July 14th, 2008
“Where are you? I know you’re here!” A man’s voice bellowed from the other end of the carriage. “Where are you? It’s you, isn’t it? Please, you have to help me! They’re after me!” I raised my head over the seats in front by the slightest amount in order to see. The man was in this thirties with a fat scar on the side of his face. He appeared to be harassing an elderly couple in one of the seat rows.
“Sir, please!”
“Please, just leave us alone!”
“We have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He backed out of his lean and turned around to the opposite row of seats. “Please.” He said in a softer voice. “Is it you? Please, they’re after me. You see this picture? That’s my kid.” I lowered my head behind the seats again and turned to my friend, Lester, sat adjacent me. “What the hell is going on?” I whispered. The man started shouting again.
“Please, I know you’re on this train! I’m asking you to have mercy! I know it’s against the rules, but nobody has to know! They’re not here yet, there’s still time! I beg you! I have a child on the way; I’ve got pictures!” I attempted to raise my head over the seat again but Lester pulled me down by my arm. “Don’t draw attention. He’s obviously nuts.”
The man’s voice grew louder as he made his way down the carriage towards us. I could feel my heart beating faster with every shuffling noise he made. Just before he got to us, he shrieked something horrific, and that’s when two train staff rushed passed our row of seats. I raised my head again and watched as the two staff members grabbed each of his arms and dragged him kicking and screaming into a carriage further down. “Help! HELP ME PLEASE!”
Still curious, I tried to climb over Lester to watch him being dragged away but he stopped me with a firm grip. “What the hell?” I sneered angrily.
“That guy is fucking nuts. Just wait until he’s further down.” His expression was desperate, almost as desperate as the man who was being dragged away. Reluctantly, I followed his advice and sat back down. We continued to hear his muffled cries for help through the closed carriage door for a full minute until it faded away.
“What the hell was that all about?” I asked Lester, expecting an answer from him for some reason. I was surprised to see my friend’s desperate look had turned to one of almost smugness as he peered down the length of the carriage. Then he sat upright again, staring at the seat in front, as if lost in thought. “Poor guy. Probably hearing voices.” He said in a tone that was totally unphased by the whole fiasco.
July 30th, 2008 - Summer Holidays
“Why are you wearing sunglasses inside?” I asked, half mocking and half genuinely curious.
“They look cool, don’t you think?” He moved his head from side to side, modelling them.
“You’re a weird man, Lester.” We were in a coffee shop, waiting on a hot chocolate and caramel latte. “Seriously, you’ve been acting really strange lately. Is something up? Is everything with your mum OK? I know how it can be.”
His head and sunglasses tilted down as he fiddled with a corner of the menu. “Eh, it could be better. She’s going through another phase. She thinks she’s found Mr. Right again.”
“Ah, that old shtick. When will she learn?”
“To be honest, I’m not bothered. It won’t be long until we’re both in college, and I’ll have enough money to move out and get us both a place to stay.”
“Yeah, in a few years’ time we’ll be chilling in our own flat.”
“Years? No, I’m planning to move out as soon as I turn sixteen.”
“What do you mean? How will you afford that?”
“Oh, I have my ways.” He said, smiling in that smug way he had done weeks ago on the train.
“Right, sure. Do you know how much rent is these days?”
“Who said anything about renting? I’ll buy a house outright. And don’t worry, I’ll let you stay there for free, it’s fine.”
“Yeah, that’ll be the day.” I said sarcastically.
“You think I’m joking?” I could tell he was being serious now.
“You really think you’ll be able to buy a house at sixteen? You haven’t even worked a day in your life.”
“There is more to life than work.” He said with a hint of frustration, and we sat in silence until the drinks came. “Look around you. All people do is work and live their boring lives. Most people have nothing interesting to say for themselves. Look at our parents. They’re so braindead they may as well be zombies.”
“That’s not fair.” I said, sipping my caramel latte. “I think it’s easy to say that kind of thing in our position.”
“There are things happening all around the world that we’re not aware of. There are things happening in this very coffee shop. Who are these people? Where do they go when they’re not here? There are mysteries hidden within the mundanity.”
“What kind of mysteries?”
“Remember that man on the train?”
