Two of a Mind (20 page)

“It's difficult to pinpoint the exact cause of the explosion at this point, Marie, but authorities believe that a faulty connection may have allowed gas to build up to such dangerous levels.”

“Surely the building had a current safety certificate, Mahmood?”

“Well, Miss Simpson's certificate was due for renewal last month but there seems to have been a backlog and her apartment had yet to be inspected. We're currently waiting for a comment from the Health and Safety Exec on this.

However, Miss Simpson was due to stand in the Sandridge Magna by-election next month and her supporters say that her reluctance to bow to pressure on key proposals made her unpopular in both political and commercial arenas. Her passionate campaigning as an independent candidate was according her a certain notoriety and she didn't shy away from being a thorn in the side of those she considered to be bullies in society.

It's not the official line but it seems that foul play might not yet be ruled out.

Back to you, Marie.”

“Jonathan. JONATHAN!”

“Whatever's the matter, Celeste?” Jonathan ran from his home-office into the sitting-room to find his wife shaking and holding her hand to her mouth, trying to stifle her sobs.

“Beth – Bethany.” She waved towards the holo-screen and the headline banner. An archive video of Bethany Simpson campaigning for the by-election ran behind the newsreader's shoulder.

“Oh, my lord!” Jonathan pulled his wife into his arms and struggled to control his own grief. He comforted her while wondering how he could face Matt after this tragedy. Their relationship, once so close, had slipped to an occasional call. A catch-up once in a while, rather than the regular gatherings when Jonathan and Celeste were younger. It happened to many friendships – it was nobody's fault – but Jonathan felt he should've tried harder to keep in touch. Dare he approach Matt and Jade now, almost out of the blue? Would they still think fondly of him or feel he's just being morbidly curious?

Stop being so self-centred!
he thought.

Aye. I was just about to say the same laddie!
Claude's telepathic prompt jolted Jonathan out of his shock.

“We'll see if Jade or Matt need us over there,” he said. “Will you be alright while I call them?”

“Of course.” Celeste nodded and took a deep breath as Jonathan closed his office door. She was relieved they'd have chance to settle down before their daughter came home from her after-school visit to the Wallises. It was not to be. The front door flew open and two giggling children charged down the hall towards her.

“Mum! Can Seth come here for tea instead? His mum's got a migraine. She looks really poorly but she says she just needs to lie down … What's the matter?” Dez's insistent chatter died away as she saw her mother's blotchy, tear-stained face. Celeste prided herself on always being perfectly groomed.

Ah!
Celeste chose a convenient response to her daughter's query, “I've just had a dreadful sneezing fit, that's all.” She turned the children towards the kitchen so that they didn't notice the News showing the macabre holo-vid of a body-bag being removed from a burnt-out building in Sandridge Magna. As Jonathan came out of his office, a glance passed between them. They didn't need telepathy to communicate after all the years they'd been together. It had helped them in their field work and now she needed his understanding to shield the children. A slight nod told her he'd picked up her meaning and he slipped in to the sitting room to power-off the holo-screen.

Jeez! What time d'ya call this?

I waved in the direction of the morning alarm sensor. The projection on the wall flashed brightly to remind me that I'd set it for 6am. If I didn't get out of bed the pressure transmitter would re-set the alarm to ring again in three minutes. Sometimes I hated modern technology!

When I'd mentioned our proposed trip to the big city, Mum insisted that we travel with Dad – he was due in his London office that morning. He still wasn't too happy about us playing amateur detectives so, although I'd normally kick up a fuss about getting up this early, I tried to be cheerful at the breakfast table and his coolness gradually thawed. Maybe he felt more comfortable knowing that we were keeping them informed of our plans – though I'd only given a vague explanation about how we'd got an appointment with Mrs Johnson, avoiding the underhand method we'd actually used. If some omnipresent authority was keeping score I hoped our motives for lying would be taken into consideration – I'd heard about the road to Hell being paved with good intentions!

Hiding my jaw-breaking yawns behind my hand, I answered Seth's knock at the door.

“Come in,” I groaned, irritated that he could look so wide awake and handsome whilst I had bed-head and puffy eyes. He grinned and gave me a quick but thorough kiss anyway. He was lucky – I'd just cleaned my teeth!

The journey to London was uneventful – at least I think it was – I slept through most of it! Keeping the voices quiet was now almost at a subconscious level and I only needed to concentrate on reinforcing the room in my head if one of them became too rowdy. I'd been waiting for the memories of another murder victim to surface, but even that phenomenon seemed subdued. Despite the relief, it was like circling a sleeping tiger – afraid that, at any minute, it would wake and attack. I was always wary of dreaming in case it allowed the monster to spring, but with Seth's arm around me and my head resting on his chest, hearing the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat, I dozed peacefully.

As we joined the city commuters jostling down the platform, Dad reminded us to be back at the station by five so that we'd have plenty of time to meet him for the five-fifteen. I told him not to worry and waved him off to be carried along by the determined crowds. Seth and I managed to side-step the throng and walked at a more leisurely pace. Our appointment with Mrs Johnson wasn't until ten o'clock so we had a good two hours to fill. We headed for the nearest coffee-shop and studied the interactive A-Z.

