Lauren taps her finger on the space bar of her keyboard, not hard enough to press it but enough to make a repetitive clacking noise that reassures her time is actually passing. She slumps in her pleather office chair and frowns at the sign hung on a string above her desk – a red-eyed, sad-looking cartoon chimpanzee operating a laptop. The caption below reads, ‘Social Media Monkey’. Poor Lauren has been given the unfortunate job of trawling through forums and responding to all the inane queries, maddening qualms and facepalm-inducing questions posed by the oh-so-vocal gaming community. It’s a thankless, mind-numbing task, which is undoubtedly why it’s fallen to the intern.
She skims over various threads. People are bickering about graphical capabilities, whether or not Ultimate Adventure VII will be released on PC. After rolling her eyes at a complaint about the lack of skimpy armour options for female characters, she notices the blinking notifications at the top of her web page – ‘1,462 unread messages and 1 call pending’. Her curiosity is piqued – who calls anyone anymore?
She opens the call log, clicks the recording and dons her earphones. It sounds like heavy breathing and then a young man speaks in an almost unintelligible whisper. Before Ed’s message can play out entirely Lauren slides her headphones back, becoming distracted by an elderly man standing in the office looking wary – for this is a place of computers, and Detective Valentine prefers not to be surrounded by them.
“Excuse me.” He approaches Lauren at her desk.
She looks up at him as though he has caught her doing something she shouldn’t.
“You’re the only one who looks like they want to be here less than me,” he smirks, stealing a glance at the open web page on her monitor – a gaming news website, the headline reading, ‘DEVELOPER DEFENDS CONTROVERSIAL CHANGES TO REMAKE’. There is a black and white picture of Vincent beside the article. He looks to be in his early-to-mid-thirties with dark, tangled hair swept off his face.
“Can I help you?” she asks.
The old man flashes his police credentials causing Lauren to sit upright in her chair and straighten her posture. She’s never been in the remotest bit of trouble in her life, but goddamn does she feel guilty for no reason at all.
“Scott Valentine, DI. Who’s that?” He points to the screen.
“Oh, nobody.” She quickly minimises the window.
“I’m looking for Eric Garland. Is he here?”
She stares blankly for a moment, then stutters, “D-do you have an appointment or something?”
“I find the badge usually works all the same.”
“Well, everyone is out prepping for the Comic Con presentation. A new game just launched and it’s kind of a big deal so there’s a huge promo thing next week, and, well, some of the guys needed to blow off steam, so—”
Valentine looks around at the mostly empty office. “So you got left behind, huh?”
“Just unlucky I guess,” she shrugs.
He reaches into his pocket and hands Lauren a crumpled post-it note with his email and phone number scrawled across it. “Here’s my card. Ask Mr Garland to call me.”
“This is your business card?”
“Have a nice day, miss,” Valentine nods then heads back towards the door.
Lauren plucks up the courage to speak before he leaves. “What did you want to talk to him about?”
The detective turns back on his way to the door. “Eh?”
“Is Eric in some kind of trouble?”
Valentine has good intuition about people, and it’s roused by this girl. He senses she knows more than she’s letting on, so he opens up a little, hoping she’ll do the same.
“There have been some recent disappearances and they all owned copies of your game. I wanted to ask some questions about the player community.”
“Disappearances?” Lauren’s eyes widen. Could this be connected to Vincent? Or that weird message? she wonders.
“What’s he like? Mr Garland. If you don’t mind me asking?”
“He’s very… professional. Kind of coldly, scarily professional, to be honest. Um. I probably shouldn’t have said that. Maybe you’d better come back when he’s here, I’m just an intern.”
Valentine surveys the office again. “That card goes for you as well, miss. Don’t hesitate to get in touch, if you think of anything we should know.”
His smile bears more resemblance to a grimace than anything else, but still Lauren senses a sincerity to it. She turns the post-it note over in her hand thoughtfully as she watches him leave. Letting out a hopeless sigh, she glances longingly at Vincent’s empty desk. He would always make sure that she never got lumbered with the menial jobs just because she was an intern, but it seems those glory days are over.
