The House of Killers

by Samantha Lee Howe

  Neva stays clear of all the cameras. She goes inside a store and pretends to browse the clothing, while glancing occasionally out through the window and across the road to Beech Corp. From her vantage point she could be there within minutes, but what would be gained by exposing her presence?

  She leaves the store when an assistant starts to take too much notice of her. Then she walks away, browsing in another shop window, using the highly polished glass to observe the building across the road.

  By lunchtime, Neva begins to wonder what she can learn from this observation. No one has gone in or out of the building all the time she’s been there. She is about to give up when a black limousine pulls up nearby. Because this area is busy, and stopping is awkward, the driver doesn’t get out, but the passengers do.

  She sees Beech emerge and right behind him is … Michael.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  MICHAEL

  ‘Hey!’ I say. ‘It’s me. You can put that thing away.’

  Neva does not lower the gun.

  Without taking my eyes from her, I push the front door closed. It wouldn’t do for a neighbour to casually walk by and see this situation.

  ‘What’s happened?’ I ask.

  Neva’s face is blank. I realise I am looking at her professional facade.

  ‘Before you kill me,’ I say, ‘I’d at least like to know why.’

  ‘Sit down. Over there,’ she says, pointing to the sofa. ‘Take it slow.’

  I pass her and the gun follows me; all the time I’m wondering how the fuck I’m getting out of this one. My eyes search her face for any sign of empathy. Have I been played these last few days? Have I let myself be lulled into a false sense of security? Have I made a complete and utter dick of myself?

  I sit down and look at her. Then I place my hands on my knees.

  ‘I’m going to ask you some questions,’ she says, ‘and if I don’t like the answers or I feel you’re lying, I’m going to kill you.’

  I study her and know she means every word. The gun has a silencer; no one will even hear it happen. My heart is thudding in my chest. I wonder if she can hear it.

  ‘Okay,’ I say.

  Where is this going? She’s cold and deadly, ready to end our blossoming relationship with one twitch of the trigger. I’m disappointed, but shouldn’t be so surprised. This is, after all, who she is.

  ‘Where were you today?’ she asks.

  ‘This is all because I’m late, right?’ I try to laugh but see she’s deadly serious. ‘All right. Let’s talk about my day. First thing, I went back to the prep school and tried to see the head again. I wanted to ask about the house,’ I say. ‘She wasn’t there and neither was the photograph.’

  ‘Where did you go after that?’

  ‘I bought us some phones. Used cash. I wanted to be able to keep in touch with you.’

  She nods. I’m still staring down the barrel of the gun; she hasn’t finished asking me everything, but I’m not dead yet so maybe that’s a good sign that we can sort out whatever is upsetting her.

  ‘Then?’

  ‘Into the office. But you know I can’t discuss what happened there, no matter how much you threaten me,’ I say.

  ‘You’re working for a spy taskforce, Michael, I wouldn’t expect anything else. What about this afternoon?’

  ‘I met my uncle for lunch. At Borough Market. We ate lobster and drank chardonnay. I drank two glasses.’

  Neva’s eyes narrow as though she doesn’t believe me.

  ‘Did you hear yourself then?’ she says. ‘That last bit sounded rehearsed. Like it’s something you’ve been told to say.’

  ‘What are you talking about? I met my uncle for lunch. At Borough Market. We ate lobster and drank chardonnay. I drank two glasses…’ I say. She’s right; it feels practised, even on my tongue. Like something I’ve learnt to say that day.

  She points with the gun to her mobile phone on the coffee table.

  ‘Look in the photographs on that thing. Try to ring anyone and I’ll put a bullet in your brain.’

  I pick up the phone and open it to recent photos. Then I see an image of a white building, a limo, and myself.

  ‘What is this?’ I say.

  ‘Who’s the man with you?’ she asks.

  ‘My uncle, Andrew. But…’ I tail off. ‘I wasn’t anywhere near his offices today.’

  ‘Your uncle? He’s … Mr Beech…’ she says.

