by Matt Whyman
The boy looks at the building he’s left behind, and senses with absolute conviction that he escaped from here the way he just arrived. He reaches for the fading bump on his head, aware now why it had seemed so odd to him that he should suffer so much from what he’d thought was such a basic fall. Then there had been his interest in the upper levels of this city, and not just when Julius had let the moonlight flood inside the summit of the Seven Dials. Even Mikhail had noticed him checking out the rooftops from the alley. He’d even spelled it out to him.
“I’m a free runner,” says Yoshi to himself. This morning, those words hadn’t rung any bells. Now they pealed away inside his mind. “I’m a parkour!” The way this last term leaves his lips, it doesn’t sound foreign at all. Nor does he feel any need to translate it to himself, for he knows full well what it means.
Rising to his feet on this verdant rooftop, a string of memories spool through Yoshi’s mind – of moonlit jumps, high-wire twists and rooftop vaults he’d been forced to perform in a desperate bid for freedom. They play out like a show reel, reminding the boy how he’d crossed London without once touching the ground. As a parkour, it wasn’t the first time he’d travelled in this way. A parkour took a map, and drew a long, straight line from A to B without a care for the layout of the streets. Whatever obstacles the line crossed, from multistorey car parks to housing estates laid out like dominoes, a parkour would find a way over and around them. Why stick to pavements? That’s what a true disciple would ask, as Yoshi recalls so clearly now. A parkour didn’t need a skateboard or a mountain bike to make the most of this city landscape. Just a boundless imagination, physical grace, and an ability to flow like water no matter what stood in your way. It wasn’t a gift, like the one Julius had been so keen to explore with him. This ability, Yoshi can say with absolute certainty, he has mastered from scratch. Aware now that he is standing on top of a building he has been inside before, the mist that masks all memory of his escape continues to clear. Indeed, as he recalls now, the city itself had been quite fog-bound several nights earlier . . . when he called upon his flair as a free runner to escape with his life.
“Oh my,” Yoshi whistles to himself, reflecting on how his flight out of here had enraged his pursuer. Too bulky to scale the heights after him, the brute had shadowed the boy from below, threatening him with a sticky end if he didn’t come down right away. But Yoshi had ignored him, and continued to leap and bound over the lamplit streets, scrambling from one building to the next.
By the time he had arrived over London’s theatre-land, poor Yoshi was on his last legs. He had kept to one side of Shaftesbury Avenue, hopping, swinging, reaching and jumping his way between pitched roofs, glass domes and oversized hoardings for musicals and shows. If only he hadn’t been tempted to stop to catch his breath on the huge electronic billboard overlooking Piccadilly Circus, he might have lost his pursuer on the pavement way below. At the time, it really seemed to Yoshi that he’d pulled it off. There he was, perched on the lower gantry of the massive advertising screen, thankful that the only thing showing at that time of night was a sponsor’s logo set against a thick black frame. Among the late revellers, he had spied a familiar bald dome turning circles on the spot. There he was, below the statue of Eros, the god of love – although there was none lost between these two. It had amused the boy to watch him scour this busy intersection, helpless after all this time. Yoshi would’ve happily stayed on his perch until the brute had abandoned his search, had his back not suddenly heated up as millions of tiny lamps burst into light.
As an advertisement for himself, Yoshi couldn’t have made a bigger impact. Even the flashy sequence that fired up behind him had never drawn such an audience. First, the boy’s presence earned a shriek from the far pavement, and then hands shot up to point at him. Cast in silhouette by the giant LED screen, the boy found himself the centre of attention for more than just the man in a mink. With no time to plan properly, he had dropped from the ledge onto the roof of a slow-moving double-decker bus – and pulled off the stunt to perfection!
Except that the bus promptly halted at a passenger stop. What’s more, the man who then muscled his way to the front of the queue didn’t look like he was hoping to find a quiet seat for a snooze. Unwilling to hang around for the brute to snatch him from the roof, Yoshi had been left with no choice but to break the number one free runner’s rule.
