The Jack Hansard Series: Season One

Episode 13: Parasite

The world stretched-------

-------and snapped back into focus.

I stumbled forward, arms still locked on Jo's shoulders. She rocked gently on her heels, then slumped to her knees in the dirt.

Dirt. I looked down and found yellowing grass at my feet. To the left, tarmac. Above, a blue August sky. And there was Jo and me, and my trusty Ford Escort, and the corpse, and even the old busted tire lying on the verge as if it had every right in the world to be there.

A small, mad laugh escaped my throat.

How had I done that? Had I done that?

I looked behind me and saw the narrow stone bridge I had first used to cross into the Nether. It was a picture of countryside serenity, except for a flicker of neon on the grassy verge. Remnants of police tape. I wondered how long we'd been gone. I suffered a compelling urge to find a local newspaper so I could check the date.

I didn't bring us here, I know I didn't.

Jo hadn't said a word. I knelt beside her and tried to gently pry the crowbar from her fingers.

"Ouch!" I snatched back my hand and sucked where it had burned. The iron was hot. And Jo's knuckles were white.

A strange thought trickled into my head. Maybe there is more than one way to pass through a wall.

My way is sly and subtle, a gentle easing of the self through the folds of reality. Maybe Jo had punched a hole right through. All you'd need is a big enough hammer, she'd said.

But that's absurd. No one could punch a hole that big, and on their first try, too! It takes mountains of effort to move anything besides yourself, let alone a two ton car and a couple of adult bodies. And don't forget the coblyn.

Jo didn't know that, I realised. Maybe ignorance and sheer force of will can make for one big hammer. I looked at her with a mixture of fear and admiration. She stared back, with an eerie faraway gaze.

"Jo?" I said softly, and touched the back of her hand. In contrast to the iron, her skin was cold. A new chill swept over me. I'd seen eyes like that before.

They had belonged to the girl who taught me how to unfocus, all those years ago. She had been a bit like Jo: a stubborn brick of a woman who would punch holes in your understanding of the world as easily as poking a finger through soggy bread. She was a natural, fluent in the language of the lost; expert in navigating the dark pathways I now tread myself. Her eyes had always been golden and warm, and filled with delicious promises of forbidden knowledge and unruly adventure.

One day she punched too hard, took a wrong turn, and my golden world turned to grey mulch. Her eyes gained that vacant gaze of a person lost, forever treading water in the darkness of their own head. I never found her again.

It shocked me, the surge of recollection that hit like a tide. It had happened so long ago. They tell you pain dulls over time.

"Jo," I said again, more firmly. Shake it off, I thought. I wasn't sure if I was referring to myself or her. "Listen to me, Jo. You better snap out of this, otherwise I'm giving you up for dead, y'hear? I haven't got time for this. I'll stick you by that bush and ring for an ambulance, and then I'll be long gone." Nothing, not a twitch. "There isn't a doctor on earth who'll know how to pull you out of your head if you can't do it yourself. Are you hearing me? Do you want to be a cabbage for the rest of your life? Stuck in a wheelchair in some hospital, how does that sound?" Her pupils flickered. "Maybe they'll put you down, like a lame dog. How about that, Jo? Or maybe they'll just leave you to stare at a white wall for the rest of your life. For eternity."