The Silent Neighbours (Watchers Book 2)

by S. T. Boston

  Kneeling by the water's edge, the giant golden fish began to surface from the depths of the dark water, their scaly bodies treating him to the odd flash of orange that looked brilliantly bright, despite the lack of sunshine. As the fish grew braver and their hunger took over, they got closer to the surface, until the first brave and hopeful diner stuck his orange and silver mottled head above the water and opened his mouth, as if he expected a tasty treat to be dropped right in. Fish were one of the few species that Earth had in common with Arkkadia, although the variations were somewhat different. Fundamentally, they had evolved to closely resemble one another. It was a fascinating evolutionary quirk that appealed to Taulass' meticulous need to understand and learn.

  Feeling bad that he didn't have any food for the hungry creatures he cupped some cold water into his hands and washed his face. He was hoping not to see anyone until he could make himself look more human than death, nevertheless the blood on his face would have anyone racing to call the authorities on first sight. With blood-soaked clothing and his rejuvenating blood mask, not to mention the Glock which was too large to hide fully in his pocket, and as such hung precariously out, he looked fresh from some gruesome slaughter. Like a maniac killer on a relentless spree, stalking around in search of his next victim.

  Using the dark water to glimpse his thin reflection he saw his pale but slightly rosy complexion staring back, creased by the gentle ripples that lapped across the pond's surface. Blood still tinged the borders of his dark brown hair, but the worst was gone. Crossing the garden, his feet feeling cold on the wet grass, he reached the back door. Gripping the handle he was met with a resistance that told him the door was locked. In frustration he paced down a small path that sat between the red brick wall of the house and the matching brickwork of the garage. Halfway down the garage had a door, opposite the house's side entrance. Firstly he tried the property's door, locked. He turned his attention to the garage, much to his delight the handle depressed with a well-oiled fluidity and allowed him in.

  The painted grey concrete felt cold beneath his bare feet, as his eyes finally adjusted to the gloom he located a light switch and flicked it on. Gradually, as if risen from slumber, the florescent bulb flickered to life. The presence of electricity told Taulass that it was past six AM, the exact time he did not know. Scanning the garage he saw that it was set up more like a utilities room than a place to store tools or a car. On the far wall sat a sink, beneath it a washing machine and dryer. He wasted no time and went straight for the dryer. Inside was a bundle of dried clothing, obviously finished the previous evening and forgotten about. Much to his frustration the first few items he sorted through were female. Panties and a small pair of jeans, a small feminine pink blouse with delicate roses embroidered onto the front. Shaking his head in frustration he reached deeper into the drum and heaved the full load onto the painted concrete floor. Finally, he located some items that were, for one, male, and two, on first appearances looked as if they might just fit. Shaking some of the creases from the grey Chino style trousers, Taulass removed his blood stained joggers. The gun gave a dull metallic clunk as it found the floor first and almost spilled from his pocket. Gradually he wriggled his way into the clean trousers, they were a waist size too big, but too big was better than too small in his book. Next he did his best to smooth the creases out of a white Polo shirt. The emblem on the left breast was of a man on a horse, he recognised the brand, and the label in the collar read Ralph Lauren. He slid it on, the shirt was a tiny bit tight under the arms but more than okay, and the freshly laundered cotton felt good on his skin. He needed a shower, but that would have to wait until he reached the safe house. Turning his attention to a rack of shoes he found some slightly dirty, off white, Nike trainers that were a good match to his feet. He used a stiff, blue towel that was hung over the lip of the sink to dry between his toes and dust away some of the damp grass that clung to his heels before slipping them on. Above the shoes he found a dark green jacket, it bore the same emblem as the shirt and was deliciously lined with soft fleece and was as padded as a pillow, Taulass felt the heat returning to his chilled skin as soon as he slipped his arms into the sleeves.

