Hope & Fury (Heroes & Demons Book 2)
Epilogue

Epilogue

The city was like a war zone and for all intents and purposes, it had been. The focus of an epic battle which would not be told about. Rick knew before he’d even come up with the idea to come out to the world – that somehow it would be spun. Somehow the government forces and the political powers which people like Ruth and organisations like MOO could play like a fiddle would slowly but surely convince people that everything they had seen, the magic they had witnessed was not real. A magician’s trick hanging on a darkened stage.

That the events which had happened in York were real – something already being referred to on the news as the Event was being attributed to no-one. Not a whisper was spoken of foreign governments, of war or conflict. The Prime Minister had scurried past them, losing a little bit of mystique he’d gained down in the dark when ripping the seat of his pants on his way past them. Just a man then, a normal human man.

He sat quietly on the steps of the Minster, a silent figure in the din of activity going on around. He felt the weight of the bruises, the cuts and the scars on his body. The exhausted feeling of elation, of a win. He hadn’t quite allowed the shock of it to wear off, the adrenaline to completely disappear. He supposed when that happened he would collapse and fall into a dreamless sleep for more hours than was strictly necessary. He intended to do that, eventually – but not straight away.

He was content to be alone and watch the world go by.

Ambulances screeched into the square, more now that word had spread of the lack of radiation. People hidden amongst the rubble began to climb their way out of it, to come out from makeshift shelters where they had hidden from the apocalypse. The end of the world which came not with a bang but a whimper. A horseman coming with a sword, rusted and unusable.

The Prime Minister was whisked away, vehicles from their new friends arrived and began to order people about – including the paramedics in an almost comical way. Beginning the process that would one day be called conspiracy and for now, would be called clean up. Drake was somewhere amongst the crowd, issuing orders.

He saw as he sat there the threads of the battle going forward. The scars which were now wounds that would become just another part of their beings. Every one of them was changed in some fundamental way by the events of that night.

Louise and Andrew were finally able to speak, to discuss everything that had happened. They would begin that night as it slowly became later and later, talking through their exhaustion outside of the tearoom. Eventually, the little old lady who had huddled the previous twenty-four hours in her pantry offered them a seat, opening for business a mite early becoming quite quickly the poster-woman for tea and biscuits for the rescue efforts. They began their talk there, talks which would continue for a much longer time and in multiple ways.

He knew they were over, that the expiry date had been put on their relationship. It had been there from the beginning to anyone observing from the outside. They had fallen in love amid grief, forged a bond which would remain forever – but which would never sustain in the long-term. They made decisions without each other, as though struggling to break the link they thought un-severable between them. She had risked her life, the one thing he found most precious and he had ignored her independence – a thing she could not live without.

It was sad but life would go on.

Angel would speak to him later of what the man in black said, the flying demon who spoke words of poison. He supposed that the words themselves might be true – after all, who was to know what the New Order had gotten up when they were Shadow. He was shaken, troubled, unsure of exactly who or what he was – or who or what he would become.

Rick was quick to remind him he was simply describing the by-product of being alive. All of us in one way another are disturbed by the mad scramble to determine who we are and who we will become. It was simply a case of identity, a tale as old as time. He would replace his self of that Rick had no doubt and he also knew a simple truth – he could not and would not ever become the thing he feared the most. Pardon the expression but he would die before that happened.

In Sandy, he found renewed hope. He’d been a dick in contacting her father behind her back, he knew that. He also knew initially she would reject him but that the simple force of family will bring people together. It was a long road ahead as they hesitatingly reunited once more. The cut on his head had been tended to, the fireman they’d left him with before catching up to Rick and Andrew in the bunker had done their job well. He would have a cracking headache and Jackie would undoubtedly slap him senseless for running off and frightening her like that – but he would live. And so would Sandy.

Only now she would live with diminished anger. As they forged forward with a new relationship she would replace that she didn’t have to be pissed off all the time. That there was something fundamentally good inside her from which she could draw strength. It would not change the essential core of her being – after all someone needed to have his back in the bar fights – but it would make her happier.

He knew the changes were cementing, were setting in when she agreed to accompany him two days later down to the south of Spain. Figuring she was coming along to simply provide a comforting hand of friendship, he agreed. Of course, she did take a slight detour to a little marina, at which was docked an old fishing boat and asked a Spaniard she’d taken a shine to if she could buy him a drink. Just to thank him for his help, none of that funny business. Of course.

