Bound To A Storm
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The storm had been building for a week, but I’d only noticed it the night before when my father and I were walking home from his office. The sky was darkening even then; rain clouds rolled in over us like an army of soldiers marching to war. We could see them coming across the city, their blackness gathering strength as they approached.
There are times that you can smell storms brewing on the wind – this one wasn’t one of those, not yet anyway. But there was something about its approach that made me uneasy: a sense of danger lurking just out of sight. It was a feeling that stayed with me all through dinner and into bedtime stories, long after I should have fallen asleep.
I woke up at dawn with the same sensation still clinging to me. My room is small so there’s no way I could sleep more than two hours without being woken by someone or another knocking on the door. This morning it was my mother who came calling, her face pinched tight with worry as she peered in at me.
She didn’t say anything while I sat up rubbing my eyes and yawning, but I could tell what she wanted to ask: Had I heard any strange noises? Or seen anyone prowling around outside our house? And if I did, would I please be able to describe him to the police?
“No,” I said finally, “nothing.”
She nodded, looking relieved. Then she left quickly, closing the door behind her. When I looked back down at myself, I saw that I was covered in sweat. Not surprising really considering how hot it must have been during the night.
Even though we live in London, where summers are usually cool and breezy, it gets muggy here sometimes because we’re right next to the Thames river. On nights like these, it feels almost as if the air itself has turned thick and heavy, making everything feel heavier too.
My parents weren’t due home until well past midnight. They both work late most evenings, which means that my brother and I often end up having dinner alone. He doesn’t mind eating in front of the TV, but I prefer to sit at the table and pretend that I’m enjoying my food – even though he knows perfectly well that I don’t care much for vegetables.
Tonight, however, we were going to eat together. Our mother was cooking something special and she always likes to serve it up fresh from the oven. That meant I had to make sure I got ready quickly.
It took me longer than usual to get dressed. By the time I finished brushing my teeth and running a comb through my hair, my brother already had his shoes on and was waiting impatiently by the door. “You’ll be late!” he shouted at me. His voice sounded loud enough to wake the neighbors. “What kind of sister do you think I am?”
This was true. Normally, I wouldn’t dream of leaving my little brother waiting for me. But today I felt different: somehow restless, unsettled. Something was bothering me and I couldn’t put my finger on it. Maybe it was the storm.
For some reason, I found myself thinking about the last big one we’d had – three years ago now. It was winter and the snow hadn’t arrived yet, but the sky was grey and the wind blew cold against your skin. One night, when Dad was working late, Mum told me to go upstairs to bed early.
As soon as she was gone, I crept downstairs. From the kitchen window, we could see the lights of cars driving along the street below our flat, but nobody seemed to be awake. All the curtains were drawn and every light was switched off save for the ones in the living room. The television was on but muted, and the sound was low.
I went towards the sofa, watching the shadows cast by the flickering screen as they danced across the walls. Everything was quiet except for the noise of traffic outside. Suddenly, a man appeared on the screen – tall and thin, with a pale face and sharp features.
He was wearing a dark suit and holding a microphone in his hands as he spoke into it. “Londoners,” he said, addressing the camera directly. “As we speak, a deadly storm is approaching your homes. Its arrival will bring chaos and destruction wherever it goes.
In the space of just a few short days, it’s grown so powerful that it threatens to wipe out entire communities. Many people will die; many more will suffer unimaginable hardship. So before this storm strikes, I want to urge all of you to take steps immediately to protect yourselves.
If you haven’t already done so, stock up on food supplies and bottled water. Make sure you know exactly where the emergency shelters are in case you need them. Above all else, stay inside and keep away from windows. Do not attempt to travel unless absolutely necessary. Remember: This storm is coming. And it won’t stop until it hits its target…”
The rest of the message was drowned out by an awful screeching sound. We watched transfixed as the image froze on the screen and then began to shake violently. A horrible grinding noise filled the air and sparks flew from the corners of the set. Before long, the whole thing burst apart in a shower of fragments, sending glass flying everywhere.
