by S M Stuart
Dad came in, balancing a huge tray filled with a selection of drinks, sandwiches and cakes.
“We thought you might like some supper, having missed your evening meal,” he said, as he offered the refreshments to Samuel and Seth. When appetites were satisfied, the men started discussing the latest cricket results and Mum kept glancing my way to make sure I hadn’t quietly expired. In spite of my best efforts, I did start to wilt fairly quickly. I was drained from the excitement of the latest trauma, even if it was only a cut finger – I was sure I’d lost half my body’s blood supply at least! Some unspoken gesture alerted Seth and I was in his arms again as he carried me to my room. Mum climbed the stairs ahead of us, no doubt feeling we needed a chaperone now that we were a couple.
“See you tomorrow,” Seth whispered as he kissed my forehead. His fingers swept down my cheek and I grabbed his hand to kiss his palm. Mum was standing by the door and couldn’t have seen the gesture but her expression was one of mixed feelings. I allowed myself to sense her thoughts – it was wrong of me, I know, but I’m not perfect. Surprisingly, she had no negative thoughts about Seth, she was very fond of him, but she was worried about me becoming sexually active and she was concerned about the possibility of an unplanned pregnancy. Why can’t parents trust their kids? The memory of my sudden hunger for sex with Seth the other day answered the question for me.
But that wasn’t really me! Was it?
CHAPTER 36
Sandridge Magna: 21 April 2106
“No, Gramps, the campaign’s going fine. Don’t worry, L and D are enjoying the kudos of having the youngest independent candidate coming from their firm.”
“Are you sure you’re prepared to break off your career if you’re elected? Even a back-bench MP has a huge responsibility to their constituents.” Matt Simpson’s hologram features creased with his concern.
“The law and politics – what could be a better combination? When I did my gap-year with Johnsons I saw how difficult it was to make real change happen. Politicians lost their passion a long time ago. Maybe having PTs tones it down for some people but I’m lucky – mine’s as committed as I am. Come on Gramps, you and Great-Granny Julia made your mark funding the tele-prep introduction. It’s our generation’s turn.”
“Okay, okay!” Matt waved his hands in surrender. “We Lords do our bit for King and Country too you know,” he laughed. “I don’t need your rallying speech, young lady.”
“Sorry.” Beth shrugged her shoulders. “I get carried away sometimes.”
“Your mother has invited us all for Sunday lunch. Will you be able to join us?”
She grinned at her grandfather’s attempt to steer the conversation onto safer ground.
“Love to,” she said. “And I might have something to share with you by then.” She winked and watched the hologram of Matt’s puzzled face dissolve as she broke the connection.
She turned to the pile of papers strewn across the floor. Great-Granny Julia’s notes, cuttings and old official documents from her great-grandfather’s time in the House of Lords held the clue, she was sure of it. As a lawyer she’d learned that there were few truly significant coincidences in life – or death. She had a talent for finding patterns that revealed the connections of apparently unrelated incidents.
Her interest in Julia’s obsession with the Trevalyn family had been reignited when her mentor Dale Johnson fell ill. He and Victor Trevalyn had been working together on a project in Lipostzi at the time. The media reported that a suspected drugs overdose had caused Dale’s collapse but Beth wasn’t prepared to accept that, despite the evidence of the leaked medical records.
She slid from the sofa to sit on the floor, picked up a sheaf of hand-written notes and began to read through them – again. Three hours later she sighed, straightened her stiff back and rubbed at her eyes. This was proving to be a toughie. She opened the Comms system and began trawling the InfoNet for any references to items that Julia had listed. Despite their global presence the Trevalyn Corporation had very little press – good or bad. Victor was a virtual recluse and she had to rely on her memory of him from that reception almost three years ago. The last time she’d seen Dale face-to-face too. It would’ve been nice to call him for advice but the twist was that without his sudden collapse, Beth wouldn’t have been looking through Julia’s files.
“Coffee!” Beth needed a break but didn’t want to go to bed just yet. She wandered into the kitchen, pausing to look at her digi-snap board. Her gap-year group grinned through the dust and sweat of their hard work. E-cards from friends now living abroad framed the collage of family events. One of those snaps gave her a renewed burst of energy. She tapped the board and the picture enlarged to show Beth as a child, dressed in a peach bridesmaid dress and lacy tights. She was standing with the bride and groom, slightly forward of the happy couple and straining to be the centre of attention – then, she’d thought their smiles were just for her. She knew better now of course.
“Uncle Jonny and Aunt Ce-Ce,” she whispered. Maybe it was the time to test her theory about their professional past.
CHAPTER 37
Ellingham: 6 August 2110
No, it was left-over feelings from Nicole, wasn’t it?
Alvin had arranged for us to meet at his office and I hoped that he’d have the answer to my shared memories and feelings. If my new sexual appetite was merely Nicole’s unfulfilled desires, how would I know when it was me wanting to be with Seth rather than Nicole wanting to be with Tomas? Not that I was about to ask Alvin to solve that little problem for me!
