by Ian Williams
“We don’t know anything yet,” Jane continued to calm her. “Whoever has him will be found on a camera somewhere in the city. There’s nothing the Simova network doesn’t see, right Graham?”
He looked up suddenly to see his wife and his sister staring at him, awaiting his answer. “Of course,” he said. “I saw them too, so the police will know who to look for.”
Ruth’s sobbing stopped enough for her to look up to her brother again. This time the tears hung in the corners of her eyes. “You saw them?” she said, sniffing back heavily.
“I saw one of them.” Graham stood up straight and began to scratch his left arm. He could not stop as he considered how best to describe the woman he had seen.
“Graham?” Jane said, nodding toward his nervous itching.
He stopped as soon as he realised he was making his skin red. “It was a woman…”
“Oh God, he’s been having an affair, hasn’t he?” Ruth interrupted before her tears restarted anew.
“I’m sure there’s an explanation for that, Ruth. We don’t know anything yet, don’t jump to conclusions.” Jane sent a stern look to Graham. Her eyes said enough by themselves; he had been unhelpful again.
For a moment the room remained quiet, all except for Ruth’s crying. Everyone was dealing with the shock in their own way. With Ruth’s tears came Jane’s caring instincts, and a growing rage within Graham. Over time the feelings would fade sure enough. But for now he felt ready to rip a door off its hinges, just to take the edge off.
The wall screen flashed with a red border that brought a nervous grunt from Ruth. She already feared the worst and Graham was there with her.
“This is the New Chelmsford Police Department. Are you Graham Denehey?” The woman police officer said.
“Yes, have you found him?” Ruth said before anyone else could.
The woman on the screen turned to look straight at Ruth, her face unflinching. She lowered her head slightly before speaking. It was clear she had bad news and was trying to soften the blow. “We’ve been unable to locate your husband, Ma’am.”
“What? Why?” Graham said. He stepped into the middle of the room to face the woman head-on. “I saw the three people who took him. One was a girl with red spiky hair.”
“There’s no record of any incident matching your description. The system would have given us details if something had happened. Are you sure it was a fight?”
The room became ablaze with anger and accusations. Ruth shouted at the woman that she was ‘useless and should check again,’ while Jane desperately tried to keep people calm. Graham waited for the woman to speak again. He was totally confused and the disruptions were only delaying answers. He waved his hand at Ruth to tell her to stop, only to be ignored.
“Ma’am, please,” the woman officer said.
“Check again!” Ruth shouted as Jane took her into her arms and held her close.
“There must be a record.” Graham raised his voice to be heard above his sister. Before he could continue he had to clear his throat after speaking so loudly. “I watched it through Elliot’s wrist screen.”
“I’m sorry, we can’t find anything. All I can suggest is that you wait until the morning. He may turn up. If he doesn’t then we can put out his description as a missing person.”
The woman’s response was less than helpful. She sounded more like a Simova employee explaining why they had not fixed a fault, than she did a police officer. It was a by-the-book response and nothing more. Hardly the service Graham expected from the city’s law enforcement agency. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes for a second while the woman waited.
After nearly a minute the woman broke the silence. “I wish there was more we could do, but without any record on the system, there isn’t.”
“So,” Graham opened his eyes and stared at the ground, “with the combined intelligence of the Simova network and cameras recording everywhere twenty-four hours a day, you’ve missed a grown man being kidnapped on the street? Is that what you’re telling us?”
The time it had taken the woman to think of an answer while adjusting her loose fringe had only angered Graham more. “I wish I could help,” she said.
“What are we supposed to do then, just leave him?”
“As I said, sir, if in the morning he hasn’t returned then contact us again and we’ll put out a missing person report. I can assure you that it’s highly unlikely he won’t be spotted by the system somewhere in the city. When he is, we’ll call you.”
“Fine, if you won’t do anything then I will.” Graham left the room and grabbed his coat out of the closet. As he began to slide it on he could hear the police woman continue to explain that they were unable to help. Each time the woman repeated her refusal to help, Graham could feel his temperature rise until his ears became uncomfortably hot – his hands too. He needed fresh air and hoped to get some while looking for his friend. The problem was where could he begin his search? The city was far larger than he knew how to deal with.
Jane appeared just as he untangled the other arm and slid his hand through it. “What are you going to do?” she said.
“I don’t know. I’ve got to do something. God knows what they could be doing to him.”
“I know you want to find him, but how is wandering the streets going to help? Stay here and help me calm your sister down, please?”
Graham became suddenly lost in his wife’s caring eyes. The moment he saw the bright blue shade in them he stopped. She had not blinked once while speaking to him, so they glistened like blue gemstones in the light. Her expression of worry was now for him. She was always right. If he disappeared into the city then they would have two to find if anything went wrong. However much he felt trapped and unable to act, he chose in the end to stay with his family.
There had to be a reason why they had taken Elliot and not just left him for dead. As Graham stood staring into his wife’s eyes he thought it over. The urge to venture out into the streets had now gone. His rage too. Then he realised something: the next move was not theirs to make at all. It was the kidnapper’s.
