Out of Reach Read online

  “What are you doing?” Sarah asked frantically. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  “Quiet,” Schaefer instructed. “They’re coming.”

  Behind them a gang of Obsidian’s followers spilled down the stairs and crossed the corridor into the men’s toilet. Schaefer pulled Sarah and Oliver behind him and the three of them backed down the dark corridor. Schaefer prayed his memory of the building’s layout was accurate; the darkness would only conceal them for so long.

  “Find them!” Schaefer recognised Obsidian’s voice even though it was distorted by pain. Men emerged from the toilet. One of them shouted instructions to others who had come down the stairs.

  “Schaefer’s escaped,” he said. “They’re somewhere in the building.”

  The men spread out, and Schaefer saw a group of seven heading up the dark corridor towards him.

  “Move,” he said quietly. Schaefer pushed Sarah and Oliver forward, but after a few paces they collided with something solid.

  “What was that?” a distant voice asked. The seven men increased their pace.

  Schaefer probed the obstruction and was relieved to feel the familiar metal bar of a fire escape. He pushed down, but the door didn’t open.

  “Thomas,” Sarah said fearfully, “they’re coming.”

  Schaefer could hear the footsteps, no more than fifty feet away. He felt for the end of the bar and found a chain that bound it to the adjoining fire door. A tiny gap between the two doors provided a narrow column of light that enable Schaefer to see the old, rusty padlock and chain. Forty feet. Concealment was no longer an option; they were trapped against a locked door in a pitch black corridor, with seven angry hunters coming rapidly towards them.

  “Stand back,” Schaefer pulled Sarah and Oliver out of the way. Thirty feet.

  Schaefer swung the machete and hacked at the chain ferociously. Behind him he heard the sound of running footsteps.

  “They here!” Someone yelled. More footsteps from further down the corridor. Schaefer hacked at the chain.

  “Thomas!” Sarah screamed.

  “Dad! Please don’t let them get us!” Oliver pleaded.

  Few sounds had ever given Schaefer so much joy as the noise the chain made when it snapped. Schaefer kicked the doors open, flooding the corridor with light. He hurled Sarah and Oliver into the alleyway beyond, and then turned to face their pursuers. Schaefer hacked at the first three men, slicing open a shoulder, severing an arm at the elbow, and cleaving a thigh. The violence caused the other four men to hesitate, which was all Schaefer needed. He backed through the doorway, slammed the doors shut, and slid the machete through the handles to create a makeshift bolt. As the men on the other side tried to batter them open, the doors shook, but held fast. Schaefer grabbed Sarah and Oliver and dragged them away. Schaefer rejected the dangers of Hilldown Road, and instead led his ex-wife and son further along the alleyway, behind the buildings that lined Streatham High Road.

  Angry shouts bounced off the buildings, echoing along the alleyway. Hurried footsteps pounded against the crumbling tarmac. Sarah was exhausted and Oliver was on the verge of collapse. Schaefer picked up his boy and ran on.

  “Come on!” Schaefer told Sarah. “We’re almost there!”

  Schaefer spun round to see shadows on the alley wall. Obsidian’s men were closing. Schaefer pushed his legs harder and faster. He could see the next street along. Schaefer barely felt the burden of his son as he flew along the alleyway. He and Sarah hurried onto Heathdene Road, and sprinted round the corner onto Streatham High Road. Schaefer saw some of Obsidian’s men racing towards them, picking their way through the pedestrian traffic on the busy high street. Schaefer saw the pursuing group heading up Heathdene Road, and looked around desperately for escape. Then he saw it. Schaefer stepped into Streatham High Road in front of a black cab, which was forced to screech to a halt. Schaefer didn’t give the driver any time to get angry. He ran round and opened the rear passenger door. He, Oliver and Sarah fell into the cab.

  “Drive!” Schaefer yelled. “Get us out of here!”

  The cabby was no fool. He saw the two gangs of men converging on his vehicle and understood the urgency of Schaefer’s request. He put his foot down and the cab sped south. Schaefer looked out of the rear window and saw Obsidian’s men curse him as they receded into the distance.

