The Duals (An Urban Fantasy Thriller)

by Karen Hayes

  She turns away, touches her earpiece and says something under her breath, all black leather and high alert. So uncaring. Dead inside. Dead like a doornail.

  That was one of my Dad's favorite expressions. Dead like a doornail...

  I throw two more bits of gum in my mouth and sink my teeth into them. I'm alone now, facing a row of standard green plastic seats. I seem to be spending half my life waiting in plastic seats just lately.

  I slump into one of them and try to sit still for five minutes. It doesn't work. I jump up and start pacing the corridor, from the operating theater's doors past the elevators toward the white door of the emergency exit. A colorful poster of first-aid instructions is pinned to it.

  I study the pictures and walk back. My shoes are slippery on the tiled floor. One of the lamps overhead keeps buzzing.

  Finally, when I've already memorized the first-aid instructions by heart, I can hear footsteps coming from the elevators. That's Heaven again. She peeks from around the corner, waving her hand at me.

  "Come on, I'll take you to your room."

  I shake my head. "No, thank you. I'd rather wait here."

  "You can come here later," she says. "We'll tell you when you can see him."

  I cast a look at the operating theater's door. The surgery might take ages. And once it's finished, he'll probably still be unconscious. And I'm about to drop with fatigue.

  I suddenly realize how tired I really am. My whole body is aching. I can't even think straight. I hate to admit it, but Heaven is probably right.

  "Come on, Sarah," she keeps urging me. If I refuse, she might just throw me over her shoulder and carry me off. With her height and strength, I wouldn't be surprised.

  I follow her in silence. I feel awful. I seem to be trading Chris just for a few hours of sleep.

  But the moment my head touches the pillow, I'm dead to the world.

  I WAKE UP in the middle of the night. The low ceiling is awash in the eerie streetlight. The moon, round like a silver dollar, creeps across the sky over the clusters of skyscraper beacons outlining the streets below.

  I can't stop thinking about what happened. I replay every moment of the previous day in my mind, searching for Chris. I can sense no connection. Nothing. A heavy lump of ice feels lodged firmly in my chest. What if Chris is gone?

  How on earth did I manage to get so attached to him? So what if he's gone? Obstinate bastard! I couldn't stand his posh ways!

  My hands shake as I get dressed. I hurry toward the elevators and descend ten floors, back to the surgery block.

  It hasn't changed. It's empty and cold, very morgue-like.

  I run down the corridor and knock on the operating theater's door, suppressing a scream. I need to do something, even attack Adam in his office if necessary.

  Luckily, an orderly in pale-blue scrubs exits one of the closed doors.

  I run up to him. "Can I see Chris Brana, please?"

  He frowns blankly. He doesn't seem to recognize the name.

  "Chris Brana," I repeat, trying to remember what the medical staff said in the van. "They brought him in here last night with head injuries."

  "There's nobody here," he replies.

  His words hit me like an electric shock. My hands turn cold. Did they fail to save him? Impossible! "What do you mean, there's nobody here?"

  "We've had everybody moved to their rooms," he motions me to follow him. I scamper along, calling Heaven every name under the sun. She did promise to wake me up, didn't she?

  We take the elevator to the floor above. This looks like an ordinary busy hospital. A nurse on duty is presiding over the reception room. The corridor beyond it is lined with doors. I can glimpse the rooms through observation windows. Most of them are empty. There's a girl lying on one of the beds. One of the windows is covered with steel blinds.

  The orderly takes me to the last door, opens it and leaves me in a stifling silence.

  Chris is lying in bed, unmoving, his arms stretched along his body. A pulse reader is clipped to his finger, sending an uneven graph to the beeping monitor above. His eyes are sunken and ringed with black. The lights are dimmed. There're no windows.

  I take Chris' hand and squeeze it gently.

  A memory washes over me. The mangled SUV lying upside down amid the frozen desert. The cold. The blood.

  "Please don't die," I press my face against his duvet and sob uncontrollably.

