"Raindance"

The rain had been falling steadily since morning. Not a heavy downpour, just a sideways drift that clung to clothes and settled deep into their fabric. The sky over Woodberry Down was a flat, metallic grey, against which the towers rose like glass monoliths. The reservoir looked darker than usual, its surface broken by small, wind-driven ripples.

Djo walked fast along the path; hood up, waterlogged trainers squelching with each step. His breath came out in short bursts, visible in the cold air. He kept glancing over his shoulder; not because he expected to see anyone, but because he didn’t trust the feeling on the back of his neck.

Dave had texted him an hour ago: Need to talk. Same place. No greeting or explanation.

Djo found them near the bench overlooking the east reservoir: Dave standing under a bare tree, hood down despite the rain, hands in his pockets with the thumbs showing; Tems sitting on the bench, coat zipped up to her chin, hair frizzy with damp, eyes sharp.

 “You’re late,” Dave said.

“You said sometime today.”

Dave shrugged. “Still late.”

Tems didn’t look up. “Sit down.”

Djo remained standing. The rain softened for a moment, becoming a fine mist that blurred the edges of the towers. A jogger passed, hood pulled tight, shoes slapping the wet pavement. A dog barked somewhere beyond the estate. The city sounded muted, as if someone had turned its volume down.

Tems finally looked at Djo. “You told her yet?”

“No.”

Dave exhaled through his nose. “You need to.”

“She’s already scared,” Djo said.

“She should be,” Tems replied.

Djo looked away, toward the water. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is,” Dave said. “You tell her what you know. Or someone else will.”

Djo squared his frame. “You don’t know her.”

Dave didn’t back down. “I know what happens when people don’t get told the truth.”

Tems shifted slightly, the bench creaking under her. “We’re not here to argue about your feelings.”

Djo flinched. “It’s not...”

“It is,” she said.

Dave stepped closer to the railing, rain collecting on his eyelashes. “It’s happening again.”

Djo swallowed. “You don’t know that.”

Dave turned. “Yes I do.”

Tems nodded. “We both do.”

Djo rubbed the bridge of his nose; a small tell he didn’t realise he had. “It’s just videos.”

Tems shook her head. “It’s not just videos.”

Dave added, “It’s the pattern.”

Djo didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. They each had their own idea about what he meant.

Tems reached into her coat and pulled out an ancient mobile phone. A heavy slab with a scratched facia. The kind of device that didn’t connect to anything unless you wanted it to.

She held it out to Djo. “Look.”

He hesitated, then took it. A video was open on the screen: A woman walking along this same path, in the same rain.

Not Raye, but with a close enough resemblance that his stomach felt uneasy.

The woman turned slightly, as if sensing something or someone behind her. The clip ended abruptly.

Djo closed his eyes. “Where did you get this?”

Dave answered. “Same place as last time.”

Djo felt the unease climbing higher into his chest. “You shouldn’t have gone back there.”

“We had to,” Tems said.

“Why?”

“Because someone left it for us.”

The rain thickened again suddenly, bouncing off the path, the bench, their coats. Tems pulled her hood up. Dave didn’t, as if defying the elements.

Djo stared at the phone in his hand. “She can’t see this.”

Dave stepped closer. “She already has her own version.”

Djo looked up sharply. “What?”

Tems nodded. “She didn’t tell you?”

Djo’s breath caught. “Tell me what?”

Tems watched him carefully. “She got another video last week. Same path. Same coat. Same everything.”

Djo felt the ground shift slightly beneath him. “She didn’t say.”

“Of course she didn’t,” Dave said. “She’s trying to hold it together.”

Djo swallowed hard. “I need to talk to her.”

Tems shook her head. “Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t know what it is you’re going to tell her.”

The rain relented again, turning back into mist. The reservoir shimmered under the grey sky. A bus rumbled across the bridge in the distance.

Dave stepped back from the railing. “We’ve arranged to meet someone.”

“Who?” Djo asked.

“Someone who knows more than we do.”

Tems added, “Someone who’s been watching the watchers.”

Djo frowned. “You trust them?”

“No,” Dave said. “But we don’t have a choice.”

Tems stood, pulling her coat tighter. “You should go. She’ll be looking for you.”

Djo hesitated. “What do I tell her?”

Dave looked at him, steady and unblinking. “Tell her the truth.”

Tems added, “Or tell her nothing. But don’t lie. She’ll know.”

Djo nodded slowly, slipping the phone into his pocket. Dave kissed his teeth. Tems clicked her fingers and held out her hand.

Djo handed the phone back and walked away from the reservoir, the rain seeping into his hood, the cold worrying at his fingers, the city remaining unusually silent as if it were holding its breath.

Behind him, Dave and Tems stayed where they were, watching him leave, then watching the random patterns of raindrops upon the water.