Truths
Eight minutes. That was all it had taken. Borkan checked his watch as they piled Alex, Madeleine and Ricci into the cars. Six from when Alex stood and upended the table until Chazz watched smoke spiral up from Ricci’s burnt out eyes. The next two minutes passed in a haze where he had not allowed himself time to think about what he had seen. The female Tech had radioed the back up cars and that had saved them. As the non-descript black saloons pulled away from the mall, sirens could be heard approaching from behind.
Man-handling the three prone forms had been the difficult part. Madeleine was easy, the lightest of the three and the woman hoisted her over her shoulder without trouble. Alex and Ricci proved more cumbersome. Borkan took Alex, unwilling to carry his dead colleague, leaving him to one of the other Techs, the last member of the field team running interference as they descended the stairs of the book shop and exited its main entrance, avoiding the mall entry/exit way. They bundled the bodies into the cars and let the drivers do the rest. Borkan sat with hands shaking looking at the still form of the young man he had come to like over the years and respect over the last two days. Now he was just plain scared of him. Fear was an emotion uncommon to him and the onset of such feelings shook him almost as badly as the cause of the fear itself.
A flower of blood stained the front of Alex’s shirt. The tranquilliser gun was not meant to be fired from such close range. The wound was superficial not life threatening, Alex bled slowly for most of the journey, the red trickle of his life juice petering out as they transferred to the helicopter.
The car radios were tuned to police frequencies and the part of Borkan that still functioned like the professional he had always prided himself as being began to mentally relax once they left the mall two miles in the distance. Nobody was in pursuit of them, the shoppers and shop staff that had witnessed the madness at the mall were probably too stunned to be of any help to the police at this stage. By the time any sort of coherent statements could be given, they would no longer be on the mainland. Borkan was not worried about possible descriptions, he had one of those faces, chameleon like, he could blend in, and he knew from experience that no two descriptions of him would match.
They had lost a man, but that too was no cause for concern. He felt a touch of professional remorse over the loss of an agent, but it was fleeting. More important was the evidence the man’s body would give the authorities that could possibly lead them to The Clinic, and that, Borkan knew, was not a problem. There would be nothing about the man’s person that could tell the police anything. His identification would lead them nowhere, everything from fingerprints to dental records would have been doctored long ago. For all intents and purposes the Tech would not exist and while that would puzzle the police, there would be nothing they could do about it. This wasn’t a movie, there would be no last minute uncovering of some vital piece of information, no misfit police officer who worked by unconventional methods and, by the way, was an unappreciated genius who would solve the crime in the last reel. With no ID, there would be no leads, and with no leads the police would be helpless. The incident would make the evening news, and tomorrow’s papers and in a few days, it would be forgotten. Borkan would keep a low profile for a while, but things would return to normal in a relatively short time. He glanced at Alex, strapped into the rear of the chopper, perhaps normal was not the right term. He shivered.
Madeleine awoke in a white room. Disorientation, common after trauma, skewed her brain and she felt confused and a little frightened. A jumble of thoughts cascaded through her head. Images and memory flashes came and went with rapidity, thoughts formed, lasted mere nanoseconds and then fragmented. A feeling of nausea rose within her then subsided like an ocean swell. She closed her eyes and willed herself back to sleep.
The white room again. Her eyelids fluttered open, she blinked several times and focused properly on her surroundings. Bedside table, vanity desk, wardrobe, all bland, white wood. The walls were white, as was the carpet. The room had an antiseptic feeling to it, though no smell to accompany the feeling. She was clad in a plain nightdress, like everything else, this too was white. She felt the pounding of a headache behind her eyes. The throbbing distracted her from her thoughts and she focused hard on where she was, what had happened. A startled gasp of breath escaping her lips as she remembered the mall. Running, Ricci behind her, the stairs, falling. She brushed her lips with her fingertips, feeling a tenderness at the corner of her mouth. She remembered now, Ricci’s hand flashing and pain exploding behind her eyes. Other memories crowded in and something else, something that felt like a memory scratching away at her consciousness, she shuddered, feeling a shiver run along her spine at the almost remembered thoughts. Unconsciously, she touched herself, hand going to her left breast then down to her groin. The murky shadows of veiled thoughts shifted slightly but she could not make out anything of substance through the mind fog.
