Mind Secrets: A Science Fiction Telepathy Thriller (Perceivers Book 1)

by Killick, Jane

  “What do they want with Jennifer?”

  “I don’t know,” said Michael.

  “What are they doing to her?”

  “I don’t know. Otis, can’t you perceive I’m telling the truth?”

  Otis glared at Michael. His eyes like spears thrusting into his mind. Michael stared back at him, with snatched nervous breaths. Until Otis’s angry, revengeful expression turned to hopelessness and desperation.

  He thrust Michael backwards and let go of the tie. Michael’s body struck the wall behind, hard. “I’m sorry, Otis.” He rubbed the back of his neck and felt the tingle of blood flow returning.

  Otis grunted. He turned away and rested his palms against the other subway wall. He bent his head and stared at the ground.

  Michael, desperate to say or do something helpful, thought about what Cooper would be doing with Jennifer. “If Cooper’s looking for me, he’ll probably question her.”

  “Yeah,” said Otis.

  A lorry rumbled overhead and spread its vibrations down the walls, into the concrete floor and up through Michael’s shoes.

  Otis sighed. “Figured as much.” He sniffed and stood up straight. He turned back round to face Michael. “Means we can’t go back to the flat.”

  “No.”

  “I’ve got a mate, owes me a favour. He’ll put us up, no sweat.” Otis delved into his trouser pocket and pulled out his phone. But before his index finger could tap at the screen, the whole pad lit up. Its rock guitar ringtone filled the subway, echoing back from the concrete walls.

  Otis’s eyes widened as he looked at the display. “It’s Jennifer,” he said.

  Otis thumped the keypad and lifted it to his ear. “Jen? Are you all right? Where are you?”

  But the delight on his face evaporated as he listened. “Mr Cooper,” he said. “Yes, I know who you are.”

  ~

  MICHAEL SAT IN the passenger seat of Otis’s car. The last time he had sat in that position, they had been singing. They weren’t singing now.

  Cooper had taken Jennifer’s phone and used it to call Otis. He offered Otis a trade: Jennifer for Michael.

  Michael could have said no. He could have run. But, truth was, it was his fault Jennifer had been taken. He was the one Cooper wanted, the man only took Jennifer because she was in the way. Anyway, he was tired of running. In all the weeks of sleeping on Otis’s sofa, what had he learnt? That he might have been, in the past, a perceiver? That he might be Ransom’s son? Nothing that he understood. Nothing that added up to anything. At least, if he submitted himself to Cooper, he might get some answers. And he could finally rest.

  So he agreed to the trade.

  It was to be made in the basement floor of a shoppers’ car park in Edgware at 8am. Otis got there early. He wanted to stake out the place before Cooper and his men arrived, to make sure there were no surprises.

  It was Sunday, almost three hours before the shops opened, and the place was near deserted. Only three cars had been left on the basement floor in the concrete gloom of the car park. Otis drove slowly around the edge, ignoring the demarcation lines of the marked bays by allowing his wheels to bump over them, perceiving everything around him. His eyes stared straight out ahead, but it was like he wasn’t looking. Just feeling. Searching for the presence of other minds which would betray they were not alone.

  In a total of three revolutions, he perceived no one. He concluded it was safe to park.

  Otis turned the key in the ignition and the rumble of the engine shuddered to a stop. The background breeze of the car heating system ceased. A nervous silence hung in the car. Otis didn’t unclick his seatbelt or open the door. He sat there for a moment, in thought.

  “What d’you reckon this Cooper bloke wants with you?” he said eventually.

  “I don’t know,” said Michael.

  “Seems to want you pretty badly.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you’ve got no clue?”

  Michael shrugged.

  “Got something to do with you being Ransom’s son?”

  “If I am Ransom’s son.”

  “Still don’t remember, huh?”

  Michael shook his head.

  “What do you think he’ll do to you?”

  Michael had tried not to think. If he wasn’t already frightened enough by the man. Ever since he’d encountered him on the fire stairs, Cooper had been at the back of his mind. Like a wolf scratching at the door, refusing to go away. In the end, he had to let the creature in.

  “You’re scared, aren’t you?” said Otis.

