by Ian Somers
‘I’m afraid I lost my bearings when I got off the bus.’
‘Lucky you didn’t get lost. The big city can be a cruel place for a young man on his own. Come on inside, your room is ready.’
She shut the door behind me and handed me two keys, one for my room and one for the main door.
‘Up the stairs,’ she said, ‘yours is the room at the end of the hall. Do you need me to wake you in the morning?’
‘No, I’ll be up at the crack of dawn. I’ve got a big day ahead of me.’
I locked the door as soon as I was in the room. It was bland and outdated like something from an old horror movie. The air was stale and there was a lot of dust on the furniture. I dropped my backpack on the floor and instinctively checked under the bed. There was nothing but dust under it and I had disturbed it, which started me coughing.
I crossed the room to the window; the place seriously needed fresh air. I unbolted the catches, but struggled to open it. I pushed with all my strength, but it still wouldn’t budge so I decided to use my gift.
I focused on the window then channelled my energy into my right arm. I threw my hand into the stale air and the window rattled then opened with a loud bang. I realised I was gaining more control over the gift. I was learning to use it in a more precise way than before.
Now wasn’t the time to ponder the gift though, I needed to preserve my strength for the contest. I climbed into bed and before long I was out cold. The long day had finally caught up with me.
CHAPTER SEVEN -
Running Out of Time
All tests conducted during The Million Dollar Gift contest are documented by Golding Scientific Security Division under the direction of Derek Shaw. The following test took place on the morning of 1 July. 8.00am - 8.27am and was remotely monitored by staff member William Adams.
TRANSCRIPT No. 181,217:
(Interview, phase 2)
Contestant: 27,710
Name: Felix Cross
Stated power: Animal Communication
Control conditions: Animals unknown to contestant supplied by local animal shelter
Test Location: Golding Plaza Hotel. Room 102.
Test supervised by Dr Mark Jones.
Jones: Morning, Felix.
Cross: Good morning. May I ask a question before we start?
Jones: Certainly.
Cross: Where are my pets? They were taken from me by your colleagues an hour ago. I can’t possibly pass this test of yours without them.
Jones: I can assure you they are very safe. You see, we cannot conduct a proper analysis of your talent unless the animals are independent. We have to rule out tricks.
Cross: Tricks?
Jones: Tricks, Felix. Every pet owner can teach their pets tricks. You know: roll over, give the paw, play dead. We’re going to test you with some animals supplied to us by the local shelter. I think it’s time we began, don’t you?
Cross: Oh … yes of course.
Jones: Could you bring in the first subject.
Staff Member Maria Collins enters the room with a bull mastiff on a leash. She sits the dog down next to the contestant.
Jones: I would like you communicate with Bruiser here. Would you be so kind as to tell him to stand up and walk in a circle?
Cross: I shall try, but to him I’m a stranger and he may not take orders from me.
Jones: I see.
Long pause. Contestant massages his temples.
Cross: I have established a connection with Bruiser. I will now relay your orders to him. Bruiser, you shall stand and then walk in a circle. I command thee.
Long pause. Contestant moves his chair closer to the dog.
Cross: I command you, Bruiser!
Dog becomes very aggressive towards contestant.
Maria Collins removes the animal from the room.
Cross: That was not fair. That animal is insane. I cannot communicate with animals who have mental disorders.
Jones: That’s why we brought a second subject for you.
Cross: What is it this time? A wolverine?
Jones: No, he’s much smaller than that. How about you ask this little fellow what age he is.
Dr Jones takes a mouse from a box on his desktop.
Cross: I don’t know his name. It helps to be polite.
Jones: I don’t think he has a name. But let’s call him Mr Mouse for the sake of politeness, shall we?
Cross: Very well. What is your age, Mr Mouse?
Long pause.
Cross: Ah, he has spoken to me. He is almost a year old.
Jones: Is that so?
Cross: It is so.
Jones: Well, this little guy belongs to my son and we bought him at the local pet shop a month ago, when he was a newborn. So, either Mr Mouse is lying to you or you’re a fake.
Contestant takes his coat and leaves the room.
Results of test: Fail. The contestant does not possess any of the known gifts
All tests conducted during The Million Dollar Gift contest are documented by Golding Scientific Security Division under the direction of Derek Shaw. The following test took place on the morning of 1 July. 8.05am - 8.17am and was remotely monitored by staff member Clive Monroe.
TRANSCRIPT No. 181,218:
(Interview, phase 2)
Contestant: 27,742
Name: Jane Smith
Stated power: Clairvoyance
Control conditions: Contestant required to contact the dead relatives of staff member, Dr Peter Ferguson
Test Location: Golding Plaza Hotel. Room 105.
Test supervised by Dr Peter Ferguson.
Ferguson: Is there a spirit in the room at the moment?
Smith: There is … it is your grandmother. She has returned from beyond to speak with you one last time.
Ferguson: That’s strange. My grandmother lives in Glasgow and should be down at the local newsagent collecting the morning paper right about now.
Smith: Obviously it is your other grandmother.
Ferguson: She lives in Edinburgh.
