Erased

by Nick Gifford

  Liam stared at his own father. “Why is there a picture of me in there?”

  “He thinks you’re his success, Liam. Finally. He thinks you’re going to be something quite extraordinary.”

  His father stepped across to him, and put a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, we’ll go now. You’ve seen too much. I should never have brought you here.”

  Liam resisted the pressure on his shoulder. “No,” he said. “You were going to ... my mother?”

  ~

  They passed rooms. The doors had one-way viewing panels set into them, so that they could look in. There were people inside. People of a variety of ages, some with tubes sticking out of noses, mouths and arms, others just sitting in easy chairs, staring at flickering pictures on their TVs.

  “It’s a nursing home, I suppose,” said Liam’s father.

  “Are they all...?”

  “No. They’re not all survivors of Sir Peter’s experiments, although some of them are. Some are just survivors of our condition.”

  They came to a door and stopped. An old woman was inside, staring at her television.

  Instead of moving on, Liam’s father reached for the door’s handle and pushed. They went in, but the old woman didn’t acknowledge their arrival.

  “She’s quite oblivious,” he said. “One consequence of our condition is that we can be afflicted by any number of damaging illnesses when we reach middle age. She’s only forty-seven, believe it or not, but she doesn’t have long left now. The drugs hold it off for a time, but they’re addictive, which is another hold those in power have over the Lost Families. We’re starting to break free from the drugs with the implants, but the technology is new. Who knows, Liam: maybe one day you’ll have an implant.

  “Sir Peter has been running a breeding programme,” Liam’s father went on to explain. “Finding the purest blood lines of the Lost Families and matching them up in the hope that we will breed true again. If our blood is pure, we will be stronger. And if our blood is pure, there’s a greater chance that those with really special gifts will emerge – talents that will pull us together and help us break free and emerge from the shadows of the talentless masses. When the breeding programme identifies someone with particularly pure blood, they breed from them over and over again. If it’s a woman, they harvest her eggs and implant them in other women who will carry them.”

  He raised a hand, waving towards the old woman. “Liam, you’ve never had a real mother, as such. Not in the way that other people have. But ... well... meet your biological mother.”

  Liam stared, just as the old woman stared at the screen. She wasn’t seeing the pictures, wasn’t hearing the sound. In most senses, she was hardly there at all.

  ~

  In the lift back to the surface, Liam’s father said, “I’m sorry. You really shouldn’t have seen that. I’ll talk to Dr Shastri as soon as we’re back. We’ll sort out your memories.”

  Liam nodded. He was glad he had seen it. It had made a big impression on him. A deep impression. One he would hang on to.

  Because one day he would put a stop to Sir Peter’s awful experiments.

  21 The here and now

  It usually pays to be rational and cautious. Assess a situation, weigh up the pros and cons, and then make your decision.

  But sometimes you can’t be sure.

  Sometimes you can only weigh up the likelihoods and the vague possibilities.

  Sometimes the most rational course of action is to take the plunge.

  ~

  Willoughby came to see him. He had Liam’s father with him.

  Liam remembered Alastair’s words of the night before. Sir Peter had protected Liam. He was working for the good of the Lost Families. And his father – what was his role in all this now? Liam deliberately muddled up his thoughts, projecting confused, and hoping Alastair was right about these people, and similar sentiments.

  Willoughby stared at him, so that Liam felt like an insect pinned down on a board, being studied through a magnifying lens.

  “You’ve been a lot of trouble,” said the Principal. “I’m inclined to terminate our experiment. It would be easy to neutralise you, just as we’re going to do with your little friend. Snuff out your spark.”

  Normality, Liam thought. Was he being offered normality?

  “But your father, here, has persuaded me that we should give you another chance, Connor. He proposes that we should work with you on a more equal basis. No more song and dance. We have seen your gift develop dramatically through the testing process, but now, perhaps, we should move on. Work with me on my project, Connor, and together we can lead the Lost Families out into the open! Freedom for our kind.”

