9 - Thursday Night -Friday Morning

I must apologise for not posting this sooner.

I wrote it last Monday, early morning — proper early — but I didn’t get it up.

The jump

Evan wrapped that thin black blanket around me — not heavy, but somehow it made me feel like I was being packaged up for something I hadn’t agreed to.

Then he stepped in and held me tight. Not soft. Not romantic. Practical. Like he was anchoring cargo.

“Hold still,” he said, low. “Don’t fight it.”

And then he jumped.

There’s no proper word for it. It wasn’t like falling. Falling gives you that stomach-drop, that airy panic.

This was… pressure.

Like the world squeezed in on you from all sides. Like your lungs went, nope, and forgot how to work. The wind wasn’t just cold — it was sharp, like tiny knives hitting your face through the gaps in the blanket.

And the speed… Jesus.

I kept my eyes shut because I honestly thought if I opened them I’d see something my brain wouldn’t recover from. All I could hear was the rush — like being stood inside a storm — and Evan’s grip stayed locked, completely steady. Not shaking. Not straining. Like this was just walking to him.

It hurt too. Not a bruise. Not a cut. More like your muscles and bones are being told they’re moving faster than they’re built for. A deep ache that turns into a burn.

I tried to speak, but the air just stole it.

And what messed me up most? Evan didn’t sound excited. Didn’t sound scared. Didn’t even sound bothered. No grunt. No effort. Nothing.

Just silence and control.

Minutes passed. Or seconds. Time didn’t make sense.

Then the pressure eased. The speed dropped. Like someone gently slowed a machine down.

And suddenly we’re drifting.

Not dropping. Drifting.

We land on grass like it’s nothing.

Elvaston Castle.

Right outside the Moorish Temple.

And as soon as Evan let go, my legs folded. I just hit the ground like my body had been switched off. I was shaking so hard I couldn’t even get my hands to work. Teeth chattering. Fingers numb. A pain sitting right behind my ribs like I’d been punched from the inside.

Evan was down beside me instantly. Kneeling. And for once his face wasn’t that blank calm. There was a tightness around his eyes. A focus.

“Callum,” he said, sharper than usual. “Look at me. Are you hurt?”

I managed a nod. “Just… cold. And that pain… I thought I was gonna snap.”

He swore under his breath — quick, vicious, then gone.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I haven’t carried a human like that for a very long time.”

He paused, and I saw that small left-lip quirk — not a smile, more like irritation at himself.

“I forgot what the speed does to you.”

Then his voice smoothed again, older.

“But you’re alive. That’s what matters. Stand. Slowly.”

He helped me up like I weighed nothing, and he stayed close until my knees stopped wobbling.

The Temple

We moved round to the steps and went up. I was still cold, but the place itself started to work on me.

The Moorish Temple has always been… my reset button.

When I was a kid, Edwin used to bring me here if I’d had a rough week, or if I’d been a little idiot and got myself in trouble, or if I just needed space. We’d come with a picnic. Sometimes my mates came too. Sometimes it was just me and him.

And I could see it all again — like memories flickering on a screen:

• Me running round the grass with a tennis ball, then later a rugby ball, throwing it too hard and laughing when it went wrong.

• Edwin pretending to be annoyed but you could tell he was enjoying it.

• Hide-and-seek in the trees, my mates shouting my name like idiots.

• That specific smell of damp grass and leaves and cheap crisps in a paper bag.

• The quiet bits too — sitting on these steps with our legs hanging down, eating sandwiches, not talking much, just being there.

Evan watched me looking at it like I was in a trance.

Then he asked, quietly:

“Why did you bring me here?”

I said, “Because it’s safe. It’s quiet. Edwin always brought me here. It’s… good memories.”

Evan’s eyes moved over the place like he was studying it, but I caught something else — a tiny shift in his expression. Not warm. Not soft. But… familiar.

“It suits you,” he said. “A place that doesn’t demand anything.”

Then he added, almost like it slipped out:

“I had a place like this.”

His gaze went into the trees.

“Me and Bridget.”

That was the first proper personal name I’d heard from him that wasn’t “Prof.”

So I asked, careful, “Who’s Bridget?”

And his face changed. Not dramatic. Just… stony, like something heavy dropped behind his eyes.

“My sister,” he said. “Youngest.”

