by Will James
To his disappointment they both shook their heads, their faces a blank as his own brain. He sighed and stood up, pacing the floor for a few moments.
“Light is energy, right? So this energy force creates symbols, reacts with our physical world.” He suddenly turned and looked at Molly. “Do you remember that we once talked about there being a whole new energy field, where things could move or be moved?”
Molly nodded. She was willing him not to say any more about voices and Zack in front of Father Tom.
“If its energy we’re talking about then I can’t help thinking that this is all connected to my theory about dark matter.”
“Why?”
“Because it is all about energy! Dark matter is an energy that we can’t understand.”
As he walked his brain seemed to be working overtime and he snatched up a piece of paper and began to scribble furiously on it; small messy calculations.
Molly and Father Tom exchanged glances. The truth was that they both felt a bit dim in the light of such genius. Father Tom folded himself into a chair to keep out of the way and Molly sat on the floor by the wall, her legs crossed as she settled onto the carpet. Father Tom took the opportunity for the first time the glance around Dev’s room. What he saw stunned him. Maths, of a complexity he’d never seen before were scribbled all along the far wall; chalk on black board. It seemed that every centimetre was covered with calculations. It was a surreal experience, even for him.
“Dev, what are all these calculations that you’ve drawn on the walls?” he asked.
Dev had stopped and was massaging his temples with his fingertips. He turned at that and Molly suddenly straightened in her corner. A brief look passed between them.
“Well,” Dev began, rather uncertainly, “it’s my mad theory and I’m not sure that you’d believe me if I told you.”
Father Tom smiled at that. “You’d be surprised,” he said, “by the things that I’ve heard in confession.”
“OK,” Dev said and he took a deep breath then launched into his story.
Father Tom sat there, a vortex of emotions whirring round his brain that ran from amazement to disbelief, to sudden fear. Molly too was transfixed. Hearing Dev’s theory for a second time made it no less incredible. Dev came to the end of his explanation abruptly and Father Tom was suddenly struck by a peculiar feeling, as if what he had said was somehow inextricably linked to the strange occurrences that they were beginning to unravel. The world was so full of odd incidences, of things that couldn’t be explained.
“So what do you think?” Dev asked him, desperate to hear that the man didn’t think him insane.
Father Tom considered; he was going to have to choose his words very carefully.
“I don’t know,” he replied honestly, “but I’ve got a strange feeling that everything goes together somehow.”
“Me too!” Molly burst out, “I’ve been thinking the same thing ever since I got that picture last night. Three sets of symbols, three sightings of a light.”
“Hang on though; we’ve got a picture of some symbols from Germany but no mention of a light.” Dev went across to the desk and typed the park into his search engine. Moments later news reports came onto the screen. He scrolled down and clicked on the one that looked the most likely. The news report came up and both Father Tom and Molly, who were standing behind him by now, read it all.
“So we’ve got three sets of symbols and three sightings of a strange light,” Dev said again.
Molly said; “Is there any link between where the light appears? Is there anything to link these places together: Father Tom’s church, the estate and the park in Berlin?”
Dev narrowed his eyes. “Let’s Google the park again.” He sat down at the PC and began typing things into the search engine. He read and by the time Molly was halfway down the paragraph he had finished the small extract of history on the park. “Eighty thousand Russian soldiers killed in Berlin, that’s a terrible figure, isn’t it?” he said. “But there’s nothing obvious here to link the park to the estate or to Father Tom’s church.”
“So, it’s three unrelated incidents of light and symbols.” Molly said.
Dev smiled at her. “Nothing Molly,” he corrected her, “is unrelated.”
He looked at her then behind him at Father Tom. “Now all we simply have to do is to work out what it all means.”
“Simply?” Molly asked.
Dev smiled. “There will be an answer Molly, there always is.”
“The problem,” Father Tom cut in, “is that it might not be an answer that we want...”
CHAPTER 12 - Berliner Flaughafen, Berlin
The buzz of the mobile phone drew cautious looks from the waiting passengers at the airport.
Passers-by turned to look at the phone as it vibrated and shook, others looking up from their newspapers and holiday books to see what the noise was. A child pointed at it, stopping to stare and his mother hurried him away quickly. You could never be too careful. The phone continued to buzz, and nervous glances were now shared between the people milling around. One of them went to alert security. Ever since the 9/11 bombings airport security has been particularly tight, no matter where you are in the world. Today in this Munich airport was no different.
A call went out to the security team whilst a guard arrived to have a look. The phone was vibrating on the seat, apparently abandoned. He began to clear the area.
“Move back please,” he said to the crowd. Another guard arrived and they set up a space around the phone, clearing a perimeter so that the terrorist security squad could get to work.
*
Across the other side of the airport, a team of sniffer dogs was being loaded into the back of a van; dogs that could detect the faintest trace of explosives. Two bomb specialists were loading up their protective gear into the same van. There was an air of calm haste. These things were unpredictable. This was a red alert.
