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1
It was Sunday 7th October, 1984. The day he lost her. The day time lost its meaning. The day the premonitions began. The station clock was approaching 6:52pm as Howard Robinson climbed the last few steps onto platform twelve of Manchester's Victoria railway station and looked around, as though he had reached the top of Mount Everest but was too tired to appreciate the view. The platform was almost deserted and the few people who stood scattered along its length were motionless, their grey forms blending naturally with the dull twilight hue that enveloped the city. As evening fell, the overcast sky merged with the descending darkness and the temperature, which had dropped steadily with the approaching sunset, now hovered just above freezing. Already, a sombre mist was beginning to develop above the railway tracks and steal across the platform, biting subtly at the ankles of the waiting passengers. Instinctively, they began to pace up and down in a feeble attempt to generate warmth. Apart from the background hum of city traffic, all was quiet. With cautious steps that betrayed both fatigue and unease, Howard walked slowly over to the nearest timetable and checked the departure time of the next train to Darwen. He knew the train was due imminently but the timetable offered confirmation and this was somehow comforting. The board was smeared with a dark stain and had recently been attacked by vandals. Behind him, a solitary lamp, caked in grime and soot from the city air, offered little light as he struggled to read the information. After a moment, he moved round the timetable board and began to read the posters plastered on the side of the waiting room which stood at the centre of the platform. A sudden, ice cold draught distracted him and, pulling his collar tightly together, he turned away from the poster board to shelter himself. To his right, the warm waiting room beckoned but, like everyone else on the platform, he ignored it. Something was wrong. Howard put the waiting room and timetable behind him and began to walk to the deserted, eastern end of the platform. Repeatedly, he checked behind him to make sure he was not being followed though he still did not know why. There was no one there but as he once more turned to face the direction in which he was walking, the sensation returned with an even greater force and he found that he could not ignore it. It was only through sheer willpower that he prevented himself from rotating in tight paranoid circles in a futile attempt to catch sight of this unseen presence. And though he knew it to be the product of an overactive imagination, the hallucination seemed so real that his head began to spin and beads of cold sweat formed on his brow. But this inexplicable hysteria was not his major concern. He also slowly began to realise that the anxiety he was trying so hard to push to the back of his mind was fighting for release and he would not be able to contain it much longer. Something was wrong with Melissa. The words seemed to etch themselves on his conscience. He walked over to another nearby timetable and attempted to read but it was no use. His concentration on the mundane had been a futile effort at avoiding something he knew he must face eventually. Slowly, his stomach started to turn over and his heart began to beat more rapidly. He felt the onset of nausea rising within him and fought to contain it. On an impulse, uninvited, he turned again. Behind him, nothing had changed. The same cold, grey statues littered the length of the platform. Only a momentary shiver, or the condensation of their exhaling breath, distinguished them from lifeless waxwork models. As he scanned the concrete island on which he was standing, only one thing was different: already the fog had grown noticeably thicker and, through this climbing, billowing cloud, that spread like a cancer all around him, he could no longer see the other end of the platform. Something was wrong. Something was wrong with Melissa. They were two different sensations attacking him from opposite directions yet he knew instinctively they were connected in some way. The sensation of being followed seemed to emanate from all around him while the echoes of Melissa materialised from somewhere within. But the facts refuted both. Melissa was in Alderley Edge where he had left her and he knew he was only being shadowed by the creation of his own mind. Eyeing the other passengers suspiciously he listened to the rhythm of the city, sensing each dull pulsation as it rippled through his body. Sweeping the air, he could feel the clammy fingers of mist brushing against his hand. He could detect the odours of accumulating traffic fumes and taste the blended flavours of numerous nearby restaurants. Each of his senses told him that everything was as it should be. Finally he gave in to reason and continued his short journey. At the end of the platform he found himself totally alone. He stared blankly down the tracks, his eyes carefully following them to the point, fifty yards further on, where they disappeared into the thickening blanket of fog. But it was no use. He was being watched.
