The faint scent of cigarette smoke filtered through the gap in the partly-open doorway.
The voice of a newsreader I couldn't stand, drifted in with the smoke, serving as nothing but background noise to the crack of bone and screams I could still hear.
I'd been staring at the doorway for a few minutes already, lying stone-still on sheets that had once been white, but now had that drab grey tinge of linen that had been washed too many times. The walls of the small room were ashen-paint, dulled by years of neglect and marred by a few smudged fingerprints around the doorframe. The only colour in the room came from the dark-red carpet tiles, worn and threadbare in places, and from the coral polish on my toenails and even that seemed muted, as if the lifeless grey was leeching what little brightness there was.
The double bed on which I lay curled on my side, took up most of the space. The only other piece of furniture was a small bedside cabinet, one of those cheap fibreboard units that looked as if the only thing keeping it together was a wing and a prayer and the fact it was wedged tight between the bed and the wall.
I was clutching the only pillow to my chest, my arms wrapped around it like it was a lifebelt, keeping me afloat. I didn't want to be awake, but when I closed my eyes I saw his – Davey's – wide, bulging pools of terror that told me I'd done this. I might as well have torn open his chest myself and cracked apart his rib cage with my bare hands. I'd brought death to his door. I'd brought death to them all.
It was the nausea that forced me to move in the end, and the incessant throbbing of my bladder which was bordering on pain. I knew it wouldn't hold off for much longer. The thought of that – the thought of ending up like Maggie Brogan, passed out after a four-day binge and stinking worse than Old Jimmy Keenan who used to piss himself as he slept on the park bench or any shop doorway he fell into – was the only thing that got me up off the bed. Even moving my head just a little, sent a surge of bile into my throat and my slow shuffle towards the door soon became a panicked scuttle, as I clapped my hand over my mouth and burst out into the hallway.
'Straight ahead,' a voice called out from the same room where the newsreader was still droning on.
Ethan.
I had no idea how he knew I needed the bathroom, but I was grateful for the directions when I saw the small, windowless room directly opposite.
Stumbling through the doorway, I collapsed onto my knees in front of the toilet bowl and heaved, throwing up nothing but a cocktail of acidic yellow vomit and water. By the time I'd finished, my throat burned and my stomach ached with the strain, my muscles angrily protesting at the effort. I hit the lever to flush and somehow managed to struggle to my feet, using the basin as support, where I rinsed out my mouth and spit several times to try and rid myself of the acrid taste.
When I was done, I turned back to use the toilet again, noting there was no lock on the door and I somehow ended up perched on the seat, with my body bent forward, desperately trying to guard the door. It was a futile attempt at defence considering I'd spent God knows how long passed out on the bed, when Ethan could have got up to all sorts without me knowing, but for some reason I still felt the need to bar the way, just in case. I flushed again and returned to the basin to wash my hands. The scream in my bladder had turned to a constant relentless moaning, but the after-effects of the Ketamine was the last of my worries.
The bathroom was like an extension of the bedroom. Small. Dull. Off-white cracked, chipped tiles. A bathtub with a shower head hooked to the wall and a white shower curtain that somehow still hung onto the pole by half the rings it should have had. Above the basin was a tall, rectangular mirror with no frame, attached to the wall with a rust-headed screw at each corner of the glass. On the shelf below it, a bar of soap, one toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, a razor blade, one comb, and one can of shaving gel were all lined up evenly-spaced in a neat row.
I was struck by how empty it felt, not just due to the lack of belongings and fixtures, but there was something in the air in both rooms, something bleak and soulless, layering grey upon endless grey. It was like the whole place existed under a raincloud, that cast its dreary, life-sucking shadow over everything.
Looking into the mirror, I was surprised at how well I blended into my new surroundings. My white sequinned mini-dress had lost its sparkle and was dulled by smears of blood and dirt. The dark circles under my eyes emphasised the translucent quality of my skin, now so pale that the blue network of veins under the surface looked darker and more prominent. I was like a bleached-out version of the woman I'd once been. A ghost.
Yes. That's it. A ghost. A screwed-up, junkie ghost still wearing the dress that she died in.
On unsteady legs, I cautiously headed out into the hallway, following the sound of the television and the scent of cigarette smoke.
Ethan sat, slouched on an olive-green armchair, his arms hanging listlessly over the sides, his legs stretched out in front of him. By his side, was a small table on which was an ashtray, almost over-flowing, a half-empty open pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and a lamp with an oversized wonky shade with a dent at the top. The TV remote control lay on his lap.
