Paralysis Paradox (Time Travel Through Past Lives Adventure Series Book 1) (20 page)

‘No, no, just get him to drive you home right now.’

‘But what’s he done? Why do I need to get away from him? You’re scaring me, Dad!’

‘It’s all right, darling. But when you get home, I just want you to get out straight away, walk quickly into the house, and don’t look back.’

I could see Tom walking towards the car.

‘He’s coming, Dad! If I get out now, I can run home! I’ll be there in ten minutes.’ I tried to suppress the panic that was rising within me. Tom’s behaviour this morning had not been normal, but other than that moment when he had snapped at me, I had not been frightened. Dad clearly knew something I didn’t. What could it be?

‘I need you to be brave, just stay calm. I know you can do this, you are—’

‘He’s nearly back now, I’ve got to go!’ I interrupted, hanging up.

I waved and smiled at Tom, but instantly regretted it, as he just frowned back. It would be no good acting happy; that would be too suspicious.

‘I’m sorry, Tom, I just couldn’t stay down there,’ I said as soon as he got in. Wanting to make sure we returned to Deerden, I added, ‘Can we go home now?’

He started the car. ‘Sure. Was that your father on the phone?’

‘Yes.’

‘Worried about you, is he?’

‘Er, well, yes, he just didn’t know where I was and—’

‘It’s OK, Miss, I understand,’ Tom said, commencing a three-point turn on the small lane. ‘You know I owe your father my life, and my wife does too. That’s how we came to be in his service.’

‘What else did you want to tell me, Tom?’ I asked.

‘Nothing.’

‘I see.’ It was strange. It was as if he’d been a different person in the bunker. The sight of that black liquid reminded me of my promise to my mother, in my Richard life, never to mention the potion. Despite this I intended to tell my father as soon as I was home. How can a promise made in one life be kept in another? And it wasn’t as though the two liquids were the same. Were they?

Tom opened a compartment to the right of the steering wheel and pulled out a cassette, but I only understood the relevance of this after he opened the window and threw it out into the woods. He hadn’t just thrown out a music tape, the car was bugged.

‘Listen to me, Vicky; it’s important. I’ve written notes on what some of the equipment does. They’re beside the controls themselves. Oh, and I’ve emailed them to my father too,’ he said, guiding the BMW around some of the bigger potholes, puddles from the rain splashing up.

‘You have access to email?’ I asked, shocked, as only senior Party members had email.

‘Well of course we do; who do you think we work for?’

‘Um, my dad?’

Tom chuckled. ‘Well yes, but officially we’re all on the same payroll. We’re all in the KGB—I assumed you knew that much at least.’

‘Actually, no!’ I paused to take this in. ‘I mean, I never really thought about it!’

It was true; I had never thought about it. I knew my father was a very senior neurosurgeon and was closely linked to the Communist Party, but I never thought he worked for them directly. I thought the KGB were just spies.

‘I’m not being rude, Tom, but do you really think your father would be able to help you with technical stuff like that?’

We had turned off the unused lane now and were back on the main road, but instead of speeding up, Tom slowed right down. I reached for the door latch and considered opening it and jumping from the car, but I couldn’t decide whether he was really dangerous or whether Dad had been misinformed about something. Maybe the police had got wind of Frankie’s exploration of the bunker with Tom and the Mad Hatter? I felt sure in my bones that Tom had told me the truth earlier. I relaxed, but only slightly. I kept my hand on the door handle.

Tom laughed. ‘Are you kidding? My father practically discovered most of the concepts that radio and radar rely on! What do you think he was doing here in the war?’

‘I thought he was a soldier? He’d been a soldier in Afghanistan, hadn’t he? And I read that Barnes Wallis and all the dambuster researchers were executed after the war?’ It was hard to keep the nervousness out of my voice.

Tom sped back up, which was worrying too, as I was sure he had spotted my hand on the door handle. I just wanted to get home.

