“Mr Fletcher? Is that you? It’s Jessa. Listen…” she wheezed between breaths. “Silas is here. He’s here. And Cecily’s with him. They killed Mr Graves.”
“Wait, Jessa, what’s going on? Where are you?” the teacher asked calmly enough that Jessa uttered a grunt of frustration and thrust the phone into Flynn’s hand.
“Jessa’s right, Mr Fletcher,” Flynn had never sounded so urgent. “Silas Lynch is here. He’s going to do something. We don’t know what. But it’s bad.”
“All right, stay calm. Where exactly are you now?”
“We’re in the lobby of the Rococo Hotel.”
“And where did Lynch go?”
“I don’t know. We didn’t see.”
“Okay, I’m on my way. Stay in a public area. Keep this phone with you so I can keep in contact. Don’t do anything until I’m there, do you understand?”
“Yes.”
Mr Fletcher hung up the phone.
“We should stay out here, he said. Somewhere public.”
“We should be going after them!” Jessa retorted. “I knew Cecily was an evil bitch—I just knew it! We have to find them.”
“We can’t do anything by ourselves! We’re not strong enough to beat him. You just saw what he’s capable of.”
Jessa scratched her head, not caring that she was pulling loose strands from the neat bun. “Where is he…?” she muttered, her eyes frantically searching the expansive lobby that was filled with people milling around taking canapés from silver trays; the only urgency they could fathom was when a waiter would come along tending to champagne refills.
“He’s on his way.”
“What? No, not Fletcher, I’m talking about Lynch. And Cecily, that witch! I always knew she was vile; I said it all along. Let’s just go! We have to find them!”
“What’s wrong with you?” Flynn grabbed her arm and pulled her into the corner away from the oblivious party guests. “He’s probably back there brainwashing or murdering someone else, Jessa. That’s what he does.”
“But we need to—”
“No! Listen to me! We have to wait for the others!”
“Flynn, let go of me!”
“Only if you swear you’re not going to run off. We can’t do this by ourselves.”
“Fine, I swear!”
A loud voice boomed through a PA system as a set of grand doors were opened ceremoniously by two attendants in top hats.
“Would all event guests kindly make their way into the ballroom and take their assigned seats. Thank you.”
The crowd of well-dressed people funnelled into the ballroom, discarding their half-consumed champagne flutes onto tall tables.
“Look, there’s Rachel!” Flynn said and waved her over. She scooped them into a protective double hug.
“Are you guys okay?” she smoothed Jessa’s hair gently. “Hugo told me what happened.”
“We’re fine. We lost him, though,” said Jessa.
“Don’t worry, he’s around somewhere. You did the right thing, calling Hugo. Felicia, over here!” Rachel said, noticing Dr Mortlock at the door.
“Come with me,” Dr Mortlock instructed immediately. She walked them down a corridor adjacent to the ballroom and pulled them into a darkened room labelled Ice Vending.
“Now listen,” Dr Mortlock’s searing gaze alternated between the both of them. “You must tell me exactly what happened.”
“Well, some of it we didn’t see, but we heard it. We were in their hotel room. We didn’t know it was theirs, though. I swear we only wanted to peek inside, but then we heard them talking,” Jessa’s words picked up speed as they tumbled out of her mouth.
“And who is ‘they’?” Dr Mortlock asked stoically.
“At first, it was Silas Lynch and Mr Graves. Cecily’s dad,” Flynn answered. “Mr Graves was mad about something. But then Silas Lynch said that it didn’t matter anyway because things weren’t going to go as Mr Graves had planned, and that he was controlling Mr Graves this whole time. Silas said that he was taking over. And then Cecily was there.”
“All right,” Dr Mortlock frowned slightly, trying to keep up.
“Wait, where were you two while this was happening?” Rachel asked.
“Hiding in the bathroom,” they said simultaneously. Rachel looked horrified.
“And she was really mad. Crazier than her normal self, and she wanted him dead. Her own father…” Jessa trailed off. “Silas made Mr Graves shoot himself.”
“He made him?”
“We heard them leave the room so we went out of the bathroom and then… we saw him… he had the gun in his hand…” Flynn finished the story without finishing his sentence.
Dr Mortlock pursed her lips.
“What do you think we should do, Felicia?”
“The thing is supposed to start at 9 o’clock,” said Flynn.
“Lynch said he’s taking over this event,” said Jessa.
“What’s the time now?” asked Dr Mortlock.
“Almost 9,” Rachel checked her phone.
“Well, I’m reluctant to say this, but we can’t do anything unless we know what’s happening. Considering we are moments away from the beginning of the event, we should go out there.”
