Again, Simmons nodded.
Frank leaned closer. ‘If the police cannot deal with this, because it is a matter of national security, then this is big.’
Frank let the pause hang in the air.
‘Theory one: Kayn is a spy. A foreign spy.’
Simmons felt chilled.
‘But what about the vanishing?’
Frank put up his hands.
‘I haven’t finished yet,’ he said. ‘My theory is that somebody, some agency outside the country perhaps, or a foreign government, has discovered how to teleport. Imagine the applications for industrial espionage, Pete! The mind boggles!’
Simmons watched him with a blank expression.
‘And what’s more, this agency or government – whoever they are – have sent a spy right into our turf. And the MOD know about it.’
Simmons frowned.
‘Hmm’ he hummed. ‘So why is he asking me for help?’
Frank shrugged.
‘I don’t know. Seeking you out doesn’t make any sense. Unless there is something you’re not telling me.’
Simmons shook his head.
‘Frank, I can count my patients with the fingers on one hand, and all of them are harmless neurotics with less mystery in their lives than a garden snail. Kayn could not possibly know about me even by association. I’m certain of that.’
Frank sat back, silent.
‘So what about theory two?’ Simmons asked.
Frank leaned closer to him again.
‘Perhaps he is one of ours,’ he said.
‘You mean one of our own spies?’
Frank nodded.
‘Something like that.’
‘So that’s where Feynmann comes in,’ Simmons guessed.
Frank nodded.
‘You think we’re the ones who've found a way to teleport,’ Simmons said, ‘and Kayn is a loose cannon.’
Frank nodded again.
‘Perhaps they haven’t yet perfected it and something’s gone wrong. Maybe Kayn wants help and wants out.’
‘That might explain why he would seek help from a psychiatrist,’ Simmons conceded.
‘It would also explain why the MOD are so keen to get to him without involving the police. If Kayn is indeed a loose cannon, as you put it, then he is an international scandal waiting to happen.’
Only this morning, Simmons had almost believed Kayn might be an angel.
‘Frank, we’re not falling into a trap here are we?’
Frank frowned at him.
‘What do you mean?’
Simmons shrugged.
‘I don’t know. Everything seems to fit in a little too easily perhaps. We’re still in a state of high anxiety, more susceptible to suggestion than usual, and to wild thoughts. All this might sound far fetched after a good night’s sleep.’
‘The man fucking disappeared, Pete!’ Frank hissed. He looked around him quickly to make sure he hadn’t attracted any attention to himself.
Simmons exhaled, sat back in his chair, away from Frank’s face.
‘I probably am a little high on emotion,’ Frank conceded. ‘But I am still rational. I have had time to think. And I don’t need to remind you that we’re not dealing with anything rational here.’
‘I just don’t know,’ Simmons murmured.
‘Can you come up with a more plausible explanation for a man who disappears into thin air and has the MOD on his back?’
Simmons thought hard about it, but finally conceded defeat. Perhaps Frank was not far off the mark.
‘So what are you suggesting we do with Feynmann?’
Frank shrugged.
‘I just figured that if the government has lost something, then he’d know about it.’
‘And what exactly did you have in mind? Asking him?’
Frank eyed him coldly.
‘I don’t know yet.’
‘Well, forget Feynmann,’ Simmons told him.
They both sat back then, staring at each other. They had reached a stalemate.
Frank looked up, called the waitress over and ordered two more lattes. Simmons looked out of the window. It had started raining again. He watched the crowd scatter in all directions, some of them clinging to a few dry patches in narrow spaces below shop signs. Umbrellas had sprung up everywhere, swimming above the crowd.
The waitress placed fresh mugs on the table and cleared the old ones away, wiping the table clean.
Frank ripped more sugar sachets, scattering fresh grains all over the clean table, cursing under his breath.
Outside, the crowd was thinning. People were running under soaked newspapers. The unending worm of traffic made its way though puddles, splashing water onto those waiting for the traffic lights to change.
A man walked by on the other side of the street, slowly, unlike the crowd. He wore a thin sweater and dirty jeans. He was soaked to the bone.
Simmons stood up fast, knocking his chair over behind him, noisily. His latte went flying, clattering noisily on the floor, a wave of hot coffee splashing everywhere.
‘Jesus, Pete!’ Frank cursed, catching his own mug as it tipped over the edge, spilling most of its contents on the floor.
The waitress hurried over with a cloth and a scowl.
Frank looked up at Simmons, confused and saw that he was pointing out of the window, at the man on the other side of the road.
‘It’s Kayn!’ he said.
7
Present Day
The street was awash with noise and rain. A great chain of cars moved slowly through the fine mist. The pavement was busy and dirty with people rushing along, dodging the rain. The city was alive.
And alien.
Kayn fought continually to break away from the crowd and its pull, revolted by the strange smells and the harsh noises all around him. He found a gap when the crowd rushed toward the crossing and stepping into it, trying to get his bearings,
Across the road were shops, bars and a café with half a dozen white plastic tables and chairs outside, drenched under the falling rain.
