“I dunno, Jack. I just don't know. I mean, she's great, isn't she?”Jack nodded solemnly, and sipped his tea. He was a sad man, like Russell. Never married. Nobody ever worked out why, maybe he just wasn't the marrying type. He didn't look it, in his slacks and t-shirt, and his lack of respect for himself. Husbands didn't smoke, and they didn't let their wives know if they did. Russell was oblivious to how he was making Jack feel, by talking about nothing but his wife and the problems with his wife and how his daughter learned new naughty words by sleeping in the room next to them not quite deeply enough. Arguments hit home the hardest when you heard your daughter imitating them.”She sure seems great,” Jack agreed solemnly.
“Then what the hells happened?”
“Well every couple goes through rough patches, Russell.”
“I can't remember the last time we didn't have a rough patch, frankly.”
“You must have done, else you wouldn't have gotten married.”
“Thats right,” Russell mused. “We must have had good times.”
He closed his eyes and thought back to that wonderful marshmellow bed. In those depths, in that wonderful sweating calm, in Juliet, he had found meaning.
“Things used to be fantastic. They must have been.” He wrinkled his eyes with concentration, went to take a sip then lashed out at it, smashing the cup on the floor. Coffee snuck along the tunnels between the tiles.
“I just wish... I just wish I could have waited, I guess?”
Jack huffed. “Could be worse. At least you have a wife. I don't even have a job.”
Russell laughed. “Right now I'd prefer to have a job than a wife.”
For the second time in as many chapters, Russell awoke. Once again, he felt nothing as he awoke, before he remembered exactly what situation he was in. Then he leapt up. Lester swam into focus above him and he burned red because he was naked – it was like a childhood nightmare made real, only his bottom was pressed against hard cold metal instead some school chair. Dresden pressed him down, making sure he didn't move.
“I have good news.” Lester said. He was naked as well. What the hell was this?
“Your daughter is alive.”
“Its just... every since me and Juliet have been married I've felt... what, guilty? I guess?”
“How do you mean?” said Jack, sipping his coffee.
“Like I'd almost prefer to be alone. There was so much I never got to experience with my life, you know? Cos I got married.”
“I suppose that makes sense,” Jack mused, “Though I'd kill to be in your shoes now. Being single is only fun when you're not, you know.”
“I guess.” Russell sighed and looked out into the street. Cars passed slowly, rattling the pedestrians as they slammed over cobblestones. There were shops on the other side of the street, hawking adverts, and teenagers stalked the cracks in pavements. And- “Juliet!” Russell murmered. “Speak of the devil.”
Juliet had got out of her car, across the street. She looked radiant. Prettier than he had seen her in a long time. She was wearing make-up (unusually for her), and a fancy red summer dress that left her head-and-shoulders above everyone else in view. He followed her with his eyes, looked her up and down. Maybe she was getting ready to see him later? Russell smiled. She knew how to put on a show, that was for sure. Then he saw her get into another car. Kiss the man in the other seat. Drive away. Drive away down the high street. The bottom dropped out of his stomach. He looked at Jack open-mouthed, hoping, wishing for him to give him a rational explanation for that had just happened. Jack just stared out the window. He toyed idly with the lengths on his hoodie. He didn't know what to say either.
“Your daughters alive, buddy.” Lester smiled at him. “We thought you ought to know.” Russells head hurt. He was pleased, wasn't he? His daughter, his only daughter, was alive! She was back from the dead! She was alright, and all he had to do was go pick her up and everything could go back to the way they were before! That was a good thing, wasn't it? Because the way things were before were better than how they are now. Surrounded by nudist kidnappers in some junkyard in the arse-end of nowhere was worse than how things were before. Before he had a television which he didn't have to strap down first to stop it trying to garotte him. Not literally, anyway. Back home he had a job and a sofa, and... tea, he supposed.
Russell held his head in his hands as he tried not to realise that his current situation was not much worse than how his life had been before, cloaked in misery and possession and uncertainty that it was. How had he let this happen to himself? He had always been a clever kid. He had been funny, smart, passionate, caring, cock-sure at times; how had he let this happen?
He thought harder. How had he let Melanie happen? How, indeed, had he let Juliet happen?
He was sad when Juliet died. He must have been. He wanted her back, he didn't want her gone. That was that. He didn't need this shit going on in his head right now. He needed to see his daughter again, that was what he needed. Once he saw her again then he wouldn't think shit like this. He would remember how he needed her and he could root himself in what was safe and familiar again, and he wouldn't have to exist in this hell-hole any longer.
He tried not to realise the hell-hole that had been his apartment.