  Returning to his ruined clothing he removed the return tab from the right pocket of his joggers and the half exposed Glock from the left, secreting both items into the deep pockets of the padded jacket. Thankfully the pocket was more than deep enough to swallow the entirety of the weapon. Now at the sink, he turned on the hot tap and held his hand under it until he felt the water turn from cold to tepid, then warm. For a few seconds he held his hands under the torrent of water, until it turned so hot it almost scalded his skin. The heat felt good. Aware that time was not on his side, he drew a shallow pool of water into the steel sink and rinsed his hair and face, watching as the water quickly turned from pink to red. He pulled the plug and repeated the process a further two times until the water stayed clear. Grabbing the same towel he'd used on his feet, he ran it over his face and hair before tossing it onto the floor and slipping out of the building.

  Out on the pavement he doubled back and with some trepidation followed St. Austell Road to its junction with Eliot Park, where he took a left and walked back toward Oakcroft Road, where the house was. Staying at the junction of the two roads he could see blue and white police tape, cordoning off half the street. Crossing over he could just make out the burnt shell of the four bedroom house that had been his home for the last two years. He felt a pang of grief as he thought about Rhesbon and Bliegh, and wondered if their charred bodies were still inside, waiting whilst investigators pawed through the evidence and tried to figure out what happened. Not that they ever would.

  Eventually, after a few long minutes of reflection he turned and left. He had fifteen miles of London to navigate in order to get to the safe house; he needed to get moving.

  Chapter 23

  The scream momentarily froze Sam to the spot, and he knew instantly that it was Lucie on the other end of that spine-chilling cry. Hurriedly he squeezed down the side of the Nissan Juke, which was nosed into the driveway, its bulbous rear end level with the aging, lichen mottle concrete gate posts. Sam squeezed his body through the gap, feeling the spiny braches of the hedge scraping into the back of his jacket. Staying low he rushed to the lounge window, his ill-fitting patent leather shoes almost announcing his arrival as they crunched over the pea-shingle. Drawing the dead pilot's gun, he didn't even need to look for the safety, it was already off and ready for action.

  The bright morning sunlight fell dully on the dirty single glazed windows. Reaching the ledge he peered into the building, the front room was empty. He could hear voices, the speech was undistinguishable but he knew one of them was Adam's. Scooting round the crumbling brickwork he passed the RX7 and pushed the gate open, wincing as it creaked and squeaked on its rusting hinges.

  Overgrown grass, weeds and brambles now filled what he remembered was once as picturesque display of flowers, set off by a well maintained and mown lawn. Gun in hand he ducked down again, creeping under the kitchen window. He could hear another female voice screaming manically, but with adrenalin thundering through his veins, and with the horrible feeling that if he didn't act now something unspeakable was about to happen, he couldn't make out what was being said. Urgently he dared to grab the cold, terracotta tiled ledge and look in.

  The sink and drainer were situated in front of the kitchen window, his view was blocked almost completely by the back profile of a slender, dark haired female who he did not recognise. She had her left arm fixed tightly around another female, this one he did recognise. It was Lucie. In the stranger's right hand was a knife, and it was pressed tightly into Lucie's neck. Fear and fury washed over Sam instantaneously. Directly in front of the two women was Adam, he was poised and looked ready to strike out, but he was unarmed. With his restricted view Sam was sure there was another body in the room, too. Unfortunately he couldn't get enough of a vantage point to identify if it was friend or foe. Clarity suddenly b
roke through and he heard the rapid exchange of words from within the kitchen.

  “If you harm either of them, I will kill you with my bare hands,” he heard Adam shout. Sam admired his spirit but unarmed and facing a knife wielding maniac he didn't much fancy his chances.

  “Enough of the chatter,” the dark haired female screamed. Underneath her rage Sam picked up on her accent, it was a direct female equivalent of the two who'd come for him in France. Not stopping to think he stepped back from the window, confident that he was out of anyone's field of view. He watched, his heart hammering in his chest like a drum, as the dark haired woman adjusted Lucie's position slightly and held the knife above her head, in an angle that would drive it deeply into his wife's throat, causing a wound that would bring death in a matter of seconds. As the knife curved its way above Lucie's head, Sam spread his legs into a shooting stance. The window was filthy, restricting his view but he felt confident that at his angle he could take the back of her head off and not hit Lucie. Praying he'd worked the angle out correctly, his breath caught momentarily in his throat as he squeezed the trigger.

