by Amy Cross
“What is?” she asked, staring at the image and trying to work out what she was seeing.
“There seems to be a corridor and then, a little further along, there's a very large room in there,” Robinson explained, “with a high ceiling and some kind of isolated section at the top, maybe an observation tower, but...” He pressed a few more buttons, as the program continued to map the room, even down to the detail of the pipes running across the ceiling. “There's something in the middle of the room that's not solid, it's more like... Water, or...” He leaned closer to the screen. “No, not water, something more viscous. It's as if there's a large vat containing some kind of gel, and if that's an observation tower over it...”
His voice trailed off, and he seemed lost in thought for a moment.
“What would they be doing with a vat?” Katie asked eventually.
“Cooking something, I suppose,” he replied. “There must be something in it, which in turn means that it's a key part of their project, which in turn...” He paused again, as his mind raced with possibilities. “Damn it, I wish I could remember more of Harrington Cole's ideas. The man was quite mad, you know, and when he disappeared all those years ago I naively assumed that I wouldn't have to worry about him again. I never expected that someone would read up on his insane ideas and actually think they were worth copying.”
“I couldn't get through that door,” she told him. “I'm sorry, I tried, but it's guarded pretty damn securely.”
“You did a very good job,” he replied, still staring at the screen. “Of course, if you were going to genetically manipulate a living human being, immersing them in a kind of electrolyte gel would be one of the best ways of going about it, especially if you needed to encourage cell formation in an otherwise hostile environment. I'm starting to think that I need to arrange an appointment with this Gregory Hanson chap, so I can get an idea of which way the wind is blowing, because so far I don't like what I'm seeing at all.”
“An appointment?” Katie asked. “Why don't you just barge in, the way you usually do?”
“Because I don't want to arouse his suspicions. I'll try to set something up for the morning. I need to be subtle.”
“Good luck with that,” she muttered. “So... Does that mean you've got a few hours spare this afternoon?”
“I never have a few hours to spare,” he replied suspiciously, before turning to her. “Why? What do you want?”
“I did something for you,” she continued, “and now I want you to do something for me in return. I've found something that might be useful, and even if it's not useful, I think it's the right thing to do.”
“Sounds boring.”
“I want you to come with me.”
“Why?”
Glancing over at the terrified cleaner, still strapped to the chair, Katie paused for a moment before turning back to Robinson. “Because I think you need a reality check.”
Chapter Fourteen
Standing at the window, Hanson looked down into the dark pit, at the bottom of which three shapes could just about be seen moving through the filth.
“It's hard to believe,” he whispered after a moment, “that even these filthy things could be beautiful. And yet there they are...”
He watched as one of the creatures at the bottom of the pit tried to sit up, but the other two quickly dragged it back down again, as if they were determined to ensure that none of them ever even tried to escape. Not that they had a chance of getting out, of course, but Hanson was still disappointed that they showed no real signs of ambition or ingenuity.
“My abominations,” he added with a sigh. “Completely and utterly -”
Hearing a knock nearby, he turned just as the door opened and one of the technicians entered.
“Sorry to disturb you, Sir,” the man said cautiously, “but before she left tonight, Doctor Leach asked me to feed the creatures.”
“There's no need.”
“She was quite insistent, she told me that -”
“And I'm telling you,” Hanson replied, “that there's no need. They require no more sustenance at the moment.”
Glancing through the window, the technician seemed torn for a moment.
“Please don't forget,” Hanson continued, “that I'm in charge. Doctor Leach is just another employee, like yourself.”
“Of course, but...” The technician paused. “Well, it's just that according to the records, the creatures in room eighteen haven't been fed for quite a while. It's almost as if -”
“It's almost as if you're questioning me,” Hanson pointed out, interrupting him.
“No, Sir, I wouldn't do that -”
“So there's no further need for you to be here, is there? You were given an order, I've countermanded that order, and now -” Checking his watch, he saw that it was getting late. “You should be getting home. Tell me, do you have a wife or a girlfriend waiting for you?”
“No, Sir,” the technician replied. “I had a boyfriend, but he and I... Well, it didn't work out.”
“How unfortunate,” Hanson continued, heading over to the man and leading him out into the corridor. “I know what it's like to go through life alone, though, and to have no-one waiting to offer comfort. Sometimes I think that if I were to vanish tomorrow, no-one would even miss me.”
“I'm sure it's not that bad, Sir.”
“Let me show you something,” Hanson continued, leading him to the door that led into room eighteen, and swiping his card to gain access. “You wanted to feed the creatures, I believe?”
“Doctor Leach just told me to -”
“They stink,” he added, leading the technician through the door and onto a raised platform above the pit. “That smell, you'll be disgusted to learn, comes from the fact that these monstrosities are left to rot in their own mess. Do you know where they come from?”
“They're...” He paused. “I was under the impression that they were the original three test subjects, Sir. The ones that were used before Subject B was brought to the facility.”
