Resonance

by Chris Dolley

  "Fire alarm," the man said, pointing for some reason at the ceiling.

  Graham nodded and prayed the man would leave. Why couldn't he panic and run screaming from the building? Instead it looked like his conscience was so deeply pricked he was going to take Graham by the arm and personally lead him to safety.

  A sharply dressed middle-aged woman appeared from the central aisle.

  "Mike, there wasn't a fire drill scheduled for today was there?" she asked looking in Graham's direction.

  Mike turned and instantly forgot Graham. "If there was, Ursula, no one informed me."

  "I think I can smell smoke," said a voice from behind 0Graham—a young woman, hurrying by, struggling to put on her coat and hold her handbag at the same time.

  Others were streaming away from their desks, grabbing jackets and briefcases, phones and bags. Mike was walking towards the exit, his hand placed at the center of Ursula's back. No one was looking at Graham.

  Or the door behind him.

  He stepped back and opened it. Annalise slipped out.

  They followed the exodus down the staircase; people streamed out from every floor, the same questions repeated—is it a drill? anyone seen any smoke?

  The crowd spilled out onto the street—across the pavement, around the parked cars and into the road. Some people turned and shaded their eyes as they looked back at the roof of the building—no doubt expecting to see smoke billowing from every attic window. Graham and Annalise drifted amongst them, slowly moving towards the periphery and the corner—keeping as many people between them and whoever might be outside number fifty-six as they could.

  A siren wailed in the distance, conversation thrummed all around them. Where was the fire? Was it a drill, a hoax?

  They reached the corner and turned, a few steps more and they ran, crossing the street three cars down and taking every side street and turn they could find.

  * * *

  They leaned back against the wall and breathed hard. They'd been running for nearly five minutes without any sign of being followed.

  "I'll contact the girls," said Annalise in between breaths. "There's so much to tell them."

  Graham closed his eyes and tried not to panic. The day after the Resonance project closes they find you unconscious in the street. The Resonance project had just closed. The clock was ticking.

  They had to hide, that was obvious, but where? Hotels cost money. He checked his wallet. He had twelve pounds. A room for the night would cost more than that. His checkbook was at home. All he had on him was a debit card but couldn't ParaDim trace him every time he used it?

  And how long would that last with no job and no money coming in. He'd have to buy food, clothes. Everything he had was at home, probably being pulled out of drawers and thrown on the floor at this very moment.

  He looked at Annalise. How much money would she have? Enough to keep them in hiding indefinitely? He doubted it. There'd be no more money from Kevin Alexander. Did she have money in America she could get hold of?

  His mind raced for what seemed ages. For the first time in his life he had nowhere to go. He couldn't go home, he couldn't go to work. That was all he knew. Home, school, work—the occasional trip to the shops. That was his life.

  And worse—what had he done to Annalise?

  "What's the matter, Graham?" asked Annalise, stretching her arms as she reentered the world.

  Graham glanced over, she looked concerned. "I'm sorry," he said.

  "For what?"

  "For all this. You shouldn't be here hiding. You should be out enjoying yourself."

  She looked at him and shook her head.

  "You don't have a clue, do you?"

  "What?"

  "What you've done for us, for all the girls. You've given us our lives back. We'd never have figured out this alternate reality stuff without you."

  "But I didn't do anything."

  She shook her head. "You did everything. You were the catalyst that brought the girls together. Before you came along we were all too freaked to really talk to each other. Only Annalise One made any sense out of her life—if you can call talking to the dead, sense. The rest of us had no lives at all—we were alone, confused and frightened. I used to lie awake at nights, terrified the voices would tell me to kill my dad." Her voice broke for an instant and she turned away.

  "Two months ago," she said, gathering herself together, "I thought I had a brain tumor. I thought that's where the voices came from—a nasty little growth pressing on my brain. Before that I was just plain crazy, before that I was the next Joan of Arc and before that I was a schizoid psycho killer waiting to be told who to kill."

