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The Absent Man
Blurb
BERMUDA JONES AND ARGYLE ARE BACK IN THE THRILLING SEQUEL TO DOORWAYS
Something is killing...
A woman is found dead in her flat on a freezing night in Glasgow, her heart ripped from her chest. With no signs of a weapon or forced entry. Hours later, her heart is delivered to the Necropolis on the outskirts of town.
Six months after stopping the terrifying Barnaby atop Big Ben, Bermuda finds himself on the hunt for a killer in a city he doesn't know with a police force that doesn't want him. With no links between the victims and the death toll rising, Bermuda has to face a sceptical detective, a seemingly distracted Argyle and an unknown horror that stalks from the shadows.
All in the name of answering one question...
Who is The Absent Man?
The Absent Man is an urban fantasy thriller that revisits The Otherside and will have you on the edge of your seat.
Chapter Two
‘Shit! Shit! Shit!’
With his breathing struggling to keep up with his feet as he raced to his car, Franklin ‘Bermuda’ Jones burst through the doors to the third floor of the London car park. Dimly lit with the pitiful glow of the halogen lights, his car seemed further than he remembered.
He needed to get in and get the hell out of there.
As he raced across the concrete, he took a few moments to contemplate how he was spending his Saturday night. While most thirty-four-year-old men were either out drinking or cuddled up with the family for film night, he was racing away from a creature our world could never comprehend.
It was only because of his damned curse that he could see it.
That he could see the Otherside.
Born with a genetic condition known as ‘the Knack’, Bermuda was gifted the sight of the world that encased our own. Invisible to the naked eye, the inhabitants of the Otherside, known as Others, walked freely throughout his life, yet he was the only one who could see them meandering through the alleyways and dark corners of London.
The only one who watched their world encompass ours.
The only one who knew the truth.
Soon the scepticism had given way to concern, and he had lost everything. His wife had left him, watching with flowing tears as they took him to his padded cell. Certified as insane, it’s difficult to tell the world you’re not crazy when they have concluded you must be. A crazy person claiming sanity is moot – like an obese person saying they hardly eat a thing.
That was a long time ago. Locked away in that padded cell, cursing the world for their mistake. Losing the respect and love of a woman he would die for and destroying the bond with his beloved daughter.
His Chloe.
As he raced to his car, he thought about her blond hair dancing in the wind, the toothless grin on her six-year-old face as he pushed her on the swing. The slow rebuild of their relationship in the secrecy of carefully planned meetings. Away from the eyes that watched from the shadows.
The eyes of the Otherside.
Working for the Behind the Curtain Organisation (BTCO), the authority that managed the truce between our world and theirs, certainly came with the animosity you would expect. Being the only agent with the ability to physically interact with them painted one hell of a target on your back.
No matter how many cases he solved, how many times he restored the peace, Bermuda knew that the Otherside would come for him. Rich in brutality, it was an existence that had little time for forgiveness or change. The truce, the allowance of refuge for the ‘Others’ in our world, was based on advances in science and medicine that could change humanity.
They saved our species.
We let theirs live outside the human eye.
Now, as he raced to his car, knowing what was about to burst through the doors behind him, he wondered if burning the truce and locking the goddamn gateway was an option.
‘Get in the bloody car!’
Bermuda’s voice was rife with panic as he approached the driver’s door to his black Honda Civic, the dirt forming erratic patterns across the unclean bonnet. His words were meant for the figure who stood before him. The meek offering of light from the ceiling bounced off the immaculate breast plate of his armour. The dark gold that protected him ended at his broad shoulders, which sprung two powerful, muscular arms, the dark skin exposed.
He stood motionless; fear was a trait that had left him long ago.
His face, a mask of calm, housed the two grey eyes which burnt a pathway to the door with a fierce concentration.
Strapped to his back was the blade that had protected our world for years and had saved Bermuda’s life on more occasions than he cared to remember.
Around his wrist, the Retriever – a weapon forged in the other world, which sent many back from whence they came.
Bermuda called to him once more, terror gripping each word as they leapt from his mouth, his handsome face gripped with fear. ‘Argyle!’
His partner didn’t move.
‘Let’s get the fuck out of here.’
The floor rumbled as if the car park was experiencing its very own earthquake. Bermuda had one foot in the car, his head peeking over the roof to his partner, who had been raised as a soldier on the Otherside. Exiled in disgrace for reasons Bermuda had never asked, Argyle’s slowly lifted his hand over his shoulder. Known as a ‘Neither’, an Other who had defected to the protection of humanity, Argyle locked his eyes onto the door.