He looked up at Lester, who was looking a little confused, then looked at Belle, who shrugged. Her bosom heaved beneath her arm. Russell looked at Belle as well. She hadn't been there when Melanie had been taken away but she undoubtedly worked with, or for, Lester. He admired her figure. Stocky legs. Was stocky the right word? Stocky wasn't a word you used to describe a womans legs in a positive way, she'd probably hit him if he called them that. How to call them? Not slender, they weren't, they were the toned muscles of someone who did a lot of running, climbing, jumping, punching. More like... hardened. Toned. Muscly. Not that she was a bodybuilder, but... she had the figure of a woman who ate well, but she wasn't fat. Well. She had a little bit of a stomach on her, but unlike Juliet, she didn't seem to care, which made him not care either. Russell wasn't good at describing women, or even looking at them, especially in the nude. He didn't want to focus on the bits he was most interested in, because he knew that he wasn't a sexist pig-fuck, but that left him with relatively little to talk about. What the hell did he care about her feet, or her hands, or her eyes or ears, or whatever. Sure, they were nice, but a nice pair of feet wasn't what he looked for in a woman-
All of a sudden he stopped himself. He realised what he had been doing. He had just found out that his daughter was still alive and here he was, fucking ravishing this nobody with his eyes. He cursed himself and felt immensely guilty, not only for Melanie but for Juliet as well, the two chains which kept him anchored so far away from real happiness. What was it which normally happened in situations like this? His stomach should be full of helium, the world should be brighter, birds (hah!) should be singing. All he had was guilt. Guilt from 18-23. Five years of hasty marriage, hasty child, hasty death. Guilt.
Belle jabbed Lester, who continued somewhat haphazardly,, “I know you aren't best pleased with us, buddy, but I – say, now I think of it, what is your name?”
Russell said nothing. His brain was still a soup of hateful thoughts.
“Hey, buddy! I gotta start calling you something else or I'll go mad!”
“Russell.” Russell murmered, to stop him talking as much as anything.
“I'm Lester,” Lester said, extending his hand. Russell knew his name was Lester. Why should he take his hand? Take the hand of a murderer. The hand of a murderer who, now Russell thought about it, wasn't a murderer. A not-murderer who had, he he realised, just saved his life. He looked at Lester for a long moment and considered his options. He couldn't leave Melanie and go home, he just couldn't. But he had no idea first of all how they found out how she was alive and and more importantly how to get to her. There was no point in being this antagonistic – after all, he was an adult and he had asked for their help himself earlier. Were they about to offer it to him? He made his choice. He smiled at Lester, and shook his hand. Sparks crackled beneath their fingernails and the handshake said a lot, with lips of inter-tangled thumb.
“Good,” said Lester approvingly and stepped back, allowing Russell to sit up. He did so, shielding his privates from the potential views of anyone in the area.
Lester looked back and laughed. “If you care that much, you'll be happy to know that Dresden is off collecting some clothes for us. I thought they might be important, considering how far we'll be walking.”
Russell sat up straighter. “Does this mean-”
“That we're helping you get your daughter back?” Lester turned and his face was serious. “Yeah, we are.”
Russells face cracked into a beautiful smile.
Lester continued. “I really should explain myself, why I took your daughter.”
“Children are special, Russell. Children have always been special here. Don't ask me why, because I haven't been able to work it out fully myself. But having children here has always ensured... a kind of stability on this island. But not long ago... twenty years now, I should say, maybe sooner, something happened which threatened this stability.” Lester started pacing, and looked away from Russell. “I used to excavate on this island. I used to dig underneath it, trying to understand what makes it tick. How does that clockwork-” and he pointed to the sky, to the sun-lamp hanging overhead, “move?” He sighed. “I found something – well, me and my team. Set it off. Some machine in the ground, it exploded and bathed the entire island in light. You could see it from all around, Russell, or so I'm told! This was one mother-of-all explosions! And since then...” Lester stopped a moment, then skipped out with rage and kicked apart a loose bracket in a nearby wall. He grunted with rage, and slammed his fists against the bronzed rivets. A sob escaped him. He shook. After a while, he composed himself. His fists clenched and he turned around.
“Since then, things have been different. Not much, not massively, but from that point onwards, no more children were born on the island. It wasn't for lack of trying, it was because of radiation, I think, radiation released by the bomb. There have been no more children. The last child came of age two years ago.”
Russell was perplexed. “But what good will one child do? You surely can't expect Melanie to-”
Lester stopped him. “You misunderstand me! I hadn't finished; the most important part I haven't told you yet! Once the last child grew up, something started happening to our beaches!”
Russell snorted. “You're an environmentalist?” Lester glared at him. “This is deadly serious. Do you have any idea what happens to metal when it comes into contact with water?”
Russells smile dropped. “Your beaches are rusting?”
“Russell, our beaches have rusted. They have fallen apart! And the beaches are only the start! After them, the water didn't stop! Its continued to rise! Its swallowed up my hometown! My... my parents, my family!” Lesters lip trembled and he looked down. “I have to do something. I have to fix it.”
Nobody moved. Sebastien had stopped reorganising his satchel and stared at Lester. Belle bit her lip, and looked down. Russell stared.
“You mean this island is sinking?”
Nobody said a word.
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