Dystopia: YA Paranormal Adventure Romance (11 page)

Aaron gives me the twenty yard stare until Zara makes an obvious cough.

"Are we still bitching, Hart? Because if you don't want to help─"

Zara reaches out to take the hangman game, but Aaron pulls it back torward him.

"Not so fast, Zara.
I didn't say I wouldn't help. You know I should probably clear this with Blake?"

Zara frowns. "Any chance we can do this off-the-record, Aaron?"

He makes a mock frown, clearly enjoying his moment of power, then breaks into a grin.

"What's it worth?
Twenty quid?"

"Dream on," says Zara.

I can't believe Aaron. We're in the middle of a life-or-death crisis and he's playing games. He rotates his chair idly, like a bored child.

"Got it," he says, bringing the chair to a stop. "What about you take me on a field trip? I'm sick of being stuck here."

"Deal," says Zara, waving her hand in the air impatiently. "Now can we get on with it?"

Aaron gives a fist pump, then wheels back
torward his table to examine the ancient paper under his desk light.

"It's old," he says, peering through his eye glass.
"Probably a few hundred years old."

Zara huffs with impatience.

"I could have told you that."

"Hey, do you want my help or not? You know I have a system, Zara. I always use my five regular senses before relying on my sixth."

Zara taps her foot impatiently.

"If you don't mind, we're on a bit of a tight schedule."

Aaron switches off the desk lamp, leaving the room in near total darkness. When my eyes adjust I'm able to watch as he rests the palms of his hands over the folded up paper then takes in a large breath and closes his eyes. It reminds me of how my dad acted at the old house just before the Hangman Ghost appeared.

"This paper has been
held by the hands of a killer." Aaron's voice is low and serious. "In life he was responsible for many deaths. It's not so much a game; more of a clue to his identity. He wants you to unmask him. I can't make out a face or name; it's like he's an enigma."

Aaron becomes silent for a moment, then sits back in his chair and flicks the desk light back on.

"Wow" I say, a little inappropriately. "How could you tell all that without even unfolding the paper?"

"I didn't need to.
Psychometry is all about picking up on energy and emotion. The thermometer measures temperature, the electrometer measures electricity. I am a psychometer: I measure the psyche, or the soul."

I wonder what he
felt when he touched me. I've spent the last few years living in my own bubble, one which I've not allowed anyone else to enter. Yet with the brush of his hand, Aaron was able to read me. No wonder he ran off when I invited him in for a cup of tea.

Zara takes out a mobile phone, activates the voice recorder and places it on the table in front of Aaron.
             

"Ready when you are, Hart. Now, do you know what the ghost wants with Sasha and her father?"

Aaron opens a drawer in his desk and pulls out a wooden board with numbers and letters inscribed on it.

"Let's ask it."

Chapter 14

Tuesday 17 September 10:43pm

The wooden board is decorated with an ornate black design around the edges. In the top left it has the word "Yes" and in the top right the word "No". The centre of the board is made up of two rows of letters in alphabetical order written in ancient calligraphy, with a line of numbers below. The word "Goodbye" is written at the bottom of the board and across the top is a strange word in big, grand letters spelt "OUIJA".

"It's pronounced wee-
ja," says Aaron, having spotted my failed attempt to pronounce the unusual looking word. "It's a talking board, used for communicating with the other side."

"But aren't we already communicating with the ghost using the hangman game?" I pocket the folded paper game, my personal burden. "It keeps asking me to play."

"That's only one way communication, and it's controlled by the ghost." Aaron pulls two chairs over and invites us to sit. "It's time to take control and call the shots."

"Do we have time for this?" I ask
, worried about how long we've been under the same roof as Menzies Blake.

"That's the problem with the living," replies Aaron nonchalantly.
"Always worried about time. Your ghost, on the other hand, has a whole eternity to kill."

I only wish that killing time was the ghost's sole motivation.

"I don't see us being disturbed just yet," says Zara, reminding me of her Precog skills. "If we're going to help your dad we need to find out what it wants."

I'm not sure whether I'm more anxious about communicating with the ghost or being found by
Menzies Blake. Aaron places a small, heart-shaped wooden pointer, similar in size to a computer mouse, at the centre of the Ouija board.

"This is a
planchette," he explains. "The ghost will use it to spell out messages. Place the tips of your middle and index fingers on the top of the planchette and rest the palm of your other hand on the edge of the board."

Aaron's voice drops a few decibels as we follow his instructions.

"Clear your mind and take long, steady breaths."

That's easier said than done when
you're asthmatic, but I try my best. I notice a sudden change in temperature and the white air of our breaths becomes visible.

