The Sensitives

by Wood, Rick

  “And what kind of things did she do?”

  Henry stared back at Julian, his eyes widening, his lips pursed together. His body shook. He visibly willed his lip to stop quivering.

  “Horrific things,” Henry gasped.

  “What kind of horrific things, Henry?”

  “She stole the razors from my shaver and cut my wife’s arms whilst she was sleeping. I woke up and she was unconscious; I had to rush her to the hospital. Kaylee denied it was her, but I knew. She had this, this far-off look in her eyes, like a distant evil. It was a look I’d never seen before.”

  “Sounds awful.”

  “She would spy on me and my wife when we made love. We’d do it after she’d gone to bed, of course, check she was fast asleep, be silent – but the door would be open. We’d hear her breathing. When I’d approach she’d run away, then I’d find her asleep in her room. Then, there was the time…”

  “Yes?”

  “She sawed our cat’s leg off. She got a…”

  Henry’s eyes gave in and he waved his hand to indicate no more. He turned his face away, covering himself with his arm.

  “Sorry,” Henry muttered.

  “It’s quite all right,” Julian reassured him. “So why are you here? Why were you arrested?”

  “She… She told everyone I molested her. She told everyone I touched her!” His face broke, and his whole body convulsed in tears. “How could I? She’s my daughter! I’m a doctor, for Christ’s sake! I would never touch her, I wouldn’t. I love her! I love her so much.”

  Julian glanced at April, who had remained an intrigued voyeur for the duration of the interview. His eyes indicated it was time to go.

  “What we will do, Henry,” Julian began, resting a comforting hand on Henry’s shoulder. “We will talk to Kaylee. We will see what we make of her, and let you know what our verdict is.”

  Henry managed to force a nod, but couldn’t get out any words between his furious sobbing.

  With a nod to April, Julian stood and led them out. They remained silent until they left the police station.

  “So,” April declared, breaking the silence. “What did you make of him?”

  “Either he’s a very good liar, or we have a deranged child on our hands.”

  Julian stared into the distance, distracted by something, his eyes hazing over.

  “What is it?” April prompted.

  “I can feel something,” Julian replied. “There’s someone near. A new Sensitive. Someone who’s just starting to discover his gift. I can feel it.”

  April watched Julian, peering at the troubled look taking him over.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because it feels the same as when I found you.”

  April nodded. Julian was normally spot on about these things.

  “What do we do?”

  Julian took a deep intake of breath, held it, and let it go.

  “Find him,” Julian confirmed. “Before his powers get the better of him… and someone gets hurt.”

  4

  There was no way to sit in a counselling session without being uncomfortable, or so Oscar decided. He could lay down on the sofa like he’d seen people do in the movies, but that just felt weird. He could sit forward intently, but that would be too intense. As it was, he decided to shift between sitting back and sitting on the edge of his chair, never quite able to get comfortable.

  “Tell me about your week,” Doctor Jane Middlemore requested, preparing her pen and her pad and peering over her glasses at Oscar.

  Oscar shifted again, placing his hands over his lap, covering a poorly timed erection. How could a counsellor be so attractive? Oscar could barely concentrate. She had long, red hair, prominent bosoms, and wore a fitted suit, with a slit in her skirt that traipsed all the way up to her thigh. Oscar knew he was staring at her thigh, and he needed to stop, as it was becoming painfully obvious.

  He couldn’t help it. Her skin was impeccably smooth, and her thigh was perfectly rounded.

  Damn it. I’m being such a perv. Stop it.

  “My week’s been okay.”

  “And how are you feeling?”

  Horny.

  “Tired, mostly.”

  “How come?”

  Oscar sighed.

  Who cares?

  I mean, honestly, what difference is confiding in this ridiculously hot woman going to make about anything? Is it going to make him feel better? Change who he is? Make him less of an unmotivated arse?

  Honestly, the only thing Oscar cared about was going home and playing FIFA.

