The Radical (Unity Vol.1) (4 page)

‘Are you
a member of UNITY?’ I cut to the chase.

Camille
didn’t flinch while she poured tea into pink Wedgwood china, though she didn’t deny my accusation either. I finally allowed myself to take a breath, knowing I was with friends. She clearly represented the resistance movement in some capacity.

‘I am Camille Honoré, most trusted amongst your aunt’s people. We will get to the particulars in due course.’

‘In
due course
? That your fuckin’ phrase of the day?’ I smirked, but it didn’t entirely sit well with her. The woman had an immense air of propriety.

Camille glanced in my direction
and failed to stop the smile twitching her lips. She sighed and shrugged her shoulders, bypassing my offense.

‘
It is truly as if she is here, right now. I used to hate the way she cursed nonstop, too. No amount of berating could prevent her.’

Camille looked a little sad and I softened.
‘I apologize for my potty mouth, I’m sorry if I seem pissed, but I traveled coach, y’know? I’m oxygen-starved, exhausted, surviving on minutes’ sleep. Plus, she is dead. I need answers.’

My index finger drilled into my own knee as I
tried to figure out what was bothering me about this place.

‘
Interrogation is lost on me, Seraph,’ Camille retaliated, barely enunciating the vowels of my name. She sipped while I guzzled. I needed coffee not watery swamp piss. I felt dog rough.

‘
How much did she charge for dresses? I mean ‒ I don’t get it. This place must be worth an absolute fortune.’

Camille grinned but
kept quiet. I stared her down ‒ she made no move to correct or confirm my suspicions.

All I
knew was that nobody got rich unless they joined the enemy.

She took a deep breath and folded her arms. There was defin
itely a chill in the air then.

‘
My only concern right now is saying goodbye to Eve. The funeral will take place the day after tomorrow, it was confirmed earlier. Then hopefully everyone here will find out where their livelihoods stand ‒ we anxiously await the will.’

I
couldn’t help but notice Camille continually steal glances out of the window. She was more than a little nervy. She had been since the moment I arrived.

‘
I never even thought… I just felt I had to come here, to say goodbye, but also to be here for her. Formalities didn’t even cross my mind. I mean, shit. I’m her only relative… but people give what money they have to conservation projects these days!’

‘That’s p
erfectly understandable… and you know, if you’d like to see her, I can arrange…’
to see her body…?
My heart sank.

Camille read my fragile disposition without making me feel weaker. We both knew Eve
’s passing had hit me hardest. Camille had the advantage of having spent time with her, I had not.

I
had seen one too many dead bodies in my lifetime already and so I declined, ‘No, no, I don’t need to see her.’

‘I really wish I could give you some time Seraph, but I’ve got a lot to attend to.’

‘Say no more Camille, I’ll get a hotel and come back tomorrow?’

After having a quick look around the vast dressing ro
oms at the back, in a bid to amuse my curiosity, I was instructed by Camille on where to find a place to stay and to call her if I needed anything.

A
crummy Mercy Inn in York was where I found myself. The damn eyesore was where Cedars Court used to stand. I swiped my U-Card at the entrance and made my way straight upstairs to a room that the computer told me was available and had a queen bed and en suite. Despite the extras, the room was petite. It had everything that was necessary, but limited space meant limited luxury. From the bed linen to the walls, and the carpets to the curtains, everything was white with an artless navy stripe running through. The bed had about six inches of space all the way around and the bathroom just about housed a lavatory – but I would be required to stand over that while showering. I had been in worse, or less, like a sidewalk. At least Mercy Inns had self-cleaning filtration systems and a Delta6 maid service. The worst simply came with a box of recyclable bedding you had to make up yourself.

After dumping my
bag on the floor, I fell to the bed and wondered,
what the hell am I doing here
? Yes, Eve was dead, so what could I do for her now she was gone? I could have been back home still, tying up some more loose ends that would no doubt lead nowhere and into nothing…

I had to admit that in actual fact Eve had saved me from a fate worse than death. I was so close to nailing this d
irty senator with his despicable liking for hooker bashing. It would be just my luck however that he would wind up mincemeat before I got chance to interrogate him. That would be another fail and an end to another round of meaningless, pointless attempts to do something worthwhile. I had the constant urge to keep going, plow on and see if one day, just one day, some tiny bit of luck came my way. Maybe I would nail their asses to the wall with something that nobody was expecting. People would finally rise up against them and fight back. Oh, who was I kidding? Officium were entrenched in every level of society.

