Chapter 5 #
Her phone buzzes in her hand. Luna looks at the screen. Mum. A photo: a golden-brown quiche, still steaming, on the hand-painted wooden serving tray her mother uses for every food photo. Beneath it, a message:
Luna's thumb drifts over the screen. She's perfectly capable of cooking for herself; she just usually doesn't, and her mother knows it.
She types:
Sent.
Then she opens the group chat with Zoey and Alex. Her thumbs hover over the keyboard. How do you say this without sounding as if you've completely lost the plot?
Salty rain here now too. I tasted it.
She reads it back. Nope. That sounds like she's eighty and has just discovered the internet. She deletes it. Backspace, backspace, backspace.
Second attempt:
Better. It still sounds like something a normal person wouldn't say, but at least it sounds like something she'd say.
She taps send.
The lift stops with a jolt. Ninth floor.
Luna steps out into the corridor, her eyes still on the screen. Three dots appear at the bottom… someone's typing. The corner of Luna's mouth quirks up.
The corridor is dim; one of the strip lights flickers and goes out. Broken again. The green linoleum gleams dully in what light remains. Luna walks to door 907, her phone still in her hand, the case swinging from her other arm.
She fishes out her key. The three dots keep her in suspense, as if someone's typing out an entire essay. Without looking up, she slides the key into the lock.
The door swings open.
Then she lifts her gaze.
Her phone slips from her hands and clatters to the floor. There's a man in her studio. A stranger. Just behind the front door, in the hallway, with the case in his left hand.
Luna's heart skips a beat. Her breath catches and every muscle in her body goes rigid.
He looks a little older than her, with mid-length black hair falling messily around his face and light-brown eyes that, at this moment, look every bit as startled as Luna's. He's tall and dressed in a leather jacket despite the heat. And he's standing perfectly still, as though he's been caught out by something he didn't see coming.
He takes a small step back, his free hand raised in a calming gesture.
Luna is rooted to the spot. She wants to scream, but no sound comes. She wants to run, but her legs are lead.
The intruder seems to notice her panic, and his face softens a little.
"Hey," he says, his voice gentler than she expected. Almost reassuring. "If you just step aside, I'll be gone in a second. Okay?"
Luna's brain starts working again. Words form, stumbling and unsure.
"W-what were you doing in my flat?"
The man opens his mouth. "Uh…" Closes it again.
Luna's fear is shoved aside by something else, something bubbling up from her gut. Anger. Yes, anger. This is her studio. Her safe space. And he's—
"That's my case!" The words come out surprisingly hard. "What else have you stolen?"
"Whoa, hold on a sec!" A look of indignation crosses the young man's face. He lifts the hand holding the case a little, as if presenting evidence. "I'm the one who got robbed. This is mine."
Luna blinks. "So… so now you've broken in to get it back?!"
"Well," the man mumbles, scratching the back of his head, an odd gesture for a burglar caught in the act. "Technically, I didn't break in…"
"You're literally standing in my flat!"
"Look, I get how this must look from your—"
But Luna isn't finished. "You could've just asked, you know. I'd have happily given it back." She frowns. "Wait… how did you even know it was here? A smart tag? Or did you follow me?"
A door swings open. Not Luna's, the one to the flat next door. Cigarette smoke laced with a warm, savoury smell wafts out into the corridor.
"Yoo-hoo!"
Mrs Decker pokes her head around the corner of her doorway. She's a woman in her fifties, in leopard-print leggings under a black T-shirt dress, her bleached hair piled in a high bun. She looks from Luna to the stranger in the corridor and back again, her eyes narrowing.
"Everything all right, love? I heard shouting."
Luna's finger shoots out, pointing at the tall young man as if picking a suspect out of a police line-up. "Burglar."
Mrs Decker steps fully out into the corridor, barefoot, hands already on her hips, and sizes the man up from head to toe, the way she'd inspect vegetables at the market.
