02: One month later
Snowflakes fell like silent music around her, each one an individual note in the heavy sheets that meandered to the ground in no particular hurry, like divine clumps of dandruff dusting the shoulders of the world.
Hak was perched on a sturdy branch of an Oak tree, twelve feet above the cemetery. She arrived early to avoid being seen by anyone, and wanted the best seat in the house. This was to be the happiest day of her life and she was not prepared to miss one second of the events as they unfolded.
Her fingers and toes were numb with cold and she could barely feel her legs. Shivers like thousands of crazy spiders scuttled down her back, as she wrapped her arms together to preserve warmth, while trying to keep her balance. It was a long way down to fall.
Simple City was coated with a heavy layer of freshly fallen snow, the glazed valley looked as if some hygiene crazed giant had decided to bleach the world as it sprawled away beneath her, lazy drifts of snow slumped over the edges of hedges and tombstones.
She watched a solitary priest struggle to open the heavy Church doors, his reverence faltered on the top step as he skidded on black ice and fell. He sighed deeply, looking up to his God for a reason for this unexpected punishment, while brushing down his bible, the only thing to break his fall. He gathered his thoughts together, resurrecting himself back to his feet, and the first of his guests arrived in a black Rolls Royce.
When parked, a chauffeur marched to the rear left passenger door, opened it, and stood to attention with a black umbrella. A moment later one of the richest men in all of democracy stepped out of the car, business tycoon Arthur McGrew.
Hak was surprised he could set foot on holy ground without shrivelling to dust. He made his way to the church, sheltered from the falling snow, and greeted the priest without shaking his hand or meeting his eye, entering without delay.
The Gods of economy had exalted the McGrew family into the ranks of the super-rich; Arthur and his twin Andrew were millionaires before they took their first breath on Terra Firma. Now, aged 62, Arthur was the new CEO of the McGrew Corporation; a company whose imperial grand strategy for world domination made the occupants of Olympus look like unmotivated under-achievers.
More cars arrived. Hak watched the priest solemnly, professionally and with all the grace he could muster, console Simple City’s rich and aimless as they gathered to pay their last phoney respects to Andrew McGrew; a man who made their lives a misery. Most of them only showed up to ensure he was dead, Hak was sure of it.
She knew them all by name or reputation. As the congregation began to dwindle out of sight leaving only the desperate cigarette smokers behind, the moment Hak had been waiting for all of her adult life unfolded before her eyes like a Disneyland dream.
The enormous hearse was void of flowers. Andrew McGrew detested wildlife. The casket was simple and took twelve men to carry; Andrew was no stranger to free lunches. A tear came to her eye. It warmed her like a summer love to see her father being steadily lifted out of the car, and carried to his end.
However, her happy trance was broken when a Racing Green Lotus speeded into the churchyard and skidded to a dramatic halt, inches short of killing two choirboys. Music blared out at 400bpm as the driver opened the door, raging into his hands-free set. “If I have to come and find you, you better find somewhere safe to hide, do you hear me pal? Do you?”
His name was Vernon McGrew, sole heir to Andrew McGrew’s entire private fortunes. He was soon to become one of Simple City’s wealthiest 21-year olds. Not bad for a boy who never took a GCSE. It was questionable whether he could spell GCSE. “I swear this will not be the only fucking funeral I will be going to today of you don’t listen to me clearly and do exactly as I say. Exactly as I say!”
Vernon was unstuck; if indeed he had ever been stuck to anything apart from the spoils of luxury. He had never worked a day in his life, and all going to plan, would never have to. She hated her brother as much as she feared him; he made her skin crawl.
The priest lowered his head as the final procession of Andrew McGrew passed. Vernon, oblivious to any form of respect, continued burning the ear of whomever he was talking to. “There is a fine line between stupid and dead you know pal! And if you keep on like this that line won’t be there for you anymore! I am going to make this as clear as possible for you; find her, or DIE!” He hung up, spat, straightened his tie and strutted into the church.
The priest glanced up at the tree, he was the only one who had spotted Hak there, but he did not press the matter. Satisfied no one else would be attending the service, he closed the doors behind him.
Hak sighed an enormous sigh of relief. The bastard was dead – at last.
***
“Are you Henrietta McGrew?”
Hak heard the question come directly from her right but did not believe it could be true. For it to be true someone would have to be sitting next to her and that would be impossible.
“Are you Henrietta McGrew?” The voice clearly asked once more.
She did not want to over react, so she turned her head slowly.
“You are Henrietta McGrew, aren’t you?” A peeved man in a red suit, with grey eyes and a dusty beard stared at her. He appeared no more substantial than an echo.
She could not guess at his age, if she let her imagination run its course she would have probably concluded that he had clocked up 3000 years at least. He seemed to be made of crumbling cobwebs and his teeth, what few he had, were like rotten yellow milestones arranged sporadically in the black earth of his gums. He was like a living corpse, a living corpse that suffered badly with halitosis.
