Restoration (3 page)

  "Just a thought."

  "Well, never mind for now," said Carruthers, glad they could move on. "The prisoner – whatever he might be called – constructed a box that would act as a gateway from our world to this. A box that we all discovered and then travelled through."

  "At a point when our lives were in danger," Alan clarified – the box was, after all, something he had dedicated years of research to. "Danger acts as a trigger, otherwise anyone that touched it would have ended up here. It's passed through many hands in its time."

  "Agreed," said Ashe, placing the box on the table, "it acts as a filter, a way of limiting how many people made the journey here."

  "We know that others have arrived here of course," said Carruthers. "I've seen a handful of other people during my time here."

  "There are lots of others," agreed Alan, thinking of the tribe he had encountered in the greenhouse, not to mention the crew of the
Intrepid
. "Most just don't survive for long."

  "Just the really lucky ones like us," said Penelope, not without a degree of sarcasm.

  "We
are
the important ones," said Ashe, "we're the few who are all connected to the events that led to his escape."

  "As arrogant as that sounds it is certainly true," Carruthers agreed, "no doubt many other poor souls have stories to tell about their time here but it's we who unwittingly let him out."

  "Speak for yourself," said Tom. "I had nothing to do with it."

  Carruthers floundered at this, still not willing to explain that Tom had played his part, keeping Chester alive so that one day – as Alan Arthur – he would be the man to open the door. "Well, yes," he said in the end, "I'll agree your involvement was somewhat tangential."

  "Up until now," suggested Ashe, only too happy to move the subject on. "Who knows how important a part you'll play in what's to come?"

  "Indeed," said Carruthers, "we are facing a blank slate, let us hope we have the strength to make something worthwhile of that."

  "So…" said Miles, "where do we go from here?"

  "We could just leave," said Penelope, knowing that it wasn't that simple but feeling it had to be said.

  "We could," said Ashe, "though to
what
is the question."

  "According to the prisoner," said Carruthers, "this House is permanently linked to our world, tethered to every mind on the planet."

  "And if the House falls so do we," added Miles.

  "Not that the future looks all that bright with the prisoner wandering around anyway," reminded Penelope.

  "And that's the other point," insisted Carruthers, "we are faced with two potentially catastrophic outcomes. In order to avoid them we have to both preserve the House and also recapture the prisoner."

  "Jesus…" Tom muttered, "listen to yourself, as if we stand the least chance."

  "We have to hope that we do," Carruthers replied, "we know that his powers are limited for now, his incarceration saw to that."

  "But he'll be getting stronger all the time," warned Ashe.

  "So we need to move quickly," Carruthers agreed, "we know where he's going and, thanks to the rather daunting method of transport we've been left with we can follow him."

  "Oh," said Tom, "that's alright then. For a moment I thought you were out of your minds."

  "The death of your friends lies at his door," said Carruthers, aware he was manipulating the man and not liking himself much for it, "just as much as it does anyone else. Chester was manipulated by him the minute he arrived here, their death was a part of the prisoner's plan. I would have thought you would relish the opportunity to see him pay for that."

  "That's unfair," said Penelope, only too aware of what Carruthers was doing.

  "No," Tom answered, that sick feeling that wracked him whenever he pictured Elise with a bullet hole in her head fading for a moment. "He has a point. And he took Chester with him."

  "This isn't just about revenge," Penelope insisted, sickened by the direction the conversation had taken.

  "No," agreed Carruthers, "it's far more important than that. But if it takes something personal for Tom to see that…"

  Tom stared at him. "Don't mistake common sense for apathy, man," he said, "I know the consequences of what we're looking at here."

  "Of course you do," said Carruthers, "as do we all. So… we need to split up and start
facing
those consequences. Ashe has to take the box and ensure that we all receive it so that the timeline of the House can be assured."

  "And I'll do that on my own."

