Rollerskater: Birth

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This instalment contains some discussions of antiblack racism.


Daisy was angry.

She had been for many weeks. Her therapist said it was a normal part of the grieving process. She had established with Socks that she no longer wished to speak to him. She was, therefore, outraged when an unknown phone number had called her out of the blue one day, and a familiar voice – though not his – had asked her to meet. Instant retraumatisation.

Her initial response had been to refuse, but then the caller had told her that it was of utmost import that she, indeed, meet. And some stupid, animal part of her had convinced her that she could genuinely be in trouble, so she had, of course, agreed to the meeting.

So she sat in the student union bar, sipping at a Jack and Coke. It probably, she thought, wasn’t a good idea to drink to calm her nerves, especially while still grieving, but fuck it, she’d earned it. And she especially needed it to face someone that she hadn’t spoken to since December, a conversation that had not at all gone well, by her recollection.

She looked to the entrance, and her visitor entered. Over six feet tall and bearing wheels on both feet.

She scanned the room for a few moments, then recognised Daisy immediately, and skated over to her table.

“Hello, Daisy,” she said.

“K-Os,” Daisy replied.

K-Os seated herself.

“I am sorry to have called you on short notice,” K-Os said.

Daisy said nothing.

K-Os paused for a moment. “Socks…told me what happened. I wanted to…apologise.”

Daisy felt a twinge of anger.

“I have nothing to say to you,” she said. “What’s done is done. You could have prevented it and you didn’t.”

K-Os nodded. “I understand,” she said.

Daisy sniffed.

“What is it you need from me?”

K-Os shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“I have come here with a warning,” she said. “We are on the verge of a war. You have abilities that are tied to my own. That marks you for death. People like…”

She paused for a moment, as though considering whether to say it.

“…people like The Light Havoc…they want you dead. They know that you were the one who killed them. You need to be prepared for that eventuality.”

Daisy sipped at her Jack and Coke.

“Thank you for letting me know,” she said.

“I felt it was best that you should know,” K-Os replied. “And I am sincerely sorry about Jules.”

It had been weeks, and the name still hurt to hear.

“I don’t forgive you,” Daisy said.

“I understand,” K-Os said. “And I don’t expect anything of you, nor do I request anything from you. I simply wish to ensure that you are safe.”

Daisy felt oddly touched by the courtesy.

“Thank you, K-Os,” she said.

K-Os reached into her pink satchel and retrieved from it a small slip of lined paper, on which were written a small list of phone numbers.

“These are some of my contacts,” she said. “If you are in trouble and need help, call one of us. We will try to help you.”

Daisy looked at it, and pocketed it.

“I still don’t want anything to do with you, but this is very kind of you.”

“It’s the least I can do, Daisy. Do get in touch.”

K-Os stood.

“I shall leave you be,” she said. “Stay safe.”

“I will,” Daisy replied.

“Oh, and Daisy?”

“Yes?” Daisy said.

“I really did like your music.”

Daisy smiled slightly.

K-Os turned and skated out of the bar.

Daisy’s hand dived back into her pocket, and she looked back over the little sheet with the numbers on it.

She got her phone out and opened the Contacts app.

*

Socks was returning home by train, carrying a small suitcase. He had told K-Os where he was going, and she had initially been resistant, but Socks had made it clear: If there was a chance, however remote, that he might be killed soon, then he wanted a chance to talk to his parents one last time. He was morbidly aware of the nature of this trip, that this may be the last time he returned home.

As his train pulled into Liverpool Street, a familiar face was waiting on the platform.

“Harri-Bec?” he said.

“Hello, Socks,” she replied.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been asked to accompany you until you exit the M25 boundary, past which I lose my powers. K-Os is slightly concerned that you may be attacked.”

“Thank you,” Socks said. “But you really shouldn’t have to baby me like this. I’m just visiting my parents.”

“Yes, I understand. But I agree with K-Os that it is in everyone’s best interest that you are looked after.”

“Thanks, Harri.”

