Behind the bar was a buff guy in a black t-shirt. A real human for once, old school. He had a nice face, strong cheekbones, but the tattoos on his arms were ropy. Once they must have been black, now they were dark green, their shapes bled and muddy.
A punky couple sat on the stools at the other end of the bar. The woman had steel gauges in her ears, pink hair and wore a torn black denim jacket. The man had a beard and crew cut hair, gold rings on his hands and a tattoo on his neck of a bloody knuckle duster.
Together, the couple and bartender watched the news on a small screen propped up on a shelf.
Dennis Howell—the bleached and tightened suit closest to what passed for the Glow’s spokesman—spoke to a morning show host, who was offscreen. He was addressing allegations that drug-fueled violence in the Southend area was the Glow’s fault. “Our task forces dredge plastic out the ocean and use innovative in-house technologies to extract it from fish that would otherwise die. We remove cancer-causing organochlorines and phthalates from the waters. All of this at a time when it’s clear that the government has failed to take care of these issues itself. Not to mention the purpose we’ve given numerous members.” He looked right into the camera, as if talking directly to me. “The last thing we need for the kind of complicated and creative work we do is a set of drug abusers or subservient drones. We extol individual responsibility.”
The bartender stood between me and the screen. “What can I get for you, miss?”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t—”
“It’s okay.”
With how quickly he’d accepted my apology, he’d obviously expected it. But what was I sorry for? And how had he, this random bartender, managed to elicit this desired response from me? If I couldn’t spot that—
It didn’t bear thinking about. “Double gin and tonic, please,” I said to him.
He tilted his head with concern. “You had dinner yet?” Perhaps another sales tactic, but incidentally a welcome suggestion.
“What’s good?”
“The burger’s safe. A quality synthetic.”
“One of those then.”
I beeped my wrist on the credit reader. I had about three days’ worth of cash before I hit the limit. The Glow had nothing but debt to steal from me.
After ringing up the order, he brought me a glass with ice and cucumber in it. He held a bottle of Hendrick’s Gin. “Say when.” He winked and started to pour.
I looked at him in the eyes as the gin sloshed upwards: a quarter-glass, a half.
His face changed. He stopped pouring and gave me the tonic bottle. “Don’t think it’ll fit now. You can top up as you go, I guess.”
“Yeah whatever.”
“So what brings you to the last non-Glow hotel in town?”
“Southend’s aquarium.”
His laugh was gravelly. He shook his head then went through to the kitchen.
I sipped my drink. It was like perfume, too strong. I probably couldn’t drink it all if I was serious about finding out how to get to the island tomorrow.
When the bartender returned, the couple both ordered beers.
“She was homeless at first,” the woman said. “Everyone knows that. Whether she was on drugs is debatable.”
It made sense that everyone here would be talking about the island or its supposed leader, Patricia, all the time. The topic cropped up back in Ipswich on occasion, but usually in some hackneyed joke told by a co-worker or late-night talk show host on TV.
I asked if they were talking about Patricia.
“Yeah!” the woman said. “We’re journalists with The Switch.”
“Oh yeah. I watched your report on illegal drone mods. Heath and Corinne, right?”
“But don’t tell anyone!” Corinne said. “And your name?”
“Lily. Are you both covering the Glow, then?”
Heath nodded. Corinne slapped his arm, but he looked at her reassuringly. Why else, after all, would they be here?
“You discovered anything so far?” I asked.
Heath smiled at me. “I guess we can give a fan a preview. Maybe you saw all those joker cards all over the street.”
The mashed muddy blossoms strewn across the roadsides, one of the first things I’d noticed upon arrival.
“They’re laced with drugs,” he continued. “That’s why they’re ‘joker cards.’ Play them and opt out of life. We sent some to a lab and they confirmed traces of octadrone. The Glow make it in their compound. It’s a highly addictive stimulant that gets absorbed on skin contact. So they use them in their rituals. They get members hooked to prevent them from leaving, because the Glow control the production and supply.” He played with the gold ring on his middle finger. “Apart from that, not much else. We interviewed a whole bunch of members, but it’s like talking to the same person a dozen times.”
“I’ve got to say, I’m glad I met you both. Back in Ipswich, the Glow’s just a bad joke.”
I lost my job for that very reason. A woman at work had been crying in the bathroom. Her family’s neighborhood in Mumbai had flooded and she couldn’t get in touch with anyone to check if they were okay. I tried to comfort her by telling her about my sister. She laughed and said, “Thanks, I needed cheering up”—so I slapped her in the face.
After that, I’d run out of reasons not to come here.
“This place is insane,” I continued, “But better to be here and look at it than to deny it.”
Did I agree with that, or did I just want to be heard saying it?
Corinne nodded in approval. “You’re here for someone.”
“My sister. She’s in the Glow.”
“Oh really?”
I folded my arms and rested them on the bar. “Joanna had this blog where she’d post inspirational quotes, self-care advice, the auditions she’d been on in London, some promo stuff for the cocktail place she worked at. The posts get progressively darker. She writes every day about every little failing—no callbacks, skin breakouts, envy—each post filled with attempts at self-deprecation that miss the mark. Total Glow bait when I think about it. She starts writing about how to handle anxiety and depression, and then just full-on depression, depression, depression. I reach out to her when I can, post books to her, tell her I’ll come down to see her some weekend. She responds less and less.” I peeled the leather of my jacket where it had stuck to a spill. “I notice this one blogger replying to all of my sister’s posts. Lengthy, repetitive ramblings about how important my sister’s work is to her. She hints at some method she knows of that eradicates all doubt.”
