Closure
“I guess it starts with Shelton. He’s the one I’m trying to get away from.” Alex picked up the lemonade Madeleine had placed on the table. He took a long swallow as if just speaking those few words, thinking them before he spoke them had dried out his throat.
“Who is he?” Madeleine felt her curiosity tweak at the look on Alex’s face as he started to tell her his story.
“He’s my… guardian. Ha!” He shook his head. Madeleine waited for him to continue. “My father is dead. Anthony Shelton is my legal guardian. At least, I’ve always thought he is, but now I’m not so sure.” He paused again. “I think he must be. I saw a document to that effect and I guess it must be genuine. It was with the others, and I’m pretty sure they were real.”
“Why are you running away from him if he’s your guardian?” She did not know what to expect but the answer Alex gave left her totally stunned.
“Because he killed my father.” Alex had been looking at the plate of sandwiches, his eyes cast down, now he lifted his gaze to meet her eyes. She looked into those black coals and saw he was telling the truth. She didn’t flinch from his gaze, would not have been able to if she wanted, his words froze her limbs, numbed her mind.
“He didn’t actually kill him himself. He wasn’t the one who pressed the button. He just gave the order. But I don’t think that matters, do you?” It was a question that did not require an answer.
Her mind fumbled for something to say. “How? . . . Why did he kill your father?”
Alex pondered this question for a long time. It was something that had plagued him since finding the records at The Clinic. From what he had seen and what he had pieced together over the intervening time, he was left with only one answer to Madeleine’s query.
“Because of me!” There was a plaintive look in his eyes, a pain he was only recently beginning to allow himself to feel, and a shade of guilt that coated everything else. “Because of what I can do.”
Madeleine saw the turmoil in his face, emotions warring within him and she felt a stirring in her heart. A need to comfort him if she could, but she did not know how and did not trust herself to ask. Instead, she said the only thing that made any sense to her at all. “I don’t understand.”
So he told her.
Elwes barged through the door with barely a pause after knocking. Shelton looked at him expectantly.
“He’s been sighted.” Elwes’ face was flushed, he’d run from the operations room where he had been watching the film of Alex disappearing into The Vault during the power shortage. He watched and rewound and watched and rewound several times, as if by watching he could change the events on the tape, make it so it had not happened. It was hard to believe that something so insignificant as a minor power outage had caused everything else that had happened subsequently.
His telephone had rung. He’d slipped the slim appliance into his hand and listened as the details were relayed to him in the nonsense babble of phrasing that was routinely used when speaking on an open line.
He knew Shelton would want to hear the news immediately, and in person, so he had run through The Clinic’s corridors to the man’s inner sanctum and barged straight in.
“Where?” Shelton strained to control his voice, giving no indication of his excitement.
“At the bus station…”
“Here? . . .”
“No, at the other end. We had two operatives covering the terminal. We thought it unlikely, the chopper had buzzed several coaches on the road. They saw no trace of him. And then, he popped up out of nowhere, right in front of them.”
“So, we have him! Bring him back here, immediately. And I don’t want him harmed…” Shelton stopped, the look on his aide’s face quelling his words. Elwes slumped into the seat opposite Shelton.
“I don’t like that look Andrew. I don’t like what that look tells me.”
“He got away.” Elwes knew better than to fudge the facts.
“How?” The small tic appeared at the corner of Shelton’s left eye.
Elwes recounted the report the man in the grey suit had sent in. As he listened, Shelton became more convinced that Alex needed to be brought back alive. The boy was a natural, to avoid two Technicians with the apparent ease he had demonstrated, relying only on his wits, was more than enough evidence that he could be a tremendous asset to The Clinic. There was a problem though, he admitted. Alex now knew the truth.
“. . . We’re tracing the license as we speak. They missed the last couple of digits but it won’t take long.”
Shelton nodded. “Keep onto it. And advise Borkan and Ricci to be ready to move soon.” He dismissed the other man.
Alex felt ashamed. He had told Madeleine the whole story, well most of it. He left out the parts involving Holly, barely mentioned her. He was still unsure of her involvement in everything, deep down he knew she must be involved, but he didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t want to believe any of it, but he had no choice.
His shame came from the knowledge that he was the only person that could do the things he did, at least as far as he knew. On the island that hadn’t mattered. Everyone took for granted that he could see things others couldn’t, it made him special. Now he realised that special could be a negative thing. He remembered how the girl had reacted on the bus, saw the look of horror on her face as he recounted her inner thoughts, instinctively she had recoiled from him.
In a matter of a few hours, he seemed to have made a connection with the woman across from him and it was important to him that she did not react in the same way as the girl. He hadn’t asked for the ability to look inside someone’s mind and he wished he couldn’t do it, but he could.
There was one other thing he hadn’t told her yet. She knew about his powers, knew how they had been used against people, whether or not she believed him was another matter.
The games he played as a child, the models he had built, with the help of people on the island. The photographs they had shown him and the personal items they had given him. All so he could help them, people like his father, people like Chazz Borkan and Kyle Ricci, to kill people. A shiver ran down his spine. His father was just the same as Ricci. No, that wasn’t true. Was it? Had his father taken pleasure from the things he did? Alex did not think so, but he was still a killer. And what did that make Alex? Were the sins of the father, the sins of the child?
Madeleine sat silently, staring at Alex as he finished. Either he was raving mad, some psychotic escaped from a mental institution, or he’d told her the truth. Or she was the one who was crazy. Perhaps the last few hours had not really happened. She could be asleep, this might be some lunatic dream and she would wake up soon, probably with a headache and the feeling she had just had the weirdest dream, the sort where, on the edge of sleep, everything seems so vibrant and real but that disappears like wisps of mist on a bright spring morning leaving you wracking your brains to remember what it was you had been dreaming. The sort of dream you completely forget by the time the water out of the showerhead gets hot.
She wasn’t dreaming, and she didn’t think Alex was psychotic. He was being chased by those men at the bus depot, and they certainly didn’t look like doctors—not that she expected them to be wearing long white coats—but they did not exude a medicinal air. That left one choice, Alex was telling the truth. As incredible as it was, she couldn’t shake the sense she had had all along, the same feelings that had made her go back for him, made her bring him here to her home. Alex was telling the truth, as crazy as it was.
Her heart ached for him as he told his story. She saw the pain and confusion on his face, heard the anguish in his voice. He told the story in a toneless voice, masking his feelings as best he could, but she could still see what the telling was doing to him.
There was something more. Something he had not explained yet. He’d told her about murder and death. About the mother he never knew and the father he had lost when he was still young. She had heard about his ability to see the past and sometimes the future of people he met. But he hadn’t told her how he knew about Doug. He had not met Doug, though from what he said, that wasn’t necessarily important, he just needed something that belonged to the person. He was wearing some of Doug’s old clothes now, but he hadn’t been when he stopped her in her tracks out on that lonely road hours before. It could not have been the car even, she hadn’t bought it until after he died.
She ended the silence between them. “It’s quite a story, Alex. Like something out of the X Files. But I believe you!” His relief was evident. He let out a huge sigh and his shoulders slumped visibly as he relaxed muscles he had not realised he’d tensed.
“I have to ask you… about my husband,” Madeleine paused, a lump in her throat. “How did you know about Doug?”
Alex had expected her to ask sooner. Had been amazed at her restraint. From what little he knew about her, he sensed that Doug’s death was still incredibly painful for her. He’d no real experience himself. He never knew his mother and not really his father either, his own sense of loss was different, the loss of not being able to know them, rather than losing them all together.