‘Get out of here.’
His words were emotionless, an instruction. Argyle’s eyes narrowed on the door as his hand gripped the leather-strapped handle of his blade. With a shake of his light-brown-covered head, Bermuda dropped into the driver’s seat, slammed the door, and wrenched the key. The engine roared to life, the lights bursting out and casting Argyle in a majestic silhouette: a fallen angel, ready to face the demon on the other side of the door.
With the tyres screeching like a banshee, Bermuda sped through the car park, a small trail of dust following him like a loyal puppy. The car burst through the concrete block, taking a sharp turn onto the spiral ramp that led to the freedom of the street below.
London wrapped around him at speed, his car racing down the ramp as his foot pressed the pedal to the floor, the lights of the capital whipping by in a frenzied blur.
Behind him, he could hear the doors to the third level being thrown from their hinges, the night-piercing howl of the enormous creature that Argyle had stayed to welcome.
He had never seen an Other that big.
That ferocious.
With his steering wheel locked to the left, he circled down the exit ramp before the car smashed through the security barrier, the red-and-white bar shattering and sprinkling the street like hundreds-and-thousands. Bermuda reached for the handbrake, shunting it up, and letting his car spin on the spot, eventually sliding to a halt.
A few pedestrians watched on in shock, one of them quick dialling the police to report a parking violation.
They couldn’t hear what Bermuda could.
With the window rolled down, he wished he had a cigarette on the go; the soothing, calming pollution of his lungs would have settled his nerves as he listened to the spine-chilling roar of the behemoth and the clanging of Argyle’s sword as he valiantly fought.
No cigarettes anymore. He cursed himself as he raised his electronic cigarette to his lips, the blue light on the end as he inhaled a mocking reminder of his decision to be ‘healthy’.
Another roar ripped through the air, unbeknownst to the watching few, all of them perplexed by his decision to break through the barrier and not speed away into the night. He was used to the staring, people judging him or labelling him insane. It happened all the time, but he was a long way past trying to explain.
A long road away from caring.
‘Where the hell are my goddamn Tic Tacs?’ he muttered to himself, unlatching the glovebox to be met by an avalanche of parking tickets and empty boxes of his beloved mints.
CRASH!
Argyle’s armour was the first thing Bermuda noticed, the reflection of light bouncing off it as he hurtled through the brick wall of the third floor. Within seconds, the mighty warrior collided with Bermuda’s bonnet, denting the metal as he bounced to the ground.
His face was bloodstained, and a large gash opened across his head that was already willing itself shut, much to Bermuda’s continued bemusement. His arms, covered in thick lacerations, pushed against the ground as he pulled himself up.
Bermuda leant out of the window, looking down at his fallen comrade. ‘Need a lift?’
The stone-cold stare through the grey eyes told Bermuda the joke, like so many, didn’t register. Argyle was the most loyal partner he could ask for. But apart from working for the BTCO, they were worlds apart. Yet combining Argyle’s human-like form and his personality, Bermuda couldn’t recall a single person who embodied humanity as his partner did.
Who fought for what they thought was right.
Dusting the debris from his body, Argyle strode purposefully to the passenger door, a mighty hand wrenching it open. The watching public pointed in amazement as Bermuda pulled away. To them, they had witnessed a self-denting, self-opening car, driven by a man who talked to the ground.
Suddenly, their attention – as well as that of the two agents in the now banged-up Honda Civic – was drawn to the giant explosion on the third floor of the car park that sat next to Liverpool Street Station. Brick and metal barrier burst from the wall, showering down upon the street below like a heavy rainfall.
A metal post slammed against a car parked nearby.
Two small rocks hammered against a terrified civilian’s shoulder.
Then suddenly, the earth shook.
Landing on all fours, hidden from the world, the enormous beast slowly recovered from its three-story plunge. Over fifteen feet tall, with hard, jagged bones jutting from its spine, the beast was like none other Bermuda had seen before. Its dark, grey skin was covered in scales, stretched to the limit from its powerful frame. Small spikes, the crooked bones that ruptured through its skin, burst from its joints.
Its skull was large and dome-like, the top of its head smooth like a well-sanded table. Its eyes were feral, the pupilless black balls locked on Bermuda. Its giant jaw, snapping like an alligator, revealed a fine selection of razor-sharp teeth.
Embedded in its neck, a latch stone. Forged on the Otherside, it not only granted this beast entrance to our world, it allowed for it to interact too. Three people had been reported missing, with remnants of their bodies found in and around the car park.
