Trance

by Southward, Adam

  The other boy frowned, perhaps annoyed at Victor’s attempt.

  ‘That’s why you should have stayed on it,’ said the boy. He shook his head and whispered, muttering to Victor, exploring his weaknesses.

  But he was too late. Victor was closed and wouldn’t be pliable to any form of attack. Victor whispered his own instructions and did what he knew he must do. He formed the words with care in his head, moulding the sequence together as he’d been taught. His eyes were fixed but his face was moving, morphing; expressions came and went as he teased his target and spoke his instructions. He adjusted his stance, bringing more power to bear. Feet forward, shoulders tilted, one dropped. He flicked one foot out, then back in. It added to the distraction, widened the cracks through which his words would enter. And enter they did.

  He saw it working. He whispered more gentle suggestions before raising his voice. He was in. Luca had, for all intents and purposes, lost.

  And he knew it.

  ‘Walk towards the bridge, Nine,’ said Victor, watching the flicker on the boy’s face grow with fear and panic. The boy’s eyes widened as he realised, too late, that it was over. In his haste to take Victor he’d neglected to protect himself. Victor had him and was sending him under.

  He pleaded as he backed towards the bridge and the sheer drop. His mind was taken and his body wasn’t his any more. He would have been in this situation many times during training. But he’d never lost.

  ‘You don’t need to do this, Thirteen. Please. We can survive together.’

  Victor strengthened his grasp. He kept his grip tight and bound Luca to him. He shook his head and voiced his command. ‘Turn towards the bridge, Nine. Walk to the edge.’

  Luca jerked, his feet shuffling. He groaned: a small, childlike whimper. Victor saw the tears appear on the boy’s cheeks.

  ‘At the edge, jump outwards over the cliff. You will fall to the bottom. It is your fate.’

  Luca’s face drained and his eyes glazed over. He was wholly under now, and Victor could see the struggle leaving his mind. The boy walked, dragging his feet to where the bridge met the cliff. He shuffled around the protective barrier to the edge. His feet slipped on the snow and loose stones.

  ‘Stop.’ Victor forced another command and the boy halted, inches from the cliff edge, swaying in the wind.

  ‘You killed Laura,’ Victor said, then with strengthened resolve, ‘it wasn’t your fault. Or mine. But I can’t forget.’

  Victor edged towards the boy. Luca pleaded, but it was too late. Victor had made his decision. As he gave his final push, he wanted to close his eyes, to hide the pain, but he didn’t. This was what life had become for him, and this is what he must deal with.

  Luca wouldn’t die because of Victor. He’d die because of what they’d done to them both – the doctors, the orderlies. The men and women in white coats who treated them like animals.

  Luca’s screams echoed across the mountains as his small body slipped and scraped down the side of the cliff. The wails cut off after a few seconds. Victor didn’t lean over to watch. He took no pleasure in killing the boy, but he knew only one of them was walking away tonight. He’d fought, just as he’d fought so many times before.

  Victor pulled his jumper around him and looked in all directions. The lights of a village shone in the near distance. He’d head there. He knew he couldn’t stay long, but he also knew he had nowhere else to go. He’d persuade somebody to take him in, feed him and hide him. They’d give him all their money and clothing and arrange for him to go somewhere else, somewhere more permanent.

  He trudged along the road, feet numb in the snow. Luca’s screams stayed with him for hours.

  He wondered if they’d ever go away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The next three hours were a blur. Alex was brought up to speed on the procedures involved after an escape. The police had Alex on a list of essential interviewees, but they deferred it while they spent their efforts outside the prison. The best chance of tracking Victor was in the first twenty-four hours. As soon as the trail went cold it would become much more difficult, involving a lengthy and costly investigation. They’d established a perimeter within the first precious hours and directed a search, but given the circumstances and the drip-feeding of only essential information out to the general force, their chances weren’t good. The consensus was that the immediate window for recapture had passed.

  Robert, Sophie and Alex were seen as the ones closest to the case, and therefore would make good scapegoats. No wonder Robert was so stressed. Alex had no intention of taking the blame for this, but he struggled to piece together in his own head what he would tell the police when his turn came.

