Promethean Shadows

by Patrick Jean-Jacques

  Satisfied that Mr Kent no longer posed a threat, Maya collected his guns and threw them into the bushes. She turned towards Will and saw that he was glaring at her incredulously. Will stood up and looked at the chain around her neck.

  When he reached out, Maya recoiled automatically and covered it protectively. Very gently, Will moved her hand away, lifted the chain and looked at the ring hanging off it. Inscribed on the tarnished gold band was a ruby-red hand, holding a flame.

  “Well-well,” said Will unsurprised. “So you are one of them? A Promethean,” he asked.

  “The genie was out of that bottle a long time ago,” said Maya. “You’ve suspected what I was for a long while now,” she replied candidly.

  “Yes,” confirmed Will. “I have! But I didn’t want it to be true.”

  “That’s twice I’ve saved your life now,” revealed Maya.

  “Twice?” said Will, baffled at first. Then he remembered, “The roof!”

  “The roof!” confirmed Maya.

  Will wasn’t sure whether to be angry or grateful, “Who exactly are you working for? My mother, my father or neither?” he asked.

  “It’s complicated!” replied Maya. “I’ll explain everything when we’re far away from thus place.”

  They could hear the police sirens getting closer. Will lifted his mother gently and followed Maya’s lead. They moved through the forest for nearly a quarter mile. Eventually, they reached the banks of the River Garry where a motorboat was tethered to a mooring.

  Feeling tired, Will set his mother’s body down gently inside the boat. He looked at Maya and it dawned on him that they couldn’t take his mother’s body with them. Will looked at his mother’s peaceful face tenderly, as Maya watched in a respectful silence.

  “We’re going to have to leave her,” said Will downheartedly.

  “Where?” asked Maya.

  Will looked around, took-in his surroundings and allowed the breeze from the air to run over his face. He used the serenity of the river and the gentle rustling of the forest trees to persuade him, “Not here!”

  ✽✽✽

  The twin two-hundred and sixty horse-powered engines grumbled to life and propelled Will and Maya southward, down the Loch of Tummel. Will absorbed the tranquillity of the river and sat quietly next to his mother’s body, as Maya piloted the boat.

  As dusk approached, the Tay Forest wildlife came to life and their sounds filled the emptiness. Goshawks and buzzards screeched raucously as they acrobatically swooped across the skies, hunting for smaller prey. Foxes and pine martens rustled through the bushes and trees, hoping to snare a juicy mice or shrew for their afternoon feast.

  Will closed his eyes, tuned-in to the natural sounds that supported his melancholy. Inside, he dedicated as a lament of sorts, to his mother. After heading west down the river for a while, they reached the inlet of the loch and stopped.

  “Pitlochry Queen’s View,” announced Maya. “…one of the most picturesque locations in all of Perthshire.”

  “Perfect,” Will whispered to himself. “Here’ll do!” he said to Maya. It was early evening and golden rays of the sunset shimmered off the faint ripples of the loch.

  “It’s said that Queen Victoria made this place known during her visit in 1866. Although, local tradition says that King Robert the Bruce dedicated it to his wife, Queen Isabella four centuries earlier,” said Maya knowledgably.

  ‘Yes, this will do perfectly,’ thought Will.

  Maya turned the engines off and dropped the ballast. For the next few minutes, neither Maya nor Will said anything, not that words were necessary for what they had to do next. Before they’d left, Maya helped Will to place Alannah’s body into a large, meshed permeable sack.

  Will placed several large rocks inside the sack, kissed his mother’s forehead tenderly and secured it with zip-ties. As the boat drifted on the loch, Will insisted on doing the rest by himself. Delicately, he lifted the sack over the edge of the boat and watched it disappear gracefully towards the bottom of the loch.

  Maya powered-up the boat and they continued journeying westward down the loch, staying close to the banks. Will sat in the co-pilots seat, feet up and staring outwards taking in the scenery in quiet contemplation.

  Will looked at Maya with both admiration and annoyance, before he finally spoke to her. “Did you really love me or were you just using me?” he asked Maya directly.

