“Mr Stanley, finally we meet”
Accrington squinted as he tried to focus on the figure sat in the half-light of the room. In front of him was a man looking regal but battered and worn. Like he’d been in a battle.
As his eyes became accustomed to the little light there was he saw a familiar figure. Where was he from? He couldn’t recall, though clearly the man knew him. His eyes were fixed unblinking. Suddenly something sparked a memory; he had seen him before, in the corridor that lead from the sunshine to the cesspool of piranhas, that horrible journey to unimaginable misery.
They’d met twice, in fact, the first time many years ago, the man was fresh and triumphant, the second, more recently, he was drawn, haunted even, with deadened eyes.
Could what they say about the prophecy be true? About that first meeting setting off a chain of events that would lead only to peril? Was this really the man they called… Oxford?
The man in front of him looked better than he did that day, but his scars were barely healed. Finally he spoke again.
“Accrington Stanley, did you really think that I wouldn’t find you?”
The force of the man’s presence caused Accrington to step back until he was flat against the wall. A chill shot down his spine. Suddenly it was all making sense. Was this the prophecy finally coming to bear?
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