The Collector Book One: Mana Leak (18 page)

The visitor cleared his throat.

“Regarding the subject, gentlemen, I was expecting, well rather hoping, to have a small chat with both of you. Providing it does not cause too much of an inconvenience on your part, of course.”

The twins, arms loaded with various snacks, both laughed.

“Mr Bumsford,” said Jake, imitating an upper class accent, “one simply cannot be bothered. But tally ho and all that!”

“Jake,” snapped Jenny. “Apologise at once!”

“Erm…no?” He grinned. “Come on bro, let’s go.”

Adam, almost doubled over with laughter, followed his brother out of the back door and towards the garage.

“I’m terribly sorry for all this. I can’t believe that they would be so rude to someone who is trying to help us.”

“Quite, but it’s fine, really,” said her visitor, although his look of utter disgust suggested otherwise.

Hearing them, Jake laughed again and swung the garage door open so his hysterical brother could carry in his load. He dumped the biscuits and crisps on the old sofa and sat back down.

“Oh man. That was great!”

“He deserved it. Coming here, all la de fucking da.”

This started Adam laughing again.

“Wonder what he wanted to talk to us about?”

Adam opened a packet of chocolate biscuits.

“Maybe speech lessons, seeing how we don’t speak proper and that.”

“Don’t be stupid,” said Jake as he moved back to the garage door. He looked back towards the house and watched through the open door his mother and the stranger, still sat at the table. His mother held her head in her hands, as if in the grip of a killer headache.

“What with his suit and the way he spoke, I reckon he must have a bob or two on him. Toffs usually do.”

“So?” asked Adam. He’d started shoving biscuits into his mouth in earnest and sprayed out crumbs as he spoke.

“What the hell do you think?” Jake smiled. “Get the bike ready.”

4.

“What is it with these…people?” The Collector asked, marching out of the Dean house. His patience, considered legendary, was already wearing thin. He’d been here longer than planned and was no closer to finding the mana. The Dean woman — woman? He’d seen desert beasts with more sex appeal — had revealed nothing. Like the old bag across the road, part of her mind had been closed off to his probing.

Being inside Eleanor McGuire’s head had been ordinary. Her mind was a pleasant, ordered place, with all her information neatly stored away. Searching it had been a breeze, akin to rifling through a filing cabinet. Jenny Dean’s mind was like trawling through a swamp. With so many feelings of despair and self-loathing, The Collector had felt dirty being inside it. He’d also seen some of her sons’ past in there.

Thugs. Simply barbarians! One really should raise one’s offspring better, alone or otherwise.

He had developed a theory regarding the mana and its effect on these few families, and he hoped his final appointment would confirm that the mana hid in the forms he suspected.

If they’ve been visited by a deceased relative…

Both his physical and mental wandering ceased at the roar of an engine from behind. He turned and stepped aside as the Dean twins sped past on a motorbike, dangerously close.

“Turn around,” shouted Jake, perched on the back and clutching onto his brother.

Adam slowed the bike and brought it around in a tight arc in the middle of the road. Pumping the accelerator, he howled with glee.

The bike shot forward with a deafening whine.

The Collector, unfazed by the youths, resumed his crossing of the road, neither slowing nor changing his path. In seconds, the bike zoomed past, accompanied by shouts and jeers mere inches in front of him. He refused to falter and walked on, head held high.

Adam swung the bike around a second time.

“What the fuck’s wrong with him?” he shouted over the engine.

“Dunno,” answered Jake. “He must have a death wish or something. Block him!”

Adam nodded and aimed for the front of the Harper house. He brought the bike to a stop as The Collector was almost across the road.

“Going somewhere?” asked Adam.

“Mr Bumsford, so glad to once again make one’s acquaintance,” said Jake.

The Collector looked back and forth at each twin.

“Let me by, gentlemen,” he said, voice calm and controlled. “Let me by, and we shall hear no more about it.”

He dared a small step forward.

Adam revved the engine hard, and both brothers laughed.

“To cross our patch, Mr Bumsford, you gotta pay! The contents of your wallet should do, eh Ad?”

