Mindscape

by M. M. Vaughan

  “Mrs. Lane,” said John, clearly uncomfortable, “the reason we needed to get hold of you . . .”

  Chris was already feeling awful enough—he couldn’t hear anymore. He looked over to Ron and signaled to ask if he wanted a drink. Ron shook his head, and Chris walked away, leaving John to explain Chris’s suspension.

  Chris turned the kettle on and opened the cupboard to find that there were no clean mugs—the only surprise about that was that he’d bothered checking. He turned on the tap and picked up one of the dirty mugs from the counter.

  Distracted, Chris began to wash the mug, wondering how he could have got it so wrong. He had been so sure that his mother had been taken, but now that he had seen that wasn’t the case, he felt no relief, just embarrassment at having been proved wrong, once again, and worry about what, exactly, Ernest might be planning instead.

  “I’ve talked to your mum,” said John, appearing at the kitchen doorway.

  Chris picked up a tea towel and began to dry the mug. “What did she say?”

  “Not much. I didn’t go into detail—just said you’d got into a bit of trouble at school and you’ve been sent home for a week, and she said it’s fine to leave you here.”

  Chris looked up as John pulled the door behind him closed and walked over to the sink.

  “Chris, you don’t have to stay. I think Sir Bentley will understand if we explain. . . .”

  Chris shook his head. “It’s all right. I’m used to it.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t think your mum is feeling well. . . .”

  “Honestly, John, I’m fine. She’s been like this for years—I don’t even remember what she was like before.”

  John thought about this for a moment and then, finally, sighed. “All right, but you know you can call if you need anything. We’ll be here in no time—you saw how Ron drives.”

  Chris gave a weak smile. “Thanks.”

  “All right, we’ll leave you now. We’ll be back next Sunday at six. But if you change your mind or you need anything at all, just pick up the phone.”

  Chris nodded. Then, just as John was about to walk out, Chris spoke.

  “I’m sorry, John. I really thought something had happened to her.”

  John gave him a smile. “Don’t you worry about that, son—it’s not been an easy couple of months. You rest up—this will all be forgotten when you get back to school.”

  With that, John walked out of the kitchen. Chris waited until he heard the front door close, then picked up the hot mug of tea, delivered it to his mother in silence, and went up to his room.

  • • •

  In the week that followed, until Ron and John returned to take him back to school, Chris never once left the house, more certain with every day that passed that Ernest was about to appear. The feeling that somebody was watching him during the day intensified at night, and Chris would wake up in a cold sweat from nightmares in which he was being chased by an unknown assailant, only to wake up and wonder if it was actually true.

  • • •

  Meanwhile, an increasingly unkempt Ernest sat alone within the vast and oppressive confines of Darkwhisper Manor and watched Chris’s paranoia with a sense of cold satisfaction. Using his Ability, Ernest spent his days and nights barely sleeping as he tracked Chris in his mind—watching him wake in terror from his nightmares, then check the house before returning for a couple of hours of fitful sleep, only to repeat the process a couple of hours later. It was strange, he thought, how things had a way of working out. He had always known that his Ability lacked the power of his brother’s, but he hadn’t anticipated how strong Christopher Lane’s powers might be until their meeting at the concert. That night, as he had returned home, limping and bruised, he had been devastated at not having accomplished what he had set out to do. Now he realized, as he watched Chris suffering with the anticipation of his attack, that the delay was in fact going to be the greatest part of his revenge. He would still honor the promise he had made at his brother’s grave—Christopher Lane would die for what he had done—but Ernest was going to take his time about it. For, however strong Chris’s Ability might be, Ernest had something far more powerful: patience. The element of surprise would be his strongest weapon, and that the long wait he was planning was only going to distress Chris further was simply an added bonus. As he watched Chris, confused and exhausted, leave his house a week later to return to school, Ernest smiled to himself. Let the waiting game begin.

  • CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO •

  Five Months Later

  “Good evening, and welcome to a breaking news special with me, Anya Li. Tonight, scenes of jubilation as Lucy Horsham, the seven-year-old daughter of the Earl and Countess of Hampshire, is found alive in a barn in the New Forest. We go straight to our correspondent Felix Dunbar, who is live at the scene with the details. Felix, what can you tell us?”

  “Thank you, Anya. In the last ten minutes, police have confirmed that they have located seven-year-old Lucy Horsham, alive and well and apparently unharmed. It’s the end of an agonizing six-day ordeal for the friends and family of Lucy, who was kidnapped from her home, Lawrie Hall, in the early hours of Saturday morning. The successful conclusion is all the more surprising given that the police admitted yesterday that they had no reliable leads and that, aside from the ransom note left at the scene demanding one million pounds for her return, they had received no further information. It was thought that the extensive press coverage and the enormous public interest in the case—thousands of people have spent the last few days searching for the girl—might have sent the kidnapper into hiding, as no further demands had been received. Only this morning, as we reported earlier, a press conference was held appealing for the public’s help. At that time, there was certainly no indication that any further information had become available, and many were beginning to lose hope that Lucy would be found alive. Tonight, however, a man and a woman are in custody on suspicion of kidnapping and blackmail—we have unconfirmed reports that they are they owners of the farm on which Lucy was found. It is another successful outcome in what has been an astonishing few months for the British police, the rate of serious crimes solved since January of this year being the highest in recorded history. We’ll bring you more of this case as it develops, but for now back to you, Anya, in the studio.”

  • • •

  Chris stood up, grinning, and switched the television off as Daisy, Lexi, Philip, and Sebastian let out a cheer.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Chris, seeing the frown on Rex’s face.

  “Well . . . it’s good that they found her, but where’s the thanks? We’re doing all the work, and the police get all the credit. It’s not fair—I should be on television.”

  Lexi rolled her eyes. “First, we’re not doing all the work—we can’t solve anything without the police doing the groundwork. Second, you agreed when you came here that you wouldn’t tell anybody about what we do.”

  “I know,” said Rex, looking glum, “but what’s the point of this all if I don’t get any credit? I could be famous.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Philip, “maybe the point is that we’ve saved that girl’s life. Or that fifteen people have had their convictions overturned following our information. Or maybe the eighty percent reduction in burglary since we started helping the commissioner, or the three hundred twenty-two arrests since we started working with the police. Or—”

  “Yeah, yeah,” said Rex, “I get it. Just saying—it would have been nice to see my picture on the front pages, that’s all. We’ve got two weeks left, and then that’s it—we’ll all just go back to normal school and be normal pupils, and all this will be just some strange memory that nobody will believe, even if we tell them.”

  The room went silent as everybody considered this: the until-now-unspoken fact that their time at Myers Holt was coming to an end, and with their thirteenth birthdays fast approaching, so would their Ability. It was not something that any of them wanted to think about. />
  “Thanks for depressing us all,” said Philip, slamming his book closed.

  “Oh, come on, everybody, it’s not that bad—we’ll all still be friends, right?” said Daisy, trying to sound cheerful.

  Nobody answered.

  “And we won’t have to have any more lessons with Ms. Lamb,” continued Daisy. “That’s a good thing too. Right, Chris?”

  “I guess,” said Chris, who would have gladly put up with his daily dose of insults from Ms. Lamb in exchange for more time at Myers Holt. At least, he thought, he was going to be starting at a new school—Miss Sonata had arranged for a place for him at the same boarding school as Philip, starting in September.

  “Daisy is correct—all good things must come to an end,” said Sebastian, “but we have much to look forward to. We will most certainly be the highest achievers in our new classes—even Rex will be recognized as a genius.”

  “Finally be recognized as a genius,” corrected Rex.

  “And we won’t have to listen to Rex moaning anymore,” said Lexi. Rex turned to glare at her, but Lexi smiled back. “Only teasing, Rex. You know we’ll all miss you.”

