Anything but Ordinary

by Nicola Rhodes

  The team were definitely getting more relaxed around her now; it seemed that the longer she stayed the more they accepted that she was likely to stay for good.

  ‘Six more of these today,’ said Ray suddenly. ‘A definite trend I should say.’

  Tamar was alert at once although she gave no sign of this, but rather continued to stare aimlessly out of the window.

  ‘Six more of what?’ asked Slick impatiently. And Tamar blessed him silently.

  ‘These spontaneous combustion cases,’ said Ray patiently. ‘You know? That’s sixteen altogether – that we know of anyway.’

  Melissa coughed meaningfully, and an awkward silenced fell in which every head turned to Tamar who, feeling eyes on her, turned around slowly and stared blandly back in Denny’s best “who me?” manner.

  After a few moments, Ray cleared his throat and said, as if nothing had happened. ‘So, any more ideas about what’s behind it?’

  ‘It could be firestarters?’ said Melissa.

  ‘Dragons?’ supplied Slick.

  ‘Some sick bastard with a flamethrower,’ said David.

  ‘Dark matter,’ added Ray.

  ‘How’s that?’ said Slick

  ‘Dark matter,’ repeated Ray.

  ‘And how would that manage to incinerate someone?’ asked David disdainfully.

  ‘It wouldn’t,’ said Tamar taking a hand. ‘But nice thinking anyway, I can see where you’re going with it. It makes more sense than an external source of flame like a dragon or a firestarter or – what was it, “some sick bastard with a flame thrower”?’ She threw David a contemptuous glance.

  ‘Spontaneous combustion occurs from the inside out. That’s why it’s regarded as spontaneous.’ she added.

  ‘What do you think it is?’ said Ray. They all looked hopefully at her.

  She shrugged. ‘What am I, an oracle? I don’t research things. I point and shoot at them.’ She sighed. ‘Okay, I’ll need more information,’ she said. ‘What can you tell me? Are the cases connected? Did the people know each other? Where did they happen? When?

  ‘Well,’ said Ray, ‘there’s no connection as such, but there is a pattern emerging. The cases are moving south.’

  Tamar’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Let me see that data,’ she barked.

  Ray hesitated.

  ‘If you want my help,’ snapped Tamar, ‘then, let me see it. Let me see it now!’

  She had them all thoroughly nervous, she thought as she slipped gracefully into the seat that Ray had been previously occupying. She looked at the data; it made no sense to her whatsoever. However, it did not need to; she already knew what they were dealing with. Crettins.

  If they were nervous, she thought, it was no more than they should be. With Crettins on the loose, they had a big problem.

  * * *

  Agent Dawber was considering leaving the Agency. He had been having a bad day. He had run into the new woman on team Alpha. Literally run right into her, and the way she had looked at him … That stare was terrifying. But that was not the real problem. The feelings that he was forgetting something had greatly intensified after this had happened. Perhaps it was the way she had looked at him. As if she recognized him, which was clearly … Well he had never met her, he was sure of that. But she had gazed searchingly at him as if she expected something. It was a relatively minor incident, so why was it preying on his mind so much?

  Of course, Dawber was used to being stared at by women, he barely noticed these days, being completely obsessed with his work. Mind you, this was a woman that any man would notice and, besides, it had not been that kind of stare.

  Then there was the strange note he had found in his inside pocket. It had to have been her, but how the hell had she done it? And why, what did it mean?

  He had noticed it after he had gone to check his badge (the FBI one) they were required to hand these in periodically to have them changed and today had been his day, a small, crumpled piece of paper that he was certain had not been there before. As soon as he had officially become “Agent Lowry”, he had escaped to the men’s washroom to see what it was.

  Now, in the relative privacy of a cubicle, he looked at it again to see if it made any more sense than it had the first time. Amazingly it did.

  Agent Dawber,

  Go to the house on the hill “Vir Domas” currently in Staffordshire; you will know it when you see it. Ask for Denny, he will help you. I think you know you are not safe here. You will be safe with him. Show him this letter, the words on the back are for him. Go as soon as you can.