  Liam suppressed thoughts of the failed experiments out at the Camp. He suppressed the thought that he was staring into the eyes of an absolute madman.

  He raised a hand to his head.

  “I...” he said, and stopped. He thought of confusion, of blinding colours flashing across his senses, of pain in his implant. Last night. This had happened to him last night, and it still hurt, still left him reeling.

  Willoughby glanced at Liam’s father. “Come on,” he said. “He’s still recovering from the seizure. I told Al not to damage him! We’ve invested a lot in this project.”

  Liam’s father nodded. “We’ll give him a bit longer.” He turned, as they left the room, and said, “Liam, when you’re ready to talk – ask for me, okay?”

  ~

  Liam struggled to think whether he was really being offered a way out, or if he was just being drawn in, ever deeper.

  Work with Willoughby? How could he ever work with that mad tyrant?

  But the alternative was to let them do whatever they had to do in order to neutralise his gift. The easiest way to neutralise it would be to kill him, but Willoughby had implied that they hadn’t dealt with Hayley yet, so Liam suspected that something more elaborate than murder was involved.

  Was this a way out, then? Let them do what they wanted...

  If he really was so powerful – one of these special ones they talked about – then maybe he should let them contain him. Control him for the good of everyone.

  Perhaps.

  He stood at the window. He was high up in the main NATS building. Just a figure in a distant window to anyone who might happen to glance up and see him.

  For a moment, he considered trying to mark the letters H-E-L-P on the window somehow, but even if someone saw it, they would only go to Reception, or to one of the teachers. That wouldn’t get him far, at all.

  He remembered Luc’s claim that there were spies from outside agencies here, as well as Sir Peter’s people. But even if Liam could somehow contact one of these people, why would he ever trust them to be on his side?

  He wondered what Hayley must be going through. She had just been given the place in Senior House she had always wanted and then had it snatched away from her. He somehow doubted they would have bothered to explain too much to her about what was going on, and what they did tell her of Anders’ lies was probably just hopelessly confusing.

  Maybe he could strike some kind of deal? If he was willing to work with Willoughby, maybe he could convince them that Anders had been lying, and they should give Hayley another chance, too?

  ~

  He spent a long time running through the options in his head. Finally, he banged on his door and asked to see his father.

  A few minutes later, the door opened and his father stepped in.

  Liam stood by the window. His father looked at him, squinting against the afternoon sunlight. He looked nervous, shifty.

  “So,” his father said, “how are you feeling now?”

  Liam tried to sense whether there was anything going on, any thought-shapes probing his mind. Nothing. He shrugged. “A lot clearer, I think.”

  “Good. Good.”

  Liam stared at his father, and wondered why it was that he had taken him to see Sir Peter’s Follies that time. Was he sowing the seeds of rebellion,
or was he just playing his part, raising the levels of trauma as they tried to force Liam’s gifts to emerge? And why had he hinted that Liam might be able to hang onto his memories, even when they tried to wipe them?

  London’s burning, London’s burning. Fire fire! Fire fire!

  “What’s going on, Dad? What are you up to?”

  He hadn’t expected that. He looked away, to the side, down at his feet. Then he looked back up at Liam and met his eyes. “This is really happening, son,” he said. “We’re in the here and now. It’s not another re-mixed memory. It’s not something from the past that you’re only now managing to remember. It’s not a fake episode implanted into your head to try to shape you into the person he wants. This is now. What you do is real. The decisions you make are real. This isn’t a game. Sir Peter never plays games. Do you understand?”

  Liam nodded. He had no past, or at least no past that he could be sure of. And he didn’t know where the future lay. All he had was the here and now.

  “Tell me,” he said. “How do I know? How do I know you’re even my father?”

  The man across the room shook his head. “You can’t,” he told Liam. “I can tell you that you are, because that’s the truth, but how can you ever know anything’s true? Things are never what they seem.”