She recalls one summer evening they had spent together, one of her fondest in recent memory. After all, there haven’t been that many lately…
*
The hot, sticky air had made the office unbearable. The building wasn’t air-conditioned, so Vincent and Eric had wheeled in big fans, which did nothing but blow heat in circles. Everyone had escaped to enjoy the sunshine while it lasted, but not Vincent. Like always he had stayed later than the others to work on one thing or another. He’d lock himself away in the office upstairs for hours on end, and Lauren too would often find some excuse to linger behind. Anything to avoid going home, where the sadness in her mother’s eyes reminded her of all she had lost. Most nights she’d watch video tutorials on YouTube, teaching herself to get to grips with Unreal Engine 4. The only chance she had to play around with the software was when no one was around. Her ancient computer at home couldn’t dream of running the program, and she’d seldom do any actual designing during work hours unless she was shadowing someone. So she seized every opportunity to broaden her skills, hoping to one day wow everyone and maybe land herself a paying gig doing something she could be proud of. She’d usually duck out around nine-ish before the cleaners came in, but the light would always be on in the upstairs room when she left. Except this time, when Vincent caught her practising on one of the computers.
“Didn’t expect to see you here.” His voice startled her, and she leapt out of her seat and spun around to see him descending the stairs.
“S-sorry!” She thought she was done for.
“What’re you apologising for?” he asked.
“I don’t know… Sorry.”
“There you go again,” Vincent laughed, then caught a glimpse of the monitor behind her. “What’s that you’re working on?”
“Oh, it’s nothing.”
“Doesn’t look like nothing.” He leant over the desk, took hold of her mouse and clicked his way around the lush forest she had created in the program. His eyes glistened with wonder as he gazed at the tall green trees swaying in the wind, and scattered in the tall grass were strange creatures that prowled nearby ruins as the volumetric god rays shimmered through the dancing leaves.
“You made this?” he asked with a hint of disbelief.
Lauren looked guilty. “I know I shouldn’t be using the computers for personal stuff—”
“But you made this?”
“I swear I saved everything to an external drive so it wouldn’t interfere with—”
“Relax, you’re not in trouble. You shouldn’t be so modest, Lauren, this looks way better than my first game.”
Lauren shuffled uncomfortably as she often did when receiving a compliment and asked, “What was it, your first game?”
Vincent smiled, recalling it fondly. “It was this little space-shooter RPG called Runners. It’s how I got started here actually. Feels like a lifetime ago now, though.”
“Is it on Steam?”
“Nah, might be able to find an emulation online, but I think I have one of the old cartridges lying around at home. I’ll bring it in for you.”
“Yeah, I’d love to play it.”
Vincent turned his attention to her creation. “This is good work. How long did it take?”
She hesitated at first, but ultimately figured it better to be truthful. “About three weeks.”
“Three weeks? You’ve been staying late for three weeks?”
Lauren nodded shyly, noticing a flicker of panic wash over Vincent’s face as he ran his hands through his dark hair.
“I never noticed. How did I not see you?”
“You’re a world away, working up there. I always left before you came out so—”
“Smart. You didn’t peek inside, did you? While I was up there, I mean.”
Lauren shook her head. “I promise I won’t do it again,” she said.
“No, it’s fine, just as long as you stay down here. It’s just super-confidential stuff. You’d have to sign a bunch of NDAs and I could get in a lot of trouble if you leaked anything.”
Whatever he was doing up there, he clearly didn’t want her to see it. Usually, her curiosity would have got the better of her, but she felt like she was already treading thin ice.
“So what inspired this?” Eager to change the subject, he clocked another look at her creation.
She shrugged. “I was just thinking of a place.”
It was obvious to him the reason was more than she was letting on. “Come on, we’re friends, right?”
She could see he wasn’t going to accept anything less than the truth and so relented. She pulled her phone from her pocket and untethered her earphones as she explained.
“The summer after I finished school, my family went to Donegal for my uncle’s wedding.”
Vincent looked perplexed. “Donegal?”
“Believe it or not I’m half Irish,” she smirked. “While we were out there, we spent a day in these beautiful woods. My parents taught my brother to swim in the lake – well, they tried. I spent most of the day under this tree listening to Lost in the Dream over and over until I fell asleep. You know it?”
Vincent shook his head.
“It was probably the most relaxing moment of my entire life. All my worries about the future and moving away to uni just melted away. It was like nothing mattered.”
