By the time Julian pushed his way through the revolving door on to the street outside Brushstroke Productions, night had finished falling over the city. The sky was clear, and a few tiny pinpricks of silver managed to penetrate the glare of the city lights to glimmer as stars in the blue-black canvas overhead.

There was plenty of traffic on the streets, cars and people making their way to their own destinations, wherever that might have been. Engines thrummed, voices chattered, and sirens wailed far somewhere far in the distance. Skyscrapers towered, windows either illuminated by the fluorescent lighting within or left dark and dormant, creating a hatched pattern of glowing lights along their lengths.

The cold late-autumn air cut straight through Julian's jacket. He shivered slightly and watched his breath condense on the air like smoke, curling out into the crisp night, before he descended the steps on to the street and joined the never-ending flow of the city.

Most of the bustle of the rush hour had passed already, but the streets were far from empty. It felt almost surreal to Julian, as if the world around him was somehow unconnected to him; he was alone in a sea of other people flowing around him. Lost in his own thoughts about the day, he made his way almost on autopilot towards the entrance of the underground train network.

After a few minutes, Julian reached his destination. As he approached the entrance to the subway, a tall man in a thick coat dashed up the steps and knocked into him, pushing him aside. Suddenly, Julian felt like a bomb had exploded inside his head, filling him with a world of sensations he had never felt before. His ears rang painfully and wave of nausea swept through his body. The physical and mental force of the impact sent him spinning towards the ground, almost in slow motion, but he somehow managed to catch himself, planting a hand on the ground to leave him half fallen, his back now to the subway entrance.

Trying to gather his shattered thoughts, Julian looked back up towards the person that had run into him. He fought the ringing that still echoed in his ears, and forced himself to concentrate.

Standing just a few feet down the street, the man stood, having turned back around to face Julian. He has tall and built rather solidly; Julian found it unsurprising that the man had remained upright while he had been knocked to the floor. Most of his body was shrouded in a thick, brown, full length leather coat, sturdy looking boots poking out from underneath. His face was cast into shadow by a wide brimmed hat, also brown. What expression Julian could perceive seemed to be one of surprise, carved into slightly older looking features.

The two stared at each other for a couple of seconds, Julian wondering if an apology was forthcoming, and possibly a hand getting up; his body was still filled with strange and uncomfortable sensations, giving him cause to think he wouldn't be getting up unassisted any time soon.

The man seemed to regain his composure, and reached inside his coat. "Damn freak," he muttered, pulling out what, to Julian's horror, seemed to be some kind of heavy silver revolver. Almost in slow motion, the man pointed the barrel straight at Julian. "Time to put you down."

Julian tried to scream, tried to move, tried to do anything, but his body was frozen in place. A myriad of half-formed thoughts flooded through his head - who was this guy? Why was he going to shoot him? Why didn't anyone around them react?!

It was like the two had been somehow been wrapped in a one-way mirror. He could see outside, everyone moving around them in blissful ignorance, unable to see what was happening. How that was, though, Julian had no idea. He'd been working at Brushstroke for a while and was pretty sure that random shootings on the street weren't commonplace around here.

The man squeezed the trigger of his weapon, and Julian braced for the inevitable impact and death that would follow. It didn't come. An explosion to match the ringing in his ears sounded as the gun fired, but instead of the single bullet driving into his skull, Julian found himself bowled over to the side by something colliding with him.

Rolling a couple of times with the source of the new impact, Julian came to rest at the edge of the road, hanging over the kerb. A car horn screamed in his ears as it swerved to avoid him, and people scattered out of the way. Above him, Julian could now see another man, dressed more raggedly than his attacker, sporting a worn denim jacket and jeans, and pointing a pistol back towards the other man, who stood defiantly, revolver raised at Julian's apparent saviour, creating a standoff.

Julian suddenly found the adrenaline now flowing through his system sufficient to allow him to push himself out of the road and into a crouching position. Reassuringly, he noted that people could now see him again, and were understandably backing away in terror from the scene.

The man stood nearest Julian smiled slightly at his opponent. "Well, Kershaw, these aren't your usual haunts. I have to say, I'm disappointed. I thought you would see that coming."

Kershaw pulled the rim of his hat down slightly, further obscuring his face. Julian could almost feel the shadowed grin on his expression burning into him. "Don't be so foolish. All your hasty intervention indicates is that two will die tonight instead of one."

Julian's saviour glanced down, seeing Julian still in his half crouch, not sure whether to run or stay still, fighting to hide the fear that was etched across his face. "Get out of here, now."

