by Anthony Ergo
I've always trusted him and never questioned his methods or instincts, but things have been truly weird over the last few days. First of all he brings me an old bit of paper with a hangman game on it and asks me to run a few tests. I did the usual things to establish age and origin, but I struggled to find either. What I did find startled me. As I studied the ink under a microscope, I could swear it moved. When I held the paper I was filled with a sense of dread. I locked it back in the safe box as Lou instructed ─ he had the only other key ─ and popped it into the package it came in. It was a risk going to his home to find him, but one I had to take.
I'd never been to Lou Hunter's house before and when a young, dark haired beauty opened the door, I thought I'd arrived at the wrong place. When she snatched the parcel off me, I wanted the Earth to swallow me up. What could I do? Kick the door down and take it back? I thought I'd truly blown any chance of becoming a fully fledged Field Agent.
Thankfully, Lou was as chilled as ever when I confessed. He told me no harm had been done. I didn't dare to ask him about his daughter after my mistake. But later that day we were on an assignment when she turned up. I held her and felt the same mix of fear and power. . . followed by a sharp knee to the nuts. Sometimes I wish I was still a cleaner sleeping on my mate's sofa.
As I drop the two dumbbells the double doors to the gym swing open. In walks Zara, my oh-so-serious colleague at The Agency. She's more than a colleague; she's the closest person in my life. Here at The Agency we have to keep things formal and professional at all times, and nobody is better at doing that than Zara.
She nods hello as she walks onto the aerobic mat and begins stretching. Her shoulder length, choppy blonde hair is tied back into a small pony tail. She looks every bit the gym instructor in her lycra top but still wearing the designer glasses which she never removes. Zara is so smart you can see it even before she says anything. She oozes brainpower and self-confidence.
From my hunched over position, I grip the edge of the weight bench and lower my body until I feel the burn in my triceps. I'm distracted by Zara, who has progressed from gentle stretching to full-out Taekwondo kicks. She's not to be messed with, both physically and mentally, and that's probably why she's still single. That, and life at The Agency. Zara steps onto the running machine and pops headphones into her ears. Clearly she doesn't want to be disturbed but the devious side of me decides to walk over for a chat.
"How's it going?" I ask casually, leaning over the running machine rail.
"Fine, Hart" she replies, not bothering to remove an ear plug.
For some reason, she insists on calling me by my surname like some kind of Army General. Maybe it's her way of enforcing her rank. After all, she's a Field Agent. I'm seventeen, still in my first year here and yet to be given my own assignment. Zara is twenty-three years old ─ six years my senior. She doesn't look it, but boy does she act it. If people say I'm overly-friendly and too chatty, Zara is my antithesis. Much like our names in the alphabet, we're polar opposites.
"Have you seen Agent Hunter today?" I ask, still trying to be casual.
I haven't decided whether I'll talk to her about Hunter and his daughter just yet.
"No," she replies, eyes fixed on the flat screen in front of her. "I thought you were working with him?"
She increases the speedometer and moves from a fast walk to a jog. The treadmill gets louder and I'm forced to raise my voice.
"I am. Well, I was. He asked me to meet him at an assignment location on Saturday night, but not to tell Director Blake. I did as he asked, but now I'm wondering whether I did the right thing."
Zara picks up more speed and her legs pound the rotating track.
"You can trust Hunter. You don't need to question him."
Her reply is controlled without a hint of breathlessness, despite the pace of the running machine. Her cardio must be excellent. And I'm not at all surprised by her defensive stance. It's perfectly natural for her to side with Agent Hunter; he was Zara's mentor when she joined The Agency a few years ago. I wonder if Zara knows about his daughter? I'm about to ask when her mobile vibrates. It takes her three seconds to read the text message and slam the emergency stop button on the running machine.
"Hart ─ we need to go, now."
I throw my hands up in mock frustration.
"For once, just once, can you call me Aaron?"
For the first time today she looks straight at me. Her eyes are wide and I know she means business. I can feel that she means business.
