Power
The bandage was tight around her swollen ankle, allowing her to hobble with slightly increased efficiency. Her clothing had been laundered and brought to her by the man who applied the dressing to her foot.
The room was depressing. No windows, nothing to alleviate the tension she felt in her bones. Alex! Where are you? She had no way to tell how long she had been here, how long it had been since her meeting with Shelton. It seemed hours ago and she was beginning to feel stir crazy. She slipped off the bed, hobbled to the bathroom, more for a change of scenery than with any real purpose.
The bathroom was small. Shower cubicle, toilet, bidet and washstand. The small cabinet affixed to the wall threw her reflection back at her contemptuously. Think! She commanded herself. Do something! A towel hung over a rail beside the washstand. She pulled the towel off, letting it fall to the floor and examined the rail, removing it from its brackets. She waved the thin metal tube through the air, it was lightweight, not much use as a weapon, but she was reluctant to replace it, it was all she had for now. A sense of ridicule nibbled at her common sense. She stood in the bathroom, hefting a towel rail and contemplating using it as a weapon against God knew who. She was in a virtual prison with a damaged foot that would barely allow her to walk, let alone run, if she were able to extract herself from this room. Still, the feel of the lightweight tube in her hand made her feel better than she had since first waking. She looked for anything else useful. Her eyes alighted on an array of toiletries resting on a ledge inside the shower stall, shower gel, shampoo, soap. Inside the medicine cabinet was a deodorant spray. Half an idea formed in her mind, but she would need a lot of luck and the element of surprise. Even so, half an idea was better than none and it gave her something to focus on instead of what was happening to Alex.
The door slammed behind Alex and he stormed down the corridor, his head a mess of confused thoughts. Could it really be so? Was all of it just a game, a test? It seemed unbelievable, but Shelton had planted the seeds of doubt. How could he really be sure? His ability to read Shelton’s mind, or that of anyone else here, had been negated by whatever it was Shelton had developed. Without that, how was he going to know, for sure, what was truth and what was fiction. Everything had been turned on its head. Even a few minutes ago, his confidence was unshaken, now his thoughts were a shambles.
He wandered the corridors, passing no one, the lack of people not registering with him. The white walls and grey carpet seemed to glow with secret light in the new clarity of his vision as if coated with luminescent paint. A sharp pain suddenly spiked his brain, the headache that had cleared in Shelton’s office returned with a vengeance and he stumbled into the wall. Darkness encroached on his vision, dimming the newly highlighted brightness and nausea rose in his stomach. A low moan escaped his lips and he slid down the wall until he was crouched at the bottom. His hands covered his face and fingers pressed against the sides of his head, massaging his temples. His breath was short and sharp and he panted on the verge of hyperventilation. And suddenly, he could see. Not with his eyes which were screwed tightly shut with the pain, but with his mind. But this was different. The sepia tones he had taken for granted in the past were gone, the murky quality of the images that had assailed his senses before, bombarded him over the last two days, had been replaced. Colours now seeped into the images playing through his brain, highlighting everything he saw. And what he saw was Madeleine. Not Madeleine how she had been, or how she would be, but how she was right then at that instant. How he knew that he had no idea, he just knew it was so. She needed his help. He tried to push himself up from the floor. The waves of nausea and pain from his throbbing head impeded him, but the worst of the pain was beginning to subside. He made it to his knees when he heard the shout and saw Holly running towards him, a look of shock on her face.
“Alex? Alex? Oh my God, what’s happened?” She reached out and grasped hold of him and his senses were sent spinning and reeling.
Elwes opened the door and stepped inside, she was standing at the edge of the bed. Expecting perhaps Shelton, she was surprised by the sight of the man before her. His face appeared drawn and sad, worry lines marked his pale complexion and several days’ growth of beard stubbled his chin and jaw.
“Who are you?” She asked defiantly, her surprise at his appearance short lived, she could not afford to be distracted by the unexpected.
“Hello, Mrs. Whyte. My name is Andrew, I’ve come to…”
“. . . Kill me?”
Elwes blinked in surprise at her interruption. “Certainly not. I wanted to see if you are well.”
“How kind,” she replied sarcastically.
“Is there anything I can get you?” He ignored her antagonism, would have been surprised had she not reacted the way she did. In the last few hours he had read a lot about her, she was nothing if not resilient.
“How about out of here?”
“Ah,” he glanced down for a moment, “that, I’m afraid, I can’t manage.”
“Ha!” She turned and hobbled into the bathroom. “Why am I not surprised?” The washstand was behind the open door, he heard the tap run as he stood there alone momentarily. “How about a towel then?”
