Searching for a Soul to Love

by J P Sayle

  Hindsight, oh what a wonderful thing you are.

  He’d known in his gut that Joel would never leave Joe alone, but Joe’s begging to stop after they’d gotten Joel’s confession, had been too hard to resist. Joe’s cry for leniency was now fucking with all of them, and not least Stuart.

  Sighing at his train of thought, he attempted to push aside the concerns that had been slowly eating at his guts since they’d found Princess bleeding to death in Stuart’s hall. Trying something different, he offered a prayer that they would get to Stuart before Joel did any permanent damage.

  Realising he was standing like a statue in the doorway, he let his other senses surface and checked for anything out of the ordinary. He sensed nothing, but he let his intuition stay on the alert as he turned and closed out the darkness before switching on a light.

  A random thought had him look back out of the window. Where were the street lights?

  Did the people believe the island was safe in the darkness?

  To his mind there was nowhere safe. It didn’t matter where you were. There was always someone looking to upset the apple cart. His harsh chuckle broke the silence as he walked through the house, mindful to check for the bogie men the island’s people seemed to think didn’t exist.

  A slight tug at his mind had his lips curve in relief at the familiar feeling returning. He couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t been able to feel Max in his mind. The loss of their connection had made the last few hours hellish. He could still feel his own anger grate against his nerves when Max blocked him or that he could do that and had never told him.

  Aaden fisted his hands, pushing away how utterly alone and off balance he’d felt, not liking it one bit. Twenty years, and now he pulls that trick out of the bag like a fucking magician, like it was nothing!

  Christ, he could still remember the jubilation once he’d got over the shock that he could communicate with Max. Thinking he had this amazing superpower like one of his cartoon heroes. He also reminded himself that hadn’t lasted long. It would seem there was always a downside to having a superpower. He’d learnt the hard way what the price was when the visions and nightmares had started. They had properly kicked his arse, to the point even his flexible mind had had to work hard to hold on to his sanity. It had made what should have been the best years of his life a living nightmare and at times a waking one.

  Max had struggled to help when he himself hadn’t had a charge that’d reacted quite like Aaden. They’d somehow muddled through together, with Aaden learning to use Max as an anchor to hold him safe when his mind transported him to places he didn’t always want to go. Being able to get into the minds of psychopaths was not his idea of fun, especially when you had no way to stop what he was seeing, or help.

  The stench and touch of evil left marks that he couldn’t eradicate, so he’d used Max to keep him centred and help keep some of the past from haunting him.

  It had become the driving force behind his career choice, needing to do something to help the victims in his visions. Piecing together the themes of the visions, it had become evident the atrocities occurred mostly in worn-torn countries, with situations that required delicate handling and covert operations. He’d gone and enlisted at seventeen. His career progressed faster than most, and he established his speciality in covert operations, but to what extent?

  Joe, his friend and colleague, had been treated with such disregard when he’d gone to his superiors with the horror of what was happening to him. The army’s lack of action had a growl form at the back of Aaden’s throat, choking him. Fuck. All they’d done was sweep it under the carpet.

  The evidence they’d secured had done diddly squat, and now Joel was God knows where, doing God knows what to Stuart, leaving him feeling more disillusioned than ever.

  The frustration made his head pound with the need for action. Opening his mind to Max, the way he’d learnt as a teenager, he transmitted his thoughts.

  “Max, you better explain your sorry arse. What the hell is going on? I don’t understand why you’d shut me out like that. That you could even shut me out. I could kick your fat arse from here to kingdom come for pulling a stunt like that.” His anger received a loud rumbling growl, then silence, letting him know in no uncertain terms, he’d pissed Max off.

  A feeling of fear he wasn’t quite used to feeling with Max, skimmed up his spine when an errant thought struck him hard. Would Max shut me out again if I don’t rein in my temper?

  “Please, Max, can you explain what’s going on?” Aaden felt his cheeks puff out when his internal voice only dialled back a fraction.

  I’d tried, didn’t I?