After that, we were forced to watch the news reports on another channel. There wasn’t much information available and none of the reporters knew anything new. What did we learn? First, there would be no trains or buses operating tomorrow morning.
Second, the police and ambulance services were urging us to remain indoors and avoid unnecessary journeys. Third, we should expect power cuts and widespread disruption to normal life throughout the city. Fourth, the government was doing what it could to ensure that essential services such as hospitals and fire stations remained fully operational.
Fifth, although we weren’t being asked to evacuate, those who lived near the coast should consider moving inland. Finally, we were advised to check local radio bulletins for updates and follow official advice.
That was it. Nothing is more useful. After that, the only other things we heard about were rumors. Some claimed that people had seen strange creatures lurking around the streets during the night: huge, black shapes that looked like giant bats.
Others swore blind that their neighbor’s cat had been transformed overnight into a monster with glowing red eyes. Still, others insisted that a mysterious stranger had come knocking at doors in search of survivors. Nobody really knew if any of these stories were true or not, but it didn’t matter either way because everyone knew that whatever was happening was bad. Very bad.
We sat down together on the sofa to watch the evening news again. Now, instead of the TV, we listened to the radio. The presenter was reading out messages sent in by worried Londoners who wanted to tell him how they were coping with the impending disaster.
They talked about stocking up on candles and batteries, keeping warm, and staying calm. Most important of all, they reminded listeners to listen to the weather forecasts and heed the warnings issued by the authorities. Then, after the bulletin ended, came an announcement made by the Prime Minister himself.
His voice sounded strained and tired, almost as though he was trying hard to hide his fear.
“People of Britain,” he said, his words echoing through the empty house. “In just two hours’ time, the worst storm ever recorded in this country will begin to strike. Millions of lives are in danger. The death toll has already risen above five hundred. More than half of the population has lost electricity and gas supplies.
Water mains are failing across large parts of the capital. Hospitals are running dangerously low on medicines and medical equipment. Roads are blocked by fallen trees and debris caused by the high winds. Hundreds of thousands of residents are trapped in their homes without access to fresh drinking water and food supplies.
Even now, rescue teams are struggling to reach some of our most vulnerable citizens. All of this means that we must prepare ourselves for even worse devastation to come over the next few days. As I’ve always told you, Britain is strong and resilient. We can survive this catastrophe.”
There was silence in the room as he paused for breath. When he finally continued speaking, his tone was less confident. “But I’m afraid that this is going to be one of the toughest tests yet. I don’t want anyone to panic. But please do remember that you’re never alone when you turn on your television… For help is close at hand!”
He turned off the microphone and left us listening to the broadcast playing quietly in the background. It was a recording of someone singing ‘Auld Lang Syne. At first, it seemed completely random. Then I realized that this was probably the song that we’d heard earlier while watching the TV news.
And suddenly, everything made sense. This was supposed to be a New Year’s Eve party! Or, more precisely, it was meant to take place right here inside this house. That was why we hadn’t noticed its absence before.
As far as I knew, nobody else was home tonight. Dad and Mum were both away visiting relatives and my brother had gone out with friends. So I decided to go outside and see if anyone needed me. If so, I’d try to help them. Otherwise, I might find something interesting to investigate. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to look around a bit. Besides, I couldn’t stay cooped up forever. Eventually, boredom would get the better of me.
I went downstairs and opened the front door. Outside, it was dark and cold; nothing unusual for the middle of winter. Nevertheless, I shivered slightly as I stepped onto the pavement and walked toward the streetlights. In spite of myself, I felt excited. Something exciting was bound to happen soon – I could feel it in my bones.
The road was deserted except for a single car parked up ahead. A small figure stood beside it, waiting patiently until I reached her side. She wore a long coat that covered all of her body apart from her face. Her hair was tied back tightly behind her head and she kept glancing nervously over her shoulder as though expecting someone to jump out at her any moment.
“Hi,” I said cheerfully as I approached. “What’s your name?”
She smiled shyly. “It’s nice to meet you,” she replied. “My name is Sarah.”
“Nice to meet you too,” I said. “And what are you doing out here? Is there anything wrong?”
