

2 Years,

2 Weeks,

2 Lives.

(The Author's Cut)

by

Phil Cocker

Copyright Phil Cocker 2014

Published by Numpty Publishing at Smashwords

The prequel story to the Eric Peterson Series.

Other books by Phil Cocker.

The Kylapitar (formerly published in paperback, but has also received the "Author's Cut", and also available in ebook format).

And coming soon in the Eric Peterson series

Worlds Apart.

Earthbound.

2 Years, 2 Weeks, 2 Lives was first published in Great Britain in 2009

As a Numpty paperback

By Numpty Publishing.

Copyright Philip Cocker 2009

The right of Philip Cocker to be identified as the author

of the work has been asserted.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of Numpty Publishing.

Printed in the UK by PMM Group.

Original Version published in Paperback

ISBN 978-0-9563302-0-8

EBook Version, published at Smashwords\

ISBN 978-0-9563302-2-2

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##### Acknowledgements.

For everyone who has cajoled me to keep going. From Sam's tiny nugget of an idea for Lost and Found through to my very good friends Toby & Di, helping me to keep focused while I changed my life around. From Neil for believing in a marketing strategy and to all of the Agents who so kindly refused this work, but wanted me to keep going to find a way of getting these stories to you, my (hopefully) interested, amused and engrossed reader.

This is also for the gorgeous Loafy for making me realise what is truly important in life. To the lovely Hannah for the wonderful cover artwork and finally, to my beloved Paula whose single desire was to want to read an actual copy of the book.

I can only thank you all.

So, why "The Author's Cut"?

This a little like the Directors Cut version of a film, only by the Author, obviously. When I originally wrote this novel, it was as a taster for the series. Unfortunately it ended up at 25,000 words. I still self-published it, to see if it would be liked, and to help a local charity.

I apologise to all those of you who purchased a copy of either of the original novels. Since then, the story has developed, and as such I believed it would help the overall story if the plot-lines were extended across all of the series of Eric Peterson books. I do thank all of you who purchased an original copy, as you helped raise a substantial amount for the St. Catherines Hospice.

##### 

##### Flash!

July 22nd 2011, 18:37.

"The patient is called Eric Peterson, he's 12 years old, suffering from concussion. He received a nasty head wound just above the joint between the Occipitale and the Parietale sections. It's probably fractured" The Paramedic spoke in a clear, firm, and unmistakably broad Chorley accent. Her large sturdy frame helped push and guide the gurney around, bashing through the first set of doors into the Royal Preston Hospital. "So far he's been unconscious the whole time, he's unresponsive to all stimuli; and the pupil's blown in the right eye."

Eric screamed his head off, yet not a soul heard him. The pain from the wide and deep gash in the back of his head hurt so much, he thought a truck had run over him. His voice sounded harsh from his screaming and he thrashed and fought against his frozen muscles, his arms, legs, and head lashing from side to side within his mind. Yet, more than anything else, he could not understand why nobody around could see him move or hear his cries for help.

"OK then." The Doctor clapped his hands together as the doors burst open. "We'll need to start him on an IV, check his bloods, get him on a fresh infusion, let's get him checked for other injuries, and get the portable X-ray in here." Calling out to the other medical staff who started to buzz around Eric's Ambulance gurney as its wheels squeaked and bounced over the door jams into the awaiting Emergency room.. "OK, on three."

Everyone had automatically taken their places around Eric and the adjacent bed, transferring him over from one to the other on "Three."

The Paramedic pulled the gurney away at the right moment, placing it at one side, far from the swarming huddle of medical staff, but stayed in the room, one arm crossed over her chest, the other hand holding her throat, as if she was stifling back the sound of the fear she had gurgling up from within..

"Do we know how Debbie?" The Doctor asked, standing adjacent to the Paramedic in a Peter Pan pose, watching her very efficient team drag over a myriad of equipment, root through drawers for gauzes and bandages, and stab a cannula into the crook of Eric's arm.

"OW!" Eric forced the word out as the needle punched through his skin and into the vein, yet to everyone around him, there was no visible reaction.

"Yes, sorry Sue," Debbie finally responded to the question. "Erm, yes, the Police think it was a lightning strike on the Garage, then they think it hit some flammables and boom, this young fella gets blown halfway across the garden and his head hits a low wall." She took a deep breath.

The Doctor, satisfied that her team had got everything completed, glanced from side to side. "Mum?, Dad?" Wondering why Eric had appeared alone.

"Mum!" Eric heard the name and called out once more, his frozen features suffocating the sound.

Debbie's face saddened. "Emma's at home, as Simon, her husband and Eric's dad, was in the garage at the time."

"Oh." Was all she could add, then wondered why she'd used first names. "Do you know them?"

"Yes, Eric is Tom's best friend at school." Debbie replied. "Lovely lad, so polite, a little shy to start with, but he has that warming charm, that something so..." She fought for the words while she stared at the comatose best friend of her son. "So..., well, they're all a lovely family." She swallowed hard. "Emma asked if I could keep an eye on him, until they've..." She nodded at the statue-like child on the bed.

"OK. We'll he's in the best place, as you know more than anyone else. "Sue's bedside manner, reserved for relatives of the patient kept her voice calm and soft. She placed a hand on Debbie's shoulder. "He'll be OK."

"It's Tom I'm worried about, how he'd cope if he lost Eric."

"That isn't going to happen, not on my watch, and I'll stay here until he's stable." Sue replied, watching a nurse cut through Eric's jeans, having already removed his shirt.

"I know." Debbie huffed a laugh. "I tell everyone the same words all day long, but when it's close, it's not as easy to believe."

"You can stay for a while, but I just need to do a few checks, OK?" Sue asked her friend, squeezing her hand to give her some comfort.

"Thanks, I'll get the gurney loaded and call through to base to have a break." Debbie raised a weak smile as she turned away.

She returned a few minutes later to a room that calmly bleeped and pinged, a spaghetti run of tubes and wires running from various parts of Eric's body into clear and red bags, and various pieces of monitoring equipment. Even to her experienced and well-trained eyes, it was a shock, made more so because she knew the patient.

"Any news on his Father?" Sue asked.

"The fire's out." Debbie replied, her voice flat.

"That's quick, which is good." Sue replied, trying to add a little hope to the situation. "That means it shouldn't be as hard to get him out."

"Hmmm."

"So we might be expecting him in here soon?" Her professional side coming to the fore once more, planning the next move, managing the resources she had to hand, and also trying to keep her friend occupied..

"There's a Special Rescue team on their way, as the garage is just a pile of rubble." Debbie stared blankly at the monitors, not reading the numbers that she would understand and interpret as well as any other member of staff in the room. Her fingers twirled a clump of her auburn hair absently. "How's he doing?"

"Quite well, considering all that's happened. We've stemmed the blood for now, although the skull is fractured; he hit the corner of the wall as he fell, with a fair old crack." Sue karate chopped the palm of her hand. "The X-ray doesn't show anything floating around, but we'll monitor that to see how that heals." She glanced at the monitors to see what they were telling her. "Everything else is as good as could be expected, in fact, to be honest, he's doing better than someone in his condition. Either he's a very lucky young man, or someone very special is looking after him." Sue flashed a weak smile at her friend.

"Lucky? Lucky?" Eric asked in the solidified world he now lived within. "I'm in a coma and you think I'm lucky."

"Did you call John?" Sue asked, her eyes watching her friend carefully.

"Yes, he'll bring Tom up this evening, as he should be on a ward by then, I said." Debbie replied.

Sue pursed her lips. "I know I said he's doing well, but he's still in a very deep coma, and will need to go to the Intensive Care Unit."

Eric continued his silent screaming and motionless thrashing and fighting until he felt so tired he dropped off into a very deep sleep.

Alarm Call

"Dad!" Eric Peterson called as he stepped out of the back door of the typical 1970's brick semi-detached house, sent by his Mum to find out if his Father wanted a brew.

"Dad?" He asked, half-heartedly in the general direction of the garage, hoping his voice would be heard and answered quickly, saving him the precious few metres from the back door to the garage. A typical 12 year old lad, at the cusp of changing from a boy into a man, those few metres meant the difference from wasting time asking questions or getting back to playing his favourite kart game that he'd had to pause.

It had been a very humid summer's day, which was now drawing heavier and stickier by the second. A very light, and very welcome breeze drifted across the back gardens of Steelgate Drive, hurdling the fences easily every few metres, reaching him and lifted the sweat-stuck clothes off his body. The leaves on the huge baking apple tree that loomed over the bottom of his parent's garden rustled their joy at the breath of cooling air. Eric looked up and saw the darkening sky, a thunderstorm building its immense power towards the inevitable conclusion. He glanced at his watch, 6:25pm, the evening only just beginning, even though the darkness of the sky made it seem as if it was three hours later.

Eric had always loved to watch the wonderful sights and sounds of a thunderstorm at its colossal best. He'd spent many hours in his bedroom, the window slightly open to feel the cool breeze charging in to chase the warm humid air out of the room. Even for someone so young, the frenetic light show and deafening booms and crackles brought fresh hopes of a brighter sunnier day. Yet this one seemed to be particularly fierce in its strength. He'd never felt one so humid, the electrical charge in the air tingling the hairs on his arms as he stepped across the wooden decking at the back of their house. Eric felt as if he could capture the electrical buzz in the air, harnessing it's power from the air. "Dad, you need to come and see this." He asked the garage, his eyes locked on the thickening charcoal coloured clouds. A flash of light to his left whipped his head in that direction. It had been too quick, but he knew it had been very bright, and very, very close. He froze, feeling the crackle in the air intensify before a BOOM rattled the kitchen window behind him.

Eric ducked a little, an automatic reaction upon hearing the noise. "Wow!" He exclaimed, the kart game was a feeble second to the hope of dashing back upstairs to count the seconds after the second flash of the day.

A muffled mumble came from within the garage that he almost didn't hear.

"Da-ad?" Eric raised the volume and turned the name into a musical up and down pair of notes as he shuffled the short distance to the garage door. "Mum wants to know if you want a brew?" He checked the skies again to make sure he didn't miss anything. "But you also need to come and see this storm that's building up out here." The first flash had been very close by, and he stepped cautiously off the deck and onto the back garden.

Eric's skyward concentration was broken when some well-dribbled paint tins clattered to the floor in the garage. He smiled, knowing his dad had heard him calling out and was playing their favourite game, hide and seek. All thoughts of the storm were lost for the moment, as the adrenalin brought his senses to the fore for the task ahead.

At 12 years old, he was in his last throes of being a child. The harder edges of teenage years were just starting to be visible in his previously softer youthful lines. He'd look very carefully at himself in the mirror and was certain that his chin had a sharper edge, maybe even the hint of a hair or two sprouting out. The shoulders had started to broaden as the muscles underneath developed. He'd also grown a little, which was frustrating as his best mate, Tom, was still taller. This disappointed Eric on every occasion Tom mentioned it, which was every day. Even though the changes into manhood had started, he was still very much a child, and as such, loved to play games.

The garage was his dad's true Kingdom and Eric had started his apprenticeship in the art of understanding the wonders within a man's barn. Be it a simple 6 by 4 overlap shed, through to a huge double garage, they were all mysteriously masculine places. It was the place where used paint brushes soaked in old mugs filled with water, there's a stick with a singular lifelong purpose to mix paint. There had to be 2 sets of every tool you could find, from chisels to electric drills. It was the home of burnt out and blunt masonry drill bits, cardboard boxes full of old kitchen cupboard hinges, bits of semi-broken items that "might come in useful one day", his dad told him on many an occasion. It was a vast warehouse of part cut timber, nails, screws and tie-wraps. Eric was in awe of the possibilities of creating dens, carts, and most of all, heaps of fun. There was always the smell of cut wood lingering in the air, and a 20mm thick layer of sawdust on the floor, and more than anything he simply loved just being in there while his dad worked on another project.

At this moment though, he knew that it was simply a hiding place so that his dad could leap out and scare him once more. Except this time, Eric was anticipating the attack and he went into stealth mode. He had a rough idea of where his dad was hiding, but before he went in he realised that he needed to do a little reconnaissance work. Eric had been on many camping trips with his Dad in the Lake District, walking a few miles with heavy rucksacks on their backs before pitching a meagre tent on some common ground. A simple camping burner and a backup solid fuel fire cooked their meals, and a torch was their only light source, but the weekends would be full of walks and photographic-hunting. Eric had become the proud owner of a bridge camera for his 12th birthday, graduating up from a simple point-and-shoot. This meant they could get better pictures, learn new photographic techniques, and even stalk wildlife and shoot them with their cameras.

Simon Peterson, Eric's dad, had been in the military. The Not So Special Forces was what he called his time, not even daring to mention which group of letters they were more commonly known as. The good stories, mainly telling of the various pranks he played on his comrades, was all he told his son. Most of his time had been so secret only the Heads of State and his top Commanders would know what he'd done. Nevertheless, he'd turned those skills to some use and now took his only son on secret missions to shoot a majestic Deer, or capture a Beaver building a damn, the photos being displayed on the lounge wall for all to see, as trophies of their hunt.

Another mumble and a shuffling noise crept out through the gap under the main up and over door leading into the front of the garage. Eric smiled again, as he could check his dad's location through the side window.

.The paint tins were on a shelf near the window, and if he peered in he'd be behind his dad's hiding position, and could scare him first.

Each step was taken carefully, watching where he placed each foot so as to not make a sound as he moved down the concrete path at the side of the brick garage.

"Hrmf!" Eric heard the muffle this time and assumed his dad was struggling to get his beefy frame between the fridge and the rack on paints.

Another shuffling sound was heard as Eric slowly raised his head so that he could peer in through the window.

"What!" Whispered Eric as his brain couldn't comprehend what was happening inside. He stood up, forgetting the game as he saw three cloaked and hooded figures around his Dad. Two of them had a firm grip on an arm each, as his Dad struggled as hard as he could to free himself. The third one, standing behind his Dad, had a gloved hand held securely across his mouth.

"Get off my dad" Eric shouted defiantly through the window.

Everyone in the garage stopped for an instant and looked in his direction. The hoods hid the three attacker's faces, but Eric could clearly see the panic in his dad's eyes. "DAAAD" Eric screamed.

While the two struggling to contain Simon Peterson's arms returned to their captor, the one holding his mouth looked through the window at the stricken Eric. It reached round and pulled out a huge needle with a luminescent blue liquid in its vial.

Eric banged on the window, not being able to get through the wire meshed glass at the three figures attacking his father He couldn't see their faces, but could sense the third one was smiling directly at him as it plunged the end of the needle into his Dad's neck, and then slowly pushed the end of the plunger until the blue liquid had gone.

"NOOO!" Eric screamed.

The one holding the needle replaced it in their pocket and brought out a small tablet computer. It nodded to its two accomplices before pressing a thumb onto the screen. At the same moment, the two henchmen threw Eric's Dad the full 7 metre length of the garage.

Eric's horror-filled eyes followed his dad's flight as he sailed through the air, watching him crash-land onto his bench, before crumpling into a heap on the floor. His young body coursed with anger at what they'd done. He lifted both arms over his head, balled his fists, and let out a blood-curdling scream as he brought them down onto the window.

Eric's fists never made contact, as there was a sudden explosion of light, blinding him for a split-second before an invisible and immense force blasted him off his feet and across the garden. His head cracked against the small wall surrounding the centre flower display, knocking him unconscious.

Good Reactions.

"And?" The gravelly voice scratched its way out of the speaker.

"It worked." Eklan replied.

"Excellent."

There was a moment's silence and Eklan waited, knowing that you never interrupted a Supreme Commander, and you only spoke to them when they spoke to you.

"Witnesses?"

"None." She replied. "The subject was alone, in a single-roomed building when we encountered him, and nobody would be able to see us." She lied, knowing that there was a window, but she doubted the child she'd smiled at with an evil slit of a grin would have survived their escape plan. She looked away from the computer, as if she was trying to find an ally to back her with the lie and was greeted by the blank look of her office wall. Sat on an uncomfortable plastic chair in a plain box of a room, a sheet of metal sprouted out of the wall, bent in the middle and fell to the floor to create a very simple and basic desk. She had a small laptop computer with a pair of speakers off. Knowing that her Supreme Commander was very good at reading facial expressions, she was pleased that there was no picture feed, being so far apart. He would easily have spotted the lie. She pinched the bridge of her nose as the twinge of pain crept under her skin.

"Excellent." The voice crackled back to her. "We haven't got the resources to attack too many of them at once."

"I know." Eklan replied. "All my investigations and interrogations signalled him to be The One true subject that could be the downfall of them all."

"And in such a humble location."

"The coward had fled and had been hidden from our prying eyes for 15 years."

"Typical of his kind." The voice growled through the speakers. "Cowards to the core, every one of them."

"As we've always found when faced one to one." Eklan replied, having had a number of similar encounters to her name. "I've yet to meet any of them who would personally try their hand in combat, as they'd rather hide within their numbers, or use weapons ultimate destruction." She lied once more, knowing a couple of named people who she would give full respect to."

"So, have you completed your mission?"

"Yes Sire."

"And I presume you will be returning here."

"Yes Sire."

"I look forward to your findings." A click ended the call

Dreams.

"DAAAAD!" Eric screamed and his eyes shot open wide. His vision was blurred and his young brain was trying to compute what had just happened. Then it came, the clarity of the moment, the hooded figures, his dad, the blue liquid being injected in and. Fear and anger coursed through him as he screamed once more. "DAAAD!"

Emma Peterson burst into the room. "Eric, Eric Sweetie." He heard his mum calling to him and it took all of his strength to blink.

"Mum, it's Dad!" Eric called out.

"Wake up honey." His mum continued, gently stroking his arm.

He sat bolt upright and looked straight at his mum. "Mum, it's Dad, the explosion." He stopped as his brain took everything in; his eyes focusing on his bedroom. The posters of his heroes from comics and film lined the walls, covering the aging royal blue, white, with a touch of yellow on the border football-styled wallpaper that had been hung by Simon Peterson when Emma was in hospital after giving birth to their only child. The TV / DVD player stood on the top of a set of aging store-bought and always slightly rickety chest of drawers. A stack of opened DVD cases spread out across the available tops, their contents spewed out before them collecting dust. The two door wardrobe was still standing, but now had tilted to the side in a drunken slump after the fibreboard backing popped off for the final time. Clothes helped decorate every space, giving them an ever changing splash of colour as newly cast-off items were hurled to their resting place until used once again, taken away by the magical washing fairies, or placed back on hangers or in drawers by the magical tidying fairy. The bedside clock flashed away, the information being beamed onto the wall meaning nothing for a few seconds. Eric blinked and checked everything again while his brain re-booted.

"I know sweetie." His mum said and gave him a hug. "You're here now, it's been so long since it happened Hun." She pulled away to look at her pride and joy, stroking a few loose strands of hair out of his eyes.

"The garage, it..." Eric replied, his brain struggling to reboot from the locked memory of what had happened.

"It's OK sweetie." She hugged him tighter, holding him for a few seconds before releasing him. She sat back on the side of his bed and held his arms, her eyes reading every microscopic twitch of a cheek, the distant look in his eyes, the way he furrowed his brow; all those sign of him trying to reason with the end of the very real dream to the reality of now. "So you're still having that same dream?" She let him go, a perplexed look on her face before letting out a long sigh. Standing up, she tidied a few loose splashes of colour away into their drawers, hanging a couple of items on hangers and placing them carefully into the wardrobe. All the time she glanced at her son, giving him the time to work through his trauma.

"Erm, well..." Eric blinked a few times to check where he was. "Yes, I think I must be." His realisation came clearer from the dream to the reality of his bedroom. He turned sideways and caught his reflection in the mirror, flinching at the sight of the dramatic change from the boy in his dream only minutes before to the near man who looked back at him. He looked back at the beamed information from his clock and could now understand it. Saturday June 22nd 2013, 8:53am.

"2 years on and still no better?" She asked picking up a discarded bundle of cotton, folded it neatly before placing it in his t-shirt drawer. She paused, flattening the final creases out on a handkerchief, knowing it was a losing battle as her mind was focused on her son and the pain it caused her inside. "Does it still feel so real?" She continued with the same questions that were raised every few weeks.

"So very real, Mum." Eric replied looking distantly across his bedroom. "I know the flash was the lightning hitting the garage, and part of me knows it's just seeing my dad...." His voice stumbled a little. "You know, collapsing....." He took in a long slow breath while he thought of the next words. "And as he...died."

"It's OK babe, you don't need to". She sat back down and took his hand into hers, attempting to lovingly pass the strength she'd got to him. As Emma looked at her precious creation, she also, once again, re-lived all that had happened those 2 long years before.

Emma Peterson had been in the lounge when she'd heard her son's screams. Racing into the kitchen she looked through the window as the blast threw Eric across the garden. Feeling so helpless and angry at herself for not knowing any sooner that there was a problem, and then came the sickening feeling that drove down to the pit of her stomach as she watched and heard the deafening crack of Eric's head smacking against the low brick wall. Every fibre of her being, down to the depths of her soul felt as if they were burning in the fires of Hell for being so useless when her son had needed her the most.

As soon as the emotions threatened to crumble her legs from underneath her, an automatic shut-off valve closed them down as she went into action mode; as she managed to find from somewhere the calmness and maternal strength to dash over to Eric and check for a pulse. A small pool of blood had appeared at the back of his head, and still she didn't panic as she rang for an ambulance. Emma called out for her husband, calmly, not knowing what had happened to him only metres away. She cursed him under her breath repeatedly as she waited those excruciatingly long 6 minutes for the sound of a siren along Brownside Lane.

"It's OK honey, I'll just go and show the paramedic where they needs to go, and then I'll be right back", Emma said, her voice calm and loving, stroking Eric's face once more before dashing down the drive to direct the quick response unit to the correct address.

Emma's memory of the time-line started to blur after that, as another ambulance appeared moments later. They were rushed to the local hospital, as minutes became hours as scans and x-rays morphed into one tortuous memory.

A full 24 hours passed before Eric screamed "DAAAAAD" once more. Hours became days, whilst Eric slowly recovered in hospital. The post postmortem stated that Simon Peterson had died from being hit by Lightning, and asphyxiated on the dust created by the collapsed garage. They would never realise the true cause, in that he'd actually died of a very virulent and deadly form of a completely new and virtually undetectable cancer after being injected in the neck by unknown assailants.

Many tears fell over that time as Emma struggled to come to terms with their loss, and help her son through his nightmares of what he'd seen. Many hours were spent with Psychiatrists, helping Eric come to terms with what his dreams meant, and what his brain was fabricating. Emma always had a tiny notion that her son was telling the truth, but could never prove it.

She drifted back to the present, her precious creation sat upright in bed, his breathing calm and relaxed as he's accepted that the dream was gone for another night.

"It's OK mum." Eric smiled weakly at her, seeing her lost in her own thoughts and remorse. "The shrink said it was" he then impersonated the psychiatrist's nasally Liverpool accent. "The hooded creatures represent a physical manifestation of the lightning attacking your father" he repeated the words he'd heard his mother being told 18 months earlier in an oak panelled office in the centre of Preston. "Eric uses these forms to help him accept the accident and its effect upon your father, like, actually, y'know." His face now carried a smile as he stereotyped the scouse accent.

"Stop that now." His mum smiled back. "At least you can smile nowadays." She sat for a second, checking all was well with her son before getting up again and heading for the door. Stopping and turning back to him before she left "And I blame Tom for making you smile so much."

"Tom!" Eric suddenly exclaimed. He glanced at his projected beam from his clock on the bedroom ceiling and shot out of bed "What's up now?" His mum asked.

"I'm meeting him in 10 minutes on the park for a kick about."

"Oh no you're not young man" she replied.

"But mom!" Eric protested, wondering if he was suddenly being asked to tidy his room, or do the washing up, or some other mundane chore before he could do what he really wanted to do.

"If you'll let me finish." Grinning as she wound him up. "He'll be here in 5 minutes for a bacon butty, seeing as you were fast asleep when he rang 10 minutes ago."

Eric blew his mum a kiss, smiled a cheeky grin, "Any chance of a couple of sausages on it as well mum?"

"Cheeky teenagers." Tutted his mother before trotting down the stairs to the kitchen where the aromas of cooked bacon and sausages were already emanating.

Eric kicked his pj bottoms off, flicking them to the side of his room where they'd stay till that evening. He whipped a pair of undies on and slumped back on his bed to pull on his socks, and was once again lost in thought. "But it still feels so real, as if it did really happen like that." He said to himself as he replayed the last few moments of his dream again.

Hush Hush

"August 1st 2012, 7:18am, the patient is one Mister Simon Argosy Peterson..."

The automatic doors swished open, heralding the arrival of a new guest to the Morgue, 3 floors underground at the Royal Preston Hospital. Doctor Colin Smyth, Chief Medical Examiner for the Borough of Preston saw the flash of the indicator light that was on the wall across from his small office. "Recording paused at 7:19am."

The light was a very simple indicator, that allowed him to cover a patient up if he was about to receive a grieving family member. He also had other services visiting the Morgue, mainly the Police, who would call in whilst investigating a suspicious death. Colin had realised over the years that it was a lot easier to throw the white sheet over a body than hose down the after effects of someone seeing a mangled body after a car accident.

The amber light flashed for 5 seconds, longer than it would take anyone to walk down the corridor from the entrance, to the main investigation room. It was positioned in the only place that could be seen by anyone in the main room, or within the small adjacent office he used to write up the reports he was currently dictating. He'd not heard or felt the vibrations from the goods lift which was situated behind his office wall, and was used to transport his customers. To anyone who realised what was in the sealed casket, it would have seemed a little demeaning to be using the goods lift, but it was a far better than sending them up and down in the normal hospital lifts, where there could be patients on their way to theatre, situated on the floor above him.

Colin called out "Is that the transfer from Kendal?" His voice echoed around the hollow, soulless investigating room, and down the corridor towards the doors.

There was no reply.

Colin tilted his head, hearing the click-clack of heels on well-polished floors.. "Hello?" He asked once more, ready to stand and halt an unwanted visitor before they got too far into his realm.

The metronomic click-clack grew louder as his guest walked along the corridor.

Colin became a little concerned that they'd not heard him and walked around Simon's body. He was heading towards the corridor when he stopped as an attractive, tall, red-headed lady in her late 30's appeared from the corridor. His concerned look vapourised as the warm, slightly sensuous smile greeted him.

"Doctor Smyth I presume." She held out a lotion smoothed hand, her manicured nails glinting in the harsh lights above the body on the workspace.

Colin eyed her neat two-piece trouser suit; its blue lines within the grey material followed the curved figure underneath.

"I'm Doctor Heather Gaines." She added with a husky educated voice.

Colin assumed she had been a smoker, as her hands showed none of the yellowing stains, but her husky tone gave away her former addiction. "Ah, hello." He replied, put off balance by his unexpected visitor. "How can I help?" He made sure he was directly in her line of sight of his patient, as he didn't know who she really was, and was always unsure of anyone's motives. "Maybe we could have a seat in my office." He motioned towards the small room on the corner of the corridor.