“That's right,” Hanson continued, leading him to the edge of the platform and looking down into the dark pit, where three humanoid figures could be seen scrabbling through the shadows below. “They're complete abominations, there's no need to keep them around at all, except that I want to see whether their divinity eventually shows through. I think it might. After all, I simply can't believe that anything created using Harrington Cole's methods could possibly be irredeemable. There must be something good or worthwhile in them somewhere.”
The technician smiled awkwardly. “I really should get going, Sir...”
“Of course you should,” Hanson replied, patting him on the back. “I just wanted you to gain a better understanding of the work we carried out here before we hired the rest of you. Five years ago, this company was so much smaller, and we were just finding out footing as we sorted through Mr. Cole's notes. We've come so far, but still...” He paused, staring down into the pit. “They're beautiful, don't you think?”
“Uh...” The technician paused for a moment. “Yeah. I mean, I guess... I can't really...”
“You can't really what? See them properly?”
“Well, it's just -”
“Take a closer look,” he added, pushing him in the small of the back and sending him tumbling over the edge of the platform. Half a second later, there was a dull thud from below, followed by the sound of three hungry creatures crawling toward their prey.
“No,” a weak voice cried out, clearly in pain. “What are you doing? What... What the hell are you?”
Turning and heading to the door, Hanson couldn't help but smile, even as the man's cries rang out. Shutting the door, he stood in the corridor for a moment, as the smile faded and he began to feel troubled by what he'd done. Taking a syringe from his pocket, he removed the cap and injected himself in the neck, and then he slid down to the floor and waited for the serum to take effect. For a few seconds, all he could do was listen to the sound of screams coming
from inside room eighteen, before finally he felt his faith returning.
“Weak,” he whispered after a moment. “That was so weak. I'm a fool.”
Stumbling to his feet, he made his way along the corridor until he reached his office. Hurrying inside, he pulled off his jacket and then his shirt, revealing his badly scarred back with two faint stumps protruding from his shoulder-blades. Heading over to the cupboard in the far corner, he reached inside and took out the whip he kept for such occasions.
“I'm weak,” he stammered. “I deserve to be punished.”
Dropping to his knees for a moment, he waited as he tried to summon the necessary strength.
“There is still time for you to repent,” a voice whispered in the back of his mind. “I will accept your apology if it is well-meant.”
With tears in his eyes, Hanson took a deep breath, before raising the whip and finally bringing it cracking down against his own back, splitting the skin and bringing a cry of pain from his lips.
One down. Twelve to go.
Chapter Fifteen
“Fifty-four Maplethorpe Avenue?” Robinson said, as he and Katie waited for someone to answer the door. “What are we doing here?”
“Doesn't the address ring any bells?”
“I've never heard of the place in my life.”
“You don't remember me mentioning it yesterday?”
“You did not!”
“I did.”
“I'd definitely remember.”
“I told you about it.”
“No, you didn't.”
“I did!”
“Well...” He paused, clearly a little wounded by the idea that he could forget anything. “Do you realize how busy I am? I can't go around remembering every avenue you talk about.”
“This is important.”
“Ha!” he replied sarcastically. “As if anything at fifty-four Maplethorpe Avenue could ever be important. You know, if I measured it, I bet I'd find that this is the dullest spot in the whole of London, maybe even the country. It must be at least nine-and-a-half Madeleys on the scale.”
“What scale?”
“The one I invented to measure how boring a place is. I was in Wigan one weekend, and the weather was -”
He stopped as the door suddenly opened, revealed a startled-looking middle-aged woman and – behind her – some ceramic ducks on the wall.
“Yes?” she said cautiously.
Robinson shuddered.
“Hi,” Katie said, forcing a smile despite the dread sense of nausea in her gut. “Are... Are you Pam Williams?”
***
“Martin ran away from home four years ago,” Mrs. Williams explained, with tears in her eyes as she sat on the sofa. “Everything was such a mess, and I don't think we really gave him the support he needed. He and his father... Well, they used to argue a lot.”
“What did they argue about?” Katie asked.
“Martin was depressed, and his father didn't get it. Thought he was just being lazy, you know? The doctors didn't help, either. They shuffled him from one specialist to another, but eventually he stopped going 'cause he was sick of having to always start again, always explaining things from the beginning whenever he was assigned to someone new. Half the problem is that there's no continuity of care.”
“And after Martin left,” Katie continued, “did you ever hear from him again?”
She shook her head.
“That is some ugly wallpaper,” Robinson said, looking over the back of the sofa. “What kind of evil would come up with wallpaper like that? Demons, perhaps? But why? What's their endgame?”
“You said you have news about Martin,” Mrs. Williams continued, with a hint of hope in her expression. “Have you... I mean, do you know where he is? If you do, you have to tell him to come home! There's no reason to be scared, his Dad's been dead the last two years! He got lung cancer, it was really quick in the end!”
