The Physics Of The Dead - A Supernatural Mystery Novel (37 page)

For a moment, the sinking feeling, the comedown from the euphoria of Hart's return, was worse than the pain.
Then you shouldn't have come back, don't you know how cruel that was?

Bowler heard Hart shuffle, like he was getting himself into a more comfortable position.

“The thing is,” Hart continued, “If I'm to be totally honest, this is along the same lines of what I'd planned. Obviously, nowhere near this bad, but...I was going to go and check, make sure the exit was there, then come and say goodbye, and tell you how to get out once I'm gone...but break your leg or something, just to make sure you couldn't follow, thus avoiding the risk of you jumping in first. Because I wanted you to know, you understand,” he added, wanting to make sure Bowler got it. “I couldn't leave without giving you a chance to get out yourself, without you knowing how. Although...well, when that chance might be, who knows...” He sighed again, and after the longest pause yet he continued speaking, but more heavily, wearily, and Bowler was amazed to hear Hart crying. He was suddenly glad he couldn't see.

“I know I could overpower you if you tried to, I don't know...muscle me out of there or something, but  you never know with these things. If you were closer at the right second...so I'd just make sure you couldn't follow me. Just a little break, not a Break, if you know what I mean. But...I never wanted this...”

Hart broke off, and there were muffled sniffs. Bowler knew that his friend was still, even now, trying to maintain the old Hart dignity. And Bowler decided to abandon his completely. Here was his only chance.

“Hart...please...I can't...make it.....
mmm
.....
nnnn
....need....you....”

“Bowler...please...” said Hart with a wavering voice. “Just...don't, all right? I came to...
ahh
...to say goodbye, and this is very, very difficult, so just...” He suddenly broke off, and Bowler heard him catch an imaginary breath. When he spoke again, he was breath
less.

“Oh, God,” he whispered. “I...I can feel it. It's now. It's time already. I thought there was longer...
I might have missed it?
I can't...can you imagine? I can't believe I...oh God...
Helen
...”

Who's Helen?
thought Bowler, crazily. Something was going on. This was it. Hart was leaving. Hart was
leaving
.

“HART...please. Need....you...”

“Shut
up
, Bowler!” snapped Hart, “This is important! This...can you feel it? It's very important,
can you feel it
?”

Feel what? All I can feel is pain
thought Bowler.
Please, just stay, and we'll talk about whatever you want, anything
.

“
Nnnn
.....”

“Damn...shit! Then maybe...ah, the pain, maybe that's blocking...closer, you need to be closer...okay, okay, tell me if this makes a difference.”

And Hart lifted Bowler's Broken body from the floor of the dying man's upstairs room and held him above the blue, right in the heart of the energy, and all the pain went away.

All Bowler could feel was warmth and peace, and he became suddenly even more intangible in Hart's arms. Incredibly, Bowler’s entire weight vanished, and he began to float. Hart, stunned to find Bowler suspended in mid-air now, backed away to let Bowler hover there, held in the warmth of the blue.

Bowler was flooded with the old man's life, memories buffeting him, filling him, his mind clearing and healing but cramming with images of things he'd never done, and with sheer will he pulled his own thoughts free and managed to focus just enough to speak aloud-blind eyes filled with nothing but blue, blue,
BLUE-
building to a desperate scream,

“Hart! What...no...not me! Not me! We'll stay together! I haven't
earned
this! Hart, you
earned
this! Seventy
years
! You don't need to do this!
Hart!! Please!!
”

And Hart stood there, tears streaming down his face, and smiling at the same time, remembering the dying memories of Christopher Phelps:

...lung cancer, but at 92 he'd had a damned good innings, and no-one he'd ever known had managed to become a great grandfather...

...retiring with tears in his eyes, his loved ones around him from the shop floor, a beautiful, beautiful gold watch they'd all chipped in for, and he's so happy, all that would be needed to make it perfect would be for his Iris to be here...

...it's actually twins, double
Grandad
, a boy and a girl, and we're calling the boy Chris...

…exactly what they wanted, a little girl, even though little Steve had wanted a baby brother, but his face when they brought her home, and Christopher didn't have his camera,
dammit
...

...promotion, but in the end he'd gone back to the floor, he didn't like the suit, he preferred to work with his hands, and they'd never been hard up...

...first day on the job, and Iris had put that letter and that saucy photo in his lunchbox, and although he's over moon he instantly thinks I wonder where she got it developed, I can never show my face again in there...

…the happiest day of his life, that's what they'd said it would be, and they weren't bloody wrong, not at all, and he can see it in her eyes that she's the same...

