Mum and Dad are secured next to me. Dad’s bleeding at the temple; Mum has a bruise smudge on her cheek in place of the habitual flour. They are both unconscious. We are all in the back room, which Mum was using as the dining room. The dining table is not centred anymore; it’s pushed aside, and we three occupy its former space.
Neva is sitting on one of the plush velvet dining chairs Mum spent a small fortune buying some years ago.
‘After I saw you with Beech, I knew who you were,’ Neva says. ‘The drug is still in your system and so I’m going to tell you this now while it will have the most impact. Remember everything when you come around. And then you’ll have to make an informed decision about which Michael you want to be.’
‘I’ll be any Michael you want, Neva,’ I say. ‘Why not untie me and let’s thrash this out.’
She half laughs, knowing I’m not the Michael she wants to speak to right now.
‘You can fight this, Michael. Your natural self is a good man. This … sleeper-you is not real. It’s a child that was badly abused and used by his own parents.’
I glance at Mum and Dad. They are both gagged. Wise move on her part; she probably recalls that there are trigger words they can use to control me. I don’t remember what those words are, but I know that if they are used, I will fight and kill; I’ve done so before. Even Neva’s bonds won’t hold me then.
‘I’m going to feed you some water,’ she says. ‘It’ll help get this shit out of your system.’
I try to refuse the water, but eventually give in. What does it matter? If I play along, she may untie me and I’ll take this treacherous bitch down at the first opportunity.
After drinking the water, I begin to feel tired again.
Darkness gathers around my eyes and for a moment I see the other Michael. So hard-working at Archive. I have his knowledge when I need it, but I don’t share his emotions. He feels like a dream I once had and then he comes into sharp focus. He pushes at me, punching and kicking. I jerk, try to fight back, but I can’t. He’s strong, this Michael; he’s inhabited this body more than I have.
Chapter Sixty-Five
Neva
Neva watches over Michael as his body repels the drug. She holds the back of the chair to prevent this odd seizure from throwing him to the ground. She doesn’t want him to be accidentally hurt. Once he’s still, she knows he’s going to remain asleep while his mind reorders. The awakening will be hard for him. He’ll remember things he’d rather forget. This was how she was the day she killed her handler. The day she forced her own personality to the surface to join with the one that the Network had given her.
Once he’s still, she fetches a pitcher of water and throws it over Michael’s mother. The woman jerks awake, sodden, bruised, and tenderised for interrogation. She wants to do this before Michael wakes; he doesn’t need to see it.
‘Okay. You’re now going to tell me all about Andrew and where the house is,’ Neva says. ‘And then, I just might let you all live.’
Michael’s mum looks shocked and horrified. ‘I’m not one of them,’ she says. ‘I don’t know anything.’
‘Really? Only I just watched you drug your son,’ Neva says. ‘I heard everything you said to him. Don’t lie to me. I take no joy in being able to stomach what you people taught me to do. But stomach it I will. I’ll torture you if I have to.’
It takes a little physical persuasion to get the woman to talk. But smashed toes and a broken collarbone are the least she deserves. When Neva learns where the house is, she stops the torture. Others would have continued, but Neva does not revel in what she has been forced to become. In fact, she makes a conscious decision to do only what is necessary.
Neva gags Michael’s mother again, then drags her, and the chair, out of the dining room and into the lounge. She returns immediately and drags the still unconscious father away too.
Michael shouldn’t see them when he wakes.
Chapter Sixty-Six
Michael
I hear four dull thuds. Like the noise of a muffled hammer smacking against unset cement. My head hurts. I’m woozy, nauseous, and confused. I try to move but find that I’m restricted. It’s hard to open my eyes. My lids feel gritty and swollen. They don’t respond to my unspoken command. I tug at my bonds and then water is being pressed to my lips again. I take it, grateful for the liquid washing into my sand-dry mouth.
‘How do you feel?’ asks a voice at my side.