"It's Agent Hunter ─ he's in trouble."
Her voice is filled with trepidation. Whatever it is, it feels like it's been coming, ever since the incident with his daughter on Saturday evening.
"I'll grab a quick shower and change."
"No time," says Zara, leaping off the treadmill. "I'm leaving right now; it's up to you whether you come with me or not."
Zara lingers at the door for half a second before turning on her heels. She knows I'll follow immediately, and I do.
Chapter 5
Monday 16 September 9:15am
Sasha Hunter
I don't need to open my eyes to know something isn't right. I wake up to find that I'm tucked up in bed. For half a second I ponder the old line from children's stories; maybe it was all just a dream? But when I open my clenched fist the aged paper with the hangman game confirms the cold reality.
I try to sit up and immediately wish I hadn't; I've never felt weaker in my life. My legs tremble and my tongue feels too thick for my mouth. It feels like someone is crashing a set of symbols together inside my head and there's a swelling on my scalp. Even the lightest touch of my fingertips makes me wince. All in all, I feel dreadful. At least I'm breathing. At least I'm still alive.
I glance at my alarm clock: it reads 9:17am. I must have been out for eight or nine hours. What happened? And what's going on with the hangman game and the words which morphed before my eyes? Did I faint, or was I attacked? Only one person can answer these questions. I need to speak to Dad.
I wander the house, dazed and confused, but can find no sign of him. As I stagger torward the lounge Katalina walks into the hallway from the kitchen. On finding me wandering half-dressed, her jaw and her coffee cup hit the floor simultaneously.
"Sash, you scared me! What you doing out of bed?"
I stuff the yellow paper away as she gives me a big hug.
"Kat, what happened?"
Katalina's face has bad news written all over it.
"Oh Sash, there been a break in!"
A break-in? But why is every room in the house fine apart from Dad's attic room? This has something to do with Dad and his strange job, I'm sure it has.
"Where's Dad?" I ask, as Kat kicks into housekeeper mode and starts to fuss over the spilt coffee.
"Mr Hunter has been attacked. I find him on the floor and take him to hospital." In her agitated state Kat's English is even more broken than usual. "Then I come home and find you fainted! I want to take you to the hospital too, but you tell me you OK and need lie down. Do you remember? Did you bang head?"
I don't remember passing out at all but my main concern right now is for my father.
"Don't worry about me, Kat. Is Dad alright?"
"He’s been strangled, Doctors say. He’s alive, but not very well. I take you see him, yes?"
I throw on some clothes and we race off in Kat's VW Beetle, much faster than it was ever built to go. The old Beetle groans in protest as we lurch through a set of lights on amber. Kat's normal driving mode is blind panic so I'm pretty used to it by now. Despite not wanting to, I start to cry angry tears.
"Why would anyone do this to Dad?"
I'm raging over what happened and as I fix my eyes in the car mirror, I see their crimson glint burning. I'm also upset that I didn't take Dad's hand the last time I saw him.
"You see anything, Sash?"
I hesitate. This is my chance to confide in someone. Kat is a good friend, but the last thing I said to Dad was
that I'd keep his secret.
"No … nothing," I lie.
I don't like lying to Kat. But it's only a white lie, the kind of lie you tell when you're trying to do the right thing. I twiddle nervously with the paper in my pocket. I have to speak to Dad.
+ + +
On our arrival at the hospital, we're directed to a private ward. As we turn onto a corridor we almost walk into an argument between a young man and an older nurse. Even from behind, I recognise the tall physique and broad shoulders. It's Aaron. I feel a surge of anger, like I did the last time I saw him and left him in a crumpled heap for grabbing hold of me. Everything has turned crazy since he showed up. What's he doing here now?
"I need to see him," demands Aaron to the nurse.
"I'm sorry, sir, but that's not possible," replies the old nurse firmly. "Mr. Hunter is very ill. It's close family only."
