by Chris Parker
Now he was watching Samuel’s son as intently as he had ever watched anyone in his entire life. His mind and senses were once again fully under his control.
Finally Ethan spoke. He turned his back on the gold framed mirror hanging on the dining room wall and looked down at the floor as he said, ‘You cannot imagine what every day is like for me. Whenever I hear a sound – any sound – I see colours and firework shapes. They move in the air. Some fizz, some explode, some dance before they disappear. When I hear or read words I get a taste sensation on my tongue. A different taste for different word sounds. The associations are very specific. They never change. Number sequences exist in space around me. For example, the number four is always very close, to my right, just here,’ his hand reached up to just in front of his right shoulder, ‘whereas the number six is always several paces away directly in front of me. And I remember everything. Easily. I don’t know how to forget.’ He turned to face Marcus. ‘Now do you understand why I think your skills are so limited compared to mine? Why I find your arrogance so despicable?’
Marcus saw for the first time the true nature of Ethan’s experience. He saw it with a clarity that made his back straighten despite the tape that held him tight.
He said, ‘What you have just described isn’t a skill Ethan. It isn’t a skill because you can’t control it. Like all synesthetes, you experience automatic, involuntary responses. I’ve trained all my life to recognise patterns, to make or change associations deliberately. However acute your senses, they are the result of your genetic hardwiring, of some unique neural connections in your brain, not of training and study. Essentially, however you experience words or sounds or numbers, you suffer from a pronounced form of sensory overload. The clue is in the name, synaesthesia. It comes from the Greek for the words “together’ and “sensation”. You might be able to see and hear things in ways that most people cannot, but that doesn’t make you a genius Ethan. When push comes to shove, you’re just a killer who can see colours that others can’t.’
‘And you, for all of your clever words, are a man who is going to die tonight.’ Ethan looked at his watch. ‘Soon.’
He moved past Marcus and reached into his brown leather bag. Marcus twisted his head, desperate to watch what was happening. He couldn’t turn far enough. He was able, though, to use the mirror. The sight of the tools and the clothing filled him with dread. He had never really considered before just how Ethan had gone about his work. The answer sent him scurrying back into the front of his mind, into the skin on his face, into his beating heart.
Marcus fought to regain control of his breathing. He reminded himself as the fear tried to scramble his thoughts that for words to have the desired influence they had to be delivered on the most appropriate breath. That breath had to be delivered from the most appropriate place. And it had to be controlled.
The weight of the drill as it thumped down onto the table top sent shock waves through him that, paradoxically, drew him into his flesh, pulled him into the very part of his being that was about to be broken apart.
Marcus knew that he had to get back into the deeper recesses of his mind, into the so-called reptilian brain. Into the one part of him that Ethan Hall could not touch. Marcus tried once again to shift himself there. It felt like he was trying to force himself through a dense, resistant fog.
And then he looked at the window, at the space between the curtains, and for a brief second he imagined that he saw Anne-Marie‘s terrified face peering in. He saw her as clearly as if she was really there. It was a pattern interrupt powerful enough to change his perspective, to let him rush suddenly into the safety of his subconscious.
Ethan said, ‘The gulf is so wide, isn’t it, between an intellectual understanding and the cold reality of metal?’
Marcus resisted the temptation to look at the chisel, at the razor-sharp scalpel delicate by comparison. Instead he eased a gentle smile across his face. ‘You see my arrogance so easily, so completely, so do you not…’ He took a deliberate and lengthy in-breath. He could see that Ethan was drawn in by the unfinished question and the unexpected calmness of his delivery. ‘When you look into a mirror do you not see your own colours? After all, even an explorer must address his own reflection. So tell me, Ethan, do you not wish to explore the colours you create? Do they not repulse you at least as much as mine? Or are they more vile than even a shit-eating insect?’
Ethan’s eyes flashed towards the mirror. It was only the briefest glance. It was enough to give Marcus hope.
