Part One is Here

Sunday – Taylor Part Two

The busker blinked his tears away and stared at the mouthpiece of his saxophone, as if only just realising he’d stopped playing. He bent slowly at the knees, picked up the rose, tucked it behind his ear and resumed his meandering, tunefully-challenged stylings.

Taylor listened for a moment before turning away and limping toward the tube. She heard the rush of wind and picked up her pace. She arrived on the platform just as the doors hissed shut and she thumped it with her hand. The train jerked forward and then stopped. The doors half-opened and she stepped forward only for them to close again.

With a glare at the mirrors at the end of the platform, she sat on the bench and watched the tube hustle into the tunnel. The screeching of the wheels on the track made her head ache all over again and she moaned. What the hell was she doing? She should be at home by now, lying in bed, or maybe watching crap daytime T—

BOOOOOMMM!

It sounded like an effect from a disaster movie, like the Transformers had just blown something up. She was half out of her seat when a wave of heat and smoke exploded from the tunnel and swept over her. With it came screaming, high-pitched and desperate.

She flew back onto the seat, bounced off it and hit the floor. The roses flew from her hand, the plastic splitting open so they scattered across the platform. Her hips were complaining with a dull ache she hadn’t felt in a long time. There were screams from the platform, people shouting ‘bomb’ and ‘help’ and other useful things.

She pushed herself to her hands and knees, trying to see through the smoke. A train came in on the other platform and the wind whisked the wind about, pulling at her clothes as her vision grew suddenly better. She crawled to the edge of the platform and stared down into the tunnel.

There were flames and more smoke, but the only light came from the fire and it painted a scene of utter destruction. It had to be a bomb. It didn’t matter. She turned herself around and slid off the platform until her feet touched the floor. She had to be careful not to touch one of the rails. Which one was it? She would avoid all three, that was the best option.

The smoke was thick in here and she pulled her t-shirt up over her mouth. Her eyes watered and she blinked it away. There were voices ahead, people crying and screaming. She put her hand on something hot and yanked it back, howling as her skin was seared.

She scrubbed her eyes, trying to see through the gloom. The bomb had been at this end of the train; it was destroyed, ripped apart. She saw something white peeking through the smoke and her gorge rose up. She slewed to the side and threw up as she recognised bone poking free from the charred flesh.

She had to help someone, but what the hell was she supposed to do? She pulled her jacket sleeves down over her hands and tried to pull wreckage out of the way. The second piece of metal she hauled on was still attached and accompanied by a creaking sound that made her jump back.

Too late she looked up and saw the ton of tube train roof as it came down. It caught her on the head and drove her to her knees, then slammed into her back. Her last thought, as her face was driven into the sharp edges of the tube, was of the busker and the rose she’d stopped to give to him.

Next Installment Monday 4th August

Part One is Here

Sunday – Taylor Part One

Her head hurt. No, hurt wasn’t the right word. Hurt was when you cut your finger, or grazed your knee. Her head… imagine a car striking you dead in the hip, so your upper body went one way and your lower body the other and every bone was wrenched and torn. She knew how that felt, because it happened a few years ago. She remembered the pain like it was yesterday. This was worse than that.

She leaned her head over the edge of the bed and made coughing motions until bile filled her mouth. She fell to the floor and staggered out the room. Her hand went to the bathroom door and she realised it wasn’t there. In fact, the walls had changed colour and the carpet was different. Her mouth filled with sick and she turned first one way, then the other, then dumped it onto the carpet.

A face appeared from another room and stared at her. It was a face she vaguely recognised, though she couldn’t say where from. It spoke. ‘Oh man, did you have to?’ Then it vanished. She staggered back into the room from which she’d come and looked at the bed. It wasn’t her bed.

It finally dawned on her that she wasn’t at home. The sun rose a second time when she looked at the bed and saw a man she didn’t recognise. She shifted from foot to foot and wriggled. And they’d had sex. She took two steps and dropped to her knees, hands holding her head. Where was she? And why was her head about to fall off?

She dug about for her clothes, crawling around on all fours. After a few, head-pounding minutes, she pulled on her jeans and t-shirt, found her jacket and staggered out into the hallway.