“Sounds peaceful.”
“I think about that trip a lot. It was the last one before… well, yeah.” She passed him an earphone. “Ready?” Her thumb hovered over track five, ‘Disappearing’.
Vincent placed the bud in his ear. Lord knows the pressures of game design often left him with yearning visions of relaxing breaks far, far away from everything and everyone he knows.
As soon as she hit play his head was flooded with a swell. The calming bassline vibrated in his chest. The music washed over their souls like waves against the rocks. Chills ran through him and then it came all at once – warmth, peace, escape. The song was the most bittersweet sound, evoking longing wanderlust as it carried him away. He closed his eyes, felt the warm air on his skin and sighed.
“Whoa.”
“I know,” Lauren replied. “This song makes you feel like you can just—”
“Disappear?” he grinned.
“Yeah,” she smiled, but her eyes radiated sorrow as she gazed longingly at the forest on the screen and lost herself amongst the trees, imagining the wind on her face and the grass between her fingers.
They stayed a while, listening to the song on repeat for almost an hour as they talked about all kinds of things, then he took her out to this little burger bar on James Street. He spoke little of himself, but she got a sense that he felt as burdened as she did. Little did she know by summer’s end he’d be the one to disappear.
*
The rest of the afternoon moves by painfully slowly, and being late autumn the darkness creeps in early. She can’t take it any longer. There’s no one else here, and nothing to do – might as well duck out a little early.
She throws on her coat and buzzes herself out. Rain hammers the street outside so she stops under cover by the entrance and waits for the shower to die down so she can dash to the bus stop.
Across the street, Eric watches her from inside his car. He pulls up alongside her then lowers the passenger-side window.
Lauren’s heart skips a beat at the sight of him. Shit, why did I leave early?! He’s probably going to fire me. Can he fire me if I’m not getting paid?
He leans over the empty seat to better see her. “Need a lift?”
His smile makes her feel uneasy. Although much more aesthetically pleasing than the old detective’s, there’s something false about it. After a second she realises why. His eyes aren’t smiling, they look cold, almost dead. She hadn’t noticed they were green until now, but they seem oddly vivid, like he was wearing coloured contact lenses or something.
“I’m okay, but thank you.” She clings to the hood of her baggy raincoat and pulls it tightly over her head.
“Come on, it’s pissing down.”
“No, really, it’s okay.”
“As your boss, I’m ordering you to get in the car.” His jest comes off more like a threat.
Looking out across the street she can see that the rain shows no sign of letting up, so reluctantly complies.
She pulls her hood back down as she gets into the passenger seat and shuts the door. The car is quiet save for the patter of rain against the roof and the wipers zipping back and forth.
“I was hoping I’d catch you before you left.” Eric sweeps his hair behind his ear and looks at her. “About the other day, if I seemed off—”
Lauren, all too painfully polite, tries to put him at ease. “Oh no, you didn’t, it’s fine.” He did, and it wasn’t.
“With the launch… it’s just stress. You know how it is. I was anticipating a world of bug fixes, but thankfully QA didn’t shit the bed. In retrospect, I might’ve come over a bit curt. I know Vincent leaving was probably a shock for you.”
“Yeah, maybe a little,” she says.
“It hit me hard too. Truth be told, I think the pressure was too much for him. He just couldn’t deal with it anymore. I mean, those last few months the crunch was pretty bad, but he never left. One Saturday I found him working and he just broke down, let it all out. I thought it was best he took some time. Got his head straight. I think it just burnt him out.”
Lauren smiles agreeably, but she’s not buying it. He’s not as good a liar as he thinks he is.
“Anyway, look, I just want you to know that your work hasn’t gone unappreciated, and I wanted to reassure you that just because Vincent’s departed, doesn’t mean you’re job is in jeopardy.”
“Thanks, um, I appreciate that.”
“What are we paying you anyway?” Eric asks.
“… Nothing,” she laughs half-heartedly.
“Oh.” His smile drops.
“It’s fine, I knew when I applied—”
“That’s not cool. Let’s do something about that. Come talk to me tomorrow, and we’ll work something out.”
“Really?” She tries to downplay her elation. Getting paid would mean she could actually contribute at home and ease the pressure on her mum, not to mention update her dinosaur of a computer.
