Chapter 4 – Fantasy or Reality?


The apartment on South Clerk Street, had been home to Mick, Mel and Bernie for almost five years. It was spacious, with four bedrooms a large bathroom, ample kitchen and a huge central hall.

Mick, being the highest earner of the three as an Investment Risk Analyst with Rathbone Investment Management, had been the one to secure the flat and then Mel and Bernie moved in within a few months.

Mel was a Production Co-ordinator and Bernie worked in the Marketing section of a company called The Ultimate Event. It offered its clientelle, whether individuals, small or large organisations or charities, specialist corporate events , dealing with venues, various contractors and performers.

With a monthly rent of two and a half thousands pounds, they three of them were able to keep the flat easily enough with their combined salaries, but another flatmate would always mean less demand on their purse-strings.

The fourth room was still for rent, but the trio were picky when choosing the fourth member to join their happy home. No unemployed – yes they did try even though they had no way to pay the rent, no stuck up snobs, no prudes, no religious fanatics, no politics, no wannabe's, no single parents, no pets, no serious criminal records, no paedophiles, perverts or anyone thinking they were starring in 50 Shades (they did not have, nor would they have a red room of pain!).

Acceptable candidates had to hold down steady jobs, pay rent every Friday without fail or else they were out, respect existing flatmates and their belongings, like music and even better, play an instrument so they could jam together, enjoy drinking, partying, getting stoned now and again if the opportunity arose - but absolutely no dealing allowed, keep their room tidy and willingly operate by the cleaning rota for the bathroom, kitchen and living area without debate.

They had plenty applicants, but few met the criteria.

Bernie threw herself back onto the sofa. She dangled her legs over its arm and hitched up a couple of cushions under her head.

"So, a good night then, Bernie?" Mel asked, smirking as he picked up his guitar and started strumming a few bluesy chords.

"Yup!" she answered, beaming like a cheshire cat.

"Gave you his number then, did he?"

"Nope. But I've got it anyway." She turned sly eyes towards him. "I rang my phone from his when he was totally out of it."

"You are a sneaky cow," Mel laughed.

Bernie's mouth tightened. "I'm not a cow!"

"Of course not. That's why you fucked him five hours after meeting him." Mel laughed.

Bernie grabbed a cushion and threw it at him. "Bastard!" she spat.

He deflected it and laughed. "I'm just teasing you, Bernie. Lighten up."

She huffed. "I liked him," she pouted.

"So we saw," Mel risked, ready to duck another missile. The only thing she threw this time was another expletive.

She shifted so she was lying on her side and stared at him. He eyed her from the side. "What did you think about the role-play he was on about?" she asked.

Mel laughed. "Yeah, sounded good fun." he strummed more on his guitar.

"Seriously, Mel. What did you think?"

He looked at her trying to gauge where she was going with this. Bernie liked to come across as the independent, all tough modern filly but he knew deep down she was a fanciful romantic. She would deny it, of course. But, on more than one occasion he'd caught her huddled on the window seat, howling over a book, a box of tissues having been decimated, lying crumpled, soaking from her tears all round the floor at her feet.

Other times he would find her leaning on her palm simply staring out the window, a distant longing in her eyes, listening to some emotional lyrics. He wouldn't disturb her when he came across her like that, he would quietly go about his business. He liked that she was actually more girlie than she cared to admit.

There was a darkness in her past though. Memories of something still haunted Bernie and he often heard her moaning and crying in the wee small hours as the nightmares kicked in. He went to her on those occasions, just to give her a shoulder to cry on, but still she remained quiet about whatever demons lay under her bed.

Returning to the moment, he sighed. "It's just a game, Bernie. What am I supposed to think about it?"

She rolled over on to her back again. "He told me more once we left the pub."

"Uh huh," he responded, shaking his head, grinning.

She turned her head to look at him again. "The way he spoke, it didn't sound as though it was just role-playing in-game."

"And so what did it sound like, Bernie?" Mel glanced up.

"Like he really lived it. Like he was there. In Azeroth. For real!"

