The room was buzzing now. Fernandez hushed the audience and made me mind-read several more people. In each case I felt their shock as they sensed my presence inside their heads, then a succession of thoughts in Spanish. Reading minds whose language I didn’t understand was a completely different experience to anything I’d done before.
In a way it was easier to feel the basic emotions – the sense of the thoughts – without language cluttering the process up. On the other hand, that meant relying more on instinct than I was used to. I shook myself. What was I doing getting interested in the way my mind-reading worked?
At last Fernandez announced there would be a ten-minute break. He sat down beside me at the table and signalled to the waitress to bring him a beer.
I sighed with relief and sank into my seat. Seconds later, Jorge appeared – beaming and ruddy-cheeked – at our table. He stood for a second, swaying slightly, then sat down in the chair in front of Fernandez. His beer slopped as he reached over and grabbed Fernandez’ arm.
‘Este increible!’ he said, his speech slurred.
‘Yeah, the boy’s incredible.’ Fernandez shook Jorge’s arm off, clearly irritated.
Jorge didn’t seem to notice. He was obviously extremely drunk. He launched into a rapid burst of Spanish. I just about caught the gist, despite his slurring, which seemed to keep coming back to the same point, over and over again, of how rich I was going to make him and Fernandez by pulling punters into the Casa Madelina every night.
I stared at Fernandez in horror. He couldn’t possibly expect me to perform like this every night. Fernandez looked even more annoyed than he had earlier. He shook his head and told Jorge to calm down.
‘No todos los noches,’ he said. ‘Algunas veces.’
Not every night. Every so often.
I sighed with relief. Well, that was something.
Jorge shrugged, unperturbed. He took a huge swig of beer, draining his mug, then thumped it down on the table and ordered three more.
‘Me,’ he said, turning to me with a huge grin. ‘Try it me, the mind-reading.’
‘Jorge, no!’ Fernandez burst into a furious torrent of Spanish. He was speaking far too fast for me to follow now, but his meaning was clear.
I stared at the two men. Why was Fernandez so against my seeing what was inside Jorge’s mind? He’d been happy enough for me to mind-read all these strangers.
With a jolt, I remembered the Escondite and the envelope containing those police reports. Was Jorge somehow involved in Fernandez’s activities with the police van kids? It would make sense. After all, the two men were clearly working together to make money out of me.
Fernandez ended his outburst with a slap on the table that made the three beers that had just arrived splash onto the wooden surface.
‘I’m going to the toilet,’ he said to me. He shot Jorge a warning glance, then made his way through the crowded bar towards the exit.
Jorge made a face at his departing back, then took a huge gulp of beer. I tapped his arm and he turned, glassy-eyed, to face me.
‘Quieres que leo tu pensamiento?’ I said. Do you want me to mind-read you?
A sly look crept over Jorge’s face. He grinned. ‘Si, pero no es posible,’ he slurred. ‘I too fuerte . . . strong . . . it no work.’
‘Okay,’ I said, trying to hide my amusement at his drunken arrogance. Maybe I could use this to my advantage. ‘Let’s see.’
I met Jorge’s unfocused gaze. Whoosh. I was inside his mind. It had a fairly light, easy-going, carefree feel, though it was hard to distinguish one thought from another, presumably because of all the alcohol he’d drunk. I deliberately held back my own thoughts and feelings. Most people would still have registered my presence, but Jorge didn’t seem aware of me inside his head at all. I took a moment to soak up his feelings – there was enthusiasm there . . . greed . . . a lust for life and enjoyment . . . and, most pressing of all, a desire for more beer . . .
Then I plunged in.
Donde esta el Escondite? Donde estan los ninos? I kept my thought-speech as light as possible. Where is the Escondite? Where are the children?
Jorge’s conscious mind barely registered the question. I held my breath, sensing the answer drift drunkenly to the surface of his thoughts, then evaporate.
173 Calle Norte, San Juan.
My heart leaped. We were in San Juan. If the Escondite was here, then maybe so was Luz.
I broke the connection and looked at a spot just to the left of Jorge’s nose.
He laughed. ‘You see nothing,’ he slurred. ‘I knows. No es posible. No with me. You see nothing.’