  “You know my feelings for you are real Will,” replied Maya. “This is hard for me too you know. There’s a lot more going on than you could possibly imagine,” she said gravely.

  “How so?” asked Will.

  “Alannah cared for me, when my own mother died,” admitted Maya. “When dad was halfway around the world, doing god knows what, god knows where,” she said, with obvious resentment. “It was Alannah who loved me and treated me like I was her own daughter. I’d have done anything for her, if she’d asked… Even kill Cameron!” she said matter-of-factly.

  Will looked at Maya and began to see the bigger picture more rationally. One that he’d not really considered. There was so much going on around him that he’d not thought about it from anyone else’s perspective.

  “I failed to protect her Will,” said Maya, frustratingly. “That’s on me and I’m going to have to take that to my grave.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me before that she was alive?” asked Will softly.

  Maya looked at Will, “There were so many times that I wanted to,” she said apologetically. “…but I was sworn to secrecy. Alannah wanted to tell you herself, she knew that her responsibility.”

  “So what happened between her and my father?” asked Will, assuming that Maya knew.

  Maya gave Will the abridged version of what happened after the Fyodorgrad disaster, which corroborated what his mother told him at the Killiecrankie Hotel. However, Maya’s version went one further and explained how the Cameron and Baldwin-Jones’ feud played-out in more detail.

  She explained how Cameron’s mental state changed over time and how he’d become more despotic. Cameron developed a taste for the more violent aspects of their mission and collateral damage wasn’t a consideration for him.

  Will was angry about how the man he used to call father had become ruthless and calculating. He made a mental note to himself and felt an even stronger resolve to stop his father, one-way or the other. He clenched his fists so tightly that his bones cracked.

  Maya saw the tension in Will’s face, “You okay?” she asked.

  “I was just thinking about something,” said Will evasively. “Go on…”

  Maya continued to describe how the rift between Cameron and Baldwin-Jones’ became unrepairable. Alannah had tipped things over the edge when went to work for Baldwin-Jones. Initially, it was to spite Cameron but she realised being closer to the PM gave her access to sensitive information.

  “Did they ever…?” asked Will without finishing his question.

  Maya’s response came in the form of a discreet look. “She left Baldwin-Jones when she saw his appetite for corruption and greed matched Cameron’s penchant for anarchy,” explained Maya. “She didn’t want to get caught between them.”

  As they neared the end of the loch, Maya decelerated the boat. Will was reflecting on everything he’d heard. He tried to put the image of his mother out of his mind but the grief was still raw. Suddenly, the engines grumbled to a halt and the boat drifted into its berth.

  Maya turned the key to the off position and looked at Will sheepishly. “Has anything unusual happened to you recently? Perhaps something you couldn’t explain.” Will looked at her blankly, as she continued. “Maybe, you found yourself somewhere and wasn’t sure how you got there?” she said vaguely.

  At first, the question seemed strange to Will then he recalled his experience of waking up at Chapelsfield Nuclear Plant. Maya saw Will’s face and become red-faced and uneasy.

  “What do you know?” asked Will, a he drilled his accusing eyes into hers.

 
“Cameron,” said Maya embarrassed. “…once told me that he used to give you injections,” she said hesitantly.

  “What of them?” Will replied.

  “Um, what if he gave you something,” said Maya. “Something more than just for fighting-off illnesses,” said Maya cryptically.

  “What’re you talking about?” asked Will apprehensively.

  Maya looked at Will, as though she was weighing-up a big decision, “Cameron placed a very sophisticated microchip inside you when you was a child,” she said, as she looked away from him.

  “Son of a, how do I get it out?” asked Will, as he scratched his arm furiously. “HOW?” he screamed. Maya hung her head in shame and remained silent. “All those bloody dreams, did he implant those?” asked Will, embittered.

  “I don’t know about that,” shrugged Maya timidly. “But I know he plans use it to control you. He’ll make you do anything he wants, when the time comes.”

  “When the time comes?” repeated Will, as he looked at Maya. “…Future tense!”