Heather smiled, slowly nodded her agreement and walked into his office, sitting in the chair at right angles to the desk. She waited for Colin to sit in his chair before continuing. "It's actually to do with your current customer, Simon Argosy Peterson." Heather replied, the smile fading slightly as the professional side got straight into gear.

"Erm, yes." Colin hesitated. "Are you his GP?"

She tilted her head, a thought flashing across her face. "In a way, I suppose I am."

Colin was intrigued.

"I'm his Company doctor, dealing with work related issues."

"Ah." Colin sat back. "Then I think you've come here under a false pretence. He died at home, in his garage."

"I know." Heather replied, the smile returned.

Colin was confused. "I don't see the connection."

"It was a work related accident that killed him."

"Unless you can create a lightning strike, then you may be sadly mistaken." Colin knew everyone else believed that was what had killed Simon, but he wasn't sure, as there were no scorch marks to be found on the body, indicating that a gigawatt of electricity had passed through him. This was a puzzle he wanted to solve, but didn't want to tell anyone else about it until he'd got the answers. He especially didn't want to tell someone who claimed to be his Company Doctor.

Heather chuckled. "You ran some blood tests, and then did some more, as something was amiss." She replied. "You've probably not found an entry or exit point for the lightning, and cannot conclusively agree with everyone else's opinion that it was a tremendous jolt of electricity that stopped the heart." Her smooth educated voice enunciated every syllable.

Colin could listen to a voice like hers all day, it was so alluring. He took a deep breath, reminding himself that she may not be who she says she is. "I'm not at liberty to divulge the investigation as I've only just started it.."

"I know, and that's why I am here."

"Excuse me?" Colin was confused.

"I'm going to assist you in the Post Postmortem."

Colin's concern notched up a couple of levels. "I'd like to see some identification, and the paperwork stating that you can do so before I let you within 5 metres of the patient."

Heather smiled. "Of course, please excuse me." She opened her tan leather shoulder case, removing a buff folder, placing it between them on the desk.

Colin reached for the file but saw that Heather had her hand on the top of the file.

"I need you to sign the first piece of paperwork before continuing to read the file."

Colin was intrigued and opened the folder, removing the top piece of paper. He saw the official royal seal, read the address and the top line of the letter. "Official Secrets act, Top Secret, MI9 Clearance Eyes Only." He looked at Heather, a confused look on his face.

"It's OK, this is a mere formality, you've been thoroughly checked and cleared," A flirtatious smile danced across her lips, and she eyed him up and down. "All we need is this NDA signed."

"Sorry?" Colin blinked a couple of times. "Checked and cleared?" He sat upright, and incredulous look on his face as he tried to understand what this lady was telling him. "And by whom, for what, and..." He'd become animated, his arms jumping off his desk at every question.

"Colin, let me firstly apologise for the anxiety I'm obviously causing you."

"Anxiety? Anxiety?" His voice was getting louder as it crept up an octave.

"Colin." Heather placed a hand on top of one of his. She gently stroked his hand, soothing the emotions within him. "It's quite understandable, but please, I need you to calm down." She took in a few slow, very deep breaths, her eyes locked onto his, forcing him to copy her. It took a few moments but he soon was breathing calmly. Heather watched him carefully her training made her watch for any signs, any ticks, flinches, any muscle movement, a flick of the eyes, anything that would give his true feelings away. She was one of the best at finding the truth this way, and this time, she made sure Colin was in control of his emotions and was calm and steady once more.

"Let me start over again." Heather took a breath to let Colin take in the information, watching him carefully, before she continued. "OK, I work for a very secret section of the United Kingdom's Military Intelligence. It's called MI9 and is based in Lancashire."

Colin was a little surprised to hear this, but continued to listen, the calming influence Heather had on was almost trance-like, mesmerising his emotions into submission.

"Simon Peterson worked for the same section, as a field operative, his rank was a Major."

"Oh!" Colin replied.

"So, if you could please sign that piece of paper, then I will continue telling you his full background, and then what we need to do to ensure that the safety of this planet, as a minimum, is secured once more."

Colin listened carefully, and wondered what world of intrigue he was about to enter into.

Heather handed over a pen. Colin felt the warmth, the quality of the titanium casing, the crisp click as he slid the clip down, activating the nib. The paper sat on his desk, a mixture of words that he could easily read, but some didn't make sense. How could signing the Official Secrets Act, to such a very high level save the planet; the two didn't mix in any shape or form.

Yet, he still signed his name.

By 8:52 am Colin's eyes were as wide as they could go, his jaw in a permanent dropped state at the information he'd received from Heather. She's handed over an already prepared version of the Post Postmortem report, stating that it had been the lightning strike that had killed Simon. Colin read the report out, so that there was a recording of the report saved, then she handed over a small USB stick. Colin was in a daze as he copied the only document on the tiny chunk of flash memory. He saved it in the usual location on the NHS secure drives, signed the paper copy and scanned that back in, thus completing the loop, and the lie.

Before she left, Heather took a few vials of Simon's blood, stored them in a transportation case she had in her case, flashed Colin her best heart-warming smile before he watched her swish her hips and click-clack herself out of the Morgue.

Colin stored Simon's body away, ready for the undertaker to come and collect him before he simply sat down at his desk, a mixed feeling of trepidation, strength and honour running through his mind. "What have I done!"

Footie.

"Yo dozy," Tom Barratt breezed into the kitchen through the open back door of Eric's house, "So, you're too busy being a swot of a Friday night to wake up and play on a Saturday now are we?" A thick wayward lock of hair was flicked back into place amidst the Medusa-like tousled mousy coloured mop on Tom's head. A fairly trim lad of average height, he would have easily blended into a crowd of his peers. That was until he opened his mouth, and his personality would shine above everyone else. He was very bright and cheerful all the time, and willing to gain plaudits and friends with a quick wit and a memory full of jokes. "Morning Mrs.P" He nodded at Eric's mum before sliding onto the pine bench seat at the far side of the Kitchen dining table, picking up the ready-made breakfast sandwich in one slick movement. "Superb." He added, salivating over the delicious smells of cooked smoked bacon, the end of a halved Lincolnshire sausage peeked out warily at him.

"Morning Tom." She replied whilst dropping the grill pan into a sink full of hot soapy water. "There's sauce there if you want."

"No need mum" Eric answered.

Emma turned and saw that half of the sandwich had already disappeared into Tom's eager mouth.

Tom smiled like a chipmunk, his cheeks full of deliciously grilled breakfast. "Dank-ou." He mumbled.

The boys soon finished their sandwiches and headed out the door. Emma Peterson watched them leave, noting how Eric had caught up and passed Tom in height and build in the last 2 years since the accident. She smiled remembering all the times Eric had arrived home miserable stating that he was never going to see Tom again because he'd called him "Shorty" or "midget." She'd consoled him so many times, saying he was only playing and telling him how cruel kids were, and one day he would grow and be taller than Tom. What she also added was that when that day finally came, Eric shouldn't resort to the same tactics and to never call him those names, as it wasn't nice. As they walked down the street towards the park, playfully pushing and nudging each other, she believed that she'd done a reasonable job in bringing him up, especially after all they'd been through. Emma could now clearly see that her strapping, handsome Son that had just left the kitchen was getting ready for the big bad world, and was a young man, not the boy she'd comforted 2 years earlier during those tragic times. She drew in a long deep breath, knowing what was lying ahead of him, hoping that she'd prepared him enough to be the right person that his destiny demanded. This was something she'd been told may years before, in what seemed like a different life, and she knew that what she and Simon had done with their lives, was for all the right reasons. It had cost her husband his life, yet the cost of one life, even one so precious to her, was inconsequential when weighed against the prophecy that she truly believed in.

Eric had flicked a foot under the front hedge, dragging a well-kicked football out to take with them as they set off down Steelgate Drive towards the park.

"Are you going in the nets?" He asked.

"I don't think Eric the poacher Peterson will get many past Tom safe-hands Barratt today, young man." Tom replied in a voice mocking a mixture of commentators, his head wobbling with his confidence at his goalkeeping abilities.

"We'll see."

They carried on quietly, Eric's thoughts still lingering on the dream.

"What's up?" Tom asked.

"Nothing really."

"You've had that dream again, the one with the hoodies injecting your dad?" Tom had heard the story many times from his best friend, and he never complained, as he knew it helped Eric get over the death of his father.

Eric looked at Tom, knowing they'd become very good friends in the last two years, knowing each could finish the others sentence, even if it wasn't how they would have said it.. "Yep, same dream, same hoodies, same blue stuff." He sighed and his head dropped.

"Why blue?"

"The shrink said it was probably the colour of the bolt of electric that arced through my dad and into the ground." He bounced the ball a couple of times as they walked. "He also said that it's a powerful colour, and all I've done is simply associate the strong feelings of my dad dying with that colour." Eric grimaced and shrugged his shoulders, not fully believing the answers he and his mum had been given to the nightmares he'd had.

"I quite like blue." Tom replied, matter of fact. "It's probably my favourite colour, well, a Royal Blue is, not a Sky Blue, but a nice Royal Blue." He held his head up a little higher, walking with an air of distinction for a few paces.

Eric snorted a laugh.

"I would have thought it would be something like luminescent green that I'd see." Tom pondered the psychological dilemma of the colours in Eric's dreams.

"Anyway," Eric continued. "I was still knocked unconscious and my dad still died, so it doesn't matter what colour it was, does it?" A hint of anger in his voice, not at Tom, but at the deep nagging thought that he did see what was in his dreams, and no matter how many therapists and psychiatrists he saw, they'd not get rid of that feeling that he was right, and they simply didn't want to believe him; that was what made him angry.

"I know mate." Tom patted his friend's arm sympathetically. "So, do you think you'll still get more than 5 past me today?" He asked, changing the subject before knocking the ball out of Eric's hands and racing onto the football pitch at the park, heading for the upside down "U", the simple metal pipework structure which made up the goal posts that were permanently set up at the far side. He toe-bunged the ball as hard as he could into the back of the empty goal, the ball clanging against the metal wire mesh structure built into the back. He continued running raising his arms in the air and screaming "GOOOAAAALLLLLL!" at the top of his voice.

Eric smiled as he jogged over, watching his friend use his best character trait to distract him again from his worries. He knew Tom cared and would listen to the same story every day until they were both very old, but he also knew that he had to move on. He jogged over to the goal and over the next hour proceeded to bang 18 goals past his friend. On the way home they decided that Tom's footballing name needed to be changed to Tom no-hands Barratt.

Check-up

"How is the protege?" The gravelly voice of K'nash sent shivers down the spine of all who heard it.

That was all except Eklan. "I'm on my way there again, right now." She'd been able to keep outside of his clutches for 2 years, always out of communications reach, always on a mission away from the Council and her Supreme Commander. Yet now, she was sitting across the desk from him, looking at his harsh angular features.

"Tut-tut." He replied sarcastically. "I do hope you've not been letting things slide out there."

"No, no, not in the slightest." Eklan replied, a little too quickly. She regretted her haste the instant the words left her mouth, knowing that any mistake would be picked up by K'nash. She still had a lot to learn.

"I know where and when every single thing that happens under my Supreme command, Junior Commander." K'nash's voice growled, clarifying the difference in rank, his anger at being lied to evident to all who may have heard, even whilst he still had it in its contained form, as it was at that moment. "I didn't get to my rank by letting my underlings make a fool of me." His fist thumped the table, making everything bounce. "I have spies everywhere, even where you are."

Eklan listened, not afraid to talk, as she was afraid of no-one, even K'nash who's name alone brought nations to their knees. No, she was intelligent and had enough experience within her young years to know when she had to keep her mouth shut. She also took note that she had a spy within her ranks, someone disloyal to her. She vowed to find the culprit as soon as possible, and remove them from her ship as soon as practical.

"I know you haven't been back there in the last two years." He growled. "Two – Years." He enunciated each word. "What reason do you have."

Eklan tried to think of one, quickly.

"WELL!" K'nash barked, both hands gripped the table, the knuckles white as the edge of the metal desk slowly bent upwards.

"Sorry, I didn't think." Eklan watched, amazed at the strength of the man, despite his advancing years.

"No, you didn't think." K'nash let out a roar which rattled around his office, making the photographs hanging on the walls rattle in their frames. Each one told the story from a young soldier, standing amongst the ranks through many battles as he rose from standing behind Commanders to being one. The last few showed him aside Heads of State, some more proud to be next to K'nash rather than the other way round.

"But I didn't realise he was important to the overall mission."

"Of course he is important, every genetic lineage is important, no matter how far down the line the genetic code has stretched."

Eklan didn't argue, she wasn't privy to such secret instructions between the Council and Supreme Commanders. What she did know was her Great grandfather's name was still working its magic within the Corp.

Distracted.

"Yes, yes, we've all seen lightning before, so can we calm down a little then". Mr.Higson, who was standing in for Miss Holmes, the General Studies teacher, calmed the class down. He was Eric's Mathematics teacher, taking the top set in that subject, but as he had a free period, he had offered to take the class for the young teacher who currently had her leg in plaster after an unfortunate fall from a Mountain Bike whilst racing round Grizedale forests tracks. Mr.Higson flapped his palms slowly in an attempt to lower the increasing chatter as everyone grew more interested in the dramatic outside.

A huge bear of a man, he was known as a gentle giant by his friends as his appearance belied his softer side. He'd played rugby as a prop forward at local county levels in his youth and then had got to just outside the top leagues whilst at University earning his degree in Higher Mathematics and a second in Quantum Physics. Even though he wasn't a Physical Education teacher, to keep relatively fit, he would help coach the sport during PE lessons. Mr.Higson could also play the acoustic guitar quite well, no mean feat for a man with such large hands. Folk songs could be heard echoing along corridors on many occasions at lunch times and breaks to help while away the day. It had been rumoured that he'd also played the odd, more colourful, Rugby song he'd learnt as a young man for the year 11 team. The story continued that the Headmaster had to have a strong word or two with him. Truth or fiction, he was very well liked by students and teachers alike. He was known to be relatively firm, but always very fair.

"Right!" He called out a little louder, trying to get the class back to some order. "Come on, come on please" He clapped his hands to grab their attention. "I realise it's Friday morning and we're all probably looking forward to a lovely weekend of joyous sunshine and merriment, but right at this moment it is time to get back to work and more importantly back to the topic of music and memory." he continued, although even he had noticed how fierce the storm was outside. How the contrast from the bright summer sunshine to the jet black clouds that had moved so close, they loomed ominously over the edge of the school's grounds, threatening to deliver a mighty bolt of electricity.

As if on cue, a thick white crackling jagged line burst out of the cloud and raced its way to the top of the main gates of the school. An explosion of colours sparkled and flowed, as if a pot of gold had been hit by a cannonball. "WHOA!" Mr.Higson shouted in surprise.

Screams and screeching chairs echoed around the classroom as they backed away from the window.

"It's OK everyone, I realise it was close, and quite spectacular," Which he thought to himself was the understatement of the century, "but the school is very safe." He understood the Physics behind lightning rods transferring the 1.21 gigawatts of energy to the ground, but would have preferred an expert had tested the system that ran from the top of the year 11 common room to the side of the main entrance that morning, just to be extra safe, especially as his class was only one floor down from the roof. "Can everyone please sit back down?"

This part of the school was the oldest, built in the decade after the baby boom years of the 60s. The windows were single glazed in aluminium frames, with loops that needed a long pole with a hook on the end to open the highest ones. As they were getting old, they were also getting loose.

There was a huge flash of light.

More screams.

Eric realised it was directly overhead.

The thunder boomed, rattling the windows.

More screams.

Eric flinched a fraction, not being able to fight the automatic reflex reaction to the noise.

John Armer, the school bully, grinned as he whispered into a fellow students ear. "It's coming for you."

Jasmine Newsham screamed, flailing her arms around.

Eric had heard, gave John a hard stare before grabbing Jasmine's hands. "It's OK, look at me."

Jasmine's head flashed from Eric to the windows as more flashes and booms followed in short succession. She never stopped screaming.

"Jasmine, it's OK, listen to me." Eric had to raise his voice.

Mr.Higson's voice also rose to help calm everyone down, and he noticed what Eric was doing.

Jasmine's voice trailed off slightly as Eric placed a calming hand on her cheek.

"Jasmine, it's fine, the Lightning can't be chasing you." He smiled at her, the flashes of lightning glinted off her eyes. "Just think how silly that sounds."

John Armer glared at Eric, his little joke ending so quickly.

The lightning stopped, the thunder echoing in everyone's ears, long after it had ended booming above their heads.

The door to the classroom flew open. "Everyone OK in here?" The Headmaster asked.

"Not bad." Mr.Higson half smiled. "OK, OK, everyone back to their seats."

The Head nodded and continued his checks around the school.

Eric smiled at Jasmine, who smiled back, a little ashamed at her previous actions.

John Armer barged past Eric. "You'll regret being a spoilsport Peterson." He added through gritted teeth.

"Look, it's all over with now, so let's back to the class." Mr.Higson continued to take control back after the storm.

Eric took his seat, but his thoughts drifted away. Why had there been no rain, and why did it flash so violently, so many times. This intrigued him. He had a thought that he'd seen this before, somewhere locked away in a memory.

"That's better, thank you everyone." Mr.Higson added calming as many down as he could, despite nature's theatrical display outside. He gave everyone a few seconds before he decided to continue with the lesson. "So, getting back to today's topic, I was explaining that we can all remember the lyrics to our favourite song quite easily, but we struggle with remembering other subjects, for instance..." He looked around the room to check the level of student's abilities, and found a suitable candidate. "I realise we don't all have the same level of mathematical ability, but for this example, What is the order that we use to complete a mixed sequence of calculations, Mr. Peterson?" The strong voice boomed across the classroom, bringing everyone's attention back. That was, everyone's attention, except one.

Eric dazed out of the window lost in the thoughts of the thunderstorms intensity. The blinding flashes of powerful bright light, and deadly bolts of electric arced through the memories of the dream that had woken him that morning.

"Oh Er-ic?" Mr.Higson sang, waiting for his star pupil to hear him. "Oh Er-ic, can you come back down to planet Earth please?" Mr.Higson's voice became soft and musical as he tried to get his pupils attention. He then rolled up a sheet of A4 into a cone and used it as a Megaphone "Earth calling Eric, Earth calling Eric, come in Eric" He said in a mechanical voice, much to the amusement of the rest of the class.

John Armer took great delight in seeing his latest enemy being humiliated, although he would have preferred it to be at his own hand.

Even Tom smiled, but he also nudged Eric back to reality with his foot under the desk.

"Eh, what did you do that for?" Eric asked his friendly attacker.

He realised Tom was nodding sideways towards the front of the class, and Eric turned in that direction and froze.

"Ah, glad you could return to us Mr. Peterson" Mr.Higson added sarcastically, which was greeted with sniggers around the class. "Could you answer the question I've just posed?" He asked, knowing full well that Eric hadn't heard it.

"Erm, erm...." Eric stammered, hoping for some inspiration. His head was still lost in the lightning and the flashbacks to the dreams of his dad in the garage. "The question sir?" Eric asked, glancing at Tom at the side of him, who was now repeatedly pointing his eyes down to the desk.

Eric glanced down and saw a sheet of paper with a scribble on it. He spoke the word, even though his mind was in turmoil "Bodmas?" he questioned the meaning.

"Correct Mr. Peterson, I'm positive you're pleased that Mr. Barratt was at least listening." Mr.Higson commented on the answer. "Now could you tell me what that means?"

Eric sprang back to reality as the thunder cracked in the distance.

Gasps were released around the class, sounding like a tyre deflating.

"Now before pandemonium breaks out once more, we can all clearly see the that the storm is heading on it's merry way to Preston, so let's keep calm and listen to Mr. Peterson's answer."

Eric glanced out of the window to see the storm that had been so vicious and black only moments before suddenly lift and clear away.

"Hush now," Mr.Higson continued, walking between the rows of desks. "It's all over and done with, so, Mr. Peterson, if you please." He smiled at Eric as he walked towards him.

Eric looked at the word on the paper and also smiled as he answered "Brackets, Of, Division, Multiplication, Addition, Subtraction, Sir."

"Well done, Mr. Peterson, but next time, I think we'd be grateful if you could please stay within the confines of the class, and not let your mind drift off to another planet, or wherever you'd gone to." He placed a firm grip on Eric's shoulder. "You may be destined to continue your studies into Quantum Physics, but at the moment we'll stick to me using GCSE Mathematics questions to help me explain a part of Miss Holmes' General Studies lesson." He returned to the front of the class, turning to look back at Eric once more. "That is, unless you have a note from your parents to leave Earth's orbit."

Another series of sniggers rumbled around the room.

Eric's cheeks burned crimson.

"Right, enough of bringing Mr. Peterson down to Earth and let's thunder on, shall we?" Mr.Higson strained the joke out, resulting in groans from the students. He glanced back at Eric, his favourite pupil, a glimpse of concern flashed across his face but was instantly gone as he carried on the lesson. He'd seen the instinctive way he'd helped Jasmine. It was the same way he could Captain a sports team when things were going awry on the court. Mr.Higson knew that Eric had that ability to be there when required, to get others to follow his lead, and would always try to do the right thing. He also knew of his past, all the teachers had known of it, but he could see that Eric still struggled with it.

Mr.Higson continued with the lesson, but Tom had seen the look on Eric's face, and knew something wasn't right. "What's up mate?" he whispered at his first chance.

"Nothing really." Eric felt Tom's eyes still on him. "Sorry, I just got lost in the lightning like everyone else." He added, a weak smile on his face.

"Yeah right, that face wasn't just because of the lightning, I know that face." Tom said, then with a concerned look continued. "That was Hoodies, and blue syringes, and flashes, and..." He paused, his voice softening. "Your Dad stuff again."

"We'll talk at lunch". Eric closed the subject to get on with the class, and distract his wayward thoughts for an hour or so.

Unfortunately, their conversation had been overheard and plans were being created elsewhere in the classroom.

Success.

"Is that it?" Harrap quietly voiced his excitement, although he'd been working alone once more well into the early hours. "Yes, yes, it's working perfectly." He watched the results on the computer screen, and then he punched the air.

"Well done Sir." Fink eagerly added his congratulations, making Harrap scream in shock. The porter had crept quietly up to the Scientist, and then waited patiently, watching every move and key stroke that Harrap had made on the computer for over an hour. It had been so easy for him to hover nearby, carefully and secretly watching the results on the screen and listening to what Harrap believed were his personal thoughts. "We all knew you could do it." Fink's weak voice and snivelling demeanour hid an infamously treacherous side. He crept up and stood right behind the Scientist.

"Ah!" Harrap yelped in surprise as he saw how close the not so mere porter had got. Quickly composing himself, and not wanting to give Fink the satisfaction of scaring him, he continued. "Well, I think you might be right, so thank you Fink." Harrap graciously accepted the praise as he turned the screen away from the Porter's gaze, climbing down from the tall metal stool he'd been sat on for many hours. He was the Lead Scientist, knowing his dedication and experience had got him to that position, but also knew it had been Fink who had been the instigator behind so many of his peers being removed from the project over the past few months. "But, let's not get too eager, until we're 110% certain that the serum works." He paused to make sure the results still read perfectly. "But so far on this first trial, all is very well." He smiled at Fink to help keep him appeased, then turned to the rest of his small team who had been woken up by his scream. They all stood in their clothes, some rubbing their eyes and yawning as he continued. "In actual fact I should thank you all, as it was a wondrous team effort."

"Oh no sir." Fink quickly interjected, stepping in front of the curtain that split the living and working quarters, his eyes flashed a moment's panic as he glanced up to a camera in the corner of the laboratory. "I believe it was you who suggested the changes to the serum, and it was your idea to mix the quantities in such a special way, and you who has spent so many hours working on the serum, running test after test, so it should be just you who should take all the credit, not any of us sir." He humbly bowed his head and held his hands out towards Harrap to show that he passed all the credit solely to him. This also held back everyone else, leaving Harrap to stand alone.

"Thank you Fink." Harrap replied sarcastically to the hunched figure ahead of him. Even though he was classed as just a Porter, fetching and carrying test subjects back and forth from the storage units to the laboratory, all the scientists knew that Fink had been tasked by a higher command to be there. It was very quickly understood that his outward position as a mere porter, was there to simply hide his true position to be able to spy on them. They knew he had a direct line of communication to some very powerful leaders, and their work was being closely monitored by every means possible.

"Yes, thank you for passing me all the credit." Harrap added, then thought or is it the blame you pass, if it goes wrong. He looked at the rest of the team who all watched him sympathetically, knowing his fate if they failed.

"What do we do now, sir?" Fink asked, looking around the scientists as if he was their voice, their leader.

"You can go and do your very important and integral part in the process and place that test subject back into confinement." He pointed towards the centre of the room where a dead body lay. "We can carry further tests on it later, and then can you please bring in the second one." He said through clenched teeth, as he hated being so nice to such a deplorable creature.

All the other Scientists stifled their smiles.

"Immediately sir." Fink gleefully skipped away.

Harrap turned back to his computer screen and sighed. His thoughts were in turmoil over the serum. He wanted to use it on at least 10 subjects before releasing the news up the chain of command. Alas, he knew Fink would be leaking that golden snippet of information right at that moment.

The reading's still looked very impressive. After 2 long years on the project, these were by far the best he'd seen in many tens of thousands of tests that had been carried out. He searched his mind to see if he had any doubts on how successful the serum would be once it was used in earnest, and he found none. Yet he was anxious about letting Eklan know of the good news, for a short while, at least until he could be more certain. At least more certain that it would work as close to 100% as possible.

His worst fear was that Fink was already there ahead of him, reveling in the joy of spreading the good word.

##### 

##### Jibe.

"We need to talk." Colonel Gordon Kelsall looked at his computer screen.

"And?" The face looking back at him wasn't amused.

"They're back."

"Who?" The person on the screen wasn't facing him, but looked down as they scribbled away at some paperwork on their desk, disinterested in the conversation, but having to take it as a matter of courtesy.

"The Rexon have come back, and I believe they're after him." The Colonel took a deep breath. He'd prefer to explain it all fully, but time was of the essence.

"And how do you know?"

Gordon watched as the pen the other person held was carefully placed at the side of the paperwork, perpendicular to the person who now seemed very interested in what he was being told. Gordon looked at how ordered everything was, in perfect right angles to everything else in the room, from the items on the desk to the chairs in the background, lining the far wall. The display cabinet had order within it, all neat, all regimented, all very militarised. The line of model figurines rose in height from the World War I soldiers in his tin hat, Enfield rifle at the side, climbing up through various stages in military dress, up to a General astride a horse, his sword raised to lead a charge into battle.

