The shriek of the alarm clock pierced the morning silence, shattering the sweet slumber of 217 Beaconborne Avenue. A small, thin arm stretched out from the comfort of the double bed, slapping aimlessly in the direction of the clock, which continued to screech. With the tip of her fingers, Darcy found the clock, knocking it over in her attempts to turn it off. With what felt like an enormous amount of effort that early in the morning, she raised her body, turning towards the alarm whose cry now sounded like a mocking chorus, chiding her miserable attempt to bring silence to the bedroom. Darcy grasped the clock bringing it closer to her face, squinting at the dial as she tried to work out the time.
“Shit, get up Bennie we’re late.”
A mumbled groan came back from beneath the duvet which was pulled up high over the oval shaped body of Benedict Blacktail. He scrunched his eyes tighter and willed sleep to return to his aching body. He’d come to bed late, disturbed his wife in the process, and suffered a sharp dig in the ribs as he tossed and turned from side to side trying to get comfortable.
Benedict felt the bed lift as his wife stood up, yawning loudly and stretching her small arms skywards. He raised his head from his cardboard pillow and watched Darcy pull the curtains wide open, allowing light to cascade into the bedroom and dance off her shining shell. A grin spread across his face as watched Darcy pad across the bedroom floor towards the hallway and bathroom. She glanced towards Benedict and caught his train of thought.
“No. We’re late and we’ve not got the time.”
She stopped and leant against the bedroom door, running her right hand through her hair, her long blonde locks weaving between her fingers. Benedict clambered onto his knees, feeling his heart starting to race, each beat resonating against his shell.
“Oh come on Darcy, come and help dispel the myth.”
She looked straight at her husband who’d thrown the duvet back and was patting her side of the bed.
“What myth?”
“That eggs only ever get laid once…”
“Bennie, that line is even older than you are. Now seriously, get up we’re late for work.”
“Who needs work when you’ve in love with the most beautiful egg in the entire world?”
“Nice try, but not now…after the theatre tonight maybe, but not now.”
Darcy walked into the bathroom, turned on the shower, twisting the setting to warm before stepping inside. Benedict followed his wife into the modern bathroom and, running his hand across his face, decided that he needed to shave this morning. One of the advantages of being an egg was that he didn’t need to shave that often as eggs were not the most hairy of the food sapiens community. Kiwi fruits on the other hand had it bad.
He filled the low sink with water and started to lather his face with shaving soap while watching Darcy through the wide mirror as she shampooed her hair. As his mind drifted towards the office and the work that was waiting for him, the razor nicked his face and albumen oozed down his chin, dripping into the sink causing the water to ripple. He cursed and turned to find some tissue to stem the bleed. There by his side stood Darcy, water trickling down her shell, smiling at his clumsiness. She took the tissue from him and pressed it firmly against the cut. She placed her free hand on his opposite cheek before moving in and kissing him on the lips.
“What on earth would you do without me Bennie you great oaf?” she asked, slowly easing the pressure of the tissue. He shrugged his shoulders and turned away, a sadness suddenly drifting over him. Darcy put her hand onto his shoulder and gave a squeeze.
“What’s going on Bennie?” she asked. “You’ve not been yourself lately, and you were working into the early hours again this morning. They don’t appreciate you, and they certainly don’t pay you enough, so why do you do it?”
“You do know I love you don’t you Darcy?”
“What’s caused this outburst of affection?” she asked, surprised.
“You do know that though, right?”
“Of course I do. And you know I love you even more right back. Now answer the question: what’s going on sweetie?”
“Oh nothing Darcy. I just want us to have the good things in life, to be able to move away from here, away from the city. We’re not city people, we belong in the country. Let’s be honest, given half a chance the bloke next door would happily set his dog on either one of us. We’re eggs, we don’t belong here – I swear that when I walk past the swings I can hear the kids shout ‘fried’ and ‘poached’ at me.”