“Yes.” I said eagerly, sipping my latte as if it were popcorn and this coffee shop was a theatre on which some grand narrative was about to reveal itself.
“Well, who was he? Why was he so afraid, and what was he looking for?”
“I have no idea. I’ve wondered about that myself.” I had even considered calling Lester the next day and trying to find out together, but with college coming up soon and everything else it didn’t seem like a feasible idea.
“Well, I don’t know either. But, I intend to find out.”
“How??”
“I don’t know, yet. Call it a project. Something to stave off the endless boredom.”
“I don’t think we’ll ever know who that man is or why he was acting so desperate.” I said cynically, realising only after that I was selfishly trying to inspire some kind of determination in my wild friend, to satisfy my own burning curiosity.
“Hmm. Maybe.” He sipped his hot chocolate. “Maybe.”
“Well, if you think of a genuine plan that could work, I’ll help. I have a computer at mine we could use to track him down.”
He smiled, and then he smiled some more. “See, that’s the spirit. That’s why you’re my best friend. Nobody else has the nerve to do things like this.” He slurped the rest of his hot chocolate. “You know what I think?”
“What?”
“It’s gonna be an interesting year for us.”
August through to November, 2008
We did try to investigate the man on the train; we emailed the train company asking about the incident, giving the exact date and nature of the events we witnessed, etc. And when they didn’t respond, we emailed again, and again, until eventually they did, but it wasn’t what we wanted to hear. It was just some standard bullshit answer about how the company has many incidents every week and they couldn’t tell us even if they wanted to due to some privacy law.
In a last ditch effort we called up the customer service line claiming to be the guy’s long-lost brother, but we got nowhere and they told us not to email or call again. And that, was really the end of that - for me, anyway; my final year of school was picking up and I was focusing on that mostly.
Lester and me didn’t really talk that much in those months, although I did spot him in town a few times, shuffling around the busy streets with those same sunglasses he had worn to the coffee shop.
December 25th, 2008 - Christmas
Lester didn’t have a home to go to that Christmas, so we invited him over to ours. From what he told me, his mother had gone off the walls on him again after a late-night binge, and kicked him out. My parents knew how his mother could be. They didn’t even need persuading.
I always respected his ability to carry on as normal despite all the shit he had to go through on a regular basis. I knew it affected him, because we’d had the conversations, but he mostly acted as though it didn’t. Especially to the outside world.
I may have been the only one who saw the difference between him and the persona he carried. Maybe that’s why he considered me his best friend.
Me and Lester met in Year 2 primary school, and didn’t have much to say to each other for a while; he was the dark-haired mischievous kid who got into trouble all the time, interrupted lessons, got into playground fights, etc. I was the blonde studious goodwill child.
For some reason that all changed in Year 5. I don’t really know why, but at some point we really hit it off. I guess we were both into the Yugioh craze, but I’d like to think there was more to it than that.
That cliche of the goodwill child didn’t really suit me then at fifteen, certainly not after puberty. I’d done some crazy stuff with Lester too, like breaking into a construction site at night and climbing to the edge of the crane. Small acts of vandalism here and there, ya know, for fun. Yes, we could be little shits. Everyone has their own theory on why they do these things.
There were times in our past where Lester really stuck his neck out for me, whether it be how to deal with people in the playground as kids, covering for lies I told to my parents and his, or literally fighting people off in secondary school for me. That and being a year older than me, I sort of looked up to him, like an older brother.
Far from being distraught, Lester arrived that Christmas afternoon his usual chirpy self. Without sunglasses, I barely recognised him at first. “Lester?”
“Hello good sir!”
“What happened to your eye?” He had a deep scar to the side of his right eye.
“I’ll tell you later. And before you ask it’s nothing to do with my mum. She’s never hit me like that, ever. Her abuse is strictly emotional.”
That night, we sat around the table and ate a feast of roast chicken, Yorkshire puddings, gravy, stuffing, roast potatoes, broccoli and carrots. Even though I was younger, I could always double Lester’s portions. After we filled our respective stomachs to their maximum capacity, we headed upstairs to my bedroom.
I offered him a game of Nazi Zombies on Xbox, but he declined, so we sat in silence for a while. “So, what happened to your eye?”