"But, I-" Julian stumbled, not able to think coherently.

"Now!" The man commanded.

The command hit Julian like the shot from a starter's pistol at a race. He turned and started sprinting all in one fluid motion, following the path of so many other bystanders into the underground station.

A few steps down, Julian heard a terrifying crack as one of the two men fired. The sound only made him run faster, catching himself twice as he nearly fell down the remaining stairs, not even wanting to think about who had won the standoff.

Emerging into the brightly lit ticket hall, he quickly fished out his season pass and headed through the ticket gates, following the one or two stragglers that had taken a few terrified moments to decide whether to run. Underground personnel were redirecting passengers emerging from the station back on to the platforms. Julian guessed that the police must have been called. He wondered if anyone had seen him clearly enough to identify him, or if he should stay behind as a witness for when the police did arrive. Either way, it didn't matter what he decided, as his terrified body wouldn't stop running as he sprinted down the escalator and emerged on to the platform.

Emerging into the platform area, a large cylindrical tube cut into the earth, Julian was forced to stop for a moment. There were a few people scattered up and down the platform who had failed to reach the last train, and who waited with the same worried expression for the next train to arrive. A display hanging from the ceiling indicated it would only be a minute or so.

Julian stopped, his breath ragged and laboured, all his limbs feeling weak from the terrified escape, and from the original impact accompanied by the weird psychological effects, the ringing and nausea. What on earth had caused that? The shock of the impact? Somehow that didn't feel right.

Another wave of nausea gripped him, and Julian began to feel light headed. He concentrated on the Underground map on the far side of the platform, behind where the trains pulled up, but it was no good. He crouched over, hands on knees, panting for breath as the world began to spin a little, and shuffled quickly into a corner before his stomach finally rebelled and emptied its half-digested contents on to the floor, the sound thankfully masked by the sound of the train arriving on to the platform.

After spending half a moment gathering his strength, forcing the world to stop spinning, and surreally wondering when he had eaten carrots in the past day, Julian heard the sound of the train doors opening, and followed the rest of the platform inhabitants in dashing on to the brightly lit train and slumping down in a seat, sending a silent thank you to the air once the train had pulled out of the station and was rolling along several tens of metres below the city.

Moments later, Julian realised that he had lost his umbrella. He was too tired to care.

**********

Much to Julian's relief, the rest of his journey home was uneventful. The trains ran smoothly, despite having to divert around the closed section of line again, and he wasn't shot at by any random bystanders on his walk back from the station, although he did find himself involuntarily checking each and every shadow and alleyway for suspicious looking people as he passed.

Entering his house, Julian made sure that all the locks on the front door were locked tight. He needed to feel safe right now, to collect his thoughts and figure out what he was going to do. Picking up his cordless phone from the receiver on his way across the lounge, he removed his jacket and tossed it over an unused chair, then slumped on to the sofa and dialled.

The phone rang a couple of times before finally being answered. "Hello?"

Julian let out a silent sigh of relief and tried to sound as steady as possible. "Alice? It's Julian."

"Julian?" Alice's voice was tinged with worry. "You sound terrible! What's wrong?"

"Are you sitting down?" Julian used the comment to stall for a moment. Having reflexively called Alice, he suddenly wasn't quite sure how to coherently tell her what had happened.

"Sure, yes. Now, what happened?"

Julian swallowed. "Someone tried to shoot me tonight." His voice sounded clearer and steadier than he could have hoped for.

There was a pause, then Alice began to speak, very slowly and carefully. "Julian... tell me you're joking, right?" Her voice was tinged with an edge of disbelief. Julian couldn't blame her.

"I wish I was," Julian replied grimly. "It was just outside the station near work. Some guy came out of the entrance, bumped into me and tried to shoot me. If it wasn't for some random guy jumping on me and knocking me out the way-"

Alice interrupted, at first gently, but her voice becoming sharp as she spoke. "If this is true... Julian, you better not be joking, or I swear I'll-"

"It's no joke, Alice." Julian interrupted back, a note of exasperation in his voice. "I swear, this guy really did try to shoot me!"

"I... don't believe it." Alice sounded unsettled. Alice never sounded unsettled unless things were very serious. But then, of course, they were. "Tell me what happened, Julian."

Taking his time, explaining every detail, from the original collision and the strange sensations it caused in him, to the shot that should have killed him, his rescue, the standoff, and his panicked sprint into the underground station and away. Alice stayed quiet for the whole explanation, only adding brief confirmations every time Julian asked if she was keeping up. Once he had finished, there was a stunned silence for several seconds.