"Is the Hangman Ghost present?" asks Aaron.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, I'm tempted to laugh; it feels like a child's game. That is, until the table starts to vibrate and the small wooden planchette moves. I gasp and flinch.

"Stay focussed!" whispers Aaron from the side of his mouth.

Despite the fact that only the very tips of our fingers rest on the planchette, the small wooden pointer moves itself onto the word "Yes".

"How old are you?" asks Zara.

If she's spooked by any of this she's doing a great job of not showing it. The wooden pointer drifts across the board as though it's being drawn magnetically. It rests on the number "4", then moves down and over to the "0", then down briefly and back to the "0" once more.

"Four hundred," I say, my only contribution being to state the obvious.

"Your turn to ask it something," Aaron says, nudging me.

Talk about being put on the spot. I find it hard enough making conversation with the living, never mind the dead. My mouth dries up, my hands get clammy and I'm aware of the long, growing pause.

"What do you want?" I blurt out eventually.

One by one, the wooden
planchette moves and the letters are spelled out.

"A …… H … O … S … T"

As the final letter is reached the planchette violently flies off the board. A loud, screeching noise makes me jump and cover my ears. It's like a fingernail being scraped quickly and viciously down a blackboard. When the noise stops I open my eyes to see that the Ouija Board has cracked in half, like it's been hit by an invisible sledgehammer. A mirror opposite me has cracked, horribly distorting my reflection. Bizarrely, every other glass surface in the room has also cracked: light bulbs, computer monitors, jars and test tubes. It's a curse of the worst kind.

Zara and Aaron exchange worried glances.

"That's never happened before," says Aaron, far too casually. "Now you've got me interested."

"Time to go," says Zara, picking up her mobile.

Aaron wheels his chair back to block our exit.

"You know what you're dealing with here, don't you? It's a Level Three; a Poltergeist. I could feel the energy; it's pure evil. That thing is capable of spiritual attacks."

My eyes remain fixed on the broken Ouija board.

"Spiritual attacks?"
I ask.

"Uh huh," replies Aaron.
"Possession."

I shudder at the thought.

"Zara, you understand that you're not allowed to deal with Level Three entities without Blake's approval?"

"Yes, of course. I wouldn't want to jeopardise my career here, would I?"

Aaron gives Zara a knowing smile, and it's pretty obvious that this conversation has taken place many times before. Like old chess foes, both sides know all the moves, and the risks.

"Maybe I should tag along," says Aaron. "Just in case you need some muscle."

Zara wheels Aaron's chair to one side, like she's moving a chess piece into checkmate.

"I agreed to take you on an assignment," she replies. "But I didn't say it would be this one."

Aaron falls back into his chair, accepting defeat. Zara rests a hand on the table and closes her eyes; she looks like she's about to faint. I can see her eyeballs darting left then right under their lids in rapid movement.

"What's going on?" I ask, worried that this is some after-effect of the séance.

"She's having a premonition," explains Aaron.

Zara opens her eyes like she's just woken from a very deep sleep. She looks anxiously
torward the door, then turns to me.

"Blake is on his way here. Let's go."

"Not that way!" says Aaron. "Use the back door." He moves a coat stand to one side revealing a small doorway. "I'll keep Blake busy, you two get going. Good luck!"

"That will be a first," I mutter under my breath.

He latches on to my hand briefly as I pass by him, following Zara into the secret corridor. I hesitate to meet his gaze and as he lets go of my hand he whispers to me.

"Don't worry, Sasha."

I don't know whether this is a thoughtful gesture, or whether he's reading my emotions. It pleases me and confuses me at the same time. Before I have time to respond, Zara grabs me by the other hand and pulls me into the darkness.

+ + +

We make fast progress along the underground corridor and up into a stairwell. Zara walks so quickly that I am forced to half-run to keep up.  I pat my pocket to make sure my inhaler is still there, just in case. I feel the eyes of hidden CCTV cameras following us at every turn. We emerge through a side door into a deserted space, with the exception of a beaten-up Landrover. The light of a tall lamp post reflects back off its dented roof.

"Don't look so disappointed," says Zara. "Rover won't let me down."

It's an appropriate name for a car that reminds me of an old dog on its last legs. As she opens the passenger door for me, a man's voice from behind makes me jump like I've been scalded.

"Where do you think you two are going?"

It's the sickly posh voice of Menzies Blake.

"Hart, you idiot!" says Zara with a whisper-shout.

