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  ***Trigger warning at the rear of this book***

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any matter whatsoever, without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organisations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Views and opinions are of the characters, and do not necessarily represent those of the author.

  Almost Surely

  Copyright © 2015 by Gavin Jefferson

  Cover art copyright © 2018 by Gavin Jefferson

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 9781980970941

  (Print)

  First edition: October 2018

  Also available by Gavin Jefferson:

  Novella:

  The Surrogate (2017)

  ISBN: 9781973530893

  Almost Surely

  By Gavin Jefferson

  For Mella,

  ‘It matters not how strait the gate,

  How charged with punishments the scroll,

  I am the master of my fate:

  I am the captain of my soul’

  William Earnest Henley

  (Invictus, 1875)

  Prelude

  Watcher stood at the window of her penthouse and inhaled the night. Emotionless, she turned to the grandfather clock in the corner of the room and listened. From the way that the clock’s mechanism whirred and clicked, she knew that the second hand had passed III and was making its way around the clock face towards IV.

  A gust of wind blew some stray, stringy hairs across her face and caressed her neck, so she returned her attention to the window, and outside. The bitter tang of burning wood offset by the purity of fresh autumn rain put her mind at ease, and in a swift, graceful movement, she reached to her easel. Her hand traced down to the shelf, and then across until she found her palette. She scooped up her brush and limply pointed the bristle end out of the window.

  Watcher, blind though she was, concentrated on the wooden floor beneath her bare feet, and listened as fat globules of rain slapped heavily onto the pavement outside. Conscious of the grandfather clock's undeterred progress, she took a deep breath, and with little resistance, allowed her brush to align itself with Polaris.

  As the second hand passed VII, Watcher’s assistant emerged from the storeroom with a 36 x 36 inch canvas in his arms. Upon seeing Watcher’s pose, he stood stolidly in place and clutched it tightly to his chest. He then closed his eyes and braced himself.

  Across the courtyard, in the westernmost tower, Amour did the same as Watcher.

  Gift, situated in the northernmost tower opened his window and lifted his brush towards Polaris.

  Collector, in the southernmost tower, and always the final participant to this ritual, opened her window and held her brush aloft and towards the star cluster also.

  The four brushes, as if magnetised, aligned on the target high in the sky above the courtyard. Here they pointed until the second hand of Watcher's grandfather clock ticked over X. At this precise moment, 23:59 and fifty seconds of every night, time slowed to a crawl and then stopped. Billions of rain droplets slowed and then hung, glimmering in mid-air, and the breeze which had danced across the courtyard halted, demoting the atmosphere to a thick, silent and unbreathable mass. The Earth ceased rotating, and excluding that of these four heralds and their assistants, the presence of life on the planet extinguished.

  ***

  A bolt of light burst from a region far beyond Polaris and sped its way across space, with unparalleled accuracy. It cut through the Earth’s ozone layer and penetrated the Aurora Borealis, creating a whirlpool of colour and cloud, with a pirouetting rainbow tail trailing behind.

  High above the quad towers, the bolt split, as if piercing an imperceptible prism, into four separate shafts of concentrated light. Their targets were not in the centre of the courtyard adjoining the towers, or the towers themselves, but the brushes of the heralds within.

  The crimson light found the herald of Love: Amour.

  Gift, more commonly referred to as Opportunity or the authority which governs Karma, his brush consumed the white light.

  Collector, more commonly referred to as The Reaper or Death, she attracted the universal eraser. This black light, this dark matter, it was as it had always been: absorbed by her brush.

  The fourth light, a shade of green similar to that of an avocado skin was drawn towards the brush of Watcher, the physical embodiment of Fate.

  ***

  The alien light pulsated, and the herald’s brushes became full with all of the information they were so routinely prescribed.

  There was a sonic boom, and then: the bolt of light and it’s four offspring retreated back to the heavens.

  The bulging rain droplets, which had laid in suspended animation while this ritual played out, began to twinkle. They reflected a faint memory of the bolts’ rainbow tail, and as the Earth’s spin resumed, they too continued their descent.

  The small hand of Watcher’s grandfather clock ticked over to fifty-one, and a second later: fifty-two.

  Watcher exhaled. Her assistant opened his eyes and padded over. He secured the canvas to Watcher's easel and sat on a chair next to the window. He looked at the southern tower and admired Collector's assistant as she watched the rain.

  A moment later: Watcher began to paint.

  Almost Surely

  Chapter One

  Manhattan (1956)

  It was an oddly warm October evening. It had rained earlier in the day, so the roads bore a greasy sheen, which sprayed and hissed as cars passed over them. Anthony Hopper, a white man wearing an avocado coloured suit accentuated with cream pinstripes and seams, stood under a dim street lamp holding a cigar to his lips. He was observing those sitting in the diner on the other side of the street.

  The diner, named 'Hal's,' after the owner, was on the north-east corner of a crossroads, located on the Upper-West-Side of Manhattan. It was a single storey building with a vast panoramic window which stretched around the corner, from one entrance to the next. It was the meeting point for those who worked for The Agency.

