Gone but where, p.29
Gone, but Where?, page 29
Voices began to speak.
“You have failed.”
“The paranormal. Rosemary Moon.”
“You told us she was retired.”
“You told us that she would not interfere.”
“She was retired,” Stella snapped. “That’s what the intel said. She hadn’t been active in years, not until the incident at the nightclub.”
A chorus of voices echoed from the shadows, one after another.
“We are fully aware of her involvement at the nightclub.”
“Rosemary Moon and the anomaly, Scott Finn, tampered with our plans there, too.”
“But it played to our advantage. The portal was sealed.”
“It will be the final time they interfere.”
Stella straightened and lifted her chin, arms crossed tightly in a stance meant to project authority.
“Rosemary Moon is a woman in her late sixties. The last few years, she’s been tagging along with a group of amateur ghost-hunters called Green Street, A YouTube hobby group. They’re nothing more than camcorders and torch-lit vigils. We assumed it was just that. There was no evidence that she was still operating as a serious paranormal investigator. I didn’t know she was still a player. Not at this level.”
The tallest Grey tilted his head.
“Scott Finn,” he said.
“They call him a gate-seer,” another added. “A reader. And Rosemary Moon is training him.”
Two of them took a step forward.
“You lied”
“You told us this Rosemary Moon was irrelevant. A footnote.”
“But now she trains someone who can touch the gates between worlds.”
Stella’s throat tightened. “I couldn’t have predicted that. We had nothing, nothing, in the reports about him. Scott Finn is just a plumber, for God’s sake. No heritage, no bloodline. She must’ve found him by accident. This was out of my control!”
Three disembodied voices spoke in succession:
“You were warned.”
“And now.”
“You must answer for your failures.”
“No! No way! I did what you asked!” Stella shouted. “The portal in Yaightford is now closed. Isn’t that what you ultimately wanted?”
A silence stretched.
“Yes,” said the nearest Grey. “All portals must be sealed. All access... denied.”
“But it’s not enough, now that Professor Rendale has also gone.”
“We needed his knowledge.”
“Gone? But where? I can help you find to him,” Stella stammered, stepping forward.
“No. He has gone.”
“Gone to another dimension.”
“He is out of reach.”
“Gone?” Asked Stella.
“Because of Rosemary Moon. And the anomaly, Scott Finn.”
The nearest Grey leaned in.
“You failed us.”
A crack of thunder shook the walls.
Stella’s words tumbled out in a rush. “You threatened me. Then my parents. You told me they’d be safe. I’ve done everything you asked! If Rendale got away, it’s because you didn’t stop him, not me. There was nothing preventing you from getting your hands dirty.”
A series of distinct voices broke out again.
“You assured us Rosemary Moon posed no threat.”
“And yet, once again, she has disrupted our efforts, undermined the chaos we sought to unleash.”
“All incursions into this world must be stopped. All portals must be sealed. All access... denied.”
“The ones we serve, our leaders, they act, because they are permitted by laws, far older than yours Stella Middleton.”
“You were warned.”
“And now.”
“You must answer for your failures.”
A pause.
Then, with quiet venom:
“The ones we serve are... displeased.”
The Grey ones all turned as one.
A door in the far wall creaked open, revealing a corridor of shadow and wet stone.
Panic clawed at her chest.
“Where are you going? What about the artifacts?” Stella shouted after them. “Three Infantino pieces. Found. That’s my intel, you wouldn’t even know about them without me!”
But the Grey ones were already moving away into the dark of the corridor.
“I gave you everything!” Her voice broke. “You said my parents would be safe.”
She staggered back, a gasp escaping her as she scrabbled for her phone. Her trembling hands danced across the screen.
No signal.
A raindrop splashed against the glass.
And when Stella looked up,
She wasn’t in the Divinity School anymore. She stood in a courtyard of ancient stone, the scent of rot and damp earth thick in her nose.