‘It’s hard to know what’s true and what’s not, so I’ve no idea how he survived!’ Tom said. ‘He’d been a child soldier, but somehow he managed to get into Cambridge later. His life is a riddle, but I do know he was a scientist and that after the war he was transferred all across Europe on secret projects. I had an incredible childhood, staying in Paris, Vienna, Leningrad, and then Berlin before I joined the Air Force. It was a good life, until a
colleague
accused him of treachery.’

‘Treachery? What happened to him?’

I could not imagine the Mad Hatter as a scientist, working on eminent projects all over Europe. I pictured the old man under his pylon, eating cat food, and tried to reconcile these two very different pictures of him.

‘He was tortured. How do you think he lost his mind?’

Suddenly everything made sense. We turned into Deerden’s long and winding drive, the windscreen wipers fighting valiantly against the rain, and I felt sad. Sad for the old man and sad for Tom too. I’d considered him an uneducated member of the proletariat, a lowly chauffeur, but he was an intelligent man who had done so much more. He must have had all the privileges as a child that I did now—until his father was condemned.

The car came to a standstill in our drive, and I pulled the latch and pushed at the door, but the door did not budge. I rattled the handle impatiently. Nervously. Had Tom really been a radar navigator? He’d never seemed that bright. Then it dawned on me that my father was a brain surgeon! Any treatment he’d given Tom, and Mrs Blake for that matter, would have been to the brain. What had happened to them? What was the accident he referred to? Were whatever injuries they’d had behind the reason they were only capable of menial work?

‘It’s the child lock, hold on.’ He got out and walked round the front of the car.

Tom had told me about the security gadgets all our cars had, everything from bullet-proofing to extra switches. Hell, I’d just seen proof that our conversations were recorded. I looked around anxiously for Dad, at the same time reassuring myself that Tom had always been a kind man, and there was no reason to think he might harm me now. Then I remembered Tom could lock or unlock any door with the flick of a switch... a switch he could control from his seat with no reason to walk round to my side of the car!

As he opened the door, instead of giving me a hand out of the car, Tom grabbed and twisted my arm behind my back, hauling me out by force. For a moment I thought he was going to pull my shoulder right out of its socket, then I felt cold metal pushed into my temple. I recognised the same sensation I had felt in my Charlie life at the Swanshurst farm fire. I heard a sickening metal-on-metal click.

‘Safety is off—harm me and the girl dies!’

Tom pushed my back against the car, and I was facing the house. I scanned the dark windows for signs of life, but it was impossible to see through the pelting rain. I saw no one. I could hear my heart pounding in my chest and I focused on slowing it down.

During the last three weeks Adwoliu had taught me how to fight with my hands, and I now knew moves that would shock Tom. Unfortunately I had never used them in a real fight, although Adwoliu had been happy enough to leave my Richard body plenty bruised, as I had hardly managed to plant any real hits on my trainer. I did, however, note the position of every part of my body as well as Tom’s, and acknowledged that although my mind was now racing at speed, my heart and emotions had calmed. If only he did not have me in such a perfect arm lock, I could have fought back!

I then noticed Mrs Blake peering down from my bedroom window. She looked sad, so sad that her expression caused shivers to run down my spine as I watched her open my window. She leaned out.

‘Mrs Blake, Mrs Blake!’ I cried. ‘Tell him to stop, please tell him!’

But she ignored me, and I watched in horror as she climbed out of the window and without a word threw herself off, her body landing with too quiet a thud. I wanted to scream, but now felt quite frozen in shock. Part of me expected Tom to blow my brains out any minute.

In a blur, my father ran out from the doorway towards Mrs Blake and bent briefly over her limp and broken body before he stood up and started walking towards us both. I could feel Tom’s hand shaking as he held the gun to my head, but his voice was chillingly controlled.

‘You don’t have anything on me now, you see, Sir. The missus and I always promised that if the time came, we wouldn’t let you use one of us to manipulate the other. You did it once before, and we swore you would not do it again!’

‘I don’t know what you think you are doing, but you need to let Vicky go so I can call for an ambulance for your wife. If we’re quick, we can save her.’

