The Duals (An Urban Fantasy Thriller)

by Karen Hayes

  "The election campaign is in full swing," Adam explains. "We're very busy."

  Busy? I look at the posters, then at the little banners on the desks. The penny starts to drop.

  "Are you his team?" I nod at the posters.

  Adam gives me a subdued smile. "You could say so, I suppose. I'm in charge of his election campaign. That's on top of all the other things we're doing."

  Holy Jesus! I grin like an idiot. We're in Ben McAllister's HQ! "Is he here? I'd love to see him."

  Adam shrugs. "You can't. He doesn't come here often. He's too busy."

  "And your duals, do they work for him too?"

  "Some of them do. Please understand: we don't work for Ben. We work with him. In our opinion, he's the only worthy candidate. That's why we're doing it. We mainly deal with things like terrorism, trying to bring democracy to all corners of the world. This is our goal. But unlike others, we work undercover."

  I smile knowingly. "Does McAllister know that?"

  "Knows what, about the other things we do? I don't think so."

  I glance over my shoulder at Emma walking next to Chris. My smile fades. All of a sudden I want to be out of this place.

  Am I jealous? But why should I be? Chris has the right to make his own decisions. This makes no sense.

  Adam's pale eyes study me again. He swings open the door of a glass cubicle. "After you."

  His office is modest: a desk, three comfortable chairs - one for Adam, two more for visitors - and two plastic seats in the corner. The glass walls are hung with diplomas and certificates, plus another McAllister poster and a large round white clock.

  The view from the huge window is breathtaking. The whole of Manhattan lies before me, as well as the bay. I had no idea some people could enjoy such vistas on a daily basis.

  I set my backpack on the floor and take a seat. The futuristic black leather chair is creaky and curved at an impossible angle. I don't feel comfortable at all.

  Chris slumps into the chair next to mine, stretches out his long legs under the desk and stares expectantly at Adam like a boss at a board meeting.

  I envy his composure. I know he's faking it: in fact, he's focused and alert. And strangely silent. In all the time since we entered the building he's barely spoken.

  Emma takes a seat to Adam's right so that she can see all of us. I don't feel like discussing anything in her presence. She seems so out of place here.

  I look up at Adam. "Can you tell us more about this dual thing?"

  He nods. A strand of blond hair falls over his forehead. "That's why we've come here. Coffee?"

  Chris and I shake our heads in unison. Strangely enough, neither of us is hungry. Half an hour ago, I was ravenous but now I can't even think about food.

  Adam orders a coffee for himself. A girl enters the room, carrying a precious thimble-size cup on a tray. The tangy aroma of coffee spreads through the air.

  "So, duals," Adam takes a sip from the cup. "One of the two always possesses a certain ability. Like you, Sarah. Your type is called a carrier."

  Oh, great. A carrier of what? The word sounds like I'm Typhoid Mary. "You said, ability. Are we mutants?"

  He makes a vague gesture. "It's just a gene. A special combination of your parents' chromosomes. It's a bit like the so-called 'red hair gene' that also raises the risk of skin cancer. The 'dual gene' is infinitely more rare. It increases a person's chances of having certain mutations in their brain and spinal cord. A combination of those mutations is responsible for a variety of abilities."

  "How many abilities are there?"

  "Lots. Some of them can go virtually unnoticed. There are others though which the carrier can't conceal."

  Chris preserves a brooding silence. I nod as if I understand anything of what he's just said. "For instance, Chris is incredibly strong, right?"

  "Absolutely. However, this trait isn't peculiar to him. All the guardians are extremely strong. They have to be."

  "Guardians?" Chris repeats.

  Adam sizes him up with his gaze. "Exactly. The other dual is called a guardian."

  We don't say a word. We just look at him expectantly, waiting for him to tell us more. This is crazy.

  Adam, in turn, keeps studying us. "Where do I begin," he finally says. "Each carrier needs a guardian who makes sure the other is safe and high on energy. This has something to do with the mirror neurons phenomenon. The closer the two are to each other, the stronger the carrier's ability is - together with the guardian's power."