She threw back the covers and swung her legs over the side, attempting to stand she winced in pain, sitting back on the bed. Her ankle was bruised an ugly purple shade and was swollen, looking grotesque next to the other, undamaged joint. Standing more gingerly this time, using the vanity desk for support, she hobbled slowly to the door in the corner of the room. Each step brought memories swirling back into focus, and with them, fear. For herself, certainly, but mainly for Alex. She knew where she was. Even without memory of her passage to this place, having never been here before nor even knowing of its existence until, it seemed, only a few heartbeats ago. She had seen it in Alex’s thoughts.
She reached the door and turned the knob, not really expecting the door to open, and she wasn’t disappointed. Still she tugged at the door, feeling it rattle slightly in its frame but nothing more. She considered banging on the door, trying to attract someone’s attention, decided it was worthless and then did it anyway.
In the operations room, the monitor showed Madeleine slapping the door with the flat of her hand. The room’s only occupant lifted a telephone.
“Yes?”
“She’s awake.” The receiver was replaced.
Alex lashed out, his foot arcing towards Ricci’s abdomen. And that was what distinguished dream from reality. His dream self moved with a lithe grace his body was unable to duplicate. His leg refused to move more than a few centimetres before the restraint bit and held his limb down. He broke through the surface of his slumber and his eyes snapped open.
“Hello, Alex,” the voice said and he closed his eyes once more, screwing them shut. “We… I’ve been worried about you.” The voice was soft and sweet as strawberries.
He smelled her scent as she leant closer and he was taken back, away from this moment to another only a week before. He slowly opened his eyes and Holly’s face swam into focus. He felt a sickening in his stomach, the sense that his entire world had upended. Holly! She was so beautiful. He knew every line of her face and body, every swell and dip, every smell, every taste. And now, he believed, every rancid thought that swirled around her devious brain. He thought he had loved her. He had loved her! But it was all false. She was incapable of love, her feelings a facsimile of true emotions. He had been used and the knowledge of his abuse brought with it a hard edge that he fought to keep out of his voice. Anger would not help him now, he needed a clear head.
“Holly?” He gasped, reaching out for her, his arm held by restraints.
“Oh, Alex,” she responded, clasping his hand in her own.
“What happened?” He was careful to crease his brow in puzzlement but his confusion was not feigned. In the book shop, tackling Ricci he had broken through the false shield of drugs that had protected the killer’s thoughts from his own. Even now, as he held Holly’s slim hand his stomach roiled at the remembered atrocities that had seeped into his head from the diseased mind of the other man, but now, holding tightly onto the hand of the woman he had loved, there was nothing. No, that wasn’t strictly true, not nothing, but not really something either, a netherworld between the two states of consciousness he could travel to and from. There was a veil over her thoughts masking her true self, but the veil was shifting as if stirred by a warm breeze.
“Borkan shot you. Don’t worry, you’re not badly hurt, just a flesh wound,” her hand strayed to the dressing taped to his chest.
“Why?”
She knew he wasn’t referring to being shot, he wanted answers to everything he had discovered, all that had happened. She didn’t have the answers, not all of them. Seeing Alex lying there, knowing he no longer trusted her, even with good reason, hurt her more deeply than she could have believed. Tears glimmered in her eyes, refusing to spill but glazing her vision. Her latest assignment, her lover, the father of her child. The thought crashed through her mind.
“Because…” She faltered, words fading away on her lips. The door opened before she could speak further.
“Ah, Alex, you’re awake. Good.”
Shelton beamed at him from the door, pushing it closed and approaching the bed. “How are you feeling?”
A million retorts rose up within him, dying on his lips. There was nothing he could say, nothing that would mean anything at this point. He wanted to kill the man standing in front of him. Wanted to close his fingers around Shelton’s neck and squeeze until his face turned first red and then purple as his hands cut off the flow of blood. He wanted to watch the veins swell up on his features, watch the blood vessels popping as he applied more and more pressure, crushing his windpipe, starving his brain of oxygen. For an instant, Alex could see it clear as day, clearer than any of his intrusions into another’s mind; could see Shelton’s mottled flesh, his eyes bugging out of their sockets, tongue protruding rigidly between lips pulled back into a grimace of pain and terror.
He swallowed hard, blinking the image away, seeing now only the man. His short grey hair and steel framed glasses, the slight upward tilt of his lips that designated a smile. The expression of his pleasure, as always, failed to reach his eyes and they remained blank of emotion, a shroud of control masking the inner workings of his mind.