They walked towards the ticket gate together. Socks put his paper ticket through. Harri-Bec simply walked through the gate. Socks supposed that she and the gates had a mutual understanding. No staff members took any notice.

“How did you get into this, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Harri-Bec smiled a little shyly.

“I really liked the London Underground, ever since I was little,” she said. “I grew up in Ealing. I used to get the Tube to school every day.”

They crossed the concourse, entering the Tube station.

“But how did you get your powers?”

“It’s a less exciting story than yours, Mister Hero,” Harri-Bec said, playfully, as they passed through the gates. “There were these girls in secondary school. They didn’t like me very much. I was very shy and quiet, and they thought I was weird. They’d follow me around in the play area and call me names and things, hit me…”

They walked up a set of steps and crossed over on to Westbound Platform 2.

“That’s awful,” Socks said.

“Mhm,” Harri-Bec said. “And my only safe place was the Tube. When I was on the Tube coming home from school, I could forget all my worries and just pretend I wasn’t there. Until one day…”

“What?”

“…they followed me on to a Central line train after school,” Harri-Bec said. “They cornered me and told me they were going to beat me up, told me I was a freak, and one of the girls spit at me. I scrunched my eyes up really tight, and I wanted to get away…”

“So what happened?”

“I opened my eyes, and I was sitting on the platform at Ealing Broadway.”

“What happened to those girls?” Socks said, as his train rolled in.

“Nothing much,” Harri-Bec said. “As it turned out, I had managed to do it to them as well.”

“To where?”

Epping,” Harri-Bec said, erupting into laughter.

Socks looked at the Tube map on the wall to understand why that was so funny.

“Oh my God,” Socks said, cracking a smile.

Harri-Bec laughed. “You know, I really thought they’d kill me for that, but I think they were so afraid of me from then on that they just left me alone. Just as well, too, because I don’t think I could pull that off again…”

They boarded the train, a Metropolitan line service, together.

“Ah, the lovely Metro line,” Harri-Bec said. “It’s the oldest Tube line, you know.”

“Is that right?” Socks said.

“Mhm, mhm,” Harri-Bec said. Socks had to admit, her enthusiasm was adorable. “So, after that, I started to realise I had a psychic connection with the network. I protect it, and it protects me.”

“Will it protect you from what’s coming?”

Harri-Bec sighed. “That is the million dollar question, isn’t it?”

“Million dollar? I thought you were a London girl.”

“Heathrow is on the Tube map,” Harri-Bec said, smiling. Her face became serious again. “In all truth, I don’t know. I want to help you all, but unless this Grey Man is operating out of London, I’m afraid I won’t be of much use.”

“Nonsense,” Socks said. “Everyone has a part to play in this fight, and that includes you.”

Harri-Bec smiled.

“Thank you, Socks,” she said. “You know…you’re much nicer than K-Os.”

“I do try.”

“Oh, God, don’t let her know I said that.”

“She’s not so bad,” Socks said. “She’s just…very hard on the outside, but she’s got a sweet heart, I think.”

“Like a Smartie?”

Socks laughed. “Yeah, I suppose.”

Harri-Bec smiled.

“I hope things turn out okay, Socks.”

“I find that they always do in the end.”

The train rolled into Moorgate, and they were on their way.

*

K-Os’s flat was profoundly eerie. Dolly felt uncomfortable coming here, especially after what had transpired last week. The walls were white and the cupboards were bare. It was hard to believe that someone actually lived here. As far as she knew, K-Os had no need to eat, to use the toilet, or to sleep, and her asexuality was by now well-established. Dolly imagined she probably spent most nights sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for the sun to rise.

She sat in the sterile, barren kitchen. K-Os had no roommates – the flat was a self-contained apartment, which was unusual for a student. Presumably K-Os was doing some ontological manipulation. A clock on the wall ticked by.

K-Os entered the room.

“Hello,” she said.

“Where’s Chelsea?” Dolly asked.

“She’s busy,” K-Os replied. “And Harri-Bec is busy escorting Socks through the capital. It’s just you and me.”

