The Listener

by Christopher Carrolli

  “So, my son’s life depends on psychic abilities?” Her tone was one of expectancy, having known that sometime, someway, a moment like this would occur, and she would have to face the situation; though she’d never dreamed it would be of this magnitude. Secretly, she wished Ian were here right now; Ian would find his son.

  “Annie, why don’t we try to understand something?” Susan said, probing. “Tell us why you stopped the sessions between Ryan and the team a few years ago. Why didn’t you want to understand your son’s ability? Where did the fear come from, Annie?”

  Here it was, the moment when everything would come into the light. The memories of Ian flashed through her mind: his being the happy man that she married, then later the drinking, the drugs, the fights, the screaming...his reading her mind. She remembered sneaking off to places because he’d kept her a mental prisoner. She recalled going to the library, searching the internet and skimming through all of the selected texts until she discovered what he was...a telepath.

  She sighed with pain and glanced up at the ceiling. She was about to let it all go. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply before she began.

  “When I first met Ian, Ryan’s father, we were both young and in love,” she said. “He was a good man then: warm, friendly, humorous, everything I had wanted. We had a few good years after we were married. Then, Ian changed. I noticed a difference in him: his looks, his attitude, his behavior.

  “His drinking, which was never more than a few beers after work, became heavier; he would reek of alcohol when he finally did come home. While his drinking escalated, I discovered he was using cocaine, and soon enough, I watched the man I married disappear. Drugs and alcohol had completely changed him, and I had no idea why it all began. I searched my mind, thinking it was me or something I did, something I said, but it wasn’t.

  “I knew it wasn’t about having a child because Ian was a great father. He loved Ryan; Ryan was his life. To this day, Ryan doesn’t know about his father’s demons. He was too young to notice or understand, and at the time, Ryan was the only thing that could bring his father back, if only for a few moments. I will never tell him about that part of his father, because it wasn’t who his father really was.

  “We began fighting. He became physically abusive, though I must admit, I was a fighter also. And then one night, something strange happened. We were fighting, and I said something about him inside my head. He heard every word I said. That was the first time, which I thought was only a coincidence.

  “Eventually, I couldn’t think around him; he read my thoughts, verbatim. He not only knew my whereabouts, but knew where I was planning on going, staying one step ahead of me, constantly, becoming the warden of the prison he’d made out of my life. Ryan was my only bargaining chip, and my own temper was my only defense.

  “Then one day, I went to the library and read books about those types of people. I learned that Ian was a telepath, and from what I read, a very powerful one. I never noticed this ability in him when I first married him. I have always wondered whether it was always there, or whether something triggered it. To me, he had turned into the devil right before my eyes, and I had no idea why.

  “I plotted a way out, and he knew, but he almost seemed too far gone to even hurt me anymore. He’d been out drinking one night, as usual, and I’d planned on taking Ryan and leaving in the morning, after Ian left for work. But after that night had unfolded, there was no longer any need.”

  She described Ryan waking up in the middle of the night, hysterical from the nightmare he’d had about his father.

  “He was screaming that Ian was dead,” she remembered, “persistent that he heard Ian calling out to him. He said he heard his father being scared; then, he heard a gunshot. I held him, consoled him, and kept him awake, telling him that it was just a nightmare.”

  Annie looked up at Susan, the investigators, and Wiley, all staring at her intently, listening with a unified and uninterrupted focus. She looked at the intense expressions on their faces before she spoke, her brown eyes big and wide.

  “It was no nightmare,” she said, letting it absorb before she continued. “I got Ryan back into bed, and about two hours later, there was a knock at the door. It was the police coming to tell me that Ian had been shot and killed. Apparently, Ian’s habit had turned into an uncontrollable addiction, and he’d owed a great deal of money. Late that night, I received a call from someone looking for Ian; the voice was angry, threatening. I hadn’t told the police about the mysterious caller that night; I wanted to spare my son, and deep inside of me, I was glad to be finally rid of Ian.

  “So, you see, I knew that Ryan was also capable of some type of telepathic ability, just like his father; that was my biggest nightmare. If Ryan had inherited this trait from Ian, who knows what else he may have received. I wasn’t willing to find out. I wouldn’t let my son be destroyed the way that his father was.

  “Then, when the team mentioned that Ryan was clairaudient, and that it was some form of telepathy, that was the only word I needed to hear. What I had hidden from Ryan for his own good was now about to be exposed. I couldn’t let that happen.”

  “And you stopped the sessions?” Susan drew the obvious conclusion.

  “Wouldn’t you?” Annie said. “I had no one else. What would I do, will I do, without my son?” The tears cascaded down her face once again and this time, the audible sobs came with it, unleashing a desperate plea directed at Wiley. “You have to find him; he’s all I’ve got!”

  Susan comforted her as she broke down in her arms.

  “Annie, do you understand now what links Ryan to Sidney?” Susan asked, once the sobbing had subsided. “Sidney no longer has any contact with his parents; they don’t bother with their son because they are taunted by an unencumbered fear of his ability. Like you, they stopped Sidney’s sessions with me many years ago.

