by T. C. Edge
That is, if she actually has it. This remains a speculative stage of my and Adryan’s plan, but one that has to pay off.
It just has to.
The storm, however, brings other concerns to mind regarding Sophie and Rycard’s escape. With the streets clearing, it’ll be more difficult for them to blend in, and more difficult, perhaps, for my brother to get them to safety. I just have to hope that everything’s gone well, and that they get to the underlands before they run into any Con-Cops or worse.
Really, everything relies on hope right now, and I don’t like it. So little seems to be in my hands, with various outside forces playing their part in my success. I just wish I could take more control of this situation.
But, frustrating as it is, I have to just go with it. And slowly but surely, as the rain begins to ease a little, I make my break for it. Leaving the flock behind, I reach the streets once more and continue my step home. It’s still raining, although not quite as badly as it was. If I have to suffer a few minor burns, so be it.
I do note, however, that the break above looks to be temporary. The skies are slightly lighter for now, but away to the south, where the clouds appear to be coming from, a fresh assault looks to be incoming.
In a race with the clouds, therefore, I relegate etiquette to the rear of my mind and begin to run. Outside of the gym and fitness level, such a thing would be considered quite irregular. But, right now, no one can see me, and no one will likely care.
So, as quickly as I can manage, I gallop under the cover of the canopies lining the streets and make my way back towards the Inner Spiral. As the base of the High Tower comes into view, I find the security cordon still in full operation. With my clothes now growing damp and my skin beginning to tingle, I rush across the final stretch, slowing my step as I arrive at the security barrier.
There, several City Guards turn on me with raised weapons, shouting for me to stop. I slide to a halt under the rain and quickly raise my arms.
“Who are you?!” shouts one guard.
Clearly, running is so completely rare here that they think me some sort of threat, even though it’s obvious I’m just trying to escape the poison rain.
“I live in the High Tower,” I shout. “Please…let me get undercover.”
Now with no protection from the rain – which, again, seems to be coming down harder – my clothes grow quickly wet and my exposed hands and face start to sting. The guards deliberate for a moment before calling me forward beneath the shade of a temporary tent set up to block out the rain.
“OK, what’s your name,” asks the guard as I escape the deluge.
The rest maintain a close eye on me, weapons primed.
“Brie Shaw,” I answer, glancing at them anxiously.
He quickly turns to the communications and security interface on his inner forearm and confirms my identity.
“I am sorry, Mrs Shaw. As you’ll know, things are quite tense right now. I’ll escort you to the High Tower.”
Hoisting open an umbrella, the guard, who appears to be a Hawk, takes me up the steps and across the large platform on which the High Tower sits. Reaching the doors, he suggests that I ‘don’t leave the building until things are safe’, before returning to his post.
Entering back into the building, I look straight at the front desk and see Rebecca in her usual spot, managing her many affairs. From the side, another guard quickly arrives and hands me a small towel.
“Here you go, Miss,” he says. “It’ll help with the sting.”
Thanking the man, I start drying my hair and face and hands, and feel immediate relief from the sizzling sensation that was starting to get quite painful. By the looks of things, they keep these towels on hand at the doors to help dry, and sooth, anyone caught out in the rain.
Once I’m done, I hand the towel back to the guard with a thank you. He smiles and nods and then tosses the towel into a bin, ready to be washed and prepared for future use.
With my clothes still wet, however, a chill sets to my bones, and my thoughts turn quickly to the option of a nice warm shower. Despite the warmth generated around the streets and in the building itself, the rain remains biting cold. Checking the time, I note that it’s now moving swiftly towards evening, the delay out in the storm eating up a large part of my day.
Walking towards the centre of the foyer, I pass along a smile to Rebecca, taking a final look at my next target.
Later, Becky, I think to myself. I’ll be seeing you later…
Then, I begin working towards the lifts, the many dozens of them continually pressing up and down through the building as they deliver the many worker ants to their posts. Moving to the one I tend to take, which delivers me closest to home up on level 51, I step forward and wait for it to open.
It does so immediately, sensing my presence, the doors providing me passage inside. Stepping in, I stretch out a shivering, damp hand towards the scanner and, just as I set it into the contraption to be read, sense another presence arrive.
Lifting my eyes to the door, my calm is undone.
Black eyes look upon me. A rigid form looms. And from thin lips, ice cold words spread forward.
“Mrs Shaw,” comes Agent Woolf’s voice. “I’ve been hoping to run into you.”
98
The atmosphere in the lift has turned as cold as a long dead corpse. A mist of freezing air seems to spread from Woolf’s mouth as her words come, sending a new chill right through me.
I try to raise a smile but am entirely unable to do so. Instead, my voice comes out as flat as hers.
“Agent Woolf,” I say. “What a surprise…”
With my hand still lingering in the scanner, my security permissions are granted. The lift doors close, shutting me in with the last woman I ever want to be alone with.
Immediately, I’m on edge, and have to muster my concentration and focus.
Don’t look at her for long, Brie, I warn myself. Don’t let her see into your mind.
