by Lauren Algeo
Brewer didn’t need thanks; the fact that the Master was dead was enough. The hikers in America were all gone. He thought of Georgie and how happy she’d have been about that fact.
We did it kiddo, he thought. This time we really did it.
‘We need to get out of here,’ he said out loud.
‘Are you ok to move?’ Ellen asked, concerned. ‘Shouldn’t you rest a bit more first?’
‘I’ll feel better once we’re away from this place.’ He nodded towards Mitch. ‘And he needs that head injury treated.’
Mitch rolled his eyes. ‘Always nagging at me, old man.’ He’d lost none of his charm with the blow to the head.
‘What’s this bit?’ Ellen asked suddenly. She’d been staring at Brewer’s note and pointed to a small line in the bottom right-hand corner. She hadn’t paid it any attention in the chaos of before, but now she noticed the tiny handwriting.
Brewer’s eyes flickered closed, he’d forgotten about that part.
She squinted to read it. ‘P.S. If it doesn’t work, it’s not your fault. Check my jeans pocket.’ She looked back to his face in confusion. ‘What’s in your pocket?’
He thought of the two other squares of paper folded in his front right pocket. ‘It doesn’t matter now,’ he said. ‘They were just notes if I didn’t make it. You don’t ever need to read them.’
One of them was addressed to Mitch and told him not to blame himself, that Brewer was proud of everything he’d done to help his mission. That Mitch should go back to Philly, forget about this whole thing, and move on with his life.
The note to Ellen had been harder to write in the short space of time he’d had back in the motel bathroom. He’d written that he had fallen in love with her, that she’d made him believe in love again. How he’d wished they could’ve had more time together. He’d said he hoped she could find someone to share her life with, as she had so much to give them.
He most certainly didn’t want either of them to read what were effectively his suicide notes. It hadn’t even occurred to him at the time that he should direct one of them to tell Marcus at home about his death. Would anyone back there ever have known he was gone? Would his flat just have sat empty forever? He pushed the morbid thoughts from his mind. None of that mattered now; he was still here.
Ellen looked as though she wanted to push him on the note thing then she changed her mind. She stood up and held out her hands to help him get to his feet.
‘Come on you, let’s get the hell away from this place.’
Chapter 39
Thirty minutes later, they were safely in the car and Ellen was driving towards the nearest hospital, Henderson County Community back in Lexington. It had taken some time for a wobbly Brewer and Mitch to make it from the back of the house to the car parked out the front, but Ellen had helped them every slow step of the way.
It had been a silent ride so far but Brewer was finally feeling a little less groggy and up to talking.
‘You said you had some questions?’ he said to Ellen. ‘I think I’m able to answer them properly now.’
‘Are you sure?’ She glanced sideways at him.
‘Yes,’ he nodded.
‘I’ll go first.’ Mitch didn’t need to be told twice. He felt dizzy and weak, yet he was desperate for answers about what had happened. ‘Why didn’t you tell me what you were planning to do? We thought you were dead when we saw you get out that syringe!’
Brewer smiled meekly, he’d known an angry retort would be the first thing out of Mitch’s mouth. ‘You know full well I couldn’t tell you anything the Master could get from your mind,’ he said. ‘It had to be a secret.’
‘A stupid, dangerous secret,’ Mitch grumbled.
‘It worked, didn’t it?’
‘What was in the syringe you injected yourself with?’ Ellen asked.
‘Potassium chloride,’ Brewer replied. ‘It was one of the drugs I stole from the hospital. We researched them all in the motel before we came to rescue you.’ He hesitated. ‘I knew the only way to get you back would be to kill the Master, and we’d never be able to get into that house armed, so the only other solution was to find a way to kill myself with him inside my mind… or at least temporarily kill myself.’
‘Hang on a minute,’ Mitch cut in. ‘So you actually did die back there?’
‘Briefly. I had to in order for the Master to die. A kind of fake death scenario, but it was enough. The potassium chloride caused a cardiac arrest and I was temporarily brain dead.’
‘But the other stuff,’ Ellen said. ‘You had no idea that would actually work and bring you back?’
‘No,’ Brewer admitted. ‘That was all online speculation. The potassium chloride increased the potassium levels in my body and caused something called hyperkalemia. The calcium chloride, adrenaline and CPR were a possible combination to reduce the potassium levels and prevent another cardiac arrest.’
‘But they were in no way guaranteed to work!’ Ellen’s voice was high with emotion. ‘You were prepared to give your life to save us.’
‘I was,’ Brewer said simply. ‘And I’d do it all again if I had to.’
‘You’re crazy dude,’ Mitch said quietly. ‘But I love you for it.’