'If you need some water, the kitchen is through there,' he said, without even looking my way, his eyes remaining fixed on the TV screen in the corner of the room.
I glanced to my left and saw another doorway to a small kitchenette, but I ignored it, instead choosing to head towards the two-seater sofa near the wall, where I sat down on the edge, tugging the skirt of my dress to cover up as much of my thighs as I could.
I eyed him warily. He looked exhausted, the light from the screen casting a sickly hue over his skin, his mouth set in a grim line. He was dressed differently to before, dark joggers, grey t-shirt, bare feet and his hair looked slightly damp, as if he'd not long taken a shower. A minute or so passed and Ethan's attention remained focused upon the annoying newsreader, who was bleating on about the increased use of food banks with a sneer in his voice and the right amount of condescending smarm that usually made me want to smack him in the face. But not today. Not now.
Looking from the TV to Ethan, I swallowed down the saliva that was gathering in my mouth, a nervous kick-back to the silence.
'I believe you,' I whispered, finally finding my voice, my thumb anxiously running along the hem of my dress. 'Everything you said. I believe you.'
He blinked slowly, his lips parting to exhale what sounded like a drained sigh, as he turned his head slightly to look at me.
'And what do you believe exactly?' he said.
'All of it.'
'Oh, well that's good to hear.' He casually picked up the packet of cigarettes and took one. 'Just out of interest, what exactly was it that swung it for you? At what point did you think oh, maybe that mad bastard isn't spinning me a fucking fairy story, after all? Was it when the Watcher found you on the train? When they tore apart a whole street to try and get to you? Or was it when a huge fuck-off Angel appeared in your house and decided to rip open your boyfriend's chest? Come on, Casey, tell me: when did you finally see the light?'
I recoiled from the venom in his tone, gripping my knees tight, nails digging into my skin. 'Why are you angry?'
'Angry?' He laughed coldly, clenching the cigarette between his teeth as he lit it, rolling his thumb across the lighter flint a few times before it sparked into life. Taking a long drag, he exhaled the smoke out of the side of his mouth. 'What makes you think I'm angry?'
'Your tone. The way you're looking at me.'
I saw it there. The same look I saw in Davey's eyes.
You did this, you did this, you did this.
'I didn't know, Ethan, okay?' My voice was cracking, my chest aching. 'You show up and tell me the craziest thing I've ever heard in my life and those things, they were everywhere, following me, chasing me. I thought I was going mad. I thought I was having a bloody breakdown, or something. Shit like that isn't meant to happen. Not if you're sane. Not if you're normal. How was I meant to accept it? Tell me how?'
He stood up and walked towards the window where the blinds were drawn, shutting us off from the world, and he took another drag, before turning around and looking back at me. The smoke swirled above his head.
'Do I look real to you? Well, do I?' he demanded, holding out his palms. 'Or am I some fucking apparition?'
'Of course, you're real, but there were times I wasn't sure. You have to understand, I...'
I'm an addict. I'm a hopeless, bloody mess and I'm losing it.
I bit at my nails and pulled my gaze away from his stare, feeling the heat rise to my face and the tears sting my eyes. 'I just didn't know what to believe, but I do now, I do, and I know it's too late. They're all dead and it's down to me. That thing, it killed them all and it's my fault for not listening to you, for not believing.'
Ethan rubbed at his neck wearily, running his hand up the back of his head and ruffling his damp hair. 'Well, not quite all of them. But I can't promise your friend will be okay, he'd have been picked up by now I'm sure, unless he's very, very good at hiding. I should imagine they've probably found him already.'
My head snapped up. 'What? Who?'
Ethan shrugged. 'The one who can't take his eyes off you. Was wearing a black baseball cap with white lettering on the front?'
Addi.
'Addi's alive?' I jumped up from the sofa. 'How can he still be alive? That thing killed everyone, I saw...'
'No, he got out, I don't know how, but he did. I'm guessing he was turned away when the light hit, maybe he managed to get out then. It happens.' Another shrug.
I remembered seeing Davey, Leon, Tegs, Azim, Fields... but Addi? I thought he'd still been there. Was sure of it. But now, as I tried to think back, I couldn't see him. Once the light had faded, Tegs and Azim had been dead already, their eyes nothing but lifeless orbs of white, blood running from their noses, ears, mouths. But Fields and Addi? I couldn't remember. All I could recall was that thing – oh god, that thing – and then Leon and Davey and fuck.
'Oh my God. Addi.' Hope sparked a burst of fireworks in my heart. 'We have to find him, we have to help him...'
Ethan shook his head and sniffed, stabbing out the cigarette in the ashtray. 'Forget it, I told you, he's a lost cause.'
