Genesis Lie (Genesis Book 2)

by Eliza Green

  Harvey flashed a smile. ‘Looks and brains—this one’s a keeper. You’re Irene Clark and your boyfriend here is Alberto Rodriguez.’

  ‘Do I look Spanish to you?’

  ‘Maybe you should have paid me more.’

  Bill took the scalpel from Laura and gestured for Harvey to walk on ahead. He pressed the tip of it into his back.

  When they reached the main entrance, Harvey said, ‘Don’t go far. I’ve got eyes on you now.’ Bill tossed him the scalpel.

  Vlad waited for them outside in the vehicle. They hopped in and the vehicle set off to the station. No one talked.

  Half way there, Vlad turned his mangled face to Bill. ‘You bring company?’ He glanced in the rear view mirror.

  Bill checked behind him. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Same car that followed us to Centre. Someone you know?’

  ‘No one knew we were coming here today.’

  ‘We need to move.’ Vlad flicked off the autopilot and switched to manual control.

  A red laser beam pierced the back window, narrowly missing Laura. She yelped and ducked as tiny shards of glass rained down on her.

  ‘Shit.’ A second beam scored the Kevlar that covered the back of Bill’s seat.

  ‘You all right?’ he shouted back at her.

  ‘Yeah,’ she yelled back over the roar of the engine.

  ‘Someone trying to kill you.’ Vlad rolled his good eye. ‘Every day, new clients, always someone follows.’ He put his foot on the accelerator, dodging the other vehicles with skill.

  ‘Fuck, I didn’t bring any weapons with me,’ said Bill.

  Vlad opened a compartment near him and handed Bill a military laser gun. Bill clicked a switch on its side to set the laser and opened the window, just enough for the gun to fit through. He aimed for the other vehicle’s wheels. He fired once but the laser hit the bumper.

  A third laser shot through the back of their vehicle and hit Bill’s seat again. Bill ducked down and waited for the two vehicles to run parallel. Then he popped up, aimed out the window and fired a second time. This time he hit the front wheel. The pursuing car swerved, hit a kerb and flipped on to its roof.

  ‘That won’t stop them.’ Vlad maintained the car’s speed. ‘You must go to station on foot.’

  He pulled into an empty site and parked under a large sign that advertised apartment blocks. Vlad ordered them out. Bill and Laura crossed the road. He turned to see Vlad erect a containment bubble around the car and ignite the oxygen inside. The explosion incinerated the car while the containment bubble controlled the flames, until all the oxygen had burned up.

  Bill and Laura cut through the alleyways of Magadan. The limited remaining oxygen and his gel mask made it difficult to breathe. The docking station came into sight. They lunged for the air-controlled environment. Both of them collapsed on the seats in the waiting area. Both of them pulled off their masks.

  ‘Harvey?’ said Laura, when she’d got her breath back.

  ‘Could be.’ Bill looked around.

  ‘I didn’t like how he was with us.’ She opened her coat and fanned her flushed skin.

  ‘That was a dangerous stunt you pulled back there, grabbing the scalpel like that. It could have easily backfired.’

  ‘I did what I had to do.’

  He pressed down his irritation. ‘Anyway, there was no reason for him to want to kill us or Vlad.’

  ‘Well, who then?’

  ‘I have a lot of enemies, but I told no one we were coming here today.’ He looked at her. ‘Did you tell someone—your mother maybe?’

  ‘Only Callum knew.’ Her mouth parted. ‘Do you think he told Gilchrist?’

  ‘We can’t be sure. He may have had no choice. Maybe you were right about the roving camera watching you.’

  Laura looked around her. ‘This is getting dangerous. Maybe we should lay low for a while.’

  ‘We can’t—we have to help the Indigenes.’ Bill pocketed his mask. ‘Anyhow, if the government’s out to stop us, they’d have bumped us off in private. I suspect that was just a warning.’

  She scoffed. ‘I’d hate to see what they’d do if they meant business.’

