by Chris Dolley
"I'll need to start at first light tomorrow," said Nick. "I'll need as much daylight as I can get."
"What happens if you can't get back in the light?"
"It's always light somewhere. Maybe I'll follow the sun and keep going west."
She envied him his confidence. But it worried her too. Was he taking things too lightly? There were so many things that could go wrong.
"Do you think you should wait another day?" she asked. "Maybe have a dry run across the Atlantic and back?"
He shook his head. "We don't have the time. There might be another death by tomorrow. And the longer we leave it the harder it might be to free John. Who knows what's happening inside Peter's mind? Is it healing over? Is there a time limit beyond which John's sub-personality becomes so well fixed inside Peter that it would take another SHIFT flight to rip it out?"
She hoped not.
The afternoon progressed in growing optimism. John had two engagements the following day, both were in Manchester, both easy to find. And Nick found a room plan of John's hotel. There were only three VIP suites. John Bruce had to be using one of them.
Even Louise found the optimism catching. Nick's plan was no longer fanciful but something that could work. Everything could be over in less than twenty-four hours.
Then the apartment phone rang.
Chapter Sixteen
They both froze, their eyes fixed on the red flashing light on the HV unit. Who could possibly be calling? Had someone traced them via the HV? The police? John Bruce?
"Don't answer it," snapped Nick. Not that Louise needed telling, she backed away from the unit. "Should we turn everything off?" she asked.
Nick didn't answer; he kept staring at the light.
The ringing stopped after thirty seconds.
Nick turned to Louise. "It could be a wrong number."
And pigs might separate.
Louise knew exactly who it was. Someone looking for Nick. Someone who'd found out about the apartment or traced him via the HV connection. Her hand flew to her mouth. His enquiry about John Bruce's itinerary and hotel floor plan. Could that have tripped some kind of switch? People monitor those sorts of things, don't they?
"Switch it off," she said. "Disconnect everything."
The doorbell rang.
A second of hesitation then Louise was running. There were knives in the kitchen. She grabbed two: one sharp, one large; started to run back to the lounge then stopped. Should she have chosen something longer, heavier? A mop, a broom handle? Something she could wield from a distance?
The doorbell rang again. She was standing at the top of the stairs, two knives in her hands, staring at the door, her hands. Where was Nick?
She ran into the lounge. He was lying on the floor, motionless, his eyes wide and staring. Was he . . .?
She dropped the knives, bent down by his side, felt for a pulse. He was breathing—barely—and his pulse was almost non existent.
His eyes fluttered. Then he smiled. "It's okay", he said. "It's Adam. He's a friend."
Louise kept both knives close while Nick went downstairs to answer the door. He may have been confident that he'd recognised the person at the door when he'd separated just now, but Louise was less sure. It was getting dark outside and how well could he see from the higher dimensions?
Voices came from the front door. Louise listened, tightening the grip on the knife in her right hand.
Laughter rippled up the stairs. She relaxed.
Nick introduced her to Adam Llewellyn, the owner of the clinic and an old friend of Nick's from his student days. The two men couldn't have looked more different. Adam was well-groomed and smartly dressed. Nick wasn't.
"Does anyone else know we're here?" Nick asked him.
"You mean like the police?" Adam said, arching his eyebrows then smiling. "Don't worry, I haven't told anyone. The idea of you dismembering anyone is laughable." He turned to wink at Louise. "He can't stand the sight of blood."
"What about your staff?" pressed Nick.
"I expect they know someone's here. You can see the kitchen window from the rear of the clinic. But no one knows who you are. As far as the outside world is concerned you're someone from the city who rents the place for weekends and holidays. Just as we agreed."
Just as we agreed. It seemed so clandestine to Louise. Almost as though Nick knew he'd need somewhere to hide when he'd first taken out the lease.
"Do you want coffee?" asked Louise, remembering her manners.
"No, thank you," said Adam. "I only popped round to make sure the apartment hadn't been invaded by squatters." He adjusted his right cuff and glanced around the room. "Though with Nick's sense of decor it's always difficult to tell."
