by Lauren Algeo
She dragged the girl off to the staff room. All the way out she was whining. ‘He did, Miss! He did make me. I heard his voice!’
He giggled darkly to himself.
By the time he was seven, he’d become accustomed to his gift and could use it freely to get his way. He got good grades at school, always had what he wanted to eat waiting for him, and he never got in any trouble for being naughty, even though he had a mean streak. He found that if he went into a shop he could convince any shopkeeper that he had paid for whatever sweets he fancied at the time. His life was easy.
Then his father was killed in a machine accident at work. He hardly ever saw the man so it didn’t bother him but his mother was beside herself. He remembered days of her crying and fretting. What would they do for money? How would they cope? Her meagre wage as a part-time seamstress wasn’t enough to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table. He tried to tell her it didn’t matter, he was never really that hungry anyway, but she didn’t hear him.
She grew boring. He got tired of coming home from school to her tear-stained face. His subtle hints about things he wanted to do didn’t get through her muddled head. He got angry. When he got angry, he realised how much stronger his gift was.
‘If it’s so bad, just end it all!’ He raged at her mind. ‘Go and stop your crying for good!’
He hadn’t quite expected what would happen next. His mother got up from her chair, walked outside and threw herself under a passing horse and cart. She was trampled under the horse’s hooves and died instantly.
He was surprised. It was then it dawned on him that he could have more affect on people with damaged minds. Troubled souls who had experienced some trauma in their lives, they were so much more receptive.
With no parents and no other family members able to take him in, he was put into an orphanage. Other children hated it but he loved it and thrived there. Their little minds were so damaged; they were easy prey. He treated them like puppets.
If anyone was mean to him they were punished. It was at the home he discovered another advantage he had over other children. People seemed to forget about him easily. They couldn’t recall his name or what he was doing there. It was as if their memories were wiped clean of him when he wasn’t around. It made his games even more enjoyable. He could be in a room, provoking two children in to fighting, yet no one would remember that he was there. He blended in. He had no discerning features that stuck in anyone’s mind. He liked to sit for hours on the stairs and flit from mind to mind, honing his skills.
With a bit of practice, he could read people’s thoughts and delve into their past memories. He relished the nightmares he found in there. The children at the home were very troubled. He liked to bring their darkest memories bubbling to the surface to torture them. There were a lot of tears and vicious fights. He began to think of himself as the Grand master of the other children. It was a good, powerful title. All in all, he had a happy childhood.
When the Grand was a teenager, he left the home for good. They wouldn’t even notice he was gone if they couldn’t remember him. Plus, there was a World War on to distract people. While everyone was occupied with the war, he had a free reign. He travelled from town to town and practiced the art of murder. Plenty of people were distressed so their minds were ripe for picking.
Being inside someone’s head during their final minutes gave him goose bumps. The fear, panic, pleading – it made him feel alive. The high after making someone kill themselves was like nothing he’d ever experienced. He persuaded people to jump off buildings or out of windows. He even got one man to drown himself in his bathtub. He enjoyed every moment of it.
One day, in London, he came across two men arguing in the street. They were both dressed in expensive suits and top hats, and looked to be in their forties.
‘You betrayed me!’ One yelled angrily.
There were some more hushed words exchanged. The Grand edged closer and tried to learn what the confrontation was about. He could feel the hate radiating out of them.
‘You’re no worse than a common thief!’ the same man cried then he stormed off.
He trailed the man, feeding off his furious mind. He quickly picked through to find the story. The men were business partners and the other had lied to this man about how much their bonds were worth to pocket the profit. A traitor. The man marched down the road, ranting to himself that he wished the other man were dead so he could have all the money.
It triggered a delicious idea in the Grand’s head. He bet the man would be willing to pay to have his partner killed. Not that he needed the money, but it made him feel powerful to have someone at the mercy of his services. He could be a hit man. It would be much more exciting than making homeless people jump in the Thames, as he’d intended for the weekend’s jollies.
He followed the man to the townhouse where he lived and waited outside. He began to whisper in the man’s mind that having his partner killed was a good idea. It was what he deserved after stealing that money.
The Grand stayed outside all night, persuading the man. He found that he never really needed much sleep, his mind ran efficiently and only needed to be shut down for a few hours every couple of days. From observing other people, he realised that he didn’t eat or drink as much as anyone else either. Dinner was his only meal of the day, and that was mainly habit from his mother cooking for him after school. He barely drank anything other than water; he felt no need.
The next morning, when the man left his house, he looked dishevelled. Being awake all night didn’t agree with him as much. The Grand kept the pressure on all morning while the man was at work. By lunchtime, he had come to the conclusion that having his partner murdered was the only way forward. He approached the man as he left the office to buy some lunch.
‘Follow me,’ he told him as he walked past.
He didn’t bother to check that the man had turned to follow; he knew he would be walking a couple of feet behind him. He led the man to an alley between two buildings. It was all very exciting.
