The Remnant Keeper (Tombs Rising Book 1)

by Robert Scott-Norton

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Why?”

  Alex rolled his eyes and then looked away, out the kitchen window to the garden beyond. “Why do any of us do the things we do? The pay is good and the job is easy. Sure beats stacking shelves.”

  “Stacking shelves doesn’t get people killed.”

  “Who said I killed anyone?”

  “Didn’t you?” Dennis asked hopefully.

  Alex grinned. “Perhaps, there are some questions you shouldn’t ask.”

  “I’ve been in your room,” Dennis said.

  Alex’s blue eyes twinkled with an intensity that made Dennis wish he’d just called the police when he had a chance. He gulped, then glanced behind him, wondering whether he’d make it to the front door should things turn ugly.

  “I knew. You’re hardly subtle. Did you enjoy a good poke around up there? Find anything exciting? I know how much you enjoy borrowing my clothes.”

  “What? I don’t borrow your clothes. You’ve been taking mine!” Dennis wanted to wipe the smile from the guy’s face. His hands clenched by his side, involuntarily.

  “Sure you do. What’s yours is mine and what’s mine is yours. It’s the best way to be. Makes things easier.”

  “You’re my lodger for fuck’s sake. You can’t just take my stuff.”

  Alex smiled but this time there was something sad about it, like a dad trying to explain to a child why the dog isn’t moving anymore.

  “You found the memory box as well. Why didn’t you call the police?”

  “I didn’t want any trouble.”

  “Didn’t want to get me into trouble or were you concerned about what the police might find once they’d started looking around here?”

  A lid slowly lifted in Dennis’s mind. Images of a woman. Someone he’d met at the ATL meeting, or was it after the meeting?

  “It’s coming back to you isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know what you mean. What’s a memory box?”

  “It’s what you were paid to get hold of. You remember right?”

  “I don’t…You were paid—”

  There was a woman. She’d met him and offered him some money for a job.

  Alex moved away from the fridge and stood in front of Dennis. This time he didn’t mind the proximity; it didn’t seem important anymore. There was another image then, of standing inside a flat he didn’t recognise, but Growden had been there as well. And another man in a chair. A keeper.

  “I can help. Let me take care of things. I’ve always been here for you, Dennis. I always will.”

  And then Dennis knew that Alex wasn’t only his lodger; he’d been brought here to look after him, to do the things that he couldn’t do on his own. His guide, his conscience, his protector.

  4:44 PM

  Jack took the bottle from behind the bookcase and poured a drink. Today could go to hell. He’d had no new messages. No calls from his brother. No calls from Keeley’s parents asking about the funeral arrangements. It was like he’d been cut off and cast aside. No one had yet directly blamed him for Keeley’s death or his job as a telepath as being a factor, but it would only be a matter of time. Maybe they were waiting for the funeral to be over with before they all let him know how they truly felt.

  The first sip of vodka burned and he welcomed it like an old friend. He closed his eyes and thought he might sit like that in his armchair for the rest of the day, trying to forget. But, the image of Keeley on the study floor came unbidden from the blackness.

  Damn.

  He opened his eyes and downed the rest of the glass, surprised by his restraint in pouring the drink. When he closed his eyes a second time, he had longer to wait until the image came back. Only, this time Keeley had been replaced with Ella, lying on his study floor, eyes gouged out. Dead. Of course she was dead. Everyone around him was dying. He was like a tumour slowly killing anyone he was close to. Perhaps it was as well he kept his distance from Ethan and Keeley’s family. Disaster would surely strike them as well.

  He got up from his chair and fixed himself a sandwich in the kitchen. The last two pieces of bread were stale but not yet mouldy. They’d do. He stood looking out at the garden she’d worked so hard to keep on top of. The rain had started when the car Chloe had arranged had dropped him back home, and the flowers looked battered. He’d need to cut the grass too this week. Dandelions were already poking their way up to the surface. Too many weeds ruining the view, ruining their perfect haven.

