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Even now, I wanted to get up and take a seat in the office with him as he talked to each of the women, to watch their faces and his. Were I at full strength, this would be an easy matter. For the moment, though, I could not bend their will to mine. Instead I sucked up all the hate I could from where I was sitting, near his office door.

All too soon it came to an end. Carefully locking the door
behind
him, the surgeon came out of his room to the now empty waiting area. He was a thin man, whose suit hung on his pale form like on a coat hanger. When our eyes met he scowled and looked as though he was about to speak. Speak then, let us speak of knives and blood. But what he saw in my eyes was unpalatable and he dropped his head, hurrying away.

This hospital was a good place for me. There was a residue of fear all around the building. Need drove me on, to a room where a woman and a man were holding hands, looking at two sleeping boys, side by side in their beds. Instantly I was choking. The elder boy had given a kidney to the younger. The woman was crying, but the tears were of love for him and his brother.

I ran away, ran for my very existence. They were interrupting my feeding. I had to get out, back on to the streets, where the haze of melancholy that hung over the city could lift me again, to where I was no longer sucking on poison.

Had I fainted? What had happened to me? I was sitting on the ground at the Garden of Remembrance, which was a bitter joke, seeing as I couldn’t recall a thing after falling asleep on the bus. I checked my watch. About an hour had passed.

This was getting out of hand. Moving had been such fun. I’d felt invincible. Now, though, a growing sense of helplessness was making me feel totally disheartened. It was all very well
saying
I would fight the hungry ghost, brave words, but I didn’t feel brave any more. It had taken every ounce of my energy to divert myself away from the universe where our band was the laughing stock of the school. As a result, I’d become so exhausted I’d
fallen asleep on the bus and somehow had this great blackout in my memory.

The fact that I said so little over dinner had my mum running for the thermometer and Dad offering to go to the park for a kick about. But I didn’t have a temperature and I wasn’t in the mood to run around after my dad’s miss-hit shots. Basically, I was tired and demoralised. I went up to my room early and just lay on the bed, arms behind my head, trying to figure out what had happened to me. Only when I began to drowse,
half-conscious
, did a particular scent come back to me, the scent of a floor washed in strong detergent. For some reason it made me think of a hospital corridor.

It was late, the only traffic running under the orange streetlights were taxis. Two bouncers stood outside of Club Galactica. They were being confronted by a group of young men, shirt collars open at the neck, a swagger in their manner. It was obvious, though, the lads were not going to be let in. Not only did they look too young, but they swayed drunkenly.

‘Come away, Dec. It’s no good.’

‘Listen. We have rights you know. They can’t just say no. It’s the law. If the Poles have the right to come in, then so do we.’

‘Right, but for one thing, Dec.’ The youth leaned over his friend as if to whisper, but spoke just as loudly as before, ‘We’re seventeen.’

‘Ahh, speak for yourself, Colm. I’m eighteen.’

‘Come on, Dec. Let’s go to Dixie’s.’ Another voice.

They pulled their belligerent friend by his arms and he allowed himself to be turned around. As they came down the street, pushing and falling in to each other, I kept back in the shadows, pressed up against a railing. Their swagger and sense of
aggrievement
was exciting. They would feed me well. Indeed, straight away an unfortunate young man going the other way came past them, close-shaven head, shirt collar open.

‘All right?’ The one called Dec stepped in to the path of the oncoming man.

‘Da.’ The Eastern European accent gave rise to a surge of excitement in them all. I felt it like a wave of black joy, lifting me.

‘Da, is it? We don’t speak Polski here, mate.’

Sensing the danger he was in, the man tried to step around Dec, who blocked him. They looked at each other for a moment and then Dec punched him in the face. A proper hard blow. Even from here I could hear the jaw crack. The man staggered back and fell, tripped by one of the lads behind him. The whole group of them lashed out at the fallen man, kicking him with real gusto and anger. I loved it. Behind those clenched teeth and snarling lips were minds seething with delicious poison. I drank it up. Fear too, from the man on the ground, a fear that tasted sweet.
Edging
closer, wanting them to go further, I snarled along with them and felt my leg twitch, looking to connect a boot with the base of the spine of the curled-up wreck of a man on the pavement. There was no more fear to be had from him, though; he was unconscious. All the same, there was an inferno of rage still
being generated by the rest of them, plenty for me to wallow in as they continued to lash out at the body.