Mark Courtney, a father of two and wealthy property developer. Betty Mulligan, a librarian and poster woman for the ‘Crazy Cat Lady’ community. Thomas Branning, a physics student who walked through the wrong car park while drunk.
All of them were gone, dismembered and digesting slowly within the hideous behemoth before Bermuda.
With a flick of his wrist, Bermuda threw his car into reverse, arching his neck back before slamming his foot down, the Civic launching backwards as the beast slowly moved towards them.
‘We seem to be moving away from the creature,’ Argyle stated, a slight agitation in his voice.
‘Yeah, that’s the plan.’
Bermuda reached the end of the road, the concrete merging onto the dual carriageway that cut through the city like an enormous vein. As he approached, he took once last glance back through his windscreen.
The giant beast roared loudly, its powerful lungs shaking the streets and rattling the cars that lined it.
It dropped again to all fours and bounded towards the car, nothing but death in its pathway as it raced towards them, like a dog chasing the postman.
‘Hold on!’ Bermuda yelled, wrenching the steering wheel and spinning the car completely as it joined the main road, a barrage of horns bursting into the air like an orchestra warming up. Almost clipping the large truck that was hurtling behind them, Bermuda slipped the car into first before it had completed its turn and stamped down the accelerator, the car bursting forward in one fluid movement.
‘HAHA!’ he exclaimed in excitement, his heart beating ferociously as the adrenaline kicked in. Argyle’s lack of enthusiasm quickly ended the excitement.
That, and the giant crash of the truck behind as the giant Other leapt through it, the vehicle exploding into a ball of flames as it emerged onto the dual carriageway, its massive, clawed hands slamming against the pavement as it raced towards them, sending debris hurtling against the buildings that lined the streets.
A light drizzle began to patter against Bermuda’s windscreen as he raced through London, his car careering round a corner and onto another main road, scraping the back of a black cab that was then pulverised by the chasing beast.
The bright lights of the city surrounded them like fireflies, buses and cars whipping through the nightlife that dotted the street as Bermuda veered between them, narrowly missing a group of drunken lads. As they turned and yelled abuse as the car dashed by, one of them found himself flying into the nearby wall, courtesy of an invisible monster.
A bus was sent toppling into the front window of Top Shop. Two cars were sent hurtling towards the closed exit of Tottenham Court Road Station.
Bermuda spun a left and hurtled onto the A4 towards West London, the rain now hammering down on his car. Argyle calmly sat next to him, the situation barely registering as a need to panic. Sirens wailed, as a platoon of police cars were now following the path of destruction which they would wrongly lay at Bermuda’s door.
Raindrops scattered the road before him as he weaved between the traffic, his foot pressed down and the acceleration rising. Cars whipped past and Bermuda scouted the mirrors, the large creature no longer in the rear-view.
‘Where are we going?’ Argyle’s calm words broke Bermuda’s concentration.
‘I don’t know, buddy. I’m kinda winging it here.’ Bermuda pulled the wheel, slipping the Honda Civic around a delivery van, and began to climb the massive concrete flyover that arched its way over Hammersmith. The magnificent bridge brought with it an incredible view, the capital lit up like a world on fire.
‘Where is the creature?’ Argyle craned his neck, his grey eyes staring through the back window. All he could see was the flashing of lights blurred by the rain.
Bermuda slammed on the brakes.
As if Argyle’s word had provoked an introduction, the beast leapt up onto the flyover before them, its legs ripping the metal barriers clean from the edge. Through the broken concrete they could see the Hammersmith Apollo, one of London’s most iconic venues, which had emptied. A well-known comedian having decorated its walls with laughter a mere two hours before.
Bermuda stared at the vicious beast, trying his best to recall the last time he had enjoyed anything resembling a normal Saturday evening. His mind wandered to Chloe, his beautiful daughter, as he pushed her on a swing – the moments he was starting to experience. The relationship he was starting to build.
A reason to be doing this.
Behind him, the sirens wailed through the air, the rain bursting with flashes of blue.
The beast waited, goading them to make their move. It snorted through its flared nostrils, its razor-sharp claws screeching across the concrete. The rain battered against its solid scalp.
Bermuda revved his engine.
‘Hey Argyle. You have your Retriever, right?’
‘Of course.’ Argyle patted the metal clasp around his wrist. The Retriever, born of a metal from his own world, was safely secured within, its endless chain coiled and the hook that had caught many an Other lay with it. ‘I am required to carry it at all times.’
‘Okay, well when I say fire … you fire that thing.’
‘Do you have a plan?’ Argyle asked, Bermuda letting down the electric window beside him. The cold and rain collided with his armour.