“So where to?” Eric hands his phone to Lauren as he gets ready to drive. “Punch in your postcode.”
“It’s okay. The station is just down the road.”
“Nonsense, it’s bloody torrential out there.”
She hesitantly takes the phone from him and thumbs her address into his map app. The journey is mostly filled with uncomfortable silence while Lauren steals glances at him when he’s not looking, in a bid to suss him out. She appreciates the gesture, but her intuition is telling her he’s got an agenda, and she wonders whether or not he was waiting for her to leave. His appearance just seems too convenient.
“Left up here,” she says, reading the directions from his phone. His phone.
She wonders what trove of information might be stored on the device – texts, DMs, emails. If Vincent did up and quit or have a breakdown or something, there would have to be some kind of correspondence to back it up. She spies Eric from the corner of her eye. His attention is on the road as he drives, so she quickly swipes through his messages. There’s nothing from Vincent for a while. The last text reads like he had something important to show Eric, but it’s months old. She minimises the chat and slyly opens his email, but it’s password protected.
“Keep going straight for a while,” she says, hurriedly returning to the map before Eric glances at her. “Uhh, it’s just up ahead here,” she mumbles.
Eric pulls over to the roadside and peers out of the window at the tall red-bricked Georgian house to his right. “Nice place.”
“Actually it’s that one.” She points at the grotty tower block on her side of the road.
“Oh.” Eric stares up at the building with a glint of pity.
“Thanks.” She passes his phone back and pulls up her hood as she climbs out, then waits until Eric pulls away. Her eyes tighten with distrust, watching his tail lights drift down the road. Once the car turns a corner, she glances up at the rain and sighs, letting the downpour wash over her for a fleeting minute before she goes in.
She pulls her hood back as she steps inside and shoves her keys back in her bag. She finds her brother at the edge of his bed, utterly immersed in Ultimate Adventure VII. Having played virtually nonstop since he got it, his character is now a level thirty-three assassin – a limber beanpole of a man dual-wielding a pair of enchanted daggers while sneaking through the shadows and silently picking off goblins. She flops onto the end of his bed, but he’s far too engrossed in the game to pay her any attention.
“Mum’s on lates?” she asks, staring at the ceiling.
“Uh-huh,” he nods.
“So she probably won’t leave the hospital until two-ish.”
“Uh-huh.”
“But she texted me, don’t wait up. Because she’s never coming home…”
“Uh-huh.”
“… Because after her shift she’s moving back to Hong Kong to find herself.”
“Okay.”
Lauren rolls her eyes, not that George notices, then sits up and watches him play over his shoulder. His avatar creeps through the shadows of some ruin, avoiding detection from enemies until he reaches a locked door, and rather than find a way around, George decides to pick the lock. She straightens herself as an idea forms in her mind. If she wants answers about Vincent she’s going to have to find them herself. Even if that means overcoming a few locked doors.
“I’ve got to go out for a bit,” she says. “You okay to fix yourself food?”
“Mmm hmm.” His glazed eyes remain fixed on the screen.
“I think there’s sticky rice casserole left over.”
She hurries to her bedroom, which is cluttered with back issues of gaming magazines, sketchbooks and university documents she never threw away. The walls are covered with drawings and pixel art of quirky characters, all her own work. Most prominent is an old self-portrait drawn in charcoal that she had hung as a sort of grim reminder of how she used to feel before everything went to hell.
She pulls open the small chest of drawers beside the single bed in the corner of the room and takes out dry clothes. Everything she owns looks two or three sizes too big. They used to fit a bit better, but the grief and the stress of everything surrounding her father’s death saw her appetite diminish with her confidence. After throwing on her raincoat, she gathers some tools – hair pins, a screwdriver and her phone.
“Don’t answer the door to anyone.” She pops her head into George’s room on her way out. “And don’t forget to eat!”
He mumbles a reply that she doesn’t hear, but she’s certain that he won’t even notice her absence, and ventures back out into the rain.
It isn’t long before she’s sitting in the shadows outside Vincent’s building, waiting patiently for someone to buzz in or out so she can sneak in. Eventually, a drunk couple let themselves into the gate and she dashes through unnoticed before it closes. She climbs the stairs to Vincent’s floor and kneels in front of the door. Channelling her inner sneak thief, she pulls the screwdriver and bobby pin from her pocket and tries to pick the lock for a good few minutes.
