Two of a Mind (19 page)

No, it was left-over feelings from Nicole, wasn't it?

Alvin had arranged for us to meet at his office and I hoped that he'd have the answer to my shared memories and feelings. If my new sexual appetite was merely Nicole's unfulfilled desires, how would I know when it was
me
wanting to be with
Seth
rather than
Nicole
wanting to be with
Tomas
? Not that I was about to ask Alvin to solve that little problem for me!

Seth had come over to mine in the morning as promised and, to appease Mum, we'd had a very sedate few hours watching classic holo-films and having lunch with her. She'd done her mother-hen bit and checked my finger countless times to make sure the wound hadn't split. It was nice to feel loved again after our cool relationship of recent years, but it was beginning to suffocate me. I was glad that Alvin had suggested we went to his office this time – it gave us chance to escape Mum's fussing.

“How's the finger?” Seth asked.

“Don't you start.”

“Only asking,” he responded, in a peeved tone. “You were swinging your arm as we walked so I thought it might've made it throb again.”

I had to admit to myself that my finger did feel a bit uncomfortable but I wasn't going to own up to it. “No, it's fine. Thank you.”

“Liar,” he said and gently gave the offending digit a make-it-better kiss.

I laughed and moved closer to him as he draped his arm around my shoulders. I wondered if we were just going through a teenage crush, whether we'd still be together after the Academy, after University – if we got there. The simple concerns of a ‘normal' teenager were a pleasant diversion from all the other stuff we had to think about so I indulged myself with a few more carefree, romantic daydreams of our future.

Alvin didn't have a receptionist at his office which was situated above ‘Bloomin-Marvellous', Ellingham's most expensive florists – the sort where a single, exotic bloom would be elegantly displayed in the window. We climbed the stairs to the half-glazed door and buzzed the intercom.

“One moment, please.” A recorded female voice replied. Then the auto-lock hummed and the door opened. “Please take a seat. Mr Grey will be with you shortly,” the voice advised. I just managed to stop myself saying an automatic thank you to the disembodied assistant.

The room was clean and functional with modern furniture, a water cooler, pristine vertical blinds at the window and a holo-vid currently showing the options menu for the latest cricket tournaments. Seth's eyes lit up as he headed towards the screen.

“Hi guys.” Alvin's voice stopped Seth in his tracks. “Come in. Come in. I've got something I want to discuss with you,” Alvin continued. His excitement was catching and I felt buoyed-up, expecting some good news to come from the meeting. Seth looked longingly at the holo-vid then followed me into Alvin's inner office. This was a distinct contrast to the waiting area. It was still clean and tidy, but it was furnished with antiques and decorated in a classical style. Alvin's desk was a huge, dark-wood affair with a well-worn, green leather insert on the top. Both the wood and the leather shone from centuries of polishing. There was a chaise-longue to one side of the room and I looked at it warily.

“Don't worry, Dez. You don't need to sit there,” Alvin said, having spotted my discomfort. “Not many people use it these days but some, like the client I told you about, feel that hypnotherapy isn't genuine without the stage-props. Anyway,” he added. “I didn't ask you here for a hypno session. I've come up with a theory about your memories.”

At last!
I thought as I sank into a large Chesterfield-style club chair. The arms of the chair were so high I couldn't reach over them to hold Seth's hand and although the seat was comfortable I felt isolated inside its hugeness. I pulled myself forward so that I was perched at the front of the chair. Seth's hand found mine and I relaxed knowing I wasn't alone after all.

“I spoke to a number of my colleagues,” Alvin began, “and did some InfoNet research. I believe I have an explanation for your memories of those murders. I think you are experiencing them third-hand.”

“Third-hand?” Seth and I asked in unison.

“Yes. Dez, you have these remote connections, don't you? So it's possible – even
probable
that you can link to the murderer. Now, what if that murderer is one of those people who can sense others beside their own PT? Someone who can feel and hear everything that the victim does when they are in close proximity? The murderer absorbs the victim's last few moments as though the experience is their own. You come along and tap into the murderer's thoughts and feelings, but from the view point of the victims.” Alvin sat back in his chair and waved his hands over his desk as though presenting a tray of jewellery for inspection.

We all sat in silence for a few moments, considering the theory, thinking through the logic and finally agreeing with the argument. There couldn't be any other explanation – well, another was that I'd suffered a mental breakdown but that wasn't an option I wanted to consider.

“So, if I can perfect the closing off of the connections, I could break that link and not have the memories any more?”

“It's possible,” Alvin replied. Then he frowned. “Dez. The other day when you spoke about isolating connections you were talking about the murderer weren't you?”

If there was one time I wished I could lie convincingly it was then. Poor Seth – he'd kept his mother's secret for four years and in less than a week I'd managed to get my parents, his dad, Aunt Jen and Henri in on the act. Now Alvin was getting suspicious and I didn't have a good enough explanation handy to sooth his anxiety. My hero stepped into the breach.