  “Like an ingrown toenail,” said Philip, also smiling as he stood up. “Come on—this is too depressing. Let’s go for a swim.”

  • • •

  The last five months had seen a lot of changes for the pupils of Myers Holt but for none more so than Chris. The school timetables had been rearranged soon after Chris’s return from his suspension so that they could dedicate their days to solving the crimes that the commissioner presented them with at a briefing every morning. In the evening and on weekends, barring any police emergency, the pupils would cram in as much studying as they could—all suddenly aware that the more they did now, the less effort they would have to put into their learning when they no longer had their Ability to help them. With their new schedule had come daily outings from the school—to police stations, prisons, crime scenes, and even, on one occasion, a submarine. At first, Chris had been almost paralyzed with fear every time he stepped out of the school’s front door—certain that Ernest was about to appear at any moment. Slowly, however, that fear had begun to subside as the days passing without incident turned into weeks and his memory of the meeting with Ernest began to fade. If Ernest had wanted to attempt to kill him, Chris had eventually come to reason, then there had been plenty of opportunities given that they now spent so much time outside the safety of the school. It was clear, Chris thought, that on the night of the concert he had shown his Ability was no match for Ernest, and Ernest had decided to abandon his plans for revenge. As the weeks turned into months and Chris became increasingly convinced that he was right, he began to spend less and less time worrying about Ernest until, one day, he stopped thinking of him altogether.

  • • •

  Chris lay floating in the clear blue waters of the Dome’s swimming pool as his friends splashed around him and thought about their earlier conversation in the Map Room. Daisy and Sebastian were right, he thought: In spite of how much he was going to miss Myers Holt, there was still so much to look forward to. Whilst nothing had changed at home—despite Miss Sonata’s best efforts, his mother had refused any help—at least he would be going away to boarding school in September with Philip and wouldn’t have to live at home.

  As it was, he had not once seen his mother since his suspension. He had jumped at Philip’s parents’ invitation to stay with them during the Easter holidays so that, with the exception of a few brief and very awkward phone calls, he had had no further contact with his mother. Lucky for him, Philip’s parents had enjoyed hosting Chris, and he had been invited to stay with them over the summer holidays. Miss Sonata had said she would check with his mother, but Chris was sure that she would agree—he now had no doubt that he was not welcome at home any longer. It was sad but true. He might have a mother who didn’t want him around, his time at Myers Holt might be coming to an end, and his Ability would be disappearing in a few months’ time, but at least, he thought as he waded over to join the others, he had his friends. And that was more than enough to be grateful for.

  • • •

  That afternoon, Chris sat at his desk in the classroom while Ms. Lamb shouted at him for using blue ink instead of black on his last report form, and he let his mind go blank. They were using a trick that Lexi had thought of a few weeks earlier: using their Ability to talk to each other unnoticed in class. Now that Ms. Lamb’s lessons were mostly just an opportunity for her to find fault with their work—their training having long been completed—this way of talking between themselves was a welcome distraction.

  “I think we need to come up with a way of saying good-bye to Ms. Lamb when we leave—something for her to remember us by. What do you think?” asked Rex, using his Ability.

  “Brilliant idea. Chalk on her back?” suggested Chris.

  “Amateur,” said Rex.

  “I agree,” said Philip. “It’s got to be something a bit cleverer.”

  “And as for the way you conducted yourselves on the minibus! Singing . . .” Ms. Lamb continued her rant, not noticing that despite everybody looking in her direction, nobody was paying any attention.

  “We could hide round the corner,” suggested Daisy, “and scare her when she comes into the classroom.”

  “You haven’t got the hang of this at all,” said Rex. “We’ve got one chance to get back at her for being so evil to all of us—that’s it. We’ve got to make it good.”

  “Hide her boots?”

  “Put salt in her coffee?”

  “Bucket of water on top of the door?”

  “Chris could pretend to fall in love with her,” said Lexi.

  There was a brief silence.