He moved around the bed, unperturbed by Alex’s lack of response, picked up a chart, glancing at it and replacing it on the hook at the end of the bed. Stepping forward, he checked the drip, watching the clear solution in the hanging bag for a second and checking the IV. Tape held the needle in place.
“Shitty.” Alex finally spoke, struggling to keep his voice neutral. He reminded himself of the need to remain calm.
“Eloquently put,” Shelton was undisturbed by his charge’s response. “I think we ought to change your dressing.” He removed a surgical pad from the cupboard beside the bed and bent to remove the soiled dressing from Alex’s chest. Alex spoke, staying his hand.
“Is that all you have to say?” Tension, building within him from the instant he woke cracked his voice, despite his efforts to withhold his emotions.
Shelton sighed, “No, Alex. There’s plenty to say. But now is not the time. You need to rest.” He attended to his wound. The hole in Alex’s chest was ugly, flesh an angry red but already the healing process had begun. Shelton nodded and hummed lowly. “This may sting a little,” he swabbed the wound with antiseptic solution. Shelton re-dressed the wound. “There” he said. He took a syringe from within the folds of his jacket and spiked Alex’s arm. He jerked at the sudden sharpness, wrists straining at the leather straps holding him to the bed.
“It’s alright, Alex. It’s just a sedative, to help you relax. You need to sleep. We’ll talk later.”
Alex fought the narcotic effect of the drug, but already it was beginning to have an effect. His eyelids drooped, shutting out the light. A fog enveloping his brain. He heard the last words through a syrup of drowsiness.
“Just be calm, Alex. And remember, I’m very proud of you. You did extremely well.” The blankness took over and he slipped under the surface of consciousness and was gone.
Madeleine lay on the bed, her efforts at raising someone had produced no results other than an ache in the palm of her hand that spread down her forearm, a hoarseness in her voice and a sharp reminder every time she forgot about her damaged ankle and shifted her weight, of the pain that seemed to suffuse her entire body. There were no windows in the room, she could see no clock and her watch was no longer on her wrist, time had stretched, become distorted. She had no idea how long she had been here, how long she had slept, it could have been hours or even days. No, not days. The swelling on her face where the killer had hit her, was still evident in the image that stared at her from the mirrored doors of the cabinet fixed to the wall of the bathroom she had found beyond the door in the opposite corner of the room from the bedroom’s exit.
And so she waited, going out of her mind with worry. Very quickly she had realised she was probably going to die. A nervous rattle of breath had sighed out of her at the thought, but she had lived for a long time with the thought that death would be a welcome respite from the wasteland of existence. Over the last few hours, she had come to believe those thoughts were a betrayal, the reaffirmation that life was worth living had fired her every moment, sparked her flight from the assassin in the mall, awakened her to the prospect of a future worth fighting for. She didn’t want to die. But she was a realist and so she pushed thoughts of her own demise from her mind, focusing instead on Alex and what would happen to him, what was happening to him right now. Seeing nothing, hearing nothing, knowing nothing was worse than she could have realised. A vivid imagination was an affliction she could live without.
There was a noise outside, she tensed, hearing the rattle of the lock and then the door was opening. Her fists bunched, clutching the bed sheet and breath froze in her lungs. A small man, his grey suit matching the colour of his hair entered the room. Light reflected off the lenses of his steel framed glasses masking his eyes. She knew instinctively that it was Shelton and felt something wither and die inside her.
He stood at the end of the bed and smiled at her.
Fear has an odour, a scent different from anything else. Distinctive. Animals know it, can smell it. The leopard, stalking its prey in the dark of the African night, closing in for the kill, knows the moment when his presence has been detected. Fear freezes the muscles and in the instant before panic frees them again, the scent of terror reaches across the veldt and ignites the hunter’s already excited senses and the chase is on.
Shelton too, could smell fear and its fragrance now reached out to him from the woman. Like the leopard, he was excited by its presence. But unlike the animal he was not able to act upon his desires, not yet. He had tortured women before, finding them more pliant than men. Easier to break down. Their capacity to withstand pain was actually stronger than men, but they always crumbled faster. Mental conditioning made men suffer intense pain without breaking for far longer than women. He had studied the imbalance, experimented exhaustively over the years and the results were quite conclusive. He stared at the woman on the bed. He would enjoy her suffering, eventually. For now, she may have a different use. For some reason, Alex had become attached to her, and she to him. And it may yet prove useful to keep her healthy. Alex could be stubborn at times.