Mel put his guitar down and stood up. He shook his head in disbelief, his man-bun bouncing lightly from side to side as he did. "You've been reading too many fantasy and romance novels, Bernie."

She swung her legs round and rested her forearms on her knees. Her eyes were huge and bright and there was a real enthusiasm in her voice. "Mel, I swear it. I think he was talking about actual experiences in Azeroth. You should have heard him. It was really detailed. The battles, the people - dwarves, draenei, worgen, Khadgar, even Illidan! He described them like they were living, breathing people."

Mel stared at her. Shifting from one foot to the other he started gesturing with his hands, which he often did when he tried to get a point across. "Listen to yourself! The guy is just either an exceptional story-teller or out of his fucking head! There is no way that shit is real."

Bernie bolted up bringing herself mere inches from Mel's face. Her eyes were dark, furious. "I'm telling you, Mel. I believe him. And no, it's not from overdosing on romance novels or any kind of wistful dream. You had to hear him to even form an opinion."

Mel clucked his tongue and turned away towards the windows. "I did hear him," he said over his shoulder.

"Only the start. There was so much more than what you heard. And furthermore, one of our kind, an earthling if you please, is still over there. She chose to stay. He is talking about returning."

"Jesus, Bernie! You were both high as kites! Seems to me he not only fucked your body he's fucked with your head as well." He picked up his jacket and shrugged into it.

The front door slammed and Mick breezed in in his inimitable way, black overcoat flapping behind him, theatrical gestures as he entered the living room.

"Ooh, bitch fight!" He said feeling the tension in the room as he walked in on their conversation. He nonchalantly dropped a bag of groceries on the sofa. Oranges and apples fell out the bag, off the cushions and onto the floor, rolling towards Mel. Mick threw himself down in the armchair next to the windows and plonked his feet up on the coffee table. He glanced out down to the street, before knitting his fingers together and looking between the two flatmates. He wore an expectant expression, waiting to hear what the heated debate was about.

Nothing. Just Mel grumbling as he bent down to pick up the oranges and apples.

"Well?" Mick said dramatically. "What's the claws out for today?" He posed the last question to Bernie.

She narrowed her eyes at him to which he feigned fear, pulling his coat collar tightly around his neck. His reaction made the corners of her mouth twitch, fighting a smirk. She could never stay mad for long at Mick. "I was telling Mel about Drew's visit to Azeroth..." she started.

Mick's eyes widened and he steeple-jacked his fingers as if giving her words serious consideration. "His...visit?" He cocked an eyebrow and glanced at Mel, who, in turn, flexed his brows, then turned away with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Yes! Come on, Mick. You heard him last night!" She was almost pleading with him to agree with her.

"We were talking role-play if I remember correctly, Bernie. Pretend stuff. Now I know, we are supposed to be grown human beings – "

"Fuck you!" she said and turned to leave the room.

Mick was out of his seat walking over to her. "OK! I'm sorry!" He shuffled a bit on his feet and removed his overcoat, throwing it down on the sofa. "Come on. Tell me ...whatever it is you think is so...real."

She stopped. Fists clenched in frustration, she considered just going to her room and sulking. Yet, she really thought there was something here. Drew's recount was heartfelt. Yes they were high, but even through the fuzz, there was an absolute honesty about it. And she also dared to think, there could be something worth pursuing with Drew. Mel of course, would accuse her of an overactive romantic imagination. Well – maybe he was right, but she wanted to find out for sure.

"Imagine," she said, slowly turning to the two men in the room again. "Just – imagine... for one moment at least, if it were at all possible to cross realms or universes or time, to a land which we thought was only make-believe, would you not want to see it?" She glanced at Mel, who still stood facing the windows, hands in jeans pockets, his head inclined a little in her direction. Mick's face betrayed that he was contemplating such a scenario.

She was in the middle of the room now, her hands suddenly animated as she embellished her words with exuberant gestures. "Just think! Stepping into a world where magic is real, dragons live and breathe. Warlocks, mages, priests, shamans all capable of immense power! What if we harnessed such powers simply by being there?" Her eyes were wide as she saw them starting to warm to her vision. "Warriors, paladins. Hunters with strange and exotic pets...You two would look so awesome by the way!"

