by Ian Somers
‘Teenagers,’ Jones muttered under his breath. He rubbed his forehead and scribbled into his notebook again then checked his wristwatch.
‘How about I just show you?’
‘Oh, you’ll get a chance to do that once we’ve ascertained the possibility that you actually have a gift. You see, we can’t waste lab time on everyone who comes through the door.’
‘I don’t need a laboratory to show you.’
‘You’ve got a card trick, is that it?’
‘Not quite.’
Jones was about to pick up his cup when it began to slide across the table. It didn’t glide, it made a heavy scraping sound, as if it was being forced down onto the table top and dragged towards me at the same time. The tea inside began to swirl rapidly and tiny bubbles popped on the surface.
When it had crossed the table I picked it up and took a sip. I grimaced and spat it out on the floor.
‘Yuk! What sort of tea is that?’
Jones just sat there staring at me as if he was in a daze.
‘It’s … mint … Hold on, how did you do that?’ He pushed his chair back and examined the underside of the table top. There were no strings or magnets. He looked at me again then pulled the cup across the table. ‘Do it again?’
Once more the cup slid slowly across the table until it reached my hand. I picked up then placed it back down.
‘Ta-dah!’ I chuckled. ‘Bit better than a card trick, eh?’
Jones reached over and grabbed hold of the cup, spilled its contents on the floor and inspected the inside and outside. It was a normal cup. There was no trickery involved, he was sure of it.
‘Give me a moment. Don’t go anywhere,’ he said as he got to his feet. ‘In fact, don’t even move.’
He disappeared out of the cubicle, but returned a few moments later with a mobile phone. I could see he was texting someone. He stood by the table and looked down at me and smiled politely. ‘Would you like something to drink or eat, Mr Bentley?’
‘Mr Bentley? You can call me Ross if you like.’
‘Okay, Ross, would like me to get you something while you’re waiting?’
‘I’d love some apple juice, but I don’t want to put you out.’
Jones clicked his fingers and Damien came in through the curtain.
‘Would you get Mr Ben– Ross, a nice, cool glass of apple juice, please?’
Damien looked at me then smiled cheekily and gave me a thumbs-up.
Jones sat back down and asked me to move the cup again, which I did. He got very excited and his fingers drummed the table. He didn’t say much, though, and I got the feeling he was waiting for someone more important to arrive.
I had barely taken the first sip of the apple juice Damien had brought in when two more people appeared. I recognised one of them immediately; it was Professor Mark Foster from the video I’d seen on Youtube. His presence meant they were taking me seriously and my heart began beating a little faster; I knew I was getting closer to the prize money. Foster was accompanied by a bland-looking woman with short blonde hair and round spectacles, who introduced herself as Professor Mary Blackmore. Seconds later, two of the hotel staff entered and replaced the table in the cubicle. I figured this was to make sure I hadn’t somehow rigged the previous table.
‘Can you move the cup again, Ross?’ Jones asked as he made way for the newcomers.
I didn’t bother replying. I focused my energy once more and the cup moved back and forward for a moment. Jones, Foster and Blackmore all crouched down together and looked under the table. Foster rubbed his hand on the underside of the table then lifted it off the ground before placing in back on the floor and examining it again.
‘What do you think?’ Jones asked Foster.
He didn’t answer the question.
He spoke directly to me, ‘Place your hands behind your back and,’ he took a pen from his jacket pocket and placed it on the table, ‘move this … if you can.’
I clasped my fingers behind my head, leaned back casually in the seat and a few seconds later the pen began to twitch. My audience moved closer and stared at the pen as it started to rotate. I started giggling, couldn’t help it, and the pen spun rapidly across the table and fell onto the floor.
Jones and Blackmore gasped, but Foster remained calm. He stooped to pick up the pen, took a close look at it and returned it to the table.
‘Keep your hands were they are,’ he said, ‘and lift the pen.’
This was a pretty easy test for me; I’d been expecting something much more difficult. Again I focused on the pen and it was lifted into thin air by an inch or so, then I made it float as if in zero gravity.
‘Dear God, he’s a telekinetic,’ Blackmore breathed. ‘A true telekinetic!’
‘A tele-what?’ I asked.
‘The proper term is psychokinetic,’ Foster pointed out.
‘That sounds better,’ I laughed. ‘Makes me sound like a bad-ass.’
Foster gave me a cold stare as he took the pen from the table. ‘Oh, you don’t want to be one of them.’
‘One of them?’
‘Never mind. There will be more tests tomorrow morning.’
‘What time shall I come back?’
‘Come back … Where are you from?’
‘Ireland.’
‘And you travelled here to enter this contest?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Where are you staying and who are you with?’
‘I’m on my own, have a flea-bitten room in an old B&B.’
‘I’ll organise a driver to take you there, collect your things and bring you back here. I’ll make sure one of the rooms on the third floor is prepared for an overnight stay.’
‘I don’t think I can afford a room in a place like this, mate.’
‘It’s free of charge. I would also like you to remain inside this building until the tests are complete.’
‘Well, I’m—’
‘And I’d prefer if you didn’t talk to strangers.’
