The Replacement Phenomenon
Lights were on, and people were watching from the doorways and windows of neighbouring houses, silhouetted by their own lights as they looked out on the smouldering darkness. This would have been a shock in a quiet street at any time, let alone at this unearthly hour. Most of these people probably hadn't yet seen this part of the morning so far this year. Whenever he had to get out of bed before 7am he'd joke that he didn't know there were two sixes in a day. Everyone around here was in no doubt that six thirty in the morning existed. What a wakeup call!
Amongst the several small fires still burning, Jake could see a cartoon pig's face lying on the ground being slowly consumed by fire, and thought of the disastrous effect this would have on their business. Assuming both father and son escaped with their lives, a part of their business was gone. A business such as theirs would not have the cash to easily buy a new work vehicle. A financial strain would now be placed on the company, from which it would be difficult to recover in difficult economic times. There was a possibility that their business would disappear as quickly as the logo in front of him.
He then thought of how different it would have been if he wasn't there to try to save them. As far as he knew he'd managed to save Joseph, but what about his father? He hadn't seen him since the blast. There was no other figure standing near the van. He needed to see if the other guy had avoided the blast. He clambered to his feet, finding the task to be more difficult than he had expected. He staggered towards the twisted wreckage looking for the man who was about to sit in the driver seat of an exploding van. He looked to the ground that he had hit forcefully after the blast. He imagined in his mind a dent the exact shape of his body in the tarmac of the road in a cartoon style, but refocused on the task of finding Brian Brady.
The area immediately surrounding the van was well illuminated, thanks to the flames rising from the vehicle combined with nearby street lights, some of which had shattered as a result of the explosion. He could see pieces of paper sporting logos and letterheads with Islamic phrases on them. This was where their cover-up came into effect. The police would grab the paper and seek a fake Muslim organisation for answers, while the actual perpetrators were getting away with attempted murder.
After staggering in the road for a second, Jake was approaching the driver door. Well, he was approaching the place where the door used to be. He looked to the ground a short distance to the right and saw a motionless body lying there on the road. He'd found Mr Brady.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Joseph raised himself from the tarmac until he was on his hands and knees. He looked up, and turned his head back to the van. "Dad?" He hadn't seen him since he walked to the driver side of the van, moments before the explosion. He had no idea who this stranger was, but he knew he was grateful to him for probably saving his life.
The stranger was now next to the spot where Joseph expected his father to be lying. He was hunched over something. Through the ringing in his ears he heard the raised voice of the stranger. “Hey, you. Your father's alive, but he's hurt.”
He tried to stand up, but felt himself sink to the ground again. He'd taken a knock on the back of his head and felt very dizzy. Things around him started spinning and he slumped to his hands and knees again. He thought he could hear distant sirens and knew police and firemen would soon be on their way if they weren't already. It was likely that at least one neighbour had already reported hearing the explosion.
After a few seconds he tried standing again, but had little success. He thought he'd try an alternative method of movement instead. He crawled on his hands and knees to the stranger who was still hunched over his father. It took Joseph as long as a minute to reach him, but he completed the short crawl and slumped again, lying on the ground. That was as much energy as he had left. He was surprised at just how much energy had been drained from his system by the last few explosive minutes.
This stranger was talking to Joseph, he could hear him but he wasn't really listening. He was trying to help, trying to figure out why this happened, and trying desperately not to panic by forcing himself to breathe slowly, despite the toxic smoke-filled air surrounding him. As a result of his conscious effort to stay calm, anything else didn't really sink in.
“Your dad's hurt, but he'll live. His face and arms look badly burned. We're going to need someone to call an ambulance.” That was all well and good, but he couldn't move. He could try shouting to one of the neighbourly observers. The stranger looked at him again. “I'm Jake, by the way. So you know something about what's going on at least.”
“I'm Joseph. Thanks” He offered a general thanks rather than several specific ones, but this guy would have known what he meant by those simple three words. Turning his head away from Jake, he shouted to the onlookers. “Can someone call an ambulance? My father's hurt pretty bad!” He was answered with a confirming shout from a nearby neighbour.
He looked at his watch. It showed the time as 6:31. Several minutes must have passed, but it still showed the same time. It had obviously stopped with the force of the explosion earlier. He had no idea what the actual time was now, but it felt to him like the time was closer to seven. In fact it was probably less than five minutes since the incident, and only shortly after 6:30.
Whatever the time was, he thought it was worth trying to stand up again. He lifted his head, then rose up onto his hands and knees. It seemed the worst of the dizziness had subsided and he was able to stand again. He rose to his feet and staggered towards the burning van. There were pieces of van strewn all over the road, but not within a metre or so of the vehicle's initial parking spot.
He circled the van and surveyed the debris. He found pieces of half charred paper, millions of fragments of glass, and the rear number plate. He stopped as he looked at the yellow plastic plate. It was a different number plate.