‘Like something smacked me over the head,’ I slur. My tongue feels thick in my mouth.
More water is offered. It helps and I find I’m able to open my eyes. The light in the room stings them, like a blaring light that’s turned directly to my face.
‘Who are you?’ says the voice.
‘Michael Kensington. Where … am I?’
‘Don’t you remember?’ It’s a female voice. I know that much, but I can’t recall who she is. My mind is fried. Then there is a rush of memories, like dreams I’ve had but forgotten, and they swamp me until I feel like I’m drowning, or going insane.
There’s a little girl beside my bed. She’s a bit younger than me, and she’s scared. ‘They’re coming for you,’ she says.
I turn my head as a bulb goes on outside the room. Then the dormitory lights up. There are three other boys in here, but the girl has vanished. Then I remember that she’s hidden under my bed to avoid detection.
The other boys wake when the light goes on, but the new arrivals – a woman and a man – ignore them and come to my bed.
‘You’ll bring him up as though he’s your own,’ says a male voice.
‘Of course,’ replies the woman. ‘Come on, Michael, let’s go home.’
The man beside her reaches for me. ‘I’m your dad,’ he says.
I feel confused. I try to remember them from before I came to the school. A flash of memory skirts around the edges of my mind. Another mother calling out to me as I ran around in the garden, a Labrador puppy bouncing at my feet, barking in excitement.
‘John…’ I say.
‘No. You’re Michael,’ says the other man. He’s standing by the door. Blond hair, tall. Smartly dressed. I’ve seen him here before, though he just watches our transformations and never comments. ‘Take him now. But bring him in at the weekend for top-up treatment.’
Ah! This must be a hospital. I’ve been ill; that’s why I’m confused.
The woman helps me dress, then they take me from the … ward? Perhaps that’s the name?
‘Have I been sick?’ I say as they lead me down a huge flight of stairs.
‘Yes, and now you’re better,’ says the woman.
I see her and the man exchange an expression as they take me down the front steps of the house and put me in the car. It’s dark outside. The woman, Mum, makes sure my seatbelt is secured. I thank her. She gives me a bottle of water and sandwiches wrapped in foil.
‘For the journey,’ she says.
We drive for a few hours; I drink some of the water and eat one half of a sandwich. It’s chicken and mayonnaise, a personal favourite. Then I drift off to sleep, even though the day is beginning to dawn.
I wake later in a bedroom. It’s nicer than where I’ve been. There are toys, and posters, and it’s painted pale blue. I can smell the fresh chemical scent of the paint.
Mum comes in as if she knows I’m awake. She gives me water again and a spoon of medicine that will help me ‘settle’. Then she shows me around the house. I don’t remember it, or my room, but Mum explains this is normal.
‘You had a very serious illness,’ she says. ‘Meningitis. It made you forget lots of things.’
There’s a girl in the kitchen, sitting at a small table. She’s eating a bowl of cereal.
‘This is Mia,’ says Mum. ‘Your twin sister.’
Looking at Mia makes me happy. I sit next to her and Mum gives me the same bowl and cereal. Mia holds my hand.
‘We’ve both been ill,’ Mia says. ‘But now we’re together we’re going to g
et better.’
‘You had the mengies as well?’ I ask.
Mum laughs, ‘Meningitis. And yes, you both had it.’
I let go of Mia’s hand and eat my food.
‘Do you have a pink room?’ I ask. ‘Mine’s blue.’
‘Mia’s room is lilac,’ Mum says. ‘It’s her favourite colour.’
Mia doesn’t look certain but she nods. Then she takes a swig of the milk that Mum places down before her.
‘Time to visit Uncle Andrew,’ she says.
Mia falls asleep on the chair and Mum picks her up and carries her outside. I follow them both to the front door and look out on the street as Mum places Mia in the car. Dad is in the driving seat.
‘See you both tonight,’ he calls, then he drives away.
‘Don’t worry, Mia will be back later,’ Mum says. ‘Now, you and I are going shopping. So, go and get dressed. I put your clothes on the chair by your bed.’