  Maya saw the look in Will’s eyes and said nothing. She watched as he climbed out of the boat, visibly angered. Will’s mind was racing ten-to-the-dozen, as he thought about how he was going to handle this revelation.

  Silently, they got into Maya’s car and soon they were heading south. When they arrived at Glasgow International Airport, Will was still preoccupied with his implant. He got out of the car without saying anything. When he looked at Maya, he saw that her eyes were tearful and wasn’t sure what to say, so he smiled feebly and nodded politely.

  Will sank into his seat on the airbus and felt deflated. He stared out of the window and admired the city lights, as he left Glasgow behind. The journey was a complete blur and Will had spent the entire flight thinking about his last conversation with Maya.

  An hour and a half later, the airbus made contact with the runway at Cambridge and Will lurched forward. He was so wrapped-up in his thoughts he’d forgotten to wear his seatbelt. Later, he’d be back at his apartment and continue to reflecting on the events of the past few days.

  Before he fell asleep, Will stared at length at the makeshift mind map on his bedroom wall. Specifically, he was looking the picture of Prime Minister, Clive Baldwin-Jones. The cogs in his mind were turning frantically, as he begun to weave his retribution.

  ✽✽✽

  Two armed officers stood guard in front of the shiny black door. Made from solid oak, it had distinctive Georgian styled panels featured on both sides. Numbered ten, this was one of the most iconic buildings in Downing Street, London.

  The door had been there for many years before the arrival of its current resident and would be there long after. The prime minister sauntered leisurely down the stairs towards his breakfast.

  As usual, he had crispy fried bacon and two fried eggs, served with wild mushrooms lightly sautéed in olive oil, just as he liked it. He smiled voraciously at his well-presented early morning feast. Clive Baldwin-Jones felt like a man who had everything he wanted in the world.

  Alongside his plate was a glass of fresh orange juice, a pot of black coffee and a set of daily newspapers stacked in a neat pile. Baldwin-Jones liked to read all the major newspapers at the start of the morning.

  Upon sitting down, he begun to consume his breakfast with a greedy fervour. He seemed oblivious to everything, until the newspaper headline caught his attention. The Prime Minister brushed aside egg yolk from the corner of his mouth and inadvertently dropped his cutlery on the floor.

  The PM scoffed as he read the different headlines, “‘Closet Promethean in the Cabinet!’ ‘Anarchy inside Number Ten!’, ‘Homeland Insecurity’.” His face began to turn pallid, “Bloody hell!”

  There were other variations of the same headlines, all with damning allegations citing bribery, corruption and links to the Promethean Organisation.

  Clive Baldwin-Jones flitted through the papers anxiously and began squirming in his chair as he bravely read on. Disturbed by what he’d read, he grabbed the rest of the papers aggressively.

  Ignoring the fact that he’d knocked a mug over and spilled hot black coffee onto the newly varnished parquet, Clive Baldwin-Jones stood-up. Dazed, he slowly headed to his private study. As he passed the kitchen, he vaguely heard his wife Sarah and his daughter Sam talking.

  “Clive, are you watching the television?” shouted Sarah Baldwin-Jones. “Clive?”

  “Daddy-daddy, you’re on the telly,” his daughter Samantha shouted. “Daddy, you’re on telly.

  Lost in his own self-interest, Clive Baldwin-Jones ignored them. Feeling utterly disheartened and defeated, he shut the door quietly behind him and locked the door. He closed his eyes and chose to ignore his wife and daughter’s calls.

  Sarah Baldwin-Jones repeatedly hammered against the door with her fists, no response. The PM could also hear the sounds of little daughter Samantha snivelling and crying, as it echoed in the hallway but he shut them out from his mind.

  Clive Baldwin-Jones opened the locked chest of drawers, reached underneath some papers and found the small wooden box. Sarah Baldwin-Jones had stopped pounding away at the door and an eerie silence hung in the air.

  Samantha stopped whimpering instinctively and looked up at her mother, who was looking down at her. Sarah tapped her fist once more against the door but this time, it was more gentler, “Clive!” she called softly.

