Two of a Mind

by S M Stuart

  ‘Don’t do that! Keep out ‘til I let you listen in. And don’t call me THAT!’

  ‘Not my fault I can hear you. Wish I couldn’t, but your bitchin’s so loud it cuts straight through the Bloc, sweetie!’

  Andrea’s PT hadn’t flinched at the venom dripping from her vicious response. That wouldn’t go down well with the girl who considered herself above everyone else.

  Now that’s what I call Karma! My own thoughts must’ve pushed the mental smile onto my face – Seth was nudging me under the table so I quickly rearranged my expression to look serious.

  “Actually, Andrea, if you don’t mind, we’ve just come out for a quiet lunch. Dez is still a bit shaky from her ordeal, as I’m sure you can imagine.” Seth sounded so confident, so grown-up. I was surprised at his forceful tone and felt protected – my boy was looking out for me. And the look on Andrea’s face when she realised he was giving her the brush-off – priceless!

  “Oh. Oh, right. Well, I’ll see you later then,” she mumbled, turning on her four-inch heels.

  When we managed to get our giggling under control, Seth went to order our lunch. He got back to the table and produced his DataRoll to study the notes we’d made from the news reports. He pointed to one in particular.

  “Look here, Dez. We missed something. Dale Johnson, overdose in October 2105 – there’s no DOM. The second report says he survived although he seems to have lingering brain damage. All his physical functions are intact, but he doesn’t move a muscle voluntarily and he can’t communicate.”

  I looked at the reports again. Dale Johnson was a highly respected businessman and successful entrepreneur. He’d been admitted to hospital with a suspected drugs overdose but this was completely out of character. Apparently, he was a clean-living, hard-working family man without a care in the world. The sentence that leapt out at me mentioned that his PT lost their connection shortly before Dale’s collapse.

  “Just like the two girls,” I said.

  “Two girls?”

  “Yeah – the girls that I … remember dying with.” I couldn’t come up with a proper term for what I’d experienced. “They lost their PT connections before they died. I remember mentally calling out. What were their PTs’ names?” I paused trying to bring back the last moments of those dreadful memories. “Simone, yes, Simone and Valerie.”

  We’d made a connection between the murders that wasn’t just based on Elizabeth linking them. Could we take it further? Maybe if I could tune into the PTs of the victims they’d provide me with more clues to the killer’s identity.

  One problem. At the moment I can hear others but they can’t hear me. How do I contact them?

  CHAPTER 30

  Central Africa: 8 October 2105

  “This isn’t what we agreed!” Dale paused his furious pacing. “We have a contract and I’ll drag you through the courts if I must.”

  “Surely you wouldn’t want the world to see the vindictive side of the saintly Dale Johnson?”

  “You think that’s what interests me? You don’t know me at all, do you Trevalyn? My only consideration is for the people of this community. The people who trusted us to deliver on our promises and what do I find when I get here? You – using them to your own benefit. Like some kind of latter-day slave master.” Dale was so angry he could barely get the words out. His felt his face grow hot with shame. He’d let these people down. He’d unwittingly introduced a self-interested oppressor and his conscience struggled with the cost of his naivety.

  He pushed his sweat-dampened hair off his forehead in an attempt to cool both his temper and his temperature. By now this school building should have been in full use but Trevalyn had commandeered the work-force to complete his own suite of offices and laboratory. They were now meeting in a dusty, hot marquee where a solid, air-conditioned classroom should be.

  “We needed to establish the clinical facilities first so that the community’s health was safeguarded,” Trevalyn said calmly, whilst pouring water from his flask and offering the cup to Dale.

  Dale was too parched to refuse the drink. He gulped the lukewarm liquid before responding.

  “Don’t try to talk me round on this. Your laboratory is not the health clinic we’d planned. It’s more a science facility than a medical one. I want you off this site voluntarily by close of business tomorrow otherwise I’ll be calling in the authorities to evict you and start a full investigation into what you’ve been up to out here.” He banged the cup down onto a nearby workbench – the only evidence that some kind of construction was due to start. The question was; when?

