Misty Falls (28 page)

OK, I’d just have to scream an appeal for help and hope a local savant was listening. At the very least I wanted Alex to know it was Johan, even if I couldn’t save myself.

Not that I was giving up. At the bottom of Misty ‘Screwup’ Devon, I discovered I had a deep and firm foundation of stubbornness. Johan had had it easy from me so far only because I had been more scared than angry; in Oregon he was going to find I was one pissed off savant.

Phoenix and Sky had advised me what to do, little knowing I’d need their words of wisdom so soon. Look for anything to be a weapon and use it. OK, I had my truth gift, some telekinetic powers, and ace hand-eye coordination. That had to add up to something. I was not going like a lamb to the slaughter.

A line from a favourite Dylan Thomas poem came to mind: ‘Do not go gentle into that good night.’ Though written for old age, it felt appropriate for what I faced. Johan’s method of killing was oddly gentle: obscene but without violence. I was going to rage against it.

When we began our final descent into Portland, it was still daylight. We’d been travelling with the time zones in our favour, making Wednesday stretch like melted mozzarella. I’d taken advantage of having a bed and made sure I got enough rest. I hoped Johan was sitting up in his executive seat and getting a crick in his neck, not able to sleep a wink in case I tried something. That offered a little satisfaction. I buckled in for the landing. As I watched the ground get closer, it dawned on me that I had been so caught up with strategies for escape that I had given little thought to the reason for Johan’s visit. He had said something about family time. None of my family lived here and I thought Alex was his only relative.

Only relative who acknowledged him, I corrected.

But Alex’s dad, Johan’s brother, was last heard of in South America, wasn’t he? Maybe we were catching another flight. Johan was covering his tracks.

Don’t get taken aboard another plane, I told myself. At least here you speak the same language. Going south will not improve your situation.

Wheels touched down.

Johan entered the cabin. ‘Right, Misty. Same deal as before and this time I hope you are convinced of the futility of shouting for help?’

I nodded.

‘I’ll just speak with the immigration authorities then we’ll be out of here. Something of a drive ahead, I’m afraid.’

So at least we weren’t catching another plane.

‘OK.’

He took out a new set of ties. ‘If you don’t mind.’

Of course I minded. I held up my wrists.

‘This gift of yours—it’s pretty awesome.’ I wondered if flattery would get him to spill a few more hints about how it worked.

‘Thank you, my dear. I’ve found it useful.’ He gently tugged the ties and I got up. ‘People just don’t see what I want to blank out. I’m like the invisible man, except I can make others disappear too. You can’t imagine what that has allowed me to do over the years in my long search.’ He opened the cabin door.

‘Feeling better, Mr Smith?’ asked Hebe, hovering in the aisle.

Johan rubbed his stomach. ‘Just a touch of something. I feel much better already.’ So that was how he explained his frequent trips into the cabin.

But he was lying. That gave me the first chink. I purposely let go of my control. It was like letting go of your breath after holding it in for as long as possible: instant relief.

‘I hope it wasn’t something you ate?’ Hebe handed him a briefcase.

He opened his mouth to say it was exactly that but instead out came, ‘No, I just had someone to check on in the cabin.’ He looked shocked at what he had admitted.

Hebe’s face registered her confusion.

Johan quickly raised another topic. ‘Well then, I’ll see you next time I fly. Saturday.’

His odd remark was replaced by thoughts of giving the company script to a frequent flyer. ‘Indeed, sir, it will be my pleasure to see you on board again. You are a most undemanding passenger.’ Hebe frowned, surprised that she had admitted this.

Johan’s grip on my wrist tightened painfully. He had worked out who was to blame. ‘See you then. Goodbye.’

He pulled me with him out of the plane. The air outside was like a dash of cold water in the face.

‘One more trick like that and I’ll be forced to kill,’ he hissed.

‘You’re going to kill me anyway,’ I replied stubbornly.

‘I meant I’d have to kill that stewardess and the pilot. Do you want that on your conscience?’

Like this was my fault? I wasn’t the one doing the kidnapping here.

A black limo waited at the bottom of the steps. Johan opened the rear door and pushed me inside.

‘To the terminal building, please,’ he ordered the chauffeur.

As at Stansted, VIPs did not have to queue with ordinary people. Johan left me in the car as he went to complete his immigration papers. He tied my plastic handcuffs to the door handle. I hoped for a brief moment that I would still be able to appeal to the chauffeur but he got out and accompanied Johan across the sidewalk into the terminal building, hand tucked in his jacket in an armed-and-dangerous stance, giving away that he acted as bodyguard as well as driver.

But Johan had left his briefcase.

I scuffed it closer with my feet, straining to hitch it up from the floor to the seat. When it touched my thigh, I bent over it and used my chin to scoop it onto my lap—not an easy move. Sweating with fear that I would be discovered, I glanced over to the terminal. Johan was close, just the other side of the glass chatting with the official, giving every impression of being a relaxed, innocent traveller. There was very little give in my hands, but by jiggling the case, I managed to get the front clasps within reach. This would all be for nothing if he had set the combination. Click—the first clasp sprang up. Click—then the second. I lifted the lid, shoving my fingers in the gap. It was nearly empty, just a few sheets and photos inside. I quickly scanned the ones on the top. The photo showed a family outside a blue house with a white fence: a couple and a son who looked about my age or a little younger. He had a baseball cap on so I couldn’t make much out about his face but the father was distinctly familiar—a mixture of Johan and Alex. Roger. It had to be Alex’s dad. So that was Alex’s mother—the pale-faced woman with a haunted expression and long brown hair. So maybe the boy was another son? From what Alex had told me he didn’t even know he had a brother.