“It was the photograph,” he said gently. “It seemed to be… I could sense… so much from it. It had so much energy. Your energy, I think. I could feel your, I don’t know what it was but I could feel you on the photograph. It was like it… unlocked Doug for me. And I was able to see.”
“You said,” Madeleine’s throat felt choked, making it difficult to speak. “You said that you knew how he died.”
Alex looked away, at the black window above the sink.
“Tell me what you saw.” She was whispering. A knot of fiery pain in her belly. She tried not to think about Doug, not like this, not his death, but Alex was making her remember the pain. The knock at the door, the man in the long, brown overcoat, rain dripping off the brim of the felt hat perched on his head, the compassion in his eyes, this stranger who came to the door with a message of death.
“Damn it!” She shouted at Alex, her hand slapped the table and he flinched. “Tell me!” She wanted to grab his chin, pull his head around so that he faced her. When he did, it was his eyes that were full of compassion.
“Madeleine. What good would it do?”
“I need to know. Please!” She begged.
Alex closed his eyes, took a deep breath.
“It was dark,” he began. “It was dark, but everything was alright, no problems. There had been a storm warning, but nothing serious.” He paused again, his smooth face creasing, eyes still shut, remembering. In his head, the blackness of the night sky deepened as the sepia tones of his stolen memory crawled over the image in his brain.
Madeleine watched, eyes locked onto him with rigid fascination. His body jolted, muscles tightened and he sat straighter in the chair.
“Interference. The radio crackles. I reach out and tap the handset. Play with the tuning knob. The hiss and spit of the radio stops, now there’s nothing coming out of it. It’s okay, I don’t need it right now. It’s not a difficult flight, I’m confident. It’s raining.”
Alex was unaware he was speaking in the first person, he was wrapped up in the image flickering behind his eyes, unaware of his surroundings in the real world. The kitchen chair, straight backed, wooden, was gone. He was in the bucket seat of the Cessna, straps tight against his chest, holding him comfortably. His hands gripped the controls lightly, confidently.
Madeleine saw the transformation. She heard him speak as if he were Doug and the shock made her gasp out loud, her intake of breath not disturbing Alex. She swallowed hard, palms pressed flat on the table, leaning forward to hear everything he said, he was speaking quietly, almost whispering, as if talking to himself. And he was. She might as well not have been there at that precise instant. Alex wasn’t there, not really, he was three thousand feet in the air, hundreds of miles and three years away.
“The rain’s getting harder, sounds like a drum beating on the wings. This is going to be interesting. The storm’s coming out of the west. That’s not where it’s supposed to be. And not here, either. ‘Nother couple a hundred miles or so and out of the south. Damn weathermen! . . . Air pocket, whoa! Here comes lunch, hahaha!”
He was enjoying it, Madeleine thought. He loved to fly and loved a rough ride. Turbulence was all part of the fun for Doug. She hated it. Didn’t like flying at the best of times, but detested it in bad weather.
“Hey, a light show. This gets better. Okay, where is it? Come on, come on. Now that’s what I call a belch, that’s some case of indigestion you got there God. Hahaha!”
She listened to Alex as he spoke Doug’s words and knew everything he had told her was the truth. It was like sitting across from her husband. Alex didn’t sound like Doug, but the words were his. He always referred to thunder as God belching. There was no way Alex could have known that.
She listened to it all, the jokes, talking to himself, keeping himself company on the journey. Talking to her, words and thoughts she was never meant to hear. Nonsense, babble. He even sang a song to her. And then it happened.
The lightning struck the ‘plane and the instrument panel went dead. The struggle, the attempt to keep the ‘plane in the air and the sudden realisation that it was all over.
In the kitchen chair, Alex again shouted her name. A strangled, tortured cry of abject pain and sorrow. “Maddy!”
The sob was torn from her lips. Alex opened his eyes, colour and light seeping back into him as his surroundings became solid once more. He saw Madeleine turn away from him, hands reaching up to cover her face, stop the tears that spilled from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.
He didn’t know what to do. “I’m sorry,” he said tenderly. She shook her head. He went around the table to her, stood awkwardly at her side for a moment and then put his arms around her, pulling her to him, holding her while cries wracked her body. “I’m so sorry,” he said.
“It’s alright,” she sniffed, the sobs fading away finally. “It’s just… I didn’t expect…”
“I know.”
She wiped hands over her eyes, rubbing away tears. There was a roll of kitchen wipes on a holder, Alex reached over and pulled a couple of sheets free and handed them to her. She blew her nose and smiled her thanks at him.
“Is it always like that?” She dabbed at her eyes.
“No. That was… particularly intense. Sometimes I don’t see anything at all, others, it’s just murky, as if I’m looking through a dirty window pane.”
She nodded in understanding, but she wasn’t really capable of knowing what it was like to be in another person’s thoughts, to be inside that person. Even with Doug. Now, having lived through Doug’s final moments, transmitted through Alex, it was too much. She could not comprehend being able to go through something like that. And what was it like for him? What she had felt, experienced, was, she surmised, nothing to what it must have been like for Alex.
“How much… do you feel?” It wasn’t the question she wanted to ask, she was afraid to ask that question, but Alex seemed to understand that. Was he reading her mind, now?
“It was instantaneous, Madeleine. He felt no pain, it happened too quickly. He didn’t suffer.”
She searched his eyes, to see if he was lying to her, trying to make her feel better. But she couldn’t tell, she didn’t know him well enough to know how well he lied, so she opted to believe him.
“Thank you.”
He crouched down so their eyes were level and reached out, to take her hands in his. He wanted to tell her how much he appreciated her trust in him. Tell her how much it meant. He had a sense that showing her how her husband died, allowing her to feel it through him, was something she had needed to know, that without it, she was stagnating, unable to go forward because she was tied to the past and fearing to cut those ties because they were all she had. He wanted her to be able to take that forward step, to sever those ties, not completely but enough to enable her to make more of her life than she would be able to with the restricting knots of past events tying her down.
He would help her do that if she wanted, as he sensed she did, and if she would allow him to help. She could help him, too. After all, he was in the same position, just a few steps down the road. He’d cut his own strings at midnight when he’d stolen out of The Clinic. The last thought brought him crashing down to earth. How could he help Madeleine? He was likely to get her killed, along with himself. He knew things they did not want him to know and he could do things they did not want him to show to anyone else. That was why he was on the island in the first place. If he wanted to help Madeleine, the best thing he could do was leave her alone. Get away from her as fast as he could. Every moment he was with her increased the chances that Shelton would find him. If they found him here, with Madeleine, he had no doubt what would become of her. Since finding the documents at The Clinic he had borne a burden of heavy guilt for his unwitting involvement in more deaths than he cared to imagine. He could not live with himself if he caused anything to happen to the woman who was reaching out her hands to his now, even if his own life was to end abruptly, in the next few moments, the weight of such a terrible thing would be too much to bear.
Madeleine took his proffered hands, allowed his fingers to close over her own, clasping tightly. She felt the shudder even as he fought to suppress it.
“Alex?”
His face creased as the image developed in his head. The pictures forming quickly, the usual tones over-laying the scenes he saw, but there was no mistaking what it was. Madeleine. Not the Madeleine of now, not the Madeleine he would see if he opened his eyes and looked straight at her, but the Madeleine of the future. How far into the future his vision was, he was unable to tell. He opened his eyes and released her hands as if he had been scalded, almost jumped back from her in his wish to break the contact between them.
“Alex? What is it?”
“We have to go,” he ignored her question.
“Tell me!”