  “Tomorrow,” he repeated as he left to face the villagers that had congregated outside.

  Trevalyn nodded as he replaced the flask’s cup, turning it slowly and deliberately until it clicked into place.

  London: 9th October 2105

  Dale hated working into the evening. He was a family man and always tried to be home to read the girls their bedtime story. The Holo-Comms, realistic as it was, could never replace the warm, delicious smell of his children snuggling close to him in their cosy onesies, after their nightly bubble-bath.

  During the flight back he’d been feverish – probably an emotional backlash after his run-in with Trevalyn and dealing with the subsequent anguish of the Lipostzi people. His travel inoculations were up-to-date so he wasn’t worried about any exotic illness. He stretched, rubbed his neck and took a couple of paracetamol. He scoured the fine details of the contract with Trevalyn. Knowing how persuasive Trevalyn could be, Dale would need a watertight case to take to the court on Monday morning. He grinned thinking that if Asil had been able to reach beyond their Bloc he’d have been off to deal with Trevalyn on a more personal level! The Turk’s temper was legendary once he’d been riled enough to lose it.

  The cramps came unexpectedly. One minute Dale was scrolling through holo-screens of contractual jargon, the next he was sprawled on the floor in agony. His jaw clenched so tightly he couldn’t call out for help. Even his PT link to Asil seemed to have disappeared in the fire of pain blistering through his body.

  CHAPTER 31

  Ellingham: 4 August 2110

  One-step at a time, Dez.

  I needed to track down the PTs of the murder victims before I could think about how to contact them. Even if I found out who they were, it wasn’t going to be easy getting in touch – “Hi. I’m Dez and I heard your PT’s dying thoughts.” Not a good opening!

  After our lunch, I persuaded Seth that we should go straight home to continue our research. I think he would’ve rather spent the afternoon mooching around in town, trying to do what ordinary couples do, but now I had a focus I needed to make some real progress before I lost the momentum.

  “And anyway,” I argued, “you still owe me big time for keeping schtum about your non-existent PT!”

  “You’re gonna keep bringing that one out every time you want your own way, aren’t you?” Seth groaned in defeat.

  “You bet!” I grinned and ran off towards the tram-stop.

  “Have you decided what you’re gonna do about it?” I asked as he joined me in the queue.

  “About what?”

  “Your PT.” I lowered my voice so that the other people in the queue couldn’t hear.

  Seth scowled and whispered back, “Not yet. And let’s not discuss it in public, okay?”

  “Sorry.” I stretched up to kiss his cheek in apology. His scowl vanished and he reached for my hand. We got all the way to his house before he let go.

  We started up the Holo-Comms system to study the full-sized chart that we’d created. The kitchen table once more reflected the register of death and loss. Was the killer showing Elizabeth that he was unstoppable? Had he become so proficient that he could organise these killings without worrying about being caught? And how did he manage to subdue multiple victims? The Parisian couple; four backpackers lost in the Romanian Alps; and, the last news entry in Elizabeth’s Handi, a minibus full of Austrian schoolchildren travelling home to
Innsbruck. They were returning from an outing to the quaint village of Vipiteno in northern Italy. The mandatory speed restrictor and impact warning devices which automatically cut the vehicle’s power if a collision is imminent had been inspected prior to the trip. Despite these, the bus had plunged from the New Europa Bridge. There was no explanation other than the suggestion of a freak malfunction of the safety equipment. No survivors. This final entry seems to have been the tipping point for Elizabeth. The attached pop-up quote, from ‘The Scarlet Pimpernel’, seemed to say it all:

  ‘The weariest of nights, the longest of days, sooner or later must perforce come to an end.’

  “Still wanna convince me she didn’t set out to kill herself that night?” asked Seth, sombrely.

  “I’m not sure, Seth. Maybe she was going to confront the bastard. Maybe she thought she could stop him somehow.”

  “Come on, Dez. Read the letter again. It’s obvious she wasn’t expecting to come home.”

