Wraith

by Shane Smithers

  Cirro groaned. ‘Great technology,’ he muttered. ‘Must be 100 years old.’ Another thing he’d have to see to on his return to Nebulosity – upgrading his equipment. He slapped the side of the unit several times. The monitor flickered again and then displayed a satellite image with a blinking red dot. ‘Ah, that is more like it.’

  A few hundred metres on, Cirro stood at the start of a small deserted jetty, leading down to the river. It was barely visible from the walkway above. With a glance over his shoulder, he stepped onto the wooden platform and walked silently down to the pontoon. He immediately spotted the floating hopper, crudely tied to a pylon. He scanned the outer shell. Quite a lot of damage, but at least it is intact, he thought. He noticed marks across its nose and hood that resembled scars, as if it had been in a battle. Hoppers had the ability to selfheal because of the living plant material they were made from.

  Cirro placed his hand on the hopper’s side. In a low voice, he said, ‘Open.’ Nothing happened. He took a deep breath and then recited the two-digit code that would give him automatic access to all Azurien transportation. He then repeated, ‘Open.’

  As the top slid back, he heard a plop! in the water but ignored it, thinking it must have been a fish jumping. He hunkered down and stuck his head inside the hopper. A quick inspection confirmed that the vehicle was still operational, but only just. ‘The doctor will be annoyed,’ he muttered.

  Cirro took out his communicator, looked at it knowingly for a few moments. He should report to the Empyrean, but he knew that finding the stolen hopper, though a good start, would not be enough for him. The Empyrean was an impatient man, expected quick results and when he didn’t get them . . . well, Cirro didn’t need his father yelling at him. He pocketed the communicator, deciding to post-pone that conversation until after he’d found the children.

  He cast an eye around. He’d hide nearby and wait. The children were bound to come back. He just hoped they’d return before they got themselves into any more trouble. Knowing Aureole, the likelihood of her avoiding trouble was about the same as that of him beating Kawasaki at chess.

  Kookaburra Motel, Adelaide, South Australia

  With the help of Google, James and Aureole ddin’t take long to locate four possible places the engineer could be staying. They decided it to check each one out in person. The first three proved to be dead ends.

  ‘Let’s hope this last one’s the place,’ said James, crossing his fingers. They were standing on the footpath in front of a sign that read: ‘Kookaburra Motel – No Vacancies’.

  ‘Let’s hope,’ echoed Aureole.

  ‘Hey,’ said James. ‘You used a contraction.’

  ‘So I did,’ said Aureole.

  James laughed. ‘I must be rubbing off on you.’

  ‘Urgh,’ said Aureole, making a face. With a laugh, she emphasised each of her next words. ‘Let us go inside.’ James laughed again and followed her. The late afternoon sun shone through the edges of her sunglasses, casting two pink circles on the ground that bobbed and bounced as they headed for the motel’s reception.

  Inside, the manager, with a bushy moustache on his upper lip, was pacing behind the counter, one hand holding a phone to his ear and the other waving wildly in the air. ‘What do you mean it won’t arrive until next Monday?’ he shouted. ‘I need it here today!’

  James could hear a voice on the other end of the line apologising but explaining that it was out of his hands.

  ‘Don’t make me come down there,’ threatened the manager. Then, realising he had visitors, he growled, ‘Get it here now!’ and slammed down the receiver. He gave James and Aureole the once-over and then said, ‘Want a room?’

  ‘Definitely not,’ said Aureole, blushing.

  The man’s moustache drooped. ‘Then what do you want? I’m not interested if you’re selling anything.’

  ‘Oh no, we’re not selling anything,’ said James quickly. ‘We’re looking for a man.’

  The manager eyed him suspiciously. ‘Have I met you before?’ he asked.

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ said James hesitantly.

  The man’s eyes wandered to the wall behind James and then back again. ‘You’re that missing kid,’ he said.

  James turned and looked at the wall. Sure enough, there he was, that same stupid picture tacked to the noticeboard with the word “MISSING!” stamped above it. He may as well have had a neon light blazing above his head.

