by Adam Carter
But break away she had to, and when she did it was to find Rose’s face flushed with surprise, contentment and more than a little longing.
“I’m sorry, I really gotta rush,” Thompson said, and ran after Baronaire. Sometimes timing in her life sucked.
CHAPTER FIVE
They continued north at speed, but the motorway didn’t last that much longer and as they drew into urban areas Baronaire knew their chances of finding the girl were vanishing. There was something he had not told his partner, however; something concerning his interrogation of the biker. The man had proven a complete coward, and after sending the girl he was with to instant sleep had Baronaire been able to question the biker with the fear of God in him. The only important thing Baronaire had gleaned from that interrogation had been a glove belonging to Abigail. It seemed she had dropped it and the biker had for reasons unknown decided to keep it. Why Abigail had taken gloves with her was beyond Baronaire, since it was the height of summer. However, it showed the girl was planning for the future and not wasting money.
There was a strong scent upon the glove. It wasn’t perfume, although he could detect a hint of hand-cream. The scent he acquired from the glove belonged to Abigail Grayn. He had never met her before, but he was reasonably certain he would be able to track her by this one glove alone.
How he could do this he could not say. That he was more bloodhound than human was something he had often reflected. Just what he was he had no idea; nor most days did he want to find out. It suited their purposes, however, that he could do these things. It gave them a reason not to turn around and head for London immediately.
He did not of course breathe a word of this to Thompson. She would have thought him A) insane, B) jerking her chain or C) a monster.
He wasn’t certain which would have been the worst truth.
Arriving at a town centre, Baronaire took the lead and Thompson did not question him. She was loathe to leave her bike, after it had nearly been hotwired last time, but she was too professional to complain about silly fears like that. They walked the silent streets, dark and chill for summer, and Thompson hugged her jacket tight to her body. WetFish did a lot of work during the darker hours and Thompson had always seemed at home. Looking upon her, however, Baronaire could see she wasn’t that much at home. He himself revelled in the night. It wasn’t perhaps normal, but it was who he was regardless.
“I’m not apologising you know,” Thompson said suddenly while they strolled the streets.
Baronaire glanced her way. She was checking shop windows absently as they passed them. “For what?” he asked.
“The B and B?”
“Oh.”
“I don’t have to justify myself. I do have a life outside of the bunker, I’m allowed one, you know.”
“Course you are.”
“And she was interested, yeah? You don’t just pass up an opportunity when a gorgeous young ...”
“Jen, I don’t care,” Baronaire almost laughed. “You do what you like, it doesn’t bother me.”
“No?”
“No.”
“It’s just that you’re not talking about it. Not talking about anything.”
“I’m not not talking about it. I’m just brooding. It’s what I do.”
“I noticed.”
He tried to hide his smile. “She was cute though.”
“Hey,” Thompson said, hitting him playfully on the arm. “Hands off, I saw her first.” The air cleared at last, they continued in silence for several minutes before Thompson asked the question Baronaire had been hoping she wouldn’t. “So ... what are we doing exactly? You seem to know where you’re headed.”
“I have a hunch.”
“Care to share?”
“I might be wrong. Wouldn’t want to look silly.”
Thompson shrugged, hugged herself tighter. “Suit yourself. It’s just freezing tonight.”
“Sea air.”
“We’re close to the sea?”
Baronaire indicated with his head. “That direction.” Baronaire had never been a fourteen year old girl, had no real idea what went through the mind of one; but he had never been able to understand the obsession with running away to bright lights. Youths headed for big cities like moths banging their heads against light bulbs, and it seemed Abigail was acting no differently. That she had come from London, however, meant she had to head for somewhere even brighter, and the seaside seemed the location she had chosen. Her scent was becoming stronger, and he found it almost shameful that he could distinguish one scent amongst thousands. The sea winds cleared the air, however, and her scent was fresh. Also there were so few people on the streets this time of night her scent had lingered. If they had passed through a couple of hours earlier he doubted he would have been able to track her at all.
Baronaire followed the scent in the general direction of the sea. The girl had passed here, through the high street, and he suspected she was looking for a place to stay for the night. She had been travelling all the previous day and she would be tired; a shop doorway would have looked appealing to her by now. That she had ditched the van driver as soon as she arrived in town seemed likely, although if they could find him they could at least question him.
He noticed several people already in doorways, huddled in dark blankets against the chilly air. There were a lot of homeless people in the country, more in London alone than anyone would ever believe. At nights when his urges were simply too great to countenance Baronaire preyed upon them. He didn’t always kill them, but either way he was certain there were rumours amongst the homeless population about the night stalker. No one cared what homeless people thought though: no one cared about homeless people at all. If there were fewer on the streets, people were happy. No one sought to ask why.
Strangely even Sanders allowed him this indulgence. Sanders understood he needed sustenance from somewhere every so often and if there were no handy female criminals for him, Sanders did not seem to care if a few homeless people vanished. Baronaire was under no illusions, however, that Sanders did not track every death and was keeping count.
