by Will James
“The light thing is odd, true, but I don’t see how it concerns us in any way.”
Zack had begun waving his arms at Molly to attract her attention. She ignored him.
“So let’s get the next boat back and go to mine for a bit. OK?”
She smiled. Going back to Dev’s was always ok.
Zack was right in front of her. “It is connected,” he said, “it must be! Funny lights, symbols on church walls, dead people...”
Dev turned to look at the posters. Molly turned with him. Zack tapped her on the shoulder, but she didn’t feel it.
“Molly,” he said, “Molly, Molly, MOLLY!”
She continued to ignore him. He stopped and sighed. It was hopeless. He thought back to the night in Newcastle to the cold and the dark and the weird light he’d seen just before his death; the light he hadn’t been able to go towards. He didn’t know what it was, but he was going to find out.
He waved one more time at Molly, but she blanked him. Fine, he thought darkly, ignore me and see where it gets you. He turned and stalked out of the cover of the pier and into the rain. He couldn’t feel the wet and the cold and he walked unnoticed, unfeeling and alone back towards Greenwich and the Royal Observatory.
*
A remote area of North Korea
The Colonel looked on in amazement as the assassin trained against the best agents that he had to offer and easily eclipsed them all. At the Colonel’s request the young man had allowed himself to be subjected to a series of tests in order to find out if he was worth the money he was being paid. Judging by this display he had been seriously undervalued.
First there had been an endurance race through the remote mountainous area, a marathon run under the extreme heat of the midday sun. The man had finished in a time that would have been thought impossible, eclipsing the agency’s best distance runners by half an hour. Next, the marksmanship test in order to measure his fabled shooting skills. If it were possible he was even more impressive than in the race; he shot a perfect score, the only person ever to have done so. In the tracking he had been impossible to find and in the intelligence tests he had scored higher than anyone else, a truly remarkable 200 IQ points.
And now the Colonel watched him in the unarmed combat test, something he hadn’t needed to agree to, but which he had seemed to relish the challenge of. It was not only the Colonel who looked on, but some of the scientists too, marvelling at the young man’s strength and speed as he swiftly dispatched the three fighters who were put in front of him. This man was utterly astounding.
When the fight was over, the Colonel requested that the assassin be sent in to his office. He was expecting a wait, but the young man was there within the hour. He seemed to have been made more powerful by the challenges, not weaker.
“There has been a new development regarding your assignment.” The Colonel said. There was no point in wasting time. This young man had supreme intelligence; he would know how to manage the statistics.
“Recently, in the past two hours in fact, we have gained access to information of another sighting of the light. It took place in London – apparently. Our team picked up a minor news story, but it’s not been run by the major press. Either this report has been hushed up or it’s some crack pot-story - the world is full of elaborate hoaxes – cries for attention.”
The Colonel looked directly at the young man seated in front of him.
“We have been searching for other reports and Dr Stamn will give you the print-out of the data. I want you to analyse it and investigate. I don’t believe in coincidence. These two seem connected to me and I want to find out if there are any more connections that we should know about. Once you have ascertained this information, I want you to make sure that the knowledge begins and ends with you. Do you understand?”
The assassin nodded.
“Good. There is nothing more to discuss.”
The Colonel glanced down at the screen for a moment and when he looked up the assassin had gone.
CHAPTER 7 - London
The girl felt ugly; her hair had too many split ends from endless straightening, her nose was a little bent, especially when she looked at it from the side, her eyes were too close together under eyebrows that were far too thick. She lifted up her shirt and patted her stomach; at least that appears to be all right, Molly thought. She sighed and turned away from her reflection, flopping down onto the bed in frustration. Why should he like her? Judging from her image in the mirror she couldn’t think of an answer. Yet here she was, waiting for him to pick her up to go to the cinema.
She checked her watch; Dev would be here in ten minutes. She turned over, looking up at the low ceiling above her that was covered, like every other bit of wall, in paintings and posters. This time it was a water colour she had drawn herself; a wash of the London Embankment she had drawn, people milling around under the famous skyline. The scene made her think of Zack, and how he had described the people only he could see. She was concerned about him – probably for the first time in his life – she hadn’t seen him since the meeting with Father Tom and she hoped he was OK. In a bizarre kind of way she missed him. He knew what she was burdened with – that made them kindred spirits. She smiled, well it made him a kindred spirit – she was more a kindred live person.
She checked her watch again; 2 minutes to go. Hauling herself up she decided that she’d better go downstairs and wait for him there, in an effort to spare him the barrage of questions that her mother would inevitably throw at him. Taking care not to make too much noise she crept down the stairs, crossing the doorway to the living room where curiously there were three distinct sets of voices, one she knew well and the others strange. They must have heard her footsteps because her mother called to her. Damn.
“Molly? Could you come in here for a moment please?”
Annoyed at the hindrance to her plan, she turned back and entered the room. Her mother was sitting on the sofa across from a matronly looking woman Molly had never seen before who clutched a folder in her plump hands. A second woman, tall and thin with long, flat feet encased in flat brown shoes stood by the window half hidden in shadow. She made Molly shudder.
