Mind Blind Read online

  He looked younger than Viv and possibly older than me, so maybe fourteen or even fifteen. He was clearly Scottish, with all those rolled ‘r’s, but he wasn’t pale and freckly like the MacDonald twins in my year. His tanned outdoor skin, light blue eyes and straight blond hair made him look like a baddie in an old WW2 film, or a Viking berserker. Northern, cold-hearted and slightly nuts.

  He shook his head at me, as if he knew I was memorising his face.

  I tested my voice, hoping it wouldn’t shake. “Tell me why you took her to a man who killed her. Tell me what mistake you made. Tell me why you’re in our house. Tell me everything.”

  “First you tell me when your parents are due back.”

  I glanced at the clock. It was after 1 a.m. “They’re at my grampa’s. They could be back any minute.” Maybe if he thought Mum and Dad were about to walk through the door, he would go away.

  Rather than getting up and leaving, he frowned and looked out of the window. “No, they won’t be back in the next few minutes. There’s time for you to tell me what I need to know.”

  “I’m not going to tell you anything.”

  “That’s your choice. I’m not going to force you.” He shrugged. “Your sister had something that she promised to destroy, but she hid it instead. If I find it and remove it, then the people who killed her won’t come here looking for it. So I need your help.”

  “I’m not going to help you!”

  “Ok. I’ll be off then.” He stood up. “And the man who killed your sister will probably knock down your door sometime tomorrow. Good luck with him, Lucy.”

  That was almost as much of a surprise as the kick. “You know my name?”

  “I know everything, except where your nana’s ashes are.”

  “What?”

  “Vivien hid what I need in your nana’s urn, in the understairs cupboard.”

  “She hid something in the ashes? Gross!”

  “Yeah. But clever.”

  I nodded. “Viv is always… was always… But why would she hide something in the ashes? Why didn’t she just hide it in her sock drawer? Why would she do something so… disgusting and disrespectful?”

  “She was probably afraid of the people who might come looking for it.”

  I shivered. “So who was she hiding it from?”

  “I suppose she was hiding it from me. From me and my… the people I work for.”

  “Who are you? Why did she hide something from you? What did she hide?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve given you answers, now you give me answers. I didn’t find the urn under the stairs. Where is it?”

  I didn’t want to give him any useful information, but this answer might get him out of my house. “It’s not here. Mum didn’t like it in the house, it gave her the creeps. So Dad said someone else would store it until next year.”

  “Next year?”

  “We’re going to scatter Nana in the sea, in the same place my great-granddad was scattered, on their wedding anniversary, next spring.”

  “So who’s got it now?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?”

  I was telling the truth, but there was no way to prove that to him. And now, for the first time tonight, he looked angry.

  CHAPTER 4

  Ciaran Bain, 30th October

  Was she telling the truth? Did she really not know where her own great-grandmother’s ashes were? I couldn’t tell for sure without touching her, which I didn’t want to do. But she wasn’t planning her words like a liar.

  “I really don’t know,” she repeated. I sensed slight panic, but no deceit.

  “So who might have it?”

  “Dad might have given it to Grampa, because he’s nearest. Or Uncle Vince might have taken it, because he’s got more storage space than Grampa.”

  “If your grandfather is nearer, I’ll go there first. Give me both addresses, though.”

  “I’m not giving you their addresses! I don’t want you and your murdering gang anywhere near my family.”

  “Lucy, the man who did kill Vivien already has those addresses on file. That’s where I got your name and address. If I don’t go now, on my own, then he’ll go, with all my… with lots of others, as soon as he works out what she hid and where.”

  “How is that worse than you going tonight? Am I meant to think you’re good news and they’re bad news?”

  I smiled reassuringly.

  She wasn’t reassured.

  “What harm can I do? On my own?”

  She rubbed her wrist.

  Oops. I shouldn’t have shown off with flashy kicks. She now had a very good idea how much harm I could do on my own.

  “Come on, Lucy. I didn’t attack you, you tried to attack me! I won’t hurt anyone. I’ll just search their cupboards and leave. Trust me.”

  She didn’t trust me. Fair enough. I didn’t trust me either.

  I sensed her make a sudden decision.

  “I’ll go.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll go. I’ll find the urn, then give it to you. If I do that, will you leave us alone?”

  “Yes. No. No!” I hadn’t seen that one coming. “I mean, yes, once I have what’s in the urn, I will leave you alone. But no! You can’t go. Don’t be daft.”

  I suddenly had a clear picture of this skinny girl, shorter than me and younger by the looks of her, in a dark house, searching under the stairs. Then I saw her hauled out by Malcolm, and Daniel putting his foot on her stomach.

  I’m not a fortune-teller. I read minds, not the future. But I knew that Malcolm or Mum would drag everything out of me as soon as I went back, then my family would start searching for the codenames too. If they found this girl in their way, Lucy would be the one who’d get hurt.

  The only way to stop all of the Shaw family being killed was for me to get the codenames tonight. Then I could protect this family, protect my family, maybe even protect my own future.

  Though it was probably too late to protect Lucy.

  She’d seen my face. Her sister had been killed for seeing my face.

