by Lauren Algeo
It was so loud it gave me a headache. She quickly realised from searching his memories that he hadn’t moved the petrol, and tried to think of a plan B. She left Jonathan’s mind and there wasn’t another sound from her.
He was clearly in shock and I saw him run from the side of the building and throw up against the wall. I’m sure that was the moment he fully realised what he had been about to do. I stayed there until the show was finished and nothing else happened. The Mayor made a swift exit in a chauffeur driven car and then all the proud parents and excited kids began to stream out. That was the end of it.
I successfully intervened and saved those people. I should feel pleased with myself but there’s a niggle of unease in my gut that I can’t shift. Surely the hiker wouldn’t have given up that easily? Someone has paid for the Mayor to die, and the hiker has to complete her contract, or face the wrath of the Grand for failing. It’s the female’s life or the Mayor’s. I have a feeling it will still happen… and very soon.
3rd July 2011
I was right. I just saw it on the early evening news: the Mayor was killed last night. He went for a drink with a friend after the show then decided to walk home alone as the bar was close to his house. He was brutally beaten to death in an apparent mugging.
That’s what the report said but I know the truth. This was just the hiker’s fall back plan. She must have found a new vessel immediately after leaving the school, one with an incredibly distressed mind for her to have turned them so quickly. They said the Mayor’s face was barely recognisable after the attack. I guess the hiker decided to unleash her full anger on him.
I heard the rage in her voice back at the school and she would have been furious at missing out on so many potential kills. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d used whomever her ‘mugger’ vessel was as the suicide victim after to help quell her fury. The police didn’t have any leads and I doubt they’ll find him, if he’s still alive.
I knew that it wasn’t over. Hikers always have to get their target, no matter what. If there’s a price on your head, they will kill you. I’m still not sure how much it costs but it must be a lot to make it worth their while. Not that I’ve ever seen hikers use money, they don’t seem to have a need for it.
Maybe they’re paid in some other way? By the pleasure of the murders perhaps? No, there has to be something else or it wouldn’t be much of a business. People wouldn’t trust hiring an assassin who didn’t want paying. Whoever these sick and twisted people are. Maybe I should try and track them down instead of the hikers. Get rid of the contracts themselves to try and save some lives.
I just have no clue as to how to find them. How do they even go about finding the hikers themselves? It must be some secret contact or discreet word of mouth. I suppose the hikers could approach them – see in their minds that they want someone dead and what they would be willing to pay for it then step in to offer their ‘help’. Their solution to whatever the problem is: always death.
2nd September 2011
It’s my birthday today. Forty-two years old. I can’t believe another year has trickled by so quickly in the blink of an eye. Everything’s the same, and yet nothing is. I’m different.
I can feel myself changing over time. All of these horrific experiences have hardened me. I wouldn’t say I was completely cold now but there’s a numbness inside that means I don’t feel half as much as I used to. I suppose it could come across as uncaring, however I’ve had to adapt to this. Circumstances have made me stronger; put a wall around my emotions to protect me. It’s the only way I’d be able to cope with what I do without going insane. I have to stay detached from my feelings.
This time last year I was working my security job and learning to bond with people again. They even got me a little cake and Trev took me out for a birthday pint. That seems like an eternity ago. Now I’m completely alone, another consequence of my lifestyle. I can’t let anyone get close for fear of involving them in all this. I don’t want to expose anyone else to the depravity of hikers.
I’m not tracking any today so I’m cooped up in the flat. I’ve got one card on the table from Marcus, Trudy and Ella. There’s a small note inside in Trudy’s handwriting, asking how I am and inviting me to visit anytime I want. I haven’t spoken to them for over eighteen months now. It’s too painful to see them and be reminded of what I once had.
There are no other birthday celebrations for me. Even Sue hasn’t sent me a card this year, but I guess I haven’t made any effort to get in touch with her either, or see how she’s doing. I don’t even remember when her birthday is, some son-in-law. Karen was always the one who was good with dates. Seeing her mother would hurt way too much as well.
I think I’ll take a little trip to the pub later and toast myself with a pint. At least that’s slightly less depressing than drinking here alone. I might even get the odd drunk bloke talk to me, if they’re not put off by the sense of evil that radiates out of me that is. I’ve seen plenty of people give me funny looks and move away. Some people must be more intuitive to it than others.
I might even treat myself to a takeaway after as there’s no food here and I can’t be bothered to go shopping. A birthday curry instead of a cake and a few beers by myself – sounds about right for me.
15th September 2011
I’ve just watched news coverage of a theatrical hiker attack. One of the biggest ones I’ve seen for a while and extremely violent – a shooting at London Waterloo train station.
I’m on a train heading back down there now. I’d been hunting a female hiker in Liverpool but she’d eluded me all day and I’d gone back to my grotty hotel room when I saw it on the news. It reeks of a hiker.