‘I can help you,’ he told the man.
The man was transfixed by his eyes, which looked almost black in the light.
‘How?’ he asked.
‘Hire me and you will never see your partner again.’
The man began to weigh up the offer so the Grand gave him a little nudge to the right answer.
‘How much?’
He had already learnt from the man’s mind how much their company made.
‘Fifty pounds,’ he replied.
It was a lot, but affordable to this man, and it was enough to be taken seriously.
‘What do I...?’ the man started.
‘Nothing,’ the Grand cut him off. ‘This evening I will be waiting outside your house. Pay me the fifty pounds and by morning, your partner will be dead. There will be no suspicion on you. The money will be yours.’
The man nodded quickly. He stuck out his hand to shake on the deal. The Grand stared at his outstretched hand pointedly then strode away.
The exchange had been exhilarating for him, offering himself out as an assassin. He had a target to challenge his ability now.
He already knew where the partner lived from his new client’s memory. He staked out the townhouse for the afternoon. The target was home; he’d stayed away from work to avoid another confrontation after the day before.
The Grand dipped in and out of his mind. He was a greedy man and he’d already dismissed what he’d done to his friend, and was planning how to get even richer. He and his fat wife wanted enough money to holiday abroad by boat.
He fantasised about how to kill the man. He decided that he was going to make someone else do it. He could get people to do pretty much anything, even kill themselves, so why not get them to kill someone else for him? It would mean there would be nothing to cast any suspicion on his client, and he’d get to affect two people’s lives.
There were so many ways for this person to die. The Grand took an instant dislik
e to this pig of a man and decided that his death should be painful and undignified.
He was outside the client’s house by early evening. The man took out a thick envelope from his coat pocket and handed it over without a word. The Grand nodded and put the money in his pocket then he was gone into the night. Killing time.
He had one night to get the job done. It wasn’t much time so he’d need a person with a very damaged mind already, someone he could use as a vessel to commit the murder. He waited outside a pub close to the target’s house. There were a couple of suitable minds drowning their sorrows but one in particular cried out to him. There was a soldier drinking in there, who had witnessed some horrific events during the First Boer war. He’d also lost a child to influenza while he was fighting. He had some serious mental health problems now and seemed very paranoid. He was perfect.
The Grand began to whisper to him. He told him of a man nearby who had been responsible for the death of his child while he was serving his country, a doctor who had failed to find a cure in time. Lies of course, the child would have been beyond help and the target wasn’t even a doctor, however it stoked the fires of rage smouldering inside the man. By the time the Grand was done, the soldier was furious. He stormed out of the pub and paced angrily on the pavement. The Grand helpfully nudged him in the direction of the target’s house. The man was so mad he didn’t even question where this sudden information was coming from; the vast amount of alcohol he’d consumed helped too.
The soldier tried the front door and found it locked. He rattled the handle for a second in frustration, before taking a step back and kicking the door open forcefully. It made a wonderfully loud bang. The soldier went inside to find the man who had let his child die. The Grand stayed hidden in the shadows of the street for the show.
The target and his wife had been in bed but the crashing door had awoken them. The soldier and the target collided in the hallway at the top of the stairs. The Grand witnessed it through the soldier’s mind.
‘You let my baby die!’ He sobbed and slammed the target against the wall.
His hands clamped around his throat, killing the target’s cries of protest. Then something new happened. Somehow the Grand came forward into the soldier’s mind to experience it all. He could see through his eyes and feel everything his body did, as though it was his own. He squeezed the soldier’s hands tighter until they were like a vice around the man’s neck. He watched the panic turn to desperation in the target’s eyes as he struggled for air. He bucked and kicked out but the soldier had him pinned and he was strong, even stronger with the Grand holding the reigns now.
The life slowly faded from the target’s bulging eyes and his flailing body went limp. He was dead. The Grand panted through the soldier’s lungs, feeling exhilarated.
A scream shattered the peace in the house and the target’s wife cowered against the bedroom door. He instructed the soldier to leave and retreated back fully to his own body.
This was all very new, yet he didn’t pause to think it over. He was on a huge high after the murder and adrenaline surged through his body. He was invincible. He could take on anything; kill anyone. The sensible part of his brain fought against the euphoria – going on a killing spree could alert people to his abilities. He’d learnt all about scientific experiments on humans at the library. If they caught him, he’d become a test subject, locked in a basement somewhere being poked and prodded, and hooked up to every machine imaginable. He had to get himself under control.
Yet the urge to kill again was overwhelming. He wanted to use his power on everyone he could. The soldier emerged from the target’s house and he focussed on the man he’d just used to kill for him. He could use him again to dampen his burning desire. He began whispering frantically to him.
‘Go to the river,’ he urged.
He didn’t like the tinge of desperation in his tone but the soldier was already damaged enough to respond like a puppet.