  THIRTY FIVE

  Schaefer snagged the curtain to create a gap just large enough for him to look out of the grimy window. Calthorpe Street was quiet. They were in the middle of a Georgian terrace that mirrored the one on the other side of the road. Further up the street, as it neared King’s Cross, the old buildings gave way to modern office blocks and hotels. A cab pulled in at the Holiday Inn at the other end of the street, and Schaefer saw two businessmen in cheap suits jump out. They’d be staying in relative luxury when compared to the shithole that housed Schaefer and his family. The King’s Cross Grand Hotel was anything but. Four terrace houses knocked together to create a perplexing warren of bedsits and two room apartments. Stained carpets, dirty sheets, old, infested mattresses and building that was permeated with the stench of misery and failure. The one thing the meagre establishment had in its favour was its traditional view of anonymity. No credit card for incidentals. No proof of identification. A false name and a bundle of cash suited the owner perfectly well. Schaefer had occasionally hidden clients here before taking them down to Gilmore and was on nodding terms with the greasy reprobate, a former pimp called Tosh.

  Tosh had insisted on giving Schaefer his biggest deluxe suite. Two rooms, one double with a bed that sagged in the middle, and a living room that doubled as a second bedroom. Schaefer stepped away from the window as Sarah entered the living room. She shut the bedroom door behind her.

  “He’s asleep,” Sarah whispered, as she switched off the small black and white television. Schaefer had been surprised to see such an old monochrome set, but it was in keeping with the rest of the place. An old re-covered sofa bed, paisley carpets from the early eighties, heavy curtains that looked even older, and dusty black and white prints that clashed with the faded floral wallpaper.

  “Thank you,” Sarah said, approaching Schaefer. She was calmer than she had been when they arrived, but Schaefer could see that she was still shaken. Tears welled up unbidden, only to be wiped away by a trembling hand. Schaefer placed his hands on Sarah’s shoulders and pulled her close to him. The tender safety of his comforting embrace was too much for Sarah, who began weeping freely. They stood silently for a few moments.

  “Who were they?” Sarah asked, pulling away from Schaefer.

  “They belong to a cult known as The Collective,” Schaefer replied. “They were the ones who took Amber.”

  “Why?” Sarah wept. “Why us?”

  “I don’t know,” Schaefer shook his head slowly.

  “We should go to the police.”

  “I think they’ve got people in the police. And the security services. We can’t trust anyone.”

  “This can’t be happening,” Sarah protested.

  “It is. They killed that policeman,” Schaefer said. He knew that his picture had been all over the news in connection with Noel’s murder. “And I saw them murder two others.”

  “Is this it then?” Sarah indicated their meagre surroundings. “Do we have to live like this for the rest of our lives?”

  Schaefer wasn’t sure how to respond.

  “I’ve seen what this life has done to you, Tom,” Sarah continued. “I’ve seen you put everything on the line and I’ve seen the toll it’s taken. You’ve lived in the dark, in the shadows with these people. I can’t do that. So, whatever you have to do – whatever it takes, you get us out of this. You hear me?”

  Sarah’s tears had been replaced by a steely resolve.

  “This isn’t about Amber any more. This is about us. This is about keeping me and your son safe. You do whatever it takes. Do you understand?” Sarah said. “Whatever it takes. I want our lives back.”

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sp; Schaefer nodded. The only way to remove the threat was to destroy the Collective.

  “I’ve got to go,” Schaefer said. “But I’m going to need you to do something for me. The man who lost his hand; his name’s Felix Obsidian. They won’t have treated that kind of injury in the field; he would have been admitted to hospital. Call every hospital in a ten mile radius. Say you’re his sister. When you’ve found out which one, phone me on this number.”

  Schaefer scribbled his new mobile number on a hotel notepad.

  “Don’t open the door and don’t leave this room until you hear from me,” Schaefer instructed. “If they find us, these people will kill us.”

  Sarah nodded.

  “Thomas,” she said, as Schaefer started towards the door, “Be careful.”

  Schaefer smiled and then was gone.

  *

  Ellen Ovitz was not particularly pleased to see Schaefer. It was nine o’clock when he got to her house, and she was already in her robe and pyjamas.

