The last couple of days had been good.
He still had the camera around his neck as he approached the door to Russell’s apartment. He hoped that there hadn’t been many reporters around already, to the point of totally getting on the boy’s nerves. But that is usually looked upon as invasion of privacy. In this sort of story, the best angle would be to organise an interview prior to showing up rather than harassing. In the case of the latter, you faced the possibility that the talent, as Russell was referred to, wouldn’t want to talk to that particular paper or program at all, or ever again in the future if there were further developments. Most newspapers couldn’t afford such a reputation anyway, so they stuck to the old ‘call before you come’ policy. Again, being a freelance photographer meant Stacey had a bit more leeway, not having to represent a particular paper and worry about their ideas of ethics and policy.
Besides, he wasn’t here on journalistic terms.
He found the door without too much trouble. He need only follow his nose next time. The smell from the patisserie was almost overwhelming. But he stole himself away and knocked on the door to Russell’s apartment.
“Can I help you?”
Stacey turned to regard the man speaking to him.
“Russell? Russell Paige?”
The boy, well, man, but he looked like he was only sixteen, despite his actual age, spotted the camera and backed away slowly. He hadn’t been close to begin with, obviously not trusting the man at his door. Stacey couldn’t afford to let him get away.
“Wait. I’m not a reporter. Well, I am, but that’s not why I’m here.”
Russell’s left eye brow raised slightly, “Then why the camera?”
Stacey looked down at the beautiful piece in his hand, a true work of art it was. Forget the photos it took, it was fine enough to look at on its own, “Habit, sorry.”
“What do you want?”
Stacey stood his ground, trying not to seem too imposing. It was hard anyway, being a short man for a start, “Simply to talk.”
“What about?”
“I can see you’re a suspicious one. Don’t blame you, really. Not after everything.”
Russell took another step back, his eyes almost accusing the cockney with a simple look, “What do you know about ‘everything’?”
“I’m sorry?” this actually confused Stacey a little.
Russell’s eyes widened in realisation; “You’re with them!”
“What?”
“You tell who ever it is you’re working for to stay the hell away from me. Your two friends from earlier can vouch that I’m more than capable of looking after myself.”
Two friends? What was the boy talking about? Then Stacey made the realisation.
“No. You got it wrong. I’m not with them. I know about them, but I assure you, I’m not involved that way.”
“And I’m supposed to believe that?”
Stacey thought about it, “No. Not really. But I’d really appreciate it if you did.”
“No doubt.”
“Look,” Stacey took a deep breath, fighting with his inner conscience. He was about to do something he would never consider doing in normal circumstances. When he continued, his speech was long and drawn out, fighting to finish the sentence, “I’ll give you my camera.”
“What? What would I want that for?”
“Let me finish. If you just let me talk to you for a couple of minutes, I’ll give you my camera as, like, a form of insurance.”
“Forget that. Why would I care about a bloody camera?”
“Watch your mouth, boy!”
That totally riled Stacey. Anyone could see the camera was practically worth its weight in gold. Nobody dissed the camera, especially when it was hung around his neck, or they would have to answer to Stacey’s temper.
Russell looked a bit surprised. This guy had to be crazy. Or damn possessive about his camera. He certainly wasn’t someone to trust.
“Stacey, calm down.”
A woman spoke from behind him. Russell turned and backed against the patisserie window, making sure no one else could take him by surprise.
“Russell Paige? My name is Pamela Dauber. Call me Pam. We need to talk.”
She was a damn attractive woman, that’s who she was. Russell’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. For one thing, she was wearing a black, tight top, which left little to the imagination. She also wore a dark jacket over the top that did little to conceal her ‘womanhood’ and the curvature of her hips was more than evident in her tight skirt. She wore tall black boots. A very sexy look that suited her to a T. She was perfect. Toned, yet supple. Her dark eyes, though outwardly kind, were something else when you looked into them. There was an inherent sanguinary quality to them that suggested she would rip your heart out if you ever got on her bad side. This sense was enhanced by her long black hair which added an almost animalistic quality to her as it hung straight down either side of her face and over her breasts, Russell wasn’t sure if the colour was natural or not. Her make-up was impeccable which implied she was direct and knew her business and it was more than clear this woman was not to be messed with.
Russell managed to blink and nod at the same time, but his words were caught in his throat.
“Pam?”
The man called Stacey was gawking.
“Surprised?”
“That is one new look I’ll never complain about.”
Pam smiled, her brilliant red lips never parting, adding to the mystery of this seemingly complex woman.
Thankfully Stacey knew who she was. It was the kind of thing Pam would do, but never as dramatic as this. He raised the camera to his eye and quickly got off a couple of shots. There was no way he was missing this opportunity.
“Stacey.”
“Sorry.”
“Now, Russell. Is there somewhere we can go?”
“Are you alright out here?” It was Mrs Rites, the patisserie owner. She was standing in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Uh, yes, everything’s fine. Thanks. Though I would love three of your custard tarts.”