He looked at the paper surrounding the van. That was clearly not what was left in their van. He didn't know what to make of this. He was confused, but maybe this mysterious stowaway could shed some light on all of this.
Whatever was going on, and whoever was behind it, he was going to find out. This guy wasn't leaving his sight until he had some answers.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
More sirens and flashing lights approached. Jake was getting used to their sound and the appearance of red and blue light bouncing off nearby buildings. He couldn't be bothered with dealing with them today, but he had little option. He was part of this now, whether he wanted to be or not.
Everyone in the street had seen him, and could likely identify him, despite the darkness that still enshrouded the smouldering van and the victims of this attack. He was afraid of the accusations they would throw at him. He had run out of the van just before it exploded. His explanation was ridiculous and clearly unbelievable, even to his loving wife. What would law enforcement officials make of it? They would undoubtedly think he was somehow responsible for triggering this bomb or that he knew who was responsible. The truth was he knew nothing of value, and was likely to simply implicate himself in the attack if he stayed to answer questions. He would certainly be treated more like a villain than a hero.
The sirens were getting louder. They were just a street or so away. He had to get out of there now if he wanted to avoid facing awkward questions and a hard time. He quietly and quickly moved away from the man lying on the ground. The man was hurt, but Jake could not do much for him anyway. He was no paramedic. He hadn’t even had proper First Aid training. Regardless of what would happen with this man in his few seconds alone, he was fairly sure he'd survive. He looked like he had been burned significantly so it was difficult for Jake to really know what would happen to him.
Most of the people had returned to their houses, realising that the drama was mostly over and that they could do nothing to help. One or two were approaching Brian and Joseph Brady to offer their help. Maybe one of them knew something of First Aid, making them infinitely more helpful than himself.
The son had turned away from his father for a secon
d to get a look at the aftermath of this attempt on their lives. This was a good time for Jake to run. He heard the sirens approaching to his right at one end of the street, so he ran to his left. He was a hundred yards away by the time he heard someone shout at him. No one was trying to catch him. They were just shouting at him to come back.
These bystanders were bound to alert the police to the fact that the man who ran out of the van moments before it blew up was now running away.
The more Jake thought about what he was doing, the more stupid it seemed. He had nothing to hide. He'd not done anything but save two lives. If people thought he was a fugitive then they were sadly mistaken. He was, however, guilty of fleeing the scene of a crime. He thought that would be better than having to try and answer questions about why he was in that van. He couldn't provide a sensible answer to that question.
He recalled the moments after he tried to help Mr Brady, and he remembered the brief conversation with this guy's son. He'd actually told him his first name. Joseph could give a description of him. The police would eventually track him down. Someone might even come after him in the next few minutes. He had done his good deed for the day. All he had to do was remain hidden for the rest of the day and things would sort themselves out.
However crazy running away seemed, he figured it was too late to stop running and turn back. There were no other options available to him. Hiding from the police for a while would probably prove to be much easier than explaining what he was actually doing there.
As his thoughts died down, he realised he had been running for a few minutes, and was well and truly shattered. He wasn't used to light exercise any more. It had been many years since he had done anything like the kind of running he had been doing. He'd spent the past few years driving most of the places he ever went. He was regretting all of the times he'd taken the car when he could have walked. He regretted them more with every step. “Go to the gym” he thought to himself again. “You pay for it. Just go!”
He looked around as he paused to take a breath and realised he was nowhere near the Council estate he had previously been in. He could see dilapidated housing, industrial units of varying description, and the silhouette of a new housing estate in the distance. It was only at that point that Jake realised that he had no idea where he had stopped.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Jake eventually slumped against a lamp post to catch his breath. He had been looking around the maze of streets around him for a few minutes, but was no closer to figuring out where he was.
He tried to remember how long the ride in the van had been. With the time taken to get into the van and hot-wire the original, the time spent actually driving could have been no more than seven or eight minutes. He couldn't have been too far away from the factory where he had started the day.
The town he lived in was not the biggest, and there were not many places within a ten minute drive. County Durham was not the most densely populated part of the country by any means. He was amazed at how disoriented he was by somewhere that could have been no more than three miles from his house. He really didn’t know the town as well as he thought he did.
Figuring he was only a short walk from the factory by now, he could easily walk from here back to his car. It would look suspicious if he continued to run through quiet residential and industrial areas before seven in the morning. The more he walked, the more he wished he'd eaten something before leaving the house. His stomach was making all kinds of noises as it often did when he'd gone without breakfast. He felt a bit weak, a feeling which was compounded by the events so far that morning.
Most of the time Amy wouldn't allow him to skip a meal, and would insist that he eat something, but she'd obviously had no say in Jake's actions so far today.
There was a good chance that she'd be awake by now. Once again she'd be wondering where he was. He needed an excuse, unless he planned on staying away from home all day as well today. She hadn't believe him yesterday, so was unlikely to believe him today.