'A lost cause?' I glared at him. 'A fucking lost cause? How can you say that? He's my friend. I can't leave him out there on his own, he needs me.'
He raised a brow. 'Trust me, Casey, the last person he needs in the world right now is you. Right now, if he's still alive and hiding out somewhere – and that's a big bloody if, because it'll be a miracle if he is – he's wandering around with a big fucking red target on his head. They'll be hunting him, just like they're hunting you and if you try and help him, if you somehow manage to find him, all you're going to do is lead them right to him, and to you for that matter. Is that what you want?'
'But he's done nothing wrong, he's innocent!' I cried.
'No' he said, firmly. 'He's not innocent, not by a bloody long shot. Not anymore.'
'What? Why?'
'Because he's seen them now, Casey. He's seen them. And that makes him fair game, if not for the Angels, then Juliette or Samuel or one of the others will be looking for him. But like I said, he's probably been picked up by now.'
I took a breath, felt it snag in my throat. It hurt so much, like a lifeline being dangled right in front of me, only to be snatched away at the last second and Ethan was just standing there, unbothered, like leaving Addi out there on his own meant nothing. Like Addi meant nothing.
'No way, this isn't happening,' I insisted. 'I'm not going to sit back and do bugger all while he's out there on his own, needing our help. How do I get out of here? This way?'
I turned and ran for the door, knowing that any second I would feel the pull as Ethan stopped me just like he did before, but when he didn't drag me back, I kept going, running past the bathroom and the bedroom and heading towards the end of the hallway.
'Casey, there's no point,' he called out.
I turned back to look at him. He was still standing there, his arms folded in front of his chest, making no move to try and stop me.
'If you won't help, then I'll do it myself. I'll find him, no matter what it takes.'
There was a door with slide-bolts plastered down one side, and I headed towards it, bare-footed, no coat, caring for nothing but getting out of there and finding Addi. He'd have gone to ground. I knew Addi. Knew his haunts. I'd find him, however long it took, no matter what I had to do. I'd find him.
I reached for the top bolt and the air rippled directly in front of it – shimmered – and as my hand hit it, electricity crackled over my skin and I was repelled violently backwards. The shock of it sent me stumbling and it was a couple of seconds before I realised I was clutching my hand to my chest, pain flaring angrily, the tips of my fingers shrouded in lobster-red skin, like a burn.
I glared furiously at Ethan, who remained where he was, arms still folded. He hadn't raised his hands at me, he hadn't pulled me back or caused the air to strike at me, yet something was there, barring my way.
'Whatever it is, whatever you're doing, stop it,' I hissed.
Ethan said nothing, his face stony and resolute.
'You're not fucking keeping me here!' I turned back to the door and hit out, aiming a punch at it. I'd get through it, I'd bloody force my way through it if I had to.
Blue veins of electricity cascaded outwards, snaking through the air and I was thrown backwards once more, this time thrown off my feet, landing in a crumpled heap, the base of my spine hitting the floor hard. The judder vibrated up my back, leaving me momentarily stunned. I sat, staring wide-eyed and desperate at the door, despair welling dark and strong, until finally Ethan was there, standing by my side.
Crouching down, he cocked his head at an angle as he studied me and I remembered Juliette looking at me in exactly the same way, with disdain and detachment, like a scientist about to slice open a specimen.
'By all means,' he said. 'Keep going. Keep trying. It's a noble gesture, really it is. Warms my heart to see it. But like I said, there's no point. Your friend is on his own, as are you now, so trust me when I say, you're not going anywhere.'
With that, he got up and walked away, sauntering down the hallway, leaving me to feel the sting of his words.
I was alone. Alone and trapped.
Ethan's scalpel had cut deep.
***
'What was that?' I said, gesturing down the hallway. 'Why can't I get out?'
We were back to where we'd been before. Me in the doorway, Ethan in the armchair. It felt like a bad case of déjà vu, only this time I wanted to hit him. I wanted to walk right over to him and hit him, until my muscles screamed at me to stop, but most of all, I wished I could run away. The walls were closing in, this place getting smaller and smaller by the second, and there was just me and him, this absolute stranger who wasn't going to let me leave.
There was a bottle of whiskey by his side now. He must have poured himself a measure when I'd been sitting in the hallway, trying to piece myself back together.
Picking up the glass, he raised it to me in mock-salutation.
'Because you're not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy,' he said, then swallowed half of it down, running his tongue over his teeth afterwards as if relishing the taste.
'What do you mean? Where am I?' I said, desperately trying to hold the panic at bay, together with the nausea that had made an unwelcome return. I started across the room towards the window.