Smith: Perhaps she has died.
Ferguson: No, she was on the phone not more than an hour ago, wanting to know if I had any other funny stories about the loonies I was interviewing.
Contestant leaves the room.
Results of test: Fail. The contestant does not possess any of the known gifts
All online and telephone conversations involving Golding Scientific staff are recorded and documented by Golding Scientific Security Division under the direction of Derek Shaw. The following discussion took place on the morning of 1 July. 9.08am - 9.12am and was remotely monitored by staff member Sandra Weir.
TRANSCRIPT No. 181,229 (Red Flag)
Note to security director: I have flagged this instant messaging conversation under the Golding Scientific Security Division Act of 2004, Section 49, reference B-018, “Any employee of Golding Scientific who openly questions or contradicts Paul Golding is subject to investigation by Golding Scientific Security Division”.
(Flagged for investigation: Professor Mark Foster)
TRANSCRIPT No. 181,229:
Golding: How have the latest hopefuls fared?
Foster: It would appear they are no more than charlatans.
Golding: 28,000 contestants and not one has made it to the third round of tests. I thought you would have come up with something better than these by now.
Foster: It’s hardly my fault! My job is to identify the gifted, not produce them. I thought the latest five showed some promise, but there is no trace of what you are looking for.
Golding: Promise! Don’t make me laugh. They were probably as bad as the supposed pyrokinetic who nearly burned down the hotel last week. And let’s not forget the girl who could control electricity, who just happened to have eighty-seven batteries and half a mile of copper wire under her clothes. How she didn’t electrocute herself is a mystery.
Foster: I had hoped for better, but no contestant has showed any sign of one of the true gifts.<
br />
Golding: And not one with the particular gift that I’m searching for.
Foster: There has been nobody with that gift, nor even a trace of it. It seems our hopes of finding a powerful psychokinetic are all but gone. I truly believed we might have found one in time.
Golding: This is the last day of testing.
Foster: We could extend the contest for a week or two. We make our own rules.
Golding: No. I can’t change my plans for the hotel’s opening. Today is the end of this freak show. I had hoped we would have found a replacement for her by now.
Foster: Perhaps we can renegotiate with her. She must have some weakness you can exploit.
Golding: Weakness? Have you met this woman?
Foster: Unfortunately I have. She has always given in when you offered her more money though.
Golding: That’s the point of this, Foster. Her wage demands are too high. She’ll bankrupt me if I continue to employ her.
Foster: There must be a way to keep her content.
Golding: I have already exhausted all possible avenues. There’s only one way to sort her out: to get rid of her and replace her with someone new, but that looks unlikely. Unless someone very special shows up in the next few hours.
CHAPTER EIGHT -
No. 29,108
I’d always wanted to sight-see in London, but I wasn’t paying much attention to my surroundings as I skated along the pavements in the direction of the Golding Plaza Hotel. I had a few close calls when meandering through the traffic and scuffed up a few wing-mirrors.
‘Watch it you little brat!’ one driver shouted. ‘I’ll stick that board up your—’
‘Chill!’ I roared back. ‘You’ll give yourself a coronary!’
‘I’ll give you a coronary!’
It wasn’t the only high-speed argument I had that morning, but it was the least foul-mouthed! The London cabbies had a colourful lexicon when they lost their tempers; I could match most though when it came to swearing.
Eventually the Golding Plaza Hotel came into view; it was a twenty-storey tower that looked like it was made entirely of glass. Every inch of it was covered in dark, tinted panes, apart from the name that spanned the top floor in gold lettering and a symbol above the tall front doors. It was the Golding Scientific symbol, the same one I’d seen on the internet; the gold atlas globe contained in the letter ‘G’.
As I neared the building I wished I’d taken my time; there was a long queue coming from the entrance at the front. I figured there were at least five hundred people lined up outside. I despondently took my position at the end of the line and put my earphones on. I’d need music to get me through this because I hated waiting in line for anything and it looked like I wasn’t going to reach the top of this one any time soon.
After a while there were people gathering behind me and I’d moved about ten feet closer to the entrance. The other hopefuls were a very colourful bunch and I’d avoided getting into conversation with any of them until I got poked in the shoulder by a scrawny-looking guy with The Million Dollar Gift printed on his t-shirt, a walkie-talkie hooked to his waist belt and a name tag reading Damien. He was carrying a clipboard and a bundle of small cards and was now staring at me and nodding impatiently. I reluctantly removed my earphones.
‘What’s your name?’ Damien asked.
‘What you wanna know for?’
‘You have to be registered if you want to enter the competition, or are you just standing in the queue for the good of your health?’
‘Yeah, this is what I like to do. I travel around the world looking for queues that I can stand in. Haven’t you heard of me before? They call me Dr Q!’
‘Are you going to tell me your name or not?’
‘Ross Bentley.’
Damien wrote my name down then handed me a card. It was plain except for the number 29,108 printed in black ink on one side.
‘Is this how many people have entered so far?’ I asked.
‘Unfortunately, yes.’
‘What’s unfortunate about it?’