‘What, like you saved us before?’

‘I understand your point, Tom, but let go of my daughter,’ Dad commanded as he continued to advance.

‘Your daughter?’ Tom laughed scathingly. ‘Oh come on, she’s no more your relation than those visiting Austrians. And yes, I’ve seen what you all do. I’ve seen your ritual and know what you are capable of.’ He squeezed me tighter. ‘One more step and I’ll kill her!’

‘Just calm down, Tom, you’re not making any sense.’

Tom yanked my arm back, making me cry out in pain. My legs turned to jelly, but he held me up, not letting me fall over. My father kept walking.

Through my tears I pleaded, ‘Dad, please stop!’

He stopped. He was about five metres away.

‘OK, OK, please don’t damage her anymore!’ called my father. ‘What is it you want?’

‘I just can’t face the torture.’ Tom’s voice cracked. ‘Let me go, and I’ll let Vicky go. You’re not taking me in!’

‘I can’t help you with that, Tom. You’ve got to answer for the boy. They know he didn’t fall; he had your blood beneath his nails—what did you do to him?’

My captor began to sob, yet still he held the pistol against my temple. ‘Nothing, I tried to save him...’

‘Did he struggle much as you killed him? Or did he just manage a quick lash out at you?’ replied my father. ‘We both know it’s not the first time.’

‘He must have held on tight as I carried—’

‘Well then, you can explain it at a court of—’

‘You know that won’t happen, please Sir!’

‘I just want the girl!’ said my father as he stepped forward.

‘Try and take me alive and she gets it. Now back away!’

Blinking back my tears, I watched my father retreat. Despite feeling intense pain, I managed to disconnect myself from it. If Tom wanted to kill me, he would have fired by now.

Suspecting he had only moments left of his life, I asked quietly, ‘Did Frankie’s body seem frozen as well as burnt? Did he shake?’

‘Cold as ice,’ he whispered back, ‘and yes.’

My father called out again.

‘You know I can’t let that happen!’

‘I’m counting on it!’ shouted Tom.

‘Close your eyes, chick.’

Without thinking, I did as I was told.

There was a hard thwack into my bicep and I heard shots fired. Feeling warm liquid splatter on to my face, I fell to the ground, Tom’s dead weight on top of me, before all turned black.

The Date, 1911

I came to in the Electric Cinema beneath
Dante’s Inferno
, my hand almost touching Catherine’s. Instinctively I snatched it away to feel my face, checking for blood. I glanced at her, but she seemed too engrossed by the moving picture to have noticed. My gaze shifted to the screen, and I tried to remind myself what the hell was meant to be going on. I had been watching tortured souls crying on some rocky beach, and now they were eternally washing themselves in a river. And in between this I had seen Mrs Blake plummet to her death, had a gun against my temple and been shot. My Vicky life had always felt the safest, but now it was far more frightening than this movie depiction of hell.

I doubted I had missed much of the film; perhaps I had slept in this life for only ten minutes, yet in that time I’d experienced two other lives. A sudden cramp seized my left bicep, as if the bone inside was being twisted. I wriggled my wrist to check that all was still functioning. Last time I had been alone with Catherine, my imagined wound turned real, and remembering this, I tried to feel surreptitiously under my shirt.

‘Stop fidgeting,’ Catherine whispered.

I didn’t stop; I simply moved my arm slower and couldn’t feel any wound. Sensing disapproving eyes upon me, I scanned the dark room, but the few people I could see were all mesmerised by the flickering screen. Strange though, it felt like I was
being watched
.

It was difficult to enjoy the film, as in my Vicky life I was accustomed to sound and colour, and had watched so many movies on videotape. But telling Catherine this would have the same effect as when I told Adwoliu about the Channel Tunnel and the cars and trams that travelled through it! Henry, Arthur and Adwoliu must all think me mad. I had decided then that it was best not to mention my other lives to anyone anymore. It would seem that most people, perhaps all other people, have only one life—or at least only perceive one life at a time.