...pulling Trevor up off the beach as the bullets
whicker
around them, because he OWES Trevor, owes him his life, and so he drags the man him behind him-he'll always wonder how he managed it-and they head towards the gun turrets-

...a bike on his sixteenth-

-And Hart opens his eyes and pulls himself free, his course of action changed irrevocably, and runs out the door for Bowler, praying there is enough time...

“Please Bowler. Don't make me change my mind. I...owe
you
everything. You bought me the time to find out the truth. And you...yes, I might want this, Bowler. I might want it so, so badly. But you...you
need
it. And I owe you. I know this now.”

Desperation, sheer desperation rattled around the blue in Bowler's mind, even though it was soothing him, warming him, like coming home, but he knew was abandoning his friend.

“Hart!! No!!
Haaaaaart
!!”

“And...I'm sorry I wasn't a better friend. I think...this is the best gratitude, and apology I can show you. Goodbye. I will...” and Hart hesitated, struggling with his words. “....I will miss you, my friend.”

“
Haaaaaaart
!! I-I-I....I love-”

And there was a flash, and all the blue in the room wrapped itself around Bowler, formed a cocoon around his body, hiding him from view and cutting off his voice.

And despite his choice, Hart let out a pained gasp, an animal moan, as he watched the exit close. Watched it close around his friend.

The cocoon started to brighten-at first to a brighter blue, then to a turquoise, then changing to a glowing, fuzzy white light-and began to rise, slowly, towards the ceiling. Something large fell from it, and Hart was not surprised to see it was Bowler's frozen body-his discarded shell-fall to the bed. Even in the moment, Hart noted that it didn't pass through. He had time to notice the expression, same as George's; eyes wide, mouth open, hands raised, but Hart now knew it wasn't to protect himself, and that the expression wasn't fear; it was to reach for the blue, embrace it, with a look of sheer amazement, just as he realised that the now white cocoon containing the energies of Christopher Phelps and Frank Bowler was beginning to rise. It was going to pass through the ceiling, over the heads of the people in the room that were now standing up and moving towards the bed, some with small cries of “Dad?” and “
Grandad
Chris?” and fresh, silent tears springing from the eyes of others.
It's all right!
Hart wanted to tell them,
He's fine!
But the more urgent issue was following Bowler.

Hart turned and ran for the door, passing through it and into the street, moving way back into the road to look up over the roof, waiting for a glimpse. Nothing at first, and then
yes...
there it was, that inexplicable airborne cocoon, shining like a miniature sun in the night sky. It started to angle upwards and across, beginning its journey out, and Hart's tears turned into sudden laughter, sheer joy.

Bowler was getting out, out of the
Foyer
, out of the
prison
, and as it suddenly struck him what Bowler had become-
He's a Flyer. He's a bloody FLYER!!
-Hart let out of a whoop of joy, jumping up and down in the middle of the street as Bowler began to float away.

“Go
on!
” yelled Hart, deliriously, laughing with sheer delight, “Get
out
of here, fly!! Write me a postcard, you lucky bastard!!
Go!!!
Go, go, go,
go!!!
” Still laughing, tears streaming, he ran after the Flyer through the darkened streets as it travelled across the sky, waving and whooping like a child chasing an aeroplane. For the time being, the future was forgotten, replaced by the unfamiliar sensation of joy in his heart.

***

Epilogue: In Which We See What Hart Did Next

***

Four Years Later:

            Hart sat in the lower precinct. It was Saturday, so it was always the best day to people watch, and today was particularly busy, being the second to last one before Christmas. For once he'd actually sat on a bench; he felt like it, and decided that if anyone came along to sit on him, he'd move. It was midday, and the atmosphere was more one of mania than one of Christmas cheer. So many people, so many shoppers, and even the couples seemed to be missing the occasion around them, bustling along, stern faced, with those foolish enough to go out without several layers of clothing looking even more so, eager to get to wherever their next destination was and hoping that it held heat. The children looked happy, though. Electrified was more the word;
Christmas.
Cocaine for children.
They'd waited for this all year. Hart grinned as one particularly wide-eyed chubby boy walked past, clinging onto his mother's hand and trying to take in all the Christmas finery around him.

Admittedly, for Hart, Christmas was more difficult with Bowler gone. It had been a more difficult time even when Bowler had been here-seeing warmth and happiness that they could appreciate but not truly share-but the feelings of isolation and loneliness were even more acute now. George gone, Bowler gone, Sarah...well, he hadn't seen Sarah for a good few months, and the time before that had been...unpleasant. But even so, he'd have expected to have seen her more recently than that. Maybe she found a female Exit and got out. Maybe she'd been Broken again...but Hart thought that highly unlikely now, after what had happened to The Beast. Hart smiled grimly at the thought. It couldn't have happened to a nicer person.

