The Duals (An Urban Fantasy Thriller)

by Karen Hayes

  I approach the gate, trying to keep my back to a cop standing nearby. It looks like he's about to board the ferry, too.

  Great. Just our luck. We'll have to keep a low profile, then.

  Chris pushes his stupid cap lower and looks down, pretending he's studying the floor tiles. We walk through. The steel ramps rattle underfoot.

  We climb to the upper deck. The wind is freezing but there's no way I'm going inside. Too many prying eyes there. The outside seats are unoccupied, though.

  The ferry departs, fast and smooth. The flag is flapping loudly on the pole.

  The plastic seats are wet. I walk over to the railing and lean against it. Immediately my sleeves soak through as the railings, too, are covered in droplets of moisture.

  All this - the morning, the cold, the wet sleeves, the ferry itself - starts to drive me mad. I readjust the backpack strap on my shoulder, then reach into my pocket for two more bits of gum. Last ones. I crumple the empty packet in my hand.

  Chris leans against the railing next to me. I try not to look at him.

  "What 'second time'?" I ask, addressing the water below.

  "What did you say?"

  "The note says, he won't help us again. Because this was 'the second time' he'd done so. Did he help us before?"

  "I have an idea."

  "You don't mean it! Come on, spit it out," I concentrate on my gum, trying to swallow all the bitter things I wish I could tell him. We didn't dream that note up, did we? I was sleepy as hell too, by the way, but I stayed awake to make sure we were safe! He didn't even offer to keep watch, did he? He just crashed out, end of story.

  Shut up, Sarah. Concentrate on your gum. Chewing is better than calling someone names and regretting it later. This I know from experience.

  "Isn't 'the second time' when that guy came to us when we were standing in the line?" he finally says.

  "What was the first time, then?"

  "I think it was by my father's house. Didn't I tell you about that crazy van driver? The one who rammed the car that spied on me?"

  I nod. It seems to make sense.

  The Manhattan skyline begins to recede into the misty distance as if the island is sinking under the weight of its majestic towers. This is a perfect camera angle much loved by tourists. In summer they crowd out the ferries, clicking their cameras non-stop.

  A new memory kicks in. A scorching hot summer day; the wind on my face; a strong shoulder under my hand. The sun pours over Chris who turns to me, smiling. I feel happy, so happy.

  The vision bursts like a bubble, throwing me back into reality. Which is cold, gray and miserable.

  Chris turns to me. No smile this time. His eyes are dull like the water overboard.

  "I won't be a moment," he says. "Scream if you need me."

  He disappears onto the lower deck, leaving me all alone.

  Trying to get warm, I walk along the railing listening to the muffled sound of the screws until I notice the cop's head in the cabin window. He's sitting inside reading a newspaper.

  I swing round and hurry to get out of his line of vision. Better safe than sorry.

  Where exactly are we going, anyway? Is someone supposed to meet us at the terminal? Or will they send their zombie messenger again?

  I rub my hands. My fingers tingle.

  I turn numb with fear.

  I know what that means. I turn my head, scanning the area for our attackers. No one.

  I walk over to the other side of the ferry and check again. No one. It has to be my imagination playing up. Hopefully...

  "Hi," a voice says behind me.

  I startle, recognizing it, and swing round. A scream freezes in my throat.

  The blond guy - the one from the clinic - is standing behind me. He's tall but rather lanky: not as fit as Chris. He's about twenty-five. An expensive overcoat hangs open, revealing a bespoke black suit and an ivory shirt.

  He stands with his hands in his pockets. The wind plays with his hair, brushing it over his high forehead.

  Is this the right moment to scream for help? Or is it too early still?

  Three more men in identical dark suits appear further down the deck, looking like some posh celebrity's bodyguards. Yes, it's definitely time for me to scream.

  I take in a lungful of air and-

  "Don't," the blond guy says. "Don't force me to control you."

  The way he says it makes me shut my mouth and pay attention. If he can do what I can, I'd better not provoke him. Besides...