"Clutter is the hallmark of a creative mind," said Nick.
"Then you must be a genius." He smiled and made his farewells then stopped by the lounge door and turned to face Nick. "Oh, and next time you're on the run you might choose to close the curtains and remember to keep the lights turned off at night. Hardened criminals swear by it."
Nick turned to Louise and rolled his eyes. "I'll see Adam out. There's something I need to arrange with him. Won't be long."
"Arrange what?" she asked, but he was already thundering down the stairs.
She waited, checking her watch every other minute. After ten minutes, the front door latch clicked and Nick came running up the stairs. He was carrying what looked like a large black briefcase. He placed it carefully on top of a box in the lounge then ran back downstairs to fetch another.
"What are they?" asked Louise, bending down to examine the nearest one. There wasn't a label anywhere.
"Portable life support units," he said, beaming. "Aren't they great? These are the new ones that even I can use. You plug in the unit, stick a few patches on your skin and the LSU does the rest. Monitors your vitals and tops up your fluids."
Louise was confused. "Why on earth would you want something like that?" And then concerned. "You're not ill are you?"
He smiled. "Not me. It's insurance in case it takes longer to get across the Atlantic and back. I want to make sure I've got a fit, healthy and undeniably alive body to come back to. It's one of the reasons I chose to base my research here. All clinics have to have portable LSUs these days. And maintain them. Handy for when I need to borrow one."
"Why have you borrowed two?"
"Didn't I say?"
She had to admit it made sense. She didn't like it. But it made sense.
"I know I can hypnotise Peter," explained Nick. "And they'll be no membrane of John's to break. The connection to Peter's body will be tenuous at best, but . . . it's persuading him to disconnect and not freak out that worries me. He trusts you. He's more likely to stay calm if you're around and more likely to do what I say if you tell him it's okay."
All true. And as Nick said, it could easily turn into a long trip across the Atlantic. He might have trouble keeping John under for that amount of time.
"But if you're there," he continued. "You can help keep an eye on him. And if we have to stop every few minutes to push him deeper under you'll be able to help with that as well."
"Why didn't you say all this earlier?"
He grimaced. "Mea culpa. I had the impression that you're the type of person who does better when they don't have time to dwell on a problem."
She opened her mouth in surprise. Was she that transparent? Did she have 'compulsive worrier' tattooed across her face? Or worse—Louise Callander, Worrier Princess?
"When did you plan on telling me then? A minute before we were due to leave."
He attempted a boyish smile. "Maybe over breakfast. But I was quite prepared to leave without you. I still am. But . . ." He paused, his face turning serious. "It makes sense for you to come along. I need to know that I'm talking to the real John and not some caricature that Peter's hatched up. I need you to quiz him first. Otherwise . . ."
He didn't have to finish the sentence. Mr. Hyde as President was bad enough but Mr. Hyde
and Peter Pendennis on a joint ticket . . .
It was time.
Louise stood by the window looking out at a dawn breaking grey and overcast. She'd been awake for hours. Anticipating.
And practising. She'd separated twice before breakfast just to prove she still could.
She stared unfocussed into the distance. This was a day she wanted behind her.
"Ready when you are," said Nick from the other side of the room. He'd been playing with the LSUs for the past half hour: checking instructions, untangling cables, making sure all the drips were full and correctly installed.
Louise turned away from the window and walked like a condemned woman to the bed that was now lying alongside Nick's. He handed her the long-sleeved green vest that came with the LSU. She peeled off her own T- shirt and put it on.
"Lie down and I'll hook you up," said Nick, holding an array of tubes and wires in his hands.
She obeyed without thinking, her mind on autopilot. He knelt by her bed, clipping the various tubes and wires into the connectors on her vest. She stared up at the ceiling.
"One more connector," he said. Click. "Now adjusting the levels." He moved to the head of the bed, bent down and tapped in a series of commands.