  ‘Yes. Michael Andrew Beech, but everyone calls him Andrew. My parents named me Michael after him.’

  Neva lowers the gun but she doesn’t put it down.

  ‘Look, what is this?’ I say. I’m feeling more confident now that there’s been a misunderstanding. But I’m totally confused by the photos.

  ‘Tell me what you did today,’ she says again. ‘Every detail. This is important.’

  ‘When I got into the office, I received a call from Andrew inviting me to lunch. He’s not in London that often; he lives…’ My mind has gone blank on where Andrew lives. ‘Anyway, it doesn’t matter where. He just comes in for business occasionally.’

  ‘You say you went to lunch? But then?’

  ‘Back to work.’

  ‘What time did you return to work?’ she asks.

  I close my eyes, trying to think.

  ‘I took a long break, maybe two hours. So I think I got back at about 2pm.’

  ‘Michael, you arrived at that building at 12.30pm and you didn’t leave until three. You were there two and a half hours. I was outside the whole time.’

  ‘No,’ I deny. ‘I remember every bite of that food, and I felt tipsy when I got back. I shouldn’t have—’

  ‘Have you ever lost time before?’ Neva interrupts.

  Her words shock me. I want to deny it. But then I recall that a few days ago my milk was drugged.

  ‘Think, Michael! This is important.’

  ‘I … don’t know.’

  ‘Who is Andrew?’ she persists.

  ‘My uncle, I told you.’

  ‘Your dad’s brother? Your mother’s?’

  ‘He’s not a blood relation. He was a close friend of my dad. He’s my godfather,’ I say. ‘Mine and Mia’s.’

  Neva nods. ‘Yes, your sister, Mia. Does she meet him for lunch occasionally too?’

  I shake my head, confused. There is a memory of Mia and Andrew sitting talking. Something back when we were kids. And Ben had mentioned he had gone to visit them, so yes, they must meet up sometimes. I’m confused and struggling to believe what Neva has captured in her pictures. I look through them again. Yes, there is Andrew. There is me. And they show today’s date. I don’t know how she could have faked them but my brain won’t accept it.

  ‘It’s not me,’ I say. ‘I wasn’t there. We were in a restaurant at Borough. Perhaps I have a doppelgänger.’

  ‘And your uncle does too then presumably?’

  Neva stands. She clicks the safety back on the gun and puts it down on the seat she’s just vacated.

  ‘I have a theory for you,’ she says.

  ‘I’m listening.’ Anything to explain this madness. This loss of time.

  Then she begins to tell me about the house again.

  I’m exhausted when she finishes outlining her thoughts. I don’t believe it, but I can’t deny the day was bizarre. I’d even blacked out at my desk while working, only to wake confused. And that thing of using privacy mode, I had known what it was, but not how I knew it, or how I’d achieved it. I still didn’t.

  ‘I think they’ve been drugging you for a while,’ she says again. ‘They want to use you for something, perhaps to tell them secrets.’

  ‘But I’ve known Andrew my entire life. I just can’t believe he’d be involved in this.’

  Neva goes into the kitchen. I hear the tap running and she returns with a glass of water.

  ‘Hydrate,’ she says.

  I’m nervous as she holds out the glass. What if she’s behind the drugging and all of this is some elaborate ruse?
/>   As if she can sense my doubt, she lifts the glass to her lips and glugs down a large amount. Then she holds it out to me again.

  ‘Drink. You need this.’

  The water is like nectar to my tongue. I hadn’t realised how thirsty I was. Neva watches me gulp the last dregs and then she goes back to the kitchen and refills it. I don’t doubt her this time and I take the glass and drain it quickly.

  ‘It’s the drugs,’ she says. ‘I remember the feeling well.’

  ‘You think it’s the same stuff they gave you as a child? But why me? How is this even possible? It would mean we are both connected to the Network. And I swear I have no memory of anything like this happening before.’

  ‘Let’s get some sleep,’ she says.