  ‘That was DCI Hartley,’ said Sophie, placing her phone on the desk. ‘We’re not needed today. They’ll speak to us tomorrow.’

  ‘Have they found him?’

  ‘No, although they’re unlikely to keep us informed of their every move. There seems to be some issue with the press.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘The DCI has withheld photos and information on advice from the CPS. Apparently the press don’t like that.’

  ‘Poor things,’ said Alex, wondering whether press involvement was good or bad. He’d used them for his own benefit in private practice, but wasn’t sure the same principles applied here. Should the general public be on the lookout for Victor? He shivered at the thought of innocent people coming into contact with such an unpredictable force.

  Sophie shrugged but her jaw was clenched. She examined the nails on her left hand. She made to bite one but chewed her lip instead.

  ‘I need to get out of here,’ she said. ‘I have some reading to catch up on.’

  Alex was worried for her. ‘Don’t you think you should stay here?’

  ‘Why?’ Their eyes met. Sophie’s were deep and unreadable. ‘Victor doesn’t know me,’ she said. ‘Why would he want to hurt me? I expect he’s long gone.’

  Alex hoped she was right, but he couldn’t shift the anxiety in his gut. It lingered while he watched her gather her possessions. She paused at the door, hesitated for a few seconds before looking back.

  ‘Or we could have that drink. If we’re both at a loose end?’

  Alex, knowing a bad idea when he saw one, agreed without a moment’s hesitation. If nothing else, they could discuss their statements to the police and ensure that whatever blame was flying around didn’t stick to them.

  They settled for a bar a few minutes from the prison, arriving separately – Alex in his Porsche, Sophie in a thirteen-year-old VW Golf GTI. They met at the door of a shabby-looking pub that had been serving prison employees for many decades.

  The pub was quiet. It wasn’t shift change so the usual guards weren’t there. Alex and Sophie slid into a cubicle near the back. He ordered the house Merlot; she ordered a vodka and Coke.

  ‘So, what are you thinking?’ said Sophie.

  Alex swallowed the vinegary wine and grimaced. His limited time with Victor hadn’t revealed much, but Alex knew motive, or at least part of it. A tentative link between the Southampton murders and Victor’s roots in Romania had been established, which couldn’t remain a secret. He’d have to fill the police in tomorrow. Alex had wanted to keep it to himself until his next interview with Victor, which obviously wouldn’t happen now.

  But it didn’t explain what Victor planned next. Would there be more attacks, or had it finished? Was the act in Southampton the extent of Victor’s rampage? If so, the escape was his disappearing act. That might be it – Victor would be gone forever.

  It was a reasonable conclusion, but probably inaccurate. If Victor was a psychopath, the chain of events might make perfect sense to him. Although Victor had demonstrated rational conversation and anger in their first meeting, and no signs of being disinhibited, it could have been an act. Alex had seen it before in his hospital training. Psychopaths found it quite easy to act normal and fool the people around them, which is what made them so difficult to diagnos
e. The thought made him shudder, because it meant the Southampton murders were the first, but wouldn’t be the last. There would be others, not necessarily planned, but equally violent. Victor’s unique psychological talent made the prospect even more terrifying. Again Alex thought back to his own loss of control at Victor’s hands. He shivered at the thought of such a man being loose in London.

  ‘You have to speak out loud for me to hear you,’ said Sophie. She leaned across the table and her perfume wafted over him again.

  Alex took a deep breath, realising he was in the zone. A trance of sorts. The mental place where his excitement and train of thought hurtled along too fast to get off. He rarely experienced such a feeling these days with his private clients. Not since the case that had almost ruined him.

  He told Sophie word for word his conversation with Dr Petri at the University of Bucharest.

  ‘So I think Victor is seeking revenge,’ he said, ‘but I also think he has psychopathy. I think the Southampton murders were the first. There’ll be others.’

  Sophie’s expression was unreadable. He saw her jaw clench and her shoulders stiffen.

