WarriorsandLovers (2 page)

“It was a one-off. A freak event.”

“And all the other times?” The man’s eyebrows rose, the gesture
grotesque on his distorted face.

He had to be guessing—there was no way anyone could know.
Elijah forced himself to remain calm. “I dunno what you’re talking about.”

His unwelcome visitor pulled out his phone and touched the
screen. “This file records all the rescue events you have been involved in for
the past three years. It lists the number of times you’ve made saves no one
else could have carried out. Times and dates, corroborated by your fellow
workers.” He touched the screen again. “These are photographs taken by my
operatives, showing a series of unexplained incidents around you. The evidence
is here.”

He held up the phone to show Elijah a series of photos taken
through the window of his bedroom. The bastard had been spying on him,
compiling data, invading his privacy. Black rage burned in Elijah’s gut. “Get
the fuck out of my house! Don’t come back.”

In spite of Elijah’s blast of anger the man remained seated.
“There is no need for profanity,” he said, his voice flat. “You could claim the
photos are faked. They’re no threat to you.”

“Then why take them? Why show them to me?”

“Because I can see your face in these photos. I know what
you’re feeling.” He touched Elijah’s arm. A shudder passed over Lije’s skin.
“You and I can help each other.”

“No,” Elijah replied. “Even if I had
telekinetic power,
”
saying the words out loud made him feel sick, “ I wouldn’t use it, so if you’re
thinking of making money off me, forget it.”

“I don’t need money.” The misshapen lips twisted in a one-sided
smile. “But I do want to make use of your abilities. As you can see I’ve done a
lot of research into your career. You have unique qualities. Qualities the
human race needs if it is to survive.” He looked straight into Elijah’s eyes
and waited. One beat, two. When he spoke again it was with the slow resonance
of an orator. “This is the truth most people will never know. Humanity is under
attack from an enemy race dwelling under the surface of the Earth.”

There it was. The explanation for this whole bizarre
incident. The guy was insane. Whatever injury had caused his visible scars had
affected his mind as well. There was no need to worry about the consequences of
this visit. None of the accumulated evidence could hurt Elijah because once
this nutcase spewed out this crap he’d be dismissed as a lunatic. No one would
believe
anything
he said.

“I’m not crazy,” the man said in an uncanny echo of Lije’s
thoughts. Then again, maybe not so uncanny. If the guy went around spouting that
kind of nonsense he must get told he was crazy on a regular basis. “They exist.
I’ve seen them.”

“Bullshit!” Elijah retorted. “If a race of anything lived
underground we’d know about it.”

“Some of us
do
know,” the man said. “Fiction abounds
with references to such a race. Ask yourself why that might be.”

Elijah let out a long slow breath. The man was bat-shit
crazy—it was yet to be determined if he was also dangerous. Elijah didn’t want
to find out by provoking him.

“Because it
is
fiction,” he said, making an effort to
keep his voice calm, his tone rational. “Not real life.”

“That’s what they
want
us to believe.” When the man
leaned forward, his hands outstretched, Elijah pulled himself backward out of
reach.

“Really, Mr. Denton? You can’t imagine I’d hurt you. You
weren’t listening when I said we could help each other.” He waited until Elijah
met his gaze. “I know you’re telekinetic. I also know the answers to the
questions that have plagued you all your life.”

Elijah drew a deep breath, then let it go again. The guy was
small, old and injured. Elijah could throw him out any time he wanted to. He
had found out about Elijah’s hidden ability. What would it hurt to let him
explain? “Make it quick.”

“What you are about to hear will sound incredible, but
please try to keep an open mind. Only once you begin to accept the truth will I
be able to offer you proof. This underground race, the Dvalinn, have the power
to influence the human mind. They have used that power for centuries to hide their
existence from us.” The man’s voice deepened, grew compelling. Elijah found
himself drawn toward him, his body leaning forward, his eyes locked on the
man’s faded blue gaze. “Only a few humans were ever able to resist this
influence. Those who could—those who knew the truth—were charged with a sacred
quest to protect the deluded multitudes. We few, called the Gatekeepers, have
always kept the Dvalinn at bay.”

