“No! Don’t go,” he said and ran towards me. “You’ve got to help me. It’s destroying my mind.”
I couldn’t speak. I wanted to ask what he meant. Brain freeze. It didn’t matter.
He twisted his head as if listening for something. The hunter was back. He looked for me and—
“Please, no, please…don’t hurt—”
Blackness.
The snap back to reality hit Jack hard. He blinked and saw Moira sitting beside him, a single tear tracing down her cheek. Burnfield and Chloe were standing. Chloe had a datapad in her hand ready to record anything that Jack might say. Her superior was fiddling with the cuffs on his shirt, his eyes narrowed and imperious.
“What did you see?”
They were staring at him. Why were they staring?
“What happened?” Burnfield edged closer, arms folded, frown lines appearing on his face.
“I don’t understand,” Jack said finally. His mouth was dry, and he glanced at the table where his drink of water sat untouched from earlier. Moira had woken beside him. She blinked against the light in the room and pulled herself forwards so she was sitting on the edge of her seat. The doctor leant in and started checking her stats but she brushed him aside. He turned his attention to Jack instead.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, shining a pen torch into his eyes, checking one than the other, lingering a little longer on Lavinia’s eye as if it would reveal some of its secrets to him.
“Groggy. Thirsty.” Jack swallowed and realising that no one else was getting him that water, he stood and walked to the table himself.
“What happened?” Burnfield repeated. “Did you find out anything useful?”
Jack drank from his bottle and stared at the door, wondering what would happen if he just walked right back through it. Instead, he sat on the edge of the table and let his feet dangle. “Leech is working with someone.”
“Growden?” Chloe asked.
“No. I don’t know who.”
“How do you know? Was there someone else at the Wei’s that night?”
“Leech is a troubled man. He asked for help. Right before he murdered Lavinia, he asked for her help. He said it was destroying him. I think he was under some kind of influence.”
Burnfield stroked his chin. “Influence. What do you mean? Like blackmail?”
“Drugs perhaps. I don’t know. He seemed confused. Like he didn’t realise quite what he was doing.”
Burnfield turned his head to Moira. “What did you make of it?”
Moira glanced at her superior before turning her attention to Jack. There was something sad in her eyes. Jack stared down at her feet, suddenly feeling responsible for exposing her to the scene. Eventually, she found her voice. “It was brutal. Leech is dangerous. He killed Lavinia Wei for no reason other than she was in the way.”
“Did you see anything to suggest he’s doing anything more than just clearing up his tracks?” Chloe asked.
Chloe paused, biting her lip. “There was a thought Lavinia had. She wondered whether he was a burglar, but he’d come from Nikoli’s office. He was looking for something of Nikoli’s.”
“What does Nikoli do?” Jack asked.
“Department for the Regulation of Telepaths. He’s assigned to work at OsMiTech headquarters.”
“He’s got access to OsMiTech?” Jack was thinking out loud. “What kind of access did he have?”
Chloe glanced down at her datapad and tapped on the device. “It’s not clear from this. We need to get more information.”
Burnfield folded his arms and walked up to Jack. “What do you think this is all about?”
“He killed Lavinia and her husband. Then came looking for both of their eyes. Twice he could have killed me and didn’t. This isn’t just a clean-up job. He wants to be sure of something and I don’t think we will find out what that is until we find Leech.”
“One thing I still don’t get, Sir.” Moira’s voice was less nervous than it had been earlier. The woman was made of stronger stuff than Jack had given her credit for. “Why didn’t he just destroy the Wei’s eyes when he had the chance? It would have saved him a lot of trouble.”
Burnfield raised an eyebrow. “Maybe he was disturbed.”
“No. But, he wasn’t. At least, from what I’ve just seen, he had plenty of time to take what he needed from Lavinia. And the timings mean a couple of hours passed before her husband came home. What was he doing in all that time?”