‘I have an idea. I wouldn’t call it a plan.’ Bermuda turned to his partner. ‘You’re gonna want to put your seat belt on!’
Bermuda flashed him a grin before turning back to the road ahead. The beast had leant forward, ready to spring at any moment. Bermuda took a deep breath and then hammered his foot on the pedal.
The car burst forward, ripping across the flyover towards the giant beast, the rain hurtling down upon them. Police cars chased, their lights adding to the night sky intermittent bursts of blue illuminating the bridge. Argyle leant slightly out the window, the Retriever ready and primed. The rain slapped him in the face like a cold, wet palm.
Twenty feet.
Fifteen feet.
The Other rose up on its back legs, its broad, muscular chest exposed as it let out a roar, a hard, guttural noise that shook the city of London.
Ten feet.
‘NOW, ARGYLE!’
Argyle lifted his arm and released. The hook shot forward, pulling the chain with it as it flew through the night sky and embedded into the meaty neck of the Other, that roared with agony. The hook burst into four as it pierced the skin, hooking round and latching in place. With its arm flailing in agony, the beast swung wildly, its other clawed hand ripping the skin of its neck as it tried to free itself.
Argyle pulled himself back into the car and Bermuda turned the wheel a full lock to the left.
Through the gap in the barrier.
He felt his stomach rise up as the car hurtled off the side of the Hammersmith flyover, the world suddenly feeling like it was in slow motion. Bermuda could feel the ground quickly race up to meet them, and just before it did, everything went black.
The car hit the hard concrete, rolling on impact, with large chunks of metal and shattered glass spraying across the empty pavement. The airbags burst, catching the two travellers as they rattled around like two lone coins in a piggy bank.
The chain of the Retriever tightened, snapping sharply and wrenching the monstrous Other over the edge. With its neck broken, it flopped off of the flyover, its back legs crashing through the roof and side wall of the Hammersmith Apollo, the legendary bricks scattering across the floor like a careless child’s building blocks.
The rain continued to batter the crash scene, pedestrians gasping in shock at the damage. Slowly, very slowly, Bermuda began to stir, a thick stream of blood pouring from a gash across his head.
His nose and eyebrow were also streaming blood. His ribs, broken six months previously after he was thrown through a wall, were cracked and swinging loosely.
He could tell his wrist was broken as were the two fingers pointing in the wrong direction.
‘Are you okay?’
Argyle’s voice covered him like a blanket, safe in the knowledge that his friend was okay. He nodded, wincing in pain at the slightest movement. Argyle patted him gently on the arm with a blood-covered hand. His lacerations would heal at an unworldly rate. Kicking open what was left of the door, the mighty warrior stepped out into the rain, the water washing the blood from his dark skin. His right arm hung loosely, swinging gently from the last few tendons that hadn’t been ripped from their socket.
It would heal.
He always healed.
Calm, measured steps took him to the fallen Other, his heart feeling a twinge of sympathy for the death of his own kind. He may not have been as feral or as monstrous as the slain beast, but they were of the same world.
They were brothers in Otherkind.
Slowly murmuring a banishment, Argyle reached forward and wrapped his fingers around the latch stone, the vessel that was keeping the dead within its physical form.
He yanked it from the skin, watching as the Other slowly disintegrated, its life force trailing like a thin plume of smoke into the relic that Argyle held in his hand. He would be deposited back to the Otherside at HQ, for a proper burial.
Argyle bowed his head; the death of another Other hung heavily from his mighty shoulder like a pendant. The rain clattered around him, his blood trickling across the concrete where the slain beast had lain.
It was gone.
‘Don’t move!’
‘Sir, we have him!’
‘Keep your hands where we can see ’em!’
Bermuda winced in pain; the shouting of the police officers that surrounded his car only heightened the throbbing headache. He could feel the whiplash strapped to his neck, the stiffness keeping his head locked in one place.
The world around him was bright and blue, the lights of the police cars flickering like a faulty Christmas tree light. He had once again saved the city, his body was broken, and no one would believe him.
Just another day.
Two officers slowly approached the shattered window beside him, their steps careful and measured. One of them held his torch up, the light annoyingly intruding on Bermuda’s vision. With blood splattered across his usually handsome face, Bermuda slowly turned. He had caused a city-wide car chase, untold damage to a number of vehicles and buildings, and had ripped a hole in one of London’s oldest theatres.
With his impending arrest moments away, he treated the police to his best, bloodied smile.
‘What’s the matter, officers? Was I speeding?’