Thankfully, it's only Aaron doing a very convincing impersonation of Menzies Blake. I flex my fingers in a fist and resist the urge to throttle him for that scare. Zara shakes her head as she ushers me into the car, while Aaron jogs the distance between us casually. The shadows emphasise his muscular physique; his body is built like a machine and he makes every move look effortless. Wait. . . what in the world am I thinking? I'm not attracted to him. Lying to myself comes so easy at times.

"Hey, wait up," he says. "So where are you two going? Isn't it a bit late to catch a girly movie?"

Zara climbs into the driver's seat.

"None of your business, Hart."

"Right.
Okay. And it's got nothing to do with that Poltergeist or Menzies Blake running around the place like a man possessed? Erm, no pun intended." He winks at me before looking back to Zara. "When he came to the lab after you left I told him you were in the library. You can thank me later."

Zara's response is to turn the ignition key; nothing ignites, and I wonder whether Rover is a dead dog of a car.

"You know, taking on a Poltergeist on your own is stupid," continues Aaron. "Going against Blake is even more stupid. Doing both combined is. . . a whole different level of stupidity."

Aaron's rant seems to do little to sway Zara's conviction. She twists the key again, this time with more venom. The old car chugs and splutters, failing miserably to fire up.

"Try pumping the gas," suggests Aaron, who is standing right in front of the Landrover.

"I know!" says Zara angrily. "What is it with
men always trying to give me advice?"

I get the feeling Zara would happily mow him down just to shut him up. I've dealt with arrogant boys like Aaron and I get the feeling Zara has too. She floors the accelerator pedal and the engine roars like an angry lion. Aaron must have read something in her eyes as he suddenly drops his antics.

"Are you in trouble, Zara?"

"Never try to hide your feelings from an
Empath," she mutters to me.

The sound of another car makes me jump, its tyres shrieking in protest. Headlights appear from around the back of the mansion. Aaron agilely darts around the car and jumps onto the back seat. Zara turns on him with a furious glare, like a mother to a mischievous child.

"What the hell are you doing, Hart?"

"Going on a field trip like you promised. There's no time to argue. Are you
gonna wait for that car to block you off, or are you gonna get us out of here?"

Aaron throws down the challenge and Zara wastes no time in accepting it. She takes out her anger on Rover's accelerator. As her foot hits the floor the old car lurches forward with a screech and I'm pinned against my seat. Aaron is tossed around in the back, much to his own amusement, as Zara spins around the corner
torward the forest path. I arch my neck to catch a glimpse of our pursuer. It's the same car I travelled to The Agency in, driven by Blake's bodyguard, Ludvig.

Zara drops into second gear and Rover howls in response, wheel-spinning in the mud and spraying water from a pool that has gathered in the tyre tracks. I've seen so many action films with crazy car chases: now I'm in one. Zara's hands criss-cross on the steering wheel as she navigates the snaking road away from the mansion. Aaron whoops as we hit a bump in the road, like he's having the time of his life. We pass a sign which reads "20 mph Max.
Speed". We must be doing more than sixty.

I glance back warily, past Aaron's grinning face, to see
Ludvig in hot pursuit. I can see the outline of his shaven head leaning left, then right behind the wheel. This old car is no match for Ludvig's black Mercedes. I clutch the seat and try not to think about what I ate earlier.

"I hate to ruin all of your fun," says Aaron, "but have you given any thought to how you'll get through the security gate? It's virtually tank proof!"

Zara remains completely focused on the road ahead.

"Belt up, will you."

Aaron huffs and pulls on his seatbelt, although I get the feeling that Zara was referring to his loose tongue. A sharp right turn sends the car's back end off the forest path, spraying small stones into the air.

"Tut, tut, women drivers!"

Zara snarls at Aaron's comment as she straightens the car and stomps on the accelerator once more. A ping of metal on metal makes me glance back to see Ludvig holding a gun out of the passenger window.

"He's firing at us!" I yell.

"Keep your head down!" shouts Zara, building up speed as we near the main entrance gate to The Agency.

"Seriously?
That gate is made of reinforced steel!"

Aaron has lost the taunting edge to his voice. I glance across at Zara and I'm sure she has the hint of a smile on her lips.

"Then you'd better hold on. . ."

Her arms are braced on either side of the wheel and her smile is wide with perfect white teeth. She is the picture of composure as she barrels down the path toward the gate without hesitation. I grip the dashboard with outstretched arms, then change my mind and quickly adjust to the brace position used on airplanes.

At the last moment the car swings to the left and bursts through the wire mesh fencing next to the main gate. We swerve back onto the road on the other side. The sound of screeching brakes makes me spin in my seat in time to see Ludvig's black Mercedes crash side-on into the steel gate. Zara glances up at her rear-view mirror, a satisfied expression on her face.