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2 This
park is dedicated to those who have come to this city
seeking refuge. May all who pass through these gates find
solace, comfort and tranquillity in its pastures. Sarjena West pushed the creaking pram through the large, ornate gates of Washington Park. Even after three years exposure to the elements they had weathered well and looked new as the day they were erected. But today she did not notice. She was still listening to the words of the freeholder's agent reverberating inside her head. How on earth could she afford to pay the rent arrears? And in only one week! She did not have anything like that amount of money. Even worse, she did not know of anyone who did. No one who would lend it to her at any rate. She had learned the hard way that the true cost of friendship was to retain certain characteristics: a socially outgoing personality, a home in a posh neighbourhood, a stable relationship, financial security and career prospects - and only a smattering of a range of problems considered to be trendy, demonstrating that she was only human and far from perfect. How could she have ended up in this situation? Two years ago almost to the day she was with Mick, living a comfortable and happy existence with almost no concept of hardship between them. They had bought a new apartment only three blocks from the park. She had a good job with a promising career and Mick had just qualified as a lawyer and was beginning to earn some real money. Any problems which she had claimed to have then were so insignificant she could not even remember them. But then she became pregnant and he had left. And she had not seen it coming… Now, while she struggled to make a living, the bills continued to pour in and the debts became higher and higher, until she had not only become blacklisted by every credit agency in the city, but they also refused her application for medical insurance on the grounds that she would not be able to keep up with the payments. The bank manager had been sympathetic but unhelpful and the net result of her visit was that she was now down the cost of the bus fare. Life was a lottery. Perhaps if she had gone through with an abortion, or started up her own business that little bit earlier, or turned left instead of right… But it was too late for such reflections now. She could no longer wait. She needed the money within the week or they would be out on the streets, a helpless mother and her helpless baby. Poor Bobbi. Not yet ten months old and already she was battling for a life with a mother who was so useless she could not even support her own child as far as its first birthday. Sarjena stared beseechingly into the pram as if hoping to find some solution in those innocent eyes. Bobbi smiled back at her and as her lips grinned even wider, she closed her eyes as if in ecstasy. Then, she screwed up her face in that funny little expression she had made her own and let out a long, drawn, happy sigh just for mummy. It was a beautifully clear afternoon and the park looked all the better for it. The sun was high and beat down with an unusual ferocity. Even though it was late spring, the hot weather did not usually arrive until a couple of months later, when everyone had planned to take their summer breaks. That this sudden heat wave had caught everyone by surprise was obvious since the park, which would normally have been full in such fine weather, was quite empty. Sarjena found that she had the whole place virtually to herself and could wander around at liberty without interruption from stray Frisbees or uncontrolled dogs. Through the thin soles of her shoes she could feel the heat begin to nibble at her feet as it conducted from the sun-baked tarmac path. Within minutes the sensation had become mildly unpleasant and she turned off the path and pushed the pram up a small, grassy bank onto a large, clean cut lawn. Bobbi appeared to enjoy the sudden change in direction. Through the springs of her dilapidated pram she could feel the vibration of the slightly rougher terrain and giggled playfully through the entire manoeuvre as if on some kind of amusement park ride. To add to the effect Sarjena made infantile brum-brum noises and laughed openly in response to the delight on Bobbi's face, occasionally reaching into the pram to tickle her under the chin. Once on the lawn, Sarjena abruptly slowed down and became quiet again. Bending carefully over, she pulled back the crocheted blanket and kissed the child softly on the cheek. Poor Bobbi. Always so happy. Always so innocent. "You know, Bobbi? I had always thought my life would mean something. Until today I had always believed that somebody, somewhere would be thinking about me. But it isn't true, is it? There are seven billion people on this planet yet only a few of them will have lives that really matter. The rest of us just make up the crowd scene and our existence is only registered by computers. I never wanted that for us. I don't want that for you - not a life of survival with no meaning. But I don't know what to do about it." She sighed and an unwelcome thought entered her head. Once a refugee, always a refugee. Dammit! There had to be a way. With one last push, powered by anger and helpless frustration, the pram reached the brow of the small hill and stopped. For a moment it seemed as if it would roll back down and Sarjena held out her arms in anticipation. But the pram remained motionless, waiting for its owner to apply the thrust that would send it careering down the other side of the hill. Any normal pram would have rolled back down, she thought, but this one was so rusty the wheels had practically seized up. Seconds later, Sarjena joined Bobbi on the hilltop, removed the child from the pram and sat down in the grass. For a moment, she allowed herself to sprawl amongst the cool, green blades, panting slowly, eyes closed, trying to get her breath back. So unfit, she concluded. This was not the right sort of weather for racing round the park with a pram. As her breathing gradually slowed to a more relaxed level, and her heartbeat gave up the attempt to jump out of her chest and became quiet once more, she became aware that her throat was parched. Abruptly, she sat up and reached into the back of the pram with her left arm, using her right one to support herself in a sitting position. Opening her eyes to survey the scene ahead, at first everything appeared in black and white and it was several seconds before any colour began to seep back into her vision. Without looking, she had reached into the pram and removed a small carton of fruit juice, her eyes fixed solely on the view to the south. Next to her, Bobbi sat silently in the grass, gazing in the same direction with idle curiosity, not really understanding anything she saw. To her right, on the next hill, the brass band of the Army of God were lethargically packing away their instruments. They weren't very good but they made up for it with sheer enthusiasm. Sarjena had heard them play the week before and was disappointed to have missed them this time. Afterwards, more to have someone to talk to than anything else, she had struck up a conversation with some of the band members. The band played devotedly at the old, wooden bandstand every Thursday but no one came to listen to them any more and they invariably played to an absent audience. Sarjena found in their persistence a source of strength for herself but with it a sense of frustration at the stupidity that they were equally happy to play to no one as to hundreds. They were playing for God, they had said, and if He was displeased then He was more than welcome to strike the bandstand with a thunderbolt and raze it to the ground. There were those, she was sure, who prayed for just that to happen but the old bandstand still stood defiantly on the small hilltop. Sarjena
returned her attention to more local matters and
carefully wiped away some dribble from Bobbi's face.