“I don’t believe this.” Elijah shook his head and blinked.

“You
will
. We are at war, Mr. Denton. I was a
soldier.” He gestured to his face. “These are my battle scars.”

He leaned back, his eyes bleak. “I survived by the merest
good luck. The Gatekeepers who stood with me in that battle did not.”

“Even if that were true,” Elijah said, although he didn’t
for a minute believe it was anything other than the man’s delusion, “It has
nothing to do with me.”

“I have put years and more money than you can imagine into
researching ways to fight these monsters.” The man’s fists clenched on the
table in front of him. “I have the weapons. All I need is someone who can use
them. I’ve searched a long time to find the right person. Some people have a
degree of telekinesis, others claim to be empaths. Even more people have the
physical fitness and stamina your genes and career have given you. Some have
the altruism that fits you for service. But—and this is the key issue—you may
be the one person on Earth who has the right combination of these qualities.
You’re unique, Mr. Denton.”

“You can forget my
unique
abilities,” Elijah snarled.
“I’ll never use them, especially for something as crack-brained as this.” He
stood. “You’ve wasted both our time. Leave.”

The man pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll leave you to think
about it.” He paused. “But while you’re thinking, consider this. I can show you
how to rid yourself of what you see as an affliction.” He reached into his
pocket. “Here is my card. Feel free to contact me at any time. If I have not
heard from you within a week, I will return.” He held his hand up. “You want me
to stay away from you. I know you believe that now, but once you have had time
to think it over you will change your mind. I did not make an idle boast. If
you cooperate with me, in return I can ensure you get what you most want. To be
normal.”

“You won’t be hearing from me. I don’t want you to come
back,” Elijah said. “Stay away from me. Is that clear?”

The man walked to the door. “Do not underestimate me. I know
what it is you fear most. I can remove your fear. You will not be able to
resist.” With that he let himself out of Elijah’s apartment.

For long minutes Elijah stood there, the business card
clutched in his hand. He intended to throw it unread into the trash, but at the
last minute he turned it up to read what was inscribed on it. A name and a
series of contact details. Elijah dropped the card onto the table. He hoped he
never saw the guy again, but in case he was dangerous or posed some sort of
threat Elijah needed to be better informed. He would go online—find out what
sort of nut this Brian Hopewood was.

* * * * *

Elijah leaned back in his chair and dug the heels of his
hands into his eye sockets, trying to relieve the fatigue. The quick internet
search on Brian Hopewood had turned into a marathon session. At the end of it,
Lije knew Hopewood was very, very rich. Page after page of results had shown up
when Lije entered his name.

He’d searched images to start with. At first he’d thought
the search engine had thrown up the wrong person. The handsome, chiseled
features captured in myriad photos had little in common with the ruined face of
the man who had pressed his card into Lije’s hand. Only a careful examination
allowed Lije to see the bone structure that underlay whatever catastrophe
Hopewood had suffered.

Articles abounded about Brian Hopewood, many sourced from
the social pages of newspapers and magazines. He’d flown his private jet to
parties, polo matches, air races, ski weeks at Aspen, Davos and St Moritz. But
none of the stories were dated more recently than fifteen years ago. There was
a brief note that he’d moved to Venice, but then Hopewood seemed to go off the
radar.

As far as Elijah was concerned he could stay there. Nothing
he’d read referred in any way to Hopewood’s strange claims about an alien race
living on Earth. No matter how rich the man was, or had been, there was
something seriously wrong with him now. Elijah wanted nothing to do with him or
anything he offered. He stood, stretched, then headed for his bed.

He woke the next morning determined to get his life back to
normal. As he strode to work he focused on his surroundings—all the ordinary,
everyday things. People brushing past clutching cups of coffee, or heads down
thinking about their own problems, horns blasting, a kid kicking along on his
skateboard. The teenager weaved his way through the crowd of pedestrians on the
pavement, the whoosh of nylon wheels on concrete barely giving warning of his
approach. One woman, elderly and probably hard of hearing, stumbled as the
skateboarder passed her. She lost her balance, falling toward the boy who, with
an outstretched arm, pushed her away. She tumbled to her knees. The kid didn’t
stop, just called out, “Stay outta my way, Gran.”

