The Sound of Wind

by Raegan Millhollin

  Chapter Eight - William Is Dead

  Hugo didn’t sleep well the rest of the weekend because of nightmares. Real ones, which were starting to see more terrifying then the visions. At least those he had a chance of stopping. So he started learning German. The man who would kill Madeline would simply say ‘goodnight.’

  He also, reluctantly, looked for bugs in his apartment. Reluctantly because he was afraid of what he might find. In the chaos of his tiny apartment it was hard to decide where to start, but he started to listlessly pick up objects and examine them. He found a small black dot under a lamp in his main room and another under the nightstand in his bedroom.

  Hugo frowned at the one under his lamp, running a thumb across it. Should he break them? Why were they there? Did they not trust him? No, Mr. Hansen wouldn’t have allowed him to see the database if there was no trust there. Did anyone monitor the lines? Were they there to protect him? Hugo set the lamp down and chewed on his nail. Protect him from what?

  Someone like the German.

  He decided to leave them. Hugo left his apartment, grabbed his second coffee and headed to work.

  The world had people with abilities. They were recruiting, so there should be others out there that had their own organizations. Perhaps there was one in Germany or Russia that the disintegrator belonged to. And if there were other groups out there, there was a good chance Mr. Hansen and Mr. Gideon knew who they were. He wondered if asking Mr. Hansen about it would be pushing his luck, but that somehow didn’t seem to matter all that much as he was downing his cup of coffee and walking into Gideon Enterprises.

  Eva (who he’d learned could paralyze the nervous system of anyone she could see) gave him a very slight smile, looked like she was about to greet him, but then thought better of it, and just buzzed him in. Hugo felt his stomach drop. Was she afraid of him? He tried to push the thought out of his mind.

  He was still unsure if he should mention the explosion to Mr. Hansen yet. He had Madeline now to fall back on as the source of the information, but he didn’t know enough information or motives to point the finger at Mr. Gideon.

  He went in to Mr. Hansen’s office, yawning.

  “Didn’t get enough sleep?” Mr. Hansen asked, motioning to the chair in front of his desk.

  “No. I mean, I just…” Hugo sat down heavily in the chair and immediately started picking at the edge of the table, “Just…nightmares.”

  “Oh? What were they about?”

  Hugo’s face went red; he didn’t want to be having this conversation. It didn’t matter what he was dreaming of, “It’s nothing.”

  Mr. Hansen didn’t say anything for several seconds. “How was your visit to see Madeline?”

  “It was…interesting.” Hugo carefully set his hands in his lap.

  Mr. Hansen was staring at him intently, “What did you need to find out from her?”

  Hugo coughed, shifting in his seat. What was he going to say? The truth was a terrible option and Mr. Hansen was just staring at him. Very soon if Hugo didn’t open his mouth he would realize that something was wrong, that he was hiding something and then he’d ask- “There’s an explosion and I die in six weeks.” Wow. Brilliant.

  Mr. Hansen leaned back in his chair, drawing with him a long pause. “How do you die?”

  “I get shot during a concert.”

  There was another long pause before Mr. Hansen spoke again, “I’ve never known Madeline to be wrong, but…”

  “It’s easily avoidable, and it doesn’t happen till New Year’s Eve, so it’s not a problem.”

  There was a pause, but it was much shorter; Hugo wished he could see the man’s expression. “Yes. I see you’re not worried.” Mr. Hansen leaned forward again, folding his hands on his desk, “So what is this explosion?”

  “In a year Seattle goes up in a mushroom cloud. I don’t know how or why, but it has something to do with-” He really should have thought through what he was going to say before opening his mouth.

  “Someone here,” Mr. Hansen said when Hugo failed to complete his sentence. Hugo nodded, still staring at the ground. “Is it me?”

  Hugo looked up, startled, then quickly shook his head, “I don’t-Madeline doesn’t think so.”

  Mr. Hansen relaxed just a little, “But you know who it is?”

  Hugo nodded and returned his attention to the Persian rug.

  “Do you know why they do this?” Hugo shook his head, biting his lip. Mr. Hansen was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, he sounded as if he were no longer asking questions, but telling him what was going on, “And you’re not telling me who it is because you think it will upset me.” Another slight nod. “It’s Mr. Gideon.”

  Hugo swung his attention to the wall between the tastefully inoffensive pieces of art. His voice small, Hugo qualified his unspoken statement, “We don’t know if it’s him, but we know he’s the cause.”

  “And that could mean any number of things.” Mr. Hansen was incredibly calm and Hugo wondered again if the man was using his ability to make it seem like nothing could faze him, or if he was indeed unshakeable. Now didn’t seem like the time to ask.

  Hugo took a deep breath, “Right.”

  “Well, it looks like we have your next project then,” Mr. Hansen announced, sounding just a little amused.

  Hugo blinked, straightening in the chair, “I-”

  Mr. Hansen continued, answering his question before he could ask it, “Using the database, and whatever research you need to conduct yourself, I’d like you to create a list of possible threats within our organization.”