‘So they are unbearable,’ he said. ‘You do at least recognise yourself for what you are. You do at least –‘
Marcus stopped abruptly, creating silence instead of completion. He watched Ethan struggle to ignore the question that had popped into his mind. Marcus waited until the precise instant he had managed to rid himself of it and then he spoke again, increasing his hold on the killer’s attention.
‘No wonder you have never been able to have a relationship with another human being. I guess the nearest you ever came to it was with your father. Only eventually you saw colours in him that you hated also, didn’t you? That’s why you had to leave. Isn’t it?’ Marcus saw confirmation in Ethan’s face. He continued quickly. ‘I wonder if nature sees you as clearly as you believe you can see Her? I wonder if animals recognise you for what you are? I wonder if the willow tree senses you somehow? If it screamed silently when you tore off the branch? I wonder these things Ethan. I wonder these things as I feel the mirror tugging on your shoulders, daring you to turn round and look deep inside. Don’t you feel it, too, Ethan? Don’t you? Feel the mirror pulling you round. Now.’
Ethan turned. He stared into the eyes of his reflection, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly.
Then the killer roared.
54.
Within five minutes of the press conference ending Peter Jones was in the Audi and heading home. He needed to freshen up, a quick wash and a change of shirt, before beginning what promised to be a very long evening.
Nic was in the kitchen when Peter walked in. He was making a pasta dish using tagliatelle, salmon, red chillies and tomatoes. It was clear at a glance that his heart was not in it.
‘Didn’t expect to see you tonight,’ he said, his face registering briefly the unexpected pleasure he felt. It was replaced swiftly by the mixture of resignation and concern that had dominated his mood for the last few days. They hugged. Peter stepped back first. ‘You look and feel stressed,’ Nic said. ‘Has it been a bad day?’
Peter nodded. ‘So far, so bad. I’m going nowhere fast. That means I’m going backwards. Marcus is being, quite literally, immoveable. And, tragically, we have another victim.’ Peter hesitated. It was clear from Nic’s response that he hadn’t seen or heard the news. Peter knew what effect Simon’s death would have on his partner. Nic had met Simon several times and had taken an instinctive liking to the young man.
‘It was Simon Westbury,’ Peter said. ‘Earlier today.’
Nic’s mouth opened. He tried and failed to blink back tears.
Peter wanted to hold and comfort him. He wanted to cry, too. The DCI, however, didn’t have time for either. ‘I have to keep going,’ he said. Before either could move, Peter’s mobile phone rang. The very last person he expected a call from was Anne-Marie Wells.
‘Sweetheart?’
‘Peter! Oh, thank God! I don’t know what I’d have done if you’d not answered! I can hardly…I’m so scared, I –‘
‘- It is me! You’ve got me!’ Peter cut her short. ‘Tell me what’s happening!’
‘Ok. Ok. Sorry.’ Peter heard Anne-Marie fighting for control. ‘It’s Marcus. I came back. I parked the car on the street. I never do, but he always comes out and I needed to walk into the house by myself and so I parked on the street and walked up the drive and the curtains were pulled together and he never does that, not until the last thing at night, so I looked
inside and he was there and so was Ethan and he was –’
‘What’s happened to Marcus?’
The tone in his voice cut through Anne-Marie’s hysteria. She gasped and took a step back. The way Peter delivered his question – actually it felt more like a command that had reached through the phone and slapped her in the face – revealed a part of him she had never experienced before. Even in her current state Anne-Marie recognised that there was something frightening about the sudden absolute focus he had turned on her.
Nic saw it, too. He found it even more shocking. Logically he had always known that there had to be a part of Peter’s personality – the part that loved to hunt, challenge and confront dangerous criminals – he had never met. Logically it had to exist. Emotionally, Nic had trained himself to avoid thinking about it too much. Now he was encountering it for the first time. Even watching from the sidelines he could feel its power. He could actually see it growing as Peter listened to Anne-Marie. Her words were the catalyst for the transformation he was witnessing. Nic froze, every instinct he possessed telling him to keep still and to remain silent.