“So it would seem. And the new girl?”

“She was…mostly uncooperative.”

“I see.”

“I understand you have information for me,” K-Os said.

“Yes,” Dolly said. She pulled out her camera again. “There’s something in this camera’s film pertaining to the Grey Man.”

“Are you referring to the photograph you showed me and Socks a few days ago?”

“No,” Dolly replied. “It’s an exposure from months ago.”

“What’s relevant about it?”

“Well, you see, the camera’s film acts as its memory. When I took those photos inside the Blossom World, the camera seemed to make a psychic connection. I believe it might be of interest to us.”

“Why did you take the picture in the first place?” K-Os asked.

Dolly was blindsided by the question.

“Well, I don’t know,” she said. “I…I just thought it looked nice…”

“No,” K-Os said. “You were impelled to do so.”

“…what?”

“Dolly, why do you think I enrolled myself at this university?”

“I wasn’t sure…I thought you might want access to some documents…”

“No,” K-Os said. “I never do things without a reason. The reason I enrolled here was…”

“…because of a spike in psychic activity in this area,” Dolly said. “Am I right?”

“Indeed,” K-Os replied. “Though for what reason, I’m not sure.”

Dolly waved her hand over the camera’s back and conjured a photograph. She slid it along the table.

The photograph depicted a river, and beyond it, what looked to be a small settlement on the riverside.

Situated to the image’s right was an old Victorian water tower; the very water tower she had seen while visiting Socks. The very water tower she had thought nothing of, other than that it had looked pretty.

The tower in which the Grey Man now resided.

The camera could not lie.

“Oh my God,” Dolly said. “He’s been right under our noses this whole time.”

“Apparently so,” K-Os said.

Both looked anxiously at the photograph.

Dolly looked up, realising something.

“That was why Fliss was here,” she said. “She knew he was hiding out here.”

She waved her hand over the back of the camera, retrieving another copy of the Grey Man’s psychic photograph. She looked at it, sadly, placing a hand against it.

“He may have sent her to kill me, but…some part of her was trying to lead me to him,” she said.

K-Os said nothing.

Dolly took a moment to collect herself.

“We need to plan,” she said.

“Of course,” K-Os said.

“And get in touch with everyone,” Dolly added. “For Fliss’s sake.”

*

They boarded an LNER train heading northbound to Stevenage at King’s Cross.

“You’re getting on the train with me?” Socks asked. “This is a direct service to Stevenage, you’ll lose your powers.”

“Don’t worry yourself with that,” Harri-Bec said. “I’ve got my ways.”

“If you say so,” Socks said. “Do you ever venture out of the capital?”

“From time to time,” Harri-Bec said. “But I don’t like to be away for too long. Somebody has to look after the system, after all.”

“It must be isolating, living alone in your flat.”

“Not at all! Millions of people use the Tube every day. You think I don’t talk to them? Old ladies, buskers, preachers, construction workers, office men in business suits. It’s nice. Some of them, I even talk to on a semi-regular basis.”

“Do any of them know about your abilities?”

“Of course not. They would never understand.”

The driver announced that the train was ready to depart, the train’s doors slid shut and locked firmly, and there was a slight jolt as it pulled away.

“Can I confide something in you?” Socks asked.

“Go for it.”

Socks paused. He swallowed. “I’m thinking of disclosing my abilities to my parents.”

“Ooh. K-Os won’t like that.”

“I already ran it by her. She wasn’t in love with the idea.”

“Understandably. That’s a toughie.”

“Do your parents know about your abilities?” Socks asked.

“They know I have a flat in Bayswater, and that’s about it. I’m sure eventually I’ll have to come clean.”

“I’m just worried, with this war coming,” Socks said. I don’t want to leave them in the dark. If something happened to me…I don’t want my last thought to be that they won’t ever know the truth.”

“I’m not going to stop you,” Harri-Bec replied. “Just keep it quiet from K-Os.”

The train zoomed along the tracks, past stations and buildings.