“Where are we heading?” Seth asked, leaning closer to me to look at the map.

“The Johnson Foundation offices are south of the river, near Guy's Hospital,” I replied.

“We've got time to spare. Shall we walk down?”

I looked at the clear sky. “Yeah, why not? I can pick out my city home on the way.”

London was still full of ancient architecture – not only the ugly tower blocks of the 20
^th
century but also the old magnificent structures like the Georgian mansions and the Regency crescents. I loved soaking up the history that seemed to radiate from them. I imagined the people and the events they lived through, for which the buildings stood as a backdrop. Only the extremely rich could afford to live in these magnificent homes and I often tried to think of ways that I could become wealthy enough to join them. I was always disappointed! It was probably time I started to think about where I was heading after the Academy. Indeed, our summer break should've been endless discussions with Seth about what we wanted to do with our lives but circumstances had changed all that. I couldn't think about the future when the past was holding onto us so tightly.

We arrived at the Johnson Foundation with three minutes to spare – my numerous architectural diversions having taken up all the extra time we'd had in hand.

“Please scan your ID here,” said the receptionist, indicating an electronic scanner set into her desk. “The security system will register your presence so that we have an accurate record of who is in the building should there be a need to evacuate.” She smiled broadly as though to reassure us that this was never necessary, but I checked the exit route, just in case. “Mrs Johnson is expecting you. Please take a seat.”

I was too restless to sit so I wandered around the room looking at the wall-mounted monitors that were silently scrolling through images of various medical aid facilities around the world. They'd all been set-up or supported by the Johnson Foundation. Pristine clinics and research centres filled with smiling staff, patients and visitors. One image gave me a strong feeling of déjà vu but I knew I'd never been to that centre myself. I must've caught it on a monitor when we'd first arrived.

My pacing brought me to a large window and I squinted against the morning sun glistening on the silver ribbon of the Thames. The distinctive buildings of The Tower of London dominated the far bank. Clusters of tourists were trying to get closer to the Yeoman guides. Maybe we'd have time for a quick visit before we left.

“Good morning.”

I turned at the greeting to see Mrs Johnson approaching us, her hand extended in welcome and looking more beautiful in the flesh than in the holograms we'd watched.

“Good morning,” we replied in unison.

“I'm delighted that you could come today. I have a visitor who would like to meet you. I hope you won't mind him being part of our meeting?”

I looked at Seth for his input – he was better at this than me and he stepped in without a pause. “Of course we don't mind. Do we, Dez?” he said, with perfectly straight face.

“No, no. Not at all,” I replied, knowing that my own face was quickly colouring up.

Luckily, Mrs Johnson had turned to lead us to her office and didn't seem to notice my blustering. She opened the door to a large bright room. One wall was made up of floor to ceiling windows. They'd been programmed to counteract the glare of the sun and were currently tinted, giving a sepia tone to the room. No doubt there would be fantastic evening views of the city through the cleared glass when the daylight faded. Along an adjacent wall stretched a huge synth-leather sofa and at the far end of this sat a handsome, swarthy man. He looked up as we entered and stood to offer his hand in greeting.

“This is Asil Kaya. He's Dale's PT and is as interested as I am in your research,” Mrs Johnson said. “Asil, this is Desirée Hanson and Seth Wallis – the young people I told you about on Monday evening.” She turned back towards us. “Asil booked the first available flight from Ankara so that he could be with us today.”

She gestured for us all to sit down. Seth and I sat closely together on the sofa leaving the majority of its length free for Asil. Mrs Johnson sat on an adjacent armchair, within reach of her husband's PT. Without consciously seeking her thoughts, I sensed that she was as nervous as I was and that Asil's support was as necessary to her as Seth's to me. It helped me to relax and from that brief connection I was convinced that she would be sympathetic towards our intentions. I swallowed my nerves and began to explain.

“Mrs Johnson, Mr Kaya. Please bear with me while I tell you how we ended up coming to see you today. Your security system will show you that we're not actually old enough to be studying for such an advanced thesis as we proposed but it was the only way we could think of to approach you. We're truly sorry for that subterfuge.”

Asil leaned forward as though to stand up but Mrs Johnson held up her hand.

“It's all right, Asil,” she said. She turned back to me, her face now pale and her lips a tight line of disappointment. “I did wonder when your chips registered your personal details but I was willing to give you a chance. I suppose I was hoping you were some kind of scientific prodigies. Please continue.”

“At my Sixteenth-Eve, my PT connection didn't work …” I told them the whole story; about my hypnotherapy, the voices in my head, the memories of the murders and, finally, the sense that Dale was trying to come home, calling me to help him. Seth occasionally interrupted with information from his mother's
Handi
and why we believed that Dale's collapse was connected to the murder reports that she'd tagged. I forced myself to keep going through the resurfacing emotions, although I frequently had to wipe away my tears.