  “Every time I see you you’ve got some new injury,” she said as she opened her front door. “I thought you said your friend sold books.”

  Schaefer shrugged.

  “Something tells me you didn’t just come here to return my car,” Ellen surmised.

  “I need you to come with me,” Schaefer said. “I need you to read someone.”

  Ellen smiled, “If you have a friend who would like a consultation, ask them to make an appointment with Bernice.”

  “This man isn’t a friend. He kidnapped Sarah and Oliver,” Schaefer said.

  “Goodness. Are they okay?” Ellen said with genuine concern.

  “They’re fine. I’ve got them somewhere safe. I think this man took Amber. I want you to read him.”

  Ellen shook her head, “I don’t do this sort of thing, Thomas. It’s dangerous.”

  “I need your help. I’ve done things to this man…” Schaefer tailed off, ashamed. “I don’t know how else to get him to talk.”

  Ellen was about to say something, when Schaefer’s phone rang.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “It’s me,” Sarah said. “He’s been admitted to St George’s. Room 361, D Ward.”

  “Thanks,” Schaefer said. “I’ll call you as soon as I’m done.”

  Schaefer hung up and turned to Ellen, “Sarah and Oliver won’t be safe until this is over.”

  Ellen wavered, “What makes you think I’ll be able to get anything from this man?”

  “If you keep doing the wrong thing, life will keep hitting you hard,” Schaefer said earnestly. “I should have listened to you. Nothing about this situation has been ordinary. I tried to smash the problem with brute force, but got nothing but more pain. These people are abnormal. I don’t have what it takes to get anything from them.”

  “But weirdoes are my area of expertise, huh?” Ellen joked. “Give me five minutes to get dressed.”

  *

  Ten minutes later Schaefer was driving Ellen towards Tooting. As they neared their destination, Schaefer noticed Ellen’s demeanour change. They travelled in silence, so it was nothing she said, but as surely as the cold wind that precedes a storm, Schaefer could feel his passenger growing tenser with each passing minute. St. George’s Hospital was one of the largest in South London; a sprawling complex of modern buildings. D Ward was in the main building, a squat red brick structure that was at the heart of the hospital. Schaefer pulled into a bay in the adjacent public car park and walked Ellen towards the main building.

  “I need you to promise me something,” Ellen said suddenly. “Whatever happens, there is to be no violence.”

  Schaefer nodded.

  “Promise me,” Ellen pressed Schaefer for his word.

  “I promise,” Schaefer said as they stepped through the main entrance.

  The vaulted hospital lobby reminded Schaefer of a cathedral. A few visitors crossed the polished floor, talking in hushed tones about the prospects of their nearest and dearest. Schaefer wondered how many people had prayed for miracles in this building, and how many of those prayers had been answered. The hospital was winding down, the computerised self-service check-in terminals were unused, a handful of hospital staff gathered at one end of the lobby for a gossip, and there was the general air of a busy organisation taking a breather before the next day of frantic activity. Ellen and Schaefer followed the signs to D Ward, which lay on the north side of the building.

  The sign on the ward door said that visiting hours were from eight a.m. until ten p.m., which gave them twenty-five minutes. Schaefer pressed the buzzer and he and Ellen waited.

  “Hello?” Came a voice through the intercom.

  “We’re here to see Felix Obsidian,” Schaefer offered.

  The door buzzed open and Schaefer and Ellen proceeded into the quiet ward. Schaefer nodded a smile in the direction of the duty nurse. She was too busy with paperwork to give him anything other than a cursory acknowledgement in return. As they walked, Schaefer checked the numbers by the doors and saw room 361 a few yards away. He and Ellen headed towards it.

  Obsidian stirred as they entered. Schaefer shut the door behind them, and turned to see the injured man struggling to prop himself up against his pillow. His arm was bandaged at the stump, and Schaefer was pleased to see that they had not been able to reattach this evil man’s hand. Ellen’s sombreness had reached its climax, and she froze to the spot as she looked at Obsidian. Obsidian stared back at her, and Schaefer saw something he’d never seen in the man; vulnerability. Obsidian tried to reach for the call button, but Schaefer raced across the room and snatched it out of reach.