  ‘We have to keep going, Laura. If not us, then who will warn the Indigenes?’

  20

  Two days had passed since Laura’s trip to Magadan with Bill. The first part of their plan was complete: they had new identities of real people who still existed on government records. The next part was to find living hosts for the second set of chips loaded with their real identities. Any World Government trace would register them as being ‘on world’. Bill had already deposited his ‘real’ identity chip with a contact who owed him a favour.

  Callum Preston had put in a fake request on her behalf for several weeks off work. The immediate approval came without conditions attached. It left Laura to wonder how much Gilchrist knew about her and Bill’s plans to leave the planet. Had the CEO spoken to Callum while Laura was in Magadan? If she had, neither party had said anything to her.

  After the end of her shift, Laura headed to her mother’s apartment—her second visit in twenty-four hours. Fionnuala’s cat lay sprawled on the bed, exactly where Laura had left her the day before. Princess froze mid stretch when Laura sat down on the bed beside her. She stroked the nervous looking cat.

  Three loud bangs outside sent Fionnuala running to the window to investigate. Laura took advantage of the distraction to check the incision in the cat’s paw—the location of her ‘real’ identity chip. A miaowing Princess pulled back from her.

  Fionnuala turned back from the window. ‘What’s wrong with Princess?’

  ‘Nothing. Probably starved of attention, that’s all.’

  ‘I don’t see how. That cat gets everything she needs.’

  Sarcasm was wasted on her mother. ‘What were those bangs outside?’

  ‘Just some boys messing about with the garbage can lids.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Where did you say you were going?’

  ‘I didn’t.’ The less Fionnuala knew about her plans the better.

  She threw her hands up. ‘For God’s sake, I need you. I need someone to help me clean up around here.’

  Laura frowned. Her mother had recovered well from her neck and back injury. ‘What happened to your new-found independence?’

  Her mother tightened the straps of her bathrobe. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Your new best friends down at the Order of the Dearly Departed?’

  ‘Oh, them. They turned out to be a bunch of weirdos’—she shivered—‘completely obsessed with religion and new age healing.’

  ‘Isn’t that what you wanted?’

  ‘Of course not. I wanted someone I could talk to about your father. Turned out they just wanted to sit around and get naked.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Cecil offered me a private consultation in his home. When I arrived he greeted me in a silk bathrobe, nothing more. Three half-dressed women were hovering in the background.’ Fionnuala clucked her tongue. ‘He didn’t want to talk after all.’

  Laura tried not to laugh. It came out in unattractive snorts.

  ‘Laura! Please.’ Fionnuala failed to hide her own smile.

  ‘Maybe we can find you another group more to your liking. One with less flesh on show.’

  She waved her hand in the air. ‘I’m done with all that nonsense. Why do I need others when I have you?’

  Laura groaned. Her mother’s dependency was becoming an issue again. ‘It’s important that you figure out how to live alone. Dad’s been gone a long time.’

  ‘Maybe, love, maybe.’

  She dropped it when Fionnuala got up and headed for the kitchen to make some tea.

  An hour later, she left her mother’s apartment with a clearer head and a renewed sense of purpose. She was done with people telling her how to live her life, what decisions to make, where she had to be.

  Feeling liberated, she transformed into her alter ego Irene Clark, who, she dec
ided, had a thick skin and hard heart. Then she got ready for her trip to see Bill in London.

  21

  Four days had passed since Elise had unlocked more of her memories inside the Nexus. She’d wanted to tell Pierre about them, but lately they seemed to be on different schedules. He was sleeping a lot at the Council Chambers.

  Four days ago, Stephen had also been her concern. She’d followed up with her plan to help him but the Indigene, more stubborn than Pierre, was keeping out of everyone’s way. Elise had caught up to him in one of the caves; he’d been about to use the Nexus. When she’d asked if she could help, Stephen had shook his head and told her not to worry.

  If he didn’t want her help, fine. Maybe he and Pierre could talk. It wasn’t like her husband was doing anything else anyway. Besides, Elise had her own problems—like accessing her buried memories. Maybe the woman called Elizabeth could help to unlock her past.

