In a state of utter panic, Caty fled the police station. She was halfway down another street when she could not hold it any longer; crouching over, she screamed quietly to herself, crying in earnest now. By now she was at least a mile away from the office. However, knowing Axelander and his weird ability to know things he shouldn’t, she could not drop her guard.
The street light nearest to her went out and then turned on again, its orange filament flickering ominously in the deserted road. In the brief flashes of light, Caty saw a figure move around the corner.
In an instant, she was on her feet, staring at the spot where she had seen the movement. Then she sighed, as she realised it was just a cat. Its sleek black coat dimly reflected the dusty light as it sidled up to her. It pushed itself against her legs, purring loudly.
This confused Caty. Wasn’t she invisible? She was certain she was – so why could the cat see her? Her eyes welling up again, she wished with all her heart that the policemen could see her.
“I wish the policemen could see me,” said the cat.
Caty froze, squeezing her eyes shut. Was the insanity of the underground finally catching up with her? She exhaled forcefully, and looked down – she was wondering if she had, in fact, imagined the cat as well.
It was still rubbing against her ankles, but now it was staring at her. Something in its eyes was not normal, did not feel right. It let out a soft meow, and even that was not feline.
Thinking hard, Caty absent-mindedly bent down and picked up the cat; it relaxed into her arms without protest. She stroked its head, tickling under its chin, and it closed its eyes blissfully.
I want to be seen, thought Caty. I want everything to go back to normal.
“I want to be seen,” said the cat, in a clear, soft voice. “I want everything to go back to normal.”
Convinced that she was not going mad, Caty stared down at the talking cat. The cat stared back, its black pupils becoming rounder as Caty watched. A few seconds later, its previously yellow-green irises were blue – the same blue as in Caty’s eyes. The cat lifted one of its paws to its eyelevel, examining the extended claws in the same manner as Caty examined her nails.
Stunned, Caty dropped the cat and walked hastily away. As she reached the street corner, a glance over her shoulder confirmed what she had dared not believe. The cat was walking away from her on its hind legs, its front ones swinging along with the motion.
Forgetting the danger of the oddities, she walked aimlessly through the sleepy city. As she got closer to the centre, there were a few more cars on the roads and more pedestrians on the pavements. None of them even glanced her way as she pushed open the door to an all-night cafe. The waitresses and two other customers looked up at the sound of the tinkling bell, and frowned when they saw nobody. Caty sat down at a table hidden by wooden separators and pulled the menu towards her. Just the smell of bacon and chips wafting strongly from the kitchens was making her mouth swim with saliva.
She thought hard for a minute, and then sidled up to the counter. There lay one of the pads the waitresses used, and it had a pen attached by twisted sello-tape. She jotted down an order for a burger with bacon and cheese with a side of chips, ripped off the paper and slid it onto the table by the chef. He was engrossed in whatever he was cooking, and so did not notice a slip of paper appearing out of nowhere.
Having placed her order, Caty took the time to walk around the dingy cafe. Everything seemed to be coated with a layer of grease and grime, including the outside of a fish tank that was set into the wall. She watched the fish swimming around for a minute or two from her seat, hidden by the booth partition. There were blue, orange and multicoloured fish, a little black one with a massive dress-like tail and a still catfish, apparently snoozing in one corner.
A waitress hurried past, many plates balanced on one tray. Caty spotted her order, resting precariously on the tray’s edge.
The waitress walked back up the cafe to deliver an order. She was too preoccupied with dishing out these last meals so that she could clock off that she did not notice one of them slide silently off the tray and onto a table – all of its own accord, apparently.
Once Caty had finished her meal, she prepared to stand up and leave. She cast one last, half-interested look over to the fish tank and, although the surface was greasy, saw a reasonably clear reflection of the street behind her.
Three figures, all in white gowns specked with dark shapes, were strolling past the outside of the cafe. Surreptitiously, Caty backed down into her seat, staying very still and concentrating on thinking about the fish. She had a strong suspicion that Axelander could sense emotions or thoughts – he had even told her so himself – so unless she kept it in check, her panic would give her away.
A minute later, Caty dared to stand up again. She hurried over to the front of the cafe and peered about. The street seemed to be deserted. Feeling slightly calmer, but in a hurry to get away, she waited for some sort of sound that would cover up the noise of the bell. Suddenly there was a crash from the kitchen, followed by a lot of angry shouting in a foreign tongue. Taking her cue, Caty rushed out the door.
She half-ran through street after deserted street, slipping deeper into a self-induced state of panic. All the while she was debating with herself: where should she hide? There was no way – and she was quite sure of this – that she was ever going to be taken back to those dungeons, it was just not an option. So what else? Where should she go? Would it be safer to head for the city centre where, even at this time of the morning, the roads would be full of business-men and -women, heading to work with their coffee cups in hand.
