He broke down again whilst waiting for the kettle to boil. A wave of pain and hurt consumed him. He fell to his knees and leant against the kitchen cupboards like he’d found his final resting place. Deep guttural noises rose from his throat, noises he barely recognised as belonging to him.
After a while, he made himself stop. This wasn’t him. This couldn’t be the person he would turn into. Keeley was dead. But his life had to go on or he would not find her killer.
Who am I kidding? What chance is there of finding her killer?
He had nothing to go on. No clues. Nothing that gave him an edge ahead of the police.
His HALO vibrated and he saw several messages waiting. Two from the police. One from OsMiTech, and one from a number he didn’t recognise. He removed the HALO and placed it on the counter, swiping the edge to bring up a sharp holographic image that hung in midair about a foot square. His personal news feed was busy. Dozens of new messages posted to the feed in the last few hours. Several private messages as well. He ignored them all. The platitudes could wait.
With a swipe of his finger through the projection, he bundled his personal news feed into a holding pen at the edge of the screen and opened the local news feed. Gathered from several local news agencies, he didn’t need to read more than the first couple of headlines before he found mention of himself.
TELEPATH’S WIFE MURDERED
Right. It’s out there, so much for privacy protection from OsMiTech. If they’d pulled the right strings they would have suppressed the story, hell knows they’d done it plenty of times before. But, perhaps never for a remnant keeper.
He thought of what little family Keeley had left. Burnfield said he would speak to them and let them know. Her parents would be devastated; Keeley was everything to them. But, shamefully, Jack didn’t have the courage to contact them directly. Her dad was not a fan of telepaths. He’d wanted them to separate after his testing had come through as positive. Her mother, more practical, saw the benefits in having that extra money and how that could enhance Keeley’s life. And she’d been right. The money had made it possible to find a place away from the district habitat blocks and in a normal street of houses. Without that money, Keeley would never have been able to apply for a pregnancy licence.
And there was the hurt again, his insides were knots.
Two slices of toast later and he sat and watched more of the news reports. Fuse Media, the news agency that Keeley had worked for, were on the scene outside his house. A journalist he didn’t recognise stood in front of a line of police tape and spoke about the dangers of having telepaths living in the community. Jack clenched his fists as the camera panned around the scene, capturing the police car parked outside his house and the policeman standing firm at the gate. It was a nice street with terraced houses that had stood for the better part of two hundred years. All with small front gardens tended well, and a wide street lined with Birch trees. The journalist interviewed a neighbour. Mrs Sullivan, who last week had popped over for advice on replacing her house’s artificial intelligence unit, shared her disgust at having to live on the same street as a telepath. The stories repeated themselves with another neighbour that Jack had never even seen, complain that the street had never felt safe since Jack moved in.
They could go to hell.
But one thing about the news feed did interest Jack. A small group of protesters had gathered at the end of the street. Far enough away from the police tape and the news crew; this lot wanted to lodge their disapproval but wouldn’t necessarily be happy with their faces on camera. The Anti-Telepath League. Jack froze, then hurried back up to his bedroom, looking for the trousers he’d worn when he’d been attacked by the intruder. After a quick search, he found them kicked under his bed. He dug his hand into a pocket and pulled out the pin he’d snagged from the murderer. An ATL pin. The white letters embossed across a black star. The same pins those men on the street outside his house were wearing.
The ATL had caused him problems for months; an activist group who demonstrated against teeps whenever they could find a reason. ATL groups were springing up throughout the country.
Several months ago, a human turd had been left on Jack’s doorstep. The police had dismissed it, claimed it was some particularly rude kids randomly targeting houses. Rude kids? How stupid did they think Jack was? The foul deposit came in a cute gift box with a bow and a card that read: “Welcome to our neighbourhood”
Kids did not go in for that level of detail.
Would the ATL group know anything more about Keeley’s death though? Someone in that group would know who killed his wife. This was his way in. His lead. OsMiTech had warned telepaths to keep a low profile in certain areas. One of these briefings had focused on Frazier Growden, the founder of the organisation that had unsettled the government. Attacks against telepaths had risen in the last twelve months and reports always came back to small gangs, well organised, making targeted assaults on individuals.
Watching them on the news feed, Jack felt the adrenaline needle his veins into a state of agitation. How did Anna expect him to sit and wait for answers? In his room, he put on the hoodie he’d packed, then dug in his bag for the beanie he always kept handy.
He grabbed his wallet and coat and left the apartment.
*
Jack found a taxi on the main road and took it as close as he dared to his street. Rather than trying to drive along his street, Jack told the driver to stop at the end, far enough away from the Fuse Media van so he wouldn’t be noticed. His hands were sweating and his stomach rumbled. He had his beanie arranged carefully to cover his telepath tattoo, and as the taxi slowed he lifted the hood of his hoodie.
“Forty-five, forty please, mate,” the driver said. Jack pressed his thumb into the payment slot and waited for the light to flash green.
“Thanks,” he said and stepped out into the street.
The taxi pulled away, leaving Jack alone, looking along the length of the road that had once felt so safe, feeling like he didn’t even know the place anymore.