  “Oh, you know. Playing on my Xbox too much.”

  Then the most peculiar thing happened.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Oscar was sure he could see a masculine figure. Someone standing behind Jane with a relaxed, cocky demeanour.

  But as soon as Oscar turned his gaze toward the figure, it went. Like a puff of smoke immediately dispersing.

  “What about a girlfriend? Have you thought about going out and meeting someone, perhaps instead of sitting alone playing with your Xbox?”

  “I’d love to meet someone, except I don’t really think anyone would love to meet me.”

  The cocky strut of some laddish bloke walked past in the reflection of a window. Jane didn’t react.

  How could she not see him?

  He shot his head around to glance at whoever it was, but it was gone. Nothing. Just a passing hallucination out of the corner of his eyes.

  Now I’m seeing things? I’m all kinds of messed up…

  “And why is it you think no one would like to meet you?”

  “I don’t know, it’s just–”

  And just at that moment, as if appearing from nothing, evolving into a fully formed body, appeared a bloke. Standing at Jane’s side. Shaved head, pierced eyebrow, and baggy tracksuit hanging off a well-sculpted bare chest.

  Oscar’s jaw hung wide open. He blinked his eyes tightly a few times, as if the man would go away as soon as he averted his gaze. But the mirage was still there, standing prominently in the flesh.

  Jane glanced over her shoulder, then back to Oscar, trying to search for the subject of her gaze, but seeing nothing.

  How is she not seeing this?

  “Honestly, Jane,” the guy grunted. “You’re doin’ ma fuckin’ ’ead in. It’s like you’re more obsessed with your job. I may as well move my shit out.”

  Oscar’s mind was awash with confusion. He stared dumbfoundedly at this miraculously appeared man,spewing abuse at his counsellor.

  “What is going on?” Oscar demanded.

  “What do you mean?” Jane replied, completely undeterred by the man beside her.

  “What is your boyfriend doing here?”

  Oscar closed his eyes and shuddered. When he opened his eyes, the man was gone. Completely disappeared, as if he was never there.

  But he had been there.

  Oscar was certain of it.

  Despite Jane furiously looking over her shoulder to the space Oscar had just shouted at, despite her seeing nothing – he had been there. Oscar had seen him.

  “Excuse me?”

  “With his skinhead, tracksuit, abs, eyebrow piercing. He was there.”

  “How on earth do you know what my boyfriend looks like? Have you been spying on me?”

  “He wanted to know why you’re too busy with your job, and whether he should move out.”

  Jane’s jaw dropped. For a few moments she stared at Oscar in bewildered shock, her eyebrows raised, her body stiffened.

  Then her body changed. Her eyebrows narrowed, her fists clenched, and she stood suddenly, jabbing her finger toward the door.

  “I think you need to leave!” Jane demanded. “And if you come near me or my boyfriend again, I will call the police!”

  Oscar froze.

  But he had been there! Oscar had seen him. As clear as he saw Jane at that moment, pointing a vehemently shaking arm toward the door.

  “Go!” she shouted once more.
/>
  Oscar jumped to his feet, scampering to the door as quickly as he could, then striding down the corridor and out of the building.

  Once out, he planted himself against the wall. He was panting, his vision going blurry, his head full of manic dizziness.

  What was going on?

  How had he just seen that man, heard that man – but Jane hadn’t?

  5

  Paranormal investigators deal with people who have a range of beliefs – from adamant sceptics denying every possibility of the supernatural, to militant believers who wish to force their precarious knowledge on everyone else. Either way, people were usually furiously intrigued in what April and Julian do; although there were, of course, people who flat-out couldn’t be arsed to deal with ‘weirdos like them.’

  Then there were their clients, who came to them with a range of emotions; from hardened outer shells to distraught, inconsolable messes.

  Nancy Kemple was the latter.