He reached out to touch her and she flinched, pushing herself further up the bed.
“Come now, Madeleine,” he paused, “you don’t mind if I call you Madeleine do you?” He spoke with a slight mocking tone.
She stared at him venomously. “I mind,” she hissed.
“Formalities it is then, Mrs. Whyte. I am Mr. Shelton.”
“I know who you are, and I know what you are!”
He studied her with a measured glance, holding her gaze for a long moment. He nodded fractionally. “Then you know I am a doctor. I thought I would take a look at your injuries.” He stared at her bruised ankle, his hands reaching for her foot.
“Don’t touch me!”
“Really, Mrs. Whyte. There is no need for this antagonism. I don’t know what Alex has told you about me, although I can guess…”
Madeleine snorted, “I bet you can.”
“. . . But I’m afraid his testimony cannot be trusted,” Shelton continued as if uninterrupted, “because Alex himself does not know the truth, the real truth.” He met her eyes again but she looked away.
“So, what has he told you? That I’m evil? I’m a murderer? That I murdered his father?”
Her head snapped around at that last comment.
Shelton nodded, his odd, humourless smile distorted his lips. “Ah, I thought as much. No matter. I am many things, Mrs. Whyte, perhaps some of what Alex has said is true. I have done things that you may think are wrong, but to suggest I killed his father is just plain fabrication, I’m afraid. Peter, Alex’s father, was a dear friend of mine. His death came as a great shock to all of us, Alex suffered greatly, losing his father so young and not knowing his mother. I did what anyone would have done in my place. I think of him as my own son now, after all these years. I would never do anything to harm him.” He looked sadly at her.
Madeleine listened, taking in all the words, not believing him for an instant. His sorrowful gaze did not move her. She knew real sadness, had seen how it tugged at the muscles of the face, the way people cannot look you in the eye. He was lying!
“Where is Alex?”
“He’s sleeping. Recovering.”
“From what?”
“There was some, ah, confusion, was there not, at the mall…”
Confusion! Now there’s a word for it, she thought.
“. . . Unfortunately, Alex was injured in the disturbance.”
There was a flash of concern in her eyes she could not disguise, Shelton smiled inwardly.
“I thought you said you would never harm him,” her tone hardened.
“Accidents happen, Mrs. Whyte. You of all people should be aware of that.” His response was a slap in the face, bringing an instant pain of memory. She saw the cockpit, instruments failing, the darkness… She pushed the memory away, glaring harshly at the vile man beside her.
Shelton indicated her foot. “I’ll have someone put a bandage on that and bring you something to eat and your clothes.” He turned away from her.
“If you’re so innocent. Why was my door locked?”
He looked back at her. “I never said I was innocent, Mrs. Whyte.” He closed the door behind him and she heard the lock snap back into place.
Alex opened his eyes, he was alone. An itch tickled at the side of his nose, he tried to scratch it but the restraint kept him in place. Thoughts welled up inside him. Images of Madeleine, he saw Ricci pawing at her and the bile of anger rose in his throat. Madeleine! Where was she? Had they harmed her? He tugged uselessly at the leather binding him to the bed, his frustration venting itself in a vain attempt to free himself.
The door opened and Holly came into the room. Alex watched her as she approached, the swing of her hips as she sashayed towards him. He hadn’t made a sound, it wasn’t coincidence that Holly entered the room mere seconds after he woke. There must be a camera in the room. He turned his eyes away from her, scanned the walls and ceiling. He could see no camera, no electronic eye staring back at him, but it must be there, somewhere. He returned his gaze to the beautiful woman now standing at his bedside. She leaned over and kissed him, her lips soft and full, he found himself responding automatically, his own lips parting, allowing her tongue to slip silkily into his mouth. Her hand brushed a stray lick of hair from his forehead as she ended the kiss.
“How are you, darling?” She breathed quietly.
“Confused,” he responded, not quite lying. He felt her touch, tasted the sweetness of her lips, the light trace of her fingers, and felt nothing. No desire, no lust, not the tingling sensation her kisses had always provoked within him, there was nothing, just an emptiness. Kissing her was like trying to take a drink from a glass you had forgotten was empty, not even a stray drop left to trickle into your mouth, and Alex was thirsty.