“What?”
“It’s on the bed. I’ve got soap in my eyes, could you pass it me?”
Elwes was tired, he hadn’t slept properly since Alex had absconded, and he was depressed by the whole sorry business. The strangeness of the situation did not cross his mind. He picked up the towel and walked to the bathroom. He held his arm out around the door, not stepping into the bathroom itself.
Damn! Madeleine thought. “Where is it? Soap’s stinging my eyes.” Come on, come in here!
“It’s just here,” Elwes was still not in the room.
“Where? Just give it to me, can’t you?” Her exasperation was genuine.
Elwes stepped properly into the room, his arm holding out the towel. Madeleine pushed the door suddenly, stepped towards him and sprayed deodorant in his face. Unprepared, Elwes caught the blast of perfumed spray full in the face, his eyes open. He cried out at the sudden stinging sensation and his hands flew to his face, dropping the towel. He staggered backwards and his shoulders slapped the wall of the bathroom. Madeleine threw the aerosol at him and picked up the towel rail off the washstand, swinging it in the cramped room and connecting with his arms. The second blow caught his wrist and he yelped in pain as the metal tube cracked sharply on his bone. The rail was bending, good for only another blow, instead she jabbed it at him, the end thrusting at his stomach. He doubled over as the metal pole prodded him. Gasping, he tried to grab hold of her as he bent forward, his weight knocking her towards the far wall of the bathroom and the shower stall. She stumbled, pain flaring up from her damaged ankle and began to overbalance. Her head and shoulders smacked into the frosted panel of the shower cubicle and glass cracked with the sound of ice warming in the early morning sun, but it held and did not shatter. Elwes was beginning to recover, his gasps of shock lessening. The element of surprise she had counted on fading away. He groped blindly for her, eyes blurred from the deodorant and she pushed herself away from the shower stall. He began to straighten up from his enforced crouch and she quickly lifted her left leg, stepping forwards like a hurdler on the track and her knee pistoned up with all the force she could muster. Her knee connected with his throat and she felt the point of his chin dig into her flesh as her leg drove up. A shudder ripped down her leg and made her ankle throb with violent pain at the contact. There was a sickening crunch as Elwes’ jaw snapped shut, mashing his teeth together and his head described an arc as the force of the blow lifted him backwards, toppling him over and he crashed backwards, his head hitting the wall of the bathroom and he slumped to the floor and lay unmoving.
In the sudden quiet, Madeleine heard only the sounds of her own terrified gasps. Pain blossomed around her ankle and she felt dizzy. She staggered a step to Elwes’ prone figure before falling to her knees and crawling over to him. A pool of rapidly spreading blood leaked from the back of his head. She reached out her hand and pressed her fingers to his throat. She could feel no pulse and moved her hand over his chest—no heartbeat.
“Oh, oh, oh…” She brought her hand to her mouth to stifle her moans and her stomach turned over. Bile rose in her throat and she retched violently, the acid scoured her throat and brought tears to her eyes as she was sick but the vile taste took away none of her horror as she retched beside the warm, dead body.
Alex’s vision of Madeleine was swept aside as Holly’s hands touched him. Replaced by images he could barely comprehend. Thoughts, feelings, impressions, crashed over him, a tidal wave of mixed emotions pouring over him, drowning him. He saw a child—a girl, alone, face tear streaked, pretty blue dress caked with grime, dirty with coal dust, her mouth fixed into a tight, grim line, eyes defiant. Saw faces of men and women, their features contorted with pleasure and pain, the line between the two blurred and fuzzy. He saw Shelton in her mind and sensed the hatred there, confused by the sensation, and he saw what she had tried to hide from him since he awoke strapped in the bed, and his muscles froze. His eyes widened as he saw into her, his hands gripped tightly about her wrists, squeezing involuntarily.
Holly cried in pain at his grip. “Alex, you’re hurting me.” His hands clenched like steel around her slim wrists, grinding her bones. “Please, Alex!” Her voice was filled not only with pain from his grasp, she had seen his eyes almost bug out of their sockets, knew he was probing her mind while at the same time not understanding how he could. She tried to stop thinking about that, about everything, to protect herself from his searching mind. But she could see from his expression that it was too late. The grinding pressure on her wrists increased even more, she felt as if her bones were being crushed to powder and the pressure dragged a howl of pain from her lips, banishing the other thoughts from her mind more effectively than mere will could.