  Wait a sec.

  If he can do what I can...

  He nods. "Yes, it was me trying to help you," he pulls a slim hand out of the pocket and proffers it to me. "I'm Adam. Adam Vector."

  I pause, then accept his strong handshake. His hand is warm and dry. He looks confident.

  "I'm Sarah."

  He nods again, suppressing a smile. He probably knows everything about me, from my home address to my shoe size. He might actually know things about me I don't know myself.

  "You shouldn't have escaped from us in the clinic. We were there to protect you."

  "Yeah right. How was I supposed to know? I thought you were with that nurse... that gorilla."

  "Diana."

  "Excuse me?"

  "Her name is Diana."

  "How do you know?" I step back, just in case, and grab at the railing. If he tries to control me, I'll jump overboard. I'd rather do that than follow his commands.

  "She and I, we go back a long way," he explains. The three others watch me closely. Adam raises his hand, signaling for them to stay where they are. "She's an old enemy of mine. I'm not gonna hurt you. You're one of us."

  I don't get the chance to reply as Chris appears at a distance behind Adam's back. He looks at me, then at the others, taking in the scene, and hurries toward us. Judging by the expression on his face, he's about to rip Adam apart.

  "Leave her alone!" Chris grabs his shoulder and swings him round to face him. "Sarah, you okay?"

  "Sort of."

  Adam gestures to his bodyguards to stay out of it. "Let me go," he says in a soft voice. "Don't move."

  Chris's hands snap open as if burned by the fabric. Fear glints in his empty eyes. It hurts me to see him like this.

  "Please don't!" I scream. "He's with me!"

  "I know," our new friend says calmly. His voice softens. "Very well. Wake up."

  Chris staggers like a puppet whose strings have been cut. He steps back, trying to regain balance, then casts me a brooding look as if it's all my fault.

  I really should say something but I can't think of anything. So I just walk around Adam, stand next to Chris and lay my hand on his elbow.

  He tenses up but doesn't avoid my touch. Good. All I want is to show them we're together. I'm not going anywhere without Chris. I won't let anyone hurt him.

  Adam looks us over. "There're lots of things you don't remember. I can help you. I can tell you all about your abilities and how to control them. I can tell you what happened to you."

  "How can you possibly know what happened to us?" Chris asks.

  "I have my sources."

  "What kind of sources? How old are you?"

  Adam's face remains impassive. "I'm older than I look."

  I believe him. It's this expression in his eyes... you can tell that he's seen a lot. That's the kind of eyes Grace's brother used to have when he came back from Iraq. As if part of his soul was still there, ripped apart by explosions and lethal gunfire.

  But still Adam's face is different. It is, how can I describe it... it's filled with light. Not kindly or benign or anything - but friendly. It makes you want to look at it.

  "And if you tell us all this," I say, "what do you want in return? What is it you want from us?"

  Yes, I want to know more about the deal. Because this is a deal, I can feel it. I stopped believing in charity a long time ago. If someone wants to help you, it's only because they need something from you. Either that, or they're an idiot. There's no other opti
on.

  True, Adam doesn't look as if he's an idiot. He opens his mouth to say something, then promptly shuts up and steps aside, giving way to a stout woman in a stupid plastic mac. The woman casts us a disinterested look, then disappears round the corner.

  Chris' face is as dark as the sky overhead. He stands there waiting without saying anything. I'm waiting too.

  "We have an office," Adam finally says. "You can call it a base or a safe house, whatever. I'm not going to keep you there by force. But you need to understand that the Agency's guardians are out to get you."

  "Diana," I say under my breath.

  Adam nods. "Also. She's one of many. It's not FBI, it's not the police or the CIA. The guardian agents are much more dangerous - and powerful.

  One of the bodyguards walks silently over to us.

  "Sir," he nods at something. We turn to see what it is.

  "Talking about the police," Adam says.

  The cop with the newspaper walks leisurely toward us.