  * * *

  Time seemed to slow down, as if the very fabric of the universe wanted Adam to suffer witnessing the death of his sister frame by frame. He felt himself lunge forward in some futile, involuntary reaction that his brain ordered his limbs to do before he really knew what was going to happen. Then came the blood, the blood brought the nightmarish scene back to real time. Somewhere among the confusion there was the sound of an explosion and breaking glass. As his brain caught up with his eyes he saw the crimson liquid was not from his sister, it was Lilith's. Her head snapped violently to the side, making contact with Lucie's as she twisted free of her attacker's grasp. As he drew closer his brain processed a gaping wound in Lilith's neck that she clawed at frantically with the hand that not a second ago had been grasping his sister. With his focus entirely on his quarry, Adam reached her and with a fury unlike anything he'd ever felt, he snatched the knife from her other hand. Feeling the warm, wooden handle in his grasp he brought it swiftly up and buried the blade deep into Lilith's head, penetrating her skull at the softer part of her temple. For the briefest of moments he felt her skull offer up resistance before it gave way with a nauseating pop. Unrelenting, he thrust the blade home until his fist, which clutched the handle, stopped against the side of her head and became sticky with blood. With his chest pressed tightly against her, Adam felt her body spasm as a gurgled and chilling cry spewed from her mouth. She twitched a few more times, her stony eyes full of fear and anger, before he felt her weight slump against his. Leaving the knife where it was he stood back and gawped as her body fell to the faded linoleum floor.

  Slightly dazed and more than a little confused, Adam felt his stomach churn. Bile rose in his throat causing him to grasp the roll-top edge of the aluminium sink and vomit what little food he had left in his belly into the lime scale stained basin. Before he could finish retching, the backdoor came crashing in.

  * * *

  Sam heard the shot leave the chamber, the sound of the bullet penetrating the glass was lost as his ears rang from the discharge. Through the dirty glass he saw the dark haired female's head snap to the left. He'd missed the headshot that he wanted, thanks to the state of the glass and the lack of time he'd had, but the slug had found its mark in her neck. Breaking toward the back door he glanced again and saw that Adam was on her, locked in some kind of struggle. Sam hit the door like a freight train, smashing the mortised lock free from the woodworm ridden frame. He didn't expect it to give quite so easily and spilled into the kitchen, grabbing the side to prevent himself from sprawling across the floor and crashing into Oriyanna as she jumped out of the way.

  “Oh my god, Sam!” he heard Lucie cry, and before he had to chance to fully steady himself she threw her arms around him so tightly he couldn't draw breath, he stumbled but had his fall broken by the wall, which he slammed into. “I thought they'd caught you, or you were….”

  “What, dead?” he said, grinning. “I'm a hard bastard to kill, you know I have more lives than a cat, right?” Sam planted a kiss on her head and noticed that her eyes were welling up with tears. One escaped and ran down her pale cheek, and he scooped it away with his forefinger. “How many times am I going to have to save your arse?” he joked at Adam, as Lucie continued to grasp him. He looked at the woman's body which was face down with a knife buried into the side of her head. “Nice work, though,” he added, turning his attention back to his friend who was wiping away vomit from his mouth with the back of his hand. “Although you're still soft as shite!”

  “Fuck you very much,” Adam replied without a hint of malice. His mouth tasted like a sewer pipe, and Lilith's blood coated his right hand, it felt slick and warm on his fingers. Grabbing the tap he turned it on and washed his hands, feeling that just like Macbeth, no amount of water would clean the blood away.

  Sam managed to prise Lucie from around his waist and planted a kiss on her lips which felt cold from the shock of her ordeal. He glanced at Oriyanna and said, “Well, I see the gang's all here, which probably isn't a good thing.”

  “It's good to see you too, Samuel Becker,” she smiled. Sam's quick wit never failed to amuse her and it felt good to have him back. Despite the very testing and deadly few days they'd all shared, she'd enjoyed their time together.

