The Sensitives

by Wood, Rick

  She scoffed, chuckling at his pathetic demeanour. And he felt pathetic. As he scuttled/ away, hunched over, walking with small steps so no one would notice him, he could feel her laughing.

  He stepped into the car park and hobbled away as quickly as he could without actually running.

  “It’s not going to go away, you know,” he heard her say, trailing a few paces behind him. “Just because you deny it, you’re still going to keep seeing these things.”

  He glanced over his shoulder and saw her casually striding after him. He was already out of breath, but she was just strolling a yard or two behind, keeping pace with ease.

  “Leave me alone,” he grunted.

  “Tell me, have you been seeing things? Things you thought were there, but appeared to not be?”

  The douchebag getting shot in the supermarket.

  The skinhead man behind the counsellor.

  “I take that silence as a yes,” she decided, reaching his side.

  “I need medication; I have things wrong with me.”

  She halted and put a hand against his chest, forcing him to come to a complete stop. He kept his head down, facing the floor, avoiding eye contact.

  “I was once like you. Ridiculous, thinking there was something wrong with me. But there isn’t. There’s not a single thing wrong.”

  “Leave me alone.”

  “Oscar, you need to listen to me, because we need your help just as much as you need ours–”

  “Please, can you just leave me alone?”

  Oscar’s anxiety took over. His whole body violently shook, his neck twitching. Blots appeared in his blurry vision, his head a haze of uncomfortable thoughts.

  He fumbled through the bag, pulled out a packet of pills, popped a few, and shoved them into his mouth.

  Still, he did not stop shaking. His eyes transfixed on the cement before him, focussing on the remains of indented gum against the pavement, the stains of human waste.

  Finally seeing that he was too distressed to be in sound mind, April nodded. She withdrew a card and handed it to him, forcing it into his hand.

  “Look, tell you what,” she began. “If you feel like you want to actually find out who you really are, give us a call. If you want to carry on being a waste of space, then…”

  She shrugged.

  With a condescending pat on the back, she took off in the opposite direction.

  Oscar fumbled the piece of card over. As his vision regained focus, he held it up in front him.

  April Cristine

  Paranormal Investigator

  07644 970306

  Paranormal investigator?

  He shoved the card into his back pocket and kept his head down as he shambled all the way home.

  7

  Oscar truly could not be arsed with the barrage of regretful diatribe his mother routinely put him through as he entered the house.

  “You’re living off our money!”

  “You’re an adult now, you know.”

  “You were such a smart child, what happened?”

  Aren’t parents supposed to encourage you? Make you feel good about yourself? Spark your dreams? It seemed this woman was intent on pulling down every bit of self-esteem he had left, trying to make it clear he would never achieve anything.

  Not that he particularly had dreams. Maybe that was the problem. All that potential, such little motivation or ambition to do anything with it.

  “Hi, Mum,” Oscar grunted, as he did every other day. He continued the daily home-from-work routine, pulling his feet out of his shoes, dumping his bag on the floor, and tuning his mother out until she was white noise.

  His father sat in the same place he was sat every day. Across the hallway and in the living room, watching either a rugby match, repetitive soaps that he only watched to perv over the attractive young women, or – if it was late enough – Babestation.

  “Why won’t you ever just talk to me!” his mum cried out as Oscar stomped upstairs.

  Because why would I want to talk to someone who tells me I’m a failure every day?

  Slamming the door of his bedroom and feeling like he was fourteen again, he dove onto the bed and pulled the pillow over his head.

  It had been a long day. Just as long as every other day.

  Soon, he would enter his nightly routine. Masturbate, watch television, play on the Xbox until 3.00 a.m., then lie awake in bed until he had to get up for work.

  But something distracted his mind.

  That girl. April.

  She had told Oscar there was nothing wrong with him.

  She was the first person to ever say that.

  But she didn’t know him. Maybe if she did get to know him, realise what he was truly like, her perception of him would change. Within a few days she would solemnly declare, “Sorry, Oscar, I was wrong – you are a fuck-up, you do need that medication, you are a dick.”

  It’s true. Anyone who thought he wasn’t a self-indulgent nobody just evidently hadn’t gotten to know him that well.

  She was incredibly pretty though. Had that really kooky, punky thing going on. It was sexy.

  Checking his door was locked, he slipped down his trousers, laid on his bed and daydreamed about April.

  He thought about kissing her. About running his hands down her purple hair, brushing down her unblemished immaculate tattooed skin. Thought about the curves of her body, the way her kooky fashion sense only made her more sexy.

  “Oscar.”

  Oscar’s head turned quicker than a bullet. He abruptly lifted his trousers from around his ankles, holding his belt around his waist, fully alert.

  But there was no one there.

  Just his bedroom, clothes on the floor, and his poster of Megan Fox on the wall.

  Taking another moment to survey the room with a scrutinising inspection of every corner, he concluded it was in his head. There was nothing there.

  He laid down.

  Relaxed once more.

  Pictured April. That smile. It had made him melt. It was perfectly curved, making her look cute yet naughty.