“No, no. Not really,” she answered quickly. “Well, maybe a little.”
“Why?”
“Because…”
“Come on then,” I urged. “Spill the beans.”
“Okay,” she sighed. “You know how Christmas used to be such a magical time for me when I was younger? Remember those special moments when the whole family got together and celebrated the festive season like only we could?”
“Of course I do,” I assured her.
“Those memories have been haunting me ever since my parents died a year ago. But last night, something happened to make things even worse,” she confided sadly. “For a brief moment, I thought that all hope was lost. Then I remembered you… and everything changed again.
Because now I think that I finally understand why they loved Christmas so much. Now I realize that it wasn’t just about spending time with each other or getting presents or eating turkey and pudding. No, none of that mattered. What really made Christmas special was the fact that it gave us all an excuse to celebrate life itself…
To appreciate the joys and blessings that God has given us every day of the year.”
Sarah stopped talking and looked down at her hands as though searching for words to continue.
“That’s very deep,” I commented gently. “Very wise indeed.”
Her eyes met mine once more. “Thank you,” she whispered softly. “You’ve helped me more than you’ll ever know. Thank you.”
I nodded slowly and tried not to blush. “Anytime,” I said simply.
Then, without warning, she pulled me into a hug and kissed me on the cheek. There was nothing romantic about it – it was purely platonic. Yet somehow, I found it strangely erotic nonetheless. After all, Sarah was a girl!
And although she was dressed in masculine clothes, she still possessed feminine curves and soft skin. Moreover, this was the most affectionate gesture I’d experienced from another human being in years.
Still holding me tight against her chest, Sarah led me towards the car. We climbed inside and sat next to each other in silence. The radio played quietly by our sides, but neither of us took any notice of it. Instead, we gazed lovingly at one another through the window as the minutes passed by.
Eventually, I broke the spell. “So, where are we going?” I asked curiously.
“To show you something amazing!” Sarah replied happily. “Just wait and see.”
We drove for several minutes before reaching a large building set back within a grove of trees. As we drew closer, I saw that it was a church. I recognized it immediately because it had appeared on the TV news last night. Apparently, it was called St Mary Magdalene’s Church and it was located somewhere in the center of town. It also seemed to be closed at present.
“This is it,” Sarah announced proudly. “See?”
I glanced at her in surprise. “You mean… you’re taking me here?”
“Yes,” she confirmed. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
“Yeah, it’s great,” I agreed. “But why did you pick this place?”
“Oh, come on,” she laughed. “Don’t play dumb with me now! You must have noticed that I’m wearing a dress today.”
I blushed furiously. “Err… yeah,” I stammered. “Sorry. I didn’t really get a good look at you earlier.”
“Good boy,” she giggled. “Anyway, this is where I go to worship whenever I can find the time.”
“Is that right?” I enquired hesitantly.
“Yep,” she nodded. “Although sometimes, I don’t always manage to fit it in between my work commitments. Still, that’s okay – I love Jesus enough to forgive me anyway.”
The car slowed to a halt outside the main entrance. Sarah turned off the engine and leaned across to open my door. Then, after offering me her hand, she helped me climb out into the cold air. She followed behind me as we crossed the road and walked up the path towards the front doors.
Once inside, we went straight to the nave. There were plenty of people around, yet nobody paid any attention to us. They were either busy chatting amongst themselves or reading books from the bookstall in the corner. At first glance, it looked like there was no one else sitting near us.
However, as soon as Sarah moved to take her seat beside me, two men quickly rose to their feet and hurriedly left the room. One of them even apologized to me for his rudeness.
“It’s fine,” I told him gratefully. “They shouldn’t have done that.”
“No problem,” he replied with a smile. “Have a nice time, sir.”
As the service began, Sarah rested her head on my shoulder and squeezed my arm tightly. Her presence felt so comforting and warm. But then again, perhaps that was just due to her closeness.
After an hour or so, the sermon came to its end and the congregation filed out into the foyer. There, they greeted one another and exchanged small talk while waiting for the organist to finish playing. Once everyone had settled down, Father Paul stood up from his desk and made his way toward the lectern.