  “All of these years, they have been unable to accept Sidney for who he is and what he is. Sidney’s only family is seated right here.” She motioned to the team. “Sidney was an only child; so is Ryan. You only have each other. Keep in mind—it wasn’t Sidney who pushed his parents away. They removed themselves from his existence when he was a child—I saw it. They loved their son, just so long as he wasn’t what he was, something that contradicted everything they believed in. I know that is not what you want for your son, is it, Annie?”

  “Of course that’s not what I want for my son,” Annie said, with a creaking voice.

  “Then you have to make yourself part of this,” Susan said. “You have to understand even if you don’t want to. If you can’t accept it, how will Ryan? I’ve often wondered if Sidney thinks less of himself because his parents did. You can’t let that happen to Ryan. You have to understand, and you have to fight alongside us to get him back.”

  “Then you have to let me out of here,” Annie said. “I will be okay as long as I’m doing something. I want to go home and wait for him, in case he calls or comes ho—” She covered her tearing eyes with her hand, and then composed herself. Just then, Leah walked over to her bedside.

  “Annie, I wanted to apologize,” she said. “I misjudged you without knowing your whole story. When I first met you and witnessed your response, it made me think of Sidney’s parents, and I automatically assumed you belonged in the same category. I’m so sorry for second guessing you. No one should ever use his or her ability to hurt anyone, and I’m sorry for what you went through.”

  “Hey, don’t be sorry,” she said, passing it off. “We all misjudge sometimes, and no one has misjudged more than I have. Thank you, Leah. I appreciate it.”

  They exchanged quick smiles of appreciation, and then Susan announced that she would release Annie the following day, so long as she relaxed and took the mild sedative she was prescribing for her. Then, Wiley spoke again.

  “Annie, when you get home, I would like to come over and take a look around Ryan’s room, maybe going through his things will give us some hint or clue as to what he knew a
bout Hadley.”

  Annie agreed, and after Wiley asked, she told him everything that Ryan had mentioned concerning Sidney Pratt. She related how Ryan had been insistent that a girl Sidney was searching for was in trouble, so he tried to communicate with him. Ryan had also known that Sidney was ill, and so he snuck out when she refused to bring him to the hospital.

  It all made sense to her now. Dylan and the others revealed to her that Ryan was also capable of hearing the living, even from distances. She had never been aware of this, having removed Ryan from the sessions with them so fast, she failed to learn everything about her son. She had dismissed him when he tried to tell her that he could hear Sidney, and that he could hear things as they were occurring. She should have known that Ryan was like his father. She should have known it when that girl was killed, but like lingering dust, she’d swept it away. It was a mistake she vowed to never make again. All of it was beginning to feel like her fault.

  Dylan and Brett also explained to her what Ryan had said when he entered the hospital. He’d heard this Hadley person from a distance and didn’t bother to tell her, though it wouldn’t have made a difference. Already she felt an overwhelming sense of guilt toward herself, but gratitude toward the team.

  “It’s time for you to get some rest,” Susan said. “I think that’s about enough for this evening, don’t you, Agent Wiley?”

  He agreed just as the text alert on his phone summoned him, and they bid their goodbyes until tomorrow, leaving her alone in her room to think. So Annie laid back, thinking about how she’d failed her son.

  * * * *

  Wiley sat behind his desk, studying the company name and office address in front of him. He was almost sure that he’d come across the logo at sometime in the past, and if he was right, it matched one of the many false leads once attached to the infamous group the Bureau had been seeking for so many years.

  He mentioned this to the team last night after their visit to Annie Quinn. One of the agents at the Bureau had texted him the news that a computer search had resurfaced this once dead lead, yet again, and that it might be worth checking out. Wiley also received other information, and he remembered their conversation outside of Annie’s room.

  “I didn’t want to discuss with her what I’m about to tell you all,” he’d said. “It’s best for her to gain her strength back. It’s not going to do her any good to get upset over something she doesn’t need to know yet.”

  “What is it?” Susan asked, as curiosities peaked.

  “I have just received word that Ryan’s DNA matched the paper towels on the floor in the men’s room. That means that he was snatched from right inside, quickly, professionally, and without a word. My guess is that he was drugged, then hidden in the laundry sack, and carried out of here.

  “Also, you all mentioned that you had never seen Hadley, that you didn’t even know his whereabouts whenever he contacted you. Is that correct?”

  Affirmations were spoken at once.

  “But there were times when you thought he was here, in Pennsylvania, correct?”

  They agreed, and Brett revealed how once, Sidney thought Hadley might have been stowing somewhere in Pittsburgh.

  “That’s exactly what I needed to know,” he said, retrieving his phone from his inner jacket pocket and showing them the screen. “Do any of you recognize this company name or address in Pittsburgh?”

  They all shook their heads.

  “I think we may have a lead. I will get back to you on it.”

  Now in the light of day he stared at the address of what he knew was an office building along Forbes Avenue in Pittsburgh. The address he had never seen before, but when the Bureau came upon the name in the past, MSB Enterprises, it hadn’t led anywhere. There was only one way to find out if this company was real or not, and whether it was connected to the rogue group. He was going there to find out.