I smiled. ‘I see que quieres una cerveza,’ I said. I see you want a beer.
Jorge roared with laughter. ‘Always I wanting a beer,’ he chuckled, slurping down another mouthful. ‘You too. Drink.’ He pushed one of the beer glasses towards me. I took a small sip. Ugh.
Across the room, Fernandez was making his way back towards us, a scowl on his face.
Jorge tapped the side of his nose. ‘You say nada, Ed.’
‘Nothing,’ I agreed. ‘I’ll say nothing.’
As Fernandez reached us, Jorge stood up and pulled him into a huge hug. Fernandez disentangled himself with evident disgust, as two other men came over and started chatting to them both. I sat where I was, taking in what I’d seen in Jorge’s mind. I could feel several people in the bar gazing at me and I closed my eyes, trying to block them out.
The room was stuffy and what little beer I’d drunk had given me a headache. Worse, I knew that in a moment Fernandez was going to ask me to do more mind-reading.
But at least now I knew where the Escondite was. And, surely, that had to be the place Fernandez was hiding Luz and the other police van kids?
‘Ed.’ Fernandez’s voice cut through my thoughts. ‘You’re on again.’
I nodded. At least now I had a reason to perform . . . to keep on performing. Somehow, I had to get out of this bar and find my way to 173 Calle Norte – and to Luz.
7: Escape
Fernandez’s mood improved dramatically on the drive home from Casa Madelina. He kept going on about how ‘bowled over’ everyone had been at my mind-reading performance, though I thought what he’d enjoyed the most was the wodge of euros Jorge had pressed into his hand before we left.
‘Jorge was impressed too, the drunken idiot,’ Fernandez went on. ‘I’ve agreed we’ll go back in a few days. Tell me, Ed, how do you do it?’
‘I told you already,’ I said, shortly. ‘It’s just a trick.’
It was pitch-black in camp when we arrived. Fernandez delivered me to my dorm and locked me in, with a warning to keep quiet about the evening, on pain of more solitary confinement and endless demerits. I found my bed in the dark and lay down, fully clothed. Across the room I could hear Mat and Mig’s gentle snores and Tommy snuffling in his sleep. Seconds later Nico appeared beside me. I could just make out his face, pale in the gloom.
‘Are you okay?’ He sounded genuinely concerned. ‘Ketty was totally freaked out when Fernandez took you off earlier. Even Dylan looked worried when we told her.’
I explained where I’d gone and what Fernandez had made me do.
‘It was humiliating,’ I said. ‘And he threatened us all with solitary and non-stop demerits if I say anything to anyone – though, obviously, we have to tell Geri.’
‘Yeah, well, we won’t be able to do that for a while.’ Nico sighed. ‘Geri called while you were gone. She spoke to Dylan, but because Dylan had been in solitary all day she didn’t know at that point that Fernandez had taken you off for the evening and she just went on about how horrible everything is here. You know what she’s like. She’s such a frigging princess, I think Geri thought she was overreacting. Anyway, Geri’s not calling back for another two weeks.’
‘What? But did Dylan tell Geri about the police van kids – and all that stuff I found in Fernandez’s files?’
Nico shook his head. ‘She said how we all think Fernand
ez is dodgy, but she was a bit vague on the specifics.’
I groaned. Why couldn’t it have been me or Ketty who’d spoken to Geri?
‘I’ve found out some more, as well.’ I told Nico about the address for the Escondite I’d seen in Jorge’s mind. ‘I’m sure that’s where Luz is,’ I said. ‘But I don’t know how I’m going to get away from the bar long enough to find her.’
‘Never mind finding her . . .’ Nico rolled his eyes. ‘You have to find a way of calling Geri to get us out of here . . . tell Fernandez you need breaks . . . fresh air . . . or somewhere to lie down, so you can slip out without anyone noticing.’
‘Yeah, I will. There wasn’t time tonight, though.’ I paused. ‘At least we know Geri will call again. Whoever speaks to her will be able to tell her everything, then. If she knew what Fernandez was making me do she’d have us out of here in five minutes flat.’
‘Jesus, we could all be dead from frigging exhaustion in two weeks’ time,’ Nico said. ‘Anyway, why didn’t you tell any of the people you mind-read tonight that you needed to be rescued?’
