by Sam Nash
One sultry evening, Mary sat on the veranda drinking a cool glass of homemade lemonade, watching the boats bobbing up and down in the bay. Parth approached, bent one knee beside her and uttered the immortal words.
In her prison cell, she whispered them into the pillow, damp with her tears, hearing not her own voice, but his deep masculine intonation instead. “Marry me, Mary. I cannot imagine life without you by my side.”
Chapter Nine
“Try again, Mary, and I will get you some nice fruit to eat.” Alexi read the translation from the smart phone application. It was slow and laborious, but at least he could now communicate with her. Mary was content to wait for him to type in his statements. It gave her time to think of a way to get the phone from his grasp and call for help.
Alexi had risen early, delivered her breakfast of boiled eggs, toast and tea, and set up the laboratory a short distance from her room. Mary had taken her time getting ready. She was not going to let them call all the shots. She had sacrificed the sports pages of her precious newspaper, folded them into a tight tube and wedged them beneath the bathroom door. She let the hot water pulse on the back of her head, telling herself to relax and think logically, but the knotted muscles in her neck and shoulders refused to ease.
In the lab, Alexi had placed a peculiar hat covered in electronic nodes on her head and connected trailing cables into a computer. On the bench, he placed a standard Boy Scout compass in front of her. “Please, try again.” Mary touched her index finger to the metal casing of the compass. The needle trembled and then returned resolutely north. She sighed, raising her hands in defeat. “Why must I do this Alexi, it makes no sense?”
He listened to the phone verbalise her words in Russian through an earbud perched in one ear, then tapped in his response. “You have a great power, Mary. We must make it stronger, easy for you to use on command.”
“But why? What for?” Exasperated, she let her arms drop, thumping them down onto the bench in front of her.
“You do what Visser say, or he hurt your man.” Alexi wagged a finger at her.
“Yes, I understand the threats. What I don’t understand is what he wants me to do and why?” She scanned the lab for potential exits or methods with which she could contact Parth - a landline telephone perhaps or another internet connected computer. None were visible.
“He wants you to lead a team of special people like you. You are very strong. You learn to control power.” He finished reading out his response and raised his face to her. He smelled of baby powder and his thinning hair revealed dry flakes loosely covering a sore patch on his scalp.
“And what is this team supposed to do exactly? She noticed his creaseless lab coat bore no telling stains, unlike her own back at the university.
Alexi returned his attention to his computer monitor. “I not allowed to say.”
Mary considered his response. She knew that Visser had been present in Cyril’s lab when she blew out the fuse board and also at the ball when she jump-started Professor Haas following his heart attack. There was a good chance that he had no idea about her being able to leave her body and spy on people. If she learned to strengthen and control all her abilities, they might assist her escape.
“We start small, yes? You make compass move.” Alexi was nudging her to try again.
She settled herself to the task, scratching the fabric on the cap where tiny thunder flies were tickling her skin. “It’s sweltering in here. Can we have the windows open?”
Alexi hopped off his chair and walked between the benches to the windows. Grabbing the mechanism on the wall, he wound the metal handle, cranking all the vents open at once. Mary waited until he diverted his gaze and grabbed the smartphone. She clicked the green icon and started typing in Parth’s mobile phone number.
“No, no, no! Very bad, for you and me. No telephone, Visser say.” Alexi rushed back to her side and snatched the phone from her hands, securing it in his shirt pocket and wagging his finger at her again. “You very bad. No fruit.”
“You can’t blame me for trying. I want to go home.” She sagged on the stool like a petulant child.
“This new home. I your family now.” He banged his chest with his hand and returned to his seat.
“If I make the compass move, you’ll give me fruit and a television in the room?” Mary glowered at Alexi. The sternness of his tone did not match his open body language. Was that a faint smile as he chastised her? Did he admire her?
“Move compass, you get fruit.”
“And the television.” It was not a request.
“Okay.”
It was in her own interests to master her gifts. Concentrating on the floating needle inside the steel casing, she touched the side with her index finger once more. Imagining energy flowing from her digit into the compass, she willed the red tip away from North towards her finger positioned at the South Easterly point. The needle moved. Mary anticipated a move towards her. Instead, it was repelled, resting in a north westerly direction. Alexi laughed and clapped his hands together. “Good, good.” She moved her finger around the circumference of the case, the needle keeping equidistant from her touch. He barked an order at the guards positioned at the entrance to the lab. One of them entered with a bowl of fruit. She seized a Granny Smith and sunk her teeth into it, relishing the crisp texture and tart juice on her tongue. I’m a performing monkey. Be a good chimp and you’ll have a banana. She did not articulate her thoughts.
Turning to the computer monitor, Alexi used the mouse to navigate the software recording her brain patterns. A few more taps and a simulation of the electrical and neural activity in her head played back like an animated video of a cuttlefish, rippling the colours of its skin in rhythmic pulsations.
He changed the settings again and replayed the simulation. This time, the computer showed them the most active sections like a heat map. While Alexi oohed and aahed over the images, Mary recognised the section of her brain that had recorded the most activity. It was the area containing the same gland that Parth had shown to her after her MRI scan – the Pineal Gland.
