Cat and Mouse

by Mark Ayre

  “That’s an impertinent question, Omi,” said Lucy. For a second, he feared she might attack. Then she smiled. “But it’s okay. This is your thing, and I’m the one butting in so whatever, it’s fine. Who she is doesn’t matter.”

  Lucy shoved the girl and followed before patting Omi on the arm.

  “She’s part of a gift I’m preparing for big-hearted Adam.”

  She kicked the girl hard.

  “I do hope he likes it.”

  Having spent his life on the run, Adam was always ready to move. The second he saw the car open he was running. As a doctor and layabout, Doc was more tepid than hot on Adam’s heels.

  Adam was fit, lean, fast. He could not afford to be any other way. But the organisation’s agents were trained in more than just marksmanship. Carter showed incredible athleticism as she powered down the hill with a shotgun on her back, stunner on her hip, and ammo bag at her side.

  Unencumbered by anything but the clothes on his back and the handgun at his hip, Adam had the advantage. Despite her speed, he was gaining on her.

  He could not afford to lose her. In the aftermath of Eve’s shooting, Adam had been a mess. Worried only about his sister’s health, he had forgotten the slip of paper in her pocket. He had no idea where the organisation kept the tracker. Francis was dead. If Carter disappeared, Adam would have to capture another agent before continuing towards his goal of finding his sister.

  Luckily, the miles of fields in all directions offered few hiding places. Carter was too large to flee down a rabbit hole. The farm to their right was an option. Francis’ manor was closest. If she reached it before Adam could catch her, her options would increase. After catching her breath, she could set an ambush for her pursuers. Alternatively, she could escape while they searched for her.

  Sides splitting, head pounding, Adam nevertheless put on another burst of speed. The land dipped towards the manor, and before long he feared losing control of his legs and going head over heels.

  Closer he drew. And closer, and closer.

  She was ten seconds from the entrance. If Adam reached out a hand, he would be inches from her jacket.

  As though her only goal was to cross the threshold of Francis’ manor first, Carter hurled herself forward, landing hard and rolling into the house.

  The speed at which she had been running made controlling the roll difficult, but she handled it well, throwing her back against the foot of the bannister as she sprung. It must have sent shockwaves of pain up her spine, but it put her in prime firing position which she made use of, grabbing her shotgun.

  Adam hadn’t rolled. He came fast into the hall and had to stumble to an ungraceful stop. By the time he faced Carter, his eyes could find nothing but the shotgun’s barrel. He wondered if Eve saw the same before the twitchy agent pulled the trigger.

  Forcing himself to look at Carter, he noticed her steady hands and determined eyes. Twitchy was the last word you would use to describe her.

  “You were there when my sister was shot,” he said. “You were horrified.”

  Adam had seen Carter before Twitchy pulled the trigger. The moment the gun fired, he had seen nothing but red as he attacked in blind rage. He could not know what Carter felt, but it was a safe bet.

  “You won’t shoot.”

  He was surprised how calm he was keeping. He did not want to get shot, but his fear came not from a point of self-preservation. He feared being unable to free Eve from the monster.

  Carter was weighing her options, unsure of what to do. Adam knew how she felt. If she ran, he would struggle to stop her. He needed to get closer, but a single step might inspire her to fire or flee. For some sort of opportunity, he had to wait.

  “On your knees,” said Carter. She was buying time. His moment approached.

  Doc arrived. Carter spun and fired.

  Screaming, Doc dived for cover.

  Adam was moving, rushing Carter.

  She was clever.

  Moving the gun to the side, she fired, putting a bullet inches past his ear, which rang with the shot.

  The blast made him flinch and dodge to the left. Carter put the shotgun’s butt into his skull. Roaring, he fell away.

  She drew her stun gun.

  Before she could fire, he dived behind the staircase. The bullet smacked the wall where he had been.

  Going invisible, he drew his handgun and stepped from cover.

  Somewhere nearby, a door slammed.

  Carter had run. In one of the rooms, she had hidden.

