Kymiera

by Steve Turnbull

  ‘This it then?’ said Yates.

  ‘Obviously,’ said Lament. ‘Ellen Lomax is inside. In fact, if I am not much mistaken she’s peering through the curtains at us right now.’

  Yates glanced to his left. There was a momentary movement of what might once have been white net curtains.

  ‘Right, I won’t be long.’

  ‘Mitchell and Graham are a long way from here,’ said Lament. ‘I’ll honk the horn twice if they’re coming this way.’

  ‘Jesus,’ muttered Yates, as he climbed out of the car and slammed the door. ‘What a joker.’

  He didn’t have a hat and hadn’t brought an umbrella so pulled his collar up round his neck and looked about. There was nothing important here. There was a button for a bell and, on the off-chance, he pressed it. Unsurprisingly he heard nothing from inside but, through the frosted glass, he made out the darker shadow of someone heading towards the door.

  ‘Who is it?’ The voice of Ellen Lomax was thin and lacking in any substance.

  ‘Police, Mrs Lomax. If you wouldn’t mind letting me in, I have a few questions.’

  The figure behind the door did not move for a full count of five. There was the sound of the chain being unhooked and the turning of the key. Moments later she opened the door, and air barely warmer than outside moved gently across his skin.

  He glanced up at the rain then back at the woman in her threadbare dress. ‘Mind if I come in?’ The question was rhetorical. He stepped forward and she backed away, not scared, just letting him get past.

  He stood in the dark hallway as she shut the door, and sniffed. There was a strange odour about the place, a kind of animal smell but nothing he could identify. There had been no dog bounding up to the door or barking. Perhaps she had cats; little old women who lived alone often had cats.

  ‘Please, come through,’ she said, and led the way to the front room. If he had been expecting a room unchanged for thirty years he wasn’t disappointed. Strange really, she is only in her forties or fifties at most, He should have checked that.

  ‘Please, sit down, Mrs Lomax.’ Standard procedure was to get them sitting. He would remain standing so he controlled and dominated the room.

  She did so.

  ‘Thursday morning, you were at the junction of Barlow Moor Road and Maitland Avenue, opposite Southern Cemetery.’

  ‘Yes?’ She looked nervous, but then they always looked nervous. Everyone had secrets and they were usually unimportant.

  ‘Did anything of interest occur when you were on that corner, perhaps just before?’ He asked in the least leading way that he could.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘Can I make you a cup of tea?’

  He knew she couldn’t afford tea, let alone coffee, so he shook his head. ‘Perhaps a vehicle?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ she said.

  He decided to take a different tack. ‘What were you doing in the area at that time?’

  ‘Have I done something wrong?’

  ‘If you could just answer the question, Mrs Lomax.’

  She shifted slightly in the chair as if she was uncomfortable. ‘I was visiting my husband, and my son.’

  She must have noticed he was frowning because she added. ‘I try to visit them once a week, when I can get the timeslot. They died.’

  He nodded. She was someone who had lost her family during the bad times. Just another one of so many. The smell was bothering him. It was very strong and he couldn’t make out what it was. ‘Would you mind if I use your toilet?’ he said. ‘I’m afraid I’ve been on the move all day.’

  His question resulted in her rubbing her hands together and hesitating—whatever she was hiding must be upstairs. He could see she desperately wanted to refuse him but it was not something you could deny, especially to a policeman.

  ‘Upstairs,’ she said in a rush. ‘Keep going round to the left, it’s at the front.’ He knew he wouldn’t have time to do any kind of a search—it wasn’t as if she was being kept busy by his partner—so he would have to be quick.

  The stairs were carpeted but it was worn like everything else. The same went for the landing. There were three doors in total: one to a small box room at the front which appeared to be the bedroom she used, and one other door that was shut tight. It was locked. The final one was the bathroom.

  The smell was definitely stronger up here.

  He checked through the bathroom cabinet which contained the barest minimum you might expect. There was an immersion water heater in an airing cupboard. Stone cold. At least she still had running water and the toilet worked. There was nothing here that suggested anything other than a little old lady. So what could she be hiding? Maybe she had the dead bodies of her son and husband in the bedrooms. Maybe that was the smell. He gave a little laugh. No, after all this time they wouldn’t smell at all.

  He came back downstairs and took a quick glance into the kitchen. It was clean and there was no obvious evidence she was feeding anybody else, and that included the lack of animal bowls on the floor. No pets.

  ‘Well, that’s it for now, Mrs Lomax,’ he said loudly from the hall. She came bustling out.

  ‘You don’t have anything else to ask me?’ The look of relief on her face was obvious.

  ‘Not for now,’ he said casually. ‘Just routine. You didn’t notice the van then.’

  The hunted look reappeared on her face. ‘Van?’

  He wandered to the front door.

  ‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘The van that was carrying the kidnapped girl, Melinda Vogler.’

  A look of horror crossed her face as she absorbed that information. ‘But,’ he said, ‘if you didn’t notice anything it doesn’t matter.’