It wouldn’t be true to say that Dublin is a city that never sleeps, but the quiet hours are never completely restful. There is always someone walking home late, or a taxi enjoying almost traffic-free roads, racing along the amber streets. Full of energy from the gang of youths, I roamed the suburbs, sometimes striking it lucky. A cool taste of loneliness poured out of some of those walking home from the clubs. I followed a girl for nearly a mile, taking in her misery with every breath and feasting upon it like a wonderful dessert.

At last, I found myself in Kilmainham. It was no accident that I was here, for this was where my most dangerous enemy resided. Deep down I had no idea if I could face him safely or not, but hunger conquered fear and I stood at his door. Smiling to myself, I pressed the bell.

There was no response. I rang again. This time a light came on. It took a while, but I heard him come up to the other side of the door. There we both were, just a few inches of wood between us.

‘Who is there?’

‘Let me in,’ I replied.

‘Liam?’

Geoffrey opened the door a little and looked out at me, a tired old man.

‘What are you doing here at this time of night?’

There was no need to reply. I just waited for the invitation. The door opened wider and he yawned, holding up the back of his hand to his mouth. When he had pulled a jumper over his pyjamas, he had caused his silver hair to become dishevelled. I stared at it with a sneer. This man was feeble.

As we looked at each other, he began to frown. A pulse of horror rippled through his body. I could smell it and sense the release of sweat, but my hopes were quickly disappointed. It died away swiftly and his heartbeat became steady.

‘You’re not Liam, are you?’

‘I’m hungry. Let me in.’

‘No.’

A cloud crossed the moon and we were both in shadow, two pairs of eyes, glistening, watching, waiting.

‘What are you doing here, in this world? You don’t belong here.’

‘Feeding.’

‘Do you realise how lucky you are to be here? Don’t waste your opportunity. Use it to escape your present condition.’

His words meant nothing to me. All I wanted to do was devour him, but there was nothing to fasten on to. No fear, no greed, no ambition, not even of the kind where self-service hides behind the mask of assisting others. The barrier to my meal was not physical, but the absence of any sustenance. Facing him was like eating air and I grew impatient.

When I returned here again I would be stronger, much stronger, and I would suck him dry, searching in his memories for times when he was not so composed.

Pretty much for the entirety of the past five years, waking up to the new day had been a pleasure. What did I fancy for breakfast? Whatever I liked. I simply moved to find it. My favourite cartoon on TV before school? No problem. My homework? A quick move to a universe where I’d done it the night before. Fancy a game of football? Another move to where there was a game scheduled that afternoon. By now, of course, I was the star player of the first team and had scored some amazing goals from very long range. Bohemians had contacted my parents about giving me a trial, but I was holding out for a Premiership Club. They were getting closer, but to have moved to them right now was still a little beyond my range.

This morning, though, didn’t feel good. Waking brought me no anticipation of fun, if anything I felt dread. My bed was sweaty and the duvet was half on the floor. I’d been rolling around, trying to stop someone or something. My task,
whatever
it was, felt urgent, but I couldn’t recall the slightest
fragment
of my dreams.

It was almost a habit of mine these days, to lie in bed,
scouring
the nearby universes before getting up. As I did so, for the first time ever, I felt a discontinuity, a black barrier, like a scar. I’ve said before that my feel for alternative universes is like standing in a vast darkness, holding up a lamp. It seems like there is a constant flow as the various translucent possibilities diverge and rush past me. Although now and again, in a slightly frightening way, I’ve glimpsed the metaverse as static, eternally
fixed, with myself as the one in motion, rushing through it. Recently, thanks to practice and meditation, the light had become much brighter. Still, I could only see a tiny fraction of the infinite number of possibilities. Amongst them was this rupture.