Alex thrust her away from him. His breath raced in his lungs as the residue of the images burned into him. Emotions fluctuated within him. Surprise, fear, loathing, compassion, love, hate, revulsion but most of all, shock, overlaid with a sense of dread. In an instant the world, already shaky under his feet had begun to spin wildly, a gyroscope that flung his mind around sharp corners and cushion less walls and he struggled to regain his mental feet. One image kept leaping to the front of his mind.
Pregnant!
Pregnant with his child!
Her thoughts and fears had been imparted to him in one huge kaleidoscopic rush that threatened to overload his senses. Her memories, her dreams, her wishes had all cascaded through him, but they dissolved away to nothing at the touch of this one overpowering image.
Pregnant with his child! But not just his. The child was a creation of Shelton’s as he was himself. He felt his gorge rise as the full impact of Shelton’s plan hit him. He felt his stomach turn over as the thought of fathering another of Shelton’s experiments sent a shudder through his entire body. Across the hall, Holly rubbed her wrists and watched him through tear blurred eyes.
“Alex, help me,” she pleaded. Her voice cracked as she saw the transformation in his face.
She was a beautiful woman, more beautiful than Alex had ever seen, more stunning than any catwalk model, with more presence than any superstar singer or actress. And at that moment, she was the ugliest thing Alex had ever seen. A wave of revulsion washed through him. Revulsion at her, at himself, for everything they had ever done, everything he had ever felt. He ignored her entreaty, pushing himself onto his feet, using the wall for support. He stared down at her, slumped on the floor of the corridor. His face was pale, almost grey and he could find no words to use on her. He back-pedalled a step, two, shaking his head, then he turned his back on her and stumbled away down the corridor, his head pounding with pain and confusion.
Behind him, Holly wailed in torment at his retreating back until he turned the corner at the end of the hallway.
Madeleine dragged herself to her feet, her ankle more tender than ever. She wiped her face with the towel, discovered blood on the tips of her fingers and scrubbed hard at the red stains with the white towel, leaving pink traces on the material. The door was prevented from opening fully by his body and she tugged hard at the handle, ignoring the way her stomach rolled as the edge of the door beat at his stubborn thigh. She squeezed through the door and hobbled into the bedroom.
She had stayed on the floor of the bathroom for long minutes, staring at the dead body, forcing herself to look at his still form, coming to terms with what she had done. Telling herself she had no choice, he was a killer, and even if he had no intention of harming her right then, how long would it be? She had struck first in a premeditated act, but she was convinced she had acted in self-defence. It eased her conscience, a little. Then she moved. Had to make herself get up and get out of the bathroom. The stench of (death?) her vomit stained her nostrils, made her feel that the air was closing in around her, clogging up the atmosphere.
She gingerly crossed the room, favouring her swollen ankle. The door was unlocked and she had to use this opportunity to make her escape, if she didn’t, she had killed him for no reason. She peered into the corridor. There was no one in sight. The walls of the hallway were as bland as the room she had been a prisoner in. She stood uncertainly for a moment then chose a direction at random. She used the wall to support her bad foot.
The monitor showed the still form of Andrew Elwes, a dirty grey puddle of blood spreading slowly across the floor of the bathroom glowing brightly in the monochrome screen.
“Holy shit!” A finger flicked a switch and the image changed, showing Madeleine’s room, the door being pulled closed behind her. The Tech swore again and his finger jabbed the alarm button, a low whooping sound began to pour out of the speakers of the monitor screens and he could hear the muffled sigh of the alarm outside the door. He lifted his ‘phone and spoke rapidly into the mouthpiece.
Borkan had not slept soundly since he had brought Alex back to the island. His dreams had been haunted by visions of smoke spiralling up from burnt out eye sockets, his imagination filling in more gruesome details of heat seared brain matter and eyeballs melting on their stalks, the images accompanied by a soundtrack of guttural cries of pain emitting from the gasping mouth of Kyle Ricci.
Shelton had debriefed him, taking in everything Borkan said, not doubting his description of the incredible scene in the book store for an instant. His expression fixed, determined not to give anything away. But Borkan had seen the glimmer in his eyes as the details of Alex’s power had been revealed to him. That look unnerved him even more than what he had seen Alex do. Borkan was a killer, a very talented one, but in the end he was just an instrument, a tool to be used, he knew and accepted that, which was one reason he was so good at what he did. Shelton on the other hand, appeared not to be bound by his own limitations, was not even aware of them. Borkan saw the look in his eyes and was frightened by what he saw. The debrief over, he was allowed some R & R. He wanted to leave the island, but that was not possible. Shelton wanted him nearby, just in case and with everything that had happened on the mainland, the island was the best place he could be right now.
