Owen,
his lungs still on fire.
"You know me."
"By reputation," replied Owen.
He'd opened a file on Jack Taylor in his first month on the job in
this city. To his regret, it was still pretty much empty. He'd
studied with the master of hiding in plain sight, it would seem,
and whilst his name was on the lips of every criminal of every
shade and persuasion, nothing ever stuck to him. Grice had
nicknamed him "Mr. Clean". But from what Garrity had told them,
Taylor was just another chess piece in Cane King's game. "You're
one of King's stooges."
The insult cost Owen a fist to
the face and Taylor's hands around his throat.
"I am nobody's stooge," hissed
Taylor. "One day I'm going to run this town. King's just a stepping
stone."
"I'll remember you said that,"
said Owen, a smirk on his lips. He might be signing his own death
warrant, but something told him that Taylor wouldn't give him up as
a prize just yet.
"You do that," replied Taylor,
pulling a small stiletto knife from inside his trouser pocket.
"Just don't forget to scream while you're remembering."
Taylor shoved the stiletto into
the side of Owen White's right eye socket and pushed his eyeball
out from behind. As Taylor had predicted, Owen White screamed.
***
Grace skidded left behind the
last of the giant machines. In front of her was a brick wall,
behind her, close and getting closer, was Adam King. She looked
around. Nothing to arm herself with, and nowhere to hide. This was
where it would end, in a dirty corner of a decaying building. She
had had the opportunity to die in far more exotic and reputable
establishments.
On cue, Adam walked around the
corner. He had retrieved the weapons he had had on him when Grace
had trapped him, but it was the length of metal pipe that he had
slung over his one shoulder that Grace couldn't take her eyes off.
Without exception, weapons are designed to kill as quickly and as
efficiently as possible. In expert hands, and Adam's were without a
doubt expert, they would offer a fast and often painless death.
Improvised weapons, used to bludgeon and smash and crush, were
another matter entirely. They were brutish, inelegant. And, in
Grace's experience, it took time, a painful amount of time, to kill
someone that way.
Adam rattled the pipe along the
side of the machine, then swung it across to his other hand and let
it trail noisily along the wall. In his head, Able Quirk was
fretting about the police he had come here with, but Adam ignored
him. He was an amateur, letting the ghosts take control, letting
the Magpye take control. Now, Adam was in the driving seat, and
things would be different. He'd been trained most of his life to
control these powers. Now all he had to do was kill the person who
taught him, then his brother, and he would finally be free.
Grace stumbled backwards until
she found the rough brickwork at her back.
"Adam, we can talk about
this."
"You betrayed me," said Adam
King.
"I made you," Grace corrected.
"You say that the gift, your gift, has grown more powerful, that
you hold all the dead in thrall. Well then, think about that Adam.
Who taught you about your gift, about your birthright in the first
place? Who was there the first night you woke with nightmares that
didn't go away when you opened your eyes? Who taught you to
understand the things that only you could see? You were always
destined for something great, Adam, I knew that."
"And that's why you sided with him ," spat Adam
King. "You knew that I could be great, could be better than any of
them, maybe even better than you, and it terrified you."
"You wanted to walk away."
"I wanted freedom!" shouted
Adam. "All the money, all the power, and we're all just slaves to
you... and to it. You call it a 'gift', but that's not what it is
at all. It's a thing, a dark and treacherous thing. It lives inside
us and uses us up. It's a parasite."
Adam swung the metal pipe low,
smashing Grace's legs out from under her. A gash opened up on her
shin, and dark
his lungs still on fire.
"You know me."
"By reputation," replied Owen.
He'd opened a file on Jack Taylor in his first month on the job in
this city. To his regret, it was still pretty much empty. He'd
studied with the master of hiding in plain sight, it would seem,
and whilst his name was on the lips of every criminal of every
shade and persuasion, nothing ever stuck to him. Grice had
nicknamed him "Mr. Clean". But from what Garrity had told them,
Taylor was just another chess piece in Cane King's game. "You're
one of King's stooges."
The insult cost Owen a fist to
the face and Taylor's hands around his throat.
"I am nobody's stooge," hissed
Taylor. "One day I'm going to run this town. King's just a stepping
stone."
"I'll remember you said that,"
said Owen, a smirk on his lips. He might be signing his own death
warrant, but something told him that Taylor wouldn't give him up as
a prize just yet.
"You do that," replied Taylor,
pulling a small stiletto knife from inside his trouser pocket.
"Just don't forget to scream while you're remembering."
Taylor shoved the stiletto into
the side of Owen White's right eye socket and pushed his eyeball
out from behind. As Taylor had predicted, Owen White screamed.
***
Grace skidded left behind the
last of the giant machines. In front of her was a brick wall,
behind her, close and getting closer, was Adam King. She looked
around. Nothing to arm herself with, and nowhere to hide. This was
where it would end, in a dirty corner of a decaying building. She
had had the opportunity to die in far more exotic and reputable
establishments.
On cue, Adam walked around the
corner. He had retrieved the weapons he had had on him when Grace
had trapped him, but it was the length of metal pipe that he had
slung over his one shoulder that Grace couldn't take her eyes off.
Without exception, weapons are designed to kill as quickly and as
efficiently as possible. In expert hands, and Adam's were without a
doubt expert, they would offer a fast and often painless death.
Improvised weapons, used to bludgeon and smash and crush, were
another matter entirely. They were brutish, inelegant. And, in
Grace's experience, it took time, a painful amount of time, to kill
someone that way.
Adam rattled the pipe along the
side of the machine, then swung it across to his other hand and let
it trail noisily along the wall. In his head, Able Quirk was
fretting about the police he had come here with, but Adam ignored
him. He was an amateur, letting the ghosts take control, letting
the Magpye take control. Now, Adam was in the driving seat, and
things would be different. He'd been trained most of his life to
control these powers. Now all he had to do was kill the person who
taught him, then his brother, and he would finally be free.
Grace stumbled backwards until
she found the rough brickwork at her back.
"Adam, we can talk about
this."
"You betrayed me," said Adam
King.
"I made you," Grace corrected.
"You say that the gift, your gift, has grown more powerful, that
you hold all the dead in thrall. Well then, think about that Adam.
Who taught you about your gift, about your birthright in the first
place? Who was there the first night you woke with nightmares that
didn't go away when you opened your eyes? Who taught you to
understand the things that only you could see? You were always
destined for something great, Adam, I knew that."
"And that's why you sided with him ," spat Adam
King. "You knew that I could be great, could be better than any of
them, maybe even better than you, and it terrified you."
"You wanted to walk away."
"I wanted freedom!" shouted
Adam. "All the money, all the power, and we're all just slaves to
you... and to it. You call it a 'gift', but that's not what it is
at all. It's a thing, a dark and treacherous thing. It lives inside
us and uses us up. It's a parasite."
Adam swung the metal pipe low,
smashing Grace's legs out from under her. A gash opened up on her
shin, and dark
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