He turns at the sound of our heels clicking on the linoleum floor. Dressed in jogging pants and a fitted tee shirt, he looks like he's just come from the gym. Our eyes lock. Mine have their crimson glint. His look wild and desperate. Aaron speaks first, which is a mistake.
"Sasha, I'm sorry about what happened to your dad, but I really need to see him. Perhaps you can explain to this nurse─"
"You should leave," I snap, cutting him short.
"Can we talk privately?" he asks me, ignoring Kat.
"You heard her," says Kat, stepping forward protectively. "You go, now."
Aaron sighs and gives me an almost pleading look until his phone goes off. He looks embarrassed by the timing and when he pulls out his mobile I notice the name of the caller, Zara. Typical boy; unable to give his full attention to one girl at a time. The Nurse gives a sympathetic smile then turns to usher Aaron away. She probably thinks it's a lovers' tiff. That couldn't be further from the truth. If I never see him again, it will be way too soon.
I take in a deep breath before entering the room, not sure what state I'll find Dad in. His eyes are closed and he is propped up in bed with a neck-brace on, an oxygen mask over his mouth and tubes from a machine going into one arm. I'd once read that people who are in a coma can still hear things so I steel myself not to cry.
My mind cycles through the things you're supposed to say at times like this, but nothing feels right. All I can do is look down at him and take in the details. In sleep, Dad looks much younger than his thirty-nine years; the lines of stress have smoothed out. I rest my hand on his and Katalina grips an arm around my shoulder as we stand and watch and wonder.
"Excuse me," a deep voice interrupts. "Katalina, may I have a word?"
The door had opened without me even hearing it. A middle-aged, dark-haired and well spoken man in a white coat stands partly in the room.
"You be okay?" Kat asks.
"Sure. I'll wait here with Dad."
I'm still numb and not sure how to act. Should I be crying uncontrollably or showing a strong exterior? Kat leaves with the doctor and the door closes gently as if not to disturb the patient. I don't want Dad to sleep, I want him to wake up, to tell him everything and for him to tell me that it will all be fine. As I sit alone by his bedside, I realise that I've never watched him sleep before. I hold his hand and twiddle with his wedding ring. I've lost Mum. I can't lose Dad too.
Two days ago, I was happy and I didn't even know I was happy. At least, it was happiness compared to this. It's all relative and when you're as unlucky as I am you take what you can get. I wipe my eyes and sniffle, and when I touch my nose it reminds me of that stupid game Dad played when I was young. He would pretend to pull off my nose and show it to me, then put it back again before I realised it was only his thumb. This random memory makes me smile, which is when I realise that my face has been aching from frowning.
I squeeze Dad's hand and his pupils seem to move beneath his eyelids, shooting left then right. Then they open. I jump back and gasp as Dad stares at me straight in the eye. Instinctively, I reach for the red emergency call button above the bed.
"No!" Dad says with a strained whisper as he tries to remove the oxygen mask.
"But Dad―"
"Don't let them back in!"
His voice is grainy, forced through an injured throat.
"Lock the door, Sash."
Is he crazy? I'm about to press the red button when his eyes convince me what his words can't. Instead, I flick the privacy switch on the door; the doctor is still talking to Kat in the corridor outside. Dad is suddenly more alive than ever; eyes bloodshot and animated.
"We don't have long."
"What happened, Dad?"
"It doesn't matter right now, I'll be okay. But you're in danger." His rasping voice sounds laced with pain. "Do you remember the hangman game I showed you?"
I pull the folded yellow paper from my pocket.
"You mean this? Is this whole situation something to do with that ghost?"
"Yes, but not only the Hangman Ghost; somebody else is working against me."
The door handle rattles as someone tries to enter the room.
"What do I do Dad?"
"Sash, listen to me carefully. Whatever you do, don't look at that paper again. Keep it folded up. And the knife I gave you ─ keep it with you at all times. Do you remember what I told you about The Agency?"
I do my best to bury my emotions and make mental notes as Dad speaks.