Darcy reached out and placed her hand on Benedict’s arm. “Listen, we’re doing fine and yes, parts of the neighbourhood struggle to cope with food sapiens, but that’s their problem not ours. I checked the property listings yesterday and we’ve almost saved enough money to rent in a nicer part of town, closer to where we both work. We just need to hang on in there.”
Benedict nodded and picked up a large towel handing it to Darcy. “You best dry that shell of yours quick; I can’t cope with you cracking up on me.”
It had been a normal run of the mill day for Benedict. Meeting followed meeting; email followed email. Unspectacular was an understatement. Still, at least that meant he would be out on time for a change.
Benedict opened the quarterly management report – production output increasing, national sales figures rising, costs under budget. Things were going well and business was starting to boom, due in no small part to the project he was managing. It hadn’t been easy when he first joined the company all those years ago, partly because he was an egg in a new part of town, and partly because he had been entered straight into a management position, although his colleagues soon realised he had the right qualities even if he did have his weird little quirks.
His office was sparsely decorated, with just two pictures of him and Darcy on their wedding day perched on top of the filing cabinet which sat to the left of his desk. The cabinet itself was straining under the weight of the reports and papers that Benedict liked to keep close. Better to be an informed fool than an ill-informed fool, that was his motto. He took great pride in his work even if Darcy felt he was underpaid. He felt sure that was soon to be a problem of the past, particularly with the success of his current project. There was no way his work would go unnoticed.
Benedict retreated to the corner of his office; his thinking space. He settled himself into his custom made porcelain circular chair and pulled some freshly delivered hay closer. His thought process was clearer when he felt more comfortable.
He glanced at the egg timer on the wall, which read 16:26. He had to leave in an hour to get home, change out of his work clothes, and meet Darcy outside the theatre. Darcy loved the stage and while he could take it or leave it, tonight was the anniversary of their first date and he knew there was no way he could be late. As he turned back to the management report and began to re-read its contents a tall, wiry man with thick rimmed black glasses appeared at his door, knocked twice and waited for permission to venture beyond the threshold.
“Hello sir, may I have a word?”
“Jason, come in, pull up a bale. And how many times do I have to say it? Call me Benedict.”
“Of course sir. Sorry. Benedict. I just wanted to let you know that we’ve successfully completed stage four of the testing and results were even better than we hoped. We had a success rate of just over 98%.”
Benedict looked up sharply. “A 98% success rate?”
“Yes. We re-ran the data because we thought we’d made a mistake, but we hadn’t.” Jason handed Benedict the paperwork he had bought with him. “I thought you would be surprised, so I gathered the data for you to see yourself.”
Benedict took the report and read it carefully, a broad smile developing across his face. Pushing back his straw covering, he leapt from his chair and started to put on the white lab coat which hung on a stand next to his desk.
“Jason, I need to speak with Travis. If this stacks up we need to tell our project sponsor immediately.”
Jason murmured agreement, while trying desperately hard not to stare at the circular chair from which Benedict had just risen.
“Something you want to ask Jason?”
“No, no,” stammered Jason averting his eyes quickly. “I just never realised you had your own egg cup.”
Benedict felt his lip curl in disgust at the suggestion. “It is not an egg cup,” he said, spitting the words from his mouth as though they were leaving a bad taste. “It is a specially designed posture correcting stool, which may, to the uneducated eye, of which yours is obviously one, appear to resemble a particular type of breakfast apparatus. But rest assured it is not an egg cup.”
Benedict stalked from his office, the sneer on his face etched in place for everyone to see, while Jason hurried behind, his embarrassment replaying over and over in his mind like a record stuck on repeat.
Not a word passed between man and egg as they walked together in a silence punctuated only by their footsteps on the metal spiral staircase leading to the lab. By the time they reached the lab the lack of conversation had moved beyond feeling awkward to an overwhelming sense of pressure that Jason could feel constricting his chest as he breathed. Benedict spied Travis Dwyer, the senior lab technician, who was holding court with his team. The laughter which erupted from the group lightened Benedict’s mood. If Travis was happy, everything really was going well.
