The Duals (An Urban Fantasy Thriller)

by Karen Hayes

  The presenter reads out the lengthy list of donors funding the debates. I've seen him on TV before, I think: didn't he host evening news on some channel my foster parents used to watch?

  What should I do? Should I go on stage and tell them that Adam Vector has just killed one of the candidates? Then again, the room is probably packed with his men. They'll kill me on sight before I even open my mouth and then claim I was a suicide bomber or something. Oh no. I need to give them the slip. I need to get out of here and go directly to the police. Let's just hope they're not on Vector's payroll.

  I negotiate the wings and descend the few steps separating the stage from the audience, then scurry up through the stands past the numbered rows of seats. My feet sink into the thick pile of the gray carpeting; I have to thread my way past descending guests who stare at me curiously, apparently not in a hurry to step out of my way. If they only knew what Vector had in mind for them!

  When I'm already almost on top, I turn around and look back. Dammit! Heaven is barging her way through the crowd. She looks up at me, then says something into her headset.

  So she did see me, after all. Now Adam knows I've escaped.

  I hurry on, elbowing my way through, until I finally see the double doors letting in more people. I run toward them, show my ID to the guard and slide out into the lobby.

  Its rounded walls repeat the shape of the building; the outer wall is glazed, filled with darkness and streaked with lights from the outside cars. The lobby is absolutely packed with people: some are on their way to the auditorium while others are standing talking to each other or sitting on couches with their laptops open.

  I look around me for an Exit sign but find none, so I dart blindly to the right, along a wall hung with a huge soft drinks poster. Finally I arrive at a wide staircase and rush toward it, about to force my way through the ascending crowd.

  A hand closes around my elbow and jerks me back so hard I very nearly dislocate my shoulder.

  "Stand still or I'll kill you," Heaven's cold voice sounds close to my ear.

  I turn round. Our gazes lock. An angry fresh burn blisters on her cheek. Her eyes are devoid of mercy.

  I know she means it. She would actually love me to struggle, just to give her an excuse to beat my brains out.

  She hooks her arm through mine - like we're two friends walking - while sliding her other hand under her jacket. I can feel a gun poking my ribs.

  "Go," she says softly. "Keep your mouth shut. The moment I see you open it, I'll shoot."

  I nod. I'll be no good to anyone with a bullet between my ribs.

  With Heaven guiding me, we turn and walk back toward the stage. I stagger down the stands in my heels.

  "You know he's still unconscious, don't you?" Heaven's soft voice rings with pent-up fury. "He's still in the clinic. He might never come round."

  Does she mean Greene?

  I look up at her. It wasn't my fault, I want to say. He attacked us first.

  The gun presses harder to my body. "Don't you dare," Heaven hisses. "It's all your fault. You shouldn't have been nosing around. Curiosity killed the cat. So you're deep in shit, my little kitty."

  She's dead right there. I dread to even think what Adam is going to do with me.

  I retrace my steps backstage. Heaven steers me toward the dressing rooms. When we approach the one with McAllister's name on it, she pushes me in, follows me inside and locks the door behind her.

  Adam turns to the sound. Or rather, I know this is Adam but he doesn't look like himself, enveloped in the shimmering fabric of a holographic illusion. The image of Ben McAllister is wrapped around Adam's body, repeating Adam's body language and his facial expressions.

  The albino is standing next to him. He touches Adam's shoulder, stabilizing the illusion which now covers Adam completely.

  "Thank you, Gustav. You can sit down for now," Adam points at the chair where I sat not so long ago.

  The albino named Gustav walks over to the chair and sits. His height and his awkward lanky legs remind me of a heron.

  "Sarah, stay where you are," Adam says, then nods to Heaven. "You can return to your post. I can manage."

  Heaven's eyes send me one last ray of hatred. She puts the gun away and leaves.

  I look around the room. McAllister's body isn't here anymore. The room is almost empty now: it's only Adam, the albino, myself and a dual pair I noticed in training back at Hermetis: a huge black guy with a heavy face and a slim blonde girl with her hair in two stupid pigtails which she fingers incessantly. She's wearing a bright lipstick.

