by Ian Somers
‘Oh, you wouldn’t be interested. You’re out of the Guild, remember? You wouldn’t like knowing about what goes on in the gifted world.’
‘Shut up and tell me, Hunter.’
‘I knew you’d come around quick enough,’ he said, grinning at me. ‘You’re too adventurous to be cooped up in a cottage for the rest of your life. You need action, Bentley, if you want to feel alive!’
‘Are you going to tell me about your cases or keep giving me half-arsed motivational speeches?’
‘All right, all right. I guess there are two noteworthy cases. The first one seemed innocuous when I was first told about it. There were reports of a teenage girl in Cardiff who was walking into jewellery stores, post offices, banks and supermarkets and leaving with the contents of the registers or vaults.’
‘A girl on her own?’
‘Yes, that’s why it came to the Guild’s attention. The reports indicated that during each robbery she would enter the premises and suddenly everyone in the building would fall asleep. Then she’d clean out the registers. And no one could identify her.’
‘What about cctv footage?’
‘All cameras inexplicably went on the blink just as she entered each of the buildings.’
‘Sounds like the work of an electro-psych.’
‘That’s what I thought. And I was right, she was an electro-psych. I’m the most powerful with that gift and that’s why I was given the task of apprehending her. I was confident that she wouldn’t present much of a challenge when I caught up with her.’
‘What about all the people falling asleep?’
‘That’s a little trick a lot of electros can use. You shoot an electrical pulse into a person’s brain and it brings about a temporary coma. Larger amounts of electricity can lead to permanent coma.’
‘How did you find her?’
‘The good old-fashioned way.’
‘You beat people up so they’d give you information?’
‘Yep,’ Hunter smiled. ‘You see, she took some very expensive diamond rings when she looted one of the jewellery stores. The kind that are difficult to sell on. Only a few shifty dealers would be willing to take them off her hands. I knew of one such scumbag and paid him a visit. He was tough, I’ll give him that – I electrocuted him on and off for two hours before he gave me her name.’
‘As I said earlier, you’re not much better than a common criminal.’
‘Violence is necessary when dealing with hardened thugs. That’s why they’re so rampant these days; cops aren’t heavy-handed enough.’
‘You’re also a fascist.’
‘Anyway, enough of all that. I got her name and tracked her down to a very upmarket apartment on the outskirts of Cardiff. She was living the high life thanks to her many crimes and never expected someone would actually be able to find her. I slipped into her place in the dead of night and created an orb of live electricity around her, so she couldn’t move. I thought this would be fine, a young electro wouldn’t be able to break out of such a finely constructed cage – I was very wrong.’
‘She had more than one gift, right?’
‘Right …’ A shade of embarrassment shot across his face. ‘The girl was also a siren. She let out a scream that almost left me with permanent hearing loss. I couldn’t hold her and she proceeded to use a mixture of electro-psyching and pitch-shifting against me. The fight lasted more than ten minutes – which as you know is like an eternity in a duel – before I got the better of her.’
‘I would have paid to see a girl knock you about,’ I laughed.
‘I doubt you would have done any better.’
‘What did you do with her?’
‘I drafted her into the Guild.’
‘You see, nothing better than a criminal. You even hire criminals these days.’
‘It was either that or execute her on the spot, Bentley. What would you have done?’
The serious work of Guild agents was again brought home to me. I’d found his story amusing but the result of his tussle with the thief was a life or death situation for a teenage girl.
‘Well?’ Hunter persisted. ‘Would you have killed her?’
‘No,’ I admitted. ‘I would have done the same as you.’
‘Then you’re no better than me.’
‘Maybe. What was the other case you mentioned?’
‘There was a report that a family had been killed over in Belgium. Ballentine and I went to look at the crime scene.’
‘You and Ballentine working together? That family must have been real important.’
‘The mother and two of her sons were partially gifted. Although they weren’t affiliated to any organisation, it was still something we had to take very seriously. That’s why two senior agents were sent.’