  I know I'm stupid. Of course nobody dies here. I probably look weak, but I don't care. I can't help it; I just can't stop. I'm so scared of being left alone. Not now. Not again. If I lose someone again, I'll just collapse on the spot.

  A hand rests on my shoulder. Hurriedly I wipe away the tears. Now they'll all think I was crying because of Chris. I'll never be able to prove otherwise.

  "He'll be okay, don't worry. Dr. Red is the best."

  This is Emma, her voice. She stands behind me dressed in a gray tracksuit, her hair done up in a bun. Her eyes look twice as big behind the glasses. She perches herself on the edge of Chris' bed next to me, looking askance.

  I want to scream at her. I'd love to push her off his bed and see her writhe on the floor. She has no business being here.

  "He's an excellent healer. The best," she repeats.

  "Who do you mean?" I wheeze angrily.

  "Dr. Red. The hospital director. He's a healer. He can improve human metabolism."

  I snicker. "What, like probiotic yogurt?"

  She smiles for the first time since I met her.

  I can't help smiling too. I really should be more gentle with her. None of this is her fault. "How's Sam, all right?"

  "He's in a coma," she bites her lip, staring at the corridor through the observation window.

  That's right. He was the one closest to the van when it blew up. I dread to even guess what kinds of injuries he's got. "I'm so sorry."

  This is so awkward. Her guardian is in a much worse way than Chris and she's here comforting me. What can I say to her? I don't even know the right words. I know a hundred ways to tell someone to go to hell - but I've no idea how to comfort people.

  "I hope he makes it," I finally offer.

  She nods. For a while, we just sit there in silence staring at Chris. He appears to be sleeping. It's a good thing he can't see me now, otherwise he'd never let me forget it.

  The thought brings new tears to my eyes. I hurry to break the uneasy silence,

  "Losing our powers is not a very pleasant feeling, is it?"

  She shrugs a nonchalant shoulder. Her eyelashes quiver behind her glasses. "It's actually better this way."

  I very nearly drop off the chair. Better? Her guardian is in a coma! What's that now? "Why do you think it's better?"

  "You can't imagine how hard it is, reading human minds. You see and hear things you're not supposed to. Secrets and stuff," her fingers fumble with the hem of her sweatshirt. "It's not always pleasant."

  "I can imagine. It can't be nice reading my thoughts."

  "Sorry to be so blunt but your thoughts are downright innocent compared to some other people's. You can't imagine some of the things they think up..." she hugs her shoulders as if she's suddenly cold.

  "It must be terrible having to get on with people knowing this."

  She looks up at me. A faint smile crosses her lips. "This is probably not the best time to talk about it but I liked you the moment I saw you. You're a very honest person. Unlike some others, you do speak your mind. You can't imagine how good it feels."

  Hearing this cheers me up a little. "A lot of people would disagree with you."

  "So what? It's their problem. You're strong, Sarah. I wish I could be like you," she breathes a sigh, looking at Chris.

  So what is it she wants: to be like me or to take my place? You have to be blind not to see she has a thing for Chris. Strangely enough, I'm not angry with her anymore. I don't think either of us has a chance with him. He's into a different type of girl: someone who doesn't wear thick glasses or chews gum by
the handful. Come to think of it, he might have liked Rose, my roommate... had she had a bit more class and education.

  "Sam and I have been together for ten years now," Emma adds. "I've known him since I was a child."

  "That's a long time."

  "Yeah. It was Adam who found us."

  How interesting. He did tell me that Emma was his apprentice, but that was the extent of it.

  "How did you meet Adam?" I ask. I need to take my mind off everything that's just happened. Besides, I really am curious.

  I expect her to change the subject or ignore my question entirely but she gives a weak shrug. "Adam saved me from the Agency's guardians. They broke into our house. Dad tried to protect me. There was a lot of shooting," she licks her pale lips. "I tried to escape but they shot me with that neural suppressor thing of theirs."

  How awful. It hurts me just to think of it. "Bastards. How dare they shoot at children?"