“Hello. You must be Molly,” said the first woman warmly, standing and offering one of those cushioned hands to her. Molly took it.
“Yeah, who else would I be?” she asked bluntly.
Her mother and the woman by the window exchanged a look. Molly was suspicious; she couldn’t figure out what was going on.
It didn’t take long for her to find out.
“This is Brenda,” her mother said quickly, deciding that a fast explanation would be less painful. “She’s from social services and Martina,” – she waved at the severe figure in the corner – “is from CAMHS, the Child and Adolescent Mental Health Service. They’re here to have a little chat with you Molly.”
Molly bristled. “I don’t want a ‘little chat’,” she snapped, putting imaginary inverted commas around the ‘little chat’. “I’m on my way out.”
“It won’t take long,” Sandra said. “We’re all a bit worried about you sweetheart,” she went on, “and we want to try and see if we can help.”
The two women smiled and nodded at that, in an effort to reassure her. Molly was not so easily taken in.
“I don’t need any help, thanks,” Molly said. She was beginning to back towards the door.
“Sometimes,” the tall woman by the window said, “we don’t think we need any help, but perhaps we might not be thinking properly or...”
“Mum!” Molly burst out, her voice shaking in anger. ”What have you done? I’m not crazy!”
It was the plump woman’s turn to try and talk reason. “Now Molly sweetheart, no one ever thinks that they might have a mental health problem or that they could be unwell,” she said.
Molly’s gaze swivelled to her mother, a furious glare that was fuelled by her betrayal. Her mother couldn’t quite bring herself to meet her eyes. Across the hall the doorbell sounded
causing all three women to turn and look out of the lounge widow to the front door at the figure of a tall boy waiting nervously.
“Who’s that?” her mother asked, making a bid to get up out of her chair and move towards the door. In that split second Molly made up her mind. She stepped back, slammed the lounge door shut and hurried to the front door. She grabbed Dev by the wrist.
“Come on, let’s get out of here!”
“Where are we...?”
Dev ran with Molly, not asking anything more, just striding alongside her with a bewildered look on his face as they made off into the night; her mother’s shrill calls fading with each quickening step.
*
Zack walked down the aisles of The British Library, his feet making no sound on the hard floor. The library was deserted – closing time had long since been and gone – and there was an eerie feel to the vast space. He looked up at the staggering volume of books, amazed for the first time in his life by the bound volumes. He had never enjoyed reading, always thought that books were for nerds – he’d never really come across anyone who read properly in the home. Now though, engulfed in the largest library in the world he felt a new fascination, becoming lost among the aisles of literature, some many hundreds of years old.
He could feel the history of the place; the stories with their many characters offset his own loneliness. He roamed through the corridors and open spaces, so lost in the scholarly world that he didn’t hear the approach of the night watchman until it was too late. He froze as the flashlight shone from out of the dark. Stepping quickly aside, he hid in the shadows.
“Nothing there Phil,” the guard called, “you must be hearing things mate.” He shone the torch one more time along the aisle and then moved off. Zack breathed a sigh of relief and then almost laughed out loud. Idiot, he told himself. You’re dead – he can’t see you and, with new found confidence, he made his way out of the rare books library to the newsprint room. He knew what he was looking for and he’d spent too long distracted by the books. He had a mission and he intended to get on with it.
*
A remote area of North Korea
The armoured truck kicked up dust as it sped through the wasteland, cutting a path through the scrub with its huge tyres. The driver was nervous as he drove, which wasn’t surprising when you considered the man in the passenger seat next to him. The assassin wasted no effort on conversation, making for a silent and uncomfortable journey for the driver, who was used to talking to pass the time. He talked too much his friends said, often telling him he should have been a radio presenter. His mouth landed him in trouble too; he all too frequently said the wrong thing to the wrong person. That’s what had got him into this position in the first place. If only he’d kept his big trap shut. He wrestled with himself throughout the journey, desperate to satisfy his compulsion to speak. With an effort he bit his tongue.
When they reached their destination the young passenger climbed out of the car and shut the door without a backwards glance. He strode over the scrub towards a further group of vehicles, not seeming to feel the heat of the torturous midday sun. The door of the nearest car swung open and out stepped the Colonel, dressed in combats and dark glasses that made his expression unreadable. The assassin, though, was pleased to see sweat already starting to form on the Colonel’s forehead - the man was finding it tough and the young assassin always liked to see other people suffer.
The Colonel looked across at the driver. He leaned in and spoke to a Captain. The driver was escorted over.
“This is the exact area you say they found it?” the Colonel asked.
The driver nodded. “Yes, sir, I don’t think they were going to say anything, not sure if it was connected, but I thought you should know sir. The Democratic People’s Republic of Korea must always come first.”
The Colonel had already looked away. He had turned to the assassin. “This is new information,” he said, “We are out here to show you the extent of our problem and how quickly it seems to be developing. Come.”