  Very slowly, Sarah placed her ear against the door and waited. Suddenly, a single gunshot exploded through the air and then the sounds of a body crashing to the floor. Sarah Baldwin-Jones shrieked hysterically then slumped to the floor and cradled her daughter. Samantha wasn’t sure why but she started crying too, almost as if she sensed a bad thing had just happened.

  It was late into the evening and most of at the Chronicle’s office floor was dark but for a few desk lights. Will was sitting at his desk alone with only the light from his computer reflecting off his sombre face. Rather than bask in the glory of what should’ve been his moment of triumph, all he felt was a sickness in the pit of his stomach. The thought of a little girl spending the rest of her years without her father gave him little pride.

  “Well, I think it’s safe to say that Baldwin-Jones’ political career is well and truly finished,” said Daley contemptuously. “It’s just a shame he took a cowards way out, eh? I wouldn’t feel so bad, there’s no way you could have known how he’d react.”

  Daley placed a glass of bourbon whiskey on Will’s desk and turned on the lamp. He tried to placate Will by trying to convince him his actions were justified but Will wasn’t listening. Will picked-up the glass, swallowed the entire contents in one gulp and gestured his readiness for another. Daley obliged him instantly and refilled his glass. Again, he swallowed the contents quickly.

  “Together, we’ll expose Cameron and his Prometheans before they can destroy Chapelsfield or anywhere else,” said Daley tenaciously.

  “Cameron,” slurred Will. He squinted at the blurred outline of Daley, “I-I don’t, recall m-mentioning… name… to you or… telling… anyone about… Chapelsfield,” finished Will incoherently.

  “Oops!” said Daley with mock surprise.

  As his vision became fuzzier, a disorientated Will stared at his glass and realised he’d been drugged. He tried to stand but immediately slumped to the floor.

  “There you go!” said Daley, helping Will back into his chair. “Easy does it.”

  “You… y-you’re… one… of THEM?” asked Will, moments before passing out. As soon as Will passed out, another person walked into Daley’s office.

  “Help me with him,” ordered Daley. The younger man walked over silently. “My car’s parked around the back.”

  “We’re taking him to Cameron?” asked the younger man. Daley nodded by way of reply.

  They lifted Will carefully, carried him to Daley’s car and laid him out on the back seat. As they did, Daley’s young accomplice stared vacantly into Will’s unconscious face and saw his own guilt reflected back.<
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  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Compliance

  Will slowly opened his eyes and instantly began to look around the room. When he tried to move, he found his wrists and ankles were bound to the side railings of an old operating table. Vainly, Will fought against the thick leather straps then stopped when he saw they were cutting into his wrists.

  There was a lamp directly above Will’s head and the intense heat that radiated from it made him look away. When he realised he was in some sort of laboratory, Will thought about the old black and white movies he liked to watch. The nuance and styling reminded him of the fifties horrors flicks, where unhinged scientists made monsters in creepy labs.

  An uneasy feeling came over Will. The strapping around his wrists started to itch, which made him to struggle again. To the left of the table was a dark room with a large rectangular window but Will was unable to see anyone behind it. He assumed, quite correctly, his captors were behind it.

  Will looked past his feet, towards the bottom of the room and saw two figures standing guard by the main doors. The two guards were proudly wearing the signature black attire of the Promethean organisation. Will scowled bitterly, when he saw the red emblem on their chests and looked away in disgust.

  He then became aware of some other people, standing just outside his field of vision. After he blinked his eyes several times, the blurry figures eventually became more prominent. Then Will became more aware of their movement and shuffling. Standing nearby was Nathan and Maya Walker, Daley Hackford and Adam Hinchcliffe who were watching him and talking amongst themselves.

  “Well hello there,” said Will facetiously.

  “Hello mate,” said Adam shamefacedly. He walked round so that Will could see him. Will gave Adam an icy stare in return, which only enhance the awkwardness silence between them.

  Adam saw the reddening around Will’s wrists and thoughtlessly went to loosen the straps, his third mistake. As he leaned closer to Will, he was about to whisper something when he felt his nose explode into a bloody mess.