‘Because every last one of them has been a waste of space,’ Damien snapped as he moved his pen to the clipboard. ‘So … what’s your gift?’
‘Dunno. Not sure there’s a name for it.’
‘Doesn’t matter, you won’t win anyway.’
‘You’re so sure?’
‘Listen, Ron—’
‘My name’s Ross!’
‘Whatever. Nobody’s gotten to the third round so odds are you’ll be chucked out five minutes after you get through the door … that’s if you even get in. It’s the last day and believe me, everyone wants to get out of this circus early today.’
Damien moved away and started to antagonise the next in line, a grotesque man with enormous lips who was wearing a yellow leather outfit.
I wasn’t put off by his negative attitude at all. On the contrary, I was filled with confidence because now I was sure the prize money would be all mine.
By 4pm the people in the line began to disperse, most had only come along for something to do or to attract attention and had got fed up with waiting. I was starting to worry that if I didn’t make it inside before closing it would make for a disastrous journey and I would probably regret it for the rest of my life.
At 4.55pm the girl in front of me, who was about six feet tall and built like a rugby player, was allowed inside.
At 4.58pm Damien came to the entrance, grinned at me through the glass doors and bolted them.
‘Hey, it’s not five yet!’ I shouted as I pounded on the glass. ‘Come on, give me a chance at least.’
Damien walked away into the crowd of people inside and a burly security man came to the door and waved me away. ‘Don’t hit that glass again!’ he said.
‘I’ve been waiting out here all day! Just let me in! Look, I’ve got a number!’ I pressed the card against the glass, but the security guard turned his back on me.
My temper was growing and I slammed my board against the door.
‘I’m not going to tell you again!’ the guard shouted. ‘Get out of here!’
A surge of energy was rising from my chest and I could feel my arm tingling with power. I wanted to force the energy out of my body and at the glass doors; I retracted my arm before the temptation grew too great. I didn’t know how powerful the surge could be, but knew I could kill the guard if I unleashed all the frustrated power that was flowing through my body.
I turned my back, bashed my board on the ground and walked away. It seemed it had all been for nothing. I’d made a mess of it all because I didn’t get out of bed early enough.
I was going to look like a right tool when I got home. Dad would say he told me so, Gemma would think I was a moron and I’d have no job!
I felt terribly alone in that moment, as if my whole world had come crashing down around me. I felt lost in a city full of strangers and wanted to click my fingers and disappear off the face of the earth. And on top of all that I’d just broken my beloved board in half. It seemed my luck was out.
‘Ron!’
I turned round to see Damien sticking his head out of the entrance. ‘Come on, there’s room for one more!’
I raced back to the entrance, glancing at my skateboard that was lying on the pavement in two pieces.
‘Why’d you change your mind?’ I asked him when I reached the door.
‘Cos you’re cute,’ he said, and something akin to a smile brightened up his skinny face. ‘Now get inside before I change my mind.’
The immense foyer of the hotel was bustling with staff trying to organise the last of the contestants and others were hastily removing posters and equipment. Workmen were taking down scaffolding that had been holding up large banners and a giant, plastic Golding Scientific logo was being carried past by five burly men.
I had made it in by the skin of my teeth and would probably be the last person to be interviewed. That didn’t bother me though, I’d gotten over the first hurdle.
&nb
sp; There were still about twenty contestants waiting to be brought into the hall for testing. Anyone with a funny costume was ushered into one line and anyone who looked relatively normal was ushered into another. This was the most nerve-racking moment for me, when I was within minutes of putting my mysterious powers to the test for the first time. Having time to think about it was the worst part and I was afraid I might get stage fright at the crucial moment.
‘I don’t know what you’re going to do now that you’ve broken your skateboard.’
I looked over my shoulder to see Damien smirking at me. He’d seen me doing a few stunts to entertainment myself a couple of hours before and probably thought that was my only skill.
‘I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve,’ I told him. ‘And I can buy a new board with a million dollars in my pocket.’
‘That’s the spirit.’ He gave a soft jab in the arm. ‘Knock him dead, kiddo!’
I didn’t have a chance to reply. A tall man pulled back a curtain and called, ‘Bentley, Ross. Number twenty nine thousand—’
‘That’s me.’
I stepped forward and the man led me through the curtains and into a small cubicle closed in on all sides with Perspex; he told me to sit at a small square table and wait. I sat on a very uncomfortable plastic chair and took off my hoody. After a few moments a man wearing a name badge that read ‘Dr Jones’, who looked like he’d a very long and exasperating day, sat down at the other side of the table and yawned.
He placed his notepad and a cup of tea on the table and stared at me with red-rimmed eyes.
‘Okay,’ he looked at a sheet of paper that had been left on the table, ‘Bentley, let’s make this as quick and painless as possible, eh.’
‘Sounds like you’re gonna give me a tetanus shot.’
‘There were quite a few I would have liked to shoot today.’ He wrote a couple of lines into the notebook then asked, ‘So, what’s your gift?’
‘Not sure how to describe it really.’
‘It doesn’t have a name?’
‘I’m not completely sure. I don’t think anyone else has it, so how could it have a name?’