*
Zack got halfway to the check gate and realised that he didn’t have the iPhone. It had been vibrating madly, obviously someone trying to call the owner or even their own phone, so he’d taken it out of his pocket and put it on the seat beside him while he waited for his plane. Blast. He’d have to go back for it. He began to run; his flight was already boarding.
*
The whole area had been cleared; the Germans were very efficient. The terrorist security team ran through the departure gates and into the airport lounge. They headed into the cordoned off area.
“OK, where is it?”
One of the security guards nodded over his shoulder. “Centre row of seats, third one in,” he said.
The bomb disposal expert looked across at the seats and then at the guard.
“Are you having me on?!” he snapped.
The guard turned and glanced over this shoulder. “What the...?” He walked across to the seat. “Where the hell did it go? It was here just two minutes ago, I swear...”
Zack made his way back to the departure gate to board a plane to North Korea. He had the phone firmly in his pocket now where it seemed to be part of his altered state and invisible to the human eye. Whatever energy field he was part of, it was pretty weird. The phone charged when it was on him, but ran down as soon as it left his aura. He’d have to watch that. Taking it out had nearly cost him the phone and his communication with Molly.
He brushed past a couple of people queuing and walked straight onto the plane, finding an empty seat in first class. He sat and thought about Molly. The last thing he needed was to be out of touch with her; he needed to let her know what he’d found and where. He patted the phone in his pocket and felt good about being able to send her images. He actually felt good about Molly and that made him smile. It was the first time that he’d ever felt good about anyone in his life.
*
London
Molly and Dev sat cross legged on his floor, finishing off an omelette that they had cooked for themselves and which Dev brought upstairs on paper
plates so that there wasn’t any evidence. It was late, Dev’s mum was in bed and his dad was not home from work yet; he worked a late shift on alternate days. Father Tom had long since gone home, the comforting presence of his looming frame vanishing with him. As they ate, Dev was wondering what to say; he never was very good at silence, it made him uncomfortable. Fidgeting a little he decided to ask Molly something he had been burning to know ever since her astonishing revelation.
“Molly, I hope you don’t mind me asking this, but can you hear anything that the voices are saying?” he asked.
Molly laid down her fork and took her time over her last mouthful, the rhythm of chewing getting her brain to think. “Yeah,” she replied, “Sometimes I get snatches of words, people’s names.” She stopped. “The worst is when I hear the word Mummy. That makes me feel really sad.”
“But they don’t talk to you?”
“What, and tell me to kill people you mean?”
Dev flushed. “No, no I didn’t man that...sorry.” He narrowed his eyes. “Anyway, paranoid schizophrenia is a complex mental health problem Molly and it can manifest itself in a number of different ways, although hearing voices is often...”
“OK, all right! I get it.” Molly pushed her plate away, not hungry any more. “Look Dev, I’ve researched it myself on the internet, I know what it is and I’ve been terrified that I’ve been ill, but I’m not. I hear voices and they are the voices of dead people. I’m convinced of it. I’m even more convinced of it since I saw Zack.”
“Ah, Zack. Hallucinations, imaginary people, these are symptoms as well...”
Molly stood up. “Do you think I’m ill Dev, is that what you’re trying to tell me?”
Dev stood up too. “No Molly, I don’t think you’re ill, but what is happening to you is pretty strange.”
“And your theory about the world moving away from the sun and the fact that no-one will take you seriously – that’s not strange?!” She was angry and upset and she had to catch her breath because the emotion was tight in her chest. “You know the equation for dark matter but instead of being given the Nobel Prize you’ve been given the brush off from all the journalists you’ve spoken to and your friends at that science place you go to!”
“The Royal Institute of Great Britain!” Dev snapped, stepping forward to make his point. “It’s called the Royal Institute of...” Dev stopped and stared open mouthed at Molly. “What is so funny?” he demanded.
“You’re standing on my omelette!” Molly managed, before she bent over double and laughed hysterically.
Dev wiped the eggy mess of his sock and picked up the paper plate. He’d been so upset he hadn’t even noticed. He looked at Molly, at her light frame shaking with laughter and he smiled. She was simply the most unusual and lovely girl he had ever met.
He held up his hands. “OK,” he said, “I’m sorry that I sounded as if I doubted you Molly, I really am. And so is my sock.”
Molly stood straight and took some deep breaths. It was ages since she had laughed so hard and all the tension in her body had gone. She looked at Dev.
“Where were we?” she asked.
He stepped forward and put his hands on her shoulders. “Here,” he said and he kissed her.
Later, they lay on cushions on the floor, looking at some of Dev’s calculations and some images of stars. The kiss had been wonderful, Molly thought, glancing sidelong at Dev as he explained something to her. Exactly what she had thought it would be like and it had broken the barrier of awkwardness between them. They now lay side by side, their toes touching – Dev’s in clean socks – their bodies quite comfortable at being close. It wasn’t romantic exactly, more contented, but it was the first time Molly had felt relaxed about anything for over a year.
“By the way,” Dev said, sitting up. He had fetched a packet of biscuits and made them tea and he took a chocolate digestive out of the packet and handed it to Molly, then took one for himself. “Why were you smiling when we left the estate today?” He looked at her as he ate the chocolate off the biscuit. “You said you’d tell me later.”