A sudden movement inside the café caught Kayn’s eye. Two men ran out of the café, bumping into the plastic tables and knocking chairs over in their haste. They stopped, looking over in his direction.
The taller man was speaking into a cell phone whilst the other man fidgeted, looking over at him and then quickly away again. Kayn felt a wave of panic surge through him. He moved on, quickly, back into the crowd, weaving in and out of umbrellas and heavy overcoats, glancing back to check on the men outside the cafe.
The men were on the move. They were crossing over to his side of the street, watching him intently.
Kayn hastened his pace, keeping up with the crowd. When he turned again, he saw the men weaving in and out of the crowd, coming after him.
They were following him.
He broke into a run, looking back between strides. The two men falling back, too far already to be a threat.
Kayn saw the shopping centre up ahead. He merged with the throng of shoppers, then ducked into a doorway when he reached the glass entrance to the mall, sure that he had lost his pursuers.
Presently, the men reached the mall entrance and looked around them, trying to find him. Close up, they did not look physically dangerous. Instead, they seemed nervous and scared. The taller man was clearly frustrated at having been given the slip. He shouted something at the other man, vainly fighting the current of the crowd that slowly washed them both away until only the top of their scalps were bobbing up and down in a sea of heads.
Kayn kept his eyes on them.
Why are they following me?
After a while, when he could no longer see them, he stepped out of the doorway and let himself become engulfed by the crowd, floating downstream like a fallen leaf. The current carried him toward the back end of the mall. He broke away from the flow, out of the mall and into the main road, walking past shops lined up in rows like dominos, displaying huge posters in their windows to draw the crowd
in.
Kayn walked aimlessly across a dirty plateau lined up with escalators carrying people to and from the mouth of the tube station. A brick wall stretched across the road, covered in graffiti, painted with faces and colour and anger.
His pursuers were there, amongst the faces, waiting for him.
Kayn stopped dead in his tracks.
There was somebody else with them: another man, of athletic build, with thick blonde hair, tied back, wearing a sharp black suit. He was peering over his dark shades at Kayn, grinning like a white shark.
There were less than a hundred yards between them, filled with empty silence and loud art. The man in the shades stepped toward him, narrowing the distance.
Kayn turned on his heels and sprinted toward the escalators.
The man in the shades was running after him.
Kayn ran up the moving stairs, to the top. He ran past the glass doors, pushing past a huge woman laden with shopping bags on her way to the ticket booth. One of her bags burst, spilling groceries all over the floor. The enraged woman screamed a string of colourful insults after him. The young ticket collector saw him coming and scuttled out of the way into his booth. He vaulted over the turnstiles and reached a new set of escalators, heading down into the platforms.
Moments later, the man in black appeared, knocking the woman and the rest of her bags over. Kayn mounted the escalator and began the slow descent toward the platforms down below. The sound of rushing metal filled the air.
To his dismay, the escalator was jamb-packed with commuters. He looked behind him up the metal stairs and saw his pursuer at the top, elbowing people out of his way.
Kayn climbed up onto the side of the stairwell, standing precariously upon the smooth metal slope, his feet angled to stop himself from slipping and falling. He had intended to slide down the metal, but the way was paved with inch-tall steel pyramids, designed to stop objects falling down the slide.
Kayn glanced back. His pursuer had also climbed on to the side. He had no choice. He sat down and propelled himself downward along the flat ledge, raising himself on his hands when he reached the first steel protrusion. Commuters travelling up on the adjacent escalator watched in horror, some shouting, attracting the attention of the people on the downward escalator, who were now looking up at him in shock.
Kayn slid downward along the ledge, picking up speed, his momentum lifting him up until he was standing upright, running down as fast as he could to keep from toppling forward.
All along the escalators people were screaming now, watching Kayn running down the side at an impossible angle. He couldn’t keep up with the speed of his fall, his momentum tilting him forward and over faster than he could run, until his head overtook his body. Suddenly, the world turned upside down and he found himself in free fall. As he vaulted in mid-air, he caught sight of his pursuer climbing back into the safety of the escalator, amongst the screams and the faces everywhere.
The first blow from one of the inch-high pyramids caught him squarely in the spine. Kayn let out a scream as he felt his back crunch against the hard metal. Pain exploded, spreading across his back. He flipped over in the air, banging his head on another section of the metal and then slamming his back against a flat stretch of slide before lifting up again and pummelling toward the end of the escalator, where he hit the floor face-first.
The whole place seemed to have filled with manic screaming. Commuters spilled out of the escalator and rushed over to Kayn’s broken body where he lay still in a pool of blood. Others ran the other way.
Don’t touch him. Cover him with something. Somebody call an ambulance.
Kayn weaved in and out of consciousness. He felt like half his face was missing, on fire. His front teeth were broken and pushed back, his jaw slack, his mouth burning. He craned his neck as best he could, against the overwhelming pain. An incessant procession of people spilled from the escalator toward him, like visitors to his deathbed. The man in black was half way down, watching him intently. He looked alarmed, stunned by what Kayn had just done.