  Oh, great. So I've been feeding on Chris' energy like some sick vampire? The thought makes me cringe. "Won't it hurt him in the long run," I nod at Chris, "if I keep feeding on him?"

  Adam laughs softly. "Not at all. Duals belong together. They must seek each other out and stay together. This only makes them stronger. But the closer they are, the more difficult it is for them to part. Their brains begin to resonate, if you know what I mean. The dual who fails to find his or her other half has a shorter life span-" he stops and glances absent-mindedly over his office. His gaze alights on the window view.

  I have a funny feeling we've touched on a personal note. We haven't seen his "guardian" yet, have we? We've seen lots of bodyguards, company workers and even "apprentices" - but what about Adam's other half?

  Did he or she die? Losing someone you love is very hard, I know.

  Once again I think of the overturned car on the bloodied snow and the bodies in the front seats. I take a deep breath. Calm down, Sarah. Not here, not now. Look at Adam. He does his best to conceal his grief, whatever that is. He just sits there matter-of-factly staring at the thick clouds overhanging the city. The weak daylight casts a faint shadow on his face.

  Why is it I always think of bad things? It's not as if his other half had to die like my family did. They may have simply parted ways. Why not? Besides, Adam can still use his powers, can't he?

  This doesn't add up, though. Questions, questions. This probably isn't the right time to ask them but... but they make me remember something.

  "In this case, how did I manage to control the nurse back in the hospital if Chris wasn't there?" I ask.

  Chris casts me a quick glance and nods slightly, as if approving of the question.

  Adam takes another sip of his coffee. He's not in a hurry. He seems to contemplate how much he can let us know - and what he should keep back from us.

  "Well, firstly, he wasn’t that far from you, after all," he finally says. "He was only a few blocks away. And secondly, you had been together for quite a while before that. You never really lost contact with each other. And you, Sarah, are a very strong carrier indeed. You don't need your guardian's physical presence. Naturally, you still have a lot to learn. You need to hone your ability, but," he points a finger at me, "you've got potential. You both do."

  Throughout the conversation, Chris just sits their sulking with his lips pursed. His gaze wanders over the diplomas on the walls, the business card holder on the table, then alights on Adam. I can feel the frustration growing in him so clearly as if I'm experiencing it myself. I want to lay my hand on his elbow to calm him down.

  The funny thing is, Emma, this little mouse, seems to sense it too, judging by the concerned stares she keeps casting in our direction.

  "And how about the hospital nurse and her team?" Chris rubs the bruise on the back of his neck. "They are all huge and strong like myself. Are they all guardians? What do they want from us?"

  Adam nods. "Yes, they're all guardians. They work for a so-called Agency whose philosophy is that duals are dangerous. The Agency's owners believe we should all be eliminated."

  "Aren't they duals too?"

  "Ah, here lies the rub. As you've rightly noticed, they're all guardians. They're loners without a pair. They're damaged, both emotionally and morally. If they have to kill normal people - say, accidental witnesses - in order to get rid of some duals, they will do that. They think it's worth the sacrifice because if duals live, they will destroy many more people
. Which makes them unflinching killers who mainly target carriers. The Agency has a special program for their early detection and elimination."

  "Early elimination?" I repeat.

  "You mean, they kill children?" Chris says.

  Adam nods.

  I can't believe it. What kind of monster do you need to be to seek out children and murder them?

  "And this building," Chris says, "is this your headquarters? Does the Agency know about it?"

  "Naturally," Adam agrees. "You can't keep something like this under wraps. Still, as you can see, we share it with quite a few other companies, some of which are quite powerful. Even the Agency doesn't dare stage a major terrorist act in a place like this. Also, our security staff take care of their agents by kidnapping them and," he smiles drily, "erasing their memory."

  I look up sharply. Chris sits up straight in his chair. Fury floods over me, scorching my brain.

  "You did it?" Chris leans forward. "Is it your fault I can't even remember my own address?"