  ‘That damn photo! I’ve had trouble all over town with it.’ He flashed a weak smile at the manager. ‘The police keep assuring me they’ll fix it, but they still haven’t.’ He shook his head. Aureole stood beside him nodding sympathetically.

  The manager looked less than convinced. ‘Really?’ he drawled. ‘Why’s it up there in the first place?’

  James looked at the poster again. ‘I assume you pinned it there.’ The manager’s brow was furrowed. ‘Oh, you mean why have I been reported missing?’ He gave a little laugh. ‘It’s my . . . my grandmother’s fault. She’s a bit loopy.’ James twirled his index finger next to his ear. It wasn’t altogether a lie; his grandmother was a bit strange. ‘She has these crazy dreams and thinks they’re real. She dreamt I was missing, woke up and called the cops.’

  Aureole nodded again. ‘Crazy,’ she echoed.

  The manager looked from one to the other, hesitated and then said, ‘So who’s this man you’re searching for?’

  Aureole gave a nice big smile. ‘Mr Watanabe, a Japanese sailor. We were told he’s staying here.’

  The manager’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why do you want to see him?’

  ‘So he is here then?’ said Aureole.

  ‘Maybe . . . but he doesn’t want any visitors.’

  ‘I need to give him a message from Mr Yakuza,’ said Aureole, undeterred.

  ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘A friend of his.’

  The manager scratched his moustache. ‘Tell me the message and I’ll pass it on.’

  Aureole thought for a moment and then agreed.

  ‘What?’ said James. Why was she happy to give this stranger information?

  ‘No, no, it’s okay,’ said Aureole, glancing at the manager’s nametag. ‘Bob here can give him the message.’

  The manager grabbed a pad and pencil from under the counter. ‘Go on then, I’m listening,’ he said.

  James’s frown disappeared when Aureole began to relay the message in Japanese.

  The manager tapped his pencil on the counter top and glared at Aureole. ‘I don’t speak Japanese.’

  ‘Oh, I am sorry. What a pity,’ said Aureole. ‘Mr Yakuza gave me a very specific message in Japanese, which is hard to translate.’

  The manager tapped his pencil a couple of more times and then said gruffly, ‘He’s in room 59, fifth floor up. Lift’s out of order though.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Aureole with another big smile.

  James tilted his head toward the noticeboard and said, ‘You might want to pull that picture down. It really isn’t my best side.’ Then he darted up the stairs after Aureole.

  ~

  Once the boy and girl were out of earshot, the manager picked up the phone and dialled out.

  ‘Yeah, I’ve seen that missing kid – James Locke.’

  FORTY-FOUR

  Kookaburra Motel, Adelaide, South Australia

  Every door on level five was scarlet, the same colour as the hall carpet, with shiny gold numbers screwed to them.

  ‘Here we are,’ said Aureole, puffing a little as they approached number 59.

  ‘What are you going to say to him?’ asked James. The idea that their search may be over was making a knot in his stomach.

  Aureole took a deep breath. ‘I am just going to go with the flow,’ she said, then knocked loudly on the door.

  There was a muffled noise from inside and then quiet. James and Aureole placed their ears closer to the door.

  ‘I don’t like this,’ whispered James.

  Aureole knocked again. ‘Mr Wat
anabe?’

  Nothing.

  Aureole bent down close to the keyhole and spoke a few words in Japanese (later Aureole told James she had said that they had a message for him from Mr Yakuza). Slowly the handle turned and the door opened just a few centimetres. An eye appeared at the crack and then a man’s voice uttered something in Japanese.

  Aureole bowed. A brief conversation ensued between her and the man and then the door swung open.

  The room had that brand-new smell about it. Mr Watanabe closed the door behind them and stood with his back against it. He was a lot smaller than James had expected, but his features were fearsome. He didn’t motion for them to sit down, but Aureole pulled out a chair and settled herself down anyway. James crossed his arms and leaned against the wall near the window.

  Aureole began the conversation slowly, every now and then pausing as if looking for just the right word. Mr Watanabe continued to stand, listening intently, his eyes darting to James every so often. Once she had finished, Mr Watanabe shook his head and muttered a few words in reply.