‘You sound like my Dad.
‘It’s for your own safety. I will get one of the drivers to look after you.’ He left the cubicle leaving me with Jones and Blackmore who were both gawking at me like I had two heads.
I should have been over the moon with the way the first round of tests had gone, but instead I felt a sense of foreboding. Foster had said he wanted me to stay in the hotel for my own safety. Did he mean I wasn’t safe? That someone might harm me because of the gift I had?
I didn’t like the sound of it at all. In fact, the short conversation with Foster had left me feeling very uncomfortable and more than a little suspicious about the contest.
Foster had also said ‘one of them’. What could he have meant? I couldn’t quite figure it out but I was getting the feeling that The Million Dollar Gift was more than just a talent show.
SECURITY ALERT
1 July
Note to security director: I have forwarded this alert to you under the Golding Scientific Security Division Act of 2004, Section 02, reference A-005, ‘Security Director of Golding Scientific Security Division must be notified immediately if a member of the public is identified as possessing a true gift’.
(Flagged for review: Ross Bentley)
(Interview, phase 1)
Contestant: 29,108
Name: Ross Bentley
Stated power: Psychokinesis
Control conditions: Contestant has displayed the ability to move objects without any physical connection
Test Location: Golding Plaza Hotel. Lobby.
Results of test: Success. The contestant appears to possess one of the known true gifts.
Test was supervised by Dr Mark Jones.
CHAPTER NINE -
Put To The Test
I was escorted to the underground car park of the hotel by a tall, stocky man wearing a grey suit. He had an ear-piece and I had also glimpsed the tan leather of gun holster under his jacket. He didn’t introduce himself or say a single word as we made o
ur way through the hotel and down into the cavernous car park, where a black BMW M5 was waiting. He opened the back door for me then climbed into the front passenger seat.
‘The King’s Rest’, he said to the driver, a young Asian man with an aggressive face and long black hair slicked back over his shoulders.
It all seemed a bit surreal and I was growing more and more uncomfortable with the situation. Nothing about it seemed normal. These people were starting to scare the crap out of me. Why did I need an armed escort? What possible danger could I be in?
Everything about The Million Dollar Gift was obscure. Foster had spoken in riddles and the security guys refused to talk to me, even when I asked them a direct question. I’d expected the contest to be very different to this and, even though I was used to being on my own, I was starting to feel terribly isolated.
‘Come on, guys!’ I moaned as they drove through the city. ‘What’s with the silent treatment?’
There was no response from either the driver or the armed man in the front.
‘I’ll just keep talking until you answer me!’
And I did. I yapped aimlessly for ten minutes until the armed man turned to me.
‘Don’t you ever shut up? On and on and on you go about music I’ve never heard of and bloody skateboarding! I hate skateboarders!’
‘Gotcha to talk, didn’t I?’
‘What do you want?’
‘Just wanted to know what the big fuss is with the limo and your gun.’
The man sighed then nodded. ‘This probably seems really strange for a kid like you, but we’re both under orders not to speak to you and especially not to tell you anything about the contest. Our job is to look after you.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t get paid to answer questions; I get paid to follow orders. There’s no point asking me anymore questions because I can’t and won’t answer them.’
‘All right,’ I said, shrugging my shoulders. ‘Suit yourself.’
I shifted over to the window and watched the city and the busy Londoners passing on the pavements from behind the tinted glass of the BMW. It was a fascinating place and I would much rather have been travelling on foot and taking everything in properly. I’d always liked the idea of being driven around in a limo, but now that I was in one, it felt alien and wasn’t how I’d imagined it.
I thought about my board, how I’d had it for so long, how I’d maintained it over the years and how it was now lying on a pavement in pieces. I’d have to be more careful with my temper in future. Lord only knows what could happen if I used my gift while I was in a rage!
We didn’t stay long at the B&B, just enough time for me to grab my belongings, and we didn’t make any stops on the way back to the Golding Plaza where my new best friend showed me to an extravagant room on the third floor. I was left alone as the evening drew in, or so I thought. After spending an hour admiring the room, trying out all the gadgets and watching the giant TV, I decided to leave and take a stroll around the hotel, but there were two more, sterner, security men outside in the hallway. They towered over me as I stepped outside, then a small woman dressed in a pin-striped suit approached me. I didn’t like the look of her at all; women weren’t meant to be that muscular and she had a face like she was sucking on a lemon.
‘I can’t let you leave the room,’ she barked.
‘What?’
‘You’re confined to the room for now.’
‘I’m a prisoner here?’
‘Of course you’re not. Professor Foster said it would be good for you to conserve your strength for tomorrow’s tests.’
‘I don’t give a damn what Foster said. I want to go for a walk and get some fresh air.’
‘If you want fresh air I suggest you open your window.’
‘I’m outta here! You hear me? Outta here!’
‘You’re free to leave at any time, Mr Bentley. But doing so may jeopardise your chances of winning the prize money…’
I went grudgingly back to the room without saying another word and sat watching the widescreen TV opposite the bed. There were about a thousand channels to choose from, but I soon got bored and when I had my phone charged I sent texts to Dad and Gemma telling them I’d passed the first round and was staying in a swanky room at the Golding Plaza.