Below them, the grassy knoll moved off with a gentle
gradient, slightly less steep than the northern rise they
had just ascended. Some fifty metres further on, carved
out of an otherwise perfectly rounded hillside was a
small, circular lake, approximately thirty metres in
diameter. Usually the lake would appear to be a dirty
grey colour; there was no fresh source flowing in from
any direction and the lake relied on natural drainage,
evaporation and rainfall to maintain its volume. Today
the water was midnight blue, the combination of its usual
murkiness and the reflection of the clear azure sky
providing an unusually pleasant and relaxing colour. Beyond the lake the grassy descent continued for a further fifty metres, after which a large oak tree marked the beginning of several acres of woodland. Above the treetops, in the distance, rose the city skyline, a gigantic mass of characterless grey blocks, hazy in the afternoon heat. Scattered liberally across the conurbation were half a dozen or so star-like flares where the sun had caught open windows and made her, alone, the focal point of its reflected rays. For several minutes she watched the scene, diligently monitoring the flares as they slowly dimmed and became extinguished, only to be replaced by an equal number, randomly appearing in other parts of the city. As the sun traced its weary path over the urban landscape, the lights would dim and flare, each pattern uniquely defining the time of day, never again to be repeated. At the heart of the city the buildings grew taller, towering over the urban sprawl. That was where it all happened, she thought. The whole city controlled from that central square mile, the processor at the core of a giant concrete mainframe. And yet, ironically, the heart of the city was the only place that you could get away from the city. To escape the clutches of the city she, and millions like her, would have to travel at least twenty miles, either to the mountains in the north or the grasslands to the south. But there in the centre, they only had to climb a thousand feet and they were free. There, they could control the city but not be part of it. In a matter of seconds they were able to rise above the concrete, steel and glass and from their huge, luxurious penthouse suites they could watch over their kingdom with nonchalance, and mingle with the stars. On the east side of the city centre stood the First National Bank, its steel and tinted glass structure glistening pink in the afternoon sunshine. "Just think, Bobbi. All that money, and we only need the tiniest fraction of it." Her daughter sighed and glanced up at mummy with an expression of perplexity. Then she returned to the horizon as if seeking her answer there, her gaze fixed firmly on the New Century Tower at the very heart of the conurbation. If the city centre dominated the skyline, the New Century Tower dominated the city centre. Standing thirteen hundred and forty feet high, its ninety nine storeys had housed the American government's economic, social and foreign advisors from the summer of 2015 AD when it was completed. For a while, the New Century Tower had not only been the central core of the city but that of the entire nation. However, since the government's return to the newly built premises near Washington DC two years later, the Tower had housed only the peripheral government departments and had lost much of its former importance. Nevertheless, the building itself remained strikingly beautiful and continued to overshadow the city panorama. Sarjena turned her attention to Bobbi. "Come on," she said. "You're going to overheat if you stay out in this sun much longer. Too much of a good thing is bad for you, you know." Wearily, she struggled to her feet and lifted Bobbi back into the pram. "I'll take you once round the lake and then we'll go home and get some tea." Before setting off, Sarjena surveyed the scene ahead, mentally planning the route she would be taking. With a brief start she saw that the man who had been on the other side of the lake was no longer there. In fact, he was nowhere in sight. "Now I wonder where he's got to," she mumbled, half to Bobbi, half to herself. Quickly she scanned the hillside and the borderline of the wood ahead but nobody was around. On the next hill the Army of God band had departed. She was alone again. "Oh
well. Some people must be able to walk faster than I
thought," she said and gave the pram a preliminary
push to loosen up the wheels. What had happened? All she had done was push the pram. The pram! Bobbi! What had happened to her baby? With excruciating spasms of pain, she managed to lift her head above the blades of grass. The extreme effort brought her whole forehead out in beads of sweat and obscured her vision. Yet through the blur of her tear-stained eyes she could identify the unmistakeable blue of the pram hood several metres ahead, as it glided inevitably towards the lake. Bobbi! No! Bobbi! She tried to scream but the words only echoed around her skull and no sound passed from her lips. For what seemed like an eternity the blue shape ahead continued rolling and rolling towards the deeper blue mass of the lake at the bottom of the knoll. There was nothing she could do. She was helpless. As the pram finally reached the lake's edge and the two blues converged in a whirlpool of sweat and tears, the sound of splashing reverberated around her head, amplified so that she felt as if she were drowning under a huge waterfall of boiling water. Silently, she screamed and screamed and slowly allowed her head to fall back into the grass and her eyes to close. They did not open again. |