"Him?" Mrs Decker raises an eyebrow. "Come off it, love, this'll be a misunderstanding." And to the intruder: "Am I right?"
"Absolutely," the young man says without hesitation. "A misunderstanding."
"But he's standing in my flat!" Luna hears her own voice climbing higher.
Mrs Decker tilts her head towards the young man and a smile spreads across her face. "My place, next time? What are you after? Jewellery?" She laughs, the raspy laugh of someone who smokes too much.
The young man looks from Mrs Decker to Luna and back again. His expression is wary, as though he isn't entirely sure what kind of situation he's landed in. But then Luna watches it happen: he decides to play along.
"Only my own case, ma'am." He lifts it slightly, smiling charmingly. Then, with a trace of humour: "What sort of jewellery have you got?"
Mrs Decker flaps a hand, her rings jangling. "Oh, it's nothing, love. All tat off the market. Cheap knockoffs." She leans in conspiratorially. "Nothing worth nicking round here anyway, every burglar in this city knows that. They'd rather hit the posh neighbourhoods. Right?"
The man nods sagely, as if this proves his innocence.
Mrs Decker returns to the matter at hand, her voice authoritative now. She makes a shooing gesture at the man, the same one I use to chase Lucky off the counter. "Right, if you'd kindly get out of my neighbour's flat, we'll let you off with a warning this time." A glance at Luna. "Won't we, Luna?"
"Okay," says Luna, feeling slightly dazed by the sheer absurdity of the whole situation.
"Gladly," the young man says, relieved.
"Good." Mrs Decker claps her hands as if she's closed a business deal. "Go on then, off you pop."
Mrs Decker throws an arm around Luna's shoulder in a protective gesture as the two of them watch the intruder step out into the corridor with the case with its matt sheen in his hand and leave.
"There we go," says Mrs Decker, pleased with herself. "Sorted." She gives Luna's shoulder a squeeze. "I'd best get back in before my meatballs burn. Anything you need, you know where I am, all right?"
"Thanks, Mrs Decker," Luna manages. "Have a good evening."
Mrs Decker winks at her and pulls her front door shut again. The smell of cigarettes and meatballs lingers.
Luna stands alone in the corridor.
Her phone. She bends down and picks it up from the floor. The screen is cracked, a spiderweb of lines fanning out from the top left corner. It flickers once when she switches it on, then stays black.
Great.
She glances sideways.
The man is waiting further down by the lift with his case, bouncing impatiently on the balls of his feet. And Luna feels something she didn't expect after everything that's just happened: curiosity.
She stays in her doorway. The lift is maybe ten metres away. Maybe it's that distance, or maybe it's just her nature, that irrepressible curiosity that's stronger than common sense, but she feels her voice return.
"What's actually in it?" she calls down the corridor.
The man turns around, eyebrows raised. "What?"
"In the case." Luna takes a small step out into the corridor. "What's in it?"
"Nothing."
Luna frowns. "Then why do you want it back so badly?"
A short laugh, almost amused. "You're a curious one, aren't you?"
"Can you show me how it opens?" Another step. She can make out the details of his face better now: the sharp line of his jaw, a small scar by his eyebrow.
He hesitates. His fingers tighten a little around the case handle. Then an awkward smile appears. "I don't think that's a good idea."
"Why not?" Luna folds her arms. A pose of her mother's. Flora always does this when she's trying to see through someone's bullshit. "Have you got something to hide?"
"Yes."
The bluntness of that answer throws Luna for a second. Then he turns towards the lift.
"This is a lift, right?" he asks, almost to himself.
Luna blinks. "…Yes."
"How long does it take before it stops here?"
Luna tilts her head. Something's not right about this man. "You have to press the button."
"Oh." His finger hovers by the button, but he doesn't press it. Instead he just stands there for a moment, as if thinking. The man turns and starts walking back towards her.
Luna's heartbeat quickens. Her fingers find the door handle behind her back. She could go inside, shut the door and lock it.
