by Amy Cross
"You can trust me," I say, walking toward Constance.
"Stop!" she shouts, pulling the spare gun from her belt. "I have authorization to shoot you if necessary."
"Me?" I ask, shocked. I can see from the look in her eyes that she's highly-strung, and I can't trust that she'll necessarily make the right decisions. She's not someone who usually operates in pressure situations, which makes it doubly strange that Benjamin even sent her with me in the first place. There's still something I don't quite understand about what's happening. "You're not going to shoot me, Constance," I say.
"Let's hope not," she replies firmly, "but if you come any closer, I'll drop you. I won't aim to kill, but I'll drop you in your tracks." Keeping the gun trained on me, she starts fumbling to activate the digital flare.
I look down at Patrick. He's healing slowly, but he's still too weak to get up. We make eye contact for a moment, and I see the pain in his eyes. I don't feel sorry for him, though. No matter how much this hurts, it's nothing compared to the pain Sophie must have felt when this monster killed her. I can't imagine how many people he's probably killed in his lifetime, but it's kind of appropriate that he should suffer real pain toward the end.
"Do you know how to activate these things?" Constance asks, still fiddling with the flare.
"Give it to me," I say, looking over at her.
"No chance," she replies. "Don't worry, I think I've got it."
"It should have a -" I start to say, before noticing that the flare isn't actually a flare at all. "Constance," I say, feeling a sense of absolute horror growing in my gut, "that's not a flare."
"Benjamin warned me you might try to trick me," she says, continuing to fiddle with the device. "He told me I wouldn't be able to trust you."
"Constance -"
"I'm sorry he was right," she says, trying to rotate the top of the device.
"Don't -" I start to say.
It's too late. She manages to activate it. There's a brief pause, and then it happens: a massive explosion blows out this entire side of the house. I turn and try to shield my face as the blast smashes me straight through the wall and everything goes black. My last thought, though, is that this can't be the end. I can't die yet; I still have to see Sophie one more time.
Chapter Four
Denver, Colorado - Six years ago.
The Seargram Institute is located just outside Denver, close to the airport, and it's by no means an easy place to get to. No buses run close by, and the taxi drivers all seem a little reluctant to head out that way. Eventually I find one guy who says he'll take me if I pay double-fare, and even then he seems kind of nervous. I figure I have no choice, so I take him up on his offer and we set off on the short drive. He barely says a word to me all the way, as we drive beyond the city limits. It's almost as if he's scared.
Eventually a large industrial complex appears on the horizon, and the taxi driver pulls up next to a gate. He tells me this is as far as he's willing to go, and that I'll have to walk the last couple of miles. Reluctantly paying him for this rather incomplete service, I get out of the taxi and watch as he drives away. As I turn and head through the gate, I notice a small camera turning to track my every move.
Strangely, though, there seems to be very little obvious security around this place. I'm not stopped once on the road that leads to the main building, and no-one challenges me as I walk through the main door. I go to the reception desk and explain why I'm here, and I'm directed to sit over by the window and wait for someone to come and meet me. A few minutes later, as I'm staring out at the view, I hear footsteps coming closer and I turn to see an elderly man limping in my direction. It takes me a moment to realize that I've seen him before, and a moment longer to realize that he's the man who spoke to me at Sophie's funeral all those years ago.
"Todd Hart?" he asks, smiling as he reaches out a hand for me to shake. "It's been a while, but I'm glad you were finally able to make it."
"Hi," I say, standing up. "I... Benjamin, right?"
"I'm flattered you remember me," he says. "It's been a long time since your sister's unfortunate passing."
"Almost ten years," I reply.
"Such a tragedy," he continues. "Whenever a young life is snuffed out, I feel as if the natural order has been overturned."
I smile meekly, unsure what to say.