“We have to go, now!” He deliberately avoided her inquiry. He searched the kitchen. They didn’t have much time. An hour, perhaps. He doubted it. More likely minutes.
“Is there a gun in the house?”
“What? Alex, I…?”
“Madeleine!” He barked at her, his agitation causing him to shout.
“Yes! There’s a shotgun, in the cellar.” She answered him, his discomfort unsettling her.
“Get it.”
She rose from the chair and scooted past him, lifting a key ring from a hook on the wall. She scurried to the cellar. He followed a step behind. At the cellar door she inserted a key and twisted the knob, the door slid silently back revealing a hollow of dark shadows. She reached out and flicked a wall switch and bright light illuminated the steps.
“Madeleine!” He stopped her, grabbing hold of her right arm and spinning her around to look at him. The instant he touched her, his hand on the bare flesh of her arm just above the elbow, where the sleeve of her T-shirt ended, he felt it again. Saw the images in their insipid tones. “Just, trust me!”
His eyes bored into her. She nodded dumbly and he released her. “Alright,” she said and descended the steps. Alex watched her go, but behind his eyes he saw her again as she would be if they weren’t quick enough getting out of the house.
The monochrome shades of his vision could do nothing to dispel the horror of what he saw. And what he saw was blood. It matted her long, golden hair, sticking it to the sides of her face, itself smeared with dark streaks. The tip of her nose was missing and there was a hole where her left eye had been. Her T-shirt was liberally stained with the rusted splashes of a charnel house. An ichorous discharge from a deep and violent wound. A gaping, toothless grin etched out of the flesh below her chin, a lolling tongue of her life’s blood still dripping from the jagged maw. The lower reaches of the shirt was ragged and punctured by the frenzied thrusts of a razor sharp blade, the knife was buried to the hilt in the soft flesh of her abdomen, the bone handle protruding obscenely between her legs.
It was the most vile, disgusting and powerful image, Alex had ever seen and the strength of the vision terrified him more than anything he had ever experienced in his life. He had to get Madeleine out of the house, right now, if he wanted to avoid the future he had seen becoming a reality.
He called to her.
“I’m coming,” she shouted back.
“Quickly.” He ran back into the kitchen. His trainers were on the tiled floor, he pushed his feet into them, tugging the left one on when it resisted. He hit the light switch and flooded the room with darkness, a shaft of light from the hallway pierced the room leaving an arrow of gold on the tiles. The window above the sink ceased to act like a mirror and he could no longer see his reflection. His eyes adjusted rapidly to the loss of light and he peered out the window to the enclosed area beyond. The garden stretched back further than he could see and he could not tell if there was anyone out there. The upside was they could not see him either. He hoped.
Madeleine returned from the cellar. He intercepted her at the door, hitting the light switch in the hall as he did so, plunging them into darkness. She started to protest but he stilled her complaint with a finger to her lips. “Harder to see!” He led her from the kitchen, moving instinctively.
“Where are we going? The car’s that way,” she pointed behind her. Of course! That was how they traced him. The backpacker or the man in the grey suit got the license plate and they found where Madeleine lived. How long did it take? They could be surrounded already.
“We’re not taking the car, too dangerous.”
“But how are we going to…”
“They’ve traced the plate. They know I’m here, don’t you see? We have to get out of here now, but we can’t take the car.” Alex stopped at the French windows, looking out over the rear terrace, still no movement, they might be lucky. They needed a way out, the rear was enclosed, the only exit seemed to be the front of the house, but that, he sensed, was not an option. He stared at the tall hedges and trees that cut the property off from its neighbours. The front gardens and drive were shielded by tall pines. An idea formed.
“Is there a fence behind the trees?”
“What?” Madeleine was playing catch up, the last few minutes had been a whirlwind of strained emotions, she was just coming to terms with the fact that The Clinic could have traced her number plate and, from Alex’s reactions, that he expected them to be outside as they spoke.
“Uh, no, only at the bottom of the garden, not the sides.”
“Next door, are they the same? Are they protected at the front?”
“Yes, we’re all pretty much the same along here.”
“What are the neighbours like?”
She saw where he was heading. “They’re… away!”
“What?”
“They’re not home! And I’ve… got… the keys.” A smile spread across her lips.
Alex grinned back at her, “What are you waiting for?” She turned to go, stopped and held the shotgun out to him. “Is it loaded?”
“No,” she handed him shells. “Go,” he said.
Alex cracked the gun and inserted two shells, snapping the barrels closed he pushed the safety on. There was a firing range on the island and he had learnt to handle guns at an early age, innocent fun, he had thought, but there had been a purpose behind it he now knew.
Madeleine returned, a set of keys jingling in her hand.
Alex nodded at her, “Ready?” She nodded back. He took one more glance out at the garden, nothing moving. Even the rain had stopped. His hand gripped the shotgun tightly. He turned the key in the French doors and slowly pushed them open. They stepped onto the terrace.
The cars slid silently down darkened, rain slicked streets. The rain had petered out to a drizzle and finally stopped. The neighbourhood was quiet and residential, expensive. Homes set well back from the road. Lights glowed in windows covered by thick curtains, throwing faint spillages of yellow and gold onto well-manicured lawns. Occasional street lamps gave out a sickly pale light that barely reflected off the matt black paintwork of the cars. They turned onto a wide avenue, large oaks lining the street, thick branches reaching gnarled, bare arms over the road creating a protective canopy in places. Here the street lamps were more sporadic but even their reduced glow was more than was needed, or wanted. A window in the lead car, tinted, revealing nothing of the occupants, rolled down and a thin shadow emerged through the gap. A faint popping sound, barely louder than the electric motor that wound down the window and the bulb of a street lamp disintegrated in a shower of quietly tinkling glass, the noise swept away on a sigh of wind. Two more lamps blinked out, plunging the road into a thick, viscous darkness that masked the presence of the cars. They rolled to a stop at the kerb, waiting.
After a moment, three doors opened on each car, and six figures emerged into the night. The doors clicked shut with muffled precision and the black clad figures raced silently across the road and melted into the darkness.
Alex closed the French doors behind them. The night was black as pitch, rain clouds from the recent storm had stolen away the moon and there was no gap in the blanket cover above. Here at the rear of the house, no light from distant street lamps could reach pale fingers out to point their way. He felt terribly exposed. He looked at Madeleine and then himself, wished they were wearing something other than white, but it was too late to change that now. A breath of wind blew coldly against them and Madeleine shivered. Goosebumps broke out on her arms and she was not sure it was just the cold that caused them. Alex leaned and whispered in her ear. “Which way?” Even as close as he was, she strained to hear him and she responded with a point of her finger to the right. He grasped her arm, ignoring the flashes of insight that nibbled at him. “Stay close.” He led the way across the terrace, slabs greasy with fallen rain, skirting the rows of potted plants dotting the patio. His arm brushed a tall Japanese maple in a wide, glazed pot, many of the leaves, a deep burnished purple red in summer had been stripped from the plant by the ravages of autumn. The spindly branches swayed back and forth showering the terrace with drops of rain.
They reached the end of the terrace and with it the house. This was the dangerous part. From the house to the line of pine trees was an open expanse of grass some twenty feet wide. He peered around the brickwork, scanning the darkness, seeing nothing, but remaining unreassured. Madeleine was close, he could feel her pressing against him, hear her breathing. He whispered to her once more, one word: “Quickly!” She squeezed his arm in reply. He tensed, hitching in a breath and ran for the cover of the trees.