"As hunters?" Mel asked.

"No, my pet," Mick smirked. Mel gave him the finger. "Orcs, trolls, taurens," Mick continued. "Demons, forsaken, succubus - yes!" He did a hip thrust.

"You're off your heads." Mel said with a smirk. He turned round to face them squarely.

"Naga, hydra, banshees..." Bernie went on, undeterred.

"Valkyrie, orgres, demon hunters!"

"Sylvanas!" Mel finally joined in. The other two stared at him. Laughter.

"For the Horde!" they all chanted. More laughter.

Mick eyed Bernie. "Drew's Alliance though, going by what I heard last night." He waited for her reaction.

Her laughter dissolved. "So?" her voice had a little tremor in it.

"So you wouldn't be able to "play" with him, Bernie." Mick's lip curled up, almost like a sneer.

She turned away. She hadn't thought of that angle. Still, a fantasy land where anything can happen? Perhaps... "I would still take the chance," she said over her shoulder, before disappearing into her room.

Mel threw an apple at Mick, which he caught and took a bite before resuming his seat at the window. Once more glancing out over the city below, he pondered. "What do you think?" he asked Mel.

"Are you serious? She's got you pulled in as well?"

Mick looked back at him, mock surprise in his eyes. "You're the one lusting after Sylvanas."

Mel scoffed. "Game lust ain't the same as thinking that somewhere out there's an actual place called Azeroth!"

"Why not though? Perhaps we are all linked. Maybe the creators of fantasy worlds have been receiving some kind of communication from afar, bringing those worlds to our attention, but in a way we think they are make-believe." He laughed.

"You want us to humour her?" Mel's eyebrows rose to his hairline.

"Why not? Keep Bernie sweet. And just imagine, what a mind fuck it would be if it was real!" Mick's lips split in a slightly unsettling grin.

"You're nuts, the two of you. I'm going out for a while. Catch you later. And don't torment her, Mick." Mel left, the sound of the main door clicking shut echoing round the large, square entrance hall.

Mick continued munching on his apple, staring out the window. "Of course it isn't real," he said to himself, a little self-reprimand in his tone. He glanced at his apple, studying the teeth marks in the flesh of the fruit and the juice tricking down the little troughs they had created. "But imagine if it was!" His tongue lapped the apple. He grinned again. A tiny part of him so hoped it was real.


Mel strolled into Sounds, intending on jamming for half an hour or so with Frank, owner of the music store and Jimmy's father.

At the entrance, the left window displayed the chart topper and new releases of the day, dominated by a life sized cardboard cut out of Adele to promote her latest album "25". The right window had a mixture of instruments, and nostalgia depicting some of the classic bands and performers of yesteryear. Posters publicising up-and-coming music events in and around the city ran up the edge of the windows nearest the doors. Folk, Jazz, Blues, Heavy, Middle of the Road, Pop, Rap all the way to Classical, nothing was not worth a mention.

Inside two rows of free-standing racks stretched to the middle of the store. Here practically every type of music was on display, from every era, style, a vast cross-section of artistes, to appeal to almost every taste. Displayed according to the type of music first, then artiste, then album A-Z within each category. A respectable number of potential purchasers were dotted about the store in different sections. It was kept immaculate, policed regularly by staff. Frank was very precious about his store and all in it.

To the right and almost half way down was the counter with three tills. Behind it shelves, containing books, sheet music, music stands, strings for various instruments, kits for keeping them clean, capos, plectrums, carrying cases, you name it, if Frank didn't have it, he would make a point of getting it.

At the far end was "The Stage". Here punters could showcase their talent and hopefully make a purchase. There were regulars came in to practice and perform, Mel being one of them. It was carefully monitored of course. Frank didn't want neighbouring stores or indeed residents who lived above to complain of the noise. He had done his best soundproofing it, within regulations, but he still exercised on the side of caution and consideration. His efforts obviously worked, he'd been here thirty years now and had built a good reputation in the industry.

