The House of Killers

by Samantha Lee Howe

  She looks out on the platform but there is no sign of Neva. Her last-minute deviation has worked.

  Perhaps she’s not following, Tracey thinks. Maybe I’ve overreacted!

  The girl is dangerous. Tracey knows that. She’s part of the team that trained her and they did the best job on Neva. She is at the top of her game. So why this? Why now?

  Neva’s best asset is her lack of emotion and empathy. She was cold from the start and she stood out from the others because of it. Tracey knew that this was not a natural condition but something she’d been conditioned to be. In those years of training, Neva had learnt to believe that everything was black and white. There was never any grey. She was a robot, designed to take orders and respond through logic, not emotion. And she’s always remained that way. Until, perhaps, now. If Neva has begun to question, she is starting to think for herself more than is permissible in the world of the Network. If this is the case, the conditioning is deteriorating. It isn’t usual at this stage in an operative’s career that they would begin to crack. That sort of thing normally happened later and there would be signs. But there had been no warning of Neva’s change in personality. It is sudden. Though Tracey knows that can’t be the case. She must have been corroding for a while but she’s hidden it well. Another failing on Tracey’s part; she should have seen it.

  Tracey wonders what has brought about this alteration and when it started. A fissure has appeared inside the carefully crafted mechanism that makes up the creature that is Neva. Tracey should have noticed something, had an indication that there was a problem before this occurred. But it wasn’t all her fault! The last psych evaluation had shown nothing. But if Neva’s gone rogue, what did she hope to achieve by breaking out now? She’ll have every operative after her by morning when Tracey puts the word out. And Tracey will put the word out. She has to or her head will be on the chopping block.

  Tracey tries to excuse Neva’s behaviour as the train stops at the next station. But she can’t. Especially after Neva had disobeyed her, waiting outside to watch Tracey flee. That action alone shows she can’t be trusted any more. She can’t let her get away with this!

  Even so, the thought of turning Neva in concerns Tracey more than it should. She’s always had a soft spot for the girl. Perhaps because once, she had been the underdog everyone thought would collapse under the pressure. Well, Neva had proved them wrong, and she was their best agent.

  Perhaps they’ll just bring her in for testing. It would be worthwhile knowing the extent of the damage. She might even be susceptible to reconditioning. They’d done that once before with another agent and it had worked well enough until the time came to retire him. They’d got five more years of use and the effort had been worth it for the good work he’d done during that time.

  The tube train stops again. Tracey remains in her seat until the last possible moment and then she throws herself up and out of the carriage as the doors begin to close. She submerges herself in the commuters heading for the way out. At the exit, she notices she’s at Hyde Park Corner. The place is familiar; she’s passed through it before at some point, though precisely when she can’t recall. Taking a breath, she turns around and heads back through the crowd to catch the next train going in the opposite direction. Neva won’t expect that, if she has somehow followed, because it isn’t the protocol.

  On the platform, Tracey lets the strain leave her body. She is wired and tense, concerned, but no longer in flight mode. Her heartbeat finally steadies. She can hear the next train approaching. On instinct, she steps up to the yellow line and then Tracey is propelled onward. She plummets down onto the track. Someone cries out as she falls forward. Then the train exits the tunnel. Tracey hears the screech of brakes. A hand reaches out to help her back up and then she sees Neva stepping back, the offered hand withdrawn.

  The look on the girl’s face is unfathomable. Expressions Tracey has never seen before run over her normally serene features. Then the array of emotions slides away. Neva is back to the blank countenance she always wears at the point of a kill.

  Though it is pointless, Tracey throws her arms across her face as the braking train slams into her.

  Chapter Eight

  NEVA

  Neva walks away from the station. She is wearing a long black trench coat which covers the weapons that are secreted around her body. Her mind is in turmoil. A flash flood of memories and flashbacks drown her conscious thought.

  She was five when she first met Tracey. She remembers the kind and smiling face that greeted her. There was a house. A large school-like property. Neva wasn’t alone. There were six others her age: three boys and three girls.

  There was a man with Tracey. She referred to him as Callan.

  ‘As requested, this one is a back-up, in case any of the other girls don’t make it,’ Callan had said, nodding towards Neva.

  Neva had thought his words were strange, his accent even more so. It was a kind of warped Northern twang that didn’t fit into any particular place. She didn’t know how she knew that but she hadn’t liked Callan. There was something unpleasant and cold about the man. He strutted around the room, acting like he was in charge. Even at such a young age, Neva had thought him small and unimportant.

  When he left, Tracey took her into the kitchen and gave her hot chocolate. That was the last kind act she did for Neva. After that, Neva was put in a small dormitory with the other three girls. Even so, she had always seen Tracey as stability and consistency. Tracey was a known element that she could rely on. Tracey told her what to do and where to go. Tracey gave her the assignments and sent her lots of money.

  Now, Neva tries to recall the names of the other children. She can’t. She picks at the layers of warped reminiscence, memories that someone has taken from her.

  The times in the big house are blurred. As are the faces of the other children. She hasn’t thought about the place for a long time. She remembers that, after a while, they all stopped talking to each other, and stopped playing. They behaved like strangers, even though they spent every waking and sleeping hour together.

