The Physics Of The Dead - A Supernatural Mystery Novel (9 page)

“That's just proof to me that he's definitely going. Because you hear the Beast, don't you? When he tunes in? From streets away, even, and that's the best way to have it. And The Beast is obviously the most Loose, by far. Yes...it's not just the Shakes. I think it perhaps plays with your frequency, makes it wider, or something like that. I think the Loose ones tune in more often.”

“I spoke to Mark last week,” said Bowler, quietly, thinking of Mark; big ears, and tall. Thick set. Swarthy skin, a bear of a man, middle aged enough to be at his most solid and tough. Young enough to stay fast. Not someone you wanted to go Loose. That was a good term of Hart's, he thought: Loose. “He was tuned in, and did you know, he didn't even seem to realise.”

 Hart huffed at this slightly, and raised a palm as if to say ‘there you go.’

“He wanted me to go with him,” said Bowler, and as he saw Hart's expression change he carried on quickly. “I made my excuses though, and then he said it didn't matter anyway...as he was going to try the Train again that afternoon. For the fifth time” Bowler finished, looking at Hart through the bottoms of his eyebrows.

Hart took a slow and deep breath, and then let it out, puffing his cheeks.

“Well...that explains why we haven't seen him around for several weeks,” he said. “And of course, that's the icing on the cake. That absolutely seals it. Once, everyone does it. Twice, still common-
ish
. To ride it not just three, but five times...”

Hart looked at Bowler, his face actually a little pale now.

“He's definitely gone completely and totally insane.”

                                                             ***

Chapter 3: In Which Bowler Considers Taking The Train, Theories On Being Bad People Are Discussed, And An Important Deal Is Made

***

It's not a big train station, nor is it an impressive one, but it's busy. At first Bowler tries to avoid being Passed Through, but after watching Hart making his way through the crowd for a minute, he realises there's not much point. It's next to impossible. So the trip has started unpleasantly enough, but it is nothing-NOTHING-compared to what will come on the Train.

Hart is stony faced. He hasn't even looked at Bowler since they set off. Bowler tries to imagine it's just because he's concentrating now, trying to focus whilst wave after wave of people Pass Through him, but he knows it's because Hart is about to lead him to something horrible. Some rite of passage, maybe.

Bowler hurries to catch up as he realises it's getting harder to see Hart ahead as the distance between them increases. His vision is still not as sharp as it will be in the future. Why isn't Hart keeping an eye out for him? Hart knows Bowler will struggle here, but the older man is still striding ahead, not even turning around.

Hart reaches the first platform. It’s full of people, staring ahead and trying not to catch each other's eye. The only things of visual interest in their view are two billboards advertising books, a vending machine, and a tiny cafe in the middle of platforms 2 and 3.  There are just 4 platforms here at this station, the others accessed by overhead walkway.  All here is grey, and all is at least 20 years old. To say the surroundings were completely bleak would be an exaggeration; however, it would not be much of one.

 Hart looks left and right, sees no approaching train, and looks at the board. Nothing on this platform for a while; one arriving in five minutes on platform 4, the furthest platform. For the first time since they've set off on their way here, Hart turns to Bowler, his face blank and pale, and speaks flatly.

“Platform 4,” he says, and turns to the stairs without another word. Bowler follows. As they mount the stairs and begin to cross the walkway, Bowler breaks the silence.

“Right. Hart.
HART
.” Hart glances over his shoulder, but doesn't break stride.

“I'll tell you on the platform.” Hart says. Bowler can wait the 30 seconds it will take them to get down there, but his annoyance is growing along with his fear, one fuelling the other.

Platform 4. Hart is there several steps ahead of Bowler, and stands at the foot of the stairs waiting for him. The edge of the platform is lined with people, closer to it than on platform 1; this train will be here sooner, and it will be busy. They all want a seat.

“You remember how I told you about The Foyer? The size of it?” Hart says, turning to
Bolwer
and talking more loudly than necessary. Pushing himself. Bowler nods. “About a mile across, give or take,” continues Hart. “And if there's anything for us beyond it-any more people like us perhaps-we can't see it, or them. All we see is more city. We only see what
they
see,” says Hart, gesturing towards the people now crowding on the platform edge.

