The Remnant Keeper (Tombs Rising Book 1)

by Robert Scott-Norton

  “I accessed Ella’s memories. You destroyed one of her eyes but made sure the other was kept safe amongst my wife’s belongings. You wanted me to find it and see what happened to you when you were with Ella.”

  “Rubbish.”

  “How come I knew you’d be here?” Jack demanded. “If I didn’t see Ella’s remnant, why would I have come?”

  “Your wife worked here.”

  “It’s just an office. It means nothing to me.”

  “A deduction then. You assumed I’d come here because of Ella.”

  “No. I came here to stop you. Don’t be a puppet. Fight this thing. Let me help you. I could—”

  He scoffed. “What? You think I’d let you loose in here?” He tapped a finger against the side of his head. “I might as well hand myself over to the police.”

  “Works for me.” A new voice from behind. A shot rang out and a bullet split the air above Jack’s head. Leech staggered back against the transmitter as Burnfield ran from the doorway into the open. Jack ran for cover behind the nearest air conditioning unit and heard a second shot. Burnfield flung himself beside him.

  “You hurt?” the detective asked.

  “I’m OK. Did you hurt him?” Jack asked in return.

  A hole appeared to the right of Jack’s arm as a bullet tore through the metal.

  “Out of practice,” Burnfield replied. “Think I just grazed him.”

  Footsteps came running towards them. Burnfield raised his gun, ready for the attack, but the running sound stopped. Jack inched to his right, around the far side of the unit, keeping his back to his cover. Burnfield grabbed his arm and hissed, “Don’t be an idiot.”

  “If you hurt him,” Jack replied, “he might not be the threat you think he is.” Jack pulled free of the man’s grasp and continued edging around the unit. Ears attuned for the slightest sound, he reached out with his mind as well, searching for the confusion that he’d felt earlier. If he focused hard enough, he might be able to determine whereabouts on the roof Leech was hiding.

  But as Jack peeked his head around the corner, he discovered that Leech wasn’t hiding after all. He was sitting on the railing, the only thing protecting them from a ten story drop, and looking around him anxiously. Rain ran down his face. He held a hand to the top of his arm and was pressing against it tightly. Burnfield definitely needed to improve his aim. In his other hand, he held the pocket computer he’d used on the transmitter. “Don’t come any closer. I know this is important. I don’t know why, only that it was worth killing for.”

  Jack approached slowly. He glanced about for the gun and saw it lying discarded on the roof.

  “Who’s behind this?” Jack asked.

  Burnfield was suddenly beside him, his gun pointing at the man on the edge.

  “Shit,” he muttered under his breath as he took in the scene. Then louder so Leech could hear. “Come back over!”

  Leech shook his head.

  “Who’s doing this to you?” Jack asked, desperately trying to ignore the detective.

  Leech looked down at the ground and then back at Jack. “I don’t know.”

  “Tell me who’s making you do this.”

  “I can’t.” Leech suddenly bent, bringing his hands to the side of his head. For a moment, Jack thought this was it, he would jump.

  “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Jack spoke as calmly as he could. Thoughts about who might be doing this raced through his head. “We can look after you.”

  “It’s too late.” He stared at the pocket computer like it was a foreign object—like he’d never seen it before.

  Jack took another step. “Please, let me help.”

  Leech shook his head. When he screamed, Jack winced, a pain at the base of his skull, something akin to the telepathic attack he’d experienced back home when the security team had tried to apprehend him.

  Only a few more metres.

  But the attack had a different effect on Leech. He stood, and he let go of his injured arm. His expression changed once again to the man who’d been responsible for the deaths. With no more time to deliberate, Jack ran, clearing the space between them in seconds before snatching at the device in Leech’s hands. Leech saw the move though and avoided the grab, swinging his legs back over the railings and onto the main roof. He slipped the device into his pocket, a delay which cost him.

  Jack swung a punch at the man’s jaw. A satisfying crunch followed by a flare of pain from his fist. Leech wavered, and Jack followed up with another, then a punch to the stomach. Fury swept through him, driving him on, the pain insignificant. This ended tonight.

