Mid-July 2020 — Bournemouth, England
After leaving the train station, Einar walked up the stairs and checked his phone for notifications. There was one from John.
Sorry, I can't pick you up. Boss won't let me leave until the work's done. She knows you're coming today, too.
John had added a few more messages after that—mostly insults directed at his boss, calling her a heartless female dog who didn't care about her employees' feelings.
Einar laughed as he read them, a smile spreading across his face. "He really hates her. Well, I guess that's her fault," he muttered.
He slipped his phone into his pocket, pulled out a Bluetooth earbud, and plugged it into his right ear. His favorite song began to play.
With time to kill, he decided to wander around town and find a place for breakfast. He checked his phone again, searching for the nearest bus stop and a bus heading toward the center. The stop was a five-minute walk away, and the next bus would arrive in three minutes.
Clutching the bag slung from his right shoulder across his torso, Einar broke into a run.
"I'm not waiting forty minutes for the next bus or taking a damn taxi," he said between breaths. "Aren't I broke enough already?"
On the other side of the road, a girl who looked to be in her early twenties watched him from the corner of her eye. Her gaze was intense, as if he might explode—or disappear—at any moment. Lapis-blue eyes reflected his figure as he ran past.
Einar was tall for his age, standing at 187 centimeters. Neither too fat nor too skinny, he had a decent build. He wasn't particularly handsome, according to friends and colleagues, but his Turkish blood had gifted him a thick, well-shaped beard and mustache since the age of sixteen. It made him look older than he really was—a trait he used with pride. Movies above his age rating, alcohol without showing ID; no one ever questioned him.
His hair was black, like a night without stars, matching the color of his beard. His caramel-brown eyes looked almost golden when they caught the light. His facial features were ordinary, but dark circles sat beneath his eyes—the result of late-night gaming sessions with John before he boarded the train to Bournemouth.
Bournemouth felt more like a holiday town than a normal city. Beaches stretched across it, and prices were higher than in most English cities—though still nothing compared to London.
Barely making it in time, Einar scanned his card and took a seat at the back of the bus, breathing heavily as he tried to decide where to eat. Before the bus pulled away, he glanced out the window at the spot where the young woman had been standing moments earlier.
She was gone.
He hadn't seen her leave. In fact, he hadn't sensed her presence at all—only the lingering feeling of being watched while he was running. Shaking his head, Einar pushed the unease deep down. He didn't like being stared at. Never had.
After a heavy breakfast, he spent hours wandering the town—walking through a park, then lying on the grass while waiting for his dear friend to finally escape the grasp of that so-called evil witch.
Yet despite his relaxed posture, unease coiled in his chest. Whether he was eating, walking, or resting, that same intense gaze followed him—always felt, never seen.
It's like they… whoever they are… cease to exist the moment I look back, he thought.
In the end, he dismissed the feeling as paranoia. Anxiety, maybe. "Probably just the new surroundings," he muttered.
Three hours passed.
At first, Einar didn't worry. John had replied to his first few messages, then stopped. That was normal—his friend was probably still busy dealing with his moody boss. But after a dozen unanswered texts and several calls that went straight to voicemail, unease turned into concern.
Something felt wrong.
Einar called the bar where John worked.
"Ring… Ring… Ring…"
After the third ring, a mature woman answered. Her voice was professional, asking if Einar was calling to make a party reservation. When she realized who was on the line, her tone softened—like a worried mother speaking to a friend of her child.
"Hello, Madam Longarm," Einar said. "I was wondering when John will be able to leave work. He isn't answering my calls, and I just wanted to make sure everything's all right."
There was a pause.
"What are you talking about, love?" Madam Longarm said, worry creeping into her voice. "John isn't working today. I gave him three days off since you were coming. Didn't he pick you up from the station?"
"…Huh?"
Einar frowned. "No. He texted me saying you didn't give him time off and that he had to work extra hours."
"That's strange," she said, her concern deepening. "I'll try to reach him by phone. Can you go to his house and see if he's there? John isn't the type to joke about things like this."
"All right," Einar replied, already standing up. "Please call me if you find anything."
He ended the call and headed toward the nearest taxi, a heavy, boiling feeling settling in his chest.
Something had happened.