Mrs Rites smiled, “I’ll just get them for you, Russ.”
Russell looked back at the two strangers as Mrs Rites re-entered the store, “First I need something to eat, then we can go upstairs.”
* * *
“You’re a hard man to find.”
They were sitting in the living room slash bedroom of Russell’s apartment. There was a sofa where Stacey and Pam sat, Stacey leaning back, his arm along the backrest and Pam sitting forward, obviously a little uncomfortable in the skirt, and Russell sat on a sofa chair. They each had a mug of tea; Russell cradled his in his hands.
“I’ve a silent number.”
“We know.”
“But who ever is after me isn’t finding it so difficult.”
“You mean they’ve come after you again?”
“Yes. Two guys this afternoon. I don’t know how they found me. Probably followed me from Greyson’s.”
“That’s where we lost you.”
Russell found this all uncomfortable; “You’ve been tailing me, too?”
Pam, who’d been doing most of the talking, took a sip of her tea before answering; “We’ve been trying to get in contact with you. We were lucky we had someone to get your address off.”
“Who?”
“My employer.”
“Where do you work?”
“A tabloid newspaper. It doesn’t matter.”
“Was that your paper with me on the front, the ‘Demon Bomb’?”
Pam smiled, a little embarrassed, “That was my article, and Stacey’s photo.”
“I don’t think it was a Demon Bomb. It was set up in a van.”
“We know. I just based the article on the photo. Some of it was fact; most of it was fiction. That’s the sort of paper it is, though my boss tends to get a little too caught up in it all.”
“So what do you want with me?”
r /> Stacey pulled the second photograph out of his brown leather jacket and threw it onto the coffee table.
“We had more proof. You aren’t just a once off news item.”
Russell started to get up, annoyed, “You said you weren’t here as reporters.”
Pam put up her hand to stop him, “We’re not. It’s a little more complicated than that. You’re in danger.”
“So?”
“We’re here to help.”
Russell sat down, letting out a laugh, “And what are you going to do? Keep stalking me?”
Stacey hopped forward on his seat; “We were only trying to get close to you to talk.”
“I know. But you’re obviously not the only ones. Those other guys did a lot better job of it.”
“It’s because of Greyson’s. They don’t know where you live, but it seems common knowledge where you work. They’ll be targeting you there from now on I suspect.”
The realisation kicked in, “Great! What am I supposed to do? I work there. I need to work.”
“That’s why we’re here.”
“You keep saying that, but what? What can you do?”
“Keep an eye on you for one thing.”
“Perfect! And when they come after me again, you can watch from the side lines when they kick my head in.”
Pam smiled at him, lowering her mug to the table, “Not quite. We’re a bit better equipped than that.”
“You sound like all talk. That’s all you’ve done. You’ve shown me no real proof that I can trust you. I don’t even know why you’re interested. It’s not like its human nature to go out of your way to help someone else, especially if it means risking your own backsides for it.”
“Look,” Stacey lifted his hand, pointing his finger into the air. Russell followed with his eyes, looking toward the ceiling. There was nothing there.
“What?”
“No. Look.”
Russell looked back at Stacey’s hand and nearly jumped out of his seat.
Extending from the tip of his index finger was a thin tongue of flame. It licked into the air, dancing mildly, but apparently not fuelled by anything but the air. It stood about four inches high, though as Russell watched, it dipped and flared and lashed about before dying.
“You guys. You’re…”
“Very much like you,” Pam finished his sentence, “Yes. That’s why we’re here. There aren’t many of us, and when people find out about us, the reception is far from friendly.”
“But, how?”
“It’s different for everyone,” The mug on the coffee table began to rise, literally floating on thin air, and moved into Pam’s open hand, “Stacey and I were born with our abilities. You, as you well know, had a catalyst that set yours off.”
“The explosion.”
“Right. Which is another reason why we’re here.”
Stacey spoke up; “We need to find out about that bomb, how it did what it did to you and who was behind it in the first place. Someone wielding that power can be dangerous, the effects could be disastrous.”
“So let me get this straight, “You two have powers. His is what, pyrotechnics and yours is telekinetics,” Pam nodded, allowing him time to comprehend it all, “And you both pose as journalists at a weird-arse newspaper as cover as well as to allow you a possible medium for finding others like you.”
“Like us.”
“Whatever. Isn’t that all a little too clichéd? Like in comic books. Spiderman, Superman. Reporters for newspapers.”
Stacey laughed, “Leads me to the idea maybe the writers of those books might be just like us. Why else would they be preaching such tolerance? It could be a case they’ve taken our job just that little bit further and made a political game of it.”
“So what now, then?”
“We don’t know. We were hoping you could perhaps fill us in with any information you have.”
“I don’t know anything.”
“What did you see at the explosion?”
“Nothing. A van, just like the one from the night you took that second picture, but that was all. No people, no bomb, no anything.”
“Sounds like the bomb was planted inside the van.”
Pam nodded, “Have you any idea who these people are?”