  “She may have thought she wouldn’t survive – she was going to see a killer.”

  “That’s if your theory is right.” Seth was dismissive of my alternative to his belief that Elizabeth had taken her own life. Did he want her to have done so? I preferred to think she’d gone out to stop the murders by any means possible and committing suicide wouldn’t achieve that.

  “Sorry if it sounds callous but that’s a side issue at the moment. It’s more important to nail the killer then we can think about what happened to your mum,” I said, hoping he wouldn’t think that I didn’t care about Elizabeth’s death. A brief flash in his eyes showed how he felt about my calling it a side issue but he nodded in resignation.

  “Share your deductions then, Sherlock,” he said, putting his arm around my waist and leaning over the table to study the notes with me.

  I squeezed his hand where it rested on my stomach then pointed to the reports about Dale Johnson.

  “How about we go see him? Maybe we can find something out about his PT from his wife. The report didn’t identify the PT but he came forward at the time to try and help. He might be willing to talk to us if Mrs Johnson asks him.”

  “What makes you think she’ll want to speak to us?”

  “Wouldn’t you want to try anything to find out what happened to your partner?” I asked.

  “Yeah. But – as your dad so ably put it – we’re kids! Why would she think we can do anything to help?”

  “We might be kids – but I have a super-power, remember?” I took up the classic Superman stance – hands on hips, head thrown back, chest thrust forward. Seth’s eyes fixed on my boobs which were now brushing his shoulder as he leaned over the table.

  “A-hem.” He cleared his throat. “Do you mind moving those out of my line of vision please? You’re distracting me!”

  After a brief giggling and kissing interval, we turned our attention back to the problem of getting to Dale Johnson’s PT. Seth tapped a few commands into the Holo-Comms system. Its blisteringly fast net access meant that, within seconds, we could Swift-Search the Johnsons. We watched holograms of Dale accepting business awards, with his pretty wife by his side. There were corporate events where he gave motivational speeches and sponsorships for young talent, charitable organisations and sports fixtures. As the timeline progressed the holograms showed the growth of his family with the final video being of Dale, his wife and their three gorgeous little daughters at a party. They were laughing and hugging – not a care in the world.

  “HELP ME!”

  I staggered and almost threw up as my stomach reacted to the intense pain that suddenly filled my head. Seth reached out to catch me as I sank to the floor, moaning and holding my throbbing temples.

  “Dez! Dez can you hear me? What’s the matter? Hang in there.” He ran to the sink, filled a glass and brought the cool refreshing water to my lips. “Here, try to take a sip.”

  I felt completely drained but the pain had gone by the time I’d finished drinking.

  “Thanks,” I said, handing the empty glass to Seth and manoeuvring myself onto a kitchen chair. “Phew, that was … well, bloody awful actually. But I think I heard Dale Johnson.”

  “What do you mean? I thought he’d lost his telepathy with the brain damage he suffered.”

  “I’m sure it was him, Seth. It was a man’s voice, desperate and loud – very loud!”

  “What did he say?”

  “Just ‘Help me.’ He’s trapped. Lost inside himself and I could sense his fear that he’ll never find a way out. We’ve got to help him, Seth. We’ve got to bring him home.” I was crying, possibly from the adrenaline rush of that unexpected connection or from the feeling of desolation that Dale projected.

  “Jeez, Dez. You never do anything by halves do you? Let’s see if we can find any contact details for the Johnsons.” Seth slid his finger-stylus across the Holo-Comms screen and scrolled through the pages of information. “Here we are. A blog from Mrs Johnson. She’s keeping all his good works going whilst he’s incapacitated. She’s convinced he’s going to get better one day and wants things to be ready for him to take up the reins again.”

  “Is there a private contact? I don’t fancy leaving a message on her blog for everyone to see.”

  “No. But there’s a link for funding applications. Apparently, Mrs Johnson personally looks at each request. If we apply for a grant, maybe we could put something in to catch her eye.”

