by Lauren Algeo
He looked away before she hit the hard concrete, although he heard the sickening thud. He also heard a throaty laugh from the hiker. He turned his gaze back to the roof she’d been on but there was no one there. She was gone.
Brewer backed away from the edge of the roof until he felt the solid door behind him, then his knees buckled and he sank to the floor. Hot tears ran down his cheeks and he was aware he was making light moaning sounds in the back of his throat.
That poor, poor girl. He couldn’t shake the vision of her body disappearing over the ledge. That awful thud. He leaned to the side as his body convulsed and he threw up what little he’d eaten that day. His throat burned and his eyes were streaming.
It suddenly dawned on him that he was sitting on a roof where a girl had just plummeted to her death… from a building he had smashed his way in to. He staggered to his feet, snatched up his rucksack, and ran to the door on wobbly legs. He went back down the stairs, through the damaged front door, and sprinted in the direction he’d come from.
He didn’t stop running until he reached an area of fields a couple of miles away. He collapsed in a heap and lay panting on the grass. His body was shaking violently and he didn’t think he had ever been that terrified. Even with his original hiker encounter, he hadn’t really known what was going on so he hadn’t been scared.
He’d made a mistake – he hadn’t been ready for this. He’d underestimated how powerful they were. He stupidly thought they wouldn’t be able to control him again but she had gotten in easily. If he were to help people, he’d need to learn how to block out the sound of their voices.
An awful thought crossed his mind, and he sat up with a jolt. The hiker had said killing the girl was a reward for completing her mission; that she had killed her target and someone called the ‘Grand’ would be pleased. Were they… were hikers assassins? Did someone order them to kill a target then cover it up with multiple deaths? Like staging a scene that looked like an accident.
Brewer wanted to throw up again. These murders weren’t just random acts of violence, they were carefully planned and executed. Was it all for money? And was this Grand the master of the whole operation?
He lay on the ground for nearly an hour, thinking. The sun started to get lower in the sky, and he knew it was late afternoon now. He had to move before it went down; he couldn’t be out here alone when it got dark. He’d heard nothing since he’d run from the flats, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t still out there.
He finally heaved up his lead-like body and went searching for way out of the city, looking over his shoulder the entire way.
Chapter 6
At 6am, when the Rankin case notes began to blur before his eyes, Brewer took a two-hour nap. He hadn’t slept for over 24 hours but he couldn’t afford to waste any time sleeping. He knew the ‘suicide’ would follow in the next day or two and he needed to find the hiker before it did.
Brewer had a hot shower then dressed in a warm grey jumper, black jeans, and his black Doc Martins. He had a feeling he would be doing a lot of walking that day.
He had another cup of strong coffee while watching the morning news. They talked about the Waterloo shootings again but had no new information to add; the suspect was still in custody and likely to be charged. Brewer had a moment of guilt at the thought of Jeremy Rankin being questioned all night, without having a clue what had happened to him, and he pushed the feeling aside. There was nothing he could do for Rankin, except hunt down the hiker today and try to stop anyone else being killed.
He had considered going to the police to tell them about hikers several times before, but he didn’t want a psychiatric assessment after they heard about his crazy stories. He could imagine everyone he knew shaking their heads, saying how his wife had died and he’d flipped out, quit his job, and was now raving about creatures that killed with the power of their minds. No thanks.
Besides, he had no concrete proof; just notes about them in his pad and a map of where he’d encountered them. They couldn’t exactly hear the voices of hikers like he could. He had to do this alone.
Brewer looked out of the window before pulling on his thicker duffel coat. It was drizzling lightly outside and the sky was a dark grey that threatened heavier rain. October was just around the corner and winter was already drawing in.
He walked to West Dulwich station and caught a train in to central London to begin his search at Waterloo – the scene of the murders. The station had reopened a few hours ago, and even though it was the tail end of rush hour, the place was nearly deserted – commuters must have chosen other routes that morning. There were some people with a morbid fascination who were standing around the concourse, gawping at the scene.
The area where the film equipment was sitting was taped off, and no one had removed the lighting and chairs yet. Brewer could see the director-style chair the actor had been sitting in moments before Rankin had arrived. The blood had been cleaned up now, however he could imagine how this place had looked last night with forensics teams everywhere. He was sure Rankin would be charged before his twenty-four hours in custody was up – the evidence against him was immense.
Brewer stood near the edge of the set and closed his eyes. From a distance, it looked as though he was saying a prayer for the victims, when really he was listening intently. His brow furrowed in concentration but he couldn’t hear anything out of the ordinary. No light scratching sounds, no whispering voices.
Disappointed, he took one more look around the scene then left the station. He hadn’t expected to hear anything straightaway, yet there was always a slim hope this hiker would be an easy one to track.
Brewer walked around the perimeter of the station then ventured in a wider circle. After two hours of walking, he had still heard nothing and his radius of searching around the station was very wide. With a sigh, he gave into the inevitable – he would have to go to random points around the city to try and pick up the sound.