  Leech stumbled. He flung out an arm, but Jack’s own blocked it as he aimed a boot for Leech’s knee. Crunch. Leech howled. Jack grabbed the man’s jacket and pushed him back against the roof railing.

  Burnfield yelled at him to stop.

  Jack ignored him. The man’s face in front of him, so pathetic and yet still so contemptible. “You did this. You did all of this.”

  Leech sneered. “You don’t want to cross my employer.”

  “Who is it? Who’s behind this?” Jack pushed back, the man’s weight lifted from his own feet, the balance surely in Jack’s own grip now.

  “Stop it, Jack,” Burnfield shouted. “You don’t want to do this.”

  It would be so easy. Make this stop.

  The front of Leech’s face exploded as a bullet tore up from the back of his head. Jack let go as bits of skin and flesh smacked against his own face. Leech fell from his grasp. And gravity did the rest, pulling him backwards over the railing.

  Burnfield hurried to the edge, gun drawn. A second shot rang out clanging into the metal railings. Burnfield returned fire and pulled Jack down to the ground. The dead man’s blood had seeped into Jack’s mouth, but he couldn’t do anything about it. His heart was racing.

  But, there were no more shots. When the pressure of Burnfield’s hand on his back lifted, Jack looked up. Burnfield stood, looking down at the ground. Jack stood too, nerves jangled. He wiped his sleeve against his face, hoping he’d cleared away some of it. Leech’s body lay prone on the floor, ten stories below. A leg twisted at an unnatural angle under him.

  Suddenly, a bike pulled to a stop on the road and the rider got off. They didn’t remove their helmet as they moved to the body.

  “Stop!” Burnfield shouted down, but the rider wasn’t listening. The biker scoured the immediate area around the body, looking for something.

  Burnfield held his gun steady. “What are they looking for?” he asked.

  The rider, unsuccessful in their search, raised an arm towards them. Jack yanked Burnfield back from the edge just in time to avoid the bullet that had been fired at them. The bike accelerated and Jack stood, watching helplessly as the bike sped away.

  “Dammit,” Burnfield said, putting his gun back in his holster before initiating a call on his HALO. He called for backup then stared at Jack. “You OK? Why you smiling?”

  Jack tossed the detective the pocket computer he’d lifted from Leech’s jacket before the fall. “We know what they’re trying to hide. This isn’t over yet. Not by a long stretch.”

  Tuesday, 7 May 2115

  7:09 PM

  The trip to London had taken an hour and in that time he’d had every chance to explain the fine details of his plan to Burnfield. Every chance.

  Jack made sure he wasn’t visible from the street when Hardwick’s car pulled to a stop outside the posh London town house.

  The doctor stepped out of the car accompanied by a police officer in plain clothes. Hardwick wasn’t how he’d imagined him to be. Short, and dumpy, but dressed in a decent suit that probably looked the worse for wear because it had spent the last week in some prison property locker. He wore a scowl, but his eyes lightened at the sight of his home. A Fuse Media drone hovered past. The plan relied on visibility. As far as the media knew, Hardwick was out on bail and made a deal to limit the possible time he might spend in jail.


  The information they’d pulled from Leech’s pocket computer was at first confusing, then enlightening. Jack hoped they were doing the right thing. With Leech out of the way, he had to do something to bring his employer out into the open. He was relying on the media playing this right and Leech’s employer to be concerned enough to act. Hardwick was due to appear in front of the court tomorrow, so the pressure was on if they wanted him to keep his mouth shut.

  Hardwick opened the door and stepped inside. His police escort headed back to the car.

  Jack and Burnfield walked in from the lounge and met the doctor in the hallway. Hardwick’s frown deepened.

  “I trust you’re well,” Burnfield said and put out a hand. Hardwick stared at it for a moment then disregarded it.

  So, he’s going to be like this.

  It wasn’t that Jack took an instant dislike to the man, it was more that Hardwick had given him no reason to like him at all.

  “I hope you haven’t made the place a mess,” Hardwick said, wandering into the lounge where he picked up a datapad and tried to get it to work.