He fumbled through his pockets and found his keys and mobile phone. He could leave her some kind of message, saying he was alright, and that he'd gone into work to solve a problem because he couldn't sleep. He turned his phone on and watched the small screen as three different logos flashed up showing the make of phone, the model, and his network. The screen went blank and the device turned itself off again. The battery must have been empty.
So far, this was not one of his better days. He suspected he would not have a good day until time moved in a forward direction again.
Jake turned around another corner and heard the dull drone of traffic along a busy road. He knew most of the main roads in the area, and thought that if he could get to this one he would recognise where he was. The street he was currently walking down was oddly laid out. Houses were different shades of assorted colours and were covered in small stones in a rendering style referred to as pebble dashing, with each house dotted with small, narrow windows. Each roof was angled differently to the last, pointing in all sorts of directions. The place looked strange, probably more so in the dim light of an early morning. Pathways went in every direction, starting and ending suddenly. The whole place seemed like a giant maze. It seemed to be typical of some housing estates built in the sixties and seventies. The whole of the nearby town Newton Aycliffe was built in a similar fashion, with strange angles and stranger street layouts. Such designs were supposed to be a sign of future developments. Instead of embracing such design methods, people eventually resorted to much simpler layouts and more traditional house styles. Jake was glad of that fact as he still had no idea how to find his way around the pebble-dashed maze that surrounded him.
He could hear the traffic, and could occasionally see it through some trees, but he couldn't get to it. Via the walkways he had found. He finally located a small alley way that led to a pathway by the side of the main road. Seconds later he knew exactly where he was. As luck would have it, the road next to him ran almost parallel with the road where the factory was situated. He was at the top of North Road, about a mile away from where he'd spent a large chunk of the previous day, and where he could now pick up his car.
If he was lucky, Amy and the kids would still be in bed and he could just walk upstairs with a drink and he would get away with his sudden departure. Then he remembered the cuts to his face and hands. What was he going to say? “I fell over” sounded stupid, especially in such circumstances. Maybe he could clean himself up anyway. Maybe the cuts weren't deep enough to arouse suspicion. He'd cut himself shaving on a number of occasions and hoped the new cuts were of a similar size to those suffered on most mornings. Somehow he doubted it and wondered what kind of excuse could explain away a badly cut face this early in the day.
It had been more than fifteen minutes since the bomb had gone off, and Jake was sure the police would have a description of him by now. Someone would be on the lookout very soon. He needed to remain unseen and get home as quickly as possible. He crossed the road and turned down the next street on the right, which would take him to within a hundred yards of where his car was parked.
Jake was now in the middle of one of the main industrial parts of town and expected to see very little of anyone or anything until he reached his car. Most such industrial areas were not occupied at this hour of the day, and did not employ any kind of twenty four hour security. The businesses were so small they could not afford such security. At most there would be one man keeping an eye on an entire site, looking after the property of up to twenty small businesses. The absence of many people in the area would permit Jake to casually make his way back to his car.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Joseph Brady was still in shock. This explosion had changed everything about his life, and had done it all in just a few short seconds. His father had spent his entire life building their business and a safe life for his family. It took someone an instant to potentially take all of that away.
Paramedics had arrived and treated his father, but thin
gs didn't look to be going well. Before he knew it, they'd whisked Brian Brady off to the Accident and Emergency department of the Darlington Memorial Hospital.
Joseph was assured by the police that his father would be fine, and that he could join him in a couple of minutes after making a brief statement. He had expected to deal with the formalities of providing a statement at a later point, possibly while sitting at hospital, but had been told that the police needed something they could act on immediately because someone with information had fled the crime scene.
He told the officers what he could remember: the man jumping from the van to save his life, helping his father, and then running away. The man had told him his first name - Jake. Not an uncommon name, but it would help them narrow their field of search. He couldn't understand why he would start helping, then would run off when his father's life was hanging in the balance.
Joseph also managed to give some kind of a description to the officer. He was six feet tall, medium build, black jacket, and tan trousers. That's all he could remember, but he was told all that information could help to identify and to find the man who they now considered to be their prime suspect.
One of the policemen offered him a ride to the hospital and Joseph accepted. He was still being asked questions, but not as formally as when he was providing a statement to them. After he made the statement, it was read back to him and he signed it when asked to do so. It was not surprising that the questions being asked were the same as the ones circulating within his head.
Who would have reason to attack his family? What were the links with this Muslim movement? Had this stranger ever crossed paths with him before? Why did he stop to help before he ran away?
He struggled to answer anything else, and pleaded for a minute or two of silence during the car journey so that he could just stare out of the window and collect his thoughts. They would likely want to question him further later on in the day when things had calmed down. Maybe then he could remember more details of the morning's events and could be of greater help.