‘How did the family die?’
Hunter took a long time to answer. This meant he wasn’t sure if he wanted to tell me or not.
‘Tell me, Hunter. I can handle it.’
‘They were burned.’
‘You saw the bodies?’
‘The cops removed the bodies a day before we got there. Our job was to look over the charred remnants of the apartment for clues to who was responsible.’
‘Did you find what you were looking for?’
‘The apartment was burned, yes, but not in the way it would have been if a natural blaze had occurred.’
‘Was a pyrokinetic involved?’
‘I would say so.’
‘You’re not telling me what you really uncovered, Hunter.’
‘One of our moles got a copy of the autopsy report. Seemed the family had been tortured with fire …’
I thought of Rebecca Dunlow, a newspaper reporter who had died at the hands of a twisted killer with the gift of pyrokinesis. Hunter and I had found her lifeless body lying on the bathroom floor of her terraced house in Newcastle. It was a memory that still gave me chills.
‘It all sounds very familiar,’ I said.
‘Nothing more than a coincidence. There are lots of gifted people who are sadistic. We both know that all too well.’
‘How similar were the deaths to Rebecca Dunlow?’
‘Not similar enough to suggest any link. I still believe Dunlow fell foul of Ania Zalech.’
‘Don’t mention that name to me.’
‘Calm down, Bentley. I told you to face your fears.’
‘I’d rather not think about her.’
There was a moment of silence before I decided to quiz Hunter about the terrorist attack that he had mentioned back at the cottage.
‘Tell me more about what happened in Liverpool. Were the gifted involved?’
‘I can’t say for certain. The strangest part of the whole affair is that there’s been no information to be had. It’s like the entire police force has conspired to bury the report and the majority of the witness accounts. It should have been all over the news for weeks on end, but there was no more than two days’ coverage. The story simply died because there was nothing coming from the cops.’
‘Sounds like a cover-up.’
‘It does indeed.’
‘Did they even arrest anyone for it? Question suspects?’
‘No one.’
‘Perhaps Wilson was responsible for the whole thing? Seems plausible to me. He was being chased, probably panicked and used a gift to ignite the buildings. In the ensuing panic he escaped.’
‘I fear there’s more to it than that. I’m sure all will be revealed soon enough.’
‘Then our little sortie might not be as straightforward as you claimed. Especially if Wilson has the ability to blow up buildings.’
‘Now don’t go getting cold feet, Bentley. There’s no clear link. And remember, Wilson is not going to be anywhere near this hospital. That’s the last place he’ll be. All we have to do is scan the detective and find out any information that might be lying dormant in his mind. The most resistance we’ll face is one or two cops who won’t even know we’re there.’
‘And if I get the
information you’re looking for, what then?
‘We shake hands and say goodbye.’
‘I know that. But what are you going to do next?’
‘You’re not interested, remember?’
‘I’m just making conversation.’
‘You’re best out of this, Bentley. The Guild might find out about this if you follow me. If they do, they will torment you to rejoin their ranks.’
‘Maybe they’ll need help in the time ahead …’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Gifted people blowing up buildings in major cities, a war with Golding Scientific looming, and then there are Sarah Fisher’s predictions about the Kematian and the great darkness that was to come.’
‘Human history is littered with struggles, wars and tragedies. I have no doubt that such events will occur once again. The important thing is that people who are honest and good are willing to stand up to tyrants. Good will always win the day.’
‘Do you really believe that?’
‘Eventually good always prevails in any conflict.’
‘You know something, Hunter …’
‘What’s that?’
‘You’re not a fascist, after all.’
‘Of course I’m not!’
‘But you are a common criminal.’
