by Jane Killick
“What do we do?” said Pauline.
“Run,” said Cooper.
“That’s it?” said Michael. “That’s your plan?”
Cooper turned to him. “I’m sorry, Michael, but Pankhurst wants you to be the first. I think Barrington told you that the press were asking questions about you, it was only a matter of time before they found out what you are. It also seems they have found out who you are. By which I mean, who your father is. If the story hasn’t broken already, then it will soon. Pankhurst thinks that curing Brian Ransom’s son will be the best publicity stunt to launch his campaign to cure all perceivers.”
Michael felt a moment of their pity before he locked out all other feelings but his own. Feelings that were making his hands shake. It wasn’t so much the fear of not having his powers. He had lost his ability to perceive before and it wasn’t so bad. But being rounded up like a criminal and having them stripped from him like he was the subject of a public execution … No, he couldn’t bear that.
Then what would happen to him? Would they throw stones until they beat him to death?
Or would they not need to?
His father had tried to cure him before. Back when he was a teenager. Ironically, to keep him safe from Cooper. It had worked in that it had taken his powers away, but Michael was so strong that it had destroyed all his memories in the process. The cure was the reason he didn’t remember anything about his childhood. Where other people had memories of a loving mother and playing football with the rest of the boys in the school playground, he had a blank space. He even envied the people who had had a horrible childhood, who were bullied at school, or made to sit in their room instead of going out to play at home. At least they understood where they came from. He didn’t understand any of it. He never would. His past would always be nothing.
He couldn’t let someone touch his brain again.
“I’ll die first,” said Michael.
“I came straight here after the meeting,” said Cooper. “I don’t know when or if they’re going to come for you, but obviously they know where you live, so you might not have much time.”
“What about me?” said Katya. “You said staying with Pauline was fine. That I would be safe. You said I could have my baby in a London hospital.”
“Sorry, Katya,” said Cooper. “That was before I met with Pankhurst. You should be safe, there’s no paperwork linking you to the perceivers. Officially, you’re here on a visitor’s visa. I could take you back with me, but honestly I think you’ll be better out here.”
“You’ll be fine with us, Katya,” said Pauline.
“You hope,” said Michael. He threw the handle of the vacuum cleaner aside and it struck the wall with such force that a little bit of plaster fell onto the carpet. The least of his worries.
He headed for the bedroom.
“What are you doing?” said Pauline.
“Grabbing a couple of things and heading the hell out,” said Michael.
“Michael, wait!” said Cooper. “While I was at the House of Commons, Barrington gave me something for you.”
Cooper held out a piece of folded notepaper. Michael took it and opened it up. It was the name and address of a company called Clairone Labs in a place called Erith.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Michael.
“Barrington said you would know.”
Twenty-Three
Mary Ransom walked through her new and spotless open front door onto her gravel drive and put her arms around her son. “Michael, thank God you’re all right.”
Michael allowed his mother to hug him. He loved the way she treasured squeezing him so tight that he could barely breathe. Even though he could not love her back in the same way, perceiving it from her was comforting. In such a hostile world, comfort was something to be savoured.
She stepped back from him and only then, it seemed, did she notice Pauline and Katya beside him.
“You must come in,” she said.
Mary led them through into her home which still had the faint smell of fresh paint about it. The inside was so spotlessly clean, that it was difficult to believe it was the same house as the one which had been soiled by vandals.
In fact, to Mary, it wasn’t the same house. As she walked them through the hallway and up the stairs, Michael perceived that it no longer felt like home to her. The rooms and the walls and the furniture inside of it were still the same, but the perceiver-hating vandals had taken away the sense of safety that they used to bring. Whereas millions of other people up and down the country were able to go inside their house at night, lock the door and relax, Mary Ransom would always feel a little bit on edge in her own home.
“I thought I’d show you to your rooms first, then you can come downstairs when you’re ready,” said Mary.
She showed Katya to a room at the top of the stairs with a single bed in it. “If there’s anything you need, you let me know,” Mary told her. “Even if it’s a bit crazy. I remember when I was pregnant with Michael, I couldn’t get enough of chocolate spread and banana sandwiches.”
“Thank you,” said Katya. She then asked for directions for the bathroom and rushed in there blaming the baby for sitting on top of her bladder again.
“I’ve put you two in the guest room,” said Mary.
Michael had stayed in the guest room before, but it was only when he stepped inside it and saw the double bed laid out with two sets of guest towels on it did he realise what she was saying.
Pauline realised it too. “Oh no, Mrs Ransom, we’re—”
“There’s no need to explain, Pauline dear,” she said. “I was young once, you know. I’m going downstairs to put the kettle on.”
Michael waited until he perceived his mother was out of earshot. “I’ll sleep on the floor,” he said.
Pauline giggled.
“What?” said Michael. Even perceiving her, he couldn’t work out what was funny.
She pushed the door closed and laughed even louder.
“What?” he said.