“Oh that? I delayed telling you to keep the suspense, but the truth is pretty boring.” He stroked the side of his face where the scar was. “You know those stairs by the science block at college?” I wasn’t at college yet but I knew the stairs he meant.
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.” Eyes closed, he nodded.
“Rough.” I said, feeling there was more to it but not wanting to stroke his ego. And then he suddenly perked up.
“Oh, and there’s some big news on train guy.”
I leaned closer. “There’s no way…”
He opened his mouth to speak but then he swiftly closed it and made that smug grin of his. “Nah, not really. I wish.” He got up from my beanbag and walked over to the window, turning his back to me and looking out onto the field that sat opposite our house. “I have a new project now. Top secret.”
“Oh yeah?” I said defiantly, reacting a second later with something I probably shouldn’t have said: “Look, I get that you’re going through a rough time at the moment, but that doesn’t mean you have to keep up this persona all the time of having this super important second life. You’re not a secret agent. You’re not James Bond. You’re just depressed.”
He kept staring out the window and an awkward silence settled in the room. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. I know you’re not doing well at college. What about the rest of your life? Do you ever think about that?”
“That’s your parents talking.” He told me (and it wasn’t the first time). “They’re the reason you constantly call yourself lazy, because of what they tell you. You need to watch yourself or you’ll end up exactly like them.”
“What? With stable jobs? A family? Look, I get it. You’ve never had that kind of life, so you don’t know.”
“Nah, I know. I know how boring it is to be them.”
“Yeah sure, you know everything.”
“I don’t know everything. I know more than you though. You’re gonna end up a mindless zombie if you’re not careful. Plus, your family’s not exactly happy. Would you say you’re happy?”
“Happier than you, chav.”
Lester laughed at this. “Look, I can’t tell you certain things. I know I milk it, and I don’t know why. It’s just fun for me. It’s a game. Don’t you see, George? It’s all a game.”
“You talk so much shit sometimes. What happened to your plan of moving out at sixteen anyway? Also,” I said, changing my tone to an apologetic one, “sorry for missing your birthday. It was a family holiday that couldn’t-“
“I know, it’s fine; you told me. I don’t believe in birthdays anyway. They stop being fun when you’re not a kid anymore.” He paused. “My plans to move out haven’t changed, they’ve just been delayed slightly by a recent setback.” He turned around to face me and my eyes were instantly drawn to his scar again. “Mark my words.” He said with a stern face, pointing his finger. “In a few months’ time, I’ll be out of that fucking house, and I’ll invite you stay over if you want.”
I scratched my head and looked down at the bed, sighing quietly so he couldn’t hear. “OK.”
That night, my mother received a phone call from the hospital informing us that Lester’s mother had been taken into the intensive care unit. I would later learn from my mum that she had smashed her head open on some concrete. There was a lot of blood. I didn’t ask Lester about it, but I knew the incident was alcohol related.
August 25th, 2009 - Lester’s Birthday
The next seven months passed by pretty normal. I completed my GCSEs, and did well-enough that my parents were pleased. I didn’t see much of Lester, but I was never too far away from my parent’s gossip, so I knew he had dropped out of college. What I didn’t know however is that he actually did what he said he was going to do, and moved out of his mother’s house. Until, well, he told me in a text message.
It was quite a boastful message, and I didn’t fully believe it at first. “Guess what? I did the impossible.” Enclosed was an image of a white room with a (probably) leather sofa and large flatscreen TV in it. We arranged to meet up the following day, on August 25th, at Rachel’s Teahouse (the coffee shop).
“Why do you still wear those damned sunglasses? Everyone knows about your eye.”
“C’mon George, what are they teaching you in school? Surely, not everyone knows about my eye. For reasons I won’t go into right now, I have to keep a low profile in public.” I wasn’t surprised to learn that he hadn’t changed a bit.
“Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday dear Lester. Happy Birthday to you! Hip-hip, hooray! Hip-hip, hooray!” I stared at him for a second. “Oh, you let me finish the song? I thought you hate birthdays?”
“Actually, I changed my mind. I quite appreciate it when people acknowledge my date of birth.” Maybe he had changed.
“Why wouldn’t you let me pay for the drinks?”