  Those lips.

  Those luscious lips.

  Those piercings.

  “Oscar!”

  He shot to his feet, his eyes wide open, his vision darting to every crevasse and every shadow.

  Now I know I heard that!

  The voice had screamed his name with a venomously low pitch.

  But the voice had gone. The room was empty.

  He refastened his belt and searched his room, constantly looking around, lifting up every stray item of clothing and every open video game case.

  His room was a confined mess, with little places anyone could hide. After checking in his wardrobe and under the bed, he concluded he was alone.

  But he wasn’t.

  He couldn’t be.

  Someone had screamed his name. Far too deep to be his mother’s voice, and with far too much vigour for the little energy his dad could muster.

  “Get a grip!” he barked at himself.

  He knew he was being pathetic. This was why he took medication. His anxiety manifested itself in many ways. Given, he had never ‘heard voices’ before – but he had seen things in the corner of his eye that disappeared when he looked at them, felt a brush of wind in a sealed room. How was this any different?

  Maybe he’d think about April later.

  He sat at his desk and opened his laptop lid.

  A scream roared out from the speakers so loud it sent him flying off the chair. A dark face stared back at him in place of his email, with gaping holes encompassing hollow shadows and bloody scars ripping its flesh.

  Oscar fumbled back to his feet.

  It was gone.

  With a vigorous pace he shut down the web page, shut down the laptop, and switched off the plug.

  It took him a few minutes until he realised he was still stood in the middle of his room, the four small walls closing in on him, his breathing accelerating with forceful unease.
<
br />   What the fuck is going on?

  That guy in the supermarket.

  The counsellor’s boyfriend.

  The disgusting, scarred face taking over the Internet.

  Then April. The person who said she had an explanation. The one who said she could tell him what was happening.

  The one who said he was worth more than this.

  Fumbling his hand through his pocket, he withdrew the card and looked upon it once more.

  A paranormal investigator.

  This was crazy.

  I need drugs, not ‘Ghostbusters.’

  Closing his eyes with a perturbed sigh, he bowed his head and contemplated.

  Weird shit kept happening.

  How else could he explain it?

  Because I’m crazy.

  Still.

  This made sense, in a disturbing kind of way.

  Fuck it.

  He grabbed his mobile phone and dialled the number.

  8

  To say April was apprehensive was an understatement.

  Was this kid really the all-powerful Sensitive Julian had sensed?

  Had she gotten the right guy?

  Because he seemed like a dipshit loser.

  He had scruffy clothes too big for him hanging off his scrawny body, ruffled hair that looked like it had never been touched by gel or shampoo, and a nervous disposition, which meant he was too easily intimidated to even look her in the eye.

  Then, not to mention, the ridiculous phone call she had received from him.

  “Er, this is Oscar, the guy at the pharmacy. Er, I don’t know why I’m calling. Er, this is April, right?”

  If he had said er one more time, April was pretty sure she would have thrown the phone across the room.

  Now there he was, stumbling out of his parents’ house, his hands in his pockets and his head down. There was no one around to intimidate him, yet he still couldn’t lift his head up to face the world. It seemed like she and Julian had more to mould than just his Sensitive powers – they had to stop him from being such an infuriating mess.

  Seriously, how was she supposed to work with this guy?

  Even the way he opened the car door and sat down on the seat reeked of social awkwardness. He slouched, sticking his hands into his pockets, staring at the gear stick. It was as if he wanted to look at her, but couldn’t lift his head high enough, so he just focussed on something lower down beside her instead.

  April raised her eyebrows and smiled, waiting for him to say the first words.

  “I…” he began. “I don’t know why I’m here.”

  “Well that’s a start,” April said, more patronisingly than she’d intended.

  “I – I keep seeing things.”

  “Yes, you do,” April confirmed. “That’s because you’re what we call a Sensitive.”

  “What’s a Sensitive?”

  April exhaled with sheer exasperation. Was she this much work for Julian when he’d found her and trained her?

  She was a damaged teenager living on the streets, but still – at least she wasn’t so irritating.

  “A Sensitive is called a Sensitive because they are Sensitive to the paranormal and the supernatural. You are Sensitive to the world of the unliving.”

  “You mean, dead people?”

  “Not exclusively but yes, sometimes. Sometimes demons.”

  Oscar snorted with amusement.

  April did all she could to contain her irritation at his reaction. It would be the same for any sceptic who heard this news for the first time.

  “Have you ever seen anything strange happen, Oscar? Something you can’t explain? Maybe you’ve seen or heard something no one else has?”

  “… Yes.”

  “This isn’t because you have anxiety. You don’t need this ridiculous medication you’re taking. You need to be taught to hone these skills.”

  Oscar sighed. April could see the thoughts twisting and turning inside him, so clearly torn between whether to take a leap of faith or to rely on his ingrained rational thinking.

  “Is it just you?”

  “Me and Julian. He’s a sound guy; just don’t piss him off and you’ll be fine.”

  “And what powers do you have?” He spoke so softly, it was as if he didn’t want to believe he was asking it.