Come the Fringe festival in August, the store was near impossible to get into at times. That was the one time, a little more noise was acceptable.

Jimmy, though he preferred playing folk music on his fiddle or bodhran, was also a good keyboard player, it having been the first instrument he learned. He could often be found accompanying Mel along with Frank. Today however, he was taking stock and seemed well pleased at the interruption Mel's arrival created.

"Hey!" he smiled as Mel approached.

"Hi Jimmy," Mel replied, eyeing up the Fender Stratocaster sitting on a stand on the stage. "Whoa! When did you get that in?" he asked.

"Couple of days ago," Jimmy answered. "Go on, give it your best."

Without hesitation, Mel picked up the guitar, caressing it like a lover. "How much?" he asked.

Jimmy winced. "Eight hundred and fifty."

Mel grimaced. It was more than he could afford right now, but maybe in a couple of months... He started playing Sweet Home Chicago.

Jimmy grinned and jumped up to the keyboard on the stage to join in. Next, Frank came through from the back and picked up a Yamaha BB424. It was hard to resist this. He was a keen vocalist, and his husky tone was perfect for the song. Before long they had acquired a drummer from the punters in the shop. The remaining customers all gathered round the stage dancing and clapping in time, and passers-by trundled in through the doors to enjoy the awesome sound. This was what Saturday afternoons were about! A rendition of some song or other was a regular occurrence in Sounds.

The applause once they finished their rendition was well received, but the request for an encore was denied. Frank reminded Jimmy he had a job to do.

As Jimmy busied himself back to the stock take, Mel plucked away on the Stratocaster, reluctant to surrender its dark thick tones and tremolo as it moulded into his abdomen thanks to the belly cut design in the back of its body and the feel of the smooth satin neck.

"Bernie enjoyed herself with your friend," he said as Jimmy continued jotting down numbers on his form clipped to the board in his hand.

The dreadlocks over his shoulders and down his back rippled as Jimmy laughed out loud. "Tell me about it! Thought they would never be quiet. She looked ecstatic when she left anyway."

Mel smirked. "Aye, she was still grinning when she got in the flat."

Jimmy continued his tally.

"So, this Drew. What's he like?"

Jimmy turned to face him. "Are you getting all protective now?"

Mel shook his head. "No, just making conversation."

"Really?"

"Yeah, Really!"

Jimmy laughed and turned back to his work. "He's a good guy," he said. "Suffering a bit just now though I think."

"Oh? How come?"

Jimmy turned to face Mel again. He lowered his voice a little as if sharing a secret. "Don't say anything to Bernie, in case she takes it the wrong way, but, he was keen on someone and she's just upped and fucked off."

"Oh. Why?"

Jimmy turned back again to the stock, and he checked the number of various guitar straps hanging on the wall on long metal hooks. "Don't know really," he said over his shoulder. "She was in a bad pile up about a month, maybe five weeks ago. So whether that made her decide to move away or not, I honestly couldn't say. But I think Drew's kinda hurt about it." He returned to counting more items hanging on hooks. He stopped suddenly then once more turned back to Mel.

"Funny thing though. A week ago I was trying to get Drew on the phone to remind him about last night and I got these really weird noises every time when I rang his mobile."

"So? Static? No signal? Dead?" Mel continued strumming.

"No, nothing like that. I recognised the sound but I just couldn't place it. Until last night."

Mel's eyes focused sharply, he stopped playing the guitar. "What brought it to mind last night?" The question was drawn out.

"This is gonna sound weird, but when were all talking about gaming and role-playing when in the pub, Drew described his character in battles and stuff and being on board an Alliance ship, remember?"

Mel slowly nodded his head.

Jimmy laughed and shook his head as if still trying to understand it, his dreadlocks flicking back and forth as he did. "Well, that's exactly what it sounded like. The engines of a flying ship in Warcraft whirring round, you know? And metal, grinding kinda like those fel reaver things."

Mel laughed quietly to himself. Now he was starting to wonder, even though it was utterly impossible. But, perhaps Bernie wasn't such a dreamer after all.