One man went into the station at lunchtime, armed with a gun. They were filming a TV series there today and this man shot one of the actors first, before firing randomly at passers by. I don’t know the full story yet but they said five people are dead and several others are injured. The suspect has been arrested and named as Jeremy Rankin. Witnesses said he stayed at the scene after the shootings – that’s what screamed ‘hiker’ at me. One eyewitness claimed he was completely calm while he was shooting then he broke down after and began crying and shouting. He was yelling that a voice in his head made him do it. A hiker’s voice I’m sure, but I have to confirm it.
That’s not the full story – the police station that’s holding him for questioning is my old station, Lewisham. That means Marcus will be working the case. I’m desperate to find out more details, can I really call him out of the blue to ask though? He’ll be surprised enough if I ring but if I then start asking questions about this case he’ll get extremely suspicious. Why would I want to know about the shootings? He’ll want his own answers about what I’ve been doing for the last couple of years.
I’m reluctant to do it yet the need to learn about this man is overwhelming. I have to speak to him, to hear in his own words exactly what happened. I’ve never actually met anyone who survived a hiker encounter before. They usually end up dead or arrested, or I can’t track them down. The closest I got was Jonathan at the school only he disappeared before I could talk to him. I have to know more from this guy. Here goes nothing.
I did it. I called Marcus at the station and had a brief conversation. He was surprised by my call but has reluctantly agreed to meet me at the station later tonight. I pushed my luck as far as I dared and told him that I need to speak to the man they’ve arrested. He thought I was kidding but I used our long-standing friendship and ‘trust’ to get him to agree. God knows what I’m going to tell him when I get there. He said he’ll see what he can do and I doubt he’ll let me interview the bloke without some sort of explanation of what I’ve been up to.
It was strange to hear his voice after so long. He sounded different, flustered (which is understandable given the high profile case) but more mature somehow. His voice was deeper and more serious. It’s hard to remember all the hours we spent joking and laughing together. I guess we all have to grow
up at some point. At least I’ve got a way in.
It’ll be about midnight by the time I get to the station. Marcus said to call him when I get near so he can sneak me in round the back, rather than risk going through reception. It could get awkward if I bump into anyone I used to work with. It’s been long enough for some people to have moved on but there will still be the odd familiar face. I’ll have to try and avoid them, and hope that Marcus can get me into the interview room during a break in questioning.
Is it odd that I feel nervous? There’s a niggling feeling in my stomach and adrenaline pumping through my veins. I’m actually going to speak to another person who’s had a hiker inside their mind and survived. I can impart some of my knowledge with this Jeremy Rankin. Not that it will do him much good as he’s undoubtedly going to spend the rest of his life in prison after his shooting spree, but it might ease his confusion a little. To know that it wasn’t solely his will that drove him to kill those people – he had someone at the reigns, manipulating him to do it.
I can try and find out who his specific target was. Out of the five dead there had to have been one. The hiker will be close by too, possibly already working on a suicide victim. Maybe I can attempt to help them.
It’s stuffy on the train and I can’t seem to sit still. I’m wedged on the right side of a double-seat, with my legs sticking out into the aisle. The woman beside me keeps giving me worried glances. She must be one of these over-sensitive types who pick up on my aura of danger. Not much I can do about it, she’ll just have to put up with me for a couple of hours until we get to Euston. It can’t come quick enough for me.
16th September 2011
Well, that was an eventful evening. It’s nearly 4am and I’m back at the flat although I won’t be getting any sleep for a while. There’s too much research to do. I’ve got something extra to assist me rather than the usual reports though – a copy of the case file from Marcus.
There’s not much in it yet but I’ve got photocopies of a few witness statements, some photograph stills from the CCTV at the train station, and a few basic details on the victims. It’s far more to go on than I usually have at this point.
And I spoke to the suspect, Rankin. Actually sat down in front of him and had a conversation. He was in a complete state. Apparently he hadn’t spoken since they’d arrested him but I saw the recognition in his eyes when I mentioned a voice in his mind and he began to talk to me. He acknowledged that he’d been hearing the voice for a few days and that it whispered of the injustice in his life. He’d been made redundant from his job and broken up with a long-term partner so his mind had been ripe for the hiker’s taking.
Rankin was full of remorse for what he had done. He was crying and pleading with me to help him, only I can’t. I feel guilty but there’s nothing I can do. He physically shot those people and the police have more than enough evidence for a conviction. No amount of talk about hikers is going to change that. They’ll think Rankin is mentally unhinged with those theories, the most it’ll do is deem him unfit to stand trial and he’ll spend the rest of his days in an institution, being constantly assessed. The best I can do is attempt to find the hiker who did this to him and try to help their suicide target. Maybe prevent another innocent life from being lost.
Seeing Marcus again was more awkward than I imagined. We made small talk outside the station like we were strangers. He told me that Trudy still works as a doctor’s receptionist and Ella is five years old now and has started school. Where did the time go?
He asked me the inevitable question about what I’ve been up to and I gave a suitably vague answer. It slightly resembled the truth at least. I told him that I’ve been researching and travelling around the country, trying to help other people who are going through what I did. Admittedly I said it was about Karen and brain tumours rather than hikers but the gist of it is the same.