I guess I
acted on impulse, boarded a plane without thinking and then found myself stuck in that detestable chain hotel. I scrubbed my hands over my cheeks and smelt a residue on my palms which was truly foul. I sniffed my armpit and it stank.
Goddam woman you are a walking cesspit
. A vain part of me wondered whether Camille had picked up on my stench earlier. Maybe her sketchy behavior was due to the fact she was struggling to entertain the notion that I was indeed Eve’s niece, not some vagabond purporting to be her. If I had known one thing about my aunt, she was always well presented and neat. Not the type to resort to street dwelling, like me. She had been quite the lady and as I pictured her face, I felt her spirit surround me and knew she hadn’t quite left me yet.

What it was about Eve, I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I’d onl
y met her a couple of times. All I knew was that after my folks were gone, she was there. Calling me up to check I was okay. Sending fruit baskets and other assorted goods that probably cost her a fortune to have delivered.

My parents
Vivienne and Hamish Maddon were heart surgeons, clinical leads at Mount Sinai. I was an only child. They were a presence in my life but there was always something missing, something fundamental. They worked, they were straitlaced and extremely predictable. I always thought them the same as all the other drones, until one day…

Past

I’d not long been working for the
Chronicle
as a crime reporter when the call came. Aaron King, an elderly hulk of a man who was a close friend of my parents, turned up at my lowly junior writer’s desk. King was a man of few words, so I knew immediately that something was wrong.

‘I don’t know how to tell you… I’m so sorry Seraph. I’m just going to come out with it
… your parents… they are dead. Some rotten, fuckin’ bank robber was being pursued by the cops when he hit them, your mom and dad. Killed instantly. They… didn’t suffer, not at all. The bastard left his stolen vehicle on Madison Avenue and made his escape. I’m s-so sorry.’

Aaron had a tear in his eye.
I had been unfeeling that day until it sank in. No more calls from Mom begging me to be more careful on the streets, no more erroneous deposits in my bank account from Dad, I assumed, helping to tide me over. Their guardianship of me, which had never been heartfelt but was always present, had been ripped away. I never told Dad I loved him for loving my mother, though never openly displaying it. The way he looked at her was proof enough of that. I never told Mom that she was beautiful inside and out, though she worked too damn hard and had passed that somewhat inescapable facet onto me.

The man waited for a reply, but I couldn’t give one.
I actually did give a shit about my folks, after all. The bile in my throat proved it, as did my jaw, which had become set in anguish and disdain. 

‘Seraph, did you hear what I said?’

‘Where are they?’ I managed calmly.

‘Mount Sinai morgue. I can come with you if you want.’

I shook my head and felt lucid, replying, ‘No, I’ll be okay. Who was there at the scene? I mean which officer? I want to speak with them.’

‘Bainbridge, he was going to come here, but I decided it might be better for you to hear it from me.’

‘Dr King, I’d like you to go now please.’

‘I’m here if you need me Seraph,’
he simply said, before he turned and sloped off.

I
had lived such a privileged life, had been given so many opportunities, and yet there had always been something missing: their love. They had cared so much, yet, I knew it wasn’t quite the love I needed. They kept me at arm’s length.

Mom and Dad
– dead. I felt an imbecile, having previously assured myself that I was untouchable, that nothing bad ever happened to me because mine was a sphere I had control over. I had always hated predictability, but suddenly wanted it back.

I went to see t
heir lifeless bodies at the morgue and felt absolutely nothing. There was no trace of their souls left behind, no sweet smiles painting their faces as if they had blissfully passed on in sleep, like they should have done. There was only two people laid side by side, gone together to a better place, never having been forced to survive separately. There was some consolation in that, I comforted myself.

I wished someone had told
a 25-year-old woman who had lost both her parents how to feel, because I didn’t have a clue. I had never dealt with the bereavement, because I never knew who those people were that brought me into the world. They had spent so much time seemingly occupied by their work that I never got to know them properly.

Even at a young age, I
knew there were issues, most too raw to bring to the fore. They were devoted to each other and me but at times they were cold and restrained, always calculated in their communication. Before moving to New York, they had obviously seen and done things back home in Britain that they never felt able to talk about. Their fragile hearts were constantly on edge, yet always maintaining perfect balance, presumably because nothing could be said in fear of tipping the scales, ruining their existence. As long as they kept going, they were okay.