  ‘But your theory. What you just said …’

  ‘It’s just a theory, Michael. We don’t know. But I have an idea where we can find out. Where’re those burners you bought?’

  I open my briefcase and pull out the phones. We unpack them and activate them both, exchanging numbers. I take them into the kitchen and plug them in to charge overnight.

  Then I follow Neva, gun now back in her hand, to our borrowed bedroom.

  ‘You take the bed,’ she says. Then she sits in the chair by the window.

  ‘We could do shifts?’ I suggest.

  ‘No. I’ll sleep, but in the chair, so I’m ready if anything happens.’

  The thought that something might happen is not conducive to relaxation and sleep, but I do as she says and get into the bed.

  ‘Just for the record, I doubt anyone will come here. They had you earlier – whatever their motive. And if you’d betrayed me, they’d have been here today before you got back.’

  ‘Betrayed you? No, I’d never—’

  ‘You wouldn’t have a choice, Michael! They’d ask you and you’d answer under their influence. But I can only assume that they don’t suspect we’ve even met and so they never ask you about me.’

  I process this, feeling frightened and sick and out of control. Can this really be happening? I voice my disbelief again.

  ‘The camera doesn’t lie. I saw you there. It may be hard to comprehend but you were there. On some level you were operating normally, but they make you forget what you did. No one knows that better than me,’ she says.

  ‘But how did they make me forget?’ I ask. I have to understand.

  ‘It’s been a long day. Get some rest,’ she says. ‘Tomorrow we travel and get some answers. Hopefully the ones you really need to get through this.’

  I lie down, turn the lamp off beside the bed, and close my eyes.

  Behind my eyes I see her again, waiting for my return, gun pointing at the door, and then at me. My heart speeds up. A surge of adrenaline is residual from that moment. Yet I feel safe that she’s there in the room, watching over me like an avenging angel.

  ‘Michael!’

  I open my eyes and find a little girl with fair hair staring at me. It’s dark in the room, but a shaft of light seeps in from the open door.

  I’m in the dormitory of my school. I’ve only been here a few weeks and already I wish I was home with my parents. What they teach us is strange.

  ‘What is it?’ I whisper back at the girl.

  She looks over her shoulder at the door. She moves from one foot to the other as though ready to flee at a second’s notice. Then she drops down beside my bed, and climbs underneath it. I lean over the edge and look at her hiding there.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I ask.

  ‘They’re coming for you…’ she says.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  MICHAEL

  I jerk awake and see Neva’s shape slumped in the chair. I can hear her gentle breathing as she naps. I consider turning over and going back to sleep but the dream is still floating in the back of my mind. I tremble as I pull myself up into a sitting position. The vivid dream has disturbed me. It felt real, though I know it is just angst that has created this scenario in my subconscious. Probably the distressing news that more kids have been taken is preying on my mind. I’m sure this means that more young people are going to be moulded into something like Neva. I feel like I should be doing something about that, but have no idea what or how. What was it like for Neva, living in that house? No child should live with such fear.

  Neva is an enigma. She hadn’t been blessed with a normal childhood, reared as she was to be a killer. Yet she is capable of so much. I feel a little pathetic when compared to her. She is strong and I feel weak and vulnerable, struggling as I am to make sense of my changing world.

  Neva stretches in the chair and yawns. I glance at the clock beside the bed. It’s early but it would be pointless now to go back to sleep.

  I pick up my phone and unplug it from the charger on my bedside table.

  ‘What time is it?’ Neva asks.

  ‘Just after five,’ I say.

  I start composing a text to send to Ray, excusing my absence from work. Claiming man-flu. I’ve never had any time off sick so Ray may be suspicious. Even so, I press send. I’m half expecting a reply telling me to ‘man up’, but no immediate response comes.

  ‘Should we get out of here?’ I say.

  ‘Bagsy the bathroom first,’ Neva answers.

  I let her take care of her ablutions as I get up and go into the kitchen. Out of caution, I sniff the milk in the fridge. Neva wasn’t home all day yesterday and I’m nervous that somehow Mrs Kendal’s home has been compromised too.

