Blonde Curls And A Purple Jacket

Trevor's left eye scanned the detective's inquisitive face. While he couldn't tell if Inspector Greenland was lying, he could sense something was wrong. He just didn't know what exactly.

He was being questioned in connection with the disappearance of a young woman, Scarlet Firethorn. Yesterday's fog had caused his alibi for that tragic night to vanish, and now the logical truth lay before him like a ton of bricks, forcing him to face it. None of his friends would vouch for him, not even Kobe's lying mouth, ready to lend a hand in any situation. It was too much for anyone he knew to grasp.

‘So, as I understand it, on September 6th, you were walking down Moorland Avenue to the station. Did you see anyone along the way?’

‘Nobody I particularly knew. Just a few passers-by, nothing more.’

‘And among those passers-by wasn't a tall girl with blonde curls and a purple jacket?’

‘No, definitely not.’

‘And what makes you so sure?’

‘Because if I saw someone like that, I would have noticed.’

‘Why?'

‘I'm sensitive to purple. It brings bad luck.’

‘Well, I can tell you one thing, boy. It definitely brought you bad luck this time.’

Trevor hung his head, staring at the floor. The interrogation room, however meaningless it may have been, left him despondent.

‘Don't run far, boy! We can call you as soon as we know more about what happened.’

The law allowed Trevor to leave, but it shattered his perception of that day. He'll have to rebuild it again with greater confidence.

Trevor pressed a button on his left temple to deactivate the lie detector and stepped out into the street. The usual hustle and bustle reigned, with low-flying vehicles and speeding cars getting in their way. Add to that the delivery trucks, which were too high for the tram's overhead wires, constantly getting caught in them, and you'd have a clear picture of the fires that broke out there every day.

Trevor, however, locked in his own world, remained indifferent. How could this detective be so wrong? Couldn't he see that the hordes of Babylon had decimated the area, and that they had little chance of survival anyway? Soon, an entire army of specialized units would appear on the horizon and wipe out humanity. How could he be interested in one missing girl from a rich man's garden? They could have another child too easily, and we should focus on defence mechanisms, not one minor flaw in the system.

Trevor passed the crowded bazaar overhead and headed for the subway. He needed to resume his journey to Swinderby to report his whereabouts. His superiors might be too concerned.

At the station, he boarded the train and immediately blended into the anonymous crowd. Like a ghost, a foreboding gripped him. What if this detective was actually right? What if, deep inside, he was hinting at what was going on? What if the girl's disappearance wasn't the work of one of us, but of Babylon? What if the enemy was so close that they lost all chance of defence before they could gather their weapons? What if…?

There was a sudden flurry of activity in the train car. Uniformed officers searched every inch of space, turning the entire car upside down. Trevor buried his head under the black hood of his jacket, waiting for the blow. When, after a few minutes, he realized the blow hadn't come, he breathed a sigh of relief. The uniformed men moved on to the next car, dragging their fear behind them.

When he arrived at Swinderby station half an hour later, heavy rain was pouring down. He ducked, trying to avoid the numerous, powerful drops attacking his chest like bullets. He struggled to breathe, gasping for air. Finding a cab finally allowed him to breathe normally, savouring the air like the most delicious delicacy.

Once he reached the Dark Arts area, he could finally rest. Nothing bad could happen here, as special spells cast by the Grand Master protected the area.

‘Did he ask you about her?’ the Master asked as Trevor appeared in the heavy wooden doorway.

‘Yes.’

‘Did he lie?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Let’s see.’

Trevor grabbed a tiny screwdriver from the round table in the centre of the room and gouged out his left eye. The Master carefully lifted it and placed it in the Truth Machine, conveniently placed in the room's corner. The machine began to whir and growl, and after a few seconds, an image appeared on the large screen. The Master and Trevor watched with utter concern.

‘Well, well, he knows something we don't,’ said the Master.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Trevor, not understanding.

‘Look!’

An army of uniformed men marched across the screen, ready to overthrow anything and anyone in their path. They seemed unconcerned with vehicles and animals, trampling them with tanks and blowing them to pieces. The lights of the Dandy Lion pub flashed on one street. The Master grabbed the remote and pressed the button marked INSIDE.

Amid the chaos, they spotted several pub regulars and their twisted bodies. When the Master re-entered the frame, a dangerously tall woman with blonde curls and a purple jacket emerged in all her glory.

‘Is that the girl we're talking about?’ Trevor asked, shocked.

‘It seems so.’

She sat at the bar, her blonde curls swinging like a mermaid's. Several men must have been fighting over her, as the bartender was serving her drinks.

‘She doesn't need our help. She's safe,’ the Master said.

‘But…’ Trevor tried to protest.

‘She's not in danger, Trevor! That detective must have been chasing you, I suppose. Unless he's got the wrong information everywhere. Besides, it's none of our business.’

Trevor left the Master's room disappointed. He couldn't get rid of those curls. He tried, but every time he forced a new image onto it with the right button on his temple, it didn't work, deepening his trauma.

Since no invention will help us, we should take matters into our own hands, he told himself, trusting his heart.

From now on, he had a new mission in life. Find this girl himself.