  Today had been a disaster—no a tragedy again. Keeley would have been as devastated by Ella’s death as he was. She’d have understood that it was OK to grieve for an ex. She’d have forgiven him for feeling this way. So, why was he being so hard on himself?

  The box that Ella had collected for him, he’d left on the counter by the door. A plain box filled with the collected detritus from Keeley’s work life. At the top of the pile was the cute teddy mascot they’d got from their trip to Blackpool. She’d bought it for him but cute wasn’t Jack’s thing and he encouraged her to keep it instead. Next, he pulled out a photo frame that cycled through photographs of the family, the one with Keeley and Jack together seemed to hang around longer than the others. Underneath that, one of her cardigans that she must have kept at work. It had been neatly folded, and before he knew what he was doing, the green cotton was in his hands, light and flowing. The movement cast new aromas into the air: the perfume that Keeley loved but would always buy herself as Jack could never remember the name. He closed his eyes and let his face drop into the soft material, breathing deeply and slowly.

  When he lifted his head, tears were already flowing and Jack let them run.

  Reverently, he placed the cardigan on the kitchen counter then placed the teddy mascot on top.

  With a heavy hand, he wiped his eyes and cheeks.

  Keeley’s killer had come after someone else close to Jack, or was that a coincidence? Ella had been Keeley’s superior at Fuse Media. Had the killer some grievance against the way the media had handled the case? Ella had done her best to keep the story out of the limelight and she’d succeeded to a degree. But that went against the notoriety that some psychopaths craved. No, he was overthinking this. Leech wasn’t a psychopath craving fame. He was covering his tracks.

  He returned his attention to the box and lifted out an old paperback book of poetry she’d been so fond of.

  And that’s how he found Ella’s eye nestling inside a cup at the bottom of the box.

  The sight of the intact eyeball staring out at him shocked him backwards. He thought he might have let out a yelp of surprise and a sudden coldness spread from his core as his head tried to rationalise what this meant.

  He tracked back in his mind to the conversation he’d had with Burnfield at the police station after letting their teep scan through his memories. He’d told the detective that Leech wanted to be caught.

  And now, he’d found a key piece of evidence in a box that Leech must have known was destined for Jack. Leech had wanted Jack to find Ella’s eye. He could have just left it in Ella’s head. Or called the police and handed himself in. As far as doing things to let yourself get caught, this was a round about way of going about it. What then? A clue. Was Leech taunting Jack? With the deliberate hiding of the eye in the cup and then hiding the cup amongst Keeley’s belongings, there was no way that this was a simple message for the police. Leech wanted a remnant keeper to find it. Someone who could do something with the eye without it going to OsMiTech for processing.

  I should call Burnfield. Let him take care of this.

  And perhaps if he hadn’t taken that first drink of vodka he might just have called the police. But, Leech was making it personal and Jack wanted more than ever to bring him down himself.

  First things first—the eye had been out of Ella’s body for at least a couple of hours. Being kept in the cup and covered with the book would have protected it from some damage, might have slowed the degradation a little, but it wouldn’t be enough. He ran upstairs,
taking the cup with him, and entered the study, seeing the carpet but shutting it from his mind.

  The Nanosalve was with his other keeper tools and he grabbed the bottle and squeezed out the remains of the contents into the cup. The eye hid beneath the gel and Jack had a moment to pause and reconsider what he was doing. Keeping evidence from the police would get him in serious trouble. The best thing he could do now was to call Burnfield and tell him what he’d found. He’d done the best thing he could to preserve the evidence and now it should be sent to OsMiTech.

  Only, he couldn’t.

  He wouldn’t.

  The last thing Ella saw had been Leech and Leech wanted to be caught. If he assumed both of those facts to be true, then there was only one thing he could do. Carefully, as if afraid it might bite, he picked up the eye extractor tool and set it against Lavinia’s eye in his head. The filaments worked quickly and found the edge of Lavinia’s eye, reaching around, tickling his skin, until they found the connection for the optic nerve. At the same time, they worked on widening the eye cavity so the eye could be removed without damage.