  Meeting my stare, the girl gives me a smirk full of promise. She reaches for one of the spotlights framing the mirror next to her and touches it. The light goes out.

  A yellow spark appears on the tip of the girl's finger. She blows it off in my direction. The spark flies through the air toward me like a crackling snowflake, then expires.

  "This isn't a good moment, Firefly," Adam says gently.

  I turn away, staring at my reflection in the mirrors. I do look a sight, that's for sure. I'm pale as a sheet, my eyes wide open.

  I clench my teeth, grinding them. I would kill for some gum. I wish I could have a whole pack, I'd munch on it wrappers and all.

  "Mr. McAllister?" a TV assistant pokes his head through the door. A microphone is dangling under his lips, connected to his headphones. "Five minutes," he opens his hand wide and shows it to us. Does he think we're deaf or something?

  I want to scream and warn him. Can't he see he's looking at an impostor? Still, I can't. No matter how hard I try, I just stand there with the idiotic smile of a mannequin.

  Adam gives him a pompous nod and straightens his suit jacket. Once the man disappears behind the door, he finally looks at me.

  "I'm surprised at you, Sarah," he says softly. "You have so much power. You don't need to suppress it. You should reveal yourself to the world," he nods at the door. "Very soon they'll know about us, trust me. Then you'll be the main star of the show."

  He opens a box lying on the dressing table next to him.

  I shudder. This is the familiar syringe. The serum. Only the dosage seems to be much bigger this time.

  "Give me your arm."

  I'm not sure. I don't want to be injected. Not again.

  Adam heaves a sigh. "You either give me your arm or I'll inject you in whatever place I can reach. Your eye, maybe? I heard that it absorbs much faster that way."

  I give him my arm. The tourniquet digs into my flesh. The needle bites into my vein.

  Adam presses the plunger too hard in the hurry to inject me. My head goes round.

  A fiery flower seems to blossom in my chest, filling my nostrils with a hot, spicy flavor. My every blood vessel seems to be on fire as if he's replaced my blood with white-hot metal.

  I gasp, trying to scream, but my throat feels blocked.

  Adam pulls the needle out. I double up in a coughing spasm, pressing my face to my knees.

  The blonde girl sniggers.

  Adam lays his hand between my shoulder-blades. "This is a bumper dose," he explains, his voice sugary with fake sympathy. "Nothing to worry about. You tolerated the previous injection just fine. This one won't harm you. Stand up."

  I raise my head and sit up straight, struggling not to puke. The presenter's voice in the speakers stops.

  Adam glances at his watch. "It's time. Follow me."

  He walks out of the room and strides, confident, toward the already-familiar stage exit. I trail behind, still dizzy and uncoordinated. I can't disobey his order.

  I step over the thick bundles of cables snaking across the floor, then wait in the wings as a TV assistant puts a headset on him. Heaven is hovering nearby, standing cross-armed in the deep shadows behind the curtain.

  In the few minutes that I've been gone, everyone seems to have vacated the stage. It's empty now. The only sounds that disturb the expectant silence are the clicking of cameras and someone's whispered voice.

  The prese
nter is sitting at a desk in front of the stage, looking at the prompts on the small screen mounted in front of him. The assistant behind his back is counting down on his fingers: four... three... two... one...

  The presenter smiles. "Good evening from the Thomas and Mack Center at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas," his voice echoes in the large speakers flanking the stage. "I welcome you to the second of the presidential debates between Congressman Chloe Walker and the Senator from Massachusetts Benjamin McAllister. The debates will last sixty minutes and are divided into six segments of roughly ten minutes each. Please welcome the Democratic nominee for President Senator McAllister and the Republican nominee for President Congresswoman Walker!"

  The audience applauds.

  With a beaming smile, Adam walks out under the lights.

  I follow him - or rather, my legs carry me after him on their own accord. Thousands of eyes and camera lenses are trained on us.

  Adam steps onto the podium and waves to the audience. I obediently follow, taking place behind his back.