  "Oh, no, no, no," Adam raises his hands in the air. "That night by the club you were attacked by the Agency's guardians. By then, they'd been following you for quite a while. You knew too much, you see. You must have found out something about the Agency. Something you weren't supposed to know."

  Of course! The memory stick! Chris and I exchange glances.

  Suddenly I remember. A man, gray-faced and sort of jumpy... we met him at the club. His thin, nervous fingers fiddling with the memory stick shaped as a vintage car... he pushes it toward us across the table...

  I remember our hasty discussion drowned out by the music. The sheer joy of it - we did it! We got the data!

  It was me who'd made the guy betray... betray whom, in fact? Yes, the company he used to work for. I controlled him, telling him he wasn't happy with how they treated him. So he leaked us this data about some project they were doing. What kind of project? I can't remember.

  "You were too reckless," Adam says. "You exposed yourselves. The Agency has a special type of neural weapon they use against duals, called a neurological suppressor."

  "Yeah right," Chris grumbles. "A neural weapon! You guys read too much science fiction."

  "Really? And the fact that Sarah can force anyone to do something they would never have done of their own free will, that's not science fiction? How about the note you found in your pocket? It was Fred who planted it. Not science fiction?"

  "And you too," I add, addressing Adam, "remember how you controlled that cop on the boat?"

  Adam grins. "Also. It's all right, Chris. You need to understand that the Agency indeed is at the foreground of technical progress. They have lots of things at their disposal that are yet to become available to the general consumer population."

  Chris shakes his head. "Sorry. I know for a fact that these 'neural suppressors' don't exist. Even the secret services don't have anything like that."

  Adam raises a quizzical eyebrow. "How do you know?"

  That's shut him up, hasn't it? Our little Mr. Brana-know-all shrinks back in his chair and crosses his arms over the chest, as if to show his right to his own opinions. "Very well. A neural suppressor, as you say. Did they bash us on the head with it?"

  Emma emits a light sigh. Her hands are clenched, white-knuckled, in her lap.

  "When duals work together," Adam explains, "they're not so easy to be killed. Even the best-trained agents can't do that. So they use the suppressor to inhibit our mental functions, making their job easier. Emma can tell you. One time she was affected by it too."

  Emma nods. "The Agency didn't expect you to be so powerful," she explains in a lifeless voice. "Instead of inhibiting your minds, the suppressant triggered a..." she waves her hand, searching for a word.

  "It triggered neurological resonance," Adam concludes, "which sent your brains into overload. That in turn started a chain reaction of paranoia and aggression."

  I remember the fury which seemed to have consumed me. Chris' face, distorted with malice; his fist smashing some poor person's nose. We were running amok.

  That's why Rose was so afraid of me. I must have scared her out of her mind when I had come home that night, furious and disheveled. Yes, now it all made sense.

  "Where were you then?" Chris demands, bent on blaming Adam for all of this. "What were you doing when they were after us? What are you doing to prevent them from killing innocent children? Apart from holing up in your penthouse?"

  Adam's face darkens. My ears get blocked as if the air pressure in the room has suddenly gone up. It feels as if he's about to use his own powers just to tell Chris to shut up.

  Instead, Adam says,

  "It's easy to blame someone when you have none of their responsibility."

  Another wave of anger arises from Chris, scorching my senses.

  "I'm responsible for myself! And for her," he nods at me.

  Now it's my turn to protest. "Excuse me! I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself! Not that you helped me a lot! You're too shy to face your own father!"

  His glare burns a hole in me. I literally can feel the heat in my chest. My fingertips prickle like hell. A hot wave washes down my spine, making my head go round. I feel sick. Damn those mirror neurons! It looks like we can't even argue. It was probably this neurological resonance effect working: if we get too angry with each other we can scorch each other's brains.

  His figure seems to grow. Chris is now towering above me like a dark cliff, weighing me down, pressing me into the ground, making me wish I could shrink back into my chair and squeeze my eyes shut.