What am I doing?
She sits back against the door and sighs. In hindsight this was a dumb idea, but she’s come all this way, and determined not to give up at the first hurdle, she conjures another plan.
After rehearsing for a good twenty minutes she knocks at the apartment next door.
Roger, the old man who interrogated her the other day, answers the door. “You again?”
“Sorry to bother you so late but, could I please use your bathroom? It’s an emergency.” She pleads with doe eyes and scrunches her nose, feigning agony while she clutches her stomach.
The old man’s wife calls out in a shrill voice from inside the flat, “What did she say?”
“She wants to use the bog,” Roger says.
“We don’t have a dog,” his wife replies.
Roger hangs his head in despair and steps aside to let Lauren in. “Just be quick and don’t steal anything!”
Lauren skirts by him and hurries into his apartment.
“It’s down the hall, first door on the—”
She finds it and shuts the door behind her before he can finish. She moves over to the window, taking care to open it quietly, then assesses the drop. She looks her reflection in the eye in the mirror above the sink. This is insane, are you crazy? she asks herself, then splashes her face with cold water and looks determinedly at the window. No, Eric’s lying for sure. I need to find Vincent. What if he’s in trouble? What if he needs my help?
She takes three slow breaths and counts to five, then climbs out onto the balcony and carefully edges her way across to Vincent’s apartment and proceeds to prise open a window with her screwdriver. Her waifish figure allows her to slip inside with ease, but she trips on the other side and tumbles to the floor, landing head first. She slicks her damp hair back and scans her surroundings as she ties it back in a messy bun. The room is dark save for the glow of streetlights piercing the blinds and curtains. The whole place is a state. Stacks of paper, clothes and books are strewn about, all blanketed in dust. It makes her room look tidy. She activates the torch on her phone and searches the apartment for a shred of info that could point to Vincent’s whereabouts.
Peering into the kitchen, she sees a single plate and cup in the sink. She opens the fridge, and a fetid aroma hits her in the back of the throat. The food is all mouldy and looks like it’s been there a while. She starts to fear the worst as she moves towards his office.
Sure, Vincent was stressed, and I guess I don’t really know him that well, but he wouldn’t… No way! She scolds herself for entertaining the notion.
The door creaks open as she presses a finger on it, revealing a large desk in the centre of the back wall. Resting atop it are stacks and stacks of external hard drives. Computer monitors are placed all about, some of them modern, others retro CRT types. It looks like the lair of some super-hacker, but really he’s just a pack rat that can’t bring himself to throw things away. She approaches the desk and spots a retro action figure of Grimoirh on a shelf above, and next to it an old photo – Vincent and Eric posing with their first game, Runners, the retro space shooter that he had mentioned. They’re both smiling from ear to ear and look quite a bit younger. She examines the picture carefully. Eric looks relaxed, and happy – not at all like the man she knows. She gently prods the mouse which rouses the screens to life. The room lights up from the glow of the monitors which all display the same login page.
Of course, it’s password protected. She eyes the figurine on the shelf above the desk. Grimoirh? Runners? No luck. She slumps back in the desk chair and asks herself, What am I doing here?
The reality that she might not get the answers she hoped for starts to sink in when a ruckus from the front door startles her. Hoping it’s Vincent, she peeks through the office doorway at a mirror in the hall, which faces the front door, and wonders how the hell she’s going to explain what she’s doing in his apartment. The door creaks open and a figure steps inside. She eyes the silhouette closely and determines it too slim and short to be Vincent. She hesitates to reveal herself and creeps back into the office, quietly pushing the door shut. Her heart races while she frantically searches for a place to hide, and she darts beneath the desk as the footsteps grow louder. She tucks herself as far back as possible just as the intruder approaches the room she’s hiding in. The mysterious stranger lingers outside before the knob turns and the door creaks open. A masked man enters the room and moves towards the desk, stopping right in front of her. Her heart practically beats out of her chest while she clasps her hands tightly over her mouth to muffle her anxious shallow breaths. The silence is broken by the clacking of a keyboard and the Windows login chime. Lauren listens intently while the intruder uses Vincent’s computer, and her eyes dart wildly as her mind races. Could it be him? Who else would know his password?
