The Collector Book One: Mana Leak

by Daniel I. Russell

  He rubbed his eyes.

  Look at this place! he thought. What the hell have they done to my beautiful kitchen?

  His hands on the worktop brushed the handle of a large butcher knife. He grasped the handle and lifted the blade up to his face. His distorted reflection filled the shiny metal.

  His hair, normally combed and neat, hung to his head in matted clumps about a slicked forehead. The small cut from his slip in the bath had turned an ugly brown. His eyes were sullen, framed by crevices of wrinkles, aging his appearance another ten years.

  Frank threw the knife down and noticed his shirt hung half open. Sweat stains had spread under each arm.

  He placed his hands over his face and listened to the kettle begin to heat up.

  How can this happen over a few short hours? His mind reeled. My house. My tidy, ordered house! And me. Look at the state…

  Upstairs, boarding the windows and checking on the kids, he had something to occupy his brain. He pushed all this unpleasantness to the back of his mind and concentrated on the job at hand. It proved some much welcomed focus; something that had lightened his mood. Not a lot, but some. Now finished, the waiting would begin. The chaos of the situation crept back, draining his new found clarity and plunging him into some kind of instant depression.

  His hand shook and he dropped the spoon.

  Am I going nuts? Can insanity set in so quickly?

  His mind wandered back to his argument with Quackenbush in the physics stockroom a few days ago. He realised how badly he’d lost his temper and saw Quackenbush’s round face, and his little piggy eyes fill with fear.

  Probably thought I was going to hit him, Frank thought. I should have, too.

  But his memory took a sharp turn. He saw himself falling to the floor, shuddering as something popped in his brain. His temper had caused an embolism, or a stroke. He lay writhing on the stockroom floor, Quakenbush gazing down with grave concern as the kids in his class began their song:

  -Relax, don’t do it…fuck them! Fuuuck theeeem!-

  That’s it, Frank thought. Anne always said that my temper would be the death of me. I might not be dead yet, but I might be in coma. That sounds right. A coma where I dream of monsters made of mouths, and hundreds of eyeballs on legs, and arseholes that come into your house. These are visions as my brain flashes its last, all part of an over reactive imagination.

  He laughed, strangely squeaky.

  That’s rubbish, he thought. Physics teachers have no imagination!

  “Ha ha har!”

  The kettle clicked off.

  He poured boiling water into the mug, picked up the spoon and stirred the coffee. He lifted the steaming mug to his lips and took a deep slurp, wincing as the hot coffee scalded his tongue and throat.

  The fog of his mind cleared a little. He enjoyed another painful mouthful.

  Frank looked down to his free hand. His shakes had subsided.

  To think that coffee gives some people the shakes.

  He drank the mug empty in seconds and immediately spooned more granules into it.

  At least this is only temporary, his quieting thoughts suggested. It’ll probably be over by morning. People will come, they have to. We aren’t in the middle of nowhere. This is an English suburb for fuck’s sake! He won’t be able to wait until daylight. Him and his whole bloody circus will be gone by dawn.

  The thought satisfied him. In the morning, he could return the house to its proper state, end his mutually beneficial truce with McGuire and get his wife to respect him again instead of disagreeing with his every goddamn word.

  I might be stood in the dark now, he thought, but morning brings light, the light at the end of the tunnel. That’s what I can focus on, that’s what will keep me sane.

  He buttoned his damp shirt up to his throat, the way he wore it in his classes, and raked his steady fingers through his hair.

  Better, he thought.

  He reached for the kettle.

  Pain sharp as a dagger slid into his forehead, straight through to the tender grey matter beneath.

  He squealed and clamped his hands to his temples as agony swept through his skull like a cloud of needles.

  Well good evening, Mr Harper!

  Frank’s eyes, filling with tears, scanned the kitchen in panic.

  “Who…who’s there?” His voice strained. He pressed his hands tighter, creating a clamp-like pressure on his head.

  Don’t bother trying to look for me, good sir! Unless you possess the ability to see through walls, which I strongly doubt.

  “You!” Frank growled through the pain, recognising the soft tone and precise delivery of each word. “How…the fuck…did you…get in?”

  Don’t worry, Frank. Your efforts to keep me out have not been in vain. You have all been quite busy haven’t you? Regardless, I’m still outside, stood on the other side of this window in fact. I’ve been waiting for one of you to get close enough, close enough to almost touch…

  “Stop this! It…hurts…”

  We’ve been here before, remember? Begging doesn’t work, dear boy. Speaking of our last conversation, might I mention the relief I feel with the layer of glass and wood that separates me from your temper?

  The Collector laughed. To Frank, it felt like a stream of fireworks going off in his mind.

  “What…do you…want?”

  Ah, the question of the moment! You know what I want: the mana, of course. I won’t go until I get it. You do all know that, don’t you?

  He’s been listening to my thoughts, Frank realised through the haze of pain. All that nonsense about my sanity, the idea that all this was a stroke-induced hallucination: that was his doing!

  The Collector spoke.

  No, sir. Don’t go blaming the weakness of your own mind on yours truly. I’ve not been here that long.

  Another sweep of agony. Frank thought a scalpel had sliced across his hairline.