  Tamar Black

  Dawber pondered on this note for a long time trying to make it out. Who was Tamar Black? How did she know that he didn’t feel safe? Who was Denny? And what did she mean “currently in Staffordshire”?

  “Vir Domus” that was Latin wasn’t it? ‘Home of Heroes’ – modest! Still, parts of it made sense, in that she was right, he didn’t feel safe here. But you did not just leave the Agency. No one left The Agency – not alive anyway. But somehow, her promise that he would be safe reassured him. There was something he had felt from her, brief though their contact had been, that engendered trust. She was not what she seemed. Then again, he had felt for a long time that no one here was.

  He read the note again and then curiously turned it over. There were no words on the back only a few scratch marks in pen, like something that had been written by a chicken in a tremendous hurry. Some sort of shorthand perhaps, but not one that Dawber recognised. “They are for Denny,” he thought.

  His instinct was to burn the note, as he had been taught, but he could not; she had trusted him with it. All the more reason, he argued. If this note fell into The Director’s hands, she would be in trouble. She had, rather foolishly, in his opinion, signed it openly. But there was no reason for it to fall into The Director’s hands. Not unless he meekly handed it over and he would not. His expression grew grim. He would not betray her who was trying to help him. Somehow, it never occurred to him to doubt her. He made his mind up. He would go. He would find the house and this Denny character and see what happened.

  Now he just had to find a way to escape Rook and get away unnoticed.

  * * *

  ‘Crettins’ Tamar tried to explain, ‘are remnants of a far older world. I suppose you would call them fire spirits, but that isn’t the half of it. They were born in the beginning, long before there was life on this planet when it was still clicking hot and covered in molten lava.’ She became aware that they were hanging on her every word in a most gratifying fashion. Her own little gang never looked at her like that. ‘They live now in the earth’s core but sometimes they accidentally find their way to the surface, and when they do they become disorientated and afraid. It’s far too cold for them up here.’

  ‘Is that why they are heading south,’ asked Slick, ‘because it’s warmer?’

  ‘No, all temperatures on the surface are the same to them,’ said Tamar. ‘Freezing. ‘It’s like the difference to us between one part of the arctic and another. It all feels the same. Only it’s worse for them.’ She thought for a moment. ‘It’s not the direction per se that’s important; it’s the fact that they go in one direction whatever it is. Crettins always move in more or less straight lines following the invisible lava currents beneath the earth’s surface.’

  ‘You seem to know a lot about them,’ said Ray.

  ‘I’ve seen this before,’ said Tamar vaguely. ‘It happens every so often. You always know when Crettins are around because of the spontaneous combustion, usually of animals but sometimes people. You see, they are attracted by the warmth. They enter a body and begin to use the heat within to warm themselves, they get hotter and hotter until …’ she gestured with her hands KABOOM! ‘They don’t mean any harm. They’re just trying to survive. The sad thing is, it doesn’t really heat them up enough. The body disintegrates long before the Crettin within feels any benefit at all. But they keep trying it.’

  ‘So what do we do about it?’ sa
id Melissa practically.

  Tamar hesitated. ‘I can handle this on my own,’ she said. ‘They can’t hurt me, but you would be in a lot of danger.’

  This remark received blank stares all round. Even from Slick, who she had been certain would grab at the straw of relative safety.

  ‘So what else is new,’ said Ray eventually.

  ‘I’m not afraid,’ said Melissa. And looked as if she meant it.

  ‘We want to go,’ said Slick. ‘It’s what we do.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Tamar appraised them uncertainly. ‘Are you sure you …’

  ‘We know what you think of us,’ said Melissa suddenly. ‘You haven’t exactly tried to hide it. But we can handle ourselves, and we’re wasting time here. Tell us what you need us to do.’

  ‘All right,’ said Tamar. ‘Ray, where was the last incident recorded?’

  ‘Venezuela,’

  ‘Okay, when was that?’

  ‘Yesterday at around two …’

  ‘Right, Crettins move fast. They’ll be at least two hundred miles away by now. Does that fit in with your data?’

  Ray looked surprised. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘exactly.’

  ‘Good, so we all know where we’re going. How does One get out of here?’