He had dropped to the ground, and fled on foot.
There, the chase had really kicked in. With no height or acrobatic advantage over the brute, Yoshi had been forced to hit the streets as fast as his legs would carry him. He possessed the speed and stamina to outrun the man. What let the boy down was London at street level. It just wasn’t a familiar environment to him, unlike the gables and parapets above. By the time Yoshi had blundered into the veils of fog over Chinatown, the gap was beginning to close. Had the boy not gone to earth in a dead-end alley, he wouldn’t be right here now on this rooftop garden. Where the story of his escape had started.
20
FROM THE TOP DOWN
Turning to face the foliage, Yoshi doesn’t just feel revived. The return of at least some of his memory makes him feel reborn! The vision thing may have set him apart from most other kids, but his ability to free run lifted him way over their heads. Still, he reminds himself, it hadn’t quite secured his freedom that night of the chase. If anything, it had dropped him into a world that was both thrilling and chilling in equal measure. Yoshi thinks of the crew of tricksters and illusionists he has left behind, and the old man who showed him the magic that both encompassed the city and defied all explanation. He feels bad, just turning his back on them, but this is a personal matter he has to sort out himself. Even so, Yoshi can’t help thinking he would feel a whole lot less nervous if that band of young street performers was behind him right now.
Across the roof garden, up-lights have been planted in the soil. Shadows sway among the palm fronds, which bow as the boy wades in like some Victorian explorer of old. Blades of pampas grass close behind the path he forges, as if drawing him in deeper. Just as Yoshi begins to worry about the size of the venus fly-traps he’s had to step around, he pushes out into a clearing. At the centre, sunk into the roof, is a big skylight. The way it glows so brightly reminds the boy of campfires, but from a time he can’t recall. Even so, with his past beginning to spark and crackle again, Yoshi hopes it won’t be long before the story of his life burns bright as a beacon. Creeping out of the undergrowth, careful not to make a sound, Yoshi dares to peek through the glass.
What he sees takes him back, but to where, remains a mystery. The skylight overlooks a central space all the way down to another exotic landscape in the lobby. The centrepiece is a folly of the highest order: some kind of tropical water feature, finished with mangrove and ringed by boulders chiselled into benches. A number of hallways lead into this central area, reminding the boy of spokes in a bicycle wheel.
Several floors are stacked around this atrium, with polished marble surfaces and balconies bearded by hanging plants. None of it brings any memories to mind, but Yoshi has been to this place before, without a doubt. And spent quite some time here, too, if his sense of recognition is to be believed. What concerns him more than anything is the presence of so many guards. Even on the upper level, he can see several leaning against the balcony, admiring the miniature Eden below. It’s an impressive layout, he has to admit. Yoshi even begins to wonder whether anything bad could occur in a place like this. He had half expected to find some grim interrogation centre with wire cages and manacles. This looks more like a private hospital . . . or a research foundation, perhaps, set up by an investment bank looking to profit from the future.
The thought hangs over Yoshi like a bulb with a broken filament. It doesn’t shed light on what he’s looking at here. It just feels as if it would do if everything was working properly in his mind. Bit by bit his memory continues to come back. It’s as if this vision thing of his had encouraged him here, knowing it
would jog yet more recollections. If he really was in possession of a psychic power, a knock to the head clearly couldn’t touch it. And with so much more to discover about himself, he decides, this place right under his nose could prove to be as familiar to him as the lifelines on the palm of his hands.
Yoshi rests his chin on his fists, lost in thought. The view from here is really quite pleasant, he decides, as is the jungle surrounding him. So when a young girl’s angry shout shatters the peace, Yoshi is up on his hands and knees, ready to fight or take flight. Another cry, this time from a guard, who rushes around the balcony on the middle floor towards the source of the outburst. His call for assistance echoes across the atrium, as does the squeak of jackboots on marble. At the same time, a bright glow spreads out to the balcony, out of which backs a woman in a white coat with her hair up in a bun. Despite his bird’s-eye view, Yoshi can’t quite see what’s causing this intense display. Even so, he’s forced to squint as the glare turns a seething shade of scarlet, and then gasps as a plate and a flurry of sandwich squares fly out from the same source.