“Harri,” Socks said. “Are you afraid?”

“Afraid of what?”

“The Grey Man.”

“We can handle him,” Harri-Bec said.

“If we can even find him,” Socks added.

“I’m sure we will. And when we do, we’ll give him a seeing-to and send him on his way.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“These guys are all ego, Socks,” Harri-Bec said. They want to showboat and puff their chests out, that’s all. We’ll defeat them, I believe that with all my heart.”

“Last week, K-Os said she envied the human capacity for optimism,” Socks said.

“It’s what makes us human.”

Harri-Bec suddenly stood up from her seat.

“We’re just approaching the M25 boundary now, so you’re on your own from here on out. Take care of yourself, Socks.”

“Where are you going?” Socks asked.

“You’ll see,” she said.

On the wall, there was an advertisement from the English tourism board – depicting a pretty countryside village filled with cottages, a charming stone path, and, curiously, a bicycle seemingly standing up on its own on a path between them. Above them was a caption: “VISIT THE COTSWOLDS”.

Harri-Bec approached it, and, with impressive athleticism, hoisted herself up as though the advertisement were a window, physically entering it. She walked away from the “camera” and got on the bicycle. She turned and waved to Socks, and then rode the bike away, leaving the image once again as a static photograph.

The train continued on its journey. Socks had resolved to tell his parents of his exploits with K-Os, his abilities, to explain every lie. They had a right to know, after all.

Right?

*

Dolly inspected a map of the area, which she supposed was one of K-Os’s only possessions. She still hadn’t forgiven the rollerskater for what had happened with Fliss, of course. That she had been forced to kill Fliss was destroying her. But she also understood that Fliss had been corrupted by the man in that tower, and while K-Os had handed her over to him, it was he who had been her downfall. The time for spite was not now.

“There’s a bridge here,” she said. “We can cross it and go around into the village across the river.”

“No,” K-Os said. “He’ll be expecting that.”

“I don’t see what other options we have.”

“I suggest we cross the river in a boat.”

Dolly blinked. “A boat?”

“He won’t be expecting that. Plus, if he knows that we’re after him – and that is a real possibility – then he could well collapse the bridge, just as he arranged for the collapse of the Westway. The water is our safest and most direct bet.”

“But what if he tries to sink the boat?”

“I don’t think we have a choice, Dolly.”

Dolly sighed. “This is a suicide mission, you understand this, right? Any which way we look at it. If what you’re saying about his abilities is true – he could kill each of us with a single touch of his hand.”

“No,” K-Os said. “Like all umbric users, he is vulnerable to chaotic energy. And I think you’re forgetting: we have someone on our side who can break umbric with his left hand.”

“Well, we can’t exactly get Socks to punch him to death, can we?”

“No, but that alone should scare him.”

“Yes, which makes Socks his obvious first target.”

“Not necessarily. He is also aware of Socks’s ability to alter time. I think he will target each of us.”

“Single-handedly.”

“Yes. It does seem like the odds are stacked against us, but I believe we can defeat him.”

Dolly rested her head on her hand. “It just seems hopeless.”

“If there is one thing that surprises me about humans, time and time again,” K-Os said, “It is that you have a reckless, almost self-destructive optimism. You truly believe that you can achieve anything, even when it is obvious that you can’t. You have created machines that fly, machines that sing, machines that talk, and machines that keep people alive.

“That spark – that blind shout into the darkness, that demand not to die without a fight – that is what I fight to protect. As frustrating as you people are, organising yourselves into tribes to justify wars that justify your money that justifies your tribes. As stupid as you are…you see your finitude, your inherently ephemeral nature, and you still use it to struggle further and further towards the heights. Even in the face of inevitable oblivion. No, Dolly. Nothing is ever hopeless. Never.”

Dolly blinked a few times and smiled.

“You know, I still can’t forgive you for Fliss,” she said. “But let’s win this war. Together.”

“Thank you, Dolly,” K-Os said. “We’re going to win.”