“Hope you fall off and break your arm,” Elijah muttered as
the kid zoomed on.

The moment the words were out of Lije’s mouth the
skateboarder toppled forward onto the pavement, the crack clearly audible as
his forearm broke. Leaving the woman to be looked after by other bystanders,
Elijah went to the boy’s aid. He concentrated on treating the injury, trying to
ignore the preposterous idea that he might have caused the accident. He told
himself he was no more responsible for the boy’s fate than any of the other
onlookers who were exclaiming, “Serves him right.”

When the ambulance arrived, Elijah left the boy to the care
of the paramedics then continued to the fire station. Before he’d opened his
locker, the other firefighters started in on him, as they had every day since
the rescue of the boy had made him the town’s hero. “Hey, Lije. What does your
woo-woo tell you is gonna happen today?”

“Hey Lije, reckon you could use your Spidey senses to zap a
couple of girls from outta the strip club for us?”

“Hey Lije, maybe you’re not a normal human. Maybe you’re one
of those super-heroes. All you need is a cape and a cool name. You can have
your own comic book series—shit!”

The last speaker broke off, his face scarlet, his hands
frantically clutching at his pants, now inexplicably draped around his ankles
revealing to everyone his unwise decision to go commando. Ribald comments flew
from all directions. With attention and laughter diverted away from him, Elijah
escaped. He pushed open the door of the bathroom. As soon as it swung shut
again, he leaned his back against the wall and tried to subdue the blood that
pounded through his veins.

He was in deep trouble. The wall he’d built to keep his
abilities hidden was crumbling and he couldn’t stop it. Making a man’s pants
fall off didn’t matter much but that morning he’d caused a kid to break his
arm. How long before he did something far worse? How long before his
out-of-control mind killed someone?

Brian Hopewood’s words played in the back of his mind. “I
know what it is you fear most.”

Lije pulled Hopewood’s card out of his pocket. Before he had
time to decide what he intended to do with it, the alarm bell rang. All
Elijah’s concentration went into getting into his turnout gear and taking his
place in the team.

His job had taught him self-discipline and focus. With them,
he would beat the demons that ate at his soul. He had to.

The call-out to a fire at a deserted warehouse was
straightforward. No risk to life, no unexpected chemical waste to create
explosions, just several hours of hard work that wore out Elijah physically but
left him emotionally calm.

At the end of his shift he went home, too tired to do more
than tumble into bed and sleep. By three in the morning he was awake again,
staring at the ceiling. No matter how much he tried to close his mind to it he
could not shut off the image of the boy plummeting to the pavement or the
memory of the sound of his bone snapping. In the end he got up and turned on
the television to watch pseudo-celebrities trying to sell him products no one
needed.

He arrived at work the next morning, his eyes gritty, his
mood dark and edgy. A call-out within minutes of his arrival did nothing to
settle him. The fourth floor of an office block had caught fire, sending toxic
smoke swirling through the building.

The evacuation of workers from the upper levels went
smoothly. Elijah heard the all-clear shout as he took his turn on the hoses.
The ladder truck pulled out to allow more room for the pumps.

A blast of fear hit him along with an image of two women
trapped in a supply closet, hunched up against the back wall as smoke seeped
under the door. Elijah sprinted for the ladder truck, yelling to the driver to
stop and back up. By the time the ladder was fully extended, Lije was already
climbing. He smashed his way in through a window, surged down the corridor, his
feet leading him unerringly through the gloom to an unmarked door. He turned
the knob but heat had warped the door, making it stick in its frame.

With one blow of his axe, the door split. He reached inside.
Two women huddled together, tears washing pale streaks through the black soot
on their cheeks.

He ushered them out, back down the hall to the ladder.
Neither woman hesitated, scrambling down the swaying structure with as much
speed as they could manage. On the ground, people gathered around them. “How
did you know they were there?”