Trance

by Southward, Adam

  He found four more soldiers in the dorm, ripping the bunks apart and tossing the bedding on the floor. His own mattress was in a heap and he howled with anguish, jumping over and under the scattered sheets, searching for his writing.

  The soldiers looked on in amusement and teased him, but Victor knew better than to confront them. He wasn’t good enough to take them all on, and they had weapons. Even if he could tackle one of them, the others would step in and he’d be shot. After a last, frantic look around he left the room having failed to find his precious stories. Stepping out into the corridor, he spied a wad of papers shoved behind the door. He checked the soldiers weren’t looking then picked the papers up, hoping it was his stories, swept there by mistake.

  It wasn’t. It was some sort of staffing list. The doctors and their assistants. Lists of people and information. Victor was disappointed, but shoved the bundle down his trousers. He might be able to reuse the paper for something.

  He managed to hold back the tears as he was led out of the building, towards the courtyard.

  Two army trucks reversed through the main gate and stopped. The trucks were dark green with canvas tops and huge tyres. The children were lined up behind one and the supervisors and doctors behind the other. The children watched in silence as the orphanage staff were herded into the truck by a handful of soldiers. Any who protested were beaten hard with the butt of a rifle. One doctor collapsed, unconscious, and he was lifted into the truck.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said one of the soldiers to the children. ‘They are wicked. Don’t concern yourselves.’

  But Victor was concerned. They must know about us, Victor thought, or at least suspect. He watched the eyes of the soldiers and knew what he saw. They were jittery, scared, and had the look of those about to commit an awful act. He’d seen the look many times before, in his friends and in the doctors.

  The smiling soldier appeared and asked the children to jump into the other truck. We have a long drive, he said, but we’ll give you food, drink and blankets, yes? Victor stood back while the younger children jumped on, some trying to hug the soldiers as they passed. A couple of soldiers tentatively hugged back, but received orders to return to the building. A bonfire was being lit in the corner of the courtyard and all of the bedding and files were being thrown on to it.

  Victor looked on in agony. His stories would be in there, burning. Never to be read.

  He was the last to climb on, and he sat on the edge of the bench as the truck revved its foul-smelling engine and lurched off into the night.

  Several children screamed. Some with excitement, some with fear. Victor agreed with the latter. He didn’t believe for one second they were going anywhere nice. He knew this was the end.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Nearly three decades later, the screams had faded, but they hadn’t disappeared. As Victor woke in his cell, the morning sounds seeping through the walls, the memories stung and he could taste the cold air he’d gulped back that night, many years ago.

  His path was blurred, and as daylight hid his visions of the past, his urges reared their vicious heads, taunting him into action.

  His search was nearly complete. He’d kept the papers he’d found on the floor of his dormitory – the personnel records of the staff working at the orphanage. Years of surviving and hiding had finally led him here to England, and yet his sickness was increasing. Every time he used his ability now, to push, influence or to hurt, he fell violently ill. The headaches had always been there, since he was young, but now the nausea came in waves and his head throbbed, ready to explode. And his ability departed – suppressed, unusable, dormant – until he’d recovered.

  His imprisonment was a distraction, if inevitable, after his actions at the university. The stampede in his head had turned into a catastrophic migraine-like pain, which throbbed until his vision narrowed at the edges. He was so weak he could barely move, let alone resist. They’d taken him and they’d placed him here. Days had passed. How many? It was still a blur.

  The men who’d taunted him in his cell, they had to learn and they had to die. They tried to control him, reminding him of his time at Comăneşti, when he’d had no choice but to submit to the will of those physically stronger than him. Not any more. He’d lost his temper with the first, and was disgusted at the second, who had bragged about what he’d done – the lives he had ruined. Victor listened intently before giving both their freedom from this prison. Perhaps not the freedom they would have chosen for themselves, but he forgave them as they died.

  But they’d set him back even further. Those two acts had caused a violent sickness which lasted days. He’d vomited for three hours after the second prisoner had died.