I stared at him. ‘I couldn’t . . . everything happened too fast and the people I mindread didn’t really understand English . . . Anyway, they would have just told Fernandez or Jorge . . .’ I tailed off. ‘Maybe I can do both,’ I said. ‘Find Luz and a phone to call Geri on.’
Nico thumped the bed beside me. ‘Forget this girl – whatever she’s called – Loos,’ he hissed.
‘It’s Luz,’ I said, stubbornly. ‘Like “Ruth”, but with a “z” sound at the end.’
‘Whatever, man.’ Nico shook his head. ‘Forget her. Getting us all out of here’s the most important thing.’
I spent the next morning watering plants and picking green beans. Nico was digging up beds of earth in another part of the field and Ketty was indoors, but Dylan was in my group, along with Mat and Mig.
Thanks to the Spanish boys’ poor English, it was easy enough for me and Dylan to talk quite freely about what happened last night. I noticed that Dylan did half as much digging as the rest of us, lifting only light scatterings of earth and spending as much time as she could get away with leaning on her spade. Not that Mat and Mig were bothered. They seemed as in awe of Dylan as most of the boys at school were. I got that – I’d been in awe of Dylan myself once. She’s kind of scary and beautiful at the same time. It’s not just the basics – her long legs and hard green eyes. It’s the way she holds herself. She’s kind of like a cat – not belonging to anyone, ready to pounce at the slightest provocation. Anyway, she stood there, twisting her hair round her hand, while I told her what I’d found out – and what Nico had suggested.
‘He’s sooo right, Ed,’ she said, scornfully. ‘You have to forget this Luz person. And the others. Focus on getting the four of us out of here.’
I concentrated on tugging the next bean off its stalk. Why was I the only person who cared about the police van kids? Clearly the authorities didn’t either, or Luz and the others wouldn’t have been smuggled away to the Escondite.
Luz’s sad face and huge eyes flashed into my head. I’d hidden the photo of her under my mattress where none of the others would find it and take the mickey. If only I could make remote telepathy work, then I could communicate with her directly. I felt depressed at the memory of my previous, failed, attempts. Still, maybe the fact that Luz was only in San Juan – and therefore a lot closer than my family back home – would help.
I’d give it a go as soon as I was alone.
‘Are you listening to me, Chino Boy?’ Dylan said.
I looked up. I hadn’t even heard her. Dylan shook her head, then picked up a nearby trowel and pitched the tiniest amount of earth away from the bottom of the nearest bean stalk. ‘You have to get to a phone next time.’
I opened my mouth to point out that Dylan had not exactly made the best use of her own phone call to Geri – but then didn’t say anything.
After all, with Dylan, what was the point?
Fernandez appeared at breakfast. He made no mention of last night – didn’t even speak to me directly – but he was in a good mood, joking and smiling with the Spanish kids.
Tommy was sitting next to Ketty when we went in. They’d been on kitchen duty together. But something was wrong. I sensed it before Ketty even turned to look at me. I went straight over and sat down opposite her.
‘Hey, Ketty, what’s up?’ I smiled.
Ketty gave me a half-smile back. ‘Nothing, just the normal crap of being here.’
That wasn’t true, I was sure. Not for the first time I wondered why each of us had developed the particular gift we had. I’m sure that my Medusa gene developed into an ability to mind-read because I already have a strong intuition about when people are lying to me. It made sense too that outgoing Nico would be able to perform telekinesis, the showiest of psychic abilities, and that Dylan, the prickliest of our foursome, could protect herself from physical harm.
But when it came to Ketty, the connection wasn’t so obvious. There wasn’t really anything about her that explained why she should be able to see into the future. Not unless you counted her stubborn determination to see a task through once she’d started it . . .
‘Did you see something?’ I asked Ketty across the table. The question was vague enough for Tommy, who was still sitting next to Ketty, not to understand that I was really asking whether she’d had a vision of a future event.
Ketty shook her head. ‘No, I haven’t been able to “see” anything since we got here.’ She looked across the room, out of the window. ‘Too stressed, I guess.’