“I will not eat!” shouts a voice. “Not until you stop punishing us just because Yoshi was smart enough to escape!”
“Do stop saying he escaped,” the woman replies. She may have managed to sidestep the plate, but the calm in the tone of her voice can’t disguise her annoyance. “Everyone here is admitted by consent of their families, as you know very well.”
“So why do these goons lock our doors at night?”
“To keep you safe from yourselves,” she answers firmly. By now, the guards have arrived on the scene. Even so, they keep their distance, gathered as they are on the fringe of this hot-looking haze. “It’s all part of the treatment.”
“Treatment?” the girl sounds like she’s paused to spit her contempt on the floor. “Don’t insult me!”
“Your parents are aware of our techniques. If they harboured any doubts they would never have released you into our care for the duration of the programme.”
“So why can’t I just call them, huh?”
“Because, Livia, they have appointed us to be your temporary guardians. They recognise that complete immersion in the programme is required for you to make a full recovery, which means no contact with the outside world. Like us, they don’t want you to feel ashamed or persecuted for the special things that you can do. We’re here to help you connect with your inner self, so that ultimately we’re able to release you in full control of your capabilities.”
Yoshi listens intently, watching the guards out by the balcony trade glances like the girl is totally cuckoo. He notices the wash of light has ebbed from their feet, like a slow tide on the turn.
“I don’t want to control my aura!” he hears the girl say, sounding quieter but still as spiky, “It’s a part of who I am, and you lot can’t control me!”
“You need to remind yourself why you’re here, Livia. Even you must admit that what sets you apart from others has caused you grief and persecution.” The woman in the white coat stands her ground. The glare she’s facing continues to retreat, stopping in front of her shoes now. “You may feel cut off from the world around you right now, but you’re not isolated from those who have been through a similar experience. Together with the other residents you can make sense of it, and be stronger as a result.”
“We’re freaks,” the girl called Livia replies plainly. “Why don’t you just say it to my face? We’ve all heard the staff here talk about us like we belong in a circus sideshow.”
The woman sighs. “You’re not freaks. You simply have minds that appear to work on a unique level.”
“So we’re freaks.”
“Livia, you have to eat. Without food you’ll grow weak.”
“Which means I’ll be useless to the Foundation. You’d have to find another guinea pig to take my place for Aleister’s experiments, and that would be a setback, wouldn’t it? In fact, with Yoshi gone, you’ll have to make that two!”
As the girl voices her irritation, so the glow begins to build once more. The guards shift away, looking a little restless now. The woman in the white coat retreats by a step, showing her palms to the source of the light now.
“Oh, Livia. Please stop testing my patience,” she says, with some hesitation this time. “Aleister is a therapist, as well you know. In bringing so many of you together, he simply wants everyone on the programme to feel united. It’s not an experiment. It’s a healing process. The sense of harmony is intended to restore your self-confidence. Ultimately, it’ll help you to control your . . . special nature.”
The way she says this makes Yoshi smile, for it’s plain the woman doesn’t wish to stir up the livid haze coming from this unseen girl. He clasps his hands under his chin, almost enjoying the light show below.
“If this is a group project,” the girl can be heard to say next, “why does he pay so much attention to just a few of us?”
“Livia, your welfare is our priority. Everything from the gardens to the games room is designed to bring out the best in everyone. Aleister’s approach is to provide select groups quality time. You’re one of the lucky few. If everyone went on his city excursions, you wouldn’t enjoy the benefit of his personal coaching.”
