The Truth About Celia Frost (23 page)

“Listen, lady! I don’t want to know who you are,” Frankie replied, “but I’m a private detective not a kidnapper.”

“I beg to differ, Mr. Byrne,” she said disdainfully. “I did my homework before I chose you for this job. I know that you’ll do whatever it takes to get your
fee.”

“But this is different; we’re talking about an innocent kid here.”

“No, we’re talking about a walking time bomb!” she retorted. “Would you rather the girl was left mingling with the public every day, only an accident away from unleashing
this virus? Is that what you want? Would that be the right thing to do? I’m the only person who can deal with this properly. By bringing her to me, you’ll be doing the right thing for
once in your life.”

There was a heavy pause until Frankie eventually spoke. “What are you going to do with her?”

“Take her back to where she belongs,” came the enigmatic answer. “Now for God’s sake, get her before it’s too late.”

As Frankie sprinted towards the Bluebell Towers, Celia was making her way unsteadily down the stairs. She called Sol’s number. His voice jumped on her with relief.

“Celia! What have you been doing? You said you’d call me.”

“Are you feeling okay?” Celia asked, her voice vague, spaced out.

“Yeah,
I’m
fine. It’s you I’m worried about. What’s going on? I’m coming over to see you.”

“No, you can’t. I don’t want you to. I need to be alone, have some time to think what to do.”

“What are you on about? What’s happened?” Sol said anxiously.

“Sol – everything’s changed.” Celia’s voice cracked. “You’ve got to keep away from me; everyone’s got to keep away from me.”

“Celia, you’re not making any sense. I’m coming over,” he said, finishing the call before she could protest.

Celia turned off her phone and quickened her step down the stairs.

Frankie slowed to walking pace as he entered the courtyard of the tower blocks, aware of the CCTV cameras. His eyes scoured the area, but there was no sign of her. He’d
been quick, maybe she hadn’t left the building yet. He entered the starkly lit lobby of Tower Two and looked up at the numbers above the two lifts. One displayed a
10
, but the other
was showing it was on the twentieth floor – Celia’s floor.

Could she still be up there
? Frankie wondered
. Maybe Janice persuaded her to come back.

He hesitated, debating what would be his best course of action. He looked like he had a nervous twitch, his head jerking back and forth between the lift displays and the outside courtyard. He
deliberated for a few seconds more; if he’d missed her, he didn’t have any leads on where she might be heading, so what could he lose by going up to the flat and checking out if she was
still there? Yes, decision made! He pressed the button to call the lift. It seemed to reach him so quickly, he wondered if it was in free fall.

The doors pinged open and he entered the empty box, pressing the button for the top floor. A stinking yellow liquid sloshed around his feet. The doors began to judder shut. He momentarily looked
up from the foul substance, only to see a figure crossing the lobby and passing out into the courtyard, the flash of orange hair unmistakable.

Frankie reacted immediately, thrusting his foot into the wafer-thin opening, but the doors continued to close, regardless of the obstruction. He dragged his foot out before it was completely
crushed. He hit the button to open the doors but they ignored the command and sealed tight shut. He punched
1
,
2
,
3
,
4
, desperate to stop the lift’s ascent, but
all to no avail. The lift creaked and squealed its way slowly and painfully, like an arthritic old man, on its unstoppable mission to reach the highest floor.

“Who the hell takes the stairs from the twentieth floor?!” he fumed, kicking the wall of his stinking cage.

Sol’s bike weaved through the passageways towards Bluebell Towers. As he took a sharp corner he slammed on his brakes, skidding to a stop. In the distance, walking
towards the main road, he spotted Celia. He shouted out to her, “Celia, wait up!”