As he idly watched, a wall of TVs caught his eye. It was a full window display, and all of the TVs were set to the same channel. In a moment summing up a large part of the season, the commercial onscreen was advertising
another
shop advertising all the options this one was selling, but at
discount prices
. It would have been a cynical moment, but Hart wasn't thinking about that; he was thinking of the benefit of TV to his life here.

He wondered how anyone who came here before him-before TV was as widespread and all permeating as it was now-survived more than a month without going Loose. Certainly, before Bowler, it had been hard indeed. The wireless set and pub conversations only provided so much help, but as TVs made their way into every home over the years it had been a godsend. He had come to rely on it more and more now, had been forced to-before Bowler, he'd had George and Sarah around, and here was another reminder that now there was no-one-but he'd discovered that life was bearable with TV alone to help.

It wouldn't be, though, without the knowledge he had now; the knowledge of the possibility of escape. Before, the idea of searching for a way out had seemed like a cruel tease. No answer, fruitless search against inevitable failure, a quest destined to do nothing but send one mad with desperation and loneliness. Yes, others before him had worked it out and gone searching, but
they
didn't know for certain
, and that made all the difference. No self-doubt. No frustration, no fear that it might all be for nothing if you were wrong. For the others, if your day's search ended-as it always did-in nothing, the thought that followed wasn't
maybe tomorrow
but
this is pointless anyway, I'm stuck here
and you took another step down the Loose path. But now-for Hart-this wasn’t the case. Now, every day had possibilities.

Now there was the constant chance that today might be the day, and when he didn't find an exit he could shrug his shoulders and take a break with Deal Or No Deal, and just look again later,
because he knew he wasn’t wasting his time and driving himself crazy.
Work and reward; it was a hard existence-and some days were much, much harder than others-but it was better, and the two factors of Knowledge and Entertainment together made everything so, so much different.

Plus, obviously there were the other things. The other possibilities he'd discovered since. Things he was only just beginning to explore.

He leaned his head back, feeling good for a moment, thinking that everything was okay right now. He looked up at the winter sky, clear for once, rain free, with the sun shining dimly, and felt fine. Purposeful.

He thought about
Checkins
. Not another one yet. If one came, he knew he wouldn't bond with him like he had with Bowler. Bowler had gotten him what he needed; and Hart had returned the favour, though some days, every now and then, it pained him greatly, but even in those moments he never wished he'd done it differently. No, Hart wouldn't bond again, as it would not be fair to whoever it was. He'd made Bowler weaker than he'd already been on arrival. Made him dependant on Hart. Denied him the chance to go through it, to evolve to be what he needed to exist in there, like George had. He would befriend the
Checkins
, and that would be that.

He still didn't know if he would tell them how to get out. He had sacrificed once, and would not again. That was only fair. But he was still undecided about sharing the information; if he could find a safe way of telling them without them stealing it, he might. Although, there
were
the other things, as The Beast had discovered. Yes. The Beast had discovered that Hart was...different now.

There was no doubting what had caused it, although Hart, ever cynical, had tried to do so at first. The Beast had hunted him, found him, caught him. He hadn't been fully lucid, but The Beast-talking incoherently, but audible, to Hart's then great surprise-had been furious, asking why he hadn't gone, why Bowler had gone instead, crazily asking why Hart had to
ruin
things and talking like a petulant child. And then The Beast had attacked.

And then...Hart still didn't know exactly what had happened, but what had played a part was clear. The Beast had gripped him, gone to tear him limb from limb, and Hart's fear had reached a crescendo inside him. And as his emotion boiled over, as his attention was focused into one single pinpoint of terror, something moved inside him, and The Beast...

...The Beast is screaming, in pain and confusion and surprise. Something is happening to him, and he is afraid. Afraid! His eyes are wide in fear, and his words are gibberish, just guttural, pleading cries. Hart watches in amazement as The Beast's arms work like he is trying to pull his hands away from Hart's wrists, but it appears like his hands are somehow glued to Hart's skin. And horribly, The Beast's flesh starts to distort, bubble, and begin to run, running down off its wrists.

It runs off into thin air and disappears, but there is no skeleton beneath, just an outline of where his arms were. It is an incredible sight, and Hart can only goggle at it, as locked in as The Beast is. In wild fear, Hart looks at his own arms to see if the same thing is happening, but he is fine. What on earth is going on??

