The Realms Thereunder

CHAPTER THREE
That Time We Saved the World
1

Now . . .

He’d kept his pace and turned his head to show what he felt was the expected amount of interest for a passerby to give a crime scene. Then he took a turn down Hollybrush Road, another at St. Thomas’s Street, and then up Worcester Street. He wondered where it would be best for him to lay low. The police kept a pretty accurate and up-to-date social map of the Oxford indigent community, he knew. It was starting to look like a cold sleep in Port Meadow tonight. Maybe then he’d think about walking up to Abbingdon, or even Reading.

But it was while walking down Walton Street that he noticed a couple of officers were following him-at least, he felt like they were following him. They were walking the same street as he was, which was long and busy. It could be a coincidence, he thought. Or perhaps not.

He was just re-plotting a route that would take him out of their direction when he heard a familiar voice call his name. He turned and saw Freya waving at him. She wasn’t wearing a coat or jacket. Daniel backtracked and came to stand near her.

“Hi, um,” she said, wrapping her arms around her chest and huddling against the cold. “I’ve got a table in there.” Freya motioned to a cafe with red trim and large-paned windows. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Daniel looked past her at the two policemen walking leisurely up the street and nodded. Freya smiled at him. “Good.”

They entered and went up to the counter. “What would you like?”

“Tea. Hot tea.”

“Anything to eat?”

Daniel shrugged. He was famished but didn’t want her to know that.

“The toasted sandwiches are good. How about one of those? Ham and cheese?”

Daniel nodded.

“Cool. Why don’t you sit down? I’m over there.” She pointed to a table near the window. Daniel turned and went to the table. He pulled out one of the rickety wooden chairs and lowered himself onto it.

There was a pile of books stacked haphazardly next to an open laptop. He looked at their spines. When was the last time he’d read a book? He picked up the one lying on top. It was a thin, small white book-an untranslated study edition of The Wanderer. He opened it, paged past the introduction, and started to read the poem.

Freya joined him shortly, bringing a large mug of steaming tea with her. She placed it in front of Daniel. “They’ll bring the sandwich to us when it’s ready. So,” she said uncertainly, closing her laptop. “How’ve you been?”

Daniel looked at the pile of books on the table. “What are you studying?”

“Uh, philosophy and theology. At Pembroke.”

“Which is this?” Daniel said, flipping through the booklet.

“Philosophy or theology?”

Freya’s brow tightened. “That’s-just for me.”

Daniel nodded and put the book back on the pile and focused on his tea. He poured some milk into it from a small pitcher on the table. Then he started adding sugar.

Freya leaned forward and put her chin in her hands. They sat in silence for a little while, Freya looking at the table, Daniel sipping from his tea until it was cool enough to take large gulps from.

The sandwich arrived and Freya shifted things on the table to give Daniel room to eat. He asked for some mustard and the waiter brought it.

“So,” she said. “I’ve seen you on the street.”

“I called to you once.”

“I heard you, but . . . I wasn’t ready to see you.”

Daniel nodded and took a bite of his sandwich.

“What happened?” she asked.

Daniel chewed for a moment. “Things got kind of rough with Mum. Me being missing was really hard on her. Things were better when I got back . . . and then they got worse. I think, in a way, she really enjoyed the attention she got when I was gone-she’s still got the newspapers with all the headlines from that time. And when we turned up again, she was overjoyed-there were interviews and photo shoots for a couple weeks, and then they-the newspapers-stopped calling. And a couple days after that, they stopped returning her calls. She went through her first wave of depression then. I learned to stay out of her way. Nothing I could do would make her happy. She’d start things with guys she’d meet from-anywhere, I guess. Those never ended well. Then, as you know, I did an apprenticeship instead of A levels-I wanted to start making money so I could get out of there.

“That fell through and I couldn’t get any more work. I joined the army, the regular army, for a year or so. That was a problem for me. I left and I’ve been on the streets for about . . . six months now?”

Freya couldn’t look at Daniel. She was finding it work enough to breathe past the lump in her throat. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I had no idea, all that time.”

“It’s alright. You couldn’t have done anything. It’s like what they say about falling through the cracks-except it felt like I fell through one huge crack that I had no way of getting across. I’ll get out again, somehow.” Daniel finished one half of the sandwich and picked up the other. “So, how have you been?”