  The blinding lights are scorching hot. How can anyone even stand on this stage, let alone address the crowd? This is unbearable.

  Gradually my eyes adapt to the light, allowing me to see the presenter. He stares at me in surprise but refrains from asking any questions.

  A petite brunette walks onto the stage simultaneously with us. She must be about fifty years old. She makes me think of Emma, for some reason. This is probably what Emma will end up looking like: the same square glasses, a long face, a nervous smile on thin lips. This is Chloe Walker.

  "Congresswoman Walker, Senator McAllister, welcome," the presenter says. "My first question is about your vision of the US legal system. You both talked briefly on this topic during the last debate but I would like to focus on a couple of the finer points now. Firstly, what's your view on how the Constitution should be interpreted? Do the founders' words mean what they say or is it a living document to be applied flexibly according to changing circumstances? Ms. Walker, you go first. You have two minutes."

  "Thank you very much, Bill," Chloe Walker replies. Her manner of speech is choppy, reminding me of a drill sergeant. "Naturally, the Constitution will remain the backbone of our legal system. I would like to see the existing laws unchanged, including the law on same sex marriage..."

  As she speaks, I'm trying desperately to wriggle myself free. I need to disentangle myself from the web of Adam's predatory mind. I need to escape.

  Unfortunately, I can't. I seem to be sinking within my own body, unable to move a finger.

  "Thank you, Ms. Walker," the presenter says. "Now you, Mr. McAllister. But first, who is this charming young lady who is accompanying you tonight?"

  Smiling, Adam leans to the microphone. "This charming young lady is my assistant. In fact, she would like to address you. She has something very important to tell you - something that might affect the lives of every man and woman in this country."

  I freeze, terrified. What does he want me to do? Am I supposed to tell them to kill each other like I did in the club? But this is live broadcast... the whole country will hear it... oh no!

  "Sarah? Would you come over here, please?"

  Reluctantly I step onto the podium. I look over the audience, panicking, when I notice a movement in the wings.

  I promptly forget everything about Adam and his orders.

  It's him. He walks fast through the little side corridor toward the stage. A bright electric flash flares up behind his back.

  The lights go out.

  Chris

  I stare at Trace and Job running down the stairs toward us. Cox is climbing the stairs next to me; Diana and Ramiro follow in our wake.

  Everything happens simultaneously. Had I not known what to expect from Trace who threw me out of the Hermetis window, I wouldn't have known how to react.

  Luckily, I do. So the moment he thrusts his hand in front of him, I gate-vault over the railing.

  My chest hits the steel post, leaving me hanging in the air clutching at the banister. A blast wave hits my face. Growling, Cox leans forward as if he's pulling a truck behind him. He remains standing - which saves Diana who's cowering behind his back.

  But now that I'm no longer in the path of the blast, nothing can protect Ramiro who was directly behind me. He goes flying through the air and hits the landing below, howling in pain.

  Trace lowers his hand and wiggles it in the air as if shaking off invisible drops of water, preparing to deal his next blow.

  Diana whips out her gun. Job reaches for his own. I jump down onto the stairs and try to pull out the Taser from my belt.

  None of us gets the chance to shoot first. The moment the invisible force releases Cox from its clutches, he darts up the stairs. His shovel-like hands fly up in the air as he grabs Trace and Job by their heads and knocks them together.

  Ouch. That must have hurt. I can almost see the stars they're seeing.

  Both collapse onto the steps. Trace doesn't move; Job is still stirring.

  Cox leans down and, exhaling like a steam engine, punches him twice, then stands up.

  Neither of them move now.

  Cussing through clenched teeth, Diana runs down the stairs toward Ramiro.

  By the time I climb over the railing and join them, Ramiro is sitting by the wall, his left leg bent at an unnatural angle below the knee. His face has a greenish hue, his forehead gleaming with sweat.

  "Get up!" Diana drapes his arm around her shoulder and tries to lift him.

  Ramiro breathes heavily, making hissing noises through his clenched teeth. "Piss off. Leave me alone. I think I've broken my leg."