  There was a momentary outcry at that. "Don't be so bloody pigheaded!" Miles insisted, "This is far too important for you to go playing Clint Eastwood."

  Ashe looked to Tom, ignoring the arguing. "How did you get the box?"

  Tom stared at him, seeing a momentary flash of an old man in a fedora raising a gun at he and Elise through rainstreaked glass. It had been such a brief glimpse – and his attention had been on the gun in Ashe's hand, not his face. Now the penny dropped. "It was you!" He shot to his feet, making to grab at Ashe. "You gave Elise the damn thing, if it weren't for you she would never have even been here."

  Alan, sat between the two of them, jumped to his feet to hold Tom back, Miles grabbing him from behind.

  "That's the point," said Ashe, "like it or not that's what I have to do."

  "He's right Tom," said Penelope, hoping that, of all of them, she might be able to get through to him, "we have to make sure that we keep history on track."

  "That's the last goddamned thing we want!" Tom shouted, though he stopped fighting against Alan and Miles. "If he does nothing then Elise would be safe. Pablo too…"

  "No," Carruthers insisted, "if only that were true. They would still be lost, alongside everyone else on the planet."

  "You think I relish the idea?" asked Ashe, "Every bit of me is sickened by the thought… but the consequences of doing nothing are even worse."

  "Shit." Tom dropped his head into his hands, "This is so fucked up."

  "Damn right," agreed Ashe. "Be thankful you're not the poor bastard who'll have to go through with it."

  Tom waved Ashe away, he knew the man was right but that didn't mean he wanted to discuss it.

  "The point still stands," said Carruthers, "you shouldn't go alone."

  "I know what I'm doing," said Ashe, "or at least I will do once I get everyone's story as to how they came into contact with the box. On my own I'll be quicker, besides…" he turned to Tom again, "was I on my own when you saw me." Tom nodded. "There you go," said Ashe. "I'm sticking to what we know should happen. Besides, you'll need all the manpower you can get if you're going after the prisoner, that's where the numbers will be needed and don't think otherwise."

  On this, Carruthers had to conceded Ashe's point. "Very well," he said eventually. "But it's not just the prisoner, someone will have to stay here too."

  "Why?" asked Miles. "What good will that do?"

  "May I remind you of the poor state of our young friend?" said Carruthers pointing towards Sophie. "Do you really think she could leave?"

  "I'm staying with her," said Alan. "I'm not leaving her side for a minute."

  "That's commendable," said Carruthers, "but I thought perhaps Penelope…"

  "I could see this coming," she said, "let's make sure the silly little girl doesn't get in the way. She'd better look after the child, that's what women are for after all."

  "Dear Lord!" cried Carruthers, his anger surprising everyone, "Does
everything
have to be about emancipation? I thought you were the ideal choice because I trusted you, and if you think staying here, with all the House's dangers is the gentle option then may I remind you of what we've been through for the last few days?"

  "I just…" Penelope was utterly taken aback, she had never seen Carruthers lose his temper. "I thought…"

  "With all due respect you thought
wrong
. We need someone to stay here and safeguard the most important member of our group. I wanted that person to be someone who had proved time and again that they were extremely capable of facing almost anything life chose to throw at them."

  "I'll do it!" said Penelope, still flustered. "I'm sorry."

  Carruthers took a deep breath and winked at Miles. "Thank you my dear, do forgive my outburst."

  Cunning old sod, Miles thought, but said nothing.

  "I'm still staying," said Alan, "whether I'm trustworthy enough for you or not."

  Carruthers kept the charm flowing: "Please don't think I have any lack of faith in you," he insisted. "In truth it needs two people to do the job, it would hardly be fair to leave one person to safeguard Sophie on their own, not when we know what this horrid building can throw at one."

  "That's sorted then," said Miles, "leaving you, me and Tom to go chasing after the prisoner."

  "Yes," Carruthers smiled, "exciting isn't it?"