Freya drew a deep breath and leaned back in her chair. “Oh, you know. Can’t complain.”

Daniel laughed, a free and easy laugh. “No, seriously . . .”

“Seriously, not much. I did my A levels-history, religious studies, and philosophy-and managed to get into Oxford. I took a year out and earned some money so that I could travel, mostly around France. And . . . that’s it.”

Daniel nodded and finished eating his sandwich.

“You ever think about it?” Daniel asked with a grin. “That time we saved the world?”

Freya frowned. “I try not to.”

“Why?”

“It’d be different if I could talk to someone about it, but as I can’t-I’ve got to keep everything inside of myself. I’m still in . . . therapy, for my”-she drew another deep breath-“habits.”

“Why?”

Freya looked up, locking her eyes with his. “That wasn’t a happy time of my life. It was probably the worst thing I’ve ever gone through.”

Daniel wiped his lips with a paper napkin and put it in his pocket. “It was the best time of my life. It’s been all downhill after that.”

“Well, I’m sorry for you, then,” Freya said, pushing back and wrapping her arms around herself. “Or happy for you. Whatever.”

“Freya,” Daniel said, “do you ever think of going back?”

She tried to answer, but her lips clamped down, immovable, like concrete. She shook her head.

“I have, lots of times. I’ve been back to that church we visited- lots of times. I’ve poked around, in the evening, dawn-and nothing. But it’s important that we try to get back. I’ve been thinking, and I think something’s happening-something to do with what we did. I’ve been seeing, I don’t know, signs. If we went back, we could ask what they mean.” Daniel leaned in. In a low voice he said, “I killed a . . . a you-know-what two weeks ago. I think I’ve seen more of them around. I think I’m being followed. I’ve seen shapes on rooftops.”

Daniel studied Freya’s face for a reaction. There wasn’t one- she was still frowning-but her face seemed harder somehow, stiffer. “That’s not funny.”

“Freya . . . I think-I think there are things still left to do.

We’re not done. Look,” he said, drawing his notebook out of his jacket pocket. “Remember what Modwyn said about evil invading the country? I’ve been keeping a log of the bad things that have happened in Oxford-just in Oxford-in the last eight weeks. See, look at this chart.”

Freya closed her eyes. Her stomach was queasy. She felt like she was in a very small space with tall walls that were quickly deteriorating, and behind those walls, an ocean of fear that would come flooding through at any moment. She knew Daniel was still talking, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying. He had to stop-he had to.

“Shut up,” she said, in a small voice.

“-where we came out. That wasn’t an enchanted site. We find Alexander Simpson again-”

“Shut up-shut up. I said SHUT UP!” Freya violently slapped the table several times with the palm of her hand. Then she leaned over the table, buried her face in her hands, and started sobbing.

Daniel fell silent, as did the entire cafe. Eyes turned towards them, concerned.

Daniel looked around and smiled. The manager scowled at him from behind the counter. His look said that although a homeless man was tolerated here, so long as he paid-homeless men who disturbed his customers most certainly were not. Palms outwards, Daniel slowly pushed his chair back and rose.

“You know,” Daniel said as he slid past Freya, “if you ever wanted anyone to talk to, you could have talked to me.”

Daniel pushed through the door and headed out into the evening rain.

Freya sat guiltily, fidgeting with one of her books. Then she abruptly stood and chased after Daniel.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to yell. It just all came back really quickly.” She stood there, shivering in the sleet without her jacket. Her arms were wrapped around her stomach, as she hunched her shoulders against the cold. The gentle shower fell on her face, making it slick, wet. She lifted a hand to brush a bead of water from her brow.

“That’s alright,” Daniel said. “I’m sorry I upset you.”

“Listen, I’ve got to do something tomorrow. Do you mind if we meet the day after? We can talk about whatever you want to then.”

“I suppose that would be alright.”

“There’s a church in Summertown near where I live-St.

Michael and All Angels. Can you be there at four? So we can miss the twilight?”

“Yes, okay. I’ll see you then.”

“Okay, see you then.”

Freya left and entered the coffee shop again, hardly aware that her compulsions seemed to leave her when she was around Daniel.