You've forgotten what I told you, haven't you? What did you tell me, he asks. When did you tell me? When we first met, she says, bringing her face next to his, her mouth close to his. He can smell her breath. Do you remember what I told you? No, he says, his throat going dry. She smiles, her mouth opening slowly. It's all a game. Just a game.
Chapter 19
'The true man wants two things: danger and play. For that reason he wants woman, as the most dangerous plaything.' - Nietzsche
Press play.
Michael breathes. Standing still. An empty glass-wrapped ballroom. On a pier, the sound of the waves gently lapping against the woodwork of the boards below. A light rain falling against the glass, a seagull passing, its head momentarily turning to look in at him, wheeling away into space. An empty dance floor, chairs against the walls, lace curtains, iron fittings and supports, a single sheet of music on the ground, arching Victorian struts, a solitary, discarded rose on a bare floorboard. Where am I? Brighton's West Pier, a voice answers in the distance, its notes echoing through the air around him, stacatto staggered as each phoneme slips through a time-crack. That's a nice trick, he says. Taking in the room he sees there's no-one around. Another seagull passes overhead, spinning around, landing on the gallery outside, peering in, it moves from one foot to the other, its black, unblinking eyes staring at him through the tinted glass. He nods at it. It nods back.
Michael walks across the room, the sound of his boots echoing on the floor beneath him. When am I? 1894. August 17th. 2 a.m., the voice replies, getting closer. The echo of a couple laughing, bouncing around the room, slips past him and falls away. A child crying. A mother consoling it. A grief-stricken man, sobbing quietly. The sound of lovers, their hands working on their skin, washes through a wave below. Michael walks to the window and stares out, looking east. He can see the lights of the shore, reflecting back into the water, the lines of the pier sluicing through the black slosh beneath, the white dandruff of the surf breaking on the stone rocks on the beach. He sees a man walking the promenade. Alone. Looking directly east, the Palace pier glares in the darkness, looming, threatening him. A flash. Fire. Flames. Screaming. A snatch of light from another time. Fading away into cascading echoes, the scene blurs to nothing and he returns to where he is, standing in the middle of the ballroom. Empty and alone.
I'm glad you made it, she says, her voice coming from above, from behind, from below. He spins around, looking for her. She's nowhere to be seen. Her laugh echoes off the walls. She's everywhere to be heard. A hand touches his shoulder. He turns slowly, expecting her to vanish at any moment. Distantly, echoing, shimmering in time, a piece of music begins to play. A melody he recognises but cannot name. Hello, he says. Hello, she says. They stand for a time, looking at one and other. Is this real, he asks her. She laughs, placing her arm around his shoulder, pulling herself closer. Gently, slowly, in small circles, holding onto one and other, they begin to dance, rocking to the echoing music. I don't know, she replies, a shrug of the shoulders. I don't think this is real, he tells her. You're hair is different, he points out. It's red. She places her head on his shoulder, her hand moving up his back. Why not, she asks. Because you're being nice to me. She giggles a little. Good point, she says. Also, I've been drinking absinthe. With a founding father father of the American state. Oh yeah, she says, which one? Thomas Paine, he tells her, his hands moving around her, sensing her relaxing into him. No, which absinthe, she asks. Oh, I don't know, he says laughing at himself. He can feel her nuzzling into him. Calming. The rage slipping away from her. Hands to yourself, she says. I hear ya, he replies. There was a notebook, he begins, did you send me a message? Yes, she tells him. And you passed out before you could answer properly. Next time, try to write back. I will he says, noding his head. I also got your other message, he tells her. The one you left in Cardenio. In the notebook. She says nothing.
Time passed. No time passed. How long have we been here? I don't know, she says, her head coming up off his shoulder, her mouth by his ear. He feels her breath on his neck, his heart-rate quickening. But I do know something you don't know, she says. What's that? She holds him closer again, her skin pressing against his. I know why you are lost. I know why you can't find your jump to where you were supposed to go. I know why you can't figure out the pattern. What pattern, he asks in bafflement. The pattern of how you are moving through time. It's not random Michael. It's not arbitrary. I know it seems arbitrary, but it isn't. He looks down at her, her eyes, her mouth, her nose, the pores on her skin, the smell of her overwhelming him. He tries to calm himself, to stop himself from kissing her. You've forgotten what I told you, haven't you? What did you tell me, he asks. When did you tell me? When we first met, she says, bringing her face next to his, her mouth close to his. He smells the scent of her breath. Do you remember what I told you? No, he says, his throat going dry. She smiles, her mouth opening slowly. It's all a game. Just a game.
I don't understand, he tells her. She smiles again, resting her cheek against his.Time to get up off the floor Michael. Time to take control. Time to write your story. I don't understand, he tells her again. You will in time. You will. Now, would you like to know how to get home? How to find the story? Yes, I wou...
Michael jolted awake.
'Fuck' he said, a notebook falling to the floor from his hand.
'What?' said Gabriel's voice from behind. Slowly, agonisingly, Michael turned to see Gabriel and Victoria sitting on a bed behind him, both looking suitably smug and amused. The room spun. He groaned miserably.
'I had a weird dream...' he said feebly, 'Claudia. It was Claudia. She was trying to tell me something...'
'Oh yeah?' Victoria asked, with what sounded like a laugh. 'What did she say?'
'That she knows why we're lost and why we can't figure it out. Something she kept saying - that it's all just a game. I think I'm gonna puke.'
Gabriel said nothing but simply looked at Michael for a time. Eventually Victoria spoke.
'You have any idea what that means?'
'Nope' said Michael, wincing in pain. His skull felt like it had been used as a toilet.
'Well, let's get going' Gabriel said. 'This book isn't gonna find itself.'
'Hang on. Hang on. One more thing' Michael said, dragging himself to a seated position, 'I think I know how we make our next jump.'
'How?' Gabriel asked.
'With this' Michael said, holding up an empty absinthe bottle. 'This is the jump link.'
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