“It's not that simple,” Katie replied, choosing her words with care. She paused, trying to work out how to tell the truth, but she could see a flicker of hope in the woman's eyes and she hated the idea that she'd have to snuff that hope out and replace it with sorrow. The truth, in this case, seemed impossibly harsh and painful. “Martin's...”
“He's not in trouble again, is he? Prison? Oh God, is he sick? Is he in hospital?”
“No,” Katie replied, “actually, the thing is, he's...”
“He's not living on the streets, is he?” she continued. “I swear, every time it's rained over the past four years, I've thought about whether he's out there, huddled under a bridge. I used to go looking for him at first, when his Dad wasn't home, just in case I might find him. Never did, though. When there was that cold snap last month, and the news mentioned people being found frozen to death in the parks... I was terrified there'd be a knock on the door.” She wiped tears from her eyes. “I just hate to think of him in pain.”
“I'd like to take a sample of this wallpaper,” Robinson continued, still looking over the back of the sofa. “It's so hideous, I think I might be able to weaponize it.”
Katie kicked his heel, causing him to turn and glare at her.
“So where is he?” Mrs. Williams asked, forcing a smile as her trembling fingers tore at the soggy, over-used tissue in her hands. “Is he... Is he coming home?” She glanced at the net curtains, as if she expected to see her son approaching the house at that very moment.
“No,” Katie replied, struggling to hold the tears back. “No, he's not coming home.”
“It was Julie that did it,” Mrs. Williams continued, as if she was playing for time, trying to delay the moment when the bad news would be delivered.
“Julie?” Katie asked, happy to play along.
“They were perfect for each other. They met at school and it was like love at first sight. They were childhood sweethearts, and it was like everyone knew they were just going to grow up and get married, all that sort of thing. They were saving themselves for their wedding night too, and he was planning to ask her to be his wife, and then...” She paused, as if the memory was too painful. “And then one day, Julie was out in town, returning a calendar to Smiths, and she got hit by a Peugeot. It broke Martin's heart when she died, but his Dad kept pushing him to get out of the house and get a job. I think Martin had proper chronic depression, but I couldn't really say anything. I should've, though. I might've been able to help...”
“Saving themselves?” Robinson asked, finally paying attention. “As in... No sex before marriage?”
“They barely even kissed,” she replied, wiping her eyes. “It was so cute.”
“Huh,” Robinson muttered with a faint smirk. “I'm sorry, I hadn't realized that you were Amish.”
“They're not Amish,” Katie said, turning to him with a scowl.
“I suppose you'd better tell me where he is, then,” Mrs. Williams continued, once again allowing herself a faint smile. “If he's not coming home...” She paused, and the smile faded. “I mean, if he's not...” She wiped more tears away, and all the color seemed to drain from her face. “It's alright, just say what you've gotta say. I understand that he's probably -”
They all sat in silence for a moment, but it was a kind of silence that seemed to be growing and growing, filling the room with unspoken horror.
“So...” Mrs. Williams said finally. “He is, isn't he? He's -”
“No,” Katie blurted out, “he's not dead!”
Robinson turned and scowled at her.
“He just can't come home right now,” she continued, swallowing hard as she desperately tried to think of a convincing cover story. “He's working on something very important, for the government.”
“He is?” Robinson whispered.
“Oh,” Mrs. Williams replied, clearly relieved but also surprised. “Like... a spy?”
“Like a spy,” Katie said, thinking on her feet. “Exactly.”
“Remind me,” Robinson said with a smile, “what kind of spy is he?”
>
“A secret one,” Katie replied, staring at him in a 'stop talking' kind of way.
“Doing what?”
“Secret things.”
“Where?”
She paused. “Istanbul.”
“With which agency?”
“MI5.”
“Alone or with colleagues?”
“Alone.”
“Undercover?”
“Yes.”
“Deep undercover?”
“It's a secret,” she told him, while kicking his shin again.
“Remarkable,” Robinson continued, staring at her.
“So...” Mrs. Williams paused, with a faint frown. “What you're saying, then, is that my Martin is working for the government as a spy, and he's off on some important mission in Istanbul, and that's why he can't come home?”
“That's exactly what I'm saying,” Katie replied.
“Oh.” Another pause, and the woman sat with a furrowed brow for a moment before finally she smiled again. “Well, that's good news, I suppose. When do you think he might get some time off and pop in to see us?”
“I don't know,” Katie continued, “but it might not be for a long time. Still, he wanted us to come and let you know that he's okay. He knew that you'd probably be worried, and he said to tell you he's sorry he didn't get in touch sooner, but... Well, you know how it is with being a spy, right? I mean, technically we're not even supposed to be here now, but we're bending the rules. You can't go telling anyone, though. It's top secret.”
“Well... Thank you,” Mrs. Williams replied, wiping more tears away as she leaned forward and grabbed the teapot, before pouring them all a top-up. “You have no idea how relieved I am. Obviously I'd love to see him, but the most important thing is that he's okay. I'd actually started to believe that... Well, after all this time, I was worried maybe something awful had happened to him.”