Dad complained that I hadn’t called that morning, but congratulated me on my success so far. Gemma was still cautious about the whole thing, she warned me to be careful and to leave if anything felt wrong.
I thought about what she said; actually, it all felt wrong, but I wasn’t going to leave. I wanted to see this through and win. Not just because of the money involved, but also because I’d never completed anything in my life; I gave up soccer at a young age and had shied away from skate-boarding professionally. I was determined to see this through to the end, no matter what was thrown at me.
Night rolled in and I stood by the window and admired how beautiful the immense city was at night. I figured after I won the money I’d probably buy an apartment in London, it was my type of place. There was so much activity out there but it also appeared peaceful from the fourth storey of the Golding Plaza Hotel, apart from the occasional siren screaming in the distance.
Something caught my eye before I pulled away from the window. There was a dark figure leaning against a lamp-post on the opposite side of the street below. It was a tall man, wearing a long black coat, and he appeared to be looking back at me. I couldn’t make out his face, but he had pale skin and wild hair. I thought it was just some weirdo; London was probably full of them. I was sure that there were thousands of people out there with nothing better to do with their time than to stand around looking in windows.
The stranger unsettled me, though, and I turned from the window and decided to avail of the opulent surroundings. I went to the bathroom and got into the luxurious bath tub.
The bath certainly helped me to relax and I was in there until the water grew cold and my fingers pruned. I dried myself off, pulled the plug then wrapped a towel around my waist. I returned to the main room and switched on VH1 then proceeded to dance around the room wearing just the towel.
I didn’t want anyone seeing my dreadful dance moves so I went to the window to draw the curtains. The man was still leaning against the lamp-post. I was almost certain he was looking at me, and if I needed confirmation, I soon got it. The man pointed at me and shook his head slowly. I felt very cold all of a sudden and snapped shut the curtains.
‘What a freak!’ I sighed.
He’d really given me the creeps, but I wasn’t going to hide. There was no way I was putting up with this stalker! It was my first day of freedom and I wasn’t going to let that oddball ruin it for me. I was going to teach that man a lesson!
I parted the curtains and the man was still there, now waving at me. I pressed my hand against the glass and focused on an overflowing bin that was on the pavement close to him. I concentrated on the rubbish, intending to dump it all on the stalker’s head.
The glass frosted and my body shook. I watched a few bits of rubbish float into the air. Then …
Nothing happened. The rubbish stayed put and the few pieces I’d managed to lift floated harmlessly down the street. I was beginning to weaken and drew my hand from the glass. My heart was pounding and my head felt light. The last thing I saw before losing consciousness was the man shaking his head again then walking away.
I was woken the next morning by a loud knock on the door. I was still lying on the floor by the window and it took more than a minute to muster enough strength to get to my feet. Whoever it was kept knocking, but I ignored until I’d gotten dressed and checked my phone. It was 6.10am. Why would anyone be knocking on my door this early? The knocking grew louder and louder.
‘Yeah, Yeah! Give me a minute!’ I shouted crankily as I made my across the room.
I was stunned when I opened the door to find five members of the testing team standing outside accompanied by two security guards.<
br />
‘Morning, Mr Bentley,’ one of the men in white coats said, a little too loudly for that hour of the morning. ‘We’re here to bring you to the laboratory.’
‘That’s nice,’ I mumbled, as my eyes adjusted to the bright hallway, ‘but could you come back in a few hours?’
‘I’m afraid not. Professor Foster was very particular about you being in the lab by 6.30.’
‘I bet he was. I’m starting to seriously dislike that man.’
I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw the multi-roomed laboratory in the hotel’s conference centre; one of the white-coated men told me that it had been built especially for The Million Dollar Gift and had been intended for the third stage of testing, but they were making an exception for me, the last remaining contestant. I was escorted there by Foster’s team, along with security, and once inside was shown to a cubicle and told to put on a set of white pyjamas that were hanging up. After a moment I stuck my head outside and asked, ‘You don’t have any stripy ones, do you? Or maybe pale blue with clouds…?’
Nobody humoured me and I soon emerged from the cubicle barefoot and wearing the white pyjamas that were one size too small.
‘This is a bloody joke! Who’s the comedian who came up with the idea of making me wear this jackass outfit?’
‘It was my idea.’ Professor Foster said as he entered the lab. ‘Don’t worry, no one’s going to laugh at you.’
‘They’ll be sorry if they do.’
‘Follow me.’
He led me into a brightly-lit room with a chair at the centre of the white tiled floor. There were thermometers, microphones and lots of strange laboratory instruments in the room; it looked like these were hooked up to five computers on a long table; the five laboratory assistants sat at the table and I guessed they were monitoring the instruments’ results. There were also a number of video cameras and I figured these were remotely-connected to a PC that a young woman with red hair was sitting in front of. Most curious of all was a long mirror on the opposite wall that I immediately suspected was two-way. I couldn’t explain it, but I felt the presence of someone on the other side. There was definitely someone watching me.