  Obsidian was silent, but eyed Ellen nervously, “Who’s she?”

  Ellen, who had regained her composure, said imperiously, “You know who I am, child of darkness.”

  Obsidian almost recoiled at Ellen’s words. The air in the room crackled, as something powerful and unspoken passed between them.

  “This man has been twisted,” Ellen said to Schaefer. She turned her attention to Obsidian, “They took you off the street, didn’t they?”

  Schaefer could not tell whether Obsidian was unnerved by Ellen’s accuracy or her compassion, but he was definitely unsettled.

  “They’ve tormented you,” Ellen continued. “Such pain.”

  “Get out of here!” Obsidian suddenly yelled. “I’m beyond you, woman!”

  Ellen fixed Obsidian with a look that Schaefer recognised. She was studying the man.

  “Something you said has been bothering me,” Schaefer took advantage of Ellen’s silence. “He said you’d come back. That’s what you told me at the church. Who said I’d come back?”

  “Yes,” Ellen interjected, “He is a servant. There is one he calls master.”

  “Stay out of me,” Obsidian objected. “Stay away!”

  “This man – no, this creature – is the embodiment of darkness,” Ellen continued. “It is the head. It is the leader. It is the source of all this evil.”

  “Papa Boya,” Obsidian whispered. “Forgive my weakness.”

  “Where do I find him?” Schaefer demanded.

  “Thomas, does anyone know you’re here?” Ellen asked suddenly. “I sense three, no, four men. They’re looking for you.”

  Obsidian smiled, his dark eyes shimmering in the low light, “He is known to us, woman. All that he is, all that he does, Papa Boya knows all.”

  “I’ve underestimated the evil here, Thomas,” Ellen said hurriedly. “He knew you were coming. You must leave.”

  Schaefer hesitated as he looked at Obsidian. This twisted man represented his best chance of extricating Sarah and Oliver from danger.

  “Go,” Ellen insisted. “I’ll get the better of this evil. I’ll find out where this Papa Boya is. You must go now, Thomas!”

  Schaefer nodded and rushed towards the door.

  “You cannot run!” Obsidian called out from his bed. “We are everywhere.”

  Schaefer opened the door and ran into the path of four suited men. T
he first man, clean shaven with a crew cut and a square jaw, produced a warrant card.

  “Thomas Schaefer, I’m Detective Lucas. I’m placing you under arrest for the murder of James Noel,” Lucas began. Schaefer didn’t wait to hear his rights; he turned and started to run. But he didn’t get more than a couple of steps down the corridor. There was a sudden burst of pain in his back and his body started to spasm violently. As he dropped to the floor, convulsing, Schaefer caught sight of the police-issue Taser in Lucas’ hand. A moment later, the world went dark.

  THIRTY SIX

  Failure. Schaefer drifted at the edge of consciousness. He felt himself moving. Travelling a great distance at some speed. He had no sense of time, but Schaefer could sense whispered voices at the edge of hearing. He tried to open his eyes, but they refused to oblige. He lay in darkness reflecting on the failure his life had become. Schaefer knew that sooner or later every man had to face the fact that he had failed. As a father. As a son. As an employee. As a boss. As a friend. As a husband. For some that recognition came early in a life that was defined by an angry, destructive response to failure. For others the recognition arrives late in life in the form of regret. All the choices made in a life, and any one of them might have led to a different path. Schaefer had no doubt that he was a complete and utter failure. His ruination had left him hollow and empty, devoid of hope. Schaefer considered all the decisions that had led him to this point and wondered how different choices might have affected the outcome. Failure. Schaefer felt a certain inevitability, that he had been doomed to fail, and that he had only succeeded in prolonging the day of his defeat. Even if he could avoid Noel’s murder, Schaefer would struggle with the other charges he would have to face. Obsidian would be bound to press charges, and might even try to implicate him in the Lomas murders. Schaefer’s stomach fell away as he suddenly thought of Sarah and Oliver waiting for him in that dingy hotel. His one mandated phone call would have to be to his ex-wife. He would ask her to go and stay with her mother until he got out. Failure.