Suddenly Peter spoke again. It was to Anne-Marie first. ‘You are absolutely certain that is what you saw? And no one saw you? You’re sure of that? Right. So now I want you to keep your back to the house and walk to the end of the street, the end where the roundabout is. Do you understand? No! You only do what I tell you! Do anything else and you will get yourself and Marcus killed! Do you understand? Good! Then all you will do now is walk to the roundabout and stay there and a uniformed officer will be with you very quickly. From then on you just do whatever he tells you. Are you walking now? Then start! That’s it. Good. Now repeat back to me what I’ve just told you to do. Good. Only do what I’ve just told you. Only that. I will know as soon as the officer is with you. And I will keep you safe. Yes, I will keep Marcus safe, too. Now I have to go. I’m going to hand my phone over to Nic. He will stay on the line with you until the officer arrives.’
The Peter-who-Nic-had-never-seen-before turned to face him. In that moment Nic knew that his instincts had been right. The man he loved was also someone else.
This.
A predator. Deliberate and irresistible once fixed on his target. The instant before Peter spoke again, Nic remembered a film he had seen of a giant komodo dragon walking along a beach towards its prey, its tongue flicking out checking the air for cues, its very being totally devoid of doubt.
‘It all ends tonight,’ Peter said, passing the phone to Nic. If he was at all aware of the way his partner was looking at him, he didn’t show it. ‘This is vital. Anne-Marie is on the phone. You will talk to her and make sure that she walks to where I just directed her. You will make sure that she stays there until an officer joins her and speaks to you. Before he does, you will get Anne-Marie to confirm that a uniformed officer is with her and no one else. Clear?’
Nic nodded. He raised the phone to his ear and said, ‘Anne-Marie?’ Even to him his voice sounded shaky.
Peter turned away and strode into the lounge. He used the house phone to call the Force Control Room. He knew the Duty Inspector. The two talked in the clipped, precise and functional language only ever used by professionals committed to working under the most extreme pressure.
The Force Control Room despatched firearms units to life-critical situations. A unit was about to be despatched to Marcus and Anne-Marie’s home.
‘A silent approach,’ Peter instructed, meaning that neither sirens nor lights should be deployed.
‘Absolutely.’ The Inspector confirmed.
‘Good. I’m on my way to the address as soon as we finish talking.’
‘Of course. The team will do its job.’
‘I know.’ Peter hung up. He glanced briefly at Nic who was looking pale but was still on the phone. He nodded. His partner managed the weakest of smiles in return.
Peter set off towards his prey.
55.
Ethan Hall roared with a mixture of anger and hatred and fear. It came from the very deepest recesses of his stomach. It filled him with energy. It took him away from the mirror and back to the man he had saved until last.
Marcus Kline felt the killer’s energy exploding out of him as a tangible force. He felt it rushing against his face and chest, crushing him briefly.
It was several seconds before either man was able to speak.
Ethan won the race.
‘I taught myself how to hypnotise people,’ he said. ‘I didn’t realise it is what I was doing at first. I just watched how my words influenced them, affected their mood, changed their colours. When you can actually see what works and what doesn’t the learning process is so much faster. The end result is so much more powerful.
‘Once I realised how easy it was for me, I began experimenting. I practiced changing their state without ever talking to them directly, or by whispering so quietly that their conscious mind didn’t even realise I had penetrated it. I had to, you see. I had your example in front of me. You showed me what my gift could be used for, what I was meant to be the best at. Only I learnt very quickly that I could never pretend to help them. What is the point of trying to change lives built on caves? There is none. Other than a desire for profit and reputation. And I need neither. I just need to continue my search.
‘I will hypnotise you in a moment. Very deeply.’ He gestured without looking towards the mirror, ‘That was your last throw of the dice. Even though I could see what you were doing, for a few seconds you almost…Well, it was an interesting experience for me. Thank you.’