The weather had turned bad again, golf—the one sport he enjoyed and played with any enthusiasm was out of the question, rain sheeted down, battering the earth under its tremendous force and winds of gale force were again whipping over the seas and scything across the small rock of the island. The year was coming to an end in almost apocalyptic fashion. He had retreated to the gymnasium, working up a sweat, hoping to leech out the impurities of the thoughts that disturbed him; lifting weights, pounding the treadmill until he felt physically shattered, then enduring a shower in water as cold as he could stand for as long as he was able. Finally he had gone to bed, hoping to fall into a slumber that would blanket everything, deaden his senses to what he had seen. But his sleep had been disturbed and he had tossed and turned until the alarm had been triggered.
The low, repetitive pulse of the alarm snapped his eyes open and he came awake instantly, years of training banishing cobweb strands of sleep from his body immediately. He picked up the telephone beside the bed and pressed a button on the dial pad, the line was engaged. Borkan dropped the receiver to the bed. He didn’t need to speak to Shelton to know what had caused the alarm. He dressed quickly and left the room, stopping only to stuff the reassuringly heavy weight of his gun down the waistband of his trousers, the butt of the Smith and Wesson 9mm Parabellum flat against the small of his back. No tranquillisers this time, Borkan had seen what Alex could do and he was taking no chances, fourteen rounds in a full clip and that would be more than enough; he just hoped he didn’t have to use them.
The alarm made Madeleine jump and she glanced over her shoulder expecting to see a guard running up behind her. There was no one. Yet. Was she the cause of the alarm? Or was it Alex? She had to believe that they monitored her room, but if that was so, what had taken them so long? She reached another intersection, the unremitting blandness of the walls giving her no indication which way to turn. She needed to find a lift, choosing the right path for no better reason than she chose left the previous time she limped down the corridor. The sound of the alarm still batted the air and it masked the sound of approaching feet until they were almost with her. Alex staggered around the corner, still holding his head, partly from the residual pain of his aching head, partly as if to block out the thoughts that whirled around his brain. He didn’t see Madeleine until she cried out his name.
He stopped dead in his tracks. “Maddy!” Relief soaked through his body, washing away all thoughts of pain, lifting away the dirt that had stained his soul from his contact with Holly. All that mattered now was that Madeleine was there and she was alright. He threw his arms around her, crushing her to him.
“Alex,” she breathed as his hug squeezed the air from her lungs. “I was so worried about you,” she whispered, returning his embrace with equal force. “I thought they… I didn’t know what to think.” His hands found her face, lifted it up to his and he kissed her, his relief transmitting itself by the urgency of his caress. It doesn’t matter anymore, he spoke without words and knew that she heard him. The psychic link they had established in the motel room connected them to each other again now, the clarity of their joining intensified far beyond what they had experienced earlier. His thoughts poured into her, mixed with her own and in turn he received back a collage of her own feelings and experiences. The images he had witnessed in the corridor, just before Holly grabbed hold of him were confirmed, the sharpness of the visions untainted now by distance. He saw her struggle with Elwes, felt her terror and repulsion, her sorrow and her resolve. She sensed his pain, felt the residue of his headache as it seemed to recede with their joining.
He supported her weight, her arm around his shoulder. “We’re getting out of here, right now,” he led her down the corridor in the direction she had come from.
“How?” She asked.
“Yes, Alex. How?” Borkan stepped around the corner into the stretch of corridor in front of them. He stood before them, his stance relaxed, belying his trepidation. His hands were free, the Smith and Wesson still tucked into the small of his back.
Madeleine gripped Alex’s hand tightly. It’s alright, he thought to her. She glanced at his face, receiving his reassurances but not understanding how he could appear so calm, internally and externally. His face had a smoothness to it, despite the bruises and grazes, an almost serene expression graced his features. There was something missing, something Madeleine was not getting from Alex, some secret, hidden, held back from her. She asked the question with her eyes. Alex shook his head minutely.
“Through the front door, Borkan, just like last time.” There was a calmness to his voice which surprised the older man. And Alex was calm. He knew he was going to walk out of The Clinic, and that no one was going to stop him. Because no one could stop him. Not now. His headache had gone, completely. And with it the last vestiges of uncertainty and innocence. He still didn’t understand what had happened to him, or even why it had happened, just that it had. He seemed to be existing on a different plain, a new level of consciousness. Everything had sharpened, become more focused. His sight, the brightness of the colours and the new definition he saw was an example of the change within him and he felt the change with a lucidity that simultaneously frightened and enlightened him.
“That’s not going to happen, Alex. Shelton won’t allow it.”
“And you? What about you?”
“Come on, Alex, why don’t we just talk about this?” The siren had stopped bleating its warning tone, a silence descended on the corridor.