*

Socks arrived at home a little after a quarter to one, suitcase still in hand. He knocked at the door and it opened almost immediately. His mother stood in the doorway.

“Hello, Stephen,” she said, wrapping her arms around him.

“Hi, Mum,” Socks said.

“How was your journey, pickle?”

“Oh, you know, same as usual. No delays, luckily.”

His mother smiled warmly.

“It’s so nice to see you all better, poppet.”

Socks entered the house. He went to the fridge for something to drink. Sitting on the top shelf, in a large glass bowl, was a few kilograms of meat, marinating in a spice mixture. He could smell it through the cling film, and knew immediately what it was.

“Curry duck?”

“Your favourite,” his mother said, smiling. “With Scotch bonnet peppers.”

“Buss up shut?” Socks asked, eagerly.

“Absolutely. And curry aloo, channa and pommecythere kuchela.”

“Wow,” Socks said. “You’re really rolling out the red carpet for me.”

“You’re a growing boy.”

“I’m twenty-one, Mum.”

“A boy has to eat,” his mother said. “Oh, Stephen. Seeing you so unwell in the hospital the other week really reminded me of how much I miss you when you’re away. I wanted to make you a special meal. I’d hate it if you felt I was smothering you. I just want you to be happy—”

“Mum, relax!” Socks said. “You’re not smothering me. It’s really wonderful.”

“I’m so happy you think so. Oh, your father is going to be really happy to see you when he gets back. He keeps asking me ‘Have you heard from Stephen lately?’ You know, you really should call more often.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. I can see you here in front of me,” his mother said. “So, what’s been going on? Any girlfriends?”

“No,” Socks said. “Well, yeah, I have a girl friend, but not—”

“Oh, that’s wonderful to hear! What’s her name? Is she pretty?”

“Er, well, she’s…” he paused to think. “She’s tall.”

“Really? Hmm…”

Mum!”

“Well, I always thought you’d go for someone shorter.”

“We’re not dating, Mum!” Socks exclaimed.

“You just said she’s your girlfriend.”

“I said she’s a girl friend.”

“Oh, I see. You’re ‘just friends’, is that it?”

“That is exactly it.”

“Me and your father were ‘just friends’ until we weren’t.”

“We’re not like you and Dad, Mum. Really, we’re just friends.”

“If you say so,” his mother said, smiling coyly.

Socks decided to retreat to his room with his bag in tow. The bedroom was mostly as he had left it. The Nintendo 64 he had owned as a young boy still sat proudly next to a frankly ancient Toshiba CRT, of the sort that used to be advertised by a rapping Ian Dury (his father had shown him the adverts).

He sat on his bed, the bed he had slept in every day from when he was eight years old to when he had left for university. The sheets were clean, fresh-washed, and the bed was made. He ran his hands along the cover, patterned with black and white concentric circles.

Circles like…

He sighed, recalling the experiences that had led him to that hospital visit. He remembered very little of what had happened to him while he was out. Only brief flashes came to him, in dreams and nightmares, and in patterns and shapes. The circles were eyes, he thought. Eyes he had seen before, but he could not for the life of him recall the face in which those eyes had resided.

I have to tell my parents, he thought. Next time I might not be so lucky.

*

His father returned home and they ate dinner together. His mother’s curry duck was, as always, delicious and, for Socks, nostalgic, as he had eaten it since he was very young. The same was true of her homemade buss up shut, a hybrid paratha-roti flatbread from her native Trinidad, so named because its ripped up, flaky appearance resembled that of a torn shirt.

For dessert, they had homemade cassava pone – a dense, chewy cake with a glutinous, starchy consistency and a caramelised outer edge (the edge pieces were always his favourite).

His mother always put on meals like this when she was happy to see her son. That wasn’t to say she wasn’t a good cook otherwise, of course – but when her boy came home, she was always ready to go the extra mile.

