A Survivor's Guide to Eternity (32 page)
“You have to hope you don’t become a fish.”
“Yeah, I might very well get eaten though.”
“That’s true. I just wanted you to be clear of the risks anyway.”
Ed sat thoughtfully.
“I can see the risks. I’m prepared to take them though. I’ve come this far, so why shouldn’t I push the boat out further?” stated Ed confidently, as he got to his feet.
“Right, in that case let’s go then. We need to walk along to the fifty-seventh tunnel going against the time flow. I’m pretty sure this will set you up a day or so before your first death.”
The two of them began walking along the tunnel.
“Don’t we need my things?” enquired Ed, stopping in his tracks looking back at the articles.
“No. They stay on the dividing line until you’ve gone, then they just disappear into thin air. I have no idea why,” replied Jahani.
“How come you know about all this stuff anyway, like a wise sage, or wizard or something?” enquired Ed.
“It’s just that I’ve been here for a long time and have been interested enough to experiment. Maybe there are other places like this in other tunnels. I don’t know. Anyway, I would send people off who were interested and when and if they came back, I would remember the data and in that way I built up a library of
“How could you remember all that? It must be an astounding number of equations?”
“I don’t know. I must have an elephant’s memory or something. That’s what one girl called it. Anyway, I started to get more and more accurate with it all.”
Soon they had arrived at tunnel fifty-seven and stood staring into the sloping chute.
“I can’t believe it, it looks so long.”
“Yes, indeed. It won’t be any different for you from before though. There’ll be a similar white light and deafening wind noise. I think you’re used to it by now.”
“Thanks, Jahani. I know the drill. I’ve become quite fond of tornadoes,” replied Ed ironically, still gazing into the daunting-looking opening, a terrifying and infinite well of darkness. He could feel his heart pounding faster and faster, throbbing at his chest as if there was an angry boxer inside. His stomach churned as his legs felt drained of strength, although still able to shake nervously at both knees. He was aware of what a big moment this was for him. All his endeavours and pursuits as a Transient had led him to this point. It wasn’t long before he came to his senses and slapped the fear around its face with a determined fist of rational awareness.
The two men stood in silence for a while, Ed staring down chute fifty-seven and Jahani staring at Ed, giving him time to come to terms with the task at hand.
The silence didn’t last long.
“The time has come. You should go now. I wish you all the luck possible. Maybe I’ll see you again.”
“Maybe. We’ll see,” replied Ed, as he sat down on the edge of the selected portal before slipping himself in and disappearing like a rocket-propelled skier down a steep slope. He remained fully conscious when he sped out of the entrance and slammed into the powerful contrary flow, thumping to what felt like a 100mph emergency stop against a brick wall. Everything froze; time and space stood completely still.
***
Soon he became aware of people floating slowly past him, looking like they’d been filmed with super slow motion cameras as they drifted eerily along. He started to spin, arms and legs outstretched like a big star. Faster and faster he span as the noise of the wind became overwhelming. Soon it engaged all its might and the familiar rapid flow of movement started to overcome his senses.
As his body was tossed, turned and spun, he intermittently caught sight of the brilliant white light, burning into his skin like a powerful laser. Then suddenly he was inside the light, completely restrained and motionless, surrounded and baked in the violent, blinding, brightness. He could feel it penetrating into his body and through his organs as if he was a pudding in a microwave, before a high-pitched deafening tone of ten thousand kettle whistles ripped into his brain and rendered him unconscious.
Chapter 20
Strictly come cooking
Ed awoke with a painful sensation around his neck. It dug into his wind tunnel, dangerously restricting his breathing, causing a slight panic.
“Come on, Beamer, get over here, please. Come on, dog,” he heard as he felt his whole body yanked backwards, dragged by the restraint around his neck.
“What’s up with you, for Chrissake? Come on,” cried the voice of a young female, impatiently.