  I decide that it might be a good idea to reactivate my security cameras again while we’re gone. I go into my flat and I plug in the wires and reactivate the system on my laptop. Then I bring it and all of my overnight things back to my neighbour’s home.

  Neva comes into the kitchen as I pour boiling water onto the teabags.

  ‘I’ll take it black,’ she says.

  ‘Probably wise,’ I say.

  I finish our drinks, then I take mine into the bedroom. Leaving it on the chest of drawers to cool, I go into the bathroom and shower. Neglecting my usual shaving routine, I go back into the bedroom, a towel around my hips, then I dry and dress, before I repack my overnight bag.

  Before closing the zip on the holdall, I hesitate. Am I really going to see my parents to ask about Andrew?

  At the last minute, I stuff my gun in the bag, then I zip it closed. I take the holdall with me out of the room, dumping it down on the coffee table.

  ‘You’ll need to bring your stuff,’ I tell Neva.

  She’s sitting in the chair by the door again, but this time the mug of tea is clutched in her hand, not a gun.

  ‘Already packed while you were in the shower,’ she says.

  I then notice the bag by her feet.

  ‘How do you feel?’ she asks.

  ‘Odd. I haven’t seen Mum and Dad for a while,’ I say.

  ‘Not close then?’

  ‘I’m closer to Mia,’ I say. ‘But there’s been no falling-out. They’re just … more into each other than us. If you understand?’

  Neva nods.

  My parents live in Cambridge. They moved out of London when my father retired last year.

  ‘I’ll hire a car,’ I say. ‘Drive us.’

  ‘I can steal one,’ Neva suggests.

  I’m shocked that I actually consider her offer for a second. But the car hire, although it requires ID, seems like the best bet. The last thing we need is to be spotted and chased down by police looking for a stolen vehicle.

  ‘We’ll hire,’ I say.

  ‘Okay. But I’ll use one of my fake IDs,’ she says.

  ‘What about paying? They won’t take cash; they’ll want a card.’

  ‘I have those too,’ she says.

  Though I shouldn’t be surprised, I am. I don’t ask her how she has managed to obtain all of these things. Perhaps the less I know the better. Even so, Neva knows what she’s doing. She’s hidden herself well for the last few months.

  My regular phone pings as I pull on my jacket. I loo
k at it and see a text from Ray.

  You looked under the weather yesterday. Get some rest! Take a couple of days if you need it.

  I thank him and switch off the phone.

  ‘Leave that here. It’s traceable,’ Neva says. Then she goes into the kitchen and brings out both of the burner phones and their chargers. I take one, put it in my pocket, and I stow the charger in my bag. Neva does the same.

  ‘Just in case you’re being watched, I go first,’ Neva says.

  She pulls on a knitted hat, pushing her shiny fair hair up into it. Then she slings her rucksack over her back and goes out.

  As discussed, I wait ten minutes and then follow. But first I drop my work phone and charger back into my flat. I make sure the place is locked up, as well as Mrs Kendal’s flat. By the time I get downstairs, Neva is already walking towards our meeting point.

  I exit the front of the building and walk towards the tube station, which is about ten minutes away, taking the precaution of observing those around me. Then I join the queue at the taxi rank. Neva comes up and stands behind me. When I reach the front of the queue, we both get into the same cab.

  As the taxi pulls away, Neva looks through the rear window, studying cars and people that might be paying attention to us.

  ‘I think we’re okay,’ she says.

  I direct the taxi four streets away and get the driver to drop us off at a local hotel. Then we walk around the corner to the car hire company.

  A short time later, we are driving away in an inconspicuous dark-blue Corsa.

  The sat nav says Cambridge is only sixty-two miles away and it should take one hour and thirty-two minutes. On normal roads, this would only be a little over an hour’s journey, but getting out of central London and onto the M11 is always slow. In the end, it takes us almost half an hour longer than the sat nav predicted.