Her jaw dropped. “Who the hell are you?
The ghostly man sighed deeply, despondent and tired of his days. “That is a question I have often asked myself, a question so few have the actual answer to. Are you Henrietta McGrew or aren’t you?”
“The name is Sinclair. Hak Sinclair. Get out of my tree!”
“It’s not your tree, Miss Sinclair, please do not make this any more difficult than it absolutely needs to be.” He said fishing inside his doublet jacket until he found a badge, which he then presented to Hak with all the authority of a slightly preoccupied sloth.
Engraved upon a corroded disk, almost unreadable under the tarnish, Hak made out the word HARGREAVES: and under it scribbled in italics: Consort of Destiny.
“Hang on a minute…” Her head felt like a car wreck.
“Hang on a minute?” He asked bemused. “How, precisely, does one hang on a minute?”
“It’s a figure of speech fool!”
“Trust the human race to come up with a figure of speech that contradicts the creators intention for time so prolifically…you lot really do not know whether you are coming or going do you? The past is dead, but you all live there. The future does not exist, but you can’t wait to get there – the only gift time has is the present and you want to hang things on it. I really have no idea why destiny still deals with you retards!”
“Is there something I can do for you, Hargreave?”
“My name is pronounced Our Eve,” He corrected her in a tone sad enough to depress a tooth fairy. “Not that it matters. And no, there is absolutely nothing you could possibly do for me. I am a Consort of Destiny. I am here for you.”
“Is this some kind of joke? It’s not funny – your timing sucks!”
“Miss Sinclair,” Hargreaves swelled, deeply offended. “I am a Consort of Destiny and my timing is always in accordance with Natural Law. This is a very serious moment in your life, as I do not usually make house calls in this neighbourhood. You are a blessed being; a Chosen One, to be granted personal contact with a being of my significance has reduced many to tears. No joke. We have business!”
Hak watched his every move in absolute disbelief, hoping any moment she was going to snap out of the worst hallucination she had ever suffered. She tried rubbing her eyes but it only made him clearer.
He groped deeply into the satchel swung across his frail shoulder, pulling out from within a brown tattered envelope. He struggled to read the handwriting etched upon it. “Henrietta, Arcadia, K…what is this urban scrawl?”
She almost exploded. “How do you know my full name? I changed my name twelve years ago! No one outside of my family knows me by that name!”
Hargreaves sighed. “You really know how to roll out that attitude of gratitude don’t you? Never mind the significance of the coincidence, or the overriding feeling that something greater than you is steering your destiny…oh no. Your just like the rest of your race, wrapped up in how’s! Please read this. Aloud.”
Hargreaves turned the envelope over in his hand and presented it to Hak so she could read it only. He made it perfectly clear she was not allowed to touch. She read the scrawled handwriting on the envelope with absolute ease: it was her own. She read again to make certain.
“That’s my handwriting.”
“Who else do you think writes your destiny?”
“This is not making any sense.” Her mind twisted in the facts.
“It never makes sense, that is the point. Do you wish to receive this message?”
“What?”
“Do you want the envelope?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Progress.” Still holding the envelope he dug deeper into his satchel, to produce a clipboard and pen. “Sign here, here and there. If you can.”
Hak grabbed the pen and did as she was instructed. After inspecting the signatures matched the writing on the letter, he handed over the envelope.
“What do I do now?”
“Use some of that free will you people get so high on! Have a nice life!”
She swore she never blinked, but he was gone. He just disappeared. There was not a sign of him in the tree, in the streets below, or for the miles she could see around her.
“Are you okay Miss?” The old priest looked up at her from the foot of the tree. “You look a little…disturbed?” He smiled.
Hak stuttered. “Erm? I think so…I think I am alright,” still checking over her shoulder.
“Whom were you talking to?”
The priest was a round fellow with a cheery face crowned with a thick mop of dark grey hair. He suited his humble dog collar.
“No one. Did you see someone? Just now, did you see someone running away?”
“No Miss. Just you. Are you a relative of the passed over?”
She was distracted, a flicker of nervous dismantlement reverberating in her over-used synapse. “Is the service over?”
“The service ended three hours ago. It was the only one we have today.”
“THREE HOURS!” Hak quickly checked her watch. It was 3pm. Three hours had been erased from her life like pencil from paper. It could not be. She checked her watch again. It could not be.
She expertly descended the tree, the priest trying to help her in her last slippery steps down to Earth. “Miss, you seem upset, would you like to come for a cup of tea?”
“Thank you, no, I’m so fucking late!”
She ran out of the churchyard and into the street. Her mobile phone rang. “WHAT!” she answered, still running.
“Where the hell have you been? I’ve left twenty messages on your phone! You have to get here, NOW! They found another body.”
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