The whole commotion woke him fully and he soon realised he was once again transitioned into a dog. He looked down at his light brown, furry paws as his legs straightened, succumbing to the pulling on the lead whilst being yanked from a small basket. He was soon trotting along politely in the direction of the taut lead, feeling much daintier than he had as a killer hound. He looked around to see a neat and tidy house, smart white leather sofas, large flat screen TV and tasteful sand colour carpet. The walls were newly decorated and painted in a soothing light blue colour with yellow trim. He looked ahead and saw two fine legs in silk stockings with evocative open high-heeled shoes, crowned with a black pleated skirt just above the knee.
I could be up for a good view here
, he thought, as he trotted behind the lady, catching up to loosen the tension on the lead. Soon they were heading through the front door and along the garden path and into a small one-track road with hedges either side. He looked around at the house as they exited through the gate, recognising the bungalow style from his excursion when he was a falcon. If it was the same village, then he was indeed very close to the filling station and diner. He hoped deep in his heart that Jahani had got the calculations right and that he had arrived a day or two before his death in the car.
They proceeded along the lane and into a slightly bigger road, still barely enough for two cars to pass. The weather was clear with a perfect blue sky peppered with small fluffy clouds. There was a chill in the air and a slight breeze that ruffled through his fur, but nothing that caused him discomfort or misery. As they proceeded further down the lane, he recognised one of the white thatched buildings from his flight, and then the road name on a small long sign fixed to two small posts about a metre high.
‘Yew Tree Close’, and then a little further on, ‘
Cuckoo Lane
’. He now knew exactly where he was. All he needed to do was whip down the road past the Fox pub and that would take him towards the M3 from the north. Then he would just need to turn right and the diner was less than half a mile away.
They turned the corner into a small park and the young lady undid his collar and let him run free. He galloped off away from her, wondering what his next move should be.
What to do? Should I run away now and try to find out the date and go to the petrol station? If I have a couple of days to kill, I might get caught by pest control or dog services or something. Maybe it would make sense to find out the date first. That might involve going back with her though and possibly getting locked in and trapped in the house.
Ed mused and debated internally, working on the best course of action. As he ran to the other side of the park he noticed a little old man sitting on a bench reading a paper. He wandered over quietly and peered at the front and back of the broadsheet as the man held it aloft, habitually consuming its stories of doom and gloom. Ed peered up inquisitively at the paper trying to focus on the date at its top.
‘FURTHER CRISIS FOR LIB DEMS AS
Ed remembered the headline clearly from the few days before his death. He had joked about it with Abella and had defaced the graph with an alternative and opposite one of bankers’ profits. He squinted to get a closer look at the date, but was disturbed by the young lady coming from behind.
“Beamer, what are you doing? Reading the headlines, you silly dog? Stop being so daft,” she exclaimed, startling the reading man and causing him to fold his paper in on itself temporarily.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“Not a problem at all, always glad to be disturbed by a young lady,” replied the older man, greasily, believing he was still able to woo and charm the younger of the opposite sex.
“Oh, well, Okay then. You carry on, I must be off,” replied the lady, nervously aware of his scruffy stubble and dirty ears. She backed up and reached down for the dog. Beamer was having nothing of it and squirmed out of her grip and up onto the bench, trying to grab a view of the paper.
“Beamer, come here,” she shouted.
“Beamer? That’s a cute doggie name. What’s yours?” interjected the man, slime dripping from every word with over-inflated and irritating self love.
“I’m Georgie,” he added, ignoring the dog, putting the paper down between him and the hound.
“Mia, I’m Mia,” replied Mia, feeling anxious and repulsed by the individual as she reached down to manhandle Ed from the bench.
“That’s a nice name. It means ‘golden flower’ in my native Polish,” replied the man, lying outright.
“Oh,” replied Mia, her eyes staring emptily over his right shoulder as she grabbed Ed, just as the dog caught clear sight of the date at the top of the folded page:
st
2009
“Bye, darling,” he exclaimed, as she retreated, clutching Ed whilst trying to fix the lead back onto his collar.
“Yeah, bye,” she replied with dismissive contempt as she clipped the clasp and gently put the dog down onto the short grass, extending the lead to its maximum to let him roam a little more freely. The man returned to his paper, whilst Mia dusted her blouse off as they proceeded back across the small park towards the gate. Ed now knew he had a whole day before the death of Ed Trew and decided to go along with her back to the house.