  Tamar did not need all this really; she could have sensed the Crettins easily once she was out of the complex. But she felt that these people were uneasy without a plan they could follow and data they could rely on. Not like Denny, Stiles, and the others, who acted on instinct and improvised most of the time. Tamar preferred acting on instinct. Nine times out of ten it worked for her. There were some things you could not plan for and she dealt with most of them on a regular basis.

  It was no wonder, she thought, that her batting average against supernatural forces was better than theirs. They thought about things too much. Try to out-think a werewolf for example and see where it got you. Dead is where it got you. Because, while you were trying to decide what it might do next, the werewolf, acting on instinct, had already torn your throat out.

  She was thinking a lot about wolves recently, she realised. She docketed the thought and decided to come back to it later. Her instincts told her there was probably a reason for this and she never ignored her instincts for long.

  She surveyed the team before her, eager to be off. Right now, her instincts were telling her that at least one of them was going to die.

  * * *

  ‘She sent you to me?’ Denny was bewildered. He read the note again. No doubt about it, it was her writing and the shorthand on the back was pretty conclusive. Only Tamar could have written it.

  ‘You’d better come in then,’ said Denny shortly. ‘And we’ll see if we can’t sort this out. You have no idea who I am, do you?’ he added astutely.

  ‘No,’ said Dawber baffled. ‘We’ve never met.’

  ‘We have you know,’ said Denny. ‘Cindy!’ he bawled.

  Cindy appeared suddenly behind him causing Dawber to step backwards suddenly in shock.

  ‘What?’ she snapped. Then she saw Dawber. Her eyes narrowed sharply. ‘What’s he doing here?’

  ‘Tamar sent him,’ said Denny. He handed her the note.

  ‘He doesn’t remember us,’ he added when she had read it and handed it back to him with a mystified look. She drew her eyebrows together in an effort to understand. ‘What?’ she said eventually.

  ‘Tamar says that his memory has been tampered with,’ explained Denny. ‘Probably magically. Can you help him?’

  ‘He’s lost his memory?’ said Cindy.

  ‘More like, had it taken from him,’ said Denny.

  ‘And Tamar sent him here? Why didn’t she just fix him herself?’

  ‘I think she’s in trouble,’ said Denny. ‘We’ll know more when – if we can get Agent Dum Dum here to remember.’

  Cindy just stared at him blankly.

  ‘Cindy!’ snapped Denny. ‘This is no time for the dumb blonde routine, can you help him or not?’

  Cindy shook herself. ‘Okay, okay,’ she said testily. ‘There’s no need to get all bent out of shape, I was just thinking … It depends on how it was done but probably he hasn’t actually lost his memories, just had them blocked off.’

  ‘Which means?’

  ‘Which means I probably can get them back for him, but it won’t be pleasant for him.’ she looked at Dawber. ‘Give me your hands,’ she ordered.

  In a daze, Dawber did so.

  ‘Thanks Cindy,’ said Denny quietly.

  She inclined her head coldly. After a few minutes intense concentration she released his hands and announced. ‘There’s at least three months worth in total of missing memory, although it’s not consecutive. It’s from all over the place, a bit here, a bit there. It adds up.’

  ‘Three months!’ exclaimed Denny. ‘How long have they been doing this to him?’

  ‘Several years I would say,’ said Cindy sombrely. ‘Pretty bad.’ she looked at Denny. ‘And Tamar’s with these people?’

  ‘I bloody hope not,’ said Denny.

  ‘She is,’ volunteered Dawber.

  ‘Shut up “Memento”,’ snapped Denny. ‘What do you know about anything? You probably don’t even remember your name.’

  ‘It’s Dawber,’ said Dawber mildly.

  ‘Are you sure about that?’

  ‘It probably is,’ said Cindy. ‘I mean, he’s had his name his whole life hasn’t he? They’ve only been messing with him for the last few years or so.’

  ‘So, who are they?’

  ‘That’s what I’m hoping he can tell us, when I’ve finished with him.’ said Cindy. ‘They wouldn’t have bothered to do this if he hadn’t found out what they didn’t want him to know.