  She shook her head and looked into his eyes.

  "But now I'm me. I'm Annalise Mercado. And I matter in this world. Now shut up and tell me where we are on this map."

  * * *

  "You see," said Annalise, "Tamisha's right. We need to get the information to every world. ParaDim scans all data, right? So, we'll give them something to look at—the Graham Smith story—everything we've learned so far about you, ParaDim, resonance waves, the lot. We'll create a web page and pack it with every key word a resonance project would look for. The girls are going to do the same. By tomorrow there won't be a resonance project around that doesn't know everything we do."

  Annalise folded her Cyber Cafe Guide away. The nearest Internet cafe was only a few blocks away.

  "Are you going to tell everyone about the girls?"

  Annalise thought for a while. "Don't think so. Not yet. It wouldn't be fair to the nontelepath Annalises."

  Graham thought about the other Grahams. "Would it be fair to the other Grahams?"

  "It's not the same. The other Grahams are already targets whether they know it or not."

  They found the cafe, paid for an hour and sat down. Annalise typed, revised, deleted and typed again. Occasionally, she stopped and asked Graham to check a sentence she'd written. Had she got it right? Was that the way it happened?

  He was amazed how much she knew about him. And amazed to see his life chronicled on the screen. It all seemed so unreal.

  "Could you print that out for me?" asked Graham when she'd finished typing.

  "Sure." She hit the print button and looked around to see which printer they were connected to. Graham retrieved the two pages, folded them neatly into four and put them in his pocket.

  Annalise watched and smiled. "That should help whoever gets your body next. A step up from name, address and job."

  Graham smiled weakly. "You never know, I might not flip this time," he said, quickly looking down at his feet.

  "I hope you don't."

  Graham beamed and felt even more stupid.

  "Give it here," she said, holding out her hand. "You've missed the most important part."

  She took the note and wrote "Annalise 15" on the back. "Now you'll know which world you're on."

  * * *

  Annalise's phone rang just as she was uploading the finished page. It was Kevin Alexander.

  "How?" It was all she could say. How could it be him? Had he escaped?

  "Listen, I haven't much time. There's something you must know about the resonance wave. Meet me by the bandstand in Hyde Park at five-thirty. Bring Graham Smith with you."

  "Are you sure you won't be followed?"

  "Positive. No one's interested in me any more. The resonance project's finished."

  The line went dead.

  Thirty-Two

  Graham waited for Annalise to say something. She put the phone down in a daze and shook her head.

  "That was Kevin," she said. "He wants us to meet."

  "He got away?" Graham couldn't believe it. He'd heard the struggle. Had Kevin managed to fight them off and find a way out?

  "It's gotta be a trap," said Annalise. "You know how paranoid Kevin is about his calls being scanned. But this time he mentions you and the resonance wave in the same breath."

  "You think someone forced him to make the call?"


  "I think they were listening to every word. The only thing Kevin could do was drop a few clues to warn us off."

  "So they know about you," Graham said quietly.

  "Yes," said Annalise. "They know about me. Now let's get this web page loaded and get the hell out."

  * * *

  A car pulled up as Graham and Annalise left the cafe. Two men jumped out—grey suits, thirties, well-built—two car doors slammed in quick succession. They left their car double-parked in the center of the street and ran ahead of Graham and Annalise, squeezing through the gaps between the line of parked cars to head them off.

  "Graham Smith?" said the stockier of the two men.

  "No," said Annalise, grabbing Graham's arm and trying to steer him past the two men.

  A hand rested against Graham's chest. "I'm Detective Sergeant Tucker, Mr. Smith." He flashed his warrant card with his other hand. "We have a Miss Tamisha Kent at the station. She's told us everything. We need to get you into protective custody at once."

  Annalise stared at them blankly. "Is this some kinda joke? We don't know any Tamishas."

  Graham looked down at the hand on his chest and then at Annalise. What should they do? Were these real policemen or part of another trap?

