THE BEAST ─ five hargreeves

[ 025 ] when in doubt, have a pre-apocalypse picnic

XXV.

w h e n i n d o u b t ,
h a v e a   p r e -
a p o c a l y p s e   p i c n i c

2002

—ON THE FIRST FLOOR of the Umbrella Academy, a long passage led to a big dining room overlooking the front drive. It was a room furnished in the more flamboyant of old‐fashioned styles. It had heavy brocaded wallpaper, rich leather-padded chairs lined along a mahogany table, large vases embossed with dragons, sculptures in bronze . . . Everything in it was magnificent, costly and solid.

Seated at the head of the table in a big dining room armchair, the biggest and most imposing of all the chairs, was the thin, shrivelled figure of an old man.

His long claw‐like hands rested on the arms of the chair. He wore a gold-rimmed monocle over one sunken eye. His sparse hair was white and the skin of his face had crinkled and yellowed with age.

A shabby, insignificant figure, at first glance. But to look closer was to see the sharp gleam in his eyes, the rigidity and stiffness of his manner, the way he looked around the room with a gaze so reptilian that one might expect a little forked tongue to peak between his lips.

Reginald Hargreeves was evil through and through.

All along the table, seven children ate their lunch in silence. Two of them shot little lovesick glances at one another. A third child rolled a joint in his lap, and a fourth held a book open.

One of them, however, was not as conventional as the rest. He did not touch the food in front of him, preferring instead to watch the old man intensely.

In one swift movement, he sunk his knife into the table. It was a dramatic gesture, but he was, after all, quite a dramatic boy.

The others turned to look at him.

"Number Five?" said Reginald, his snakelike eyes narrowing into slits.

"I have a question," declared the boy.

"Knowledge is an admirable goal, but you know the rules," —he held up his knife and waved it decisively— "No talking during mealtimes."

Five let his fork clatter onto the plate, ignoring the warning glances his siblings sent him.

"I want to time travel," he said insistently.

"No," replied the old man.

"But I'm ready," Five protested, getting up from his seat and taking a stand. "I've been practicing my spatial jumps, just like you said." He vanished and reappeared at the head of the table, eager to prove himself. "See?"

Reginald continued to cut his steak with vigour, not bothering to look up.

"A spatial jump is trivial when compared to the unknowns of time travel. One is like sliding along the ice, the other is akin to descending blindly into the depths of the freezing water, and reappearing as an acorn."

Five jammed his hands into his pockets. "Well," he said honestly, "I don't get it."

"Hence the reason you're not ready."