“Perceivers are about to be persecuted up and down the country and we’re worried about our sleeping arrangements.” She sat down on the bed so hard that it bounced several times before it settled.
Michael sat down more gently beside her. “It’s not that I don’t want to sleep with you,” he said. He was close to her, he could smell the shampoo she had used to wash her hair that morning. Even though it was his shampoo from his bathroom, it smelled nicer when the fragrance came from her hair.
“Is that a double negative?” she said. “Does that mean you do want to sleep with me?”
“You can perceive that I do,” said Michael. “Although, I’m not sure I’m comfortable doing it in my mother’s house.”
Pauline laughed again. “After the shit we’ve been through today, I think sleeping is about all I’m going to be good for.”
Michael stood again. “Come on, let’s go down and allow my mother to treat us to some hospitality.”
“In a minute,” she said. “I want to know what Cooper gave you at the flat.”
“It’s an address.”
“An address for what?”
Michael pulled the piece of notepaper from his pocket and handed it to her.
It read:
Clairone Labs
Gatehouse Industrial Estate
Erith
It was signed, Barrington.
“What’s Clairone Labs?” she said.
“I looked it up on the train,” said Michael. “Clairone is a subsidiary of Agroph Chemicals. It researches new medical drugs, that sort of thing. I can only assume it has something to do with Peter Wauluds.”
“What are we supposed to do about it?”
“I don’t know yet,” said Michael. “The one thing I do know is that I’m not going to sit around in my mother’s house waiting for someone to find and cure me.”
Ten minutes later, Michael was sitting in the lounge of his mother’s house staring at the back wall. He rem
embered when it was decorated with cream wallpaper with illustrations of delicate blue flowers on it. Until it was desecrated by the vandals. Since then, all the subtlety had been stripped away to be replaced by a bold floral pattern with large and striking purple petals. It was a statement that she had reclaimed the wall for herself, but it did not eclipse the memory of what had been written there in red and green paint. The words ‘Perceiver Scum’ haunted the room like a ghost that wouldn’t be exorcised.
Michael took his gaze off the wall and pulled his mobile phone from his pocket. He typed Clairone Labs into the search box.
Mary came in with a tray containing four mugs of tea. She offered one to Katya first, who had an armchair all to herself, before she came over to the sofa where Pauline sat next to Michael.
“Thanks, Mrs Ransom,” said Pauline as she took a mug for herself and one for Michael. She passed it over.
This is so ridiculous, thought Michael as he took the mug from her. This morning we were running out of my flat with barely enough time to pack a bag and now we’re all sitting around drinking tea.
Until we come up with a plan, we can spend five minutes drinking tea, thought Pauline. It makes your mother happy.
Mary took the last remaining mug to the other armchair and sat herself down. “When are you due, Katya?”
“Two weeks,” said Katya. “The doctors think.”
Mary smiled. She nodded. She sipped from her tea. “I bet you can’t wait.”
“Not really,” said Katya. “Like your son, my son is a perceiver baby. I don’t know what’s going to happen to him after he is born.”
Perhaps it was her Russian accent, or the fact that she was speaking in her second language, or perhaps it was just her plain honesty, but it brought the pleasant afternoon chit-chat to a halt.
Mary changed the subject. “How about some cake? I have some in the kitchen. Katya? Pauline? Michael?”
“What?” Michael looked up from the internet.
“Is there something important on your phone, Michael?” asked Mary.
“Not really,” he said. “Unfortunately.” He closed down the internet and put his phone in his pocket.
“Nothing on Clairone Labs?” asked Pauline.
“The company doesn’t even have a website,” said Michael. “There’s an entry at Companies House, but all that gives me is a list of directors’ names I’ve never heard of and public accounts going back ten years or more. Pages and pages of them.”
“Clairone Labs?” said Mary. “The medical research business?”
Michael sat up. “You’ve heard of it?”
“When your father …” she trailed off, not able to bring herself to say the words went to jail, even though she thought them. “When your father’s business had to sell up, some of it went to Clairone. I only know because he made sure I had some investments to give me an income and the Clairone shares turned out to be next to useless. As far as my accountant could see, they never made any money.”
“You’re a shareholder?” said Michael.
“Not anymore,” said Mary. “My account suggested I sell them. He thought the company was some sort of tax write-off. They funnelled all their loss-making research through there. Why? Is it important?”
“Probably not,” said Michael.
Pauline sat forward. “Do you think they could have been carrying out some sort of research linked to perceivers?” she said.
“Any lab could be, in theory,” said Mary. “But if you’re asking if any of the perceiver work my husband did at Ransom Incorporated was transferred to this company, then absolutely not. He destroyed it all. He was ashamed of what he had done.”
“Is there any way of finding out?” said Pauline.
“In my experience, sometimes the best way of finding out something is to ask,” said Mary. “If they say ‘no’ and they’re lying, you could perceive them and know that the answer is really ‘yes’.”