“What’s there to talk about? What can you tell me that I want to know?” He shook his head. “We’re leaving.”
“I don’t think so.”
Alex whirled around. Shelton was behind them, ten feet away, the carpet had masked his stealthy approach and he stood now with a pistol in his hand, pointing it directly at Alex. “I can’t allow you to go Alex, not now, not while there’s so much still to learn.”
“You can’t stop me.”
Again, Borkan heard the calmness in Alex’s voice and felt his own unease at the assuredness that the calm implied. He drew his own gun.
“Really, Alex?” Shelton nodded once.
Madeleine gasped, Alex spun to see Borkan, closer now, only steps away, his gun pointing directly at Madeleine, his finger tightening on the trigger.
“No!” Alex pushed Madeleine down, his arm knocking her off her feet and stepping in front of her. Borkan caught Alex in his sights, his finger still squeezing the trigger. Alex lunged towards him, his arm reaching out for the hand that held the gun. The sound of the bullet bellowed in the confined space of the corridor, Alex felt a searing pain as the bullet cut a groove through the top of his left bicep, his arm knocking Borkan’s aim enough to deflect the shot. Blood, warm and sticky, began to pour from the bullet graze, soaking the sleeve of his shirt. His forward momentum carried him into Borkan and the two men collapsed backwards. Borkan’s hand slapped into the wall of the corridor and his fingers opened reflexively. The Smith and Wesson tumbled from his grip and he closed his hand into a fist and brought his arm swinging around in an arc, landing a solid punch to Alex’s temple. Alex’s grip loosened on Borkan’s clothing and he followed up his first punch with another blow, catching Alex on the side of his jaw. Spittle flew from Alex’s mouth and he groaned with pain. Borkan pushed him off his chest and rolled him onto his back and then his stomach. Grabbing Alex’s wrist he twisted his arm and shoved it up his back. Alex screamed in agony as Borkan savagely twisted his arm still further and blood began to pulse from the bullet wound more rapidly as the force of Borkan’s grip stretched the muscles in his arm.
“Enough, Alex. Don’t make me hurt you, I don’t want to do that.”
Strangely, it was true. Alex could sense it, even through the excruciating pain he could feel Borkan’s reluctance to harm him any more than he had already done so. He could also feel the fear that coursed through his mind and the knowledge that, reluctant or not, he would kill Alex if he thought he had to. Kill him in an instant. To avoid death, Alex would have to surrender, totally. And that was something he was not prepared to do, not anymore. He could still see the gun, its barrel pointing at Madeleine mere seconds ago and that image blanked out all thoughts other than rage. The pain in his arm was nothing compared to the thought of what a bullet could do to her and he felt the anger within him erupt, carried upwards on visions of her mutilated body that had haunted him only hours before. His anger spewed out, focusing on Borkan as he straddled Alex, a broad beam of mental energy that he honed down to a scalpel thin point, directing his hatred at the man in whose grip he lay seemingly helpless. He forced his body to relax as he thrust his will upon the other man, and felt a shifting of the weight bearing down on his back and a lessening of the pain on the joints of his arm and shoulder.
Borkan coughed, breath becoming tight in his throat. He breathed in, a stuttering gasp as he tried to take air into his lungs, but something seemed to block its passage. His chest heaved as he struggled for air and he loosened his hold on Alex. His eyes opened wide in shock and his hands flew to his throat, fingers clawing at the flesh under his jaw. He rolled off Alex and writhed on the floor of the corridor, thin sounds of panic emitting from his mouth, his jaws open wide as he choked. A chortling, rattling wheeze droned out of him as he rolled over onto his stomach, his back arched and his head and feet lifted off the floor. The skin of his face turned a mottled shade of purple, blood rushing to his head as his oxygen supply was cut off. A thin line of drool dripped from his mouth and his body began to shake and convulse. A blood vessel exploded in his nose and thick, dark red rained down onto the grey carpet. Chazz Borkan swallowed his own tongue, choking to death on the thick muscle as it clogged his throat. One final, violent convulsion rocked his body and he was still and silent. Alex watched his unmoving form for signs of life, there were none. He gripped his arm to stem the flow of blood and turned away from Borkan’s corpse.