  The search warrant he’d ordered had arrived, and as fast as the courier handed it to him, he was out the door of the headquarters and into his car.

  Forbes Avenue stretched a span of ten miles through the heart of the gothic metropolis, and on either side, historic structures stood proudly, jutting out amid the modern ambiance. This drive in particular caused him to admire the famous Cathedral of Learning, the Carnegie Institute, and all the other sites he remembered so well.

  He arrived at the section of the avenue where the building would be and then slowed down to search the numbers. The tall business structure shot upward in attempted high-rise glory, and Wiley could see from the sign in the parking lot that a variety of businesses inhabited the structure. He parked the car and entered the building.

  The atmosphere was professional, different suites representing different businesses within the private sector. The elevator lifted him up two floors where he needed to go, and soon, the suite number he was searching for almost stared back at him.

  He knocked on the door, then waited ten seconds and knocked again.

  “Hello,” he called out. “Is anyone there?” When he got no response, he twisted the knob gently, and surprisingly, it turned. Unlocked, he thought, as he clutched the revolver in his side pocket for safety. He followed protocol when entering, and quickly hit the light switch to expose the darkened room. It was empty, but he called out again, and was greeted by the sound of nothing.

  Wiley could tell by the sight of the room that it had been cleared out, abandoned; he’d seen things like this before, scam artists that ran operations, and so forth. The long mahogany desk was clean, no papers, files, no blotter, no artifacts, a barren piece of expensive furniture.

  This office had been occupied, and recently; he could tell by the various pieces of furniture that were askew and not even dusty. The visitor’s chairs were placed haphazardly, as though someone had not taken the time to place them back correctly. This was not the scene that would be awaiting a new tenant; this was a scene that had been evacuated.

  One by one, he pulled open the desk drawers—nothing. That certain someone had also made sure that not even a corner scrap of paper would be left behind, meticulous, yet sloppy. When he got to a bottom drawer, his eye caught a small gadget lying inside. It almost resembled a remote control, only it had two basic buttons on it. He stared curiously at them, wondered what they triggered or opened.

  He pressed the first one, and automatically, the window blinds drew forth and closed in a rapid motion, hindering the outside light. He pressed the second button and jumped slightly from the clanking sound behind him. It was a cabinet behind the desk, and the doors drew apart much like the blinds, but this cabinet was inconspicuous, safely misrepresented and concealed by the wall itself. Now you see it, now you don’t, he thought to himself.

  He looked inside the cabinet, and the strangest instinct nagged at him. There was nothing there, but something had been there. He kept trying to picture what would have been kept inside it. The answer to that could have been anything. But something had been kept in this cabinet, and it was removed. There was a scratch on the inside wooden surface. This room had been recently occupied; he could feel it. But as his eyes searched around the room, the failure of being too late mocked him in return.

  His instincts assured him that the person who had evacuated this private haven was Roman Hadley. That meant only one thing—Hadley was listening...

  Chapter Eleven

  He’d cleared out of his office as soon he’d picked up the voices. The waning decline of his clairaudient ear became more apparent through the random retrieval of only brief words, like a radio that only received quick blips of reception. It was the FBI, as he knew it would be sooner or later...

  “...whereabouts whenever he contacted you?”

  “...recognize this company name...Pittsburgh?”

  “...have a lead.”

  He also heard Brett Taylor’s voice, revealing that Sidney suspected his whereabouts as being in Pittsburgh. Now, he hoped the clandestine group would respond with a relocation plan; it could make his escape
much easier. He knew it would ultimately come to a way out, one way or another.

  After hearing the voices, he scrambled to get rid of anything in the office that could connect him to it, including the security monitors that diligently watched the compound, not to mention his guest. He had no immediate choice but to uproot himself to the underground, where a private office, as well as a substantial personal bunker, was always at his disposal. This office certainly didn’t equal the fashionable city suite he was used to, but it would suffice.

  The time had come for an introduction with his guest. In the night while Ryan was asleep, he had the guards move the large computer screen into the boy’s room. He felt a video introduction worked best for their first meeting; it would be easier for the boy to understand and concentrate on what he was telling him.

  His laptop sat in front of him; he clicked on the webcam software that would transfer his image to the screen in Ryan’s room.

  * * * *

  He’d awakened in what felt like morning, but he couldn’t be sure within these odd surroundings. The air was different, colder, muggier, and the smell that permeated throughout was like clay, wet, and raw. He felt alert now, strangely revived and noticing the scent of almonds had left him. Now, electric lighting filled the room, when during the night, only shades of incandescence glowed softly enough to see.

  The nausea that churned his stomach had subsided, after he’d made a few trips to the small bathroom inside of his room. It was equipped with a toilet, shower, mirror, and sink. There weren’t any windows in this place, and he wondered why. Where am I?, he sat and wondered, ogling something in the room that wasn’t there when he awoke during the night.

  It was a computer screen, not the personal, portable type, but the kind found in an auditorium, as the ones used during school assemblies. It loomed before his bed, a large, blank square situated on a moveable post, and someone had wheeled it in here while he was asleep, because it wasn’t here when he awoke in the wee hours.