  “Your network access has been disabled. You’re incommunicado I’m afraid,” Jack called to him and headed to the kitchen. “Cup of tea?”

  The man’s clumping footsteps hurried from the lounge and waited by the kitchen door. “What do you mean? That wasn’t part of this arrangement. I’m a free man.”

  “Is that what they told you?” Jack threw a cautionary look at the doctor. “I’m afraid there might have been an element of deception on our part.”

  Colour rose in the man’s cheeks. His nostrils flared, and he checked his HALO for any signs of life before turning back and heading for the front door. Burnfield came from behind. Hardwick glared at him.

  “You can’t keep me inside. You’ve lied to me. I demand to see my solicitor.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Burnfield said, “We’ve been in full communication with Mr Seok. He’s more than happy for you to go along with our arrangement.”

  “He hasn’t consulted me.”

  “Apparently, your cheque bounced. He didn’t seem that concerned to be truthful. Now, I suggest you get settled and enjoy that you’re back in your own home.”

  Hardwick refused to look at Jack who had prepared three mugs on the counter and was filling them up from the boiling water tap. Instead, he strolled to the fridge and retrieved a bar of chocolate bigger than his head. He walked up to the counter and smashed the bar against the edge. The rigid bar collapsed, and he set it on the surface and peeled open the wrapper, greedily helping himself to the contents.

  “Milk?” Jack asked both men. Burnfield nodded, but Hardwick continued to ignore him, shoving a piece of chocolate into his mouth and looking out of the window into the small walled garden beyond. Jack took a carton of milk from the fridge, checked the date, and sniffed it to be sure. He poured milk in all three and passed the drinks to the others.

  “You know, this isn’t as bad as you might think,” Jack started, leaning against the kitchen counter, looking at the doctor. “You are going to get a better deal after this.”

  “How much better?”

  Burnfield coughed. “Not that much better. But a willingness to help us in our enquiries certainly will help you.”

  “I’m not guilty of anything. This is a shambles of a justice system.” He spoke like a sulking child, then Jack realised, he had no one in his life to give him a kick for being petulant. According to what he’d seen on the networks, Hardwick lived alone with a string of celebrity lovers who all seemed more interested in him before the surgery than after. It can’t have been an especially happy place for a man to be.

  Jack remembered the files he’d read through of Keeley’s. The ones that had been sent to her from Rasputin. “I’ve seen your client list and your bank statements. There’s substantial evidence that you’ve been running an illegal clinic.”

  “That would be an extremely stupid thing to do,” he countered.

  “Not only that, but we have a list of your clients,” Jack said.

  Hardwick paused in the motion of putting another piece of chocolate in his mouth. “You can’t have. Such a list doesn't exist.” But he was smiling.

  “I take it, the list was meant to be some kind of insurance for you,” Burnfield said. “Only, I guess you were a little too quick to ask for extra payments. It’s not good practice to threaten to break the confidentiality agreements with your clients. Maybe some of them took offence at that.”

  Hardwick turned and looked at Burnfield. “Have you any idea how expensive it is to live here? How the government continues to fleece me for more taxes and expensive medical licences? It’s hardly a living at all.”

  “I’m sure it’s more of a living than most will ever experience,” Jack snapped. “You had it good, but you wanted just that little bit more.”

  “So, what if I did?”

  Jack flew towards him and knocked him off his stool, standing over him ready to hit him. Burnfield grabbed him from behind and shoved him back across the room. “Hands off.”

  “I’ll sue you for this, you piece of shit,” Hardwick said, lip curling.

  “Sue away. I’ll rip your fucking head off.”

  “Lunatic!”

  “Enough,” Burnfield cried, raising his hands. Both men stopped and looked at the detective. “Just stop it. Neither one of us is thrilled to be here doing this, but let’s just make the most of it. You—” he looked at Hardwick, “—have got it easy. You’re guilty as sin and deserve to go down for it. Helping us, you’re probably not going to get more than a fine. And you—” he turned to stare at Jack, “—should be thinking of your wife. Don’t jeopardise getting justice for her by being a dick with this piece of trash.”

