Trance

by Southward, Adam

  ‘Out,’ said Victor, waiting until the street was clear and the traffic was light. ‘Follow me.’

  He ducked through a hole in the high brick wall surrounding the building. The girl followed and they made their way around the side, weaving through overgrown segments of ground covered in bricks and roofing tiles. Rubbish littered the earth and weeds tore through holes in the concrete. A dead rat lay off to one side, the body half-eaten, its mouth open.

  Broken glass crunched underfoot as Victor shouldered open the door. Once through he pushed it back again into its frame.

  Victor glanced at the corridor. The flashes returned. Unwelcome, but necessary. Peeling paint and damp corners, the huge iron radiators still lining the walls next to the wafer-thin glass windows – several of them cracked or shattered.

  He picked his way along, ordering Katie to follow him. She tripped over a concrete block and fell, grazing her knee and ripping her jeans. Blood oozed out. She didn’t notice and pulled herself up, staring straight ahead. Her eyes darted about but she wasn’t clear what had happened.

  ‘Where’s my mum?’

  ‘Silence,’ said Victor.

  He led them further into the building, past doors hanging off their hinges, leading to dormitories and communal rooms, perhaps classrooms. Victor paused and stared at one. His vision grew hazy and he heard the distant shouts of his fellow children. Some happy, most sad. Shouts of anguish and terror. Shouts of the staff ordering them around, ushering them into private rooms, telling them they were ready for the next stage.

  Victor clenched his teeth. That was another time, another orphanage. But he was here because of it. He was making his story heard in the only way he knew how.

  ‘In there,’ he said, pointing to a small room. It was one of the few with intact windows and a solid door with a working lock. It still smelled strongly of vomit, and he screwed his nose up. Katie walked to the centre of the room without a word.

  ‘Sit on the bed,’ he said, producing a rope from a rucksack on the floor. He tied her to the metal frame by her hands. It would be enough. She wouldn’t struggle, and she wouldn’t try to escape – he’d told her not to. Despite his debilitating symptoms, he still trusted his ability to hold her.

  ‘Where’s my dad?’ said Katie. Her body was rigid.

  Victor allowed himself a smile. ‘He’s coming,’ he said, but his smile vanished as he studied her face. She was too innocent, too pure. She looked too much like Laura.

  It was nearly time to wake her up. He wanted her awake and lucid when Alex Madison arrived. He couldn’t have the burden of controlling two people at once, and he wanted to see the fear on both their faces.

  ‘Stay here,’ he said, unnecessarily, forcing his thoughts away from the girl and leaving the room. He closed and locked the door with the rusty key. He needed some time to himself. To sit and get his head under control. He’d taken too many painkillers already, so he must push through it himself. If Alex Madison had followed his instructions, he should arrive soon. This time, he would not escape.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  Natalia shuffled uncomfortably on the plastic chair. She risked another glance up at the heavy-set man standing in front of her, across the table in the backroom of a grotty Ukrainian restaurant not far from Clapham Junction. She slid her hands together, cracking her knuckles in turn.

  Her attendance had been demanded via a short, sweet telephone call, and the penalty for not showing up was laid out to her in a few choice Russian expletives.

  ‘We’re doing our best,’ she said in a small voice, for the fifth time, wondering if this man would be susceptible to her. She doubted it. They wouldn’t send anybody to meet her or Freak who could be influenced. He would be trained and protected, just like the others. She wondered how long he’d been in the UK. He’d made no attempt to soften his thick Russian accent when he’d called. In person he looked every bit the Soviet-era thug. Natalia’s eyes darted around the room, her nerves on end.

  The waft of cooked meats hit her nostrils. She was hungry and hadn’t eaten all day, but the man didn’t look as if he was going to offer her dinner.

  He’d kept her here for thirty minutes so far, asking why she’d screwed up so badly, why things were so noisy, and why the police were all over it. Her protests were met with deaf ears.

  ‘You’ve had a long run at this one,’ said the man. His huge frame was draped in a seasonally unsuitable coat and he had a slovenly appearance, his long black hair swept to one side. He scraped one of his boots on the tiled floor and sniffed.