It was about bloody time, he was half-worried she was becoming the world’s angriest nun.

Ruth had been the hardest loss to take. She had been eventually rescued from the rubble of the pub, although had refused to let go of Mary’s hand until she too could come with her. They knew it was a pointless task, she was gone – but they relented and retrieved them both at the same time.

The loss was the slowest one they had. She did not die, she did not slip into a coma. After some time she simply receded into herself, as if the crushing weight of all loss came on her bit by bit until she broke. He knew of her leaving by the hand-written note on the desk in his room and realised it would be a long time before they would see each other again.

They had won the war that night, but as the night turned into morning and Rick sat on the battle-scarred streets he realised the cost had been high. Maybe too high.

Only time would tell.

* * *

On the morning of the second day, the man awoke to replace someone new in his room – someone he didn’t recognise at all. It was made all the stranger by the sensation of being pulled from a dream – the first he’d had. He could not remember the visual, if there had been any, only the sensation that he was being pulled towards something – drawn from his chest towards a siren call. Then it was gone and he awoke into sunlight already too intrusive into the room and to a strange man sat in the chair in the corner.

The man did not look like any of the doctors. He was paler skinned for a start with a beard that was less than a bush yet more than stubble, short brown hair that looked like the rustled tussle of a traveller. He sat forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands locked looking directly at him. The warm brown eyes were filled with an unusual look, something he couldn’t quite describe.

“Hi,” the man said. His accent was again different to all those he’d come across. English, vaguely northern – although those words came to his mind they meant nothing to him yet. It just felt right.

“Who are you?” he asked, sitting up fully on the bed and looking towards his intruder. He knew the words came out rude but he didn’t care – the man had after all been watching him sleep. Still, that look intrigued him to ask further, “Do you know me?”

The man smiled knowingly, but shrugged and answered: “Do you recognise me?”

He took it all in, the man before him. The man in blue jeans and a dark hoodie in what he’d gathered by now was southern Spain. He fought to remember something, anything, but instead was faced only with a simple truth.

“Another Doctor?” he asked.

“Fancy going for a walk? I brought some human clothes because hospital gowns were made by a vengeful fairy. What do you say?”

The man regarded him a moment longer to determine he was truly sincere, then accepted the clothes he was offered. The doctor gave him privacy to change and waited patiently outside his hospital room door until he was ready. It took him longer than he’d have liked, his shoulder throbbing by the time he’d slipped his arm into the sleeve; the wound his only clue to his past.

The new material of a simple t-shirt and pants felt good. Something new, something different. He’d roamed the grounds of the hospital before but this felt better. As if now he was doing it as a real person rather than a ghost in a hospital gown. The doctor led him through the day room where he saw the majority of other patients weren’t up yet; and to the large balcony which provided them with fresh air.

This morning it was warm already, the sun high in the sky and beating down on the both of them despite the relative shade of an awning. The doctor walked through the dry heat and leant against the stone railing, looking out across the city and the landscape that he, the man, didn’t recognise. It was as alien to him as anything else but had an urban beauty he’d come to appreciate over the previous couple of days.

They stood for a moment in the sunshine, hearing the sounds of the birds intermingle with the occasional shout from market stallers heading up to the main street. The breeze was soft but it was there, playing across their faces like ripples in a pond.

“Doctor…” he began.

“I’m one of the psychiatrists,” the doctor explained, “I’d only come down to visit a friend but with my specialism and the fact you’re speaking both English and Spanish, they thought we might benefit from a chat. I believe you’ve got amnesia, how very Days of Our Lives.”

“I can’t remember anything,” the man admitted, “Not before I got here.”

“Yup, that’s amnesia,” the doctor grinned. It was an effortless warm grin, one which the man found himself drawn to. He smiled back. “Look, I could spend the next few hours going on about the mysteries of the brain but, frankly, I’d rather be in a pub drinking. So I’m going to sum it up like this – don’t try too hard to remember.”

“What do you mean?” the man was stumped, he was like no doctor he’d ever come across before (albeit in his limited experience of two days – but even given that he still felt unusual).