All these details told Gordon that the Brigadier he was talking to was a stickler for the chain of command, for the correct process to be followed. He would not work from a hunch, and he would never give an order based upon a request from a lower ranking officer, as Gordon had done on several occasions. Gordon and the Brigadier were two very different types of soldiers, and Gordon wondered if that was the reason the man facing him was his superior, even though he was at least 10 years his junior.

"One of my top men is watching him closely."

"I need a report, not just a request. I am still your commanding officer, even if you do let things slide a little more up there in the foothills to the Lake District." The Brigadier raised one eyebrow knowingly.

Colonel Kelsall glanced up from his screen and looked out of the very large window of his office located at the top of a formerly disused quarry near Nether Kellett in Lancashire. What looked like a series of basic portakabins on the outside housed the administration the quarters for a secret Military Intelligence section called MI9. Colonel Gordon Kelsall was the commanding officer of the camp, even though his rank would have been usually positioned him within the administration buildings of the Brigadiers and Generals. Gordon had been a seasoned Lieutenant Colonel for many years, looking after 650 soldiers within the ranks of the British Army. He'd been the senior officer for a while in Iraq and Afghanistan, and before that rising through the ranks on the former Cold War Russian / German border. He'd been given the rank of a full Colonel to run the new Military intelligence unit and he had the best office that had the best view, overlooking Morecambe Bay and the mountains of the Lake District in the distance. He'd walked 79 of the famed 214 Wainwright peaks in his lifetime, and sometimes longed for the freedom of retirement that would allow him to complete the rest. Each was a challenge in many different ways, from boggy commons to loose scree and narrow ridges, but today he faced a different challenge; to save a boys life. "Sorry Brigadier Roberts, but I need the Go command as soon as possible."

"And five minutes explaining all of this to me won't do any harm." The Brigadier glared out of his screen. "Will it?"

Gordon knew he wasn't allowed to refuse an order, even if it had been hidden within some nice words. "No Sir." He admitted finally.

The ranking officer nodded, knowing he'd won the mini battle, purely from the position of rank. For him, that was all it needed. If a Brigadier told a Colonel, then they did what was asked. The same would be if a Major General told a Brigadier. The British Army was built on discipline and a chain of command. Each position was respected fully from the ones below, and if a higher ranked soldier gave an order, then you followed it; it was that simple.

Gordon took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly before giving a full report on all that had occurred in the past few days. At the end he once again asked the question, "Do I have the Go command?"

"Let me think about it for 24 hours or so." The Brigadier smiled.

"Sir." Gordon replied through gritted teeth, tapped the close button on the discussion and sat back in his chair. He ran his fingers through his greying, curly locks and let out a low growl of despair and anger.

##### Olhos d'Agua

Eric finished his homework as quickly as possible, which as it was maths and his favourite subject, was relatively easy. He glanced outside at the still very warm early evening. The sky was relatively clear, apart from a few fluffy white clouds, the sort you could make shapes out of. All afternoon he'd been thinking about the violent thunderstorm they'd experienced whilst in class. Something had been very different about it,. He didn't know what that was, but he needed to research it some more. He opened a new window on his laptop and typed in freak lightning thunderstorms news Europe in the search field. There were too many hits, as usual with such a basic question, but he scanned the most recent to look for something unusual. This wasn't easy as there were thunderstorms all over Europe at this time of year, but one story on a news website from two weeks earlier caught his eye.

"Freak lightning strike kills teenager in Olhos d'Agua, Portugal."

Intrigued, he read on, quickly finding the paragraph that made him stop.

"A teenage boy died in a freak accident when lightning hit his parent's house on the outskirts of Olhos d'Agua in Portugal. He was rushed to the nearby hospital in Vilamoura where he was stabilised and spent 4 days and nights on a ventilator before he died. Even though had no physical signs of being hit by the immense jolt of electricity, the post postmortem declared that was what had killed him."

Eric's senses tingled as he suddenly realised that he and his mother had been near there only a couple of weeks before when they were on holiday at the Sheraton Algarve. He continued with the story seeing that there was a small piece of video from an eye witness. Eric moved the mouse and clicked on the short video, reading the line underneath which stated that Mr.J.Thomson on Middleton, Manchester – eyewitness account. The video started with a little jump from a static shot of a couple looking a little gum to just the man being quite animated and excited about his moment on the camera. He was in his forties, a little overweight, his hair was thinning on top and it had been cut to a no.1 all over.

He wore no shirt, and had deep red, severely blistered shoulders. "Yeah, well I was just coming back from the bar over there." He swung his left arm round to a packed British-style pub on the main street behind him, everyone waving frantically at the camera. "Cus I'm on holiday in the Ree-oo up at the top." His arm moved skyward, pointing out of sight of the following camera.

Eric remembered Olhos d'Agua; a former quiet fishing village that was swelling at an alarming rate, mainly with holiday makers. The beach sloped sharply into the waiting mouth of the Mediterranean, although the crashing waves argued that the sea was still dominated by the Atlantic. A wealth of two-man fishing boats, nothing bigger than dinghy, rested peacefully on the beach. Nearby posts and walls were adorned in multi-coloured nets, knotted by hand, all drying in the warm sun, waiting for the next catch. Sat atop the cliffs, at the head of the village sat the imposing Riu hotel, it's peach coloured walls and large pool overflowing with a wealth of other European holidaymakers. A single track road meandered lazily down through the newly built and being built villas and apartments until it arrived at what would have been the original peaceful heart.

Set around a small square, the old cottages had been transformed for the new economy of the village. Eric remembered the British-style bar Mr. Thomson was standing outside. He could see the large billboards on the side of the pavement, showing photographs of the meals available, the main hoardings along the front, and the umbrellas above the plastic chairs and tables covered in signs displaying well known English and Irish beers. Eric and his mum always tried to enjoy the delights of the local cuisines of a country they visited, but had been known to also partake in a good old fashioned cooked breakfast, once in a while. The square wasn't that big, and the prime locations were held by a few trinket shops, a couple selling beach items of body boards, hats, mats and sun cream, and two places to enjoy a drink or a meal. One was the British bar, the other was the one Eric and his mum had eaten at, which created typically Portuguese fayre.

"Anyway," Mr. Thomson continued on the video. "One second it was 36 degrees and really bright and sunny, and then seconds later there was a huge black cloud above those apartments." Mr. Thomson's arm flailed once more, turning left and aiming at a point about 200 metres away, halfway up the hill. The camera followed the directions, losing focus for a second as it zoomed in for a closer shot of a house. The roof had wisps of smoke and steam rising, along with 3 fire fighters, hacking away to ensure that the heat was not going to build up and create a problem once more. The camera wobbled slightly, knocking the focus off once more.

Eric continued to watch, enthralled by the story and and amazed that he knew the relatively unknown tiny holiday destination.

The video footage stayed on the white building, the camera had close-ups of the scorched and blackened marks adorning the walls like a live painting. Out of shot, Mr. Thomson continued the tale in his nasally Mancunian accent. "I thought it was funny that it had gone so dark so quickly, as I said to Karen, that it had come out of nowhere, didn't I babe?"

Eric presumed that Mr. Thomson was referring to his wife who had been standing off camera until that point. She replied with a simple "yeah you did Hun, out of nowhere you said." Eric watched the video intently as Mr. Thomson came back into the shot and continued his tale. "Then there were a huge flash of lightning, POW! and then there was just silence, nothing." He paused in his tale as he scrunched his shoulders up. "Then about 10 seconds later," He leant forward as if imparting a secret. "There was another flash and I thought the house was exploding cus of a bomb going off, which was what I thought it was at first. I said that to everyone in the pub, didn't I babe?" Mr. Thomson asked. "You did Hun. You said it was a bomb." Mrs. Thomson replied, the camera staying on her husband as he chuckled. "I felt a right wally when it was just lightning, but the weird part was that there was no thunder, you know like no sound. Then I realised there was no rain as well." He shook his head slowly. "Really strange, no rain and no thunder, well weird. It wasn't like the lightning we get in Manchester" The camera pulled back to show a shot of the couple in front of the British bar, as Mr. Thomson continued his tale. "And then it just cleared as quickly as it came. All in all it was over and done with in about 30 seconds or so." He shrugged and looked at his wife. His face saddened as he looked back at the camera. "We hadn't realised that a boy had been hit by it till now though, tragic that it, just tragic."

The video froze at that point, leaving the viewer with a picture of the sad-faced Mr & Mrs. Thomson

Eric was pleased that he'd had found such a clear and concise report, but was still eager to find out more. It sounded exactly the same as what had occurred at school earlier that day, and he quickly scanned the rest of the internet news story, a little frustrated when he found nothing else that was of interest.

Sitting back in his chair, he looked out of his bedroom window and thought about what he'd just read. Just lightning, no rain, no thunder, very weird; he could still hear Mr. Thomson's words in his mind. Eric still felt drawn to the story, and the familiarity of the circumstances. Both today's metrological events and the ones in Portugal had an unnerving similarity with what had occurred on the day his father had died, two years earlier. Something was making his senses tingle, and he knew he had to find out more. He took in a deep breath, wiggled his fingers and turned back to his computer as the only way was to trawl through the Portuguese news websites.

He opened up a new internet tab and called up a translation website. He typed in "Olhos d'Agua teenager killed storm" in the large clear box. He then scrolled down the list in the field below and found "English to Portuguese". He clicked enter, which brought the Portuguese translation into the box below. "O adolescente de Olhos d'Agua matou a tempestade." Cutting and pasting the answer into the search engine gave him a whole new set of hits, all of which were in Portuguese. He checked the dates of the top ones, and found the top three were all within the last 4 weeks. Eric methodically cut and pasted short sections of the first one into the translator website, swapped it to Portuguese to English, before cutting and pasting the answers into a document. This took a while, as he read each paragraph, one piece at a time. Once he knew that it would give him no more information than he'd already gleaned from Mr. Thomson's account, he'd stop, deleted the document and started over again with the next news item.

The second, and then the third story hit a blank, and Eric rubbed his eyes. He'd been sat at his computer for nearly 2 hours piecing stories together, translating each piece, cutting and pasting. He smiled knowing he'd be adept as a researcher for a news team, or creating his own newspaper. He stretched, rolling his shoulders round a couple of times as he'd been sat hunched over, so intent on finding something. The day was drawing to a close outside of his window, the yellows and pinks of the retreating sun reflected across the edges of the sky. A few lights were coming on in the lounges of Steelgate drive and he wondered if it was worth it to keep going.

Eric could hear his father's voice as if he was right behind him. "You've got to keep going, because you never know when you'll sift through the dirt and find a nugget of gold." These had been words his father had said on many occasions when wanted to give up, from doing his homework to bike rides with his father in the worst of the British weather. The last one made him smile even more as he remembered a jaunt near Lancaster, along a muddy wind swept track in early April. They'd struggled for miles, his father giving him the reassurances and pushes to keep going, after they'd been battered by hail and rain storms, waded through deep muddy puddles before it finally happened. They came over a rise, the rain eased off and the clouds started to lift. The sun peaked through, sending golden rays down through the gaps in the clouds. Ahead of them lay Morecambe Bay, and the snow-capped mountains of the Lake District in the distance. His father's words rung out once more, "You've got to keep going, because you never know when you'll sift through the dirt and find a nugget of gold."

With renewed determination he went back to his computer and opened the next story. He cut, translated and pasted the first few sections before quickly scanning through the English version. Eric stopped as his eyes caught the phrase "blue flash." He went back and read the story though again, carefully. His heart sank as he found that it was the local electricity board that mentioned the term while trying to restore the power to over 1000 houses and apartments, 4 hotels and several restaurants and cafés, as the local substation for a few villages had been burnt out.

Eric tensed again as another piece of information caught his eye. He couldn't believe that he hadn't noticed it before now. He scanned back over the news reports, and then over the original one, and found the date of the storm. He remembered on their last day, the 2nd June, that he and his mother, had strolled along the beach round the headland from the Sheraton to have lunch in Olhos. They could only have salads as the power had blown somewhere in the village and there were no cooking facilities available. He re-read the dates on the news reports again, and the lightning storm had struck on the 2nd June.

He sat back in his chair as a thousand thoughts and fears raced around his head.

##### 

##### Status Quo.

"If I didn't know any better, I'm 100% positive that he's trying to give me an ulcer." Colonel Gordon Kelsall had only read the heading of the report that had been placed on his desk by his Aide, moment earlier. "Have you seen what he's asking to do now?" He asked Sergeant Hanes, his voice raised. Gordon took out his handkerchief, huffed on his glasses and then wiped them clean, as he took some deep, calming breaths. "Give me a few minutes to digest this one Sergeant, before I decide on what I'll do."

Sergeant Hanes had been dutifully standing at ease, awaiting the paperwork he'd brought in. A soldier with over 20 years' experience in the Army, he'd been the Colonel's aide for the past 4 years, since his last tour in Iraq. He'd left school at 16 with 3 qualifications and went into College to turn his hand at being a mechanic. Once he qualified he found that there were no jobs available, so an off chance comment from a friend had him marching into the recruiting office on Fishergate in Preston, where he was welcomed with open arms into the Royal Engineers.

He'd always spent time with his dad under a bonnet, or putting a car up on ramps for as long as he could remember. From about the age of 5 he'd be seen perched on the edge of the driver's seat in a car, not able to see over the wheel, but he'd have his little leg stretched at full length, his foot resting on a 10 centimetre block of wood that was strapped with elastic bands to the brake pedal. Roger would wait for the go command off his dad and then would start pumping the pedal as hard and as fast as he could until told to stop, so his dad could bleed the air out of the fluid.

He enjoyed the smell of fresh oil, the complexity of an engine that was merely a bundle of castings, nuts and bolts, and a few wires. Sergeant Roger Hanes could strip a gearbox off a Mark 2 Ford Escort, replace a clutch and have it all back together again in under an hour, and that was when he was only 15. Living close to the cosy and quant village of Chipping in the foothills of the Pennines gave him a few advantages over his peers. He had to work hard to make a living, and learnt the lesson at a very young age. He also had the freedom of the fells and farmland around him, and his pet project of a Mark 2 Escort 1300L could be seen sliding sideways through fields at weekends, and all of this was many years before he could apply for a provisional driving licence. Driving it so hard meant he had to repair it, and the replacement of the clutch was one thing he got very adept at. This was also quite a costly item for a 15 year old, so working hard on farms was a great way to learn the discipline and get the fitness levels he needed to see him do well in the army.

20 years on from those early memories, and the now 40 year old ran a private Rally team throughout the year, which kept him under the bonnet on every spare minute. His good lady had finally got her way, and asked that he stayed more at home than on duty around the world. She never realised that it was his Rallying ambitions that changed his mind, as he needed to compete regularly throughout the year and a 6 month stint in Afghanistan would put a huge dent in his programme.

Sergeant Roger Hanes knew what the Colonel was meaning, having delivered to him a lengthy request from the camp's Major. Roger liked the Major, he was one of life's good guys. Always willing to lend an ear, always had an idea or a bit of encouragement to help someone along. He was also known for his hunches. The Major would get these infamous feelings when he knew something bad was about to occur, or he had to make a move no-one else would consider. His request was one such move that seemed incredulous, as he was asking for an assignment change to closely monitor a subject. He knew the Colonel would need to consider all of the consequences of changing an assignment from simple watching to a more active interaction was always dangerous, as the remit within the camp was to merely monitor and report. This request took this overall remit to its limit, and a little bit further, so he simply stood to attention, nodded and left the room quietly.

He had enough administration work to get on with, and would await the outcome of the request with some interest. His intercom unit buzzed on his desk. "Sir?"

"I realise that this is one of the Major's hunches, but for now I'm going with a No on this request." Colonel Kelsall replied. "I'll tell him directly."

##### 

##### No!

Eric trudged along his usual route towards School. His head was down as it was Monday morning, again. It wasn't that he didn't like school, quite the opposite. He loved seeing his friends, had some great teachers who made it more enjoyable, and it was PE all afternoon, so an afternoon of football. Yet still he was down. After Friday evening's success at finding the mysterious death of the teenager near to where he'd been on holiday, he'd trawled various websites, searching and searching until he could think of no other way to phrase the question in his head. He had found nothing new. Was it just a fluke? He questioned his own thoughts. Although he'd found nothing, it didn't necessarily mean that there hadn't been anything similar anywhere else, he'd just not been able to find the right question to use on the internet.

His eyes followed the pavement, a metre or so ahead, as he worked through his logic, thinking of new search criteria to choose. So far he'd asked for weather reports in and around where they'd been on holiday. He narrowed the searches to the dates when he'd been there with his mum, but to no avail. Should I try a wider search around Europe? He thought to himself, Or even try opening it up to the World? His logical side thought this was a good idea, and his heart also felt it was the right thing to do. He knew he'd find something, somewhere, probably many things, but would they be relevant to the specific storms he'd witnessed.

His eyes scanned the pavement for answers, hoping the words would dig themselves out of the cracks between the rectangular concrete flags. He stopped suddenly as a pair of shoes had appeared in his line of sight. They were sat quietly on the pavement, a short distance ahead, their toes pointing towards him. Eric manoeuvred to the left to go around them, but they moved to their right, blocking his path once more. Thinking that they'd both decided to move the same way, he turned right, and found they'd moved across again. Perplexed he looked up at their owner, and the colour drained from his face.

"Eric Peterson, I am trying to walk carefully along this road and you're repeatedly blocking my way." The deep voice was in stark contrast to the still youthful face, which sat on top of the mountain that was the School Bully, John Armer.

"Good morning John, I'm sorry for getting in your way." Eric apologised even though he knew he'd done no wrong. "May I get past?"

"I think you need to ask a little nicer than that, don't you?" The huge teenager who filled most of the public footpath's width asked.

"Once again," Eric continued, knowing that playing this little game in the correct way would give him a reasonable chance of success, but it didn't guarantee it. "I apologise whole heartedly John Armer, and may I suggest that I move out of your way and let you pass." He bowed his head to help his plea, showing a basic animalistic homage to the Alpha male..

"Mmmmm, let me think." The bully held his podgy hand up to his chin and looked skywards while he acted out his part of the game.

Eric wondered if it was a strain for John Armer to actually think of anything other than being a bully and eating to excess and increase his ever expanding waistline, and this made him smile inside.

This was the key stage of the game; The Bully's decision to hold or release.

He knew John didn't want to head in the opposite direction, as they both were going to School; it was just a case of being an annoyance to someone, to help kick-start the days bullying. As he waited patiently for an answer, Eric noticed John's henchmen weren't around. He had two accomplices to help him, both of whom where smaller, faster and even more intellectually challenged. They would be sent, like a pair of hunting dogs to track down and bring back an offender to receive his or her punishment at the hands of their Master.

"I've have come to a decision." John said with an air of a King giving a Royal proclamation. "And it's No."

"No?" Eric questioned, not understanding the answer fully. "Do you mean No, I can't go past, or No I can't move to one side to let you pass?" Eric asked, knowing the complexity of the question would throw the bully.

"Erm, well..." John's eyes darted back and forth as he ran the question through his mind. "It's just No." And he crossed his arms in front of him to add to the defiance.

"Oh." Eric was now wondering what that "No" meant.

"Yo Dude, Hi John." Tom said as he grabbed a handful of Eric's shirt sleeve and whipped him around the huge obstacle of John Armer, and onwards towards school. "See ya later in PE John; I might try to tackle you if it's Rugby." Tom laughed as he called back, dragging Eric swiftly away to safety.

"Erm, yeah Tom, later then." John wondered what had happened as it had all been so quick. He stood rooted to the spot for a minute before giving up trying to work it all out and headed into school.

"Cheers mate." Eric thanked his friend. "I think it was going to be one of those bad ones today." He continued, referring to the times when diplomacy hadn't worked too well, and he'd had to suffer some punishment.

"No worries, Mate." Tom said in an Australian accent. "It was just a lot simpler to drag you away, anyway." He shrugged his shoulders, before continuing. "Where were his pack dogs?"

"I thought that as well. They come from the Houghton side, so I think they've not met up with him, yet."

"Ah well. If he did have a gripe with you, then you'll find out sometime today." Tom added nonchalantly with a slight smile.

Eric's heart sank a little, as he knew that escaping the clutches of the School Bully was only a reprieve from the inevitable capture in the spider's web.

Crucible.

The morning had gone quite well. Lessons passed by relatively quickly, and the mid-morning break had been uneventful as well, thankfully. Eric's subjects were different from Tom's, so he took his time at the end of each one, hanging around for a minute to slowly pack his bag, or to ask the Teacher a question; anything to delay him exiting the room. His tactics worked and was always pleased to see Tom waiting, nonchalantly propping a wall up, one knee bent with the foot planted against it, nodding and greeting all those who passed, if they knew him or not.

Eric noticed that Tom made it look as if he'd been there for quite a while, but could see that he was working hard to contain his heavy breathing, having raced across the School from his lessons to be Eric's Wing-Man, if trouble should appear in the shape of John Armer or his two pack dogs.

Eric was sensible enough to realise that even together, he and Tom wouldn't be a match against John Armer, but it might be enough to make him not pick a fight against the two friends. He also knew that Tom's sharp wit would more than likely get them out of trouble.

Monday morning was always very important to the boys. Tom's parents owned a Caravan that was situated in the Eden valley in Cumbria, and he spent most weekends up there from Easter until Bonfire night. The telephone reception in the area wasn't good, so the friends never had chance to catch up with each other until these few minutes. As they walked out of the school and across the play areas, Eric fill Tom in quickly on what he'd found out from the previous Friday evening's internet search for dangerous thunder storms.

"Hi Tom." A young red-haired lady smiled at him, her eyes fluttering for a few seconds before glancing quickly at Eric. "Hi Eric."

The boys stopped.

"Hi Julie." Eric replied and could see clearly that he wasn't her main focal point. He patted Tom on the shoulder. "I'll be on the Bench." And left them to chat, grinning and shaking his head as he walked the few yards to a tired concrete blob, shaped into a long seat.

He sat on what was colloquially known by all the students as "the Bench." This plain looking, concrete structure had served as a focal point for many discussions over who had the best to trump cards, to which football player was the best ever across generations of schoolchildren. It had seen many a love story blossom, flourish, and die, having many tears splashed onto its cold unfeeling form, and many a set of initials scratched off its surface.

Eric admired the view whilst waiting for his friend to finish chatting to a young lady. He smiled, as he could see that Tom was completely blind to her not too subtle flirtatious manoeuvres. The young lady giggled at Tom's one-liners, stroked her hair back, blushed a little, touched his arm; all of which Tom couldn't read.

The Bench was the starting point for any meeting at each break time, and always there before they went for lunch. The Bench had seen better days, but was still serviceable enough to be used every day, by lots of kids. It looked out over the school playing fields, speckled with thin white metal trees, marking the goals and posts of various football and rugby pitches. Looking north, and on a clear day, you could see the gently rolling outline of the Bowland fells.

Today was such a day and Eric remembered many a lovely walk around Beacon fell, and Parlick pike with his dad before he'd died. He sighed quietly, the morning's dream having brought his father's image back into the forefront of his mind.

"Oh before I forget." Tom hitched his rucksack onto his shoulder with a simple flick. "Can I come for a sleep-over this weekend?"

"I'll have to ask my Mum." Eric replied, considering the advantages of having his best friend over to watch DVDs, play games and, as they were growing teenagers, eat midnight feasts of cheese on toast. This made him smile, his previous sorrowful thoughts drifted away to complete their own ascent of the fells in the distance.

"Mum and Dad aren't going to the van as they're off to a Concert, so I asked if I could stay at yours rather than be stuck in with a sitter." He nodded enthusiastically at the simple brilliance of his idea. "We can play some Pool, a bit of Wii..." Tom excitedly said. "Gonna whip your butt, Boy." He added in an American accent.

"Yeah right." Eric replied. "You never beat me at anything; I can even beat you at Snakes and Ladders."

"Ahhh, but what you don't know is!" Tom waggled his head defiantly, "I've been practicing."

"What, at Snakes and Ladders?"

"Nope, at Pool." Tom played an imaginary shot that rocketed into a corner pocket, to which he celebrated by waggling the invisible cue in the air to the adulation of an adoring, and also imaginary crown in the Guild Hall. "And the winner is..."

"Once again, Eric Peterson." Eric interjected. "As usual. So much so, that the bookies didn't even take bets once they knew he had entered the competition." He bowed to Tom's imaginary crowd.

"What are you two doing?" John Armer had been watching for a few seconds from a distance. "You don't half look like Numpties." He added and glanced at his two now present henchmen to cue their laughter.

"Yeah John, you're right, Numpties." Dave Leach, the smaller of the two added, and then laughed.

"Yeah." Trevor Rawlins, commonly known as Trev, simply added between his forced guffaws.

"I was just whipping this poor Saddo at Pool, if you must know." Tom threw his arm around Eric's shoulders and nodded vigorously.

"I don't think so, Chummmmmm-p." Eric countered with a grin. "I'd just won the Snooker Championships at the Preston Guild Hall."

"What?" John was confused. He'd placed his hands on his hips, his elbows sticking out, one in front of Trev's face, the other over the top of Dave's head. The outline shape created by the three bullies was one of a small mountain.

"No worries, Mate." Tom replied in an Australian accent.

"Yeah, we'll show you the pictures and the DVD when we've come back from spending the £210,000 prize money." Eric added, giving John a thumbs-up.

"And don't forget to add in my £100,000 bonus for hitting a 147 in the 6th frame." Tom added to the imaginary tale, and piled more onto John's confusion.

"Oh Aye, although that was only one of 2 frames you won in the entire final." Eric quipped. "Ah well, there's always next year, isn't there Tom."

"Yep, there's always next year." He sighed a little despondently. "So, off to the Bahamas for a month then?" He asked Eric.

"Good idea, I'm getting fed up of Florida, the Australian Gold Coast, Port Aventura, and of course, Skegness." He managed to control himself before he sniggered out loud. "All the great holiday resorts from around the world."

It took a few seconds for John to work through the list before his face screwed up and he asked, "Skegness? Skegness?" Repeating the Lincolnshire resort's name out loud, as if it would start to sound like one of the world's great resorts. Dave and Trev kept quiet, not daring to question if Skegness was really one of the greats.

Eric seized his chance. "Lunch Tom?" He asked.

"Yep, it sounds like my stomach's rumbling something rotten."

"Sorry about this John, but we're gonna have to dash again." Eric threw his back over his shoulder, held up a hand apologetically, and then nodded sideways for him and Tom to make their escape, once again.

Chain of Command.

"I apologise for interfering with your normal routine, oh Great Commander Eklan." Harrap spoke clearly into the communication unit that hung on the wall of the laboratory; he was extremely wary of who was on the other end of the line. "I also apologise for it taking 2 years, but I think we've finally perfected it." Harrap's hushed voice spoke as if it daren't say the words out loud, in case he and his colleagues were wrong once again. Many failed experiments had been carried out on many subjects, and because of that; many of his former colleagues had never been seen again. He was now in charge of the team, but that leadership was only gained because of the mistakes his predecessors had made. His slight frame was quaking as he waited for a reply.