Jack thought back to the man’s outburst before he killed Lavinia. After pleading for help. “He was rebelling. Leech left the eyes on purpose. He needs us to stop him. He wants us to catch him. ”
6:32 PM
Jack waited until the security drone flew around the back before he approached his house.
He didn’t want to be here. Ludicrous to think that less than a week had gone by and the place he used to call home, to believe in as home, a haven, could now feel so alien and unwelcoming. Jack felt exhausted but he couldn’t bear going back to Anna’s empty flat, yet another reminder of the people he’d lost.
There were no signs of anyone lurking around outside. The media had quickly lost interest in him, moving on to their next story. Crime rates were high in the city and there were plenty of stories to be had by eager reporters. The sensor pad by the front door clicked the lock open as he approached, and Jack stepped into the hallway of his home. No, the house he used to call home.
Shutting the door behind him, he hesitated, not quite wanting to venture any further into the property for fear of breaking the fantasy idea in his mind that Keeley would call to him from upstairs, telling him to get his ass into bed. He thought of going up there anyway, laying on her side of the bed and curling up into a sleep he didn’t care whether he’d wake from or not. It didn’t matter if he did. The world had proved to be a grim joyless place and there was no longer anything to look forward to.
Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose and held it there for a moment, gathering his composure. That wasn’t the way to do this. Keeley died for a reason and to ignore that and let her murderer go free was unforgivable. If the situation were reversed, Keeley wouldn’t have let the world go unchecked until she had answers. She’d probably be at the station annoying the detectives, refusing to leave until they caught the murderer. It was a point, though. Where the hell were the detectives? What had they actually achieved?
Jack had contacts from the old days. Maybe now was the time to make a few calls. People owed him favours. No, that wasn’t the way either. Going down that route would only make things worse, stir up trouble with OsMiTech. He could do without any more attention from them.
The kitchen was an impossible draw for him. Tape criss-crossed the doorway, but he tore it aside and stepped in. Flicking the light switch he took in the full horror of the crime scene in one fell swoop. The watcher’s body had been removed, obviously. Jack wasn’t even sure of the man’s name. James or John, he thought.
The place had been cleaned up. There was nothing to suggest anything untoward had happened here. Jack glanced upstairs, feeling a pull. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It couldn’t be delayed forever.
The house was quiet, strangely so. Even his footsteps on the stairs were muffled and then Jack realised that it was his senses that had dampened; his way of coping with the influx of smells and sights that were too closely associated with what he’d lost. At the office door, he hesitated, the handle cool and solid. Real. This was all so real. More police tape had been crossed in front of the doorway and he ripped it from the wood and scrunched it into a ball that he tossed aside.
He opened the door and in that nanosecond where his imagination owned his senses, Keeley lay in a pool of her own blood. But, the image was short-lived. There was no body.
The carpet was stained with her blood, though. A great brown cloud bloomed out from where she’d died. Streaks ran off from where Jack had got his hands in it and scrambled away.
Whoever had
tried to clean up, had done a half-arsed job. Whose job was it to do this after a murder? With all the cuts to the police budgets, was this now just one more trimming from the police expenditure? It wasn’t right.
He went back down to get what he needed to sort the room out. The cleaning equipment was where it always was—under the sink. Keeley was never a great one for keeping the house spic and span but the bucket, sponges and cloths were probably all he needed. He tossed the rest of the cupboard’s contents aside as he retrieved his cleaning tools. It took a while for hot water to come out of the tap. The boiler had always been useless. When it came, he filled the bucket. As the water ran, so did the thoughts.
What had he done to attract such attention? The remnants were the obvious thing that came to mind. Whatever had happened to Lavinia Wei was the key to understanding what was going on. Burnfield’s team were doing what they could to track down Alexander Leech but so far their searches had been fruitless.
The bucket was overflowing. Steaming hot water poured over the brim and splashed into the sink. He turned the tap off then tipped a little of the water out, trying not to catch his hands. He threw in a cleaning cloth and brush and hauled the bucket up.