“Like I said mind’s a funny thing,” the doctor continued, “It happens sometimes that some people seem to forget only for a blip, and for other people, it’s the rest of their lives a blank.” He looked out at the landscape, into the day, “Perhaps the latter are the lucky ones. You get a rare opportunity for a blank slate, to start again. To be the person you want to be without the burden of the past.” He looked back to him, smiling once more only now tinged with sadness, “I think you’ll make a good one.”

The doctor went to walk past him, the man looked after him, mesmerised.

“Goodbye Doctor…” he fished for the name. He got a smile in reply,

“Goodbye.”

* * *

“Stop squirming otherwise I’ll bloody strangle you.”

Drake fought to get the tie onto the idiotic doctor man-child she was currently having to deal with. Of all of the events of the past week, having to help this man dress himself for a press conference was not one of her favourites. Dr Carter grinned at her.

“You know your shoulder’s healed pretty quickly,” he pointed out, “Your boss do that for you?”

“I thought she was a witch, not a faith healer?” Drake smirked.

“Either way, give her my love.”

“You put us through anything like the shit you pulled in York again and you’ll be able to give her your love personally,” she snapped at him, pulling down and finishing the construction. She stepped back to admire her handiwork. Dr Rick Carter, now world-famous for reasons that gave her a headache to think about, was in a suit. A pretty snazzy suit and with a tie he’d picked out but which had bitched the whole way over about having to wear.

They stood in a private dining room behind closed doors at the Midland Hotel. Outside the closed doors, in the lobby itself, there was a cadre of press from practically every newspaper in known existence. From around the world. They would be waiting, ready to hear the story come from his lips.

All lies.

The events of York were real – certainly the EMP pulse. The viral video masqueraded as a live stream was a pre-recorded hoax. A publicity stunt for an upcoming movie project he was an investor in. It sounded stupidly simple and surprisingly plausible. Ruth’s worm had on the orders of Marcus Dixon, gone to work on social media, blocking videos and changing the narrative of the truth so that it would be suppressed and fall from memory. MOO was already well through the interviews and debriefs with the witnesses – a black ops pot paying for the hush money to keep some of them quiet. Perhaps a threat where not, who knew? This must have been the closest the Government had ever had to work with their little known secret.

The fact that his reputation would be trashed, along with that of his friend Mr Merrick, were just the final casualties of their little war.

“People forget,” she assured him, as though reading his thoughts through the expression on his face. She placed an uncharacteristic gentle hand on his shoulder, “It takes time and in this day and age hangs around longer online than it ever should but they will forget. Besides, I’m fairly certain most of the academic community never liked you in the first place and I believe Mr Merrick has friends in high places. You will be fine.”

“You misunderstand, I don’t care about my reputation, I never have,” he responded, unremarkably honest, “What I care about is the idea that we only managed to get through by relying on truth. By bringing it out into the light.”

“Truth is a lofty goal when the consequences aren’t yours alone to bear,” she answered, “The world is not ready to know some things – these things in particular. Besides, you’ve not told your friends everything about your time with us, have you? Is that not for their own good?”

“That feels like a rationalisation.”

“Of course it is, the true gift God gave mankind.”

She smiled, straightened his tie and turned towards the double doors. He did likewise, steeled himself and was the first one through.

The lobby was a din of noise, a great mass of people. Behind them Merrick stood, arms folded and waiting for the storm to begin. There were flashes of light, bulbs glowering from every direction, microphones – it was practically everything like he saw in the movies. A mass of noise and continuous light.

“Bugger me, will you stop the flashing?” he reflexively asked, realising it was spoken into the microphones and echoing around the lobby. “Jeez.”

He realised how loud they made everything and after blinking several times to resume normal vision finally looked around at them. They stood there eagerly waiting, he could feel Drake’s tension next to him.

“My name is Dr Rick Carter,” he began, “and firstly I want to say how sorry I am for the losses we suffered in York. It was a terrible Event, a horrible tragedy and no one should ever make light of what happened. With that in mind, I’d like to speak to you today about what happened, to give you the truth.”

Drake’s shoulders had visibly relaxed by that point, the speech she’d had him rehearse over and over again was going perfectly. Until she began to realise he had stopped, he paused for far longer than he should. It was becoming a true hesitation, echoing somehow louder than the previous din. He leant down into the nearest microphone and spoke the four little words in his heart.

“I am Iron Man.”

They stared at him blankly.

“Oh, shit, right – wrong franchise. What I really wanted to say is…”

“It is all true.”