“She could be one of these in the doorways,” Thompson suggested as they walked.
“No. Her scent’s not lingered. She moved to the sea.”
He realised what he had said and silently berated himself. Thankfully Thompson had taken it as a joke. “Still, we should make sure. It’s not as though she could just check herself into a hotel this time of the morning.”
Baronaire had no real reason to object, so Thompson moved over to speak with some of the sleeping people while Baronaire stood in the centre of the wide street, absorbing the sea air, perhaps without actually breathing it. He began to wonder why a part of his mind insisted he did not breathe, when clearly he did. He inhaled and his lungs expanded, he exhaled and they deflated. That was the essence of breathing. But it was something his colleague Jeremiah had mentioned to him once. It was a ruse his body was playing upon him, he had said. A cruel joke which made Baronaire believe he was like other people. Just like he felt his heart really was pumping blood around his body. Of course his heart was pumping blood, Baronaire had replied, that’s what it was there for. Jeremiah had said only that it was a theory regarding their kind, that no one understood them entirely, not even Jeremiah. It was just another question to which Baronaire really did not want the answer.
His eyes caught something then and he started. “Jen! Move!”
He ran, not even bothering to see whether his companion was keeping pace. He leaped through the street, bounding in excess of human speed. He could have gone faster, could have taken to the walls and leaped from building to building, could have turned his body into a white mist and drifted above the town to seek and swoop down upon his prey; but that would have revealed too much to Thompson. Instead he ran, turning a corner just in time to see a white van turning another. Baronaire did not pause and barrelled after it, catching up just as the van parked before a terraced house.
A man emer
ged, alone. He was in his forties, with little hair but a close cropped beard. He looked tired and glad to be home. As he locked the door, Baronaire grabbed him from behind and span him about, slamming his back into the side of the van.
“Where’s the girl?”
The van driver yowled, but Baronaire had him by the collar and shook him until he stopped. “Who the hell ...?”
“Abigail Grayn,” Baronaire growled. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know any Abigail ... Who are ... what do you want?”
“You picked her up from an all-night bed and breakfast. What did you do with her?”
“Baronaire!” Thompson gasped, finally catching up. She stopped when she reached the two men, bending over and holding her knees with her hands while she fought to catch her breath. Baronaire wasn’t even breathing hard, which was more evidence to the theory that he did not breathe at all. “Whoa, don’t ... don’t rough him up.”
“He knows where Abigail is.”
“Sure,” Thompson said, her heart slowing to normal at last. “Sure he does. He gave a girl a lift, did her a favour. Doesn’t make him a criminal.” She looked then to the van driver. “Barry Manfield? Detective Thompson.” She flashed him her badge just as Baronaire reluctantly let him go. “You picked up a girl recently. Where is she?”
“Sandra?”
Baronaire snorted. “Girl was fourteen years old, she look like a Sandra to you?”
Manfield’s mind was still a blur of confusion and he was finding it difficult to take any of this in.
“She’s a runaway,” Thompson said calmly. “We need to find her.”
“You guys sure put in the overtime for the runways,” Manfield noted, his mind at last beginning to return to some semblance of sense. His fear seemed to be diminishing the more he was allowed to think. “Her parents are worried sick of course.”
“Her father was a sick man,” Baronaire said, then realised something. “You don’t believe us.”
“Police don’t rough people up because they give girls lifts,” Manfield said determinedly.
Thompson glowered at Baronaire as he started for him again. “We really just need to find her, Mr Manfield,” she said and Baronaire was impressed with how much compassion she put into her voice. This was Baronaire’s obsession after all: she was only really tagging along so she could test out her new bike. “If you could help us with our investigation in any way ...”
Manfield nodded. “I’d like to see that badge again.”
Baronaire rolled his eyes, pulled out his own and shoved it into the guy’s face. “Happy?”
Manfield stared at it. “No picture?”
“They don’t come with pictures.”
“No rank?”
“Don’t have one.”
“And you expect me to believe your name’s really Baronaire? That’s not even a real name.”
Baronaire’s fist clenched, but Thompson stepped in. She placed one hand upon Manfield’s arm and adopted eyes like a little girl whose puppy had run away. “We really do need to find this girl: she’s in danger every moment we waste. Please, anything you could tell us would help.”
Manfield seemed to soften and Baronaire wondered whether Thompson herself had some inhumanity within her to appear so human. “She said her name was Sandra,” Manfield said. “I asked her why she was headed to the sea and she said she had relatives here. Her mother died, and she hasn’t seen her father for years. I swear I didn’t know she was fourteen.”
“Would it have made a difference?” Baronaire asked.
“No,” Manfield said. “What was I supposed to do? Just leave her wandering the motorway looking to hitch a lift? At least with me she was safe.”
“You could have called the police.”
“Yeah, ‘cause you guys seem to have the best approach to everything.”
“Where did you drop her off?” Thompson asked calmly.