Shadows were waiting for him on the stairs. Taunting him. Nothing to do with Keeley. She’s at her mum’s visiting. She’ll be back later. He recited a simple blocking pattern, trying to use the concentration to keep at least part of his mind occupied.
Back in the office, he bent down, dropped his hand into the water to fetch the cloth, then snatched it back out again. It burned. The pain was good. Distracting. He tried again, dipping a brush into the steaming water and dropping it on the edge of the bloody shadow in the carpet. Instantly, the water vivified the blood, making it fresh once more.
He stopped what he was doing and stared at his bloody hands then immediately had to hold back the sick that rose at the back of his throat. This was all his fault. He hadn’t even had the decency to call Keeley’s parents. Shame burnt his cheeks. Tears ran. He almost wiped them away, but catching sight of his red hands, he stopped.
He ran to the bathroom, pretending the smell of bleach had gone and scrubbed his hands in the sink until the skin was raw. The scalding water from the tap not enough to distract from the guilt. Keeley had suggested they run away together when he was tested positive. She knew an old school friend whose dad had a small fleet of fishing boats. With the right amount of cash, he could get them to France. They’d be on their own, but free of the restrictions OsMiTech would place on them, the constant tracking, restriction of movement, and bio-monitoring. Hell, as soon as he got a cold he was dragged to a medical centre to get checked out. The fear of the telepath mutation was still there. Who knew what long term effects the mutation was doing to the telepaths? It was all guess work.
We’re all just making it up as we go along.
He headed back to the office and stood in the doorway, then stared at the sorrow shambles he’d left in the middle of the room. Keeley wouldn’t have been impressed by his skills with a bucket of soap and water. Disappointed that he couldn’t even clean up her blood effectively.
He’d call someone tomorrow, first thing. They could come and sort it out. Perhaps he’d get OsMiTech to pay. This was their fault as much as it was his. This was only happening because he’d been forced to be a remnant keeper.
He stopped. Wondered where that bitterness had come from. No one had forced him to do anything. He’d always chosen his own way.
But he’d thought it just the same.
Monday, 6 May 2115
Falling
Hands.
His hands ached, muscles and tendons at breaking point, screaming to be relaxed.
A face in his vision. Angry and shouting words he couldn’t hear. The sound was missing. This place was wrong. A memory.
Whose memory?
A man dangled before him. One hand gripped tight around Jack’s arm. The hold was slipping.
Jack gasped.
Sound came back in snatches. Screams that Jack couldn’t place then he realised they were coming from some kid on the opposite side of the atrium. He was looking across a wide open space, standing on one side of a four ringed balcony that stretched around, easily one hundred metres along each edge.
They were in a habitat block. The sun carved channels through the central open column. Light caught on the dangling man’s glasses. He was yelling obscenities at Jack, threatening him with every punishment he could conceive of.
“Those aren’t the words I want to hear.” The words came from his mouth, but he didn’t understand the intent. It was like a vidcast was being played and he was using immersive technology to take a central role.
“If you don’t pull me up they’ll be repercussions. For you and everyone close to you. Don’t make this mistake.” He had a Scouse accent. Born and bred in the district? Hard edges lined his face and pockmarked skin. His fingers looked bloodied and battered. A cut above his left eye dripped into his vision making him blink rapidly.
There were others close to Jack. Men with guns approached. Were they for him? A lift zimmed its way up from the lower floors.
He didn’t need an audience but so be it.
“Tell me where I can find him.” Jack’s voice thundered down at dangling man. “My arm’s getting tired old man. I don’t think I can hold on for much longer.”
Jack’s grip shifted deliberately, and the dangling man dropped an inch. This time, his face switched to panic. Jack’s insides lifted as he finally got to see that the man who’d been the centre of his working life for the last two years was finally showing his true nature. Like all men when faced with an imminent death, the toughness retreats, leaving the scared boy flying solo.