  I squeeze Chris' elbow. He shifts his feet. I know what he's thinking about. The dead body he discovered: the cop must have recognized him from an APB.

  I think about the nut house and about Rose whom I left unconscious on the floor in my apartment.

  The cop studies our group. His stare alights on me and Chris.

  "Hands on the railing," he orders.

  We freeze. He draws a gun. "Sir, I want you to put your hands on the railing. I want to see them," his voice tenses, rising.

  Adam takes a small step forward. The cop points his gun at him.

  What does he think he's doing? He'll get himself killed in a moment! And what about his so-called bodyguards? They still keep a safe distance from us, even the one who warned him.

  "Put your gun down, officer," Adam says with a soft smile. The air separating him and the cop begins to vibrate. The cop's gaze freezes. Obediently he holsters it.

  "Now go back to your seat. You haven't seen us. We're just commuters."

  The cop turns round and staggers on stiff legs back into the cabin.

  Just like that. One moment he was here and now he's gone.

  Adam turns to us and raises a meaningful eyebrow. He seems to be enjoying the expressions on our faces.

  "You're not alone," he says. "We're Duals. And we're a power to be reckoned with."

  Chapter Eight

  Sarah

  "WELCOME TO YOUR new home," Adam says with a sweeping gesture around a large crowded lobby.

  He's jumping the gun, of course. Chris and I haven't agreed to anything yet. We only said we'd have a look at what he has to offer.

  Admittedly, this place is quite impressive.

  The office tower in Lower Manhattan is bigger than anything I've ever seen in my life. Endless crowds flow in and out of its glass doors. Some people pause to say hello to Adam or even shake hands with him. It looks like he's a big shot here. Possibly, the biggest.

  We have to walk through a detector gate manned by four armed guards, followed by a row of turnstiles and another round of searches. What do they think it is, Fort Knox or something?

  The huge lobby echoes with a multitude of voices. The walls are polished marble; the elevators glisten with mirrors and steel as they scurry up and down their glassy shafts. This is a kingdom of big money and even bigger ambitions.

  Two of the armed guards are different from the others. I can sense their presence just as I sense Adam, Chris, our attackers and all the other... what's the word again, duals? Is that what they call themselves?

  One of the two is a tall red-headed guy covered all over in freckles. He shakes hands with Adam. In his other hand he's holding a magnetic pass card. Noticing me staring at him, he gives me an inconspicuous wink and takes a quick look around as if checking if anyone noticed.

  With a startle I realize that the card has disappeared from his hand. How is it possible? It was just there in his fingers!

  He grins and gives me another wink. "Check your pockets."

  I shove my hands down my jacket pockets. Nothing in the left one.

  And how about the right one...

  I pull out the card.

  Chris too produces an identical card from his pocket.

  Is this some kind of circus trick?

  "Fred can teleport things," Adam says softly. "Only small ones, and only inanimate objects. Which is a good thing, otherwise the New York skyline would be littered with cars, garbage bins, billboards and flying humans."

  Fred grins. "Thanks, boss."

  He watches the next person passing through the turnstile while Adam motions us to move on.

  "That's how they must have planted the note," Chris murmurs.

  I nod. He's right. Fred must have been somewhere near the bus station. He could have been in one of the cars driving past.

  Adam and his men must have been following us all this time. In a way, I'm even grateful. It's nice to know someone cares.

  It's also nice to know that you're not alone in the world. That there're others like you around. Lots of special people with special powers. Adam and I can control the human mind, Chris is exceptionally strong, Fred can teleport things...

  These guys are nothing short of superheroes. I probably shouldn't have made that joke about fancy names and even fancier suits. I might end up wearing them myself.

  "A Dual - as the name suggests - can't be on his or her own," Adam finally breaks the silence in the elevator which spirits us away to the forty-somethingth floor. "We exist in pairs. We subsist on each other's powers."

  "Only in pairs?" I ask. "Because in the hospital I was alone but I still managed to force Diana to inject herself with a syringe."