“Top of the high street. She told me she was headed west, and I watched her ‘til she was out of sight.”
“She would have headed east then,” Baronaire said. “Towards the sea, I was right.”
Thompson nodded. “Anything else you can think of which might be of use?”
“No,” Manfield said, shaking his head. “Is she in any trouble? Has she done something wrong?”
“We just want to make sure she’s all right,” Baronaire said. It was the truth, even though he did not understand it himself. This was a lot of effort just to check on the welfare of one girl. He knew that, but it didn’t go to help explaining why he was doing it.
They left Manfield and headed east. Baronaire’s thoughts were turgid, his mind all over the place. There was a good chance they were catching up to her now, so he should have been pleased. But a part of him was beginning to question just why it was he was expending so much energy to find her. She was frightened and alone and his appearance would only scare her more. If she was an adult she would be just the kind of girl to which he would be strongly attracted. But she wasn’t an adult, she was a fourteen year old girl. It did not help, however, that everyone who met her seemed to think she was older than she was.
He hoped when he finally found her he didn’t do something stupid.
“You sure run fast,” Thompson noted as they walked. “You’re in better shape than I am. What’s your secret?”
“Genetics.”
“Wow. Can I have some?”
He glanced to her and in that stare told her she would not wish to be like him no matter what benefits it would bring. Thompson looked away, not entirely understanding but getting the message nevertheless.
They headed together for the beach, in silence.
CHAPTER SIX
“You ever been in love, Baronaire?”
The arcades were closed as they walked along the promenade, and to Baronaire’s mind it seemed as though someone had turned off a big switch and the entire town had gone down. There was no laughter, no running children, no smell of candyfloss and rock and ice cream. There was no noise from the clanking claw machines, no music blaring out of every machine as each arcade attempted to outdo its neighbours. Baronaire glanced up to see a house of horrors, dead for the night, because of course no true horror would ever be seen out at night.
Thompson’s question threw him. He had been thinking of how easy it was to be human, and then she had to go say something like that.
“We have a missing girl to find,” he grumped.
“That a no?”
“Jen?”
She raised an impish eyebrow. “That a yes?”
He shook his head. “We should check the beach. She may be spending the night there.”
“It’s freezing on the beach,” Thompson said, shivering at the very thought. “Trust me, the girl’s gonna be somewhere warm, unless she’s trying to swim for Sweden or something.”
“Still, this place is giving me the creeps.”
“I know what you mean. It’s just dead. So, what was her name?”
“Who?”
“This woman you were in love with?”
For some reason Baronaire looked both ways before crossing the road. The roads were as dead as the rest of the town this early in the morning, and until the Sun decided to come out Baronaire doubted they would find anyone. Which was a shame, since he could have done with a handy distraction right about now.
“I’ve never been in love,” he told Thompson. “Or at least I don’t think I have.”
“Well, I’m not the best person to explain love, Baronaire, but I’d think you’d kind of know if you had. Never had a long-term girlfriend then?”
“No.”
“Boyfriend?”
He sighed. “Is this leading somewhere?”
“Just curious. Sanders doesn’t like us talking, right? Well I figure we’re a million miles away from him; if we wanted to take the chance to get to know one another a little better how’s he gonna know?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. Sanders has eyes and
ears everywhere.”
“That may be true in London, but we’re a long way from the bunker, Charles.”
“Please don’t call me Charles,” he said tiredly. It was a bone of contention even he did not understand. No one called him Charles except for Jeremiah and Sanders. The former because he was just like him, and the latter because he was the boss and he could damn well do as he pleased. But Baronaire was not like other people, and he did not like to consider ever getting close to his work colleagues. He didn’t want to hurt them, didn’t ever want to be put into a position where he would want to hurt them. It was a small point, making everyone call him by his surname, but if he relented even a little bit he knew they would all end up regretting it.
If Thompson took offence at his rebuff she did not show it. “I’ve never been in love, thanks for asking. When I was a kid we moved around a lot. Different schools, different friends. Mostly I got to know the guys in Dad’s battalions. The things I learned in the barracks, Baronaire.” She smiled at some distant memory.
Neither spoke for several minutes. Baronaire thought about Thompson more than he ever had. She had always been cold to people, which was what he liked about her. She never pried, never opened up to anyone. That she had told him things about herself she likely hadn’t told anyone else at the bunker was confusing for him, especially since he knew she wasn’t attracted to him. He reflected it could have been because she felt safe around him, that she trusted him. Now that was a laugh.
But he was curious, and the silence was damning.
“What did you learn?” he asked at last.
Thompson’s thoughts had by then moved elsewhere. “Hmm? Oh, the barracks?” She grinned. “Well, first I learned a whole heap a new swear words, and what they all meant. I learned how to drink and pretend you were sober; they actually had competitions on that, phoning up their other halves to read out a prepared script. If they could say a convincing tongue-twister and a reasonable excuse as to why they were calling at two in the morning and get away with it ... well, there were prizes.”
“You ever get a prize, Jen?”