Rain fell in heavy sheets. Bells from Cambridge rang, but distant now, warped.
The courtyard was alien, crumbling walls, heavy skies, no way out.
And they were waiting.
The Men in the Rain.
The ones the Grey ones serve.
Figures too many to count, half-seen in the storm. Faces hidden behind veils of mist. Coats clung to their twisted frames.
They did not breathe.
They did not blink.
They simply stared.
“No...” Stella whispered.
They began to move, gliding forward in unison, not walking, not quite touching the ground.
Water churned around their feet, like something else moved beneath them.
Stella turned, lost her footing, and tumbled face-first onto the wet stone. Her eyes widened in shock as rainwater began filling her mouth.
She choked.
“Please,” she begged, crawling away, hands scraping the slick flagstones. “Please, I did everything...”
Just a hand.
Pale. Soft, almost liquid. Fingers like melting candlewax in the rain.
It touched her.
Stella’s body arched with a violent, unnatural force once, then again, harder. Rainwater poured into her mouth, gagging her as a strangled cry tore from her throat. Her limbs jerked in slow, spidery spasms. She hovered for a breathless second, trembling, suspended in her own torment... then crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut, hitting the stone floor.
Stillness.
Rain pummelled her body, blurring her outline and bit by bit, she began to fade.
Her shape melted. Erased like chalk.
Until only her face remained.
Trapped in the surface of a shallow puddle.
Staring up, her mouth wide in silent horror.
Raindrops struck the water.
Each one shattered her reflection a little more.
Her scream broke into ripples.
Then silence.
The Men in the Rain withdrew into the storm, dissolving between raindrops.
And when the winds finally calmed, and the first pale rays of the morning sun dried the courtyard stones, the bells of Cambridge tolled in hollow, distant echoes and the puddle began to fade.
And with it... so did Stella Middleton.
CHAPTER SIXTY
The shrill ring of her mobile sliced through the quiet, dragging Rosemary from sleep. She groaned, reaching blindly for it on the bedside table.
One glance at the screen,
Noah.
Finally.
She answered without thinking, voice still scratchy with sleep. “You’d better have a damned good reason for disappearing.”
A low chuckle came down the line.
She exhaled, rubbing her temple. “Meet me at nine. I’ll send you the location.”
A pause.
“Yes. I know, we need to talk. And don’t worry, Alex is fine. But let’s not discuss it over the phone, okay? Fine. I’ll text it to you.”
She ended the call and stared at the ceiling for a moment, then pulled back the curtains. Rain tapped softly on the glass.
She sighed. It was going to be an interesting morning for answers.
The café was quiet for the time of day, the scent of fresh coffee curling through the air. A few early risers lingered over their drinks and newspapers, but more than one had begun to notice the man who'd arrived half an hour ago.
Noah Blackwood wasn’t someone you could overlook. His flaming red hair caught the soft café light as he moved, tousled with careless intent. Beneath sharp cheekbones and a finely carved jaw, freckles were scattered like a memory of summer. Tall–6’2, Noah carried himself with the ease of someone who knew exactly how much space he occupied. His tailored grey waistcoat and crisp white shirt, collar open just enough to hint at mischief, only added to his air of roguish charm, but it was the coat that made people stare. A deep blue greatcoat, dramatic and heavy, flared just enough with his stride to look like he'd stepped out of a story rather than a stormy British morning.
Women stole glances. Some subtle. Some not. Noah didn’t seem to notice. Or didn’t care.
Now, half an hour and two cups of tea later, he was leaning back in his chair, watching Rosemary finish recounting everything: the portal, the artefacts, the village, the Animus and Alex’s choice.
Scott sat next to him, quiet, nursing his mug and listening without interruption.
Noah gave a slow, half-shocked shake of the head. “Goddamn. You see why I love him so much.” He turned to Rosemary, more sober now. “Sorry, I wasn’t here. To help, I mean.”
