The Anomaly (Scarrett & Kramer Book 2)

by Neil Carstairs

  “Oh, you know,” Ben said, with a shrug.

  “I can always ask her,” Chrissie said.

  “Ask me what?” Kramer said as she stopped next to them.

  “Don’t,” Ben said to his sister.

  Chrissie ignored him. “Ben won’t say how much of a friend you two are.”

  Ben closed his eyes. He could almost feel his skin turning to ice as Kramer glared at him. The silence seemed to stretch out forever. When he opened his eyes, Kramer and Chrissie had moved away a little and had their heads together as they whispered to each other. He looked at Dan for help, and all Dan did was hold out his hands as if to say ‘you got yourself into this’.

  “Chrissie?” Ben called out.

  “Don’t interrupt, Ben,” his sister said. “Joanne and I are having a very interesting conversation.”

  “Great,” Ben slumped back into the wheelchair.

  Dan walked behind him and said, “I’ll take you to the car. It’ll be safer out there.”

  “Thanks.”

  By the time they reached the condo, Kramer and Chrissie seemed to be best of friends. Ben figured that was double the trouble and wondered if he’d be able to find a room at a local hotel. Dan just stayed out of it, a wise decision as the two women began to trade observations on Ben and his suitability in the relationship stakes.

  They’d left the wheelchair in the parking lot at the airport, so Ben made it up to the apartment under his own steam with no help from anyone. Inside, it felt as if he’d never been away. The view hadn’t changed; a parking lot, two other condominiums and, across a six-lane highway, a dozen or so light industrial units. Ben sat on the sofa as Chrissie announced she would make lunch with Dan’s help. Ben hoped Dan would do more than help, Chrissie didn’t always achieve one-hundred-per-cent success with her food preparation. Kramer disappeared for a shower, and as Ben waited, Chrissie came out of the kitchen and sat next to him.

  “She’s beautiful,” Chrissie said. “Don’t mess this one up.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “I’m saying you need to pay her more attention. Hold her hand. Ask her how she’s feeling. Be romantic.”

  “I am romantic,” Ben said. When Chrissie frowned, he added, “Kind of.”

  “Don’t be kind of romantic.” They heard the bathroom door open and close. Chrissie nudged him. “Start right now.”

  Chrissie returned to the kitchen as Kramer came into the living room, barefoot and her hair still damp. She dropped down on the far end of the sofa and put her feet on Ben’s lap. Ben studied her feet rather than look into her eyes. Much like the rest of her, they were perfect. How someone who’d been an infantry officer could have toes as neat as those was beyond him. He lifted one foot up and kissed it.

  “What was that for?” Kramer asked.

  “I just realised what nice feet you have.”

  “The rest of me isn’t bad.”

  “I know.” Ben ran a hand along her calf and up her thigh. “You okay?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You were kind of spiky after the flight.”

  “I was tired,” Kramer said. “Now I’ve had a rest and a shower I feel better.”

  “I know you feel better,” Ben said, his hand still smoothing up and down her leg.

  “Dan seems like a nice guy.” Kramer changed the subject.

  “Yeah, it’s good Chrissie met him when she did.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Well, there’s our work,” Ben said. “That takes me away a lot.”

  “Uh-huh. Anything else?”

  “And there’s you,” Ben said.

  “Me?”

  “Yeah. You.”

  Chrissie came through into the room and said, “Lunch is ready. I’ve made lentil quinoa salad with spinach and lemon.”

  “Sounds delicious,” Kramer said.

  Chrissie grinned and headed back to the kitchen. Ben whispered to Kramer, “When we’ve survived that, there’s a pizza restaurant a mile down the road I can take you to.”

  “That’s not very nice.” Kramer jabbed her fingers into his side.

  They stayed on the sofa for a moment longer until Ben said, “So, you’ve met my family. When do I meet yours?”

  “Meet my family? Doesn’t that infer some kind of official ‘dating’ stamp on our relationship?”

  “We are official, aren’t we?” Ben asked

  “An hour ago you couldn’t even tell your sister we were an item,” Kramer reminded him.

  “Yeah, well, I’ve been thinking, and I guess I need to be more open.”

  Kramer smiled. “Say it,” she said.

  “Say what?” Ben frowned.

  “Just say it.”

