CHAPTER FIVE
Slowly but surely, Charlie started to become aware that something was very wrong. He felt strangely cold, the temperature seemed artificial upon him, like cool metal pressed up against his skin. He tried to wake up, but his eyes were heavy and resistant, out of his control. Then the same whirring sound from earlier started up, cranking and grinding as it got up to speed. It was still hard to work out exactly what it was, but it was noticeably closer to him this time. Then without warning the pain hit. It was overwhelming, from absolute nothing to unqualified measures of suffering in mere seconds. It felt like a thousand bolts of electricity running through the course of his body, singeing and ravaging everything it touched. His skin felt on fire, his teeth were aching in his gums, and his muscles twitched and flexed involuntarily. It was too much to bear.
Charlie finally managed to open his eyes, catching his breath, startled at reality, swamped with gratitude at the sweet release from the torture his nightmare had brought. He didn’t bother to move at first. Still exhausted from the day’s events he took a moment. He was lying by the fireplace, though the fire itself had burnt away to little more than cinder, emanating a minimum glow into the room. Charlie looked over to Billy, but he wasn’t there. He wasn’t alarmed, not at first at least, more curious as to where the boy might be, so he sat himself up, a little reluctant to move. But as soon as he was upright, Charlie got a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. It became very obvious very quickly that something was very wrong indeed. Along with Billy, Specks and the brothers were all gone.
Charlie was on his feet in seconds, a careful hand resting on his holstered pistol, his eyes flicking through the shadows, expecting some kind of assault. He waited, poised, prepared for an attack - but it never came. Certain there was no immediate threat, he swiftly surveyed the room, his well trained eyes taking only moments to reach the forgone conclusion.
‘No sign of a struggle,’ he said, his voice echoing around the empty room. His throat felt dry, unusually sore, but he thought nothing of it. ‘They’ve left of their own accord. That makes no sense.’
Charlie marched the room, double checking his scan, careful he hadn’t missed a clue of some sort. And then something caught his attention, a peculiarity in the corner of his eye. He turned to the entrance just in time to see whatever it was scurry away. Without thought he gave chase, landing in the hallway. Now that he’d moved he could feel an oddness in his body - his head was dizzy, and his stomach felt churned. But he couldn’t allow himself time to stew on such mundane matters. He composed himself and listened, waiting for whatever it was to move again. It couldn’t have got far. His well-worn ears had been a little too close to explosions throughout the last few years, but they were still first-rate. He could hear breathing. Someone was definitely in the vicinity. He saw it at the top of the stairs, just in front of the grandfather clock, well hidden in the shadows of the building. A very small figure. A child, perhaps? Charlie took a few cautious steps forward.
‘Hello?’ called out Charlie, inquisitively. He took the first few stairs in one stride, but kept his pace slow, so as not to startle the figure. ‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ his voice was soft and reassuring. The figure didn’t move at all, so Charlie stepped in closer, squinting through the darkness. He could make out a few features now. Messy brown hair, big naive eyes, pale skin and a grin that he knew all too well. Charlie gulped, terrified at the realisation. It just wasn’t possible. ‘Caleb?’ he muttered.
No sooner had he called his name, the small boy dashed off to the left and up a second set of stairs, merrily laughing as he went. Charlie watched for a moment, mesmerised at the sight of what appeared to be his son, dancing and skipping up a staircase that just seemed to go on and on into the highest parts of the mansion. He couldn’t help himself, so he followed, desperate to know if what he had seen was real. The staircase gave the impression that it went on forever, twisting and turning abnormally, yet try as he might, Charlie couldn’t catch up with the boy. At long last he reached the top of the staircase, pushing open a door the small boy had only moments ago squeezed through. The Captain was now standing in an exaggerated hallway, overly stretched, that seemed to run on for miles. It was extraordinarily narrow, with incredibly high ceilings and tall austere looking windows running along either side of the area, with a lone door at the very end. Despite its long length, Charlie could make out the small boy at the opposite end. He opened the door, looking back at him and giggling.
‘Caleb. Wait. It’s not safe,’ Charlie called out.
