Page 38 of The Player's Lounge

Quint wasn’t taken aback when Leo asked him who he really was, but so many of Quint’s emotions wrestled with each other. The burning need to pull him close and tell him everything, then the anger. The thought that after arriving in theMediunntogether, having the opportunity to sync once again--that Leo would have thrown it away. Or had he? It killed Quint that he couldn’t figure it out. Did he simply make a mistake during his lifetime, breaking that one and onlyrulethat Players had to abide by, or did he make the decision by choice? No. Leo was smarter than that. Maybe? There was just no way of knowing. And there, he came back from anger to just wanting to hold Leo and find out.

Whatever had brought them both to this moment as Player and Rebootwas a force that wasn’t within their conscious control. Quint knew that, or at least had to try and accept it.

But still, knowing he couldn’t tell Leo what he so desperately needed to was tearing him up inside more than he could have imagined. If he were to breakthe rule, such a simple rule, then he would immediately forfeit his chance to carry on into his next life as a Player,and so the cycle would carry on and on where they would miss the opportunity yet again to sync. And then there was the potential damage to Leo. If he’d chosen to forget because of the hurt, what would a rush of all that hurt and memory do to him if he remembered?

Quint really understood why no Reboot should be able to find out theTruth. Not at the hurt it could cause them, at how theAbsolute Truthwould be way too much for their limited minds to handle. There was a clear and present danger that it would make some, maybe most devalue their terrestrial lives and cause others to suffer. Quint had read about many Players who had attempted to spread theTruthover the centuries. Some were ridiculed, some even met harrowing ends to their lives because of it. The thought made him shudder.

However, there was something about Leo that made Quint think he would believe him if he were to tell him theTruth. Leo was already in tune with the spiritual side of his life. There was no doubt he meditated, which was already an excellent system for tuning into his unconscious mind. But was it enough? Could he handle even a hint?

“I feel like I know you,” said Leo. “I’m not sure what it is. It’s not déjà vu or anything like that. Thisfeelsdifferent. Like catching the smell of an after-shave and not being able to name it or something.”

“I feel it too,” mumbled Quint, and he really did.

Leo stepped closer. “I know you do… I think?” He grabbed his hand. “Listen, can we go somewhere? I feel like we need to talk for some reason.”

Quint nodded, then suggested they take a walk back towards Oxford Street. He knew of a cosy, quirky little bar that served a killer Negroni, which was exactly what he needed to calm his racing thoughts. The day had really taken it out of him.

* * *

“The waythat guy was with you when you knelt beside him,” said Leo as they turned down Regent Street. “He was so calm. It was like he knew you. All the fear was gone, and he looked like he was suddenly at peace. It was so weird.” He stopped walking, pulling Quint to a halt, and offered the sweetest blush. “You’re not an angel, are you? Serious question. Well, half serious.”

Quint laughed it off softly, although it could easily be a word used to describe a Player, from a certain point of view. “No, I’m not. I’m human, just like you.” He had been human back in his previous life as seeds to flowers blew across many pastures. “Pinch me if you like? Actually, don’t, I bruise easily.”

“I bet you don’t. You’re ripped for a start.” Leo playfully squeezed his bicep. “Okay, so you’re not a supernatural being. I have to say, I’m kind of relieved.”

Although Leo laughed it off, Quint felt a certain wariness from him. It wasn’t quite fear, but more suspicion that Quint was holding something back, which of course he was. The way he looked at Quint was as if he had a thousand questions that he needed answering all at once. Perhaps when they sat down together, he would be able to answer at least a few of them.

They arrived at The War Horse, and Quint held the door open for Leo to enter first. Quint spotted some seats in the corner, and as they made their way over, a member of the bar-staff handed them two plump cocktail menus; old bibles, held together by silk rope threads, pages falling out of them like ancient library books.

After a short perusal of the menu, Quint ordered a Negroni, Leo a Dirty Vodka Martini, insisting the mixologist shouldn’t be shy with the brine, which made Quint screw his nose up in mock disgust.

“That could go either way,” said Quint.

“As long as it goes down my throat, I don’t care.” Leo laughed.

Silence hung in the air while they waited for their drinks, until Leo cut through it.

“You seem like you’ve got something to tell me. You have done since the moment we met. I think I know what it is, you know?”

“You do?” answered Quint.

“You’re psychic, aren’t you?”

Quint choked a smile and felt somehow relieved that Leo didn’t confront him with the truth. In fact, this seemed to be the perfect ruse for Quint to play along with. For a start, it meant that he wasn’t directly breakingthe rule,and he wouldn’t have to mention theMediunnor any other of the secrets of the afterlife that he had experienced.

Being spiritual, Leo probably already believed in the possibility of the survival of souls outside the physical plane.

Quint held his hands up in a mock surrender. “I am. Are you too? Is that how you knew?”

“I don’t think so,” said Leo, shaking his head.

“That would be too weird, I guess.”

“It would be pretty cool though, predicting each other’s future and all that.”

Their drinks arrived, Quint’s in a solid-looking tumbler, and Leo’s in a plush, vintage Martini glass, three plump Nocellara olives impaled on a cocktail stick, balanced on the edge of the glass. Leo took a sip of his drink first.

“Now that has taken the edge off a very heavy day,” he coughed out.

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