Madeleine followed, her foot sank into the soft earth of a flowerbed and then she was running on the springy wet grass, the rain turning the grass carpet into a slippery green skating rink, her feet finding precarious purchase thanks only to the deep grooves in the soles of her trainers. She slid into Alex, pushing him into the deep recesses of a majestic, wide spruce. He grabbed hold of her to maintain his balance and they fell against the trunk of the tree. Around them, raindrops showered down from the disturbed branches and their shirts became sodden. Madeleine started to speak and he clamped his palm over her mouth, eyes telling her not to talk. She nodded and he released her. They stood silently, listening for any tell tale signs of movement but all they could hear was the drip of rain. Even the wind had ceased.
Madeleine breathed shallowly through her mouth, her heart hammering, not from the short sprint but from the surge of adrenaline coursing through her body. She was terrified, the fear transmitted from Alex to herself, but she was also exhilarated. She watched him curiously, saw how his eyes flicked back and forth, not resting on any object, any patch of ground for more than an instant and knew that exhilaration was the last thing on Alex’s mind. The thought sobered her and she touched his arm, indicated that they move on. They pressed through the thick foliage of the trees, slowly, trying not to disturb the branches too much so they would not sway, the collected rainwater soaking them to the bone. Their feet crunched quietly on fallen pine needles that matted the earth and dislodged pine cones that had nestled into the damp ground. And then they were through the trees and into the next garden.
The house was dark, silent. No light from windows throwing relief onto the lawn, showing the way for the furtive, scurrying figures dressed in black. They crept soundlessly and speedily, spreading wide, diminishing their bulk so they would appear as nothing more than shadows to anyone watching. The tarry blackness obscured them from prying eyes, so much that they would not be able to see each other from five paces were it not for the night vision goggles they wore. A green hue overlaid the enhanced image the modified glasses strapped to their heads revealed to them, the edges of certain objects blurring slightly as the computer chip enhanced photo-sensitive lens stole light from the nearest source and amplified it.
The men worked in teams of two, unspoken commands and directives carried out instinctively. They approached the house in short spurts of movement. Run, pause, run again. The three teams of Technicians reached their pre-ordained points, advising the others by short clicks on a radio unit that sent a burst of electronic signals picked up by the ear piece that each was wearing.
The first team was positioned at the front of the house. Eyes scanned the windows on both floors. There was no sign of movement, no flick of a head as it ducked out of sight behind curtains that remained un-drawn even approaching midnight. The house appeared empty and the point man of the team sensed it was so, gut feeling told him the prey had flown the nest. Nevertheless, he reached around to the holster clipped to his belt and removed the gun nestled in the small of his back. His partner did the same. The gun was short barrelled, stubby and ugly. The point man pushed his thumb against the safety catch and flicked it off. He clicked the radio unit twice, counted to five in his head and moved.
The two men covered the final ten yards in the blink of an eye. They were passed the large, wide window of the front room, between the thick, white Georgian columns that guarded the front door and into the deep, recessed porch. The point man held the gun firmly in a two handed grip, pointed straight at the door, his body angled, presenting no target to anyone on the other side.
His partner holstered his weapon, removed a pouch from a pocket and took a small instrument from its confines. Kneeling at the door he expertly picked the lock, feeling the tumblers click and spring open. The pouch disappeared back into a pocket and the gun filled his hands again. The point man nodded, his blackened face barely visible without the aid of the goggles. The second man pushed the door open, slowly, fingers barely pressing against the wood. The door swung back on well-oiled hinges, no sound, no creaks. No one in the hall. They advanced into the house like the well rehearsed team they were. The house was new to them but the situation was not. Left, into the living room, guns and eyes sweeping back and forth. Nothing.
The second team, entering from the rear, encountered their colleagues in the study. Mere seconds had passed from the opening of the front door. A quick shake of the head. No one! Complete silence. Rubber soled boots making no sound on the thick pile of the carpet. Breathing shallow and controlled. The second team advanced up the stairs, guns cocked and ready.
Team three were in the garage. Tools hung on racks and were suspended from walls. Shadows masked a multitude of hiding places. All of them empty.
The small red coupe stood in the shadow of the larger saloon. The second car was damp. Raindrops stood out on the paintwork like beads of sweat. The Technicians read the license plate, confirming the number. A hand, encased in a surgical glove, touched the bonnet of the car, palm flat. Cold.
Drips of rain had left a line of damp concrete around the car, the water beginning to dry. The Technician opened the boot. Nothing hiding in there. The coupe was locked. They left the garage and returned to the house.
The second team found no one on the upper floor. There was evidence, as downstairs, that the house had been recently occupied. A dripping shower. A bed with the sheets mussed, quilt pulled untidily back. They returned downstairs. The six men now gathered in the hallway.
“No one.” Team two.
“Clean!” Team three.
The point man nodded. “Cellar,” he told the second team. “Attic.” The other men nodded.
The entire search took no more than three minutes. The house was completely empty.
Alex and Madeleine crept cautiously through the garden. The next house was bigger than Madeleine’s and set further back. They stayed close to the trees until they were opposite the garage. From there they hugged the wall of the house to the front door. Madeleine tugged the keys from her pocket and opened the door. An insistent bleeping sound blared out at them, incredibly loud to their ears, making Alex jump.
“Shit!” He pushed Madeleine into the house and closed the door.
“Don’t panic,” she whispered and moved to the keypad on the wall, inserting the correct code number. The alarm signed off with a two-tone bleep. The system was similar to the one in her own house.
Alex sighed and leaned against the door, his heart knocking against his ribs like a woodpecker hammering a tree.
“Are we safe here?”
“Probably not. Safer than we were, maybe, but not safe.”
“Do you know how to use that?” She pointed at the shotgun.
“Yes. How about you?”
“Just point it and pull the trigger, I guess.” She had never fired a gun in her life. Doug had shot clay pigeons and hunted small animals, rabbits and birds.
“That’s about the size of it. Get it on target and it’ll make a mess.”
“How good a shot are you?”
He thought about the times he had spent on the firing range. A shotgun was a cruder weapon than he was used to, but you didn’t have to be as accurate due to the spread of the shot. “Good enough,” he said.
“What did you see back there?” She stepped towards him, trying to see his face in the darkness. He did not answer, peered through the small panes of glass near the top of the door.
“Alex?” She pressed.
“Nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me!” She threw back. The exhilaration she felt outside had gone, now there was just fear again. He was avoiding her question and avoiding her eyes. That meant only one thing to her. “You saw something, and you didn’t like it. And if it affects me, I want to know what it was. And it does affect me, Alex, because I’m here, now, with you. Like it or not, I’m a part of this whole thing.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“The hell it doesn’t!” She spat. “What do you think this is? What the hell do you think we’re doing here? You’ve got me running from my home in the middle of the night, skulking around in someone else’s house because you saw something bad, something that scared you out of your wits. Ah!” She cut him off before he could speak. “I saw the look on your face. I don’t know what’s going on. Maybe I was reading you wrong, what with everything about Doug and all, but I don’t think so. It shocked you, took you by surprise and the next thing, your telling me we’ve got to get out and you’re sending me to fetch that gun. So don’t tell me it’s nothing and don’t tell me it doesn’t matter. Just tell me the truth.”
“Shut up!”
“What?”
“Lower your voice!” He put the gun down and grabbed her arms, shaking her. “You’re shouting. Be quiet, I told you we weren’t safe here,” he hissed at her, his black eyes drilling into her like lasers. He let go of her, almost pushing her away from him and turned back to the door, the guttural sound of a choked sob caught in his throat.