We go out, taking a bus ride into what Mum refers to as ‘town’. There we go to a shop that says ‘School Uniforms’ in the window. I try things on. We leave with new clothes and shoes for school.
‘You start your new school on Monday,’ Mum explains.
‘What day is it now?’ I ask.
‘Tuesday,’ she answers.
That evening, Dad returns with Mia. She’s still sleepy when we all sit at the table to eat. She struggles to eat the roast chicken dinner, even though Mum insists it is her favourite. After dinner, Mum takes Mia upstairs to bed; half an hour later, I follow.
When I wake the next day, the room feels more like mine. I hear Mia laughing with Mum in the bathroom as she encourages her to brush her teeth. The sounds are familiar. This is home. How could I have forgotten any of it?
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Michael
The dream of my childhood slips away as I come around to the sound of knocking. I jerk my head up and find I’m in a bedroom, an unfamiliar one, and the blinds are drawn.
‘Housekeeping!’
I struggle from the bed, find I’m only wearing my boxers, and I go to the door. I open it and peep round it, explaining I’m not ready yet. The woman frowns at me, then nods. ‘Check-out is at eleven,’ she says.
‘Okay.’
I close the door and blink, looking at the hotel room. There’s a gap in my memory: I have no idea how I got here or even what time it is. My watch is not on my wrist. I walk back to the bed and look for my personal belongings. My hand is shaking as I find my watch on the chest of drawers beneath the wall-hung TV. My wallet, my phone, and my clothes are all piled on a chair by the window.
I pick up the phone. It’s fully charged and there’s a text message on it.
We have to talk. N x
The memory of the last few days comes flooding back. Neva and I went to my parents’ house to ask them about Andrew. My mother drugged me.
I sink down onto the bed. My head hurts. I run my hand over the back of my neck and find the lump there. Neva knocked me out. She tied up my parents. Where the hell are they now?
‘Oh God!’
My mind is a jumble of mixed-up recollections, some that don’t feel like mine. But I know what this is. The memories are mine; I’ve been living a double life. Neva instructed me to remember it all when the meds were still in my system. My brain couldn’t cope with the rush of knowledge and so I’d blacked out again and again until finally I became coherent.
She’d half untied me then, knowing I’d be able to get free. Then she’d left.
I’d struggled out of my bonds and gone into the lounge. That’s when I found the bodies. Mum and Dad were dead. Executed. Still tied and gagged. Neva had done it and I knew why.
I had run to the downstairs toilet and thrown up. My stomach was empty bar the water Neva had fed me. God, what was I going to do? I cursed myself for being an idiot. Why had I brought her here? What did I expect would happen? Did I think this would be some kind of family reunion and Mum and Dad would reassure me that there was no problem with Andrew? Deep down I’d hoped it had been all some horrible mistake that Mum and her baking would put right. Just like when I was a child.
But I hadn’t known how involved they were, had I? I’d thought maybe the Network had tainted my family only through Andrew. I couldn’t have predicted Neva would kill them – even if it was necessary.
But I could. On some level I’d always known they were wrong. All those trips to visit our uncle, how sick and woozy and miserable Mia and I would feel on the return. Then Mum’s baking would soothe us and we’d drift off to sleep and forget the whole horrible experience – until next time.
In my parents’ house I’d found my wallet and the keys for the Corsa by the door but Neva was long gone. I got into the car and drove away.
Even as I’d fled the house, my mind was a mess. I worried what I would do. I had to ring work and tell them everything. But the other memories pushed against me, telling me this would be a stupid move. I should call the police, hand myself over to them. But no. I’d be dead in twenty-four hours if I did that. The Network’s reach was limitless; wasn’t that what I’d been told?
A telephone number had popped into my head then.
I pulled over when I saw a phone booth and dialled the number. It was answered on the second ring.
‘I need clean-up,’ I said. My throat was dry. ‘Codename Neva killed my parents.’