He made his way back to Waterloo. He took a train towards the west end, and wandered around Oxford Circus, but heard nothing there. He travelled further east on the tube to Aldgate, then more north to Kings Cross, and again he couldn’t hear any telltale scratching noise. Where the hell was this hiker?
Brewer caught another train in the southwest direction and found himself automatically getting off at Clapham Junction. He hadn’t been back to this area since he’d sold the house he and Karen had lived in.
The nostalgic part of him wanted to walk by their old place, just to see it; maybe remember some of the good times they’d had there. He walked in the direction of his old neighbourhood and was so engrossed in his memories of the area that it took him ten minutes to register the very faint whispering voice at the back of his mind.
Brewer stopped at the corner of the road he was on and listened. He couldn’t quite make out any words but the voice sounded male.
With a jolt of panic, he realised he recognised the voice… and he was approaching the area where this had all begun. The voice belonged to his hiker – the hiker who had changed his life forever.
He stood still, unsure of what to do. He felt paralysed with fear. His body began to tremble uncontrollably as he listened to the voice that had whispered to him during those dark nights.
I can’t go any closer to it, a scared part of his brain thought. I can’t. Please don’t make me.
He felt like a child at night, who’s sure there’s a bogeyman lurking in the shadows of his room. He wished he could pull some bedcovers over his head and pretend it wasn’t there, only the hiker was very real, and he was close.
Brewer’s mind was working overtime. Would the hiker recognise him? Could he try and control him again? Did he know he could hear him?
He took some long breaths and tried to calm the panic inside him. He let the rational side of his brain do its work. The hiker didn’t know he was listening, and he wouldn’t know he was even there unless he got in his way. He didn’t know for sure if the hiker would recognise
him but he had a feeling he would. Maybe he would be angry that he’d evaded him. At least he knew he was much stronger now – he’d learnt how to block his mind from them over the years.
Feeling a little better, Brewer started to walk again. He didn’t want this particular hiker to cause the death of anyone else. It was his duty to try and prevent the hiker getting his reward for yesterday’s shootings.
No wonder Rankin’s experience had sounded so close to his own, he thought as he walked on. It was the same voice.
He felt a small amount of rage swelling inside him. How dare this hiker come back to his old neighbourhood. Maybe he’d stayed around the area ever since Brewer had forced him from his mind, looking for him. Or maybe he just liked to stay in one place.
Brewer paused after another hundred metres and listened carefully. The whispering was growing louder and he could make out the odd sentence now.
‘You’re worthless,’ he hissed viciously. ‘No one would miss you if you were gone.’
Brewer felt the anger inside him building. The hiker wasn’t even bothering with coaxing whoever his victim was; he was going straight for the kill.
Brewer checked out his surroundings. He was approaching Clapham Common tube station, and the voice was becoming clearer. The familiar sound sent shivers of fear crawling down his spine, yet he kept going.
‘You’re a disgusting bitch. What you do is filthy,’ the voice spat with venom.
Brewer recoiled at the awful sound and concluded the victim must be a woman. His eyes scanned the people going in and out of the station but he couldn’t see the hiker, or any women who looked in distress.
As he walked past the tube entrance, the voice grew louder. They were down there somewhere. Brewer went into the station and slipped quickly through the ticket barriers, behind a distracted woman with a lot of shopping bags.
The voice was really powerful now, and echoed all around his mind. He tried to block it out a little, to muffle the hatred that was dripping from every word. As he made his way down to the westbound platform, he felt more nervous than he’d been in a long time. There were quite a few people waiting there, the board was showing three minutes until the next tube.
Brewer skimmed the faces of the people along the platform as he weaved around them. They all looked normal – no black eyes, no blank expressions. The hiker was so strong down there; they had to be close.
Some people shifted towards his left, and through a small gap between bodies, he saw a young girl standing at the end of the platform. She was nearest the tunnel entrance the train would be approaching from.
Brewer walked slowly towards that end, getting more glimpses of her as he manoeuvred around people. She was very young, still a teenager. She was hovering near the edge of the platform and her hands were wringing constantly in front of her as she peered into the darkness of the tunnel.
She had shoulder-length hair that was dyed a cheap-looking red colour. There was heavy black makeup around her eyes, and a ridiculous shade of pink on her lips. She looked like a child who had raided her mother’s make-up bag.
Brewer moved cautiously closer, not wanting to draw any attention to himself. He tried to keep the hiker’s voice as low as he could in his mind.
The girl was shifting her weight from foot to foot and Brewer stared at her with pity. She was wearing a small, white vest top, which showed her pierced navel and a glimpse of a tattoo on her lower back. She had a short, denim mini skirt on that barely covered her bottom, and her legs were bare. The girl was so skinny she looked undernourished. He instantly wanted to take her somewhere warm and get her a hot meal. She was only about 5ft 3, nearly a foot shorter than him. Her feet were squeezed into high, black stiletto heels with open toes, and she had some gold jewellery around her neck and wrists.
Brewer looked at her tarty clothes and cheap appearance. It was late September, and the weather was growing colder, but this girl didn’t have a jacket or anything warm. She had a tiny black bag hanging across her body although he doubted there was much in there. The haunted look on her face said it all – she was a prostitute.