The stairs proved tricky but she got down them without dying, which was enough of a triumph to punch the air. She winced as the movement made her gorge rise. She wrestled with the front door, a battle it spent a good five minutes winning, before wrenching it open and stepping out into bright sunlight.

She was on a street, entirely unfamiliar and as similar as a million other streets across London. It was early enough that the sun still hid behind the houses opposite, a beam like a ray from the heavens cutting between them to blind her. Luckily, early morning meant commuters, so she followed the guys in suits and found herself at Finchley Road Tube.

How the hell had she got here? She couldn’t remember anything about last night. Well, she remembered getting ready and getting on the tube. She remembered finding a club that was open early. She remembered Monique having to go early. She’d said it was fine because she was with… what was his name?

Whoever it was, he was asleep in the house she’d just left behind and if she was lucky, she’d never see him again. What had she been thinking? She was gonna kill Monique. Or maybe just not tell her anything. She groaned at the uncomfortable patch between her legs. She just needed to get home and showered and go to bed. Maybe when she woke up again, her head would have returned from the lowest circle of hell and work properly.

She got the usual glances as she limped through the tube station. The accident had left her with two legs, but a hip that would never work properly again. As her sporting exploits up to that point ran to dashing for the bus and pub crawls, it wasn’t the end of the world. The physios never failed to be impressed by her progress, but she still looked a bit awkward when she walked.

The tube was packed and it was four stations in before she realised she was going the wrong way. She groaned and tried to get off at the next station, but her hip chose that moment to seize up and she flailed about in her seat until the doors closed.

She rose early for the next one and stepped out at Westminster. The thought of being on the tube any longer made her stomach flip. She kept almost being sick and having to swallow it, which was the grossest thing possible. Better to have the Thames to spit it into.

She strolled down the river, every footstep ringing with the thudding in her head. She bought a coffee and sat on a bench, staring blearily at the world. As the pounding slowed, she clambered up and kept walking. She passed Embankment station and paused, her eye caught by the most incredible flowers.

There was a tiny stall, just a table really, bearing more flowers than should have been possible. There were blues and red and violets and pinks and orange and white and all the other colours still threatening to come spewing from her mouth. They were peaceful though and as she drew nearer, the smell settled her stomach and calmed her head.

The flower seller watched her with unusual eyes. As they met hers, they closed and she realised he was swaying on his feet. Her first grin of the day made inroads into her lips and she raised a hand.

‘Hi.’

‘Hello, young lady, how…’ He cut off, stifling a yawn and rubbing his head. ‘Apologies, truly. How are you today?’

‘You know how you feel? Like that, only fifty times worse.’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘C’mon, what were you drinking last night?’

He blushed and tried to hide behind some chrysanthemums. She chuckled and winced and stopped. ‘Hey, it’s okay. Tell me, did you wake up in someone else’s bed?’

His blush grew deeper and her laugh came from her belly, filling the air and making her headache sit up and start banging. ‘Was she pretty? Or he, sorry, no offence.’

‘She is exquisite. She’s a goddess with hair like the night and eyes in which even the truest of men lose themselves.’

‘Wow. Impressive. Mine was a munter. Actually, that’s not true. I don’t really remember, but I think he was a bit of a dick.’

‘Isn’t that what you wanted?’

It was her turn to blush and she nodded. ‘Touche. Your flowers are very beautiful.’

‘Thank you. I do believe you should buy something from me. I have it on good faith that you might want some today.’

‘Do you now. And who told you that?’

‘Oh, the wind and the stars. The sound that comes just before daybreak, the sigh the moon makes as she sinks below the horizon.’

‘Lots of people talking about me.’

‘You’d be amazed.’

They grinned at one another and she stuck her face in first one bunch of flowers and then another. They all had their own smells and every one was as lovely as the last. As she breathed them in, her headache faded until it was a dull throb at the base of her skull. She took a step back and looked at him.

‘Why were you drinking?’

‘Big thing at work, lots of stress.’

‘What’s stressful about selling flowers?’

‘I have to meet my quota. The boss is pretty hard on us.’

‘Wow. I didn’t realise it was such a high-pressure job.’

‘Not many people do. Can I tempt you to some roses?’

