Remember Me 1

by Ian C. P. Irvine

  Remember Me?

  Book One

  A DCI McKenzie Crime Thriller

  IAN C.P. IRVINE

  Copyright 2020 © IAN C.P. IRVINE

  Published by Ian C.P. Irvine on Smashwords

  Copyright 2018 IAN C.P. IRVINE

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright observed above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the copyright owner.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your e-book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  The school mentioned in this book was a real school. It no longer exists, having been demolished a few years ago. For many years it was the centre of the community. Many, many thousands of pupils went to Portobello High School. And for most, it was an incredible, enjoyable experience, with special teachers. This book is dedicated to the amazing educators that worked there, and who gave of themselves to help others. All of the names and characters in the book are entirely fictional, and every element of this story is fictional. But the school building was real. And it was blue.

  Dedicated to all my teachers at Portobello High School.

  You were excellent!

  With special thanks to:

  My house master: Mr Bagleigh

  Mr Marshall

  Miss Cook

  Mr Wheeldon

  Mrs Hamilton

  Although I may have forgotten everything you taught me, I will never forget you!

  Books by Ian C.P. Irvine

  The Assassin’s Gift

  Say You're Sorry

  I Spy, I Saw Her Die

  Haunted From Without

  Haunted From Within

  Time Ship

  The Orlando File.

  The Messiah Conspiracy

  London 2012: What If?

  The Sleeping Truth

  Alexis Meets Wiziwam the Wizard

  Chapter 1

  Friday

  15.15

  The plastic ties forcing David Weir’s hands behind his back cut into his flesh, the blood running slowly down his wrists and congealing on his sticky fingertips. The blindfold fastened around his eyes pressed against his eyeballs, threatening to burst them open like two small water balloons.

  But that was the least of his worries.

  When his captor forced him up the stairs, David had tripped and landed heavily on his right arm. Pain now washed over him in waves, threatening to blot out his senses. He was sure it was broken. Only the threat of the electric cattle prod got him back to his feet.

  After the climb up the eight flights of stairs, they had eventually come to the top floor. Although blindfolded, David knew where he was. This was his floor, where he’d taught Geography in the first classroom on the right for over ten years. The one with the best view in Edinburgh looking out to Holyrood Park and Arthur's Seat.

  It was the classroom where he’d dedicated his life to the children of Portobello High School - until the council decided to close the school and move them all to a more modern building not so very far away.

  Now the school was a shadow of its former self, abandoned, derelict, and awaiting demolition, which David knew only too well, was scheduled for Friday afternoon...

  Was that today?

  A shove between the shoulder blades sent David staggering down the corridor, colliding with the wall, and releasing another wave of pain from his broken arm.

  He fell to his knees and breathed heavily, fighting the urge to vomit. If he did, the cloth his captor had thrust into his mouth would stop the contents of his stomach from going anywhere apart from back into his throat and down into his lungs.

  He would choke to death.

  David sensed his captor step around him, a waft of wind on his cheek as he passed. The rope which his captor had looped through his arms and the plastic ties connecting his wrists jerked him around and he fell sideways onto the floor.

  Another wall of pain.

  Behind him, he heard a door being opened, feet clanging up a metal ladder, a few thumps and bangs, and then a breath of fresh air swept over him.

  It confused him.

  David knew what the sounds were and where the air came from.

  He’d expected his captor to lead him into his classroom - why else would he have brought him up here? - but instead, it seemed he’d opened the door to the supply cupboard, pulled down the ladder, and then forced open the hatch leading to the roof.

  In all his years of teaching, David had never actually been up there. It was too dangerous.

  His captor hauled him back onto his feet, pushed him forwards and into the cupboard.

  David banged against the ladder and tripped, falling again.

  His captor caught him, steadied him, and then bent down and lifted David's right foot up onto the first rung.

  Then his left.

  A prod to the back.

  “Up! Climb!”

  David coughed, and tried for the hundredth time to protest, but ended up once again fighting the urge to vomit.

  Instead, he succumbed to his captor’s demands and started searching for the rungs with his feet, gingerly testing each one with his weight before committing himself to the next.

  “Hurry!”

  David almost missed the next step, but a hand forced his foot forwards and down until he found the right position.

  As David climbed, he sensed the walls around him disappear and the wind began to buffet his head and shoulders. Somewhere close by he could hear the sound of seagulls crying. The smell of the sea filled his nostrils.

  And there was something more... voices. David could hear voices.

  “All the way up!” his captor commanded him.

