Endgame

The warm lilting notes of Bach’s Cello suite no.1 in G Major drifted through the palatial dining room. Doctor Stephen Werner pulled a chair from beneath the huge black oak table and eased his wife down into the seat. She wore an emerald green dress that flowed over her pale skin and down to the floor; the material bunched around her pronounced baby bump. An intricate plat of her long black hair hung down the centre of her back with a huge crystal hair clip in the shape of a butterfly at the bottom.

The doctor kissed the top of her head and brushed his fingers down her arms. 

“Tonight my dear Carmen, we have roast duck in plum sauce alongside creamed potatoes and buttered spinach.” He reached into the pocket of his jacket and activated a small remote control.

A small pool of shimmering blue-white light appeared in the centre of her place setting and the plate of exquisite food rose from the centre alongside two bottles of fine French wine. 

“Non-alcoholic of course”

“Of course” Carmen giggled.

She clapped her hands in delight and turned her face up to kiss the underside of his chin. The doctor smiled and returned the kiss. 

“This reminds me of our first date.” said Carmen. “Our anniversary isn’t for months. What are we celebrating?”

“All in good time, my love.” He replied, then sat across from her and conjured his own plate. He picked up the silver knife and fork and was about to make the first cut when a far-off boom of thunder drew his attention to the window.

“He’s early,” sighed the doctor. He crossed his cutlery over the top of his plate and looked towards his wife.

“Stephen?” she asked, her first forkful of food already halfway to her mouth.

“I have some business matters to attend to love.”

Carmen paled. 

“it’s him, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid so. I do wish he’d keep to MY time once in a while. Is a man not allowed a moment’s peace?” 

Carmen threw down her fork which bounced off her plate with a clatter and sailed into the centre of the table. Her neck and face were already red with anger.  

“Why wont he leave us alone?!” she hissed, hot tears sprang into her eyes and she slammed a fist against the tabletop.

“Darling, darling shh, shh, it’s alright, don’t upset yourself.”

“Oh to hell with upset I’ll kill him myself!” she spat. “Can’t he see your inventions are doing a far better job than he ever could?”

“I know love, I know.” He sighed. I hate to see you like this, but we have little time. You know how he-“

The world exploded before he could finish his sentence. With desperate speed, he pressed the portal control again and pushed his wife’s chair backward into the void then closed the entrance.

 The immense window of his dining room that had once overlooked a rather splendid view of the Lake District now lay shattered across the plush carpeted floor in a thousand pieces. A cool night breeze rippled through the shredded remnants of the curtains. The long table of polished black oak was now fit for nothing but firewood, wrapped in a torn and stained tablecloth of what had been the finest Egyptian cotton. Chairs littered the wreckage in all manner of queer positions.

He righted his own chair and sat back down. He pressed the button again and a fresh cup of tea appeared in his hand. 

  The doctor sipped it. The warm liquid trickled down his throat and his shoulders settled back in his chair. A wave of calm swept over him despite the devastation before him. 

The fruitful bouquet of his favourite wine swam into his nostrils. He sipped his tea again and paid no mind to the pieces of glass perched on the shoulders of his jacket. His small brown eyes flickered toward the source of the destruction. 

A statuesque figure of a man, tall and bronze and blonde with eyes of the deepest blue stood before him. He hovered a few inches off the floor and seemed to balance on an invisible pedestal that accentuated his Herculean features. He bore a stylised Lion crest across his leather clad chest. Its noble face seemed to invite both scorn and challenge. It carried a sword in one mighty paw and a spear in the other. A long white cape trimmed with red spilled across his shoulders and down to the middle of his back. 

Major Tom. 

Even the name was ridiculous. A David Bowie reference? The man before him was meant to be a symbol to light the way into Britain’s new golden age in the super heroic arms race, instead he was nothing but propaganda tool. A cardboard cutout blessed with the power to juggle the moon. 

 Laughable.    

 The doctor set the cup down on the floor next to him and fixed the floating man with a rather disinterested glare. 

“Sit please,” he said. “Would you care for some tea or coffee?”

“Neither,” the hero replied.