  This was the kind of situation where April was glad Julian was in charge, not her. She didn’t deal with other people getting emotional well. She knew, of course, this was because of her own inability to deal with the emotional gravity of her past; running away from a neglectful home at fourteen, then being found by Julian at fifteen, at which point she was taught to move on from her past and harness her gifts.

  Or, when she was taught to be a ‘Sensitive’ – as Julian called it.

  But that treatment from her parents was something she had never quite dealt with, and seeing a hysterical mother weeping in front of her was a situation with which she couldn’t empathise. Her cold, callous mother never shed tears over her, nor gave sympathy when April was upset, nor even noticed when April would sneak out for a few hours. Sometimes April wondered if her mother, five years later, had even noticed that she was gone.

  “At first, I believed her,” Nancy sobbed, taking a tissue from Julian and using it to dab her eyes. “I mean, why else would my daughter accuse her father of raping her? It’s just not something she would have heard of. How could she make something like that up?”

  “Of course,” Julian confirmed, nodding. April enjoyed watching Julian at work, observing his caring demeanour. He was sat on the edge of the chair, looking intently at Nancy. It really showed he cared.

  This, compared to April’s slouched posture as she sunk into an armchair across their living room, made her feel less professional.

  But it wasn’t a lack of respect. April was vulnerable to the paranormal; she could sense it, sometimes even control it – and she would need both physical and emotional distance from the subject to be completely synchronised with anything that may be present.

  “And then, of course, when Henry was arrested, I hated him,” she continued, wiping her eyes, visibly trying to keep her composure. “And Kaylee was taken into care. But now…”

  “Now what, Nancy?” Julian prompted her, speaking calmly and serenely.

  “Well, then I saw my daughter. And now I know Henry is innocent.”

  “How do you know this?”

  Nancy’s face scrunched into a distorted mess. She covered her face, doing all she could to keep herself together.

  “It’s okay, in your own time,” Julian reassured her.

  Her lips pursed tightly together, her resolve strengthening, and she turned her attention entirely to Julian.

  “I have looked into the eyes of my daughter every day for the past nine years,” she spoke, a mixture of distress and assertion. “That thing – is not my daughter.”

  April tuned out of the conversation, listening for anything not of this world that may be whispering to her. Concentrating. Feeling the room, the house.

  There was something odd about the house. It felt like it didn’t belong to this family. Like they were just residents.

  She closed her eyes, feeling herself sinking into her seat, the soft touch of the cushions enveloping her into a feeble embrace. The arms smelt damp, like old furniture, with a mixture of cat hair. She could taste coffee, an aroma wafting in from the kitchen.

  As she opened her eyes she retained her sound mind, focusing on each one of her senses, fixing her eyes on Nancy.

  There was nothing behind her, no definite vision or demon she could see. Yet, she could feel something. Something lingering in the air, something remaining from before.

  Nancy’s cheek transformed and contorted. Something was making an impression.

  A hand-print.

  The size of a child’s hand, but with something thin and coarse exuding from the end of the fingers. Claws.

  Closing her eyes and shaking her head, she brought herself out of her trance and refocussed her energy to the room.

  “Thank you for talking to us, Nancy.” Julian stood and shook her hand that loosely gripped his. “We will talk to Kaylee and see what we can find.”

  Julian led April outside. They walked down the porch, along the garden path and out of the gate before they began talking.

  “Anything?” Julian asked.

  “Yeah,” April replied. “There was a paw print on the side of her face. Like it had been made by a child, but with something coming out of the end of it. Long, sharp nails.”

  “So you’re thinking the child is in danger?”

  “That’s my instinct.”

  Julian paused beside his car, taking a big intake of breath. April noticed him do this a lot – it was his way of making sense of things. Taking a deep breath and breathing his anxiety out. Despite believing in what he did, the job was stressful, not to mention exceedingly dangerous – you could lose more than your life; you could lose your mind or even your soul. This big intake of breath was Julian’s way of uncluttering his mind.

  “We need to collect the other Sensitive,” Julian decided. “We need him.”