Kneeling on the floor, Alex was faced by Shelton. He held a knife to Madeleine’s throat. She’d fallen to the floor as Alex pushed her out of harm’s way from Borkan’s gun. The sudden weight thrown onto her damaged ankle had been too much for the joint to bear, she heard a snapping sound and then the dizzying, lurching sensation of intense pain shot from the fractured bone, igniting flames of agony along her leg. She lay on the floor gasping at the pain. Her stomach rolled over as Shelton grabbed her by the hair, tugging her to her feet, mindless of her injury. She struggled feebly, waves of pain dragging at her limbs, disorienting her. The grip on her hair loosened, a brief respite as Shelton’s arm closed around her throat, choking off her cries, his other hand secreted his pistol in the folds of his jacket, producing a blade which he held to the soft flesh under her jaw.
“Be still,” he whispered to her, his lips brushing her ear. She could feel his breath, hot against her cheek. The point of the knife dug sharply under her jaw. Shelton held her immobile, her ragged breathing a counterpoint to his own excited breaths as he watched Borkan’s death unfold before his eyes. The man’s report of Ricci’s demise had been instructive, and now, he realised, understated. He watched as Alex exerted his formidable talent upon Borkan and it almost took his own breath away. His manipulation of his body, his muscles and organs was devastating to see and Shelton felt an almost sexual thrill at the display of his ward’s prowess.
Borkan’s death rattle ended and for a long moment there was silence, even Madeleine was stunned enough that she forgot the point of the blade digging into her or the excruciating agony of her broken ankle. She stared at the body with uncomprehending eyes.
Alex started as he saw Madeleine in Shelton’s grip. The anger flashed across his features and he regained his feet, taking a step towards them.
“Easy, Alex!” Shelton warned, to emphasise his point he jabbed the blade upwards slightly. A flower of blood blossomed where the knife pricked Madeleine’s skin and the sharp spike refocused her thoughts. She dragged her eyes from Borkan’s body and found Alex. He returned her gaze, seeing the pain and anguish that seemed to fade the blue of her stare, leaving her eyes stonewashed by tears.
It’ll be alright, Maddy, I won’t let him hurt you.
Her eyes widened slightly. He smiled grimly at Shelton.
“You’re incredible, Alex. A wonder.” The grey man smiled at him.
“Let her go, Shelton.”
“Just think what you could do with a power like that.” Shelton held his ground as Alex took a step closer to them.
“Let her go.”
“Alex, listen to me. Don’t you realise how important you are? How special? Just look behind you.”
Alex ignored him, advancing another step. “Let her go,” he repeated, an edge in his voice.
“Or what, Alex?” Shelton snapped at him, his entreaties making no impact. “What will you do? Kill me, like you did Borkan and Ricci? You don’t want to kill me, Alex, not like this. It’s not in your nature. I know you better than you realise.” Shelton began to retreat, dragging Madeleine backwards with him, the movement dragging the knife slightly, opening up the pinprick into a small thin cut. Blood trickled slowly down her neck but she barely felt the new pain, her eyes locked onto Alex and the grim determination she saw in him.
Alex, he’s right, she thought but could not tell if her message reached him. Shelton continued to talk as he dragged her back, step by painful step.
“You’re not a murderer, Alex. Ricci and Borkan, with them you didn’t have a choice. It was self-defence. If you kill me, that’s something else entirely. You’ll be stepping over the line, Alex. Once you do that, there’s no going back. Is that what you want?”
Alex hesitated, the words seeming to sink in. Encouraged, Shelton tried a different tack. “If that is truly what you want, let me help you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do, Alex, help. I made you, but that means nothing if you let your abilities go to waste. You need shaping, moulding. And I’m the one to do it. Work with me, together we can harness your skills, achieve whatever we want.” They had reached the end of the corridor, Shelton’s back was against the wall, Madeleine the shield that separated the two men.
Alex stared at Shelton, his eyes moving from his face to the hand that held the knife at Madeleine’s throat, saw how the tip of the blade nibbled at her skin, and back to Shelton’s gleaming eyes. There was a bright sheen of madness to the stare of the other man and Alex seemed to lose himself in its shine for a long minute, probing into the darkness beyond with a tendril of his psychic ability.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” he said finally.
Something snapped inside Shelton at his rejection, the glaze of madness burned feverishly like glowing coals in the pits of his sockets, his lips trembled with his anger and he pressed the blade more forcefully to Madeleine’s throat.
“She’s dead, Alex,” he shouted, “right now! And you killed her!”
Madeleine squealed as the tip of the blade began to puncture the underside of her jaw.
“LET HER GO!”