For a couple of long seconds, I give no order to the lift. Then, Agent Woolf suggests I assign a floor.
“Were you going somewhere, Brie?” she asks.
“I was, um, going home actually.”
It’s both true and the best place I can think of. Any of the communal floors will, of course, be accessible to her too. She’ll only follow me there, and no doubt begin some new interrogation. The level where I live, however, is surely off-limits for her.
The look that graces her face, however, suggests it’s exactly what she wanted to hear.
“OK then,” she says. “Go ahead.”
I take a gulp. I have no choice.
“Level 51,” I say.
The lift begins to rise immediately, shooting up through the building. I dart my eyes down to my watch and note that Adryan might well have finished work by now.
Please be at home, Adryan. Save me from this witch.
Keeping my eyes away from her, I wait for her to speak. She doesn’t. She just looks at me, standing staring as we journey half way up the High Tower.
“Are you…heading home, Agent Woolf?” I ask, refusing to link eyes and needing to break the tension.
“Oh no, not yet. I thought I’d join you in yours first.”
“But…do you have clearance for my floor?”
“I have clearance everywhere,” she drones, a light flashing in her black eyes.
At that moment, the lifts pulls to a stop, and the electronic voice calls out ‘level 51’. The doors slide open and I step out. Agent Woolf follows right behind.
Oh God…what do I do? How do I get rid of her?!
With absolutely no answers, and no other choice, I move towards my apartment door, set my hand to the scanner, and wait for the lock to click. When it does so, I step in, my eyes widening in hope as I search down the corridor for some sight of my husband.
Still following a step behind, and in total silence, Agent Woolf stalks me. I let the tension fill my expression for a second, before drawing up a mo
re calm complexion as I reach the main living space and turn back to her.
“Would you like a drink, Agent Woolf?” I ask.
I turn and move to the kitchen before she can answer.
“Just water,” is all she says as I go.
I set about pouring her drink, and pour my own too, before turning back to her. Her eyes aren’t on me, though, but have turned to look down the corridor leading to my bedroom. She’s staring at something, her form as still as a statue.
I quickly bustle on over to her and hand her the flask. Her head metronomically turns back to me, her neck swivelling in some strange robotic motion, as her cold, thin fingers take possession of the drink.
Then, her eyes turn back to the corridor, and I notice that the door to my room is open, that I left it open. Before I can work out what she’s looking at, however, footsteps sound from the other end of the apartment, and I turn to see Adryan walking forward, his silver eyes peering closely at the little gathering before him.
A spread of relief flushes through me at the sight.
Thank God he’s here…
As he comes, Agent Woolf peruses him. Two Savants, born into the same world, and yet so very different. After a brief staring contest, during which the expression on his face mutates from mild concern to mild confusion, he arrives before her and the customs are observed, the two bowing to each other despite the building tension
Agent Woolf is the first to break the silence.
“Good afternoon, Mr Shaw. You must be Brie’s new husband.”
“I am. And I know just who you are, Agent Woolf, without any introductions being required. Tell me, what exactly are you doing here in our apartment?”
Now a note of anger joins the other little emotions that are visible on his face, in his voice, via the slightly protective stance he chooses to adopt as he steps to my side.
She, though, continues to display so little feeling. And yet, inside, I know there must be something in her that enjoys this. Enjoys toying with me like a cat with a mouse, slowly hunting her prey.
“I’m here to speak with your wife, Mr Shaw,” comes the agent’s cool reply. “I am still, as I’m sure you’re aware, investigating the attack on the prisoner convoy from a couple of weeks ago. Brie here remains someone of interest to me.”
“Do you not have anything better to be doing?” asks Adryan sharply. “Your Commander was just assassinated yesterday. Surely finding out about the perpetrators of that attack is the priority right now?”
“Oh, I don’t need to investigate that,” she says. “I’m well aware of who the culprits are.”
Her eyes flash on me, and my heart jumps a couple of hurdles. Then, slowly, she turns back to Adryan, and her eyes begin to stare a little harder.
She’s going to read his mind…I have to stop this. I have to get him away from her.
I grab his arm, forcing his eyes to rush down to me.
“Adryan, it’s quite alright,” I assure him. “You can give us some privacy. It’s within her rights to ask questions.”
He shakes his head, answering me as if she’s no longer in the room.
“She has no right to come here. And she has no right to harass you.” His eyes switch back to Woolf’s. “Now, Agent Woolf, if you’d like to speak with Brie you can go through the proper channels. You have no authority to treat with her here.”
The slimiest smile appears so faintly on the agent’s face, lifting her slender lips.
“Oh, I have the authority, I assure you, Mr Shaw,” she says.
“From whom, might I ask?” demands Adryan.
“From the top,” says Agent Woolf, that alien smile creeping higher, her eyes lifting to the ceiling. “My authority comes right from Director Cromwell.”
The mention of Cromwell sends a flutter of thoughts about him, my mission, my purpose, flowing right through my mind. Adryan glances at me, and I know the same is happening with him.
