Chapter 17 – Bad Dream
James watched, temporarily forgotten, from inside the empty McDonalds. He silently munched on another burger, picking occasionally at the bag of fries. He wrote on a napkin what items he had taken, his name and address, and promised to pay later. He left the IOU next to the till.
In the reception area, there had been a turnaround in the situation. Stannard had spent the last 20 minutes on the telephone to a media-conscious Commissioner of the Metropolitan police. She had been given orders to resolve the situation quickly and smoothly, with no loss of life and preferably without drawing too much attention to the fact that rogue police officers were at large in the hospital.
Given that there was no bomb threat, and the situation was confined to the top floor, Stannard had decided not to evacuate the rest of the hospital. She had established a wider cordon around the hospital site and she was preparing to lead a small team, armed with tasers, up to the top floor. She was all set. She remembered James, sitting on his own, and walked over to him.
“James, your parents are outside the cordon,” she said gently, putting her hand on his shoulder. He was a good boy. Brave and likeable. She hoped she might have a son like him herself one day.
“Harden had them arrested, but they’ve been released now. I’m going to get PC Nelson to take you to them. They’re waiting for you.”
“Mrs Stannard, please be careful,” James urged. He had the feeling that she didn’t really appreciate what she was letting herself in for. “Emma Venton is strong. And the others are just like her. Can you remember what it was like up there? How are you going to stop them?”
“Don’t you worry about that. PC Nelson will take you out now. I promise that your sister will be safe.” Stannard just wanted to get on with the job. There was no room for doubts.
PC Nelson gave James an encouraging smile.
“Come on, lad. You’ve been brilliant. I’ll take you to your mum and dad.”
James accompanied PC Nelson out of the building. He wanted to see Mum and Dad. But, at the back of his mind, he kept wondering if he should teleport back up to floor 36. He could do it. He felt good. Strong. That food had really restored his morale. He had felt frail and vulnerable when he had materialised in McDonalds. But after eating three burgers, two large fries and a small salad, he felt powerful again. Invincible. Which made him wonder: maybe food was the key?
“Well, Samantha,” said Mrs Randerson, in Windsor Ward. “I think it’s about time you and I got to know each other better. Dennis, would you mind?”
Mr Randerson smiled affably. He picked up the small table from the corner of the room and placed it in the centre of the ward, in front of where his wife was seated. He then arranged another chair at the opposite end of the table.
“Mrs Randerson,” said Dr Soames. “Please tell me you are not behind all this madness. I thought it was Emma Venton?”
Mrs Randerson gave a little peel of laughter.
“That filthy creature? She’s another one who isn’t in the same class as my Philip. She was a terrible bully and her parents are no better. Have you seen them in the hospital looking after their daughter? No of course not. Too busy drinking, no doubt. No, she’s one of the little people.”
“I don’t understand,” said Dr Soames, bewildered.
“Oh my God!” Sam knew now that she was right. She looked at the Randersons; then at the sleeping form of Philip; and then Dr Soames. “It’s Philip isn’t it? He’s somehow doing all this.”
Mrs Randerson looked at her, slightly surprised.
“Of course. Philip is very clever. And he’s too good for you. But, if my son wants to... be friendly with a girl like you, well, a mother has to accept that her son must grow up. I’m sure he’ll find a girl of his own class in good time, when he’s had his fun. Dennis was the same.” She gave Mr Randerson a look that seemed to carry the weight of some old resentments. He smiled sheepishly.
“Anyway,” continued Mrs Randerson. “I don’t want you to think me a terrible ogre, so I’ve organised a tea party for you. We have sandwiches, and cakes, and jelly, and everything Philip likes. Not homemade, I’m afraid. I had to obtain it from the restaurant.” She looked genuinely apologetic.