  “My Sensitive is that I can sense and feel the paranormal. I can also act as a conduit.”

  “A what?”

  “A conduit. It means I let spooky fuckers borrow my body.”

  “What about Julian?”

  “He can see Sensitive powers in others. And he’s a kick-arse exorcist.”

  Oscar raised his eyebrows. She could see he was overwhelmed, entwined with disbelief.

  “Yo, Oscar, can you lift your head up and look at me, yeah?” April decided she needed to take a different tact. If only to stop him pissing her off, this was something he was going to need to see to believe.

  Oscar lifted his head slowly, but still didn’t meet April’s eyes.

  “A little bit more,” she prompted. “Almost there. Look me in the eyes, not the chest.”

  She grinned as he blushed. He slowly lifted his head, warily making brief eye contact with her, shifting his glance back and forth.

  “I’m going to take you to a case we’re working on,” she decided. “Maybe when you meet this little girl, you’ll be able to see something others can’t. Maybe then you’ll believe.”

  “… Okay,” he muttered.

  Rolling her eyes at his despondency, she put the car into gear.

  Does this guy get enthusiastic about anything? He’s about to see a sodding demon, for Christ’s sake!She sped off, smirking as Oscar gripped his seat and quickly fastened his seatbelt.

  9

  To say Oscar felt awkward was an understatement. The whole drive, April kept shooting glances at him as if she was studying him or trying to figure him out. It was difficult enough that he found her immensely attractive, but trying not to stare at her staring was proving difficult.

  After a drive that felt longer than it was, April pulled up outside an old-fashioned building. The summer evening had turned to night, and there was an uncomfortable humidity lingering in the air. The building itself was grand, with spiralling architecture and red bricks covered in green moss.

  “What is this place?” Oscar enquired.

  “This is the place where social services dump kids they don’t know what to do with,” April answered in a glumly matter-of-fact tone.

  “Why are we here?”

  “Because this is where they are keeping the girl we’re going to meet.”

  April hastily stepped out of the car, stylishly using the roof to lever herself out. Oscar did the same, though without the slick manoeuvre. Instead, he stumbled over the door and just about kept his balance.

  A man who looked a few years older than April approached, his eyes in a fixed glare at Oscar. Oscar even glanced over his shoulder to check this guy was looking at him. There was no one else there.

  “This is Julian,” April introduced. “He’s the boss.”

  He was a good-looking guy, no doubt about it. His hair was swept back to his neck; he had a prim, clean-shaven face and a well-toned physique that made Oscar feel instantly inferior. Still, he didn’t want to get on the wrong side of this guy, so he offered a hand.

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Oscar.”

  Julian looked at Oscar’s hand like he was being offered shit on a cake, prompting Oscar to immediately withdraw it. Julian didn’t smile; in fact, quite the opposite. He looked at everything like it was a mediocre speck of dirt he simply needed to tread over.

  “Follow us,” Julian demanded, his voice assertive, but with a rugged huskiness. “And don’t say a word unless instructed to.”

  Julian turned and strode to the decadently majestic front door, pushing its heavy weight open with relative ease. Even the way he walked was with a superior pace. A natural leader, someone who automatically willed the weak to follow
him – the complete opposite of Oscar.

  “He takes some warming to,” April commented as she followed Julian, and Oscar fumbled after them.

  “We are here to see Kaylee Kemple,” Julian informed the lady at the desk. This lady glanced at Julian, then averted her wary gaze to April’s niche dress sense, then to Oscar’s shy exterior.

  “That girl is being kept under strict protection,” the woman answered.

  “I know she is, her lawyers sent us,” Julian interrupted confidently. “We have an appointment to see her. If there’s an issue, perhaps you could take it up with her police liaison officer.”

  Any gumption the lady thought she had faded, and she nodded warily.

  “Okay,” she confirmed. “But I do warn you, that girl – she isn’t right.”

  “Can you point us the way please?”

  “Okay.” The woman nodded feverishly, her eyes wide open, as if she was shocked that people were willingly speaking to this girl. “Down the corridor, fourth door on the right.”

  Julian gave her a slight nod, then strode forward again, leading the way.

  Oscar scuffled to April’s side.

  “Who is this girl?” he asked.

  “This girl claims her dad raped her,” April answered monosyllabically. “Her mum and dad are claiming she didn’t. They want us to see if there is anything ‘off’ about her.”

  “Off?”

  “As in, anything untoward.” They paused outside the door. “Not of this world. Demonic. Keep your eyes open, Oscar – if you can see things, and this girl is surrounded by these particular forces, then you will likely see things in this room that you can’t explain. Be wary – if it’s the first time you see them, you might be in for a shock.”

  Oscar’s jaw remained open as he nodded with absent eyes and a terror-filled mind. What was it he was going to see?

  I don’t want to see things!

  He wished he was back at home. In his bed. Something he never thought he’d wish in a million years.

  Julian knocked on the door a few times, laid his hand carefully on the door handle, and twisted it. The door creaked open, and Julian stepped toward a dark figure in the corner.