S T O R I E S

J I M

“You're doing it again!” I knock Jim off of the shelf with my hand. He keeps staring at me, he just sits there staring. I stumble back and slide down the wall opposite the shelf. He's been like this for weeks, hasn't said so much as a single word to me, I miss the sound of his voice. I run my fingers through my hair, brushing it from my eyes, they find Jim lying on the floor smiling blankly at the ceiling. I push myself up on my knees and shuffle over to him, I pick him up in my hands.

I can see my face in his reflection, my eyes in his eyes. I look crazed, wild and I feel hollow. If Jim were really here, and not stuck behind a wooden frame and glass, he'd help me, he'd say, “Get a move on Jane!” he'd hold me tight. “I miss you,” I whisper at him, or not. My lips move but I don't know if the sound came out. I close my eyes.

I pull Jim's picture close to my chest, feeling the harsh corners of the frame and begin to sob. I fall onto my side and curl, pulling my knees up to my chin. The tears come fast, hot and painful. I can hear my voice now, like the sharp high-pitched beats of a wounded animal. My body shudders violently as I lose the control I was so desperately trying to keep a hold of. I squeeze my eyes tight, trying to stop more tears from escaping, but they force their way through. You are defenceless, I tell myself. I know. I stay like this for some time, but as always, I find my breath and calm it. I sit up. I open my eyes.

The hallway is a blur of colours and light, I remove one hand from the frame and rub my eyes, everything seems to focus again. I sigh. “This has got to stop.” I know. “He's gone.” I know. I fight hard again as my upper lip trembles at the thought. He is gone. The house is empty, it has been for months and I hardly count as an occupant, the only thing that lives here now is dust and uneasy memories. You need to get out. I know. I put Jim back on his shelf.

I feel unsteady on my feet as I walk through the house, I end up in the kitchen. It feels bare. It looks bare. I open the fridge, nothing. Well, there was – no, nothing. I flip the switch on the kettle. Mug, spoon, wait, pour, stir. I sit on the stool by the counter rocking a little with my black coffee, two sugars. I sigh, looking out of the window. The sun has just started its climb behind the trees of our garden. My garden. Just you. I know. I make plans to go out.

“I'm going to be ok Jim.” I know.

7 5 . B A K E R . S T R E E T

The door of the bathroom of 75 Baker Street is locked, we are not looking in through a keyhole, this door can only be locked from the inside. We are inside the bathroom of 75 Baker Street with a young women named Alex Clark, she is not aware of our presence so feel free to take a look around. Alex undresses lazily as the tub slowly fills with water topped with a nimbus of foamy bubbles. We watch, as for a brief moment after dropping her dressing robe Alex studies her naked figure in the mirror.

We do not study her body as she does, we look to her face. We see indifference, a shade of disappointment and perhaps a little pride as her gaze moves back up to her eyes. She sighs heavily and unties her hair letting it fall from her shoulders. She leans over the bath and turns the taps backwards to shut off the water. The tap marked 'H' scolds her hand and for the first time we hear her voice, “Ow you little fu-”

We move next door. We are in the hallway of 77 Baker Street, a young boy runs through us, screaming loudly as his mother, Jean Bower, chases him to his bedroom, we hear giggling, the inevitable result of his capture, as they run out of our field of view.

“Stop, stop! No!” More giggling and laughter follows, we peek in his room for a mere second, his mother is tickling him on his bed, we move downstairs. The boy's father, Richard Bower, is sitting in a maroon armchair by a fireplace reading a fresh newspaper. He reads carefully, eyes narrowing first at the headlines and then widening as he moves onto the full story, we can tell that this is a ritual event, the reading of the newspaper. He glances up for a moment, as we do, to watch a sultry ginger cat prowl into the room and settle by the curtains. It purrs gently as it becomes comfortable, content by the warmth of the crackling fire. We move on.

Back in the bathroom of 75 Baker Street, Alex has balanced her stereo on the side of the bath, an extension cable runs under the door, we look through and see it leads all the way back to her room, trailing across the hallway. Alex has one foot in the bath now, she winces at the hot water but eventually allows herself to sink all the way down, the water rushes in waves against the sides and splashes the floor, her clothes and the stereo. She sits up and flicks the switch on the front, music begins to play and she hums along.

We move to the hallway and see a woman pulling a vacuum cleaner up the stairs by its handle. She drags the machine across the wire of the extension cord she has failed to notice laying tangled on the floor. We watch as it snags and pulls the wire from under the bathroom door.

Richard Bower, the father of the screaming child from 77 Baker street looks up from his newspaper momentarily as the light in his living room flickers. 75 Baker Street goes dark. We are outside now, we wait for flashing lights and wailing sirens.

D R E A M W O R L D

I unravel the napkin and let the cutlery fall on to the table, I pick up the fork and begin twirling it between my fingers. She's late, I'm nervous, the restaurant is heaving, hot and loud. A delicious scented steam floats through the air and catches me for a while, I glance up at the clock, it is five past the hour. Ok, so not that late, but still late and late is never good. I look at the tables around my own, all but a few are full; couples on dates, families laughing, dinner between friends. Here I am, sat alone, waiting for a woman who I'm not even sure exists, let alone sure will show.

Saline is a name I'd heard only a few times before Dare had really brought her up. She was a Prescriber, supposedly. I'm not really sure what a Prescriber is, Me and Dare have taken an educated guess or two. I don't really care what she does, so long as she can help me get back Jhan. I realise I've been staring at the table to my left for about a minute now, the people seated there have realised this too and so I quickly steer my eyes back to my own table. I freeze. Sat in the chair opposite me is a woman, immaculately presented, stunning really. I look her up and down, quickly; black dress, black hair, long, past her shoulders, green eyes, dark lips. Saline. I don't even question it, this is her. I open my mouth but she hushes me instantly.

“Elliott,” her voice rings clearly over the hum of the other customers, I nod, “I am Saline, our transaction must be completed by the time I finish the wine.” Her polished nail taps a sparkling glass of deep red, it chimes quietly. I nod again. She lifts the glass to her lips, oh God. I reach in to the inside pocket of my suit jacket and pull out the crystal blade Dare had given me before we'd set off to the restaurant. I fire my hand forward with what I hope is a deadly sort of precision, I release the blade at the last moment. For a single second it hovers before me in the air, I watch as Saline's eyes widen over the brim of her wine glass. The blade pierces it silently, the wine ripples in the air as the glass shatters outwards. It isn't until the blade passes through Saline's teeth that I hear the wine glass shatter, with harsh clashing sounds. Her eyes blacken as the crystal leaves through the back of her skull. She falls forwards onto the table in a pool of blood and wine, dead.

The floor rumbles, the walls shed a layer of what looks like dust. I look down at the cutlery and watch as it slowly turns to sand, the table quickly follows suit and a fierce wind begins to rip through the room. No one makes a sound as they begin to fall to pieces, the walls twist and tear apart, everything begins to spin. All I can see is a churning wall of beige. Suddenly a light burns through, Saline appears, a ten-thousand foot siren pushing the Earth deep into the desert that surrounds me.

I fall through miles of cloud, freezing rain splinters against my skin, the blue of everything burns my eyes. My stomach blurs and my heart skips as I hit the floor, Saline and the desert disappear. I blink and realise I am sat in a restaurant, I look up at the clock, it is five past the hour. I look to the chair opposite me, Jhan smiles tentatively. “Ready to order yet?” I blink again.