MEETING

The clock tower struck midnight. It was the middle of the night. A young man walked alone down an empty street. His long coat flowed behind him like a cape.

The city was lost in sleep. An undisturbed peace reigned all around, and for a moment it seemed as if the city were deserted, like in those cheesy movies you see in cinemas these days. But it only lasted for a moment; that split second vanished as quickly as it appeared. His sixth sense told him it was just an illusion, a smokescreen meant to pull the wool over his eyes. The truth was that from the moment he crossed the city limits, invisible eyes had been following him. He felt their burning gazes on him constantly.

He stopped. He thought he heard something, but when he turned around, he saw nothing. He was alone, to put it that way.

He set off through the city again. He didn't know exactly why he had come here or what the purpose of his visit was. He would learn everything later. He'd come because those were the instructions he'd received in a letter.

Letters... Yes. They were the ones that had driven him around the world and gotten him into all sorts of trouble. They were the ones that had caused him to risk his life time and again to save complete strangers. And so it was now. He simply grabbed his suitcase, still unpacked from his previous trip, and left his apartment in the middle of the night, heading for the airport.

The sound of a basket tipping over distracted him from his thoughts. He stopped. Something else, very quietly, disturbed the night's silence. He held his breath. Footsteps. They were footsteps. Growing louder, as if they were getting closer with each passing second. He glanced to the side. A figure emerged from around the corner of the dark alley. It was heading straight towards him. Gradually, as the figure drew closer, he noticed a billowing coat and a massive silhouette. It was a man. The flash of a streetlamp that fell on him as the stranger entered the circle of bright light revealed close-cropped dark hair and a black coat. As soon as they were face to face, they locked eyes. He had a strange feeling that he'd met someone he knew.

The stranger smiled crookedly, as if mocking his ignorance, and then it dawned on him.

"Drake?" he asked incredulously. "No, that's impossible," he thought to himself, staring intently at the square face. Drake was dead. He'd been killed five years ago.

"Many years, Slayter," the man replied, laughing arrogantly. "You look like you'd seen a ghost," he laughed.

"I thought you were dead," he replied quietly. He was still a little shocked.

"Everyone thought so. And that's why I could have disappeared.

" "Why? What are you talking about? Where have you been all this time?!

" "Never mind." He glanced around anxiously, like a wild animal fearing a sudden, unexpected attack. "I have to go." He headed in the direction Slayter had just come.

"Wait!" he called after him.

Drake stopped and looked back.

"Don't worry," he reassured him. "I'm sure we'll meet again." He turned and began walking. "Our paths will cross again." And he disappeared into the darkness.

Slayter, utterly disoriented, stared for a long moment at the spot where his old friend had disappeared. He tried to make sense of it, but somehow he couldn't. For a moment, he even wondered if he'd encountered a ghost. However, he abandoned the thought when he felt a pressing need that forced him to resume his journey through the city. He had more important matters on his mind. He had just realized where he was going, and even though they were only fragments of incomplete visions, he was happy. Finally, his purpose was slowly beginning to crystallize. It was a good sign. He decided to deal with the Drake matter later.

For now, he had to hurry.

"Ben can't wait," he said to himself. He smiled. He already knew who he was supposed to find. He was already very late. And as he knew, death wouldn't wait. She wouldn't be late either. She was exceptionally punctual.