  Instead, I only get angry. Up yours, mister! I scowl and glare back at him.

  Then something happens. It's as if an invisible fist punches the air between us, giving Chris a good whack on the forehead, right at the center of his selfish ego.

  Christ turns pale and slumps back in his seat. The heat he exudes starts to cool down. I feel better already.

  I look up at Adam who shifts his gaze from me to Chris and back. How embarrassing. How stupid.

  Gradually the tension releases me. My heart slows down.

  Adam breaks the heavy silence. He turns to Chris. "You can think what you want but we're doing everything we possibly can to locate and save each and every dual. We saved your lives when you were attacked near that club, didn't we? Had it not been for us... The fact that you two are now sitting in this room is proof enough that we do our best."

  "Sometimes your best isn't good enough," Chris pauses, rubbing his temple. "You still managed to erase our memories."

  "They did save our lives," I butt in. "You might have survived and become one of those damaged lone guardians. But they would've killed me, that's for sure."

  I want to add, Not that you care, but bite my tongue just in time.

  No one speaks. Finally, Adam clears his throat. "In any case, as I've already said, you two have a lot of potential. You can say what you want, but I personally welcome every dual we manage to save and-"

  ...and would love to use you to advance my own agenda.

  I didn't think this. Chris did. No, I'm not a mind reader. I don't need to be. The expression on his face and his body language as he leans back in his seat - they all speak for themselves.

  "...and I'd like to make you an offer to stay here. Together we'll be stronger. We can take care of each other. We can even," Adam points at the McAllister poster on the wall, "change history."

  Silence again. I look at Chris who's not in a hurry to reply. Adam lays his hands on the table, waiting for our reaction.

  Personally, I've got nowhere else to go. For me it's a no-brainer, really. How are we supposed to evade the Agency and its damaged guardians who are trained to hunt down duals? Chris and I only managed to last twenty-four hours against them - and only because Adam helped us in the end. Had we stayed on the run for a few more hours, those gorillas would have already nailed our ears over their respective fireplaces.

  Besides, admittedly I quite like Adam. Adam Vecto
r. Why not? He's calm and composed, unlike my dear partner. You can see he's smart but he's also polished, without that rough brutality that's obvious in Chris in spite of all his money and education.

  Also, Adam has the same kind of ability as I do. I might learn a lot from him.

  "Count me in," I say.

  Chris swings toward me. "Sarah-"

  I'd love to stick out my tongue but that would be too childish. So I raise a quizzical eyebrow. We aren't happy, are we? We don't like it when other people make their own informed decisions? Well, I'm sorry! I'm not one of those stupid cows with goo goo eyes. You can't tell me what to do.

  "Can we have a word?" Chris says. Outside."

  I nod. "Okay."

  We rise from our places.

  "You can use the conference room next door," Adam says to our backs. "Take your time. This is an important decision. You really need to give it some thought."

  Chris

  Important decision! Yes, he's dead right there. We really have to give it some thought before handing ourselves over to some weird entity controlled by some guy we don't even know. Why should we? You have to be Sarah to agree to something like this.

  I'm about to tell her as much but I reconsider.

  Pointless. We can't argue, not at the moment. I don't know how many times I've had to say this to myself in the last twenty-four hours. We may be mad as hell at each other but at the moment, she is the only person who's actually on my side. Same goes for me, really. Not this posh Adam Vector and his superman sidekicks. We know nothing about them. But she and I, we're a team.

  Secondly, I still can't work out what has just happened there in the office. It felt like a simultaneous psy attack: my anger nearly crushed her, triggering a response wave of unbridled fury.

  My temples still ache from the impact. We've got to be more careful in the future.

  I take a deep breath. "Why did you have to agree so fast?"

  "Please. As if you don't understand," Sarah slumps onto a couch, picks up a water bottle from a low table, peels off the cap and takes a long drink.

  I'm actually parched too. My throat feels as dry as sandpaper after our little mental duel. Several more bottles labeled in French are sitting on the table, next to some tall glasses and a bowl of chocolates.