But she stays put. The look on his face makes her curious. It isn't threatening. More… searching. A little helpless, even. He stops a few steps away from her.
"Can I ask you something?" he says.
"Okay."
"Are you familiar with a place called Wonderworld?"
Luna's hand slides off the door handle. Of all the questions she'd expected — Have you got money? Are you calling the police? Have you got a boyfriend?— this wasn't one of them.
"Yes," she says. "That's where I work."
His whole posture changes. His shoulders drop, his face lights up as though she's just told him he's won the lottery. "Ha! Now that's a lucky break."
"How so?" Luna's eyes narrow.
"Can you take me there?" He says it as if it's the most natural thing in the world.
"It's closed."
"Tomorrow, then?" he asks quickly.
I feel Luna's thoughts racing. Why does he want to go there? What is he after? And why is he asking her?
"I don't get it. You can get there yourself, can't you? You don't need me to take you."
"I don't know how." He runs a hand through his hair. The gesture looks smooth and practised, but there's something genuine underneath it. "I'm… new here."
Luna studies him. This is really strange. He breaks in, steals a case that won't open, and now he's asking her to take him to work?
"This is really strange," Luna says out loud, more to herself than to him.
"I know." His shoulders sag and his voice softens. "It's important."
A silence falls between them. Somewhere in the building a door slams. A baby cries. From another flat come the muffled voices of a TV programme, and Mrs Decker is singing in her kitchen.
"Can you at least tell me how to get there?"
Luna's eyes drift to the case. That impossible thing that won't open, that seems to be made of a material she's never seen before. It gives her the creeps, though she couldn't put into words why exactly. And then she looks at his face, at those light-brown eyes gazing at her hopefully, almost pleadingly.
She surprises herself: "If I help you—if—then you have to promise me something."
"Name it."
"That case." Luna points at it. "It stays at home. You bring nothing but yourself."
"Okay," the young man replies at once. "Deal."
"I'm on the early shift," she says, her voice a little steadier. "So you'll have to be up early. The bus leaves at five past eight, from the stop outside."
"Oh, a bus!" he says, almost enthusiastically.
Luna feels a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, but she suppresses it and stays stern: "If you're not there on time, I'm leaving without you."
"Understood! Five past eight." He lifts his wrist and shows her his smartwatch. He taps the display a few times with his index finger. A soft blue light flashes briefly.
"Noted," he says casually. "I'm Will, by the way." He holds out his hand. Luna hesitates, then shakes it. His grip is firm but not crushing.
"Luna."
"Loo-nah." He rolls her name around his tongue as if tasting it. "Nice name."
"Thanks." She pulls her hand back.
"See you tomorrow then, Luna." Will turns, the case tucked under his arm. He walks back to the lift with a smooth, easy stride, as though nothing has happened. This time he does press the button.
Luna calls after him: "And bring money for the bus!"
He raises a hand to show he's heard, without turning around.
The lift arrives. The doors slide open with a squeal. Will steps inside, the mysterious case in his hand, and then the doors slide shut.
Luna stands alone in the corridor, her cracked phone in her hand and her heart still racing a little.
"What have I just done?" she whispers to no one in particular.
Then she turns and steps into her studio. But instead of closing the door right away, she pauses. Her gaze goes to the lock.
How did he even get in? She crouches, bringing her face close to the keyhole. She inspects the metal plate around it, looking for scratches, dents or any other sign of a forced entry. But there's nothing, not so much as a scratch. She straightens up and runs her fingers along the door frame. Checks the hinges. Nothing.
How, then? Luna double-locks the front door behind her and turns to face her flat. Her eyes scan the room methodically, left to right, as if she's one of the detectives from the crime series Zoey loves to watch. What stands out? What doesn't fit? What's changed?
The chairs are exactly as they were. Her coffee cup from this morning still untouched on the table. The stacks of books beside her bed are still in the same mess as this morning. TV… laptop… check.
