and that he might be
able to find some useful information on her whereabouts. While he
waited for the machine to boot up, he plucked a photo from the edge
of the monitor. Photos would be the way forward. Sarah had plenty
for him to look at.
Simon had more
personality in the photo he held than he did in the flesh. Perhaps,
Firdy considered, it was taken three or more years ago, before his
life had changed. He was standing behind Sarah with his arms
wrapped around her waist, his chin resting on her head and his eyes
sparkling. Amazing what life can do to someone, Firdy thought. It
had scooped out Simon's insides, blown the light out of his eyes,
but kept the body running. He was an efficient machine now. An
emotional void.
Sarah,
beautiful, was grinning so much it looked like her face could split
in two. Her slender hand gripped Simon’s forearm, keeping his
protecting arm in place. Her hair was long and shining in the
sun.
The photo had
definitely been taken before the change; before Simon had received
his first orders. Firdy tossed it onto the table amid Sarah's
scruffy college notes and then turned to the photo gallery on the
wall beside her bed. She was clearly popular, though she was not
the centre of any group photo. Perhaps she was more reserved and
more like Simon than she looked. He searched for recurring faces,
pried a few from the wall, but the photos were not annotated. No
names. No numbers. He suspected that he was going to have to be
methodical in order to track her down, but method bored him. The
Cat would speed up the search, but of course, there were risks.
He allowed his
eyes to wander again over the perfect faces. Sarah on piggyback.
Sarah dressed as a witch. Sarah, Simon and their father, Aubrey,
standing outside the entrance to a cave. Pluck.
In this photo,
Simon was standing a little to one side, smiling for the camera,
not so good at pretending then. This, Firdy thought, had been taken
after the change. At this point, Simon would have known that his
life was about to change forever. Aubrey had his arm around Sarah's
waist, squeezing her and laughing.
Wow, thought
Firdy; now, that’s thought-control.
Chapter
Nine
“Geraldine. It’s Sarah.”
A long pause
reeled out, but she had been expecting that.
“I don't
believe it,” Geraldine said eventually. “I took your number off my
phone; otherwise I wouldn't have answered.”
“How are you
doing?”
“I just said I
took your number off my phone. Why are you asking me how I'm
doing?”
“Making
conversation, I guess ... Hello? … Hello?”
Sarah dialled
back. Once. Twice. Three times.
“Geraldine,”
she was able to say eventually. “I’m in trouble. I'm sorry I've not
been in touch, but I'm in big trouble.” Another silence. “You
remember your promise?”
“I don't
believe this.”
“Choose a
friend,” Simon had said. “Someone reliable. One of your best
friends. Make them promise to put you up if anything happens to me.
You're going to need people you can trust around you. All the time.
But I can't know who they are. Find someone reliable, make them
promise and then keep a low profile. Don't tell me their name,
where they live, what sex they are. They're not to phone the house
or your mobile. No email. No Facebook. Cut them off. No contact
unless you need their help.”
To her shame,
she had done it. They hadn't been best friends, but they had been
getting close. It felt unusual and good. Asking her to promise to
look after her in an emergency had cemented the relationship.
Geraldine had almost cried. And then, as Simon had demanded, she
had broken contact.
“I've been a
bitch,” she said.
“Maybe,”
Geraldine said. “I don't know what I'd do if I saw you again.”
“Let's find
out,” Sarah said. “Look out of your window.”
*
Geraldine opened the
front door wearing a fluffy pink dressing gown and pink slippers
with pig faces. As she stepped outside, however, her expression was
serious. Sarah was used to
able to find some useful information on her whereabouts. While he
waited for the machine to boot up, he plucked a photo from the edge
of the monitor. Photos would be the way forward. Sarah had plenty
for him to look at.
Simon had more
personality in the photo he held than he did in the flesh. Perhaps,
Firdy considered, it was taken three or more years ago, before his
life had changed. He was standing behind Sarah with his arms
wrapped around her waist, his chin resting on her head and his eyes
sparkling. Amazing what life can do to someone, Firdy thought. It
had scooped out Simon's insides, blown the light out of his eyes,
but kept the body running. He was an efficient machine now. An
emotional void.
Sarah,
beautiful, was grinning so much it looked like her face could split
in two. Her slender hand gripped Simon’s forearm, keeping his
protecting arm in place. Her hair was long and shining in the
sun.
The photo had
definitely been taken before the change; before Simon had received
his first orders. Firdy tossed it onto the table amid Sarah's
scruffy college notes and then turned to the photo gallery on the
wall beside her bed. She was clearly popular, though she was not
the centre of any group photo. Perhaps she was more reserved and
more like Simon than she looked. He searched for recurring faces,
pried a few from the wall, but the photos were not annotated. No
names. No numbers. He suspected that he was going to have to be
methodical in order to track her down, but method bored him. The
Cat would speed up the search, but of course, there were risks.
He allowed his
eyes to wander again over the perfect faces. Sarah on piggyback.
Sarah dressed as a witch. Sarah, Simon and their father, Aubrey,
standing outside the entrance to a cave. Pluck.
In this photo,
Simon was standing a little to one side, smiling for the camera,
not so good at pretending then. This, Firdy thought, had been taken
after the change. At this point, Simon would have known that his
life was about to change forever. Aubrey had his arm around Sarah's
waist, squeezing her and laughing.
Wow, thought
Firdy; now, that’s thought-control.
Chapter
Nine
“Geraldine. It’s Sarah.”
A long pause
reeled out, but she had been expecting that.
“I don't
believe it,” Geraldine said eventually. “I took your number off my
phone; otherwise I wouldn't have answered.”
“How are you
doing?”
“I just said I
took your number off my phone. Why are you asking me how I'm
doing?”
“Making
conversation, I guess ... Hello? … Hello?”
Sarah dialled
back. Once. Twice. Three times.
“Geraldine,”
she was able to say eventually. “I’m in trouble. I'm sorry I've not
been in touch, but I'm in big trouble.” Another silence. “You
remember your promise?”
“I don't
believe this.”
“Choose a
friend,” Simon had said. “Someone reliable. One of your best
friends. Make them promise to put you up if anything happens to me.
You're going to need people you can trust around you. All the time.
But I can't know who they are. Find someone reliable, make them
promise and then keep a low profile. Don't tell me their name,
where they live, what sex they are. They're not to phone the house
or your mobile. No email. No Facebook. Cut them off. No contact
unless you need their help.”
To her shame,
she had done it. They hadn't been best friends, but they had been
getting close. It felt unusual and good. Asking her to promise to
look after her in an emergency had cemented the relationship.
Geraldine had almost cried. And then, as Simon had demanded, she
had broken contact.
“I've been a
bitch,” she said.
“Maybe,”
Geraldine said. “I don't know what I'd do if I saw you again.”
“Let's find
out,” Sarah said. “Look out of your window.”
*
Geraldine opened the
front door wearing a fluffy pink dressing gown and pink slippers
with pig faces. As she stepped outside, however, her expression was
serious. Sarah was used to