  "I'm not leaving you," she says.

  "Shit, Di, give it a break! You have other things to do. I'll get up in a moment and get back to the car. I'm afraid, I'm out of circulation for a while."

  "They won't let you out. The security will stop you."

  "What difference does that make? If you don't kill Vector within five minutes, you'll have more important things to worry about than saving my sorry ass. And if you do kill him, you won't be able to help me, anyway, because the building will be crawling with police. Move it!"

  "Let's go," I step back onto the stairs.

  Diana gives Ramiro a long look, bends down and tousles his coarse black hair. She drops the car keys into his lap. "See ya."

  "Go and shoot the fucking imbecile," he grumbles without looking at us.

  Readying her gun, Diana runs upstairs toward Cox who's still towering over the two bodies.

  "Wait!" I exclaim as she points the gun at Trace's head. "It's not silenced, is it?"

  "So what?" she growls.

  "We still need to find Vector! And Sarah! If you shoot now, all hell will break loose. Then we can forget Vector."

  "There's nobody here!"

  "Not here, no. But the parking below is crawling with security. The rooms upstairs are crammed with people. The stairwell will echo like hell if you shoot him. They'll all hear you!"

  "Okay, use your Taser then," she insists.

  "Are you sure?"

  "No need to," Cox butts in. "They'll be dead to the world for at least half an hour, both of them."

  "Okay, let's drag them into the corner and leave them there," I turn to Diana. "I know you want to make them pay for your partner. But this really isn't the right moment!"

  She scowls at me, baring her teeth like a wolf but does lower her gun. Cox and I drag the unconscious bodies into a corner and hurry down the stairs.

  Soon we come across another landing which opens into a long corridor lined with rooms. I can hear the buzzing of voices coming from behind closed doors.

  The corridor itself, however, is deserted. There's no security here, even: they're probably all busy either in the debating hall or in the parking downstairs.

  "Over there," Diana points her gun at the door furthest from the entrance.

  Cox produces his gun. I ready my Taser and reach the door first. "Cox, you step asid
e and kick the door open. I'll go in and zap whoever's inside."

  Cox looks at Diana. She gives him a nod, then steps aside too. I linger between them.

  There're no sounds coming from behind the door. It opens inwards so I can't really tell whether it's locked or not.

  We exchange glances. Cox throws his weight against the door.

  It wasn't locked, after all. The door slams open, hitting the adjacent wall.

  The small room resembles a barber's. A locker, a coat rack, a small couch and a vanity table lined with mirrors.

  A young girl with blonde pigtails is sitting in the swivel chair in front of the mirror painting her lips. To my left, a burly black guy is leaning against the locker.

  The girl swings round in her chair. Her lip pencil drops to the floor.

  I can't see anybody else here. My Taser is trained on the girl but at the last moment I realize that the black guy is probably the more dangerous target. So I switch and zap him instead.

  Gosh am I wrong.

  With a shriek, the blonde jumps up and swings her hand in the air as if catching something.

  The Taser's voltaic arc curves through the air as if the girl is lassoing it. Hissing and crackling, the electric charge hits Diana. It then starts growing a multitude of offshoots which entangle her from head to toe.

  When the lightning finally expires, Diana drops on her back, her arms and legs twitching.

  I step forward and hit the girl with the Taser grip, aiming for her red painted mouth. With a crunching sound, she flies back, hitting the mirror with the back of her head. Then she slides to the floor, leaving a red smear on the mirror's cracked surface.

  A scream comes from behind me, followed by the crashing of furniture and the sounds of heavy punching. I swing round.

  Cox and the black guy are locked in combat. Trying to approach them now would be a bit like jumping under an eighteen-wheeler. Two eighteen-wheelers even.

  A punch. A thump. A groan. Another punch. The locker lists to one side; there's a gaping ragged hole in its door.

  The round swivel chair flies in my direction, swirling through the air. I duck. The chair hits the mirror above the blonde, showering her with glass, then lands on top of her. She resembles Ramiro the last time I saw him, sitting listlessly by the wall with her legs sprawled.