“Because there’s no need my friend.” He reached into the dark-grey trench coat he was wearing and surreptitiously pulled out a wad of notes and slid it across the coffee table towards me. “Guess how much that is?”
“Do you not get hot in that coat?” I asked, not wanting to stroke his ego about the money.
“Actually, yes.” He agreed, never moving to take it off.
I looked down at the wad of cash now sitting nonchalantly on the flowery table. “One thousand pounds?” I guessed, a bit bewildered by the whole situation.
“Almost correct,” he answered playfully, “but you should have subtracted the cost of the latte and the hot chocolate. It’s actually closer to nine-hundred-and-ninety pounds now. Top marks for trying though.” He smiled, rested his elbows on the table and rubbed his hands together. “So?”
I was wordless. He shrugged and shook his head. We sat in silence for a minute before the waitress came bearing a tray, then we sat in silence for a little while more as we sipped our hot drinks. I leaned closer to him and whispered, “It’s not illegal money is it?”
“Well, I haven’t stole it, if that’s what you mean. Not technically I don’t think, anyway…” He seemed to ponder the thought before taking another sip of his hot chocolate. “After this, do you wanna see my flat?”
“I thought since it’s your birthday you’d want to go to the bowling alley and play some air hockey, go on the arcade games?”
“I’m not a kid anymore, George. There’s more to life than air hockey and school.”
“C’mon. You have to tell me more? Do you have a fancy job now or something?”
He leaned closer to me this time, closer than I had done. “If I told you how I got this money, I’d have to kill you.” He whispered. “But,” he retreated, speaking normally again, “you can keep that.” His finger pointed to the pile of cash. “It’s all real by the way. You can test it, look.” He slipped one of the notes out of the bind and held it to the light above us. It clearly wasn’t fake.
“And,” Lester added, “that covers me for all your birthdays and Christmases for the rest of your life.” He sipped his hot chocolate. “And, if you ever have children, it covers them too.” He took another sip. “Oh, and that reminds me, do you have a girlfriend yet?” I did. Her name was Charlotte.
“No, unfortunately not. Plenty of hot girls at college though. I do have my eye on a couple.” I don’t know why I lied. Perhaps I didn’t trust this new person in front of me.
“Ah, that’s a shame. You’ll find someone I’m sure. By the way, it’s crazy for me too - the money. Don’t get me wrong.”
“Why can’t you just tell me how you got it?” I said, frustrated.
“Because, I can’t. And that’s the way it has to be for now. Maybe one day I’ll tell you. One day when you’re ready to know the truth.”
I sighed and rolled my eyes. “Ya sure, smartass?” Lester laughed and spat out his hot chocolate across the table. “Aw c’mon, that’s everywhere! It’s on the money!” This made him spit out more.
After we cleaned the table with the provided napkins, I asked him if he had a girlfriend.
“No, not me. Never. Lone wolf, until I die.”
Out of curiosity, I let my mouth talk for me: “Do you masturbate, then?” He seemed shy about it, so we switched topic. He asked me about my life the past seven months and I gave him the lowdown, editing out Charlotte here and there, but mostly giving an accurate depiction. Then we finished our drinks and took a stroll through our small town we knew so well.
He took us to the cathedral cemetery, where we sat on a wall. The area was blocked from town by a sort of courtyard between the cathedral, a hedgerow and a multi-story carpark. It was quiet and nested in the shade, providing some respite from August’s heat.
“I’m sorry I do all this silly stuff.” Lester said after a while. We were sat adjacent each other on the wall, staring at the wall of a building opposite. “You’re right about me having a persona. I don’t know how to get rid of it. I just feel like I have to be…” He couldn’t find the words to finish the sentence.
“You don’t have to be like that with me, Lester.” I reassured him, feeling his true presence finally, and in turn, I found my lost self. And for a moment, we were just there, together.
“It’s so strange… things are happening so quickly… I…” I wanted to come clean about my girlfriend, but I didn’t.
“I don’t think you have to see my flat. It’s over a hundred miles away on the train. I only came back home to see you. You believe me, don’t you? About the flat?”
“Yes, of course.”
I never saw Lester again.