He had wanted to tell them at dinner, but the words simply got caught in his throat. His parents asked him how university was going and about the friends he had made. He hadn’t told them that he’d fallen out with Daisy, because they could never understand the reason why unless he told them the full story, and the full story eluded him. As always with these things, he had imagined the conversation in his head, but rarely is conversation so simple.

He once again retreated to his room after dinner to play Lylat Wars on the Nintendo 64, a game he had been obsessed with and beaten several times as a young boy. It was strange, being twenty-one and still feeling like a kid. He was in that odd, post-millennial transition phase, between adolescence and adulthood, where one has begun to take on financial responsibilities independent of their parents, yet one is also dependent on their parents to survive.

There came a knock at the door. He paused the game.

“Come in,” he said.

The door opened. It was his father, Joseph Oxford.

“Hello, Stephen,” he said. “It’s nice to see you.”

“Good to see you again too, Dad.”

“Mind if I come in?”

“Sure.”

His father entered the room and closed the wooden door behind him, and sat on the bed next to his son.

“Stephen,” he said. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, why?”

“At dinner you seemed a little bit…off. Just wanted to check up on you, make sure you’re alright. Not having any trouble at uni or anything.”

“No, no, it’s nothing, it’s just…it’s the first time I’m seeing you since I got injured.”

“We still don’t know how that happened, do we?” his father said.

“No,” Socks said, in a very small voice, ashamed. He wanted to say it now, get it over with, but the words wouldn’t come.

His father sighed a little bit.

“I’m worried about you, son,” he said. “So is your mother, but she’s been trying to avoid making you feel uncomfortable. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want. I’m just saying – you can always talk to us.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Socks said.

“You’re my son,” his father said. “I love you very much. I hope you know that. I’ve always wanted the best for you. You deserve it.”

Socks looked down at his feet.

“I want to tell you a story,” his father said.

“What’s that, Dad?”

His father smiled. “It’s about when me and your mother met, in the Eighties. I’m sure you’ve heard us tell the story several times.”

“You were in a car accident and she was the young nurse that looked after you while you were recovering. Right?”

“Yes,” his father said, hesitantly. “But we’ve not really told you the full story.”

“What do you mean?”

His father inhaled deeply. “Well…me and your mother are of a certain generation, you see, and so are your grandparents. Now, I’m not going to sit here and pretend that things were as bad in the Nineties as they were in the Sixties and the Seventies, because I remember that. But…yeah. Me and your mother faced a bit of discrimination when we got together.”

“Because Mum’s black, and you’re white?”

“Yeah,” his father said, a little uncertainly. “It seems crazy to think now, but your Nan and Grandad just about hit the roof when I brought a black girl home. Of course, once they got to know her, they eventually got over it, but for a while, well…I was a bit of a pariah.”

Socks looked down at his feet again. “You never told me that.”

“I’m not telling you this story to make you feel guilty, Stephen. But it was hard. A lot of older members of my family held very racist views. To the point that I haven’t spoken to them in about twenty years, if they’re even still alive. And it sounds silly, but with all that family squabbling going on…neither of us were sure we wanted to have a baby.”

“So,” Socks said. “You waited.”

“Yes,” his father said, distantly. “Your Nan and Grandad eventually came to like her, and they realised how stupid they had been. They apologised, even. They still say unkind things without thinking sometimes. But some of your great aunts and great uncles still want nothing to do with me, even now. It’s why you’ve never met a lot of them.”

“Jesus, Dad,” Socks said. “I never knew.”

“I suppose I wanted to tell you that story,” his father said, thoughtfully, “Because I want you to know that you’re a special, wonderful lad. We went through a lot to bring you into this world, and let me tell you, son, raising a kid is hard work. But you’ve turned out as a really great lad. You’re smart, you’re handsome and you’re kind. And I want you to know that if there is anything – anything in the world – that is worrying you, then you can tell me or your mother, and we’ll never judge you for it. That’s a promise.”

Socks nodded. “Thanks, Dad.”

“That’s okay, son. Are you alright, though?”

“Yeah. I’ve just got a lot of deadlines.”

His father sniffed and nodded.