  Hell, it was too late to be worried about potential damage to Lavinia’s eye.

  The pressure around the socket intensified until the filaments had the eye in their grip. The tool finished the job and withdrew the eye, releasing the clamp on the nerve at the same time. With his own adapted nerve resting against his cheek, he fought the urge to be sick. If he was to do this, it had to be done quickly before he lost his bottle. With Lavinia’s eye still cradled in the extraction tool, he rested it on the office table and stared at the nerve connection. These things were fitted at OsMiTech, and ordinarily there was no need for anyone to tamper with them once they’d left the Remnant Vault. But, Anna had shown him that occasionally it was necessary to adjust the clamp. He found the catch and depressed it. The adaptor opened revealing the end of Lavinia’s optic nerve. Having no need for Lavinia’s eye anymore, he pressed the release button on the extraction tool and let the eye rest on the table. It hurt to think that all of this loss he was feeling was because of the memories trapped in that eye. He hated to look at it, glad in a way that it was finally out of his head.

  He set the cup containing Ella’s eye on the table before him and brought the extraction tool over the edge of the cup. With a press of a button, the filaments once again went to work, this time rotating the eye into the best holding position. He withdrew the eye and saw that the Nanosalve had done a good job of cleaning it. For a dead woman’s eye, it looked good and fresh.

  But, it was Ella’s eye.

  Something dark and unpleasant rolled in his stomach. Guilt would one day tear his life apart, but he was damned if he was going to let her death be in vain.

  He rested the eye on the table, connected the optic nerve adaptor and with a sense of accomplishment, lifted the extraction tool to his eye. Filaments reached out for the connection on his own nerve and seconds later Ella’s eye was part of him. He dropped the tool and fell back in his chair, exhausted by the experience.

  In moments, his vision returned to normal, but he found himself squinting slightly as his brain adjusted to the different prescription of Ella’s eye. This wasn’t important, what he needed lay within, deep inside.

  He wasn’t giving the remnants any chance at all to develop, to mature. There would be no whispering. No mediation as he contemplated the procedure and his role in solving a murder. This time, he was breaking all the rules.

  And that was his last thought before the remnant hammered into his brain and knocked him unconscious.

  *

  “—keep away from him, Jack. Promise me.”

  “OK. I promise.”

  The front doorbell rang and shocked me out of the conversation with Jack. “Listen, someone’s at the door. I’ll call later OK. Sort out this box.”

  “Take care,” he said and then he hung up and that was that.

  What the hell was that all about?

  Jack didn’t seem himself. And not in a grieving kind of way either. He’d always been slightly oddball and God knows that was one of the things I loved about him so much, but he was asking questions about Frazier Growden. The drug lord. This would not end well. I had that sick feeling deep inside that came from years of practised worry.

  I’d done it hadn’t I? I’d made things worse. All I wanted was to be a friend to Jack. It might ease some of that guilt I’d been drowning in since I last spoke to Keeley. She’d been so upset and yet I’d still kept my guard up with her.

  Dammit.

  The bell rang again.

  “Jesus, I’m coming, rest your finger,” I said much quieter than I really wanted.

  I didn’t recognise the person at the door. A slim man dressed in dark clothes and eyes that glinted like broken glass in the midday sun. I held the door open slightly, wishing I’d bothered to put a chain on the door when I’d moved in. My foot against the back of the door would have to do. After this talk about Growden, my head was racing with dark possibilities. Stupid.

  “I’m sorry, now’s not a good time.” I’d never seen him before. Probably a street seller. But, when I started to close the door, he wedged his foot in the gap between door and frame.

  My heart skipped a beat, and I froze. “Get your foot—”

  He shoved against the door and stepped into the hallway like he owned the place. My back hit the wall. My eyes glanced behind him, hoping to see a security drone but the sky was empty.

  “I want to talk about Keeley Winston.” His voice was edgy, sharp like the opened end of a tin can.

  I don’t know where he was hiding the knife, but when I saw the metal catch the light, I screamed.

