by Jeff Altabef
The limo driver asks where in Walton we want him to stop.
I tell him to drop us off on the corner of High Street and Front Street. Walton’s a small town in a London suburb, on the banks of the River Thames. It’s nothing special, at least not to me. Some of the houses get quite posh as you peel away from the small downtown.
I never spent much time in that neighborhood. My life in Walton was mostly wasted between The Swan Pub on the water and All Saints’ Church a few blocks away. I spent my time in a game of tug-of-war with the pub owner and the vicar.
The limo pulls over to the curb and we all pile out. The air is cool and wet, and the ground is slick from rain—typical crappy English weather.
It’s one thirty in the morning. “No one will be around at this time. The pub closes at midnight and nothing else is open.”
Blake turns in a circle. “Great. Well, where are we going to stay?”
I grin. “We’re not going to the pub, that’s for sure. I have a plan.”
I lead us down High Street toward the river. All the shops are closed. Most have been here for generations, but some of the newer chain stores have bullied aside a few of the old standards, like weeds breaking through the concrete. There’s even a Starbucks, which created quite a stir when it opened six months ago. Some of the locals swore they’d never step into the shop as some sort of test of their Englishness, but there’s usually a line at the counter, and I’ve seen almost everyone inside at least once.
Juliet walks beside me, her posture perfect, her long black hair drifting behind her. I doubt anyone like her has ever visited Walton before. It’s not that she’s the most beautiful woman in the world, although she might be, but something else about her sucks all the oxygen from my lungs. She has an inner strength that envelops her, and when she smiles—oh man, it’s like the dawn breaking.
I’ve never felt like this before. I’d do anything to pull a smile from her.
She turns toward me. “So this is where you grew up. It looks cute. The cobblestones remind me of Old Town back home.”
“Looks can be deceiving,” I say as we pass the butcher shop and clutch my hands into fists. The butcher used to treat me worse than a servant. Every day, I’d collect the order for the pub. He’d barely talk to me, and right before I left with it, he always told me the same thing: “Make sure it all makes it to the pub.” Then he’d shoot me a nasty look, as if I were going to steal it on the way down the street, or maybe eat it raw like some deranged orphan dog.
Juliet must sense something’s wrong because her Husky shows up again and trots beside us, eyes searching for danger.
Juliet takes my hand and laces her fingers into mine. The feel of her skin, even just her fingers, chases away the bad memories.
“We don’t have to stay here,” she says. “We can find a hotel somewhere else. Since they can trace me, we’re not exactly hiding out. As long as you’re with me, they can find you and.... Maybe I should stay somewhere else?”
I squeeze her hand tighter. “I’m not going anywhere without you. Besides, I’ve got an idea.”
As we head toward the river, the residential street replaces the main commercial one, and small houses are packed in tight. Most have a tiny garden in front. Some look to be in bad shape, with peeling paint and rotten wood, while others are newly restored. All the windows have boxes with flowers in them.
Blake moves up next to us. “Where are we going to stay? It looks like only the river is up ahead, and that pub.”
Streetlights brush against a white stucco building with a steeply pitched gray roof and large wooden and glass double doors. A courtyard with picnic tables flows to the river. Originally built in 1770, the building stretches four stories tall and has been expanded a number of times. The Swan has twenty-two guest rooms, but most of them never get used.
“We’re not headed to the pub.” I move faster and in a few seconds we pass the pub and stand on the dock that faces the river. “We’re going to old man Polen’s boat. He’s a big shot at one of the banks in London. Most of the time he lives in the city, but he keeps a houseboat docked here for weekends.”
We turn left and pass a series of dock slips for boats alongside the boardwalk. A permit is required to use them. Most have tour boats in them, but a handful of houseboats are also tied to the boardwalk. Polen’s boat is docked right where it should be—a quarter mile upriver.
“There it is.” I point to a long flat houseboat made from oak. “It has a cabin that sleeps ten people. It’ll be perfect for us.”
“What if he’s on board?” Blake asks.
“No one’s on the boat,” says Juliet. “I’d know.”
“I know where the old man keeps the key. I’ve tucked him in bed a few times after he’s had a few too many at the pub. No one will even know we’re here. We’ll be safe.”
As soon as I say the words, I wish I could take them back. We’re not safe and we all know it. We’ll be safe when we finish off the Prime Elector, and I take back that chip they made from Juliet’s brainwaves. Until then, we’re in a constant state of danger.
Juliet untangles her hand from mine, and the Husky growls at something in the tree off to our left. An owl hoots twice.
Troy scowls as he watches the bird fly away. “Owls are bad omens.”
As if she agrees with Troy, the Husky barks, her attention focused on a nearby oak.
Akari yanks off a notice nailed to it. Her face turns to ice as she hands me the paper.
There’s an awful picture of me with big block letters:
WANTED FOR QUESTIONING FOR MURDER. CONSIDERED ARMED AND DANGEROUS. CALL THE POLICE AT ONCE IF YOU SPOT HIM. REWARD OFFERED.
Connor
I find the key under a pot on the deck, open the cabin door, and lead them into the tight galley kitchen. The notice rests on the kitchen table between us.