  ‘I can’t explain his stay at Whitemoor.’ Alex took another gulp of wine, puzzled at her reaction. ‘But his ability won’t be infallible.’

  ‘Which could have led to his capture.’ Sophie’s expression didn’t change. ‘I’m more interested in what he does next.’

  ‘That’s up to the police. I’m not sure they’re listening.’ Alex was aware of the police’s thoughts on him; his private practice reputation wasn’t doing him any favours here. Despite the CPS asking for his involvement, he knew he’d need more than conjecture.

  ‘You’ll give them motive. They can’t ignore that,’ said Sophie.

  ‘It’s only motive if the Romanians back the story.’ Alex thought back to Dr Petri. ‘I’m not convinced they will. If Victor was abused in a Romanian orphanage they won’t want it aired in a public murder enquiry.’

  ‘And the police can’t force them?’

  ‘Doubt it.’

  They stared at each other for a few moments. The door swung open and two young lads made their way to the bar. Eighties rock played softly in the background.

  ‘So.’ Alex sipped at his wine. ‘How long is your placement at Whitemoor?’

  Sophie stared down at her own drink. She seemed to tense up. Alex wondered what in her past caused her anxiety, if that’s what it was. She was clearly capable and intelligent, but the prison triggered something in her.

  ‘Not sure,’ she said, downing the rest of her vodka and Coke. ‘Right, I think we should get going.’

  Alex took the hint as Sophie stood abruptly and grabbed her coat. He shouldn’t have expected anything more – they barely knew each other, after all. He found himself concerned though, and couldn’t help his natural tendency to probe, even if his motives were straying away from strictly professional ones.

  They left, agreeing to be as open as possible with the police the next day, although Alex retained his own little secret about his meeting with Victor and what had happened.

  He walked Sophie to her car. She opened the door and paused. Alex thought he could detect the sweet smell of marijuana wafting from the interior, which was a mess, filled with fast-food wrappers. A pair of tatty men’s trainers and jeans adorned the back seat. A rucksack with a sleeping bag strapped to it sat in the footwell. Sophie caught his eye and looked embarrassed.

  ‘It needs a clean,’ she said. ‘My friends borrow it a lot.’

  ‘My car’s the same,’ lied Alex, tapping the roof, wondering who her friends were, and if there was a special someone.

  They both stood, silent and awkward, as though at the end of a first date, neither party quite sure what they were expected to do. Alex stepped forwards until their faces were less than a foot apart. Sophie met his gaze and the nerves hit him. He opened his mouth and closed it again. Sophie smiled then looked away. Alex’s gaze fell towards the ground. Sophie’s boots were badly scuffed. She shuffled her feet.

  ‘It’s nice to have you here, Alex,’ she said. ‘I’m glad it was you.’

  Alex looked up. ‘Me?’

  ‘You’re good at this,’ she said. ‘I like your style.’

  Alex was breathless. He opened his mouth to speak but Sophie backed away.

  ‘See you tomorrow?’ she said.

  ‘Sure,’ he whispered.

  Sophie climbed into her car and drove off without another word. Alex could see her staring at him in the rear-view mirror.

  She was getting to him. Part of him felt like a teenager, falling for a woman who remained utterly mysterious, giving him just enough to keep him interested. Another part chided him for being so unprofessional. Whatever the case, they were stuck with each other, at least until they found Victor.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The wind howled down from the mountains. Victor didn’t notice the shadows following him in the snow. After leaving the cliff face, a girl and boy followed him, keeping their distance, keeping their voices to whispers and their footsteps clean and light. They stopped when Victor stopped, and continued only when Victor started walking again.

  They followed him to the village and paused. The shadows had seen what Victor had done to Luca, and they feared for their own safety, for neither of them was as strong as Victor. Talented, yes, but not as practised. They knew they’d need to find their own way.