"Go to our headquarters and give the hangman game to Gordon. Gordon will know what to do. Gordon will keep you safe."
The door handle rattles furiously and someone starts to knock insistently on the door.
"But how do I get to The Agency headquarters?"
"Don't worry, they'll find you. But remember; don't speak to anyone except Gordon."
"Open the door right away, please," says the doctor from outside.
Dad looks more than anxious and for half a second I wonder whether he's a little bit crazy.
"You'll be fine Sash. I'll find you when I can. Use your instincts, you're a clever girl. Keep the hangman game and the knife safe at all times. Don't be afraid. Remember what I told you; always face your fears head on. Fear only has the power you allow it. Go and find Gordon but other than that, don't trust anyone."
The door bursts open and the doctor enters the room. When I glance back at Dad, his eyes are closed like they've never been open.
Chapter 6
Monday 16 September 1:19pm
This can't be how it is. At least that's what I keep telling myself. Hours pass, yet I refuse to leave Dad's bedside. I'm only allowed to stay on the doctor's insistence that the room door be kept wide open for him and the nurse to observe. They check the tubes going into Dad's arm and the reading on the machine, but I know they're also keeping an eye on me. I manage to convince Kat to go and sort things out back at the house so I can be alone with Dad. I sit on the edge of the uncomfortable hospital chair, leaning forward and hoping that Dad will open his eyes and talk to me. But his eyes remain closed, coma-like.
"Miss Hunter, may I have a word?"
The dark-haired doctor interrupts in his overly polite way.
"Can we step outside, please?"
He stands at the open door waiting for me to get up and clearly isn't going to leave until I do. I squeeze Dad's hand, then follow him out into the corridor, expecting the same brief and non-specific update Kat had been given earlier.
"Follow me, please."
He walks off at a brisk pace. Something about him irritates me. Maybe it's his false smile, or the fact he's ordering me around. He ushers me into a small interview room brightly lit with harsh fluorescent lighting. How many people have been given bad news in here?
"Sit, please."
It's more of an order than a request.
"How's my dad?" I ask, taking the initiative by getting straight to the point.
"Your father will be just fine, Miss Hunter. He has suffered some damage to his throat and neck, although strangely there are no visible marks."
"So how did it happen?"
/> The dark-haired doctor smiles a false smile and stares at me way longer than you should without speaking.
"I was about to ask you the same question."
As I study the man sitting before me certain things about his appearance stand out: the expensive dark suit beneath the white coat; the lack of an identity badge or medical equipment. Don't all doctors carry stethoscopes?
"How should I know what happened? Aren't you supposed to be the doctor?"
"Ah, a slight misunderstanding. I am not, in fact, a doctor, although I am responsible for your father's well-being. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Menzies Blake."
If I was sarcastic before, I'm now plain angry.
"If you're not a doctor, then who exactly are you?"
"I'm afraid I can't go into too much detail as I am bound by the same professional restrictions as your father. I presume you are aware of your father's … business affairs?"
The man with the stupid name looks at me as though expecting some sort of reaction, like he's testing the water, trying to find out what I know. I decide to be as casual as possible. My father's words play over in my head: don't trust anyone, Sasha. This creepy man makes that promise an easy one to keep.
"I've got no idea what you're talking about. Maybe I should go and talk to a real doctor, or the police?"
He smiles at my attempt to provoke him like it simply rebounds off his well moisturised skin.
"I work for the government and report straight to the top. My powers go way beyond that of the police. Besides, you'll find all the authorities are fully informed of the situation. In fact, there's a Psychiatrist waiting to speak to you after I am done."
"What do you mean?"
He smiles again, inspecting his nails nonchalantly. He knows he has me.
"There are concerns over your mental health and your abnormal behaviour."
The phrase "mental health" sends panic through my system. In the aftermath of Dystopia Day there was a sharp rise in related dementia and cases of hysteria. So much so, that the government reopened all of the old mental asylums.