“Mr Grey,” Seth said. “Dez simply wanted to clear up why she's been having these flashbacks. When we started to look up the news archives we discovered she'd experienced two real murders but only one was reported as a murder. There's a long list of incidents that she feels could be linked to one killer. If she's able to identify the killer we can alert the authorities.”

“What if the killer finds you first? Remember he or she can also link to people other than their own PT.”

“But you said they're only likely to hear someone they're close to at the time.” I protested. Alvin still didn't look convinced. He removed his specs and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“This really goes against my better judgement, but I can't stop you experimenting in your own head, can I? Although I urge you not to do anything that puts you in any kind of danger – mentally as well as physically. Think what this person is capable of and then consider if it's worth the risk to your own health, Dez.”

I saw Seth nodding in agreement with Alvin's assessment. They both looked at me as though I was a condemned prisoner on my way to the executioner's block. As if I wasn't already scared to death, having experienced the killer's cruelty first –
or third
– hand.

“Don't worry, Alvin,” I said. “I've no intention of letting him get close to me in any sense.” I saw his quick intense glance as he heard me put a gender to the killer.

“What makes you think it's a man?” he asked.

“I remember his voice from the murders. I can't remember his face clearly but I'd definitely know his voice if I heard it again.” I shuddered – the spine rattling shiver of someone walking over my grave.

“Fascinating,” Alvin leaned forward over his desk. I'd piqued his professional curiosity again. “He must be able to interfere with the victims' sensory receptors. Or maybe this is a demonstration of the theory that the last sense one loses in death is hearing. Therefore, that's the strongest memory for you during these flashbacks.”

I began to worry that Alvin was going to ask me to try to remember another murder so I stood up and, without thinking held my out arm for a parting hand-shake.

“Thank you for your help, Alvin. I need to think things through before I decide what to do next. I'm managing to keep most of the connections under control in the subconscious room that we built and I don't want to jeopardise that,” I said.

“You're welcome, Dez,” he replied, taking my hand in both of his and shaking it vigorously.

“OUCH!”

“Oh! I'm so sorry, Dez. I didn't notice your injury. Been in the wars again?”

“Mmph. S'okay. Just a slip whilst cutting radishes,” I managed between lips pressed together in a grimace of pain.

“I hope I haven't set back the healing.” He frowned and I could sense his concern that he'd hurt me. “Please do let me know how you get on and if there's anything else I can do for you. I'm sure I speak for Debbie, too.” The softening of his expression and the lilt in his voice as he said her name confirmed my suspicions of the other day – they were definitely a couple too.

Ooh, wait ‘til we get back to class!

Hope Henri can find Simone.

I didn't want to connect telepathically to the murderer ever again. At the moment our best lead would be Simone, assuming Henri could convince her to talk to us. And if Mrs Johnson also contacted us about our ‘thesis' there was a chance we could find some solid evidence to help solve Elizabeth's clues. Otherwise, it seemed the only way we'd discover the murderer's identity would be for me to hunt him down in my own head – despite my promise to Alvin.

“Penny for them,” Seth said, as we walked along the High Street towards the ecotram terminus.

“You couldn't afford 'em. There're far too many,”

“I meant just yours.” His mildly hurt tone reminded me that he hadn't yet connected with his own PT. Maybe he was feeling isolated despite his sympathy for my own opposite affliction.

“Sorry,” I said. “I was thinking about Simone and Mrs Johnson and hoping that we'll get a breakthrough from what they might be able to tell us.”

“Don't you think we're getting in a bit too deep here?”

“What do you mean?”

“Dez, we have no back-up if things start to get heavy. What if you do identify the killer? If Mum couldn't tell the authorities who he was, what makes you think you can?”

“There doesn't seem to be anything stopping me telling you who I can hear, does there?”

Seth paused as if he was about to argue but realised that I hadn't had any problems talking about my connections so he tried a different approach.

“What if he can hear you and he works out we're on to him?”

“He'll only hear me if he's close to me and I'm not going to stand around next to a complete stranger waiting to see if he pounces, am I? Besides, I've got my big, brave Seth to protect me!”

The frown remained on Seth's face.

“All right,” I said. “Let's see if Simone and Mrs J give us anything new to go on. If not, we're at a dead end anyway and, if they do have something useful, we'll assess whether we should go further with it or pass everything on to the authorities, okay?”