But the boy closed the door and vanished from sight. Charlie burst into a sprint, pounding along the hall at an incredible speed. Windows threw out blustering winds, and curtains violently whipped against him, as if trying to stop his chase. The walls seemed to be closing in on him, the ceiling extended higher into the eaves until it was all but gone, and with every step he took the door looked as if it was getting further away. But Charlie continued his pursuit, determined in his quest, brushing the weirdness off and charging down the hallway with everything he had. At length he reached the door, not even thinking to stop, instead shoulder-barging his way straight through the blockade and into whatever wonders or terrors may lay beyond.
It was the crisp air that hit him first, and that fresh smell that came with it. His sprint rapidly slowed to a jog, until finally stopping. He didn’t understand. It wasn’t possible. He was not, as he had expected to be, in yet another room of the mansion. Instead he was standing right in the middle of a large open field. It was night, and just in front of him was a very large looming tree that he recognised. A way off in the distance was a derelict building that was just as familiar, and past that, outside the realms of the field was a long line of houses. He smiled at the sight of them all.
‘I’m… I’m home,’ he stuttered, grinning broadly, scraping his hair back.
He spun round on the spot, taking in the full picture. Everything was just as he had left it, and it brought joy to his heart. It was Britain. More specifically, it was his home town, Grimsley. It all seemed perfect. But who was he to question an all too rare blessing such as this? Without delay he erupted into a breakneck sprint, dashing down the dirt path like he had done a thousand times before. He ran past the Old Oak tree, brushing it with his fingers - it felt real, it was real. A million images flashed through his mind, each one better than the last. His eagerness to get to his house and family besieged him.
But suddenly everything changed, and without a word of warning all hell broke loose. The dark sky above suddenly burst into red flames as a multitude of explosions ripped across the backdrop. Bombs fell from the sky, obliterating the fields around him. Charlie looked behind. The Old Oak was now a profusion of fire roaring ferociously into the air. Above him planes battled it out as dogfights ensued without mercy, tearing the once peaceful picture into a thing of nightmares. And right in front of him, Charlie watched in horror as his street suffered a bombing like none he had seen before. Truly his biggest fear had been realised - the war had come to Britain.
Charlie doubled his efforts, taking gigantic strides and bolting across the fields at a phenomenal rate. Within seconds he left the area and found himself running down his street. All around him the houses crumbled to the ground, flames bellowing out of the doors and windows, roofs collapsing in on themselves. But Charlie pressed on. He could see his home at the end of the street. It looked untouched by the terror, and what’s more, he could see the unmistakable silhouettes of his wife and son standing in the open doorway.
He sped down the road, ignoring the faceless screams and cries for help that seemed to be coming from everywhere, whilst the sky behind his house was alive with destruction, explosions gashing the heavens apart. But Charlie didn’t care - he had to get home. He was almost there. But then - SLAM!
Charlie came to a complete and abrupt stop, falling backwards, his face and chest in agony. He got back up, confused, dazed, before charging again. SLAM! Just as hard and just as painful as bef
ore. He staggered back, his head pounding from the blow. There was something there, like glass, or an invisible force field of some sort, stopping his way. But he wanted to try again. He could see the motionless outline of his family, and he had to reach them. He walked forwards, more careful this time, reaching out until he found the force field. He stretched his reach as far as he could, but it didn’t seem to have an end. Without hesitation he shoulder barged his way forwards, but to no avail. Again and again he tried, harder and more determined with each blow, but the invisible field kept resisting him, throwing the soldier back with each attempt. Charlie exhausted himself, finally pressing up against the anomaly, repeatedly hammering his large balled up-fists against it, desperate to get to the other side, desperate to get to his family.
‘Let me through,’ he shouted at the top of his voice. He slid a little way down the force field. ‘I’ve got to get home,’ he said, his voice trembling as he spoke. ‘I need to see my family,’ he finished, his strength quickly evaporating. He slumped to the floor, pressed up against the invisible obstruction, consumed by his desires and hopelessness. ‘I want to…’
But just then everything went deadly silent. The incredible onslaught overhead continued, but the volume had been muted. It was nothing less than creepy. Charlie looked around, confounded by the ever evolving situation, until a pair of voices he had longed to hear for what felt like an age, broke the silence.