He checked his hoodie again, hoping it would be enough to hide his identity. The news feeds hadn’t yet published photos of him or Keeley, but it wouldn’t take much digging for anyone to pull their likeness from the OsMiTech network.
The journalist, who’d delivered the report from outside his house earlier, sat on the back step of the news van drinking from a bottle. A reporter drone flitted around her as she sat, and she shooed it away.
The police presence looked as minimal as it had on the news reports; one sole police van outside his house. He wondered how the street would look tomorrow or the day after. How long before all signs that his wife had been murdered would be hidden from view?
It looked like the ATL demonstrators had gathered at the other end of the street. Jack could make out four people holding banners. He was about to turn away and hunt down another taxi, feeling foolish for even coming here when he heard someone approach from behind.
“Excuse me mate. Want one?”
Jack turned and saw a short gruff-looking guy with a bunch of leaflets in hand.
“Oh yeah, sure,” Jack replied, taking a leaflet from the man and glancing at the message. With a shot of alarm, Jack realised the man was part of the ATL demonstration, looking to recruit more people to their group. The leaflet explained in no uncertain terms that telepaths didn’t belong with ordinary people and it was time to join forces against them.
His mouth dried up and he tried to avoid eye contact with the leaflet guy. Coming back here so soon, with this group of people in the area was perhaps the most stupid thing he could have done. He waited for the man to walk off, or recognise him, but the man did neither. Instead, he pulled out a small pack of flix cartridges, selected a blue stick and ripped off the ignition stripe. He placed it on his bottom lip and inhaled before he offered one to Jack.
“No, sorry. Packed them in,” Jack said.
“Hasn’t everyone.” The man laughed and there was something dang
erous in that noise. Jack’s heart missed a beat but then as he realised the man hadn’t a clue who he was, he began to relax.
Afraid to lose the initiative and his nerve, Jack spoke up. “What’s been going on? Is that Fuse Media?” he said, nodding at the van down the street.
The man frowned. Perhaps, his instincts had kicked in and he suddenly didn’t know what to make of this chatty stranger hanging around at the periphery of a crime scene.
“Where’ve you been hiding? There’s been a murder.”
“No way, for real?” Jack kept his voice low.
The man nodded. “Woman murdered in her own home. Reckon the husband did it,” he raised an eyebrow, “He’s one of them. A teep.”
Jack shook his head in mock empathy. “Never trusted them.”
“Oh, you met any then?”
“Only in passing. Never to talk to.”
“Good job. Never get too close to any of them. Thieving bastards.”
“Thieves?”
“Yeah, mate. Stealing thoughts without you knowing.”
“But I thought there were rules against that kind of thing.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, they want you to believe that, but how would you ever know if you’d been read by a telepath?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “You wouldn’t. They’d come along have a good poke around and be gone before you know it.”
“Jesus, I never thought of it like that. You’re right.”
“Course I’m right,” he said. “They shouldn’t be allowed out in public like this. They’re asking for trouble having them living amongst us.” Then suddenly wary again, “What are you doing round here?”
“I live on the next street. Heard you guys were down here.”
“Us guys?”
“You know, the ATL. Wanted to come and show my support.”
The man smiled, and it was like a light had gone on behind his eyes for they twinkled with a new found appreciation.
“Well, a little bit of support never hurts does it? I’m Paul.” He put out his hand. Jack shook it and tried to eject the memory of Keeley being harassed by a group of ATL on her way home from work last year.
Jack faked a smile. “Like I said, don’t trust teeps. My dad lost his job because a teep was brought in at Smettles. They were bothered about a series of security breaches. He got scanned, and they discovered that he’d borrowed a few books without asking. Nothing to do with the security breaches but they said it was beside the point and they fired him.”
“Bastards. It’s not the first time I’ve heard a story like that,” he said, his face creased in concern. Although Jack had just made up the story, the anti-telepath press had been putting out stories like that for years. Exactly the kind of fodder this guy needed.
“Hey, I should introduce you to the guys. I’ll get you a banner, we’ve always got a few spare.”
“No, wait. Look don’t bother them, I can’t stay. Don’t want to get myself noticed on the news reports.”
The man paused, doubt shrouded his face.
“It’s just that I’m supposed to be at work today. Pulled a sicky. Can’t afford to be seen on camera and risk my job.”
He chuckled then had his hand out again. In it was a square of notepaper with a date and time and address printed neatly in pen.
“What’s this?”
“If teeps bother you as much as you say they do, you could always come along to our next meet. Bring your dad too if he wants to come. The more the merrier.”
“Won’t the others mind?”
“Hell no. You come along. I think you’ll enjoy it. Tell them Paul invited you.”
And with that, Paul smiled and walked away, looking for more people to hand his leaflets out to. Jack watched him leave, not quite believing he’d got away with the encounter.
He glanced at the leaflet again, slowly crumpled the hate into a ball, before dropping it in the street. He’d already decided he’d be going to the ATL meeting; it would be rude to turn down the invitation.
8:15 PM
Jack kept himself busy for the rest of the day, checking through his feed and sending reassuring messages to his brother. Ethan had wanted Jack to come over and stay with him but now wasn’t the time for that. Family were a distraction.
