Page 14 of New Beginning

Teddy woke with a jolt, realised he was in bed, and thought for one brilliant, relief-filled moment that he’d just emerged from the worst nightmare of his life. Then reality sank sharp claws into his heart and ripped it to pieces. He might be in bed, but it wasn’t his bed. He’d never seen this room before, and he was still in the trousers and shirt he’d worn for the school reunion. Where was his jacket?

The car! Teddy rolled over, pressed his face into the pillow and groaned. Everyone was dead. He was dead. He’d been trapped in that awful place and Mikkel had brought him here. Teddy felt confused and lost but at least he wasn’t stuck in… The Drift. He could hardly believe that was his reality, but it was.

He rolled out of bed and padded over to the window. As he reached to pull back the curtain, alarm bells sounded in his head. Don’t. Don’t look. You’re safe in here. Not safe out there. His hand dropped. He didn’t want to look. He didn’t want to see something else he couldn’t comprehend. He took a few deep breaths, and his heart calmed. He left the curtains closed and went exploring.

There wasn’t much. Just a little cottage with one bedroom and a bathroom with a window of frosted glass he couldn’t see through, though he could tell it was daylight. All the toiletries he’d need were on the shelf. Toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, shampoo… He had to steel himself to look in the mirror. But it was the same Teddy staring back at him. Maybe a bit paler, his eyes a bit wider, but there wasn’t a mark on him. Not a single scratch.

He dragged a hand over his chin and his heart thumped hard. His designer stubble had been commented on at the school reunion by Sandra, who he thought had been flirting with him. He’d been openly gay at school and he was still gay, though he hadn’t said that to her, just smiled and said thanks and that she hadn’t changed. Well, that was true. She’d always been a flirt, but never bothered with him before. But then he’d realised she just wanted to show him pictures of her ‘wonderful’ children.

There was no razor, but he didn’t need to shave. His stubble was short. It should have been heavier. Dead guys don’t need to shave. But he did clean his teeth and had a shower, and felt more like himself.

Teddy checked the wardrobe in the bedroom and found a selection of clothes hanging there and a pair of shoes. All his size. The chest of drawers held T-shirts, underwear, pyjama shorts, socks, sweaters… No labels on anything but they seemed nice clothes, the sorts of colours he’d have chosen for himself. It made him uneasy rather than pleased.

As he crept downstairs, he wondered if he’d find Mikkel, but the cottage was empty, the curtains—thankfully—still across the windows. He had no wish to see outside.

There was an assortment of food in the fridge and the drawers were full of the sorts of kitcheny things he had in his flat. That I’ll never see again. He shivered. That made him sad. He hadn’t made a will. He didn’t have much to leave to anyone. Now he wished he had made a will. A charity could have had what money there was. The thought that his mother might find a way to claim it infuriated him. Well, it served him right for not planning an in case.

“I’m dead,” he said quietly.

He didn’t feel dead. His heart was still going strong. He felt hungry. He wanted coffee. Didn’t that mean he was alive? But Mikkel had said not. He groaned. Nothing made sense anymore.

There was a shelf of books, fiction and non-fiction, and a TV. Teddy switched it on and watched the news. He sucked in a breath when he realised it had been five days since the accident. Life had gone on. It had snowed all over the UK. Some reality TV star had been accused of assault. A politician had resigned. He switched it off again.

He couldn’t see a phone, but who could he phone if he was dead? Mikkel had told him that contacting those who were still alive was one thing he couldn’t do. But what could he do? Where was he supposed to go from here? Mikkel had rescued him from The Drift. But what now?

Teddy sat at the kitchen table, both hands wrapped around his mug of coffee for warmth he didn’t quite feel. The toast was crunchy, the butter melted just right, the coffee rich and dark—exactly how he liked it. That was the most terrifying part. Everything in this place was tailored to him with an uncanny, surgical precision. It was a golden cage, built to keep him comfortable, but more than that, to keep him in. Not like The Drift but in its way, just as scary. And perhaps even more disturbing, Teddy wanted to be kept in. His mind was still full of what had happened, but he seemed to be able to keep it in check better here.