Russell shook his head, “No. They just wear black and they’re starting to send big bruisers after me, not to mention they don’t seem to care whether I’m dead or alive any more.”
“How so?”
“They were shooting at me.”
Pam glanced at Stacey, “Not good.”
“You’re telling me. I had to call up a storm to lose them; nearly lost control of it. Could have damaged the whole building I was under.”
“You might want to watch that,” Stacey replied, “Don’t try doing anything too drastic with your abilities just yet. You have to ease into them, not use them full force. Learn self control.”
“Like I have a choice when I’m being shot at.”
“Which could be a problem. But it also means we need to get to the bottom of this as soon as we can.”
Russell moved forward on his seat, “Well, what do we need to do?”
* * *
Kristen’s room was still pink. She hated the colour, but she hadn’t gotten around to painting it. All she wanted was a simple white. Not the girly look her father had done up for her when she was five. Still, she’d done her best to cover it up with posters, memorabilia and the like. She was very much a fan of music, but no bands in particular. Instead of bands or solo singers, she had posters advertising the latest Ministry of Sound or Gatecrasher CD launch, not to mention the Touring Posters for the associated Disc Jockeys and photos snapped at the concerts she had gone to.
Music was her life. Well, apart from work, which seemed to be taking up way too much time at present. She’d just accepted a full-time position in the computing department and that drastically cut back her free time. Music had always been her passion though, so in her free time she had it blaring on her stereo or she was busy on the computer burning discs for later use.
It was like a drug in itself, not that she’d ever done drugs. Drinking, yes, sometimes to the excess, but never drugs. The music was usually enough. The euphoric feeling of the beat pulsing through your body, the bass vibrating through the floor, up your legs and through your spine as the melodies washed over you from above, totally swallowing you in music, like a protective bubble sucking the worries of life away. It was the closest you could get to perfection.
“Kristen!”
She slapped the stop button on her disc player. How long had he been calling? He tended to get annoyed if he had to repeat himself more than twice.
“Coming!”
She went to her door and unlocked it. Her father stood on the other side.
“As to why you have to lock your door.”
“Privacy.”
“We give you privacy.”
She smiled, “I know, its just… you know.”
He nodded, somehow knowing without needing to have it explained. He was good like that. Mind you, they were close. She knew she could be referred to as a Daddy’s Girl, he even called her that some times, but she had no need to feel ashamed or embarrassed. They got on well, they were family, was there anything wrong with that? Not in her eyes, besides, what everyone else thought couldn’t compete with the love between her and her father, though she’d never say that out loud.
“How was work?”
She’d had a full shift today. It was a busy one, too, but mainly because of all the mistakes her co-workers made. It happened all the time. On one occasion, one of the older men working in the department sold a computer to a gentleman, explaining it was a new model, never been out of its box, when in fact it was a demo model that had been on display. It was the third computer complaint that day and Kristen was about ready to throttle someone. Fortunately today they were simple mistakes, easily solved.
“Great. And yours?”
r /> That was another thing they shared. They both worked long hours. She figured that was what made them closer when they were together. They hardly saw each other throughout the week.
He nodded, smiled, “Good,” He paused, as if thinking, “Listen, Kristen. I was just watching the news.”
“Yeah?”
“There was a follow up to that bombing, down the road. There was mention of further terrorist activities down town.”
She wasn’t sure where this was leading, but she continued to listen, “Really?”
He nodded, then looked her straight in the eye, “That boy, the one they found at the bombing, he works with you, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, But-“
“I don’t want you having anything to do with him.”
This was sudden, “What?”
“It could be dangerous. What if he gets involved? Who knows what could happen?”
“He’s not involved. He said it wasn’t even him.”
He managed to turn that back against her, “You see, he might be covering up something. He might be a part of it.”
It wasn’t that he was being hard on Russell; he was, in fact, remaining calm. She knew he only wanted to protect her, but, still, she was big enough to look after herself.
“Please? Kristen?”
She looked at him and nodded, “Okay,” not that she meant it, “It’ll be hard, seeing as that we work just opposite each other, but I’ll try.”
He smiled, moving forward to hug her, “That’s my girl. I just don’t want anyone being hurt.”
“I wouldn’t be, dad.”
“Just to be on the safe side, Kristen.”
After he left, she turned her music back on. But the rhythm just didn’t seem to feel right. That was the first time her father had done something like that. He was protective, yes, but that was just ridiculous. She shook her head and tried to ease back into the vibrations of the bass.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The second explosion came on the Sunday morning. The city was pretty much empty, excepting the morning joggers and the few delivery services that still operated on that day of the week.
The people with inner city living, Russell included, awoke early that morning as the world was shaken again. It was nine o’clock exactly when Russell jolted awake to a loud boom and to hear his windows rattling from the force.
He jumped out of bed, managing to tangle himself in his sheets, fall over and scramble his way to the window. The sky over the buildings opposite was a perfect blue. What he saw in the reflection of the windows, however, was something totally different. Smoke was billowing over the top of the skyline behind him, how close to his apartment, he wasn’t sure.