Deciding was beyond her thought capability at the moment, so she let her feet decide. From the moment he had led them down that first eerie passageway, she had known that there was something sinister in Axelander’s smile – and his whole creepy institution.
There was no way she was going back. No way.
* * *
Time had passed – just how much, Caty didn’t know; she’d lost track. The houses around her were shorter, narrower; smaller. The pavement had widened, turning into lawns with bushes and trees and flower beds. At the end of the long, unwavering street she was travelling down was the reddish-orange hue of the rising sun, blurred into the soft clouds of approaching dawn.
None of the lights were on in any of these suburban houses. The orange filament of an old street light flickered in the still air. Caty’s feet were aching, and with every other step she felt the painful squelch of a blister on the ball of her left foot.
Suddenly a sound tore through the air, ripping the quiet civility of the street. A dog, with its front paws gripped over the top of a house’s side gate, was barking and growling at her. Panicking, Caty dithered where she stood, frozen to the perfectly neat pavement. She attempted to shush the dog in a soothing tone, but its furious voice did not waver.
Thinking quickly, she reached out to the dog with her mind, willing it to quieten. It worked – to an extent. The dog’s barks faltered, tailing off with a timid, frightened whimper.
“Good boy,” whispered Caty, glancing quickly around herself before tiptoeing up the path of the house and across the lawn to the dog. “Good boy.” She reached out carefully and stroked its head. Instantly its mood changed; its ears went back, its whole face softened and it playfully tried to lick Caty’s hand as she stroked it.
She released the catch, the gate swung towards her and the dog lurched at her legs, knocking her to the ground. Laughing lightly, she allowed it to push its slobbery face towards hers, but leaning away to stop it kissing her properly. After a minute, it calmed down and sat beside her, gazing at her with eyes no longer like a dog’s.
It suddenly occurred to her that she had never been given one of the strange gowns worn by everybody else down in those dungeons; she winced mentally at the thought of them, and the dog whined with her, voicing to the world what Caty could not. She reached into one of her pockets and pulled out, along with a large quantity of dust, her old, barely-used mobile phone.
For a moment, she simply stared at it, tears welling in her eyes. She flipped it open, and was informed that she had two voicemail messages. She dialled the necessary numbers and lifted the phone to her ear. The first – a cheery message from her close friend Lucy, breezily asking her to meet her and a group of mutual friends at a bar a day or two – made the tears spill down her cheeks. The second – from the same friend, but without the upbeat tone, and from earlier that day – dried them up again.
Why wasn’t she worried? Where was the concern? Shouldn’t that be expected from a friend who hadn’t seen their friend, or heard from them, for several days? Instead, here Lucy: no worry, no concern, just annoyance that she had not met her at the bar.
And, now that Caty came to think of it, were her bosses wondering where she was? Surely somebody at the office would have noticed the complete absence of the lift when it was down at Axelander’s level – unless they just thought it was really taking its time...
No. Several days was enough time for people to... people to...
Caty cursed loudly; the dog, with its paw resting on her knee, whined. When the lift had crashed, it had been Friday. Friday! Most of the people in her office had half of Saturday off, nobody worked on Sunday at all – and maintenance had the whole weekend off.
She quickly did some adding in her head. To the best of her knowledge, she had been down there for four days. Ish. So that would make right now the end of Tuesday. Flicking her phone open again to check, she was greeted by the time – just after five am, Wednesday. So she had been absent, as had the lift, from work for two whole days.
Everything was spinning, running through her head faster than she could really cope with: Axelander framed in the lift opening; the darkness, the people; Jason before the doors closed on him; the policemen not seeing her; the cat, walking on its hind legs.
And suddenly, she knew what she was going to do. But she was going to need the dog.
“Come on, boy,” she said brightly, getting to her feet, walking away and beckoning it to follow her. “We’re going for a walk.”
* * *
About twenty minutes later, they reached the place Caty was looking for. It used to be a children’s playground, but it had been neglected and unused for years. Weeds and overgrown bushes and trees filled the space, and wildflowers grew in the long grass. Rubbish had piled up in the corners, too; it rested in large plastic bags against rusted metal fencing. In the poor light it almost seemed like a magical place – and it was for this reason Caty had picked it.
“Ready?” she asked the dog.
“Yes,” it replied, grinning in anticipation. “Please, call me Frank. My ‘owners’ insist on calling me Rover.”
As she dialled, Caty smirked. “Is it bad, having the same name as a car?” she asked as she lifted her phone to her ear.
“Dreadful. You have no idea.”
Caty was laughing as the operator at the end of the line asked her which service she required.
“Police,” she said calmly.
It took only a few seconds for her to be put through. “What’s the emergency?” asked a cool, clear male voice.
“There are three people who are coming after me. They’re trying to kidnap me.”