Mr Randerson brought his shopping bag over to the table. He arranged some paper plates and plastic cups on the table, along with plastic knives and forks. Sam almost found it comical, but she was scared. The Randersons were creepy, and you just didn’t know what they were going to do. But her spirits soared when Mr Randerson started placing baguettes and cakes in the middle of the table. Her tummy rumbled noisily.
“I apologise for the lack of quality crockery,” said Mrs Randerson, sincerely.
“That’s all right,” Sam acknowledged. “This is more my class, isn’t it?”
“Dennis. Help Samantha over to the table. I won’t have her eating in bed.”
“What about Miss Sharma?” he enquired.
Jasmin was still desperately struggling against her bonds, nearly choking on the gag in her mouth.
“All in good time. She’ll have the moment in the spotlight that she craves.”
Harden’s phone rang. He answered it.
“Stannard?” There was a pause. “There’s nothing to discuss. Everything is under control. Do not attempt to approach this floor. We’ll be in touch when we need you. In the meantime, if anyone approaches, they’ll be killed.” He cut her off. Harden looked at Sam. “The same goes for anyone up here who gives us trouble.”
Anika Ali suddenly sat up in her bed again, as she had done before when James had been trying to rescue Sam. Silently, she got out of bed and walked out of the ward. Sam wondered where she was going. Other than Sam only Dr Soames paid any attention to the girl as she left. Sam was reminded of ants each performing their own individual function within a collective.
Yvonne and Roger Blake gave their son a grateful hug. They were standing outside the towering hospital building. The car park had very few cars left in it. It was mainly police vehicles and news crews. PC Nelson had escorted James to his mum and dad, who had just been released from the back of a police van. Roger Blake was steaming with anger and indignation over the arrest.
“I hope for Mr Harden’s sake, and that of every policeman here, that they get my daughter out of there, or I personally will–”.
“Dad, please,” James interrupted. “It’s not Officer Nelson’s fault. It’s not Mr Harden’s fault either. It’s Emma Venton. She’s done something to everyone. They’re like sleepwalking zombies. It must be something to do with...” he tried to give his father a meaningful look. “Well, everything that’s been going on.”
Roger Blake tried to control himself.
“Please, sir,” said PC Nelson. “Accept my apologies. And like your son says, Mr Harden is not himself. But DI Stannard is in charge. She’ll get your daughter out safely. In the meantime, please stay near the police van, otherwise the media will be all over you. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get back.” He ran off back towards the hospital entrance.
“Dad, Mum. I’ve got to get back in there,” James tried, knowing it wouldn’t go down well.
“No!” said Yvonne, taking hold of him firmly by the shoulders.
“How?” asked Roger.
“I can teleport myself in there. I know where it is now. I can get in and rescue Sam.”
“What’s ‘teleport’?” asked Yvonne. “Actually, I don’t care. Please darling. It’s bad enough Sam being in there. Please. Leave it to the police. They know what they are doing. They are trained for this.”
Roger appeared to be considering.
“Stay with us, Son,” he said, not quite sure of his decision. “Let’s see if the police can defuse the situation. They’ll get her out.”
Sam nearly cried with delirious delight when Mrs Randerson offered her a cheese sandwich. It was all she could do not to snatch it out of the scary woman’s hand. Maddeningly, Mrs Randerson insisted on cutting the sandwich into
four segments and then removing the crust before passing it to her.
Mrs Randerson talked. Sam ate and listened.
“This is better, isn’t it?” she trilled, while Mr Randerson poured her some tea. “All Philip’s friends together.”
“I didn’t know Emma was one of Philip’s friends,” Sam pointed out.
“Dear me, no. She’s a revolting bully. Philip was disgusted at the way Emma picked on you. Even on the school trip, I know she wouldn’t leave you alone. The terrible things she says. I blame the lack of discipline in the school. She did the same to Philip many times. He has come home from school with blood pouring from his nose. She is the vilest of creatures. It seems only right that now she should serve Philip.”
“Serve?”
Mrs Randerson nodded enthusiastically.