He cleared his throat loudly and waited until everyone had quietened down before speaking.
“Good morning, everybody,” he said cheerily. “And welcome to Sunday School!”
There was a ripple of laughter from the crowd and many heads turned toward the sound. A few seconds later, a young man stepped forward from the rear of the room and approached the podium. He wore a white shirt beneath his black vestments, which was decorated with the symbol of the cross upon his breast.
His face was rounder than normal and bore a strong resemblance to that of the priest who’d conducted the service earlier. Nevertheless, there was little doubt about whose voice belonged to whom.
“Thank you all very much for coming along today,” Father Paul continued once the applause had died away. “Now, let me introduce myself properly if I may. My name is Father Paul, although some of you might know me better under my stage name: Reverend Lovejoy.”
He paused dramatically for effect. And when none of the congregation reacted, he added: “I’m sure you’ll agree that it’s quite apt, don’t you think? After all, what could be more important than spreading God’s message of love throughout the world?”
A few people chuckled nervously but most remained silent. Eventually, the reverend raised his hands high above his head and gave a loud shout. “Let’s sing our favorite hymn together, shall we?”
Father Paul’s eyes twinkled mischievously as he surveyed the audience. The momentary silence was broken by a cacophony of voices as everyone sang the opening lines of ‘Amazing Grace. It wasn’t long before the entire church joined in enthusiastically.
Even Sarah seemed to enjoy herself as she pressed closer against me. As we belted out the final chorus, I couldn’t help but wonder how close we would eventually become.
When the song finished, Father Paul took a deep breath and smiled brightly at the congregation. “That’s lovely!” he exclaimed. “So please join me in thanking God for the joys we’ve been given this week.”
Everyone applauded again, albeit somewhat reluctantly. When the noise finally subsided, Father Paul resumed his place behind the lectern.
“Well then,” he announced. “We’re going to begin a new series of lessons today. Our theme will be the importance of forgiveness and reconciliation, so make sure your pencils are sharpened and ready for action.”
Again, there was a ripple of laughter from the congregation. Many people had clearly heard of the popular TV show called ‘Revenge Of The Electric Car’ and assumed that this was merely another episode. But it didn’t matter because the reverend ignored the skepticism and carried on regardless.
“Forgiveness,” he explained slowly. “Is something that should never be taken lightly. For too long now, mankind has treated it as a cheap commodity available for sale to anyone prepared to pay the right price.
Yet true forgiveness can only ever come from someone who truly understands the pain they’ve caused others. That’s why we must strive to understand the feelings of those who wronged us before attempting to apologize for our own mistakes. Otherwise, we risk making light of their suffering and causing unnecessary hurt.”
The congregation nodded sagely as Father Paul spoke. But despite his words, I still found myself unable to forgive him. Not for what he’d done to Sarah, nor for what he had tried to do to me. No, I simply couldn’t bring myself to trust him completely.
Yet Father Paul seemed oblivious to my thoughts. Instead, he addressed himself directly to me and winked knowingly. “If you want to learn more about forgiveness,” he said softly, “then you need look no further than yourself.”
***
It was late afternoon by the time I arrived back home, leaving Sarah alone in her apartment. She hadn’t mentioned anything about meeting up with either of them after church, so I guessed that she was probably planning to spend the rest of the day studying instead. Which meant that I had plenty of time to get changed and go out to meet John at the library.
Although I had already visited several times since moving here, I’d always gone straight inside without looking around properly first. This time though, I decided to take a detour and see what lay beyond the main entrance.
To my surprise, I discovered that the building actually extended far into the distance, forming an extensive network of corridors and rooms that stretched out across the whole city block. It reminded me of the old underground railway stations that were built during the Victorian era, except that these tunnels went way deeper below ground level.
As I made my way down one of the narrower passages, I noticed a number of small doors set flush against the walls. Some of them were open while others were locked shut. Although I couldn’t hear any sounds emanating from within, I knew that each of these chambers contained its own unique collection of books and manuscripts.