"Think?" The speaker replied.

"Erm." Harrap realised he'd been over-cautious with his words, but had to be certain with his results. "All of the tests so far have confirmed a 100% success rate."

The speaker remained silent.

Harrap felt a bead of sweat appear on his forehead. A second one appeared, then another. Two seconds passed, such a short span of time, but to Harrap it was an eternity as it felt as if a flood of sweat was pouring from his forehead. He had his hands on the metallic worktop, and they were getting damp and sticky. He lifted them to reveal two discoloured patches of sweat. Harrap swished an arm across his forehead, the silence unbearable.

"Good."

The speaker clicked and the green light at the side flicked off, ending the call.

Harrap breathed a small sigh of relief. He knew that he was destined to be a scientist. His small physical build dictated that he couldn't be a soldier or fulfill some other manual task. He was actually grateful for this, and was equally pleased that he'd been blessed with reasonable intelligence. This meant that he could apply himself to his education, and gain respect with his peers when he became a qualified scientist. The only downside was that he'd spent his life in similar featureless boxes, moving from one assignment to another, accepting that until it was completed, he was a prisoner. There were no windows to see any of the wonders that were undoubtedly outside.

He had seen many changes over the past 2 years, when he'd finally made the huge leap from the Science Academy to a Commander's ship. He'd been brought on as a Junior 3rd Scientist, a rank never achieved before within by anyone in his village, and his last day with his family and friends had been one of celebration and wonder for what lay ahead. At that point nobody knew who he would be stationed under, and it was bad luck to guess at the outcome.

At the end of his first day of orientation, the rosters were posted and he was on the Supreme Commander K'nash's ship. When he rang his wife, she wept with joy at how high her Husband had climbed. Little did he know that within 2 years he would end up as Lead Scientist under the most feared of K'nash's second tier, Commander, Eklan. This was widely known as a tainted position, as he'd got there by a series of dead-mans-shoes promotions, which occurred every time one of his predecessors failed Eklan.

He'd also witnessed massive advances in science. New ways of locating and creating test subjects had been developed along with more discrete methods for the physical extraction of those test subjects from unknowing and subterranean locations. He personally had made huge advances in understanding Human blood types, ever since the pure one had been found. Transporting people and equipment down from a ship to the surface of a planet had also been improved, using a new beaming technology that had been finally unlocked. This had taken years of testing by scientists working under Commander Prant on a desolate planet at the edge of their Galaxy. These technological advances were added to the latest ships, or ones with a Supreme Commander at the helm, but on the older ships, where Harrap was stationed, they still had to use the original methods.

Harrap had a few extra years over most of his colleagues on Eklan's ship, and as such could help calm any problems & keep the younger ones focused on their tasks. He would also be willing to guide them through to completion, and had been known to send someone to their bed, and then continue their work to completion, to ensure they hit a deadline, and keep Eklan pleased.

He could never make her happy, as that was unknown by all who told of her tales. So, he knew he didn't need to try to work to a level where mistakes would be made. For mistakes under Eklan meant one thing, instant death, something that crossed his mind every time the door to his Laboratory opened.

The Laboratory was split into 4 main rooms. A short corridor at one side took his team to the side kitchen, toilets and showers. The overall room had a curtain along one end which hid the sleeping bunk area away from the test areas. There was only one main door in and out of the facility, which was used by security staff to bring them food, or by Fink to manoeuvre test subjects back and forth. It was never by Harrap or any of his fellow scientists, unless they'd failed, and then that was only as a one-way exit. They all lived, slept and ate in the confines of this one small laboratory. He almost wondered if it was they themselves that were being watched in some sort of twisted experiment, and he glanced up at the surveillance cameras around the room, wondering who was on the other end of the signal they sent.

The speaker crackled once more, the green light blinking on.

Eklan.

Harrap's blood froze. "Yes Commander?"

"How many?"

Harrap had to think. "17 test subjects from 4 different systems so far, Sire."

Silence.

"I had another 7 planned for today, who cover a further 3 different Galaxies." He wanted to spread the tests across as many as possible, to ensure it worked.

Silence.

Harrap continued on, nervously. "I believe there will be no problems, in which case when will we tell Him?"

Silence.

Harrap was worried, as he had questioned his Commander, something a mere Scientist should never do.

"Soon enough. You've done.....well." The very controlled female voice crackled through the speaker again, struggling to give the recognition to a Scientist. "I want you to complete the testing on all of the stock we have on the ship, and then we will do one more test on a very familiar and very alive subject in four days' time." She said, knowing how her plan would unfold.

"But isn't that a little risky?" Harrap's usually quiet voice had a nervous tingle to it at the thought of defying his Commander once more.

"I will say if it's a little risky." The female voice snapped back at him. "And I also believe that it will be fun."

Harrap heard a gurgling noise coming from the speaker, and presumed she was laughing. He started to quake again, as he'd only heard that noise on 3 other occasions. Even though each time it had resulted in a promotion for him, it had been at the expense of one of his colleague's life.

"So don't you worry your relatively intelligent little head." She continued. "Let me deal with the strategic notions, as I am the one and only Commander Eklan."

The gurgling / laughing noise started again before he heard a loud crack, making Harrap jump. He held his breath for a few seconds, worrying what had happened before he realised that the crack had been the sound of the communicator being switched off, and he let out a small snort of laughter at his relief. His mind ran over the conversation he'd just had. Harrap closed his eyes as he worried if he'd spoken out of turn, and if he would soon feel the wrath of the infamous Eklan.

Trapped.

Eric crashed into the far side of the room. The large steel door clanged shut behind him and he was engulfed in total darkness. "Damn." He exclaimed out loud. He threw his arms out and flailed them back and forth around himself. "Who's there?" He called out as he twisted back and forth, anticipating an attack at any moment. He tried his best to peer into the dark, but his eyes couldn't adjust to the low levels of light in the room. He listened intently, the only noise being his own heavy breaths. "Who's there?" He called out again, but there was no reply. He realised that he was now facing the door he'd been pushed through, and headed back towards it, wafting his arms around ahead of him, and slowly dragging each foot forward, so as to not trip over anything. Still there were no other sounds to be heard in there. Tiny hairs started to tingle on the back of his neck as he realised that this was a little too spooky for his liking. If asked, he'd admit that he was a little scared, not because of the dark, but of his imagination, conjuring up imaginary foes waiting in the darkness around him. Although, at that moment, the adrenalin was coursing through his veins because of the anger he felt towards whoever was behind this stunt.

It was Wednesday, and so far he'd had no further confrontations with John or his pack-dogs. The remainder of Monday and all of Tuesday had been reasonably uneventful, passing without a hitch from leaving home to go to school, to his arrival back at Steelgate Drive. He had started to think that John had found a new target to be amused with, someone new to terrorise, and had started to relax.

That had been his downfall.

He'd been on his way back to class after having lunch with Tom. They'd split at the main doorway into the school so as to carry on to their respective classes. Tom headed right to Mrs. Bryan's Geography class, and Eric went left to Mr. Pearce's Physics class. When he reached the bottom of the main tower, Eric nipped into the toilets, and as such was one of the last to be still out of class. He continued on his way, but as he walked past the assembly hall, he'd heard a muffled "help." The door into the hall was open; the room still set out with neat rows of chairs from that morning's Assembly. He presumed that nothing else was planned and they'd left them out till tomorrow. At the far end of the room was the stage, standing about 1.2m above the floor with steps either side. The school crest of a lamb carrying a cross in the centre of an oval frame, the Lancashire rose above and below the lamb, and the ends of two crossed keys peeping out from behind the oval was captured in a copper motif affixed high up on the wall to the left. At the right hand side of the stage was a lectern, used by the Head or Deputy Head at Assembly, or more recently, by the Narrator during a school play. The stage curtains were drawn as usual, and he looked at them as if they'd magically open and reveal their secrets.

A slightly louder, but still much muffled "Help!" came from behind the curtains.

"Hello!" Eric called out as he stepped into the room and slowly walked towards the huge black velvet sheets. "Is anyone there?"

"Yes, can you help me please?" The voice asked, a little clearer. "I've tripped and hurt my leg."

Eric quickened his pace, as it had sounded like a first year student's young voice, and he realised that they may be seriously hurt. "It's OK, I'm coming."

He dashed past the chairs and leaping up onto the stage in one go. He whipped the heavy stage curtains back, and as he dove through the gap the daylight crept in along with him, bringing life to the normally gloomy back-stage area. Eric stopped, confused, as he saw no one there. "Hello?" He called out once more, as he thought he'd see the young pupil just behind there. "Where are you?"

The curtains closed behind him, shutting the light out, save the tiny amount that managed to sneak in under the stage curtains as they continued to swing back and forth. Eric's eyes struggled to adjust for a second, as he was plunged into semi-twilight.

"Over here. I've fallen over near the storeroom." The young student's voice was quaking and breaking up, and Eric wondered if it was because he was crying.

"Wait there." Eric said which he then realised was a little stupid thing to say if the boy had fallen and hurt himself. If he could move, he wouldn't now be calling out to him.

By now his eyes had re-adjusted enough to make out the odd shapes of items that waited patiently on the stage for their next bow. The school play had taken place recently, and some of the props depicting a bar scene were still around. He was grateful that at least he could see them clearly enough to not trip over anything.

"What's your name?" Eric asked, wanting to keep the student talking so he could find him quicker, and keep the young man's mind off his problems.

"Dave.....erm....Dave Smith." The slightly squeaky voice replied from the right hand corner.

"OK." Eric said. "Let me get round these things, and I'll be right with you."

"Thank you." The voice said.

"No worries mate." Eric rounded what he thought was an upright piano that had been used in the bar scene in the musical. He could now see the corner of the storeroom, and noticed the door was open. "Are you in the store?" He asked, carefully approaching the entrance to the pitch black room.

There was no answer.

Eric stepped into the room, the darkness stealing any vision he had. He took another step and was shoved hard in the back, sending him sprawling across to the rear of the store. Eric realised he was about to fall, or could trip over anything in there, but he somehow managed to pick his feet up and stumble to a halt. Before he'd stopped, the large and very solid metal door slammed shut behind him.

Fight or Flight.

Eric had to think, and do so quickly.

"Use all of your senses." Memories of self-defence training that his Dad had given him floated to the front of his mind.

Eric held his breath and listened.

Silence filled the room.

"Use all of your senses." His father's voice urged.

"How?" Eric replied into the darkness before a thought hit him. He delved into his pocket and brought out his phone, quickly thumbing the commands on the touch screen to use it as a torch.

Quickly scouring the room, he realised that there was no young student, and presumed there never had been one. It was a trap, and he'd fallen for it. He resisted the urge to admonish himself.

"Gather intelligence. In this order, look at the location, the threat, and see if you can retreat, remember location, threat, retreat, and finally fight." His Dad's voice echoed in his head as if he was standing next to him.

Simon Peterson had instructed his son on how to defend himself after Eric, at a very innocent 9 years old, had been at the receiving end of a frenzied attack by two older boys.

It had been a lovely sunny April weekend. Spring had been in full flow, and this was one of the first days that heralded a warm summer was only just around the corner. The blue sky was dotted with light bright white fluffy clouds, as if in an idyllic child-like painting. Long sleeved tops were left at home as the young Eric ventured out on his first real bike, cycling down the nearby country lanes, heading towards a large local wood, known locally as "Squagsys." He'd enjoyed the long fast freewheeling down the hill that headed to the entrance of Squagsys woods, and as he neared the gates to the old derelict Hall had met two 12 year old boys heading in the opposite direction. Being a pleasant and friendly young lad, Eric was more than willing to make a new friend, and so let the boys ride his bike. After a short while Eric had tired of the games and decided he wanted to be on his way, to enjoy his own company once more. The older boys weren't pleased that their games were being ended so soon by this mere child. They refused to let the young Eric have his bike back, and when he'd finally shouted at them was met with a quick and solid punch to the face. The second boy liked the look of what his friend had done, and decided to do the same, enjoying the ease that they could punch this young boy. More and more punches were thrown, and when the young Eric stumbled and fell, they decided that it was easier to kick. Kicks and punches rained down on the boy, the more he wailed, the more it brought delight to their attack. The frenzied onslaught continued for many minutes, both 12 year olds being whipped up in the delight of inflicting so much pain and punishment. They taunted and laughed at the defenceless crumpled heap of a battered, bruised and bloodied body of the 9 year old, right up to the moment that he stopped breathing.

Panic ripped both boys, the pleasure crushed in that final blow.

Eric's mind drifted away, as if on the white fluffy clouds that floated lazily in the gentle breeze high above his broken body. He was amazed at how he could go from a moment of being repeatedly punched and kicked from head to toe, the excruciating pain building more and more as each part of his body screamed for release, to the almost celestial release as his heart stopped.

"Flamin' 'eck!" One boy backed off, fearing what they'd done.

The other moved forward, extending his index finger and prodding tentatively at the clump of bloodied rags that contained the limp, lifeless body.

"What you doin'?"

The other boy poked Eric once more. "Seein' if 'e's dead."

Eric floated above his body, as if sat on a cloud a short distance above. He looked down, puzzled at the sight below him. It took a few moments to understand the scene, before realising that it was him lying in the middle of the road, one boy poking his empty shell, one taking slow steps away.

"That's you."

Eric looked at the woman who had appeared beside him on the cloud. "Yes, but how?"

Her smile felt as warm as the sun. Her eyes sparkled with life and excitement, but looked so kind and helpful. She wore a long golden silk dress, which lightly shimmered and flowed, and her long blonde hair lifted off her shoulders in the breeze, like a sea of barley in the fields on a summer's day. "Hello Eric. My name is Amari."

"Hello." Eric's brow furrowed a he looked from the beautiful lady beside him, down to his limp body which seemed to be further away.

"You have a choice to make." Amari's smile held his gaze.

"Oh, OK." Eric was even more puzzled. "So what are they?"

"You can either come with me, or return."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm sorry, but I cannot tell you."

"And do you mean return to..." He looked over the edge of the cloud. "Return to my body down there."

"Yes."

"So I'm..." The word caught in his throat. "Dead?"

"Not yet, but nearly," Amari held her hand up to stop his question. "And you only have a short time, as you are getting further and further away." She motioned for him to look and see his body shrink smaller and smaller as the cloud lifted up higher.

"So if I go with you, am I going to Heaven?"

"I'm sorry, but I cannot answer that."

"But you're an Angel."

Amari smiled, and her radiance glowed. "I cannot answer that either."

Eric peered over the side, fearful at their height, hoping he'd not fall off. He could just make out the shape of the older boy, poking his body, and wondered what would happen to him if he returned. Would they continue the beating? His young mind raced over the consequences, if the continued, he'd be dead anyway, and back here once more. He looked up, and saw a faint glow in the distance, like a train coming out of a dark tunnel, its light reaching out into the daylight.

"I don't know." He scratched his cheek. "Maybe I should just go with you."

"If that is your decision, then so be it." Amari smiled.

"But my Mum and Dad." Eric's thoughts came out. "I don't know."

"Eric, coming with me isn't the end, but I can tell you that staying here will be the start of many great things, far greater than you've ever imagined." Amari placed a warm hand on his shoulder. "I should not have said that, but I believe you need to know."

Eric looked over the side of the cloud. He could make out the black line, denoting the road where he lay. Green areas bordered the line, but he could see no detail.

"But what if I go back and they simply carry on?"

Amari shrugged her shoulders, gently.

"I know, you can't answer that."

She smiled.

Eric took a deep breath, strengthening his resolve. "I'll go back, because I think I'll know when I'm ready to go with you."

Amari's smile broadened, her radiance glowed even more.

Eric had to squint as Amari's glow grew brighter and brighter.

"Well done, you may not realise it yet, and you will not remember my words, but you are destined to be the Greatest of them all."

Eric held his arm in front of his face as Amari's brilliance increased.

"Good luck Eric."

A flash of light and he was back in his body.

Eric took a sharp breath, the pain in his side biting him. "Argghh!"

The boy poking him leapt back in shock. "Flamin' 'eck, e's alive."

The other one had been holding his breath as he stepped slowly away. He now let it out in a long slow blow of air. "C'mon, lets just go." He grabbed his friend by the hood of his top and dragged him away.

"Nah, the git had me scared, we need to teach him a lesson." He snatched his hood out of his hands, but then stopped and looked at the body in the road.

Eric felt the pain bite in his side, then in his legs, his head pounded like a jack-hammer was bouncing around inside. He felt warm blood dribbling from his broken nose, down and cross his lips, and onto his cheek. He could feel that some had dried, the beating had been going on for so long. Bruises filled with fluids, and his eye felt as if it was standing a foot away from his face, It had swollen so much. Yet, with all that pain, he remembered the words Amari had said, "you are destined to be the Greatest of them all."

Here he was, a broken battered and bruised 9 year old boy, on the edge of dying, and yet he was destined for so much. The absurdity of it all felt so funny, that Eric started to laugh. A couple of coughs followed as the pain sliced across his chest, the broken ribs digging deep inside him. Yet, he still laughed, more and more, as hard as he could.

"C'mon, he's lost it, lets go before someone sees us." The one who had been backing away grabbed his friend once more. "He's alive, and he'd learnt his lesson."

Eric continued to laugh, clutching his body, curling into a ball as the pain hurt more. The strange part was that the laughing helped the pain.

"OI!" A voice shouted in the distance.

Eric never heard it through his laughter, but the thugs did, and they saw the man standing at his gate further along the lane and realised it was time to scarper.

It took a few weeks before Eric was back at school, enjoying the company of his peers. He never felt scared or concerned, and his ability to trust anyone and everyone he met was not diminished. Simon Peterson realised that his son was the better person for being that way, but he knew he had to give him some lessons in life's harder knocks. He taught his son how to defend himself. This was not only from the known threats, but to see the unknown. He showed him how to evaluate a situation, locate the threats, and be ready to react before it got out of hand. Eric was a quick and positive pupil, and Simon enjoyed giving him the guidance he knew would help keep his son safe from harm. He told his son on many occasions the same words, "Never start a fight, always try to stay out of a fight, but if you can't, make sure you end it, and do so quickly." From the very first time Simon Peterson had instructed his son, he gave him the simple mantra of "Location, threat, retreat, and finally fight."

Those words echoed in Eric's mind as he peered into the deep gloom of the storeroom under the stage at his high school. "Location, threat, retreat, and finally fight."

Games.

The light from Eric's mobile wasn't as good as a full torch, but it was enough to see around the storeroom. He remembered the first part of his father's mantra, Location. The room seemed to be reasonably empty, as he realised that some of the props were out on the stage above his head, or had been placed outside the store room, moved out of the way to get to the required bar scene items.

He shone his mobile around the room. Neatly stacked to the left of the door were wooden benches. The opposite side had huge wire-mesh, securely locked cages; the one nearest to him contained various pieces of sports equipment, from basketballs to storage bins full of beanbags, hoops and small cones. The assembly hall was occasionally used as a second sports hall, and thus it was easier to leave a selection of basic equipment locked up in here, rather than carry it back and forth to the gym. The next cage was full of mops, buckets, bushes and an industrial floor scrubber. Eric could clearly see that this was the cleaner's store cage, and he wondered when they would come into the school, as he never saw anyone during the day.

He carefully made his way over to the solid door, made from huge, thick steel plates with angled steel pieces welded along each edge and across the centre. He placed his hand on the cool metal surface and gave it a gentle push. He wasn't surprised to see that it didn't budge a great deal, but there was a tiny amount of movement. Shining the light from his mobile around the door, he could see that there was no handle on the inside. Eric stopped and tried to remember what it looked like outside, and his heart sank when he mind's eye saw that it was a draw bolt and padlock system of security, same as his father had on the garden shed at home. The only way to be fully trapped inside was for the bolt to be slid across and slotted into the hole. He rattled the door gently once more, at the lock side, and his heart sank when the door didn't move that much. A moment's anger came over and he took a deep breath before slamming his shoulder into the door, giving it harder push. He knew that this was also to no avail, but his anger forced him to at least give it a try. "Damn" he exclaimed to the darkness that enveloped him as his phone cut off, and he thumped his fist against the metal in frustration, making it boom quite loudly within the store.

This gave him an idea.

"HELLO?" He shouted and banged his fist against the door a couple of times. "IS ANYONE OUT THERE?" He held his breath as he waited, straining to hear the slightest noise. He'd heard whoever had set the trap for him, as he'd passed by, so was hopeful that the same could be done for him. He banged even harder on the door with the base of his fist and yelled out "HELP, HELP!"

Once again he listened carefully, his body straining to hold his breath in, the sound of his heart beating in his ears as he wanted to pick out a noise that would give him any slight chance of hope. He was met with silence. Eric sighed as he knew that everyone would be in class by now, and very few people would be wandering the corridors, let alone be going past the entrance to the Assembly Hall at that moment.

Nevertheless, he was always optimistic, so he continued his calls and banging.

After a short period of calling and banging, Eric decided it wasn't worth tiring himself out too much, and stopped. Whoever had done this was probably going to return at some time, or so he hoped. He used his phone again to illuminate his path back to the benches at the side of the storeroom, and took one off the top so he could sit down. As he got about halfway across the room, his mobile phone's battery gave up, and he was plunged into darkness.

His plan to text Tom to come and get him out had just died along with the phone's battery, and he sat down dejectedly and decided to await his fate.

Time passed by very slowly, and so, to keep himself occupied he played one of his favourite games; how to spend a lottery win. He'd played this many times over the past 2 years after his father's death, normally during the very early hours when he found that he couldn't sleep. The therapist he'd seen on many occasions during that time had explained that he shouldn't count sheep, as that was so lame. Instead he should wonder what to do if his Mum won the lottery and he was given a million pounds to spend. As the therapist explained the game, he said that he should save at least half, and he would hope to get around 4% interest on that investment in a long term savings account. This would give Eric one set of calculations to perform, calculating the amount of money he'd earn from the interest he'd get. He could then split that into months, and only use half of it to spend, and half to put back into the investment, so that it grew. The next step was to repeat that calculation year by year, as the half a million grew, but increasing his allowance by 3% annually.

The other half a million was his to do as he pleased. He could buy anything he wanted, within reason, and definitely within the restricted budget. Eric had answered quickly that he'd initially get an Aston Martin Vantage, easy peasy. He then turned his attention to a decent iPod, a top specification ipad, and so it continued. The therapist stopped him, and asked that he kept a running total of what he'd purchased.

The therapist had explained to Emma Peterson, Eric's mum, it was a simple distraction to get away from the thoughts of his father's death. It would also use both sides of the brain. The creative side would dream up the items to purchase, and the intellect would calculate the total spends, and how much was left. By doing this, he would quickly tire both sides out, and hopefully drift off to sleep.

Eric sat on the wooden bench, not using this to get some rest, but to simply pass the time, and not dwell on the anger he was feeling towards whoever had done this to him. He used mental arithmetic to work out how much interest per day he'd be earning, to help lengthen the game. The spend became more intense, as his sights lowered to a new bicycle, including all ancillary kit of pumps, bags, water bottles etc. These may have only cost pounds, but it also helped pass the time during his incarceration.

There was the sound of a bell ringing, which made Eric jump, as he'd been so engrossed in his calculations and dreams of items. It took a moment for him to realise that it was only the bell which heralded the start of the afternoon break. He sighed, but stopped as a thought struck him. Eric leapt up and ran over to the door where he resumed his thunderous banging on the door and shouts for help.

It didn't take long for him to realise that he had no chance of being heard, as the din of 700 kids all moving around the corridors at the same time was more than enough competition to his miniscule banging and shouting against a metal door at the far end and underneath the stage in the Assembly hall. Dejected, he went back and sat down again. Eric heard bell ring again at 3:30pm, and he could hear his peers leaving the school at the end of the academic day. He was starting to wonder if his assailants had forgotten about him.

Tests.

Harrap and his colleagues ran tests on the remainder of the 43 subjects that they had in storage over the next 3 weeks. They documented every process, every stage of the virus taking hold. They checked body temperatures, heart rates and blood pressure levels on an hourly basis for each test subject they were using. They took repeated scans to see how the brain and various organs tried to defend themselves from their attacker, making copious notes if something deviated from the norm.

He smile appeared after 25 had been tested to their fatal end, and it broadened, bit by tiny bit as each one resulted in the same fate. His serum worked, and so far it had been 100% effective. Two of his team were responsible for mapping the longevity of the test subject. When all had been completed, they noted in their report that the majority had died within two weeks, some a little quicker, and one held on long enough to just make it to day 15, but still died. He wasn't too worried about that one, as statistically he'd plotted the average time to death as 9.2 days.

Harrap sat at his computer. His team slept peacefully in their bunks at the far end of the laboratory, in a living area which was screened off by a blue curtain. Harrap couldn't sleep. He didn't know if it was from the excitement due to the success of the virus at this stage, or the impending live trial that was to take place. So far they'd only been able to take a small sample of creatures and test them in isolation of each other. He couldn't yet tell how and even if the virus could be transmitted from person to person. They had collected and tested mucus and spittle samples from each subject, during each phase of the virus's attack, and that looked promising as each contained the virus in vast quantities during the latter stages. Yet, to know for sure if another person could catch it would only be tested once deployed on a larger scale.

The figures and graphs on his screen, detailing many stages of the subject's demise, and the virus's growth. His current view showed that the life of the virus would be many hours after the subject died. This all looked very impressive. The kill rate was 100%, and the cross-contamination rate would be 100%. A success. He thought to himself, and he allowed another slight grin to slip onto his lips.

The door swished open at the far end of the laboratory, and Fink scurried into the room. Harrap was grateful that he was in a quieter part of the room, partially hidden by test equipment and monitors, and this afforded him a chance to watch the snitch / porter at work. He wondered was why Fink was there, at this time of the night cycle, when there were no more subjects to be moved around, when everyone would be asleep.

Harrap watched Fink scurry his way across the work area, stopping every few paces to glance left and right, his head bobbing up and down as he peered into various specimen jars and check around the room. He'd read a few lines on a monitor, mumbling the key points, committing them to memory. This continued zig-zagging his stuttering way across the laboratory until he arrived at the sleeping area where he paused for a few more seconds. Harrap wondered if he was listening to everyone on the far side, checking that they all were sleeping before he continued his spying. He watched as, after a minute, the despicable creature drew the curtain back slowly and very quietly, revealing his staff behind. Harrap tensed, the protective fatherly side coming to the fore. If you harm any of my friends, then I'll... His thoughts stopped as he watched Fink take a step forward, into the living area.