She waved him off. “It’s fine. We got your message in Stafford, at the phone box. I told Alex that you had retreated to the sanctum.”
Scott chimed in from his coffee. “Not sure he believed us when Rosemary explained.”
Noah let out a laugh. “I wouldn’t have either.”
Rosemary studied him, sharp gaze narrowing. “It must’ve been bad if you stayed in the sanctum for this long.”
Something flickered behind Noah’s eyes. Then it was gone. He didn’t answer immediately. Fingers tapped lightly on his cup. When he finally spoke, his voice was flat.
“It was bad.”
He shifted in his seat, testing sore ribs. “The place still fascinates me. It’s just you and the sanctum, and it heals you. It doesn’t explain itself. It just settles in your head. As far as I was concerned, I’ve been on a beach for four days. Looking back, I had concussion. Broken ribs. Cuts everywhere. The full works.”
Scott said nothing. His usual grin had disappeared.
Rosemary leaned forward. “Who was it, Noah? Who was it that attacked you in Stafford?”
“There were five of them, calling themselves The Greys. People in grey suits.” He looked up. “Met them before. At a wizarding conference in London. They cornered me. Offered a place, ‘You have potential,’ that sort of thing. Never gave names. Didn’t say who they worked for either.”
Rosemary and Scott exchanged a glance.
“Grey suits? Hate to say it, but me and Rosemary have met them. Green lapel pins?”
Noah’s expression darkened. “Yeah, that's the ones. My advice, stay the hell away.”
Rosemary’s voice was calm. “What happened?”
“The Greys showed up again in Stafford. Same pitch. Dead-eyed staring. I said no.” He flexed his hands. “Then it started. I felt something like they were ripping something out of me. My magic just... vanished. One second, I had it. The next, nothing.”
Scott sat upright. “They cut off your magic?”
Noah nodded. “Didn’t even get a chance to fight. One of them hit me. I was down. Ribs went next. I don’t remember how I got away. I just... did.”
“Did they pursue you?” Rosemary asked.
“Yes, felt like hours. They were pacing themselves. Letting me run. I screamed for help, no one came. They weren’t fully supernatural, I think they had been human once, but they were... wrong.” He struggled for the right word, then found it. “If I had to guess, I'd say they were demons inhabiting human bodies. They were enjoying it, taking their time.” He finally met their eyes. “And they kept saying, that if they caught me, they were going to break my neck.”
Rosemary gave a small nod. “Breaking the neck. Fast. Efficient. No noise. A sharp twist, done with their strength, severs the spinal cord instantly.”
He rubbed his jaw. “Made it to the alley. I wasn’t risking holding up in the phone box. Too risky when I didn’t know what creatures the Greys were. I sent you, my location. My hands were shaking. I could barely hold the phone. So, I left the psychic bubble. Quicker.”
Scott narrowed his eyes. “And?”
“Spell worked. Got me to the sanctum, got me away from them. The suppression of my magic must be proximity-based.” Noah let out a breath. “Must’ve been far enough away. Incantation to open the door to the sanctum worked the first time, I cast the spell. You got the psychic bubble?”
“Yes.”
“Then it worked.”
Silence settled.
Then Rosemary nodded. “You’re lucky you made it out before they got to you. But I’m so glad you did.”
“These Greys weren’t just strong, Rosemary. They were like hunters wrapped in corporate designer wear!” Noah ran a hand through his hair again. “What about you two? When did you run into them?”
Rosemary barely looked up from her tea. “They were watching us in Yaightford. We didn’t give it much thought with all the attention we were attracting with the case. Later, they somehow knew that we were opening a portal to send the Professor home, they came straight for it, or for him, hard to say.” She took a measured sip. “We closed the portal just in time. They turned and walked away. Like we didn’t matter.”
Noah frowned. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.” replied Scott. “They just clocked out like it was the end of a shift. ‘Well, portals gone. Pack it in, lads. See you Monday.”