“Alright, son,” he said. “I’ll let you get back to your game. I can’t believe you still play this old thing.”

“It was my favourite game growing up.”

“I still remember when you got to that final boss, and you were so scared you turned the console off and started crying.”

“Well, I was six years old,” Socks said.

His father laughed, and put a hand on his shoulder. “I love you, son.”

“I love you too, Dad,” Socks said.

His father stood up and left.

Socks sat and contemplated for a few moments. Knowing the troubles his parents had been through to bring him into this world made what he had to face almost too much to bear. If they knew what he was facing, if he let them believe he was walking to his premature death, that would destroy them.

Eventually, he decided not to tell them.

*

Phone calls were made and messages were sent, each carrying the same through-line: “Get ready.”

Across the world, the message was carried over cellular networks and cables and fibre-optics: “Stop the umbric users, before it is too late.”

They had already decided that it was too risky to have everyone on the side of K-Os confront the Grey Man. That assault would involve only a few people. Therefore, those with chaotic powers around the world were told to confront the umbric users in their localities, and to be on their guard in the lead-up. The messages were ontologically manipulated such that they would go unnoticed by the majority of umbric users.

It was late when K-Os made the call to Socks.

“Hello?” Socks said.

“Socks,” K-Os said. “It’s K-Os. We need you back urgently.”

“What’s going on?”

“We’ve found the Grey Man.”

“This soon?”

“Yes. We’re getting ready for the final assault. We need you back right away.”

Socks did not say anything for a few seconds.

“Socks?”

“Alright,” he said. “When’s the attack?”

“Tomorrow evening.”

“Jesus Christ, K-Os…”

“We have to strike while the iron is hot, Socks.”

“Okay,” Socks said. “Give me some time.”

“Of course.”

She hung up.

“Socks is in,” she said.

“Good,” Dolly said. “We’ll need him.”

“Get ready for the fight of your life,” K-Os said.

“I already am,” Dolly said. “That bastard is going to pay.”

“Get some rest,” K-Os said. “Would you like to sleep here?”

“Of course, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t use my bed.”

Dolly thought: I knew it!

“Then I will. Although, I haven’t brought any pyjamas.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have any.”

“Then I shall sleep nude.”

“If that is most comfortable.”

Dolly smiled. “That’s what I like about you, K-Os. You’re not a prude.”

K-Os did not seem to understand, so Dolly simply stood and went into K-Os’s bedroom. She undressed herself and climbed into the bed, and fell into a restless, uneasy sleep, marked by hallucinatory visions of what was to come tomorrow.

*

Socks woke up the following morning. He got in the shower, washed and dressed himself, then came downstairs and poured himself a bowl of cereal.

His mother entered the kitchen.

“Good morning, Stephen,” she said. “Any plans today?”

Socks ate a spoonful of the cereal. “Yeah, actually,” he said. “I’ve, er, got to go back to university today. I’ve got something to attend to.”

“Really? So soon?”

“I had wanted to stay for a couple of days, but something came up.”

His mother smiled slightly as she switched the kettle on.

“Well, I’m sure it’s important, whatever it is.”

“It is,” Socks said. “It…really is.”

“Well, don’t forget to call us and tell us how you’re getting on.”

“I won’t, Mum. I promise.”

“Your father and I really do love you a lot, Stephen.”

“I know, Mum.”

She stepped over, ran her fingers through his hair, and kissed his cheek.

Then she leaned into his ear, and she said: “Whatever it is you’re up to, whatever it is you can’t tell me and your father, know that we support you one hundred per cent, and all we want is for you to come home in one piece. That’s all we ever ask from you, Stephen Oxford.”

And she disappeared upstairs to get the washing.

Socks finished his breakfast in silence.

*

He boarded the train back to university a little after ten a.m., and rode the train back down to London Kings Cross.

The toilet door opened behind him, and its occupant got up and came and sat next to him.

“You’re travelling back soon,” she said.

“K-Os called me last night.”

“Me too,” Harri-Bec said. “This is serious.”