  “Lunch is ready, Chrissie and Dan will be wondering where we are,” Ben suggested.

  “Don’t change the subject, Scarrett,” Kramer said. She sat up and pulled herself closer so that her legs draped over the arm of the sofa and trapped him in place. “Just say it.”

  Ben looked into her blue eyes and couldn’t look away. He said, “I love you.”

  “Oh.” Kramer blinked. “I was expecting you to say sorry.”

  “You were?”

  “Yeah. You know, for not telling Chrissie about us.”

  They laughed together, and Kramer put her arms around Ben. She hugged him tight.

  “But I guess that will do in place of an apology,” she said, and kissed him.

  ii

  The private hospital nestled in the Cotswolds, a few miles east of Bourton-on-the-Water. The state of the art facility took most of its income from celebrities and sports stars, along with a decent portion of foreign wealth earned through some not so legal means. It operated in strictest secrecy, the kind of surgical procedures and treatments offered by the expert staff weren’t something the patients wanted publicised.

  Sir Richard Stanton travelled to the facility alone. His wife had gone to stay with her sister and so, on this quiet Sunday in October, Sir Richard told his close protection officers he needed some time alone. The men never said anything, but Stanton could imagine them thinking ‘Mistress’ as they smiled knowingly at him. They couldn’t be further from the truth.

  The Director of Medicine met Stanton at the entrance to the hospital. They walked along quiet, carpeted corridors towards a secure wing that occupied part of the extension on the south side of the hospital. The Director told Stanton the most recent updates in the patient he was there to visit. The prognosis had improved. The patient had been brought out of an induced coma two days earlier, and first indications showed mental and physical functions operating at expected levels. This news was better than any Stanton had expected. The medical fees generated in the last month alone were exorbitant. If he hadn’t been able to funnel Ministry of Defence funds into a secret slush account, then he doubted he would be having this conversation.

  They reached a final security door. The Director swiped Stanton through and said, “Third door on your right. We can monitor remotely, but if there are any problems, there is a call button situated to the right of the bed. Staff can be with you within sixty seconds.”

  “Any audio-visual feeds from the room?” Stanton asked.

  “All disabled for the duration of your visit, as requested.”

  “Thank you.”

  Stanton stepped through the door and as he walked on, heard it close with a soft, hydraulic clunk. The corridor assumed the kind of silence Stanton associated with monasteries. He half expected to see a couple of friars come walking towards him. Though with his recent experiences still fresh in his memory, those friars would no doubt be undead and hiding axes within the folds of their cassocks. He reached the designated door and sensed a change in the atmosphere. The room lights seemed to dim, and the air grew colder.

  Stanton shivered as he pushed open the door and entered the room. The ceiling lights were turned down low enough that the lights from the bank of medical equipment glowed with the brightness of sta
rs next to the bed. Stanton let the door close and waited, nervous for once, of what was to come. His eyes searched for the readings he’d been told to look for; heart rate, blood pressure and oxygen levels. All looked good, or at least as good as Stanton had been told to hope for. The single bed was standard hospital issue, in one corner a rather uncomfortable looking straight-backed chair waited for company. A painting on one wall showed a snow scene from the Cotswolds, beneath it a vase of pink roses sat on a functional pine cabinet. It looked to Stanton as if the income from fees didn’t get spent on furniture. In some ways that was good, as long as the money went to patient welfare and not the pockets of the private hospital’s owners.

  He couldn’t ignore the figure in the bed for much longer. Making excuses to study furniture or paintings just put off the inevitable. The Director of Medicine had said ten minutes maximum for his stay and sixty seconds had already ticked by. Stanton stepped to the side of the bed.

  The child looked younger than her eleven years. A near-fatal accident, multiple surgeries and three weeks in a coma will do that. She seemed frail, the bones of her skull pressing through the paper-thin skin of her face. Stanton had no idea what she had looked like before sustaining her injuries. He had never met the girl, and truth be told, that was a good thing. Few who had met her and her sister survived the experience. He still didn’t know which twin this was. Just learning that she was alive in chance conversation with a security guard at Chequers had led Stanton to make his decision. He still didn’t know whether to end it now. Back in London, Stanton visited a friend who worked as a consultant in a teaching hospital. The friend showed him the simplest way of killing someone. ‘Just alter the level of sedatives. A fingertip on a touch screen and this two becomes an eight. It’s like falling asleep. Forever.’