  She was lying in bed when Greta, the woman with the auburn hair appeared to her again. Elise scrambled to her feet. Her breaths came short and fast. Her heart pounded in her ears.

  ‘Elizabeth, dear, it’s me.’ Greta tried to get her attention. ‘Where are you going at this hour? It’s so late.’

  Elizabeth ignored her and pulled on her coat.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Greta grabbed her arm. ‘Elizabeth, are you listening to me?’

  She snapped out of the daze she often slipped into these days.

  ‘I won’t be long. I’m just heading to the office to pick up some case files.’

  ‘Can’t you download what you need from here?’

  ‘I can’t stay cooped up in this apartment forever. I have to face the world some time.’ Elizabeth studied her reflection in the mirror.

  ‘But why now? Why at night? What if he’s waiting for you?’ said Greta

  Elizabeth tidied her hair. ‘I promise he isn’t. They’ve assured me he’s in custody.’

  ‘You can’t be sure of that. Please—let me go with you.’

  ‘No, I need to do this alone and take back control of my life. I can’t live like this any longer.’ She faced her aunt. ‘I know you mean well, but I need space.’

  Greta’s eyes widened a fraction. She stepped back. ‘Okay...’

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. You’ve helped me to get back on my feet. You gave me a home when I couldn’t face my apartment.’

  Greta stepped forward and touched a part of Elizabeth’s face without a scar. Her face had not yet healed. ‘You always have a home here. I just worry about you.’

  Elizabeth forced a smile. ‘It’s the nature of the work. It was always a risk that one of my patients might turn on me.’ She buttoned her coat and kissed her aunt on the cheek. ‘I’ll be back soon.’

  ‘I’ll keep a light on for you.’

  Elizabeth pulled the door closed behind her.

  She hurried to her office block; the dark made her fearful now. In her bag she carried a knife—a new addition since the incident. The block came into view; it had been a month since she’d last been here. She rushed to open the main door with her security chip. Her heart beat against her ribs as she scanned the area. Her vision blurred from her tears and her out-of-control fear.

  The place was quieter at night. Elizabeth wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.

  She faced the main door. ‘Come on...’ The door clicked and she pushed it open. Once inside, she secured it quickly.

  She approached the scanner in the foyer hesitantly. Elizabeth didn’t look like herself these days. Would the scanner fail to recognise her?

  To her relief it beeped once, not the three beeps that indicated failure. It might as well have, because that’s what she was.

  Elizabeth entered the turbo lift beyond the scanner and pressed the button for Level Three. Several lights illuminated on the lift panel, indicating that other floors were still active. The lift doors opened and she stepped out into a corridor with doors on either side. She passed by the small glass-fronted room where her research assistant, Anna, normally sat. Next to it was an office marked: Elizabeth Howe MB, BChir, Senior Psychiatrist.

  Taking a moment, she opened the door and flicked on the light. Her breath hitched at the sight of the dishevelled room. Nothing had been tidied up post investigation. It was like the events of that day had been preserved.

  With shaking hands, she set the small coffee table—its glass top shattered on the floor—back on its legs and straightened the seats on each side. She righted the large ficus tree lying on its side, the one she’d knocked over in the initial attack on her.

  Why hadn’t she seen the signs? She was trained for this, but she’d made the stupid mistake of seeing Henry as more than a patient. Someone to be pitied, not helped.

  For weeks, he’d complained to her about his difficulty staying clean. Elizabeth had searched for new ways to help him stay off the drugs. When Henry had first visited her, he’d been delusional and psychotic. The voices in his head hadn’t gone away, but by the end Henry had become more demanding for anything to take the edge off the constant noise.

  Elizabeth sidestepped the glass on the floor and stood in the middle of the room. She’d been standing right here when Henry had attacked her. His delusions had been a problem. Each session he’d scratched and bit his skin, to get the people out of there.

  His words, not hers.