  Annalise pulled Graham back and led him away in the opposite direction. The two policemen hurried after them. A hand grabbed Graham's shoulder and pulled him back.

  "We've got to take you in, Mr. Smith. It's for your own safety."

  Annalise turned on him. "Where's the camera? We're on TV, right? Some guy gonna come out and tell us all about it?"

  The two men exchanged glances, the first hint of uncertainty. At the head of the street, a truck turned in from the main road and almost scraped the paint from one of the parked cars opposite.

  "This is no joke," said the man calling himself Sergeant Tucker. "We've got orders."

  "Good for you. Now go and find this Mr. Smith you're looking for and leave us alone."

  Annalise was getting louder. A few faces peered out from the cafe window. A woman stared from the street corner. A horn blared—a truck driver impatient at having his path blocked by a car parked in the middle of the road.

  The two men exchanged glances again.

  "I see our friends down there on the corner," said Annalise, waving. "Do you want to have a word with them? They'll tell you who we are."

  The truck horn blared again. A head leaned out of the cab. "That your car, chief?"

  Annalise pulled Graham towards the corner. "Ally!" she shouted. "Wait for us," and started to run.

  Graham didn't look back. He heard the truck driver remonstrating with the two men, raised voices, two car doors slam and the squeal of tires. By the time the truck roared into life Annalise and Graham were on the main road and heading away fast.

  They crossed over at the lights, took a left at the next junction, then a right, then another left. At each junction they stopped and glanced behind, looking for the car, the men, someone paying them too much attention.

  Graham felt paranoid. The whole world was chasing him. He couldn't trust anyone except Annalise. Everyone else was suspect. The police, Kevin, Tamisha, Howard—all of them compromised.

  Annalise's phone rang. She stopped and flicked it open, trying to listen and pant at the same time.

  Graham stood beside her, doubled over and thankful for the rest. He tried to listen to whoever it was on the other end of the line but couldn't hear a word above the rush of passing traffic.

  "Hello," said Annalise, clapping a hand over her other ear.

  "Hello," she repeated a few seconds later.

  Finally, she pressed the phone shut and looked at Graham. "No one there."

  "Kevin?" asked Graham.

  She shook her head. "Don't know. Whoever it was couldn't or wouldn't speak."

  Graham glanced around. They were in Knightsbridge from what he could see. The streets were packed; rush hour would be starting soon. Shouldn't they be looking for a place to hide out?

  Annalise agreed. They'd get out of London, take the tube, the train—anything—find a cheap room and hide out for as long as they could.

  A plan that lasted less than a minute.

  A car passed by and screeched to a halt twenty yards ahead. Two men jumped out. The same two men as before. Graham and Annalise turned and ran. There was a large department store on their right—two, three entrances—a sea of people pushing into and out of each exit.

  "In here!" shouted Annalise. Graham followed, slowed by the press of people. Annalise bounced ahead, he could see her hair shining like a beacon through the crowd. Away from the doors the crowds thinned. Graham caught up with her as she snaked past intricate displays of handbags and scarves, gloves and belts. Did she have a plan? Were they running blind?

  They found an escalator and ran along the outside, pushing past the line of stationary shoppers. Graham glanced back the way they'd come. The two men were forty yards behind and heading for the escalator.

  They flew into Ladies Fashions. Annalise hesitated for an instant before turning right then left. They ran down an avenue of manikins, past circles of dresses and skirts, then turned right into a small section separated out from the rest of the floor. Tops and blouses adorned the walls on two sides and on the back wall—a line of changing rooms.

  Annalise slowed to a fast walk, picked up a dress from a rack and, grabbing Graham, pushed him into the changing room on the far right. She pulled the curtain closed behind them.

  An age passed. Maybe it was only a few seconds but it felt like hours to Graham. The anticipation, the fear, the certainty that any second the curtains would rip apart and two men would barge in.

