The Sandman Cometh

Two

TwoYolanda smiled sickly sweet as I came through the main entrance. I held up my hand to stop her running towards me, but I didn't need to, she was already slowing down, deep furrows appearing on her brow. For a moment, I wondered what was bothering her, then I remembered – my cheek. I brushed the bruise with the tips of my fingers and simply raised my eyebrows. I hoped that was explanation enough.

It seemed to be, at least for now. She didn't ask, just creased her forehead a touch and, taking me by the elbow, gently steered me towards the group of assembled players. She pressed her head against my arm. We hadn't seen each other in the flesh for a week and I knew that she'd missed me. I often thought that for Yolanda, I seemed to be the personification of everything good and pure in this world. She hardly uttered a bad word to me and if ever I snarled or grunted, she simply smiled, letting me know she forgave me. Sometimes, her attentions proved too much – almost as if she were smothering me. Like a mother's love, perhaps. If anyone was to know a mother's love, of course. Mothers were not necessary now, and hadn't been for some time. But maybe Yolanda was as good and, especially after what I'd been through, I could do with someone to love me.

I wanted to tell her everything, but of course I couldn't. They'd told me, those men, in no uncertain terms, that if I opened my mouth to a single soul, they'd shop me to the Sandmen. Stoker had run a defrag through my chip and had found just enough room to place in there a tiny programme he'd created. He'd punched up the information on his screen and there I was. Everything. I marvelled at his expertise, but the idea that he now owned me filled me with dread. I was his, every bit of me. At any given time, he'd know where I was, who I was talking to, what I was eating, even what I was wearing…I was all sewn up.

“Allis, my divine boy, nice of you to join us.”

I looked up and nodded briefly towards Piperson as he strode across the parade ground towards me. As he got closer, I could smell the cheese and onion on his breath, a reassuring connection with the real world, of my old life. Yesterday's life. That afternoon's life.

“Sorry, Captain Piperson, sir,” I clicked my heels and brought my right hand up to my temple in a stiff salute. “I was somewhat delayed.”

“No matter, Allis. You're here now, so we can begin.” He span around and I looked over to the rest of the band and struck a pose which I hoped would force them to turn away from me. The last thing I wanted now was lots of questions. They stood rigid, like concrete pillars, white uniforms gleaming even in the drab, dismal light, all waiting. Without another second's pause, I took the cornet from Yolanda's outstretched hand and fell in beside the others.

Piperson's voice cracked, “By the left…qui-ick…MARCH!”

Bramble Fawlkes beat out the bass drum and the practice began.

Just over two gruelling hours later Yolanda and I strolled through the remains of City Centre Park, pausing by one of the stagnant ponds, imagining ducks still swam there, waiting for us to throw them bread. She stood so close I could breathe in her perfume. I slipped my arm around her slim waist and she cooed softly, put her head against me and I held onto her, wanting that simple, glorious moment to last forever. She was supremely gorgeous, the most divine girl I'd ever known. When I first laid eyes on her, I thought my legs would buckle and bend beneath me. Lithe, long-limbed, cheek bones carved out of ebony and eyes that you just wanted to dive into and lose yourself forever. She was everything anyone could wish for, so why did I never feel satisfied with her? Everything was so in-your-face with her, that's the truth. She had no imagination, no soul I suppose. For her, the world was a simple place. This is what it is, get on with it. I always looked under the surface, forever asking questions, never satisfied with the answers. She thought that was dangerous and, in all honesty, it was. Sandmen don't like questions and Yolanda likes them even less. She was programmed, like everyone else, to accept our world, revel in its perfections … or imperfections, as I so often said, much to her annoyance.

“I need to talk to you about something,” I said, not really sure how to make her understand without actually telling her anything.

She looked at me with those great big eyes of hers. “You can talk to me about anything.” She reached out a single finger and gently touched my swollen cheek. “What's the problem?”

“No, no, it's nothing to do with this,” I laughed, flicking the bruise as if it didn't matter. But it did. The pulsing ache was a constant reminder of how hard that guy had hit me. But I didn't want to offer her any explanation, for the simple reason that I couldn't think of one, other than the truth. So I plunged on. “No, I've got myself in a bit of a mess, Yolanda. I'm way behind in my schoolwork. I need to take some time out to try and get it finished.”

“Oh.”

And that was it. I couldn't believe it. No accusations or blame, no tears, just a shrug of her slim shoulders and we were walking again, following the path to the main gate. Her silence was disturbing.

“Are you all right?”

She shrugged again. She was good at that. “Fine.”

I knew she wasn't. I knew she thought this was my way of telling her that I didn't want to see her anymore. This was way off the mark. Dull she may be, but when she pressed that body against me, I couldn't give a fig about anything else. Shallow? Damn right – I'm Simeon Allis, one of the last cynics left in this open-gash of a world. I saw everything as it is, and that made me something of a pariah. If the truth had to be told, she was the only friend I had and I didn't want to lose her. So, as we got to the gate, I pulled her round to me, lifted up her chin and smiled at her. “Look, this is no big deal, Yolanda. I honestly just need some time to get myself straight.”