Seth had come over to mine in the morning as promised and, to appease Mum, we’d had a very sedate few hours watching classic holo-films and having lunch with her. She’d done her mother-hen bit and checked my finger countless times to make sure the wound hadn’t split. It was nice to feel loved again after our cool relationship of recent years, but it was beginning to suffocate me. I was glad that Alvin had suggested we went to his office this time – it gave us chance to escape Mum’s fussing.
“How’s the finger?” Seth asked.
“Don’t you start.”
“Only asking,” he responded, in a peeved tone. “You were swinging your arm as we walked so I thought it might’ve made it throb again.”
I had to admit to myself that my finger did feel a bit uncomfortable but I wasn’t going to own up to it. “No, it’s fine. Thank you.”
“Liar,” he said and gently gave the offending digit a make-it-better kiss.
I laughed and moved closer to him as he draped his arm around my shoulders. I wondered if we were just going through a teenage crush, whether we’d still be together after the Academy, after University – if we got there. The simple concerns of a ‘normal’ teenager were a pleasant diversion from all the other stuff we had to think about so I indulged myself with a few more carefree, romantic daydreams of our future.
Alvin didn’t have a receptionist at his office which was situated above ‘Bloomin-Marvellous’, Ellingham’s most expensive florists – the sort where a single, exotic bloom would be elegantly displayed in the window. We climbed the stairs to the half-glazed door and buzzed the intercom.
“One moment, please.” A recorded female voice replied. Then the auto-lock hummed and the door opened. “Please take a seat. Mr Grey will be with you shortly,” the voice advised. I just managed to stop myself saying an automatic thank you to the disembodied assistant.
The room was clean and functional with modern furniture, a water cooler, pristine vertical blinds at the window and a holo-vid currently showing the options menu for the latest cricket tournaments. Seth’s eyes lit up as he headed towards the screen.
“Hi guys.” Alvin’s voice stopped Seth in his tracks. “Come in. Come in. I’ve got something I want to discuss with you,” Alvin continued. His excitement was catching and I felt buoyed-up, expecting some good news to come from the meeting. Seth looked longingly at the holo-vid then followed me into Alvin’s inner office. This was a distinct c
ontrast to the waiting area. It was still clean and tidy, but it was furnished with antiques and decorated in a classical style. Alvin’s desk was a huge, dark-wood affair with a well-worn, green leather insert on the top. Both the wood and the leather shone from centuries of polishing. There was a chaise-longue to one side of the room and I looked at it warily.
“Don’t worry, Dez. You don’t need to sit there,” Alvin said, having spotted my discomfort. “Not many people use it these days but some, like the client I told you about, feel that hypnotherapy isn’t genuine without the stage-props. Anyway,” he added. “I didn’t ask you here for a hypno session. I’ve come up with a theory about your memories.”
At last! I thought as I sank into a large Chesterfield-style club chair. The arms of the chair were so high I couldn’t reach over them to hold Seth’s hand and although the seat was comfortable I felt isolated inside its hugeness. I pulled myself forward so that I was perched at the front of the chair. Seth’s hand found mine and I relaxed knowing I wasn’t alone after all.
“I spoke to a number of my colleagues,” Alvin began, “and did some InfoNet research. I believe I have an explanation for your memories of those murders. I think you are experiencing them third-hand.”
“Third-hand?” Seth and I asked in unison.
“Yes. Dez, you have these remote connections, don’t you? So it’s possible – even probable that you can link to the murderer. Now, what if that murderer is one of those people who can sense others beside their own PT? Someone who can feel and hear everything that the victim does when they are in close proximity? The murderer absorbs the victim’s last few moments as though the experience is their own. You come along and tap into the murderer’s thoughts and feelings, but from the view point of the victims.” Alvin sat back in his chair and waved his hands over his desk as though presenting a tray of jewellery for inspection.
We all sat in silence for a few moments, considering the theory, thinking through the logic and finally agreeing with the argument. There couldn’t be any other explanation – well, another was that I’d suffered a mental breakdown but that wasn’t an option I wanted to consider.
“So, if I can perfect the closing off of the connections, I could break that link and not have the memories any more?”
“It’s possible,” Alvin replied. Then he frowned. “Dez. The other day when you spoke about isolating connections you were talking about the murderer weren’t you?”
If there was one time I wished I could lie convincingly it was then. Poor Seth – he’d kept his mother’s secret for four years and in less than a week I’d managed to get my parents, his dad, Aunt Jen and Henri in on the act. Now Alvin was getting suspicious and I didn’t have a good enough explanation handy to sooth his anxiety. My hero stepped into the breach.
“Mr Grey,” Seth said. “Dez simply wanted to clear up why she’s been having these flashbacks. When we started to look up the news archives we discovered she’d experienced two real murders but only one was reported as a murder. There’s a long list of incidents that she feels could be linked to one killer. If she’s able to identify the killer we can alert the authorities.”
“What if the killer finds you first? Remember he or she can also link to people other than their own PT.”
“But you said they’re only likely to hear someone they’re close to at the time.” I protested. Alvin still didn’t look convinced. He removed his specs and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“This really goes against my better judgement, but I can’t stop you experimenting in your own head, can I? Although I urge you not to do anything that puts you in any kind of danger – mentally as well as physically. Think what this person is capable of and then consider if it’s worth the risk to your own health, Dez.”