He reached out with his mind, probed her as they kissed, but he felt only the strange nothingness, her thoughts and feelings masked. But he had seen through the camouflage with Ricci, in those few terrible moments before he killed him. He had looked beyond the veil of shadows into the depths of darkness and would have to live with what he had seen for the rest of his life. If he could do it then, back there with that psychopath’s hands around his throat, why couldn’t he see beyond the shroud enveloping Holly’s thoughts?
Her hands were pulling at the straps binding him to the bed, the loops of leather pulling back, the buckle loosening. She freed his left hand, leaning over him to untie the right belt.
“What are you doing?” He asked stupidly, his mind still wrestling with the snake-like strands of his confused thought patterns.
“What does it look like, darling?” She moved down the bed, releasing the leg restraints.
“But what about Shelton?”
She smiled at him, the curl of her lips dimpling her cheeks in a way that a week before he would have found irresistible. “Don’t be silly, Alex, what do you think Anthony will do? You’re not a prisoner here, this is your home.” The last strip of leather came free.
“But… the restraints?”
“To stop you from hurting yourself. You were very distressed when they brought you home. Delirious. Anthony was afraid you might harm yourself. I was too.” She lowered her eyes. When she lifted her face to him again, he could see tears shining there. “Honestly, Alex,” her voice trembled with held back tears, “how could you think that I… that I could… could be involved in anything that would cause you harm?” The tears spilled slowly down her cheeks, she took a step towards him, “Hold me, Alex. Please!”
His confusion escalating, Alex opened his arms to her, only then realising that the IV drip was no longer sticking in his arm. Holly stepped into his embrace, resting her head on his shoulder. The tears continued to flow down her cheeks and stifled sobs wracked her body. In the operations room, the image of her face hardened in the lens of the camera as she glared at the hidden eye.
She helped him from the bed, “Your clothes are in the bathroom.” He staggered as he took a step away from the bed. “Are you alright?” She asked anxiously as she saw him stumble.
“Fine, just stiff is all.” He recovered his footing and walked slowly to the corner room, Holly followed him inside.
“Could you wait outside?”
“Why?”
“I’m getting dressed.”
“So? Alex, what’s the matter?”
I need a minute to think! “I’m… shy.”
She laughed. “Alex, it’s me, I’ve… seen… everything you’ve got. Don’t be silly.” She saw his face colour, in spite of everything, he could still blush.
“I know, it’s just… please!”
She stared at him for a moment, then nodded fractionally. She backed out of the door and it closed in her face.
Alex stared at himself in the mirror. He had a few bumps and grazes but otherwise he looked okay, dark shadows under his eyes, despite being out for however long it had been. He scratched at his inner arm, feeling the small puncture wound from the drip. What was in that tube? He wondered. His head ached a little. Did Shelton have something, a new drug that could counter what he could do? It was a possibility, else why couldn’t he read Holly just now. The suppressant they took wasn’t enough now, it couldn’t be. He shivered as a memory from Ricci’s mind filtered through his mental barrier.
Okay! He couldn’t rely on any help from within. He had no idea how long the effects of the drug would last and until they wore off, he was just a normal man. Ha! He wished. So what do I do now?
His clothing was neatly folded on the toilet lid. Clean underwear, shirt and jeans. No socks or trainers. Obviously he wasn’t expected to venture outside The Clinic. His chest ached as he pulled the shirt over his head, but his movements were not impeded by his injury. That was the good news. The bad was he still had no idea where Madeleine was, assuming she was on the island, or whether she was hurt.
He opened the door, Holly stood expectantly on the other side.
“Okay?” She asked.
“Yeah. No. Where’s Madeleine?”
“Who?” Holly feigned puzzlement but Alex saw the minute flicker of her eyes, an involuntary reaction to the mention of Madeleine’s name and knew she was lying even without his special abilities. He showed no sign he had noticed her reaction.
“The woman I was brought here with.”
Holly shook her head. “Alex, you were alone, what woman?”
“But…”
“I met the helicopter myself, you were alone. There was no one else.” She grasped his arm, staring into his eyes. “Look, are you sure you’re alright. I told you you were delirious, maybe you should lie down again.”
He shook her arm off. “No, I’m fine. I want to talk to Shelton.”