September 27th, 2011
“Yes Mrs. Goodall, I hear what you’re saying. Of course, every major president will affect the global economy in some way but… I actually believe you’re mistaken on that one because… Yes, but I have insider knowledge on how these thing play out in reality. If you… The inflation associated with Obama’s office isn’t… OK, thanks for investing with us. Have a wonderful afternoon.” I slammed the phone down, realising how obnoxious it sounded only after I did it. Rebecca, the receptionist, looked at me disapprovingly from the other end of the room.
At lunch, I ate alone on the piazza, watching the people go by between bites of my pasty. Still stinging from my breakup with Charlotte two weeks ago, I held suspicions on why she had left me, and whether wise or not, I chose to recite them and bring them with me everywhere. In the evening, I ate some tortellini pasta parcels and cried myself to sleep.
November, 2011
Lester had been officially pronounced missing for over two years. For a short time, posters of his face lined every street in our small home town, but between rain and time, they had all but melted and tore away. Only one remained that I knew of, that I passed every day; stuck to a lamp post, it hung sideways and its smudged ink obscured the very face it was trying to inform about.
Most presumed he was dead by now, and I was no different. Although, even after two years, I wondered whether he was just pulling one of his classic stunts.
I sometimes would think about the time we spent together, and I’d end up with questions. Questions like, how did he end up with so much money? Was it all an act? Was his constant references to a secret other life really that? Or was he just being “silly” as he put it the last time we met? Was his constant paranoia about being followed really fake this whole time? If so, why would he fake that? The more I pondered it, the more I realised how little I knew about the guy who I had once called my close friend.
I couldn’t help but admit that he was right about me, what I would become if I wasn’t careful. “A mindless zombie…” That’s how I felt alright. My nine to five as an accountant in the centre of town barely paid for the rent and my relaxed lifestyle. I began to consider whether it was really worth the stress of talking to idiot clients every day.
My eventual goal was to become a financial planner, and I was halfway through my first online course. I chuckled as the image of Homer Simpson and the “financial panther” came to me.
With Charlotte out of my life, I barely spoke to anyone, spending most of my time trying to drown out the silence with games on my PC. Sometimes I just sat on my bed, staring at the wall.
December, 2011
It was usual for it to rain in England, but this month it rained almost every day. I even had to buy an umbrella, something my modern sense of fashion strongly protested against.
I had taken to visiting Rachel’s Teahouse every weekend just as something to do. There I sat, sipping my caramel latte that job money could buy, listening to the rain pattering against the large windows. Watching the droplets slide down like tears on an expressionless face.
December 18th, 2011
I was sat in Rachel’s Teahouse on Sunday, enjoying the warmth of the air conditioning as the rain outside kept up its reliable appearance. I was enjoying the sweet taste of my latte and trying to dry a wet patch on my shirt, when I overheard a conversation from the corner of the room.
“We both know what his disappearance meant.”
“If I want to believe he’s still alive, that’s my choice.”
“Oh face facts, Arnold. He’s gone forever. You know as well as I do that -“
“Hush, keep your voice down.”
I instinctively got up from my chair and walked over to the table where the two men sat. One was straggly, dressed in a hefty and worn brown coat with a big brown triangular beard, and the other was a lean man with a moustache, dressed in a grey suit. “Excuse me, sorry to bother you: are you talking about Lester? I was a close friend of his.”
The man in the grey suit looked up at me, saying nothing for a long moment. Then the man with the brown beard spoke, “No, no. It’s someone else. This conversation is private.” He was looking down at the table, his facial hair hiding his eyes from mine. “OK, sorry.” I said, returning to my table. Soon after, the men took their drinks upstairs, and I could no longer hear them.
I watched them leave the coffee shop, and just before they reached the end of the furthest window, the man with the brown beard looked back and I met his eyes for the first time. Then they were both gone.
I thought about following them. Something in me really wanted to. But I stayed to finish my latte and left some time after, shooting my umbrella up as a torrential rain crashed down.
December 24th, 2011
It was the next Saturday that I saw the man in the brown coat again. It was outside the cinema. He was walking down towards me, so I crossed the street to cross paths with him. That’s when he spotted me and stopped in his tracks, then without warning, he took off in the other direction. I gave chase.
When I passed the cinema, I wasn’t even thinking about how strange it was that I was running after a stranger. All I knew was I had to catch him.
