Chapter 3:
I sat perched on the very edge of the patterned settee in Mrs Grey's front room as I watched the second hand of the grandfather clock tick by. After spending an hour in this position, my nerves were pushed to their limit; by the time it reached two o'clock I found myself jumping from my seat when the door bell rang.
I flung open the door to find Victor in less formal attire than yesterday, he was wearing a pair of dark jeans with a light blue polo shirt that contrasted his hair and skin beautifully. For that brief moment of just looking at him I felt more serene and safe than I had felt all night long.
"What's wrong?" Victor said immediately pulling his hands out of his pockets and stepping towards me.
"How did you know?" I asked as I held the door open for him to step in.
"For one thing I have been keeping you close in here," he tapped his head as he whispered, "all night and all morning. Though you keep your shields strong, something just didn't feel right. Secondly, it's written all over your face." I beckoned him upstairs.
"Come and look," when I opened the door to the rubbish tip that was now my bedroom, I saw Victor's face pale. "When I came in last night I found it like this." He began to slowly, and precariously, make his way around the room inspecting the damage. When his gaze fell on the wall, his enchanting eyes creased into a frown. The words he whispered next I would never like to repeat, but he offended many gods in that statement. "Victor!"
"I'm sorry, it's just," he sighed loudly as he ran his hand up and down the wall. "Why didn't I just give you my mobile number? Then you could have rang and told me, I would never have left you alone all night had I known." Then he walked towards me, placing his hands either side of my face. "Promise my something, whenever you feel scared, no matter how far apart we are and no matter how badly you want to resist me, you will always reach out for me in here." He tapped his index finger to my head. He was so close that I could smell his spicy and alluring aftershave which only made him more enticing. "It is our own private phone line and you should never be afraid to use it."
He returned to his inspection of the room, taking away his tempting presence. "Is anything missing?"
"I haven't really checked yet." I admitted. He slowly made his way over to a corner of the room which you couldn't see from the entrance. He bent down purposely to retrieve something from the floor and when he rose once more I felt my stomach drop.
"Please tell me you haven't worn this for many other guys," he was holding a rather skimpy backless black dress that I had actually never worn.
"That's none of your business," I marched over and grabbed the offending garment from his hands before throwing it back into the old oak wardrobe with a broken door hanging on its hinges. He must think I was a tart. His business frown returned once more as the room invaded his senses like some foul stench.
"Do you know how they got in?" He asked as he continued to survey the room.
"No," I sighed as I walked towards the door. "Mrs Grey says she remembers nothing."
"Nothing?" He remarked sharply, turning to stare at me.
"Nothing."
"Then I'd appreciate it if you would be so kind as to introduce me to Mrs Grey," his voice was turning to a bitter business note. The fury he felt was evident, but despite the fact I wanted to be scared of him, I just couldn't. I tried to remind myself of the power he had yesterday in making words fall from my lips without my conscious effort.
"Mrs Grey?" I said as we entered the old wooden kitchen with a little table in the middle where my landlady was currently sat chewing on a cookie with a cup of tea by her side. "This is Victor Benedict."
"Oh, lovely to meet you my dear, would you like a cookie?" She offered him sweetly as he took the seat across from her.
"No thank you, mam, I've just had a rather large lunch," he leaned slightly forwards on to the table as I took a position behind Mrs Grey leaning against the work top so I could watch his every move. Though I could tell Victor was angry, Mrs Grey was a sweet heart and I didn't want him bullying her in any way shape or form. "But I would appreciate it if you would be so kind as to answer me some questions?"
"Of course dear, fire away," Mrs Grey finished nibbling her cookie and gave Victor her undivided attention.
"Do you remember anything about last night, mam?" I noticed the slight pitch change in his voice and I felt aware of his presence as he pushed into her mind. He was channelling her emotions, almost manipulating her mind so she would speak the answers he wanted to hear.
"Not much, I'm afraid," her reply was instantaneous.
Stop it! I pushed forcefully into his mind.
I want answers, Lissa. What if they had broken in when you were here?
"What do you remember?" Victor pursued, ignoring me completely as I began to pace behind Mrs Grey and giving him what can only be described as an evil glare.
"I remember just finishing a repeat of that lovely dancing show when there was a knock at the door," Mrs Grey sipped her tea like she was merely talking about the weather. Her speaking her mind would not seem so unusual unless you knew that the old Mrs Grey was a very secretive woman. She did not like to divulge what kind of milk she bought, let alone the circumstances of an evening where her home was broken in to. "I went to answer it and I just remember there being a thin silhouette through the glass. Then I'm afraid things go a bit fuzzy and the next thing I remember was that I was back in my chair watching the show. So I suppose I must have just imagined the doorbell ring."
That's enough. I told Victor.
That's all she'll know anyway. He replied unperturbed.