“Ding ding,” Corinne said.
I nodded. “This other blogger writes, ‘Sent you a private message.’ That’s the last of her and Joanna’s public correspondence. And Joanna stops posting after that.”
“A familiar story,” Corinne said. “I take it you have more evidence that connects your sister to the Glow though?”
“Not really. My mum told me too late that she’d called the Glow’s hotline.”
Heath and Corinne winced.
“The first time Glowfolk showed up at Mum’s house, she called the police to report harassment and they took a statement. The next ten times they said they were ‘aware of the issue, working on it.’ The last time she called, an officer sighed and said, ‘Join the club.’” I took a straw and poked at the ice in my drink, watching the bubbles that resulted. “My sister’s on the island.”
I looked away. I wouldn’t be here unless I’d fully exhausted the option of lying to myself, but I couldn’t yet face their reactions. It would make it too real all at once.
“Hey,” Corinne said, “we’ve talked to so many people in your position who’ve lost family members to the Glow. It’s very common for them to think they know someone on the island. But there are far more Glowfolk than just the ones out there. The chances of—”
“I know it.”
Corinne thought she was helping me, but she was attacking something for which I’d worked hard: my acceptance that Joanna was on the island. One best-case scenario I’d considered was that I went out there and didn’t find Joanna, then I could be pleasantly surprised, because perhaps she wasn’t as far gone as I’d imagined. But would it really be better if I couldn’t find her at all?
“‘Call it intuition,’ huh?” Corinne said. “I’ve heard that too.”
I looked at them with desperation. “You’re going out there, aren’t you?”
“Lily,” Heath said, “together we’ve investigated police brutality, cybercrime, biological warfare. Murders in space. And been everywhere all that entails.” He leaned in. “There’s no way we’re going to that island.”
The bartender returned with my burger. He loudly cleared his throat as he placed it down beside me. On the plate was a napkin on which he’d written, in black pen, Wait until they leave.
Corinne stared at him, then broke her thought and turned to me, smiling. “Thanks for sharing with us, Lily. Best of luck finding your sister.”
“Sure,” I said after a straw full of cold straight gin. “Hope your report turns out great.”
They finished their drinks and got up. I turned to watch them walk away, and downed the rest of my glass.
I wished I was part of some edgy, like-minded couple. Myself and some tatted up journalist deigning to come here for our entertainment, under the guise of worthwhile reporting.
I heard liquid sloshing into a glass. The bartender gave me a refill and poured his own measure of gin.
“I thought they’d never leave.” He lifted his glass and clinked it against mine, winking.
“What are we toasting?”
“Your arrival on the island.”
“Hah.”
He went to get another napkin and took a pen from his pocket. “This is us.” He sketched a square for the hotel. “Behind us are the piers.” He sketched them. “At six a.m. tomorrow, go to the gate here and give the waiting Glowperson this.”
He took a shot glass from behind the bar. In it were several new joker cards.
“How did you…?” I reached for one.
“Ah ah ah! Didn’t you hear what that pair said?”
I was so naïve, still. Why had I assumed these wouldn’t have the drug on them?
I wrapped the sleeve of my jacket over my hand, picked one up and put it in my pocket.
“Tomorrow morning, walk up to Pier 8 and meet Melodie by her plastic powerboat. You can’t miss it.”
I was up against addictive stimulants and brainwashing techniques that had worked on, what, tens of thousands of members worldwide? And the Glow had a year-long head start on me, I estimated, based on the last I heard from Joanna. So my mission didn’t have much hope from the start. The less I thought of that, the better. All the same, each day away from Joanna counted. Every day was another chance to pull her back out. Every day, she sank in deeper. This whole town was designed either to repel or eliminate me.
What reason had I to believe this stranger wasn’t part of that same twisted ecosystem?
What other leads did I have?
“How do you know all this?” I asked him, still without reason to believe any answer he gave.
He tapped the side of his nose.
“Why are you telling only me?”
“You want your sister back, don’t you?”
If you could feel the ache inside me, you wouldn’t even ask.
I’d been suppressing any joy at the prospect of actually succeeding at getting Joanna back, given how unlikely it was. But thanks to the bartender’s prompt, it briefly broke through. Drunken tears formed too easily in my eyes. I climbed onto the stool and hugged him around his neck. “Thank you.”
He let me hug him. “Room 395, was it?” His breath was hot against my neck.
I released him and looked in his eyes.
“I can pay now,” I said. “I think I have enough credit for another anyway.” Though I’d already figured he wasn’t talking about the bar tab.
I tried to tap my wrist to the reader but he took my hand away and enveloped it in his. “This one’s on me.”
I swallowed, hard. “Very kind of you. I’ll finish it in my room.”
He tutted. “Can’t allow that.”
I yanked my hand from his. “Then I’ll leave it here.”
I walked away, feeling his eyes burning on my back.
Back in my room, I locked the door. When I saw that the chain was broken, I took off my trainers and wedged them in the gap at the bottom.
I filled the kettle with bottled water from the minibar and turned it on, placing a coffee sachet in a cup. As I waited, I undressed down to t-shirt and pants, then poured the water on the coffee, taking the mug to the bed, where I sat cross-legged.
I turned off the bedside light and sat there in the darkness.
Sure enough, I later saw feet beneath the door. The handle rattled and I heard someone muttering under their breath.