‘Yes you may.’

He wrapped them with a grace she hadn’t expected after seeing the puffer jacket and the bloodshot eyes. He handed them over and she dug for her wallet.

‘No charge. Really.’

‘How does that fit in with meeting your quota?’

He shrugged. ‘Sometimes, the quota just doesn’t matter. It was nice talking to you.’

‘You too.’

She strolled slowly away. He shouted after her. ‘Hang on a minute.’

She turned and watched him jog slowly across the pavement, wincing with every step. He stopped before her, huffing and puffing.

‘Sorry, forgot to mention. I put a thirteenth in there. If you wanted to give it to someone, it might be nice.’

She nodded, tucking her nose inside the nearest and taking a deep breath. ‘Yeah, that’s a nice idea. Thanks again.’

He sketched a mock bow which she returned with a curtsey and watched him head back off to his stall. Strange man. Nice roses though. Her head still hurt, but was considerably better than she had any right to feel. She looked down into the roses. They were the colour of romance, if such a thing had a colour.

Taylor snorted and shook her head. And she knew all about romance of course. Last night had been all about the romance. She sniffed and headed for the tube. Now she could go home. She walked through the barrier at Embankment and down the escalator. She reached the bottom and hesitated.

She should go home. She needed a shower so bad. But something, some urge compelled her and she headed down the opposite tunnel. Maybe she’d head to the East end, take a wander around Mile End, relive some old memories.

She wandered down the tunnel, wincing as the sound of a badly-played saxophone grew steadily stronger. The guy playing it appeared like a bad cliche at the end of the tunnel. He wore a brown suit and flat cap and was a hundred if he was five. She got the feeling he’d once been very good, but his timing was shot so all the notes bled into one another and made this soupy sort of mess.

He tipped her a nod as she passed, the melody slipping and she gave him a smile. She walked past and paused, glancing back. With a shrug, she pulled a rose free of the bunch and placed it carefully into the soft guitar case he was using to collect money. He looked down at it and the sax slipped from his mouth. When their eyes met, she flinched to see tears collecting in his.

Next Installment Thursday 31st July

Part One is Here

Interlude – The Flower Seller Part Two

‘Who’s going to disappear then?’

His friends looked at him and he shivered. He was rare because he’d been disappeared before. But the father wouldn’t send him back there, not so soon after releasing him. So where would he go? And it would be him, no doubt about that. Seph leaned forward, grinning. ‘Weekly total probably doesn’t seem so important now, huh?’

‘You’re supposed to be my friend. Where’s the sympathy?’

Seph chuckled and shook his head. ‘I have plenty of sympathy, I just find it funny. After everything you’ve been through, it comes down to one stupid bastard human screwing everything up for you. Typical really.’

‘I could just kill him. And her. The baby would never be born and—’

‘Don’t. Don’t even think it. They can pick up on that, you know.’ Seph nodded toward the row of heads that lined one of the red velvet walls. A set of jars, twelve in total, each bearing a head. Every head possessed a wild mane of hair that floated in the liquid encased within the jar. Every head also contained a pair of eyes that never stopped moving, flicking this way and that around the room.

‘What am I supposed to do then?’

Seph shrugged. ‘Right now? Get drunk. Tomorrow? Make sure the week ends at three-four. You’ve got more of an argument then.’

Luke took a long breath and let it out his nose. He drained his cup again and slammed it down. ‘Bollocks to that. I’m finding Sara, I need to know.’

‘She won’t tell you, not till tomorrow.’

Luke ignored him, rising from the bench. The roomed swayed as he lurched upright and he grabbed the table. Az chuckled. ‘Take it easy, little man, this stuff’s strong.’

Luke gave them both a curt nod and made his way across the room, considerably slower than on the way in. He finally escaped the crush and gasped in a breath of moderately cool air. The room still spun and he leaned against the door frame. More people were still coming in, everyone talking about the same thing.

Herc ambled over and grinned down at him. ‘Looking worse for wear there, Luke. Will you be alright get—’

‘You ever seen it so busy?’

Herc cast his gaze across the room, unfazed by the interruption. He nodded thoughtfully. ‘A few times. Normally when the father is coming. Everyone gets scared and when people are scared they find other people, it’s the way of the world.’