CHAPTER FIVE
The Dying Detective
It was dark by the time the town came into view. Nerves tickled my stomach as the distant twinkling lights gave way to busy roads, bustling stores and noisy bars. I was practically trembling by the time we’d reached the road on the far side of the town that led to the hospital. Hunter, on the other hand, was perfectly calm as he steered past the entrance to the hospital grounds. He slowed the 4x4 for a moment, took a cursory glance across the car park and the front of the four-storey building, then pressed his foot on the accelerator and continued along the road.
‘Seems quiet enough,’ he said, taking a turn off the main road to a small housing estate. He parked the 4x4 at the end of the row of houses and killed the lights and engine. ‘Let’s not hang about. This is a quiet area and people who live in quiet areas tend to notice when a stranger parks near their home.’
‘Why don’t you park this bucket of bolts somewhere less conspicuous? A little further along the main road and we’d be in the middle of nowhere and we’d raise no suspicion.’
‘I’d rather have the vehicle relatively close to the hospital. Just in case we need to make a hasty exit.’
‘You were lying through your teeth when you said this mission would be safe.’
‘I’m just being cautious,’ he smiled as he opened the door and stepped onto the pavement. ‘Nothing wrong with that.’
I pushed open the door and took a step into the cool evening air. It was colder than I expected and I felt the skin on my back tingle. I fastened up my coat then followed Hunter as he walked back towards the main road. The doubts about the mission were never far from my mind, but as soon as we’d left the vehicle there was a new confidence in me, and an anticipation of what lay ahead. The sense of danger had shattered the anxiety and depression, and hauled the real Ross Bentley to the fore. I stopped next to Hunter on the corner, close to the main road, and we nodded and smiled to one another. It was just like the year before, when we were agents hunting a killer through the streets of Newcastle. I never thought I’d enjoy feeling that way again.
‘Will you use your gift to cloak us both before we enter the grounds or shall we wait until we get to the main doors?’
‘We’re already cloaked. There’s close circuit cameras all over that car park and I don’t want us showing up on any security footage.’
The strangest thing about the invisibility cloak that light-tuners, like Hunter, can weave around you is that you cannot tell if you are invisible or not. I could still see my hands, arms, body and feet as clearly as ever, and Hunter too for that matter, but we were invisible to everyone else. I’d been cloaked a number of times before and it always felt nerve-racking because it’s actually hard to believe that others can’t see you.
‘No sign of police,’ I said, scrutinising the car park.
‘I told you there’ll only be a couple of them inside. Hopefully they’ll be in the canteen filling up with stale doughnuts and cheap coffee.’
Hunter looked along the road, then told me to follow him closely as he made his way towards the car park. We went completely unnoticed as we traversed the labyrinth of vehicles and dodged through the visitors who were near the main entrance of the building. No human eyes could see us. Robotic eyes, however, did catch us out; the automatic double doors clunked open as we approached and a nurse behind the desk stared at the space we occupied. Hunter slowed his pace, as did I, and we moved forward to the desk without making a sound.
Without warning, Hunter raised his right hand and used psychokinesis to knock over a stack of files from a shelf behind the nurse. She spun around in her swivel chair and cursed under her breath as scores of files scattered across the floor. As soon as she’d left her seat to gather them up, Hunter was leaning over the counter and flicking through the register. He was leading me to the stairwell by the time the nurse returned to her seat.
‘Where are we headed?’ I whispered as soon as we entered the empty stairwell.
‘Top floor,’ Hunter answered quietly as we took to the steps. ‘According to the register there’s two guards stationed here – as I said there would be. The two on duty have been here for almost five hours, which means they’ll probably be half asleep by now.’
‘I wouldn’t count on it.’
‘Stop being so pessimistic and come on.’
We quickened our pace as we made our way up the staircase to the top floor. The corridor was empty and practically silent as we entered. This accentuated our footfalls as we moved past a series of private rooms. Hunter appeared to be wandering aimlessly until we caught sight of one of the police officers. He was standing at the entrance to the adjoining corridor and sipping from a paper cup.