After a few minutes, the intruder stops fiddling with the computer and exits the room. Lauren listens as he speaks in a hushed whisper.
“Why her?”
His voice is familiar, but she can barely make it out, and who is he talking to?
“If victory proves elusive seek new allies… or foes,” a chilling disembodied voice replies.
She clutches her forehead as a splitting pain crackles through her head, fading as quickly as it arrived. Strange, it felt like that voice was inside her head, but at the same time it was something she wasn’t supposed to hear. Her eyes snap wide as she notices a discarded post-it note on the floor, triggering her to remember that she still has that detective’s number. Her intuition is telling her she’s in danger, so she rifles through her raincoat pocket and quietly uncrumples the post-it note. Sliding her phone out of her jeans she taps in the number, taking care not to make a sound.
*
Valentine slurps the last of his ramen soup from the bowl. It trickles down his stubbly chin and wets the edges of his thick moustache. The dim restaurant is lit only by a couple of neon signs and backlit posters of Japanese flicks like Battle Royale, Hidden Fortress and Spirited Away. The room is empty save for a young couple in the front, a bartender, a waiter and the tired old detective.
His phone buzzes on the table, but his tired eyes linger on a blank birthday card lying in front of him. It’s his daughter’s birthday, but they don’t talk. Haven’t for years. He doesn’t even know where to send it, but every year he buys one anyway. The bartender sets a drink down in front of him. Scotch, neat.
“Thanks,” he mutters, knocking back the half-finished drink he had already.
“You got a text.” The young woman motions towards his phone.
Valentine nods appreciatively as he rubs his hands clean on a napkin before picking it up. His brow furrows with all seriousness as he scans the message.
Please help me, trapped inside flat 211 Caledonian Square, not alone.
It’s Lauren from 4D Games.
He shoves his phone in his pocket, pulls some bank notes from his wallet and drops them on the counter as he gets up.
“Call me a cab, will you?” he asks the bartender.
“You don’t have Uber?” she replies.
Valentine squints with displeasure, downs his drink and heads outside to flag down a taxi. He holds out his arm and the black cab approaching him screeches to a halt and mounts the curb.
“Where to, boss?” asks the driver who’s barely tall enough to see over the steering wheel.
Valentine shows him the text. “Can you get me there fast?”
“Fast?”
Valentine flashes the driver his badge, and the little old man brandishes a devious smile, like he’s been waiting his entire life for this moment.
“Strap in, boss,” he chuckles and guns it down the road.
Valentine doesn’t get a chance to blink before he’s tossed back into the seat as the car speeds off.
“Mother of God.” He tries to settle his stomach as the cab speeds around a corner, blows through a red light and narrowly avoids a collision with a car crossing by. Then his phone buzzes again.
Are you here? Please, please, please. Can’t call for help, you’re my only hope.
Valentine tries to send a coherent response, but between the five Scotches he drank and being tossed around the back of the cab as it zips and winds through traffic, he can’t quite type actual words.
Lauren’s phone buzzes. Her heart spikes with dread as the footsteps suddenly come running down the hall. The intruder stops outside the door and peers into the office and then into the living room opposite.
Lauren presses her phone to her chest to cover the light emanating from the screen. Her eyes are popping out of her head for fear of being discovered, but thankfully after a few seconds the intruder strides back down the hall. She lets out a slow, calming breath and hurriedly checks the message she received.
Oh me way, star hiddeb and be quite.
She scrunches her nose, trying to decipher the text, then catches a whiff of something burning and notices slender traces of smoke coming in through the crack below the door. She scrambles out from under the desk and tears into the corridor to find the living room ablaze. She bolts for the door but stops dead on seeing the masked man blocking the way at the far end of the hall.
Lauren gazes at him like a deer in headlights. “V-Vincent?” She tries to stop her legs from buckling with fright.
“Vincent is gone…” the man replies in a raspy voice as fire blazes from the kitchen between them, “… and now, so are you.” He traces his finger across the wall and Lauren can barely believe her eyes as, like some sort of spell, a line of fire ignites.
She stands frozen as he turns away, leaving her to burn with the apartment he’s just torched. The flames spread quickly across the hall and block the door, and with the living room burning she can’t escape via the balcony where she came in. Her whole body seizes up, the voice in her head is screaming at her to get out, but fear paralyses her like a deadly toxin.