Then his voice softened, just a fraction. Like the volume went down but the meaning got louder.

“She was light. Always moving. Singing. Laughing. If I brooded, she’d take my hand and drag me out into the world. She wouldn’t let me rot in my own head.”

He looked away again. The left lip quirked — not a smile, more like the muscle remembered how to do it.

“She’d have loved a place like this.”

I didn’t know what to say. The fact he’d said “she” like that — not “had” or “was” — told me he still holds her somewhere alive in his head.

So I asked, softer, “What about your parents?”

Evan’s jaw tightened slightly.

“We were farmers,” he said. “Pagan farmers.”

And then, like he was reciting a fact he’s had to carry for centuries:

“We kept it secret. In those days, the church didn’t debate. It burned.”

He said it with no drama. That’s what scared me. Like he’d watched it happen. Like it was normal.

“We kept to our own community. Small farm. Chickens. Crops. Dirt under your nails every day. But it was ours.”

And then he went quiet. And I realised: for all his “I’ve seen everything” talk, the things he doesn’t say are heavier than the things he does.

Fear

After a long silence, Evan said:

“Why are you afraid?”

And this time I didn’t try to blag it. I didn’t try to act hard. I was just… honest.

“Because I don’t know who I am,” I said. “I don’t know where I came from. Edwin isn’t even my uncle. I was found by a standing stone like a dropped package. And you—” I looked at him “—you’re real. All of it’s real.”

I felt my frustration rising, hot and ugly, like it always does when my brain hits the wall of no answers.

“There’s nothing I can do,” I said. “You’ve made that clear. None of you know what’s coming. So what am I meant to do—”

Evan lifted his hand, firm. Not gentle. Not cruel. Just enough.

“Stop.”

I shut up. Not because I wanted to — because the word landed like a weight.

He looked straight at me.

“We are in this together,” he said. “You are not alone in it. Edwin will not abandon you. I will not abandon you. Whatever comes, we face it together.”

Then, quieter, like he meant it:

“No secrets between us. That is how you die. That is how we all die.”

I nodded. Not because I felt better, but because… for the first time it sounded like a real plan. Not just “shut up and do as you’re told.”

We sat in silence again.

Then curiosity got me.

“Do you miss them?” I asked.

He glanced at me.

“Who?”

“Your family.”

He didn’t answer straight away. Then:

“Yes.”

One word. Heavy.

“My memory is… sharp,” he said. “Everything before and after the change. I remember it as if it happened yesterday.”

He looked away again, through the trees.

“I can see my sister’s face now. She would have liked this place.”

Then he said something that hit in a weird way:

“We don’t know who your family are. But you have family.”

I frowned.

“Edwin,” he said. “And… me, if you’ll allow it. I have been there. You simply didn’t see.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. I just sat with it.

What happens now

I asked the thing that’s been eating me.

“So what happens now?”

Evan’s answer was simple, almost brutal in how normal it sounded.

“You carry on.”

I laughed once, sharp. “Carry on what?”

He ignored the tone.

“You keep your mates. Your games. You see Camille. You live. And I do what I have always done.”

Then he looked at me like he was dropping a boulder into my lap.

“You start tomorrow.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Work,” he said. “Tomorrow.”

My mouth actually fell open. “You’re kidding.”

“I don’t kid,” he said, and there it was — that quick flash of irritation, like I’d asked him what colour the sky is. Then it was gone, and he was calm again.

“Edwin will wake you. He will drive you. There will be a man there called Mike. He believes you are a friend of a friend. You will work. You will learn. You will not embarrass yourself with laziness.”

I swallowed. “So this job thing is… real?”

“It will be real enough,” Evan said. “That is the point.”

He explained it again, clearer than before: digital marketing, online selling, the kind of work you can claim without people needing proof on day one. But I’d have to learn it properly so I can talk about it without slipping.

“Cover is survival,” he said. “People question what they don’t understand.”

Then my brain, being my brain, threw in a stupid question.

“Are you rich?”

Evan looked at me like he’d seen the joke before the Roman Empire fell.

“If wealth is measured in coin,” he said, “yes.”

“And is there another way?”

His eyes narrowed slightly, thoughtful.

“Happiness,” he said. “Peace. A quiet mind. There are people with nothing who are richer than kings.”