“Yeah! So unless you want a fresh set of tyre tracks across that posh suit of yours, you’d better get a move on.”

Adam met The Collector’s stare and immediately started to scream, clamping his hands to his temples.

“What the hell’s up with you?” shouted Jake.

“My head! Oh my god, it hurts!”

“Probably just a hangover, you pussy.” He turned back to The Collector. “Wallet! Now!”

“Not your usual modem operandi is it?” asked The Collector. He stared at Adam’s head, imagining to bore through flesh and skull with his vision.

“My modem what?” demanded Jake.

“Well, defenceless old women are more your style, aren’t they?

“What do you mean? We don’t know nothing about that. Nothing!”

“I think you mean that you don’t know
anything
about it,” he corrected. “Two negatives make a positive, you oaf. No matter what you deny, I can see it all. Your brother is telling me everything.”

Adam moaned.

“It’s easing off,” he said. “Jeez, that hurt…”

“Listen here,” Jake screamed. “Give us your fucking wallet or we will run your arse down! Understand?”

The Collector smiled.

“Indeed, I understand,” he said. “And I’m sure that your friend will understand about what happened to his grandmother. Smithy, isn’t it?”

“Fuck, man. How does he know?” screamed Adam. “How does he know?”

Jake locked eyes with The Collector. The man in black smirked. The boy raised his right hand and massaged his temple. His teeth clenched.

“I have an appointment,” said The Collector. “Get out of my way.”

Jake rubbed his head harder. “Stop it. Stop it right now…”

A shrieking voice blasted from across the road, and all three glanced over. Jenny ran down the drive and onto the street, messy hair streaking out behind. The Collector and Jake stared back at each other.

Adam, hunched over the handlebars. “Oh man, I’m gonna chuck…”.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jenny cried at the boys, eventually reaching them.

“Nothing,” said Adam, preparing to drive off.

Jenny pounced in front of the bike.

“Don’t you dare think you’re going anywhere! I saw what you were doing. Always have to intimidate, don’t you? Always have to cause trouble…”

“Mrs Dean,” said The Collector, his hands raised, “there’s no problem here. Is there, boys?”

Jake glared at The Collector in silence while his brother, who had considerably paled, tried to level the bike. His trembling limbs fumbled with the handlebars.

“The three of us were just having a little chat. All issues have been rectified.”

Finally finding some coordination, Adam revved the bike.

“No,” shouted Jenny.

The Collector gently placed his hand on her shoulder.

“Let them go. I believe they have a lot to deal with at the moment, but may return in a better frame of mind.”

He smiled at her.

Nodding, she stepped back.

The bike immediately darted forwards, heading for the end of the street. Jake peered over his shoulder to maintain eye contact with The Collector.

Beneath his bowler hat, the traveller grinned in victory.

5.

The Collector and Jenny watched the boys speed around the corner and out of sight.

“Thank you,” said Jenny. “Oh, thank you!”

“No problem, my good woman. But what is it exactly you’re thanking me for?”

“I think that’s been the first time they have listened to someone, ever!”

“I see. Shall we remove ourselves from the middle of the road?” said The Collector, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, yes,” said Jenny, blushing once again.

They crossed to the pavement outside the Harper house.

“They’ve been tearaways for years,” Jenny continued. “Everyone around here is terrified of them.”

“Including you?”

Jenny looked to the ground and prodded a stone around with the toe of her shoe.

“Yes, I suppose I am. There’s nothing I can do. Ever since Harold passed away, it’s been so hard…”

She fiddled with a golden ring on her chain.

“But they listened to you,” she exclaimed. “Whatever you said, it worked!”

The Collector chuckled.

“I did nothing remarkable, believe me. Maybe all the situation needed was some straight talking.”

“I think they’ve been lacking a male role model. For years now, it’s just been the three of us.”

“Was their father firm with them as children?”

“Oh yes,” said Jenny, glancing up and smiling. For an instant, she appeared younger, her features bonny rather than fat. “He was a firm believer in discipline. Did the boys good at the time. I mean, look at them now. Look what they’ve turned into without him around.”