Blake eyes me suspiciously. “Well, is there something you want to tell us?”
“If Connor killed someone, he probably had a good reason. Some people deserve what they get.” Akari pushes the paper away from her, her face serious.
She’s certainly a tough nut. I never want to cross her.
“Oh bloody hell, you’ve found me out,” I say. “I’m Jack the Ripper reincarnated from an earlier life. I’ve murdered dozens of people by ripping out their hearts.”
Troy smiles. “I’m happy we settled that then.”
I lift the notice and stare at the ugly picture of me. “I have no idea what they’re babbling about in this wanted poster, but I wish they would have used a better snap. This one makes me look desperate. It’s the one from my school ID. That photographer was a twit.”
Akari rolls her eyes.
Troy leans forward. “Maybe the Deltites set you up in case you ever came back?”
Juliet shakes her head. “It’s possible, but it doesn’t sound like their style. They wouldn’t involve the authorities unless they had to.”
“Let’s sort it out in the morning.” Sitting here being grilled is no fun, so I show them the cabins.
I lie down to sleep, and take a swig of whisky from my flask. I spend the next hour or so tossing and turning, wondering who was murdered and who set me up to take the fall.
Returning to Walton may have been a rotten idea.
The sun streams through the window. My mind immediately returns to the wanted poster. The list of people who don’t like me is quite long, including the local nickers. Having gotten into a few rows over the years and being an orphan, the cops always suspected me whenever something bad happened. I’d be surprised if they didn’t write it in their bloody manual—find Connor and blame the no good orphan with a wise mouth.
I stretch and stroll out of my cabin. A pot of coffee sits on the counter. It’s cold. It’s only eight in the morning, so whoever made it has been up for hours already. I peek my head outside the door.
Juliet is sitting on the pier with her feet dangling over the edge, her Husky perched in her lap.
My heart beats a little faster. I should stay inside, but just her presence pulls me toward her. I check to make sure no one’s around, hop off the boat, and settle in next to her.
She doesn’t turn her head. She just stares out onto the river lost in thought.
I don’t want to interrupt her, content just being next to her. I’m turning into a complete and utter sap, but it’s out of my control, so I just roll with it.
After a few minutes she turns toward me. A troubled look shades her face.
“Couldn’t sleep?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I can’t remember the last time I really slept. What about you?”
I shrug. “I’ve always been a good sleeper. I tossed a bit last night, wondering who’s pinning a murder on me, but other than that I didn’t have a problem.”
She sighs and turns toward the river. “Have you ever played the What If game?”
I grin. “Sounds kinky. I thought you wanted to go slow.”
“Be serious.” She chuckles and swats me on the leg.
Her smile shoots a bolt of energy through me. “Okay, what’s the What If game?”
Her gaze pierces through me. A touch of sadness creeps around the edges of her eyes. “It’s when you assume something as a fact and create what happens next.”
I lean closer to her. “Like if you kiss me now, what would happen afterward?”
Her eyes sparkle for a moment; at least I’ve chased away the sadness, if only temporarily.
“That’s easy.”
She leans forward and we kiss. It’s gentle and sweet and when she pulls back, I desperately want to do it again.
She grins. “Nothing.”
“Oh, that’s not how I imagined it. What type of game is this?”
“I guess you lose then.” She frowns. “I’ve been playing the What If game.”
“So what do you imagine when you play.”
She tilts her head and rests it against my shoulder. “Darkness.”
We sit that way for a long moment. I’m worried about her. I wish I could chase away her problems and turn her darkness into light.
The Husky perks up and starts to growl.
Juliet looks down the path. “A policeman is coming. He’s on a bike. He’ll be here in a few seconds.”
I squint my eyes, but I can’t see the officer. Still, I’m sure she’s right. I glance at the boat and shift my weight to get up.
“There’s no time to go inside.”
She shoves me off the dock, and I splash into the river.
A familiar feeling of panic claws at my chest.
I can’t swim.
Connor
It’s bloody stupid to live on an island and never learn how to swim. It’s even more ironic when you have a special ability to make solids into liquids—a grand cosmic joke. All that’s out the window now. It’s too late to take swimming lessons, and I might just drown in a river of irony.
The frigid water seeps through my clothes and the riverbed is a collection of jagged edges. Luckily, the river is shallow, only four feet over my head, so I force myself to relax. I’m not going to drown. With my enhanced strength, I can easily push off the riverbed, do a back flip, and land on the dock beside Juliet dolphin style. Of course, that might grab the attention of the bobby, which would be counterproductive. He’d cuff me, or I’d have to hurt him. Either way the result would be bad.
I push against the bottom, break the surface, gulp air, and let gravity pull me back down to the bottom. This isn’t going to work out either. It might not be as conspicuous as a grand dolphin-style leap out of the water, but bobbing up and down like I’m on a pogo stick is a sure way to get caught if the cop stops to chat with Juliet, and he’s sure to stop. Who wouldn’t?
Think. I have to think. What if I use my telekinesis to create an air pocket?
I concentrate on pushing the water away from my face. The water parts, and I create a tube to the surface. Air brushes against my nose, and I smile. I can breathe underwater. Well, not really breathe underwater, but the air pocket and tube operate as well as a snorkel. Who needs to learn how to swim?