The Grand stalked him to the bank of the Thames. They were south of the river, and quite far west, so it was nice and quiet.
‘You’re nothing,’ he whispered viciously. ‘You didn’t deserve a child, that’s why she was taken away from you.’
The soldier whimpered and shuffled closer to the edge of the river.
‘There’s no one left for you here.’
The soldier’s mind flashed up memories of his wife at home and the Grand crushed them down.
‘No one,’ he repeated. ‘That whore was having an affair while you were fighting for your country. She’s worthless; forget her.’
The soldier was crying quietly, only he felt no pity. He could barely contain the need to end his miserable life. It was time.
‘That water looks inviting. You could slip under the surface and everything will be better again.’
The soldier was completely destroyed. He took two steps to the edge of the bank and plunged into the icy water.
‘I can’t swim,’ he spluttered as the dark liquid engulfed him and he had a moment of clarity.
The human instinct to fight death kicked in and the soldier tried to gain solid footing but the bank was too slippery, and the water was too deep.
‘Hush,’ the Grand soothed him. ‘There’s too much pain here, you need to be at peace.’
The solider listened and quit struggling. His body sank under the water, weighed down by his heavy clothes.
The Grand left his mind and sat on the riverbank, watching. A little while later, the ripples and bubbles stopped, and the body of the dead soldier floated to the surface and bobbed on the still water.
He felt completely calm now. The raging desire to kill had been quelled for a while. His mind was peaceful.
He sat on the bank for hours, staring at the black water and contemplating his life. He had a great gift and it seemed such a waste not to share it with people. Like minded, murderous people, of course. Using the soldier to kill a specific target had given him a thrill like nothing he’d ever experienced before. The hunting of a target and destruction of a vessel’s mind was perfect. He decided that would be his career. There would need to be a suicide after each kill to tame the murderous need but he could live with that. He had a purpose now – he was an assassin.
The Grand perfected his precious skills. Vessels with damaged mentalities responded easily to his commands to kill but they weren’t a challenge. He practiced until he could turn almost anyone into a killing machine.
It took days, even weeks, of persistent intrusion in their minds to turn stable people and, eventually, they cracked under the barrage of pressure. He failed with a couple of people and that made him very angry. There was a high death count on those days.
He found the happy medium – people who had experienced mild trauma, such as the death of a loved one. They were more susceptible, but not completely broken, and still posed a bit of challenge. They took a couple of days of stimulating to turn and he loved the thrill of the hunt.
Besides, he was only acting on what people wanted to do anyway. Everyone was capable of destructive thoughts and sick urges. He liked to think of it as just massaging the soul. People wanted this. If they acted on every impulse, they would follow his path. The suicides especially – most people on the ledge of a tall building were not afraid they’d fall; they were afraid they’d jump. The lemming-like impulse was already there inside; he just liked to manipulate it.
He kept up the ritual of a suicide after each murder to calm himself, however an animal instinct warned him against ever being in a mind when the vessel died. Once he had stayed inside too long when a woman was suffocating and felt himself growing weaker with her. He was nearly trapped and had to force his way out. He didn’t think any good could come of being in there during death.
To get contracts, the Grand scoured the streets of busy towns; searching for people with murderous intentions. He found that more people were fuelled by money, power, and sex. It was always disgruntled businessmen and spurned lovers who contained the
most hate. He was all too happy to offer a helping hand with their problems. Boss standing in your way? Kill him and take the company. Wife had an affair? She can’t cheat if she’s dead. People were quickly persuaded to his way of thinking.
His existence satisfied him but he wanted more. He’d never come across anyone with his gift and he didn’t really interact with people face-to-face. He was a virgin and had no interest in love or sex, yet sometimes he thought it might be fun to have a companion. Someone who he could share with in plotting murders, maybe some competition to think of the most inventive ones. He’d never encountered a woman with his abilities before but he began to wonder if a child of his could inherit it. If his gift was genetic, he could breed a whole family of people like him.
The idea filled him with excitement. He could train his children in the art of murder and take on more contracts. They could travel all over the country and cover more towns; take over cities.
He began to look for a mate. He didn’t even contemplate the notion of love. From what he’d observed, it made people weak and stupid. Like the wreck it had turned his mother in to. It would be purely physical and only what was necessary to achieve his goal.
Selecting the right girl became a game. He was nearly twenty so he wanted someone young and healthy. She would need good genes and a high level of intelligence – the smarter the better, to give a child more chance of inheriting his brainpower.
He could make any girl he wanted fall for him with some simple persuasion but he needed to learn about her past and family’s medical history to make sure she was suitable. He decided he’d have to spend some time in her life.
He travelled to Oxford and examined the girls who attended the university there. It was one of the best in the country so she would have to be clever to go there. After two days of watching, he took a shine to one girl. She was quiet and kept to herself. The three times he had seen her she was alone and sitting outside reading.