Madeleine recovered herself, saw his shoulders shaking silently, went to him. Before she reached him, he spoke. His voice a whisper. “Sorry,” he sniffed, holding back tears. “I… I saw you dead.”
She had suspected something like that. He told her how his visions worked and she could still see the look on his face as his vision had gripped him, just as he grasped her hands. But then there had been no time to think about anything, time had become a blur of panicked action and she had pushed the thought to one side.
It was funny. Until a few hours ago, she would have welcomed the prospect of death, but now it chilled her to the bone. Now there seemed to be so much more to her life than just an existence.
“I saw you dead!”
There was a bleakness to his tone that conveyed more to her than any amount of histrionics could have done. An emptiness that laid open his soul and revealed the terror of what he had seen to her. Not just her death, but what it would mean to him.
She touched his shoulder, felt him flinch involuntarily and she turned him around.
“Alex.” He would not look at her. She put her palm against his cheek, said his name again. “Tell me what you see now.” Her voice was soft, gentle.
He stared at her. She nodded at him, tugged the corners of her mouth up into a smile, willing him to answer her.
Slowly, he reached out and cupped her face in his hands, she felt the heat of his palms against her cheeks, and the tenderness with which he caressed her. His hands trembled and she covered them with her own. He closed his eyes.
“The same,” he whispered, pushing the words out of his mouth reluctantly. A frown creased his brow. Madeleine inhaled sharply as he said the words. He pressed her cheeks more firmly, stilling the breath on her lips. “Not as strong.”
The image was the same he had seen at her house, only the sensation was not so intense. He did not know how to read the images, did not know how much time they now had. He was sure they were still in imminent danger, but the vision was weaker than before. He had gained them some time bringing them across the way, but it wasn’t enough. He broke the contact. The image faded behind his eyes, he blinked away the residue, still seeing the bloody scene coated on his retinas the way bright lights can explode and then coalesce on your vision, temporarily blinding you.
He tried to smile, reassure her, but he could not. She wanted to ask him how, but knew he would not tell her and was suddenly sure she did not want to know.
“Not as strong. That’s good news. We’re doing something right.” She forced herself to look on the bright side. I saw you dead flashed like neon in her brain.
“Not enough!”
“You could be wrong.” He just looked at her.
“Not convinced, huh?”
“You know these people well,” Alex glanced around the hallway.
“We’re neighbours,” she shrugged.
“They left their keys with you.”
“Yes.”
“What about car keys?”
“No. But we can find them.”
He nodded.
The point man returned to the cars, the mobile units they carried were not secure enough to transmit his information, he needed a clean ‘phone. He relayed his report, received instructions and called his men back, leaving one team on site. There was a possibility the prey would return to the nest. Slim, but their target was not a professional and was therefore unpredictable. His instructions were to spread out, they had missed the target by no more than thirty minutes, he estimated, possibly an hour but more likely less. He couldn’t have got far. They, he corrected himself. There was no sign of the woman so it was assumed she was with him. The point man looked at a map in the enclosed space of the car. The targets were probably on foot, they had found the cars in the garage. No other vehicles were licensed to the woman. It was possible they had found other transportation, nothing could be overlooked. His fingers traced lines on the map, estimating distances. Satisfied, he folded the map down and slid it into the side pocket of the door. The cars moved out.
The search for keys was difficult, Alex would not allow any light to be switched on and they fumbled around in darkness, stumbling into furniture and twice knocking ornaments to the floor. The first time Alex caught the pottery figure, a Chinese peasant in ragged clothing, his reactions lightning quick. The second, Madeleine’s fingers brushing against a crystal candlestick, sending it tumbling to the floor, they were lucky, the glass hit the edge of a chair cushion and bounced onto the thick, luxurious carpet at her feet. There were no keys downstairs.
On the upper landing, Alex paused, there was a window, tall and narrow which showed the top of Madeleine’s house. He could not see the gardens or the lower floor as the pines obscured his vision. The top of the windows on the upper floor were just visible. He could see nothing, but sensed that his pursuers were already over there. A sigh escaped his lips. They had been that close! The image of Madeleine was with him constantly, a reminder that they were far from safe yet.
“In here!”
Her voice reached out from the master bedroom. Alex forced himself away from the window and found her beside the bed. She had found the keys to the BMW in the garage. She jangled them before him.
“We have to wait,” he told her. “They’re in your house.” His eyes had adjusted to the darkness minutes before and he saw the blood drain from her face.
“You’ve seen them?”
“No, but they’re there.”
She accepted his assertion without further query. “Whatever happens, Alex, it’s not your fault.” She tried to reassure him.
“But it is.”
“No. It’s not. You didn’t ask for this to happen. You’re the victim in all this. This Shelton, he’s the one who has caused everything. He’s the one you should blame, not yourself.”
“I’ve put you in danger. You’re probably going to die, because of me.”
“Nobody’s going to die, Alex.” She wished she believed what she was telling him, but a cold finger ran up her spine as she said the words. “I came back for you. You let me go. Don’t you see. I chose to come back. You haven’t put me in danger, I did it myself. And I’m glad I did. You shouldn’t have to face this alone. No one should.” She took his hand. This time he didn’t flinch. “This was meant to happen, Alex. Call it fate, or whatever you want, but this was meant to be. You found those records for a reason. And I think you know what it is.”
And he did, it had been brewing within him for the past week. He had lain awake all night every night since finding the records, only falling into a fitful slumber in the early hours when he could no longer think about it anymore, his brain fogging over with tiredness and confusion and the helplessness he felt. Shelton had to be stopped. The Clinic had to be exposed or destroyed. But how? He couldn’t answer that, or any of the hundred other questions that rattled around inside him. It was all he could do to stay one step ahead of them now, to just stay alive. He had been on the run for twenty-four hours. It was less time than that since they had discovered him gone and where were they? Less than eighty feet from where he stood. He couldn’t stop Shelton, he hadn’t the first clue how.
Madeleine watched, waiting for him to respond. He looked into her eyes. She had belief in him. That was what she was telling him. Regardless of the fact that he was a walking death warrant with her name on, she had faith in him. And that was more important to him than anything else at that moment.
“First of all, we have to get away from whoever is in your house,” he smiled at her. His first real smile since he didn’t know when. He squeezed her hand in his, ignoring the violent images that flashed through him at her touch. She squeezed back.
Team three were left behind. They were the newest and rawest of the teams. Even so, they were good, but the point man and his superiors did not believe the targets would return to the house. Something had spooked them and they had fled. Nothing was known about the targets, only that they were to be found and apprehended, alive, and that they were totally unprepared for what was awaiting them. Taking them into custody should be a cakewalk.
The two men were bored within minutes. It was going to be a long night, nothing to do but wait. If there was no sign of the targets by dawn, they would move out, re-group with the rest of the forward team.
The remote sensors in the garage had been disabled on the chance they might return not to the house but to the cars. The garage doors were now locked and could only be opened manually, and that would make noise. So the men waited. One inside the house, one outside.
The air had chilled. The black sweater and trousers the Technician wore clung to his body tightly and provided little protection against the rising wind. His face was smeared with grease which blocked much of the cold but his hands, covered in the snug fitting but thin surgical gloves, were numbing as the temperature dropped.
Tonight was only his third time in the field, the experience was still new and fresh and he did not mind the discomfort of the cold. Had volunteered to take the outside duty and his partner welcomed his colleague’s enthusiasm which allowed him to remain in comfort and warmth indoors.
The Technician patrolled the terrace, rubber soles making no sound. He scanned the garden through green tinted lenses, keenly eyeing any movement. A bird in a tree, a neighbourhood cat.