‘It’s a safe bet that our dying detective is somewhere on the corridor that cop is guarding,’ Hunter whispered to me. ‘I want you to lead the way.’
‘Why me?’ I whispered back.
‘Because you’re a precog, Bentley; you’ll sense trouble before I do.’
‘All right,’ I said, starting off towards the uniformed guard. ‘Here goes nothing.’
‘This will be a piece of cake,’ Hunter whispered over my shoulder. ‘I’m right behind you.’
‘I know you are. I can smell your foul breath!’
I eased forward, never taking my eyes off the guard for a second. I even slowed my breathing as I neared him. I tried to coax my precognitive gift from its dormant state, so that I would have some warning if the guard noticed us. It was useless, though, as much as I tried, the gift that I had neglected for over a year could not be woken. I couldn’t let this minor failure stop me, and so I kept edging forward, and thankfully the guard didn’t notice us filing past him and turning onto the adjacent corridor. Then the second guard came into view. He was sitting on a chair right outside the last door on the corridor. It seemed this wouldn’t be as easy Hunter claimed it would be.
When we got halfway down the hallway, a good distance from both guards, I paused and looked to Hunter. ‘Well, genius, how do you suppose we get past him? Have you a gift that allows us to pass through locked doors like ghosts?’
‘Shut up, Bentley,’ he hissed. ‘I’ve done this a thousand times before.’
‘I doubt that. I think you’ve done this once or twice before and probably got lucky on both occasions.’
‘Be silent!’ he insisted. ‘Get back up against the wall and stay still.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Watch and learn, boy. Watch and learn.’
Hunter lifted both his arms and pointed towards the end of the hall, then leaned forward as he rotated both wrists like he was snapping an invisible twig. Suddenly two of the
iron legs of the chair the guard was sitting on caved in. The chair quickly collapsed under his weight and he fell to the floor – making an almighty racket.
Hunter backed up against the wall next to me and started easing himself along in the direction of the felled guard, who was sprawled on the polished floor and using some very colourful language.
‘Look at this crap they give us to sit on!’ the guard hollered to his partner, who was hunched over laughing at his misfortune. ‘I don’t get paid enough for this as it is! I could have put my back out!’
He grabbed the broken chair and paced along the corridor, obviously intending to give someone a piece of his mind. Hunter and I stalled as he paced past us, still cursing under his breath about his damned job. Once he reached the far end of the corridor we made our move by swiftly crossing to the last door. Hunter took a look at the two guards remonstrating at the opposite end then eased the door open and pulled me inside.
‘Right, you better not waste any time,’ he said as he quietly shut the door behind us. ‘Those two should be distracted for a few minutes, not much more than that.’
The room was small and bland, as most hospital rooms are. There was one window, opposite the door, with the curtains half pulled over it, and there were machines either side of the bed, in place of the flowers and “get well soon” cards that ought to have been there. In the centre of it all was Detective Clarke, lying perfectly still on a narrow bed. The only hint of life was a machine that bleeped to indicate his heartbeat.
I walked to the side of the bed and saw that the detective was much younger than I expected – no older than thirty. For some reason I’d imagined him as an overweight slob with silver hair and a creased face. The man that lay before me was athletic and had strong features, someone who had been cut down in his prime.
This threw me off slightly. I imagined that he might have a young wife and children who were forbidden to visit him. I wondered if their memories of him were forever tainted because he had unwittingly gunned down five of his fellow officers. Everyone probably believed him to be a callous murderer, when in fact he was nothing of the sort. This was a young man who put himself in danger every time he left for work. And that made me feel selfish for how I’d acted over the previous year. This man had no super power, yet he faced villains day in, day out. I was supremely gifted and was often too afraid to get groceries in the town near my home. The detective, and those like him, had no defence against the gifted villains of the world. It was up to people like Hunter and me to stop men like Malcolm Wilson. I now felt like a coward for hiding out in the cottage for so long. I really was standing at a crossroads in life.