He looked older in the face than when I last saw him and he’s put on a few pounds around the middle. I suppose I don’t fair much better – there are plenty of lines on my face that weren’t there before. He was dressed smartly in a black suit, presumably from the press conference earlier, and I felt scruffy by comparison in my old coat and Timberlands. He didn’t mention my appearance but I saw him give me the once over.
Marcus wasn’t too happy about getting me in to speak to Rankin, or about making a copy of the case file after, but he did them regardless. I feel guilty for taking advantage of his loyalty; it couldn’t be helped though. We left it that I would come and see him and Trudy while I’m back in town. I don’t suppose Ella will even remember me. I’ll wait until after the hiker is finished with its suicide victim to give him a call.
I’ve been through everything in the case file in detail. The information on Rankin himself is brief but they’ll be gathering more evidence over the next few days. The photograph stills from the CCTV in the station are the most interesting part. They show Rankin coming down the escalator and walking towards the actor. His head is cocked to one side, as though he’s listening to someone.
There’s a sequence of shots where he begins shooting. His face looks blank in most of them but there’s one where he looks alert. His lips are pulled back, almost as if he’s grinning, and his eyes are extremely dark. He’s staring at a man in a suit during this frozen moment and I believe that’s who the target was. Rankin told me during our brief conversation that it was the only clear point of the whole thing. That it felt like his hands were being guided to shoot that man, and he thought the voice in his head had whispered ‘bang’.
The hiker had made sure it completed its contract with that kill. Looking at the brief profiles of the three men who were killed out of the five people, I think I’m right. It was a man called Benjamin Reynolds and he was a politician. A quick search on Google shows that he was unpopular after spearheading a campaign to increase the amount of tax people pay. There are plenty of associates there who would be rich enough to hire a hiker.
That doesn’t really matter to me now. Reynolds is dead and the contract is complete. I need to concentrate on finding the hiker and trying to prevent the imminent suicide. I can feel my eyes drooping with a lack of sleep though so I think I should take a quick power nap then get back out there.
There’s a girl in the flat. She’s currently sleeping in my bed. No, that isn’t how it sounds. I saved her. She was the hiker’s intended suicide victim but I prevented it. It wasn’t just any hiker either; it was my hiker. The one who started this all.
I spent most of the morning travelling around London, trying to pick up the sound, and I found myself back in Clapham. I think that good old nostalgic part of me wanted to head back to our old neighbourhood and remember all the perfect times. That certainly didn’t happen. As soon as I got close, I realised I could hear a faint whispering voice. It was a male hiker.
His voice sounded familiar and the jolt of fear was paralysing when my mind registered why. I lost all my resolve in an instant and my entire body started trembling. Hearing his awful voice again propelled me back to those long, dark nights when I had lain in bed, listening to his twisted reasoning. I nearly turned around and ran. I knew how furious the hiker would be if he encountered my mind again. I had escaped his clutches and caused him to miss out on numerous kills.
It took me a few long breaths to calm myself down and remember that I was much stronger now. I’d pushed him out once and I should be able to do it again with all of my recent practising. Anger began to replace my fear. He’d caused Rankin to shoot all of those people and now he had someone else in his grasp. Plus, he was back in my old neighbourhood and tainting its memory.
As soon as I could make out some of the words he was saying, my rage grew. His voice was full of venom and he wasn’t even trying to coax this new victim, he was going straight for the kill. I figured it was a young female as he was calling her a ‘disgusting bitch’ and ‘worthless’.
I tracked them to Clapham Common tube station and went down to the platforms. His voic
e was so powerful, it threatened to allow all my nightmares to spill out but I somehow held them in. I scanned the faces for any women who looked in distress. The girl was at the far end and I knew it was her the second my gaze settled on the side of her face.
She was young, barely late teens, and she was tottering near the edge of the platform, wringing her hands in front of her. She was attractive but it was masked by the thick makeup on her face – heavy black eyes and bright pink lips. Her shoulder-length hair was dyed a cheap red colour and she was extremely thin. It was her clothes that filled me with pity. She was wearing a white vest top that showed her pierced belly button and lower back tattoo. Her denim skirt was so short it barely covered her bottom and she had on black stiletto heels. There was chunky gold jewellery around her neck and wrists but that was it. No coat or tights, despite the cold weather. Nothing warm like a scarf or gloves.
I’ve seen enough prostitutes and escorts over the years to know instantly that’s what she was. There was a haunted look on her face that couldn’t only be attributed to the hiker, although he was clearly using it to drive her to suicide. Telling her that what she did was disgusting and that no one would miss her when she was gone. His vile words made my heart ache and I felt instinctively protective of her.
There was a low rumbling of a train approaching from the tunnel. She was positioned right next to it and everything clicked together in my mind. The hiker was going to make her jump in front of it. No one else down there had a clue what was going on; that they were about to witness a horrific death.
I weaved through all the people who were engrossed in their newspapers and tablets, checking rapidly for any sign of the hiker himself. He was screaming gleefully, ready for the thrill of her death. I was right behind her and the train would appear any moment. She was poised ready but I lunged forward and yanked her back by the shoulder. She fell into my arms as the train blasted past us and I heard a howl of rage from the hiker.