  Shit scared. Like lying in the dark not sleeping scared. Getting up in the middle of the night to poo out last night’s dinner scared. Sweaty palms, trembling hands scared. The wolf clawing inside his stomach.

  “You can perceive that?” said Michael.

  “Loud and very clear.”

  Of course. There was no hiding feelings from a perceiver.

  Otis placed a hand on his shoulder. Michael shuddered at the touch, even though it was friendly. “Just wanted to say, Michael mate, that I appreciate it. I’m sure Jen does too.”

  “Yeah,” said Michael. “What time is it?”

  Otis peered round the steering wheel at the digital display on the dashboard. “Half seven.”

  “Half an hour,” said Michael. Not long to wait. But, at the same time, an eternity.

  “Come on,” said Otis, pressing his thumb down on the seatbelt holder. With a click, it jumped out and the belt rolled off of his lap. “Let’s get set up.”

  The cold of the morning struck Michael as he stepped out into the stark atmosphere of the car park. No sunlight ever fell there. Its concrete floor, ceiling and walls shut out all the heat from outside. The only evidence that the morning was waking up was a glimmer of daylight filtering down the ramp used by cars to get into the basement.

  Michael was instructed to join Otis round the back of the car where they could huddle out of sight. Otis sat with his bum on the ground and his back rested against the bumper, every now and then poking his head out for a quick look at their surroundings. Michael squatted on his toes, not wanting to press his buttocks to the cold, hard floor.

  Otis pulled a battered mobile phone from his pocket and laid it on the ground between them. Like the car, it kept a record of the time: 7.35am, it said. Five more minutes had gone past. Twenty-five to go.

  Otis had chucked his normal phone in a river near the subway after Cooper’s phone call, fearing Cooper could use it to trace their location and capture them without the need to go through with the agreed exchange. Otis had replaced it with a used phone from a second hand shop and loaded it up with the minimal amount of credit. He only planned to use it once.

  The next fifteen minutes were the longest fifteen minutes in the world. Until the quiet was invaded by the distant sound of a car engine.

  Michael’s heart thumped like crazy. His body was ready to run, but his mind remembered the promise to Otis: that he would save Jennifer. And so he stayed there, adrenaline pumping, as he rested against the car bumper.

  Otis peered out from behind the car. “Game on,” he whispered.

  The engine got louder, its mechanical growl echoing around the concrete cathedral of the car park. Michael turned to see a sleek, black car drive down the ramp. He recognised it as a BMW, the same large, imposing car he had seen Cooper in at the clinic.

  It raced down the middle of the car park, then spun, its tyres screeching as it turned back to face the entrance. The car stopped, but its engine continued to growl as it waited patiently for its prey. Headlights glowed harsh and white, lighting up the whole car park, alighting on Otis’s car and casting a shadow where both of them hid behind it.

  Otis picked up the phone and dialled. Michael heard a muted ringing through the tiny speaker clasped to Otis’s ear. A ringing that stopped and was replaced by the indistinct sound of a man’s voice.

  “Cooper,” said Otis, “I take it that’s you in the BMW.” He paused
, listening to the answer. “So, how’s this gonna work?”

  Otis listened for a few minutes. Argued. Negotiated. Then took the phone from his ear and hit the disconnect button. He nodded at Michael. “When they phone me back, that’s the signal for you and I to walk to the middle of the car park. Cooper will bring Jennifer out and stand in front of the car. Then, at the same time, she walks towards me and you walk towards him.”

  Michael swallowed hard. The idea of sacrificing himself for Jennifer had seemed noble and brave when he agreed to it. Now it seemed terrifying. He attempted a smile. “Like in those old movies.”

  “Yeah,” said Otis. “Like in those old movies.”

  The phone came to life in his hand. It chirped only one ring before Otis answered it. “Okay,” was the only thing he said into it. Then he moved it away from his ear and muffled it against his chest. “Let’s do it,” he said to Michael.

  Michael’s knees complained as he stood up. Cold and stiff from squatting down behind the car, they ached like crazy. His legs trembled as he walked towards the centre of the car park with Otis clutching his arm like a boy scout helping an old lady across the road.