“Really?” The Collector checked out the Harper house, his boredom with the woman growing. She was a talker.

“They never got into too much trouble when they were small. Harold had one threat that they were absolutely terrified of. He always told them that if they were naughty, he’d lock them in the wardr—”

She stopped mid-word, her mouth hanging open. She held up her ring and looked to her finger and back again.

“My dear,” said The Collector, a huge grin pushing his cheeks. “Whatever is the matter? You look like you’ve seen a ghost…”

“I…I…” She continued to gaze back and forth between ring and finger. “I…I think I’d better go back inside now.”

“A splendid idea. And don’t you worry your head about those boys. Things will sort themselves out.”

“Yes,” said Jenny, appearing to not really listen. She staggered back across the road.

Stupid, stupid woman!
The Collector watched her disappear into the house.
Only just realised what’s been going on?

He turned back towards the Harper house.

Following the harvest of knowledge from the minds of Jenny Dean and the old woman, a plan developed for the Harpers. No financial advisor or paranormal investigator here. Mr and Mrs Harper’s relationship seemed a little turbulent; McGuire’s mind contained worry for the woman, while Dean’s was full of gossip on the matter. He decided some kind of social worker may gain their trust. Child welfare? No, too threatening. He wanted the Harper woman’s help. Women’s protection? Too…knowing. Frank Harper’s violence remained only hearsay from the minds of the neighbours. He’d play it open and skim the surface of her thoughts on arrival, see what might suit.

Besides knowledge on the family and the state of the marriage, he’d discovered another valuable piece of information.

The Harpers lost a daughter to Leukaemia several years ago. Interesting…

If only one of the family had seen or heard the dead girl, it proved the mana was here and had affected the whole street.

It also ignited fresh worry in The Collector.

He guessed the mana hadn’t simply leaked as he’d first presumed, rather been pulled or summoned. The loss felt by the two women had been strong. They both missed their husbands terribly, and would do anything to get them back. He assumed it would be the same for the Harpers and their daughter.

So the mana has been drawn here, and the residents have experienced it as best as their puny minds could. They’re sensing ghosts.

It’s like Devon all over again…

He chuckled and straightened his suit.

But by the suns,
if they think that I’m here to take away the spirits of their loved ones, they’ll probably put up a fight. It’s no wonder they have closed of certain parts of their minds to me; they think they are protecting these ghosts.

He hoped for a mistake; he’d wait for one of them to slip up and reveal where the mana was, or even loosen their mind a crack and let him further inside. Getting his hands dirty was not an option in this assignment, but if things carried on like this…

Things will work out. They always do. No need to get nasty…yet.

With this in mind, he opened Harper’s gate and stepped onto the garden path.

Best to do this quickly. Montgomery must really be getting restless by now.

6.

Betsy lay curled up in her basket in the kitchen. She whined in discomfort and shifted slightly, feeling full of liquid.

Something had been wrong outside last night, something wrong with the garden. Static dominated the air, brushing and tickling her fur. She had stayed tightly curled up in her basket, not daring to venture into the garden.

She knew better than to relieve herself inside. Previous punishments were still bitter memories.

Giving in and releasing another small moan, Betsy slunk out of her blanket-lined basket and approached the back door.

She barked, knowing one of the family would soon come running and let her out. If not soon, she’d have to go all over the floor.

The kitchen door swung open, and Betsy wagged her tail as the boy walked in.

“Want to go outside, girl?” he asked her.

She barked again and wagged her tail with added enthusiasm.

The boy opened a drawer and removed a large ring of keys. Sorting the large, iron back door key from the rest, he patted the dog on the head as he passed her. She patiently waited despite the pain, watching him from behind. Turning the key and sliding the deadbolt, he opened the door.

Betsy squinted against the sudden sunlight and dashed outside. She ran straight into the grass and squatted down. The back door closed, and she relieved herself. Finished, the dog sprinted back to the door. The boy had closed it completely.