He sleeps for what feels like years, gliding above the surface of a dreamscape, searching in vain for a place to rest. But when he jerks awake, the sun is not much higher in the sky and the birds are as loud as ever. He rolls over and pushes himself up on his hands and knees. Wobbling as he stands, his feet are clumsy and heavy as lumps of clay. His canvas jacket, too warm in the heat, is damp with sweat, and he pulls it off. His T-shirt is covered with some kind of dried paint, rusty brown. He runs his hands over his chest and wonders where it came from or how he got here.
Was he in a car accident, or a plane crash? Abducted by aliens?
The songbirds chirrup, oblivious to his presence. Perhaps he has died, and they can’t see him.
For a moment, the birds cease their chatter. All is silent, and then he hears it, the sound of a passing car. So, he hasn’t travelled to Middle Earth, after all. Nor was his body flung across space and time. There must be a road nearby, and he shuffles off to find it.
A quarrel of sparrows and a murder of crows mock his progress as he tramps through the undergrowth. Twigs snap underfoot, branches lash his face. But before long, he crashes through a tangle of thorny shrubs and onto the weed-choked verge of a two-lane road winding through the forest.
As far as he can see, there is nothing but trees. Green and more green. The only way out is to follow the road, but his knees wobble, and his mouth is dry as dust. As he sinks into a heap on the roadside to wait for a passing car, he sets off an explosion of grasshoppers that spring like popcorn through the tall grass. Through the fog in his head, he hears the distant hum of tyres on the road and tries to stand. But a darkness passes over him, and he slips away.
When he comes to, a red light flashes in his eyes like a beating heart. The crackle of a radio splits the air. A human shape looms over him, blocking out the sun.
‘What’s your name, son? Do you know where you are?’ The man crouches down, his face shaded by a wide-brimmed hat. ‘Are you in pain? It looks like you’ve been in some kind of accident.’ He stands and scans the area. ‘Got a car around here?’ On the man’s chest, a silver badge flashes in the light.
‘Where are we?’ His throat hurts.
‘You don’t know? Have you been drinking or taking any drugs?’ He helps Tim to his feet and walks him to the squad car. ‘You sit in the back, and I’ll call it in. If you’re lucky, someone’s reported you missing.’
The man guides him into the back seat, where he lies down and closes his eyes, listening to the crackle of the radio, and a string of numbers he can’t decipher.
‘I’ve got a 10-81 here, and a possible 10-58. See if anyone’s put out an APB that matches the description. Male, late teens. Five-ten, brown hair, medium build. Over.’
The cop bends and squints through the window.
‘Copy that. Over.’
The radio squawks like a demented crow.
‘Say again?’ He steps away. ‘Holy shit. No kidding. Okay, I’m bringing him in now.’
44
Manhattan, New York
August, Present Day
‘This is all very cloak and dagger.’ Ray smiled at Erin as she emerged from the Dyckman Street subway and into the sweltering air. ‘Not that I’m complaining.’ He leaned in and kissed her on the lips. ‘I was wondering when I’d see you again.’
The week before, she’d had to cancel their date in the city. With the unfinished family business still ahead of her, she hadn’t wanted her anxiety to spoil their day. Last night, on impulse, she’d texted him to meet her in upper Manhattan. Perhaps now, with everything behind her, they could start again.
He pulled away and studied her face. ‘Nothing’s wrong,
I hope?’
‘No, but I didn’t want to explain over the phone.’
While it was true she had come through her encounters with Graham and Vivien unscathed, seeing them again had disturbed her in ways she had yet to sort out. Time would help, but in the meantime, what she needed was a diversion. Something unusual and festive, where she and Ray could relax and enjoy each other’s company.
With the help of a city guide, she’d chosen the Cloisters for their day out. Having first learned about the museum and vast stretch of woodland on the northern edge of Manhattan in a book she’d read as a child, she could only hope it was as magical as described. They slipped through the gates of the park, leaving behind the heated concrete and sticky asphalt of the city streets. Before them stood the ancient cloisters, much of it constructed from carved blocks of stone salvaged from a medieval monastery in the Pyrenees. In the dappled sunlight, the air was remarkably sweet, as if they’d passed through a portal into rural France.
Erin gazed in wonder at the soaring branches of the trees, spackled with sunlight and alive with birdsong.
Ray smiled. ‘I haven’t been here since I first moved to the city.’
As they strolled through the courtyard gardens, she breathed in the scent of a dozen herbs, laid out in a pleasing pattern of knots and squares. All her favourites were here – bee balm and lemon hyssop, myrtle and sage. The drone of bees filled the air as she ran her fingers over the rough stone walls.
‘It reminds