  David could feel the edge of the last rung against his ankle as he leant forward, but he was reluctant to step up above it, not knowing what was there.

  “Step out on to the roof!” his captor urged.

  Fighting the pain, his heart pounding, David complied, every nerve in his body flooding his brain with sensations as he tried to build a picture of where he now was and what was around him.

  He felt the crunch of gravel underfoot.

  The wind swirled around his legs and blew through his hair and against his cheeks.

  Fresh air.

  Salty.

  He heard footsteps below, coming up the ladder, and for a moment he felt relieved. Relieved that he wasn't going to be left up here all alone.

  A hand grabbed his arm, the broken one, and David almost passed out with the pain.

  His captor dragged him forward, and yanked the gag out of his mouth. He felt an arm around his throat, grasping his head, and a hand forced his mouth open.

  Something was thrust into his mouth...a tablet... a capsule? Then the lip of a bottle, and a liquid was squirted into his throat, forcing him to swallow, washing the tablet down into his stomach.

  “Who are you?” David choked and then gasped for air, his body trembling with fear. “What did you just give me? Why are we here, on the roof? Why are you doing this to me?”

 
He felt the breath of his captor on the side of his face.

  The stench of garlic.

  Stale aftershave.

  Next, his captors voice, loud, straight in his ear.

  “It’s only fair to let you know, it’s nearly four o’clock. In less than fifteen minutes they’re going to blow up the school. Good luck!”

  Then the sound of footsteps as his captor moved away from him.

  “Where are you going?” David screamed, terrified. “Don’t leave me here!”

  More silence. Then footsteps again, retreating.

  “Where am I? How far from the edge?”

  There was no reply.

  And then David felt very strange. His pulse was racing. He became confused. Dizzy. Weird.

  What was happening to him?

  Almost magically, the pain was ebbing away now, but it was replaced with a heightened sense of awareness and panic. Random thoughts began to rush through his head. Energy began to course through his veins. He was hot. Very hot. Sweat was running down his face, soaking his blindfold.

  He felt an overpowering need to move.

  Then in the distance, he heard the bang of the trapdoor being closed.

  The sound echoed and reverberated through his head.

  His captor had gone.

  David was now alone.

  Alone on top of the tallest building for miles around. A building due for demolition, in the next few minutes.

  “Escape. I have to escape…”

  The thought entered his mind, and then started to circulate, round and round. He heard the words being spoken to him, first by one voice, then by another. Soon a choir had taken up the chorus and was shouting the word in his mind, over and over again.

  “Escape…escape…escape…”

  His eyes had begun to twitch, his arms and legs jerking uncontrollably.

  David was growing increasingly frantic and scared, his heartbeat pounding rapidly in his ears.

  A rush of warmth down his legs told him he’d just pissed his pants with fear.

  David began to weep.

  “Help!…” He heard himself cry, his voice weak, pathetic.

  “HELP!” he shouted again, several times.

  But no one replied.

  With each second that passed, David could feel the drug taking even more effect.

  Agitated, unable to stand still, and heeding the advice in his head now screaming at him to escape, he started stumbling around the roof, searching for the trapdoor.

  At first, he moved cautiously, doing his best to sense the space in front of him before committing to it, petrified he could be near the edge of the building. But as the drug took more of a grip on him, his movements became more erratic.

  He was losing control.

  He had to hurry...and he had to find that trapdoor...

  Chapter 2

  Portobello High School

  Edinburgh

  15.55

  Gary Bruce checked his watch. Only five minutes before the demolition when the towering hulk of the old Portobello High School would be reduced to a dusty pile of rubble in a matter of seconds. Another famous Edinburgh landmark smudged off the map.

  For once, Gary had mixed feelings about his work. Normally he loved blowing things up: it was every little boy’s dream, and to a certain extent, Gary had never grown up. He ran his own demolition firm and enjoyed getting up for work every day. Few people could say the same.

  The old Portobello High School was his biggest contract yet. The bulk of the school was spread out over several acres and consisted of numerous buildings averaging two or three floors. At the centre of the campus, however, a massive blue eight-floored building rose straight up into the sky. This part of the school was tall, long and thin, each floor containing two rows of classrooms separated by a long corridor which ran down their middle. At each end of the building was a set of stairs and an elevator, with a third set of stairs and two elevators running up through the middle. In its heyday, Porty High had about two thousand pupils, but the school was now over fifty-five years old, out-of-date, and its structure was tired and dangerous. Bit by bit, parts were falling off the building, and it was a miracle that no pupils had ever been injured or killed by falling chunks of masonry.