"You reported this in to the police, right, Julian?" Alice ventured eventually.

Julian felt his train of thought come to a crashing halt. The police, of course! He had completely forgotten.

"Julian?"

"Oh, heh, no, I haven't." Julian chuckled ruefully, the first time he had really allowed himself to let go just a little. "It's just, all this was so much. I just didn't know what to do. I needed to hear a friendly voice."

"I understand, Julian, but you really should contact the police." Alice's voice was filled with concern. "They might need you as a witness. Damn, Julian, you were almost shot tonight!"

"I know - I was there!" Julian replied. He paused and took a breath. "But you're right. I'll call and report it to them."

"Good," Alice stated simply. "Do you think you'll be recovered from your ordeal enough to come in tomorrow?"

Julian considered the thought. "I don't see why not, but I'll let you know. Depends on the police, I guess, if they want to speak to me or anything, and to be honest, this really hasn't all sunk in yet."

"All right. But remember, I'll be here if you need to talk."

"Thanks, Alice. I appreciate it. See you later." Julian exchanged farewells with Alice and hung the phone up. He sat there, the only light in the room coming from a small table lamp he had switched on when he had entered, turning the phone in his hand and considering what he was going to say to the police. Suddenly the whole event seemed so far away, he couldn't remember all of the details. Everything had happened so quickly.

In the end, after five minutes regarding the phone, and admiring its rubberised buttons, Julian decided to change and get himself a drink before he made the call. Tea, milk and two sugars, just how he liked it. After another five minutes sipping from his mug, curled up on the sofa, he picked up the phone and dialled the local police department.

The phone rang, and a polite receptionist answered, requesting the nature of his call. Julian swallowed and began to speak. "Hello, yes, I'd like to report a shooting."

"Very well, Sir." The reply was given in an almost matter-of-fact way, as if this kind of thing wasn't uncommon. Julian had no idea if it was or not. "I'll need to take some details. Name?"

"Julian Southwell."

There was a pause. Julian guessed that the inspector was writing the name down. The thought that there would be a permanent record of his call with the police somehow unnerved him a little more. "All right, Julian. Where and when did the incident occur?"

"It was about an hour ago, downtown business district. Livingstone Street." Julian tried to speak as clearly and concisely as he could, but there was a noticeable waiver in his voice.

Another pause. "An hour, Sir? May I ask why you didn't call us immediately?"

Julian's mind raced. Why hadn't he called? Well, there was only one answer, really, but it was a bit embarrassing. But then, it had been a gun. A real gun. Fear was an understandable reaction.

"Sir?" The voice was level and calm, the epitome of patience.

"I was... scared." Julian admitted. Something inside him gave way as he relived the memory, and he felt himself start to babble a little. "The guy shot at me, and I ran into the underground station. There were lots of people, I saw the staff there, I thought they would call you. I just wanted to get home."

"Very well, Sir. Calm down." Again, the level, patient voice. Julian wondered shakily what it would take to unnerve this guy. More than having a gun pointed at him, that was for sure. "I should inform you, we haven't had any reports of an incident in that part of town tonight. Are you sure of the location?"

Julian took a moment or two to understand exactly what the inspector had said. "No reports? But, there was a whole flood of people running into the station away from the man who attacked me! The underground station staff were directing people back on to the platforms, you can't honestly tell me that no one reported it to you?"

"I'm sorry, Sir, but we've had nothing at all reported within half a mile of Livingstone Street all evening." There was a pause, and then, in a slightly more conciliatory tone. "If you do wish to make a report, we can send some officers around to take all the details, and make sure you are secure."

Julian took a moment to let the idea sink into him. Suddenly he was very unsure about everything. No reports? How could that be? "Yes. Yes, please. I would be grateful if you could send someone."

The inspector took down Julian's address and promised that someone would be with him within the hour. Julian ended the call and sat back on the sofa, sipping more of his tea as he tried to figure out exactly what was happening around him.

After a moment he stood up and turned on the television, picking up the remote control and flicking over channels until he found one showing the local news. He watched, certain that, even if police eyes couldn't be everywhere, the media didn't miss a thing.

There had been a fire in a warehouse somewhere on the other side of the city. Protests had been held at city hall against the recent tax hikes, a baby born prematurely had undergone breakthrough surgery at the local hospital, and later in the show they'd have an interview with the owner of Mrs. Jones, owner of the winner of the local dog show that had been held recently. There was no mention of a shooting anywhere.

Julian turned off the television and tossed the remote control into the neighbouring armchair in disgust. He finished his tea and regarded the mug for a few minutes, contemplating, before placing it on the table in front of him.