He looked past the open door that led towards a short hallway. A few steps further on and there was the front door. A sturdy slab of oak with a round brass handle. A key hung on a hook nearby. He wasn’t a prisoner. He could open the door. Go outside. At least figure out where the hell he was. But what was he going to see? The world wasn’t his anymore and he didn’t feel strong enough to face whatever world he was in now. Still… He wasn’t a coward.

Teddy stood up, his legs feeling strangely leaden, as if his muscles were protesting the very idea of being used. He walked until he stood in front of the main door, then reached out, his fingers hovering inches from the key hanging on the wall.

Panic hit. It wasn’t a slow creep; it was an instant avalanche. His lungs locked, refusing to draw air. His heart hammered violently against his ribs, a frantic rhythm that echoed in his ears like tribal drums. The sharp pain in his chest made him worry he was having a heart attack. He felt cold, dizzy… Oh God.

What lay beyond that door? Was it a normal street? English countryside covered by snow? Or was it The Drift—that horrific, endless space where reality melted at the edges, where he’d tried time after time to end things?

He was safe in here. He had no desire to make himself unsafe. What if he unlocked the door, turned the handle and stepped out, only for the ground to dissolve beneath his feet? What if the sky wasn’t blue, but that grey nothingness? Or that weird purple? What if the air outside wasn’t air at all?

His panic worsened. He struggled to breathe. If you don’t look, it can’t touch you, a voice whimpered from the darkest corner of his mind. Inside is real. Inside is safe.

Teddy yanked his hand away as if the key was red-hot. He stumbled backwards, his knees knocking together, until his back hit the door to the hallway. He flung himself through, then slammed that door before sinking down until he was sitting on the floor. He pulled his knees up to his chest, trembling uncontrollably as he stared at the hallway door, half-expecting it to burst open, half-terrified that he would never have the courage to open that door again, let alone the one beyond, the one that led to the outside.

There was no need to panic. The walls of the cottage were solid. The temperature was fine. The fridge was full of food he liked, and he wasn’t going to think too hard about that. He had a TV to watch, books to read, stories to escape into. The world outside, however, was an unscripted nightmare waiting to devour whatever sanity he had left. I don’t need to go outside. Teddy buried his face in his arms, and realised with a sickening wave of despair that he was just as trapped as he’d been in The Drift. What had changed? His friends were still dead, so was that family, so was he. He’d exchanged one nightmare for another more comfortable one.

Be grateful for that.

Teddy thought Mikkel would come, but he didn’t. Nor the next day. Nor the one after. No one came. Not that he could have answered any knock at the door. He kept busy, cleaning up after himself, dusting, hoovering, polishing. The cupboard under the kitchen sink was well-stocked with cleaning materials.

He still felt that compulsion he’d had all his life to have everything in place, everything perfect, trying to make his mother pleased. He’d always edged towards OCD, though never full-blown. Keeping this place pristine made him feel better. He convinced himself that if he saw the outside world, and it was endless grey, he’d fall apart. So don’t look. He didn’t. He felt safe behind the curtains, safe in the books he read, safe watching TV once he’d decided there was no chance of hearing about the accident.

Lonely and confused but safe.

Except Mikkel didn’t come and he was running out of food. There was money on the coffee table, but that would mean going out to look for a shop. He couldn’t do that. The rubbish was building up in front of the door, neatly bagged and tied off. He’d managed to get it into the hallway, but it was going to start to smell. He assumed there were other doors behind the long curtains in the main room, ones that probably led to wheelie bins at the back of the cottage, but when he even thought about looking, he went dizzy and ended up fighting for breath, the pressure in his chest suffocating him.

And if he managed to open a door, what if he couldn’t get back in?

Teddy knew he wasn’t thinking straight but he couldn’t help himself out of this hole he’d found himself in. Maybe he was in hell after all.

Chapter Four