Mind Control: A Science Fiction Telepathy Thriller (Perceivers Book 2) by Jane Killick Page B
Authors: Jane Killick
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far. The bleak reality of nothingness encroached as he struggled to cling on to each hard-fought moment. Tumbling Russian words became meaningless syllables as memories were extinguished. It hurt so much that he detached himself from his body. Memories became blobs of flashing red, brown and blue lights that winked into the darkness and turned into dim and infrequent blurs as they drifted away. Night drew in, with no moon or stars, a blanket of black. It encased him in its cocoon of nothingness, sucking the last spark of light until his mind became a vacuum and his body stopped.
Michael’s mind was alone. He realised he was holding the hand of a dead man.
He pulled his hand clear, stumbled backwards and banged into a piece of medical equipment.
“Help,” he meant to shout, but his voice barely obeyed him.
He ran into the corridor. “Help! Help!” Medical staff bundled past him. “He’s dead, he’s dead!” he shouted at them.
But they did not listen. They called for equipment and they called for drugs and they pumped at the poor man’s body, but Michael perceived that the life that was in it had already gone. It was gone forever.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THEY PASSED THROUGH the alleyway to the front of the block of flats, Michael and the gang: Chad, E-boy, Laura, Cheryl and Dave. It was properly dark now – perfect for clandestine law breaking – with most people safely inside their homes for the evening. The only movement was the two boys on their skateboard, whooping and giggling as they took it in turns to speed down the road, weaving in and out of the white lines like a slalom.
‘Do something illegal, but don’t get caught’ was the gang initiation mantra. ‘If you get caught, you’re on your own.’
Flashes of memory from the others revealed they had all done it. Mostly petty theft from shops and some criminal damage, but it was Chad’s initiation that was legendary. He had swiped the hat right off the head of a policeman and ran off so fast that only an Olympic sprinter could have caught him. When he finally met up with the rest of the gang at Kennington Park, they had all tried on the hat and took pictures of themselves – to much hilarity – before finally leaving it atop the war memorial. Every now and then they would laugh at the memory and Chad would fail to mention how the policeman had recognised him and called at his flat the following day, causing him to have a massive row with his mum.
“What are you going to do?” Chad asked Michael.
Michael was thinking. An idea was percolating. A smile was forming. “You’ll see.”
He walked down the road, trying to be cool and natural, adding a little swagger to his step like he had seen Chad do. The others followed at a discreet distance. He checked for traffic and crossed the road, heading for the kerb opposite.
At the last moment, he turned and stepped towards one of the boys who had just got on his skateboard. With a quick push, the boy was unbalanced and landed on his bum. “Hey!”
Michael didn’t care. He put one foot on the skateboard, pushed off with the other, and was suddenly flying down the road. The wind blew his hair back from his face as he sped away from the boys until their protesting cries faded away behind him. With the toe of one foot, he revved against the tarmac to increase his speed, maintaining his balance like a professional, remembering the time at the camp when he’d practised on Peter’s skateboard before Norm the Norm had confiscated it.
He swerved closer to the parked cars, reached out his fist and slammed it against a wing mirror, bending it backwards. It hurt, but the adrenaline dulled the pain as he wobbled further down the road, regaining his balance and reaching out his fist again for a second hit.
So absorbed was he by the thrill, so free were his perceptions of any minds around him, that he didn’t hear the roar of a car engine as it came up the road in the other direction. By the time he saw it, it was
Michael’s mind was alone. He realised he was holding the hand of a dead man.
He pulled his hand clear, stumbled backwards and banged into a piece of medical equipment.
“Help,” he meant to shout, but his voice barely obeyed him.
He ran into the corridor. “Help! Help!” Medical staff bundled past him. “He’s dead, he’s dead!” he shouted at them.
But they did not listen. They called for equipment and they called for drugs and they pumped at the poor man’s body, but Michael perceived that the life that was in it had already gone. It was gone forever.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THEY PASSED THROUGH the alleyway to the front of the block of flats, Michael and the gang: Chad, E-boy, Laura, Cheryl and Dave. It was properly dark now – perfect for clandestine law breaking – with most people safely inside their homes for the evening. The only movement was the two boys on their skateboard, whooping and giggling as they took it in turns to speed down the road, weaving in and out of the white lines like a slalom.
‘Do something illegal, but don’t get caught’ was the gang initiation mantra. ‘If you get caught, you’re on your own.’
Flashes of memory from the others revealed they had all done it. Mostly petty theft from shops and some criminal damage, but it was Chad’s initiation that was legendary. He had swiped the hat right off the head of a policeman and ran off so fast that only an Olympic sprinter could have caught him. When he finally met up with the rest of the gang at Kennington Park, they had all tried on the hat and took pictures of themselves – to much hilarity – before finally leaving it atop the war memorial. Every now and then they would laugh at the memory and Chad would fail to mention how the policeman had recognised him and called at his flat the following day, causing him to have a massive row with his mum.
“What are you going to do?” Chad asked Michael.
Michael was thinking. An idea was percolating. A smile was forming. “You’ll see.”
He walked down the road, trying to be cool and natural, adding a little swagger to his step like he had seen Chad do. The others followed at a discreet distance. He checked for traffic and crossed the road, heading for the kerb opposite.
At the last moment, he turned and stepped towards one of the boys who had just got on his skateboard. With a quick push, the boy was unbalanced and landed on his bum. “Hey!”
Michael didn’t care. He put one foot on the skateboard, pushed off with the other, and was suddenly flying down the road. The wind blew his hair back from his face as he sped away from the boys until their protesting cries faded away behind him. With the toe of one foot, he revved against the tarmac to increase his speed, maintaining his balance like a professional, remembering the time at the camp when he’d practised on Peter’s skateboard before Norm the Norm had confiscated it.
He swerved closer to the parked cars, reached out his fist and slammed it against a wing mirror, bending it backwards. It hurt, but the adrenaline dulled the pain as he wobbled further down the road, regaining his balance and reaching out his fist again for a second hit.
So absorbed was he by the thrill, so free were his perceptions of any minds around him, that he didn’t hear the roar of a car engine as it came up the road in the other direction. By the time he saw it, it was
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