This area was clearly visible to Harrap, until the voile-like curtain swished back into place behind Fink as he disappeared behind it. He knew that he would be standing next to where his loyal deputy, Crane, was sleeping. The thought crossed his mind to try to get a closer look, but decided that staying hidden would be a better strategy. Harrap's only saving grace was that the curtain was semi-see-through, and as such could watch Fink's shape continue his tasks, his feet fully visible underneath, as the curtain didn't reach the floor. He held his breath as he saw him stop next to Cranes bunk.

Fink glanced around the room, his head snapping back and forth, up and down, as he entered, "I'm being watched." He thought to himself, and he glanced at each of the cameras in the corners of the room. "But then again, we're all being watched, all the time, wherever we are on the ship......everyone being watched except Her." He furrowed his brow as he wondered why she was being allowed that freedom. "I'd very much enjoy watching her secretly." The frown was replaced by a smutty grin.

Fink still felt that he was being watched, and not by Her, but as he couldn't see anyone else in the laboratory, decided to continue his mission. He looked at Crane, sleeping peacefully, not knowing what was about to happen. Sliding his hand slowly into the breast pocket of his jacket, he withdrew a very small box. He opened it carefully and quietly, constantly checking to see if anyone was waking, or could hear his near silent movements. Fink removed one of the syringes that were filled with a blood red liquid. Carefully placing the needle against the bare neck of the deputy scientist, he gently pushed it, puncturing the skin. He continued to push until about 1centimetre of the needle had descended into Crane before slowly squeezing the contents into the unwary victim. Fink replaced the empty needle into the case and returned it to his pocket.

He then reached into his left hand pocket and took out a small tablet computer. It glowed and shimmered in his hand and he marvelled at its power for a moment. He swiped a finger across the touch screen, waited a couple of seconds for the device to boot up before pressing a couple of symbols that had appeared. Fink held the device above Crane's head and then slowly moved it down his body. Once he'd got down to his feet he pressed another symbol then replaced it into his left pocket.

Fink repeated his actions on the next 3 scientists, giving each a fresh syringe and then waving the tablet computer slowly along the length of their body. Every so often he would stop and look around, uncertain if he'd heard anything, his eyes narrowing to help scan for any movement from anyone. When content that he was still secure, he continued his nightly task.

Harrap was amazed as he watched Fink go through his routine of injecting the young Polt with the liquid. He wondered how many times the sneaky Porter had completed this task, as he seemed very adept at placing the needle into the neck without waking the victim. What created more interest for Harrap, was the device Fink retrieved from his other pocket. He was annoyed that he couldn't see anything on the screen, but assumed it was scanning the scientists, taking many readings in a single sweep. He was jealous that such a despicable creature was using such a small, powerful and effective device.

He watched as Fink finished with all the scientists in the main sleeping area and walked over to a further curtain, set across a corner at the rear of the room. Harrap's heart froze, his eyes became huge as he realised where Fink was heading next, to his sleeping section. As Lead Scientist, he was given the special distinction of having his own curtained off area. He was fortunate to have a full length, floor to ceiling heavyweight curtain, which cut the corner of the laboratory off, creating a triangle 3 metre triangle. This was just big enough to place his bed along one wall, and a small cabinet next to it along the other, with the curtain just missing the corners of each piece of furniture. The small metal cabinet held his few private possessions, his most prized being the photograph of his wife and children waving at him from a currently very distant mountain top. This cordoned off area might not have seemed like a huge reward for his position, yet he was grateful, as it afforded him a small piece privacy from any prying eyes, even if it wasn't from any sounds.

Fink curled his fingers gently around the edge of the curtain, reaching up as high as he could, so he would be as close to the rail. He pulled it back a little so he could peer around. His head bobbed up, readjusting his viewpoint so he could properly check the bed. Horror struck him when he saw that it was empty. "Where is Harrap?" He whispered before clamping his hand over his mouth. He dipped down to check under the bed; it was empty. Fink span round and scanned under the other scientist's beds, all of which contained very little apart from pairs of shoes, and a small chest of personal items.

He checked all of the Scientists, ensuring that they were all asleep and his whisper hadn't awoken any of them. Creeping back to the main work area, ensuring he didn't make a sound, his eyes narrowed again as he carefully scanned all around the laboratory. He was a little dismayed to find that there was no immediate sight of the Lead Scientist, which increased Fink's heart-rate. His fear increased moment by moment as his imagination ran riot. His heart thumped in his chest, his previously shallow breathing grew heavier, and noisier, making him panic more. Fink realised that he was losing control of the situation, wondering if Harrap had escaped from the room, or worse still, if his arrival had allowed him to escape. His mind raced as the thought's pinged back and forth, theories and repercussions fighting for attention in his mind. Should he raise the alarm? No, he should check the room thoroughly first. Should he wake everyone else up? No, that could lead to the others realising his mistake.

"Damn!" He called into the silent laboratory, glancing up at the cameras, hoping he hadn't been spotted yet.

"Erm, what?" Harrap said, raising his head off the keyboard and rubbing his eyes sleepily. He yawned very loudly and stretched his arms over his head, made a slapping noise with his lips, before blinking his eyes very wide 3 times. All this was part of the plan he'd quickly concocted when he realised that Fink was about to find he wasn't in bed and would probably search the room. "Fink?" he made it sound like he questioned his own eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry, I was fast asleep," He added another yawn and stretch for effect. "I didn't realise you had arrived. Can I help you?" Harrap asked, rolling his shoulders around and fighting another huge yawn back. He was amazed at his acting abilities, for even he would believe that he'd been asleep. Harrap rubbed the back of his left arm while he continued. "It's been a very long day and my brain doesn't always tell my body when to sleep." He smiled at Fink. "And my body then decides it's had enough and thud." He smacked the back of his hand on the worktop. "I'm getting too old for this." He rolled his shoulders round once more, and then looked at the clock on the far wall. "2:18am! Oh my! I should try to go to bed and get a few hours' sleep before tomorrow starts, or should I say today starts."

Fink was very wary. He could see that it looked like Harrap was waking up after falling asleep at his desk, but he wasn't fully sure if it wasn't all just an act. "Ah Harrap." He asked slowly while he thought of what to say next.

"Yes Fink, can I help you?"

"Ah, well, yes you can." His eyes sparkled for an instant as the thought leapt into his mind. "I was passing by the security desks and noticed on the monitors that your bed was empty, so decided to quickly dash down and make sure you were OK." He half-smiled. "I'd hate for Eklan to find that you'd died at your workstation, just when your greatest triumph was being realised."

Harrap liked the rouse. "Ah, that's very kind of you Fink, but as you can see." And he waved his arms around as if he was a magician presenting his next trick. "I am fine, except for the aches and pains of falling asleep at my desk."

"Good, good." Fink smiled weakly. "I'll leave and be off to bed myself, as it is very late, as you said." He pointed to the clock, hoping his tale had been believed, yet his insides knotted up at the thought of not being able to administer the drugs to Harrap. "Good evening." he headed for the door, wondering what the consequences of the failure would be, not only to him, but to Harrap.

"Don't you mean good morning?" Harrap said, yawning again for effect, whilst carefully watching the diminutive spy leave without replying to his quip.

Exit Stage Left.

School had ended nearly an hour earlier, and most of the teachers would have left. Eric's hope had lain with either a caretaker or cleaner needing their store cage, or his mother raising the alarm. He knew that his mother wouldn't be concerned until later, as she would assume Eric was round at Tom's house. He was preparing his mind to the fact that he might be in there all night, using what light there was leaking in, and that his eyes had adjusted quite well to the eerie gloom to search for a place to bed down.

The lights in the storeroom flashed on and off, on and off, blinding Eric whose eyes had adjusted quite well to the near darkness over the time he'd been trapped in there. He used his arm in a feeble attempt to shield his eyes from the glare of the three bare and bright bulbs that hung on short leads in a line across the width of the store. There was a sudden boom, making Eric tense, his instincts sending adrenalin through his body to raise his senses. A barrage of booms rattled around the room, as if a heavy thunder cloud was sat on the stage above him. Eric's senses were being overwhelmed by the flashing lights and loud booms, and he struggled to wonder what was happening. He shut his eyes from the glare and used his hands to cover his ears, hoping something would give.

The booms continued, and seemed to be getting louder, the lights kept flashing repeatedly, on and off, on and off. Even through closed eyes, he could see the light flaring up, then dying, leaving an impression of a red halo on the inside of his tightly closed eyelids. After many hours of relative quiet and peace, this attack to his senses was too much. The booming continued to batter his ears, and he clamped his hands ever tighter to his head. He curled himself up in a ball as he tried as hard as he could to shield his eyes and ears more, but this also didn't help.

The booming and flashing continued for a few minutes, and then stopped. The lights were left on and Eric slowly opened his eyes to squint into the room. His ears were still ringing from all of noise, but his heart leapt a bit as he could see the door was open at the far side of the store. As the lights were still affecting his vision, he raised his arm just above his eyes to create a shadow stood up, took a breath before running head long for his escape. His vision was still very blurred and as he got to the entrance to the store he didn't see the figure step out from behind the door, right in his path.

Eric ran straight into them, blinking furiously as he tried to get a clearer view of who it was. "Heh!" he called out. "Thanks I've been...." He stopped mid-sentence as a fist was buried into his side, just below his ribcage, knocking the breath out of him.

Two arms clamped firmly around him from behind.

Eric struggled against the strong grip, his eyes still struggling to see after the lights and then the heavy punch.

Another blow struck firmly in the stomach, stopping his frantic thrashing in an instant. Eric clamped his eyes shut, clearing away the water that had flowed into them after the punches. He opened them and he was grateful that they'd adjusted enough to see two dark figures ahead of him. He was still having problems as the stage lights were all pointing towards him, so he couldn't make out any faces, but his heart froze as he realised that they were both wearing hoods. "Get off" he screamed, fighting the firm hold around him. "Get off me now." And he struggled to free himself as hard as he could as the hooded figures approached.

After a few moments twisting and pulling, Eric realised that he was well and truly trapped, so eased off his fighting. Yet that wasn't the main reason for easing his struggles. He'd been watching the two figures ahead of him carefully. They slowly came towards him, and horror struck him as the larger one raised his left arm above shoulder height and held up something that was in his hand. Eric could see the syringe in his hand, and memories of his father's demise flooded his mind as the stage lights shone through the blue liquid in the main tube.

"Noooooooo!" He yelled, anger taking over the fear. "You murdering pigs, get off me NOW!" With an almighty wrench he freed his right arm. Bending it at the elbow, Eric quickly swung it back and up to hit whoever had been holding him. His elbow impacted someone's head and he heard a crunch as something cracked. Eric hadn't felt too much pain, so he presumed he'd injured his attacker. This was confirmed a split second later as the grip on him released completely.

"Ow, my thooth" A muffled cry was heard.

Eric seized his chance. He spun around, his right fist leading the way and caught the unsuspecting captor in his midriff, knocking the wind out of him instantly. Eric smiled as he saw him buckle and drop to the floor.

Unfortunately, before he could turn his attentions on the other two, a hefty blow found the back of his head. Eric staggered to his left, and another fist hit him in the stomach. His eyes watered with the pain, blurred his vision once more and he struggled to see where the next blow was coming from. The stage lights were helping his two attackers, blinding Eric. All he could do was glimpse shapes moving ahead of him in between burst of bright light. He used one arm to wipe his eyes and he flailed the other at the shapes, trying to grab the nearest person. Another blow hit the muscle in his upper thigh, the excruciating pain shooting up into his brain, disorienting him even more, and making him drop to one knee.

He recovered quickly, getting up onto his feet and staggering backwards away from his attackers. He sensed another blow coming at his right hand side and swished his hips left, away from the attack. A whoosh of air brushed past his side, but he tripped over a footstool on the stage floor and crashed to the ground. He couldn't get up quick enough and curled himself into a ball as kicks booted into him from all sides.

"HEH! - STOP THAT RIGHT NOW!" Mr.Higson's voice carried across the hall.

Eric dared to glance towards the voice and was even more pleased as he saw Tom at Mr.Higson's side standing in the main doorway.

There was a scuffle of feet as the three attackers darted off the stage, all heading for the main doorway. The first two realised they'd never get past Mr.Higson, turned sharp right and ran to the fire exit that was set into the centre of the windowed wall on the left hand side of the hall. Tom guessed their intentions and sprinted across the hall to head them off. The first one was too fast smacking the push bar down and bursting out into the cool early evening air.

Tom shoved his head down, shoulder charging the second one, who was quite a bit bigger than him, but he didn't care. He impacted at an acute angle, causing little change of direction for the bigger thug, who dived through the door. Tom bounced off, and was sent flying across the floor, the rubber on his shoes squeaking as they tried to grip. "Damn!" he said as he quickly got back up.

The third hoody was still heading for the main door, which was blocked by the determined Mr.Higson. As the teacher lunged, the last thug leapt out of the way, and changed direction to run between last two rows of chairs. Mr.Higson crashed across the chairs, falling to the ground amidst the now mangled plastic and metal seats. The thug saw Mr.Higson's predicament, leapt over the back row of chairs to head back to the main door into the Hall.

He got to within 5 metres of the doorway when it was filled by the very substantial figure of Mr. Porter, the very expansive Headmaster. Thug number three changed direction for the final time and decided to take the fire exit route. He spun round and headed for the other door, only for his hood to be grabbed by Tom. "Trev Miller!" Tom shouted in shock as he unmasked the last of Eric's attackers. Trevor threw a fist at the surprised Tom, making contact with the top of his head. He released his grip on him and Trevor dashed through the swinging door, pulling his hood back over his head.

"What the...!" Mr. Porter, The headmaster said as he saw Mr.Higson struggling to his feet, untangling himself from the now smashed chairs.

"Sorry Tony." Mr.Higson sounded disappointed. "I should have had him easily."

"It was Trevor Miller, sir." Tom shouted from the stage where he'd gone to help Eric. He turned to his friend. "You OK mate?" as he looked at all the bruises and dribbles of blood running down Eric's face.

"Daft question really." Eric replied, and slowly raised himself up, amidst many winces and intakes of breath.

"Stay still you idiot." Mr.Higson said as he climbed the stairs at the side of the hall. "You could be seriously injured you fool, and you'll only do much worse damage." He crouched down at the side of Eric, feeling a mixture of anger and concern at the state of his favourite pupil as he gently squeezed Eric's arms and legs. "Nothing too sore? Can you move everything?"

"Fine sir." Eric replied. "They were just trying to frighten me."

"Come on, let's go and get you a brew and patched up before we let your mother see you." Mr.Higson added. "Good thing Tom came back and asked where you where, or it could have been a lot worse."

They both smiled at Tom, although it hurt Eric as his lip was split.

He didn't care, he was just pleased he had such a good friend, and hoped he'd be one for a long while to come.

Go.

"Ah Major, excellent, thank you for coming in and please take a seat." Colonel Gordon Kelsall ushered in his second in command, and prized asset.

"Thank you Sir." Major Jackson replied.

Colonel Kelsall watched the commanding figure sit in the chair across from him. He knew he had a born leader within the Major, a career soldier who could easily have been set for the top, apart from a couple of little flaws. He had an uncanny ability to sniff out a problem, or an opportunity where no-one else would. This in itself was a great skill, and one that Gordon used within his Major, at every chance. The second flaw was partly based upon the first. There had been times within the Major's career when he'd been given an order and he disobeyed it. The British Army was proud of its traditions, and one of complete discipline and following the chain of command was paramount to the Army's ability to be renowned as the best in the world.

Major Jackson would see a problem, and change the orders himself. This was mainly based around the need to keep his team intact and alive, or if it was an opportunity, to gain a better advantage in an assault, or increase the prize they were looking for. Some of his commanders hated the lack of discipline shown, and moved him on. Others saw the skill for what it was, and pushed him as high as they could.

Gordon looked that the Major, and could easily see a Brigadier, or maybe even a General across from him. Alas, those positions would be given their all by the man, who would lead the British Army into a far better shape. Yet, the Army would lose something far more valuable, a man for whom the words Military Intelligence were created. His abilities on a mission were legendary, not just within the confines of the Nether Kellet base for MI9's operations, but throughout the world. As part of the collaboration with other countries, under the G8 committee, the base would host many dignitaries and workshare with soldiers from around the world. For a lot of these, the draw was Major Jackson. Going on a mission with him was what they wanted.

"I've read and re-read this report," The Colonel patted the manilla folder on his desk, emblazoned with a huge red stamp stating Top Secret, MI9 Eyes Only. He sighed. "And until yesterday would have said that for now you would have to stick to the original orders."

"But.."

"Let me finish." The Colonel held his hand up to stop the Major. "I've received intelligence from our guys at the Meteorological Society has just found some amazing anomolies." He continued. "They've passed their data to Sergeant Cockburn to use, and he'd got some interesting coincidences appearing."

"Coincidences?" The Major was intrigued.

"There have been some Meterological patterns that they've only recently been able to monitor, and the locations have been to coincidental to be an accident."

"So you are not talking about fate."

"Fate, destiny, mere coincidence." The Colonel sat back into his large leather chair. "You and I know that those sorts of things do not exist."

"Yet the Hawcon have a 1000 year old prediction, destiny if you want to re-name it, about a Man-boy who will come from a distant world to save everyone."

The Colonel sighed. "And at the moment, that is just a fable to be told to children to keep some hope in their lives."

"Yet the one who told me was not telling a child a story. He believes in this fate, this destiny, and the coincidences that are in every day life."

"And do you?" The Colonel steepled his finger together.

"My mind is open to all options, especially after all I've seen here in the last 3 years." Major Jackson replied.

"And that's why I'm giving you a go."

The Major was confused. "After all you've just said, you're now agreeing with my report?"

"Yes, an incident occurred and I need you inside the situation."

"OK, then."

The Colonel smiled. "You can go now, get what you need, and go undercover."

Arrangements.

"That's mean doing that." Tom said. "Giving you a kicking for no reason is one thing, he is a bully after all, and that's all part of their m.o."

"M.O.?" Eric questioned.

"Yeah, that modum opper-end-day thing." Tom twisted the words out.

Eric stifled the grin. He loved the way Tom could get it so close, but also so far away. "Modus operandi, it's Latin, it means method of operation, how they work usually. "

"OooooH, hear you missus, It's Latin for method of operation." Tom used a posh voice to mimic his friend. "Nobody likes a know-it-all, well, except me." He grinned. "Anyway, as I was saying before being rudely interrupted," He cleared his throat. "Beating up is the usual m.o. of a bully, but using that memory, and to go to such lengths in locking you up all day, then with the lights and noise..."

Eric took a long slow breath as he remembered it all once more.

"Well, doing all of that is just pure evil." Tom shook his head despondently, wondering how low someone would go to hurt another person.

"He's just like that though." Eric replied. "He probably thought it was a good laugh."

"I bet Trev Miller isn't laughing too well, seeing as we found two of his front teeth that you elbowed out of his mouth lying all alone on the stage." They both laughed at the thought of what Eric had done in defending himself from the thugs. They were both in Eric's garage, playing pool. The usual British summer was well under way, and along with it came the usual weather. Rain, rain, and then when you thought it had finished, it rained even heavier.

Emma Peterson, Eric's mum, could hear the laughter from the kitchen, as she had the back door open to let the heat out and a cool breeze in. She busied herself around the house, baking cookies for later, preparing tomorrow's chilli, and cooking tonight's evening meal of chips, egg and beans. Something simple, nourishing and what she called "GMF" – "good mood food". She'd been distraught at hearing what had happened when Mr.Higson dropped the two boys off, with Tom insisting he came along too. "How could anyone do such a thing?" Mrs. Peterson asked nobody in particular, knowing many people from pupils through teachers to therapists had tried to answer that one, and none had a true succinct answer. "How come no-one took register to see where Eric was?" This one brought a shameful drop of the head to Mr.Higson, as he regularly didn't bother with a register, as the pupils would be off doing other curricular activities, which meant they could quite easily be missing for a whole lesson.

Once he'd left, she let them dash out to the garage to play pool while disappearing to the sanctuary of the kitchen to compose herself, and make herself as busy as possible to ease the anger she felt and help cheer the moment up. Another burst of laughing and gentle banter drifted into through the opened kitchen door and she smiled, hoping that such a traumatic time hadn't set Eric back. Another tear rolled down her face, but she was too busy to wipe it away. It rolled down her cheek, round the side of her jaw before dropping onto her top. The gentle impact made her take a very deep breath, summing all her internal strength up to face whatever else might come. Emma. Peterson knew Eric would be fine, but she was his mother, and worried simply because of that.

"Tea's ready." Emma popped her head around the door. Her call was greeted by a scuffling noise from the garage as both boys dropped their cues onto the table, scattering the pool balls off the cushions without a second thought to where their game was.

"Drinks?" She asked as they burst into the kitchen diner and planked themselves across from each other on the farmhouse-styled pine chairs.

"Vimto please mum." Eric replied first.

"Same here Mrs.P, thanks." Tom added instantly.

She made them their drinks, remembering to take the chilled water jug out of the fridge for once, not just running the tap as she'd always done. "So Eric." She started whilst placing their drinks on the table. "I've been invited out on Saturday night with the other girls, but I'm a little concerned about leaving you now." Emma Peterson leant back against the kitchen sink and watched them devour their meals, looking for any possible reactions from her son.

"No worries Mrs.P." Tom replied through a half full mouth. "Eric had said about this sat and my Mum and Dad already agreed I can sleep over." He added before realising it wasn't his decision. "But, only if that's OK with you though?"

"I think it is a great idea Tom." She smiled at how cheeky and honest he was, and how her worries of leaving Eric alone had been de-risked. "And of course, it depends if you're fine with that Eric?"

"Oh I don't know." He said his head solemnly facing the meal.

"Oh, Why not?" Emma asked, a concerned look on her face. "Was it because of today?"

"No, not really." He said in a very solemn and monotone voice. "Well, I'm not too sure if Tom will be upset when I beat him at something else, as I'm doing in the garage at the moment." He lifted his head to show the huge grin on his face.

"Yeah right, we'll see who can win on Kart later then after this." Tom added.

"OK, so we're agreed that Tom will stay here, and you two can continue the numerous challenges you've got to go at from pool to computer games." She smiled. "So, I think it's my turn to leave." And left the room to flick on the evening news and see what tomorrow's weather would bring.

The boys continued their banter while they munched, grabbing yoghurts for puddings, before dropping the plates and cutlery into the dishwasher. The boys raced through the lounge, charging up the stairs to Eric's bedroom, which for the next 3 hours would be known as Games Central.

Emma merely smiled, knowing she'd have to go and finish off tidying up after them. She had given them instruction on placing their items in the dishwasher, but not on how t best load it. Not how to also put the salt pot and vinegar bottle away in the cupboard. Not on how to wipe the table down of all the crumbs. Not on who would be responsible for the plate both boys had taken the bread from. All of these were out of scope of the original request. Yet, as frustrating a half-hearted action as it was, Emma had learnt to smile at what she called a "minimal thought" action. They would do what was asked, but with the minimum of effort. If you didn't ask them to do it, they'd not do it.

Truths.

"A very serious crime was committed yesterday afternoon." Mr. Porter stood beside the lectern, defiant & determined. He was above the very point where, only the day before, Eric had sat playing mind games to keep himself occupied whilst trapped and then attacked. The Headmaster was a tall man, in his late forties with a thick head of wavy hair that had started to gain little salty specks around the temples. This was an unusual full assembly for a middle of the week, as it was on a rota basis, each year taking it' turn, but as they entered the school grounds, by which ever route, including the back forbidden ones, a teacher had been there to greet them and tell them of the full Assembly at 8:30am.

Mr. Porter addressed everyone, from teachers and assistants, medical staff, to the caretaker and cleaners; and all stood in silence as he spoke. "I promise you all that those involved will be suspended."

A gentle murmur of voices went around the room as whispered names were passed between pupils. The ones nearest to Eric glanced at him, knowing that he'd been the victim, presumed by the bruising around his eyes, and the cut lips that he'd wore, a defiant look in his eyes to show he wouldn't be beaten by them.

Eric hadn't seen everyone looking at him, as he and Tom had looked at each other in horror, both coming to the same conclusion that Tom had seen Trevor Miller's face, and that would be enough to at least get him caught, and maybe expelled.

Mrs. Borand, the deputy head, stood on the stairs leading up to the stage, which gave her the advantage of being able to look across everyone in the room. A very formidable looking and neatly dressed petite lady in her mid-fifties, she had taught Biology for over 30 years, working her way up through to subject head, to year head, and finally to her current position as Mr. Porter's first deputy. Renowned for being quite forceful and vocal in her classes, she now loudly cleared her throat to return everyone to order.

"This sort of tomfoolery is far beyond a playground prank." Mr. Porter continued. "And we do not condone those actions in any shape or form." He waited a moment to let everything he'd said so far sink in to the pupil's ears. "Mrs. Borand will lead the investigation along with the help of Mr. Jackson, who is a..." He hesitated for a second as he looked at the tall, well-built man at the back of the room, who had entered after everyone else, and had stayed there, leaning casually into a corner.

The Headmaster continued to conjure up the correct title he wanted to use, thinking of the surreal telephone conversation he'd had the evening before with a well-known Parliamentary Member, telling him in his own words "that Mr. Jackson will be joining your little task force of highly skilled educators to give any assistance and advice." With those thoughts in his mind, he decided to change tack. "Yes, Mr. Jackson is here to assist and give advice to Mrs. Borand in the full investigation which will take place." He nodded to give his cue to join him.

Everyone's head whipped round, including the teachers, none of them noticing the man who had sneaked in behind them. They all watched as he made his way to the front, a mixture of intrigue and awe in everyone's eyes. Apart from the Head and Mrs. Borand, no one else seemed to know who he was, but there was something about him that commanded respect. Smartly dressed in a well-tailored suit, he arrived on the stage and stood next to the Mr. Porter, who suddenly seemed a little smaller in everyone's eyes, such was Mr. Jackson's presence. He took his time while the Headmaster continued to slowly and carefully study each and every pupil in the room, stopping for an instant longer when his eyes met Eric's.

"Yes, Mr. Jackson, who is a specialist consultant." The headmaster, who had also been watching this new person intently, turned back to the school with a faint smile on his face, amused by his choice of words.

Mrs. Borand did her growl-cough to bring everyone back to order.

The Headmaster then continued the assembly, giving the usual round up of news and promotions of upcoming sporting and social events before concluding.

Eric and Tom slipped off to class not saying a word to each other, both still in deep shock.

Halfway through the lesson, the door burst open and everyone turned to see Mrs. Borand march in.

Eric looked through the open door and noticed that Mr. Jackson was in the Hallway, watching him carefully, a glimmer of a smile on his face. This unnerved Eric a little.

Mrs. Borand merely nodded to the teacher, Miss Davies, who was teaching Geography, and who looked quite intimidated by the Deputy Head, who had intruded into her lesson.

"Eric Peterson?" Mrs. Borand barked as she scanned the room.