“I’m sure he’d like to talk to you too,” she followed him as he headed for the door.
Shelton switched off the monitor on his desk. “Andrew, why don’t you go and check on our guest, I think I need to have a little chat with Alex.”
There was no hint of a question in Shelton’s tone and Elwes took his cue to leave gladly. There were aspects of this whole situation that made him more than uncomfortable. He had never shied away from responsibility or duty, even when asked to do things he did not agree with, but the last few hours had revealed what Shelton would view as a major flaw with himself. What was happening to Alex, and what was going to happen to the woman was just plain wrong. No matter what was at stake, and the more he thought about that the more he wondered just what was at stake, really? Did Shelton seriously think that what he was doing was of any benefit to anyone—except himself? Elwes shook his head, he knew the answer and it didn’t make any difference. Shelton would continue to do what he did and people like himself would carry on doing what it was they did, which is what they were told. And for his own part, Elwes would try and forget to grease the wheels of his conscience, it would be better that way. He was at the woman’s room, he turned the lock and pushed open the door.
“Alex! It’s good to see you up and about. How are you? Feeling rested?” Shelton came around his desk, arms outstretched and a jovial tone in his voice.
“What did you mean, ‘I did extremely well?’” Alex ignored Shelton’s welcome, gazing at him warily. The fragments of his previous conversation spilling to the front of his mind as he had strode down the carpeted hallway to Shelton’s office, Holly keeping up a stream of conversation he barely heard.
Shelton dropped his arms. “I see that we’ve dispensed with the basic pleasantries.” He returned to the other side of his desk and sat in the hard leather chair.
“Tell me,” Alex insisted, “you said you were very proud of me.” He leant over the desk, hands planted firmly on the polished wood.
“I am proud of you, Alex, I always have been. Now, why don’t you relax and sit down and we can discuss this properly?”
“I’m fine where I am.”
“Sit down!” Shelton shouted, his face reddening with barely suppressed anger, “Pay me some respect.”
Alex stepped back in surprise, expecting anything except an overt display of anger. In all the years he had known his legal guardian, he could not remember seeing him lose his temper. It was one of the things that had frightened him so much when he had discovered the files, and the truth—Shelton’s seemingly implacable calmness. He sat in the chair across from the older man.
Shelton nodded at him, his eyes still glaring behind the lenses of his glasses. “Now, perhaps we can be civilised about this.”
Alex nodded back, warily. The dull ache behind his eyes he had noticed on waking was getting worse, he rubbed lightly at the side of his head.
“Alex?” Holly spoke beside him, he had almost forgotten she was there.
“I’m fine,” he dismissed her concerns, sure they were as false as her denials about Madeleine’s whereabouts.
“Yes, Miss Stowe,” Shelton agreed, “I’m sure he is,” he looked at Alex, “it’s probably just the sedative, bound to make you feel a little groggy. Why don’t you leave us to thrash out our little problem?” He kept his eyes on Alex as he instructed her to leave.
“If it’s all the same to you, I’ll stay,” Holly held her ground.
“I think you misunderstood me, Miss Stowe. I told you to go,” His voice hardened, he was not used to being disobeyed.
“She can stay if she wants.”
Shelton’s lips tightened to a thin line, his eyes boring into Alex, then, he sighed, his hand waving absently at Holly, “Go, stay, as you please. It doesn’t matter.”
“Where’s Madeleine?” Alex rubbed again at his temples, the throbbing in his head worsening.
“Who?” A smile flickered at the corners of Shelton’s mouth, he saw Alex’s eyes darken. “Relax, Alex. I’m sure she is alright.”
“I want to see her.”
Shelton inclined his head, “I’m sure you do, perhaps later.”
“I want to see her now!”
“Grow up, Alex!”
“What?”
“This isn’t about what you want. None of this is about what you want, don’t you understand that yet?” He paused, “No, I see that you don’t.” He placed his hands on the desktop and leaned forward, “You’re part of something that goes beyond petty wants and needs. You’re special, Alex. You know that, and because you are, you have responsibilities, whether you like it or not.”
A wave of nausea washed over Alex, sweat broke out on his brow, his skin took on a sickly grey pallor as the thumping ache in his head grew worse. He struggled to push it away, focusing on Shelton’s words. “I don’t understand! Why me?”