Alexi’s top pocket vibrated and pinged. He took out the phone and read the message. “Ah. Visser returns. You go back to room. Guards will bring television and fruit.”
Mary pouted. The lab had daylight and fresh air, and although the view looked out upon a quad surrounded by tall concrete and glass structures, there were a few trees and some flower beds between the patches of grass. Her room was oppressive and enclosed. She sauntered back down the corridor, flanked either side by scary men in military attire and sat on the plastic chair under the camera. One clumsy guard slammed down the bowl of fruit onto a newly added table so that the grapes slid off and onto the floor. Another carried in a flat screen TV and attached the cables to the sockets in the wall.
Hugging her legs and balancing her heels on the edge of the plastic chair, she listened for the thunk-click sound as the bolt slid across into the metal sheath on the doorframe and the handle angled down. She rose, twisted the TV to face the chair and flicked through the channels. Daytime chat shows, quizzes and black and white films were now her staple diet.
Mary switched to a channel playing a war film. The noise was comforting. It reminded her of when her grandfather babysat so that her parents could sneak away for romantic weekends together; trying, no doubt, to patch up their fraying marriage. Grampy would sit patiently for hours playing Cat’s Cradle with a loop of wool wound around his arthritic fingers, Where Eagles Dare or another of his favourites blaring in the background. She would sit on the footstool by his knee and eat his grapes, or cherries if they were in season. Mary scooped up the bunch of seedless grapes that the guard had knocked to the floor and brushed the film of dust from them.
Reminiscing filled huge reservoirs of emotion within her. The weight of memories forcing her muscles to tense, as they pounded against the dam that held her feelings in check. One sudden deluge of fear or sadness would unleash all her latent powers and if recent
events were anything to go by, her intense emotion could yield catastrophic results.
Mary could hear voices in the corridor beyond her room. She grabbed the TV remote and hit the mute button, straining to hear the conversation. Standing close to the door, she turned her head to one side. They were speaking English. She recognised Visser’s peculiar pitch, but it was growing quieter – they were moving further away.
If she could get a message to the new visitor, they could raise the alarm and fetch help. How could she signal their attention? Her newspaper might have sufficient headlines to tear out words that asked for help, but there is no way of getting the message to them. That is assuming they are not already part of Visser’s crew of captors.
Hammering her fists against the door, she shouted till her lungs burned. “Hey! Let me out of here! Someone help me…I’m being held against my will. Please, help me!”
A large guard unbolted and pushed open the door, forcing her to take a few steps back. In heavily accented tones he said, ‘Quiet! You want a slap, eh? Like before?” He raised his hand close to her face.
“Visser would kill you if you lay a finger on me. Just like he did your friend.” Her eyes filled with malicious intent. He rose to her challenge, pacing forward and towering over her.
“A finger, perhaps. But keep this up and I will put you back in your restraints. Then I could do exactly what I like with you. Easy to turn off the camera tonight.” He grinned a repugnant, salacious smile.
“Visser would kill you.” She repeated, with less vitriol.
“Maybe, maybe not. Your word against mine.” He clutched her face roughly, squeezing till her mouth puckered up. “Save a kiss for me.”
Mary shoved his hand away and threw the TV remote at his head. It bounced off and smashed on the wall, spilling the batteries across the floor. The guard laughed and re-bolted the door behind him.
Well done, Mary. Full marks for pretending to cooperate. I have got to find a way out of here. I need to know what is going on out there and where the exits are. If I could just make myself travel without my body again. Although I don’t know how to make that happen. She paced up and down the room. Reassembling the TV remote, she pressed the EPG button and the electronic programme guide popped up on the screen. It was 12.30pm. She estimated that she would have approximately eleven to twelve hours, before the guard would attempt anything. Taking a deep calming breath, she sat on the edge of the bed, thinking back to the occasion when she had spied on Parth. She had been asleep, but had woken up not being able to move. That had been the start of her extra corporeal journey.
If I am to have any chance of repeating the experience, I need to be relaxed and semi-conscious. Ha! Relaxed? Under these conditions? OK, music. Music might help. She trawled through the channels on the TV. Chart Hits from the Eighties, was the closest she could find to a music channel. That is more likely to rev me up, not calm me down. Turning the television off, she cast the remote aside.
Using a rolled up T shirt to cover her eyes, she lie on the bed and tried to still her rapid pulse. Grampy would stroke my forehead and sing to me when I was a restless child. I could try singing, something soft and lyrical. I could try the Beatles number that he used to sing. With her arms loose by her side, she concentrated on her slowing her breath and pushing her thoughts to one side in her mind. The song began, softly out loud, no more than a hum.
It was the song about her namesake, Let it be. As the song progressed, her voice petered out until the final chorus played inside her head, a synergism of melody and the torpid frequencies of submission. The vibrational beat of her song, tuned to the alpha waves of her psyche, carrying her into a focused state of existence. As she imagined the instruments playing the final chords to the song’s conclusion, she told herself to fly.