“Really?” said Rachel. “How do you know for sure he’s gonna come out?”
“If these actions were indeed as deliberate as they seem, his public appearance is inevitable, and I have no reason to believe that Silas Lynch would be anything but punctual. All of you, stay close to me.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
The four of them stood just inside the ballroom, backs against the wall.
“8:59,” Rachel whispered.
They looked out over the round tables. The room sang with the sound of clinking glasses and oblivious conversation.
Hugo Fletcher and Audrey Baxter hurled into the room. Audrey wrapped her arm around her little sister while Dr Mortlock conveyed the story so far to Hugo.
Precisely on time, the house lights went down and the red, white and blue beacons danced across the stage. Jessa looked around the room for her mother. She thought she could see her at the back of the room, but it was too dark back there to tell.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” a refined voice resonated through the speakers. “Please welcome, Jameson Graves.”
They applauded politely and enthusiastically, but the applause came to a sluggish halt when it was a different man who entered the stage. Jessa’s spit caught at the back of her mouth. Her skin suddenly felt alight.
With a wave of his hand, the music stopped, the dancing lights stopped, the entire show stopped. The yellowy house lights re-lit the room as a few whispers sounded around tables, answered by shrugs and lightly shaken heads.
“Good evening,” he said, uncomfortably softly and too far away from the microphone. “I’m afraid Mr Graves couldn’t make it here today.”
A wave of voices washed over the room. Questions, concerns. Jessa could see Cecily standing in the shadows of the stage wing.
“But this evening was never about Mr Graves.” His slick hair shone under the lights. From the stage, his scarred skin was barely noticeable. He looked almost normal. “My name is Silas Lynch.”
A few murmurs of confused recognition.
“Yes, some of you may remember me.”
“Rubbish! Silas Lynch is dead!” someone called out from the audience.
“Silas Lynch is very much alive,” his lips curled slightly.
“Is this a joke? Where’s Jameson?” another voice called out.
“Quiet, please.”
The voices grew louder.
“I’m out of here, this is nonsense,” an angry man marched away from his table and toward the furthest doors.
“No,” Silas raised his hands and the man flew backwards. He hit the ground with a thud that made everyone gasp. His large body slithered down the aisle, legs and arms flailing helplessly. Silas’ invisible hold on the man’s body ceased, allowing him to stand.
“Please return to your seat, sir.”
The man gaped at Silas, shocked and scared, and scuttled back to his table.
Every door to the ballroom slammed shut with a loud bang.
“I am simply here for your time and attention,” Silas said, almost pleasantly. “If the news reporters around the room with cameras would kindly come forward toward the stage.”
Three wary-looking people with small cameras shuffled a little closer to him, as instructed.
“It is my hope that this moment is a turning point for humanity. An awakening. A resurrection, if you will. You are correct; I was condemned to execution a long time ago. But I did not die. In fact, I used my parapsychological ability to keep myself alive.
As long as I have lived, I felt something within me that nobody else saw. A deeper, stronger power. I imagine some of you may have felt it when you were younger, perhaps.”
Scared faces, doubtful faces, curious faces watched him in silence.
“You believe your government protects you. You believe your schools train your children to be the best they can be. You’re wrong. There is no parapsych in this great country that is as powerful as they can be. There are books, ancient books that teach of advanced parapsychism that could change the way we use our abilities. They were written by a small group very long ago who believed in bigger things. But over time, those beliefs gave way to fear and control. Your government controls you. And your fear controls you. Imagine what you could do, imagine what you could be, in a fearless world where parapsychism is revered as it should be.”
He paused. The audience gave him no response. Jessa watched intently.
“I do not care for politics. I only care about change. I ask you to imagine a world where parapsych schools taught children how to influence plant growth, how many more people could be fed? Imagine if they were taught how to combine their parapsych energy with another’s, how strong could they be? Imagine a country where parapsych education didn’t end in youth, but continued into adulthood.
The people who govern you have imagined all these things, and more. And they have chosen not to act on these ideas. They have chosen to keep you all in the dark. I believe that now is the time for you, for us, to show them the light.”
The ballroom audience looked to each other, some confused, some fearful. Jessa’s mother had inched her way around the room and held each of her arms around each of her daughters.
Silas Lynch stood still, his dark eyes looking around at the people watching him.
Jessa’s mind raced back to her visions. She’d seen him through someone else’s eyes and felt the burn of his torture. Yet here, through her own eyes in the clear lights of the stage, he seemed put-together, confident, and unpretentious. He looked physically weak and relatively harmless.