Travis had been with AstraArms for over twenty-five years, working his way up from the junior ranks to the position of senior lab technician. His staff knew he had walked, and worked, in their shoes, and most knew that he could probably do each of their jobs with one hand tied behind his back while reciting last month’s production figures backwards.
Travis dispensed with his staff and raised a hand to acknowledge Benedict. He stood just shy of six feet tall, and had greying hair combed up into a quiff at the front. He carried a bulky, though not overweight, frame, which in his heyday had intimidated many an opponent on the rugby field. Yet this image belied the real Travis – a man who enjoyed being around friends and colleagues, his natural charisma encapsulated by his trademark toothy grin. That he also liked to drink and was not shy of buying a round was also an endearing feature. Benedict and Travis, despite being obviously different in appearance and character, hit it off the moment they met.
Travis straightened his tie and headed towards Benedict, and as he approached he gave a salute to which Benedict nodded and saluted back. Their ritual greeting was met with the usual bewilderment of the laboratory staff, although no one had ever mustered the nerve to question why the salute took place. Not that Travis or Benedict would actually be able to answer as the reason for the salute was unclear. Neither of them knew why they did it, and agreed that it had most likely developed during the course of a long and messy evening at the Strawberry Strip Club trying to drink each other under the table.
“So, you’ve decided to leave your ivory tower to come and see where the real work takes place then?”
“Back in your box Travis, it’s in my little sanctuary that all of the serious work takes place. If it wasn’t for me, you’d have no work to do.”
“Don’t you have a wall you should go and fall off?”
For a moment, time froze in the lab as the workforce held its collective breath waiting for Benedict’s reaction. And yet the unexpected laughter that erupted between Benedict and Travis broke the proverbial ice, bringing with it a sense of utter relief.
“I suppose you could do with something medicinal?” asked Travis.
“Doctor’s orders of course.”
“Naturally.”
They headed into Travis’ office and he grabbed two glasses, pouring a large brandy into each before settling down with his egg colleague for an hour of scrutinising the data, their concentration interrupted every now and then by an occasional fit of hilarity.
“Well it’s pretty conclusive,” said Travis, swilling the remainder of his drink around the large oval glass.
“Sure is,” replied Benedict. He leaned back in the chair and arched his back. “Look, I’m off out with Darcy this evening. Can you send these results to the project board?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll do the donkey work as usual, you go and enjoy yourself.”
“And when you’ve done that you can return my tablet computer to my office. I lent that to you at the beginning of the week and you’ve still not managed to give it back.”
“Yeah, all right, stop nagging. When did you turn into such an old woman? Good job I never asked you to the poker evening last night. You’d have spent most of the night complaining about the decor.”
Benedict smiled at Travis. “How did you get on?”
“Let’s just say I’m lucky to have this shirt on my back.”
“That good then.”
“Yeah, that good.”
The evening had closed in while Benedict and Darcy were in the theatre watching Titanic – the ‘rock’ musical, and as they left the building, the damp air pricked at Darcy’s shell as she pulled her feather boa tighter around her neck. Benedict also felt the dampness and pulled a woolly hat from his pocket, slipping it on his head as Darcy watched and pulled a face.
“Look, I know you don’t like this hat Darcy, but I feel the cold just like you do.”
“It’s not that I don’t like the hat per se, it’s just that it makes you look like you should be sitting on a breakfast table waiting for some soldiers.”
They smiled at each other and joined hands as they walked back home.
“I enjoyed this evening. I grant you it wasn’t the best show we’ve ever seen but you can’t deny it was catchy in places.”
Benedict looked incredulously at his wife. “To be fair, I wouldn’t have used the word catchy. Inappropriate maybe, but not catchy”.
“And what do you mean by that?”
“You didn’t think that the use of Status Quo’s song Down, down, deeper and down was inappropriate as the Titanic hit the iceberg?”
