It contained two huge tanks and an elaborate
pumping system; the hydraulics that Paterson knew had to exist. A
metallic smell rose from the room and, as he watched, the tanks began to leak a
red liquid onto the floor of the secret room. Soon the room was full and it
began to spill over the lip onto the grass at Paterson’s feet. The body of one
of the cats floated in the liquid.
He sniffed
suspiciously, then bent to test some of the fluid with his fingers. He recoiled
at the smell. It was blood. Blood?! Paterson’s head reeled. The house
was alive but the girl was a machine – was that it? Was this bizarre reversal
Van Epps’ great secret? And what about the old man – was he just an old man? Or
another of Van Epps’ ‘toys’?
Paterson
looked quickly at the other subterranean space now opened to the revealing
daylight. In the back of his mind, he hoped Framehr had survived and that he’d
be able to reveal everything Paterson needed to know.
As soon as he
looked down into what had been the machine pit, Paterson knew he wouldn’t be
getting any answers.
But there, in
the midst of of the tangled flesh and torn machinery, an eye of deep green
stared out at him from a perfect, pale face. It must have been the way the
light from the setting sun caught it, or maybe he’d got a speck of rust in his
own eye, because it couldn’t have winked at him.
CHANGE HERE
His legs refused to work as they should as he hammered his feet down onto
the stone steps. “C’mon, c’mon,” he muttered, a mantra of encouragement to his
reluctant body.
The guard was
just about to close the doors and press the signal for off as Nick got to the
top of the steps. He caught the man’s eye and got a look of impatience as he
hobbled the last few yards.
Why the hell
did the last train have to go so early anyway? All he asked for was a few beers
with an old friend once a month or so, but obviously that was far too
inconvenient for the damn train company. 8.40! You’d swear I was 10 years old,
he thought bitterly.
God, he’d be
glad to get home! What a day – one more deadline and his head would explode.
And he was sure that last week’s announcement about re-structure meant he’d
soon have a desk in the car park!
He pulled out
his newspaper and a small sheaf of ‘sticky’ notes fell onto the floor. Messages
from home left on his desk by his witless colleague, Steve, who delighted in
his being kept on a short leash by his wife.
He flicked
through them and sighed. Most of them concerned his daughter’s ‘operation’
tomorrow. As if he could forget what a mess the little idiot had got herself
into!
He glanced
about him. The train was empty. He was the only passenger. Good, he thought. No
noisy teenagers and idiots having loud phone conversations about nothing at
all. He shook open his newspaper and began to read.
The train
pulled out, heading off into the night as darkness had begun to gather. He tried
to concentrate on the words in front of him but his mind wouldn’t let him rest;
debts, his co-workers sneering about his son’s supposed addiction problem, his
wife’s recent coldness for no apparent reason, all jostled for attention.
After about
20 minutes of chewing his nails, Nick had finally become absorbed in some story
or other. Then he caught the guard’s announcement. “… Taff’s Well, Pontypridd,
Abercynon West …”
“What? There is no Abercynon West,” he thought. The voice continued “… Atlantis Central.”
Either the
guard was drunk, or some joker had fiddled the lock and commandeered the
intercom. “Next stop Narnia,” he snorted to himself, returning to his paper.
When next he
looked up he was still alone. Nobody had even got on at Ponty, which was usually
busy.
Suddenly the
carriage was plunged into darkness as they entered a tunnel. The lights
flickered on, then off again, on, off. Nick gave up trying to read his paper in
frustration. He didn’t remember a tunnel, certainly not one
pumping system; the hydraulics that Paterson knew had to exist. A
metallic smell rose from the room and, as he watched, the tanks began to leak a
red liquid onto the floor of the secret room. Soon the room was full and it
began to spill over the lip onto the grass at Paterson’s feet. The body of one
of the cats floated in the liquid.
He sniffed
suspiciously, then bent to test some of the fluid with his fingers. He recoiled
at the smell. It was blood. Blood?! Paterson’s head reeled. The house
was alive but the girl was a machine – was that it? Was this bizarre reversal
Van Epps’ great secret? And what about the old man – was he just an old man? Or
another of Van Epps’ ‘toys’?
Paterson
looked quickly at the other subterranean space now opened to the revealing
daylight. In the back of his mind, he hoped Framehr had survived and that he’d
be able to reveal everything Paterson needed to know.
As soon as he
looked down into what had been the machine pit, Paterson knew he wouldn’t be
getting any answers.
But there, in
the midst of of the tangled flesh and torn machinery, an eye of deep green
stared out at him from a perfect, pale face. It must have been the way the
light from the setting sun caught it, or maybe he’d got a speck of rust in his
own eye, because it couldn’t have winked at him.
CHANGE HERE
His legs refused to work as they should as he hammered his feet down onto
the stone steps. “C’mon, c’mon,” he muttered, a mantra of encouragement to his
reluctant body.
The guard was
just about to close the doors and press the signal for off as Nick got to the
top of the steps. He caught the man’s eye and got a look of impatience as he
hobbled the last few yards.
Why the hell
did the last train have to go so early anyway? All he asked for was a few beers
with an old friend once a month or so, but obviously that was far too
inconvenient for the damn train company. 8.40! You’d swear I was 10 years old,
he thought bitterly.
God, he’d be
glad to get home! What a day – one more deadline and his head would explode.
And he was sure that last week’s announcement about re-structure meant he’d
soon have a desk in the car park!
He pulled out
his newspaper and a small sheaf of ‘sticky’ notes fell onto the floor. Messages
from home left on his desk by his witless colleague, Steve, who delighted in
his being kept on a short leash by his wife.
He flicked
through them and sighed. Most of them concerned his daughter’s ‘operation’
tomorrow. As if he could forget what a mess the little idiot had got herself
into!
He glanced
about him. The train was empty. He was the only passenger. Good, he thought. No
noisy teenagers and idiots having loud phone conversations about nothing at
all. He shook open his newspaper and began to read.
The train
pulled out, heading off into the night as darkness had begun to gather. He tried
to concentrate on the words in front of him but his mind wouldn’t let him rest;
debts, his co-workers sneering about his son’s supposed addiction problem, his
wife’s recent coldness for no apparent reason, all jostled for attention.
After about
20 minutes of chewing his nails, Nick had finally become absorbed in some story
or other. Then he caught the guard’s announcement. “… Taff’s Well, Pontypridd,
Abercynon West …”
“What? There is no Abercynon West,” he thought. The voice continued “… Atlantis Central.”
Either the
guard was drunk, or some joker had fiddled the lock and commandeered the
intercom. “Next stop Narnia,” he snorted to himself, returning to his paper.
When next he
looked up he was still alone. Nobody had even got on at Ponty, which was usually
busy.
Suddenly the
carriage was plunged into darkness as they entered a tunnel. The lights
flickered on, then off again, on, off. Nick gave up trying to read his paper in
frustration. He didn’t remember a tunnel, certainly not one
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