The top sheet of paper was from a private detective agency and gave an address and map. A street in a place called Florence, Oregon. From the map I could see that it was on the Pacific coast. I now knew where we were going but no idea why Johan thought I should be along for the ride. He already knew what his brother thought of him; there had never been any lying there. This was no friendly holiday get-together.

A quick look up and I saw time was running out. Johan and the bodyguard were heading back to the car. I closed and fastened the briefcase, then kicked it back to roughly where he had left it. Now all I had to do was look innocent.

Johan got back in the car. He glanced once at the briefcase to check it was in place but, if he thought it had shifted, he appeared not to connect it with me. He rapped on the window between us and the driver; the limo began to move. With a satisfied huff, he pulled the case onto his knee, opened it and put his passport inside. I noticed that it was an American one. I suppose that identity fraud was nothing to a man with his talents. He might even have American citizenship for all I knew. If I was to anticipate his next step, it would be helpful to know more about him. Silence wasn’t gaining me anything. I thought a natural question from someone in my position would be to ask where we were going, even though I knew the answer.

‘Uncle Johan, where are we headed?’ I made myself as trusting as I could manage without my gift defeating me.

‘I’ve invited myself to my brother’s for Thanksgiving.’

‘Does he know I’m coming?’

Johan chuckled. ‘He doesn’t know I am coming so he certainly doesn’t know about you. If he were a decent man, he would be interested in his son and the people in his son’s life, but there you are: that’s Roger du Plessis for you.’

And that measured up against killing how exactly? I bit back the acerbic comment.

‘So you want to convince him to change his mind about Alex?’ Please let it be something as innocent as that.

Johan curled his lips in distaste. ‘He doesn’t deserve a second chance with his son. He abandoned a three-year-old: that is all you need to know about my brother. My own parents were so proud of him; I bet they would’ve cheered him doing even something like that to his own flesh and blood.’

‘It was very cruel of Alex’s parents.’ I could at least agree with him on that.

‘Roger is just like our father: a cold-hearted, prejudiced man. It’s time he was shaken out of his complacency. He thinks he rules his family but really he’s never understood the first thing about it.’

‘And you’re what? Going to shatter that complacency?’

Johan shook his head. ‘No, my dear, you are.’

The car skimmed over the miles of freeway, soon shrugging off the suburbs of Portland and out onto the open road. I bit my fingernail as I gazed out at the fields, woods and hills of Oregon. It was beautiful in its winter dress of leafless trees and frosted grass.

‘An interesting place, Oregon,’ said Johan conversationally, following my gaze. ‘Exports a huge percentage of the world’s turf and grass seed. My brother works as an agent for a large seed company. I should have guessed sooner where he would go to ground after so many moves around the world; he was always keen on plants as a child.’

‘And what were you interested in, Uncle Johan?’

He gave a flick of a grin. ‘Nothing.’

Dangerous topic. ‘And his wife, Alex’s mother, what does she do?’

‘Miriam? She hides.’

‘Do you mean she hides out in the home?’

He put a finger up between us, warning me to stop. ‘Enough questions.’

The threat was sufficient to make further words wither. I was so tired—tired of being terrified rather than physically weary. I curled my knees up to my chest.

‘Feet off the seat.’

I put my legs down. I turned slightly so my head rested on its side away from him and closed my eyes. I would make myself unobtrusive so he had no call to use his powers on me. I hated that sensation of absence. He took away my basic right to life with his control over my consciousness. One nudge further and I’d never wake up again.

Many hours later, the car drew up outside a motel.

‘I’ve made a booking for you as you requested, sir, for the largest and best-equipped cabin,’ said the driver over the intercom. ‘Your hire car will be with you at nine tomorrow morning and the keys will be left under your door.’

‘Thank you, Chandler.’

‘Thank you for choosing Silver Fleet. Enjoy the rest of your stay.’

‘I have every intention of doing so.’

Johan gave me a look, not even specifying what he expected from me as I already knew. I nodded. Chandler opened the door on his side and Johan got out, tugging on my bound wrists to signal that I should follow. The bright lights of the motel spilled out into a foggy night, stopping only metres from their source. The motel was a series of large cabins with a parking space in front of each. It was possible to go straight in and out of your room without passing through any public areas—no doubt why Johan had chosen it. If Chandler thought it odd that a rich man like Johan had picked a three-star motel over a luxury hotel, he made no comment.

‘I’ll fetch the key for you, sir. I called ahead to warn them of our arrival; the door is unlocked.’

‘Excellent.’ Johan gave him a crisp nod, waited for him to set off for reception before opening the door of Number Five. ‘Make yourself comfortable in the bathroom, Misty, while I say goodbye to our driver.’

I hesitated, wondering if this was another chance for me to run. Only my wrists were bound.

Johan anticipated me. ‘Remember that any resistance on your part will only get other people killed.’

I walked into the bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub. It had recently been refurbished: dark slate floor and tiles, shiny vanity unit, and pure white basin and bath. The grouting was bright chalk-white; the place looked barely used. Little soap wrapped up in fancy lavender cellophane. No windows. The ceiling fan hummed, drowning out the brief conversation between Johan and our driver. The cabin was very big so they were quite some distance from me in any case, even without the motor noise.

Johan tapped on the door. ‘It’s safe to come out now.’

I emerged to find that he had drawn the curtains. Two double beds divided by a shelved unit, and a kitchenette completed the spacious facilities. A picnic dinner was spread on the circular table by the window.

‘Wrists.’

I lifted my hands and he sliced the ties. My skin was raw after wearing the plastic for so many hours. Johan tutted as if that were my fault.

‘I suggest you bathe those in cold water.’

I returned to the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror in a vacant way. I felt empty. My face was paler than normal, grey eyes wide with a permanent state of shock, hair in a wild tangle. I splashed some water into my face to stimulate my brain. I had to keep my wits, keep looking for that weakness.