  She’d been keen to try a new approach with him, using mind exercises and meditation to help him. Her colleagues, more interested in traditional methods, had laughed at her ideas. But one person liked her idea of cognitive therapy: her assistant, Anna. Together, they’d worked out a plan for Henry. But Elizabeth’s inability—or unwillingness—to see the alternative therapies weren’t working had led to Henry’s attack on her.

  He’d grabbed her right where she stood. Her curly hair, something Elizabeth loved dearly, had become her worst nightmare. The second her patient used it to keep her in line, she’d wanted to cut it all off. Greta had convinced her to delay that decision.

  Elizabeth was glad she had; it helped to hide her ugly scar.

  Henry had been muttering to himself that day; she should have seen the signs. He’d pulled her by the hair and slammed her face into the coffee table. The glass shattered. The shock had numbed her that she didn’t feel it slice her face open.

  Dripping blood, she managed to say, ‘Who are you talking to, Henry?’ Her concern was for her patient, clearly harbouring more than one personality.

  Henry still held her hair. ‘Shut up,’ he replied to her. ‘It’s all your fault,’ he said to someone else.

  He released her; she scrambled back and got to her feet. Then she kicked him, hard. Henry, distracted by his voices, stumbled back, hitting his head off the wall. He slumped to the floor. Blood rolled down her face and dripped off her chin. Elizabeth fumbled for a shard of glass from the broken coffee table. Security had found her twenty minutes later crouched behind her desk clutching the glass, both her face and hand a bloody mess.

  Back in her office now, Elizabeth slid round to the other side of the desk. She turned on her monitor for the first time since the incident and scanned her security chip to activate the desktop.

  A familiar face made her gasp. Henry’s thin, drawn face appeared on screen. It was the last file she’d had open that day. She clicked the image off screen.

  The police had assured her they’d picked up Henry Burke. But the incident still made her feel anxious and scared. How long could she hide out in her aunt’s house?

  That fear ended tonight. Coming back here was to be her first step to resuming her old life. At least Anna hadn’t been hurt during the attack. Elizabeth would contact her in the morning, get things back to normal.

  A message icon flashed on her screen. She opened it.

  Looking to escape your past? New trials start tomorrow at the genetic manipulation clinic. Arrive early to avoid disappointment.

  Elizabeth stood and went to the mirror over the firepl
ace she never used. The angry red scar had contorted the shape of her mouth. She’d spent so many years focusing on her career. Now, coming so close death, maybe she should have tried dating more.

  She gently touched the red scar, still not fully healed. Who would love her now?

  She flicked her gaze to her screen and the message she couldn’t see. If she got rid of her scar, maybe things could change. She would pay the manipulation clinic a visit tomorrow...

  ☼

  Elise gasped. The floodgates opened and another memory spilled out. Henry’s voices had not been his own. He’d been speaking to someone else. She remembered now: he’d been wearing a listening device in his ear. She’d seen it just before he’d grabbed her hair.

  She covered her mouth to muffle her scream. It had been planned: Henry had been a plant. He’d been working for the genetic manipulation clinic. If he hadn’t attacked her, their message—too timely, too on point—wouldn’t have resonated with her.

  The memory of when she’d been turned into an Indigene still eluded her, but the clinic’s intention was clear. The next day, she’d gone to the manipulation clinic with new hope. But they’d stolen it from her and turned her into a new species, with no recollection of her previous life.

  Elise collapsed onto her mattress. Her human memories came easily now: her soft hair; her pretty clothes; her smooth skin, except for her scar. Elizabeth had been a vain woman. Elise, an Indigene, rarely gave her looks a second thought.

  Her memories answered other questions. The enjoyment she got from speaking to others; her obsession with how the mind worked. It had stemmed from her work as a psychiatrist.

  Elise stood and shook off her sorrow. The changes to her mind had helped to unlock her past. Maybe that was its purpose—to show her what was real. She had her answers but others still grappled for their truth.

  One person needed her help right now. One person who she’d abandoned to figure out her own life.