“Beamer, why did you do that?” she whispered angrily at the dog as they passed through the gate and along the road, restricting his lead back to the shorter length. Ed looked up at her adoringly and continued on his way. He was hungry and hoped for some food once they got back. All those days in the tunnels without food, hunger or taste. It really built up a big appetite when reincarnated as an animal again.
Soon they were back at the house and he was off his lead and in the kitchen being presented with a big dish of doggie meat lumps. He tore into them like an animal possessed, and then followed it down with the whole bowl of water.
“Naughty little fella, you’re hungry today, Beamer,” exclaimed Mia, as she came back into the room having changed from her muddy shirt. She refilled his water bowl and then gathered together her laptop and handbag and disappeared from the front door. “See you tonight, baby,” she exclaimed upon departure.
Ed was relieved. He had the whole day to himself to chill out and make a plan. He could really spend time thinking about what to do the next day and what plan of action was available to him. Should he just sit by and observe the tragic events or should he try and influence the outcome? He got more and more confused as he thought through the various options, making the whole thing much more complicated in his head than it actually was. This was exaggerated further when he came to consider the choices he would have to make on his future transitions.
He also started to analyse the logistics of the plan. How would he get out of the house and over to the diner undetected? If he did escape when she took him walking, then he would have the collar on. The collar would surely result in him being returned back to Mia. How would he get around that? The best option would be to somehow get the collar off and escape from the house. How would that be possible? Then how could he get to cross paths with Ed and what would he do if he did? He had so much to think on and organise, he didn’t know where to start.
Well I guess the first thing is to go and check what sort of dog I am
, thought the hound, as he leapt out of the kitchen, through the living room, into the corridor and on into the bathroom of the bungalow. Soon he jumped up onto the toilet, up again onto the sink and stared at what he saw.
Oh that’s ridiculous
, thought Ed, as he looked in the mirror to see a scraggly light brown, long haired, terrier puppy. He inspected the collar, a firm looking black leather strap about an inch wide with a regular looking belt buckle and restraining strap. From it hung a very clear ‘Beamer’ pendant with an address and telephone number. It looked difficult to undo and he was certain he would not be able do it. Disgruntled, he jumped down from the sink, danced across the bathroom and back through the living room into the kitchen. He jumped up onto a chair and then up onto the work surface and decided to check the windows for a possible escape route.
At the back, they all looked prohibitively secure, big sturdy security locks on the top and bottom of the windows, too high to reach and too awkward to tamper with. Disillusioned, he jumped down and ran over and up onto the sofa and then onto the front window ledge. These looked a little more likely with the windows having brass Victorian casement bars on the bottom and handle fasteners on the side. He was sure he could reach up and dislodge one of these handles and then lift the brass casement bar off the protuberant nodules screwed to the window ledge. He tried squeezing his paw under this brass fitting and hey presto, after a couple of attempts it sprang off. Then he batted it backwards and forwards from side to side until it settled back in place. He then reached up to the window handle which was very loose and lifted easily. He stopped just before it came open and jumped back down to the sofa and further onto the sandy carpet. It felt so warm under his paws, just like the climate of the house with its central heating on a reasonable thermostat setting.
He headed back through the house into the kitchen and his basket, still confused about how to get out of his leather collar. He knew that was going to be a tricky one.
When in doubt, sleep
, thought the dog, as he settled down on his blanket to nod off.
Before he knew it, night had drawn in around and Mia was back at home, feeding him more doggie lumps and lavishing more attention upon him. She had changed into her jeggings and a loose white tee-shirt that was kind enough to let her pert nipples arouse and dent the surface. He was a happy dog sitting on her lap watching inane TV.
“You’re being a good boy tonight, Beamer. What’s gotten into you? You’re usually tearing all over the place,” she said, as the ‘strictly come cooking’ theme tune blurted through the speakers offensively. Soon Ed jumped down and returned back into the kitchen. As he took refuge in his basket, he drowsily wondered what exactly causes animals to be so sleepy for vast portions of the day.