The cold ate at his fingers and gnawed at the fabric of his clothes, seeping insidiously between the fibres of his dress and seeking out his flesh. He moved vigorously, though still silently, stepping off the terrace onto the lawns. He completed a circuit of the rear garden, keeping close to the perimeter of the land to avoid being spotted if the targets should return. He was not worried. They were long gone from here, he could see the logic of his commander’s thoughts, and knew the chances of their return were minimal at best. That was why he and his partner had been given the duty. It was low risk and boring and they were at the bottom of the ladder. Not for long though, he was determined. He was paying his dues now and he understood the need for him to do so, but he was not going to remain in this position for much longer. With any luck, the targets would return and he would be able to leap frog up the chain to a more senior position by virtue of his skill at capturing them when they came back. Don’t hold your breath, he thought.
Completing a second circuit of the garden he saw it. Crossing from the lawn on the left side as he faced the house, near the garage. The flagged terrace ended, leaving a twenty-foot expanse of grass between the edge of the building to the stand of pine trees delineating the boundary of the property.
A footprint.
The Technician stood stock still, staring at the indentation in the mud and earth of the flowerbed. There was no mistake. He stepped forward and crouched down. His gloved hand felt the depression in the earth, the green veil of his enhanced vision made out the grooves and patterns of the tread from the trainer or running shoe that had left the mark.
His heart began to pound with excitement. He drew his weapon from the holster at his back. One print, no more, pointing towards the trees. His eyes followed the direction of the footprint. There was no sign of movement, just the gentle rustle of branches in the wind. Gun in his right hand his left moved towards the transmitter on his belt. His finger hovered over the signal button. One press would alert his partner, it was the proper thing to do. The first rule of his training. His finger brushed the small button, caressed it almost. An image of his advancement stopped him from sending the signal. If he found the targets and brought them back on his own, all the better for him. This could be the lucky break he had been hoping for. Still he paused. Soft targets, that’s what they were. A young kid and a woman. No field experience, no nothing. Soft. He removed his hand from the transmitter. If he couldn’t take them, he had no place in the organisation in the first instance. And there was no saying he would find them. They were probably miles from here. They’d escaped before they had even been captured. Beginner’s luck. There was no point in raising an alarm, he would check things out himself. He slipped the safety catch off his gun and moved cautiously towards the pines.
Alex found a wallet in the bedside table, a few notes stuffed into the pocket, he removed them and replaced the wallet, not even thinking now of what he was doing, a compete change from when he took the bread and the jacket that morning. Madeleine searched drawers, finding herself a thick woollen sweater, she had had no time to gather any of her own clothes and the T shirt was not sufficient against the December weather. She mentally apologised to her neighbours, feeling like a thief, furrowing through their clothes, taking what she wanted. She would make it up to Lela and George when they came home. If she was still alive, that was. And if she wasn’t… She pulled on the sweater, Lela Coburn was a big woman and the garment swamped her, but it would keep her warm. She pushed the sleeves up and gave her attention to George’s wardrobes. In contrast to his wife, George was relatively small and it became apparent that nothing would fit Alex. She studied him at the bedroom window. The shirt of Doug’s she had sorted out for him was thick, it would have to do.
“See anything?”
He shook his head, keeping his eyes on the rear garden.
“Maybe they’ve gone. They know we have. If they were us, would they come here?”
“I don’t know,” he shrugged.
“So how long do we wait?”
Alex said nothing for a while, just stared out at the garden. Was that a movement? At the edge of the trees? He blinked, re-focused on the spot where he thought he saw it, a rustle of trees that was something more than the wind rocking the branches. They were still again. There was nothing there. And then, a shadow detached itself from the Stygian depths of the pines. A shape moved rapidly across the lawn.
“I think the wait is over,” he murmured. An icy chill spread through him, laying over the churning in his gut, freezing the tremors of his nerves. A calmness descended on him, he felt detached from his own self. They had found him. There was only one of them at the moment, but there would be others. Running was not an option now, there were no options left. He looked at Madeleine, remembered her words and how they made him feel. Her protection was what mattered now, and he would do whatever he could to see that she was not harmed.
“Stay here,” he warned her, “watch the garden.”
She started to protest, but he was gone.
He reached the house, still nothing moved. He held his gun in the classic two handed grip, barrel pointing at the dark sky. His back pressed against brickwork as he slid towards the back door. He ducked under a window pausing for the briefest glimpse into the interior, seeing nothing. He tensed at the corner, muscles tightening and pivoted on the balls of his feet, swinging his body around the corner, gun searching out a target, barrel flicking left and right. No one.
Patio doors, curtains open revealing the orderliness of a large living room, empty of people. He sprinted past the wide doors. Dining room, under the window, quick peer inside. Kitchen window. No one. Now at the far corner of the house. Tense again. Spin. He was alone. The brickwork ended at the door to the utility room, wood and glass, Georgian style. He tried the handle, locked. He reached into a pocket, withdrew a small pouch similar to that used by his colleague a short time earlier and began to pick the lock.
Alex felt his heart beating hard against his rib cage, the thump of its beat threatening to drown out all other sound. He was scared, but he was also determined. The shotgun was sweaty in his hands, the cool metal of the barrels sliding against the oiliness of his palms. He paused and wiped them on his legs. He peered through the tall narrow slit of the landing window but could see nothing in the darkness. He flattened his back against the wall and slowly descended the stairs, putting both feet onto the same step before stepping down again. His eyes fixed on the well of darkness at the bottom of the staircase and what might be hiding, waiting for him out of sight on the other side of the steps.
His shoulder brushed a painting on the wall. He jumped and almost cried out as the corner of the wooden frame scraped against him. His breath sighed out in relief and he stilled the swinging of the picture with a hand, ceasing the whisper of its passage as it scratched at the wallpaper. There were other pictures and he stepped slightly away from the wall so as not to disturb them. He returned his attention to the darkness below, peering through the wooden bars of the ornate banister.
In the hallway, he paused, listening for any sound audible above the banging of his heart. His mouth was papery dry, he tried to swallow but had no spit. He stared at the front door to his right, partly obscured by the wall of the downstairs bathroom jutting into the hall. Where would the Technician come from? Not the front door, he realised. The man had been moving across the lawn, a diagonal path that led away from the front of the house. He and Madeleine had quickly scoured the ground floor of the house looking for anything useful, he could see the layout in his head. The most likely entry point was the door to the utility room. It was where he would enter if the situation were reversed. To his left was the door leading to the kitchen, through there, the utility was on the right. Ahead of him was the door to the living room. Standing where he was he was an easy target. He had to move. There was the bathroom, but he threw that idea away as soon as it occurred to him. It was cramped, no room to manoeuvre, he would be trapped. The same for the closet, even if he had time to move the junk piled up inside. He stepped backwards, past the door to the kitchen, there was two feet of space after the door if he pressed his back against the wall. He realised it was a dead end, as much as the bathroom, but he would have the advantage of being behind the Technician if he came out of the kitchen that way. He would have the element of surprise. Directly ahead was the door to the living room. If the Tech came that way, Alex was in his line of fire, but he rationalised, he could fire his gun the moment he saw the door begin to move, even in the unremitting gloom of the hallway, he would see the white painted door begin to open. He backed against the wall and waited, ears straining for the sound that he knew would come.