The black line snaked through the metaverse like something organic and alive, or like a long dark ribbon being blown by a strong wind. It wasn’t really like a ribbon though, or like
anything
at all. It was a rupture created by the absence of universes. As my thoughts approached it, thousands of bubbling
possibilities
simply stopped. Nothing. A tear in the fabric of the metaverse. What did it mean? I couldn’t help feeling that the metaverse had become infected by mad-cow disease or
something
. Perhaps, in some way, this flowing scar had something to do with my blackout yesterday?

Imagine you looked up at the sky one day and saw a ragged black line stretching right across it, like some god had put a hand either side of the sun, scrunched up the clouds and pulled until something gave way. As well as fearing that something very fundamental had gone wrong, you would have to question your whole understanding of the world. Well, that was how it was for me. I’d become used to my ability to see alternate universes all around me, to the point where it almost felt natural. Today, though, I realised I knew nothing about the metaverse.

My bad temper and anxiety must have been visible when I came downstairs.

‘Here's trouble.' When I came to the kitchen table Dad raised his newspaper as if to hide from me.

‘Any football today, dear?'

‘No, Mum. That's tomorrow.'

‘Well, your shirt is in the hot press.'

‘Thanks.'

‘It says here that Thomu Rogozen is coming to your school today.' Dad put the paper down and looked at me.

‘Does it? Who's he?'

‘Who's he? Only Ireland's best chess player, that's who. Mind you, that's because he learned his business in Romania. About
number thirty in the world, I'm told. Came to Dublin a couple of years ago.'

‘What's he coming to our school for?'

‘The Corporation have made him a coach for chess in Dublin schools. He's going around the schools testing kids for aptitude. You know,' this to Mum, ‘for once the Corpo have got it right. May as well make good use of a fella like him.'

My dad loved his game of chess. He'd taught me the moves, but I preferred football or the Playstation, so we didn't get the board out very often.

‘Jaysus, son, I'd love to swap with you for the day. Fancy knocking on the hospital boiler for me?'

I didn't answer; it was the kind of morning where if I wasn't required to speak, I'd rather not bother.

‘You wouldn't fit behind a school desk these days, love,' Mum looked over at Dad with a smile.

‘I suppose not.' Dad patted his big tummy ruefully and winked at me. There were bigger, fatter parents, but no way was I going to be overweight at his age.

Dad was right. After registration Mr Brown asked those who considered themselves good at chess to put their hand up. Mine was straight and high. Of course it would be; a chance to miss class and that's just what I needed. It was going to be a very long day otherwise, trying to pay attention to lessons when my
worries
about the metaverse were keeping my head spinning.

‘Liam O'Dwyer, why do I mistrust your raised hand?'

‘I can play chess, sir. My dad is in the Phibsboro team.'

‘Name all the pieces.'

‘Rook, knight, bishop, queen, king and pawn,' I came back promptly.

‘All right.' He shook his head, but marked the register. ‘You six go to the big hall.'

‘Jammy,' whispered Deano.

I just grinned.

The good news was that Tara and Zed came along too. I'd no idea that Tara played chess, but Zed was great at it, way too good for it to be any fun for him to play against me. The big hall had been set up with four rows of desks, making up a big square. All the chairs were on the outside of the square, and in the middle, talking to the Monk, was a pale man in a grey suit.

‘Rogoden,' I commented with knowing superiority.

‘Rogozen you mean? Really? Is that him?' Zed frowned, wondering if it was a wind-up.

‘It is, my dad read it in the paper. They are picking kids for special coaching or something.'

‘Deadly.' Zed was normally too cool to get excited about
anything
to do with school, but he was totally up for this. You could tell from the intense stare he gave the visitor.

‘Children, take a desk please and put your pieces out. You can be black or white, as you please.' The Monk gestured at the desks, each of which had a plastic box and a board. A great
scuffle
followed as we rushed to get places near our mates. Some annoying brats from third year got between me and Tara,
tempting me to smack them out of it. But a quick move sorted things out; Zed was on my left, Tara on my right. Drowning all the enthusiastic chatter was a huge clatter of pieces, as around the hall chess sets were being spilled out onto the boards.

‘Dude,' Zed laughed.

‘What?'

‘Your king and queen, they go the other way around.'