‘This isn’t the world.’

‘As above, so below, my friend.’

Luke snorted and staggered away down the corridor. Sara would be working. She never stopped, which was a shame because he’d love to see her in a less formal setting. He found the right corridor from the myriad spokes that led from the central hall.

There was a stage already set up, lectern in place. Luke snorted again. He pictured himself up there and shuddered. He turned his back and headed down the long corridor. The walls were a pleasant change from the rough brick of his chamber, shining white marble lined with huge columns.

He sniggered as the columns blurred and doubled and tripled. He paused, taking deep breaths. The whole place reeked of superiority and arrogance and despite being here for centuries, it still felt nothing like home. He reached her door and paused again, swaying side to side. What had they been drinking?

Sara’s door was like her, beautifully carved and ornate, and just a little bit alien. He knocked and the sound went straight through his skull. He winced, scrunching up his face. He must have looked bad because Sara giggled when she opened the door.

It may have been the drink, but she was looking even more lovely than usual. Her dark skin glowed and her almond-shaped eyes smiled along with her full wide mouth. There was something about her that made the noise stop and the worry slip away. All he had to do was look at her and he felt something close to peaceful.

She wore her normal red and purple formal dress, pinned high on one side of her chest. It cut across her legs just above her knees, at just the right height to set his curiosity aflame without giving anything away. She never gave anything away. He realised as she stepped back and invited him in, that coming here was a waste of time. Still, it was worth it to watch her hips sway as she returned to her desk.

He wanted to ask why she got a chamber here, warm and safe, while he and the others had theirs above. But who would he ask? Maybe when the father visited, he could ask him. Perhaps he’d take questions after the speech. He grinned and Sara raised one, perfect eyebrow.

‘Perhaps you could enlighten me as to what you find funny?’

Even her voice, softly Indian but speaking in perfect English. He shuddered and tried to adjust his trousers without being too obvious. ‘Nothing, really, just thinking about the father’s visit.’

Her face changed, the formality dropping for a second as she leaned forward. ‘Do you know why he’s coming?’

Luke chuckled. Everyone thought he had some line to the father, as though the two of them still talked. They hadn’t spoken since he returned to work, but he kept that quiet. You never knew what you could pick up when people wanted something from you.

‘Not a clue. He never tells me anything.’ He said it with just enough of a smile to make it clear he was lying. It was easy to do, it was all anyone ever expected of him. If only they knew… ‘But perhaps you can tell me something. And then perhaps if I find something out, I can let you know.’

She nodded eagerly and he leaned casually against the wall. The wall which was, unfortunately, a little further away than he thought. Once he’d got his balance back and cleared his throat plenty of times and dragged his eyes from her gorgeous smile, he spoke. ‘My subject today. Have you done the numbers yet?’

She shook her head, long dark hair flicking about. ‘You know I can’t tell you that, Luke.’

‘That’s a shame. Well, I’ll be off then.’

‘What, is that it? You’re going, just like that?’

‘You’d like me to stay?’

She traced her finger down the arm of her chair, looking at him through long eyelashes. ‘Maybe for just a little while. It’s so boring here, all on my own.’

He took a step across the room toward her, his breath catching in his chest. She was toying with him, he knew it, but it made no difference. ‘I could stay, I suppose. But it’s difficult.’

Luke pulled a chair over from the wall and plonked himself down. She leaned closer still and he caught her scent. It was jasmine and something else that made the hair on his arms stand up. ‘You see, without knowing where I am with my weekly total, I can’t relax, I can’t really do anything properly.’

Sara let out an exaggerated sigh and turned back to her desk. ‘I cannot tell you the results of today’s work. However…’ She swept her hair off her neck, showing him the smooth soft skin that ran into her dress. ‘I could, I suppose, tell you where you are for the week. That isn’t strictly forbidden.’

His heart leapt into his mouth and he nodded vigorously before he caught himself. When she turned back, he was slouching in his chair, arms folded casually and a look of what he hoped was mild interest on his face. In truth, he looked a little like he was about to topple off the chair, but it worked, because she gave him another smile and nodded.