"Thank you, mam," he replied easily as he removed his presence from her mind. "You've been very helpful."
"Oh, I am pleased," she said cheerfully as she stood. "Now if you two will excuse me, there is a repeat of that old English show on TV with the grand house that I have been looking forward to seeing." We waited a few minutes in silence until we heard the front room door shut. The pause seemed endless.
"That wasn't fair." I said quietly.
"Why wasn't it?" Victor asked plaintively as he rose from his chair. "Lissa, I don't think you fully understand our situation. Without our soul finders savants can be dangerous, without the other person keeping them in balance all sorts of things can happen. Depression; lunacy; crime. You name it and it will probably happen." He took one cautious step towards me, so I took one back to lean on to the counter. He ran a hand through his soft black curls and sighed loudly. "I was beginning to think that I would never find mine seeming as two of my younger brothers found them at the ages of sixteen and seventeen. Now here you are in front of me and you're in danger. I find you in an FBI interrogation room and the very same evening your home is broken into. To keep you safe if I have to persuade little old ladies to tell me more than they would like to say, then so be it."
Before I had time to react, Victor was suddenly in front of me with his arms either side of the counter. Though I was taller than the average height, I still only reached Victor's chin, his size was daunting, yet stood here between his arms made me feel more safe. All I wanted to do was fold myself into his chest, but I fought the urge. "We could be great together Lissa, if you would only let me help you."
"Maybe," I sighed buying for time as I ducked down beneath one of his arms and escaped him. "But just slow down for a bit, this is all moving too fast." Before he had chance to respond, the same Train song emitted from Victor's pocket as it had the night before.
"Hello?" He had quickly retrieved the mobile. "I'll be there soon, I'll bring her now." He snapped the phone shut and returned it to his pocket. "That was my boss, we have to get going because he has some more questions for you. One thing before we go, have you ever brought home anything from the cafe or has anyone ever given you anything that somebody might break in and look for?"
"No, nothing," I shook my head.
"Right, let's go before my boss decides to fire me, I'm not in his best books at the moment," he said as he began to walk out the room with me on his tail.
"Why not?"
"Because one of his suspects turned out to be my soul finder."
On the way to the grey building where the FBI were conducting their investigation Victor stopped for to fill up his motor bike.
"We'll only be a minute whilst I get some gas," he replied easily as he climbed off the bike.
"Petrol." I couldn't help but say.
"Hmm?" He quirked an eyebrow at me curiously.
"In Britain we say petrol instead of gas," I replied as I swung one of my legs over the seat so I was no longer straddling the bike.
"Really? That's a bit weird," he said as he began to fill up the bike.
"No it's not," I rebuked, in response he merely quirked an eyebrow once more as if teasing me. "Well, it is petrol isn't it? It's not gas, gas is in the air whereas petrol is a liquid."
"You British and your proper ways," he mockingly rolled his eyes so I playfully slapped him on the arm. "I'll be back in a minute." He ran off to pay, leaving me with a smile on my face. As I turned my head to watch his progress, one of the newspaper stands caught my eye. The largest and most daunting stood out like a blood red rose with sharp thorns amongst white daisies.
LUNATIC STABS COUPLE
I felt my feet slowly walk over to the stand, enabling my eyes to scan the article's contents. There was the occasional terrifying word like 'dagger' and 'madness', but there were other words that sparked my fear. It mentioned that the 'lunatic' shouted words such as 'savant' and 'power', leading the journalist to conclude that the attacker was mad and making up words and mythical beings.
"Don't worry about it too much," Victor's voice suddenly appeared from behind my shoulder, in response I quirked my eyebrow, copying his habit which made him smile. "It's being taken care of."
"But the word 'savant' is in the newspaper? Isn't that a bit of a big deal?" Victor tried to take my hand and lead me over to the bike, I followed but quickly removed my hand from his.
"How many people will believe the ramblings of a man labelled a lunatic by the press?" He swung on to the bike casually.
"Fair point," I conceded as I climbed onto the back of the motor bike once more.
Two gruelling hours later filled with pointless and antagonizing questions I was unable to answer, I found myself head down on the table in the interview room from the day before. I just wanted it to be over, I was tired, I was angry and I felt like my temper could spark at any moment.
"I'll ask you again!" Shouted Larry. I jumped to my feet. Fire running through my veins in anger. As he began to ask the long drawn out question again, I began to pace back and forth beside him. Every time that I passed by his shoulder I brushed it slightly with my hand. At this point in time I didn't care if I was caught through the glass; by the number of angry knocks coming from the other side my guess was Victor was there anyway. As I continued to brush by Larry, over and over again, each time slightly smoothing some of the brown wrinkled suit, his talking became slower and quieter. Each brush of my hand seemed to turn down the volume. He resembled a wind up doll - with his shaggy blonde hair that could easily be a toupee - running out of power. Eventually, when I felt his shields loosen I stopped walking and spoke firmly.