“Oh, let’s not start on the day trips,” Livia complains. “I don’t want to visit another church until I’m carried inside one in a coffin.”
“Education and enlightenment is all part of the programme.”
“But it’s so boring!” the girl complains, and the haze pulses around the woman in the white coat. “I’m not interested in architecture or history. Besides, as soon as we get there Aleister spends most of his time on a mobile phone.”
“You’re not the only one who deserves a trip, madam. There are seven church excursions for him to orchestrate so that every member of your group can share the same experience independently.”
“But why can’t we just go to the cinema?”
“That’s enough!” The woman in the white coat jabs her hands to her hips. It’s clear to Yoshi that she’s lost all patience, for she doesn’t flinch when the glare surrounding her begins to flex and flash. “You’re setting a bad example to everyone else, and we will not tolerate it! Now, eat your supper, brush your teeth, get to bed and switch off your lights. Communicating with you, Livia, is like trying to hold down a conversation in a cheap disco!”
The silence that greets the woman’s outburst weighs heavier by the second. Yoshi senses that all is not well, as do the guards down there. They back away from the light as it pools once more, and then freeze when it swirls and eddies around the woman.
“I’ll eat if that’s what you want,” the girl announces, sounding deeply fed up. “Just let me dine in peace!”
At first Yoshi thinks he is witnessing yet another levitation trick. For this stern-looking woman suddenly drops her hands from her waist and appears to rise up off the floor. From his vantage point, it looks like she’s on tiptoe, but then the balls of her feet lift away too. Horrified, she looks to her toes, then appeals to the girl for release.
“Put me down!” she shrieks. “I will not tolerate this level of insolence!”
“Too late,” the girl replies, chuckling as the object of her scorn floats up and away, over the heads of the astonished-looking guards, and out into the atrium.
“Stop this!” Kicking her legs in vain, the woman shrieks in frustration as one shoe slips away. It drops two flights, splashing into the water feature below, followed by the woman herself. She doesn’t fall so fast, however, but seems to descend quite gently in the clutches of this swirling light. She thrashes and curses and protests all the way, pausing only for a shocked intake of breath on receiving the dowsing Yoshi believes she deserves. For a moment, she disappears under the murky surface of the water. When she returns, her neat hair is so coated in weed she could be sporting dreadlocks. Yoshi doesn’t stop to see her climb out, or wait for the final trade of insults. For what he has just witnessed both amazes him a
nd makes perfect sense. As the guards rush down to haul the woman onto the rocks, he tests the skylight seal with his fingers. Yoshi pulls at it until a quiet cracking sound tells him that he’s in. He may not recall vowing to this girl that he would return, but abandoning her now is out of the question. Coming to her rescue is something he feels like he has to do. Judging by the episode he’s just witnessed, clearly only a fool would dare to get in Livia’s bad books.
21
ONE SUGAR OR TWO?
Warm air rises from the atrium to greet Yoshi. With his fingertips under the seal now, he lifts and then shifts the skylight to one side. If he drops down from here, the pond in the lobby won’t cushion his fall. A free runner might know how to absorb the bone-shattering shocks from all kind of leaps, but they also had to respect their limits. Yoshi bites his lower lip. It’s one thing to have rediscovered his calling as a parkour. For the sheer rush, it even beats this psychic eye of his. All he needs to recall now is just how far he can go with each gift.
“Tell me, Livia, when will you learn some respect for authority?” Way below, despite submitting to the care of the guards, the soaking wet woman continues to rant and rage. She glowers at the floor from which she’s just been so breathtakingly evicted, though the misty light has retracted now. In fact, Yoshi can’t decide if it’s an aura or the glare from a fluorescent strip coming through an open door. “Even if you’d earned another day trip,” shouts the woman from below, her sense of duty gone, “you’ve blown it now. I’m ordering the door to your quarters to be locked, for the safety of my staff, do you hear? One day’s confinement should encourage you to realise that abusing your powers like that is wholly unacceptable!”