  Shrugging off the urge to hunch his shoulders, he purposely stood tall, feeling a sense of calm in the house as he walked through it, pleased they’d taken the time to cleanse it. The feel and scent of evil no longer permeated the air, making it easier to automatically close off his mind to the chaos all around him. In its place, Aaden focused on Joe’s diligent work over the weekend to remove the layers of shit brown wallpaper. The large pile of black bags lined up at the bottom of the stairs ready for the civic amenity centre was testament to how much they’d achieved.

  He was grateful Stuart and he had managed to clean up all the wet wallpaper off the floor when Joe had thrown his hissy fit and gone to get food. Aaden didn’t need his mind reminding him, in no uncertain terms, of what had come afterwards.

  His hands fisted into his pockets, and exhaling, he wished fervently that he’d left a window open when all he could taste at the back of his throat was gluey air. Air that he was convinced was trying to clog up his lungs.

  The thick dampness of the air weighed heavy against his skin, sending his mind back into the Malaysian jungle and his survival training. The cloggy, syrupy air had made it nigh on impossible to take a decent breath. For weeks his lungs had felt about as weightless as a stone. He’d sworn that when he returned home, he’d never complain again about the sharp wintery cold air that liked to slice your lungs to shreds. To his mind, it was a hell of a lot better than what he’d suffered for months on end in Malaysia.

  His boots echoed off the bare wooden floors as he moved to open the windows. The slight breeze wafting through was better than nothing, he supposed. Sticking his nose out the window, he inhaled a couple of times, attempting to calm his racing pulse when the thread on his patience wore thin waiting for Max to reply.

  Screwing up his face, he forced himself not to shout again. Instead he wandered aimlessly through each room, trying not to look at what Joe described as shit brown décor. At least there was less of it now. He reflected. Maybe he’d been a little hasty at rejecting Joe’s offer to stay in Stuart’s home.

  His distracted gaze took in the nearly empty rooms as he walked through the house. He was reminded of his earlier thoughts about the potential to make the house into a decent home. It would take some serious renovations, new kitchen, bathroom, rewiring, plumbing, the list was endless, but not totally off-putting. Now it was nearly empty of the heavy dark furniture and most of the shit brown decoration, it somehow felt bigger and large enough to make his sturdy six-foot-six frame not feel hemmed in.

  He chewed at his fingernail, lost in thoughts of owning his own home for the first time. Did he really want to quit the army and buy this house? The answer sat in the front of his mind, the resounding yes had him miss Max answering.

  The sudden intrusion on his thoughts had Aaden’s brow furrowing as he tried to concentrate on the matters at hand and not future plans.

  “I’m sorry, Aaden, though I can’t say I’m too happy with your reference to my arse. Fat. As if.”

  Aaden squeezed his lips together to stop the laughter from leaking out at Max’s sulky tone.

  “I know you’re frustrated, but it’s too hard to explain everything right this minute. I’m needed here with Princess for now. And after what I did, I need time to figure out what that means for me and possibly you as well.”

  Aaden spluttered, his
angry words interrupting Max. “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “I just said I need to figure it out. For fuck’s sake, Aaden, listen up. I don’t have long, and you getting all growly on my arse isn’t helping the situation. Now, as I was saying.”

  Aaden rolled his eyes at the empty room at the implication he’d been rude, not wanting to touch that with a ten-foot barge pole. He let Max continue.

  “This thing with Princess. It’s different for some reason I can’t fathom. I have never felt the life of one of our kind ebbing away before. Though we live long lives, we do eventually die, but this was somehow different and why I called for you to come with me in the first place. I didn’t see Joel shoot her, but I could feel her pain. The link with her mother somehow alerted me to what was happening; again, this is new to me.”

  A loud unhappy sigh filled Aaden’s head before Max spoke again.