  It worried him, and so did the arrival of this new doctor, the rude psychologist who’d stuck his head in and attempted his pathetic assessment. He looked oddly familiar, but Victor couldn’t place him. Perhaps he was imagining things, but something nagged at his gut. His gut was often right, and he sensed his hand was being forced. Victor was done with being forced, and he knew how to handle people who tried. If a new doctor appeared, he’d been told to come, which was bad news. It wouldn’t be a coincidence, and for Victor it meant only one thing.

  He sat up on the bed. It creaked. The cell stank. It had stunk from day one, but today he noticed it for the first time. It was poor, unhealthy, and it wouldn’t help him concentrate. He had so much to do.

  He was feeling better now, and he made up his mind as he sat on the toilet. The guards were pliable. He’d already tested several and found them susceptible with little effort. He would do what was necessary. The list was in his head. The ones he’d managed to find. Who they were and where they lived.

  They didn’t know he was coming. They should never have left him alive.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The carpet had been a light blue, before the blood. Now it was magenta, a growing patch of bright colour surrounding the bodies. Mother and daughter, face down. His failure, his doing, but all he could see was the carpet.

  The image screamed at him, repeating, insistent, until Alex woke. The screaming pulsed, vibrated, and transformed into a distant ringing. It stopped for a few seconds then began again. The ringing washed the dream from Alex’s mind until it faded away, back into the box, ready for next time.

  Alex shuffled on to his elbows. Jane had gone. He had a vague recollection of her saying she’d be out early in the morning.

  His mobile rang again. He picked it up from the bedside table. It was Robert.

  He stared at it for a few seconds then put it down. He reached into the drawer for a Xanax and crunched the small pill between his teeth. Better. Or at least he would be in a few minutes.

  ‘Robert,’ he said, answering at the next ring, ‘I—’

  ‘You need to come in,’ said Robert.

  ‘I will,’ said Alex hearing the stressed tone of Robert’s voice, wondering how much Robert had deduced about his meeting with Victor. Had Victor talked?

  ‘You need to get here now,’ said Robert, his voice sounding hoarse.

  ‘I’ll be in soon,’ said Alex. ‘Why the urgency?’

  ‘It’s Lazar,’ said Robert. Alex could hear him breathing heavily on the other end. ‘He’s gone.’

  Alex sat up straighter, controlling the rush of adrenaline. He thought carefully before responding.

  ‘Gone where?’

  ‘Gone. Escaped,’ said Robert. ‘He walked out the bloody front door. I think we need to talk, don’t you?’

  Two hours later, Alex sat at a tatty desk with Robert and Sophie, grasping a cup of the inevitable coffee. The news of Victor’s escape was sinking in, and he was trying to suppress his anxiety and the feeling that he was to blame. He stared at a brown envelope that Robert had passed him on the way in. It held his new photo ID. Probably too late, he reflected. He doubted he’d be here much longer.

  He couldn’t have known Victor’s intentions. Victor had warned him to stay away, but he didn’t indicate
any plans for escape. Alex tried to convince himself that admitting what had happened in Victor’s cell wouldn’t help matters. All it would do was confirm Victor’s inexplicable ability, and it would seal Alex’s fate, removing him from the case, which wouldn’t help anyone.

  The office was a flurry of activity, guards shouting at each other and into their phones as the damage was assessed.

  Sophie stared at him. Their eyes met for a second, both of them pulling a brief, strained smile, before hers darted away. She was agitated, troubled, although she still managed to look stunning, her hair tied back in a ponytail, a few wisps escaping on to her face. Alex dragged his eyes from her towards Robert, judging himself for being so shallow. It wasn’t just physical though. Sophie’s behaviour stirred something in him, an interest he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He tried to shut it out. Now was not the time.

  ‘The guard duty received orders last night to move Victor out of segregation into the main block,’ said Robert.

  ‘Why?’ said Alex.

  ‘The governor is keeping her thoughts to herself.’