‘We’ll deal with it. Come in. You know the procedure,’ said the voice on the other end. It was a familiar voice, but the name of the person evaded me.
‘On my way,’ I’d said.
I got back in the car and drove to Cambridge train station instead of the meeting point I knew I should be going to. Because I’m not that Michael. I’m me. And despite the flood of information about what I’d done under the Network’s influence, they didn’t own me. Neva had been right to trust that I’d feel this way.
At the station I’d abandoned the car and caught a train to Manchester. I didn’t know why there, but some inner logic said it was the place to go. There were still so many gaps in my memory, so much I had to process before I could use what I knew and decide what I had to do.
On the train I was consumed with more information about my parents – my parents who weren’t my parents at all – and Mia. She wasn’t my twin! But what did all of this mean for her too? She’d been an innocent child once; we both had.
I’d found a hotel and paid top rate to get a room instantly. Then I’d undressed and fallen asleep again. It had been the only way to cope with everything.
Now I stare at the phone, wondering if I should call Neva. Part of me is fighting the urge to murder her. There’d be a great deal of pain inflicted before I gave her final retirement. I feel anger and hatred boil up inside me. But these aren’t the assassin Michael’s emotions, they are mine. I’ve been lied to. Used. But … none of this is Neva’s fault. She’s just forced me to face it. The other side of me wants to silence her – but not because he cares; he’s just been taught to be loyal always to the Network. He’s an automaton, responding to instructions and barely thinking about what he does or why.
I think about my parents and their lie. I’d never met them before that day when they took me from the house. They had deserved to die for their part in this. They all did. And the house, one phone call to Archive and I can bring the place down and everyone in it.
I toy with the idea again of calling Ray Martin and telling him everything that’s happened. Can I trust him? I just don’t know.
The ache behind my eyes starts to lessen and I pick up the burner phone again. I pull Neva’s phone number up and press call.
‘Michael,’ she says.
‘I don’t know what to do,’ I say.
‘I’m in the lobby. Come down and talk to me.’
‘How do you know where I am?’ I ask
‘I told you to meet me here.’
I take this information in as I pull on my clothes, then pick up my holdall and look inside. My s
ervice revolver is still in the bag. I scan the room, make sure I’ve left nothing behind, and then I go downstairs to the reception.
Neva is wearing the long black wig again but I recognise her anyway. She’s sitting in the lobby, pretending to read the local newspaper. I sit down in the empty chair beside her.
‘How are you feeling?’ she asks without looking at me.
‘As though I’ve been beaten around the head several times. Oh wait, you did hit me over the head.’
‘You were pretty dangerous; I had to do something.’
She puts down the paper and looks at me.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t want to have to kill you. We are the same, you and I,’ she says. ‘A terrible thing was done to us, but we have the capability of being free of it.’
I hear her words but can’t believe I’ll ever be free of this pain I’m feeling.
‘I was lied to. Misled. Brainwashed. Nothing in my life was actually real.’ I’m filled with rage. ‘I … I know now that my flat wasn’t bugged. I put the drug in my own tea. They conditioned me to … check in. So, on Saturdays … not every week … I’d sometimes drink the tea. The other me would emerge and I’d go and meet Beech. I just don’t remember everything I’d tell him. It’s like … the information is unavailable.’
She nods. She is the only person who can really understand what I’m saying, and yet my anger wants to focus on her too, as part of this. She was part of them, even if she wasn’t really complicit.
‘You murdered my parents,’ I say. It hurts. Deep. Like someone is sticking a knife in my heart and twisting it.
‘You know why,’ she says.
‘I do but—’
‘You’re still dealing with the attachment you had to them. But remember what you said to me as we drove there. You weren’t close. This is why. They weren’t your real parents and they knew it, even if you didn’t. And every time they were with you, those interactions were a performance to them. They manipulated you, and your sister too.’
The House of Killers, Book 1 Page 26