  Annalise hung the dress on the hook at the back of the cubicle and opened the curtains a crack. Graham held his breath.

  "Can't see anyone," she whispered, letting the curtain fall back. "We'll give it five minutes then head for the nearest exit. I . . ."

  She stopped and inclined her head to one side.

  "What is it?" whispered Graham.

  "Shhh!" said Annalise, her eyes becoming unfocused. She smiled, the smile gradually fading as her muscles relaxed.

  Graham watched. It had to be important. A message from one of the girls. Maybe something to give them hope?

  Strange, he thought to himself, he was being chased all over London, his life was in imminent danger and yet . . . and yet he wouldn't have swapped that moment for any other in his life. It was like he'd lived for years in a dark, airless room and suddenly the shutters had been thrown open. He felt alive and happy and, strangely, safe. As long as Annalise was with him nothing else mattered.

  Annalise nodded once, twice and then frowned as her eyes refocused on the world around her.

  "That was Annalise Six," she whispered. "Your DNA results are starting to come through. They've analyzed data from a thousand worlds so far and," she paused, "they're all the same."

  She looked confused. Graham couldn't understand why. "So?" he whispered.

  "So, a thousand Graham Smiths all have identical DNA—even when they have different parents."

  "Because I'm adopted. Isn't that what you'd expect?"

  "Maybe so, but Gary seems to think there's more to it. They've been cross-checking the DNA of your close relatives and they're finding similarities."

  "What kind of similarities?"

  "They think you're related. Annalise Six wasn't sure about the details—Gary went scientist guy on her. But it looks like your real parents might be someone in your family."

  Thirty-Three

  He tried to think who. He sifted through memories of photo albums. Was there someone in his family he resembled?

  The phone rang. Graham jumped. Annalise tugged at her bag, found the phone and juggled it open.

  Silence.

  Annalise didn't move. The phone stayed clasped against one ear. Then her eyes widened, she switched off the phone and threw it into her bag. "It's the phone!" she hissed. "They're using it to tr
ack us."

  She pushed past him, pulled the curtain back an inch and looked out. "All clear," she whispered and slipped out. Graham followed. One, two steps and then Annalise turned and bundled him back into the cubicle.

  "They're outside," she whispered. "I don't think they saw us, they were looking the other way."

  Graham could hear the implied "but" on the end of the sentence. The two men knew they were close. They'd see the changing rooms and make the connection.

  Annalise pulled the curtain back a fraction of an inch and peered out. Graham held his breath. She pushed the curtain forward and looked along the line of changing rooms. Suddenly she started gesticulating, beckoning someone to come over.

  Graham slipped over to the near side and pressed himself out of sight against the cubicle wall. He felt the wall give slightly.

  "May I help you?" asked a female voice—young, accentless, perhaps a hint of an expensive boarding school.

  "I'm sorry," said Annalise. She sounded upset, close to tears. "Can you call the police? It's those two men over there. They," she took a deep breath, "they were in Selfridges earlier. They pretend to be police officers, they have these fake IDs and . . ." She hesitated. "They hang around the changing rooms. You know, spying on the girls."

  The girl gave a knowing look and glanced over her shoulder.

  "They . . ." Annalise looked down embarrassed. "They told this girl she had to be strip-searched and, you know, they . . ." She paused, her voice faltering. "The guy on the right had a camera."

  "Leave it to me," said the girl.

  Annalise turned and winked at Graham before resuming her vigil by the curtains. The assistant walked over to an older woman—probably her boss. They talked for a while, a conversation punctuated by dagger-laden glances before the older woman walked over to her station and picked up the phone.

  The two men hovered in front of the leftmost changing cubicle. They shuffled from foot to foot, checked their watches. Women came and went, cubicles emptied and filled. The men stayed. Eventually one of them moved forward and tugged at a curtain that hadn't moved for some time. A woman screamed.

  "Over there!" shouted the younger assistant as four uniformed security men marched onto the floor.