Noah let out a breath. “They don’t seem interested in you two, then. That does surprise me.”
Rosemary set her cup down with a soft clink. “Main thing is, you’re back. You’re safe.”
Noah looked at them both. “Yeah, and I’ll contact Animus. I have a harmonic key, it mimics his vocalisations. Aligns the energy. Opens a door.”
Scott whistled low. “Fancy, you’ll have me out of a job.”
“I’ll go. Get Alex. Then we lay low. Maybe take a proper holiday finally.”
“Good plan,” Rosemary said. “Let’s meet again once we’ve got a better handle on this. Because whatever’s going on, it’s not finished. If anything, it feels like it’s just beginning.”
Scott leaned back in his chair, balancing it on two legs. “Brilliant. Got to love a slow-building existential crisis. Really helps you savour a bacon sandwich.”
Noah laughed quietly.
Rosemary dabbed her eye with a handkerchief, then sighed, letting her thoughts settle. The puzzle pieces were scattered. One last Infantino artefact remained somewhere in New York. Tower Hill had told them that a secret paranormal war was spreading across England, one they were struggling to hold back. And finally, there was the unnatural menace of the Greys. But they’d done more than they’d hoped: rescued the ramblers, closed a dangerous rift, forged allies, uncovered prophecies, and gained a safe house and a peculiar telephone named 505.
It wasn’t everything, but it was a damn good start. At least no one had died.
Her gaze flicked to Scott. Arms-folded, talking to Noah, drumming his fingers on his bicep. He was quiet today. A shiver traced her spine as the thought returned, unbidden, the same cold suspicion that had first taken root in the duplicate church, as the faceless ones smashed down the doors. The name he’d cried out as the cold closed in.
Annie.
Who was Annie?
She had committed every detail of Scott's life to memory, his family, his past, the world before the fugue. A former girlfriend? She didn't ask. Not yet. Instead, the question had taken root and with it an unease she couldn’t shake. It felt heavier than a past romance. More significant and current. And it refused to be ignored.
Around them, the café bustled on. Steam hissed from the espresso machine. A man stirred sugar into tea. A couple murmured at a window seat.
Ordinary lives.
Beyond the glass, rain streamed down in soft, silver trails. Umbrellas bloomed on the pavement like slow-moving black flowers.
For now, they had this. A café. The warmth of tea. The final, fragile calm.
And time, just a little more time, before the storm came.
The End
Acknowledgments
To the writers, shows, and stories I’ve loved since I was old enough to read past my bedtime, you’re the reason I ever thought I could do this.
To The Blue Moon Detective Agency, you were my friends, my obsession, and my inspiration, and I can still quote you one-liners to this day. Glenn Gordon Caron and the team, I thank you.
To the planet Etheria (the classic one, naturally) for teaching me about courage, friendship, and decent hair in battle.
To a certain Time Lord, who travels around in a blue box, you’ve had a bigger influence than you’ll ever know.
To Jessica Drew and her venom blasts (that first fifty-issue run), you made me feel less lonely because you were lonely too.
To Lara, with your two pistols, a glint of light on water, and the thrill of exploring tombs, thank you for every late-night escape.
From the decks of the USS Voyager to tin dogs, Xenomorphs, and pulse rifles, every strange, brilliant world has shaped the way I see my own.
And finally, to the law of attraction, thank you for reminding me that what we reach for has a funny way of reaching back.
Guy M. Etchells is an independent author based in Staffordshire, England. His debut novel, The Cubicle at the End, marks the beginning of The Moon & Finn series, a four-book journey that blends mystery, humour, and the quietly strange.
Guy previously published the short story A Window Cracked in New Street Stories, set in the same universe. A lifelong fan of sci-fi, fantasy, and the MARVEL universe, he writes about ordinary people caught in extraordinary moments, often with a touch of wit and heart.
For more information and contact details, please visit guyetchells.com