At last, I came to a junction where two narrow paths intersected. One led towards the front door while the other curved off into the darkness. I hesitated for a moment, unsure which direction to follow. Then, just as I turned to leave, I spotted a large wooden sign hanging on the wall beside the exit. It read:
THE LIBRARY OF THE FOUNDER AND CHIEF EXECUTIVE OFFICERS
OF THE WORLDWIDE SOCIALIST REVOLUTION!
I stared at the sign for a long moment before turning away and continuing along the corridor to the front door. Once outside, I walked over to the nearest lamppost and examined the plaque beneath it.
There was nothing written on it apart from the name of the street and a date stamp indicating when the lamp had been installed. A short distance away stood a similar post with a different type of inscription. Unlike the previous one, however, this one bore the names of both men who had once lived there.
And although I could have sworn that the dates were correct, I couldn’t help but notice how much older they looked compared to the ones on the first post.
A little further along the road, another lamppost appeared to mark the spot where a woman had died many years earlier. She had apparently fallen from a high window onto a pile of rubbish below.
According to the newspaper report, her injuries had proved fatal, even though she’d miraculously survived the fall itself. At least, that was what they claimed. As for the reason why she might have jumped out of the window in the first place, nobody seemed willing or able to say.
And yet another lamppost stood close by, this time marking the exact location where a young boy had disappeared under mysterious circumstances. His body had never been recovered, so the police suspected foul play and launched an investigation into his disappearance.
However, despite numerous interviews with witnesses, none of them were able to shed any additional light on the case. They all insisted that they had seen no suspicious activity anywhere near the area at the time of his death.
Finally, I reached the end of the row of posts and stopped to think. The fact that three people had met such tragic ends so close together suggested that they may well have been connected somehow. Sooner or later, I supposed, one of them would surely turn up dead again. Perhaps then the authorities would finally start taking their disappearances seriously?
But if that happened, I wondered idly, how long would it be before the entire neighborhood was sealed off like a crime scene? After all, the residents of this part of town weren’t exactly known for being overly friendly towards outsiders. Even now, I sensed hostility whenever I passed through the streets leading up to the library.
Then again, perhaps the real problem wasn’t so much fear as indifference. After all, most of those living nearby didn’t care whether someone else got killed tomorrow or not. Why should they feel compelled to do something about it when nobody cared enough to try and stop it from happening in the first place?
After staring up at the darkening sky for some time, I eventually headed back toward the library. But rather than going inside, I decided to walk past it and head down a side alleyway instead. From there, I took a left and followed a path that cut between two rows of tall trees.
Soon afterward, I found myself standing alongside a stream that flowed steadily down a steep embankment. Here and there, I saw small clusters of bright red berries scattered amongst the grasses growing along the banks.
For a while, I watched the water flow by until I realized that I was slowly getting soaked from above. Looking up, I noticed that the branches of the surrounding trees were beginning to sway gently in response to the wind. Then, without warning, a gust of cold air suddenly swept across the ground.
For a few seconds, everything went completely still. All around me leaves rustled loudly as they fluttered to the earth in slow motion. Before long, however, the breeze began to die down once more, leaving behind only a faint trace of dampness on my skin.
Eventually, I started walking again and soon came upon a group of houses built right next to the stream. Each building consisted of several interconnected rooms arranged in a circular pattern. Some of these were occupied while others remained empty.
In places, I glimpsed open windows where curtains swayed in the breeze. Other times, I heard voices coming from beyond closed doors. Yet despite the sounds drifting out into the night, I felt strangely alone.
It’s strange, I thought to myself after gazing at the house closest to the stream. It almost feels like it belongs here…
As I continued to wander aimlessly through the silent streets, my thoughts drifted back to that same day when I first arrived in this city. Back then, I’d been too busy trying to find somewhere to stay to pay much attention to anything else.
And yet, now that I knew better, I couldn’t help wondering whether I might have made a mistake. After all, hadn’t the old man told me that he wanted to show me something special? Something important enough to bring him all the way out here from Berlin?
The End