  Luckily, there were only about three hundred from which to choose.

  As she had with the building from which Grendel had taken Eve, Carter had memorised the floor plans of Francis’ manor before the recent botched operation.

  This knowledge led her from the bannister to the corner of the entrance hall, past the study with the shattered door down another corridor. All before Adam realised she was gone. From here, she counted doors—one, two, three, four, five, six—until she reached her target and stepped inside.

  A small windowless room. One of many in the massive mansion Francis had never used. Carter crossed the empty space from one door to the other.

  Through this, another corridor. At its end: an exit. Carter planned to circle to the front and come up behind her pursuers, killing the one, capturing the other.

  The walkway was dusty and as devoid of rubbish as had been the room she had passed through to get here. There was one painting on the wall and a pedestal towards the exit, upon which stood a landline. As she approached, it began to ring, stopping her in her tracks.

  Nearby, Adam and his friend would be searching for her. It was possible they would hear the phone. If they did, they might pinpoint her location. Her best course was to lift and slam the receiver, silencing the bring, freeing her to continue her plan.

  But who was calling? Landlines were no longer standard. Francis would have received his calls on a mobile. It might be a cold call, but even these were rare to landlines. Besides, the timing was too coincidental.

  Carter's stomach sank, her heart pounded. After her idiot agent shot Eve, and she went in pursuit of the twins, she had turned off her mobile. This prevented quandaries about whether to answer any calls from superiors. To ignore them was deadly. Carter hoped to escape punishment on a technicality.

  Carter knew the locations of the building’s concealed cameras. By the phone, one could see her. Someone at the facility was watching. If she ignored this call, there would be no escaping their fury.

  “Hello?”

  “Carter, it’s Sandra. How are you?”

  “Good, you?” She did not know what else to say.

  “It’s grammatically incorrect to say good. Want to try again?”

  Somewhere in this house, Adam and his friend sought to recapture Carter. With her view of the cameras, Sandra would know this. Yet she wasted time with an English lesson. And Carter would respond as though she wanted to learn.

  “I’m well, thank you, Sandra. How are you?”

  “I’m good.” She chuckled. “See what I did there?”

  Carter could not force a laugh nor any words.

  “I’m going to cut to the chase,” said Sandra. “You let us down. It’s unacceptable to botch an operation, then turn off your mobile and go rogue. A lot of people are unhappy. Some people, more important than I, wish to see your head on a stick. I’m sure you’re not surprised to hear that?”

  “No,” said Carter. Her mouth was dry. Could she hear footsteps?

  “I believe what you did was tenacious. Stupid, but it showed commitment. Our plan failed, and you wanted to rectify it. I respect that, but you can’t do it alone.”

  “I know,” said Carter. “Sandra, I’m so sorry. I was—”

  “I don’t want your apologies. I want to lay my cards on the table. May I?”

  “Of course.”

  “Okay,” said Sandra. “Powerful forces are amassing against me. Following the failure of the Francis plan, they are work
ing on our leaders to have me removed. Tonight, they’ll kill me and put someone else in charge of this operation. For your failure and your insolence, you also will be killed. Is that how you want this to end?”

  “No. I want to catch the twins.”

  “That’s handy. We only have one more shot, but everything is ready, and your part will be minimal. All I need is to know you are dedicated and will do whatever is required.”

  Carter didn’t have to consider. “Whatever you need. Just tell me what to do.”

  “Good girl,” said Sandra. “As I said, it’s simple, but please listen closely. I’m only going to say this once.”

  Grendel refused to relent. Whether he was ignoring her, meditating, or sleeping with his eyes open, it was clear incessant talking would not get his attention. To achieve her goals, she would have to put her body through hell.

  Though sitting made her queasy, she did so again. This time, rather than attempting a personal best, she twisted her legs off the bed, searching for the door.

  It was as though a thousand tiny hands were trying to drag her to the ground. Her vision swam; in rolled the pain. Despite the efforts of these three horrors, she took a step, then another. Taking it one at a time, like an alcoholic.