'I wouldn't do that if I were you,' he warned.
I stopped short, my heart pounding.
Putting the glass down, Ethan stood and crossed the room, passing me and reaching for the blinds. As he did, the air seemed to part, billowing outwards either side of where his hand grabbed at the string, pulling the slats up.
Outside looked normal. I didn't recognise the street, but it looked just like any other London street did. There was a kebab shop on the corner, one of them twenty-four-hour convenience stores that sold everything you could possibly want but for twice the money, a bus stop with the glass shelter smashed in. Cars. Cabs. Buses. People. Normality.
'Where are we? Are we still in Hackney? Brixton? Where, Ethan?'
He gave a small smile as he nodded to the street outside. 'It's a neat trick, isn't it? Bit like a two-way mirror. We can see them, they can't see us.'
'What do you mean?'
'Out there is London. Islington to be exact, closer to the border of Camden than Hackney, mind you,' he said. 'In here? Well, you're about as far away from Islington as you could hope to get.'
I rubbed at my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache splintering out across my skull. 'Can you do me a favour and not talk in bloody riddles all the time?'
'No riddles, Casey,' he replied, leaning back against the wall in a casual stance. I could see he was amused by this, by my confusion, maybe even by my panic. 'All this that you see is my world. I live under the surface of everything you see out there, under the surface of everything you know. That's where we all live.'
'You mean you, Juliette, this Samuel guy, that one Juliette spoke about. What was his name? Blake, that's it... all the people like you?'
'Yes. If that's how you want to put it. People like me.'
I didn't want to think about that, about how the way he said people made it sound like they weren't people at all. They were... something else. Something other.
'Lift a stone and you shall find me,' Ethan continued, dropping the blinds and barring the city outside from my view.
'And that's not a bloody riddle?'
He laughed as he walked back over to the table, pouring himself another drink. A large drink.
'I'm just fucking with you,' he grinned. 'Actually, it's apparently from the Gospel of Thomas. Made famous in that film Stigmata. Did you ever watch that? Cracking movie. Great cast. The message behind it was all a load of shit obviously, but still a damn good watch.'
'You're mad,' I whispered, staring at him. 'Here I am, thinking I'm the one going insane, but it's you.'
'Wouldn't that be easier?' he said, taking a swig of whiskey. 'Easier to accept madness than the truth. It's okay, I understand that. Insanity has often seemed the better option to me, but unfortunately not a road I can go down. I find drinking helps. Want one?'
I did. I could have taken the rest of that bottle and swallowed it all down and it wouldn't have been enough. Not for this. I shook my head and wrapped my arms around myself.
'You know what quote from the Thomasine Gospel would have been more fitting?' Ethan continued. 'Recognise what is in your sight, and that which is hidden from you will become plain to you. For there is nothing hidden which will not become manifest. Now that, is something I can get behind. That's a fucking mantra to live by, Casey. That's something to preach about.'
He flopped down onto the chair again, legs outstretched. 'My Kingdom is not of this world,' he said, a strange giggle bursting from his mouth. 'Oh, that's Jesus, I'm quoting there, just in case you weren't sure. You don't seem like a girl who's well-versed in scripture, if you don't mind me saying. Not that I can blame you, to be honest. That's all a load of shit too. Comes in handy though. There's all sorts of gems in there I can use; the my Kingdom one being particularly apt in this situation.'
'Which means what exactly?'
'It means just as I said before. My kind don't live in your world. We live under the surface. In the cracks. In darkness. Hidden. And yet we're all around you. You just can't see us. Now, the whole two-way mirror thing was a joke – not a good one, granted, I'm not much of a joker – but there's some truth in the analogy. The top floor of this building has two apartments, at least, that's what everyone else sees. They could walk up and down, examine every inch between the two apartments and all they'd see is a badly-plastered wall, covered in shitty graffiti, most of it guilty of terrible crimes to the English language. They could come right up to the door, even though outside that door doesn't exist, and they wouldn't even know that I'm here. Just as they wouldn't even know you're here.'
He smiled again. Took another swig.
'Is that meant to be a threat?' I said, wishing my voice didn't sound so shaky and weak.
'A threat?' His eyes widened. 'Do you honestly think I'd go to all that trouble of saving you just to bring you here and threaten you?'
'I don't know, Ethan!' I snapped. 'I don't know what's going on. I don't know why I'm here. I don't know why you won't let me leave. I haven't got the faintest idea what this is all about!'