  His gaze lights up with interest. "You want to say you managed to control one of the Agency's best operatives?"

  I nod. Adam falls silent, pensive. A brooding Chris frowns from his corner.

  Finally, I can't take it any longer. "What does that mean?" I ask just as the elevator jingles to a halt.

  "It means that you two are a powerful team," Adam says before walking out.

  We're facing a reception desk with two women behind it. One of them has a pair of headphones on. The other has a microphone perched on her ear. They're sitting under a large blue-glass sign mounted on the wall,

  Hermetis. Social Interaction Technologies

  All of this is impressive even if a bit cryptic.

  A large holographic image of the tower changes color at the center of the hall. I walk closer. This is a 3D floor scheme of the building.

  As I approach, the image starts to rotate as each floor's plan unfolds, then folds back in again. Each floor is marked with the name of the company that rents it. Those taken by Hermetis are marked in a coralline color. They're in the upper half of the tower.

  "We have dozens of companies working in this building," Adam says over my shoulder. "Here," he points, "is the Bubble. Yes, yes. The world's biggest soda maker. And over there," he points higher, "are Gedeon Solicitors. Ever heard about them?"

  I shake my head.

  "I have," Chris butts in. "My father used to hire them."

  Adam nods. "Half of NYC does."

  He then points at the area highlighted in coralline. "Here are our offices, the café and the restaurant. Above are the living quarters and the gym. But being duals, you'd better practice downstairs on Level -2. That's deep underground. Level -2 is the lowest in this building."

  "We don't need to practice," Chris snaps. "We won't be staying long enough."

  I disagree with both of them but choose to keep my opinions to myself for the time being. I don't wish to appear too uppety.

  Adam ignores Chris' words entirely. He points to the top part of the image,

  "These are our living quarters. My apartment and those of my assistants are here in the penthouse."

  So! I was right, then: he is definitely the big cheese in this building.

  In that case, why did he have to come to the clinic personally to save me? He didn't have
to do so, did he?

  A mousey girl walks over to us. She's about my age, petite and so stick-insect skinny I can almost see the wall through her. She wears her chestnut hair in a neat bun; her long face isn't exactly attractive with slightly slanted eyes and a short meaty nose. Her gaze behind her expensive glasses is filled with sorrow as if she's been hurt.

  "Please meet Emma," Adam says. "She's my apprentice."

  Apprentice, yeah right. I cast a furtive glance at Adam. He must be in his early thirties. In fact, he doesn't look much older than Chris who's in his twenties.

  Emma smiles, exposing a set of large horsey teeth, and proffers me a hand. "Hi," her eyes don't change their expression.

  I squeeze her thin, quivering fingers. She then turns to Chris. Her hand lingers in his; I watch the color creep up her cheeks.

  No way!

  Not another stupid girl having a crush on him! Her eyes now betray the same expression I've seen a lot of just lately: every eligible female in the street and at the station have been giving him this lost-puppy look.

  Welcome to the club, girl.

  Chris may be as hot as they get, I agree, but none of those girls had any idea of what a stubborn bastard he can be when he wants to.

  Suppressing a smirk, I turn to Adam - and stumble across his watchful, prickly stare. Apparently, he's been studying me all this time.

  "Let's go to my office," he turns and leads us further on.

  We enter a spacious, airy room. Several heads peek from above the low cubicles. The room is filled with the humming of voices, the ringing of phones and the rustling of ACs.

  The floor-to-ceiling window offers a breathtaking view: the city skyline lies far below, with only a few occasional towers rising up to match ours.

  Adam walks down the aisle between the cubicles, shaking an occasional hand or dropping a comment. The workers cast me curious glances. A few times I experience the familiar tingling sensation in my fingertips. I notice that whenever that happens, I walk past a worker with a particularly curious stare. It's as if they're trying to measure us up.

  The room's walls are hung with the inevitable Ben McAllister posters.