With a scream of sheer anguish, Kayn dragged himself upright. His spine buckled sickeningly, his neck rocking alarmingly on its axis, under the weight of his head. People fell back from him as he toppled sideways and fell hard against an advertising billboard on the wall. They yelled at him to remain still on the floor, whilst one tried to hold him under the armpit to stop him from falling.
Kayn pushed himself away, his broken body numb and failing him. He tumbled forward and went sprawling on to the platform. Commuters standing on the platform moved away from him quickly. Some screamed, falling back from the sight of his blood, which poured freely from his open face.
Kayn tried to sit up. He was dying.
The man in black had reached the bottom of the escalator and was coming toward him, hands outstretched, to claim him.
Pain ripped through Kayn as he slammed himself back with all his might. The momentum carried him over the lip of the platform and on to the track itself. His body spread like a starfish on the rails. The platform filled with screams, flailing hands venturing no further than the edge of the platform.
Kayn’s leg landed on the live rail. He felt his body break as thousands of volts ripped through him, arching his spine to an unbearable bow. For an instant. And then he felt himself entering the pull of the cool blue.
As he succumbed to the rushing feeling, he saw the face of his pursuer watching him intently over the edge of the platform. In his mouth were the words: ‘I found you, Kayn.’
The noise on the platform rose to an intolerable pitch. People at the back were trying to reach the edge to see what was left on the rail. At the same time, those at the front were fighting hysterically to keep from being pushed on to the rails by the morbid curiosity of those at the back. Fists flailed amongst the screams.
The man in black ran along to the end of the platform, away from the mob. He looked along the track, watching it disappear under the dark tunnel ahead. The rush of a train arriving on the adjacent platform filled the tunnel with warm wind. It rushed in like a giant plunger.
He turned to make sure nobody was watching him. Uniformed police were already on the scene, accompanied by rail staff in bright yellow jackets, fighting to drain the flood of people from the platform amid the complete chaos.
Adain chose that moment to jump into the track, landing on top of the live rail with both feet.
Nobody noticed the sudden rush of blue sparks along the end of the platform.
8
Present Day
Liz Dohlme finished work early and drove her Shogun to the big shopping complex in the city. She ordered an espresso and sat by the window of the top floor coffee house, waiting for Adain. She ordered another, and then an orange juice, feeling jittery from the caffeine. Adain was almost one hour late. She was running short on patience.
Perhaps there was a genuine reason for his lateness. Maybe he was lying under the chassis of another unsuspecting woman, elsewhere. The thought made her blush, made her feel suddenly cheated. She checked her watch again.
Why am I giving him this much time? She thought. Because I have nothing else. Because I need him.
The admission stirred up a flux of emotions inside her. For a moment, she felt like a teenager, helplessly in love, at the mercy of her hormones, and that made her furious. She cursed herself for her stupidity, for her lack of control.
No more time.
Adain was not coming today. He was a cheat. He had staged the whole thing only to notch up another cross on his headboard.
Liz stood and snatched up her leather handbag from the table. Cursing under her breath, she stormed out of the coffee house and made her way back to the Shogun.
Frank was confused. He didn’t know what to do. Earlier on, the MOD man had run off in pursuit of Kayn. He and Simmons had watched him run into the tube station, but by the time they had got there, there had been a cordon of rail staff blocking the way in. And before they could find out what was
happening, a serious amount of police and paramedics had converged outside, followed by a fire engine.
Eventually, people had started to spill out of the station, pushed out by rail staff and officers who then closed the station altogether. The word was somebody had fallen on to the live rail, dying by electrocution. Eye-witness reports varied. Some claimed to have seen more than others, but the gist of the story was that a man had fallen down the escalators and onto the rail track.
Anxious, he and Simmons had waited in vain outside the station for over an hour, among the growing crowd, but the MOD man had failed to re-emerge. Perhaps he had stayed down there with the officers, doing his job.
When the press arrived, Simmons had insisted on leaving. Frank drove him home in silence. Perhaps there was nothing to say. A man whom they had briefly interacted with had died, and with him a great mystery.
Home, Frank let himself in. The house was warm and the scent of toasted bread was in the air: a sign of life. The replica Grandfather clock in the hall made it almost teatime.
Liz was not home yet, so the signs of life had to be coming from Nathan.
The sitting room door was ajar and Frank could see the television set was off, a sure sign that the room was empty. He climbed the stairs up to the first floor and knocked on Nathan’s bedroom door. When no reply was forthcoming, he climbed the stairs up to the loft, pushing the door open and craning his head around it to see inside.
Nathan was bent over a keyboard, typing furiously. Behind him, a screen displayed an animation of some sort, a clumsy motion followed by a burst of colour, playing in a continuous loop.
Nathan looked up from his typing and jumped up in his seat, surprised. Frank stepped inside, stooping low where the roof beams dipped below his height. He took a seat next to the boy, noticing the plate on the worktop with the half eaten bread wedges.
‘How is it going?’ he asked.
Nathan shrugged.
‘I finished college early today, so I thought I’d catch up with some stuff here.’
The Man Who Vanishes: a gripping horror thriller spanning 3 timelines: One Man. Everywhere. (The Vanishers Book 1) Page 5