“But you can certainly FEEL the edge of The Foyer,” he says. “Not hard, like a wall. Spongy. You can push against it. It gets harder and thicker as you get nearer, and eventually you hit the very edge, and it's like taut cling film. You can't push through.” Bowler nods again. He'd wanted to feel it for himself, but had been content to play it Hart's way for now, assuming that sooner or later they'd take a trip out to it. The wind is quicker on the platform, he realises, as he sees a crisp packet whip past on the tracks. He wonders if the walkway above and the steps leading up to it are creating enough of a tunnel to speed the wind up. He remembers that from a school science lesson; it’s one of the few things he remembers from school full stop. The living people are tucking their chins in. It must be cold for them, Bowler thinks.

“You'll reach the same conclusion EVERYONE does here,” Hart continues, looking out along the track now, watching. “That it MUST be breakable, and someone just needs to find out how. And you'll think about how it could possibly be done. And the answer will be obvious.” He turns back to Bowler, and Bowler thinks about how it could be done. And the answer IS obvious, especially given their surroundings. He realises Hart is waiting for a response, and gives him it.

“You'd...you'd maybe just need enough...force,”
says Bowler. “More force than you could get by running or walking.” Hart nods, slowly and sadly. Bowler carries on talking, already knowing the answer, but explaining his thinking. “And it'd need to be big, as well. Heavy. Something big and fast and heavy, bigger and heavier than a car.” He sighs. “A train.”

“Go on.”

“But trains come through here all day long, and The Foyer wall isn't broken...but it's not the train that would break it, it'd be YOU, if you could...anchor into it, or something. You'd take on the weight, and, and the force, and the speed of the train...and maybe you could push through.”

“That's the thinking, yes.”

“But it doesn't work.”

“No.”

“So why are we here?”

Hart sighs again, and Bowler has to resist an uncharacteristic urge to smash him in the face, to just keep hitting him, as for a moment he's certain ALL of this is Hart's fault. And in the same moment Bowler remembers what this place would be like without Hart, and so he clenches his fists and listens; as he does so he catches a glimpse of bright headlights down the line. They are very far away, but they are getting closer, and Bowler realises that he is seeing a train in the distance. A train on the track, bringing with it everything Hart is talking about, and getting closer every second. And Bowler begins to feel truly afraid.

“I told you,” says Hart. “We’re here because eventually you'd end up here anyway.”

“But I KNOW it doesn't work. You told me.”

“It won't make a difference, Frank.”

“What the hell are you on about?!” Bowler shouts, raising his voice in anger to Hart for the first time, though many years later it will be much, much worse. Right now, he is tired of Hart's all-knowing ways, telling Bowler what he will do no matter what. How the fuck does this old bastard know what he's going to do when he's only got a fraction of the answers? He talks like he knows everything, when he's just as lost and confused as everyone else. Fuck YOU, asshole! “Why would I fucking bother!” Bowler shouts.

Hart winces slightly at the language, but is otherwise unfazed.

“Because eventually, when it all gets too much, you'll convince yourself that everybody else just didn't do it right. You'll come here because after a while, when you've exhausted all your options, no matter what I tell you, here is something you haven't tried FOR YOURSELF. You'll decide that everyone else just couldn't anchor in hard enough. Or that they couldn't take the pain and gave up, that they just couldn't handle it. Or that, in some way, you're different to everyone else. And you'll do it because you will need to know.”

Bowler realises something, and stops for a moment.

“So it hurts,” he says. Hart stares at him, and when he speaks it is slow and deliberate.

“Frank...it hurts more than anything you’ve experienced in your entire life. You can't even imagine it, because it hurts in a way that nothing hurts when you're alive. This body here...it's not the same as a living one. And this pain goes deep in a different way; like your very...” Hart trails off, trying to find the words. “…your very SELF is being hurt, is the best way I can put it. It tears at everything that makes you, you.” Hart says, taking a step closer.