  “Best. Idea. Ever,” said Rex, sounding delighted.

  “Are you crazy?” asked Chris, horrified but trying not to let it show on his face. “Never. Not in a million years.”

  “All right, all right, calm down,” said Rex, “Let me think . . . hmm . . . oh . . . wait . . . I’ve got it!”

  “Christopher?”

  Chris jumped up and saw Miss Sonata standing at the doorway, staring at him.

  “Oh, um. Sorry, Miss Sonata.”

  “I told you,” said Ms. Lamb, “they don’t pay any attention.”

  “Christopher, can I have a word in my office?”

  Chris nodded and stood up. He grabbed his bag and walked out the door, but not before noticing the evil smile on everybody’s faces as they listened to Rex in their minds.

  • • •

  “Christopher, I don’t want to alarm you,” said Miss Sonata as they walked through the Dome, “but we’ve been trying to get hold of your mum since yesterday to deliver the food shopping, and there’s been no answer.”

  “She’s probably just sleeping in the attic,” said Chris, “like last time.”

  “I’m sure that’s the case. Nevertheless, it’s been twenty-four hours. I even went round there this morning, but there was no answer at the door, so I thought maybe we could go outside and you could use your Ability to check the house and make sure she’s okay, that she’s not unwell or anything like that.”

  Chris nodded as he followed Miss Sonata into the elevator.

  “I’m sure she’s fine,” said Chris as they stepped out of the lift and walked down the corridor. “You’ve met her—she’s probably just ignoring the phone.”

  “Well . . . you’re probably right, but I’d still like you to make sure,” said Miss Sonata.

  Chris shrugged his shoulders and opened the front door. He stepped out onto the top stair, surprised at the cool chill of the air despite it being June, and turned to Miss Sonata.

  “Now?”

  “Whenever you’re ready, Christopher.”

  Chris closed his eyes and let his Ability take over.

  The first room that Chris entered in his mind was his house’s living room. Even knowing how neglectful his mother was of all household chores, Chris was shocked by how f
ilthy she had allowed her surroundings to become. Sometime in January, when Miss Sonata had first learned of his mother’s relapse, his mother had been offered a weekly cleaner, to be paid for by Myers Holt. She had refused, saying that it would be an invasion of her privacy, and the matter had been dropped. Chris had seen what a mistake that had been when he had returned home during his suspension and found the rooms that his mother used in total disarray. Now he could see that not a single plate or mug had been lifted from its place in five months, and the entire room was covered in a thick layer of dust.

  Chris shook his head in disgust as he let his mind wander to the kitchen. There was no sign of his mother there, either, just empty packets and bags from the weekly shopping that had been dropped off to her and a bin that had obviously not been emptied for a very long time. Chris was glad that he couldn’t smell the room. Nevertheless, he had no intention of hanging around, so he let his mind slip past the doorway, out into the hallway, and up the stairs. There was no sign of her. Even more peculiar, the attic hatch was closed, and there was no ladder leading up to it. Chris was surprised—he had been sure that the reason for her not answering the phone was the same as last time, that she was hiding up there surrounded by photographs of his father. To be certain, Chris let his mind soar up through the ceiling and into the cold attic space. He checked carefully, behind every box and in every corner, but his mother was not there.

  Chris’s breaths started to quicken with panic as he checked the other rooms upstairs and found them empty as well. He hadn’t expected to feel so concerned, but it was his mother and, in spite of the way she had treated him, there remained, it seemed, a part of him that cared about her and remembered that she had once been so different. Chris began to check the house again, behind every piece of furniture, in the understairs cupboard, and even in the garden shed but found nothing. And then, with a sudden jolt, he remembered those words: “When you least expect it.”

  “When was the last time you spoke to her?” Chris asked Miss Sonata.

  “Two days ago—when I was arranging the time for the shopping to be dropped. Why? What’s happened, Chris?” asked Miss Sonata. “Is your mother okay? Is she hurt?”