  “Stop this now! Anne…?”

  Anne can’t help you. The clarity of the voice was amazing. It was like he was stood right next to him. None of them can. The only thing that can save you is the mana. The moment it returns to my possession, I will leave you be.

  “I don’t know…what you’re talking about!”

  I know you have no idea what the mana is, Frank. Your mind is like an open book to me, and not a particularly good book at that. I would explain what the mana is, but I don’t think your simple human brain would last that long.

  “If I know nothing…let me go! Me and…and my family…we’re no…use to you!”

  Oh, but you are. Maybe you can get some information for me. Someone in there must know at least where the mana has gotten to by now. I blame myself for not having enough time to probe some of them further. Especially the old woman, Eleanor. She knows more than I gave her credit for…

  “Then take her! Leave…us.”

  A long string of saliva trickled from Frank’s mouth and hung over his chin. It bounced up and down with his quivering jaw like a bungee rope.

  It’s nearly game over for your brain, Frank. I’d better make this quick.

  Frank groaned. The kitchen swam before his eyes, shimmering like the horizon on a hot day. The colour began to drain away, and the pain subsided as numbness set in.

  I know that none of this is your fault. You’re a good man, really. Despite out little misunderstanding earlier, I can see you’re the brains of the operation, the leader, the commander.

  Frank collapsed against the work top.

  The Collector spoke quickly, although his pronunciation was still razor sharp.

  I had a little look around in young McGuire’s head earlier. I would never have guessed, Frank! You wife was there. Naked, writhing, soaked in sweat. The things she was doing with him; quite a dark horse, isn’t she?

  With his consciousness fading fast, Frank shook his head.

  “No…not been…near him…lying…”

  Not yet, that’s all I’m saying. It was his desires I fou
nd, Frank. Surely you’ve noticed the way he looks at her? Maybe this will help…

  Frank jerked as memory was pulled from his head without consent. It showed Anne in the kitchen a mere hour ago, falling into Joe’s waiting arms.

  That’s right, Frank. Watch him, watch him…

  7.

  “Frank?” said Anne. “Are you okay? You look awful.”

  He leaned over the work top, knocking some of the utensils to the floor.

  The water boiled in the pans beside him, and Anne ran forwards, worried he might fall and topple them.

  His face glistened with a mixture of tears and sweat, and he stared at her with red, puffy eyes. His hands trembled.

  “Frank?”

  She put a hand to his shoulder. He flinched and jumped back.

  “Please,” he whispered, “give me some time.”

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” she said.

  “Stop arguing with me,” he hissed. “This is still my house, and if I want sometime alone, I’ll have it.”

  Anne bit her bottom lip and backed up. The man who’d beaten her, intimidated her over and over again, had slipped away, leaving this nervous wreck.

  She opened the fridge and removed a bottle of white wine. It was half full, and a metal stopper protruded from the neck.

  “You don’t mind do you?” she asked, shaking the bottle towards him. “It’s gone quiet out there. The Prowlers don’t seem to be doing anything, just standing around. A little drink might calm our nerves.”

  “Go ahead, as long as I can get a little while on my own to gather my thoughts.”

  “You know where we are if you change your mind and fancy a little drink.”

  “I’ll be fine,” he said, raising a shuddering hand and patting the kettle.

  She approached him and kissed him quickly on the cheek. He stood his ground and received it.

  “Maybe you should ease up on the coffee. It’s giving you the shakes.”

  The instant the words slipped through her lips, she realised her mistake, and met the cold glare from her husband.

  He tried to stand, but fell back against the cupboards.

  “Go,” he gasped, “if you know what’s good for you…”

  His quivering fingers closed into a tight fist.

  Unwilling to risk another beating, Anne turned and with her head hung low, walked out of the kitchen.

  * * *

  Joe had pulled the two armchairs to the window, and sat perched on one of the arms, his face at one of the holes in the makeshift barricade.

  “Any change?” asked Anne, entering the living room.

  “Nothing, but they’re still there.”

  “The waiting is killing me,” she said. “I just wish they’d do whatever it is they’re planning and get it over with.”

  Joe looked away from the hole.

  “Are you sure? My stomach is twisting just thinking about what’s going to happen.”

  “Right.” She sighed. “It was a stupid thing to say. Drink?”

  She offered him the bottle.

  He nodded, thanked her and took it from Anne’s grasp. He undid the stopper and swallowed deeply. The wine tasted sour, slightly off its best, but the cold liquid soothed his dry throat.

  “I needed that more than I thought,” he said. “Do you drink much?”

  “Not really,” she said, receiving the bottle and taking a few swigs herself. “Frank thinks only bad mothers drink, which reminds me…”

  She placed the bottle down on the small coffee table.

  “I should go and check on the kids now Frank is down here.”

  “No need, I’ve just nipped up,” said Joe. “They’re both sleeping like babies, Jenny too for that matter. My grandmother’s watching over them, and Jake is glued to a gap Frank left on the window. It’s like he can’t believe what he’s seeing and can’t pull himself away.”

  “Your grandmother has been great through all of this. Things would be a lot worse without her here.”