‘Daddy, why don’t you come home?’ came his son’s sweet and pure voice. Charlie looked up from his slump, and gazed at their silhouettes. They were so close, yet so far away. ‘I miss you, Daddy,’ said Caleb.
‘We both miss you,’ added his wife, Eve, in a loving tone.
‘I…’ stumbled Charlie, but he couldn’t bring himself to say the words. He was barely holding himself together as it was. ‘But…’
‘But, what?’ interrupted Eve, the tone of her voice vastly different from moments before. ‘You left us. You left your son.’ Her voice was full of malice.
‘Why did you leave us, Daddy?’ asked Caleb, innocently.
‘I didn’t want to. I had to. I…’ Charlie tried to explain. But he didn’t know what to say, so he went quiet.
The silhouettes silenced themselves and became still, looking like little more than a teasing painting on the other side of the force field. But Charlie needed to get to them. He pulled himself together, wiped his face dry, and stood himself up.
‘But I’m home now. And God be damned if I’m not going to get back to my family!’ His words were strong and he felt himself fill up with strength of mind.
Charlie marched a great many steps back and positioned himself ready for his tackle. He took a long breath, narrowed his eyes, and charged with all his might, heading straight towards the unseen blockade. Knowing he was almost there he turned his right shoulder to the front, and jumped, crashing his entire body into the force field, and smashing through to the other side. But it was not what he expected. He tumbled to the floor, swiftly rolling to his hands and knees, only to see himself on the other side of the glass, looking at the backwards image of his wife and son. Immediately the image shattered to smithereens, and all he could do was watch as his home, his family, and the entire town he knew and loved fell to pieces like a stained glass window, all around him. Before long it was all gone, and Charlie was nowhere.
Charlie remained on his hands and knees, surrounded by a relentless darkness that showed no sign of end or change. He looked from left to right, from up to down, but there seemed to be nothing in existence but himself. He was completely alone. He got to his feet and steadied himself. But no sooner had he done so than the sound of walking footsteps came into earshot, moving closer towards him through the shadows. Charlie poised himself, his feet steady, a hand resting on his pistol, and the other clenched for attack.
‘You left them,’ called out a calm but strangely familiar voice.
‘Who said that?’ barked Charlie. ‘Come out where I can see you, you coward! Identify yourself. That’s an order.’
The footsteps grew closer still, and Charlie watched as an impossible figure emerged from the darkness. He couldn’t believe his eyes. The figure was tall, sturdy, handsome and healthy, and oozed English charm. Charlie was staring face to face with an exact copy of himself. With wide eyes he studied the figure, speechless, mesmerised by its appearance. Everything was identical, down to the buttons on his uniform. But there was something a little off about this Charlie - something unnatural. Charlie reached out to touch the thing, just to check he wasn’t imagining an hallucination. But before he could, a second voice halted his hand.
‘You abandoned your family. And for what?’
Charlie rapidly snapped his head to the right, only to see a second copy of himself walking toward him. Again, this copy was perfect, standing to attention and glaring with an obvious air of judgement at the man.
‘You’d rather be a soldier than a father,’ came a third.
Charlie looked again as a third copy materialized behind him. This was all too much, but it got so much worse. His own voice began to call out to him from unseen places, only to reveal copy after copy of himself from the void of the darkness. Charlie’s head began to spin as the copies surrounded him, hurling accusations and staring him down. Before too long there were hundreds of the things, all muttering away negativities at the real Charlie, and the noise became insufferable. Finally Charlie cracked.
‘Enough,’ he bellowed at the top of his voice.
The army of copies instantly silenced, but each of them began to smile in a way that Charlie didn’t recognise. He felt unnerved, he could sense something was coming. Discreetly he moved his hand back to his pistol, but he was already too late. Out of the blue the closest copy thrust a powerful punch forward and hit Charlie round the side of the face, sending him off balance and tumbling into two more copies. Charlie lashed out, but they held him in place for a further strike. As strong as he was, they were equally the same. But Charlie made his move anyway. As the second strike came he weaved himself out the way, causing the flying fist to punch one of his captures, resulting in the copy releasing his grip. With the free arm Charlie punched the other duplicate in the gut, several times over, before shoving him head first into the closest group. Charlie prepared himself, knees slightly bent, hand on his pistol, a keen eye on each and every copy. They grinned at him menacingly, balling up their fists and narrowing their eyes. Charlie was utterly and hopelessly outnumbered. Then, without any further wavering they charged - the fight was on.