  ‘Perhaps you’d do better yourself?’ said Natalia, rising to the bait but instantly regretting it. The man frowned. He leaned in and put his fists on the wooden table.

  ‘It has been discussed, believe me,’ he said. ‘Your position is precarious.’

  Natalia bit her lip. The man breathed heavily, his stale breath washing over Natalia’s face, mixing with the smell of meat, causing her to screw her nose up. Noises from the kitchen seeped under the door, which had been closed and locked by her companion.

  ‘You are not unique,’ he continued, ‘but we thought you were able, you and your dog. You are well thought of. Praised, on occasion. If we were mistaken, I can recommend we review your status.’

  Natalia tensed. This man was not a thug. He spoke with clarity and eloquence. She knew what that meant. Would she be protected by her man in Russia – Nikolai – the man who had brought her in? She doubted it. Not if he’d sent one of his men all the way here. She sensed she was within a hair’s breadth of being retired.

  ‘We are able,’ she said, her tone soft. She smiled through her racing heartbeat. ‘I meant no offence. It’s just frustrating, and I’m sorry not to be able to give you what you want yet. What we both want.’

  The man nodded, keeping his eyes fixed on hers.

  ‘I want nothing more than to solve our current problem,’ she said. ‘Thirteen is dangerous and a threat to us. But we can deal with him. I can deal with him. There’s no need to bring in anyone else.’

  The man sniffed again and nodded. He backed away and paced, staring through a dirty window out into the alleyway behind the restaurant, towards the stacks of cardboard and wheelie bins. Natalia had spent a lot of her youth hiding out in such dark and secluded places, where a body could be discarded with ease. She shivered. Her throat felt dry.

  ‘So many chances,’ the man said. ‘You children, we gave you everything. Some of you are so . . . ungrateful.’ He shook his head.

  Natalia remained seated and silent. She glanced at her watch and felt an almost overwhelming surge of guilt and desperation. She had failed so far, she knew that, but still had time to put it right.

  ‘I leave for Saint Petersburg next Tuesday at noon,’ the man said, nodding to himself. ‘If the matter is taken care of, then you will return with me and enjoy our hospitality and thanks. There is a place for you on the programme, training the newest subjects.’ He paused, scratching his nose.

  ‘But if I don’t have good news to take with me, you will be recalled. Your services will be terminated. You and your friend will be sent to Volgograd. I think you know what awaits you there.’

  He walked over to the door and unlocked it, swinging it wide open. He looked sad, but resigned. ‘I have nothing more to say.’

  Natalia pushed herself to her feet, the threat echoing in her ears. She left without a word, not daring to look back.

  Natalia joined Freak twenty minutes later. She’d paced up and down in the street, glaring at pedestrians for a few minutes, mulling over her options, before Freak had called. He babbled something about Alex Madison’s daughter and then sent her a text message with a location.

  Natalia walked the short distance, deep in thought, controlling her heart rate. She was angry at herself and her masters, but terrified with it. She’d screwed up. It was her fault. Would it be better just to cut and run?

  She found Freak huddled uncomfortably under the shelter of a large shrub in an abando
ned garden in Battersea. The garden bordered the property where Freak said Thirteen was hiding out: a decrepit and rambling old building on a side road, the inhabitants long since departed. The road was full of potholes and the pavements were cracked, weeds everywhere. This place had been forgotten.

  Natalia listened as Freak recounted the last hour, following Victor’s kidnapping of Alex’s daughter and subsequent journey here.

  She took it all in calmly, still reeling from her meeting and still trying not to picture their shared future if she failed. The man’s words rang in her ears. She’d been to Volgograd before, in the beginning, and it meant death for those who didn’t comply, but not before they’d taken every ounce of life from you. She couldn’t go back, and she couldn’t let them have Freak either.

  All the more reason to pay attention and do her job. They couldn’t run. For one, they wouldn’t get very far. Her masters had a way of finding people and they’d be tracked. Others would be deployed. Others like them, capable of a violent and protracted hunt across the globe. They’d never be safe.