By the time I reached the top of the hill, I turned two corners and realised that he had already made it to the bottom of the road. And when I got to the bottom of that road, I realised he was already at the end of the mews. That was when I lost him. Whoever he was, this man was fast.
December 28th, 2011
I saw him again Wednesday after work. I was heading home through town when I spotted him in the mews, buying vegetables from one of the stools. Unfortunately, he also saw me.
Much closer when I spotted him this time, I was able to chase him through the street, and through every alleyway he entered to try and throw me. He dodged me in the indoor market, but I weaved and cut him off until I was sprinting behind him on the piazza. I chased him for a good ten minutes after that, until he ran up into the multi-story carpark by the cathedral. Then I knew I had him cornered.
I chased him all the way to the top floor, but I couldn’t see him when I got there. There were several cars so I knew he must be behind one of them. I took a moment to catch my breath, as all the running had me wheezing and panting like never before. “Nowhere to go now.” My voice echoed around the concrete structure. Then, from behind me, I felt an enormous pressure on my back. The next thing I knew, I was pinned to the ground with my right cheek planted on hard concrete.
“Who are you? Are you one of them? Tell me who you are!” I felt the tip of something sharp touch the side of my neck.
“My name is George. I was Lester’s best friend! I only ran after you because of that day at the coffee shop! I thought you might have known something about his disappearance! That’s all, I promise!” I wheezed, holding my eyes shut tight, bracing myself for the worst pain of my life. Then, I felt the sharpness leave.
“I know who you are, George.” The way he said my name gave trace of his Cornish accent. He relieved the pressure from my back and I gasped and coughed. “Well, sorry about all that. I didn’t know if you… nevermind.”
“Why,” I said, coughing, “did you run from me?”
“Well, apart from anything else, I just wanted to see if I still had it in me. I used to be pretty fast you know.”
“You still are.” I admitted. “For a man in his forties.”
“How do you know I’m in my forties?”
“It’s just a guess.” I lifted myself from the hard floor and sat up, stretching my legs. “How do you know me?”
“Lester spoke a lot about you. Said you’re smart. I’m Arnold, of course you know that by now; Lester’s uncle. Nice to finally meet you.”
“What did you mean when you asked if I was one of them?”
“George. You shouldn’t go looking for Lester, or what happened to him. You should have never heard that conversation at the coffee shop; that’s my fault.”
“But I want to know. I want to know what happened to him. I was his best friend. Don’t I deserve to know?”
He paused for the longest time, then stared at me with his small eyes. “If I tell you what happened, there’s no going back.”
“OK, that’s fine. Just tell me.” I said impatiently.
“Not now.” He paused again. “Meet me at the coffee shop next week, upstairs. I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”
We agreed on a date and time and then he left.
January 2nd, 2012
“I want us to keep this conversation very quiet, George. Understood?” I nodded with wide eyes. “What did Lester tell you about… The Train Game?”
“The Train Game?”
“Shhhhh.” He hushed, pointing his bushy eyebrows down to a growl. “Keep your voice low.”
“Sorry.” I said with my teeth. “He never mentioned anything about the Train Game.”
“OK then: I’ll tell you what Lester wanted you to know, out of respect for him. But nothing else. And that’s it; you can’t come looking for me anymore, deal?”
I licked my lips and mulled over the wording of his sentence, but I wasn’t really in a position to bargain with him. “OK, fine.”
“When Lester was only thirteen, he was inducted into an organisation, if you can call it that, known as the Train Game; a secret society of sorts; dangerous. They had no business bringing him in. I tried to stop them, but I was overruled. Against my will, he became the movement’s youngest member.
There are many rumours about how it all started. I could talk all day about it -“
“Please -“
”- but I’m not going to.” He took a gulp of his tea and some splashed on his beard. “This group -“
“The Train Game?”
“Yes. Well, part of at least, has a dark side. Things happen to people who choose to dwell in the lifestyle for too long. Especially people who are ‘noisy’ in the community. Ring any bells?” He paused a moment. “Lester was young and full of fire. His personality couldn’t be contained. While some held him on a pedestal, calling him the flipping ‘Chosen One’, christ -“ he shook his head, “others recognised him as having no place in the community at all. And some of those people wanted him gone.
