The website peered down on Waterman from the main cinema screen, like an animated Orwellian billposter, ticking down each second, keeping them all in a constant state of tension.
132:12:05.
132:12:04.
132:12:03.
It made Waterman’s gut twist every time he looked at it.
‘There was a bully in my school. Jenks …’
Waterman turned to see Hunter was standing next to him, also staring at the screen.
‘… he told me once he would, at some point over the following week, punch me hard enough to burst my nose. Like a tomato.’
Hunter’s shoulders twitched, as if the memory still caused shivers to run up his spine.
‘Kept repeating his threat,’ continued Hunter, still staring ahead, as if he was in a confessional, ‘reduced me to a state of terror.’
Hunter finally looked at Waterman.
‘It took me many years to realize that was the point.’
Waterman nodded and they both looked back at the screen.
132:01:16.
132:01:15.
‘We need each other at times like this,’ said Hunter. ‘Congratulations on the promotion.’
Waterman looked down and saw Hunter’s hand extended towards him.
‘Do you believe in ghosts?’ he asked Hunter, taking his hand.
Hunter looked back in confusion.
‘I don’t,’ continued Waterman, looking back at the screen. His expression remained inscrutable. ‘But sometimes you get a sense of things. Your reptilian brain begins working. And you feel this can only be the work of one person. But it can’t be, because …’
‘… Orpheus is dead,’ finished Hunter. He shook his head. ‘Hellfire missiles flattened the building.’
‘Let’s hope to God you are right.’