  Aureole folded her hands and let out a sigh.

  ‘What did he say?’ asked James, severely regretting not having taken Japanese at school; who’d have thought it would come in handy one day?

  ‘He said he does not have the meteorite anymore,’ said Aureole quietly.

  The sailor’s small brown eyes flittered over to the wardrobe and back again. If James had blinked at that moment, he would have missed it. James shot a look at the wardrobe, noticed the corner of a brown suitcase poking out. ‘Ask him what’s in the suitcase in that cupboard.’

  Aureole began, but even before the last words had left her mouth, the Japanese sailor had sprung across the room and was pointing a switchblade at her throat. Aureole remained deathly still.

  ‘Listen,’ said James, his heart thumping madly. He raised his palms out toward the sailor. ‘We don’t want any trouble.’

  Mr Watanabe took a step toward the wardrobe, still holding the knife out in front of him. He spoke to Aureole in short sharp sentences. She replied calmly to everything he said.

  ‘What’s he saying?’ asked James, trying not to show panic in his voice.

  The man swung his knife in James’ direction and motioned for him to turn around and place his hands in the air.

  James swallowed a hard lump in his throat.Slowly he turned and faced the window. He sneaked a quick glance over his shoulder and saw Mr Watanabe grab Aureole by the wrist, forcing her to her feet. ‘Tell him we don’t want any trouble,’ he hissed, facing the window again. His heart was pounding so hard against his ribcage he thought it was going to burst. Outside, the sky was turning orange from the setting sun. Below – James let out an expletive. Two police cars with their lights flashing were parked at the motel’s entrance. ‘The cops are here!’ he said, glancing back over his shoulder again.

  Aureole, now with the knife lying against her throat, relayed this to Mr Watanabe, which only made him more desperate.

  James watched as a police officer walked out of reception and looked up, a walkie-talkie in his hand. ‘Aureole, are you okay?’ There was no response and James’s breathing quickened. ‘Aureole?’ he repeated. He heard a small cry behind him, followed by a loud thump of someone hitting the floor. He screwed his eyes shut, afraid of what he might find if he turned around.

  ‘Come on. Stop standing there. We have to get out of here,’ said Aureole, suddenly beside him. The sailor was lying unconscious on the floor.

  ‘How’d you do that?’ said James, blinking from one to the other.

  ‘I will tell you later,’ said Aureole, dragging James toward the door, but they were too late. There was a loud knock.

  ‘Police! Open up.’

  They both froze.

  ‘The window,’ said James sharply.

  There was a twenty-metre drop from the window ledge to the ground below. James knew he could easily fly down that distance, but Aureole would be stuck. Their only chance was a fire escape about three metres away. The police began pounding on the door. It sounded as if they were trying to break it down.

  James pulled Aureole to the window and said, ‘You’re going to have to jump to the fire escape – it’s the only way.’

  ‘No sweat,’ said Aureole flashing him a confident smile. James wasn’t so sure. She crawled out onto the window ledge, managed to stand up. Using her hands to steady herself, she leapt. Her body blurred for an instant and James held his breath. Her fingertips glanced the top rail but couldn’t hold on. James’ eyes widened. She wasn’t going to make it. She dropped a metre, but managed to grab hold of the last rung. Hand over hand, she climbed back to safety.

  Behind James the door gave way, smashing against the wall. The cops were in.

  FORTY-FIVE

  Kookaburra Motel, Adelaide, South Australia

  A police officer ran into the motel room and glanced from the unconscious man on the floor to James standing at the window. ‘Get down on the floor, with your hands behind your head,’ he bellowed.

  ‘Sorry, got to go,’ said James, flipping up his hood and scrambling out of the window. About to propel himself off the ledge, he felt a hand wrap around his right ankle like a vice. He kicked wildly at with his left foot. ‘Let go!’

  ‘Sorry, son, I can’t do that. Now put your hands where I can see them and get back in here.’