* * *
“Wakey, wakey,” Phoenix said. She slapped the unconscious man tied up in the chair in front of her. He flinched and scrunched his eyes up, but did not wake up.
“Hit him again,” Anthony said from the darkness at the back of the room.
She swung her hand again and this time hit him hard. The impact sent a high-pitched clapping noise bouncing around the small back room of the warehouse. This time the man jumped. When his head had come to a full stop he opened his eyes and scanned his surroundings. His eyes widened, which made them bulge and shine in the moonlight that streamed in through a small window high up, near to the ceiling. Apart from this small amount of light there was little else. The tiny lamp that hung from the ceiling barely added any extra luminosity to the room at all. It was no better than a nightlight.
“Where am I?” he asked.
Phoenix backed away from the chair and looked to the shadowy outline of Anthony, spying in the background. She waited for an order of some kind, perhaps to hit him again.
“What is your name?” Anthony said.
The man peered into the darkness. He obviously saw nothing as he began to speak while his gaze wandered around the back of the room. “Elliot. My name’s Elliot. Who are you?”
“Hello Elliot, my name is Anthony.” He stepped forward, moving slightly closer to the light. His features were still hidden, though Phoenix could now make out the sheen of his shirt.
“Why am I here?”
“We’ll get to that my friend. First, I want you to tell me exactly what you were doing with my MARCs. Can you do that for me?”
“Nothing. Please, just let me go,” Elliot said. “You’ve got to let me out of here, please.”
Phoenix felt ever so slightly sorry for the man. She had no idea why Anthony was so interested in him, yet he had been because of her description. In her mind he had brought
the whole thing on himself by tampering with someone else’s equipment. Her boss had been very particular about how it was set-up and anyone messing with it usually got what they deserved.
“Elliot, Elliot. Please don’t beg, it’s not polite,” Anthony continued. “Now, if you won’t tell me what you were doing then at least tell me who you were doing it for. And please don’t insult my intelligence by saying Simova.”
“Please, I don’t know anything.”
Anthony turned to the side, placed one arm around his back then wiped his mouth with the other. His teeth were visible for a second as his lips parted. He nodded to Phoenix, who knew right away that Elliot’s answer would have to be forced out of him. Violence had now become very much necessary.
“I’m sorry,” she said to Elliot. Resting in her pocket was the means of getting an answer: a knuckle-duster with a row of tiny electric spikes embedded in each section. After sliding her fingers into the holes and pulling her hand back as far as she could, she unleashed her fist into Elliot’s frightened face.
The impact rattled up the length of her arm and through her shoulder. Like a baseball pitcher, she followed through the swing until her arm could travel no further. By now she was facing away from her victim. When she looked back she saw a flow of blood dribbling out the side of Elliot’s mouth and small imprints on his cheek, where two of the electric spikes had stuck in and imparted a low level – but painful when joined by a punch – shock.
Elliot shook for a second or two after the hit and then straightened up again. His eyes rolled up in the direction of the ceiling, revealing whites that appeared cracked by tiny red veins. He then began to choke on his own drool. The shock had run through his head and temporarily mashed his brain. When he finally recovered from the blow his eyes widened with panic.
Anthony stepped forward again, this time into the light fully. Now Phoenix could see him properly and the effects of his seething anger. She had seen his face this straight and angled before. Thankfully, she had never been on the receiving end of it herself. Even so, it sent a flash of heat through her centre. Such a look normally signalled someone was about to be dealt with. The occasional twitch only confirmed his consideration of such an outcome.
“Tell me who you work for or I’ll have her do it again.”
This time Elliot chose not to reply. He lowered his head to rest his battered chin against his chest and gazed longingly at the ground, which shone after a fresh sprinkling of blood. The pain in his head should have been enough to bring a full confession out of him. It was usually enough anyway.
“Elliot,” Anthony said as he casually approached. He placed his hands on the arms of the chair and lent in to speak directly into Elliot’s face. “If you tell me now, I’ll spare you. If you don’t then the next thing you’ll hear is my gun firing in your face.”
Again Elliot ignored him.
“Tell me!” Anthony yelled straight at him. He pushed Elliot’s chair back a few inches as he returned to his feet and walked away. When he stopped he kept his back to the others in the room and wiped his forehead on the sleeve of his black shirt.
It was clear to Phoenix that Elliot was not going to play along, without more encouragement at least. She stood in front of him and held her knuckle-duster up for him to see. When he began to stare at her, she suddenly swung it away and let it hit the metal frame of the chair, sending tiny sparks reaching for it. Elliot flinched as the shock flowed up into his arm.
“Please, don’t do it again,” Elliot said.
“I won’t have to if you answer the question,” Phoenix replied.
In the background, Anthony had moved back into the shadows and was taking small steps along the edge of the wall.
“I just work for Simova, I swear.”
“Then why didn’t you take that box thing you had back to Simova? Where did you take it?”
“That’s enough, Phoenix,” Anthony said from the darkness. “I know what he’s been doing. At least I know what I’ve lost.”