He wasn’t sure whether she heard him or not, but she didn’t turn around or even hesitate as she continued onwards. She disappeared around a corner and Sol went racing after her, but
as the main road came into view he saw where she was heading. The last bus into the city sat at the stop opposite, its engine ticking over. The bus driver folded up his newspaper and the doors
hissed open to let Celia on. She made her way past the smattering of other late night passengers and sat on the back seat. Sol shot out across the road and banged on the window, shouting.
“Celia – where are you going? Why won’t you talk to me?”

Wordlessly, she pressed the palms of her gloved hands against the window and looked at him with such sorrowful eyes that he felt an overwhelming sense of dread. The bus crunched into gear and
moved off. Sol shouted hopelessly after it.

Meanwhile, a furious Frankie Byrne had extricated himself from the lift and was sprinting back towards his car as fast as his heavy frame would carry him. He didn’t have
a clue where to look next. He briefly listened in to Janice to see if he could pick up any leads, but only sobbing filled the airwaves. He had no better option than driving around the estate,
keeping his eyes peeled.

He knew that every minute that passed decreased his chances of finding her. His car crawled around the estate, passing bored gangs and loud drunks. He reached the junction which led onto the
main road. He glanced both ways before pulling out, slamming on the brakes as a boy riding an unlit bike came tearing out of nowhere. The boy’s skinny legs were pumping the pedals like a
maniac, his teeth were gritted, and he was concentrating so hard that he didn’t even notice the car that had nearly ploughed into him. Frankie’s hand hovered over the horn, but he
stopped as the boy’s face was momentarily illuminated as he sped under a street light.

“I know that face. It’s her friend, the boy in the cafe. Now where’s he going in such a hurry?” A hopeful glint appeared in Frankie’s eyes as he watched Sol’s
progress down the road.

Frankie followed at a discreet distance, letting other cars pass. The boy’s pace was relentlessly fast as he powered along the tarmac. Cars beeped angrily as their headlights fell on the
reckless cyclist shrouded in darkness.

Frankie calculated that they’d gone about five kilometres and was convinced that the boy must be heading all the way into the city, but then, without warning, Sol swerved off the road and
bumped his way across one of the surrounding fields. Frankie pulled over and jumped out of the car. The boy was heading straight for a wood. Frankie must have passed it on his journey to and from
the city; but he hadn’t paid any attention to the sprawling area. He couldn’t afford to lose sight of the boy if there was a chance he would lead him to Celia. He opened the glove
compartment and prised away its false back to reveal the small chamber behind. He pulled on a pair of leather gloves and wrapped his hand around the cold metal of the gun concealed in the chamber.
Then, from out of the boot, he grabbed a weighty rucksack and slung it over his shoulders, before yomping after the disappearing boy.

Sol abandoned his bike at the treeline and picked his way through the woods. The moonlight struggled to penetrate the tree canopy, but the darkness wasn’t an obstacle to
Sol. He knew this place too well and within minutes he’d reached the discreet hole under the wire fencing. He slithered under as effortlessly as a snake. Even though he’d lost sight of
the bus within minutes of pursuing it, Sol was convinced that Celia would be heading for the flooded quarry. He felt it in his bones.

Frankie Byrne was surprisingly light-footed when necessary and he stalked his prey through the woods like a nimble ballerina. Only the hooting of an owl disturbed the eerie quiet. His
night-vision goggles were trained on the green figure cutting in and out of the trees ahead of him. He ducked behind a thick tree trunk and watched as the lithe boy slid under the fence and
continued deeper into the woods. As soon as Frankie dared, he got out a pair of pliers from his rucksack and snipped the wire, before pulling it apart to form a gap that he could squeeze his ample
belly through.

Sol may have been in front but it was Frankie who saw Celia first. As he skirted around Sol’s path, he glimpsed her through the trees; a desolate figure standing at the top of the slab
steps. She was looking out over the lake, her head bowed, her arms wrapped around herself. He had to act quickly; he had to stop the boy before he saw her. Frankie couldn’t afford to have any
witnesses.