  ‘But she ordered it?’ Alex frowned, and bit the inside of his mouth.

  ‘Apparently,’ said Robert. His face was red, flustered. ‘Victor asked to meet her. Nobody thought to check with me.’

  ‘Why aren’t the police here?’ said Alex, raising his voice over the cacophony of guards, who were having their own significant argument about protocol violations at the other end of the office.

  ‘They were,’ said Robert. ‘They left.’ He glared at Alex. ‘They’ll be back. They want a full workup at our end, but they’re following their own procedures now Victor’s on the outside.’ He eyed Alex with dissatisfaction and Alex swallowed hard, aware he was not proving very helpful so far.

  ‘CCTV?’ said Alex. ‘How did he just walk out?’

  Robert huffed, his shirt straining at the buttons. ‘What happened between you two in his cell?’

  Alex inhaled deeply, consciously slowing his heart rate. He fixed his eyes on Robert, not looking away. ‘Nothing happened. He didn’t offer much, and like I said, I found the cell too claustrophobic, so I left.’

  Robert held his stare for a few seconds. ‘He’s been here less than three weeks. You turn up and he’s gone within days.’

  Alex blustered. ‘What the hell are you getting at?’

  ‘He didn’t talk about getting out? To you? You didn’t make any promises?’

  ‘No,’ said Alex. ‘I would have mentioned it, obviously.’

  ‘His emotional state? You left him calm?’

  Alex shook his head. ‘Nothing I was concerned about.’

  Robert huffed, but his face dropped. He breathed out a couple of times and took his pulse, holding his wrist for fifteen seconds.

  ‘My GP says I need to watch it,’ he said. ‘Look, I have a hundred calls to make. Sophie can show you what CCTV footage we do have, but there’s nothing of note. The police already have copies. Victor didn’t hurt anyone this time. He simply walked through the doors, which had all been unlocked, until he was in the visitation hall. He waited for five minutes or so before a guard let him out through the visitors’ entrance. It was over an hour before his absence was noticed and we followed protocol from there.’

  Alex raised his eyebrows, wanting Robert to say it. Not wanting to voice it himself. ‘And the guards let him go?’

  ‘None of the guards remember seeing him,’ said Robert. ‘Nothing at all. It’s as if Victor was a ghost, or all the guards were blind. We’ve restricted the CCTV at the police’s request, but even the guards seen talking to Victor can’t remember doing so. Hence the shouting and general confusion in the office.’

  Robert eased his frame out of the chair, grabbing his mobile phone and shuffling off. Alex had no doubt the man was up to his neck in it, and Alex needed to ensure he wasn’t buried alongside him.

  Sophie stood. Alex followed her. They were out of earshot before she spoke again.

  ‘He didn’t hurt anyone,’ she said, in a low voice. They slowed and stopped outside the surveillance room.

  Alex was close enough to smell Sophie’s perfume. It was subtle, but strange, like everything else about her. He found himself taking a deep breath.

  ‘He just sauntered out,’ continued Sophie, knocking at the heavy door. She seemed angry.

  Alex forced himself back to reality as the door swung open. Sophie asked the surveillance guard to display footage of the escape. They sat and watched from various angles as Victor strolled through D block, C block, into A and visitation. He was stopped at one particular gate and spent forty-three seconds talking to the guard before the gate was unlocked for him.

  ‘Do you know these guards?’ said Alex.

  ‘Most of them,’ said Sophie, scanning back and forth through what little footage they had. ‘That’s Damian there – Simon’s pal.’

  ‘He’s in a few of these shots. Does he remember anything?’

  ‘I haven’t seen him,’ said Sophie. ‘It’s all gone a bit formal here. We seem to be getting the cold shoulder.’

  ‘Was your friend Simon on duty?’

  ‘No. He was off.’

  Alex nodded, but didn’t know what to say.

  Sophie leaned back and huffed. ‘What a mess,’ she whispered.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You were sceptical when you first arrived,’ said Sophie. ‘Not so much now.’