The lock snapped open after a few seconds of tampering. He checked the glass and the perimeter of the door, could not see an alarm sensor. He braced himself for the sudden wail of a siren. He could be out of here in seconds if he had to but something told him that wouldn’t be necessary. His gloved hand turned the lever handle of the door and he pushed it open gently. It scraped against the jamb for an instant, sticking, before swinging open. He paused, the noise of the door catching slightly had been faint but audible nonetheless. Twenty seconds passed with him motionless. There was no sound. And no alarm. He couldn’t help the small grin that spread across his lips, the warmth that being right gave him, the confidence. Everything was going his way. He was going to find the targets and he was going to bring them in himself, he could feel it. He stepped into the utility, placing his feet carefully. An archway led to the kitchen. Gun poised he surveyed the two rooms. The door into the dining room was ajar. He crept forward and peered into the room. That too was empty, he pushed the door slowly back against the wall. Which way? Ahead of him lay the door to the living room, behind the door into the hall, the house had the approximate lay out of the target’s house. He paused for a second, then moved to the door leading from the kitchen.
Alex heard it, no more than a sigh. He would have missed it if he hadn’t been so alert, expecting just such a noise. Had to convince himself he had not imagined it. But he knew he hadn’t. There was something about it, something surreptitious, sneaky, and his nerve endings flared a warning. His body was coated in a sheen of sweat and the craziest thoughts went through his head as he waited in the pin drop silence following that sly, furtive squeak. What if he can smell me? He won’t have to see me in the dark, his nose will lead him right to me. He tried to smell himself, but it was difficult while holding his breath. He breathed shallowly through his mouth. His heart pounded like an irate caller at the door. Sweat trickled down his spine, an icy cold wetness that ran its itching, ticklish way from the nape of his neck, between his shoulder blades. Goose flesh stood out on his arms.
A sound! Infinitesimal, but there. In front of him, the doorknob began to turn. The breath froze in his lungs. He tightened his grip on the shotgun, held across his chest, barrel pointing at the ceiling. The kitchen door swung towards him, he pressed himself more firmly against the wall. The door came back, came back, the white panels cut off his view of the rest of the hallway, in the dark he could see the grain of the wood. It stopped moving. Everything stopped.
The Tech turned the knob, slowly, oh so slowly, he could feel the tremor of the catch as it moved. Gun pointing straight ahead, his one-handed grip firm, he pushed the door back, his hand keeping a grip on the knob. He stabbed at the green hued hallway with the gun, the nose of the weapon sniffing out a target. Empty space greeted him. The door pushed back further still, then stopped. His left hand folding over the grip of the gun, locking with his right hand. To his right the stairs. The targets were up there. He knew it. He knew! He took a pace to the right. The stairs opened up to the right, two steps, then they turned. He lifted the gun to point upwards, his body swivelling to face the steps.
The door hit the stop that was positioned on the floor. Alex’s feet were millimetres from the doorstop. He saw a glimpse of an arm, heard the wicker of cloth on cloth as the Tech moved very slowly into the hallway. Could almost hear him breathe. He felt a shifting of weight, the floor creaked slightly under the thick carpet as the Tech took a step, then another. Alex was immobilised by fear. He wanted to move, had to, but he couldn’t. He had the element of surprise, the Tech was moving away from him, his back must be towards him. He would be heading up the stairs any second now. Madeleine was up there, defenceless. He had to move now!
He kicked the door.
The Tech was raising his left foot, stepping onto the first stair. He sensed rather than heard or saw the movement. His head whipped to the right, from behind the door he saw the target emerge and he spun around to face him. His left foot grazed the step, skidded off and he lost his balance for a precious instant. It was enough.
Alex rushed forward, the door swinging closed in front of him, clearing his vision, showing him the Technician at the bottom of the stairs. Time became treacle, slowing him down, everything happened with the agonising speed of a snail race in slow motion. He heard a noise, drawn out and distorted and realised it was himself, screaming. The Technician pirouetted, a look of shock crossing his face as he missed his footing and overbalanced. His gun tracked around, closing the angle, beginning to point at Alex as he started to topple over. Alex reacted without thought, his mind numb. The shotgun was across his chest, barrel still pointing harmlessly away from the assassin. He rushed at the man in slow motion, one more step and his arms began to move, right arm thrusting outwards, left pulling back toward him. The stock of the shotgun connected with the Technician’s jaw and his head snapped back at the instant that he fired his gun. Alex felt the heat of the shot as it seared past his face, heard the subdued phfut! of the weapon’s discharge and time suddenly seemed to reassert itself.
The Technician grunted in surprised pain and crashed back, elbow jarring against the banister rail. His hand opened involuntarily and the gun fell from nerveless fingers. He collapsed to the floor, Alex lunging after him, lashing out at the falling figure, the butt of the gun smashing into the Tech’s face below the goggles. He heard a crunch of cartilage popping and a spray of blood snorted from the man’s mashed nostrils. He hit the floor and didn’t move. Alex turned the gun in his sweating hands, pressed the barrels against the man’s blood stained cheek, pushing the metal roughly into the flesh. The other man did not respond. He stood there, muscles tensed, breath tearing raggedly through his lungs, staring at the black clad figure for an eternity.
He felt a hand touch his arm and he yelped out loud in shock, almost pulling the trigger and obliterating the Technician’s face.
“Alex?”
“Jesus!” His heart skipped several beats. “You scared the shit out of me!”
“I’m sorry. I called to you.” Madeleine stared at the fallen man, could see the stain of blood on his cheeks. She put her hand on the banister, removed it quickly as she felt the slimy wetness of his sprayed blood on the painted wood. She wiped her hand on her jeans. “Is he… dead?”
Alex didn’t answer her. She looked at him, shook him gently. “Are you alright?”
He dragged his eyes away from the Technician. “Me? I’m… fine. I feel sick, I think, but I’m okay.”
“You’re sure?”
He nodded.
Madeleine stepped over the prone body and crouched beside it. She felt for a pulse, turned the man’s head to one side, exposing his neck. Her fingers trembled as she touched him. His jaw moved slackly, seemed loose as she moved his head. It clicked audibly and hung at a strange angle. She pressed fingers against his throat and felt the faint throb of his pulse. “He’s alive,” she told Alex. “He’s a mess, but you didn’t kill him. His jaw is broken and you redesigned his face, but I think that’s all.” She shivered as she stood, again wiping her hand on her leg.
“What now?”
Alex picked up the Tech’s gun. It was unusual. He broke it open, the chamber was loaded not with bullets but with darts. Tranquillisers. He didn’t know if he should be relieved or not. At least they wanted him alive. The How and Why questions blinked briefly behind his eyes but he thrust them away.
“Now, I think we should get out of here.” He pushed the gun into the waistband of his jeans, knelt by the unconscious man and grasped his hand. “Just as I thought.” He stood. The man’s mind was a blank to him and it wasn’t because he was unconscious. He’d wondered why he could never read some minds, the minds of those on the island, for example. Shelton had told him his gift was unpredictable, but there was more to it than that. He looked at Madeleine. “I can’t read him,” he said.
“Does it matter?”
“Perhaps not. Did you see anyone else? From the window?”
“Nothing. You were only gone a few seconds. I didn’t see anyone, then I heard you and came to the door.”
Only a few seconds, Alex thought. It seemed a lifetime. He took her hand and led her into the kitchen and from there to the garage. The image of death that had powered their movements since her kitchen had lessened. The grisly tableau was still there, but subdued. He figured it would remain until this was all over, one way or the other, but for now at least, the immediate danger seemed to have passed. He let himself breathe a little easier at the thought.
Madeleine unlocked the garage door and they stepped inside. They had only been out in the open for a few seconds but she felt relief wash over her as she closed the door, cutting them off from view. Nervousness was catching.