‘You are at three on either side. Tomorrow will decide. You haven’t been this close for a long while. Have you had difficult subjects?’

He nodded and let out a long breath. ‘Unbelievable. People I had no chance of saving. Bloody ridiculous.’

‘Well, it seems fitting that your decision day is tomorrow, when the father will be here in the evening. Perhaps he already knows the result.’

Her smile was faintly mocking. She changed so suddenly and the warm glow he’d been working on fled at the thought. ‘He can’t know the result. Free will, remember?’

‘But how true is that ever? You are supposed to be an agent of free will, yet you spend your days…’ she glanced down at her desk, ‘stranding people in fictional worlds and unleashing hordes of ghosts on them.’

She had an excellent point. But if free will was an illusion, why was he bothering at all? That took him back to the questions that had been plaguing him for the last few months. Why did he bother? He’d paid his dues and done what he agreed. He could have left years ago, so why was he still here, still working?

He flushed, the buzz left over from the booze beginning to fade. He knew the answer. How else could he visit Earth every day, if not by working there. He cocked his head to one side, eyes fixed on the tiny dimples that formed where Sara’s lips ended.

‘How do you do it?’

‘Do what?’

‘How do you work here, all day every day, when you never get to go to Earth?’

‘Why would I want to go to Earth?’

He opened his mouth and closed it again. She’d never been there. She’d never tasted the thousands of emotions and beliefs and values that filled the air like perfume. She had no idea what she was missing. There was no way to explain it. It was like describing the wind, or a colour and just as meaningless. He shook his head, lurching up from his chair.

‘I’d better go. Big day tomorrow.’

She pouted and made a mock sad face. He risked putting his hand on her cheek, but she leaned into it and her eyes closed for a moment.

‘You really don’t have to go.’

She was telling the truth. He could stay as long as he wanted. How had he not noticed before? He sat again and leaned forward until their faces were almost touching.

‘Shouldn’t you be working?’

‘I can work while you sleep. It’s time for my break.’

She stood and walked past her desk to a plain wall. It opened as she approached and the rest of her chamber came into view. The bed was huge and carved just as the door. She lived as befitted a minor goddess and moved like one as well. He shifted in his seat and when she turned and beckoned, he was off it like he was running a race.

Next Installment Monday 28th July

Part One is here

Interlude – The Flower Seller Part One

They’d tricked him. Somehow, they’d tricked him. The list made it quite clear which direction was the right one and he’d steered Alex expertly. Now the Seer was telling him his latest subject was going to help destroy the world.

How was that the right direction? He was supposed to be a guardian, a protector of the world. Instead he’d scared one man into making a decision that would bring the most terrible pain to every living soul on Earth. A small part, almost too quiet to hear, giggled.

And what about the others? He peered out at the thousands of chambers. In a few decades, they’d all be out of a job. That wasn’t going to be popular, particularly with the other angels who’d spent the last however-many thousand years trying to make things better.

The flower seller dropped the list and stalked across his chamber. He stepped out and dropped. The Dome of the Father grew bigger as he fell, imposing and, as always, faintly reminiscent of a huge breast. His wings caught the currents and he soared and turned until he reached the entrance. It was busy today.

He squeezed past a couple of goat-footed demons and headed for the bar. Seph would be there by now, as would Az. They should be the first to know. Truth was, they were the only two in here who might be able to hear it without attacking him. Being made of pure energy meant no dying, but pain was in plentiful supply.

The bar was heaving, the conversation high and he stopped at the door. Something was already happening. There was a buzz in the place, more than usual. Herc ambled over and gave him a nod of his enormous, ram-shaped head. ‘Evening, Luke.’

‘Hi Herc, what’s going on?’

‘You haven’t heard?’ He had an impressive rumble to his voice. ‘The Father is coming to visit.’

The flower seller, Luke, went cold and shivered. Rubbing his upper arms, he raised an eyebrow and strove to keep his voice steady. ‘Why’s that?’

‘Big news, apparently.’

‘Oh.’ The goosebumps racing up his arms faded and he relaxed. ‘Any idea what?’

Herc shook his massive head. ‘Not a clue, you know they don’t tell me anything. You’ll know when it happens though, don’t worry.’