Alex’s brow knitted together as he shouted and Shelton’s fist pulled down away from her, the blade clattering to the floor as his hand spasmed open. His left arm released his hold upon her and flung itself against the wall. Madeleine rolled away from him, her body skidding along the wall as she twisted away on her one good foot. Shelton tried to speak but Alex clamped his lips together and the words would not come out. He flattened Shelton against the wall, his head slapping the hard surface and his steel framed glasses falling off his nose. From three feet away, Alex exerted tremendous pressure on Shelton’s body, almost crushing it with the force of his will. His mind delved deep into the vile pit of Shelton’s madness, his probing cataloguing the countless atrocities he had committed in the name of science and the pursuit of pleasure. The flood of sensations made Alex want to vomit but he continued to plumb the depths of Shelton’s depravity, a role call of evil that made his experience inside Ricci’s mind a pleasant stroll in the park on a sunny afternoon by comparison. Until he found it, the truth he was seeking, not in ambiguous files, tests within tests, confusion layered upon deceit, but in the one place where it couldn’t be hidden, inside its creator. And he saw it all, from before his birth, to now, the wilful murder of his parents and the theft of his own life, taken in degrees, day by day and his anger surged once more, the images flickering behind his open eyes at the speed of thought.
He drove a spike of mental energy into the core of Shelton’s brain, pain erupted through his body, flashes of electrical energy lit nerve endings making his muscles jump and twitch. His mouth opened and closed, saliva dripping from his lips as the surface of his brain ruptured, a deep rending tear appeared, slicing through the occipital lobes at the back of his skull, blinding him instantly, to the frontal lobes ending all voluntary movements. Blood clouded his sightless eyes and his eardrums exploded. In the nanosecond before he died, Alex read one last thought in Shelton’s destroyed mind. You belong to me!
Alex withdrew his presence from the white noise that was all that was left of Shelton’s being, electrical impulses that faded away to nothing in seconds. The lifeless body slumped to the floor, blood leaking from its ears, eyes and mouth.
“Not anymore,” he whispered.
He continued to stare at Shelton’s crumpled body, lost in a world of his own until Madeleine called to him. Her voice snapped him out of his thoughts and his face creased into a moue of concern.
“Are you alright?” He asked the question even though he could see and feel she was not, her feelings were with him always now.
“What happened back there?” She could not bring herself to look at Shelton.
“I’m… not sure.”
“How did you do… that?” She turned her head slightly in the direction of the body, a grimace of distaste crossed her sweat dampened brow.
“I don’t know, I… just did,” he shook his head. “Madeleine, I’m scared.” He looked into her eyes, “I… liked it!”
The calmness dissipated on his face now, the uncertainty and the fear that had coloured his features when they first met had replaced it. She could sense the turmoil inside him and felt helpless to comfort him, seeing what he had done to the two men, even knowing what they had been, had turned her stomach, made her feel sick to the very core of her being. But he stood before her now, in need of her and she could not back away from him, did not want to. They had shared body and mind and she knew him for what he really was. If nothing else, Shelton had spoken the truth at the end. Alex was not a killer, there was a line that had been crossed, but not by Alex, his remorse now, seen and felt by her, was proof of that. She opened her arms to him, enfolding him in her embrace, mumbled to him, words to ease his anguish, absolve him from his guilt; reaching out with her mind, feeling the sense of joining as his thoughts flowed into her, mixing and melding with her until she felt his fear beginning to subside.
She cried, the sobs so intense she could no longer express them in sounds but her face was contorted by misery. She did not see Shelton pass her in the corridor, feel his shadow cross her as he stepped over her. For his own part he just grimaced in distaste at her lack of self control, dismissing her from his thoughts the moment he was past.
She cried until the reason for her tears was lost in the depths of her mind and the act of sobbing became the reason itself to sob, a self-perpetuating act. Self pity had been an alien emotion to her until she had met Alex, until she had fallen in love with him. Nothing could move her to such depths before, but now all she had left was self pity and self loathing. She retreated within herself, finding again the sad, broken child of her past, the lost soul of her innocence. Little by little, memory by memory she removed herself from the present, time dwindled away, spun backwards on the slippery axle of recollection.
She was four years old, pretty blue dress caked with dust from the coal bunker, the darkness enveloped her, crowded in upon her, a thick, heavy, living, breathing mass of evil filled with all the demons her mind could conjure. Not a sound emitted from her mouth, her sobs dying behind her eyes, held back by her lips pressed tightly shut against the things that lived in the dark. A madness of fear threatening to overpower her mind staved off only by one thought—her hatred of her stepfather. The force of her hate sustaining her through her ordeal, keeping her sane. She stood in darkness, hands clamped over her mouth, breath shallow but calming and waited out her penance. Buried deep within her brain, the kernel of a thought was born, the time bomb of revenge began to tick.
In the corridor, Holly opened her eyes. Her stare was vacant, she saw not the white walls nor the grey carpet of The Clinic’s underground hallways, she was in another time now, another place. She rose from her slumped position on the floor and walked somnambulantly down the corridor.