  Alex nodded, but resisted the urge to tell her why. He didn’t know Sophie well enough yet to trust her. She might run straight to Robert and his time here would be over. Besides, her behaviour still concerned him. There was something distinctly odd about the way Sophie reacted to Victor’s escape. She seemed annoyed, but more than that. Alex couldn’t put his finger on it.

  ‘But if he was able to do this all along,’ said Alex, pointing at the last grainy image of Victor’s back, ‘and let’s say that he was, then why did he come here at all? Why didn’t he just leave the scene of the crime in Southampton? He could have walked away and avoided spending any time in prison.’

  Sophie shrugged, examining the nails on her right hand before chewing at one of them.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘He was sick at first – after his arrest. They put it down to shock.’

  She looked up again and Alex found himself staring. Her eyes were dark and full of sorrow – until she smiled. She held his gaze for a few seconds before glancing at his mouth. Alex felt his stomach flutter.

  ‘Fancy a drink?’ she said.

  ‘I, er, sure,’ he said. Professional or personal, he wasn’t sure. He struggled to compose himself. ‘Tonight?’

  Sophie’s eyes widened. ‘I meant another coffee,’ she said, ‘back in the office.’ She shook her head and smiled, before walking off.

  Alex followed, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment, kicking himself for not reading the situation better. He’d shown he was as human as the next man. He hoped she wouldn’t hold it against him.

  It didn’t seem to bother Sophie, although her demeanour changed again as they headed to the main security block. After a few forced pleasantries with Simon, Sophie withdrew, biting her nails. She touched Alex softly on the arm. She looked frustrated, but covered it with a smile. She turned away and they headed back to the office.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The army trucks drove for a little under two hours before it started snowing, huge white flakes swirling around the canvas top and into the children’s faces, many of whom pulled blankets over their heads. Victor remained where he’d started, staring out at the road and the receding tyre marks. The trucks were forced to slow as the road became covered in slush and ice, and their headlights struggled to penetrate the blizzard conditions. There were shouts from the cabin as the truck slid and swerved around corners, but they didn’t stop.

  Victor was almost asleep when the truck suddenly jolted and veered off to the side. He reached out too late and his hand grabbed snowflakes as he tumbled from the back of t
he truck. He spun around twice in the air before landing in a thick blanket of snow which knocked the wind out of him. Otherwise uninjured, he gasped and spat, turning himself over to see what had happened.

  Fifty feet away he could see the brake lights of the truck as it skidded to a halt, having come off the road in a tight corner by a huge suspension bridge. Victor had landed near the edge of the road, and he peered over to see a sheer cliff face. He was lucky he hadn’t been thrown further.

  Doors slammed and the soldiers shouted. A few children cried out – perhaps others had fallen – and there were a few minutes of activity around the truck. He stayed where he was, creeping behind a thick bush when two soldiers with flashlights walked back along the road, casting their torches to and fro, calling out for the missing. They didn’t stray far from the truck, and after a few more shouted orders, the soldiers headed back and climbed into the cabin. The truck’s engine roared to life once more and Victor watched it disappear across the bridge.

  After a few cold moments, a voice permeated the air. It was crystal clear through the driving snow and wind.

  ‘Thirteen.’

  A child. Victor recognised him. He turned to see a boy staring through him, his right hand splayed, held out towards Victor. It was Luca, child nine, the boy who’d killed Laura. Victor knew him, and saw the threat immediately, closing his mind. He was swift and practised. There was no way in.

  ‘Thirteen, you should have stayed on the truck.’ The other boy assumed his superiority, which would work in Victor’s favour. He would leave cracks that could be exploited, chiselled, jammed open and used to his advantage.

  Victor smiled. He needed a little time, and a little distraction.

  ‘They’re all going to die, I think,’ said Victor, indicating the empty road where the truck had left them. ‘The soldiers were taking us somewhere. To kill us.’