Marcus opened his mouth to speak. Ethan raised his left hand. ‘No! No more words from you. No more words ever again. Do you understand? I promised I will kill you painlessly and I will. But if you utter even one more syllable I will break both of your hands with this.’ He picked up the hammer. ‘And that would be needless suffering. Clear?’ Marcus nodded. ‘Good. You don’t need to ask your questions for me to know them. More than that, I will answer them for you now. It’s appropriate don’t you think that your final moments of consciousness should be spent listening?’
Ethan replaced the hammer on the table. He patted Marcus lightly on his right shoulder. Instantly he lost all sensation in his lower body.
‘We’ll move the loss of feeling upwards bit by bit,’ Ethan said, ‘Until it reaches right up to your scalp. A bit like the sea rolling in. That, of course, makes you my version of King Canute. Impotent and misguided.’ He smiled. ‘Now, let’s bring this lesson to a close by telling you the final two things I want you to know. Firstly, let me explain about the others. As I’m sure you realised, after the first one – and he was a nobody, just a rehearsal – I selected them because I knew you would recognise the pattern, that we could have our private communication that no one else would either recognise or understand. Also, of course, I knew their deaths would hurt you. And whilst I have no desire to cause you physical pain I very much wanted to make you suffer psychologically. I wanted you to feel the pain of your responsibility in all of this. And you do feel that pain, don’t you?’
Marcus nodded again. He couldn’t feel his stomach. He was beginning to sweat.
‘Good. However, it wasn’t just malice on my part,’ Ethan continued. ‘You see, I knew Paul Clusker well. I had tended his garden for many years. I had in fact transformed it on his behalf. He told me that what I achieved was almost magical.’ Ethan smiled. ‘I needed to know if I understood him as well as I believed I did. So I had to look. Inside. I was pleased to find that my insight was accurate.
‘Simon was an even more necessary part of my study. I had to explore him before you. As I told you earlier, I have seen our world – the most important depths of our world, the greatest power in our world – dancing before my very eyes. When I looked into their brains Marcus, I saw it! I saw the ultimate! I saw the subconscious! That’s what I was looking for. Can you imagine that? I’ve s
een the differences between people. I’ve seen the similarities, too. I’ve been able to compare, Marcus, and tonight I am going to compare them – Simon especially, after all you were training him – with you, with the man who preaches about the power of the subconscious, who claims to know and use it better than anyone else. I am going to see how different the genius is from his protégé!
‘There. Now you know everything. Your lesson has simply been in understanding why I am doing this and in recognising how flawed you really are. Your lesson is now complete. My learning is just about to begin.’
It was over. Marcus knew that. His heart was still beating, but he couldn’t feel his chest, arms or hands. The question, of course, was pulsing inside his head so hard that it hurt. He gritted his teeth and refused to let it out. It wasn’t his fear of the hammer that stopped him from asking. It was pride. One last act of self-control. He had nothing else.
Marcus watched in silence as the younger man put on the lab coat and gloves.
‘Even if you did ask me,’ Ethan said, ‘I wouldn’t tell you. You want to know what the subconscious looks like. It never crossed your mind, or anyone else’s, that it could be seen. Now you know that it can. By the right person. And you are desperate to know just what I saw. Of course you are. How could you not be?
‘I could tell you simply that it is so amazing that words cannot do it justice. I could tell you that. Only why would I lie to you. I could talk to you now, paint you the pictures, and help you to see it in your mind’s eye. Only why would I? You don’t deserve it. Not you or anyone else. It’s my prize and mine alone. I watched it change, Marcus, as I spoke to it. I watched it respond. I gave it permission to stop them living, to end their lives. I watched how it created and managed that great transition. Now I am going to see what you have to show me. This is my time now, not yours. I suggest you close your eyes. This is going to get very messy.’