Brewer coughed out a laugh. Hearing Mitch sound so sincere was strange. ‘This is all very sombre,’ he said. ‘There’s no point going over all the “what ifs”. We’re here, all relatively in one piece, and the hikers are gone.’
‘Hell yeah!’ Mitch shouted. ‘We killed those sons of bitches!’ He chuckled to himself but that hurt his head too much and he stopped abruptly.
‘The hospital is just ahead,’ Ellen said.
They lapsed back into silence until Ellen pulled up outside the Emergency Department. She stopped the car and turned to look at them both. This could be the last time they were all ever together.
‘I want to thank both of you for coming to my house that day to save me from my grief,’ she said. ‘And again for making the brave decision to come to the Master’s house when you could have just left me there. I am…’
‘Mrs Mac,’ Mitch interrupted. ‘I know this is all very sentimental and touching, but I’m literally going to vomit or pass out at any moment. I need to go in there.’ He gave her a quick grin. ‘You can thank me every day for eternity though, I like this hero stuff.’
‘Ok,’ she smiled back. ‘You’ll be all right in there, won’t you?’
‘Yes.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘I’m just going to tell them I fell and hit my head, let them stitch me up then I’m getting the train straight back to Philly. No problem.’
‘Good,’ she nodded. ‘I programmed my house number into your phone so please let me know when you’re home safely.’
‘I will.’ Mitch turned his attention to Brewer. ‘You look seriously rough man, are you sure you won’t come in too?’
‘No.’ Brewer was adamant. ‘I’ve got so much stuff in my system that it will prompt a lot of questions. We don’t want the police involved. I’m going to go back to Ellen’s and recuperate there. I can see a doctor there if I need to.’
‘Then what?’ Mitch asked. ‘Are you going back to England?’
‘I have to in a few weeks when my visa runs out,’ he said sadly, not looking at Ellen. ‘I’ll try and come back for visits when I can.’
‘I’ve been thinking,’ Ellen said. ‘I might take a little trip back to England with you. I’ve never been there before.’
Brewer met her gaze in surprise. She was smiling her small smile, the one that made everything seem better, and had a flush creeping up her neck.
‘If that’s ok with you, of course?’ she added quickly.
‘It’s perfect,’ he said through his dry mouth. There was a renewed energy flowing through his veins.
‘Right, well now that’s sorted, I’m out of here,’ Mitch shuffled to the car door. ‘Mrs Mac, old man, what can I say? It’s been hell.’
He cackled to himself and staggered out of the car. Brewer
shook his head in mock despair and Ellen giggled beside him. They watched as Mitch hobbled through the hospital doors, still holding his hoodie to his head, and out of sight.
Ellen turned to Brewer. ‘Are you ready to go?’
‘Yes,’ he nodded. ‘I’m ready.’
Ellen started the car and pulled away from the hospital. Brewer risked a look at the side of her face. He felt physically broken, but his body would heal. Mentally, he was more alive than he’d been in years. Ellen would be coming back home with him.
The thought filled him with hopeful excitement. Who knew what would happen in the future, but for the first time in a long time, he had something to look forward to. He had someone.
Epilogue – 15th September 2017
The Boy watched the couple at the doorway with interest. The man and woman were in their mid-thirties. The man was dressed smartly in a navy suit, white shirt and burgundy tie. His black shoes were the shiniest the Boy had ever seen. His brown hair was short and neatly trimmed. He was fairly tall and slim, but it was his posture that the Boy was drawn to. The man carried himself with pride. He had a strong back and oozed confidence. He wanted to be someone important.
The woman looked nervous by comparison. She was a lot shorter than the man but equally as trim. She was wearing a smart grey dress with black tights and low black heels. She kept toying with her shoulder-length blond hair. The gesture was of no importance to the Boy – he was focussed predominantly on the man.
He sat down in the corner of the room, alone, and watched as the lady social worker rushed to greet them. This was the couple’s first visit to the home. The room was noisy, and there were several children running and playing and shouting. The Boy paid them no attention. They were beneath him. They didn’t have his intellect or power. The Boy knew he was special.
He didn’t know where he came from, or why that was, but he was certain of it. He’d lived in the group home, just outside of London, for all of his short life. He’d been brought to them as a baby, with no mother or father to speak of. His birth hadn’t even been registered so he was a mystery.
The home had been trying to find adoptive parents for him for most of his five years, and they were baffled by their lack of success. On the surface, he was a quiet, polite, well-behaved little boy. But no one had managed to take him home. They always seemed to back out mid-way through the process.
The Boy knew exactly why that was. He hadn’t wanted any of those so-called prospective parents. He’d been waiting for the perfect couple. Now, here they were. Eager, excited, and potentially powerful.