“Are you sure?”

So, I was right. She believed I was telling her this was the end. I put my arms around her and held her close. “Of course I'm sure. You mustn't worry, honestly.” I'd used that word twice. Strange how easily lying came to me. I held her for a long time, feeling the warmth spread across my stomach, enjoying the sensation her body gave me. Slowly, bit by bit, I brought myself back to the present, took her hand, and we moved out of the park and drifted down to the riverside and her apartment block. It was almost dark now and curfew would be sounding. I had about ten minutes. “Don't forget your visit to the Albert Hall. What was it, Beethoven? Should be good.”

But she wasn't interested in any of that now. I'd hurt her and I couldn't tell her why.

She studied her nails, not wanting to look at me. “You'll be in touch?”

I smoothed her hair. “I really care for you, you know.”

“Do you?”

I nodded and leaned forward to kiss her very gently on her lips. She didn't respond, but she didn't back away either.

“I'll contact you in a couple of days.” I smiled. As I kissed her a second time, her mouth opened, those velvet lips rolling over mine, our tongues playing around inside. Electricity coursed through my body. “God, Yolanda,” I moaned, my hand creeping towards her breast.

“No, not here, Simeon.”

“Well where the hell else?”

She held my face in her hands. “Soon,” she said, turned and glided away.

I watched her moving down the path, my eyes centred on her magnificent butt and I let out a long groan again. We could have a life, Yolanda and me. It wouldn't be intellectually stimulating, but my God it would be amazing physically.

She reached her residential block and disappeared inside without looking back. I knew she didn't truly believe me. Perhaps it was for the best, because tomorrow I had to forget about school and go to the Protector's residence, and that was something I didn't want Yolanda to know anything about, ever.

I only just made the curfew. I had to dash all the way, taking the route along the river, which wasn't such a good idea, but it would save me a couple of vital minutes. I had to leap over several bodies and when one of them moved and reached out with a bony, stick-thin hand to grab me, I knew I was in trouble if I stopped. And I wanted to stop – my lungs were screaming and the stitch in my side hurt like sin. I bit down through the pain, kept on moving, breathing hard, forcing myself not to slow down, and certainly not stop. I couldn't stop, I couldn't slow. So I pushed on until at last I left the stinking, filthy river behind and veered off up the slope towards my part of town. I could see my block, lights on near the top, and I almost cheered. Not far now.

The lights made me think. i***t that I was, I realised I'd made a serious miscalculation over the time. Everyone who lived in my block – and there weren't many that did – were already safely inside. This wasn't good and I calculated I was at least two minutes late. If they caught you outside after curfew, you were dead. No arguments. A Sandman would come, relentlessly tracking you down until he found you, take you in his great scissor hands and tear off your head. Whimpering with the fear rushing through me, I put my head down and sprinted forward. As I made the twisted, broken drive way that once would have looked so attractive and inviting, I saw him out the corner of my eye. Unmistakeable. Huge. Terrifying.

A Sandman.

I didn't wait to check. I hit the main entrance door to the block with my shoulder and blasted inside.

Running up the stairs in a mad dash, I could already hear the steady beat of the Sandman as he came down the street, his huge legs eating up the distance between us, faster than I could ever hope to run. I fumbled for my key card and managed to slap it against the readout panel just as I sensed him coming through the main entrance. With my heart thumping I pushed open the door to my apartment and turned to see him, only feet behind me, his great legs coming over the top step first. God, he could move fast! He was almost upon me and soon those great arms of his would be clamping themselves around my waist, lifting me up…

He gasped as I slammed the door shut behind me, leaning against it with all my strength, eyes squeezed shut, gulping down the air. He was right outside, a thin sheet of aluminium the only thing separating me from certain annihilation. I could hear him, sense his menace, his power. But I was inside now and I was safe. Sandmen did not follow you into your abode, unless on express orders to do so.

I slid down the door and slumped in a heap on the floor, running my hand over my dripping face. My God, how close had I been? Five seconds more and that would have been it. I let out a long, shuddering sigh and heard the Sandman moving away. I grinned in total, utter relief.

Gathering my senses slightly, I climbed to my feet, putting the flat of my hand against the wall for a moment, steadying my breathing before padding down the hallway to the kitchen. I punched out my dietary requirement for the evening. I was late and the voice from the cooker told me so. I ordered it to make me gruel and, some five seconds later, I took it with me into the lounge, slumped down into my entertainment couch and whispered the machine to come on.

The gruel tasted foul, as it always does. I couldn't finish it and my house computer didn't like that. I told it to shut up, that I wasn't feeling too good. That was stupid, because of course it logged my comments and already they were being sent over to Central Control. They would want to check my daily quota, make sure the dosage was correct. I groaned and sat back. As I watched the incessant newsreels and adverts for the armed forces, I must have dozed off, my mind filled with unwanted images, of how it was before I lived on my own, the golden days when my family were with me and everything was normal and good and real. And, how I first came into contact with the Sandmen.