  Making it from bed to exit was like walking a tightrope with no training. Eve tried not to tell herself she could do it or use any pep talk words. She feared they would sound so ridiculous she would give up and collapse. Instead, staring at the door, she warned herself she could not make it, but that the further she went, the less distance she would have to travel during attempt two.

  Despite knowing this was reverse psychology, it worked. After what might have been hours, Eve collapsed onto the metal door in the room’s corner, grabbing the handle and resting her shoulder against the wall, fighting the urge to throw up or fall. After at least five minutes of heavy breathing, trying to regain some semblance of strength, she turned the handle and pulled the door.

  Only for a gnarled hand to shove it closed.

  Grendel’s hulking figure cast over her a long shadow. Black orbs stared into her eyes. His mouth became a snarl. He growled. Surprising them both, Eve growled back. Holding the handle, she pulled herself upright, getting close to his wiry but muscular frame as she forced herself to keep his eye.

  “Don’t think I don’t know what you are. Born with an ability you didn’t want, told from the start you’ll never be normal. Kept caged by an organisation that keeps you in line by letting you out to feed that insatiable hunger for human flesh. They’ve weaponised you, and they’d like to weaponise my brother and me. Doesn’t that make you mad?”

  Those black orb eyes conveyed no emotion. It seemed Grendel could not talk. As communication went, not ripping out Eve’s throat appeared to be a positive signal.

  “They think they have you under control, but you proved them wrong. Killing their agents, not taking me to them. They call you their pet, demonise you because they can’t afford to see you as human. They call you Grendel, but that’s not your name, is it?”

  He loomed over her, face still impassive. For some time, he did nothing. Eve began to give up hope. Then, with a sharp twitch of the neck, he nodded.

  Progress. The first distinct communication.

  “What is your name?” she asked.

  Grendel growled again. He couldn’t speak but, having opened the door to communication, wanted to continue. Moving from the door, he examined the room. After a few seconds, ensuring she was paying attention, he pointed at the drab wall.

  “What? Wall? Stone? Boring? In need of painting?”

  Shaking his head, he continued to point, and point, and point.

  “Needs demolishing? Concrete? Grey?”

  Spinning, Grendel nodded madly.

  “Grey?”

  Still nodding, he rushed across the room and opened a small corner fridge, dipping his hands inside. Out came cans of beers, a block of cheese, milk expressed in the sixties. Finally, a pork joint. This he shoved in Eve’s face. It could not have been bought long after the milk. Embracing the spirit of the new game, Eve repressed her disgust and guessed.

  “Gross? Out of date? Deadly? Pork? Joint? Ham? Oh, Grey ham. Graham.”

  Casting the ham over his shoulder. Graham did a strange little skip Eve could only interpret as joyful.

  She smiled.

  “Nice to meet you, Graham.”

  Her strength gave. Powerful arms caught her as she fell, seated her and stepped back, head tilted with concern. She smiled; gave him the thumbs up.

  “I’m okay. Pretty weak but I’ll find the strength to do what I need to. Graham—” she reached into her pocket and removed the slip of paper. Unfolding it, she displayed the address. “I need to go here now.”

  Graham whined. Eve shook her head.

  “Don’t bother. This organisation is crammed with foul people. Look at how they’ve treated you. At this address is a tracker than can find us at a moment’s notice. That’s where Adam’s going. So, I need to go too.”

  Not having the strength to stand, she did it anyway. Once up, she grabbed and turned the handle. Graham held the door closed. She shook her head.

  “Graham, I’m going to try and open this door, so this goes one of three ways. You step aside and let me go after my brother alone. You come with, help me save Adam, and get revenge on the bastards who’ve treated you like crap. Or you try stop me, we fight, and one of us dies. Given my condition, we know it’s going to be me but don’t think that will stop me trying. I have to open this door.”

  She turned the handle.

  “Time to make a decision.”

  She pulled.