'Okay,' he said, slamming the glass down on the table, making the lamp wobble precariously. 'Seeing as you've clearly not been listening to a fucking thing I've said, I'll spell it out to you again. Do let me know if I'm going too fast for you, yeah? I'd hate for any of this to have to be repeated, I really would. First of all, no matter what you might think, I did save you. If I hadn't, you wouldn't be standing there now with that fucking stinking attitude on your face. In fact, you wouldn't be standing at all. You'd have been erased from existence. Everyone you know wouldn't remember you. No one would care because no one would ever have known you. That's what they do, you see. The great and benevolent Angels. They wipe all memory of people like you from everyone you ever loved and from everyone who ever loved you. Humans aren't meant to see them and the moment you started seeing our world, you became marked. You became an aberration, fit only to be wiped from the face of the Earth.'
He stood up suddenly, fists clenched by his sides. I took a step back. Had the light from the TV screen dimmed? Had the shadows in the corners of the room grown? I felt the tension, palpable and cold, so bloody cold that goosebumps had risen on my skin.
'Lesson two,' he continued, his brow heavy and dark. 'Are you keeping up? Still with me? Good. The reason for bringing you here is not to imprison you because I have sinister intentions. That little altercation you just had with the dimensional field wasn't a scare tactic, although you should be scared, not of me, but of what awaits you topside. You go back to your world and that's it, Casey. They'll find you and if they don't, one of my people will. Either way, it means you're screwed. I've brought you here because it's the only way I can keep you hidden from them all, long enough for me to work out what the fuck to do next, so don't stand there looking at me like I'm the enemy, when I'm the only one keeping you alive.'
He reached down for the packet of cigarettes again, lighting one with more ease this time. I watched as he took a few drags, the slow inhale and exhale seeming to lower the notch of his anger just a little, although his free hand was still bunched into a fist.
'What did you mean about needing to work out what to do next?' I broached, tentatively.
'Oh, I'm sorry,' he said, his gaze snapping towards me. 'Did you expect me to have all the answers?'
'No, no, of course not,' I stammered. 'It's just, this is your world, you seem like you know what you're doing, that's all.'
Fuck, Casey. Flattery now? For him?
He laughed quietly, blowing out smoke as he did so. 'Funny you should say that actually, because usually I do.'
'So, what's different now?'
'What's different?' he said, his face twisting bitterly. 'What's different, Casey, is that what happened yesterday should never have happened. That thing you saw – the Angel – is no ordinary angel sent out to wreak divine judgement on those that have seen our world. That Angel was a Cherubim and I haven't seen a Cherubim in a very, very long time.'
'A Cherubim?' I frowned. 'You mean, like a Cherub?'
Ethan rolled his eyes. 'For fuck's sake,' he growled, massaging his knuckles against his forehead in frustration. 'I swear, Renaissance art has got a lot to bloody answer for. Forget the little plump kids with the blonde ringlets and feathery wings because that's just bullshit. Scripture and history would have you believe they are beautiful, because who the fuck wants to know that Angels could look like that? Cherubim are a long way from being beautiful and I can't even tell you they're beautiful on the inside either, although I'm quite sure you've worked that one out for yourself already.'
I remembered the creature's cracked alabaster skin, its gnarled twisted limbs, its razor-sharp talons and shuddered.
'The Cherubim are from the Highest Order of Angels, second only in rank to those who sit at the top of the ladder,' Ethan explained, exhaling a long stream of smoke. 'They are vicious, brutal, violent and relentless and they don't come down here, Casey. They don't make themselves known to humans. In fact, I haven't heard of a Cherubim appearing on Earth for hundreds and hundreds of years.'
I tried not to gasp at the last bit, but if he heard me he didn't acknowledge it. Instead, he seemed momentarily lost in his own thoughts, his face deeply troubled. This had hit him hard, whatever the Hell it all meant I had no idea, but I could see it was nothing good if it had rattled him this badly. The drinking, the anger, this was all because of something else, something big.
'When the last... Cherubim appeared on Earth, why did it come? Do you know?'
Ethan's gaze rested on me and I recoiled from it, feeling the shadows stretch out even further around him, until he was almost cloaked by the gloom.
'Yes,' he said. 'I do. It came for a disciple. Not an ordinary disciple, mind you, and not any of the ones that you're thinking of now. This human disciple – a woman - followed a celestial being, a revolutionary if you like, and she set about recruiting those to his cause, opening their eyes to the world that existed hidden all around them. Opening their eyes to the Angels and what they really were.'
He stepped closer.
'So, the question I have, Casey, is why you? Why would one of the most powerful Angels in existence feel the need to appear on Earth and make itself known to mankind, all because of you?'