When I finished we all sat in silence for a few moments. I could hear Asil's quick, short breaths and I was afraid he was going to lose control of his temper. Mrs Johnson stood and moved towards her desk intercom. I thought she was going to have us thrown out but instead she asked for some refreshments to be brought to her office. She returned to her seat and we continued to sit quietly, waiting for her reaction. The door opened. A young man, not much older than us, brought in a tray, placing it on the coffee table by our knees.

“Thank you, Ross,” said Mrs Johnson. “Please give my apologies to all concerned but I need to cancel my appointments for the remainder of the day. This is going to take longer than I expected.”

“Certainly, Mrs Johnson,” Ross replied.

“You must be exhausted,” she said to me, as the door closed behind her assistant. “Please, help yourself.”

I was astounded at her composure and my hand shook as I poured a glass of water. My stomach wouldn't take anything else for the moment.

“I'm so sorry,” I whispered.

“I admit I'm disappointed that you're here under false pretences, although I admire your tenacity in coming to see me. I just don't know what it is you want from me.”

“We weren't sure about that ourselves,” said Seth. “We hoped you'd be able to put us in touch with Dale's PT so that we could ask him about his experience of the night of Dale's collapse. Mr Kaya being here is a great help.” He looked at the Turk who was pouring a strong, black coffee.

“Asil,” he said in a thick accent. “Call me Asil. The French girl's twin say like blanket over head?” he asked me.

“Yes, as though their connection was smothered. Is that what happened to you?”

“Mm.” He nodded then waved his arms in frustration, searching for the English words to convey his feelings. “Same then, same today. Like thick fog. I know Dale is there but I can't get through. Like talking underwater, you know?”

I heard Mrs Johnson's sharp intake of breath,

“I can't imagine how awful it must be for you Asil, and the horror that Dale is suffering … It's too much to contemplate sometimes.” She dabbed a delicate handkerchief to her eyes. Her cheeks glowed with suppressed emotion. I so wanted to help her.

“How's Mr Johnson's general health?” I didn't know why I asked the question but it seemed important at the time.

“That's the irony,” she said. “He's in good physical shape. He's had blood cleansing and marrow boosting treatments. He has regular physiotherapy so that his muscles don't atrophy and he can breathe without assistance. There's no known medical reason for his paralysis.” She finally gave in to her sobs and Asil reached for her hand, squeezing it between both of his to reassure her.

I had a strange sensation at the back of my skull and I reached up to scratch my head. But it wasn't anything external – it began as an itch then became more intense like a slight electric shock. Just as it was beginning to feel uncomfortable it stopped but it left me nauseous. I gulped another mouthful of water.

“Would it be possible for me to see Mr Johnson sometime?” Another question I hadn't planned!

“Actually, he's here today.” Mrs Johnson stood and walked towards a panelled door at the rear of the room. “The children are on summer break and, as we have an apartment on the top floor, we occasionally stay here overnight.” She pressed her hand to one of the panels and the door slid open to reveal a large hidden elevator. The four of us barely filled a quarter of the space but I felt overcrowded – emotions were high and I heard the disjointed thoughts of both Mrs Johnson and Asil as they tried to take in all that I'd told them. Mrs Johnson was anxious but willing to listen, Asil was sceptical and ready to lash out if we weren't genuine.

We stepped out of the elevator into a large open-plan living area. Near the window-wall the family were sitting at a long table playing the old-fashioned game of Scrabble. Dale's wheelchair was at one end of the table and the girls sitting on either side of him leaned towards him, looking at his Holo-tiles as if playing on his behalf.

“Mummy!” squealed the youngest of the three girls, and she ran into her mother's arms. “I made a seven letter word on a triple score and it had a q, so I got squillions of points.”

I could see the word she'd made – a strange mix of letters that didn't make any word I knew but her sisters had obviously decided to indulge her. Mrs Johnson winked at her older daughters as she hugged the baby of the family.

“That's lovely, poppet. Well done. Now just let me introduce these visitors to Daddy then you can help me make something for lunch, okay?”

“'K. Hi, Asil.” The little girl waved at him and his answering smile smoothed away the brooding frown he'd worn since meeting us. It was as though he was the guardian of the family, looking out for them until Dale could retake his place as their protector.
Very patriarchal!

Mrs Johnson bent to kiss her husband's cheek.

“We have guests, darling,” she said. “Asil will tell you all about them.” She turned to her daughters. “Come on. Let's see what we can rustle up for lunch.” With sidelong glances in our direction, the girls followed Mrs Johnson to the kitchen area.

Asil began the introductions and without conscious thought I placed my hand on Dale's arm. Asil reached out to pull me away but as his hand came into contact with my shoulder an excruciating pain swept through my head and I almost collapsed. My vision cleared. I was still upright, holding Dale's arm in a tight grip and leaning towards Asil, my other hand pressed against his chest to steady myself. Seth hadn't joined us at the table and now hovered in the background, unsure whether to come forward. I tried a reassuring smile but it probably looked more like a grimace. The pain had subsided to a loud buzzing similar to that I'd had after my first hypno session. I closed my eyes trying to concentrate on pushing the noise away – back into the padded-cell. Instead, the hissing subsided and I could decipher the words,