  “The pain she was feeling mixed with yours was too much, and to say I felt a little overwhelmed is an understatement. So, I blocked you to help her. I’m sorry for it, but it happened too fast for me to explain what I was doing. I know I’ve never done it before or explained that I could. It’s a long story that I don’t have time to explain now. I will, I promise, but just not yet.”

  Aaden listened intently, his stomach knotting at thoughts of what he didn’t understand, but he’d felt it the moment they’d arrived on this small island that somehow things were changing between Max and him. He gulped when a sliver of fear tightened his throat while he attempted to swallow.

  “Anyway, what I have discovered should help you now, Aaden. When I touched Princess, I picked up something from her. She must have scratched Joel, making him bleed, and his blood somehow mixed with hers. You know I can find anyone whose blood mixes with mine; it appears Princess is the same. When I linked with her tonight to help her, I instantly got images of Joel and Stuart. Joel has taken him up a mountain. There is what looks like a derelict building on a hill. It’s large and grey with what appears to be a large picture on the side. I can’t see anything other than hills and fields directly around it, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find. I’m not sure how you’re going to explain this to Joe, but I’ll leave that up to you.”

  Aaden let his mind process what Max was saying. He knew when Max paused he was allowing him time to catch up.

  Aaden spoke aloud, knowing it made no difference to Max, but when he was agitated, he found it easier to speak his thoughts out loud.

  “We did some searches while we were waiting for the vet to take care of Princess, and I’m sure that there is an old bike museum up the mountain. It was one of my first picks along with another building situated in Glen Helen. They are both close by and ideal for what Joel will need. Both also offer privacy.”

  Checking his watch, he realised he’d been wool-gathering for over an hour. “I need to get sorted. Max, take care of Princess, and we will talk about what’s going on with you two and us when I collect you from the vets after this is finished.” He struggled to convey his worry in words, so he did what he always did, projected them to Max. They’d never been into mushy talk, though that didn’t stop the sentiments from running deep between them. His lips shifted up in satisfaction when Max’s gruff growl floated into his head, showing him he’d got the message.

  The car juddered as he hit Windy Corner. Gripping the steering wheel tighter, Greg glanced at the speed dial, oops. As he eased off the accelerator, his lips curled up when the shadowed hills on the Verandah came into view. Following the cat’s eyes, Greg indicated and turned off the road on to the uneven gravel. His car bumped and groaned, making his aching arse sing unpleasantly.

  Greg parked behind the deserted tram substation, making a concerted effort not to think about his arse, or Vic, now his mood had improved. He removed his coat before opening the car door.

  A stiff breeze blew through the car, causing him to shiver uncontrollably into his thin top. Hesitating, he eyed his coat, huffing at how difficult it would be to run with the puffer jacket on. He shut the car door and pretended he wasn’t eyeing his coat with longing when the wind whistled up his shorts, making his balls shrivel up.

  Why did I think this was a good idea. Tell me.

  Mentally slapping himself, he glanced at the substation. His feet moved before his mind could catch up. At least my feet have some common sense this morning.

  As he ran behind the building, he shivered and was pleased when the building sheltered him from the strong breeze. He hoped his jittering limbs would stop dancing.

  Starting his normal routine of stretches, he clenched his chattering teeth. He stretched up his arms, pulling left and right, bent, twisted, and did lunges to warm his leg muscles.

  His mind started wandering as the routine relaxed his mind as he warmed up. His eyes narrowed with distaste when the substation reminded him of the one fateful time he’d thought it would be a good idea to take his visiting friend from London on the tram, or as they now liked to refer to them as the bonecrunchers.

  They’d stupidly thought travelling from Douglas to Snaefell would be great. His eyes sparkled with mirth when he recalled how wrong they’d been. It had been long, boring, and torturous for many reasons, the main being that he and Ben had lost the will to live after looking at high hedges for hours on end. The intolerably hard seats made of wood had him feeling he’d been sat on an arse-numbing solid rock. All the while his bones had been rattled to death from the vibration of the swaying tram.

  Shuddering at the memory, Greg bent from the hips, stretching his arms around the back of his calves, feeling the pull. When his muscles released, he twisted, grabbing around the left, then right side of his body, holding still.