“I couldn’t hear any voices,” Molly said. “For the first time since they started, I couldn’t hear them in my head,” she went on, “Not at all. All I heard was silence, well also background noise of cars and stuff – which I guess is normal – and your voice and Father Tom’s. That’s all. It was amazing. I had forgotten how amazing it is not to hear them.”
Dev looked at her. A thought was dancing elusively at the back of his mind – something to do with the voices and the light but he couldn’t grasp it. Molly was too close and he wanted to kiss her again. He turned to her and moved as if to kiss her. But then their lips, so close to meeting, suddenly sprang apart. There was a knock on the door.
“Dev? Dev are you in there? Why is this door locked?” Dev’s father’s vice was stern and demanding. The door handle rattled. Dev sprang to his feet.
“Dev, is your mother right? Who have you got in there? She was talking about a girl and a priest. Dev, open this door please.”
Unable to be defiant, Dev opened the door to his father. He stood sheepishly with Molly behind him and his dad fixed Molly with a look of such disapproval that she had half a mind to confront him. But she didn’t. Dev looked mortified, and the last thing he needed was more trouble with his parents.
Quickly she darted round Dev.
“Excuse me, Mr Pathmajaren, I should get home,” she said and she slipped away down the stairs, avoiding all eye contact.
Molly did not enjoy the walk home. She would never admit it to anyone but she was afraid of the dark. Keeping to the well-lit pavements of the main streets she made her way home, her heart beat thumping in her chest, exhausted by her constant turning around and checking of the shadows behind her.
When she got there, she found the whole house lit up. She opened the front door, fumbling with her keys in the porch light. Her entrance was registered by voices in the kitchen and then her mother, who she had imagined would be in bed, came into the hall and asked Molly to come in to the kitchen. Usually a mess, it was now spotless; her mother had had a cleaning frenzy. Molly glanced down at her watch. Crap; it was past midnight and she’d been gone since seven that morning. She looked at her mother who had clearly been crying. She then looked at the tall, thin woman who she recognised from the other day.
“Molly,” the woman from CAMHS said, her clipped manner overlaid with some kind of false warm tone. “Your mum has been really worried about you. Can you tell us where you’ve been?”
Molly glared furiously at her mother who avoided her eye.
“Molly, do you know where you’ve been?”
There it was again, fake warmth, a creepy tone of patience in the woman’s voce Molly thought. She took a breath.
“Of course I know where I’ve been,” Molly replied. “I’ve been with my friend Dev, my boyfriend and if you don’t believe me you can call him.” Molly held out her phone. No-one took it so she went over to the sink to run herself a glass of water. At this point it seemed her mother could bear the tension no longer.
“I’ve been so worried about you Molly!” she cried, her eyes a film of tears. “You disappear for hours and hours on end, no calls, no texts, refusing to talk to me at all about our life and then I find...”
“Find what?” Molly said. Her voice was icy. Her mother had been in her room, she knew it and she knew what was coming.
“Those drawings...” Sandra Sharp said, “Those terrible drawings.”
Molly shook her head. “My art,” she said, “the drawings of my friends?”
Molly watched the look on her mother’s face. She felt pleased to have shocked her, to be in control here.
“Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong?” her mother said. “These friends? Are they hurting you?”
Molly shrugged. “Nothing hurts me, how can they? They’re dead. And so will we all be, if the world keeps spinning the way it does now and we can’t get rid of the energy, the
dark matter. You can ask Dev, he knows, but nobody else does, no one will listen and nobody cares.” She found herself babbling now, her voice rising. ”Of course the light and the voices are all connected, that’s what the priest says, but we can’t find the connection, we...”
This was too much for her mother to bear, who let out a terrified squeal of pain for her daughter which cut Molly off.
“Oh Molly stop it, stop it!” she cried, “I can’t bear to see you like this!”
Molly sighed and turned towards the hall and the stairs and the solitude of her room. Her mother had betrayed her again, had refused to simply talk to her daughter, to listen and had been snooping and calling in the authorities.
“Mum,” she said calmly. “I am fine, honestly. I’m going to bed.” And she turned and walked out of the kitchen.
In the silence she left behind Sandra turned to the woman from CAMHS.
“Thank you,” she said, “for being here. I know it’s late, but I think you had to see that, witness it for yourself.”
The woman nodded.
“I don’t know what to do,” Sandra said miserably, “what, what can I do?”
The woman considered the question, cleaning her glasses on the front of her jumper to stall for time.
“Perhaps a stay in hospital might be helpful – a proper assessment.”
Sandra seemed even more disturbed by this than anything else. She began to cry.
“What, have her committed?” she said through her tears.
The woman merely nodded, confirming that her worst fear for her daughter had come true.
*
In his hotel room, bent over his laptop, the assassin trawled through the police firewall with relative ease. Not the most complicated defence he had encountered; compared to the system used by the Korean secret police, this was child’s play. It didn’t take long to crack the algorithm before he was inside, with access to every file that the London Metropolitan had at its disposal.