  And then I was on the floor, nursing my aching jaw and watching him close the door swiftly behind him. Had my neighbour heard? My mouth had the ghastly taste of blood in it, and I tried to swallow it back, ready to talk my way out of this.

  And then it hit me—he’d asked about Keeley. Jesus, it couldn’t be the same man who’d killed her. Could it? A cruel hand grabbed my hair and dragged me into the front room. I yelled at him to stop, but he drove his foot into my stomach and I fell silent, gasping for breath.

  “Shut up if you want to survive this. I’ve no need to kill you, but we both know that I’m not afraid to dispatch you the same way I got rid of Keeley and those keeper friends of her husband’s.”

  I gulped, but the taste of blood was thick in my mouth. I spat what I could out onto the carpet, staring at the red phlegm blossoming on the carpet fibres.

  “Are you ready to talk, or do you want to see how much damage I can do before I take what I need anyway?”

  He grabbed me by my shoulders with rough hands and I nodded, not wanting to look into his face. From everything I’d learnt from Jack, this man wasn’t capable of mercy or remorse. A monster had entered my safe place, and I would do all I could to get him out of here. For now, that meant playing along. I just hoped my courage would see me through the other side of this.

  “Sit down,” he commanded, and I groggily got to my feet and aimed for the armchair closest to the window. “Not there,” he said and instead pointed to the sofa on the interior wall, furthest from the door.

  Once sitting, I couldn’t help but touch my jaw to see what kind of damage he’d done. The pain was subsiding a little, perhaps blanketed by the adrenaline flooding my body.

  “You killed her. She was my friend.”

  “It wasn’t personal. It was just a job.” He said it the way a dog warden might after loading his van up with the day’s catch.

  “What do you want?” I didn’t for one minute think he’d let me go after telling him, so I planned to keep the bastard talking for as long as possible. Tease him with the information he was asking for, one bit at a time. Hopefully, Dorothy next door would have heard something and—oh no, what if she comes round asking if I’m OK? The guilt snaked around my stomach again, making me want to shut my eyes and blank all of this out.

  But my guest wa
nted answers. “Keeley Winston was working on a project. She’d taken it on the morning she was killed. I want access to your servers at Fuse Media. I want her files removing and any trace of that project deleting from your system.”

  “What?” I’d heard him but I couldn’t comprehend what he was telling me. “You’re bothered about some project?” I racked my brains trying to remember what Keeley had been working on but came away blank. She was mainly concerned with the routine running of the main Fuse feeds from our district. There may have been side-projects, but I didn’t need to know about them. She had as much editorial freedom as I did.

  He stepped closer, only four feet in front of me now. The knife in his hand wavered as he talked excitedly about his demands. “You’re her boss. You can get me inside. I can do it myself if I have to but it’ll be easier if you did it for me.”

  “I don’t have remote access to our servers. They’re on a closed system.” A desperate lie and the smirk on his face told me he’d seen right through it.

  “You’re prepared to play games. I know games as well. We can play some of mine if you’d like.” He tossed the knife from one hand to the other, catching the blade deftly in his left hand.

  I glanced at the window. Through the vertical blinds, I could see someone walking past on the other side of the road. Please just turn and look.

  But what would they see? Nothing to be concerned about, not unless they came right up to the glass and stared inside.

  “I need my datapad and HALO. The pad’s over there, in my bag.” I nodded at my briefcase on the side table, my heart beating so loud in my chest now I felt sure he would hear it. As he turned to look, my eyes flicked to the kitchen door behind me. If I could make it in there, I was sure I’d be able to secure it long enough to at least grab something to defend myself with, or use my HALO to call the police.

  Just as I thought he wouldn’t buy the distraction, Leech went for the bag.

  I stole my chance. It was three metres. Hardly any distance at all. I was almost there.

  “Bitch!” His hand was on my hair and he tore me backwards. I howled in pain and frustration. The wall met my face as he yanked me to the side. Pain fired across my cheek.