Echoes: Entanglement Book 1 by Phil Oddy

Author:Phil Oddy [Oddy, Phil]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-01-30T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 12

Now I was somewhere else, shrouded in a thin mist. I could see for about ten metres and beyond that, there was blackness.

What was I going to do with this information? Was it information? It was a theory. Several working theories.

Maybe I was wrong about all of this. Second guessing myself into abandoning everything as a bad job would have been just as typically, authentically me.

I’d lost all my Echoes, so I didn’t have many alternatives here. Was that what I was doing? Was I trying to make it OK that everything had gone wrong, and I was going to have to start again with nothing?

Did I have to start again with nothing? Was there a way I could take a new Echo back with me, something that would lay out my options, allow me to consider everything on a new day, with a new start?

With my hands tied, I couldn't write anything. I couldn’t keep anything on me. I didn’t even think that this overall had pockets. What would I take back with me? My mind? Could I implant something, bury something deep in my subconscious? Like a self hypnosis, maybe some kind of suggestion.

Wait.

I sensed someone was standing beside me, and I turned. It was only then that I realised that I, too, was standing, and that I was no longer tied. I flexed my wrists, cut from their bonds, and my feet, cut from walking too far in unsuitable footwear. Both felt fine.

It seemed sudden, unbelievable. Was I dreaming? Still hypnotised? Hypnotised again?

‘Where are we?’ I asked the stranger.

They turned, and I recognised the Cleric from the train earlier that morning. He was still dressed in his azure robes. Up close, I could see that he wore a ring in his nose and several in each ear. His skin was rough and weather worn.

‘You did this,’ said the Cleric. ‘You tell me.’

This was frustratingly cryptic, and I could only think of one answer.

‘I’m dead, aren’t I?’

The Cleric laughed and placed a hand on his own chest.

‘No, you’re not dead. I might be though.’

‘How come you’re dead and I’m not?’ I asked. I wasn’t usually one to see departed spirits.

‘I can see through you, Estrel,’ said the Cleric.

‘What do you mean?’ I spluttered. This was rich. I had done nothing. ‘I don’t… see what? I’m not… I’ve got nothing to hide!’

‘No, Estrel,’ he said, and I realised that this was the second time he’d used my name. ‘I don’t mean…’

‘Who are you?’ I demanded. ‘How do you know my name?’

‘Those aren’t the right questions, but my name is Lek. I know your name because we’ve met before, although you probably don’t remember it.’

‘On the train?’ I offered, to show that I did.

‘Not then,’ said Lek. ‘That was a way we met, a start for us, but that was in another life and all that’s left is the trace of recognition you felt. That iteration of me was not destined to know you, nor you him. He will lead a simple life and die young.

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