"Stop talking," his mouth shut instantaneously and his vacant grey eyes stared unblinkingly into space, it was as if he was no longer aware of my presence. I marched towards the one way window. "I can't take any more of this! I have done nothing wrong and... and I'm really beginning to hate you." I pointed at the window before I continued to pace around the room. I didn't hate him, I couldn't hate him even though I tried to, but at that moment my anger was so charged that I couldn't have cared what he thought of me.
A couple of minutes later the door to the room opened allowing Munchkin and Victor to enter. Victor looked as pale as a ghost.
"Wake him up," ordered Munchkin firmly but without menace. I turned and slammed my hand on the table, causing Larry to suddenly jolt up from his seat. He swayed slightly on the spot for a moment getting his bearings before his mind began to realise what had happened.
"You hypnotised me!" He screamed, all I could do was shrug my shoulders. Suddenly, he began to charge for me, but Victor jumped forwards delivering a swift blow to Larry's large bulging stomach, knocking him back, winded. "I've had enough of her. Take her away Vick, but I don't ever want to see her again."
Victor tugged me by the elbow out of the room. He silently passed me my white woolly cardigan prior to leading me outside to the car park.
"De ja vu," I murmured quietly as I pulled away from him to put on my cardigan. "You're not saying anything Victor." Silence. He just stood there with his hands on his hips. "Say something."
"I'm pretty stunned by the events that have just unravelled right in front of my eyes." He sighed loudly and rubbed his eyes heavily. "Come on, a colleague borrowed my motorbike so it's now in the car park across the street." I followed him resignedly across the street, parched with thirst from the interview. We silently walked up the stone steps of the multi-storey car park that were stained with chewing gum. The chill of the place invaded my bones and cooled my nerves as it began to rain on the streets of Denver. When we finally reached the right level of the car park, Victor stopped walking. He came to a halt as quickly as if he had hit an invisible brick wall. Seeing that I was about to ask him what was wrong, he placed his finger on his lips. Then he mouthed the words 'Keep up strong shields'. I nodded my assent. Victor quietly walked across the car park, his footfalls barely making a sound. I copied his movements, feeling the rush of adrenaline and fear like an alcoholic shot.
When we reached his motorbike, we found an unexpected spectacle. The motorbike's brake fluid was slowly pouring onto the floor, the seat was torn and somebody had driven something sharp into the petrol tank. I pulled the woolly cardigan tighter around my body as the shivers attacked my skin. Calmly, Victor leaned forwards and retrieved a small scrap of paper from the seat. The paper was curling at the edges and the red pen used mimicked blood. There was but one word written on the paper.
RUN
Victor slowly crumpled the paper with his strong hand and then even more slowly placed it in his pocket. He turned a firm, frowned gaze around the car park level, but there were too many cement columns to have a full view of the place. I felt his strong, safe hand find my own. He mouthed 'Not a word'. Then like a cornered animal, Victor ran dragging me behind him. Suddenly, a gun shot fired behind us.
Don't stop running and don't let down your shields! Victor mentally yelled at me. We sprinted down the stone steps, gripping tightly to the banister to prevent ourselves from falling. One floor down. Two floors down. Three floors down.
I could suddenly hear the scuttle of feet beneath us, I pulled on Victor's hand and pointed down the gap between the stairs. I was not mistaken, a group of four men were making their way up the stairs in a mad rush carrying guns. A quick glance upwards showed the same situation from above. Victor turned and pushed through a large red door to another level of the car park, we tore across the tarmac, as fast as our legs would carry us, the strain tingled in my limbs. When a gunshot ricocheted through the air Victor pulled me sharply to the left and crouched behind the red bonnet of one of the few cars parked here. Our interlocked hands gripped each other tightly.
"Well, well, well," a deep, husky voice filled with menace echoed through the car park. The sheer depth to the voice was enough to put fear in your very core. "A little waitress from a cafe, not very significant to us and Victor Benedict, who could be vitally so." He laughed a cold mirthless resonance. "What do you say boys? Shall we just start shooting the cars to shreds until we find the right one they're hiding behind? Hmm... Sounds like a good plan to me."
Victor reached his hand under the back of his shirt, retrieving a gun I had no idea he was hiding. He jumped up from behind the car, pulling me behind him and placed the barrel of the gun to his head.
"How vitally significant could I be?" He spoke quietly with a mocking tone as he slowly moved us backwards towards the edge of the car park.
"Not that significant my boy," in the middle of a line of men with guns trained on us stood a slim tall man with a scar across his eye that left it permanently bloodshot. His blonde hair was thick with grease and plastered to his head to disguise the fact that it was thinning. He was clearly the leader of this little pack.
"Is that a risk you're willing to take?" Victor asked as he cocked the gun.