“Because I chose you. Twenty years ago, before you were even born.” Shelton’s eyes were alight with a fervour he had never revealed to anyone before. Alex saw the look in those grey eyes and shivered. “You think I killed your father, Alex you’re wrong. In many ways, I am your father. You are what you are because of me. I delivered you into this world, I shaped your world. And after Peter died, I took his place, brought you up as my own son. Gave you everything you could possibly need.
“Your father was a weak man, Alex. It grieves me to say it because he was my friend, but he was weak. When your mother died, giving birth to you, he could not cope—understandably—and he blamed you for her death…”
“You’re a liar!” Alex spat at him.
“Am I? What do you know of your father, Alex? Nothing! Only what I wanted you to know. He didn’t come near you for months after you were born, he abandoned you. I brought you up, I took care of you. I gave you everything.”
“You gave me this!” Alex pointed at his head.
“Yes I did. You should be grateful, it’s a gift.”
“It’s a curse!” He grasped his head with both hands. “I can see things, things that should never be seen, not by anyone.” The ache in his head swelled to a crescendo of pain and then, suddenly, it subsided. He sank into the chair, breath rasping in his throat. His vision swam, images fragmented and then coalesced through a blur of tears, he shut his eyes.
Holly knelt beside the chair, putting her hands to his face, “Alex? Alex? Are you alright?” Her voice cracked with worry that was not faked.
“I’m okay,” He opened his eyes, the waviness of his vision was gone, replaced by a clarity that seemed to coat everything he saw with a sheen of brightness. Colours that had seemed bland and pallid now were almost lurid. He had suffered the same sensation at the bus terminal—how long ago was that now?—but this time the feeling that he was going to pass out didn’t happen. “I’m alright,” he removed her hands from his face, saw the concern in her eyes and smiled at her, “really.”
He stared at Shelton who had sat immobile through the last few seconds. “What was in that drip?”
“Just a sedative, as I told you before,” he watched Alex with ill-disguised interest.
“Now tell me the truth.”
“That is the truth. It’s all been the truth,” he blinked, “well, a certain kind of truth.” He opened a draw and withdrew a file, an inch thick with papers. He dropped it onto his desk, turning it so Alex could read his own name on the cover.
Alex’s gaze switched from Shelton to the file and back again. “You kept a file on me,” there was no surprise in his words.
“Just the salient points. You see, Alex, when you were born, you were nothing to me than a… project. Don’t look at me like that, it’s what you want to believe, what you want to hear. It’s true, you were an experiment. I used your mother and father, they were unwitting guinea pigs.”
“You sick bastard!”
Shelton ignored the insult. “I had my reasons, reasons I don’t expect you to understand, not yet. Things didn’t go quite according to plan. There were complications, your mother, God rest her soul,” Shelton was warming to his story, he could see he had Alex’s undivided attention. Holly too, sat fascinated by the tale. He was pleased, he had worked hard at getting the tone just so. “Your mother… didn’t survive the pregnancy. I did everything I could, you have to believe that Alex, but it was hopeless. She haemorrhaged, suffered massive blood loss, she was losing blood faster than we could replace it, it was… terrible.” He stopped his narration, casting his eyes downwards, remembering the day vividly, his memories contrasting sharply with his revised version of events.
“Your father was indisposed, away on… company business, shall we say?” He met Alex’s eyes at that. “He didn’t return until the following day. He was devastated, your mother was his life. He really did want nothing to do with you, Alex. He held you to blame. You took his life away the night you were born. He was dead long before that explosion ripped his body apart.” Shelton stopped again, allowing his words to sink in. He saw the look of dismay crease Alex’s face.
It’s true, Alex thought. All of it. He could remember the aloofness his father had shown him. Remembered it more than the closeness that he was sure he had felt from the man, lost now, so long ago in his past. It was his fault, he was to blame. He had killed his parents, just as Shelton said. Revulsion swept through him at the realisation. He barely heard Shelton as he continued.
“It’s not your fault, Alex,” a note of compassion entered his voice. “Accidents happen. That’s all it was the day you were born, an event beyond anyone’s control. Your father too, although I must admit there have been times when I’ve wondered if he didn’t deliberately get caught in the blast. The point is it wasn’t your fault.
“I brought you up. I had been doing it from the time you were born, had become your substitute parents and I thought of you by then as my own son. It’s true that in the beginning you were nothing more than an experiment as I said. But that changed, Alex. I’m not an ideal parent, and make no claim to be. And yes, I’ve done things that most people would not understand, but I’m not a monster, Alex.