“She’s supposed to be in a coma,” Sam fished.
“She is,” agreed Mrs Randerson. “That’s how Philip manages to control them. He just gets smarter and smarter doesn’t he?”
“Philip controls them?” asked Dr Soames, uncomprehendingly.
Sam knew she had been right.
“He’s got a power, hasn’t he?”
“Of course he has. I told you he was very clever.”
Yes, he was, thought Sam. Philip was very clever. Stuck in his hospital bed, unable to move, his mind was his only power.
“We got powers that... somehow were things we wanted, or things that were going on in our heads at the time,” Sam found herself thinking out loud. She remembered some things from the bombing now. How she had been trapped and wished she was strong enough to get free. How she had been burned and wished she could control the fire. Maybe James had got his teleportation power because he had been desperate to escape the inferno. What about Philip? Something to do with the fact that, for all his intelligence and being the brightest kid in school, he couldn’t do anything to save himself.
It still didn’t explain how they had got their powers in the first place. It also didn’t make sense that the Randersons should just simply accept that their son was some kind of über Derren Brown and be proud of his mental rampage. Come to think of it, why was he doing it at all? Philip was nice. Weird, but there had never been any harm in him. She looked at Philip, asleep and immobile in his bed. Was this really all down to him?
“Philip has a highly developed intelligence,” boasted Mrs Randerson. “He’s far beyond the school. Beyond anyone. He can control other people’s minds, you see. At the moment, it’s only if they’re asleep, or unconscious, when their resistance is low. But he’s getting better at it. Soon he’ll be able to do it to anyone. He almost can now. Look at Mr Reddington,” she pointed at Reddington, still on his knees in front of the window. “It’s easier with him because he’s close by. It’s harder the further away they are. Oh, this cake is stale.” Mrs Randerson held the piece of fruitcake up to show Mr Randerson. He tutted.
“Philip can make them strong, too,” Mrs Randerson added, wiping her hands on a napkin. “Like the Venton girl. Philip is doing her a kindness really. She was so badly hurt in the fire that if she ever woke up again she would be in a lot of pain. Better she is like this. Now her love of hurting people has finally been put to good use.”
Mr Randerson showed Sam the digital camera that belonged to Ryan Hawkins. She scrolled through the photographs of herself in her hospital bed. Sam felt sick, although curious as to where the teddy bear had come from.
“A nasty journalist, even seedier than Miss Sharma over there, took those,” Mrs Randerson explained. “Emma dealt with him for you.”
“You mean... she killed him?” asked Sam, appalled.
“Let’s not be coarse. Emma is coarse. If you want to be Philip’s girlfriend, you must learn to be more ladylike. I can help you with that.”
“Ladette to psycho, you mean?”
“Don’t think I won’t beat you,” warned Mrs Randerson. “Philip knows that I would do it. However strong you may be, I will still be obeyed.”
She’s seen me break the handcuffs, thought Sam. Mrs Randerson hadn’t seemed surprised. She knows about my power. Mrs Randerson seemed to know a lot of things; things that, on the face of it, it was impossible for her to know. She knew that Emma had been bullying Sam on the coach. She could only have got that information from Philip, except he couldn’t have told his mother because he hadn’t woken up.
“Is Philip controlling you, Mrs Randerson?” asked Sam, suddenly feeling more grown up than she had been seven days ago. She didn’t like it. She wished she was at home and it was a typical Sunday night. She wanted to be curled up on the sofa watching Pirates of the Caribbean with her mum and dad and James, eating popcorn, and putting off that Monday morning back-to-school feeling.
Mrs Randerson looked annoyed.
“Philip control me? His mother? Certainly not. Philip knows his place. He would never do that to us.”
“This is normal behaviour to you then, is it?”
“Philip respects his parents. He does what he is told.” Mrs Randerson was looking very irate.