Nothing's missing. Only that case is gone.
Luna drops onto her bed, tips her head back, and stares at the ceiling. Had she just let Mrs Decker talk her into this? That man was a burglar. She should have called the police, been assertive, protected herself. But no, she'd offered him her help. Why does she always do this?
The unspoken questions hang in the warm air of the small room. Outside, the rain has stopped. Through the window she watches the last shreds of grey cloud lifting.
She sits up, grabs the remote off the table and switches on the TV. She flicks past a baking contest, an ad for mattresses, a repeat of a quiz show. Then she finds a news channel. A woman in a blue trouser suit stands in a studio, behind her a large map of Europe with orange dots scattered across Great Britain, Ireland and parts of the North Sea coast.
"—is still unknown," she's saying, "but according to experts, the phenomenon appears to have begun somewhere in Great Britain. We now go over to our correspondent, George Frazier."
A reporter stands in front of a research institute, microphone in hand. Beside him is a man in a white shirt, with grey hair and tired eyes behind a pair of glasses. Some sort of scientist. Luna turns up the volume.
"What we're seeing is truly unprecedented," the scientist says. "In several locations, the fresh water has become significantly saltier. Rivers, streams, even rainwater. Even in the short term, that can have far-reaching consequences for nature and the drinking-water supply, among other things."
"What do you think could be causing this?" the reporter asks.
"We're still facing a mystery, I'm afraid," the scientist answers, his expression grave. "Our models point towards Great Britain, possibly the north-west, but we haven't yet been able to pinpoint the exact source."
Luna switches over to the BBC.
She gets up and walks over to the kitchenette while the same story fills her room. She flicks on the kettle, grabs a pot of instant noodles from the cupboard and peels back the foil lid. Then she throws a glance over her shoulder at the screen.
A farmer stands in wellies in the middle of a sodden field of ruined crops. Brown, limp stalks with withered leaves poke barely above the mud. The farmer wipes the back of his hand across his forehead.
"Everything," he says, his voice flat with defeat. "Completely destroyed. Thirty years I've been farming this land. Never seen anything like it."
The kettle clicks. Luna pours boiling water into the pot, and a cloud of steam rises against her face.
The screen cuts to a village in a valley half underwater. Streets have turned into brown rivers. A few children paddle around in brightly coloured inflatable boats with flamingo heads. One boy splashes water at a girl. She shrieks and splashes back. Children can make a game out of almost anything. A reporter in a yellow raincoat wades through the water and shoves her microphone under the noses of bystanders. The first is a young man with a shaved head and a leather jacket. He speaks fast, his eyes darting back and forth. "Mate, this isn't natural. No way," he says, straight into the camera. "This is them. The elites, yeah? It's a bioweapon, hundred percent. Control the water, control the people."
Luna raises an eyebrow. Okay then.
The camera moves on to an older woman. She wears a see-through rain hood over grey curls, her face weathered but calm. She nods slowly as she speaks. "For behold, I will bring a flood of waters upon the earth to destroy all flesh in which is the breath of life under heaven," she quotes. "Everything that is on the earth shall die. Genesis, chapter six. We were warned, weren't we?"
Luna gives the noodles a stir with her fork and walks back to her chair in front of the TV. She flicks back to the previous news channel, just in time for the sign-off. The woman in the blue trouser suit looks solemnly into the camera, her voice professionally neutral. "In short, the scientific community is faced with a mystery. We will, of course, continue to follow developments closely." A brief pause. "And now to our next story: supermarket prices skyrocketing. Our correspondent went out to—"
Luna hits the off button on the remote. The screen goes black. The silence that follows feels louder than the news.
She picks up her headphones, puts them on and presses play. The voice actor picks the story back up exactly where she left off. Luna takes a bite of her steaming instant noodles and lets herself be carried away into a world where, at least, she knows everything turns out all right.
Thanks for reading! #
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