“I’m ready for him,” Socks said. “I’ve been telling them all that, every umbric user we’ve come up against. I’m ready for him and whatever he throws my way.”

Harri-Bec nodded.

“I have already made contingency plans,” she said. “London will not fall, no matter what happens.”

Socks looked out of the window at the passing scenery.

“A lot has changed in these last few months,” he said. “All because I decided to ask K-Os to a party…if that hadn’t happened…if I had just minded my business…then maybe I wouldn’t be caught up in this…as oblivious as the rest of humanity.”

“Things happen for a reason,” Harri-Bec said. “I really believe that.”

“Even in a world like this?”

“Yes. And I believe that whatever happens over the next few days, we will ultimately survive.”

“I hope so.”

“Hope is all we have,” Harri-Bec said.

*

Socks returned home – he got lunch on the way back, parting ways with Harri-Bec at Liverpool Street. He took another shower, changed clothes and cooked himself a simple dinner of pasta and jarred bolognese sauce. He ate it from a bowl while looking from his kitchen window, down at the courtyard below. A wagtail flew over to the window ledge and looked at him.

It seemed to stare intently at him. He felt slightly unnerved by it. The bird quickly flew away, and he promptly forgot it had even been there.

He sat in the kitchen as the sun went down, waiting for the phone to ring. He thought about calling his parents one last time, but decided against it. He didn’t want them to worry. The final confrontation was close at hand. He had to focus on the mission.

When the phone did ring, he picked it up eagerly.

“Hi, Socks,” said a voice on the other end of the line. “We need you to come to the village. By foot.”

“Understood,” Socks said. “Where will you be waiting?”

“On the path. You’ll see us.”

“Okay. What are we doing?”

“Crossing the river. He’s hiding in the old water tower.”

He had already put his shoes on – those same crap Reeboks he had been wearing since December. He carried nothing with him, nothing but his phone. He went to the lift and took it down, and exited his building, crossing the bridge by his accommodation block to the other side of the river, and then to the path by the river, stretching on into the distance.

He walked, and remembered the events that had brought him to this point. That cold night in December, when he had invited K-Os to the party, out of his own selfish curiosity about her, and the shadow-man who had attacked them. The January evening when he had been attacked by the false K-Os, and the awakening of his abilities. The spring afternoon that he and Dolores Mykhailuk had fought the Man in Black, and he had learned the true nature of umbric. The evening that he and K-Os had agreed to join forces – and the evening they had let their guard down, even for a moment, only to end up almost destroyed by The Light Havoc. His falling-out with Daisy after the awakening of her own abilities. And recently, the motorcyclist, the Telecom Tower, Harri-Bec, Dolly’s former lover, and now, before him: The man behind it all – the Grey Man, Chesterton, the man in the shadows, who had plotted everything from the start. As he walked the dirt path in the dark, he knew that his fate, whatever that may be, awaited him now. There was nowhere to run and nothing to be done. He must only continue forwards.

After forty minutes or so of walking, he saw, in the dark, a pair of figures standing by the railings.

“Socks,” one of them said. “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Socks said, his eyes adjusting to see K-Os and Dolly. “Is this all of us?”

“Yes,” K-Os said. “Everyone else is on standby. Wars are not won by sheer numbers, Socks. They are won by small, effective strikes.”

“I hope you’re right,” Socks said.

“It’s no use thinking about that now,” Dolly said. “We’ve got a mission. Come on.”

There were a set of stone steps next to a padlocked gate, leading down to the river. A small rowboat sat on the water below. K-Os opened the lock by fashioning her finger into a lock-pick, and they went down the steps and climbed into the boat.

K-Os took the oars, and began to row.

Up ahead, in the dark, the old water tower loomed from across the river, a black obelisk against the bluish night sky. Up above, the full moon shone in the clear sky.

The air was quiet and still.

Destiny lay before them.

But what it was, they couldn’t say.


Another time, another place…


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ARC ONE: UMBRIC SPRING
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