Elliot looked behind Phoenix and searched the back of the room again.
“I lost seven MARCs. While you, Elliot, stole three from me. Now why did you do that?”
“I didn’t take any…” Elliot began.
Anthony burst forward out of the shadow and stopped a few feet from the chair. What none of them had noticed while he remained hidden at the back of the room was that he had taken his gun out of the back of his trousers. He held it hanging loosely by his side as if he forgot it was there at all.
“I’m giving you one last chance, Elliot. This isn’t the first time I’ve had MARCs taken from me like this. So tell me who or I’ll show you a new toy of mine. Have you heard of drill-bit-bullets?”
“No,” Elliot replied profusely, while shaking his head.
“Good, good. Well as the name suggests, they comprise of a bullet that doesn’t just explode, but is specifically designed to maim by continuing to drill through the body until it just pops out the other side,” he said as he enacted one exiting the side of his head with his fingers.
This had been what Freddy had used on the police officer earlier, Phoenix realised. The poor bastard had been drilled right through the centre, leaving a nasty hole where his protective jacket had been. She had never been introduced to Anthony’s new toy and did not really want to be. Violence for violence’s sake was not her thing. Yet when required, she was willing to dish it out.
Elliot fidgeted in his seat as the gun waved about. When it reached head height he moved to the side, resting his head on his shoulder with his eyes clamped shut. It seemed so unnecessary to Phoenix. If he had only answered the question the first time then none of what followed would have been required. She never understood city people; they were so odd at times. And here was a prime example of that. When the truth got you freedom, share it. If not then you got what you deserved.
If she were with others who grew up outside the city the problem would have been dealt with by now. They would simply have hit the prisoner until the answers began to flow uncontrollably, like a blocked tap having its pressure released. City people just had to make life difficult.
“Now,” Anthony began. “A name please.” He took hold of Elliot’s face and squeezed his cheeks. What followed was the gun, pressed neatly into the centre of his head.
Elliot crossed his eyes in an attempt at focusing on the barrel. “No, wait,” he said through a bubble of spit that popped as he spoke.
“I’m going to count to three. If I don’t get an answer by the time I’ve finished counting, then Elliot will be the name of the new colour scheme on the wall behind you.”
“Please.”
“One… two…”
“The Sentient Collector! He calls himself The Sentient Collector!” Elliot screamed, sending the words echoing around the room like high pitched spectres exploring the darkness.
For some reason the name had frozen Anthony to the spot, while Elliot had readied himself for the gun to go off in his face. Phoenix had never heard the name before, if it was even a name. It sounded like an odd title. Perhaps his hacker name, she conceded. She had picked Phoenix over her real name of Debbie after all, so it was hardly unusual.
Anthony stepped away from the chair and replaced his gun into the waist of his trousers. His eyes darted about the place while the rest of him remained still. He had become silently contemplative all of a sudden.
“Who’s The Sentient Collector?” Phoenix asked. She knew she missed something.
“I thought he was a myth,” Anthony said to himself. “How could he be real, no-one has ever seen him?”
“Anthony?” Phoenix interrupted. “Who’s The Sentient Collector?”
“This is incredible. Huh?” Anthony said, suddenly realising he talked aloud.
“I said who is he?”
“He’s a threat.” Anthony walked out without saying another word.
He left a void of power in the room that Phoenix had no intention of filling. She looked to the
still bleeding Elliot and then to the open door. He had given an answer that meant something. She was suddenly left wondering just what that may have been. Whoever this Sentient Collector was, he had become Anthony’s sole concern.
All she knew for certain was that getting to her brothers now looked less achievable. If Anthony was too busy, then she would go it alone. The Sentient Collector would have to wait for the time being. Getting her boss to let her go off by herself would be more difficult. She did not care. Her priorities were with protecting her idiot brothers, the only family she had left. Wherever they were currently being held.
Chapter 6
Playtime is over
Hours later, the building had become much quieter, enough for Phoenix to steal away and relax, accompanied by a puff on a D-Stim inhaler. During her downtime she had fallen into a deep sleep before soon finding herself within another memory-laden dream. At first the images were simple and only took the shape of her parents when the drug coursing through her took hold. From then she had seen events play out that she was certain her waking mind had all but forgotten. Seeing them in everyday situations made them as real as ever, much more so than her memories alone could manage.
The second she had awoken again, she felt a layer of dampness attack her eyes. They stung until she wiped the moisture away. In the near silent area she had chosen, toward the back of the building, her ordinarily hard-as-nails composure had broken down entirely. She wept without really knowing why, only that her parents had been more alive than at any time since their untimely deaths. Time had not eased the pain at all, denial had done that for her. She had eventually turned to D-Stims when that had not been enough anymore. These no longer hid the memories and instead allowed her to face them head on.
The remarkable thing about D-Stims was that they were easily adapted to the user’s wants and needs. Where some used them to invoke dreams about shapely goddesses that attended to every possible sexual need a person could have, others used them to experience a heroic existence like that of the most adventure-riddled movies of the day. What could be dreamt was endless.