“I suspected I wouldn’t be able to win you over immediately with my words,” he said, cocking his head slightly to the side like a curious dog waiting for a reaction from an object. “So I took the liberty of preparing a display for you. Hopefully then you’ll understand, and you’ll join me in a revolution. But it is not I who will show you. No. Not I. It is your children who will show you the way.”
He had their attention. Mrs Baxter pulled Jessa tighter.
“I have chosen one hundred children from London and implanted them with a seed, if you will, from my own mind.” His mouth twisted in a way that could only have been intended as a smile. “The seed will germinate at midnight tomorrow—approximately twenty-seven hours from now—and it will blossom into its fullest expression of power. Your children will cease their earthly lives of suffering, and they will donate to me their newly kindled energy, and then, I will reign as the most powerful parapsych in history. I will lead you all as we welcome a new era.”
“Bullshit!” a woman called out from one of the furthest away tables.
“I’d prefer not to hear that kind of language, Marilyn Downton,” he replied. “And perhaps you’ll change your opinion tomorrow night when your daughter Polly shows you true power—”
“Don’t you dare touch my daughter, you sick freak,” the man next to Marilyn Downton stood up and slammed his fists on the table.
Silas smiled. “Your daughter has been chosen, Mr Downton. She has been blessed.”
“I’m gonna kill you,” Mr Downton raced toward Silas, who simply flipped his fingers upward and invisibly hoisted the man into the air. Men gasped, women shrieked, and Mr Downton continued yelling obscenities at an unphased Silas Lynch.
“I implore you to direct your anger to the right people, Mr Downton,” Silas spoke louder. “To the schools that don’t teach your children how to embrace their power and protect themselves with it. The teachers who fail to protect your children from predators. The laterals who mock us by demanding a false equality; the parapsychs who mock us by trying to maintain the illusion of justice. The government that lies to you every single day. Your fellow countrymen who look to the ground and don’t even have the gumption to question their own hearts. Mr Downton, your government let me lie in hiding and increase my own power, completely undetected. I have remained alive by lying, gambling and stealing. If they could catch me, they’d call me a criminal. And yet your prime minister lies, gambles and steals from his citizens every day and you all pay him to do so.”
Mr Downton held still in thin-air, arms sprawled away from his body, his eyes staring down at the man who spoke up to him. “Your daughter is a necessary sacrifice in this turning point for humanity. Citizens will march upon London and demand justice, safety, and education. This is the beginning for us all.”
Mr Downton dropped from the air, crashing directly onto one of the round tables. Wine, champagne, and shattered glass sprang over the linen tablecloth and the eveningwear of shocked guests who helped him scramble down from the tabletop. One woman ran to the back of the room, hammering on the door for help. Silas ignored her.
“The children are the future,” he said. “Take, for example, this young girl,” he reached out toward Jessa and telekinetically moved her across the room to him. Mrs Baxter’s hands covered her face, frozen in terror. Jessa felt the invisible pull and didn’t try to resist it. The rubber soles of her shoes swabbed against the parquet floor as he dragged her closer. Dr Mortlock followed, holding on to Jessa’s arm in case she needed to intervene.
Jessa couldn’t look away from him. She recognised him so intensely that she felt nauseated by his ragged, scarred face.
“This young girl lives in a world where she is judged more highly for her face than the remarkable things she could do with her brain. But what if something happened to her face? If she were covered in scars, perhaps? Then you would pity her,” he reached out and touched Jessa’s skin. His fingers felt icy and lean.
“I know you dream of more,” he said, looking into her eyes with a blazing intensity. “You can have everything.”
“No,” Dr Mortlock said.
Silas snapped his gaze from Jessa’s and looked directly at Dr Mortlock. His eyes narrowed in realisation. And with Silas’ hand on her face, and Dr Mortlock’s grasp on her arm, Jessa heard their silent communication.
“Lissy? Is that you?”
“Not anymore, Silas. You have to stop this.”
“It’s only the beginning. This is the moment we’ve been waiting for. Come back to me.”
“Let her go, please!” Mrs Baxter begged. Silas released his touch and his invisible hold on Jessa. Dr Mortlock and Hugo Fletcher pulled Jessa back away from the stage and Mrs Baxter clutched her daughter into her body.
Silas sneered. He looked back to the audience to see that many of them had risen from their seats and were approaching him, some holding the clean silver knives from their table settings. He crooked his head to the side once more and ended his speech with two cold words.
“Tomorrow. Midnight.”
And he was gone. Disappeared from sight, without a sound or a trace.