  Hardwick looked like he wanted to say something else, but he kept his mouth shut. Jack bit his lip and grabbed a stool and sat down. Burnfield was right of course. The last week had been terrifying and filled with so much horror that he could barely think straight.

  Burnfield’s HALO buzzed, and he stepped away into the hall to answer it. Jack tried to listen, but the detective was keeping his voice low.

  “I’m sorry about your wife,” Hardwick said, taking Jack by surprise. “I saw the report on the feed. I can’t believe someone would kill because of my list.”

  “Of course they would. You’ve broken their trust. You had some pretty unpleasant clients.”

  “The celebrities I could deal with. That’s how it started you know. A few pretty girls past their prime, wanting more than I could legally offer. So, I’d do it for them on the side, get them the treatments they needed. Then it escalated. The day I had the Kostra Vosta show up I almost shat myself. They needed the works. One of theirs had to vanish completely and a face transplant was the only way to go. But, of course, face transplants are illegal in this country so it had to be discrete. I could pretty much charge what I’d liked—it wasn’t like they would find anyone else to do the work for them.”

  The idea of face transplanting made Jack’s stomach crawl. He couldn’t help but imagine layers of skin being peeled off one body and onto another. Like something out of a horror vid.

  Burnfield walked back in. “The police are gone. The security drones have been diverted from the area. It’s just us.” He looked at Hardwick. “Don’t get any funny ideas about going it alone. First sign of trouble and I’m locking you in the bathroom.” He flashed a smile, but Hardwick didn’t see the humour. Instead, the surgeon rolled his eyes and picked up his tea. “I’ll be in the lounge if either of you want to join me.” Then he looked across at Jack, a spark of interest behind his eyes. “I don’t suppose you play Mah-jong at all.”

  Jack shook his head. “You could teach me if you like.”

  *

  “So, what’s it like being a remnant keeper?” Hardwick had put the board away and was unfolding his antique drinks cabinet, fetching them all a glass of brandy. Jack was sitting on the leather Chesterfield; the day’s events had le
ft him more drained than he’d realised. It was a question he’d found himself asking over the last week. Just, what was it like? Why was he doing this? The most prosaic answer was that he had no choice. It was down to OsMiTech what his assigned role was. He’d passed the necessary aptitude tests and was a class two of sufficient experience to manage the remnants. But, looking at the devastation that having strangers’ eyes in his head had caused him, the answer was now not what it once was.

  “Right now, I’d swap places with you.”

  Burnfield smiled wanly. He looked like he was ready to nod off as well.

  Hardwick poured three drinks and passed them to his house guests. “You surprise me. I’d have thought it would be fascinating to see those precious few moments before death. The most private of thoughts. The ones they never get to share.”

  “Try it and tell me you feel the same way. It’s an intrusion. Thoughts never meant to be shared.” He took a sniff of the brandy and put it on the side table, convinced he didn’t want to tread down that path. Hardwick’s eyes followed the glass, but he kept quiet, waiting for more. “It’s bad enough finding out you’re a telepath. The headaches and confusion.” And the fear, of course; always the fear. “I was hoping for a simple job. Perhaps working in business. But, I never got that opportunity.”

  “But, there are so few of you. You’re an elite group of telepaths. People look up to you.”

  “People fear us.” And it didn’t help that the remnant surgery was a necessary part of becoming a remnant keeper. To many at OsMiTech, it made the keepers less pure. Adapted for a purpose like a machine. “They all think they can do it, but they don’t have the time to sit and wait between jobs like we do. I’ve dreaded the phone calls from OsMiTech letting me know that I’ve been assigned another case.”

  “It’s fascinating. For them to even conceive of such a thing. Astounding. Milford Jones came up with the notion and then followed it through to its natural conclusion, of course. I’ve never met him, and now that he’s such a recluse I fear the chance of doing so has diminished to zero. But the audacity to take a discovery like latent memories and use telepaths to interpret those, it’s genius. Tell me, what do the adaptions feel like?”