Michael took a mouthful of his tea. “Do you know what this tea needs?” he said. “A nice piece of cake to go with it.”
Mary laughed. “Michael, I’m forty-nine, I’m not senile. You could just say, ‘Mum, would you mind leaving the room so we can discuss something in private?’” She put her tea down and got up from her chair. “I’ll get everyone a nice piece of cake. I hope lemon drizzle is all right for you all.”
Pauline waited until Mary had closed the door to the lounge behind her. “You’re not seriously thinking of going and asking them?”
“No,” said Michael. “I’m already assuming that Clairone has something to do with perceiver research, otherwise why did Barrington give me the address? Getting a yes or no answer out of them won’t help. We need to get in there and do some proper snooping around.”
“You think it will save you from this cure you are so scared of?” said Katya.
“Who says I’m scared?” said Michael.
“My son,” she said.
Michael shivered. Being perceived by other people his own age was something he was used to. Being perceived by an unborn child through his mother was something that was too weird.
“To be honest, Katya,” said Michael. “Even if we find what we’re looking for, I don’t know if it’ll save me. But it’s the only information we have, so I need to follow it.”
Twenty-Four
Michael paced up and down Mary’s hallway, listening to the ringing tone on his phone. It rang longer than he hoped, longer than it should if someone was going to answer.
At the point where he was about to give up, the ringing stopped. Inspector Patterson answered in an urgent whisper. “Michael, what the hell are you doing?”
Michael stopped walking. He put his hand out for the railing of the stairs and hung on to it. “Inspector Patterson, what’s the matter?”
“People are looking for you.”
“That’s why I left London.”
“You should come back, Michael, face up to it.”
“I can’t,” said Michael.
“You’re lucky they haven’t put out a warrant for your arrest.”
“I haven’t broken any laws.”
“Which is why they haven’t,” said Patterson. “Yet.”
Michael closed his eyes and rested his head against the railing. It was all moving too fast. “How long have I got?”
“A couple of days, maybe,” said Patterson. “Everyone’s running around like headless chickens here. Officially, it’s not a police matter, but if there’s going to be violence, the police will have to step in. There’s a lot of discussion … well, I can’t talk about it, especially not to you. But put it this way, I’m the one who they see as a perceiver cop, so I’ve been called into a lot of meetings.”
“So now would be the wrong time to ask for a favour?”
“I can’t help you, Michael. I’m sorry. Apart from anything else, they’ll be watching me, they know I’m your friend.”
“It’s just a little favour. I need a phone number.”
Patterson said nothing. All Michael could hear was his breathing.
“Inspector Patterson?” Michael waited for an answer. “Tony?”
“What phone number?” said Patterson, eventually.
“It’s for one of the people you interviewed over the Sian Jones murder. His name is Oliver Smith.”
Otis raised his perceiver blocks as he walked into Mary’s lounge. Perhaps it was instinct for him when meeting another perceiver, but Michael suspected he was more trying to mask his tired and worried thoughts.
Michael and Pauline stood up from the sofa. “Thanks for coming, Otis,” said Michael.
“No worries,” said Otis. He forced a smile across his worried face. “You must be Pauline. Michael tells me you were with the Perceiver Corps, I didn’t realise there were so many of you about.”
“Michael tells me you’re a natural born,” she said. “I didn’t realise there were so many of you.”
This time, Otis’s smile was genuine. As he relaxed, he allow
ed his blocks to weaken and the three of them shared their nervous, but determined emotions.
“Did you speak to your father?” said Michael, sitting back down again.
“Yeah,” said Otis, sitting in the nearest armchair. “He remembered you. He said you were that ‘nice boy’ who came to pick up the chemical analysis report with me.”
It was what had made Michael think of Otis. Otis’s father worked for a company called Randall Miller and Parnell Research Labs and had analysed the contents of the injection they gave to perceivers before they cured them. It was Doctor Smith who discovered the injection was only a sedative used to make perceivers compliant to the cure procedure and not the cure itself, as the public had been led to believe.
“Does he know anything about Clairone Labs?” said Michael.
“Not much more than you already found out,” said Otis. “He thinks they’re involved in military research, which is why everything is so secretive.”
“A biochemical company involved in military research?” said Michael. “Like chemical warfare?”
“It could be. Or they could be researching a new anti-malaria drug for troops sent to the jungle, as far as my father knows.”
“But will he help us?” said Pauline.
“He made some calls and managed to get an appointment to look round. He put out a research paper last year which was well received in the scientific community. He got a lot of head-hunting calls from people inviting him to job interviews after that. I thought he was bragging, but apparently, it’s not far from the truth otherwise he would have been given a flat ‘no’.”
“That gets your father inside,” said Pauline. “What about us?”
“We’re going to have to play it by ear,” said Otis. “He thinks he can sneak off at some point, on the excuse of going to the loo or something, and open a fire door. Unless they’re really serious about security and escort him to the toilet. Which, he says, could happen.”