Before long, there was a knock at the door. Julian sprang to his feet and cautiously checked the spy hole in the door before opening. As he had expected, outside the door stood a single police officer, standing in a fairly relaxed pose and dressed in full uniform, including the strange, domed helmet. Julian had always wondered why they had to be that shape, they didn't seem at all comfortable.

Carefully, Julian unbolted the door and opened it to greet his visitor, who introduced himself as Inspector Harris, removing his helmet respectfully as he did. Julian invited him in and offered him a drink, which the inspector declined. Sitting in the armchair, Inspector Harris looked a little surprised, then sat forward and removed the television remote control from its cushion, placing it back on the table. Julian smiled apologetically.

The inspector removed a small pad and pen from his breast pocket and smiled. "So, Mister," he paused and checked his notes, "Southwell."

Julian nodded in confirmation.

"I understand you wanted to report a serious incident?" The inspoector paused and allowed Julian to gather his thoughts.

"Yes, that's right. Someone tried to shoot me on the way home from work." Julian shuddered at the memory again. He wasn't sure if the police officer noticed.

Inspector Harris nodded and regarded his notes coolly. "On Livingstone Street, near the underground station, I have noted here."

Julian looked at the pad the inspector held, which seemed to have a few roughly scrawled notes on. He idly wondered if it was the same pad Inspector Radcliffe had written on while on the phone earlier. "Uh, yes, that's right. There were lots of people around, and I know that the staff in the underground station were stopping passengers from getting out there because of it."

Harrris nodded and tapped a specific note on the pad with the tip of his pen. "Yes, yes. We contacted the underground station before I came out here. The staff have been on duty there all evening, and they don't recall any incidents at all, let alone a shooting."

"Nothing... at all?" Julian said quietly, not fully believing what he was hearing. His voice raised a little and signs of exasperation began to show on his face. "But, he shot at me! And there was another man, saved my life by knocking me out of the way!" Silence interrupted the pair for a moment. "Surely... surely you can't be suggesting that I'm making this up?"

The inspector sighed and put the pad back in his breast pocket, along with the pen. "Mister Southwell, I'm not suggesting anything. But the facts seem to be clear; the staff at the underground haven't seen anything happen, and we haven't heard so much as a whisper from any concerned citizen all night." "They're lying!" Julian snapped, finally feeling the frustration get the better of him. "They have to be!"

"Please! Mister Southwell, calm down." The inspector gave Julian a moment to let his anger fade, and then continued calmly. "Why on earth would the entire staff of Livingstone Street station lie to us? And as for the rest of the people you say were present, well, surely one of them would have reported it to us?"

There was no answer Julian could think of, so he fell back on the statement he was trying to convince himself of. "I'm not making this up."

"I'm not saying you are," the inspector raised his hands slightly, showing he wasn't about to argue that point. "But no-one else seems to have seen anything, regardless of what you say they did."

"So where can we go from here, then?" Julian asked resignedly, his face matching the disillusioned tone of voice.

Inspector Harris took a breath and began to suggest, "Well, if you are sure about this-"

Julian shot the police officer a sharp glance. "I am not making this up!"

"I understand that, Mister Southwell," the police officer nodded. "But we don't have a lot to go on here, and there aren't any witnesses. Do you have a description of the man who attacked you?"

Struggling to recall the memory, Julian spoke carefully and slowly, making sure not to miss anything. "He was tall, dressed in a long, brown leather coat, and he wore a wide brimmed hat. Fairly distinctive, I thought, I've never seen anyone dressed like it. The gun was some sort of revolver, I think. I don't really know much about guns."

"And his face?" The inspector ventured hopefully.

Julian struggled to remember. "A little older looking, I think. His face was mostly shadowed by the hat. The man who saved me, he called him Kershaw."

The inspector sighed, recovered his pen and notepad, and set about taking a few notes down. "That's all you remember?"

"Yes," Julian sighed. "It all happened so fast, most of it is just a blur."

"All right." The inspector closed his pad and replaced it in his breast pocket again. "We'll post a bulletin to watch out for anyone matching that description, but with such few details, it's a long shot at best." He stood and straightened his jacket. "I'm sorry, Mister Southwell. I wish I could be more help to you. If you remember anything else, please do let us know."

"I will," Julian smiled, more out of courtesy than actual emotion. He rose and escorted the inspector the few feet to the door, bidding him farewell before locking all three bolts on the door and retreating back to the sofa. He switched on the television, picked something fairly entertaining, anything but the news, and prepared to while away his evening being distracted from the memories of the day.