  “Tell me about it. My whole life would be a lot worse without her.”

  Anne sat on one of the arms of the other armchair.

  “You two do seem awfully close. I was never really friendly with my own grandparents.”

  “My parents died when I was a toddler, a car crash. My grandparents looked after me until I left for university.”

  “I’m sorry. It must have been tough.”

  “They were wonderful,” he replied. “I couldn’t have wished for a better upbringing. I’m sorry for the way I feel about my parents. I mean, I never knew them, it happened when I very young, you know? My memory of them is what has been patched together by what my grandparents told me. I regret not having them, but I don’t miss them.”

  Anne nodded. “It’s nothing to feel guilty about,” she said. “It’s just the way things turned out.”

  “I do miss my grandfather though. I know my grandmother is still cut up about it.”

  “I remember we moved in just after he died,” Anne said. “Eleanor was quieter back then, but she’s come out of herself since. She’s had a lot more to deal with, especially that incident with the Dean twins.”

  “Yeah,” said Joe. “I can’t believe she’s sat upstairs in the same room as Jake right now. And as for what became of Adam…” He shook his head. “How things can change, eh?”

  Anne thought back to Frank, alone in the kitchen, a shadow of his former self.

  “Yes,” she agreed, reaching across and taking another few gulps from the wine bottle.

  “What’s your secret?” she asked Joe, replacing the stopper.

  “How do you mean?”

  “You’re so confident. Since you came in, nothing seems to have fazed you. You just get on with it, whether it’s boarding up windows or saving my son, you take it all in your stride. How do you do it?”

  Joe laughed.

  “You think I’m dealing with all this well?” he chuckled. “I’m scared to death.”

  Anne smiled. “You don’t look it.”

  “It’s a show, been adapted over time. It’s something I’ve learned to be, all smiles and glowing confidence. I hate it, but it’s a hard habit to break.”

  “An easy mask to put on, but impossible to take off,” Anne said, her smile slipping.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Why do you have to be like that?”

  Joe sighed. “It’s my job really.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I’m a graphic designer, or as my grandma puts it, someone who draws things for a living.”

  “Don’t you like it?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I love it, well, used to. It was the bloody New World Design that ruined things.”

  “The New World Design of Carter sportswear? You designed that?”

  “Yeah,” Joe said, scratching the back of his head, looking embarrassed. “Sort of…”

  “That’s one of the most well-known logos in the world,” Anne exclaimed. “It’s up there with the McDonalds golden arches, the Microsoft window and even rivals the Nike slash!”

  “Which is why I have to show an air of confidence and self-satisfaction, so everyone believes I designed it.”

  Anne frowned.

  “I thought you said that you did design it?”

  “If I tell you this, you have to keep it secret, even from Frank. Bet he’d love to get it out in the open.”

  “If it’s so secret,” asked Anne, “then why are you telling me?”

  “Because I have to tell someone. It’s been eating me up for years and it would feel good to unburden.”

  “What about your grandmother? Surely you confided in her?”

  “She wouldn’t understand, either that or tell me to go along with it, which I’m already doing.”

  “You’ve got me confused now,” said Anne.

  “Then I’ll just tell you. It might clear things up.”

  Anne slid off the arm and settled in the seat of the armchair.
>
  “I was hired by Carter Sportswear to design a new logo for all their clothing: tracksuits, hats, trainers, socks, even athletic equipment. There were three of us designers working separately on the project, and only one of us would get the contract. The competition was fierce, and I knew I had to do something special.

  “I spent weeks on my design and prepared for the big presentation. It was in front of the chairmen. There was Clarkson, an incredibly tall, thin man, Henreid, who looked like a shaven Santa Claus and Pires, who was so old, it was surprising he was still alive.”

  Anne smiled, and Joe continued.

  “I should probably tell you what the original design was like. It was very simple.”

  He drew a waving line in the air with his finger that tapered off at the end.

  “You spent weeks on that?” said Anne. “It’s just a squiggle!”

  “That’s what they said. You need to look beyond what you can see and imagine what the image says.”

  He traced it in the air again.

  “I can see waves, a bouncing ball, obstacles that get smaller the further you go on, a calming heart rate and if you look from the side, a track leading off into the horizon.”

  “All things to do with sport, in one squiggle,” said Anne. “You did put some thought into it. Very clever.”

  “It’s my job,” said Joe. “Unfortunately, even after explaining it to them, they couldn’t see past the squiggle. I knew I was on the verge of failing and blowing the contract, so I started talking about the ease of the design. You know that kids and teenagers are the biggest consumers of this type of product?”

  Anne nodded.

  “Adam,” she swallowed. “Adam wore Carter Sportswear all the time, like he was making some kind of statement.”

  “Exactly! They scribble these logos into their school books, have them made into jewellery, get tattoos done, even have them shaved into the back of their heads! I tried to explain that they needed a simple design for all this to happen. I think it’s dumb myself, but whatever sells more tracksuits, you know?”

  He smiled and shook his head.

  “I pulled a piece of paper and a pen from my briefcase, intending them to draw the logo, see how simple it was. I know…it was a pathetic idea, but I was running out of time. Thing is, I didn’t check the paper first.