  That phrase... Liam recognised it. The message on his phone. “You’ve been nudging me along, haven’t you? Helping me piece things together...”

  His father shrugged. “All I ask is that you judge me by my actions.”

  “But...” But his father had betrayed him. Liam couldn’t remember the details but he know that to be true. And now ... now when this conversation was over his father would walk out of that door leaving Liam still a prisoner.

  “I’ve made some tough decisions,” his father told him now. “I have a lot on my conscience. But I’ve always looked out for you, Liam. I’ve always tried to keep you close, so that I can make sure you’re safe. And sometimes I’ve had to do things I never wanted to do. But I’ve always tried to do what’s right. Do you understand?”

  There was a long silence between them.

  “So what next?” Liam finally asked. “What do you want me to do?”

  His father shook his head. “I can’t say, son. It’s not my choice. It’s yours. It’s up to you.”

  Liam stared at him. It was the first time anyone had said that to him.

  That was when he decided, for sure. A plan of action.

  “Will you do something for me?” he asked his father. “Will you tell Luc Renaudier where I am?”

  His father nodded.

  “And there’s something else,” said Liam. “You people – you’re scared of me, aren’t you? Even you, of all people. You don’t know what I might become and that terrifies you.”

  His father didn’t object, which was answer enough.

  “There’s something else,” said Liam. “I want you to do something else for me, too.”

  22 Unless you can think of anything better...

  Those Russian dolls again. One lesson they should teach you is that you should persevere: keep on chipping away and one day you will reach the final layer.

  One day.

  ~

  Liam lay back on the bed in his locked-up, screwed-down room. He wondered if he had made the right call. Had his father really done as he asked or was he, even now, having a good laugh about it with Willoughby and Alastair?

  The young fool! He still doesn’t understand. He can never win. No-one will ever be on his side. We’re going to have to carry on teaching him that lesson until he gets it.

  He rubbed at his implant scar, and remembered the flashing colours. His head ached – a quiet, deep pulse. He wondered what he had in there. What gift? Something about making people strong, Miss Carver had said. Was he really one of these legendary figures? He just felt the same as he always had, but then, how would he know?

  Some time, much later, he was dozing, catching up on some of the sleep he had missed.

  “Are you there, Liam?”

  He knew that voice, that accent, but he couldn’t quite place it.

  “It is me, Luc Renaudier. Your room buddy. Are you there, Liam? I am trying to reach you.”

  Liam sat up, shaking his head. Was Luc projecting his voice at him, somehow? Communicating directly into his head? The voice sounded hollow, disembodied.

  “Liam. Answer me.”

  He thought hard, trying to project an answer.

  “Liam. Please tell me that I am right and that I am not now making a dangerous fool of myself.”

  He looked up. The voice wasn’t in his head. It was in his ceiling!

  “Luc?” he said. He stood on the bed so his head was close to the ceiling. “Luc? Are you up there?”

  “Ah, that is good. I did not think I had got it wrong. I told you I am good at all this, no?”

  Liam dropped to the floor and peered up. The ceiling was solid. No air ducts, no ventilation panels. Solid plaster.

  He heard a scratching sound.

  A short time later, a flake of plaster came away from the ceiling and a metal blade poked through, a screwdriver. It waggled from side to side, widening its hole, and then slid back up.

  A hacksaw blade replaced it, and started to saw a wavery line across the ceiling.

  Liam watched the line grow, curling back on itself in a rough oval. He kept glancing at the door, fearing that someone would come for him at any moment.

  “Prepare to catch,” said Luc, as the oval was almost complete.

  Liam stood beneath the panel and there was a soft thud over his head. Luc must be trying to stamp the plaster through. Another thud, and the oval block came away and fell into Liam’s waiting arms, accompanied by a shower of dust and other debris from the ceiling space.

  He staggered back, dropping the plaster on the bed and waving at the air around his face to clear it of the dust.