I saw Seth nodding in agreement with Alvin’s assessment. They both looked at me as though I was a condemned prisoner on my way to the executioner’s block. As if I wasn’t already scared to death, having experienced the killer’s cruelty first – or third – hand.
“Don’t worry, Alvin,” I said. “I’ve no intention of letting him get close to me in any sense.” I saw his quick intense glance as he heard me put a gender to the killer.
“What makes you think it’s a man?” he asked.
“I remember his voice from the murders. I can’t remember his face clearly but I’d definitely know his voice if I heard it again.” I shuddered – the spine rattling shiver of someone walking over my grave.
“Fascinating,” Alvin leaned forward over his desk. I’d piqued his professional curiosity again. “He must be able to interfere with the victims’ sensory receptors. Or maybe this is a demonstration of the theory that the last sense one loses in death is hearing. Therefore, that’s the strongest memory for you during these flashbacks.”
I began to worry that Alvin was going to ask me to try to remember another murder so I stood up and, without thinking held my out arm for a parting hand-shake.
“Thank you for your help, Alvin. I need to think things through before I decide what to do next. I’m managing to keep most of the connections under control in the subconscious room that we built and I don’t want to jeopardise that,” I said.
“You’re welcome, Dez,” he replied, taking my hand in both of his and shaking it vigorously.
“OUCH!”
“Oh! I’m so sorry, Dez. I didn’t notice your injury. Been in the wars again?”
“Mmph. S’okay. Just a slip whilst cutting radishes,” I managed between lips pressed together in a grimace of pain.
“I hope I haven’t set back the healing.” He frowned and I could sense his concern that he’d hurt me. “Please do let me know how you get on and if there’s anything else I can do for you. I’m sure I speak for Debbie, too.” The softening of his expression and the lilt in his voice as he said her name confirmed my suspicions of the other day – they were definitely a couple too.
Ooh, wait ‘til we get back to class!
CHAPTER 38
Ellingham: 6 August 2110
Hope Henri can find Simone.
I didn’t want to connect telepathically to the murderer ever again. At the moment our best lead would be Simone, assuming Henri could convince her to talk to us. And if Mrs Johnson also contacted us about our ‘thesis’ there was a chance we could find some solid evidence to help solve Elizabeth’s clues. Otherwise, it seemed the only way we’d discover the murderer’s identity would be for me to hunt him down in my own head – despite my promise to Alvin.
“Penny for them,” Seth said, as we walked along the High Street towards the ecotram terminus.
“You couldn’t afford ’em. There’re far too many,”
“I meant just yours.” His mildly hurt tone reminded me that he hadn’t yet connected with his own PT. Maybe he was feeling isolated despite his sympathy for my own opposite affliction.
“Sorry,” I said. “I was thinking about Simone and Mrs Johnson and hoping that we’ll get a breakthrough from what they might be able to tell us.”
“Don’t you think we’re getting in a bit too deep here?”
“What do you mean?”
“Dez, we have no back-up if things start to get heavy. What if you do identify the killer? If Mum couldn’t tell the authorities who he was, what makes you think you can?”
“There doesn’t seem to be anything stopping me telling you who I can hear, does there?”
Seth paused as if he was about to argue but realised that I hadn’t had any problems talking about my connections so he tried a different approach.
“What if he can hear you and he works out we’re on to him?”
“He’ll only hear me if he’s close to me and I’m not going to stand around next to a complete stranger waiting to see if he pounces, am I? Besides, I’ve got my big, brave Seth to protect me!”
The frown remained on Seth’s face.
“All right,” I said. “Let’s see if Simone and Mrs J give us anything new to go on. If not, we’re at a dead e
nd anyway and, if they do have something useful, we’ll assess whether we should go further with it or pass everything on to the authorities, okay?”
He gave a begrudging shrug but tightened his grip on my hand – luckily it was my left hand. The summer afternoon heat was building and my finger was throbbing. I slipped my thumb through my bag strap to keep that hand close to my shoulder. It helped ease the pain a little but I still felt uncomfortable and I wasn’t convinced it was all down to the weather. Seth was right. What hope did we have of exposing the killer if he’d managed to keep ahead of the authorities all these years? At the time, there’d been no reports of a man-hunt for a serial killer so there couldn’t be any tangible evidence to unite the murders that Elizabeth had linked in her Handi. Would the police take any notice of us if we did go to them? I felt a twinge of bitterness towards Elizabeth. Why did she leave that damned diary? I had enough to cope with, having all those multi-channels in my head! The feeling passed quickly, though. Elizabeth had merely wanted someone to put a stop to his killings if she failed in her attempt and the only way she could help expose him was via the clues in her Handi. It must’ve been hard for her, knowing that Seth or Samuel would end up with this responsibility and I was ashamed for my brief indulgence in self-pity.
“You’re off again,” Seth said.
“Sorry. Did you say something?”
“No.” He laughed at my concerned expression, “Don’t worry. I’m getting used to you having your internal conversations.”
“I wasn’t listening to anyone,” I replied, stung by his assumption. “I’m not permanently eavesdropping, you know.”