“Are you sure about that? You said yourself that it’s not just unconscious people that he can control. You must be really tired and worried. Have you been sitting at his bedside a lot? Have you felt guilty too?” she asked, suddenly feeling inspired, and trying to remember which magazine she had got this psychology stuff from. “I reckon he could have got into your head as well.”
Outraged, Mrs Randerson got up and approached Philip’s bed.
“Philip, you wouldn’t do that to your mother, would you?” She turned to her husband. “He wouldn’t would he?”
“Of course not, dear,” Mr Randerson put a consoling arm around her. “Samantha’s got it all wrong. You know what children are like with their imaginations.”
I’m not wrong, thought Sam. She helped herself to some cake.
“Fruitcake, Mrs Randerson?” she asked cheekily.
Mrs Randerson didn’t get the joke. She shook her head and started stroking Philip’s head.
If I could regain my strength, thought Sam, maybe I can end this nightmare. Which suddenly made her think of all the strange dreams and nightmares that she’d had since being in the hospital. Dreams are weird. They are so vivid and yet, shortly after you wake up, you can’t even remember you have had one. Then, maybe later in the day, or the next day, someone says something and all of a sudden the dream or nightmare comes back to you. That was the feeling Sam had now. Then it struck her how many of those odd dreams had included Philip. All of them.
It was like Sam had had an epiphany.
“Dr Soames. Ever since the accident, I’ve had... horrible dreams. So real. So vivid, and yet so nasty. When I wake up, I’m drenched in sweat. Is that normal?”
Dr Soames looked nonplussed by Sam’s offbeat question, but his professionalism made him respond.
“Well, er, yes. Quite common really. You’ve had a terrible shock, both mentally and physically. It’s the way the mind copes with a trauma. You could continue to experience those dreams for some time. Sometimes the medication that you receive can heighten them. Make them seem more real.”
“Maybe Philip is experiencing that? He’s in a coma, but that doesn’t mean his brain stops working does it?”
“No,” said Soames, realising Sam was on to something. The girl was remarkable. He found it hard to believe he hadn’t come to the same conclusion. “You’re quite right. Many patients, upon waking up from a coma, claim to have had the most shockingly vivid dreams.”
“I reckon that’s it. Philip is controlling people, but he probably doesn’t mean to. He probably doesn’t even know he’s doing it. To him, it’s all a dream. If it was you or me having these dreams, they stay locked in our heads. But because Philip has these powers, he’s making it happen. What am I trying to say?” Sam tried to catch up with the speed of her thoughts. “He’s managed to include us all in his nightmare! That’s what he’s done. What he’s dreaming, he’s making real. We need him to
wake up. We need to stop him dreaming.”
Dr Soames’s brain was racing. The girl was a genius. A week ago he would have put it down to over-imaginative girlish nonsense. Now he realised that Sam had been far more perceptive than even he himself!
“Yes. Yes,” his enthusiasm overcame his pride. Then a thought struck him, as he remembered Philip’s condition. “But I don’t think we’re going to be able to wake him. His physical condition is too weak. It is more likely that he will stay in this coma indefinitely. He will probably never wake up.”
“Then we’re stuck in the nightmare with him,” concluded Sam.
DI Stannard was tired. Her thighs and calves ached. She was leading a team of five highly-trained officers from CO19 on a rescue mission up 36 flights of stairs.
Special Firearms Officers Shelley, Patel, Smith, Loach and Bailey followed her. They had been unable to summon a lift. No doubt they had been deliberately stuck at the top floor.
Stannard had already arranged for backup to be available in the form of helicopters, with a view to getting people onto the roof. But that would be a last resort. Not something the Commissioner would want on the news and all over the internet.
Her team had reached floor 33 and stopped for another rest. Each officer was carrying a taser and wearing a bulletproof vest. None of the individuals on the top floor was thought to be carrying any weapons, but it was standard procedure.