The boat’s hull is on my left. I move away from it and stick to the stone wall that makes up the pier. Glass bottles, discarded trash, even an old cricket bat lie on the riverbed. I push along until I’ve passed another boat and spot a rusty ladder. Taking one slimy rung at a time, I reach the pier, dripping wet.
The police officer has left and has sped down the path on his bike. Juliet stands by our boat, bent at the waist, peering at the river with a confused look on her face.
Maybe I can chase some of that darkness away with a little fun.... I try to sneak up on her, but I can’t get too close because of the squishing sounds my wet trainers make.
She turns and grins. “What happened? I thought the Loch Ness Monster might have swallowed you up.”
“Nessie is in Scotland. Everyone knows that.” I creep closer, unable to keep a mischievous grin from my face.
She looks over her shoulder and back at me. “No, you wouldn’t push me in. I had to shove you. The policeman would’ve seen you.”
I take another cold, squishy step closer to her.
“Don’t do it. It looks cold.”
“It’s not so bad.” Smiling, I use my mind and give her a gentle shove.
She teeters on the edge of the pier and raises both her hands palm out. “This isn’t funny. I won’t be happy.”
“Oh?” I use my mind and shove a little harder.
She screeches and drops from sight, but... no splash.
I move to the edge and look down.
She’s hovering above the water.
“You can fly!”
She shrugs. “You never know what you can do until you try.”
Then I feel a tug and she pulls me into the river again. This time I jump out of the water and land on the pier.
She’s laughing a full body laugh as water rains down from my shaggy hair.
I don’t mind that she got the best of me. It’s good to see her happy. “How’d you do that?” Water streams down my body in little rivers.
She stops laughing long enough to say, “I just pushed against the river with my mind and froze above the water. Good thing for you too.”
A sharp wind blasts us in the face. Blake stands on the deck of the houseboat with a nonplussed expression. “I thought we were laying low. I’m surprised the whole town hasn’t heard this racket.”
He’s probably right, but I’d do it again to make Juliet laugh.
He waves at us. “Come on. I’ll show you who Connor killed.”
I change my clothes, dry off, and join the group at the kitchen table.
They’re looking at a news report on Blake’s laptop. The title reads, “Local Butcher Murdered in Walton.”
“Oh bloody hell.” I push the computer away. Could I have killed him? He was moving when I left. At least I thought he was moving.
When I look up, everyone’s staring at me as if I’m a common criminal. My blood starts to boil. They shouldn’t look at me like that. They should know me better than to assume I killed someone.
I’m about to go off when Juliet takes my hand. “So, tell us about the butcher.”
Her voice settles me and, for once, I don’t act half-cocked.
I plop down into the chair next to Blake. “I won’t lie to you. I hated that butcher and he hated me. I’m not going to go all weepy now that he’s dead, but he was alive the last time I saw him. At least I think he was.”
Blake pulls the computer close to him. “They say he died the night you disappeared.”
I rake my hands through my hair. “We didn’t have what you would call a friendly relationship. We had it out before I left. It got physical. I bashed a chair over his stupid blockhead, but he was still alive when I left the shop. I could swear he started to moan.”
“Maybe he died after you left?” Akari’s voice hardens. “What did you fight about? Some people don’t deserve to live
.”
“Oh, the usual rubbish. He thought I was a worthless orphan. He accused me of stealing more than once, but this time we fought about the only family I really have, Michelle. I didn’t like the way he’d been looking at her. He was a creepy bloke. Rumors always swirled about him with young girls. I warned him to stay away from her and made it clear that I’d come for him if he touched her.”
I pause and search my memory of that last time I saw him. Was he still alive?
“Maybe he died after I left?”
Blake elbows me in the side with a confident expression on his face. “He definitely died after you left. But you didn’t kill him.”
“How do you know?”
“It says here that he was stabbed to death.” Blake grins. “Unless you’ve forgotten to tell us about that part?”
“Let me see that.” I grab the computer and the report clearly says he was murdered with a knife, and they found him in the alley behind his shop. “Someone else must have finished off the wanker.” A wave of relief washes over me. As much as I hated him, I didn’t want to be responsible for his death.
Troy shrugs. “The cops still think you murdered him, so we’ll have to be careful. It doesn’t matter who did it. They won’t believe you.”
I pull the computer closer and read the rest of the story. It describes the murder weapon as a switchblade. I know someone who has a knife like that, and a sick feeling sours my stomach. “Damn, I think I know who killed him.”
“Who?” asks Troy.
I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. Like you said, the police think I did it, so that’s all that’s important.”
“Well, we should get on with things.” Blake closes the laptop and turns toward Juliet. “Where can we find the Prime Elector?”
Juliet clasps her hands in front of her. “Let’s not.”
She looks sincere, which is weird.
“We came here to find him.” Akari glances at Juliet. “We need to kill him.”
“Yes, we do,” says Juliet. “We just don’t need to do it today. I’ve never been to London. Let’s spend the day and see the city like normal people. I’ve always wanted to see a castle. We can save the universe tomorrow.”