Eric had watched them walk in, and saw that Mr. Jackson had been looking directly at him from the moment the door opened. On hearing Mrs. Borand call his name, he immediately stood up, already knowing he was about to be interrogated.

The entire class watched him weave a careful and haphazard path through the desks, their eyes transfixed on him, unable to look away, like watching a fly being drawn into a web.

"Thank you." Mrs. Borand nodded to the teacher.

Miss Davies didn't see that, she was also watching Eric's fate, fearing for him as he left the room.

Nobody moved in the class, listening to the three sets of shoes walking away as the door closed on the sound, but igniting their imaginations.

They walked in silence along the school corridors until stopping outside Mrs. Borand's office. She unlocked the door before entering, which Eric found a little unusual, as it was normally left open, even when she was in class teaching. Yet, they all remained silent until all in the compact room, and she closed the door behind them.

"Please, take a seat." Smiling, she waved her hand across a pair of matching chairs that were placed neatly against the left hand wall of the office. The adjacent back wall contained the only window looking out over the back of the school towards the small stream that ran along the valley floor. On the window shelf were various plastic parts of the human anatomy; all were faded with sun damage. Below it was an old single radiator which had passed its desire for a lick of paint, as the small bubbles of rust would testify to. The desk was wedged halfway along the radiator, jutting into the centre of the office heading back towards the door. Behind it was a wall of shelves, crammed with various textbooks, learning guides, government papers and medical magazines. On the wall leading back to the door was a small cupboard, which had a tray on top where the round chrome kettle stood. Next to it were 2 cups; both had pictures of cats on them. The wall above was covered in academic accolades of various sorts, all in similar pine frames.

"So Eric." Mrs. Borand's, normally strong voice was rather hushed and gentle in this private place. "Firstly, can you please describe everything that happened yesterday, from your point of view."

Eric relayed the events in as logical and chronological order as he could, making sure he missed nothing. He made sure he clearly stated that he had also seen Trevor Miller's face when Tom pulled the boy's hood back. He also added that he would have assumed that the other two were probably Dave Jones and John Armer.

Mrs. Borand took notes throughout the whole process, adding in various nods and little sounds of agreement during his tale. "Thank you Eric." She concluded the notes before placing her pencil carefully on the desk and lacing her fingers over it.

Eric glanced to his left, noticing that Mr. Jackson had been very quiet throughout his tale, no inclination that he was even listening to any of it, but then he spoke.

"Mr. Peterson, can you please explain what happened on the evening of July 22nd 2011." His voice was crisp and quite posh, but it had an underlying accent that hinted its background through the odd word.

"Sorry?" Eric replied, thinking how strange the question was, as he wasn't listening to what was being said. What happened 2 years ago? He asked himself. The same question ran through his mind as he thought how could I possibly remember what happened on a certain evening in may this year, let alone 2 years ago.

Mr. Jackson waited patiently, saying nothing.

Eric thought through what had just been asked. It hit him suddenly, the tightness within the chest, as if his heart was in a car crusher. "My Dad died." He answered despondently.

The room fell silent again.

"What happened Eric?" Mrs. Borand sighed, a quarter smile played on her lips, showing she wanted him to feel at ease, that he hadn't to be afraid. "Take it as slow as you'd like, and just explain it all in your own words."

"Well." He replied, thinking of what he was about to say. "I thought my Dad was playing hide and seek in the garage, and I crept down the side to see if I could spot him from there and I..." He paused, glancing at Mrs. Borand and then at Mr. Jackson He'd said the next part many times, but at that very moment a tiny voice made him stall and think about his words first. Eric took a breath, and continued. "So, I looked through the window, I saw him being hit by lightning and he was killed." Eric recounted the sanitised version he'd told everyone, except Tom. This was the one that the therapists said really happened, but wasn't the one that was playing in Eric's mind's eye at that very moment.

"No it didn't. I want to know what really happened Mr. Peterson?" Mr. Jackson's voice was firm on the one key word, but he also sounded very understanding as he asked.

Mrs. Borand made a noise as she started to protest at the question, but was halted by by Mr. Jackson's raised finger. She fidgeted in her chair, clearly uneasy at what was being asked. The version told to all of the teachers had been the one Eric had stated. There was no other version. Yes there had been rumours, but nothing concrete had been said, so she didn't have cause to not believe the version she'd been told.

Eric waited a few seconds, thinking it through. He had kept this quiet from the world, but realised that he now had to explain the events of that evening, so that she would understand the significance of the actions by the thugs. He scoured the speckled carpet tiles for a clue and came up blank. He had to tell the truthful version, just this once. Taking one more deep, slow breath in, he rolled his thumbs round and round on the outside of his index finger nervously as he relayed the real events of that evening. By the end, Mrs. Borand was fighting to keep the shock from appearing on her face. Eric glanced at Mr. Jackson, who was concentrating intently to everything being said. He thought that he looked like his eyes were focused on a distant point in time as he searched through the story Eric had just told.

There was a few moments of silence before Mrs. Borand concluded the meeting. "Thank you Eric, that must have been very difficult for you."

Eric nodded, biting the inside of his cheek as he thought of the consequences of this new version being released.

"I think I can safely speak for both of us and say that what you have told us was in strict confidence, and will remain in here."

Mr. Jackson nodded. "Of course."

Eric felt a little more at ease with that, but whilst one diminished another concern started to raise its head. He couldn't quite see what it was, but knew it was on its way up.

Mrs. Borand broke into his thoughts. "You may return to class and please can you send Tom Barratt back here."

So Close.

"We're nearly there Sire." The officer greeted Eklan as she entered the room.

"Excellent, Spirn, excellent." Smiling slightly, knowing everything was starting to come together.

"Unfortunately." Spirn swallowed before he continued. Standing well over 2 metres tall and almost half that in width across his shoulders, he was a formidable Rexon, yet he was understandably fearful of the commander. "The engines have been malfunctioning and, erm, well, we're going to have to slow down so that we can affect repairs." He gulped again, as he watched the smile change into anger on Eklan's face.

"Repairs?" She asked through gritted teeth.

"Yes, erm, Sire, to 3 of the starboard engines." Spirn replied carefully, not wanting to anger her.

"Repairs?" She asked again, incredulously.

"The chief states that we've been traveling back and forth from Galaxy to Galaxy too many times without servicing the ship, and two of the engines have failed, and a third is..."

"Two years." She cut Spirn's explanation in two, the anger visible in the way she spat the words out. "Two - long - years," she said every word deliberately, pausing between each one. "And after all the countless fools that called themselves Scientists failed; I finally found one who is competent enough to complete a simple task." She pointed to the screen showing Harrap in his laboratory. "I'm now being stopped by this old wreck." Eklan lashed out at the nearest piece of equipment,

Spirn flinched, his huge frame visibly dipping a few centimetres.

Eklan saw this and stormed over to him, standing centimetres away from him. At half a head taller, Spirn would have towered over her, but everyone in the room knew who was the weaker in this confrontation. "I expect that this pile of useless metal would be starting to show its weakness, but not one of MY more trusted, hand-picked officers." She breathed heavily in his face, her nostrils flaring angrily. "WEAKNESS?" she screamed at him. "Weakness by one of my officers?"

Panic hit him as the infamous stories of her anger flashed before him. He bowed his head. "I apologise Commander, it will not be seen again." He quietly apologised.

"Weakness, damn inexcusable weakness." She turned away from him and looked at everyone else in the room, who dropped their gaze as quickly as they could away from her glare.

Spirn waited for the anger to erupt within his Commander, expecting some form of inevitable retribution.

"How......long?" She asked, carefully controlling her emotions, but wanting to know the answer.

Spirn was shocked that she'd only asked a question. He glanced up fleetingly, and saw the blazing, intense heat of anger that roared within her.

"Sorry sir?" he hadn't really been listening to her, and he regretted showing more weakness by doing so.

The air was emotionally charged within the room. The silence deepening, growing in strength, as if it was taking over time itself, fuelled by the intense emotions.

Spirn waited fearfully for an eternity before Eklan spoke again.

"When?" Was all she said.

"3 days sir, 3 days and we'll be there..."

"Three." She repeated and clenched her fists.

Spirn saw the movement in her hands and tried to protect himself by dipping his head even lower, closing his eyes in anticipation of the impending blow.

Seconds passes, but to Spirn, time had slowed to a halt and those few moments felt like hours.

"Hmm." Eklan grunted at their incompetence and stormed out of the room.

Shake?

"Why would he ask about your Dad?" Tom enquired.

The boys were strolling home, rucksacks lazily lobbed over their shoulders after a strange day. They'd both been questioned and had told virtually identical stories of whom they'd seen the previous evening. Still nothing had happened by the end of the school day, or they would have heard something.

"I don't know." Eric had been thinking about nothing else all day. His head tilted down, watching every millimetre of ground that lay ahead, but didn't see any of it. "All I can think of is that he seemed to know what really happened. I don't know what it was." He looked at his friend who was listening intently. "It was weird. There's just something strange about that Mr. Jackson I don't know what it is, but I get a funny feeling about him, as if I know him, but don't know him." He pulled his face. "Does that make any sense?"

"Nope." Tom answered before smiling. "I know what you mean though, but I can't say I feel the same." He looked a little sad that he couldn't help his friend more. "It is all a bit weird, him knowing about it all."

At that moment a large MPV drew alongside them with blackened windows. Eric and Tom glanced at each other and then at their reflections in the glass. The passenger window lowered and they peered in.

"Hi Guys." Mr. Jackson cheerily greeted them from behind his small and neat dark glasses. A warm smile appeared to add to his natural familiarity. "Need a lift home?"

The boys looked at each other again in disbelief, wondering how the stoic and unfeeling Mr. Jackson they'd been interviewed by at school and this current driver of the car was one and the same person.

There was a moment's uneasy silence as both boys contemplated the request.

"I'm heading down Brownside Road anyway guys." He waved his hand into the back of the car. "Slide the door back."

"Cheers Mr. Jackson" Tom said with a shrug to Eric before sliding the huge side door back. "Wow!"

Eric agreed, but was quiet wary. Inside were 4 leather seats, all had armrests, and the front passenger seat had been swiveled around to face those behind it.

Tom hopped in, plonking himself down in the one behind Mr. Jackson "Come on mate, it'll be fun, and it's better than walking." He added to the fun part by bouncing his bottom about in the chair, finding a comfy spot.

"OK." Eric agreed, reluctantly, and got in to the seat next to Tom. He knew he had to go, just to look after his friend, but was also intrigued by the sudden appearance of this man who knew the truth about his father's demise.

The door shut electronically.

"That's so cool." Tom enthused. "I want one of these when I'm old enough to drive."

"Seat-belts lads." Mr. Jackson watched them through the rear mirror. "Right, let's go."

As they set off the boys heard the central locking activate and they looked at each other in panic.

"It's OK guys, the car does that to stop anyone getting in the car once we've set off." Mr. Jackson had seen their expressions in the rear view mirror. "There's a button in the centre console in the ceiling to unlock them whenever you want."

Tom started to reach his hand up.

"But they'll instantly lock again." Mr. Jackson continued. "As we're still moving." He smiled into the rear-view mirror at the lads. "It will stay open once we've come to a halt."

Tom sat back in his seat, comfortable with the explanation.

Eric, on the other hand, was a little wary.

"Any of you guys fancy a shake, or something?" Mr. Jackson asked nonchalantly as they approached a roundabout half way along Brownside Road.

"If you're paying, too right." Tom chirped up from the back, and then turned to Eric to wait for his reply.

Eric's brow was furrowed and this concerned look startled Tom.

"You can't tell me you would refuse a free shake." Tom said.

Eric was still worried at what was going to happen, but he finally gave in. "OK then, but we'll have to be quick because I'm off out with my mum to get some summer clothes." He added a smile to make it look genuine.

"But you've just got loads the other week when you went on holiday." Tom added. "If you don't want any of the old stuff, then I'll have a root through and pick out some stuff I want."

Eric's face dropped as Tom blew his story out of the window. He glanced at the drivers mirror and saw Mr. Jackson smiling back at him.

They turned right at the roundabout, and headed down the bypass towards the retail park.

Tom was nosing around everything, pushing buttons, pulling on levers, merrily testing every one of the car's gadgets in sight as if he was a kid with a new toy.

Eric sat in silence, worried.

Friend or Foe?

"So you moved here from North of the city when you were 8." Mr. Jackson asked Tom who slurped noisily on a huge strawberry milkshake they'd purchased from a well-known burger chain..

"Yeah, Dad got a job in Leyland and it was easier traveling to work from here." He replied between heavy draws on his straw. "And they said that the estate we were on had been getting a bit rougher over the previous few years."

Mr. Jackson smiled in the rear view mirror as he watched Tom trying to suck the plastic container into the straw he was trying so hard. "That's very true, it didn't help when they'd moved in families being kicked out of other cities." Mr. Jackson shook his head apologetically. "They brought in the big city mentality and that dragged everyone around them down to their level."

"Yeah, Mum was saying the other day that it's now rife with drugs." Tom added. "She was reading it in the Evening Post about how another gang leader had been caught by the police." Another slurp. "But she said that he'd just be replaced by the next one, then the next, and the next, and so on."

"It's a shame when that sort of thing happens." Mr. Jackson agreed. "Don't you agree Eric?"

Eric had sat in silence the whole time they'd been in the diner, having only said "thank you" for the chocolate milkshake. "Hmmm." He now added, agreeing with the question, taking his total of words used to 3. There was something about all of this friendliness and familiarity that put Eric on alert. The man who had arrived at their school and interviewed them had a completely different personality to the chatty person who was sat in the front of this car.

"I do miss the Ills-n-ollers though." Tom broke the silent battle unwittingly.

"Ills – and – Ollers?" Mr. Jackson questioned.

"Oh!" Tom realised his colloquial name would be misleading. "Hills and Hollows, sorry." He apologised. "It was the valley at the back of the estate, and there were old trenches down there that you could play some great games in." Smiling as he reminisced. "Then again, I'd not have met Eric if I'd have stayed there, cus I would have probably gone to Temple."

"Temple?" Mr. Jackson smiled wondering if this was some religious sect.

Tom smiled back. "Archbishop Temple, the High school"

"Ah!" Mr. Jackson now understood. "That's so very true." His eyes hadn't left Eric's, as they were locked in this silent battle of wits, yet he continued his conversation with Tom. "They've put some nice paths through there now, since they closed the old tip and ran Eastway through it." He added having cycled along those paths whilst out training.

His knowledge of the local area was beginning to amaze and also concern Eric.

"Although I bet you used to have some fun on Willow Farm though." Mr. Jackson continued.

"Oh aye." Tom sat back in his chair. "It was great at pre-season, because the players would all turn up for practice, and it was also the summer holidays, so we could go and watch." He laced his fingers behind his head and looked up to the ceiling, lost in memories of his not too distant childhood heroes.

"You don't trust me do you?" Mr. Jackson asked Eric directly, making Tom leap back to reality.

"Nope." Eric replied, a determined look on his face.

"And why's that?"

"There's just something about you." Eric scrutinised the man ahead of him. "You know Preston very well, even knowing local names for areas, which even I had never heard of, yet your accent is slightly Scottish."

"Very observant. Please continue."

"But you've been away from there for so long, you now have a neutral tone, in fact it's slightly posh." Eric added. "You've had a good quality education, probably a boarding school." He paused for a second. "How can I tell? Well, my Mum had elocution lessons, so I can tell the posh side very easily and I like listening to basic regional accents and mimicking them."

"Excellent." Mr. Jackson leant forward, a serious look on his face. "You're a natural."

"Thank you." He replied, returning the hard stare, not understanding what had been meant, but accepting the compliment.

"I admire how resourceful you've become." A fleeting smile came and went. "Much like your Father had been."

Eric's face dropped, his stern attitude gone in an instant to be replaced by a mixture of shock and anger. "What do you mean?"

"Oh Nothing, just that I know a few things." Mr. Jackson sat back again.

Eric was confused and angered, but his Dad had always told him to control and use the feelings, not let them get hold of you. He knew he had to keep as calm as possible and learn more about what Mr. Jackson meant by his statement of knowing a few things, what few things?

"Why did you surf the Olhos lightning death?" Mr. Jackson asked.

"What?" Eric was truly amazed at what he was hearing. "How do you know...." He didn't finish his question as his thoughts were racing away, his imagination filling in the blanks very easily, and accurately. He grabbed the door handle. "Tom, were off."

"Eh?" Tom replied, trying to keep up with the strange conversation. "But were miles from home."

"We'll walk." And tugged on the door. It didn't budge, and Eric pulled harder on the handle. "What?"

"Here, allow me." Mr. Jackson leant forward and pressed the button in the centre of the roof. A click heralded the unlocking of the doors.

Eric tugged once more, and the door slid back with ease. He headed through the door, with Tom in close pursuit.

Mr. Jackson pressed the button to close the door and sat back, carefully watching them cross the retail park car park they were sat on, before he started laughing to himself.

Tagged.

"What just happened?" Tom asked, slightly out of breath as he'd had to dash to catch Eric up, who was walking away from the car at a fast, and very determined pace.

"Nothing." Eric's head was down again, in deep thought as they passed the front of the branded Gym.

Inside it's clean and colourful lines were many cyclists pedaling furiously, and many runners sprinting hard, yet none of them ever moved anywhere. From the comfort of the air conditioned glass box, they watched the boys pass by, personal music players kept them oblivious to the conversation and troubles that were only metres away.

Eric knew the way home and headed out of the retail park and over the former farmer's bridge that crossed the narrow tributary to the River Ribble. The bridge always reminded Eric of the one on the St. Andrews golf course, a low, gentle arch with low level brick walls either side. This one had had bollards placed in the centre of the path at either side to stop cars getting over, and a handrail fitted to deter anyone from wanting to jump off it. This had been done when the retail park was built. The Farmer had been given a new access road, which ran alongside the small tributary, slipping under the new bypass that took the bulk of the traffic to and from Preston.

"Why did he ask those questions about your Dad?" Tom held his arms out wide, attempting to touch both handrails as he crossed over the little bridge.

"I don't know." Eric replied angrily, then apologised. "Sorry, mate."

"It's OK" Tom said. "But he sounded like he knew him."

Eric sighed deeply. "Yes, it did." He didn't know what it meant.

"You don't think your Dad was in some sort of trouble do you?" Tom was now skipping sideways alongside his friend as he tried to keep up.

"I hope not." Eric slowed down a little. "But I don't know."

"And how come he knew about that Portugal thing."

"I know." Eric stopped, realisation coming over him. "I've only told you, and I don't think you've told anyone else, have you?"

"No, no one at all." He shook his head violently at the accusation.

"They wouldn't have bugged the Bench, would they?" Realising how ridiculous that sounded as he said it out loud. "So the only other way was for them to have tapped my computer."

"Wow!" Tom stopped hopping about. "That's like serious spy stuff." He thought for a second before smiling again. "Cool or what?"

"More what in this case." Eric raised a concerned eyebrow at his friend. "Why have they been watching what I've been surfing on, unless it was a general tag on anyone who looked at that report?" His mind raced through the possibilities. "In which case what else have they been tagging, and why is that so important?"

"So it's like someone putting the word bomb in an email." Tom nodded to himself. "That word gets tagged by that place near London and they follow it up with the CIA." Tom's excitement at the thought was clear to see.

"A nice conspiracy theory, but I can't see why they've picked this story about the teenager in Portugal," Eric thought for a second, "unless there was something strange about what happened."

They were both silent for a few seconds, deep in thought of the implications.

"So, you're being spied on, by real spies." Tom was in awe of this prospect.

"Looks like it Mate, and I think they we're also spying on my Dad." Eric wasn't getting any answers, only more questions. "And for some reason that I don't know yet, someone killed him."

Conspiracy.

They raced home along the Sustrans cycle path that ran along the first Tramway in the UK, bringing people in from the outer villages near Bamber Bridge into Preston. Eric and Tom had used this route many times on their bikes to get to and from the city centre shops. The tree-lined avenue climbed gently way from the river, before levelling out to run between the two relatively new housing estates till it reached Wateringpool lane. As they crossed the lane, they stopped and looked both ways, with Eric making doubly certain that there wasn't a large black MPV lurking nearby, as he was almost certain that Mr. Jackson would be watching.

He had described his plan with Tom as they'd made their way back, stopping whenever anyone walked past, even people they knew who were merely exercising their dogs, or jogging on this warm sunny afternoon along the tramway. Once home, the barged in through the back door, sliding their rucksacks across the kitchen floor, before racing up to Eric's bedroom and switching on his laptop.

Eric clicked in the search field and types thunderstorms no sound.

The fan whirred a little louder as the request was instantly turned into a readily recognisable list.

"There's too many hits." Tom said as scanning down the long list of answers from the search engine. "And it looks like there's no connection between the words you used."

"Yes, I know." Eric added in lightning death, to the search field and clicked on Go.

This brought up a whole host of options again from rock albums lyrics to a health and safety guide on electrical substation working practices.

Eric jumped to page 2, frustrated at not seeing what he wanted. He scanned the headers of each subject and was just about to try another search when something caught his eye. Freak lightning causes death to child in Albert, France.

"Look!" Eric waggled the mouse over a story.

"Open it." Tom added excitedly.

They quickly read the article on a website titled The End is Nigh!

The page flashed a garish advert at the top stating that Eric was the 1,000,000th customer and had won "$50,000 – just click here to receive."

Below that were the main banner and a host of smaller stories. Reading through the blurb they realised that it was a conspiracy website stating that the NSA in America was working with NASA to fly secret shuttle missions and had been testing advanced technology to control the weather. This was initially dreamt up during the cold war, and was to be deployed as part of the Star Wars program of satellites that had been launched to constantly monitor what was happening on the planet below. They did so with far more diligence when passing over the countries that were part of the former Soviet Union.

Eric and Tom had covered some of the political problems during the Cold War in their Modern History lessons when Mr. Hart gave them a lengthy overview of the syllabus to be covered that year. Since then, he'd taken them back to how WW1 started with the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand in Sarajevo, which had been far less interesting.

The Boys continued to skim over the first couple of pages before they came across what they were looking for: the story of the accidental murder of a teenager in France. The story stated that this was clear evidence of the secret weather altering technology weapon being tested with catastrophic consequences. This happened in October last year when a lightning strike killed a 14 year old boy from Werchter in Belgium whilst his school was looking around the Newfoundlander s memorial.

"Oh my god!" Tom exclaimed. "Weren't we there at that time?" He had been sat on the edge of Eric's bed reading the story over his shoulder, but the more he read, the more he drew closer to the screen.

"I know." Eric was also in shock. "This one happened within a day of us being there."

"How come we didn't see anything on the news?" Tom asked.

Eric had the same question running through his head. He snapped his fingers as he got the answer, "Because that was our 2nd day there." He took his phone out of his pocked and flicked back through the diary. "Look, Monday we did the Newfoundlander s memorial and battlefields. Tuesday, the day the kid was killed, we went to the British Memorial and museums in Albert." He paused for a second. "That was the day we finished early cus it looked like it was going to pour down."

"Oh yes." Tom slapped a hand on his forehead.

"Then, we went to Ypres on the Wednesday, and Euro Disney on the Thursday." Eric continued the calendar of events. "Friday we were traveling home. And that's why we never saw the news. By Saturday it was the weather storm that was the news, with one tragic death. We would never have associated that with where we had been, as the media had started to turn their attention to the change in the global weather patterns, not just a single storm."

"But this website is saying that it was this secret weather creating device thing that had killed the kid."

"I'm not actually too sure about this weather controlling device, as the website does seem to push these conspiracy theories a little too much." Eric pondered. "And it if is that, then how does that storm and this device tie in in with what happened to my Dad two years ago." He paused. "And also where do the Hooded people fit into it all."

"Ah, very true." Tom sounded despondent, losing his enthusiasm when his line of thought was broken. He was struggling to tie together the connections apart from one. "But even so, we were there, and not too far away."

"We were." Eric said, lost in thought. "So, if it wasn't this secret weather thing, what was it?"

"Now, that is a question." Tom added. "What could do a similar thing to kids in France and Portugal?"

"Yes, and why did they always occur when I was nearby?"

Battle Won.

Friday morning arrived, and the boys had got no closer to an answer to the questions raised.

"Sleepover tomorrow?" Tom confirmed as he dashed away to the last lesson of the week.

The second half of the week had progressed without any further developments. Tom and Eric had poured over websites, but nothing else had been found. School was the usual mixture of lessons and breaks, with them going through all the information they'd found so far, comparing ideas and thoughts as each one came up with something new.

The investigation into the attack on Eric had even gone quiet, with them not seeing Mr. Jackson around school for a couple of days, which both boys found very intriguing.

"Yeah, see ya after class." Eric called down the plain cream corridor. He stood in the centre of the school complex, just inside the main entrance. This was a short corridor made of varnished timber and glass sections that linked the lower and upper schools.

Tom stopped and turned. "Ah, no can do mate. Mum is picking me up here to take me for tea at my Nans." He held his hands out apologetically. "Soz!" He pulled a sad face, held it for a second to make sure Eric understood before turning to sprint down the corridor to his next lesson.

Eric stood there for a couple of minutes, lost in his thoughts, wondering what to do with himself, as he'd had automatically thought the pair of them would be interrogating the internet for more information. He was unaware that the last few pupils were drifting off to their respective lessons, apart from one.

"Mr. Peterson?"

Eric was whipped back to reality as he heard his name. He knew the voice an slowly turned around to face the one person he'd started to forget, John Armer.

"You're still here then?" Eric asked, hiding his anger.

"Circumstantial evidence and hearsay I believe they call it." John Armer smiled to show his delight at not being caught for his part in the attack on Eric. He leant in closer and whispered. "But we did have fun scaring you half to death." He sniggered a little as he stood upright, towering over Eric. "You should have seen your face when you saw us three dressed as hoodies."

Eric's fingers curled up into balls, his knuckles whitening as his fists grew tighter, the red fire of anger swelling through his veins.

"And after all of the bleating you and your mate Tom "The-Snitch" Barratt had said about seeing us to Bolshie Borand and her new freaky friend Jolly-japes Jackson, we still managed to get away with it." He snorted a laugh. "If only Higgo hadn't tripped up over a chair, then maybe I'd not be here," He moved a little closer to Eric. "Right in your face." He was now only millimetres away from Eric's nose.

Eric was fighting the undeniable urge to simply swing his already curled right fist round and punch him with all his might, but knew that would get him instantly expelled. With all that anger wanting to burst out of him, Eric could hear his Dad's words in his ears. "First, always try to walk away. Second, if you can't stop a fight from starting, always make sure you end it."

Eric knew that he had to walk, as the second option wasn't possible against someone with the strength and ability of John Armer, and also the consequences of his actions, whilst still on School grounds..

He turned to head off to class, but a strong hand gripped him by the shoulder and span him back round to face the bully.

"I've not finished with you yet, Peterson." John spat the syllables of his surname into Eric's face.