There’s a nasty perk that comes from being a member of this group, something that happens way too often. It’s called ‘Marking’.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “Certain members can choose to Mark someone. It could be anyone. That person is then on the community hitlist. Do you understand what I’m saying to you, George?”
“Marked… marked for death?”
“Death… torture… nothing is off bounds necessarily. It depends on who Marked the individual, why they were Marked, and how much the prize is.”
“The prize?”
“This is why I didn’t want to bring you into this, George. This is why I held back from telling you, even after Lester wished it so.” We both sat in silence for a moment as a million questions spiralled in my mind. I had barely touched my latte. “Lester himself was Marked at fifteen by a high-ranking individual in the group, but they couldn’t kill him outright, because of a rule. The organisation grants a limited protection for pre-existing members of the group. Instead, they cut the side of his face and gave him a chance to hide. You see, they see it as a kind of game. Like a deadly hide and seek.” He shook his head again. “It’s barbaric.”
“That’s why he wore the sunglasses.” I said aloud without realising.
“Exactly, George. Exactly.” He finished his tea. “That’s partly why he left home, what with that and his mother being a crazy bat. And then they put her in intensive care on Christmas…”
“No, that was a drinking accident.” I interjected.
He lowered his head and looked at me with his small eyes. “Was it? How can you be sure?” He was right. I had only heard the story from my mum’s perspective. “As much as I loved my nephew, he wasn’t an angel by any stretch. You know that kid who used to pick on you in secondary school? Erm, what’s his name. Umm, I can’t remember.”
“Tyler.” I interrupted.
“Yeah, that’s it. Well, Lester Marked Tyler’s dad. Do you remember when he suddenly vanished and Tyler had to leave school?”
“Yes.” I said, hardly believing what I was hearing.
“I had to visit Tyler’s home and warn his dad. If it wasn’t for me begging him never to show his face again, he’d be dead.”
“He isn’t dead?”
“No. But the better everyone thinks that way. You aren’t to tell a soul, you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“This is dangerous stuff. We shouldn’t even be having this conversation. As it happens, this is a safe place. No one comes here.” Which was true enough.
“What about Lester? Did they get him?”
His head lowered and he stroked his brow, running his finger around the rim of his mug. “Most think so. I like to hope he’s still out there, doing his best to stay hidden.”
“I hope so too.” I said, looking out into the rain realising I believed everything he’d told me. “How do you know all this? Were you involved?”
“A long time ago. I left. But, I still keep in contact with one or two people on the inside. They tell me what I need to know to stay safe.”
“This may sound silly, but what about the police? Can’t they do anything?”
“There’s no use contacting the emergency services, trust me. Terrible, unspeakable things happen to people who do that. Anyway, I’ve told you everything he wanted you to know.” And just like that, he got up, lifting his greasy coat off the back of the wooden chair and sliding it around his large shoulders. “Stay safe, George, and don’t go looking for Lester OR the Game.”
I sat alone in the coffee shop for a while, listening to the rain while trying to get my head around everything Arnold had told me. I couldn’t comprehend how Lester’s “act” had been true this whole time. That he had ordered the assassination of someone we knew. I wondered what else was left to discover, that Arnold refused to tell me.
January 19th, 2012
“Why is it called the Train Game?”
“I told you not to follow me. I thought we had a deal, George?”
“I don’t care. I want to know.”
“Leave me alone or -“
“Or what? You’ll threaten me with that little knife again?”
He grabbed my arm and yanked me into an alleyway. “You can’t keep asking questions, George. That’s how they find you. You’re playing a dangerous game.”
“I don’t care. Don’t you understand that I don’t care?” He went to walk away when I prodded his back with the end of my umbrella. “Arnold, there are ways I could lead them to you. You’re hiding, aren’t you? That’s why you’ve grown that beard, why you don’t cut your hair - because they’d recognise you.” His small eyes cut a furious look through the rain. “I’m sorry, I just want what you want, to find Lester.”
I walked over to him and opened my umbrella over the both of us. “And for that, I need to know everything.”
“There’s only one way to do that; you’d have to be inducted, and I want no part in that.” He stepped back into the rain again and started walking, but I chased after him when he got to the end of the road.