  She nods. "They didn't know what kind of ability I had so they decided to play it safe and paralyze me. I dropped where I stood right in the road. I remember the traffic speeding and swerving past... It's a good job Adam arrived with his team. He only had six duals working for him at that time."

  "How about your parents?"

  "They killed them."

  I realize I'm staring but I can't help it. So we are all orphans here, aren't we? Is there a single dual who had a proper family and a happy childhood?

  Then again, happy duals wouldn't have to take cover in Hermetis, would they?

  "And you?" I ask. "What happened to you?"

  "Nothing, really. Adam took me in. I had nowhere else to go. He introduced me to Sam so I just stayed. Me and him, we really clicked."

  Clicked - with whom, Sam or Adam? "So you've been living here all this time?"

  She nods. "I had a boyfriend," she adds in a quiet voice. "He was normal. It just didn't work out. Adam says duals have difficulty adapting to normal people."

  This last memory seems to have deflated her completely. I want to touch her hand but I can't. How many of us are out there? How many have already been killed or crippled by the Agency?

  The thought makes my blood boil. They're not just bastards - they're monsters.

  "Sometimes I wish I could put an end to all this," Emma admits. "I'd love to be normal. I could go back to school. Wouldn't you like that too?"

  I don't know what to say to that. I've only been "different" for a very short while.

  Having said that, I've never been quite normal, either. I saw my parents die. I've been through a shedload of foster families. New places, new schools. I don't think my childhood was really that normal.

  I'm just about to say that much when a male voice pipes up from behind the door, "Sarah, can you come with me for a second?"

  That's Adam.

  Mechanically I sit up straight. I don't want him to see me in a moment of weakness. I push my hair away from my face and rearrange my wet sleeves.

  "Sorry," Emma gets up.

  I follow her out of the room and close the door behind us. Once in the corridor, I cross my arms and lean against the wall. I'm really pissed with Adam. It was his idea to bring Chris here to this so-called "clinic" of theirs. It's as if they want to use him as a guinea pig, not treat him. This really isn't the right moment.

  And still I can feel some weird attraction toward Adam. It's not the first time I experience this, either. I don't feel anything toward other carriers - some of them even give me this repellant sensation. But Adam seems to actually attract me. Just like Chris does.

  I shove this feeling where the sun don't shine and give him a defiant glare.

  Adam doesn't look good. He definitely hasn't gotten much sleep lately, his eyes red, his chin covered in pale stubble. His shirt collar is all chewed up.

  "Why are we here?" I ask him point blank.

  "What are you talking about?"

  I muster up all my strength to hold his glare. "Why did you bring Chris here? This isn't a hospital."

  "Oh yes, it is. We have some of the best staff in New York. He's being taken good care of, trust me."

  I shake my head.

  "He'll soon come round," Adam tries to reassure me. "At least here he's safe."

  I explode. "It's been twelve hours! I don't feel him. He's given his life defending your stinking politician!"

  "You really think he'd be better in a public hospital? He's a dual, Sarah, for Christ's sake. And as for giving his life," he pins my gaze with his, "it was your idea, wasn't it?"

  I have nothing to say to that. I avert my eyes. "That terrorist, who was he? Do you know?"

  "Just some Buffalo guy. Typical psychopath. We're still looking into it."

  "Do you think he was sent by the Agency?"

  "Not that we know of. Probably just a lone wolf. He's an ex-marine commander. He must have found out about us somehow. Probably saw a few things we can do. He thought McAllister was a demon or something. But we do have a working theory that he might have been manipulated by the Agency."

  He watches me closely as if sifting through my thoughts. I want to shut him out - and I want to open up to him.

  "Sarah," he says, "I know it's all my fault. I shouldn't have taken you up on your offer of help. The two of you are just starting to learn to control your powers. You don't have enough experience. And still you managed to prevent a mass murder," he makes a helpless gesture. 'You've saved hundreds of lives. You two are heroes."

  He falls silent as if searching for the right words. "It can't be easy for you," he finally says. "I know. I lost my dual too. She was killed."

  I freeze. I didn't expect that at all. So I was right, then.