  It was a large building, covering a large area, and planning its destruction had been a complex and difficult job. But ten minutes from now, when the dust cleared, the first and most dangerous part would be over.

  Gary himself was one of tens of thousands of pupils who’d happily attended Porty High. Even though it had been one of the largest comprehensives in the country, the majority of pupils who’d gone there had enjoyed a brilliant education from fantastic, dedicated teachers.

  Gary wasn't the only one who’d be sad to see the old girl go. Hundreds of spectators had turned up today, wanting to pay their last respects and see the final few seconds of the school as it was blown to smithereens.

  Turning his attention back to the checklist on his tablet, he methodically ran through the last few preparations and radioed around for final oks from his team.

  Suddenly he heard a cry go up from the crowd at the end of the cordoned-off street that ran past the school.

  His radio buzzed.

  “Gary, there's someone on the roof. Abort! Abort!”

  Turning the key back to the 'Safe' position and removing it from the demolition console, he stepped outside his cabin and looked across to one of his team who was busy pointing to the top of the building.

  From his vantage point, Gary could only see the westward edge of the roof from the side nearest the Holyrood Park. “I can't see anyone.”

  “A man! Wandering around. His hands are tied behind his back, and he's blindfolded. Staggering around like he's drunk... he's near the edge. Get someone up there!”

  Two hundred meters down the road behind safety barriers, a shock wave of fear and excitement ran through the crowd.

  Someone was on the roof of the old school.

  Some of the mothers began to scream, whilst a few, and thankfully just a small minority of the children, started to shout 'Jump! Jump!'

  They were told to shut up by their parents, who covered their children's eyes, or tried to turn them around.

  The policemen handling public safety went into overdrive, shouting excitedly into their radios, and directing the crowds to go further back and clear the road altogether.

  One of the more experienced officers called an ambulance and requested a helicopter and assistance from the fire-services.

  From that point forward, everything happened very quickly.

  The man on the top of the building was moving in and out of view, crossing back and forward from one side of the building to the other.

  Stew, the team-member with the binoculars who’d first alerted Gary, was now giving a running commentary to the control room, which was being overheard by several police-officers who’d hurried to the command post.

  Outside in the street, a stunned silence descended on the crowd of onlookers, replaced by a rising and descending communal sound of alarm as the man seemed to approach the edge of the building but then turn at the last moment and veer back towards its centre.

  A policeman hurrying towards the crowd from his parked car had produced a loudspeaker. Fiddling with the controls he pushed past the onlookers and ran towards the hulking edifice towering above them. Raising the loudspeaker to his lips, he began shouting instructions at the man above.

  “Stand still. Please do not move! You are in danger! Someone is coming to rescue you! I repeat, stand still and DO NOT MOVE!”

  For a moment the man seemed to stop and listen, but seconds later he fell forward onto his knees, out of sight.

  He was gone only for a few brief moments before he stood up again and then took several unsteady steps towards the edge.

  A moan of alarm went up from the crowd below.

  The man seemed to hesitate, turning slightly to the side, and then walking a few steps parallel to t
he side of the building.

  Once again, the policeman was heard issuing instructions on the megaphone, but this time the man on the roof didn’t respond.

  He carried on moving forward, edging to the rim of the building.

  Without knowing that the wind at the top of the building was preventing any of his instructions being heard, the policeman made another valiant effort to guide the man away from the side, but to no avail.

  Taking another step forward, the man's left foot landed on the edge of the building, and as the weight of his body followed above it, the outside of his foot failed to find sufficient support and the ankle began to turn outwards.

  Almost in slow motion, his leg buckled at the knee, and the man leant precariously to his side.

  With his hands tied behind his back, the man was unable to compensate for the sudden loss of balance, and he stumbled sideways.

  For those looking on from below, in the years to come, the scene that unfolded before their eyes would replay in their minds over and over again. A few of the children would wake up screaming from nightmare-filled dreams, and some adults would find themselves blinking and shaking their heads in an effort to erase the recurring vision and the morbid questions and feelings that accompanied it.

  Just a moment before they had been looking at a man, a human being, alive, breathing, and conscious.

  The next, they were watching him fall, accelerating towards the ground, the end of his earthly existence only milliseconds away.

  Mercifully, the large wooden blue fence around the side of the demolition site hid the final form which the geography teacher's body adopted: a deformed red mass somewhat akin to shape of the continent of Africa.