  “What, today?” April reacted, surprised.

  “I have a feeling he’ll be a help with this case. He feels like a glimpser.”

  “Okay, well, where do we find him?”

  Julian peered around the estate, watching a group of lads cycle past, going way too fast on their bikes.

  Everyone was so unaware of what the true dangers are in this world.

  “We’ll follow our instincts,” Julian declared, getting into the car. April loyally followed.

  6

  The pharmacy queue was always the longest queue in the world.

  Being third in line, Oscar thought he wouldn’t have to wait that long.

  No.

  Because at the front of the queue was an old man who had forgotten his reading glasses and was partially deaf. The pharmacist fulfilling his prescription was talking like he was speaking to a foreigner without a translator, and getting a response that was as clear as if he was talking to a cat.

  Oscar still had his lingering eight-hour-shift smell clinging to him. His unfashionable green work shirt stank of dried bread and burnt bacon. It was bizarre how this smell attached itself to him, despite just working at the checkout. He would have thought he’d smell like… well, whatever checkouts smell like. But no. His aroma was that of the café beside the checkout and its wandering smells.

  “You take them one a day,” the pharmacist spoke slowly and clearly. “One a day. No, no, you take them one a day. Yes, you can take them today, but only take one.”

  Bloody hell, this is ridiculous.

  All he wanted was to get his anxiety medication – and the more and more irritation this clueless old man was giving him, the more he needed it. It was like the old man was the barrier to the anxiety medication he needed because of the old man.

  “Do you want a bag? A bag? I said, a bag. Do you want – do you want a bag?”

  Aaarrrgggghhhhh.

  Oscar sighed and rolled his eyes.

  “Hi,” came a friendly voice from beside him.

  Oscar’s head turned like he’d heard a gunshot.

  There stood a beautiful, funky woman. Young, purple hair, a nose stud, tattoos, and a punky dress sense consisting of b
aggy jeans, Converse trainers and a red, sleeveless top. Her tattoos were very niche – of Tim Burton characters, and logos of various rock bands. She was immensely attractive, made even more so by her sexy, grunger image.

  Oscar looked back and forth, then over his shoulder, not sure who exactly this woman was talking to.

  “Erm, I’m talking to you. Hi?”

  He turned back toward her. She leant casually against a shelf stocking various laxatives.

  “Hi?” Oscar offered, shifting uncomfortably at the uninvited greeting from this stranger, wondering why a woman this attractive was talking to him.

  “My name’s April.” She introduced herself with a sneaky smile that made her seem a little bit naughty. She grabbed hold of his wrist and turned his prescription so she could read his name. “And you are… Oscar Ecstavio.”

  She glanced to Oscar, then back to the prescription, then to Oscar. She let his wrist go, sticking out her bottom lip.

  “Wow,” she stated. “You so do not look like an Oscar Escatavio. More like, I don’t know – a Barney. Or a Glomp.”

  “I don’t think Glomp’s a name…” Oscar muttered, barely audible, his introverted nature taking over his quivering voice.

  “Right, well, Oscar. I’m going to need you to come with me.”

  “Sorry?”

  “I’m going to need you to come with me. You don’t need all this medication and all that. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

  Oscar’s head fluttered with a thousand confused thoughts. Who was this girl? Why was she talking to him? Why did she think she knew so much about him?

  “How do you know?”

  “Because you’re a Sensitive,” she announced with a knowing grin. “It means that you can see or do things that other people can’t see or do.”

  “Like superpowers?”

  “Don’t be a geek, Oscar.”

  The two people before him in the queue dispersed, meaning Oscar was next. He looked from the expectant pharmacist to April’s raised eyebrows.

  “Sorry, but I have to…” he trailed off, and shuffled forward to the counter. He could feel April behind him, watching him, not moving. He handed his prescription over and collected a bag of medication, then turned to leave. He glanced at her, giving an uncomfortable smile as he made his way to the door.