Sol was fast approaching the lakeside – any second now Celia would be in view – but Frankie was behind him so quickly it was as if he’d been teleported. Sol heard a sudden rush
of breaking twigs on the ground, but before he even had time to turn around he felt a hammer-like blow on the back of his skull and then...nothing.

Celia heard a thud as Sol’s body hit the ground. She turned around, calling out anxiously into the dark forest. “Who’s there? Sol, is that you?”

Frankie immediately walked out of the shadows to reveal himself and shield Sol’s form from view. “Hi, Celia.” He approached her with his palms raised as if he were
surrendering.

“Who are you? How do you know my name? What are you doing here?” The questions came tumbling out in alarm.

“Don’t worry. I’m here to help you.” Frankie spoke as gently as a purring tiger. “I’m Detective Inspector Paul Garner.” He pulled out a police badge
from a pocket and flashed it at her.

She peered at him in confusion. “I know you from somewhere. I’ve seen you before. You...you were that bloke in the city, the volunteer in that fire act.”

Frankie gave a convincingly playful laugh. “Yeah, how stupid did I look?”

“But why are...” Celia struggled to finish, her mind already overloaded.

“We’ve been following you, Celia. We had to make sure we had the right person. We’ve been looking for you for years. We know about the virus, we know about everything. I can
help you.”

“If you really knew about the virus then you’d know that no one can help me,” she replied bitterly.

“You’re wrong, Celia. I don’t know what you’ve been told but an antidote has been developed. It was ready years ago. If Janice had only gone to the authorities, you
wouldn’t have had to go through all this. But all that matters is that we’ve found you. Just come with me and we’ll get rid of this thing.”

Celia shook her head. “No! It can’t be true.”

“Of course it is. Now, come with me.” He smiled, holding his hands out to her. She stepped hesitantly towards him, their fingertips touching, when, out of the darkness, a moan rose
up.

Her hands shot away from his. “What was that? There’s someone there!”

“It’s just an animal,” he replied quickly. “This place must be teeming with them. Come on, it’s creepy here. Let’s go.”

“That’s no animal.” She ducked past him and saw Sol’s inert body on the forest floor. “Sol!” she screamed. “What have you done to him?”

Frankie had positioned himself in front of her, blocking her way. “He’ll be fine,” he said coldly. “Now come with me.”

Celia’s eyes darted around, looking for an escape route. She faltered backwards onto the top slab. There was no way past his brick-wall body and only the lake lay far below her.

They shifted and swayed, as he mirrored her every move, like two mismatched sumo wrestlers in deadlock. Celia tried to wrong-foot him, jerking right, then left, but this only amused him.

She stepped back. Her heels hung over the edge of the slab, a sheer drop below.

“Come on, little girl,” he scoffed, moving in on her. “You’re not in the playground now. There’s nowhere to run.”

But he was suddenly silenced as, without warning, Celia turned her back on him and threw herself into the lake.

She shattered the surface of the still waters, causing pandemonium among the sleeping wildlife. Birds flew up in fright; foxes called out from the woods, sounding like distressed babies; and
flustered mallards skimmed across the water, offering a chorus of laughter in response to Celia’s inelegant entry.

“Oh for God’s sake!” shouted Frankie, throwing his arms up in frustration.

Celia kicked her way to the surface and gasped as she trod water. Her clothes clung to her; her trainers felt like bricks weighing down her feet.

“Stop mucking about. I don’t have time for this,” Frankie sighed, pulling out his gun and pointing it at her bobbing head. “Get out now or I’ll shoot.”

Logic may have dictated that she should do as he said, but her instincts were telling her not to. If that man, whoever he was, captured her, she had no chance of helping Sol. She had to believe
that she could save her friend. She had to believe that both of them could make it out of this alive.

She was a sitting duck; she had to get moving. Screwing up her eyes, she waited for the bullets to fly as her arms and legs splashed against the water.

Frankie couldn’t believe that she was defying him. “What’s wrong with you, Celia? Do you want to die? Get here now!” he roared, but still she continued.