“And that's not even the worst bit. The worst bit is afterwards. And that's the other bit you really need to go through. To truly understand what's the most important thing here. You need to know that to appreciate how things work, to stand a chance of being OK. It won't be as bad for you, I hope, as I'll be here to help. You won't have to do it on your own...” And Hart straightens up, stopping abruptly. Bowler points at him, finger wagging madly.

“You. You've done it.”

“Obviously. I said everyone does it,” snaps Hart, “I'm talking from experience, Bowler. If I thought for one second I could stop you in the long run, we wouldn't even be here. But you'll always eventually make your way onto the platform.” At that moment, Bowler realises that whilst they've been talking, the train in the distance is no longer in the distance. They've been that lost in the conversation, and the train is that fast-frighteningly fast-that even when in it’s in its slowing-down phase it's already reached the platform, is now drawing alongside the end and slowing down, and Bowler can see its green and yellow colours and hear the steel wheels squealing lightly as it tries to slow down to a stop. And to Bowler it seems impossibly huge, so much so that for a moment he is amazed by the nonchalance of the people, who even now are shuffling gently, pretending they can't see each other jockeying for position, pretending this is totally civil.

Bowler is very afraid now, afraid that what Hart says is right; that he WILL go through this, that he should go through it right now. That it will be better to get it done in the long run. That he will learn from it, and not spend years wondering. He remembers a safety guy coming to their school. From the trains. Talking about not playing on the tracks.

“
The wheels are like scissors
,” he'd said. “
The metal wheel coming together with the edge of the track as they move forward are like giant scissors. And they will slice your legs clean off
. Snip!” And they'd all gasped, horrified and excited by such a gruesome thought, giggling and glancing at one another. But Bowler had just been terrified.

He turns back to Hart, raising his voice now over the blade-like squealing of the train, and realises as he speaks that even if it's not today, Hart is right. Eventually, he will need to know. And that means that he is sentenced to pain, and that it will definitely, definitely, definitely happen. It is already hanging over his head.

In a world where sanity is to be prized above all else-at least, according to his mentor-can he afford to have that above him, waiting? Bowler finds himself looking for a way out of the pain, a way to do it, learn it, yet not have the
pain
. A thought process of avoidance which, as Hart was trying to tell him, would lead Bowler right into it. Trying to prove that he might not have to feel this terrible, terrible pain.

“But...you don't know...if I'm different. You...you don't
know
...”

And Hart looks at his shoes as the train screams to a halt, and ominously, in the way that every living person on that platform wants to happen to them-as they would
love
to happen to them, meaning they could get on first, get first dibs on seats, their biggest worry in that moment-the entrance to one of the carriages pulls up perfectly in line with Bowler and Hart, and clunks forward, and slides sideways, and the carriage is open. The choice laid out, just like that, right before Bowler. He looks back to Hart who is still staring at his shoes and saying nothing.

It hurts more than anything you've experienced in your entire life...you'll always eventually make your way onto the platform...

And Bowler is rooted to the spot in terror, unmoving, uncertain, and hating himself as he still can't help but think-can't stop the fear from MAKING him think-'
But maybe...I AM different...
'

The train is now full, and is about to leave.

***

“For goodness' sake, woman, take the money!” growled Hart, as Paula from Swindon dithered over walking away at £16,000 despite clearly not being the brightest and having no lifelines left. The Polish Guy was muttering away angrily in the seat opposite, thrusting a hand at the figures on-screen, and very much seemed to be in agreement with Hart's position. Though they couldn't say for certain, of course, as they had never heard him speak a word of English. They still hadn't even been able to ascertain his name, as they had never seen any post arrive addressed to him, though they'd certainly tried-Bowler's idea-and had never heard him offer his name in conversation; when he was with his friends they all spoke the same language, and although he was very friendly with the customers in his polish restaurant, he didn't seem to have any regulars that spoke English and knew his name. He was lively and eccentric though, and they both liked him. His manner was the opposite of Mary’s, and they liked variety. More than liked it. Although they weren't so keen on it the time that they walked in to find him standing in front of a mirror in his living room and wearing nothing  but a pair of women's panties, high heels, and a great deal of crudely applied makeup. It had taken Bowler nearly six months to get Hart to go there again.