  Neva has a flash memory of a door, of a room that she went to, down a dully lit corridor. She recalls sitting on a wooden stool outside, waiting her turn to go inside, a feeling of … apprehension swirling inside her, writhing like an eel infested pit.

  ‘After today, you’ll never be afraid again,’ a voice says as the door opens. ‘Come inside. This is the start of the new you.’

  The figure in the doorway is in shadow, but Neva knows it’s a man. ‘The doctor’, some of the others have called him. She thinks she must be sick and might need medicine.

  The doctor steps back but Neva doesn’t walk forward. She is afraid. The feeling consumes her until she turns away and tries to run.

  Hands catch hold of her – not kind or loving but painful, cruel.

  ‘Thought this one had potential?’ says the doctor.

  ‘She does,’ says Tracey. ‘You’ll see. Start the process. She has an excellent pedigree.’

  Neva stops walking. She’s in the middle of the pavement but she doesn’t notice. Tourists and commuters tut as they swarm around her. She recollects a sensation, like insects crawling all over her skin. Agony, white and intense. She hears again her own screams of fear and pain.

  She presses her hand to her mouth and quells the cry that’s been held inside her for twenty years. What happened in that room? The hurt and terror have blotted the memory. Or something else did.

  ‘Miss? Miss? Is everything all right?’

  Neva blinks. She looks at the man standing in front of her. His eyes are concerned. She has always valued kindness; it reminds her of the hot chocolate she once drank in a warm kitchen. The taste of delicious innocence and happiness.

  Time slows. Such warmth in those brown eyes and he doesn’t even know her. She feels giddy with recognition, but what that is she doesn’t understand.

  ‘I’m …’ She finds she can’t speak.

  The man puts his a
rm around her waist. Too familiar? Only then does Neva realise that she is slumping, fainting. Incredibly, blackness is taking her. She snaps herself back with sheer will. She can’t be weak; it’s not an option, especially now.

  ‘I need to get off the street,’ she says.

  ‘Come on,’ the man answers.

  Holding her with one arm, he raises his other hand and hails a cab. He helps her inside and then pauses.

  ‘Where to?’

  Neva shakes her head. ‘I don’t live around here.’

  He nods, making a decision, and then he climbs into the cab with her and gives the driver an address. She hears it and remembers it. She looks at the man and tries to determine why he is helping. What kind of person does random acts of kindness for a stranger? He must have a motive. But for now, Neva doesn’t care. If need be, she can take care of herself. She just needs to centre herself. Why is that so hard to do?

  Chapter Nine

  MICHAEL

  ‘Drink this.’

  I press a glass of brandy into her hand. She sniffs, smelling the strong liquid, before she sips. A few gulps later and that glazed expression falls from her face. She’s pretty. Striking, even. The brandy appears to revive her.

  ‘Where am I?’

  ‘My place. Don’t worry. You’re safe.’

  She looks at me. I take in her soft blue eyes and wonder what she’s thinking as I keep my expression open. I don’t want her to be scared or to feel I’ve scooped her off the street to take advantage of her. I don’t know why I did it except that I had an overwhelming urge to protect her. But all the time three words course through my mind, who is she?

  A range of emotions ripples over her features as she collects herself. I think I see concern, confusion, and then … suspicion.

  ‘You really are safe here,’ I say. ‘I didn’t know where else to take you. You looked like you were in shock.’

  ‘Thank you. I had a bit of a—’

  ‘Did you see it?’

  ‘See what?’

  ‘The woman. The one that fell onto the track.’

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘I rang it in. I doubt there will be any proper witnesses. Most people spend time looking at their phones. They aren’t paying attention. But you were so upset, I thought—’

  ‘No. I didn’t see anything. I just felt ill. Thank you for your help. I’d better leave.’

  She stands but she has not recovered as well as she thought. She staggers, then sinks back into the chair as dizziness stops her leaving.

  ‘I’m not used to feeling weak.’

  ‘Rest. I’ll get a doctor if you need—’

  ‘No,’ she replies.

  The colour returns to her face along with her equilibrium. I almost feel like she’s recovering from sheer willpower alone.

  ‘I’m Michael,’ I say. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘I … you said you called it in? The woman on the tracks? Are you a police officer?’ she asks.

  ‘I’m … sort of,’ I answer, being vague. It isn’t a conversation I can have with a total stranger.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘She fell, I think. I was hoping someone saw it. Maybe she jumped,’ I say.

  ‘I’m feeling better now. I need to go. Thank you. Why did you help me?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I? I couldn’t possibly leave you in such a vulnerable state.’

  She glances around the room as though she’s taking in the surroundings.

  ‘Is that your wife?’ she asks, seeing the photograph of Mia on the sideboard.

  ‘I’m not married,’ I say, feeling a strong urge to explain my status. ‘It’s my sister.’

  ‘She’s pretty,’ she says.

  I glance at Mia’s photograph; I see the smiling young woman grown from a once tense and shy little girl and I understand in that instant my need to help and protect this total stranger. I’ll always be Mia’s protector, and something about this pretty young woman brings about the same intense emotion. I try to analyse it, but can’t ground the sensation in any logical reality.

