Nightmare

86

‘Mr Nightingale?’ A woman’s voice. A voice that Nightingale recognised but couldn’t place. ‘Mr Nightingale? It’s me.’

There was no remembering because Nightingale had no memory. There was nothing to remember because everything was. Or is. He was in the Nowhen, which meant there was no past and no present so there was nothing to remember. But he knew who it was. Alice Steadman.

‘Are you there, Mr Nightingale?’

‘I’m here. But I don’t know where here is.’

‘Are you okay?’

‘I don’t know. How long have I been here?’

‘No time at all, really,’ said Mrs Steadman.

‘It feels like for ever.’

‘It is. In the Nowhen everything is for ever.’

‘What’s happening to me?’

‘Nothing. Nothing can happen in the Nowhen.’

‘I don’t understand any of this. Am I dead?’

‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

‘What?’

Reality, or what passed for reality in the Nowhen, flickered. Nightingale was sitting at a table and Mrs Steadman sat across from him, holding a teapot.

‘Would you like some tea?’ She was dressed in black: a glossy silk shirt over black knitted tights and a string of black pearls around her neck. She smiled at him and nodded like a pecking bird. ‘It’s still hot. The tea.’

‘Thank you,’ said Nightingale. He looked around. They were in the room behind her shop in Camden. Except he knew that was impossible.

‘This isn’t real, is it?’ he said.

Mrs Steadman smiled benignly. ‘Is anything real?’ she said.

‘Where am I? Where is this place?’

‘You’re asking me to describe something that can’t be described,’ she said. ‘You don’t have the terms of reference.’

‘But I’m dead?’

‘There is no dead, Mr Nightingale. When you hit the ground, you died. Then. But you are still alive before you fell.’

‘I didn’t fall. I jumped.’

She smiled. ‘That’s right. You jumped.’

‘And now I’m — what? A ghost?’

‘No. You’re not a ghost.’

‘I’m not really here, am I?’

Mrs Steadman looked around the room. ‘Here? No, you’re not here. But I am. I just thought this might be easier for you.’

‘What’s happening, Mrs Steadman?’

‘What’s happening? Well, your future is being discussed. Of course in the Nowhen there is no future as there is no past and no present, so the choice is either to leave you where you are or to come to a mutually acceptable decision. You see, you’re an anomaly, Mr Nightingale, and the universe really doesn’t like anomalies.’

‘How am I an anomaly?’

‘Because you sold your soul, Mr Nightingale. Even though I warned you about getting involved with the Darkness, you went and sold your soul.’ She wagged an admonishing finger at him. ‘You should have listened to me.’

‘Why are you talking to me? Who sent you?’

‘Someone has to explain to you what’s happening, and it was felt that any explanation was better coming from someone you know. And hopefully someone you can trust.’

‘And who decides what happens to me?’

‘Negotiations are taking place,’ she said.

‘Between who?’

‘Between those who want you to burn in Hell for eternity, and those who think you deserve a second chance.’

‘And is that possible? A second chance?’

She smiled and nodded. ‘It has happened before, yes.’

‘And when will I know?’

Mrs Steadman shrugged. ‘You’ll know when I know,’ she said.

Reality, or what passed for reality in the Nowhen, flickered again.

Nightingale was alone.

Time passed.

Or didn’t.

He had no way of telling.