  Stanton wasted another thirty seconds identifying the correct screen to touch. When he looked back at the girl his heart skipped a beat as he saw her eyes were open and watching him. Stanton smoothed down his tie, a habit he’d acquired over the years to cover himself when trying to find an answer to a searching question. His advisers had tried for a long time to break him out of doing it and in the main they’d succeeded unless his stress levels were particularly high. Today, they were high.

  Clearing his throat Stanton smiled down at the girl and said, “Hello.”

  She closed her eyes, and for a moment Stanton thought she’d fallen asleep again. When they opened again, he heard her whisper, “Where’s Vicky?”

  So this is Elizabeth.

  Stanton had no children of his own. His only sibling, Alec, had been childless and his wife’s brother had produced two obnoxious boys who Stanton kept as far away from as possible. Which left him with little or no experience of how to talk to children, especially a girl who was just about to find out her twin sister was dead.

  “She’s not here,” Stanton said.

  “She’s not anywhere,” Elizabeth’s voice seemed to fade to nothing. “I can’t sense her.”

  “Victoria died,” Stanton said. “Do you remember your accident?”

  “No. I don’t remember...” Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “Wait. Yes.”

  One of the machines began to beep. Stanton looked at it and saw Elizabeth’s heart rate and blood pressure climbing. He put his hand on her arm and said, “Elizabeth, I know this must be upsetting but...”

  A blast of heat seared the hairs on the back of his neck. Stanton twisted, almost falling as a huge, red form materialised behind him. He recognised the beast as one of those that had so nearly killed him at Chequers. Yellow eyes froze him in place, and it took all Stanton’s strength to turn back to Elizabeth.

  “Stop,” he said. “You must stop and send it back.”

  The girl seemed to realise something was wrong as she focussed past Stanton onto the beast. Emergency tones began to sound from the monitors. Stanton knew the medical team would be with them if they continued to sound. They must not see the beast.

  “Elizabeth,” he said with the commanding voice of a Minister of State. “Send it back.”

  The girl sank into the bed, seeming to disappear into the sheets. For a brief moment Stanton thought that the girl was going and leaving him alone with the demon. She didn’t. A hand rose, and the heat on his neck dropped away. He risked a quick glance and saw the creature had gone. The beeping of the monitors stopped. Elizabeth’s heart rate and blood pressure reduced. Stanton swallowed a mouthful of bile and gave the girl a shaky smile. “Well done,” he said. “That was perfect.”

  “Vicky’s dead,” Elizabeth whispered.

  “I know,” Stanton leant in close. “There are people who wanted the two of you dead because of the talents you have. Talents like the one you just showed me. They destroyed Morrigan and killed your sister. And if they knew you were alive they would come here today and kill you.”

  Elizabeth closed her eyes and a tear squeezed out from beneath the lid. Stanton watched it wind a path across pale skin until it faded and dried.

  Conscious of the time, he said, “I can protect you. When the doctor’s tell me you are well enough I will take you to a castle in Scotland. It will be the place you will live in. There will be staff to look after you and guards to keep you safe.”

  The child’s eyes opened and Stanton saw something move within the night-black depths of her pupils. Something ancient. Stanton’s mouth went dry.

  “Why?” Elizabeth asked.

  Because I want those monsters you can summon under my control. And to get them I need you.

  “You are a special girl,” Stanton said. “That’s why.”

  “Am I?” Elizabeth’s eyes half closed, she looked on the point of losing consciousness again

  “Yes.” Stanton leant in close, feeling something close to love as he stroked Elizabeth’s forehead.

  Elizabeth didn’t hear him. She had slipped under again, worn out by the few minutes of conversation. Stanton straightened and sighed. He walked to the window and edged the blinds aside to look out on a sunny afternoon.

  Stanton wanted Elizabeth to appreciate the life he would give her. He wanted her to be grateful, and he wanted the kind of gratitude that became loyalty because Stanton wanted the Elizabeth to work for him, not the government.

  Stanton smiled. The girl lived and would recover. He’d put his team in place, their loyalty unquestionable. He’d taken his first steps on the path to power.

  If only the Prime Minister knew.

  ***

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