  "You are one mixed-up old dude," muttered Tom.

  "No doubt," Carruthers agreed, not having the first idea what Tom was saying. "One final point: might I suggest we all take advantage of the temporary reprieve from danger we seem to have found in order to gather our strength? As we intend to travel to the precise time and location we need using those infernal trains out there, a twenty-four hour reprieve to get our breath back can do no harm."

  "I don't see the point in hanging around," said Ashe, impatient to be getting on with things.

  "You, perhaps most of all, would benefit from the time," insisted Carruthers. "You need to plan your trip, gather what supplies you may need…"

  "There's a hell of a shopping centre," said Miles, "they've even got a bookshop."

  "I was thinking more of food and clothing," Carruthers replied. "But, more than anything else, we need rest. We don't stand a chance of succeeding unless we allow ourselves the opportunity to build up our reserves."

  "Okay," Ashe agreed, "I'll go along with that."

  "I'm in no rush," said Miles. "As much as certain death appeals I can wait a day or so."

  Tom shrugged. "Fine by me too. You reckon this place has a bar?"

 

 

The group naturally broke apart. As is the way after something big has been discussed they all craved minutiae, the reassuring nonsense of finding lunch or a change of clothes.

  Ashe moved over to Alan once the place had cleared. "We need to talk," he said.

  Alan had an idea that he wasn't going to like whatever Ashe had to say. "I don't want to leave Sophie on her own."

  "Then bring her," Ashe replied, "we need privacy."

  They walked out of the cafe, Sophie in Alan's arms. Ashe walked quickly, not wanting the others to see the three of them and start asking questions. "This'll do," he said, nodding towards a clothes shop whose window display hid the inside from view.

  Once inside, Alan rested Sophie down on a table display of sweaters, figuring it would be as comfortable as anywhere else. Ashe was twitchy, keeping his eyes on the front door and pacing around the rotating racks of clothing.

  "You know who I am?" he asked.

  Alan felt his stomach churn. Of course he knew… but he still hadn't the first idea how to feel about it, let alone discuss it.

  "It's okay," said Ashe, "you only have to worry about the past – about who we used to be – I'm batting for the right team."

  "It's just…" Alan found he didn't even have the words, "it's hard to get the head around."

  "It gets worse," Ashe admitted, "but we have to discuss it nonetheless. There's stuff that the others don't know… haven't asked. And for the most part I'm grateful for that but I need you to be on the same page."

  "But isn't it bad to know your own future? Another paradox…"

  "You and I are beyond paradox, let's face it. You – we – were born in 1915, vanished into the House at the age of eighteen only to end up back in the real world, no older, found on a roadside in 1976. That's forty three years later…"

  "I don't really remember."

  "I know. You then end up back here, aged fifty-two…"

  "Fifty."

  "Fifty
two
… all people knew was your name, not surprising they got your age out by a couple of years is it?"

  "I…" Alan waved his hands in the air, this was too much to get his head around, far too much.

 

For Alan Arthur life had begun on a roadside. He had been born covered in dust and grass stains, then weaned in a hospital room, plied with hot drinks and sympathy. In his pockets there had been nothing but a short note – handwritten – that said "I'm Alan Arthur, please help me…" And they'd tried – after running the name through a bunch of police checks, naturally, nobody had been willing to take that note on face value, including Alan.

  The nurses and doctors had flitted around him, drawn by curiosity as much as the urge to help. Who the hell was he? How did he come to be just lying there? Of course their first assumption had been drink or drugs and they were quick to run blood tests. By the time the results came through though it told them nothing they hadn't already guessed, after a few minutes talking to him you could tell he wasn't high; confused, yes… borderline delirious, but not caught on the tail-end of a bender.

  But beyond that… nobody knew what the hell to do with him. There seemed nothing wrong with him physically – beyond the odd bruise at least, certainly nothing that could account for his condition – and that was all they were set up to deal with.