  ‘I’d better go,’ she says now, and her words bring a flutter of panic and a feeling of confusion. I don’t want her to leave.

  ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ I ask, even though I can see she is recovered. It is somewhat miraculous.

  ‘What do I owe you? For the taxi?’

  ‘Nothing. Please. It was my pleasure to help.’

  Her phone beeps in her pocket. She blinks, looking confused, and then she reaches for it. She looks at the phone as though she’s forgotten how to use it.

  ‘Is everything okay?’ I ask.

  ‘It’s just work stuff. I have to go. Thank you again.’

  She pushes the phone back into her pocket. When she stands, she is more stable.

  ‘Are you sure?’ I ask.

  She smiles at me then turns and makes her way to the door. ‘I’ve taken up too much of your time.’

  I look at her. Concern brings a small frown to my face but the woman doesn’t see it. She doesn’t meet my eyes. She appears to be embarrassed by what has happened. Understandable really. I feel the same.

  ‘Before you go,’ I say. ‘Can I know your name?’

  She takes a breath. A pause that shows she’s uncertain whether to tell me or not.

  ‘Anna,’ she says. ‘Thank you again.’

  She looks at me then and it feels as though she can see right inside my head. She blinks. All signs of her earlier confusion have gone. I feel … recognition – hers and mine.

  ‘Have we met before?’ I ask.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ she says. She walks to the door and opens it, then glances back at me. There’s a question hanging between us. I anticipate it as it lingers in the air, unspoken.

  ‘Maybe I’d like to see you again,’ she says.

  ‘You know where to find me,’ I say.

  ‘That I do,’ she says. And I see something then, something I wouldn’t expect to see in this situation: an inner strength, confidence, and a sense of humour.

  I smile at her.

  When she’s gone, I roll her name around my mouth, trying to reconcile its banality with the woman herself. Anna. Perhaps it’s a simple nickname, short for something else?

  Chapter Ten

  NEVA

  Neva hurries from the block of flats, shaken that she lost control and had some kind of ‘episode’. She doesn’t know what happened, only that thinking of – remembering – Tracey and her past caused some problem. It was as though the wall was not just crumbling but several of the bricks had crashed to the ground from it. In the back of her mind, another recollection floats. She pushes it back, away from her conscious mind. She can’t think of it now. She needs to get away from the home of the ‘sort of’ cop. He may become suspicious, may try to follow her. She doesn’t want to have to kill him, not after he has tried to help her. He is, after all, innocent. She never likes anyone on first sight, but she did like him. Could he be the first person she’s met that has no agenda? She shakes the thought away.

  She slips away into the nearest tube station, then pauses by the map, working out the route to her next destination. She has to get away from London, back to where they expect to find her. She has to regroup and then decide what the next move should be.

  As she takes the next train, an odd sensation flutters in her stomach. She recognises it as some sort of unfamiliar emotion. Excitement maybe. It persists, growing in her chest until she finds herself smiling. This feeling is the start of something new that her rebellion, the removal of Tracey, has begun. Something inside her craves more. It is as though she has had a taste of revenge. It is sweet, like chocolate, and as tangy as wild berries. It gives her the same feeling of comfort that the dream of arms holding her did. The sensation is distracting and somehow … important.

  She almost misses her stop. She brings her mind back to the present. She’s done something serious for which there will be severe consequences. Now is not the time to let any emotio
n in. Now is not the moment to be distracted.

  Even so, she is preoccupied. Michael. Who is he? A cop. Sort of. A well-meaning citizen. A fool to have brought someone like her into his home. No matter. Despite her words, she won’t see him again.

  She takes her phone out of her pocket and looks at the message. The text is anonymous, as always. Someone in the Network telling her Tracey is dead. They’ve also sent a new contact number – for a new handler, no doubt. Was this standard protocol? After all, operatives like her could not be left without a handler, could they?

  She shivers as she exits the train though there’s no draught coming from within the tube tunnels at that time. She thinks again about the new handler, and her mind flashes to Michael almost straightaway, as though there is an indelible link between them. The feeling is disturbing.

  Chapter Eleven

  MICHAEL

  ‘What happened to you?’ Beth asks as I enter the main office.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The locals were expecting you to be there when they scraped the woman off the tracks.’

  ‘Do we know who she was?’ I ask, changing the subject.

  ‘Not yet. What’s left of her will give the coroner nightmares, I expect.’

  ‘Any leads?’

  ‘A couple. Leon is interviewing the last possible at the local station.’

  ‘Really? I left it to the locals as I didn’t think this was in our jurisdiction. Do you think it’s something we should be involved with?’ I say. ‘I only called it in because I happened to be on the scene.’

  ‘That’s what we thought at first. Then we got these. Have a look. I printed them to leave on Ray’s desk.’

  She gives me a print-out of a few witness statements in a folder.

  ‘See?’

  Transcript of Witness Statement

  Interviewer: Leon Tchaikovsky

  Witness: Malcolm Radley

  * * *