BLINK 2: Circle of Ten

Chapter 4

Entering this photo always felt strange. John spiralled down and hit the film, unable to tell any difference between its surface and the pitch darkness surrounding the photo, because the photo was also pure black. The Dark World.

The reality of multiple universes had been strange to John at first, but considering the Blink and how time changed depending on his actions, it kind of made sense. Meeting Jitter John had been a shock too, jumping between worlds perpetually unable to control it, but it had also opened John's eyes to new ways the Blink could be used to help the world. His world in particular.

Sometimes he wished he didn't have to come here, but then he would remember all the Jack the Rippers, all the murders and the bloodshed he had witnessed at their hands or viewed in the police records. This was the best way. The only way he could think of that wouldn't piss off the Big Man. Well, he assumed. God hadn't said much in a while. They just got tasks from Gabriel or Michael, ostensibly from God.

He sliced the film open with a pocket knife and stepped lithely through, lugging a weighted backpack that came down to his knees and towered over his head. The backpack got stuck on the edge of the photo and John swore as he forced his way through. He turned and jumped up to reach the fresh tear in the film, helping it to close properly so he didn't lose this photo. He needed this photo. He should probably take more pictures, just in case. This one was getting old, and using a photo everyday like this wore it down. The seal he had so carefully sliced looked precariously knit back together, as if the photo wasn't sure it wanted to hold for another session. Why hadn't he brought his camera?

He turned to survey the area. All black. Dark everywhere. He squinted and thought he spotted the slight grey haphazard haze of the horizon, a mishmash of obtrusive objects cutting what should have been a smooth line. The grey was only barely lighter than the rest of the place, but John's time in the dark box of his soul "retreat" had taught him to see even the slightest fluctuations in black. He shuddered and felt suddenly trapped. He never wanted to go back there. Never ever.

Intentionally John turned his thoughts to the evening. Semila'd had endless jokes at the dinner table. Dad had cackled along to most of them, and Mam and Charlie had shared a few pointed looks. Sem was trying very hard not to use her magic on John's family, which he appreciated, but that meant they got the full brunt of Semila's awesome language and colourful imagination. No buffer on that shit.

A laugh escaped him, but he kept it to a whisper. Things were out there. He took out his phone and pushed the brightness up a bit, then turned the screen and looked about him. As always, there was the thick ash covering everything, pieces of rubble scattered helter-skelter, bones black as char and mangled things John hoped weren't people. Animals, he always told himself. Still it chilled him to the bone. This is what happened to the world where Dark John arose. This was the result of his own selfish ambition. He had to admit it terrified him even though it served as a constant reminder to keep his pride in check. That he was capable of something like this awed him and scared him shitless.

Adjusting the bag on his shoulder, he stepped ahead. By now these bones and this rubble was familiar, and he knew exactly where to take the stash he'd brought with.

He tried to keep the ones he left here apart from each other, but it was hard. This world had no buildings, only ruins. It had no trees, only char. No moon in the sky, and no sunlight. No animals, only...creatures. Phone still held out, he covered his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. Ash floated in the yellow light, and the eerie silence put a chill in his bones.

He stepped through rubble, over metal bars poking from broken concrete blocks. Ahead he heard a noise.

'God, wind would do this world good.' Where was the fucking wind? The scratching was breathing, he knew. It was Freddie, First of the three Jack-The-Rippers. Sem'd got him good, hacked into his face. That's why his breath rasped like that. John had chained the fucker to some concrete, and seems the chains were holding.

Was this better than giving them to Death? John liked to think he was doing the right thing by not killing them.

'Got you some food Freddie,' he said. The sound of his voice was void of echo, flat and sudden in this barren landscape. The rasping increased. John found his marker in the ash, a drum with a red "X" painted onto it. He dropped the bag, the ash floofed up around it, and he turned to shine his light about where Freddie should be. The rasping breath rushed, and a growl issued when John's light shone on the man. He was hunched in on himself, barely human. John brought clean clothing, food, and water often, but seems most of the criminals here reverted to some sort of animal state anyway.

'Fucking sick,' he mumbled. The wound on Freddie's face was gaping and red--a bloody mark poking through the ash covering his face. His eyes were wide, the whites clearly visible, just like the whites of his teeth snarling. The man was thin. Too thin. His bony wrists seemed like they could almost slip from the cuffs of the long chains.

'Freddie, you're eating the food I bring, aren't ya?'

The man's snarl paused and his eyes darted to the backpack, eager.

'You can talk to me Freddie. I know you're a sick fuck who deserves to die, but I'm not going to kill you. I'm not that sort of person.'

For a brief moment a flash of humanity bled onto Freddie's face, something like the yearning of a little boy for his mother's arms, and then he screeched. Godawful and loud, and scampered behind the concrete, his chains pulled taut.

'Right.' John swallowed the uneasiness in his belly, chilled by the sudden premonition that something was out beyond the halo of his phone's light, watching. Waiting. He fumbled inside the bag, each noise too loud, sweat pooling at the nape of his back despite the coldness in his bones.

'Get in get out,' he mumbled as he grabbed hold of the pack marked "Freddie." It had a bottle of water, a protein bar, a can of tinned tomato soup, an apple, and today a custard dessert. Spoiled fuckers. Today wasn't a clothes day, thank god. His budget wasn't that elaborate, and he wanted to spend as little time here as possible.

He chucked it at the space where Freddie had disappeared into the darkness and looked around nervously. The next murderer on the list was thirty minutes' walk away. 'Nothing's out there,' he said to himself. He was a terrible liar. The eerie silence only made the premonition stronger, but he tried to ignore it as he headed deeper into the dark world.

P.S. Our Chapter 4 seems to be a pivotal chapter in each book. What did you think of this creepy 'new' place?