  “A threat to Mr. Gideon, or the company?” No Hugo! You are so stupid, why are you asking such suspicious questions?

  Mr. Hansen smiled, his head tilting to the side a fraction, “There’s a difference?”

  Hugo swallowed, forcing his hands to remain still in his lap, “I think the stated company goals sometimes…diverge…” Hugo took a deep breath, “are not the same as Mr. Gideon’s personal goals.”

  Mr. Hansen’s expression didn’t change. “I see. Then it seems I need you to create two lists. Is there anything else?”

  Hugo unconsciously straightened at the abrupt change in conversation, “Uh…are there other organizations like ours?”

  Mr. Hansen gave a slight smile, “You mean an organized group of people with abilities?”

  “Yes.”

  “There are.” Mr. Hansen took his hands off his desk, “Why do you ask?”

  Hugo went back to chewing on his lip. He tried hard not to shift in his seat, “I…think I may need to factor them into my list of threats.”

  Mr. Hansen nodded, folding his hands on the desk again, “We have basic information on a few groups, mostly criminal organizations. I’m afraid it may not be detailed enough to assist you.”

  “But it’s a start at least.”

  “Of course. I’ll make you a database administrator.”

  Hugo blinked. He wondered if there was anything else in the database that was hidden from him. Would it hurt to look? “Thanks.”

  On the way out of Mr. Hansen’s office Hugo got a text message from Dr. McFadden. She wanted to speak to him about Ted’s progress. That was a safe topic; he could get started on the database a little later.

  He met the doctor at the coffee shop on the corner. She smiled at him as he entered, eyes bright. It seemed she had good news. He purchased his third coffee of the morning and sat down at the table with her, “Hi. You wanted to see me?”

  “Yes! I wanted to thank you for those files, they’ve helped tremendously! Dr. Arliss and I have been able to create a medication regime that has Ted’s powers under control. He was discharged from the medical wing this morning, after observation over the weekend, of course.”

  Hugo’s hands tightened around the paper coffee cup, “Did you remove his abilities?”

  “No, more like dampened them. It requires more concentration to use them, so he’s not in danger of them occurring out of control.�
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  “If you increased the medication, could you make the abilities inaccessible?”

  The doctor shook her head, her dark ponytail swinging lightly with the motion, “No, the dosages are already pretty high; more would be dangerous. We’ve only taken the risk as it is because Ted desperately needed a solution.”

  Hugo nodded, smiling, but there was a cold pit in his stomach. She had found a way. He’d just murdered a kid instead. “That’s great that you’ve been able to help him.”

  The doctor nodded enthusiastically, then leaned forward slightly, casting a quick glance over her shoulder, “I’ve been testing his food and there have been no other traces of gasoline or anything with the chemical structure of the Substance. I think I’ve drawn too much attention to Ted for Mr. Gideon to try again.”

  Hugo smiled again, “That’s good.”

  The doctor leaned back in her seat, leading into a long, awkward pause. Finally Dr. McFadden took a deep breath before speaking, “How are you? You look tired.”

  He waved his hand dismissively, looking over the small crowd gathered in the cafe, “A little. Just didn’t get enough sleep.”

  Crysta frowned, “Really Hugo, what’s wrong?”

  He cringed, finally returning his attention to her. It looked like he wasn’t going to get away with lying at all today. “Over the weekend I went to see an ex-employee of the company. Her name’s Madeline. She can see the future.”

  The doctor looked surprised, blinking a few times. Then she leaned slightly forward again, “What did she see?”

  “A few things…” Should he really be telling her this? He didn’t have enough information, but he couldn’t seem to keep his mouth shut. “An explosion. It decimates Seattle in a little under a year.” For several moments the doctor didn’t respond. He didn’t blame her. If he hadn’t seen it repeatedly himself, the destruction of an entire city seemed like an impossible prospect.

  “Why?” she said softly, finally managing to respond.

  “Don’t know yet. But it has something to do with Mr. Gideon. He’s the catalyst. At least according to Madeline.”

  The doctor nodded. Mr. Gideon causing devastation to others was not a foreign concept to her. “Can we change the future?”

  “I think so.”

  The doctor nodded resolutely, “Good. I’ll come to you if I find out anything that will help.”

  Hugo blinked, “T-thanks.”

  “And the other thing?”

  “Um…” Hugo glanced around the room. Squeezed his large paper cup. Took several sips from it. Set it down carefully. “I get shot in six weeks. At a concert.”

  She quickly touched his hand, her eyes wide, “No! I won’t let that happen!” He was looking over her shoulder at himself up on stage. He was walking towards the edge, bright lights on him. Someone started to move quickly through the crowd. The doctor, dressed in a black sweatshirt, hood up, followed. The shots barked loud and clear above the din of the crowd. He looked surprised, but nothing happened. The bullets hung like metal raindrops in the air, caught, and then they dropped harmlessly to the ground. And the doctor was there.

  Hugo smiled at Crysta, “I know.”

  “W-what?” The doctor stuttered.

  He tensed, “Nothing. I just mean I know you would be nice enough to help me.”

  The doctor blushed.