"Okay, switching on. You could be gone for a week and not even feel hungry. All your fluids topped up, nutrient levels balanced—the lot. Though, don't ask me how it finds a vein—Adam told me once and I'd have preferred he hadn't. Suffice to say—it's clever, computerised and hidden away in that miracle vest. Though, I think they could have come up with a better colour than olive green."
He flicked another switch, tweaked a few wires then stood back. "There, everything's connected and working. You're alive, Miss Frankenstein."
She forced a smile.
"Watch out for the blood pressure monitor," said Nick. "It's activated on a timer. When mine first came on I thought some higher dimensional bogeyman had grabbed my arm."
She tried to maintain her smile but it was morphing into a grimace. She closed her eyes and waited. She heard Nick climbing onto his bed; the tip-tap of fingers on a keypad; the click of cables being connected. And then silence.
"Okay. Let's go."
She almost hit the ceiling in the rush to be free. This wasn't a time to be tentative, this was a time to get the job done and over with quick. Like swallowing something unpleasant.
Nick's voice boomed into her head. "Ready?"
"Ready."
They flew out of the window; Nick taking the lead, Louise following. One slow test lap of the rectory and then they were away, two clouds of thought accelerating across the countryside: cresting trees, houses, dipping into fields, flying low and fast then climbing, then banking as the ley line swept in from the horizon. They accelerated again, gliding along golden strands, weaving past forgotten monuments to the dead, ancient hill forts, burial mounds, temples and churches. Then slowing as Oxford approached, looking for the turn off, finding it, hitching lift after lift, clawing their way through the traffic until . . .
Upper Heywood: its warren of low flat-roofed buildings sprawled out ahead of them.
"When we get to Pendennis's cell I want you to follow me in," said Nick. "But think silent. I don't want Peter to hear anyone's voice but mine."
"Okay," said Louise.
"Then as soon as I contact John step in and help. Think your voice inside his head. Let him know who you are, keep him calm then ask him a question that only the real John would know. If he passes the test, start persuading like mad. We want him out and away from Pendennis as quick as possible."
"What if he doesn't pass the test?"
"I'll take Peter deeper. Into a coma if necessary."
They drifted through the roof into Reception, passing through the concrete and the timber and the ceiling tiles. They found the main corridor. Everything white: the walls, the floor, the ceiling; even the overalls of the cleaner pushing a mop over the floor. Louise followed Nick, the scenery unchanging, every entrance to every bay looking identical. They turned at the far end, passed into another corridor then stopped.
"This is it," said Nick. "Think yourself silent and invisible."
Up went her walls. She imagined herself a soundproof fortress, with twelve-foot thick walls of padded stone.
Nick floated further down the corridor then slipped though a wall. Louise followed.
Pendennis was inside, a red shape lying on a bed. He looked asleep, his eyes tight-closed.
"So tired," whispered Nick, elongating his voice. "So-o . . . ti-red."
Louise hovered by the side of the bed, trying to keep hold of her thoughts. She could hear Nick. Would she be able to hear Pendennis?
"Sleep," whispered Nick. "You feel so tired you could sleep for a week."
Silence. Was Pendennis already asleep? Could you hypnotise someone who was already asleep?
"Sle-ep," repeated Nick. "Every part of you is asleep except the tiny part of you that can hear me. Can you hear me, Peter?"
Louise waited, the silence excruciating. Her mind alive with concerns that she was terrified to express in case Pendennis overheard them.
"Yes," said a very small voice. "I hear you."
"Good," said Nick. "You're drifting deeper, drifting into a sleep so deep, so warm, so safe that you don't ever want to leave. Can you feel how peaceful it is, Peter?"
"Yes," came the reply, sibilant and sleepy.
"You feel it like a heavy blanket impossible to move."
"Yes."
"Is John there?" Nick asked.
Silence.
He asked again. "John?"
Behind her walls, Louise began to panic. What if John had been absorbed? Or killed? Or was too frightened to answer?