‘Oh right. I knew that.'

‘And the board,' the tone of Tara's voice was slightly
disapproving
, she knew me well enough by now to assume that I was only here to skip class, ‘you have to have a white square in the right hand corner.'

‘White on the right,' affirmed Zed.

‘Silence!' The Monk stood in the centre of the hall, turning to fasten his dark eyes on each of us as he spoke. ‘Today we are honoured to have Mr Thomu Rogozen with us.' The man in question bowed his head slightly and nearly managed a smile. ‘He is a chess grandmaster and he is here today to find talented children, who will be invited to join a special after-school chess class.' This announcement was immediately greeted with
exclamations
and excited voices. ‘Silence! Pay attention. Mr Rogozen will come around playing you all. When he arrives at your board you make your move. DO NOT MOVE BEFORE HE ARRIVES. He has to see the move you are making. When your game is finished I want you to return to your class.'

‘Copy me, Liam. We'll see if we can keep you here a while.' Zed leaned across with a conspiratorial whisper.

‘Thanks, mate.'

Rogozen moved swiftly along the rows of tables, moving the pieces with precise gestures, the Monk trailing behind, trying to look wise. Soon the grandmaster was at our boards. It got the heart beating, playing chess against a famous player and I
suddenly
wondered what my dad was doing right now. Because he would love this.

Both Zed and I were white. Zed moved his king's pawn up two. Rogo did the same and then quickly moved on to me. I moved my king's pawn up two and Rogo immediately brought out his king's knight.

‘Doh,' groaned Zed aloud, looking over at my table. The Monk scowled at him, but Rogo was already half way up the line of desks and the headmaster had to hurry off after him.

‘Well, that's blown it,' Zed whispered once the Monk had gone. ‘He's playing different openings on every board.'

‘What should I do?'

‘Push the king's pawn on again, I suppose. Or you could bring out your knight. I dunno.'

Before long, a natural hush descended on the whole room, the silence of people in a state of concentration. I liked it. This morning I hadn't really taken much notice of what Dad was saying, but now that I was here, my competitive spirit had woken up and I really was concentrating. Not on the game, because I was rubbish at chess. But on moving. I know I shouldn't have, especially now there was this disturbing gap in the universes around me, but I couldn't resist trying to show what I could do. I especially wanted to prove something to the Monk, whose
disdain
and scepticism was evident each time he came near me.

The problem was, this Rogo guy was good. There were no universes where I could see a win in the next few minutes, which was as far as I could reach out to. So I had to try to improve the position somehow, or at least hang in there, and get a bit closer to those universes. They had to be out there
somewhere
, universes in which I eventually won the game.

There was no point using Rogo's reaction to help me find a place to move to. He was impassive, his expression more or less identical in thousands of nearby universes. Watching him stride around the tables, it was clear that whether his young
opponents
played great moves or terrible ones, he just hammered out a response and hurried along. One option was to look for
universes
where Zed leant over towards my board and showed a positive response to my game, but that wouldn't really work because I wanted to play even better than Zed could. In fact, I had been hoping that I could move to where all of us, Tara, Zed and me, were doing well. But that was going to be too difficult.

As I watched the games being played, I spotted a way
forward
. Rogo was spending longer at some boards than others. It was only a matter of him pausing for a few seconds, rather than instantaneous play, but those hesitations showed that he was thinking. This was something to aim at. I could explore the
possibilities
and find the universes where the grandmaster was pausing each time he came to me. Just as Rogo came to my desk, I moved, to a universe in which the grandmaster halted for
several
seconds. Beyond the shoulders of Rogo, who was patiently surveying the position, the Monk looked at me suspiciously.

Tara was on to me too.

‘Liam, are you doing your thing?' she whispered when they had moved on, blinking, and still half-concentrating on her board.

‘I am.'

‘Well promise me, you won't affect my game. I want to do this alone.'

‘Promise.'

The first few casualties were leaving, younger boys and girls who lingered at the door until the headmaster swept his arms at them, in a gesture that almost put me off my moving it was so comical. Nor could I share the joke with Zed. He was resting his head in his hands, totally focused on the board in front of him and hadn't seen the big wafting motions made by the Monk.