  By the time Yates had got back into the car and settled himself, the front door was shut and Ellen Lomax was cut off from the world again. Yates glanced at the door of her house as the car pulled away.

  ‘Did she see the van?’ asked Lament.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Yates, ‘she saw it, and she is hiding something significant. At least it’s important to her. So important she’s lying to the police.’

  Chapter 12

  Chloe

  She felt numb. Her mother had made her a high-strength coffee, the sort they only kept for special occasions. Chloe had protested.

  ‘This is a very special occasion,’ her mother had said. But she didn’t make one for herself, or for Chloe’s dad. He sat on the other side of the table while her mother sat beside her. The conversation had been stilted. Chloe couldn’t understand what he was thinking, or rather she completely understood it, but how could he be like that?

  At the earliest opportunity she escaped to her room. She said it was because she was tired and ached. And that wasn’t even a lie. In truth she needed to get away from her father and the broken affection that lay on the table between them.

  But now she could not even lie down as the events of the previous night ran through her head in a loop. She paced back and forth. The men who tried to take her, the men who had kidnapped Melinda. It was all buzzing away inside.

  She forced herself to sit at her desk facing the terminal. The names of her three friends directly in front of her. Normally she would have clicked the button that connected all four of them but one of them was Melinda and she could not bear to think of the pain she would cause Melinda’s mother if she rang in like that.

  Instead she selected Ashley and Kavi separately, and called them.

  The borders around the images of her friends quivered and the sound of the two subdued bell tones rang out. She waited. She did not think it was her imagination that the time they took to answer was longer than usual.

  Ashley’s face appeared first. She was looking off to the side and Chloe thought she probably had a drink in her hand—she knew that Ashley drank alcohol. Her mum and dad let her. Under the circumstances, who could blame her?

  ‘Hey,’ said Chloe.

  Ashley flashed her smile, her teeth were perfect. ‘Hey,’ Ashley looked a
s if she was studying Chloe’s face. ‘Wow, you look really rough.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Chloe’s face moved to the side and Kavi materialised in the space. ‘Oh my god, Chloe, what happened?’

  Chloe really didn’t feel like talking about it, she just wanted to see them to remind herself what reality was. But she knew her friends deserved some sort of explanation. So she related the details once more, just as she had to the police on more than one occasion, and her mother. It was at that point she realised her dad hadn’t even asked.

  ‘And they let you out of quarantine?’ said Ashley. Chloe wasn’t sure but it almost sounded accusing, as if it was unfair that she should be allowed out immediately after being in contact with a freak.

  ‘Yeah, they did.’

  ‘The Purity must be going soft.’ This time there was no question, she was pissed off.

  ‘Look, Ash, I didn’t get any say in it. My guess is they want the kidnappers to try again.’

  Ashley looked suitably horrified at the idea, but Kavi nodded her head. ‘Yes, that’s exactly what they would do. You’re bait.’

  ‘Shit,’ said Ashley.

  The three of them sat in silence for a few moments. Kavi looked concerned but then that was a natural state for her face. Chloe felt herself withdrawing into herself again.

  ‘So you totally beat them off,’ said Ashley. ‘That’s awesome.’

  Chloe blinked, was it really possible that Ashley was thinking of someone else except herself? It hardly seemed likely.

  ‘We got some extra homework today,’ said Ashley. ‘I was wondering...’

  Chloe burst out laughing, and Kavi was not far behind. Ashley looked surprised, and slightly hurt.

  ‘Why are you laughing?’

  It was still early evening but Chloe changed into her pyjamas, wrapped her dressing gown around her, and headed into the bathroom.

  Ashley’s right, she thought as she stared in the mirror. She really did look terrible. If her skin had been white she would look deathly pale, but the bruise on the side of her face was deep purple. The whole of her right arm ached, and the shoulder on that side looked twice as big as her left where it was inflamed.

  She stepped onto the scales. They were an old mechanical set because the battery powered one was so hard to recharge. The numbers spun and finally settled. She stared. It was registering at slightly under three stone. She did the calculations in her head: nineteen kilos. There must be something wrong with them. She stepped off.

  Her back was still aching—it had never stopped despite the manipulation, and now the painkillers. She tried to stretch her arms to relieve it but too much movement just made it hurt more.

  She wanted to look at her back and there was a way. The small cabinet above the wash basin was mirrored and if she angled it just right, it reflected the image from the full-length mirror. It took a few moments of fiddling and then she tried to twist to make the bathroom light cast shadows to show where there were bumps. It didn’t look good; her right shoulder blade looked far smoother and more rounded than it should be. And, if she wasn’t much mistaken, there were a couple of small lumps either side of her spine. That must have happened when she landed hard inside the carriage.

  There was no point worrying about it; it would take time to heal and she would just have to put up with it until then.

  Chapter 13

  Jason

  After the policeman had left, Jason Lomax climbed back through his window into his room and lay on his bed. He could smell the man. Not just his general scent but every detail of what he’d eaten that day, the car he had been sitting in and hints of the people he had met. Including the woman he had been with, who was so distinct Jason would know her if she was close.