He walked towards the rock at the base of a sheer rocky ridge. “You’ve read the reports so you know this area seems to attract dark matter. Our instruments are designed to detect even the smallest mass of the energy that makes up dark matter. As you’ll have read, we only use a fraction of what we are able to assimilate with the APS.”
Suddenly he waved impatiently at the other cars. Their doors swung open and a team of scientists climbed out, unloading an array of equipment. They began moving it across to the base of the rocks. Instantly it began to flash a reading onto a screen. The Colonel nodded sharply to show his approval. Turning back to the assassin he went on.
“Until the incident we had been using a particular spot; you can see it marked at the base of the rock there.” He pointed and the assassin followed the direction to see a small black box at the base of the rock face, now surrounded by computer equipment and scientists.
“These instruments measure the density of the particles in the matter,” the colonel said. “They are currently registering nil, but...” He began to walk forward. “Our driver here has mentioned another oddity that I wanted you to see.” He nodded to the scientists who moved out of the way.
“There,” he said. He bent and peered in close to the rock. A young female scientist who had been scanning the symbols stood upright and moved out of the way.
The assassin squatted down. “A constellation,” he said.
The Colonel turned to him. “Are you sure? How do you know?”
“From the shape of it. I am reasonably familiar with constellations and although I’m not certain, I would guess that it is Carina. I would have to check.”
The Colonel looked at the young man.
“Have you any idea what it means?”
The assassin shrugged. “No.”
“Do you think it might be connected to the light that was seen?” the Colonel now seemed to think that this young man was some kind of genius. Again the assassin shrugged.
“I have no idea at present,” he replied. He stood straight. “But if it is, I will find out.” He turned to the Colonel. “And I will destroy anything connected to it.”
*
London
Molly sat on a low wall, illuminated by the streetlamps and the glare of the lights from the chip shop. She fiddled with her hair as she waited for Dev, who had gone inside to buy them some chips. She was still raging with anger and she needed the night air to cool her down.
Their movie had been abandoned as Molly was too angry to concentrate. So they had sat in the park for a while, Dev allowing her to cool down as she raged inwardly at her mother’s betrayal, and then he had suggested chips – to cheer her up. He hadn’t said anything about the wasted money for the cinema and only seeing a third of the film. Nor did he seem bothered about being told to run as fast as he could - something he never did, no matter what the situation. Not particularly sporty, he had struggled to keep up as Molly ran in no particular direction, just away from her mother, his long legs just about keeping pace. Molly felt that she should apologise, resolving to do so when he returned. Soon enough his rangy form appeared, bringing a gust of warm air filled with the smell of frying fat with him and clutching two packets of chips.
“I hope you like vinegar,” he said, “I put it on, hoping that you would.”
Molly smiled, pleased that he’d guessed right and pleased to have his company again; she had begun to feel morose sitting on the wall on her own. She took the chips and he settled down beside her.
“Yum, thanks.” She unwrapped the packet and opened the polystyrene carton. “They smell lovely,” she said.
“Hot from the fryer,” Dev replied.
Molly looked at him. “Thanks. You were right; they have cheered me up.”
He stuffed a couple of big chips into his mouth. “Course they have,” he said, mouth full, “chips do the job for most disasters I’d say.”
Molly smiled. Dev was probably the nicest, kindest, not
to mention the best looking boy she had ever met. She glowed, feeling that at least something was going right and she was about to put her hand on his arm when he shuffled along the wall away from her.
“This wall is uncomfortable, isn’t it?” he said. “It’s making my bum ache.”
She dropped her hand down. “Yup.” She stuffed several chips into her own mouth and shut up.
“So...” Dev said, taking a break between mouthfuls, “Are you going to tell me what that was all about then?” He peered at her through his glasses which had steamed up slightly with the heat from the chips. “Running away from your Mum, fuming in the cinema and leaving before we’d even seen one car chase?!” He shook his head. “I don’t do running Molly. I thought I was going to fall over.”
Molly had a sudden image of Dev going head first into a puddle and smiled. She considered what he’d said and thought that he probably did have a right to know. He had after all, shared his own loony theory with her.
“My Mum has called in Child Adolescent Mental Health Services – which is a bit of a mouthful to say - because she thinks I’m mad.”
“Oh?” Dev said in mild surprise. Molly narrowed her eyes. He didn’t look shocked.
“Why...” He fished another chip out of his packet, “Does your mother think you’re mad?” he asked.
“Because I can hear voices.” Molly said. There it was, out there, the full extent of her murky secret.
There was a silence that stretched for several minutes, awkward and uncomfortable. Molly thought, oh bum, I’ve blown it. She felt herself begin to well up and she never, ever cried.
“What sort of voices?” Dev asked eventually. “What do they say?”
Molly sensed his tone; it wasn’t anxious or angry. She took a deep breath.
“For the past year or so I’ve been hearing these voices in my head,” she explained quietly. “I don’t know where they’ve come from or why, but I think they’re the cries of dead people.” She glanced sidelong at him – he didn’t seem outraged, but the next part was going to sound even more ridiculous she thought, closing her eyes so she wouldn’t see his reaction.