  Two, they couldn’t leave that little girl in the hands of Thirteen. Natalia would never forgive herself.

  This would be their only chance. They would take Victor today, or die trying.

  ‘Where is he?’ said Natalia, dropping her bag down next to Freak and peering through the windows of the building. She couldn’t make anything out. The windows were intact but many were boarded over or obscured with grime.

  ‘He’s there,’ said Freak, his lips parted as he drew breath, in and out, hissing into the undergrowth. ‘At the back,’ he continued, pointing to the rear of the building. ‘I came out here to wait.’

  ‘And the girl. Still with him?’

  ‘I guess,’ said Freak. ‘I didn’t get close enough to see. I’m not facing him alone.’

  Natalia nodded. She sympathised. He’d suffer far worse than she if they failed, for she was the only thing that had protected him over the years. He wouldn’t be missed by the world.

  ‘Tell me what you think,’ she said. An olive branch. He’d only ever been a loyal companion, following her, protecting her, and now being failed by her. If he died it would be her fault, nobody else’s. ‘Your assessment. What should we do?’

  Freak hesitated. He breathed out and closed his eyes. ‘He’s desperate,’ he said. ‘Thirteen is in pain, and confused. The kidnapping of this girl was impulsive and idiotic. He is weak. Possibly as weak as he’s likely to get.’ He sniffed deeply and screwed up his face. ‘I think he’s near breaking point,’ he continued. ‘If we do anything, it needs to be soon.’

  Natalia nodded, preparing herself, feeling her stomach turn. If Thirteen was desperate and suffering, he would be unpredictable, but Freak was right. They needed to strike now.

  She understood why Thirteen had targeted the doctors, and why he had killed Dr Rupert Madison. The doctor was a part of her history too, and she could find no sympathy for him. But when Freak told her about the young girl, well, that was a different crime altogether, and entirely impossible to ignore.

  She couldn’t watch Thirteen butcher an innocent girl, his madness outdone only by his brutality. It wasn’t – shouldn’t – be what they were all about. Her kind had a destiny far nobler than butchery and pain. It was never supposed to end like this. She’d got far too involved and let her feelings cloud her judgement.

  But their time had come. It was today or never. Callous, cold and amoral, her actions over the years had built a debt she wanted to repay. If this was it and it led to her death, so be it. To return to the Russians, leaving Thirteen behind, would be worse. They’d made that clear.

  She patted Freak on the shoulder. He opened his eyes and gave her a small smile, then huffed and looked around.

  ‘Why is Thirteen here?’ said Freak. ‘At an orphanage, of all places?’

  ‘Why does Thirteen go anywhere?’ she said. ‘He’s deranged.’

  Freak nodded. ‘They say that about me.’

  Natalia gave him a weary look. ‘You are. But not in the same way.’

  ‘Great.’ Freak’s smiled widened, but faded as he read Natalia’s face. ‘I know that look.’

  ‘You’re right. We have to go in,’ she said. She wished, on one level, that she’d managed to shed her own morality and empathy during her training. It would make life so much easier, to be able to observe a situation like this, deal with the problem and to hell with the lives lost.

  But she couldn’t. The child, Alex Madison’s daughter, was innocent of anything, as far as she knew. Of course, there was the possibility she was evil in some other way, some humans just are, but Natalia doubted it, and couldn’t convince herself it was a possibility worth killing her for.

  No, this was the time and the place. Determined by Thirteen; determined by her masters. They had no choice.

  Silencing Thirteen was paramount.

  ‘A few more minutes,’ she said. She needed a few deep breaths to prepare herself. ‘Then we’re going in. And we’re gonna do our thing.’

  She looked around at the building and into the road. They had a clear view. They’d see if Thirteen left, or anybody else approached.

  Freak just nodded and sat on the bare concrete. ‘Whenever you’re ready.’