  So it probably was too late for Lucy. But I could try.

  “Are you thinking?” she asked. “It looks like hard work.”

  “You can’t go,” I repeated. “It’s not safe.”

  “You’re not safe. I suppose we could go together, then I can stop you stealing anything, damaging anything, hurting anyone…”

  “Yeah? You can stop me doing anything, can you?”

  “Maybe I can. You’re all cocky now, boy, but I knocked you down pretty good in the hall.”

  I couldn’t let her know how she did that. “You took me by surprise, that’s all.”

  “So here’s another surprise. We’re going together. We’ll find the urn, you’ll get your mysterious thing and you’ll go away.” She glared at me, completely determined.

  I needed those addresses. What was the most efficient way of getting them?

  I could take off my gloves, grab Lucy and demand her grampa and uncle’s addresses. She was probably too stubborn to tell me voluntarily, but I might be able to read something useful while she was concentrating on refusing to tell me. I wouldn’t get the exact postal addresses – she would only think those if she was actually writing them down – but she’d probably visualise the streets and the houses.

  However, we’re not meant to let targets know we’re mindreading, so I’d have to hurt her, twist that sore wrist perhaps, as an excuse for touching her. But if I hurt her she’d scream, which would alert the police.

  Also, if I touched her, I’d read the thoughts behind her grief and fear, and I might scream louder than her. Then she’d see exactly how much of a wimp I was.

  So it was the rational decision to let her lead me to the right house.

  And if we found the codenames and if I persuaded Malcolm and Mum to let me brief them verbally, perhaps they wouldn’t find out that Lucy had seen me. It was unlikely, but it was the best chance I could gi
ve her.

  So I nodded.

  “Let’s go now then,” she said. “Before my parents get back.”

  “Don’t be daft! How will your parents react if you’re not safe in bed when they get home?”

  She didn’t want to agree with me, but she shrugged.

  I glanced at the window. “Anyway, it’s not going to be quick or easy getting out of here. There are two policemen watching your house.”

  “There are police watching us? Why?”

  “Probably hoping for evidence that one of you killed Vivien. Suspecting the family is easier than doing real detective work.”

  She was horrified. “But you killed her! I’ll tell them that right now.”

  She headed for the front door.

  “Lucy, stop! If you drop me in it now, your entire family will be in danger!”

  She stopped. Right by the understairs cupboard.

  I spoke softly. “I know you want someone to blame for Vivien’s death, so you can tell the police about me later, if you want. But wait until I get the secret safely away. If you shout for the police now, you’ll see me in handcuffs, which I’m sure would make you happy, but then my family will come searching for the secret.”

  She raised her eyebrows as I said ‘my family’. I was probably telling her too much, but the truth might scare her into doing what I wanted. “Yeah. My family. There are lots of them, they’re all bigger than me, and if you hand me to the police they’ll be very annoyed.” Probably. Or maybe they’ll be relieved to get rid of me.

  She was balancing revenge and caution, trying to decide which was more important.

  But I couldn’t wait for her decision, because suddenly I sensed…

  Exhausted grief.

  Desire for comfort.

  Worry.

  Her parents, moving at driving speed up the road.

  Even worse, slightly further away, I sensed sharp wakefulness. More police, two of them, following the Shaws.

  “Your parents! They’re nearly home!”

  “How do you know?”

  Shit, I’d broken one of the basic rules: knowing stuff I shouldn’t know. “Em… I think I hear a car. Get to bed. I’ll be… where can I hide?”

  “You’re not hiding in my bedroom!”

  “Damn right!”

  She looked around frantically. “In the study!” She pointed at the door opposite the cupboard. Then she said, more calmly, “I’ll come and get you once they’re in bed.” I sensed a sliding deceit behind her words. She was already trying to think of ways to make my night even more difficult.

  “Wait until they’re asleep,” I said. “Be patient.”

  We nodded to each other, both agreeing, both plotting.

  By the time the key turned in the lock, Lucy was running upstairs and I was closing the study door.

  I crouched under the desk and waited.

  I sensed the Shaws’ weariness and their concern for Lucy. One of them clumped upstairs to check on her. I held my breath, hoping she wouldn’t mention finding me downstairs. But she must have been in bed, pretending sleep, because the adult felt relief and love.

  Her parents were both exhausted. They pottered around taking off coats and shoes, then, after a few minutes of doors opening and closing, toilets flushing and lights clicking off, the house was quiet.

  No one was asleep yet, but I couldn’t wait any longer.

  CHAPTER 5

  Ciaran Bain, 30th October

  Now that everyone was in bed, I could start to search again. The urn wasn’t in this house, but perhaps I could find the addresses of the houses I had to search next.

  I switched on my torch and opened the top drawer of the desk. It was filled with notebooks and printer paper.

  The next drawer contained pens, compasses and rulers.

  The bottom drawer held old CD roms and dusty cables, as well as a multipack of slim silver flash drives. The pack had been torn open and there was only one left inside.

  I tipped out the single flash drive and weighed it in my hand. Did it feel familiar? To be sure, I had to go back into Vivien’s memory again.

  I was spending a lot of time in this dead girl’s head, much more time than I’d spent with her when she’d been alive.