Anna had been out for most of the day; Jack suspected she was giving him space.
At eight fifteen p.m., the taxi pulled up outside Anna’s apartment block and he got in, checking his beanie was positioned correctly, his heart already racing at the thought of the group of people he was about to infiltrate.
The major expressway had suffered a navigation migraine and had shut down, forcing commuters onto the old roads. His taxi driver’s voice was hoarse from hurling abuse at other drivers but when they pulled up outside an old community cinema in Crosby, the man’s chubby face was beaming. “Oh boy, I remember this place. Used to love it as a kid—them old movies. What you doing here?”
“Just meeting someone.”
“If you’re going on anywhere else, I’ll wait. You’ll struggle to get another taxi around here.”
“Thanks, but it’s fine.”
“Suit yourself.” The taxi driver took his thumbprint and drove off into the traffic leaving Jack on the pavement, alone and feeling vulnerable. It was almost an hour later than the time Paul had indicated on his note, but this suited Jack. There was less chance of having to make small talk with other attendees, any of which might have recognised him from the news feeds.
An Indian woman waited in the shadows of the cinema entrance, blocking the doorway. Her long straight dark hair had been pulled back into a roped plait and she didn’t seem the smiling kind. Jack was instantly wary of her and kept his distance, quickly turning so he faced the other way and checking his watch as if waiting for someone else to arrive. Despite the lack of a tattoo, she was definitely a telepath, a canary, used to protect the group from people like him. It shouldn’t have been a surprise to see the Anti-Telepath League reneging on their policies for the sake of extra protection. Presumably they’d be keeping the use of a teep on a need to know basis.
Jack repeated a simple blocking pattern, mumbling keywords to himself to help the pattern take shape. Colours, and memories of sound, a childhood nursery rhyme, all blending to create a wall of confusion. If she was close enough and scanning, she might recognise a block but wouldn’t be able to get past it without closer contact. He was hoping she wouldn’t be that suspicious of him.
Abandoning thoughts of using the front entrance, Jack glanced at his watch, then shook his head and walked away, hoping it looked like he’d given up waiting.
Five minutes later, Jack had scrambled up and over the fence at the back of the cinema and found himself in a dark alley behind the building. He held his breath and flattened himself against the old brickwork listening for any sign he’d been heard. He was counting on the group to have just the one canary on the front of the building with no other security around the back.
A window had been left ajar. No lights from the other side. It was too high to reach from ground level so Jack rolled an industrial-sized bin into position underneath. He clambered up onto his improvised platform and cautiously worked his fingers around the edge of the frame until he found the restraining arm. With fingers stretched, he lifted it from its catch. Now that he could open the window up wide, he could peek inside. It was a disused office. Cleared of most furnishings, whoever had last owned this building, hadn’t bothered to empty it completely. Jack hauled himself in through the window, scraping his arm on the wooden frame, and landed on one of the desks that had been left behind.
The place was quiet. His throat was dry from the dusty air that his arrival had disturbed and he couldn’t help but cough.
He squeezed his HALO and a thin pencil beam of light pierced the gloom, picking up the detritus and abandoned office furniture. A rusting filing cabinet had been tipped on its side, drawers open like the tongue of a dying animal. Wires hung from exposed parts of the ceiling w
here polystyrene tiles had fallen. A smell of damp hung in the air and now that his own heart had slowed its beating, he could hear dripping from various points around him.
Leaving the room, Jack found himself on a brief stretch of corridor with several exits and a short staircase leading to another closed door. That door looked the most interesting as it would bring him towards the front of the building, where the foyer should be located. But if the teep was still outside, she’d be close and there was the risk he’d be spotted.
Listening carefully, his ear pressed to the door, Jack couldn’t hear anyone. He took a deep breath, braced himself to run back the way he’d come should he need to, then gripped the handle and opened the door a crack.
He’d guessed correctly; the foyer waited on the other side of the door. Across the dusty checked floor was the main entrance with three sets of glass doors. These had been papered to shield outsiders from looking in. He waited, not wanting to make a move until he could verify the canary’s position. There she was, leaning against the far set of doors, her frame nothing more than dark shapes breaking the patterns of light coming through the glass. He continued his blocking pattern as he entered the foyer.
The concessions counter looked solid enough but the fixtures and shelves behind had long been ripped down leaving bare plaster, aged with chunks missing. The place smelt of dust and mouse droppings; it had obviously not been cleaned in years. The building might have been listed once, not that such things mattered to district councils anymore, but it might have explained their reluctance to tear the place down. Scratching noises emanated from the dark corners by the doorway marked toilets. Jack shivered, checked his beanie was in place, lifted his hood, then put his hands in his pockets and headed for the doorway to the auditorium.
Jack needn’t have worried about being noticed. Clusters of people were spread over the dimly lit space; maybe about a hundred and fifty people in total. His eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light, and he glanced around, looking for a safe seat to watch the event, somewhere where he wouldn’t attract undue attention. Due to his late arrival, many of the aisle seats had already been taken, and he ended up squeezing past a large woman to get to a seat on the third row from the back.
The Remnant Keeper (Tombs Rising Book 1) Page 8