I nodded. Poor Ketty. After spending the past week or so building up her abilities, I knew it would be hard for her to feel out of control of her future-predicting skills now.
‘Is that why you’re upset?’ I lowered my voice.
I sensed Tommy’s gaze on me now, but kept my eyes fixed on Ketty. She shook her head.
I frowned.
‘Ketts?’
She turned and looked me in the eye.
Whoosh.
My heart gave a jolt as I jumped into her mind. Of all the people I’ve ever mind-read, Ketty’s is the hardest head for me to be inside. For a start there’s my reluctance to be prying into her thoughts in the first place. Then my fear of sensing her feelings about Nico. I mean, it’s obvious how she feels about him – but I don’t need it rammed down my throat. Most of all, I have to constantly be on guard with her so that she doesn’t get a sense of my feelings for her. How much I like her – how the fact that we’re best friends isn’t quite enough, for me.
It’s my birthday. Ketty’s thought-speech rang in my head, loud and clear.
Oh. I wasn’t expecting that.
Why didn’t you say something? I thought-spoke back.
Ketty’s emotions swirled near the surface. A confusing mix, quite unlike her mind the other times I’ve been inside it. I sat with her feelings, trying to sort them out. Frustration and misery were the strongest.
I’m sorry. I didn’t know.
It isn’t that – no one knows, not even Nico. There’s no point. I mean, it’s my birthday and I can’t speak to Mum or Dad or Lex and there won’t be any cake or presents or—
‘Ed.’ Nico’s voice cut warningly across our thought-spoken exchange.
I broke the connection instantly and looked round.
Fernandez was standing in the doorway. He stared at me, an expression of curiosity on his face.
‘Pass the jam, man,’ Nico said, from down the table. Flustered, I did as he asked. Maybe Fernandez was going to call me over to talk about what happened last night. I turned round. But Fernandez had already gone.
*
The rest of the day passed quietly enough. I took Nico to one side and told him it was Ketty’s birthday. Then he told Camila, while Tommy was listening. The two of them were on lunch duty and managed to concoct a makeshift birthday cake out of a handful of stale Swiss rolls with a twig for a pretend candle. We smuggled it outsid
e during afternoon chores in the barn. Ketty loved it.
I didn’t speak to Fernandez for the rest of that day, or the next two. Nothing much happened in camp – just the usual routine of chores and lessons – except during the morning of the second day, when a police van drove up while we were working in the field.
Cindy made us go inside so we couldn’t see what – or who – was inside the van. Later, we were all sure we could hear noises coming from the barn, but Cindy and Don stood over us while we worked, so there was no way of sneaking over to take a look. I was certain the police van had brought more kids, presumably on their way to Escondite. It was deeply frustrating not being able to find out for sure.
Later that afternoon, a large car arrived and we were kept inside again. This time I managed to duck out of the kitchen, where I was on duty, to sneak a look out of one of the front windows. I caught sight of the tail end of a forlorn line of grubby kids being marched into the car. They drove off straight away and I’d only just made it back to the kitchen when Fernandez appeared and took me into his office.
‘We’re going back to the Madelina tonight,’ he said. ‘You don’t have to do any more work this afternoon. Jorge says he’s got quite a crowd coming to see you, so I want you fresh.’
The kids I’d seen earlier vanished from my mind. This was going to be my big chance to find Luz and get to a phone. I’d discounted by now the idea of asking for help telepathically. The Spaniards I was likely to encounter were going to be shocked enough to find me inside their heads. And even if I could somehow make them understand how we all needed rescuing, Fernandez would find some way of talking them out of it. I could just see him telling them I was delusional – or some kind of juvenile delinquent, like he had when I’d asked about Luz.
However, when we reached Casa Madelina, I quickly realised it was going to be impossible for me to get to a phone. Fernandez stuck to me like a bit of Velcro. When I went to the loo he even waited outside the cubicle. And though, this time, he did allow me breaks from the bar, I had to take them locked up inside an airless storage room. The only way to the deserted alleyway outside was through a locked, barred window. The bars were fairly rusty and, if I’d had Nico with me, we might have been able to pull them out through a combined effort of brute strength and telekinesis, but they were too much for me on my own.
The Rescue Page 6