“I brought you up. Gave you an education, gave you everything, allowed you…”
“Conducted your experiments,” Alex interjected.
Shelton again looked away from him, a shadow of a frown crossing his features. Inside he was jubilant. “You thought of them as games.”
“I didn’t know any better.”
Shelton nodded in concession. “You enjoyed them.”
“Did I pass?”
Shelton beamed at him. It was, thought Holly, the only time she had ever seen a true reflection of pleasure on his face, and it disgusted her. Had he, she wondered, grinned like that when planning her current situation. Of course, she told herself. It was what Shelton did. He was the puppeteer and everyone else were just marionettes waiting to have their strings pulled.
“Every time. With flying colours.” Shelton opened his desk drawer once more. “There was only one more test left.” He took out another file and placed it over the thick folder with Alex’s name on it.
“What is this?” Alex couldn’t help but be intrigued.
“The truth.”
Alex opened the file. His heart missed a beat as he recognised the pages he had seen in the locked room. His eyes picking out sentences that had burned into his consciousness a week ago. Dates, places, times. “I don’t understand,” his confusion was evident.
“You are an exceptional young man, Alex, even disregarding your special abilities. You are very fit, above average intelligence, very capable. But do you have that something extra, hmm? That’s what I wanted to find out.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re being rather dense for someone as bright as yourself. Do you think you could have just walked out of here after finding that?” Shelton indicated the file. “And didn’t you find it rather odd that you were able to gain access to such material? Think, Alex.” Shelton raised his eyebrows at him.
“A test?” Alex shook his head, “It, no…”
“Yes! What do you think goes on here, Alex. Look at the file. Some of the things in it are real. Your friend Chazz and the unfortunate Mr. Ricci are what you believe them to be, but you don’t as yet understand why. It’s what you are.”
“No,” horror welled up inside of him.
“It’s what you are being trained for. You and your father before you. Don’t fight it, Alex, it’s pointless, you can’t change what you are. All you can do is recognise what it is and strive to be it the best that you can.”
“I don’t believe you!” Alex stood, kicking the chair away from him.
“You will, Alex.”
He backed away, his eyes fixed on Shelton’s unwavering stare. Holly rose with him, walked with him as he retreated from the man behind the desk.
“Alex, I’m so sorry,” she said mournfully. “I’m so very sorry.”
They reached the door, his back pressed against it. He reached for the handle, turning it and slipping around it, his eyes still on the unflappable figure smiling at him from his desk.
“Let me help you,” Holly said.
Alex wrenched his gaze away from Shelton, stared at her uncomprehendingly. “Stay away from me,” he slammed the door on her protestations.
Holly wheeled about fiercely to face Shelton. “You bastard. Why can’t you leave him alone. Can’t you see he’s not like the rest of us? You’ve got what you wanted, just leave him be.”
Shelton tapped his lips with a finger. “Have I?”
“I’m carrying his child, that’s what matters to you, don’t deny it, the rest is all details. It’s all part of your master plan, all a part of your damn project.”
Shelton rose from his seat and crossed the room to her. “You may be right, Miss Stowe. But there’s many a slip betwixt cup and lip.” His voice had taken on the sibilant hiss of a viper.
“What do you mean?” Her anger was checked.
“You’ve become somewhat attached to our Alex, have you not?” She said nothing, her lips compressed into a tight line. “Splendid! You see, I’m not as foolish as you may think, Holly,” he deliberately used her first name. “So I’ll make a deal with you. Nothing happens to our little package,” he tapped her belly with the palm of his hand, “and nothing will happen to sweet, young Alex.”
She smiled grimly at him. “You won’t kill him, where would your precious project be then?”
“I didn’t say I would kill him,” he returned her smile with interest. “The human body can withstand a world of hurt, if one knows how to administer it. And I assure you, I certainly know how.” He turned on his heel and walked back to his desk. “I suggest you go and comfort him, it’s in all our best interests.” He watched her from his chair and made her pause with her hand on the door. “Oh, and one more thing.” She looked back, eyes blazing over her shoulder. “In case I have misjudged you and you intend to do something stupid. Don’t. You’re not as indispensable as you may think.” He picked up the files and put them back into the drawer. When he looked up, she was gone.