Her consciousness percolated out of her body and amassed high above. She glanced down at herself, making sure that her physical form was safe before moving towards the bolted door. Since wood had not prevented her movement in her last travels, she pushed through the grain and emerged in the corridor beyond. Staying close to the ceiling, she swept along the passageway, stopping briefly to assimilate the situation in the guard’s station next to her room.
The small alcove, had several mounted screens showing multiple aspects of the base. It was far larger than Mary had predicted. As the pictures changed between camera views, she saw outside images of derelict brick and concrete buildings, surrounded by scaffolding and security fences.
Above the central monitor that showed her prone body, lying in bed with a T shirt covering her face, was a line of screens all showing darkened hospital wards from different angles. She bobbed closer. A silent patient occupied every bed, still as though preserved in aspic and attached to an intravenous feed. The image changed again, showing a man wearing scrubs rolling a patient onto their side, while another changed the plastic bag of fluid. What is Visser doing here? Are all these people in comas? Where the hell am I? This cannot be a proper hospital.
Fearing that she would not be able to sustain her present form for long, she floated back over the guard’s head, noting that only one person manned the screens, while another stood outside her room. A quick look informed her that neither of those currently on duty, was the one that had threatened to call on her later on. She turned and peered down the corridor. Alexi was crossing from the laboratory to an office opposite. She followed him, hurrying towards the room before he could close the door.
She commanded her presence to rise above their backs, reaching up to see the visitor. With the three people packed inside and all the furniture, space was tight. Her vision panned up Visser’s sport’s jacket and over the thick waves of grey hair.
Sitting opposite them, stroking his goatee, was a face she knew well. A man who had directed all her working hours for the last seven years of her life. Her boss, Professor Cyril Plender was talking to her captors. Mary froze. She chanted in her head, not to feel shocked. Any burst of emotion and her consciousness would zip straight back into her body. Did Cyril know that she was there? Was he part of the conspiracy to abduct her? Was that the reason why he had given her most confidential tasks to another technician? She needed a few moments to compose her thoughts but she sensed there was no time to waste. From Plender’s expression, the meeting was not going his way. If only she could hear as well as see what was happening. How could she get her ears to work in conjunction with her sight? If she could pick up anything from lip reading it might help.
Cyril’s countenance conveyed his fury. His tone of voice would be irate. Mary watched his lips. He was talking about the ball. She picked up the words ‘bloody’, ‘man’ and ‘die’. She assumed they were referring to the Walrus, Professor Haas, and his miraculous recovery from a sudden heart attack. Plender fished in his pocket, withdrew the tiny steel device and handed it to Visser. Without warning, her hearing kicked into action. “You said one touch from that bloody contraption would kill him without any trace of foul play. You promised me his job.”
“Nobody could have predicted Mary’s involvement in saving his life. You have to hand it to her. She is more powerful than even we could have guessed. And anyway, you did get his job.” Visser was examining the device with a degree of insouciance that clearly annoyed Plender.
“Only temporarily. That infuriating old git is fighting the board. He is refusing to retire.”
“That is your problem, not ours. Have you brought the test results with you?”
Plender stopped fuming long enough to grab a portfolio from the desk top and remove a bundle of papers secured in a plastic file. He handed them directly to Alexi, who pored through them with eager interest. Cradling the file in one hand, Alexi trailed his index finger past the paragraphs of explanations, down to tables of raw data and graphs. Alexi stopped and looked up at Plender, mystified.
“What is it, Alexi?” Visser asked, taking the folder from his grasp.
“I not understand. Data says no Di-Methyl Tryptamine, no MAO inhibi
tors?”
“That’s right.” Plender confirmed. “Mary’s blood is clean. She’s a little anaemic and could do with a good multivitamin and mineral supplement, but otherwise there were no enhancers in her blood.” He went back to playing with his beard.
“But that can’t be right. Are you sure these tests are reliable?” Visser scanned the conclusions drawn in the paper.
“I’m certain. I had my best post grads conduct the tests in Lab Twenty-six, the one that you are paying for.”
Chapter Ten
Mary was spinning. Her consciousness struggled to maintain focus on the scene before her. She could feel a dragging sensation, pulling her back towards her room. Her sight grew grainy around the edges, the corridor reduced to a few blurry pixels as her energy reinserted itself back into her body.
Gradually, the physical sensations of her limbs returned, accompanied by the familiar nausea. The scale of verisimilitude in her life was beginning to reveal itself. How far did the deception extend? Was Yelena Plender part of the treachery, along with her husband, Cyril, or was she working with Parth? At least the tablets Parth had been feeding her, were just multivitamins after all. Small comfort.
Perhaps the relationship between him and Yelena had all been innocent and work related, despite her suspicions. Parth would never have put her in harm’s way, of that she was sure.
How could Cyril Plender, her employer, have betrayed her so easily? She thought back to all the occasions when she had worked overtime and not claimed for the hours, fearful of his budget. Of sacrificed weekends when he deemed a project too important to wait until Monday. Of all the times he had abused his power and sent her on personal errands, picking up dry cleaning or shopping for anniversary and birthday gifts.
How many times had she defended him to Yelena in a misguided attempt at saving their marriage? He would whine at Mary like a bird that follows the gardener, jumping from branch to fence as she worked, chirruping his woes and engendering pity.