Then he looked at me again.

“You will not want for anything,” he said. “That is not a threat. That is a promise.”

And then he added, like he was ticking off a list:

“Driving lessons start next week.”

I shot round. “What do you mean driving lessons?”

He replied like it was obvious.

“You may need to move quickly. Edwin can drive. You cannot. That is a weakness.”

And I did the thing I always do — I got defensive.

“So you’re just planning my whole life now? I don’t get a say?”

Evan’s head snapped toward me. The temperature in his voice dropped.

“Do you want to drive or not?”

It was sharp. Quick. Then, as if he realised he’d let the anger show, he breathed once and went calm again.

“I put things in place so you survive,” he said. “Because you are important — even if we don’t yet understand why. Do you understand?”

I stared at him, then muttered, “Yeah… alright.”

Then, because I’m me, I added, “Do I get a car?”

That tiny quirk again. Almost amused.

“Yes,” he said. “Not something foolish to begin with.”

I grinned despite myself. “Seat Ibiza?”

“We will discuss it,” he replied. “After you pass.”

And yeah… I won’t lie. That actually made me smile. Because it felt like a normal conversation for about five seconds.

He told me: work starts tomorrow. My first driving lesson is Thursday, two hours, during “work time.” He said it like it was already arranged — because it was.

“How do you feel about that?” he asked.

I thought about it properly. Not just the freedom bit — but the fact he’s putting structure back into my life.

“Alright,” I said. “Yeah. I can do that.”

Back home

We sat a little longer, looking out over the grounds.

Then Evan stood.

“I’ll take you back.”

I stood too and instantly went, “I need a piss first.”

He nodded like he’d expected it.

I wandered into the trees, did what I needed to do, and when I came back, the fear of that jump was sat on my tongue.

“Can we go slower?” I asked. “Please.”

Evan looked at me for a moment.

“I can,” he said. “But it may not help. What I will do is what I did before.”

My stomach sank. “Sleep?”

“Yes,” he said. “You won’t feel the cold. You won’t feel the pain. Is that acceptable?”

I hesitated… then nodded.

“Fine.”

And then—

Blank.

Back at the door

Next thing I know, we’re at home. Front door. Like a glitch. Like reality skipped a frame.

Evan knocks. Edwin opens.

“Come in.”

Same old ritual.

I look at Evan, and he looks back like he can read my thoughts.

“You’re learning,” he said.

Inside, Evan turns to Edwin.

“I’m going,” he says. “I’ll do a circuit. I’ll see you during the week.”

I blurt, without thinking, “What, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Evan looks at me like I’ve asked him to sunbathe.

“In daylight?” he says. “No.”

I felt stupid, dropped my head. “Yeah… right. Course.”

He turns back to Edwin.

“Wake him. Suit him. Take him to Mike. I’ll see you Thursday.”

And then he’s gone.

Edwin closes the door and just looks at me.

“How did it go?”

I gave him the short version — the temple, the talk, the job, the driving lessons.

Edwin’s face went a bit grave.

“Things are changing, Callum,” he said. “They’re never going back.”

And I don’t know what came over me, but I walked over and put my hand on his shoulder.

“Edwin… you’re not my uncle. You’re more like my dad,” I said. “You brought me up. You’ve been there. I can’t ask for more than that.”

He blinked hard. There was a shine in his eye he tried to hide.

I swallowed and said, “We don’t know what’s coming, but we’ve got to be there for each other. All of us.”

He nodded once, slow.

Then I clocked the time — one in the morning.

“I need sleep,” I said. “If I’m working tomorrow.”

Edwin snapped back into practical mode.

“I’ll wake you,” he said. “I’ll drive you.

Then I remembered. “Driving lesson Thursday.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Evan’s arranged it.”

Edwin let out this short breath like he didn’t know whether to laugh or panic.

“Well… you’d better start learning your theory then.”

And I actually laughed. A proper little laugh.

“Oh shit,” I said. “Yeah. Forgot about that.”

Edwin shooed me upstairs. “Go on. Bed. Now.”

So I did.

Undressed. Fell onto the mattress. Head still doing ten-to-the-dozen for a minute… then boom.

And that’s this post.

I might put another one up straight after… or it might have to be tomorrow. Depends if I get a safe window.