  ‘I wouldn’t worry about Tamar,’ she added gently. ‘If anyone can take care of herself …’

  ‘I’d just feel better if I was there,’ muttered Denny.

  Cindy turned to Dawber. ‘I can restore your memory,’ she said. ‘But three months of disjointed memories returning all at once will be an overwhelming experience. You won’t like it I’m warning you.’

  ‘Three months doesn’t sound like all that much,’ said Dawber uncertainly.

  ‘You’ll see,’ said Cindy. ‘It’s more than you think. Ready?’

  ‘No,’ said Dawber nervously.

  ‘Too bad,’ said Denny. ‘Cindy, get on with it.’

  Cindy ignored the peremptory tone. The truth was that she tended to go gooey inside when Denny bossed her around. But she would be damned if she was going to let him see it.

  She moved gently toward Dawber. ‘Don’t be afraid,’ she whispered softly, caressingly almost seductively. Dawber was hypnotised, and Denny could quite see why. Cindy certainly had a way with her when she wanted to.

  She took his face in her hands and closed her eyes. ‘Dea Hecaté audite meus placitum, permoveo obex solvo is mens.’ she muttered in a voice not her own. ‘Teneoobex quod distraho is in nusquam, restituo mens, refero monumentum.’

  Her eyes snapped open and were blank without irises. Denny had seen this before, but it was still disconcerting.

  ‘Dea Hecaté audite meus placitum, permoveo obex solvo is mens.’ she repeated in commanding tones. ‘Teneoobex quod distraho is in nusquam, restituo mens, refero monumentum.’

  Denny had to admit it; Cindy was impressive when she did this.

  ‘Solvomens, solvo.Redigo is ita.’ at these last words, the meaning of which Denny could only guess at, a strange light descended on Cindy and enveloped her. Dawber screamed.

  ‘I told him, he wouldn’t like it,’ said Cindy, whose voice and eyes had now returned to normal.

  Denny stared in shock at the prostrate figure of Dawber lying whimpering on the floor. ‘Will he be all right?’

  ‘Give him a kick,’ said Cindy heartlessly. ‘He’s over-egging it a bit if you ask me, it can’t be that bad.’

  ‘Depends on what it is he’s remembering,’ said Denny grimly.

  They stared at each other for a
second or two, contemplating this and imagining all sorts of horrors that might have been suddenly revealed to the mind of the poor man now twitching feebly on the floor.

  Denny recovered first. ‘That was some pretty impressive gobbledygook.’ he said hastily, changing the subject. ‘I sometimes forget what a first-class witch you really are.’ He unthinkingly laid a hand on her shoulder as he spoke.

  She shook it off irritably. ‘Don’t,’ she said, with what Denny thought was disproportionate vehemence

  ‘Don’t what?’ said Denny taken aback.

  ‘I can’t have you, but I don’t need your pity!’ she yelled, her eyes blazing suddenly, and then she ran away.

  Dawber, who had recovered enough to be watching this scene with curiosity from his prone position on the floor, temporarily forgot his own problems and asked in some surprise. ‘What was all that about?’

  Denny turned to Dawber with a carefully neutral expression. ‘I have no idea,’ he lied.

  * * *

  Tamar surveyed her troops with a critical eye. ‘The neoprene catsuits and the radio mike headsets?’ she asked. ‘Are they absolutely necessary?’

  ‘We always wear them,’ said Melissa.

  ‘Even if we do look like complete dicks,’ muttered Ray under his breath.

  ‘And small children don’t follow you to find out where the circus is going to be?’ asked Tamar.

  ‘Sometimes,’ again this was Ray speaking sotto voce so that only Tamar’s sensitive ears caught the words. She smiled.

  I thought the idea was to be covert?’ she pointed out. ‘You lot might as well be wearing signs around your necks saying “secret government special ops team”.

  ‘You look like the X men,’ she added cruelly, ‘only dorkier.’

  Ray stifled a laugh. ‘That’s what I’ve been saying,’ he said. ‘Well. Actually I said we look like the Fantastic Four.’

  Tamar tried to imagine Jack Stiles wearing a neoprene catsuit and suddenly burst out laughing.