  He looked up, and saw his old room-mate beaming back down at him.

  “It is not the most elegant of escape methods,” Luc said. “But ... unless you can think of anything better?”

  ~

  Luc had come prepared. As he so often pointed out, he was really rather good at this sort of thing. He lowered a knotted rope into the room. “It is okay,” he said. “I have secured it to a beam. You just need to climb.”

  Liam grabbed the rope and pulled his weight clear of the ground. As soon as he tried to put his feet on the rope, his body swung wildly and he had to drop to the floor again.

  “Calmer,” said Luc. “It is a rope, not a drainpipe.”

  Liam grabbed the rope again, and this time took his weight on his arms and pulled straight up. It was hard work, but when his feet found the rope and slid down to rest on a knot, he could ease the strain for a moment. He reached up, and pulled himself higher. The rope swung, but not nearly as wildly as before.

  As his shoulders squeezed through the gap, he felt Luc’s hands under his arms, pulling.

  He grabbed a beam, and hauled himself through, struggling as his legs caught on the plaster lip.

  It was dark in the ceiling space. Light came up through the hole Luc had cut, and through joins in the roof above, but not enough to see clearly by.

  “Thank you,” said Liam. “I was just beginning to run out of ideas, myself...” He pulled the rope back up through the gap. “We have to get Hayley,” he said. “Last I heard they hadn’t touched her, but it can’t be long.”

  In the gloom, Luc nodded. He had his penlight torch. He took it from a shirt pocket and flashed it beyond Liam. “That way,” he said. “They have Hayley there. I have already spoken to her. She is waiting.”

  “How will we get out? Do you have any ideas?”

  Luc grinned, his teeth flashing white in the near darkness. “Don’t worry, my friend. I have prepared for that.”

  ~

  There were wooden beams everywhere. They moved carefully along inside the roof, treading only on the joists and clambering over and und
er beams that thrust up at angles between ceiling and roof.

  Luc led the way, and soon he stopped and squatted. There was a chalk mark on the joist before him. He turned to Liam and, shining his torch at his own face, put a finger up to his lips to indicate silence. He ducked down and put his head into the gap between two joists.

  He must have made a hole, Liam realised.

  “Hayley!” Luc hissed. “It is me again. Luc. I have Liam with me now.”

  The way must be clear then.

  Liam watched as Luc withdrew the hacksaw blade from his shirt pocket and began to saw again, holding one end of the blade wrapped up in a handkerchief.

  A few minutes later, he was through. There was muffled coughing from the room below, and Liam saw Hayley through the hole, staggering away with a panel of plaster in her arms, coughing and spluttering in the dust.

  Liam had been carrying the rope and now he handed it to Luc and watched as his friend secured it around a beam with a deft knot. They lowered the other end of the rope into the room.

  “Okay, Hayley. You need to climb, yes?”

  She caught the rope and pulled, testing its strength. She peered up into the opening. “I...” She hesitated. Her face was pale and her eyes were brimming with tears. “You two go on,” she told them. “Okay? They said they’d treat me so that things were better. I’ll be okay.”

  “They’ll kill a part of your brain, Hayley,” said Liam. “That’s what they mean by ‘treatment’.”

  She sucked on her lower lip, and looked away.

  “She’s scared,” Liam whispered to Luc, suddenly understanding. Her worst fears: rats, spiders ... creatures of the dark, dusty corners of old buildings! “She has intense fears – phobias. I’ll go down there and talk to her. Okay?”

  Luc nodded.

  Liam took the rope and shinned down it into the room.

  Hayley stared at him, tears on her face. “I’m sorry, Liam, but I can’t. My arms and legs. They’re just jelly. I can’t go up there.”

  “It’s okay,” said Liam. “I know what’s bothering you. But it’s the only way out. It’s fine up there. Luc and I have been up there and it’s just dust and electric cables. That’s all. You have to come with us, Hayley. You can’t let them mess with your brain.”