Sun which pieces together the tale of Sleet James and his acquaintance with
the demonic and other-worldy Shadows, wherein our hero is faced with two very distinct decisions that will shape
his future in more ways than one……N.D.
the demonic and other-worldy Shadows, wherein our hero is faced with two very distinct decisions that will shape
his future in more ways than one……N.D.
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