The hiker was clearly using this to drive her to suicide. He was still raving about how disgusting and worthless she was. Brewer felt instinctively protective of her; he had to help. There was a low rumbling sound starting in the tunnel as the train approached the station. The hiker was going to make her jump in front of it.
Brewer edged closer, looking wildly around him. He couldn’t see the hiker anywhere, and he prayed he wasn’t down there to notice him. No one else along the platform had a clue what was happening, they were all engrossed in their papers and books, or staring off into the distance.
The train was approaching fast; he could feel the warm air rushing from the tunnel. The girl was poised ready, standing over the yellow safety line on the platform edge.
The hiker ranted incessantly and Brewer let more of the sound in. He was screaming almost gleefully now that the girl should just get it over with and end her misery. People were shifting forward in expectation of the train as the rumbling sound rapidly closed in.
It was now or never. Brewer lunged forward and grabbed the girl’s bony shoulder. He yanked her backwards roughly as the train thundered into view. She fell back, landing unsteadily in his arms.
Brewer heard a howl from the hiker and felt him clawing at his mind, trying to get in to see who had intervened in his murderous plan. He focussed all of his energy on keeping the hiker out of his head. He visualised heavy chests being dragged across the metaphorical locked door to block any way in. The hiker slammed against it in anger.
The train had almost slowed to a stop and people moved for the doors, oblivious to the commotion at the far end of the platform. Brewer felt the girl’s slight body stiffen in his grasp and her head whipped round to look up at him. Her eyes were completely black. The hiker had come forward to see him. Brewer heard the roar of recognition as he realised who he was.
The girl began to twist violently in his arms, trying to bring her hands up to claw at his face. He could see the hatred burning through her now-black eyes. He held on tight, desperately trying to keep her from attacking him.
‘Hey you!’
Someone along the platform had noticed them. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a man who’d been about to board the train standing with his mouth open. The man took his foot off the train ledge and called down to them again.
‘What are you doing?’
Brewer knew it would seem as if he was attacking this small girl. He looked straight into those awful eyes and tried to appeal to the girl trapped inside.
‘Listen to me,’ he said through gritted teeth, trying to keep his grip on her bucking body. ‘If you can hear me, you have to help. You can force this hiker out. You have to push him from your mind. Take back control of your body!’
For a second, the blackness in her eyes faded to show some brown then the darkness swam back.
‘That’s it!’ Brewer urged desperately. ‘Do it again, please!’
The man along the platform was getting closer and other people were peering cautiously out of the windows and doors of the train.
‘Hurry!’ Brewer couldn’t keep his hold much longer.
The girl squeezed her eyes shut. He watched her face contorting with effort as she battled with the hiker. She cried out in pain and her body suddenly went limp.
Brewer eyed the man who was now upon them. He was wearing a dark grey suit and looked about Brewer’s age. He was holding his hands out in front of him, palms forward.
‘Let her go,’ the man said firmly.
He kept a safe distance from them, probably unsure if either of them were carrying a weapon. The girl’s eyes sprang open and to Brewer’s relief, they were a brown colour.
‘He’s still here,’ she whispered up to him.
‘We have to get away fast.’ He clutched her hand and dragged her past the interfering man, who promptly jumped back out of their way.
&
nbsp; Brewer sprinted along the platform with the girl behind him. She hung on tightly to his hand, trying to keep up. Her high heels clattered noisily on the floor. The train doors beeped closed and as they ran for the stairs, Brewer heard it starting to pull away. Its passengers would have no idea they had almost witnessed a gruesome death.
They bolted for the station exit, barging through the barriers as the guard opened the gate to let through a man with a suitcase. The guard shouted after them but Brewer barely heard; he was too busy praying the girl was keeping the hiker at bay.
They ran down the road and turned onto a side street. Brewer stopped sharply and grabbed the girl by her shoulders. Her brown eyes stared up at him.
‘He’s gone,’ she said breathlessly.
They stood there panting for a few minutes. Brewer’s heart was hammering painfully in his chest and he could feel warm sweat trickling down his back. He looked all around them but could see no one. They had to get further away from there – the hiker was too close.
‘What’s your name?’ Brewer asked the girl.
‘Jewel,’ she replied, peering around them like he had just done.
A street name, he thought.
‘My name is Scott Brewer,’ he said out loud. ‘We need to go somewhere safe, fast.’
The girl nodded and Brewer started walking briskly. He would have to take her back to the base camp flat; there was no other option. He headed in the direction of Clapham Junction train station and the girl silently fell in step behind him.
He snuck a peek over his shoulder at her. It seemed strange to him that she hadn’t asked what the hell had just happened to her. She’d simply accepted that he was taking her somewhere and followed. Did she realise she’d nearly been killed?
Her face was pale against her black eye make-up and bright pink lips, although she didn’t look as scared as Brewer. Maybe she was in shock?
They walked on; the tall man in the heavy coat and boots, being trailed by the waif-like girl in skimpy clothes.