  Up ahead, masked by the glare of the BMW’s headlights, two figures stepped out of the rear door. One slightly overweight and masculine, the other small, female and delicate. As they stepped in front of the car, their bodies cast long shadows on the concrete floor.

  Both parties stopped and faced each other. Michael tried to focus on Jennifer. He wanted to be sure she was all right. But she was silhouetted in the lights and he only saw her outline. He saw the outline of Cooper too, unmistakable from their other encounters. His left hand clutched Jennifer’s elbow, his right clasped a phone to his ear.

  “We’re ready,” said Otis into his own phone. Otis let go of Michael’s arm. Michael looked back at him. For validation or encouragement or for him to call the whole thing off. Otis just nodded. “Go on, mate,” he said.

  Michael squinted into the bright headlights. He took a step forward. In front of him, Cooper’s silhouette released Jennifer’s elbow and pushed her gently in the small of her back. She stumbled forward one step.

  “Good luck,” Michael heard Otis say behind him.

  Michael gathered his courage and took another step. Jennifer did the same. Like two chess pieces advancing towards each other one square at a time. Her footsteps were hesitant, unsure, unsteady. She stepped into Cooper’s shadow and, in that moment, Michael saw her properly. She wore the same suit she’d used to get into the Ransom building. Somewhere along the way, she’d lost her jacket, but she still had the skirt and the white collarless top, now crumpled and slightly grubby. He caught a glimpse of her face. Blank, staring eyes. And then she stumbled sideways, back into the blazing light, and became a silhouette again.

  “Jennifer?” It was Otis calling behind him. “Jen, it’s okay. Come on.”

  “Otis?” Her voice tiny, hesitant.

  “That’s right. Walk to me.”

  Her steps quickened. As did Michael’s. It was a long walk to the gallows, and – by God – he wanted it to be over.

  At the halfway point, they met. Michael paused. They were close. Her musky, unwashed scent drifted over to him. Stale, but still alluring. He saw bewildered confusion in her face. He wanted to reach out to her, to say it was all right. But she didn’t so much as glance at him. She kept staring straight ahead towards Otis. Another step and she was behind him. Ahead was only Cooper, his face in shadow. Michael took a deep breath and forced his feet to keep walking.

  A car engine roared behind him. He turned. Speeding down the ramp, headlights blazing, tyres screeching, came a white Peugeot.

  Out the corner of his eye, he saw Otis run forward and grab Jennifer by the arm. She screamed as he yanked her towards him. Then they were both running, heading for his parked car, as the Peugeot revved.

  Something grabbed Michael’s arm. It was Cooper. He pulled Michael backwards, dragging his feet across the concrete.

  The Peugeot braked suddenly with a shriek of burning rubber. A crack pierced the air. As loud as thunder.

  Michael’s whole body tensed.

  Cooper tugged him to the ground. Michael landed on his hands and knees. Cooper pulled the belt of Michael’s trousers and forced him to crawl on the grit and the dirt, behind Cooper’s car.

  Another crack, and a loud ping of metal against metal, ricocheting next to his ear. Instinctively, Michael ducked his head behind the BMW’s front wheel. He knew, then, what the noises were. Gunshots. The first into the air, the second striking the body of the car.

  “Let him go, Cooper!” a woman’s voice called out into the emptiness.

  Michael leant forward to look, but Cooper – still holding onto his belt – jerked him back.

  He looked back at Cooper’s face. The man was determined and full of concentration. As Cooper kept hold of Michael with one hand, he opened his jacket with the other, revealing the handle of a pistol sticking out of a gun holster strapped to his body. He pulled it out and pressed himself close to the body of the car.

  “Is that you, Page?” Cooper shouted.

  “Shut up and let him go,” the woman shouted back. Michael recognised the voice now. Cooper was right, it was her.

  “Not gonna happen, Page.”

  Gunfire. Michael ducked down even further. Glass shattered centimetres from his head. As the echo subsided, he dared himself to look. The windscreen of Cooper’s sleek, black BMW was a craze of broken glass.

  “You tell your man to stay inside,” Page yelled. “I’ll shoot him if I have to.”