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  Alex followed the satnav, hurtling through outer London as fast as he dared. His driving was erratic and dangerous but he kept going until the robotic voice announced that he’d arrived. He screeched to a halt in the road, beside a high brick wall. Faded lettering above the arched gate confirmed it as St Joseph’s. Looking beyond, he shivered. This place was darker than HMP Whitemoor and more foreboding. His daughter was captive and helpless; he was her only chance. He thought of Grace and a rush of emotions hit him. He’d ruined his family once already, and now he was exposing them to this.

  He tried not to think of the reasons why Victor had chosen such a repressive place to hide out. The significance of the building was not lost on Alex, but it must hurt Victor too, reminding himself of an abusive childhood. The man was tormenting himself, as well as Alex and Katie.

  He pulled over and turned off the engine, which ticked and popped as it cooled. Fumbling his phone out of his pocket, he checked for messages. Nothing yet from Sophie, so he sent her one, with his location. I had no choice, he wrote.

  He sent it and stared for a few moments, before bringing up Hartley’s contact details. His thumb hovered over the call button but he resisted. Victor had been clear. If the police screamed up with sirens blaring and lights flashing it would condemn Katie. Instead he crafted a text message and saved it. It outlined his intentions and where he was. If things went south and he had the chance, he’d send it. If not . . . it would be a record of his last thoughts, and the police could do with it what they wanted.

  With a deep breath, he viewed the last caller ID. Pausing briefly to get his thoughts in order, he dialled.

  It rang for twenty seconds or so. Alex was on the verge of hanging up when the call connected. Silence at the other end.

  ‘Victor, it’s—’

  He said no more, for Victor’s voice came loud and clear. Not from the phone, but from a gap in the wall, where the face of a madman twisted and snarled. Alex didn’t make out the words, but the world turned grey. His eyes glazed over and he slumped.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  It seemed misty to Alex. Thick. Or was it fog? What was the difference? He vaguely remembered fog being wet, like walking into the bathroom after his mum had showered, the large mirror covered in microscopic droplets, begging to be drawn on with a finger sketching a snake or a snowman. His mum would call out to him – Get my pills, would you? Oh, and pass me my towel. No, not that one, the small one. She’d yell if he got the wrong towel. She’d yell until the pills kicked in. Then she’d hug and forgive him.

  But she called him by his pet name. What was it? He grasped at fragments of memory, willing the name to appear. But like the mist, his memory was hazy and insu
bstantial, disappearing as he closed in on it. Try as he might, his memory failed, and he couldn’t recall it any more than he could name a stranger in the street.

  He stood in silence for a moment, listening, tilting his head, imagining he could hear a voice, but the wind was picking up and it drowned out everything except the rustling of the trees at the edge of the walled garden. He slammed the car door and glanced at the starless sky. It felt strange, to have the wind on his face yet at the same time a mist all around. Was that right?

  His mind spiralled in confusion and the anxiety hit him like a fist. He groaned as pain shot through his forehead and panic cut through his stomach, making him retch. He vomited on to the pavement, bent double. His breath came in short gasps and the dizziness increased as he hyperventilated.

  Then he heard the voice.

  It told him to crawl through a hole in the wall. Alex saw, through the mist, a ragged break in the bricks. He ducked and shimmied through. Standing straight, he walked several paces to the building. It was grey, like rain, and whispered to him.

  The whispering washed over him. He looked around but there was nobody there, yet the inner voice calmed him. He focused his breathing, slowing it and breathing out more than he breathed in. The pins and needles in his face gradually faded and the nausea disappeared.

  Closing his eyes, he smiled, listening to the man who was whispering to him. He didn’t catch any of the words but it didn’t matter.

  The grounds were still foggy but punctuated with bursts of sunlight, bright and overwhelming. Everything was unkempt and overgrown, the grass ankle-length, hiding daisies in their hundreds. The walls were in need of treatment, covered in climbing plants: clematis and something thicker he couldn’t identify. Perhaps a type of ivy. A cherry tree at the end was coming into bloom, the white petals giving way to baby pink as they opened. It all felt familiar, but brighter, as if it had come to life.