Luke gave him a nod and sidled through the door, picking his way through the crowds until he reached their table. As suspected, Seph and Az were there. Az had his head down and scratched furiously between his horns, mussing the dark hair that sprouted there. As always, Luke resisted the urge to have a go himself.

Seph raised an eyebrow and waved to a seat, pouring him a drink from the massive jug dominating the table.

‘Join us, please. We have so much to celebrate.’

‘You do?’

‘But of course, my fine friend. Today, I cleared my week. Four-two up with a day in hand. Az brought quite astonishing pain and suffering and started a war. Between us, we’ve kept the balance very nicely. I do so like to think of us as a microcosm of the world down there.’

‘So what am I?’

‘Ah, you, my friend, are the random. You’re the thing that no one expects. How’s your week?’

Luke shook his head, staring down into the dark liquid thrust before him. ‘I don’t know. I think I’m three-three with all to play for, but, well…’

Az heard the note in his voice and raised his head. His thin yellow eyes always seemed to see more than the others. It was why he was so unpopular. That and the eight feet of muscled red demon that came out when he got particularly drunk or angry.

‘Yes?’

Luke held up both hands, beginning to think this wasn’t such a good idea. ‘Well, I think I ended the world.’

‘Oh.’ Az took a long swig of his drink, put his head back down and resumed scratching. His voice was muffled from where he talked to the table. ‘I think that at least once a week. It’s not a good week when I don’t.’

‘Yeah, but you’re a demon, you’re supposed to think that. I’m not.’

‘You did once.’

‘Yeah, well, people change.’ Luke glared at the top of Az’s head and looked back at Seph. His friend frowned and leaned forward. ‘What did you do?’

‘What I was supposed to.’ His voice took on that annoyingly-petulant tone father had warned him about, but he couldn’t help it. ‘The list said what saving meant so I did it.’

‘And?’

‘And I saved him. Only saving him meant letting his son be born, which meant the horrible crap he was supposed to do just got passed down to his son.’

‘And what horrible crap would that be?’

‘He’s invented a, I don’t know, serum or something, it’s like a gas. It turns everyone who comes anywhere near it into zombies.’

Seph raised an eyebrow and chuckled. ‘Zombies? Like real, Romero zombies?’

‘Exactly, only I think they’re closer to 28 days zombies. I’ve only been given glimpses. We’ve got a few decades.’

‘A few?’

‘Well, about thirty years I think.’

‘Oh, well, in that case, drink up.’

He topped up his cup and Luke stared despondently into it. What the hell. He tipped it back and slouched, staring at the wall. He hated sitting this side of the table and with a grunt, got up and switched around, pushing Seph along so he could join him on the bench.

The room had got fuller in the last few minutes and they watched in silence. There was nothing like the bar when it got busy. In front of their table stood three women, none more than six or seven stone despite the wings emerging from their back. They were pale blue, with darker blue slashes on their faces and naked chests. They were tiny, every part of them miniature and delicate. Seraphims, possibly, though no one really knew anymore. Once the religions blended, no one could keep track of them.

Beyond them was an obvious one. A hugely fat guy with skin the colour of beaten bronze and a third eye in his forehead the size of a plate. He chuckled at something his angelic companion said and his rolls of fat shook like jelly. He turned to stare at Luke and his eyes were very different to his face, piercing and cold.

‘I know.’

Was that what he said? It looked like it but he’d already turned back to the angel, still chuckling. Luke shook his head and turned his attention back to the table. ‘What’s the Father coming down here for?’

Az snorted and sat up, stretching and rolling his shoulders, grooming finished for the moment. ‘The ‘Father’ has his reasons, I’m sure. Not that we’ll ever know them.’

Seph and Luke both looked at him, eyebrows raised in a strangely identical way. Az glanced from one to the other.

‘C’mon, you know the drill. He’ll make some grand proclamation about how we aren’t doing our jobs properly and bugger off. Then a few people’ll disappear and we’ll spend the next fifty years running from our shadows until everyone forgets.’

He had a point. Not a very nice one, but accurate. Luke nodded. ‘Yeah, fair enough. Who’s going to disappear?’

Both his friends leaned forward, eyes fixed on him.

Next Installment Thursday 24th July