  I wasn’t sure it would work and I had the feeling of it being not quite right, but Seth was so enthusiastic about the idea that I couldn’t refuse to follow through. After all, it was my suggestion to contact the family in the first place. I couldn’t back down without good reason.

  “What do you think she’ll be most interested in?” I asked.

  “I suppose she’d be keen on anything to do with researching brain injuries. We could say we’re students doing a thesis on ‘connective tissues and nerve pathways researching a consistently successful treatment to by-pass the damage and get the brain accessing previously redundant areas thereby restoring lost functions.’”

  “Dammit! You sound like you’ve swallowed a medical textbook. How’d you come up with all that so quickly?”

  He looked down, nervously and started picking at a loose thread on his t-shirt. I clamped my hand over his to stop his fidgeting. “Come on, Seth. What’s up?”

  “The usual … Mum,” he sighed. “When she was getting more and more of her ‘moody-blues’ I thought she had something wrong in her head. I started looking up stuff about brain malfunctions, injuries and diseases. For a time I thought I’d try to go in for medicine – I’d even thought up that title for my university thesis – but I’m not really clever enough. I’d never get the grades to go to the right uni. When my PT didn’t start up I started to think I’d inherited some mental illness so I’ve been reading up again.”

  “Why didn’t you talk to me?” I knew from my own recent experiences what Seth must have been through. Why hadn’t he felt able to confide in me?

  “It was something I needed to sort out for myself. I didn’t want you to know about Mum’s condition and I certainly didn’t want you to think I was going bonkers!”

  “Wallis, you’ve always been bonkers to me!” I pulled him into a hug. “In a silly let’s-find-out-if-bolognese-sauce-makes-worms-taste-like-spaghetti way – not a mentally-ill-needing-brain-surgery way.” I hastily added. He laughed at the reference to his first attempt at cooking – left-over pasta sauce dribbled over a bowl of worms harvested after a heavy downpour. Elizabeth had caught us halfway through the banquet. She’d given us salt water to make us throw up then she brought out the ice-cream to placate the tearful four-year olds.

  “So are we gonna fill in this application or what?” Seth said.

  We entered the required contact information and an outline of Seth’s suggested thesis. The funding request was in respect of the costs involved in travelling to major specialist clinics and surgeries throughout the world to gain first-hand inte
rviews and materials as evidence for the project findings. It seemed a bit flimsy to me but Seth had a point – Mrs Johnson may grasp any opportunity to find a cure for her husband. With a flourish Seth pressed the “Submit” button on-screen. As he did so, I felt a sharp tightening in my stomach – the sort of feeling you get just before the rollercoaster starts its first dive.

  I hate rollercoasters!

  CHAPTER 32

  Ellingham: 5 August 2110

  Right you lot, behave yourselves.

  It was silly talking to the voices in my own head, especially as I knew they couldn’t hear me, but it was the only way I could handle the weirdness. I was going to try to isolate individuals and was scared that I’d be opening the floodgates and letting all the connections out at once. I remembered the first time they had hit me full-on and I didn’t want to experience that again. Seth had insisted that I wait until the morning following our application to the Johnson Foundation before I attempted anything. He wanted me to be fully rested after that unexpected shout from Dale had all-but floored me. Rested? Who was he kidding? I hadn’t slept a wink all night. My mind churned, trying to work out how we were going to find the murdered victims’ PTs and what I would say to them when, or even if, we did.

  “You look worn out this morning,” said Mum, as she passed a plate of scrambled eggs to me.

  “I’m fine.” The yawn turning my assurance into a lie. “Just miles away.”

  “Have you got any news for your father? He’s beginning to fret about that diary of Elizabeth’s.”

  “Mum, we’ve only just started to look at it properly, but I really don’t think Dad’s got anything to worry about. It’s not like we’re about to jet off to some secluded castle and confront a megalomaniac holding the greatest weapon of mass destruction!” I joked, to cover my own doubts. I was nervous enough about playing around in my head and that was before I considered what we were going to do if we ever did find out who the killer was.