Charlie pulled his pistol and shot at the first six copies, sending them falling to the floor, dead. But there were so many of them, and he was already out of bullets. The next replica on him got the handle of the pistol smacked straight into the temple, knocking the freak out cold, but destroying the weapon. Finally the brunt of the copies collided with Charlie, sending the fight into an enormous mash up of punches and kicks. Duplicates flew about the place as the real Captain managed his best with uppercuts, fierce throws and the occasional lucky kick. He wrestled with some, street boxed others, and head-butted the rest. But there were just too many of them. Exhausted and surrounded he couldn’t keep up with the onslaught and finally they took the upper hand, as a copy took out his legs from behind, instantaneously flooring the man. Charlie was down, resting on his front, and before he could do anything to counteract, the army jumped on top of him, every single one of them. The pile of copies was immense and slowly it began to crush the very life from the gallant hero.
‘The truth is,’ began their united voices, ‘you aren’t sure if you made the right choice or not. You’ve forgotten the fine line of right and wrong. And what it is you’re really fighting for.’ The copies all boasted the same sinister smile, as they vocalised their judgement. ‘With the amount of sins you have committed to succeed in your quest, you’ve lost the right to call yourself the hero. You’re as much a villain as the target you yourself seek.’
The words cut Ch
arlie to the very core. This was truth that he had thought for a very long time. He couldn’t breathe, and then he questioned if he even deserved the right to anymore. The darkness and the cold began to take him, and he could feel himself fading away. He was ready to give up. Perhaps it was for the best. But then the briefest of images flashed across his mind. His family, his real family, enjoying the simple pleasures of a summer’s day. Himself playing football with his son. His wife nagging them for bringing dirt into the house, and the way he and Caleb got out of trouble with their identical smiles. The image made him chuckle.
‘There was no choice to make,’ he said, straining just to speak. ‘The choice was made for me. Soldiers should not exist. If they didn’t, wars would not be able to unfold. Instead it would be little more than a group of crazy old men, dressed in expensive suits, barking out idiotic ideals and ridiculous orders.’ Charlie could feel himself growing stronger as he spoke. It took everything he had, but he pushed himself to his hands and knees. The pile of copies shifted awkwardly on top of him, and their grinning expressions changed to that of perplexity. Charlie was preparing himself. ‘But there are soldiers. And there are wars. That’s just the way it is. It’s not the way we want it to be. But then, what really is? It’s not a perfect world, but it’s the only one we’ve got. I didn’t choose to fight. It was thrust upon me. But I choose what I fight for.’ Charlie took in a long deep breath, balling up both his fists, pressing them hard against the ground. He pushed up a little more, feeling his boots grip the floor. ‘So, let’s end this masquerade, shall we? You want me? Well, you can’t have me. I fight because I have something to lose. I fight for my family. I fight for the innocent. I fight for the future. The choice was not mine to make. But I have taken that choice, and I have owned it. This is my fight,’ he said through gritted teeth, preparing himself for his almighty move. ‘And I fight for liberty.’
With those final courageous words Charlie felt himself fill up with the strength of a thousand men. He jumped an incredible height into the air, as if gravity no longer existed in this place, sending the mountain of copies flying from him, cascading into the abyss, and smashing into oblivion. He landed on his feet and watched in astonishment as hundreds of himself hurtled through the air like rag dolls, shattering and crumbling to pieces, before disappearing into the darkness. All of a sudden an unearthly rumble sounded, and the very ground began to shake. The blackness splintered like a mirror, a gigantic crack protruded from the distance and split the area in two. All around Charlie the void began to break away, until at long last, the darkness was all but gone, and he was alone in a room of the mansion.
His knees buckled and he fell to the floor, and for a long while he wept.