"Please," Benjamin says, apparently sensing my discomfort, "come with me and I'll show you the facility." He leads me across the large, open foyer, toward a set of elevators. "I hope you didn't have too much trouble finding the place," he continues. "I'm afraid some of the locals can be rather superstitious about coming out here. I suppose it's understandable, in a way. They don't understand what we do, and what little they hear..." He hits the Call button, and the elevator doors open. "To the closed mind, advanced technology can appear to be magic," he says as we step into the chamber and the doors close. As the elevator starts going down, he turns to me. "You must have a lot of questions."
"Just a few," I say cautiously, feeling overwhelmed by the opulence of this place. It's like a huge, high-tech palace filled with the latest technology. "The scholarship -"
"Forget the scholarship," Benjamin replies. "It's nothing. It's just a few bits of paper designed to get you out here. I've been keeping an eye on you ever since your sister's death, and now I'm going to show you what I have to offer in return for your assistance."
"My assistance?"
The elevator comes to a halt, and the doors open to reveal a long, brightly-lit corridor. "Welcome to Seargram," Benjamin says as we step out of the elevator chamber. "Well, that's not entirely accurate. Seargram is a smokescreen. It's a real company, doing real work in the field of atomic micro-processors, but it's designed merely to distract people from the real work that goes on here. As you'll soon understand, we need to stay below the radar. Allow me to show you what we do down here." He leads me along the corridor. "The Watchers have come a long way since the early days. It's hard to believe that, once, we were considered to be nothing more than a group of cranks. That was before my time, of course. We're currently the world's leading organization in the field of crypto-scientific research."
"Crypto-scientific?" I ask. It's not a term I've heard before.
"We cover areas that are traditionally ignored by the mainstream," he continues. "We look at events and realities that others would dismiss as hokum. In many cases, they're absolutely correct, but in a tiny minority, we discover things that make all our work worthwhile."
"You sent me a photo," I say.
"We did," he replies. "A photo of Patrick, I believe. I imagine that image must have caught your attention. Not many people know about Patrick, and photographs of him are extremely rare." We reach a side-door, which he opens with a key-card. "Step inside, please."
I walk through the door and find myself in a huge room, lined with row upon row of shelving. It seems to be some kind of warehouse. "What is this place?" I ask, turning to Benjamin. "Where -" Suddenly there's a heavy rumble above us; I look up at the ceiling, and after a few seconds the sound passes away. "What was that?"
"I'm sorry about the noise," he replies. "I'm afraid we're directly beneath the main runway at the airport. I've tried everything over the years to insulate us from that sound, but I just can't come up with a solution. Perhaps you'll be able to think of something." He walks over to the nearest shelf, pulls out a plastic box and hands it to me. "Take a look in there," he says, smiling. "Tell me what you think you're looking at."
The box contains what appears to be a collection of small black pebbles. "Rocks," I say cautiously. "They're black, so... I guess they might be volcanic in origin?"
"Good answer," he says. "Completely wrong, of course, but then you're working with a very limited set of references. You'll soon learn." He takes the box back from me. "These are Tenderling stones, extracted from the bodies of Tenderlings we've been able to capture over the years." Putting the box away, he smiles. "The shelves of this facility are filled w
ith things you can't possibly imagine, and yet everything here is absolutely real. I run this place based on one very simple fact, which I believe underpins all human endeavor. This fact is simply that every event, every creature, every thing in the world can be explained by science. Even if God Himself descended upon the world at this very moment, I would be absolutely confident that he could be picked apart and understood."
"What's a Tenderling?" I say.
"You'll see," he replies. "We have several dead specimens in storage, plus some live creatures in a special holding unit. I think you'll find them to be most interesting."
"Is that why I'm here?" I ask. "Just so you can show me around?"
"You're here because I need you," Benjamin says, leading me through into a small side-room. Switching on the light, he walks to a cabinet on the opposite wall and opens it to reveal what appears to be a small white piece of cloth. He carries the cloth to a nearby table and lays it out carefully for me to see. "Do you know what this is?" he asks.
"It looks like a shawl," I say. "Is it for a baby?"
"It most certainly is," he replies. "Not just any baby, either. This is the shawl in which Abigail Hart was wrapped when she was found in New York. This shawl was used to protect your niece from the elements."