“Something stronger perhaps?”

“No!” The single word reverberated around the room but the doctor’s expression did not change.

His hand motioned toward one of the upturned chairs on the far side of the room. 

“I’d rather not” replied Major Tom. The once-perfect quaff of the hero’s slick blonde hair was now peppered with dust and flecks of debris. 

“SIT! Daniel.”

The Major’s eyes widened. There was no way. Those files were burned the day he put on the cape. 

“What did you say?”

“Daniel Hawthorne. That’s your name, isn’t it? Your real name, not that jingoistic nom de guerre the Ministry Of Defence christened you with.”

The Major sagged for a moment, and the hem of his cape brushed the floor.

“How did you -?”

“Royal Marines Corporal Daniel James Hawthorne, born to Lisa and Brian Hawthorne of Solihull England February 6th 1997, older brother Dexter, younger sister Alice. Enough pretence, Tom. I am telling you to sit down so we may have a frank and honest discussion”.

The Major bristled, his hands curling into fists to keep them from shaking. He flipped a chair upright, swept off the layer of dust and sat down. 

“At last,” the doctor said with a long sigh. His eyes lingered on the space where his wife had sat. 

“She’s pregnant, you know.” 

The Doctor suppressed a bark of a laugh. “What am I saying? Of course you know”

“Five months?” asked Major Tom.

“Six” The doctor picked up the cup and sipped his tea again.

“Congratulations” said Major Tom.

“Thank you very much,” said the doctor.

“She should not experience any undue stress, and I must say that smashing through the window and allowing shards of glass to scatter in her food is simply unacceptable. I’ve sequestered her in a pocket dimension until we conclude our business here.”

Tom’s shoulders slumped. “I apologise.”

“I would much rather you apologise to my wife, though given how you ruined our evening, I very much doubt she would appreciate it. “ The doctor glared at the hero over the rim of the cup. 

“Why do you insist on never keeping time? The flood in Tsushima, the alien mind parasites in Times Square and the nuclear missile in Korea should have given me at least forty minutes, perhaps an hour?” He rubbed his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose.

 “Doesn’t matter now, you’re here.” 

“I’ve decided to retire.” The doctor announced. The clock on the wall ticked on. 

“I- What?” Tom blurted out. “I- You- This isn’t something you retire from! You-“

The doctor raised his hand to quiet him. 

“What with Carmen, the lecture tours, and the contracts between your own government and myself...Well, I just do not have the time to play along with you anymore.” He allowed himself a small smirk. “The game is over. Well done Major.” 

Tom made to speak, but the doctor flexed his fingers.

“Given my knowledge of your civilian life, you must understand that I am no longer interested in this garish pantomime of ours. I’ve created extensive files on you and all your costumed associates, which includes a list of all significant persons in their lives. Should any harm come to me or my wife or god forbid if there are complications in the birth of my future son or daughter from your actions tonight, the destruction I bring down upon you and yours will be absolute. There will be no schemes, there will be no ultimate plans to conquer the world. It will not be death, rather I will destroy them piece by piece like a child that plucks the petals off a daisy. Anything you value even in the slightest will come to ruin and that goes double for the members of your little cabaret act. I will watch while they lose their homes, their livelihoods and soon enough their minds. There will be nothing you or anyone else could do to stop it.”

“You wouldn’t,” the hero hissed through gritted teeth.

The doctor’s eyes flashed. 

“You know me better than that.”

“How’s your father?” 

 “Does he still suffer from that terrible cough? Did he manage to find another job? I do hope the Hawthornes can still put food on the table.” 

The hero flew from his chair. His eyes blazed with a black fury and glared across the room. 

“Fix my home then get out of my sight.” The doctor spat, “If I even sense you or anyone else get close to me...”

“I understand,” replied the Major. 

The good doctor’s home was back in pristine order in a rush of wind and a blur of colour and speed.

 He rose from his chair and listened for a moment. A far-off boom of thunder allowed him to relax at last. He took the small remote control from the inside of his jacket, pressed the button, and stepped through the shimmering rift in the fabric of reality to embrace his wife.