The Beast's cries become louder as the effect spreads like toxic water breaking on a beach, the flesh streaming off his arms, and now the flow is spreading away from his chest and neck, flowing from his stomach, working down to his legs. That terrible, terrible thin outline is appearing where his body once stood, and now only The Beast's shaking bellowing head is left. Hart looks at his wrists and can see nothing holding them save for this wire-thin outline on the air, though he can still feel a monstrous pair of hands holding him. He looks up in wonder to see the flesh begin to pour from The Beast's head, which is now moving in a frantic, gibbering, expression. Hart sees with intense, grim satisfaction that tears are streaming from The Beast’s bulging, terrified eyes, which too bubble and then pour into nothingness. The last thing to trickle away is the yowling mouth, and then it is silent forever.

All that is left now of The Beast's outline; Hart needs to squint to see it. But no, it is becoming easier to see, as it is filling, filling with colour, and Hart is not at all surprised to see that-though faint at first, and strengthening-it is blue.

He looks down to his wrists, and sees that the colour is flowing out of him, for it is strongest at his wrists, and when he looks back up the huge outline of The Beast is now full of the blue. The blue is flowing out of Hart. Flowing from inside him. It is strong but translucent at the same time, moving and swirling, an incredible display of impossible colour. And just as quickly as it has filled up, the outline itself dissolves and the blue inside of it begins to disappear from the outside inwards. Hart wants to touch it, but he does not dare; he has seen one person take a ride in the blue, and though he knows this is different-there is no ride here, there is just an ending-he isn't taking any chances. Extremely faintly, as if from very far away, he can hear The Beast screaming. The sound fades with the colour, the shop wall behind the vanishing blueness slowly being revealed in its normal grey, until finally it as if The Beast were never there....

...Yes, even if it weren't for the new possibilities to explore here-to explore what he had taken away from his brief time inside the blue, how it had changed him, what he seemed to now carry
inside
him...and what it could do-life was more bearable, thought Hart.
A little knowledge may be a dangerous thing…but it can also be a blessing.
He smiled slightly, and was about to return to his practice, when the most miraculous thing that had happened so far in Hart's entire existence occurred.

His attention was caught by the out of place sound of American accents. A couple were coming Hart's way through the precinct, both in their early 30s, and quite well-to-do by the look of their clothes. Apart from their accents, the other thing that stood them out were their smiles.
Had to be on holiday, visiting friends,
thought Hart with detached delirium in the back of his mind, whilst the vast majority of Hart's attention was yelling to him,
screaming
to him about the 4 year old boy that held onto his father's hand, oblivious to the bright blue glow all around him.

There are coincidences, and there are coincidences, and then there are statistical impossibilities,
thought Hart.
There are things that are so far out of the realms of actual possibility that they simply cannot be true. This is not chance. This is not chance. This is something else. This is...lunacy.

But it was true. The four year old
Bluey
was Bowler.

Sporting a grin even bigger than that of his parents, wrapped in a Sky Blues fleece, hat and scarf, Bowler babbled excitably in his
american
accent.

'Mom!
Mom
!
Spongebob
!'

'Yep. See the fountain, honey? You see the fountain there?'

'Yes...'

'
Wanna
balloon? You
wanna
balloon from the man?'

'
Aaaah
, yeah, can I?'

'
Waddyou
say?'

'
Pleeeease
!'

American,
thought Hart as he watched, frozen.
Coming here from another bloody country, being here, Coventry of all places, and in the same part of Coventry that I’m in at this moment

As he watched them pass, heading towards the helium balloon seller by the fountain-George's fountain, as it would always be in his mind, George's body long vanished-every instinct said to get up and follow them, but Hart did not. There were no answers there, only more questions that simply could not be answered. It was Bowler's second chance. That was all. It just happened to wrapped up in a coincidence so incredibly huge and ridiculous that it was almost mind blowing.

Calm down, Hart,
he thought as he watched.
Is this any bigger than what you've already seen? No, so stop thinking so ridiculously. It
is
just coincidence...albeit an absolutely impossible one.
He took an imaginary breath, relaxed, shaking his head, and smiled at his next thought.
Though of course, Bowler-if he were here (which he is) would say it was more proof, more proof that there was something behind all this. Another point towards his religious claptrap. A sign, a message.
He chuckled slightly to himself, and watched as the trio, complete with new helium accessory clutched tightly in the
fist
of a skipping Bowler, headed away up the precinct.