"I need to talk to John Bruce," said Nick.
If anything, the silence deepened. Louise couldn't take it any more. She opened a window in her walls and sent a name flying through the ether towards the body on the bed.
"John," she whispered, then louder. "John, it's Louise, I've come for you."
No answer. She drifted closer, tore down her walls, imagined her voice inside Peter's head, planted it there, gave it power, life, breath. "John!"
"Louise?"
His voice exploded inside her head. His voice. John's. Unmistakable.
"Yes, John," she said. "It's me. I've come to get you out."
"Where are you, Lou? I can't see you." He sounded nervous and worried.
"I'm . . . I'm outside in the corridor," said Louise, thinking quickly. "I have a friend with me. We've come to help you. Do you . . . do you remember the name of my best friend at school?"
Up went her walls. Her best friend's name hidden away, pushed to the deepest dungeon of her memory. Come on, John! Remember. Let it really be you.
"Is she with you?" asked John, confused.
"No, she's er . . . it's another test, John. I want to make sure your memory hasn't been impaired. We're worried about you."
Louise took a deep virtual breath. Please, John, just answer and get this over with.
"Suzie?" said John. "Suzie Onslow?"
Yes!
"Okay, John," she said. "I want you to close your eyes and relax. My friend's going to talk to you. He knows how to get you out. Do what he says and you'll be free. We'll take you home."
"Can you do that, Lou? Can you really take me home?"
"Yes, John. We can."
"Are your eyes closed yet, John?" asked Nick.
"Who are you?" A hint of panic. "Where's Louise?"
"Calm down, John," said Louise. "He's a friend. Listen to him."
"Okay, Lou, if you say so."
"I'm taking you back to the Pegasus," said Nick. "You're weightless again. Do you remember how that feels?"
"Yes."
"You feel totally relaxed. Your body has no weight, no substance. You're floating without a care in the world, drifting, drifting into a deep, deep sleep."
Silence. Was the lack of response good or bad?
Nick c
ontinued. "You're floating weightless inside the Pegasus. Your body horizontal, your arms and legs by your side. Now, as I count, I'm going to gradually turn on the artificial gravity. Do you understand?"
"Yes," came the sleepy reply.
"As I do so your body is gradually going to feel heavier. One, your arms and legs start to droop. Two, you feel your body start—ever so slowly—to drift down towards the floor. But not your mind. You feel light-headed. Your body's getting heavier but your mind is still weightless. You like the feeling. You want to let go and let your mind fly free. Three, you feel a breath of wind between your mind and your body. You feel your mind start to lift as your body sags. Slowly at first. Rising gently on that breath of wind. Can you feel it?"
"Yes."
"Feel your mind lift higher, John. Feel your body sink away."
"Something's wrong," said John, his voice sounding frightened. "Turbulence. There's something wrong with the Pegasus. Lou!"
"Calm . . ."
"Lou, help me! I'm being ripped apart. Louise!"
Shit! Had Nick tapped into a memory? They both spoke at once—Nick and Louise—both trying to calm John down, both failing.
John screamed. The sound reverberating inside Louise. So loud, so painful.
"John, listen to my voice." Nick urged over the screams. "You are not in the Pegasus. I'm taking you back to a time before the launch."
"There's no time. The ship's breaking up! Everything's blurred. Louise, help me!"
"I'm here, John. How can I help?"
"I need to get to the escape hatch. But something's pinned me against the far wall. If you can help get it off me, I know I can get out."
"I help you, John. I'm pulling you clear."
"You're not! I can't see you! Why don't you come to me?"
"I am with you, John. You can hear me."
"But you're too far away. I need your strength for one last push and I'll be free!"
"You don't need it, John. A surge of energy runs through you. You have the strength. Can you feel it?"
"Yes, I'm . . . I'm free of the back wall. I've reached the escape hatch. It's opening. My hands are pushing through. I'm reaching out to you, Louise. Take my hands—your friend too—if you pull me through I'll be free."