Alex half carried Madeleine down the hallways, leading her away from the carnage he had caused. His troubled mind eased somewhat by the salve of her conviction and belief in him. She was in enormous pain from her broken ankle and every faltering step they took caused a sharp intake of breath or gasping exhalation. But she never once complained, out loud or silently. After an age, they reached the lift. Alex halted with his finger poised over the button that would call the lift car to the lowest level.
“What is it?” Madeleine struggled to speak, glad of the pause in their journey.
His arm supporting her, Alex’s voice was loud in her ear, “Where is everyone?”
He was right, she knew. How long had it been since the alarm had sounded? How much time had passed since she… escaped from her room? Minutes only, that she could accept, but just how many? Ten? Twenty? However long it had been, there should have been more people. They should have been surrounded by Techs, but they were alone.
Alex withdrew his finger from the button, he closed his eyes and imagined the world beyond the lift doors. Remote viewing had been one of his fortes as a child, now with his abilities expanded and his knowledge of The Clinic it was easy to stroll down the corridors of the prison that had been his home. Two floors below ground, where he and Madeleine stood was safe, he ignored the lower level. No Techs waited one floor up, the corridors deserted, rooms empty. At the lobby on the ground floor, Alex saw the first Techs. Two of them, nervously watching the closed doors of the lift shaft. He could sense their unease without attempting to enter their minds, could see the faint tremor in the hands of one of the waiting men. He didn’t recognise their faces, nor those of the other armed men he saw as his mind wandered through the mock French chateau that The Clinic passed for. No one he knew from all his years on the island was there, those that had been were now scattered behind him two floors below the ground. Shelton had cleared the island of potential friends, another indication, if one were needed, of his calculating mind. Alex counted twelve men inside the shell of the house. There might be more outside, but he was not concerned about them. First he and Madeleine would have to get past the dozen that he knew were waiting for them.
He began to return, turning around in his mind and retracing his steps when a thought struck him. He knew there were twelve men above where he stood right now, but still not why they had not descended to the second floor, taken him where he stood. He found the operations room and knew the answer. Displayed on the screens were images of himself and Madeleine and the bodies of Shelton and Borkan. They were waiting for him because they knew there was only one way out of The Clinic. They were waiting for him because they had seen what he had done to the two men and there was no way they were going to come to him. They were waiting for him because maybe there was safety in numbers and because they were not sure how he had done what he had and they didn’t really want to find out. And they were waiting for him because they could see where he was and were watching his every move. A thirteenth Tech sat at the console in the operations room, relaying what he could see before him.
Alex pushed with his mind, just shoved a little, not really knowing whether what he was trying would work. Nothing he had experienced before now suggested he could control inanimate objects, but then, never before had he been able to do what he had done to the two bodies in the corridor. All bets were off. At first, nothing did happen. He tried again, focusing his thoughts more sharply. In the corridor beside him, Madeleine saw a frown of concentration appear on his brow. He nudged again, his mental energy reaching out invisibly, and he was rewarded. The monitor screens blinked off, the pictures became clouded and obscured, fading away to black. The Tech in the chair sat forward, fingers reaching out and tapping the screen nearest to him. He flicked a switch, nothing happened. Frowning, he began to check all the screens, his hands running along a bank of switches, fingers flicking small levers, to no avail. Alex watched puzzlement turn to alarm on the man’s face. He picked up a small microphone. Alex switched his attention to the hand held radio and again flexed his mental muscles. The radio was dead in the man’s hand. Dropping the radio mic, the Tech headed for the door, pausing only to pick up the automatic pistol on the edge of the desk.
Alex knew they wouldn’t have much time. He concentrated on the lights and they blinked off throughout the chateau, no warning, no fizzing of electrics, no exploding bulbs—the lights just died, plunging the building above into near total darkness. The time was now, they had to move. He called the lift, explaining to Madeleine what was happening as it descended in the strange yet somehow comforting shorthand of their shared thoughts, imparting what she had not discerned through their mental link.
“I lost you,” she said.
“What?”
“When you were… doing whatever it is. It’s like you fade out of my head,” she shook her head, struggling to explain, “like I’m a radio and you’ve knocked me off station.”
Alex pondered her words before shrugging, “I can’t tell you what it means. I just don’t know.”
The lift doors opened and he helped her inside. Her hand stopped him. “Alex, whatever happens up there,” she nodded at the ceiling, “don’t hurt anyone.”
He nodded solemnly at her, “I’ll try.”
The lift doors closed.