“At least tell me someone who can help.”
He shook his head for a long time. “The man with the moustache. He can help you get in. I’ll arrange for you to meet him at Rachel’s Teahouse. But please think about it first. Consider what I’ve said about the dangers, the torture, the murder. This is real life. And, you can’t go back.” He lifted some hair over the side of his face to reveal a fat scar. “Please, after I do this for you, will you please leave me alone?” He sounded on the verge of tears.
“Of course.” I put my arm around his shoulder. “I’m sorry I said what I said back there; I would never do that to you.”
February 22nd, 2012 - My Induction Day?
“I’m sure Arnold has informed you of the great risk you are taking joining this group.”
“Yes, he has. I accept the risk.” I must have been out of my mind.
“Very well.” He stroked his moustache. “Give me your address.”
“Why?”
“It’s part of the induction.”
I couldn’t really argue, so I wrote it down on the piece of paper. Then, he got up. “You’ll receive something in the post soon. Please allow 5-7 business days.” And then he left.
April 1st, 2012
When I got home after a long week of work, there was a letter stamped with wax, lying on the ground beside my door. I had expected something to arrive much sooner, but I immediately opened it and was surprised to see two train tickets for a return journey somewhere up country. I knew this had something to do with the Train Game, of course. Though, I had no idea what it meant.
The Return journey was scheduled for the following Monday, so I decided I would call in sick that morning. Before I went to sleep, I made a big packed lunch and put it in the fridge.
April 4th, 2012
I packed my rucksack with the lunchbox and set off early morning. The ticket didn’t specify a time, so I just assumed I could get the earliest one, which is what I did. The journey was five hundred miles long, involved three changes, and was estimated at eight hours. As I gazed out the window, I tried not to expect anything. I was afraid of the danger Arnold warned me about, but I didn’t want that to show when I got to the destination.
Thoughts in my head passed by much like the fields, houses and villages through the window; fleeting and hard to hold onto. Perhaps that was a good thing.
About an hour into my journey, the ticket lady came. I handed my ticket over and she inspected it for a second, then nodded and reached into a satchel by her side, pulling out another letter stamped with red wax. When she moved on, I opened and read it: “You are to make your way to the public bathrooms on Darren Square. There, in one of the stools, you will find the next step in your induction.”
When I reached the desired station, I stepped off with my rucksack and exited swiftly, following the location I had pinned on my phone’s map. It took me half an hour to get there, but I found the public toilets. I started with the first stool, then the second, making my way down as I searched every part of the grim walls. Finally, while squatting down in the second-to-last stool, I found it; a tiny message written in permanent black marker on the bottom of the door: “You really think it would be that easy? Consider the date that letter reached you, then enjoy your trip back home.”
I was furious.
April through to September, 2012
The endless rain started to dissipate, although the sun refused to shine directly on my home town. I didn’t see Arnold, but I still visited the coffee shop every weekend in the hope he would return.
Meanwhile, I kept up my grind at work, kept answering those phone calls, labouring on my course. My boss had always drilled me hard. It used to really get to me, but what with everything I’d heard over the past few months, it had less of an affect. Or so I thought.
At some point mid-June, I had some kind of mental breakdown and found myself in the doctor’s surgery the following day. I was prescribed anti-depressants and told to get some good sleep. I wondered if it was what I knew that was weighing me down, but in reality I think it was the trials of ordinary life that put me in the mood to begin with.
Like so many times in my life, I struggled to make sense of anything. The days grew blurrier and blurrier. I can scarcely even remember enough to recount what happened during this time.
October, 2012
The endless rain came back again with a vengeance. It was the torrential kind that crashed against glass and the tops of umbrellas, like a barrage of bullets from the heavens. I was so depressed I didn’t talk to anyone, not even my family, except to wish my brother and sister a Happy Halloween on the 31st.
November, 2012
I couldn’t think of a positive way to spend my annual leave, so I spent the week I booked off riding trains and booking hotels across the country. It was unnecessarily expensive, but it provided some respite from my the all-consuming abyss that was my flat. Plus, I wondered whether I might learn something during my train rides, something that would help me get closer to you know who. I found nothing, and returned pretty much in the same state I had left.
December, 2012 - In Too Deep