The anger welled up inside him.

"Go on." And John tilted his chin to one side, jutting it out a little. "Give it your best shot." He waited a second. "'Cus it will be the last thing you do on this planet, I can promise you that."

They stood face to face for a few seconds.

"Go on wimpy boy." John sneered and taunted him. "Think you've got it in you?"

Another few seconds passed as Eric's anger rose higher and higher.

He finally pulled his right shoulder back; his fist was clenched so tight that his finger nails were digging into the palm of his hand.

John Armer's eyes lit up with the excitement of the impending strike, knowing he'd win the overall battle that was about to start.

Eric tensed the right arm and quickly brought it round and up.

John closed his eyes, not flinching in any way, his chin still stuck out, leaving it wide open as a very easy target.

Eric also brought the other hand up on the other side of John Armer's head. As both fists neared their target, he flashed open his hands, and clamped the palms onto each cheek. He then leant forward and kissed him fully on the lips.

John Armer pulled back in shock, staggering into the wall.

"See ya later handsome." Eric called back to him as he dashed away down the corridor, a huge grin on his face.

Outside, at the far end of the long school driveway was a black MPV. The tinted windows hid the occupant who had been watching everything through a long telephoto lens. The camera jiggled slightly as the holder sniggered. "You're more like your Dad than you realise Eric Peterson.

Control Subject.

Harrap studied his screen, carefully, and thoroughly. All of the 9 individual readings all gave him the same answer. He'd asked all his fellow scientists to secretly give a blood sample to him, so that he could test them all and find out what it was Fink had been secretly injecting into them every night. Without the medical testing device the despicable Porter had been using, Harrap knew that it would be a lengthy process, as he didn't know what he was looking for. The only thing in his favour was that he'd been sleeping at his desk for a few nights. He'd rigged a simple sensor alarm sender to the door circuits and hid the corresponding receiver under his watch. This alarm woke him up with a gentle buzz whenever the door opened. At first he'd been taken unawares by the buzzing, but he'd got used to it enough to not cause anyone to notice what he was doing. By doing so, he'd acted as if he'd been asleep until Fink had finished injecting everyone else, and then woke up.

Fink's routine helped, as Harrap was the last to be injected. After a couple of days, Fink would creep up to the Chief scientist and see that he was sleeping. He decided not to chance injecting Harrap first, as he might wake up, and then he'd not be able to inject everyone else, but continued to inject the others first, as he was safely behind the curtain that hid the sleeping area from the workstations. Unfortunately, every time he came close to Harrap, Fink's final victim always woke up, juts at the wrong time.

Harrap's plan worked very well, and thus, after a few days, he had become the control subject.

He tested for various toxins and poisons in all his team, and then in himself, but they all came back blank. He'd had a close call when getting more samples of blood from his team, and was nearly spotted by a guard delivering their evening meals.

The only problem was that by staying at his workbench, he was getting less sleep, and was increasingly tired. This made him conscious of the fact that he might make a mistake, or miss some important element that was common in everyone.

By the fifth evening, Harrap sat at his workstation rubbing his eyes, before taking another long swig of an energy boosting drink he'd concocted. He rolled his head round a few times and blinked before re-reading the screen. The latest batch of tests had also come back blank. He was missing something, something very simple, and was concerned that he'd missed it due to his lack of sleep.

Crane, his assistant, came over to him. "You need to rest, or you'll be no good to us." Placing a supportive hand on his mentor and friend's shoulder, he continued. "Go on, I can keep going with the tests while you grab an hour or two."

"I can't." Harrap replied dejectedly. "I need to be here so that we can keep me as a control subject."

"Please just go and rest." Crane pointed to the sleeping areas at the end of the laboratory. "We're all feeling fit and well, and can cope admirably while you sleep for a while."

"What?" Harrap asked.

"I said that we can cope." Crane replied.

"No, no." Harrap said. "Before that, you said that you were all feeling fit and well."

"Yes, we are, we've been saying that the last few days, since we perfected the virus that the stress levels must have dropped and we're feeling so much better."

"That's it." Harrap jumped off his stool. "Well done Crane." He shook his bemused colleague's hand.

"Are you OK?"

"Never felt better." He then chuckled. "Well, actually, not as well as you lot, but that's it isn't it."

"I'm sorry, but you've lost me." Crane shook his head, bewildered.

"Watch." Harrap tapped on the keys of his computer and a series of results and graphs grew on the screen. "This is how healthy you all are. I'd been looking for things that were harming you, but it isn't that at all." He chuckled again. "This is so lateral I would never have thought of it." He shook his head and took another swig of his drink. "You're all feeling a lot better because they've been injecting you with something that's been boosting your system."

Crane studied the results carefully. "Yes, I see."

"If we extrapolate the increasing performance levels, and their outcomes." Harrap tapped away again. "Then we find that..." He stopped mid-sentence as the screen started to flash amber, then quickly turned to red.

"What's happened?" Crane asked.

The door swished open and Harrap's alarm buzzed under his watch.

Fink walked in, a smug look on his face. "Well done Harrap." He continued to walk around the workstations, and headed towards the Chief Scientist, applauding as he walked. "I always took you for a simple yes man, but you do have an aptitude for breaking down these puzzles and finding the true answer."

"What's going on?" Crane asked, hoping for an answer from either one of them. "Why has it all gone red?"

Harrap's anger was a raging inferno inside, but he tried his best to hide it from everyone. He turned to his colleague and friend, with very sad eyes.. "We're all going to die." He took a deep breath. "And you and the others will be first." He patted Crane's arm. "I'll also eventually die, but because I've not had the same dosage, it will take a little longer."

"But we've been feeling so well, how can we be dying?" Crane asked.

"Because they've probably been trying to find the virus somewhere else, and they stumbled across a side effect where they can improve the performance of us all." He turned to Fink. "Am I right?"

"Very good," Fink folded his arms as he reached Harrap's workstation, and leant back against the adjacent bench. "Please, do continue."

"So they probably tried it out on our soldiers, making them stronger and faster. For a short while at least." He shook his head. "The problem is that you burn out quicker. Your organs are all working harder for a short period, and then they give up." He looked sorrowfully at each of his colleagues, one at a time, as all had stopped working and were listening to the explanation. Harrap's eyes grew more sad as he knew that they each had partners, and some had families. His gaze returned to Crane. "That was what the red flashing screen meant; the end of our lives."

"Why you snivelling little..." Crane lunged at Fink.

"No no no!" Fink raised a gun at the approaching scientist. "I think you'll stay back there."

"Why?" Harrap asked. "Why do this to them?"

"Because you'd done what was needed, and Eklan wanted to test it quickly, and deploy it even quicker." Fink explained. "So, when we knew you were close to the answer we started to administer the drug." He smiled and waved the gun around in the air while he continued. "It was our safeguard that you'd be willing to help, and also that we didn't need to resolve any issues of thanking you afterwards. You'd done your job, and so you're being released."

Harrap snorted a laugh again. "I must applaud your vision, well, I say yours but you are a mere puppet. This was all Eklan's vision, as I doubt that you'd have the brains to work this devious a plan out on your own."

"It was my idea to give you this drug." He pointed the gun at Harrap. "Eklan wanted to just kill you, but I told her she should play with all of you."

Crane lunged at Fink, but the porter was quicker and instinctively squeezed the trigger. Crane was blasted backwards, across the laboratory and into the wall. His face was one of shock and horror, frozen in that instant as he died, slumped on the floor.

"Fool." Fink added, nodding towards the dead scientist. "And I will do the same to any more of you fools who try to get the better of me."

During the commotion, two other scientists had crept behind Fink and decided to make their move. Once again he was quicker, anticipating their attack, spinning round and cutting them down while they were still 4 metres away from him. "Silly silly men of science. Don't you know that the gun is mightier than the pen?" He laughed for a second at his own little joke. Then became instantly angry. "Damn you all." He started to fire at every one of the scientists, who started to dive for cover away from this madman.

They were trapped within the laboratory and knew they had nowhere to go, but still tried to hide behind benches and cabinets. Nothing could save them, as Fink made sure each and every one of them was dead, everyone except Harrap.

"Now it's your turn." He brought the gun back round to face him. "I've saved the best for last, you might say."

Harrap stood up, showing no fear. "Your time will surely end, and I hope that it's soon."

"Not as soon as yours I believe." Fink replied to the threat by blasting 3 shots just above the Chief Scientist's head. "That is merely a warning. The drugs we've administered will kill you shortly."

Fink wandered around the room, kicking each scientist in turn, making sure that they were all dead. Once he was confident that he'd completed his task, he went opened the door to leave, and stopped.

Eklan stood just on the other side; the glowing metallic device Fink had used every night to scan the scientists was in her hand. "Did you know Fink that this is a very useful tool?" She started to explain. "It is a scanner, as you know."

"Yes leader." Fink replied nervously.

"But it has so many other uses." Eklan continued. "One is a transport system."

"So I've heard, leader."

"Would you like a demonstration?" She asked him casually.

"Oh yes, that would be wonderful." His eyes flashed wide at being given such an honour.

Eklan's spindly finger tapped the top of the device, and it shimmered, like a drop of water on a still lake. She watched the symbols on the screen for a moment. "You can transport everyone who is around you, within a set distance of 5 metres, or you can even pick a group of specific items." She stopped to see that Fink was following her. "Or you can simply designate a single object that's directly in front of you." She looked at Fink and waited for him to agree.

He nodded excitedly.

"And this is how you complete that third option." She pressed the two right hand buttons at the same time and a beam of light was emitted from the end of the device. It grew in size until it fully engulfed Fink.

Fink was in awe of what was happening. He was so pleased that his Commander was treating him to such a wonderous explanation of the devices abilities; he held his breath, as he attempted to contain the joy he felt. His eyes grew wide as the light that had crept out of the device and had covered him flashed very brightly. The blinding light dissipated, and he found it had gone extremely cold. The shock at what had happened hit him again, as he was struggling to breathe. Fink never knew that he'd been transported 500m outside the ship, as his brain didn't get time to registered what had happened until after he died in the vast emptiness of space.

Eklan laughed, watching the frozen body drift away. "And your work is now finished here as well Fink."

Repeats.

"I'll dump these in your room." Tom shouted as he climbed the stairs at Eric's house. It was Saturday afternoon, and the boys were looking forward to a night in together, watching DVDs, playing computer games, and having midnight feasts. Tom huffed a little as he was carrying a huge bag over one shoulder and a rolled up sleeping bag over the other.

"You're on the floor mate." Eric shouted up after him from the lounge, as he was in the midst of a racing game.

Tom's head instantly re-appeared over the banister at the top of the stairs. "I don't think so, I'm the Guest."

"Guest or not, it's my bedroom, my rules."

"We'll toss for it." Tom offered a more reasonable approach.

"No, I know." Eric grinned, his slightly devious plan tingling across his mind. "We'll play some pool and then some Wii games and the overall winner gets the bed."

Tom winced slightly, knowing he wasn't as good on the games console, as he didn't have one at home to practice on, but he reluctantly conceded. "OK." He hoped his pool skills would claw back some of Eric's advantage.

"Brill." Eric clenched his fist in a small celebration.

"I saw that." Tom said as he walked back into the lounge. "Don't get too cocky mate, cus you never know...." He left the sentence hanging there.

Eric had already turned back to the game, but stopped and thought about it for a second. "Yeah right." He added sarcastically, before spluttering a short laugh. "Good one mate, you always could crack a good joke."

Emma Peterson, Eric's mum, was also on a night out with the Girls she worked with, and left soon after, having already placed an order for them at their favourite takeaway and left a £20 note behind the clock on the mantelpiece for them to pay with.

The evening went well, with both boys winning various contests from a few racks of pool, through to some Wii contests ranging from bowling to skiing, running to swimming. They'd stop to laugh at times when one of them made a huge mistake, or fell over, because they were trying so hard. Time flew by, and they soon heard the doorbell being rung, heralding the steaming mammoth feast which was contained in a 16 inch square box. They'd devoured the 16 inch meat feast pizza along with a garlic bread topped with cheese. This was washed down by a 2 litre bottle of dandelion and burdock.

A short breath to rub their extended and very full bellies, and they were back into playing computer games. After working out all of the combined scores, Tom was amazed to find out that he'd won two more contests than Eric. "Woo Hoo." He leapt up off the sofa, and then suddenly stopped. "Shouldn't have done that, cus I've eaten so much and it feels like it's gonna come back."

"Eeuugh, don't be so vulgar." Eric squirmed away from Tom.

After a few moments Tom slumped back onto the sofa. "That's enough moving for me, I'm staying put for the rest of the evening."

Eric looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. "It's nearly 11, how about crashing with a DVD in bed, and then we don't have to move?" Eric asked.

"Good idea, what have you got?"

"Anything and everything you'd want to watch."

"Transformers?" Tom asked, knowing it was their favourite.

"Mum got the latest one last Monday" Eric added.

"Brilliant." Tom agreed. "Right, you dig out the last 2 films, I'll tidy up down here, and then we'll crash upstairs, with me on my throne of a bed, and you on the loser's airbed on the floor."

"Point made." Eric said and they both got up to complete their tasks.

Upstairs they got changed into their pj's and put the DVD in. Eric lay down on his front, propping his head up his folded arms, whilst Tom leant back against the wall at the top of the bed.

Soon, the first DVD ended and Eric got up to change it. He was amazed that after all they'd eaten, he felt hungry again, and put it down to being a growing teenager. "Tom, do you fancy a midnight snack?" He asked whilst pausing the start of the second film.

There was no answer and he turned to see that Tom was fast asleep, slumped over on the pillows he'd been using to lean against. Eric went over and shook him, and Tom merely replied with a short snore.

"Just no staying power from the champion." Eric quietly said. "Well, I'm going to make a quick butty, even if you don't want one."

He checked to see that Tom was fully asleep, before trotting off downstairs and into the kitchen.

He got four slices of bread out and opened the fridge to have a good nosy around at the various choices before finally deciding upon "Cheese, ham and pickle I think tonight, Treacle." He noted to the large ball of black and white furry-purry-beastie that had arrived in the kitchen wanting to be fed. He grabbed all the required ingredients and plonked them on a cutting board adjacent to the fridge. Picking a knife from the drawer, he realised the fridge door was still open. Eric stood up on one foot and karate kicked the door closed, adding in a "Hiy-ya" for effect. He turned back to carry on with his creation but noticed how bright it was. "Ah-so. The fridge door has come open and needs another beating shut." He spun round and started to lift his foot up, but stopped when he saw that the fridge was already closed.

"Strange." He said out loud. It was at that moment Eric noticed a flash of light outside the window, followed by a very loud bang. Hoping to see a thunderstorm he looked out of the kitchen window and could only see that the back garden was being illuminated from upstairs. Eric quickly realised what had happened. "Ah, now you wake up." He trotted back through the lounge and shouted up the stairs. "What sort of butties do you want?" He waited for an answer, but nothing came back. He shouted louder. "Tom, what butties do you want?" All was deathly still, there was no answer. This perplexed Eric for a few moments before he grasped at a possible idea. "The numpty has switched on the bedside light falling out of bed." He mumbled to himself as he went back upstairs to check on his friend. Eric grabbed the bedroom door handle and pushed, but it was stuck. He tried again, a little harder, but it still wouldn't budge.

"Tom, the door's stuck. Can you help from your side?" He asked, giving it another shove. There was still no answer, and Eric was getting worried as he started to wonder if Tom had fallen out of bed and was now lying hurt behind the door. "Oh pigging hell!" The shock of the situation started to grow within Eric. He stepped a short way from the door, reached out and turned the handle before taking a deep breath, tensing his muscles and butted the door with his shoulder in an attempt to move it.

He was a little bit relieved when it opened a tiny bit, but was shocked to see that the room was fully illuminated by the main room light. Eric realised that there was no way Tom could have accidentally switched on the main light as he fell out of bed. Eric stepped back, puzzled, letting the door close once more.

Eric was confused, took a step back and scratched his head as he thought about what was going on. It didn't add up. Working as fast as his brain could, running through all the various scenarios and ideas he could muster, there wasn't one which could explain how Tom had managed to switched on the main light, and then fall in such a way that he'd block the door.

Eric sighed.

At that moment, his bedroom door flew open and before him stood a tall hooded person. His heart froze. Something told him deep down that this wasn't another prank being played by John Armer; deep within his soul, he knew that these were the ones who'd attacked and killed his Dad.

The person in the doorway raised their hands and slowly pulled back their hood, revealing their strange looking face.

Eric staggered away in shock, catching himself before nearly falling over the banister as he edged his way along the top of the stairs.

"No, no, you're..." Eric didn't want to say the words which his brain was screaming to him. His mind was in turmoil, part of it stating what it could see, and the other stating that it was a lie, a trick on the eyes. Eric had to get control of his fears, as he knew what would happen if he lost that battle.

He blew out a breath, feeling his heart thumping in his chest, as if trying to escape and run away. "You're an Alien!" His voice was a whisper, but saying out loud, however quietly, helped his brain get a grasp on the situation. No longer was it fighting itself, for now it could deal with the situation.

The creature that was blocking his bedroom door let out a croaky, gurgling noise, its thin slit of a mouth lifted up at the sides to be completely horizontal.

Eric let another breath out. "OK, you think this is a funny situation." He said more to himself, to explain the noise that was coming from the Alien in as good a way as he could. He continued to very slowly feel his way along the handrail, instinctively inching himself away from the creature he couldn't stop staring at. He had to do that to ensure that he knew where they were at all times. His eyes took in all of the angular and knobbly features. Their axe-like nose that started at the top of the forehead and ended below their chin. The hollowed cheeks, sunken, soulless black eyes. All of this was so different to anything he'd seen on a science fiction program of film, and was so difficult to understand.

His left hand felt the banister turn the corner, and a tiny bit of relief coursed through his veins. The Alien was still standing in the doorway, 3 metres away from him now he'd managed to inch his way along the top of the stairs. Eric decided to continue his painfully slow exit, and rounded the corner, backing himself across the top of the first step, all the way into the wall behind him, as the stairs fell away to his right.

Eric was a tiny bit relieved to see that the Alien being had remained in the doorway as he slid his right foot across and down onto the first step.

"Hello human, I'm Eklan." She pulled a strange sort of warped smile at him, which only added to the horror of her features. "I'm the one who has just given your friend a lethal injection of a wonderful new serum we've developed." She took her first step out of the door.

Panic rooted Eric to the spot. He knew his escape could be made by simply turning and running down the stairs, through the front door and out of the house, but the fear within gripped his muscled, turning him into a statue.

"And I am also the one who killed his father two years ago." She nodded back towards the bedroom as she took another step towards him, now only a metre away.

"Sorry?" Eric's body was still firmly within fears grip, but his brain churned over what this Eklan creature had said.

"And now it's your turn to die." She took the last step towards him and gripped his shirt top.

"But, but..." Eric stammered, not fully understanding what was going on, his body failing him still. "You didn't kill his father, you killed...."

At that moment, the front door exploded into a hundred pieces and both Eric and Eklan looked down the stairs.

"You again!" Eklan's eyes flashed wide as she saw a familiar face, although her voice was filled with hatred. "How can you be here?"

Eric was confused as the familiar figure of Mr. Jackson leapt through the shattered door, braced himself against the broken door, and aimed a 9mm Glock pistol directly up at the pair of them.

Eric wondered if this was all a dream, as it was so surreal. He couldn't understand what was happening at all, and simply wished for all of this to end, so that he could find out what Tom wanted for a snack and then go to sleep.

Reality rushed back into Eric's life as Eklan pulled him towards her with minimal effort, before throwing him down the stairs at Mr. Jackson.

Eklan raced back along the landing and dove back in the bedroom where there was a flash of light, before a deafening silence and darkness engulfed the little street once again.

Mr. Jackson had managed to half catch Eric when he'd been thrown at him as if he was a padded toy. The young man's head had still bounced off the wall on the way down as lay in in his arms, concussed.

Mr. Jackson reached into his inside jacket pocket, pulled out his phone, flipped open the cover, and pressed a single button. It was picked up before it had even finished its first ring, "Medical crash team, possible airlift crew to RPH and a full infiltration clean up team, at my location NOW!" He ordered, closing the phone to tend to the very still, yet peaceful looking Eric.

##### 

##### Endings.

It was 3 days later before Eric came round in a Royal Preston Hospital bed. He'd been brought in unconscious, but the medical team kept him in an induced coma while the swelling around his brain eased. Emma Peterson, his Mum had been by his side the whole of that time, never leaving his side for more than 5 minutes, while she waited for everything to be OK.

"Mum, where am I?" Eric asked, his voice croaking as he opened his eyes for the first time.

"Hospital Sweetie." Emma leapt up pout of the chair. She'd been reading a magazine, but tossed it across the room when she heard her Son speak.

"Why?" He coughed a couple of times before running his tongue across his lips.

Emma held a glass of ice chips to his mouth. "Just take some tiny sips, nice and easy."

Eric coughed a couple more times, but felt his voice coming back to him. "Why am I here Mum?"

"You fell downstairs, don't you remember?" She asked, a little concern in her voice.

He thought about it for a second. "No." He stopped and his eyes searched the room as if clues there would be stuck on little yellow notes everywhere for him to see. "I remember a thunderstorm at school today, and Mr.Higson nearly catching me out for watching that and not listening to him, but Tom helped get me on track."

"Tom." Emma Peterson's voice caught in her throat, and she stroked his hand as she explained. "Tom's caught some strange illness, and he's not feeling too well." She gulped trying to contain all the emotions. As strong a character as she was, having to explain all of this to her son was very daunting and emotional. "We thought it was just food poisoning from the pizza, but you haven't got it, and it's got worse."

As if on cue, the door of the private side room where Eric was being cared for opened and in came Tom, sat in a large hospital wheelchair being pushed by his Mum and Dad. "Yo mate, we're hospital buddies." He smiled as well as he could at Eric. "We'd just been chatting next door and heard all of the commotion in here and realised that either something good or something bad had happened." He smiled again at seeing his friend was looking better than he had. "Thankfully, looking at the fact that you've opened your eyes for the first time in 3 days, it's the first one."

Eric smiled back, then asked "Mum said you're ill?"

"Yeah, they can't find out what it is." He lifted up his shirt to show him a series of blisters across his stomach. "Cool aren't they."

Eric laughed out loud at how Tom could find a mysterious illness that was completely baffling the doctors as being cool.

Both boys spent the next couple of days in their rooms, or being wheeled from one to the other in between the regular and very frequent visits from what was colloquially known as the hospital Vampires, who came to draw more and more blood from them to be tested, interspersed with being prodded and poked by the Doctors. Eric went for an MRI scan, which was a highlight on one day, but the cold corridors as he was pushed by the Porter through to the back of the hospital where the facility was based was a little too much for his bare lower legs.

A week went by, and Eric woke up after an afternoon snooze. He'd had a reasonable lunch consisting of a plastic bowl filled with soup with a dry bun. Then it was a mince and mashed potato mix, which they had called cottage pie, but it was nothing like his mums. Desert was best as it was ice cream. He'd enjoyed it all and had then drifted off whilst watching nothing of any importance in the afternoon slots of daytime TV.

As he woke up he stretched and let out a huge yawn, reaching for the controller to flick through the channels of countless nothings when he heard his Mum talking very quietly to someone just outside the door.

"Thank you again." Emma Peterson said.

"Not a problem." A strange deep and slightly posh voice said. "It was just lucky that I was passing."

"I just can't bear to think what might have happened if..." Her voice drifted away.

"Don't worry Emms, we are looking out for him, I promise."

His soft cool and slightly posh voice caused a tiny memory to twang a little at the back of Eric's mind, although as soon as he tried to retrieve it, it disappeared like a cloud on a windy day.

"Look, let's just say that I was very lucky to be in the right place to help. I saw a flash of light, thought the worst and simply reacted." The stranger continued. "I realised that it could have been really bad, so got in and was there just in time "

"Ridiculous, you know very well that I know how these things work." Emma's voice had a harsh edge. "You were under orders, most likely, from Gordon." She replied.

"Sort of, I'd been placed into close watch, but had arrived to assist the look-see team across the road, check up on the comings and goings, check for any irregularities."

Eric tried to listen harder as he was missing little pieces of the conversation, being so far away from the almost closed door.

"And?" Emma asked.

There was a pause.

"No, this was purely a hunch, and I'm glad I came."

More silence followed.

"So am I." Emma replied with a deep sigh.

"I'm sorry but I had to break the door."

"Oh forget about the door, you saved both boys." She smiled at him. "Have you been to see Tom as well?"

"Yes, I've just been in but he's sleeping as well, so I thought I'd come and see how Eric was doing." He added.

"That's very kind of you." She half giggled. "It's so funny how fate works in such ways."

"Fate?" He asked.

"How you just happened to be there at that very moment." She paused a second. "I'd call that fate, wouldn't you ?"

"I don't believe in fate, Emma, anyone would have done the same." He was very humble about the whole incident. "So, you say he remembers nothing of that time." Casually deflecting the subject away from himself.

"Nothing at all. The doctors have run test after test, but there's complete memory loss for the best part of 3 weeks." She explained. "Come in and see him, it might help."

The door opened and Eric watched intently as in walked Emma Peterson followed by a well-dressed tall, and slightly stickily built man.

Eric sat himself upright and said "Hi."

"You don't remember me do you Eric?" The man asked.

Eric looked him up and down for a few long seconds, making very certain before he answered, "Nope, sorry."

"Not a problem, I was helping your school as an advisor, and we'd met a couple of times last week, I'm Mr. Jackson" He held out his hand for Eric to shake.

Eric felt the strong grip of this mysterious visitor that knew his Mum so well. "Sorry, but I don't remember you at all." Eric shook his head.

"Like I said, it's not a problem." He then turned to Emma Peterson. "I think I'll leave you two alone now." With that he turned and very smartly and briskly marched out of the room before anyone could add anything else.

He'd left the door open and both of them watched him walking away along the corridor. It was only when he'd turned the corner at the far end of the ward did Emma Peterson speak, "That was nice of him, wasn't it?"

Before Eric could say anything else, a loud and insistent bleeping noise started somewhere outside in the ward. As it bounced off all the walls up and down the corridor, he couldn't tell where it had originated.

"Fire?" Asked Eric, concerned that he may have to get out of the building quickly.

"No, an emergency somewhere." Emma replied, a touch of concern in her voice.

There was a scuffling of many feet as staff ran down the ward.

"Oh dear, I think something's gone wrong somewhere." Emma said as she got up to look round the door. "Oh no!" She slapped her hand over her mouth as she turned back to Eric with soulful eyes.

"What?" Eric asked, "Who is......" He stopped his question in mid-sentence as he realised that his mum would only know one other person in there. His body tensed and he took a deep gulp before he reluctantly asked, "Tom?"