  There were five people inside: a woman with red hair who, although he did not recognise, Anthony felt drawn to, and four men. Three of the four men wore tailored avocado suits, much the same as Anthony’s. The fourth man was Hal, the owner of the diner.

  Two of the three avocado-adorned men were sitting at the bar with their backs to the window. Anthony did not recognise either of them, so concluded that they were who he had been asked to meet with this evening. Hal, wearing a white apron and matching white hat, was drying a cup with a dishcloth, behind the bar.

  The third avocado-suited man was Bill, Anthony’s boss. He was sitting at the end of the bar with the red-haired woman. They sat with their backs to the entrance that, for reasons that the superstitious Anthony could not explain, he rarely used. She wore a dark green dress which suggested, to Anthony, that she was either an equal to Bill or his superior.

  Bill and the red-haired woman talked in what appeared to be a friendly, but subdued manner. It was as though they were making the concerted effort to blend into the crowd despite being two of only five people inside the building. Anthony furrowed his brow and concentrated on her face as she turned.

  Mother, he thought, can it really be you?

  He struck a match against the lamppost and lifted it to the cigar nestled between his lips. He shielded the flame with both hands and took a long, gentle drag on the cigar, lighting it. He flicked the match into the gutter and retrieved his avocado trilby from the shelf within the telephone booth behind him.

  In one swift movement, he pl
aced it on his head and ruffled the collar of his suit so that it covered the nape of his neck.

  He pushed his hands into his pockets and stepped out into the road. He skipped over a puddle of oily water and walked on, with puffs of pungent grey smoke trailing behind him.

  He knew that this meeting was coming because Bill had teased the recruitment for many weeks. He also understood that this was a big deal for Mother because it was a rarity for The Agency to recruit one new agent, let alone two.

  Anthony was proud that he had been tasked to train them and knew that he had to make a good first impression, but because he had not expected Mother's presence, he now felt encumbered. Mother was an enigma, and even though Bill spoke of her regularly, Anthony had only ever met her once.

  He stepped up onto the sidewalk and reached for the door handle. Nerves took his attention away from the door and drew them to the floor, where he locked eyes with the stray cat that lived in the alleyway. The cat was white with a black moustache and socks. It mewed happily at the man. He smiled, released his grip on the door handle, and whispered, “hello Chaplin!”

  The cat mewed and then padded towards him. Anthony crouched down and reached to stroke the cat between its ears. Chaplin, a name it had adopted over time, stood up onto its hind legs and met his hand halfway.

  “That's a good kitty,” Anthony said stroking the cat’s head firmly, but with affection. “You like that, don't you?”

  “Mew.”

  “You're a good kitty aren't you? If I were allowed to take you home, I would,” he said sympathetically.

  The cat purred and then scratched its face against Anthony's outstretched hand. Its tiny moustachioed lips retracted against his fingers, exposing its teeth playfully.

  Anthony reached into his pocket for the pork pie he had purposefully saved from his lunch. “Are you hungry, Chaplin?” he asked.

  The cat mewed.

  Anthony split the pie in half and untangled a napkin to lay it on. He then laid the food down on the floor next to the dumpster, just inside the alley. Chaplin darted in to eat and did so noisily. “Hopefully, this won’t take long,” Anthony said, nodding at the diner. “I’ll bring you some more food when I leave. Does that sound nice?”

  Chaplin mewed and moaned as if thanking the human for his generosity.

  Anthony ran his hand down the cat’s spine once more and then scratched its hind-quarters.

  The prospect of meeting Mother scared him, and for every second that passed, his nerves grew more erratic. Maybe she’ll be gone before I can even say hello, he thought, optimistically.

  His knees clicked as he stood. He glanced down at the cat, turned and then left the alleyway.

  Chaplin mewed as he opened the diner door.

  ***

  The door closed behind him, and as the bell chimed, the two men at the bar stood to greet him.

  Bill, who had been sitting at the far end of the bar with the red-haired woman, stood and made his way towards the trio. “Anthony,” he said, “these two fine gentlemen are those I told you about.”

  In unison, the brothers reached out to shake Antony’s hand.

  “They will be working with you, shadowing you for the coming months,” Bill continued, “Henry, Jack, this is your mentor, Anthony.”

  Twins, Anthony thought as he saw their faces. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  He took a look at the woman and confirmed, to himself, that it was Mother. He shook the twins’ hands; Jack first and then Henry. He sat on the vacant stool beside them and placed his trilby on the counter.

  He swivelled his body to look at them and was surprised to find that they were both still standing. He motioned for them to join him and said, “sit, please.” He glanced at his mentor and said, “thank you, Bill.”

  “Sure thing,” Bill winked at him and returned to his seat beside Mother.

  The twins sat, and as they did, Anthony turned to the man behind the counter. “Hal, a tuna sandwich, please, hold the mayo and bread.”

  Hal nodded, acknowledging their not-so-secret, cat-feeding code.

  Anthony turned to the twins and asked, “can I get either of you a drink?”