"I don't have a niece," I tell him.
"You most certainly do have a niece," he says. "She recently passed her tenth birthday. She lives down in New Mexico, of all places, with a childless couple who were kind enough to foster her. She knows nothing of her past, and at the moment she has no reason to be suspicious. For the most part, she appears to be a perfectly normal young girl, but that's all going to change. When she turns sixteen, she's going to realize that she's different. It's going to be a terrifying time for her, and it's at that point that I'm going to need you, so I decided to bring you here well in advance. I'm offering to train you up."
"As what?" I ask, struggling to take in everything he's telling me.
"As a Watcher. As a member of this organization. We're one of the world's most technologically advanced groups. We have things here that the FBI would dismiss as fantasy. In terms of resources and access to expert minds, there's nothing I can't give you. If you're willing to help me look after Abigail when she turns sixteen, I'll promise in return to support any work you wish to carry out for the rest of your life. I'll put our whole facility at your disposal. Our library, our equipment, our people. I'll help you change the world, if you'll agree to help me save one girl."
I pause for a moment. This all seems far too good to be true, but I can't argue with the evidence that's all around me. Benjamin comes across as being completely insane, but he's in charge of a stunning facility.
"Haven't you always felt that you have unfinished business when it comes to your sister?" he continues. "If you accept my offer, you can help protect her legacy by making sure her daughter is safe. Without you, we might not be able to keep her out of Patrick's hands. Do you really want your niece to be raised by a monster?"
"I'm still not convinced that I have a niece," I tell him.
"Give me one week to demonstrate the truth to you," he replies. "Give me just one week, and I'll show you everything we have here. I'll show you what the Watchers can do, and what we're working on. I'll show you creatures, alive and dead, that will challenge your understanding of the world. I'll prove to you that Patrick and your sister had a child, and that this child is going to need a great deal of help when she gets older. Give me just one week, and you'll see that everything I'm telling you is true. You are, of course, free to walk away at any time."
"I'm happy to stay for a week," I tell him, although to be honest I'm still not sure what to expect.
"Excellent," he replies, as a woman walks past the door. "Constance!" he calls out, and the woman turns and looks back into the room. "Will you come here for a moment?" he says. "There's someone I'd like you to meet."
An attractive woman who looks to be a year or two older than me, Constance enters the room and smiles as she shakes my hand.
"This is Constance, one of our trainee researchers," Benjamin says. "Constance, this is Todd Hart."
"The Todd Hart?" Constance says with a smile. "I've heard a lot about you."
"I'm not sure if that's a good thing," I reply.
"It's fine," she replies. "I've read your file, that's all."
"I have a file?"
"Everyone associated with Sophie Hart has a file here," she says. "Benjamin has taught us all to be extremely thorough."
"Constance will show you the other material we have that's related to Patrick and your sister," Benjamin says, walking to the door. "I'm afraid I have to do the rounds of some of the earthier departments, make sure they're behaving themselves and so on, but don't worry. You're in very good hands."
Once we're left alone, Constance smiles awkwardly. "So, I guess you want to see the bits and bobs, huh?" she says. "Would you like me to start with the baubles and work up to the mind-blowing stuff, or would you prefer to go straight for the prized exhibits?"
"Is he for real?" I ask, referring to Benjamin. Things are moving so fast, it feels as if my head is spinning. "He seems crazy."
"He's for real," she says, leading me back through to the main room, "and he's definitely crazy. But I promise you one thing. You can trust him with your life. He values people who are different and who can look at things from different angles. Once you get to know him, he's a very friendly guy. Don't worry, you'll love it here."
"Yeah," I reply, following her toward a door at the opposite end of the room. "I'm sure it'll be a blast."
Chapter Five
Louisiana, Today.