Darcy gave a snort and squeezed Benedict’s hand tight. “Well, maybe that wasn’t the highlight of the evening…”
The walk home was carefree, two happy eggs so comfortable with each other. They’d met at college and fallen head over heels in love almost instantly. They took the same classes, had the same interests and, despite a brief separation when Benedict had a drunken dalliance with a gammon steak, everyone knew they were made for each other. Their wedding was a small affair, just close family and friends. Darcy looked stunning in a white cardboard dress adorned with a lacy frill and a British lion quality hallmark, and Benedict was so handsome in top hat and tails, standing beside his best man Travis. Three years had flashed past since that day, and although Darcy had not yet been fertilised, it was surely just a matter of time.
They neared Beaconborne Avenue, walking past the small community play area, which, at that time of night, was occupied by teenagers sneaking a cigarette and doing nothing more than posturing. As they walked, Darcy glanced across to the swings and caught a glimpse of what looked like a tall figure wearing a fedora pulled down low over his face. She tugged at Benedict’s arm, catching his attention and nodded in the direction of the swing.
“By the swings, did you see that man?”
“What?”
“By the swings. Did you see that chap over there with the funny hat?”
“What man? There’s no one near the swings.”
Darcy looked again, and although there was nobody in sight other than the smoking teenagers, she felt sure there had been someone watching them, especially as the swing was moving methodically back and forth as though someone had just been on it. They turned into Beaconborne Avenue, a long sweeping cul-de-sac which slept quietly with just some low level street lighting showing the eggs the way home. As they approached their home, Darcy started to rummage through her bag, trying to retrieve her keys as she wondered, not for the first time, how they always managed to evade her grasp when she needed them, and yet they were always within reach when she needed her purse or tissues. Just as her fingers found the keys, a soft yet firm voice surprised them both from behind.
“Mr and Mrs Blacktail?”
They turned around, surprised to find the soft voice came from a tall, powerful looking, albeit slightly jaundiced, figure. He was actually quite tall, but a spinal curvature made him stoop so he appeared smaller than he really was, though nonetheless imposing. He wore a long trench coat to try to hide the curvature but it remained obvious.
Benedict spoke first. “Who wants to know?”
“I’ve a message for you sir. I came to let you know that you shouldn’t have sent that email – it was a mistake.”
“Bennie, what email?” asked Darcy, the nerves in her voice evident.
A look of concern crossed Benedict’s face. “I’ve no idea what you are talking about. Who are you?”
“I think you know very well what I am talking about Mr Blacktail.” He turned to face Darcy.
“Mrs Blacktail. I am sorry to tell you that your husband has overstepped the mark and I’m very sorry that you have been caught up in this tonight.”
There was sincerity about the statement which frightened Darcy more than anything, an impending sense of dread rising sharply in her chest.
“Bennie, who is this man?”
“I’ve genuinely no idea my love,” replied Benedict, taking Darcy by the arm and backing her away from the imposing figure who, despite his stoop, dwarfed them.
“Then please allow me to introduce myself. I am your worst nightmare.”
The self-proclaimed nightmare unbuttoned his trench coat and pulled out a large metal spoon, which glistened against the moonlight. He looked at Benedict, tipped him his fedora and swung the spoon, cracking it firmly against the side of Benedict’s head. As Benedict fell backwards, dazed and disorientated he heard Darcy scream his name, and saw a swirling version of his wife throwing herself at their attacker, her hands ripping at his coat. And then, as his head continued to spin and he felt that the pain couldn’t get any worse, he heard the crack of the spoon fracturing his wife’s shell.
The world seemed to move in slow motion for Benedict as the contents of his wife’s bag spilled to the floor, each item – her purse, her keys, her lipstick – tumbling out, one by one, onto the ground near where he lay.
As she landed beside her husband, Darcy and Benedict made eye contact with each other for the final time as pain, confusion and love were all expressed through the power of one look. They reached for each other knowing darkness would soon consume them, as their nightmare stood over their fallen bodies, spoon raised aloft once more.