He skimmed over the surface of their thoughts to gauge their personalities. They were keen for a child but not desperate. He had seen plenty of those – the criers, the needy ones too eager for a child they could dote on. He wanted strength. Parents who would seemingly discipline him. A home environment that was more of a challenge.
They were standing in a huddle, chatting to the lady social worker. She was one of those weak people he despised. Trying too hard to impress this couple. Laughing too loudly at their simple jokes. She was desperate for him to find a home. He knew she was scared of him, something about him made her nervous. He’d been inside her mind to try and find out why but there had been no real answer. It was just instinct.
The Boy knew he had the potential for danger. He’d been slowly testing his abilities for the last couple of years. Reading people’s thoughts had become mediocre, so he’d started to push himself more. Suggested to people that they do what he said.
The children in the home were easy to manipulate and they obeyed his every command. He’d quickly moved on to the adults he encountered. They had more complex minds that he didn’t fully understand, although they were just as susceptible to his gift. It was how he’d managed to persuade so many of them to pull out of the adoption process. They could have one of the other, stupid children. He wanted more.
The Boy watched the man in the suit and felt a new emotion coursing through his veins. Excitement, that’s what it was. The anticipation of finally finding what he’d been searching for.
The man was talking animatedly, gesturing with his hands and smiling widely. He was used to talking for a living and his small audience were lapping up every word. His wife was gazing at him adoringly and the lady social worker was laughing giddily. This man had the capability to enrapture people, to bend them to his way of thinking, using speech alone. Just think how powerful he would be with the Boy’s gift behind him too. All the things they could achieve.
The Boy picked up a book from the floor beside him and opened it, but didn’t read. He knew they would be coming over at any moment. His new prospective parents, the MP and his secretary wife, would be coming to meet him. There was no doubt now that he would be going home with them.
He would be their son. They would love him unquestioningly and he would give them something far more important in return. Power. Notoriety. An audience far greater than they could imagine.
The Boy glanced up and saw the man was looking over at him. His new father. Their eyes met for a brief moment. The Boy imagined how he would look to this man: small, blond, and neat. A book in his hand, a hopeful smile on his face, eyes that belied his intelligence. Ones so dark brown, compared to his fair hair, that they sometimes appeared black. The man’s own eyes, clear blue ones, were warm and engaging. The Boy was certain in that moment that this was the perfect fit, the outlet he’d been craving.
The lady social worker gestured towards him and they all began to walk in his direction. The Boy closed his book and steeled himself for the euphoric future that was about to begin. He rose to his feet and raised those dark eyes to his new parents. It was time.
Hikers
Part Three: Politics
By Lauren Algeo
Text copyright © 2015 Lauren Algeo
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. In accordance with the Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from this book (other than for review purposes), prior written warning must be obtained by contacting the publisher. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
This work of fiction contains adult situations that may not be suitable for children under eighteen years of age. Recommended for mature audiences.
Table of contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Ch
apter 47
Epilogue
Prologue
‘It’s time,’ the man murmured to himself as he put an empty glass on the table in front of him. ‘It is most definitely time.’
He opened a bottle of scotch whisky and poured a large measure into the glass. He carried his drink over to the fireplace and stared at the dancing flames. It wasn’t particularly cold outside but he’d always loved the crackling sound of a roaring fire. He took a sip of his drink and felt the liquid warming its way to his stomach. This was his moment of peace in an otherwise hectic day – locked in his study, alone, with a glass of scotch, a cheeseboard, and a soothing fire.
The study was his haven. It was decorated in deep shades of burgundy with thick cream carpet, a heavy oak desk on one side of the room, and a plush sofa in front of the fireplace. This was where he came to de-stress.
The boy stood in the shadows near the window and watched the man. He skimmed over the surface of his mind to read the top-line thoughts that resided there; delicately, like fingers gliding across silk. The man would feel no intrusion. He was busy worrying about a TV interview that was scheduled for the morning. One where he would be sat next to the leader of the opposing party, who would pounce on him at any sign of weakness. A trivial matter.
The boy grew bored quickly – he’d never felt anything but disdain for this man. The fact that he felt like that about nearly everyone was irrelevant. Truthfully, there was only one person who he did feel something else for – he respected his father. And this man in front of him was in their way.
In the five years since he’d been adopted, he’d helped his father ascend from local MP to Deputy Prime Minister. Labour were in power and the mundane man staring vacantly into the flames was their leader. A role that he would soon vacate to pave the way for father. He just didn’t know it yet. The boy’s lips curved into a tight smile that could have been mistaken for a sneer. They never knew it.
He stepped into the light and stopped just behind the man, who must have sensed movement as he glanced over his right shoulder. His eyes widened and his body stiffened at the sight of the boy standing there.