Emma Peterson nodded slowly at her son, watching his features crumble. "I'll be back in a second." She had to go check, to be 110% certain, as she knew what this could mean to her Son. Emma took one long look at Eric, and waited for him to compose himself and nod his acceptance before walking out of the room to make certain.

Tom's room was adjacent, and the crash team had cared into there. As Emma Peterson arrived in his doorway she heard the ominous call by a doctor. "Clear!"

Everyone stood back and a very dainty Asian lady, the smallest and frailest looking person in the room, dressed in a long white coat pounced on Tom with the charged paddles. There was the inevitable shudder as the electric charge coursed through the lifeless and frail looking body on the bed, before it went limp once more. The doctor flicked back a rogue lock of her long dark hair that had been mainly arrested in a bun at the back of her head. Handing the paddles over to a colleague she leapt up onto the bed and started giving him a heart massage. "Come on Tom, breathe, one – two – three – four, one – two – three \- four." She stopped and leant forward over him, pressing her mouth over his and his chest rose artificially. "Come on, just one big gasp Hun." She asked him, as she carried on pressing his chest. The various machines that were parked all around Tom's room were now starting to buzz and bleep more and more, as they'd been quickly disconnected when the crash team had arrived, but no one really heard any of them.

After a few more arduous minutes of CPR the Doctor's shoulders slumped and she climbed off him, slowly. Looking up at the clock in the room, Doctor Taylor said in a quiet, sad, yet slightly angry voice. "3:18pm, time of death." Sighing very heavily, she trudged over to the door. "Damn!" Thumping the door frame she then noticed that Emma Peterson was standing there, her hand still over her mouth, tears filling her eyes. Doctor Taylor merely patted her on the shoulder saying, "So very, very sorry." She gulped as her eyes flashed to the adjacent doorway. "Please tell Eric that I did all I could."

"I know." Emma Peterson replied through a veil of tears.

##### Bang !

Eric was released from hospital, and returned home the day after, nothing could console him after the tragic loss of his best friend. They'd been so close, never more than 3 streets away, even recently having holidays with each others families. He returned to a bedroom full of memories, from the football that sat peacefully in a corner, to the posters of the same films they'd enjoyed many times adorning the walls.

Halfway through the second day, in the midst of a terribly angry fit of mourning; he ripped all the posters off the walls, tearing them into many pieces, his eyes not being able to focus because of the tears.

Emma Peterson had heard the anger being released, knowing this moment would happen, and simply walked into his bedroom and hugged him till he calmed down, not being able to understand a single word through his rants and sobs, but completely knowing what he meant, and what his loss was. It had hurt both of them in similar and also different ways. Both had been reminded of who'd they'd lost 2 years previously, and the anger that they had felt then welled back up again.

The next week raced by as Tom's funeral was held on a day of very mixed weather. In a very strange way Eric was grateful that he'd been hurt and had spent time in hospital, as that meant he'd not had to go to school and see everyone else, but he was also angry that his accident had robbed him of the now very precious memories of the last 2 weeks of being with his best friend.

The loss of his friend was devastating, and he struggled to come to terms with it. Even though it had been 2 years since his dad had died, there was now Tom. At 12 years old, his dad had been the first person who was very close to him who had died, and it had taken a very long time to realise that he was never coming back. There were countless times when he would walk into the house and not see Simon Peterson sat in his chair, or hear him in the garage singing his head off to old 80's Rock bands, and that had been the most difficult aspect of his loss to come to terms with. His Dad's Subaru Impreza, with its distinctive big bore exhaust had sold very quickly, and not hearing it reverse up the drive every evening was something so simple, yet something he'd missed so dearly.

It had been a very strange learning experience which had taken a long time to recover from.

Dead meant forever.

Yet this time was a lot harder as he knew from the moment his Mum had walked back into his hospital room, that his friend was never coming back. He understood clearly that he'd never see him again, ever.

The initial couple of days after the funeral passed by slowly. There was nothing Eric could do that didn't remind him of what he'd lost. This feeling continued throughout the first week, which was the hardest to come to terms with. Yet, even after all of this, he eventually started to realise that he had to face the world, and grow from this loss. Accepting that everyone would die sometime, and some would be taken away with tragic consequences, and especially when they were so young and full of life, was difficult, but it was a part of life.

The biggest and most difficult lesson Eric learnt from all that had occurred was very simple; life goes on.

With his mother's guidance and support, he learnt that it's not worth mourning the living, but to enjoy them while they were still there, to the full. He had to pick himself up and get on with his life, before he lost it to remorse and doubt. Emma Peterson told him to mourn the loss of his friend and his Dad, but to never forget that he to live his own life again, and to the fullest of his abilities.

It still took a huge amount of courage to step out of the front door to go to the shops, or to walk down to the bridge and see his other friends, all of whom were also mourning the loss, and together, they started to help each other through it. After another week, Eric turned to his Mum one evening and told her that he had finally decided he was able to return to school.

Two weeks after they'd buried Tom, Eric was starting to get nearer his old self, although he still had days where he had regressed into a world of pain, it would take a lot longer as he would always feel that would be a part which would be missing. It was during one of his darker days when his Mum asked him to set off to the local shop for a few things, passing him a short hand-written list so that he didn't forget anything.

A short, despondent huff from Eric and the cash was scrunched into a pocket. He shrugged on a hooded top, as it was a little breezy outside, and, being summer, the odd splatter of rain did more than threaten at times.

Eric zipped it up tight, pulling the hood all the way over his head, trying to hide his face as much as possible. He was having one of those days where he didn't feel like talking to anyone on they way to the shops. With his house keys slipped into one of the hooded tops pockets, Eric set off. He turned the end of the drive and with his head down, his eyes searching half a metre ahead of him; he stomped off down the alley that ran along the side of the house at a quick pace.

He never realised that in the very next few seconds his perceptions of life, his grasp on reality as he knew it and his limited understanding of travel would all come literally crashing head-on into him with a bang. All of this would be delivered to him by a very familiar face!

The End.

I hope you enjoyed this prequel story to the Eric Peterson series of books. If you want to have a tiny taster of what happened next, to find out how Eric's life would be come crashing down with a Bang!, you'll have to read on, as I've included a taster chapter from the next novel in the series,

The Kylapitar

The next novel in the Eric Peterson series.

Available soon on all E-book formats.

Bang!

Eric sat in a puddle, eyes closed, rubbing the rapidly growing bump in the centre of his forehead. He wondered what had crashed into him. The day hadn't started well. His mum had nagged him to get the usual chores done around the house and with everything that had happened in the last month, he just didn't give a damn. Eric didn't care about putting the bins out, or mowing lawns, and now, to top it all, he had a banging headache and a very wet bum.

Leaning back onto his hands he raised his soggy jeans out of the puddle and replayed the last few seconds in his mind, as something wasn't right. His mum had asked him to "Nip to the shops for some milk, Love" and he'd thrown on his coat, even though it was a very warm morning. Not wanting to face the world yet, he pulled the hood up over his head before trudging down the alley that ran along the side of his house on the way to the local supermarket. Approaching the main road someone came charging around the corner. Neither had time to stop and they'd slammed into each other, literally head on.

He rubbed his forehead. The bandages from his last accident, when he'd been found unconscious at the bottom of the stairs, had been removed only two weeks before, and he wondered if he'd now need new ones.

His mind flashed back to the time of his previous accident, a month previous, and everything went blank. No matter how many times or how hard he tried, there was nothing. At 14 years old, Eric could recall most of his short life, but this was a huge chunk that had now simply vanished, as if wiped off a memory card. These were the two weeks leading up to and after the accident and it frustrated him.

He came back to his current predicament, drips of muddy, grit-filled water dripped off his back-side, and a thought struck him. It must be hurting, because I'm sure that what just hit me was something that couldn't have hit me, something impossible, because it was..........

He stopped rubbing, fearful at what he was about to see. Slowly, reluctantly, he lowered his waist down, careful to not let it touch the water. He opened his eyes, and saw nothing there. This was quite perplexing. He turned his head to the left and there was his best friend Tom, also sat on the floor massaging his head.

"Aaaarrrgggghhhhh!" Eric screamed, backing away on all fours from his friend.

"All my giddyants!" Tom replied in shock.

Eric closed his eyes, as he couldn't quite believe them. This wasn't happening. He opened them again, thinking he was hallucinating, probably caused by colliding with such force. "Arrhythmical, NO, NO, NO, YOU'RE NOT REAL YOU'RE..." he scrambled away from Tom as fast as he could, until he hit a garage wall. He clamped his hand back over his eyes, trying to get away from this nightmare.

Eric's mind flashed to just over a week ago, when he was dressed in his best trousers and clean white shirt. He wore his School blazer and a black tie, and he remembered the tears rolling down his face as he threw a handful of dirt onto a hard, unfeeling, lifeless, oak coffin. The wind lashed the rain viciously across the cemetery, stinging the faces of the huge crowd who'd attended. They'd had all four seasons that day. The hailstorm that only lasted several seconds was probably the bleakest moment of the whole morning. Although Eric recalled the thought that Tom would have been in fits of giggles watching the vicar constantly sweeping the little frozen balls off his bible. Alas, he then saw the coffin, coated in its cool, white blanket, and it didn't seem real that his best friend was lying in there, dead.

Eric went through that day as if he was and actor in a very surreal play, where he hadn't learnt the lines. He knew to say thank you and to smile when people said kind words to him, but he had never realised about all the emotions he'd have to face. He replayed the moments as he stepped away from the graveside, his mum comforting him, his head drowning with the terrible feelings of pain and sorrow. He could have been a thousand galaxies away, he felt so lost.

Eric snapped out of the memory as the pebble-dashed wall of 228 Brownside Road dug deeper into his back. He was pressing his skin into it, trying as hard as he could to find a small gap between the concrete sectional pieces that would let him squeeze through and flee this current horror.

"It can't be... but, but..." stuttered Eric.

"Sure is, but I've no time to explain all this" said Tom, holding out a hand to help his living friend up.

"No way - You're..." he hesitated, as he knew this wasn't real, "You're......" he struggled to come to terms with the word he was about to utter. "You're dead! We buried you. I saw you in the Chapel of Rest. Is this a dream?"

"Nope, no dream, and yes, I died" Tom looked up and down the alley, "but I need to help you up, and we have to move quickly, I'm in trouble, and you're the only one I can trust", he said earnestly.

Eric took hold of Tom's hand gingerly, shuddering at how cold it was.

"It's OK, it's not going to drop off, I've only been dead 2 weeks", Tom said as he hoisted Eric to his feet.

"Stop talking like that", Eric shook his head in disbelief.

"Why?" Tom stopped and looked at his friend, hoping he'd believe him. "I hate to say this Mate, but it's true. I'm a stiffy, a cold fish, a gonner, I've been pushing up the daisies, I'm the finest teenage worm food money can buy."

"Get lost Tom, you're not real." Eric walked away, rubbing his hand, trying to stem the icy feeling that was creeping along his fingers towards his palm. He decided to go home and turned round, but Tom was still standing there, alive and well, as if nothing had ever happened.

Eric couldn't bear it any longer and set off down the alley, past the apparent ghost or zombie or whatever it was that used to be his friend. He started mumbling to himself. "He's dead, we buried him, and I must be having an episode."

"An episode of what?" Said Tom, keeping pace at Eric's side. "Dr.Who?"

"I'm not listening to your twittering 'cus you're not real." Eric waved his hands across each other, trying to cancel it all out. "I've banged my head and that has caused me to have some sort of psychological episode." He continued with his reasoning, even though he didn't believe he was actually talking to anyone. "The counsellor said I would have moments like this"

"Whatever, but can we hurry up, Mate?" Tom glanced back towards the main road. "Listen, I am real. I might be dead, but I do have feelings"

"WHAT!" screamed Eric, slapping his hands onto either side of his face "You're dead, but you do have feelings. So you do admit you're dead then and I'm not going mad?"

"Yip, I'm dead, as I've said about a thousand times" he exhaled impatiently. "And nope, the jacket for hugging yourself in is safely tucked away - as we also need to be, so let's go back to your mum's garage, now." Tom looked worryingly back down the alley again, as he ushered Eric back to his house.

Lost.

"WHAAAAT?" Eklan screamed at her scientists standing around the perimeter of the laboratory, all were trying to not look guilty. "You're telling me he simply woke up and took it?"

The room was 10 metres square, one wall was glazed and opened halfway, cupboards lined the two sides and a bank of computer workstations lined the far wall. In the centre of the room was a large island of low-level cupboards, approximately 3 metres long by 1 metre wide with a smooth metal surface. Above was an array of bright lights fixed into a maneuverable arm, clearly illuminating everything they wanted to work upon. Some of the cupboard doors were open, an array of medical equipment on show, from portable scanning devices to vicious cutting instruments.

All the scientists looked from one to another, each one not wanting to be the one who answered their fearsome leader.

"Well?" Eklan's voice was now a low growl, the anger contained as far as possible for the alien commander. She had climbed the ranks in the Rexon Army over a very short period, willing to do anything and go anywhere, getting the results her seniors always wanted, in places where many male Rexon would not go. She'd gained a reputation for letting her anger get the better of her, and then letting loose on any unsuspecting target, including her own soldiers, and this had so far limited her career. Yet, now, under the mentoring of the renowned Military Leader K'Nash, she'd spent time learning skills in controlling her anger, as he directed her talents to better use.

Eklan drew a line down the bridge of her nose which started in the centre of her forehead, and ran all the way down, finishing in a bony point, a few centimetres below her chin. This gave the Rexon features the look of an axe blade bursting out of their face. Her long spindly index finger arched back on itself under the pressure. It flicked off the end of her chin when she'd finished the relaxation technique. This was one of many she'd been taught as a means to curb her anger.

It didn't work.

Eklan balled her hands, her fingernails digging into her palm, breaking the skin, making her tangerine coloured blood run drip onto the floor. She raised her fist up, and then slammed it back down onto the nearest work surface, the adjacent computers jumped in shock, along with the scientists.

Her eyes turned to the door as it slid open. "Harrap, tell me," Her voice surprisingly calm towards the Lead Scientist as he casually strolled into the room. "Where is my portable transporter?"

Harrap was carrying a roughly hewn sandwich from the adjacent kitchen area, it's live contents wriggling frantically, trying to escape before being devoured. He was chewing slowly as he raised his arm and pointed to the far left corner of the room, and looked at the empty computer work station. "But..." He said through a full mouth, spitting particles of sandwich as he looked at the empty desk. Harrap glanced around the others, then to the large slab table in the centre of the room where his teenage human subject had been lying only minutes before. "But..." His eyes darted back around the people and places as his brain worked. "But..."

Eklan marched over, picked up the lead scientist by the throat, thrust him back through the automatic doors and slammed him into the wall at the far side of the corridor. "But nothing." She fumed. "Your little scientific experiment has gone and woken up, then took my portable transporter and beamed himself off the ship."

Harrap choked under her grip.

"So, not only did you tell me this morning that he wasn't the right boy I was looking for, after weeks of tests and waiting for the results of The Original getting to us out here in the far reaches of this desolate universe." Her nostrils flared out as she breathed, "You then start to do other experiments on him, this..."

Harrap tried to speak, but Eklan's grip was too strong. His voice came out like a rasping cough.

Eklan dropped him to the floor, hearing her mentor's voice finally sink in through the red fog of anger "You get few answers from them when they're dead!"

Harrap coughed a couple of times, spitting the mouthful of sandwich out, as he rubbed his throat. "Sorry Commander, but it's been difficult getting the information out of the Rexon medical computers to test this Tom boy.

"Tom, yes, Tom." Eklan repeated sounding like she was trying to use his name as a method of calming herself down as she paced up and down the corridor.

"We were attempting to see how fast the latest set of virus samples would infiltrate the nervous system, but needed the subject to be nearer the normal state of consciousness to get accurate timings. Their dormant state is too slow to judge," Harrap tried to explain, stopping to move the muscles in his throat for a second, as he attempted to relieve the pain. "And while my team were slowly bringing him out of stasis, I decided we had enough time to go and grab some food."

Eklan's pacing up and down the corridor made the doors into the laboratory slide open and close on each pass. Inside, the scientists huddled together, trying to piece together the conversation that was being held outside in the corridor from the rhythmical snippets they heard every time the doors opened.

"And then when I returned." Harrap continued, "Well, the human was gone, and you were here."

"Excellent deduction for a scientist, I'm amazed you're not on the Council with such a keen mind." Eklan gripped her pointed teeth together and took a long slow breath as she tried to keep more of the venomous sarcasm at bay. "You were supposed to be checking my transporter and servicing it, not letting some worthless human take it for a test flight."

"I know, I know, but all I did was leave the room for a few seconds, and..." He waved his arm at the opened door.

All the scientists in the laboratory took a half step back as their team leader pointed towards them.

Eklan turned back to Harrap. "YOU are in charge, YOU are the one I gave my transporter to, YOU are the one running these new experiments." She closed in, taking a step nearer as she made each point, until she was now in his face once again, a finger jammed under his chin. "YOU had better find out where he's gone." Eklan gripped his collar and dragged him back into the laboratory.

Everyone stepped as far back as they could, trying to work out which way Eklan would turn next, so that they could be out of her range of anger.

"So, who is your second in command in here?"

Harrap didn't want to speak, as he knew what would happen, yet as hard as he tried to control his body, his mind gave the command and his eyes glanced sideways to Crough.

That was all it took.

Eklan whipped her gun out and fired once at the unsuspecting scientist. A plastic paintball splattered against his chest. Crough stood shocked, his mouth wide open. It took a few seconds before he realised what had happened, and smiled, looking around his colleagues and letting out a few short laughs, looking at the splatter of paint on his lab coat.

"No, no, no." Eklan waggled a finger at him. "I wouldn't be smiling and laughing if I was you."

Crough looked back down and noticed the paint had changed shape, shrinking and seeping through his clothes. He looked bemused at the change, and opened his lab coat to see where it was going. The paint was now seeping through his shirt, and onto his skin, tickling him. He giggled for a second, before he stopped sharply, a look of horror on his face, no sound being uttered as the shock gripped all the way down to his soul.

A small hole appeared in the centre of his chest, the edges burning and melting as it grew from a tiny point to the size of a golf ball in a few seconds.

Crough leant back against the workstations behind him, a puzzled look on his face. He brought his hand up and touched the edge of the slowly expanding hole, which was now the size of a tennis ball.

"I wouldn't if I was you." Eklan glanced over at the melting scientist. "Oops, too late."

Crough's fingers dabbed the edge, and he brought them up to his face as they started to burn and melt.

"I did warn you." Eklan huffed. "As you can see, this new toy fires a small plastic encased blob of liquid, in which there are suspended thousands of microscopic Nano robots." She glanced at the end of the gun, puffing away the imaginary smoke before holstering it once more. "They sense the heat coming from the nearest body and will quickly source it out, but in doing so, as they get nearer to the warmth, they start to move faster and faster." She looked over at the now stricken scientist.

The others were also transfixed by the scene, a mixture of disgust and scientific curiosity on their faces as their colleague melted from the centre out.

The nearest took a step away from their colleague.

"Don't worry, they use the body's heat to build up their momentum, but they still only have a limited range, so can't spread to more than one life form at a time, unless you actually make contact with them, but even then, it could be limited to just losing the ends of your fingers." She waggled hers in the air. "Fascinating don't you think?" She asked no one in particular. "It's a wonderful invention from the Council's military laboratory. It's a wonderful means of getting those last few answers out of a subject, or a way to make them suffer."

The hole was now the size of a melon, and Crough's legs started to buckle and give way. He gripped the worktop for support, but his strength faded as his heart was melted, and he collapsed onto the floor. The glow around the edge of the hole diminished and faded to nothing.

"There, all done." Eklan turned back to Harrap. "And the same will happen to you and the rest of your colleagues if you don't get me everything back." Eklan held her gaze on the frightened Lead scientist for a few seconds before she turned and left.

As the door opened Harrap coughed to clear his throat.

"What?" Eklan stopped in the open doorway.

A thought came to him. "The transporters system was locked, and the only destination on it would be the last one you'd used."

"So you're saying he went home?" Eklan let out a laugh. "Excellent." She continued out of the door, but changed direction to go to the main hangar on the lower deck of her ship.

Watchful Eye

Major Ian Jackson sat in a leather faced desk chair in the front bedroom of number 57 Steelgate Drive. He had a relatively clear view, through the window, and from the bank of monitors that were sat below the window of the target residence. Their viewpoint wasn't directly opposite Eric Peterson's house, but it was close enough to be able to see almost all activity in and around the house. They'd set up perimeter cameras in the overgrown cooking apple tree that was in the garden behind Eric's house, at either the end of the alleyway that ran down the side of Eric's house, and on the house next door. This gave them sight of almost every point of entry that anyone could use, bar someone tunnelling up from underground, although they had seismic sensors in the midst of their wealth of equipment that would check for just that scenario.

The bedroom and lounge windows had had a special screen fitted on the inside. This allowed full view for anyone on the inside of the house, while creating the illusion of someone living there to any passer-by. A series of cameras and projectors produced an image of curtains being drawn, television reflections, movements in front of room lights, and even a cat would come and sit at the window every so often.

Ian's phone buzzed as the late Freddie Mercury's voice started to whisper-sing the first line of the lesser known Queen hit, "I'm the Invisible Man." He glanced at the caller ID on his standard issue 5 inch screen smart-phone "Excellent, you got my text Sir." He sat upright in his chair, the automatic response of his 22 years of military discipline. It had been a balmy mid-summers night on watch, the type when many would sit out until the wee small hours in their shirt sleeves, enjoying a barbeque and a drink. He and Captain Lancaster had opened the windows on the rear of the house to try to let the trapped heat out, and any welcome cool breeze in.

"Yes, sit-rep." Their commanding officer, Colonel Gordon Kelsall's face appeared on his phone.

"Sir, it's been nice and quiet, as usual, up until a few minutes ago."

"Go on." Colonel Kelsall was intrigued by the change in events. He'd had a team of surveillance officers watching Eric's house on Steelgate Drive for the past few weeks, ever since the incident that ended in Tom's death and Eric's accident, and it had always been reported as being very quiet.

"Tom Barratt literally bumped into Eric."

"Sorry Ian, but I thought you said Tom Barratt."

"Yes Sir."

"Oh!" Gordon couldn't think of anything else to say, knowing that he and Ian had been at the exceptionally well attended funeral of Eric's best friend a couple of weeks previously.

"I know." Ian took in a deep breath. "So, can we intervene?"

"No." Gordon quickly answered. He then paused for a second. Ian watched his Commanding officer lift his head to look out of the window that looked over Morecambe bay to the distant mountains of the Lake District. "Sorry, no," Gordon's voice had softened. "Let's see what occurs."

"Sorry?" Ian was confused and glanced at Captain Lancaster, who had walked into the room after hearing the conversation start and simply shrugged his shoulders.

"Look," Gordon sighed, looking directly at the little camera on the top of his computer monitor. "I know you've got history and a connection with the boy, but we can't just burst into there without knowing what will happen."

"Sorry sir, but we'll not know what will happen if don't find out why a dead teenager has suddenly appeared at his best friend's house."

"I know, but you nearly blew your cover last time." Gordon rubbed his hand across his forehead, keeping a tension headache at bay.

"If I hadn't gone in..." Ian realised that he was clenching his teeth as the anger started to rise, and he calmed himself down. "If I hadn't gone in, then we might have lost him completely."

"I realise that, but thankfully, no-one saw you, well apart from her," he said the name with a sneer. "But it could have been worse."

"Sir, she'd turned up, had thankfully mistaken Tom for Eric, injected him with some killer disease, and was about to resolve the mistaken identity with the right target."

"Look, we don't know it was a killer disease, seeing as you've just told me he's turned up."

"Sir, unless the medical equipment and staff at the Royal Preston Hospital were mistaken, and then he's dug himself out of a sealed coffin and through 2 metres of dirt, I think we can safely say that he was dead." The anger had started to rise once more. "You were at his funeral."

"OK, but you cannot be 100% certain that this is Tom Barratt."

"And that's why I want to get in there and find out what's going on." Ian explained. "I know these boys; I think they trust me enough to let me help them."

There was silence at the other end of the call while Gordon once again looked out of his windows across Morecambe Bay to the distant fells and mountains of the Lake District. It was a nice clear morning; the tops could be seen clearly, no clouds gripping to them. He felt a desire to just get up and walk out of his office and climb one or two while he pondered this problem. He knew he was fortunate living where he did. And that freedom of having the open countryside right on his doorstep meant he had lots of time to be alone and simply think as clear as the mountain air. Everything was put into perspective when stood atop a Cumbrian mountain. The world looked so tiny, so distant, that he could focus on the single main problem in his life.

He so wanted to do that right now, but knew he didn't have that luxury.

"No, and that's my final answer."

"Sir?" Ian replied through gritted teeth.

"You're on a sit and watch recon only, no interaction." Gordon explained. "Let's not jump in like last time."

"Excuse me Sir." Ian interjected angrily. "But if I hadn't jumped in at that time, then Eric Peterson could have been abducted or worse still killed."

"True, true, but as you've just said, Tom's come back, so being killed might only been part of the process."

Ian heard the words and had to agree with them deep down, even though he wanted to get in there, as he could feel some danger was about to occur to one or both of these boys. Call it a detective's hunch, or intuition, or whatever, Ian occasionally had these feelings, and in 99 out of 100 times, he was always right.

"Look, you managed to save your cover last time, saying you saw flashes of lights and heard a bang as you were walking up to the door to bring some news for Eric from the school about his playful abduction by the young thug Armer." Gordon explained his reasoning for his decision. "It's only because of Eric's amnesia and the fact that his mother knows us that she played along with the plan, but it could have been so different."

"Sir, I had that feeling then, and I have it now."

"And I'd nearly always go with your intuition, because I've never had anyone under my command that was so good at seeing the outcome before it occurred, or at least being wary of it."

"Thank you sir, but I am right nearly every time."

"So why can't this be the one time that you're not?"

Ian sighed, because he'd been on a good winning streak for a while, and always had that tiny niggle that at some point, he would be wrong. "I know, I know."

"Right, so stay put this time, no kicking down doors, gun raised, and lets just sit and wait, you can clearly see the house, and if they leave and use the alley, you can get round to Brownside Road in a matter of seconds and follow them."

Ian smiled at the all action hero image he had in his head, wondering how it would have looked in a movie. "OK, we'll wait and see."

Thank You - Phil Cocker.

You have just read a short taster fir the next novel in The Eric Peterson series, which will be available, very soon, in all of the popular e book formats.

Bullying

Please note that the story and its characters are purely fictional, but there is the sub-plot that touches on the subject of bullying Eric and others. If that part of this novel has touched something within you, and you'd just like to know more, or who you could turn to for advice; then please don't hesitate to visit any or all of the following websites.

www.Bullying.co.uk

www.Childline.org.uk

www.NSPCC.org.uk