  I hadn’t spent that much time with her, because the grab had only taken a few minutes and the getaway had been fast too.

  Ciaran Bain, 28th October

  The whole job had felt weird and unsettling right from the beginning.

  At the briefing, I had sat at the back, as far away from everyone else as possible. I don’t like sitting too close to anyone, even people I’ve known all my life. I don’t want to sense their emotions, even if they’re feeling the same emotions as me.

  So I hate briefings, I hate parties, I hate car journeys, I hate sharing a bedroom and I only ever touch another human being by choice if I’m trying to beat them in a fight.

  I sat at the very back of the room, my chair pushed hard into the corner, while my mum clicked information up onto the big screen, and my Uncle Malcolm talked us through the job.

  I watched the screen, but I also watched my cousins nodding keenly in front of me. I could sense their desire to impress the senior readers. All except Roy, who was worried about something (possibly the welfare of the target); his little brother Josh, who was nervous (probably because this was his first job outside Scotland); and Daniel, who was confident he didn’t have to impress anyone because his dad already thought he was wonderful.

  All this felt entirely normal. What felt weird was the information we weren’t getting.

  Uncle Malcolm gave us details about times, locations and escape routes, and handed out a pile of maps, but there were no details about the background of the job, nor the intended outcome. He showed us pictures of the target, but didn’t tell us why the client wanted the target grabbed.

  This lack of detail suggested it was a rush job. I’d guessed that already, when all the younger generation were summoned from Scotland at short notice.

  A team of senior readers had come south earlier in the month. Mum and most of my uncles and aunts had vanished in the middle of the night a fortnight ago, rushing down to the Surrey warehouse we use as a base for our regular London operations.

  They’d left all the teenagers behind, with only Aunt Rose and Uncle Greg in charge of training, which meant hours of martial arts with Aunt Rose and hours of getting in touch with our feelings with Uncle Greg. But we had plenty of time to skive off too, which meant lots of fishing and football during the day and lots of pizza and action films at night.

  None of us had had a full night’s sleep or eaten any fruit and veg for a couple of weeks.

  Now here we were, after an overnight drive down in three uncomfortably packed people carriers, about to take part in a grab that clearly hadn’t been fully thought through.

  But I couldn’t say that. I’m only a foot soldier. I don’t get to question the bosses’ decisions. I don’t even get to do the exciting stuff. I just hang about at the back, picking up any mess. No one trusts me to do more than that.

  Though the briefing was sketchy, it was clear why they needed the fourth generation of readers in London. We were the best team for this job.

  Because the job was to identify, follow and grab a teenage target as she came out of school. Half a dozen strange adults hanging about the school gates would have been suspicious, but half a dozen teenagers would blend in perfectly.

  So we were shown pictures of the target, and a map of her usual route to her flamenco class, with an ‘x’ at the spot where Daniel and Martha would grab her and put her in the van, as well as the locations of the back-up van and the senior readers’ cars, and the safest routes back to base.

  That was it.

  My mum stood up. “Come on. We need to be there before the bell goes.” We grabbed our equipment and left the briefing room, which was really just a large shed in the middle of the warehouse. All our bedrooms and offices are in boxy little portacabins s
cattered around the cold grey space.

  We climbed into two blue people carriers and two white vans parked near the shuttered front doors, and drove off.

  I was in the second people carrier. Laura sat in the front with my mum. Becky, Roy and Josh sat in the middle. I sat in the back, on my own, as usual, wearing my black leather jacket and gloves, as usual.

  It’s not a fashion statement. Leather gives me some protection. Not against emotions, nothing can stop them getting through, but against the thoughts I read whenever I touch someone. Leather is much better than fabric. With another animal’s skin between me and the rest of the world, it isn’t quite so overwhelming. Perhaps I’ll get a motorbike when I’m old enough, so I can wear black leather from head to toe for the rest of my life.

  I sat on my own, studying the map. After about twenty minutes, Roy turned round and flicked the corner of the printout. “Nearly there, mate. Are you ready?”

  We checked we had all the essentials. Cash, in case we got stranded. False ID, in case we got lifted. Masks, mobile phones and microphones. Then we all pulled on stripy green-and-blue school ties, badly knotted and deliberately squint.

  We couldn’t hang around outside the school before the final bell – we’d look like truants. Also Malcolm said that the target was never first out of the door. So we stayed in the vehicles until we heard shrill ringing, then got swiftly into position.

  All four teams were in place by the time pupils started to come out of Winslow Academy’s wide green doors and down the dozen steps to the street.

  Team 1 was the grab team – Daniel and Martha, Malcolm’s kids and the most efficient readers in our generation. They were out of sight, in the alley, inside the van driven by Uncle Paul, our usual getaway driver. Both of them were already masked, waiting to leap out and grab the target as she went past.

  Team 2 was the follow team – Becky and Laura, Roy’s big sisters. They were waiting at the bottom of the steps. Teenage girls don’t expect to be followed by other teenage girls, so Becky and Laura walking behind the target wouldn’t make her suspicious. Neither of them were strong readers, but all they had to do was follow a target in plain sight.