The taser is a non-lethal, hand-held weapon, often used by Special Firearms Officers to subdue potential hostiles without causing permanent injury. It has a distinctive black and yellow design and it fires a small projectile that is connected to the gun via two wires. The wires conduct an electrical charge to the target, which renders the hostile immobile. Stannard still wasn’t sure how she felt about firing the weapon at a child.
She looked up. Two, possibly three, floors above them on the staircase she could see someone. She caught a glimpse of a dressing gown and some bandages. She indicated to the other officers to be silent, and they proceeded up the next two flights of stairs.
Anika Ali was standing on the stairs like a statue. Stannard recognised her from the files. She knew she had probably been in the same room as this girl only a short while earlier, but it felt like a half-remembered dream.
Anika looked at the officers but didn’t speak. Stannard eyed her nervously. She kept her own taser lowered, but didn’t stop the other SFOs from keeping their weapons trained on the girl.
“Anika, my name is Detective Inspector Stannard. We’d like you to come with us. You need medical help. Please come down here. One of my officers will take you to a doctor where you will receive treatment. Do you understand?”
The girl started walking. Stannard wasn’t sure what to do. She had, after all, asked Anika to come with them and she seemed to be complying. Then again, she might just be coming for them.
“Slowly, please,” asked Stannard. But the girl was already walking slowly. It was like the lumbering gait of an Egyptian mummy from a cheap horror film.
“Officer Smith will escort you downstairs,” said Stannard, pointing at the SFO standing behind her on the stairs. Anika Ali continued her descent in silence.
Stannard braced herself as the girl drew level. But Anika didn’t look at her, didn’t speak. She walked past Stannard and stood next to Officer Smith. Stannard exhaled. She hadn’t realised she’d been holding her breath.
“Thank you,” she said, and she meant it. “Officer Smith will–”.
Before she could finish her sentence, Anika swung out her arm and connected with Officer Smith. He wasn’t quick enough to react and caught the full force of the blow on his temple. He crashed down the stairs.
Officer Loach, standing behind Smith, was wrong-footed by his collapsing colleague. Before he could react, Anika pushed forward and knocked Loach to one side. Stannard reached forward and grabbed Anika’s arm, but was herself then pulled down the steps. She grabbed hold of the handrail and was only just able to stop herself pitching headlong into the glass windows.
Officer Patel, one step down from Loach, fired her taser but missed. The electrical bolt hit the whitewashed wall and fell uselessly to the floor. Anika clubbed her to the floor and she dropped down to the bottom of the flight of steps.
The remaining two CO19 officers, Bailey and Shelley, still reluctant to use their tasers on a young girl, made a combined assault on Anika by grabbing an arm each. They were totally unprepared for the phenomenal strength that the 14-year-old girl was able to exert.
Bailey was lifted bodily off the ground as he held on to one arm. Anika swung her arm in a wide arc, knocking Bailey over the line of the handrail and dropping him down on to the stairs below. He broke his neck on impact.
Shelley found that he was no longer holding on to Anika, rather the girl was holding on to him. She pushed with superhuman strength and Shelley went flying over Stannard’s head and smashed through the stairwell window, plummeting 35 flights to the ground below.
Stannard looked on horrified. Only three of the original six-strong team were still standing. One member was still unconscious, two were dead.
Officer Loach backed down the stairs to give himself a clear line of sight at Anika Ali. He kept cool, aimed his taser and took his chance. It hit the girl squarely in the chest and she convulsed as the electrical energy wracked her body.
Anika dropped to the floor, still twitching. Stannard, Loach and Patel looked at one another in rapid succession, checking to make sure each was ok. No one moved for a few seconds. Stannard finally got up and checked on Smith. He was unconscious. Patel checked on Bailey. He was clearly dead. Loach made sure Anika was unconscious.
“What do we do Ma’am?” Loach asked Stannard.
“Go and get help from a doctor on floor 30. Get them to help Smith and to... take care of Bailey,” her voice faltered. “We’ve got to carry on.”