He gave a begrudging shrug but tightened his grip on my hand – luckily it was my left hand. The summer afternoon heat was building and my finger was throbbing. I slipped my thumb through my bag strap to keep that hand close to my shoulder. It helped ease the pain a little but I still felt uncomfortable and I wasn't convinced it was all down to the weather. Seth was right. What hope did we have of exposing the killer if he'd managed to keep ahead of the authorities all these years? At the time, there'd been no reports of a man-hunt for a serial killer so there couldn't be any tangible evidence to unite the murders that Elizabeth had linked in her
Handi
. Would the police take any notice of us if we did go to them? I felt a twinge of bitterness towards Elizabeth. Why did she leave that damned diary? I had enough to cope with, having all those multi-channels in my head! The feeling passed quickly, though. Elizabeth had merely wanted someone to put a stop to his killings if she failed in her attempt and the only way she could help expose him was via the clues in her
Handi.
It must've been hard for her, knowing that Seth or Samuel would end up with this responsibility and I was ashamed for my brief indulgence in self-pity.

“You're off again,” Seth said.

“Sorry. Did you say something?”

“No.” He laughed at my concerned expression, “Don't worry. I'm getting used to you having your internal conversations.”

“I wasn't listening to anyone,” I replied, stung by his assumption. “I'm not permanently eavesdropping, you know.”

We didn't speak again during the journey home, until I hesitated at the end of the driveway to Seth's house.

“Aren't you coming in?” Seth asked. “Look, I'm sorry if I upset you earlier. I didn't mean anything by it.”

“Maybe we're spending too much time together,” I replied. “We seem to be bickering all the time.”

“Dez, we've always bickered. Just 'cos we're a couple now that won't change, will it? It's simply part of our relationship – we get annoyed with each other but know that we'll always be there for each other.”

“Yeah, but recently it's got worse.”

“No. It's just recently we've had a lot more to deal with. Come on, Dez. We'll check for messages from Mrs J and see if we can sort out this mess. Once we can move on from finding Mum's PT, things'll get better, I promise.”

Seth could always win me round with his confident promises, even if they didn't always come through. I slipped my arm around his waist and stretched up to kiss his cheek.

“Thanks,” I said, feeling safe in his strong, warm embrace.

***

Mrs Johnson had responded to our query and was keen for us to get in touch with her. She'd given us her personal contact details and suggested we arrange to meet as soon as possible. I felt guilty for stringing her along but we had to speak to Dale's PT and the only way was through Mrs J. As I can't lie to save my life, Seth made the call and, without flinching, continued the subterfuge that we were students looking at developing treatments for brain injuries. It worried me that he seemed so good at it – what if he lied to me, how would I know? Mrs J had a two-hour gap in her diary for the next day and invited us to go down to London – at her expense – to see the Foundation and discuss our proposal. Her enthusiasm for our ‘project' was heart-breaking. I hoped that we'd be able to repay her in some small way by putting Dale's attacker in jail for the rest of his life.

“It'll be fine,” Seth assured me when they'd closed the call. “I'm sure she'll understand when she hears the full story.”

“I feel so bad raising her hopes like that. What if it doesn't do any good? She'll hate us.”

“Try not to worry. Let's take it one step at a time, yeah?”

My Comms kit was buzzing – Henri calling. I connected the call through Seth's Holo-Comms equipment so that we had video. The suave Frenchman waved at me from his office in the Paris Judiciary Centre. It was hard to believe he matched my aunt in age – his forty-eight years had been much kinder and he could easily pass for a man of thirty.

“Bonjour, ma cherie,” he said. “'Ow are you today?”

“Could be better.” I wiggled my injured finger at the web-cam.

“Don't tell me, it was a right-handed knife,” he joked, referring to a time when he'd been visiting many years before. In frustration at not being able to cut an apple at the age of six or seven, I'd complained that the knife I held in my left hand didn't work because it was right-handed.

“Ha-ha,” I responded, sarcastically. “Never mind the sympathy. Have you got any news for us?”

“But of course!” Henri gave the time honoured French shrug, as though it was an insult to doubt him. “I spoke to Simone moments ago and, although she is still 'aunted by the events of that night, she is willing to talk to you.” He quoted her contact details and reminded me to be careful, both for her sake and ours.

I sat and looked at the information for a long time after my conversation with Henri had finished. Suddenly, it became much more real being so close to contacting a victim's PT. Especially when, via the killer's memory, I'd been more connected to Nicole in her last minutes than Simone had. Would she be jealous? Angry that I'd had those final few moments when she'd been cut-off from her own PT?

“Come on,” Seth interrupted my thoughts. “We'd better list the questions you want to ask.”

It wasn't as easy as the detective shows make it seem. We had some information from the news report so we tried to expand on that. Eventually, we felt we had enough to make a start – maybe more would come naturally out of the conversation with Simone. I made the call via Seth's Holo-Comms centre but only used the audio connection to allow her some privacy.

“Bonjour?” Simone's voice was quiet, almost timid, a contrast to Henri's brash, confident attitude. Having Henri as my only example, I'd expected all Parisians to be self-assured cosmopolitans.