When I wake up, I find I'm face-down on the cold, wet ground. I'm outside the battered little house, and my left arm hurts like hell. Rolling onto my back, I look down and see that the arm is broken: the bone is jutting out just below the elbow, with blood slowly dripping down onto the ground. Grimacing against the pain, I look over and see a severed arm nearby; Constance was blown to pieces when the bomb went off, and her burned body parts are scattered across the clearing.
Looking up, I see the ruins of the house. One side of the building was almost completely destroyed. Why would Benjamin have set us up like that? Why would he tell Constance to activate a flare device, but then give her a bomb? Clearly he wanted us both out of the way, which can mean only one thing: he's started mopping up the loose ends as he prepares for the next stage of his plan. Whatever he's got in mind, obviously I'm not part of it and he has no intention of leaving me around. He was the one man I thought I could trust in the whole world, and now I realize he wants me dead.
Hearing movement nearby, I look back at the house and - to my surprise - I see Patrick emerging from the doorway. Walking slowly and carrying a limp, he heads down the steps and glances at me as he passes. The flesh on one side of his face is almost completely burned away. He must have taken a huge hit in the explosion, and it's a miracle that he's even able to walk.
"Where are you going?" I call after him, fighting against the pain. I struggle to my feet, holding my broken arm up in an attempt to reduce the bleeding. Feeling a sharp pain in my ankle, I look down and see that my foot is twisted. Whether it's broken or just fractured, it's going to hurt to walk. I'm effectively crippled out here, in the middle of nowhere, with no hope of being rescued and with barely any food or water. "You can't just leave!" I shout.
He doesn't respond. He just keeps on going, heading back toward the trees.
"Wait!" I call after him, determined not to let him go. I never thought I'd say this, but right now Patrick is my best hope. He might be a cold-hearted killer, and a monster, but at least in Benjamin we seem to have a common enemy. "You have to tell me what you want!" I shout. "Where's Abby?" I hurry after him, but my body is wracked with pain and I don't know how much longer I can keep this up. "Patrick!" I shout as loud as possible. "I need your help! I need you to help me save her!" I struggle forward, determined to keep up with him. If Be
njamin is trying to get me killed, I can't possibly go back to the Watchers. "Come back!" I shout, as I stumble and fall; I land on my bad arm, letting out a searing scream as the pain jolts my entire body.
I try to get up, but the pain is too much. Up ahead, Patrick is still limping along. I start crawling after him, dragging my shattered body across the ground and hoping that his impaired speed means I might have a chance of catching him. The truth, though, is that I know I'm dead. I've been in combat situations before, and I've seen how injuries progress. With proper medical help, I might have a chance, but I'm alone out here. Even if the Watchers find me, I doubt they'll do much to save my life. I have to assume that Benjamin is an enemy from now on, and I can't trust him for a moment. He led me into a trap, he used Constance to try to kill me, and he'll hunt me down and make sure I don't get away. No matter where I go, I'll never be safe again.
"Patrick!" I call out. "I'm on your side! We have to help Abby!"
He doesn't look back. Whatever he's doing, whatever his plan, he clearly has no interest in helping me. I still don't understand why he was so interested in this gruesome house in the middle of the Louisiana swamps; if he was trying to send me a message, it's failed to hit home. I keep crawling along the ground, struggling to make sure I can still see Patrick, but after a moment I feel the ground give way beneath me and I tumble down a mossy bank, splashing straight into a river. Although I try to grab hold of something to keep myself from going under, I sink quickly into the darkness.
It takes me a couple of seconds to get my head above the surface. This is a stagnant little river, full of mud and dead leaves, but in my incapacitated state it takes me a couple of minutes to haul myself out. The bank is steep and I know there's no way I can make my way back up. Closing my eyes for a moment, I try to think of a way to get out of this mess, and I realize I'm out of options. The dirt and mud of the river has already got into my open wounds; looking down at the water, I see a think trail of my own dark red blood spilling out. For a moment, I feel as if there's no point fighting. I should just sit here and wait to die; finally, though, I realize I have to keep fighting. No matter how bad things seem, there's always a chance. Someone told me that once, a long time ago, and it's my only option right now.