Rogo was back. Again a move, to a universe in which I took a bishop with a knight. Instantly he reached out towards a rook of mine. Then he paused, with the faintest narrowing of his eyes. The seconds passed. Instead of taking the rook, he captured the knight. As he left the board, he halted again and glanced back right at me, with a look of respect.

When he got to Tara's board, she wasn't ready.

‘Move, please?' Rogo asked with a heavy accent. She shook her head, blushing slightly.

‘One pass.' The grandmaster held up his index finger, ‘No more.' He hurried on.

Up until now I had been comfortably in control of things, and was really enjoying myself. But with half the games finished Rogo was getting back to my table too fast. His shadow would loom over the board while I was still scrambling through the
various alternate universes, looking for my win. I knew exactly how Tara felt. There just wasn't enough time any more. As fast as I could, I trawled around, looking deeper into the
possibilities
. The black line that sometimes cut across my concentration and ruled out whole clusters of options did not help me find a win either.

Just twenty students were left in the hall. In a low voice the headmaster stopped to take our names and class once Rogo had departed our desks, writing them on his pad. For the fourth visit in a row, I had to move to a universe where I hadn't a clue if I was doing well or not. Still, it seemed all right. We were level on pieces at least. Again that look as he left me, almost turning back to study the board again.

‘Move please?' Rogo was in front of Tara.

She flushed bright red.

‘No more pass. Not fair.' He gestured to the rest of us.

Tara's hand hovered over the board, shaking a little before grasping a pawn and moving it forward. The grandmaster shook his head and for the first time showed an expression; it was of regret. He slowly pushed a rook right up to the top of the board.

‘Sorry.'

‘Oh.' Tara blinked.

Rogo gave her a sympathetic shrug and offered his hand. She shook it.

‘Good game,' he said, nodded once, then walked swiftly on.

‘That was stupid.' Her blush began to fade. ‘Oh well. How are you doing?'

‘Jays, but it's tough going. It's not like I can make him lose. He's a hard man and there are millions of universes and he doesn't even lose his queen or anything. I'm exhausted.'

‘Keep it up.'

That was unexpected. She wanted me to do well? Deadly. With that encouragement I went back to the metaverse. Surely, sooner or later, a win would come into view through the hazy possibilities? But he was back around to me so quickly. No one was leaving the hall any more. Instead, when a game was over the finished player came over to stand behind those of us who were still going. The Monk said nothing. He must have felt it was fair enough, that those who had lasted this far deserved to be able to see what happened in the other matches.

Every game that had finished so far had been a win for Rogo and there were only half a dozen still struggling on. I was proud of Zed. He was hanging in there, and that had nothing to do with me. I was busy enough fighting my own battle.

Another move, another long look at the position from Rogo. A headache was building up, a bad one. I'd never moved so many times in succession, so quickly. But I
suppose
this counted as good training for the next time the
hungry
ghost tried to trap me. It didn't feel like exercise though, more like constantly picking at a scab before it was ready to come away. After each move I really wanted to leave things alone. Except there was no way I was going to give up after all this effort.

Only three of us were left when, to a round of applause, Zed finally gave in.

‘Very good.' Rogo held out his hand and Zed took it, looking pleased with himself.

Soon afterwards the other girl was finished; there were claps and a handshake for her too. Everyone was gathered around my table. Like Zed had done earlier, I shut them out by sitting
forward
, putting my elbows on the table and my hands around my forehead, thumbs beneath my cheekbones, taking some of the weight of my head.

A pawn move from Rogo.

My move.

He thinks, giving me time. But even though I can see further ahead, there are new constraints. His undivided concentration on my board means mistakes on his part are even more remote. Nowhere do I see victory. We play on, the centre of a ring of silent spectators.

He moves.

I move.

This hurts, but I won't stop. Not after having come so far.

He moves.

I move. It's a good one. Rogo leans heavily on the desk, head right over the position. For a long time. At last, he moves his king forward.

With a sigh of relief, I finally come across an end to this that works. There are smiles, cheers even. It's not a win, but it's good enough. One last move, and then I play out the game.