The Earth turned as the Earth always turned within the lonely black vacuum of space; a solitary blue-green sparkle in an otherwise cold and colourless void. It was so tranquil… so very quiet.
If there was anyone in space to hear across the globe all the thousands of voices, they would not have said the Earth was quiet.
Across the globe, people laughed, cried, slept, and died as they had always done; the noise of Life was deafening.
Space was silent. So very silent.
Silence had fallen beneath the inky black sky of Shoreditch, London.
He came around the corner and found her car parked exactly where he knew her car would be parked. The Man, still dressed in his work suit sighed, slightly esaperated, and slightly disappointed. He walked towards the car, but The Woman made no sign of moving
The Man tapped on the window of the car gently, and then, when The Woman showed no signs of responding, he knocked harder. She started suddenly, looking slightly bewildered, then opened the door to her car. The Man climbed in.
For a moment they sat in silence.
"You have a scratch across the side of your car." He said, by way of introduction.
"I know. I've been meaning to get it fixed."
They sat still, neither moving, their breath heavy on the air.
"Are you going to tell me why you keep coming out here?" He finally asked.
She made no response. She sat in silence staring directly ahead, her grip on the steering wheel unwavering.
"Well? I've followed you this week; after school, each night, you come down here and sit in your car starring at the same spot. Every night."
He let his words hang in the cold November air. Suddenly, she spoke. Her words were slow and measured as she weighed each syllable.
"Do you ever get the feeling that you're forgetting something important?" she asked.
"All the time." he replied, with feigned nonchalance, "What do you think you're forgetting?"
"I don't… I honestly don't know. I think there is something big - something very big, just sitting somewhere in my mind, but I just can't reach it."
He didn't know what to say. The stillness of the night outside was palatable.
"This is the place, isn't it?" he asked her. She didn't reply.
"Come on now. It was only a few weeks ago. We were in the staff room and you told me that you suddenly had the feeling that you and I should be checking on a student - one of the girls - and then you told me her address. After last night, I decided to check the address of this place. This is the place, right? 76 Totter's Lane?"
Again, she was silent.
"This is the problem I'm having, see. I went back to our student's records: we don't have a single student registered as living at this address."
He stopped to wipe some of the condensation off the window. Two big wooden gates loomed directly ahead of them in the darkness of the night. The Man read off the lettering that was emblazed in thick white painted letters.
"'I.M. Foreman'." he sighed, "You shouldn't keep coming down here. What sort of student do you think lives in a scrap yard anyway?"
"I honestly don't know" she replied, slowly with the beginnings of frustrated tears in her eyes.
"I can't remember her name, her face - anything about her. It just came to me that lunchtime in the staff room. I needed to see her. To help her. I started noticing that things just under my nose didn't make sense - dates that didn't seem to add up in the history books when I read them - dates of births, dates of deaths, ages, but when I actually started to count them with a pen and paper, they did. And that's when the dreams started."
He sat fiddling awkwardly.
"Dreams?"
"Things I can remember, only if I'm not trying to remember. Places and people I can see only if I'm squinting. Sounds and voices that come to me only in the stillness of the night. Ttouching the alien sand and hearing the cries of strange birds, and watching them wheel in another sky… I dreamed about giant ants forcing me to work on… something. I dreamed that I was the reincarnation of an Aztec high priest Yutaxa."
"Well, we all have dreams like that, old girl. That's why they're dreams. Sounds to me like you've spent a bit too long with your history books -"
"No, you don't understand. They not like dreams. They're all so… so real. And the feeling I get from them… it's so real. It's like, like-"
"Déjà vu?"
"Yes. Exactly that. Exactly that."
There was silence before she spoke again.
"And you're there too."
This time, it was awkwardness that hung thick in the air between them.
"I know you've been having them as well." she finally said to him. He shifted awkwardly in his seat.
"Well, no." he said, "But I do know what you're talking about. The constant nagging feeling of Déjà vu. I mean, I went to unblock my kitchen sink the other day, and I suddenly felt this overwhelming terror of the sink plunger -"
"You're just making fun of me now" she reacted haughtily, fighting back tears in her eyes.
He fidgeted nervously .
"I'm not mad" she said, finally and definitely.
"I never said you -" he began.
"No. I'm not mad, I'm really not mad. And… And… I'm not going mad either."
"I'm not saying you are. Look, the assassination of President Kennedy affected lots of people. You…might just be having some issues -"
"-I'm not mad -"
"I'm not saying you are. In fact, quite the opposite." Silence fell on the car again, "I am having dreams. All the things you talked about. Being knighted by King Richard in the crusades, Neanderthals inventing fire. Jail cells. I dream a lot about being stuck in jails actually. But you're right. It all comes back to here: 'I.M. Foreman' - a scrap yard on old Totter's Lane."
"Then, you don't think I'm mad?"
"Not at all."
"Thank you." For the first time that evening, she relaxed her grip on the steering wheel.
"Would you mind dropping me off on your way home?"
"Of course not."
Starting the car, she reversed it slowly down the street, away from the looming wooden doors of the scrap yard. Her companion was silent. Both knew, even if they didn't say it aloud, they both knew, that something - some force did not want them to leave. Some thing festering in the back of their minds which they knew, but couldn't quite remember. Some dark, nameless feeling of dread - but also awe.
"Now, don't take this the wrong way," he said, as they wound their way down Shoreditch's empty streets - it was late, and the roads deserted, "But tomorrow, I think we should both speak to someone about this. A councillor perhaps. Or maybe even a doctor."
"It's funny." she muttered softly, "But I have a feeling that a doctor is exactly who we should be meeting."
"Yes, well, it's either that, or it's out destiny to end our lives in a lunatic's asylum."
He laughed a uncertain laugh.
She smiled slightly, muttering something suddenly remembered. Something someone she couldn't remember had once said to her.
"Our lives are important and as we see, so we learn; our destiny is in the stars, so let's go and search for it."
He laughed.
"Now I know you're pulling my leg, Barbara Wright; Everybody knows that there are no such things as stars!"
The Earth turned as the Earth always turned within the lonely black vacuum of space; a solitary blue-green sparkle in an otherwise cold and colourless void. So tranquil… so very peaceful.
If there had been anyone in space to hear across the globe all the thousands of voices, they would not have said the Earth was peaceful.
But Space was silent.
So very silent.