  Lucy dumped her prisoner in the living room and took in the place. She ended her scan on Hattie, who sat in the corner, head bowed like a shy child. She clutched her wine glass stem as though afraid the newcomer might try to steal from her the precious elixir.

  “You must be Henrietta. Lovely to meet you.”

  Hattie nodded. Used to her tempestuous and abrasive nature, especially when drinking, Omi was surprised to see her cower. He had believed Sandra’s daughter looked ordinary, his fear deriving from his knowledge of her terrible acts. She did look normal. She might also give off a terrifying vibe Omi would have sensed, had he not been expecting fear.

  Feeling sorry for the nervous teenager, Omi said, “She prefers Hattie.”

  “And who can blame her?” said Lucy. “Parents should not be allowed to name their children. They’re not the ones who will suffer the tag. I wasn’t born a Lucy. I took the name.”

  Omi shivered. She spoke as though she had stolen the moniker from another at knifepoint. Likely, the name had belonged to an early victim. An innocent, forever lost to her family while this monster walked free, using her name.

  Sandra’s daughter, who hated her birth name, said to Omi. “What about Delilah?”

  Omi prayed what he felt in his heart did not show on his face. For several seconds, he could not find the strength to respond.

  “She likes her name,” he said at last.

  Stepping closer to the guard, Lucy met his eyes. A tingling ran up his spine, over his skull. Omi was sure Lucy had the power to read neither minds nor souls. Still, he retreated and blinked, as though to break a spell.

  Chuckling at his discomfort, Lucy said, “May I see her?”

  His heart beat with a single word. No, no, no. Faster and faster. No, no, no, no, no. To verbalise this primal reaction might be to sign his death warrant. Though it was unfair, he turned to Hattie.

  “You should ask her mother.”

  “Should I?”

  That stare again. Those eyes were hypnotising. They had Omi primed to reveal his deepest secrets. That he loved the girl like a daughter; that he found the idea of this monster sitting in the presence of Delilah’s innocence repugnant; that he might prevent it at any cost.

  Lucy looked away, sparing him from making these treasonous remarks.

  “Hattie,” she said. “Woul
d you mind awfully if Omi introduced me to your daughter? I’ve heard so much about her.”

  Hattie did not look. Head bowed, she gulped wine, slopping it down her front because of the angle. Omi believed Hattie loved her daughter and did not want to allow Lucy access. The spillage emptied her glass. The need to refill her drink overpowered all else.

  Standing, she said, as one run-on sentence, “If Omi thinks it’s okay then it’s okay please excuse me I need to go and see to something thank you sorry.”

  Lucy watched the teenager scurry from the room and smiled as the kitchen door slammed.

  “You’re all very cordial and accommodating,” she said to Omi without looking at him. “You must get on terribly well.”

  “I’m just doing my job.”

  “Are you though?”

  His jaw tightened. He could not speak.

  “Show me the girl then,” she continued.

  Omi tried to remember he was at work. Delilah and Hattie were goods over which he watched, to ensure no one stole them. Sandra was his boss. She wanted Omi to afford Lucy every curtesy. He had to remember where his loyalties lay.

  “She’s upstairs,” he said, realising as he did he could never allow Lucy to meet Delilah. “Through here.”

  Opening the door from living room to hallway, he stood back and gestured through. There were the stairs, rising to the first floor. The first door on the right led to Delilah, still sound asleep.

  Nodding, Lucy stepped through first.

  Her potential powers were the subject of much rumour. Most believed she possessed neither the physical strength nor speed of Grendel but was by far the deadlier of the pair. Many had attempted to kill her. Most had more to hand than the small statuette of a dancing child. It stood on the sofa side table by the door through which Lucy stepped. Moving in behind her, he swept it up, planning to cave in her skull. After that, who knew?. He thought of nothing beyond keeping the demon from his angel.

  From the sofa: a groan.

  Omi recoiled, replaced the statuette, retreated. Spinning, Lucy returned into the room, opening her arms to her guest.