  James shot Aureole a look of desperation. She was yelling something at him, but he couldn’t hear – the blood was pounding in his ears. ‘All right, all right,’ he said, starting to move back inside.

  The police officer loosened his grip slightly. James took advantage and again kicked out with his left foot, crushing the man’s fingers. The officer swore but James’s foot was free. He sprang off the ledge as if it were a diving board and landed several metres above Aureole. Seconds later, they were scurrying up the fire escape and onto the roof. James turned and gave the stunned officer a brief salute before racing after Aureole.

  They reached the edge of the building, saw another officer climbing onto the roof behind them. ‘Come on,’ shouted James, grabbing Aureole’s hand.

  They landed, together, on the next rooftop a couple of metres lower, and bolted. The light around them was fading fast. As they came to the brink of the roof, an alleyway with several clotheslines strung across the gap caused James to hesitate. This distance was much greater. He didn’t know if Aureole would make it.

  ‘What do you think? Can you make this one?’ asked James, still holding her hand.

  Aureole seemed to be estimating her chances. ‘I – I think so.’

  James looked back over his shoulder. Two officers had just jumped the last gap. ‘Come on then,’ he said, taking a few steps back to increase their run up. ‘Just don’t look down.’ He grasped Aureole’s hand tightly and ran forward. Moments later, he landed heavily on the other side, rolled, and then sprang to his feet. He realised he was alone. ‘Aureole?’ he screamed, racing back to the edge.

  The police had reached the ledge on the other side and were peering down into the darkened alleyway.

  ‘James,’ came a faint whisper from just below him.

  ‘She’s over there,’ said one of the officers, pointing to a metal drainpipe leaning out from the wall. She was only a few metres from James, her arms and legs locked around the pipe in a tight bear hug.

  ‘Stay calm,’ said James – he had never felt so scared.

  Slowly, Aureole attempted to shimmy her way back up. The pipe groaned under her weight, and James wondered how long it could take the strain. He lay flat on the roof and stretched out his arm in an attempt to grab hers. A bolt snapped off the wall . . . and then another. They sounded like gunshots in the narrow alley.

  ‘Hang on, Aureole, you’re almost there,’ he reassured her, feeling his fingertips barely brush hers. He let out a moan. ‘A bit more.’

  Then, just as one of the officers was calling for the fire brigade and an ambulance, part of the drainpipe sprang away from
the brick wall and Aureole’s legs swung wildly in the void.

  ‘James!’ she screamed.

  James tried to stretch further over the ledge. He wanted so much to fly down there and grab her, but he knew he couldn’t hold her weight and levitate at the same time. ‘Reach out for my hand.’

  Their fingertips touched again and then separated. The pipe gave way with a loud crack at the same time their hands clasped. The force of Aureole’s full weight pulling on his arm pushed the air from James’ lungs, winding him, but he fought to keep her in his grip. He heaved, his biceps burning. His arm was ready to pop out of its socket, but he lifted her, just enough so she could reach up and grab the guttering with her free hand.

  ‘That was too close,’ he gasped, clasping his chest, trying to get his breath back, once Aureole was safely beside him.

  She was on her hands and knees, sweat trickling down her face. ‘You’re telling me,’ she groaned.

  ‘Stay where you are,’ yelled one of the officers, standing across the gap. ‘We’ve got somebody on the way up.’

  James grabbed Aureole’s arm and dragged her to her feet. ‘Come on,’ he said. He knew they still had a chance to get away.

  They made a beeline for the next building, easily jumping the half-metre gap onto the sloping terracotta roof. It was uncomfortably steep and several times James’s foot slipped as he inched his way along. To make matters worse, the sky had little light to offer and a fog had appeared. James reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his sunglasses, put them on and flicked them to night vision. A quick glance behind told him that the new officer was on the roof and gaining ground despite the growing darkness.

  Maybe they have special training in roof chasing, thought James, trying to keep his balance and go faster at the same time.

  In front of him, Aureole had made good progress, nearly reaching the edge of the building. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, another officer emerged over the ridge in front of them.

  ‘Stop,’ ordered the woman. ‘There’s nowhere to go.’