  He supposed he should count himself lucky that Ben was still speaking to him after that fiasco. Not being able to walk straight when they’d gotten off only added to their woes. At least they’d laughed together when Ben had said they’d resembled cowboys who’d gotten off a horse, and all that was missing were their cowboy outfits.

  Standing tall, he stretched his arms up to the sky. He chuckled to himself at Ben’s insistence that they find cowboy hats and that Greg should ride him cowboy-style. His arse clenched in appreciation. His mind lagging behind reminded him all too quickly Vic was not as considerate as Ben.

  He heaved a sigh, and his eyes roamed the light greyed sky. He felt a little spooked when the noise seemed to float eerily around him. Shivering at his own stupid thoughts he rubbed at the sudden itch he had at the back of his neck. As he swept his gaze over the hills and the only other building, the museum, he pushed the feeling aside when all he could see was emptiness and nothing that would cause his stomach to do belly flops, which it was currently doing.

  Hell, if he didn’t know better, he’d have thought he’d just done several handstands the way it was jumping about. Ignoring it, he instead checked his keys were secure in his shorts and walked briskly towards the main road to cross.

  He paused at the edge of the tarmac, sucking at his lower lip and gripping his stomach when his body seemed to want to go back the way it came. Come on. What the heck is wrong with me this morning? When the odd feeling wouldn’t leave, Greg rolled his eyes heavenwards at his own weirdness.

  Vic really was messing with my head this morning. What could it harm if I just listened to myself for a change, because that has worked so well for me in the past?

  Stop it!

  Turning, Greg marched back towards the substation heading up the hill. Easing into a slow jog, he ran up in the direction of the deserted museum, watching for his footing on the uneven rocky ground. It took a second for the sounds of wind moving through the grass to penetrate. He felt into his pocket, but his hand came away empty. He cursed up a storm that he’d forgotten his phone for his tunes. His feet never faltered as he shrugged off the pissy mood that wanted to take hold.

  Maybe the silence will help me sort my head out. Hell, it couldn’t hurt at this stage.

  Getting into a rhythm, he let hi
s mind empty and enjoyed the feel of the cold air brush against his dampening skin. His muscles bunched as his feet hit the solid ground. The zing moved through his legs up his body, increasing the warmth building in his core. His feet followed the direction his mind was taking him.

  Cutting off towards the back of the museum, he ran towards the bottom of the hills. His eyes roamed the dark green and purple hills that led to Sartfield.

  Greg stumbled. What the actual fuck?

  The sounds of the whistling wind through the grass didn’t hide the harrowing screams that lit the air with fear.

  His heart slammed into his rib cage. His eyes widened, and they strayed towards the derelict museum. He breathed hard as the air struggled past his stiff lips before misting. Chills crept up his spine as he tried to process what his mind was telling him. His face paled when random thoughts popped into his head on programmes of cults and serial killers dismembering people they’d kidnapped.

  His feet moved him back, away from the museum, of their own accord as thoughts took root. He remembered all too clearly the warnings from the investigators of those cults. They’d said they could be anywhere.

  Was someone, right now, being dismembered, and I’m going to be forced to watch before they do the same to me?

  A bubble of hysteria burst past his lips. He was in half a mind to pretend he hadn’t heard anything. His feet on the other hand seemed to have different ideas. Muttering at his own stupidity, he slinked closer to the building to investigate.

  Another guttural cry rent the air, making Greg’s hand flutter as it went to yank back the hair stuck to his sweaty brow. The sound of despair made him freeze, and fear crawled under Greg’s skin, leaving him feeling as if a thousand spiders were trying to break free.

  Greg whined. Rubbing at his goose-bumped arms, he dithered by the boarded-up windows. He slowly moved his ear closer to the window in front of him and listened intently, trying to figure out where the screams had come from. Every horror movie he’d ever watched replayed in his mind, telling him over and over this was a terrible idea.