Then… I found out they were different people altogether, when weeks after their death…
I discovered the shocking truth…

Francesca’s frizzy blonde hair spiked with the realization that she had been tactless in choosing me for the job, but she said there was no-one better. In her 20-cigarettes-a-day, Brisbane accent, she explained, ‘I thought nothing of it when it came in… but then I realized the name rang a bell. This fella, Stephan Dulwich, was the father of that British virologist Mara Dulwich. Don’t know what he was doing in New York but as he left his suite at the Plaza early this morning, he seemed to step right out in front of a speeding delivery truck. The driver abandoned the wreck, which had no plates or identity markings. If you want me to pass this on to someone else darl, I can… but nobody works like you do.’

I
hadn’t deliberated for a second, agreeing to do my best to get the ins and outs of what had happened. As I put the pieces together, I couldn’t ignore the facts before me. Stephan wasn’t just anyone’s father. Mara had been blazing a singular trail in virology, setting up her own labs outside of Officium’s jurisdiction. Who knew how she was doing it, but she was
.
It was not uncommon for people to end up dead on a street corner somewhere, but for the father of the world’s most prominent virologist to be knocked down and killed in a similar manner to my parents, only weeks after them – it seemed to be too much of a coincidence. I quickly realized it might have been a warning, or a symbolic kill a lot unlike the quick, efficient shootings Officium’s emissaries usually dished out. Scientists and their loved ones would often turn up dead if they upset the mysterious figureheads of Officium, but I had no idea what mine had done to warrant suspicion. They were just workaholics, that’s all I had ever known about them.

That day,
after visiting the street Stephan died on, I looked up at the skyscraper I worked in on W40
th
and my vertigo seemed to hit me like never before. The top of the building felt as if it were falling toward me very fast and the ground seemed to shake as I felt certain the tip of the structure would collapse right on top of me. I somehow made it to a Sanctuary on the third floor of the gigantic, 40-storey Mercy Inn on Times Square, staring out at the crowds below. The white walls of the shop seemed to be closing in as I drank endless mugs of black coffee refilled by a pump at the side of my table. It was only when my bladder started to ache that I realized I had been sat there for so long that it had gotten dark. I wandered home in a daze and that was the day the anger took hold, rising up from deep down inside. My parents had been murdered, I felt sure of it. It just seemed too staged somehow.

I worked tirelessly after that to find out the truth about the group I suspected were behind their deaths. I picked out people from the masses I knew could be of help and paid many of them to provide me with the information I required.

Ulrich, an old friend from NYU, worked at one of Officium’s laboratories and had become a great source of i
nformation. Not long after our last meeting, however, his naked, battered body turned up mysteriously on the trash-ridden banks of the Hudson. I shed rare, bitter tears that day, because I knew I had been directly or indirectly responsible for him – and his girlfriend was left bereaved, and pregnant.

The truth of our world was this
– there were two options. You either lived a long, deadened life or let yourself imagine escape for long enough to earn you premature death.

I figured t
he only reason I had survived was because soon after my parents died, an unknown source started sending me information about the city’s officials, many of whom were involved in underground activities, including drug running, trafficking and tax evasion. This was a world where immorality was the only thing that could guarantee you a return. Virtue made you suspicious in the eyes of Officium. What I had kept back were all manner of strategic tidbits about such people’s personal lives, including their sexual preferences, affairs they would rather keep hidden and children they didn’t want anyone to know were theirs. This kind of information was the only kind they really cared about – the sensitive sort – and the only stuff I knew I could bargain with. People, no matter how seemingly ruthless or cold, still always had a sore spot somewhere along the line. Some lost love or regret that made them weak.

I
subtly spread the word amongst my circle that I had images, videos, voice recordings and signed confessions that incriminated a lot of those in the thick of the city’s criminality, therefore protecting myself with the threat of being able to drag them through the mud and make their lives impossible if I needed to.

I never managed to dig
up any solid evidence about my parent’s deaths, but there were so many connections. I used to call up Eve late at night for a vis-call and talk manically about it all. She would listen and pass no judgment or opinion, sometimes suggesting I leave New York and move in with her. But that was not a possibility, it never had been.

Amid
all the hurt and despair, Eve had always been there for me – the one constant. In her I saw an individual unaffected by the way of our world, someone existing on her own steam. She was so humble yet so quick-witted, not judgmental ‒ ultimately the only connection I had left to my parents.