  “Sam,” he corrected. “How many times?” He shook his head and laughed. “Well, I'm guessing due to your presence here and the hellish past few hours that I've had, that shit has hit the proverbial fan. You sure don't seem to have dropped by on a planet hopping holiday for tea and cake.”

  “Don't you take anything seriously?” said Adam as he filled the glass he'd used earlier with cold water and rinsed his mouth out. The liquid still tasted metallic and off, but it was better than the aftertaste of puke.

  Sam chuckled and glanced once more at the body on the floor, “I guess you can start by telling me just who the fuck that is, and how she managed to get here?”

  “Her name is Lilith,” answered Oriyanna before Adam had any chance to reply. “She was on the team that was sent for Adam but she killed them in order to get him away.”

  “So she saved your arse and then turned on you? Now I am confuddled.”

  “It's a long story,” Adam cut in. “She told me she was an Earth-Breed who wanted out, but turns out she was no such thing.”

  Oriyanna crossed the kitchen, and avoiding the pool of blood on the floor, put her arm around Adam and said, “She was Buer's daughter and had her own agenda. She'd gone rogue in order to accomplish her own goals.”

  “Shit,” said Sam, shaking his head again, this time in utter disbelief. “Well, you better hope that's the end of his family line or they will be after you.” He smiled at Adam who shot him a glare back. “Let's get her body out of here, it's making the place look untidy. Once that's sorted I think we all need to sit down, preferably over some grub, and tell each other what we know.” He unwrapped Lucie's arm which was now around his waist, and placed his pack on the side before bending down at Lilith's body and looking for a pulse. “I'm guessing she has The Gift?” he asked, looking to Oriyanna.

  “That's what gave her away,” Lucie answered for her. “She was opening a can when she cut herself, and I saw her heal as I was helping her to wash it clean.”

  “And that's what put you in the firing line,” he speculated, nodding his head. “I wonder just when she planned to show her true colours?” He stood and wiped some invisible dust or dirt from his hands. “Well, she's a goner alright. I guess a knife into the head is just as good as a bullet.”

  “Yes, it will have the same effect,” said Oriyanna encouragingly. “Anything that kills the electrical signals from the brain disables the nanobots and renders them inactive.”

  Sam stepped over the body and opened the back door fully, it had bounced back against the wall and swung partially shut again as he'd barged in. Turning to Adam he said, “You take the legs, I'l
l take the torso. I don't want you chundering again if you get a bit of blood on you.” He shot his friend a wicked smile. “I'm guessing you haven't checked to see if the boozer is still in business?”

  “Not yet,” Adam replied bending down and taking Lilith's legs under his arm.

  “Well, I passed the sign on the way in and it looked,” he paused, “maintained.” Let's hope, as they've always done a good fry-up. I don't know about you guys but I'm famished. I have a few bits in my pack but nothing I'd class as breakfast.” Sam picked Lilith's body up from under her limp arms. “And those tins on the side musta been here since we last came up.”

  “We'll clean up here,” added Lucie, opening draws and searching for a rag. She was only too aware of the trade her husband worked in but from the safety of her own home she always felt very detached from its ugliness. Seeing just how easily he could brush the sight of a dead body and death aside really slammed it home. She was under no illusions that she'd been in a kill or be killed situation but it still was hard to swallow. Whilst she respected and almost envied his blasé attitude, it also chilled her a little. Finding an old threadbare tea towel in a draw, which worked difficultly on its deteriorating runner, she watched the two boys heave the body up, which seemed to look heavier than it should be, and navigate it out of the kitchen. As soon as it was gone she felt better.

  “So that hulking sack of shit had a family,” said Sam as he took care not to fall back off the doorstep. “I guess she must have studied that fucking book you wrote and knew exactly who was to blame for his death.”

  “I think on that particular day,” he began, almost losing his grip on her legs, “that it was me who done the arse saving by shooting him, although it was more luck than judgement. And that book needed to be written, how was I to know this was going to happen.”