  Michael saw, then – through the unshattered passenger window – one of Cooper’s men sat at the wheel. It was the thin one from the offices. In his hand was a gun, chunky and powerful, like Cooper’s. The man cast a look over to his boss. Something unspoken passed between them, because the thin man nodded and stayed in the driver’s seat.

  “What’s your plan, Page?” Cooper shouted out. “Backup’s on the way. You won’t get out of here.”

  “Let me worry about that. Send Michael out.”

  “I knew you were behind this, Page. All you’ve done is prove it to me.”

  “Enough talking!”

  A bullet cracked the air. The tyre by Michael’s face exploded. It hissed with air leaking out of the bullet hole.

  Cooper swore. He lifted both hands to his gun to steady his aim and fired. His body jerked at the recoil.

  With both Cooper’s hands on the gun, Michael was free. He jumped out from behind the car and ran. He looked for Otis and Jennifer but, half blinded by the crossing beams of the BMW’s and Peugeot’s headlights, he couldn’t see them. He couldn’t even see Otis’s car.

  “Michael! This way!” It was Page. Leaning out of the driver’s window. Gun in one hand. Beckoning him with the other.

  With nowhere else to run, he ran to her.

  A shot rang out behind him.

  Page’s body jerked backwards. Blood spurted across the driver’s window.

  Screams!

  From her and from his own mouth.

  “Hold your fire!” bellowed Cooper. “You’ll hit the boy!”

  Michael – somehow still running – glanced back to see the thin man pointing the barrel of his gun out of a hole he’d knocked in the shattered glass of the windscreen.

  Michael reached Page. She was slumped back in the driver’s seat with her left hand clutching her right shoulder. Blood seeped through her fingers and ran down her arm. Her face was flushed with the sheen of sweat.

  “My God,” Michael breathed. He didn’t know what to do.

  “Get in,” said Page.

  “But …”

  “Get in!”

  Jolted out of his paralysis, he dived for the back door.

  Climbing in, he was thrown back as the car lurched forward. He reached for the handle and slammed the door shut.

  He saw they were speeding towards the ramp.

  A glance behind. A split-second
view of the BMW’s headlights before the rear windscreen exploded! Shattered pebbles of glass spat across the back seat. Michael clasped his hands to his head as they rained down on top of him. His heart beating so fast now, it shook his entire body. Unless it was the fear making him tremble.

  “I thought he said not to shoot!” said Michael, as he emerged from his arms.

  “Cooper’s crazy,” said Page. “Better belt up and get your head down.” She turned as she talked to him, taking her eyes away from where she was driving for a second. The car swerved to the left as its wheels hit the exit ramp and bumped against the wall. The impact jolted Michael sideways. Metal bodywork scraped against concrete as the Peugeot revved its way up to the ground level. Daylight permeated the windows and a rush of fresh air blew through the broken rear screen. Michael tasted freedom.

  His hands scrabbled for the seatbelt. He pulled it around his body and clicked it into place.

  A ricocheting bullet bouncing off concrete behind him made him duck down. So he half lay, half sat on the back seat as the Peugeot sped down the quiet Sunday road.

  “Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” Michael shouted up front.

  “Better than the alternative,” said Page. The engine roared and she put more power onto the accelerator and weaved in and out of parked cars. Michael felt sick. From the adrenaline, the fear and the movement of the car. He gripped the edge of the seat, its plush cream leather scattered with pieces of glass, and feared it would also soon be full of the contents of his stomach. He fought the nausea. He needed a plan, not a pile of vomit.

  “Have you got a phone?” he called out.

  “What?” Page shouted back. Her mind, clearly on the road. Or – worse – clouded by blood loss.

  “A phone!”

  “In my bag. By your feet.”

  In the footwell, stuffed under the driver’s seat, and partly camouflaged against the black carpet was a black leather handbag, its silver zip glinting in the light. He strained against the seatbelt to reach it. Unzipping it, he rummaged through tissues, receipts, pen, purse and glasses case to pull out a device no bigger than his palm. The screen lit up when he touched it, illuminating a picture of a fluffy dog playing with a ball.