  “No, thank you,” they replied at the same time, all manners.

  Anthony nodded at this, and continued his order with Hal, “I would also like a bowl of water, please, if you would be so kind.”

  “Right you are, sir,” Hal answered, his voice was aged and hoarse. Hal pulled an ashtray from under the counter with one hand and placed it on top of a napkin. He slid the ashtray across the marble-topped surface, to a space of mutual distance between the agents.

  “Thank you, Hal,” Anthony said, placing his cigar into one of the ashtrays' many grooves. He then turned back to the twins and smiled, unsure of what to say.

  Henry raised his hand, as if requesting permission to speak. “Do you know exactly what we will be doing tomorrow?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Anthony smiled knowingly. He wondered how much or how little the twins had been told about the job, for he knew that it held a far grander appeal in description than it did in actuality. “I have the assignment details here in my pocket, but they will make little sense to you without the context of our surroundings. You have to experience the job first-hand to understand and appreciate what it entails.”

  “But-” Jack tried.

  Anthony ignored him. “Trust me when I say that it will all become clear tomorrow.”

  Henry blew air from his lips nervously.

  Hal placed a bowl of water and a plate containing a smelly mound of tuna onto the counter-top in front of Anthony.

  Jack glanced at the bowl and then at his mentor, suspiciously. Anthony slid a dollar bill across the counter smoothly and, in noticing the expression on Jacks face elaborated, “this is for the stray cat in the alleyway.”

  Henry smirked in response. Jack did not.

  Bill and Mother stood. She smiled at Anthony and then bowed her head in what he perceived to be an act of appreciation. Bill also nodded, blinking his eyes slowly. The pair turned, and Bill led with an outstretched arm, as if shielding the woman from the outside world. He ushered her through to the corridor directly to their left. They headed towards the bathrooms and closet area rather than exiting the diner itself.

  Anthony was thankful that the twins had not seen Bill and Mother leave, for it would have forced him to explain what was back there. He didn't want to do that this evening.

  “Okay, well, our first job will be tomorrow morning, so you don’t have long to wait to find out what it is all about. It would make more sense for me to show you tomorrow than explain tonight. And as it is too late in the evening to start, I suggest that we meet here first thing tomorrow morning so that you can get adjusted.” He paused for a moment and thought. After some deliberation, he said, “I would like you both to get here at 8 o'clock sharp, is that understood?”

  Jack and Henry looked at one another, and after a fancy of subtle eyebrow movements they turned back to Anthony and nodded. “Yes,” Henry answered, “do we meet here, or outside?”

  “Here is fine,” Anthony said, lifting the cigar from the ashtray. He placed it between his lips and flicked the thing to the side with his tongue. He said, “you will look at the world and your lives in an entirely new light once you have returned home tomorrow evening. You will likely think that I am being offhand about it all right now and that I should explain. But when we arrive at our destination in the morning, you will appreciate that I had been right all along. No amount of training could ever have prepared you for what you are going to be doing there. It is a normal response, so don’t hesitate to ask questions. I will answer anything that I am able to.” He tapped his finger on the counter thoughtfully but could think of nothing more to say.

  Jack didn't reply, neither did Henry.

  “Okay then,” Anthony said as he scooped the trilby from the counter. He stood and then repeated: “8 am tomorrow morning, meet me here. We are going to get you both ac
climatised to our epicentre before we start with our assignment.”

  “Epicentre?” Henry asked.

  “Our area of work,” Anthony said dismissively, “it’ll make sense tomorrow.”

  Henry nodded.

  Anthony thought for a second and then said: “I can, and have been doing this job without any form of help for a long, long time, so please don’t be late. I have a routine that I follow.” He placed the trilby on his head and nodded at the twins, “I will leave without you if you aren’t here.”

  There was no response from either of the twins. Probably because of my aloofness, Anthony thought. He shrugged and considered that he had sounded far more threatening than he had intended to. Oh well, he thought, it’s done now.

  Awkwardly, he scooped up the crockery containing Chaplin's meal and headed for the exit. The weather had taken a turn, and although it wasn't raining, it was far colder now than when he had arrived. He turned back to the twins and said, “I will see you both in the morning, I hope,” and stepped out into the cold.

  “That could’ve gone a tad smoother,” Jack said as the door closed shut.

  ***

  Upon exiting the diner, Anthony glanced across the street and considered his options for how to spend the rest of his evening. He exhaled a small cloud of cigar smoke from the corner of his mouth and entered the alleyway.

  He laid the bowl and plate on the floor next to the dumpster, right where he had set the pork pie only moments prior. He waited for the cat to appear, but it didn’t show. Instead of waiting any longer, he left the alley and crossed to the other side of the road.

  He made a left-hand turn and walked to the end of the block. He then entered the park via the gate on the corner, dropped his cigar to the floor and stamped it into the ground, muttering “silly!” under his breath. He felt regret for smoking it. He hated the things, despite being a smoker, but thought that it would make him appear more distinguished than he felt he was.

  He had wanted to make a good impression, after all.