  One of them, the eldest, a girl named Natalia, watched the boy they knew as Thirteen walking towards an old farmhouse. She shook the hardened snow off her nightgown, rubbing her shoulder. It ached where she’d fallen from the truck, although her companion seemed unharmed. She resisted the urge to call out, to challenge Thirteen and tell him who she was. She’d bitten her tongue at the sight of Luca tumbling off the precipice. Now, she stared at Thirteen’s back with fear, subconsciously whispering her chant, preparing her words in natural defence.

  She wanted an ally, but she knew better. Her own ability was weaker. She could persuade and coerce, but she never excelled. She was never a master, and her tutors knew it. The boy she was with, well, they called him Freak for a reason. His ability had never developed in the proper way, the desired way. He couldn’t control people, not in the traditional sense, but neither could he be controlled. Freak caused white noise, interfering with other’s abilities but providing no useful talent of his own. Attempts by the children to plant suggestions in Freak’s head sometimes ended in bizarre and grotesque ways, damaging their minds beyond repair. Like hitting a mental tornado, Freak was shunned and misunderstood. He was an outcast, useless and forbidden from practising. He wouldn’t have been long for this world, had they remained at the orphanage. He leaned against her now, and touched her hand.

  ‘We should go,’ he whispered, wincing. Freak had never been pitched against Thirteen, but Natalia knew the prospect scared him.

  She nodded. One day, maybe, she would introduce herself to Thirteen, but not now. This day she had to survive, and as she looked at the young boy next to her, she shivered with anticipation.

  She took the boy’s hand, turned her back on Thirteen and left the village behind her. She wondered if she’d ever see him again.

  Part of her hoped not.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Twenty-four hours since Victor’s escape. Alex hovered between his kitchen and home office. He tried to call Sophie but got her voicemail. His text messages went unanswered. He called Robert, who said Sophie was probably doing one of her usual ‘disappearing acts’, which unnerved Alex a little. It suggested that Sophie was even more complicated than he’d first thought. He’d keep trying.

  His attraction to Sophie troubled him. He found it hard to bury, and if he was honest, he didn’t entirely want to. Her behaviour was professional, and her anxiety in certain situations showed she was human. There was definitely something else though. She often looked puzzled, inwardly battling. Her eyes pleaded for help, but darted away whenever he approached. She dis
tracted him with flirtation, laughing it off.

  If he were sensible he’d leave her be, but her face was increasingly present when he closed his eyes. Alex knew this was a hopelessly inappropriate time and situation to be attracted to someone, but what could he do, other than ask for her to be removed from the office? He dismissed the idea immediately.

  ‘Penny for your thoughts?’ said Jane, striding into the kitchen while texting. Her heels made Alex wince as they stamped across his hardwood flooring. She glanced at him and wiggled her eyebrows. He returned a weak grin.

  Last night he’d fallen asleep thinking of Sophie. The dreams had come fast and vivid, the fantasy strange yet fascinating. They’d embraced but Sophie had resisted, looking at Alex with pain and sorrow in her eyes. He felt himself sinking into them, unable to climb out of the darkness.

  Jane had woken him in the early hours and told him he was snoring. He’d ignored her and drifted back into a cold and dreamless sleep.

  ‘I’m tired,’ he said. ‘Work is . . . busy.’

  ‘Oh, OK,’ said Jane, not taking her eyes off her phone as it buzzed with messages.

  ‘I heard something at the agency yesterday,’ she said. ‘A murderer on the loose in London.’ She looked up from her phone, nodding, eyes wide. ‘What do you think of that?’ She stared at Alex for a few seconds before her phone vibrated again. Alex watched her eyes shine as her attention was diverted. ‘Oops, sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s Diane.’

  Alex moved over to the fridge, muttering under his breath, deciding he needed more coffee, wondering what the press were running with today. He hadn’t checked the news since yesterday.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ said Jane. She stopped texting.

  ‘I haven’t seen the news,’ said Alex.

  Jane stopped and looked aghast. ‘Wait a minute. I think he escaped from the prison you’re working at. Do you know him?’

  Alex shook his head and opened the fridge door, shielding himself from Jane so she couldn’t see his face. A moment’s silence passed as he pretended to rummage for something to eat.