  He runs his hand across his forehead, apparently about to say something else, but reconsiders. I've never seen him so... so fragile.

  He steps toward me.

  He's so close now that I catch a faint whiff of his aftershave. He takes my hands, staring me in the eye.

  "You're not alone," he says. "I want you to remember that. If you need anything, just say the word. You know where to find me."

  He runs his fingers over my cheek. His fingertips linger on my chin. It feels like a surge of electricity. For a split second, I become him, catching a glimpse of his thoughts and memories.

  Then it's over. Our contact is broken.

  He lowers his hands. "See you around."

  I watch him walk away. This isn't our usual Adam, straight-backed and confident. He's stooping; I can see his shoulder blades sticking out through his shirt.

  I'm torn by a whole bunch of feelings. I'm angry with myself for not wresting the answers out of him; disappointed that he's already leaving; scared of losing Chris just like Adam lost his own dual.

  On top of all that, I admire him. Yes, admire. I loathe to admit it. He may have lost his partner but he survived, after all. He stands on his own two feet. He helps others to do the same, too.

  Suddenly a thought pierces my mind. He said he'd lost his dual. If he had, then why does he still possess all his powers? How does he do it? Is he so special?

  Questions, questions. The guys seems to be a walking saucerful of secrets. I'd love to extract them from him, one by one.

  Still, it feels scary. I fear whatever I might find out.

  I brace myself and go back into the room to watch over Chris.

  No more tears. I can be strong, too.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sarah

  THE JAGGED white graph runs across the green monitor screen, rising and dropping. It would pause momentarily, running flat, then soar back up again.

  For the last three days, the life of Chris Brana has been reduced to these ups and downs on the monitor.

  His motionless face is so pale it appears powdered. His hands are cold. There's a tiny spot of blood still left on his neck below his ear. I rub it away with my finger.

  He has a bad concussion. Or so I'm told. Apparently, Sam is in an even worse way.

  Still, Chris is making good progre
ss. His wounds have already healed, mainly thanks to Dr. Red's efforts. According to him, guardian duals possess some genetic mutations which make them heal with remarkable speed.

  The healed scars are pink on his skin. His body has healed but his mind is gone. I don't need to be a doctor to know this.

  Chris isn't home. He's gone out somewhere and lost his way back.

  Sometimes - especially when I sit in his room like I do now - I feel crushed with guilt. I shouldn't have talked him into staying. I shouldn't have offered to escort that wretched McAllister guy. I just wanted to impress Adam, that's what it was. And I wanted to go see the show!

  I should be lying motionless in the hospital bed, not Chris. I wouldn't be surprised if he refused to see me once he came round. He'd be right, too.

  If the truth were known, he doesn't even need to be here. Me, I've got no choice. I have nowhere else to go. But Chris has a father who's probably worried sick about him. And he has a future to look forward to.

  True, Chris and his father seem to have had some sort of falling-out but this situation might actually bring them back together. They're family. I'd have given everything to bring my own parents back from the dead.

  So it looks like no matter how much I hate to stay here on my own, I might need to let Chris go his own way. I might have to shove him out of here by force if needs be.

  He doesn't belong here. Not in Hermetis, and definitely not with me.

  My hands shake with the prospect.

  "Fancy a coffee?"

  I turn round. Emma is standing in the doorway, holding two paper cups. She offers one to me. "Cream, no sugar. That's how you like it, isn't it?"

  "Thanks."

  I remove the black coffee cap and take a sip. Emma is too kind to me. She doesn't have to mother me so much. It's not her job. She never loses her cool despite my constant mood swings. She's gentle and polite. I can tell she means it. She just likes helping people, it's her nature.

  She probably reads a lot, too. She knows so many things I have no idea of.

  The only problem is, she avoids discussing Adam. The more I try to get her talking about him, the more she closes up. Which is a shame. He's been a great influence on her, I can see that. The way she speaks, the words she uses... she copies him in everything which is perfectly normal, I suppose. Every disciple tends to copy their mentor.