“Get in, get it started, I’ll open the doors.” He waited until she was behind the wheel. The engine turned over and rumbled smoothly. The BMW had been recently serviced and purred like a big cat. Headlights lit Alex where he stood and he waved his arm for her to douse them. Gripping the shotgun in one hand, finger resting on the trigger guard, he eased up the garage door. The hinges were well oiled and the door rolled up without effort. Alex moved to the side, to let the car out and to make less of a target of himself. He saw no one as he backed up. Madeleine rolled the car forward a full revolution of the wheels, another. Alex opened the passenger door and slid into the seat. “Take it easy,” he cautioned.
Madeleine let the revs barely tick over as she steered out of the garage. Gravel crunched under the weight of the car, she was reminded of milk on cereal, kernels of rice popping and snapping. Beside her, Alex let the shotgun point to the floor of the car, rest against his thigh. He pulled the handgun out of his waistband, the smaller gun being easier to handle in the confined space of the car and his stomach turned over at the thought that he might have to actually shoot someone. He could do it, he thought, if he really had to, but he did not want to put it to the test right now. If he had to shoot anyone anytime soon, the thought he might only be putting them to sleep made him feel better.
There was a faint downward gradient to the drive and the BMW gathered pace, Madeleine put her foot to the brake and the car responded immediately, the revs dropped and the car’s rumble returned to a soft purr.
“We’re going to have to ditch this car and soon.” Madeleine glanced over at him as he spoke. “They’ll find us easily in this. Same way they found us now. When he doesn’t report in,” he pointed backwards with his thumb, “they’ll find him. They’ll know what we’re driving, and that’ll be it.”
She nodded, “Okay,” her voice was hoarse. The gap in the line of trees was approaching. Madeleine gripped the steering wheel tightly, felt the ghost pain of the crescents she had opened up in her palms earlier, a thousand years ago and lifted her foot off the accelerator. Before the sleek nose of the BMW poked through the break in the foliage, the black clad figure stepped into the driveway.
The Technician sat patiently in the kitchen until his backside became numbed. He stood and walked to the cupboards, opening each in turn, looking for something to eat. He found a packet of biscuits in a larder unit and pulled open the wrapping. Nobody else was going to need them. Like his partner, he was dismissive of the task at hand. It seemed a lot of bother for two ordinary people. Six agents, and tranquilliser darts! He shook his head, popping a cookie into his mouth. He stared out the window at the green night. Nothing moved but the branches of the trees in the soughing wind. Nothing moved! Not even his partner. His hand paused with another cookie inches from his lips. He scanned the garden more carefully, watching the enclosed space with something more than the disinterest of a moment before. He should be out there, somewhere. He considered calling him but their instructions were to maintain radio silence unless there was a problem. For now, he wasn’t sure that was the case. Like his partner, he was low down on the chain of command and wanted to impress. He would investigate further before raising an alarm. Placing the biscuits on the table, he picked his gun up and slipped out of the house. The coolness of the winter night struck him as he crossed the patio. He saw the footprints almost immediately. Madeleine’s and those made by his partner, he followed the line they took, leading him to the neighbouring garden.
Calming with each turn of the wheels but nerves still frayed by the events of the night, Madeleine steered towards the exit. The sudden appearance of the figure in their way shocked her numb. One instant, the drive was clear, the next, the man was blocking the way. Her legs turned to lead and she would have fallen if she were not already sitting down. Beside her, she heard Alex’s gasp of shocked breath. The Technician stood with feet planted wide and raised his arms towards them. In the dark she could not see what was in his hands but she did not need light to know what it was. Her foot, already heavy with the dread weight of fear, slapped the accelerator, even before Alex had finished shouting “Go!” at her. Her hand found the gears and the car spurted forward, almost leaping at the Tech, the engine emitting a snarl of power. Gravel spewed from under the wheels as the car ate the short distance to where the man stood. The Tech was taken by surprise and loosed off a shot even as the car bore down on him. The tranquilliser dart pinged off the windscreen, leaving a short furrow in the glass. Neither Alex nor Madeleine heard the sound of it striking over the roar of the engine or the rush of blood in their ears. The Technician tried to spin out of their way but his foot slid in the gravel. The car smashed into his hip and he felt the crunch of breaking bone and the sharp, jabbing pain of his kneecap popping. He was thrown backwards, broken body crashing against the stone pillar that marked the entrance to the driveway. The roar of the engine and the scream of the driver were drowned out by the intense pain that washed over him in the final seconds before he passed out. He fumbled at his waist, fingers searching for the radio on his belt, weakening with each passing second. He was blanking out, it was too late, he had failed. His fingertip brushed the top of the small button on the radio unit. He was already unconscious as he pressed it.
Madeleine screamed as the car connected with the man. She heard and then felt the sickening thud of metal connecting with flesh and the wheel spun in her hands as the jolt vibrated up the steering column. There was a whooshing sound that she could barely distinguish over the pounding of her heart and her screams and she lost control of the car. The airbag inflated filling the gap between herself and the steering wheel. She let go involuntarily and felt the car slide on the gravel. Alex was shouting unintelligibly and she saw him reach out and grab the wheel. The car turned clumsily and there was a sickening, fingernails down blackboard screech as the car slid along the stone pillar, the back wheel running over a bump that may have been the Technician’s ankle and they were through the drive and hurtling across the road. Without thinking, Madeleine hit the brake and they were thrown forward. The softness of the airbag enveloped her as her face was buried in plastic.
The car stalled and there was a deafening silence, broken only by the expulsion of their collectively held breath.
“Are you alright,” Alex gasped at her. Madeleine folded her arms in front of her, resting them on the airbag and put her head down on them. She nodded and mumbled she was okay.
He glanced behind them. There was no movement from the garden. His own heartbeat was returning to normal. He touched her arm, “We have to get out of here.” She did not respond. “We have to go, now!” He touched her arm again. This time she looked at him. He could see the trembling of her lower lip as she struggled to hold back a sob.
“That man, is he…?” Her voice shook.
“I don’t know,” he looked out of the rear window, the Tech was not moving.
“Oh, Jesus!”
He grabbed her chin, tilted her face towards his. “He was trying to kill us.”
“Oh, Jesus!”
“You did what you had to do.”
“But what if I killed him?” Anguish welled out of her, choking her throat.
“He wants us dead. Me and you. Focus on that. He wanted to kill you. He’s never met you, doesn’t know who you are and he wants you dead, that’s what matters. Not what you just did. You only did what you had to, what I told you to, that’s all.” He stared at her intently, willing her to believe what he was telling her. A single tear crept down her cheek, Alex brushed it gently away with his finger. “Come on. We have to go, or it’ll all be over with and none of this will mean anything anyway.”
She brought her hand up to his, squeezed his fingers tightly, sniffed back further tears and nodded solemnly at him. “I can’t drive with this thing in the way,” she slapped the air bag.
“Get out of the car for a second.”
Madeleine opened the door, the hinges creaked in protest, the panels were dented from their interface with the stone pillar. The squeal of the door opening seemed impossibly loud in the night air. She stood on the tarmac.
“Step away,” Alex told her. In the car, he hefted the tranquilliser gun in his fist, aimed at the plastic ball that filled the driver space and squeezed off a shot. The drug tipped dart pierced the bag and air sighed out of the punctures. He grabbed hold of the deflating ball and pulled hard, ripping the plastic from the steering column. He threw the air bag onto the back seat. Madeleine got back in the car and started the engine.
“Which way?”
Alex pointed to his left. She turned the wheel and they drove off, leaving the carnage behind them.