“Bonjour, Simone. Je m'appelle Desirée Hanson. Parlez-vous l'englais?” I couldn't imagine trying to explain everything in my school French.

“Ah oui. Monsieur Cartier told me you would be calling. It's about Nicole, yes?”

I looked at Seth and he gave me an encouraging nod.

“Yes, thank you for agreeing to talk to me, Simone. I hope that, with your help, we can discover the identity of the man who killed her and Tomas. Do you feel able to answer a few questions?”

“Please, go ahead,” she replied. “I'll do whatever I can to help.”

I looked at the list we'd made and began the interview.

“The reports mentioned that Tomas worked for a Research Laboratory. Do you know which lab that was?”

“It was Laboratoires Lisle. He was researching new drug therapies for psychological problems, especially for those unfortunates who don't have a … jumeau télépathique … er, in English I think you say Psyche-Twin?”

Unfortunates –
ouch
, that struck a chord! Although it now seemed a dim and distant past when my own PT connection had failed.

“And Nicole was helping him with her own research as a post-graduate. She was studying the evolution of the PT connection. They enjoyed working together very much. It was how they met and fell in love.” Simone's voice caught as though she was trying not to cry. She'd answered my second question which had been about Nicole's studies so I skipped to the next one.

“Thank you, Simone. Do you have access to Nicole's study materials at all? And, if so, would you be willing to allow me to see it?” I sensed her initial reluctance. It was the last remnant of her unique connection to Nicole. To share it was to sever the tie completely. I was aware of another presence comforting her and I felt even more like an intruder. Simone had connected to a new PT, as sometimes happens when a PT dies.

“I shall forward her notes to you,” she finally replied and, although I had a couple more questions on my list, I didn't have the heart to ask more of her.

“Thank you very much, Simone,” I said. “You've been a great help. I'll let you know how we get on. May I call you again?”

“Yes, yes. Please do. I hope you find the bâtard and he rots in Hell forever!” Simone's hatred was startling, coming from her timid, quiet tone.

“We'll do our best,” I promised.

“Before you go,” Seth spoke for the first time and gestured towards the list, “could you please tell us about your experience on the night of Nicole's death, if you feel up to it?”

The silence lasted so long that I thought Simone had hung-up on us and I tentatively reached out for her in my mind. Yes, I could still sense her there – she was simply gathering her thoughts.

“It was cold,” she began, “I never like February it always seems to me an unlucky month.” She laughed briefly as though ashamed of her superstition. “Earlier in the day Nicole was worried about something at work, I'm not sure what as it was confidential, but by the evening she seemed better. She was very excited. I could feel it as though I was going to dinner myself. She had a suspicion that Tomas was going to propose but she tried not to think about it too much in case she was wrong. Sometimes she would holo-vid me to get my opinion on how she looked. She was always gorgeous, very beautiful. I'm ashamed to say I was jealous of her good looks and her relationship with Tomas. That night she was so nervous, she just kept chattering to me through our link and, in the end, I became annoyed. I asked her to leave me alone for a while.” Simone's voice broke again and we waited for her to regain control of her emotions. “She was hurt by that and she tried to be quieter. When Tomas gave her the ring, her feelings overwhelmed me and I cried with joy for them. During the meal Nicole was like a warm, happy feeling hovering in my mind but a little after they left the restaurant she disappeared. Our connection was broken … no … it was smothered. As though a thick blanket had been thrown over my head. For a while I couldn't move, I was paralysed and my heart was racing so fast that I was afraid I would have a heart-attack.”

“It's all right Simone,” I soothed, as her voice began to rise in panic. “You needn't go on.”

“Yes, I must. I'm fine. Thank you, Desirée. From that moment I never heard Nicole again. I now believe that the effects I suffered were similar to what Nicole was going through but, at the time, I didn't realise what was happening. I thought it was me that was ill. If only I'd known, I could have called an ambulance for her.”

Now she couldn't hold back her sobs and I again felt Simone's new PT trying to comfort her. She was fortunate to have someone who understood her feelings – her new PT must've been bereaved too to be available for the connection at their age. I wondered how many of the connections in my head were lone voices looking for a replacement PT. Not everyone who lost their original PT wanted a new one, not everyone
could
re-connect. Although we'd had all those months of Tele-Prep with Ms Thorogood, the reality was much harder to handle than the theory.

I swallowed the lump in my own throat.

“Thank you, Simone,” I croaked. “Please don't blame yourself. I'm sure Nicole knew you would've helped if you'd realised what was happening.” I couldn't tell Simone that I remembered the terror Nicole felt at not being able to contact her but I was convinced that Nicole didn't blame her PT for the broken connection. “Don't worry, we'll find the bastard.” I made the same promise as I had for the girl left to die in the Weardale forest.

I just hope I can deliver!