  But the man’s scent made Jason want to run. He represented everything Jason was afraid of. Policemen were death.

  Of course, his mother had fussed over him once she was sure they were safe. She had waited half an hour before she started moving around. She had explained to Jason more times than he could remember about how she had the chip in her head which meant those in power could track her every move. He was not entirely sure how true that was; could they really tell exactly where everyone was all of the time?

  It was clear enough they couldn’t tell where he was.

  He had planned to go back to the fights tonight. They were busier at the weekends which made it that much easier to pick pockets, and collect physical money. It would take him over three hours to make the trip since he had to do it on foot, while avoiding any person or machine that might notice that he did not have a riffy.

  He didn’t go downstairs to eat when his mother called him. He listened to her plaintive calls but ignored them. It wasn’t that he didn’t love his mother, no, it was the reverse. All he had was his guilt for depriving her of food all these years. That was why he went out to find his own, and why he refused to eat the little that was provided for her by the state.

  As the light began to fade around four o’clock, he got up and dressed in his outdoor gear. He stood by the window and watched as the sun went down. The sun was his enemy; it was only at night he could risk walking among others without them seeing his face.

  He opened the window, slipped out, and closed it tight behind him.

  The air was cold and his clothes were thin, but he didn’t really feel it. His destination was almost due north from his mother’s house in Burnage, up the east side of Manchester through empty estates that stood like lakes of houses with residents living in clumps like islands. He knew intellectually, at one time, the place had been teeming, but it was not something he could really imagine. Besides he wasn’t one of them. He didn’t weep for the loss of humankind. If any of the few people he passed on the way had even the slightest inkling of his nature their only thought would be to kill him. Or, at best, run.

  What was it that guy who smelled like a dog said? Jason was like them, they were like each other? That they were freaks, but not freaks?

  Others? More than just the dog?

  Jason knew he wasn’t one of those S.I.D monsters because, if he had been, he would have died 16 years ago, and probably his mother too. He had been born like this and, in some ways, he couldn’t even understand why his mother had not abandoned him. Sometimes he wished she had.

  Once past the area known as Hyde, it was uphill all the way. Not that it was particularly steep, and there were a few dips, but this was the way into the hills and the land just kept rising. The quality of the roads changed too; the ones further down at least got some repairs, but up here there were only the farms, and agricultural machines did not need decent roads.

  Finally he reached the ancient industrial estate converted for the ancient human pleasure of watching animals fight and kill each other. It disgusted him.

  He entered by the same route through the ceiling, as before. There was no action; it was too early. So he waited, resting on the cold girder as the frigid night seeped through his skin.

  He might have dozed because when he came back to full awareness the noise level had increased dramatically. A fight was in progress though he was not in the right place to see it. All he could hear were the cheers and jeers of the spectators intermingled with grunts and slobbering mouth movements of something vile.

  The floor below was full, the men packed tight.

  Jason was stiff from being stuck so long in one position. The air was less cold but it stank of human sweat, and base desire. He paused. Was it too busy? He didn’t like crowds. He shrugged off the concern. Denser crowds made it easier; he could reach through a gap and rifle through a pocket. If they felt anything they would just put it down to the crowd. And if they realised what was happening he would already be away before any alarm could be raised.

  Just as he had two days earlier, he made his way along the central girder to the far end of the building above the latrines—that smelled even worse—and the rooms for the women.

  The toilets were empty and he descended
into a cubicle. He pulled his hoodie over his head to ensure his face was in shadow and slipped out into the melee.

  He did not push into the densest part of the crowd; there was not enough room to move. He kept just within the edges where the spectators were like particles of matter. They detached from the main group and gravitated to the tables. Or the other way. The density of the crowd’s edge was enough to keep him hidden, but not enough to stop him from working.

  As far as he could tell, the other one—the one who had spoken to him—was not here. Jason would not risk coming back another day. He would find other fights where he could pillage the pockets of stupid humans. There was no end of them.

  Jason squeezed between two men shouting at the cage, their voices hoarse, their bodies sweaty and stinking. He glanced ahead from the shadows of his hood. A man was looking in his direction—no, he realised with a shock, the man was looking directly at him. A yellow armband marked him as security. Jason allowed the two men to squeeze him back the way he had come. Their bodies closing up to hide him.

  He needed to leave.

  His heart sped up. The world slowed down. He had been moving away from his usual exit. Jason whipped round to head back. The movement of the bodies around him became a slow dance. Without conscious thought he calculated their positions and their motions—at least, as far as he could see.

  A gap was opening deeper into the crowd, more or less in the direction he wanted to go. He moved into it, knowing that as far as the normal humans were concerned he was barely more than a blur. If he avoided contact there was no reason for them to notice him.

  The trick he had played on the one that smelled like a dog—grabbing the pie from his pocket—was something he had practised when he was young to make his mother laugh. Before he realised how different he truly was.

  He jumped as a drone scooted across the room, floating above the milling crowds. It paused close to where he was, and a glance up showed the glint of a camera lens pointed at him.