Flying.
“You’re going to know what it’s like to fly soon.”
“If you drop me, you’re back to square one.”
“I’ve got other sources.”
“You’ve got nothing. And you’ve got witnesses. You won’t let them see you drop me.”
His breath was ragged, words splurting out.
Jack pretended not to care. Dangling man was right. Losing him meant the case crumbled. He’d be back to the beginning, and he knew his superiors weren’t going to stand for that.
“I’m not bothered about the witnesses. Let this be a lesson to everyone. You deserve this. What do you think Helen’s parents would say now if they could see us? Do you think they’d want me to let you go?”
“I had nothing to do with the girl,” he spat.
“Liar,” Jack thundered. “You had everything to do with her. I saw the body. I held her and tried to save her. You deserve this.”
The lift had arrived at this floor. Footsteps rushed at him. They’d have to help him get this bastard over the ledge. There was no way Jack would manage it on his own.
“It’s too late, they’re going to save me,” the dangling man said, his voice hoarse.
Jack spat in his face.
And let him slip another inch.
The panic in the man’s face tasted like treacle. His hand now gripped in Jack’s own, and that was when Jack realised that he needed help quickly. His own grip had loosened. The pain from holding on was intense, but the dangling man’s hand was lined with sweat. He was slipping.
He turned and shouted at the security team approaching. “I need help here. He’s going to fall.”
Jack stared into the dangling man’s eyes as he felt bodies crush him on either side, desperately reaching down to grab the man’s hand. But, whether they weren’t reaching far enough, or the man had slipped some more, it was difficult to say.
He fell.
Jack watched as the thrashing body attempted to fly and fail. The only sure thing right now was that the habitat block’s cleaners would have one hell of a mess to tidy up in the morning.
Jack stood up and wiped dead man’s sweat from his fingers.
12:32 AM
A noise woke Jack. He sat up in bed, letting t
he covers fall off his chest, and held his breath. His t-shirt clung to him with sweat. Gooseflesh charged across his skin despite the room’s warmth. Instinctively, he reached out with his mind. If there was someone in the house, he would know.
Pain exploded from the centre of his head. He screamed and brought his hands to his forehead, desperate to rip out the agony. It passed in a second, but an ache remained. A psi-blast, a form of telepathic attack. Trained telepaths could broadcast a simple blocking pattern in a concentrated effort with the effect of debilitating other telepaths in the vicinity. Nasty. Whilst Jack’s telepathic centre was fitzing from the attack, he wouldn’t be able to scan; he was a humdrum like everyone else.
He reached under the bed and retrieved his improvised home protections. The cricket bat he’d picked up on a whim from a charity shop, something to remind him of the time he’d played with his dad in the park. He hated the game but cherished the time he spent with his old man. This bat was well worn, the handle had fine lines in the rubber, but it had a good weight to it, and in his hands he knew he could swing it.
Jack slipped out of bed and wielded the bat. Beads of sweat cooled his forehead. His instinct screamed at him to call for help and he felt for his HALO, but a response car would take too long. The danger he’d felt had been real. He needed to act quickly.
As he reached for the door handle, Jack tried to slow his racing heartbeat. Too much oxygen was pumping around his system. That and the overload of adrenaline would cause him to act rashly. He needed to stay in control, listening to his instincts but not letting them rule him. It was a hard battle. His stomach had become a ball of concrete, and his mouth dry of saliva. Outside on the landing he hesitated, ears attuned for the slightest noise that shouldn’t be there. Old houses creaked, though, and try as he might to stay quiet, every footstep pressed onto creaking floorboards. Just by moving, he was giving away his position. But, he wasn’t trying to hide—he tapped the bat against the palm of his hand, checking the weight—he was defending his property.
The Remnant Keeper (Tombs Rising Book 1) Page 15