As his eyes turn back to Woolf’s, I see her once again primed to slip into his thoughts and discover the truth. I take his arm again and draw his eyes away.
“You see, honey, as she says, she’s got authority to be here,” I stammer. “Why don’t you leave us to talk. Leave us, Adryan.”
I make sure to deliver the final words with enough intensity to get him to react. I don’t have to give him an order, not here in front of Agent Woolf. But he’s clever enough to realise that, while he can’t defend himself against her mental intrusions, I can.
And he has to go. Right now.
With a look of support and secret acknowledgement, he nods. And then, without looking at Agent Woolf again, he disappears down the corridor towards his bedroom.
Alone again with this terrible foe, a heavy silence is renewed. She looks at me briefly, before stepping forwards and past me, wandering slowly around the apartment with her flask of water gripped tightly between her pale fingers.
“Your husband is unusual for a Savant,” she says smoothly. “Very unusual.”
She continues on, checking the apartment as if searching for some clues to suggest our guilt. She knows something, that much is clear. Yet until she gets evidence, she has nothing to go on.
At least, that’s what I’m hoping.
She does a full circle of the apartment, giving me a little time to think. To try to plot some way of getting her the hell out of here. Then, coiling her path back to me, she speaks again.
“So, it would appear that your genetic test came back clean,” she muses. “How good for you, Brie.”
I force a smile onto my face.
“Of course…it was always going to be negative,” I say. “I’m just a normal girl, after all.”
She peers at me, and I don’t turn away. Shielding the truth, I alter my thoughts to display no knowledge of anything that might incriminate me. Her eyes light a little. She appears to be enjoying this.
Once more, she glances off down the corridor to my room. As she stares, she says: “So tell me, Brie. Who were your real parents?”
My heart stiffens at the question. My eyes widen and she quickly looks back at me. I’m forced to turn away from her.
But now, I know just what she’s looking at. Just why she keeps staring down the corridor to my room.
You’re so stupid, Brie. So damn stupid!
Looking away, I mumble: “I don’t know who they were. I never knew them.”
“Hmmmm, but surely your guardian, Mrs Carmichael, was aware? She didn’t just find you in a basket outside her door, did she?”
I look at her again, but quickly turn away. Because that’s exactly what I always thought. That’s exactly what Brenda always told me, before the truth was revealed about my true parentage. For so long, she made me believe that I’d been left on her doorstep, with nothing but the picture of my parents for company.
And now…now it’s that very picture that might be my undoing.
Because it’s the picture that Agent Woolf keeps glancing at, stuck to the wall beside my bed.
I don’t answer the question, though. It’s too close to home, drawing up so many memories. Memories I can’t hide, can’t conceal, can’t divert from the relentless examination she’s subjecting me to.
And as I stay quiet, and refuse to look at her, she turns and begins walking down the corridor towards my room. I lift my eyes and follow her, rushing as she swiftly passes into my bedchambers.
She heads straight for the picture of my parents, holding me as a baby, and begins to examine it closely. I reach her side and peer into her eyes as she looks directly at the faded scene. And as I do, I begin to wonder…
Does she know who they are?
Did she know my father in the City Guard? Did she know my mother in the High Tower?
The thought spreads through every molecule of my mind as I watch her, impossible to stop, impossible to hide. And when her voice oozes out again, I know now that I’ve been rumbled.
“These are your parents,” she says quietly, still looking at the imag
e. “And this is you, Brie, as a baby…”
She knows. She knows…
And with that thought dominating my mind, she quickly turns to me, having lured me into her trap. Her eyes dart forward and she enters my mind, and before I can even try to hide the truth, she finds it right there, plastered across my consciousness.
“Yes…that’s it, Brie,” she whispers gleefully. “That’s it…give in to me. Show me the truth…”
And in that moment, I can’t control myself. I press forward into her mind too, desperate to see if she knows who my mother was, who my father was.
But I get no confirmation.
She’s in control, every part of her calm and composed, directing only the thoughts she wishes to display to the front of her mind.
And as I enter, she knows it. I don’t get my confirmation, but she sure gets hers.
And with a smile lifting on her face, more cruel than any I’ve seen, she projects a single thought for me to read.
I know exactly who you are…
99
Agent Woolf stares at me. I stare right back at her. For several long moments, a deathly silence engulfs the room, the air seeming to suck out of it like a vacuum.
My lungs feel short of oxygen. My chest feels as though it will implode from the pressure. And yet, as the panic spreads through me, something snaps in my head.
I shut my eyes for a brief second, blocking her out, cutting her off. And behind the dark curtain, I know what I have to do.
I can’t let Agent Woolf leave this place.
When my eyes open, they’re set firm. Their hazel light has been doused, a shade put over them, my intentions darkening. Still standing stationary before me, the agent steps back just a few inches.
And as she does so, I see her right hand slowly creeping towards the interface on her left forearm. My Hawk-eyes don’t miss it. They don’t miss anything anymore.