Outside, Valentine’s cab pulls up, and he flings a wad of cash into the front seat, then scrambles out of the car.
“Keep her running,” he orders the driver, then sprints into the building and up the stairs, clinging cautiously to the railing to maintain his balance. As he rounds the third floor the intruder dashes past, knocking him down as he flees the crime scene.
“Hey, stop!” Valentine cries, but of course the man doesn’t heed his command. “Bah, damnit.”
He picks himself up, stumbles up the steps and notices smoke pouring from the ajar door of Vincent’s apartment. He barges it open, only to be confronted by roaring flames and the ear-piercing ring of the fire alarm. He chokes down the smoke and waves it out of his face, spotting Lauren frozen at the far end of the hall.
“Hey! Can you get out?” he yells over the chaos.
Her eyes are fixed on the flames, but she’s too panic-stricken to even notice he’s at the door.
“Hey!” he cries again, this time grabbing her attention.
“I… I can’t move!” she yelps.
Panic sends her senses haywire, her vision tunnels, her head spins, her muscles seize up as the stench of smoke burns her eyes, evoking fractured glimpses of the worst day of her life.
“Shit,” he mutters. “Okay, I’m coming to get you!”
The flames crawl up the walls, charring them black as the wallpaper melts away.
Valentine backs up for a running start. “Shouldn’t have drunk so much. I’m probably flammable.” He pulls his coat over his head and charges through the fire. Incredibly he makes it to Lauren unscathed and pats his smouldering coat down before turning back towards the door. The flames are too high now, and walls are starting to give way. There’s no going back.
“We’re gonna die,” Lauren whimpers.
“Enough of that now.” Valentine pushes her into the office and slams the door behind them.
Lauren covers her ears and tries to get a handle on her shot nerves while Valentine calls the fire brigade and shouts for help over the blaring smoke alarm, then he hurls the computer monitors off the desk to reach the window behind it, and wipes the sweat from his brow as he assesses the drop. Looks survivable. Probably. Maybe. He pushes and pushes the window, but it won’t budge, so he draws a retractable baton from his jacket and smashes out the glass, which rains onto the street below. Only after does he notice the window was on the latch. He lifts the handle up and the frame swings open into the room.
“Shit,” he grumbles then looks back at Lauren, taking her by the arms. “Look at me! I promise I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Alright?”
She nods affirmatively through teary eyes as he ushers her towards the window. “Just listen for sirens, they’ll have us out of here before you know it.”
Neither of them notice the computer screens blink on and off. Lauren takes a step back from the window and feels cold water fill her shoe. She covers her mouth with her sleeve and chokes on the smoke while she tries to ascertain the source of the water rising above her ankles. “S-something’s happening!”
“What is it?” Valentine coughs, and looks baffled as the room floods. It isn’t but a few minutes before they’re both waist deep. Then things get weirder. They look in fright at a bright, shivering light pulsing from beneath them.
*
In the Bakers’ flat, George’s television flickers, then the lights in the whole flat blink on and off. He looks curiously at the LCD screen on his TV, which ripples like water and jolts back as the collector’s gangly arm shoots out from the screen to grasp him. He hurls his controller at the creature before bolting out of his bedroom, screaming like a banshee. The collector tumbles out of the television and in a fluid swoop scurries into the hall and snatches the boy up with its long arms. It cradles him and covers his mouth muting his pleas for help, then it pulls him back through the screen before he can even process what’s happening. In a flash of blinding white, his home is gone, and he’s drifting through a dark empty void.
*
While Lauren tries in her head to make sense of the water’s origin, Valentine is busy trying to force the office door open, hoping the rush of water, which is now up to their chests and climbing, will have doused the flames.
Then her eyes light up as she pinpoints the source. The water is surging out of the screens! “This doesn’t make any sen—!”
The floor beneath her gives way, and they both plummet into what seems to be a deep ocean. The apartment disappears and the blaring smoke alarm is drowned out until all falls silent. Lauren holds her breath as she tries to keep her eyes open long enough to see what’s happening. She kicks about in the murky water and desperately propels herself upwards towards the surface. She’s not in Camden anymore.