Loach nodded. He started running down the stairs. Suddenly he was hit in the back by a taser bolt. He crashed to the floor, convulsing and writhing in agony. Stannard looked around. Smith was standing up. He dropped the taser gun and picked up Bailey’s fallen weapon. He used it to shoot Patel who was too surprised even to react.
Stannard fired her own weapon and missed. Now she was unarmed. Smith had the look of a sleepwalker, the same as Anika. He would be unstoppable. She had to bring in the backup. She ran down the stairs as fast as she could. She knew that when the rest of the team woke up, they would most likely be sleepwalkers too.
“Why do you think Philip brought us up here?” Sam asked Mrs Randerson. They were still having their weird tea party in Windsor Ward on floor 36. The wind continued to whistle noisily around the building and blow through the broken window. Sam was shivering in her thin nightdress, with the blanket from her bed wrapped around her. She still didn’t know if her legs were healing under the plaster and she couldn’t even guess at what Mrs Randerson would do next.
“What do you mean?” asked Mrs Randerson, who was looking more and more distant.
“I mean Philip arranged for us all to be up here. One way or another, we’re here because of him. Why?”
“I… I... don’t know.” Mrs Randerson faltered.
“You said Philip isn’t controlling you. But you’re up here with us and you don’t know why?” Sam almost felt sorry for Mrs Randerson. She wished she could stop shivering.
Mrs Randerson looked at Sam sadly.
“Do you know why?”
Sam shook her head. “Only Philip knows that. I wish we could ask him.” Another moment of inspiration struck her. “Maybe he feels safe?”
“Safe?”
“Yes. Safe. It’s like he is hiding up here. It’s like running upstairs to your bedroom or hiding under your bed. That’s what I want to do when I’m scared. That’s what I wanted to do when I woke up in the hospital after the bomb. I just wanted to feel safe. But then as soon as my parents were with me, I did feel safe. I knew they would always look after me unconditionally. I
never even thought about it before, about how much I love them and feel safe with them.” Sam felt vulnerable again. She didn’t like opening up in front of her parents, let alone strangers. She looked to see if she was getting through to Mrs Randerson.
“Maybe Philip didn’t feel the same as me? Maybe you don’t make him feel safe?” Sam hesitated over her next words. “Maybe, you scare him?”
“No... no. We have always done what is best for him. He is our pride and joy,” Mrs Randerson protested. She looked at Dr Soames. “What do you mean, he’ll never wake up?”
“Mrs Randerson, Philip’s condition is deteriorating. It is, unfortunately, quite common with coma patients that over time they physically degenerate. Muscles start to waste, their mental condition worsens.”
“How long, Doctor?” asked Sam, her mind racing.
“It varies from patient to patient but, with Philip, it is happening remarkably quickly.” Dr Soames looked at Philip and appeared to notice something for the first time.” Also, there is nothing left in the food tube. We have to get him more.”
Yes! I’m right, thought Sam. It was the same problem that she and James faced. If they used their powers, they burned up more and more calories. Philip was using his mental powers all the time, so that must mean he needed a larger supply of food. All the time he was being looked after in Uxbridge Ward, he had been getting his supply replenished. Now it was all gone.
She had noticed how frail he looked before. Now she knew why. Philip, so intelligent, hadn’t appeared to have worked out what it was that was gave him the energy to use his powers.
Sam ate another sandwich. Now she was in a quandary. Should she say anything? If she explained about the food, then Philip would understand how to make himself stronger and he’d be able to maintain this mental nightmare. But if she didn’t say anything, Philip would die.
If she could get through to him, get him to wake up and stop using his powers, then maybe he would get better. Perhaps he would heal, just as she and James had.
“Do you think Philip feels safe with you?” Sam asked Mrs Randerson. She thought for a second that tears were welling up in the woman’s eyes.
“Of course. I’m his mother.”
“I don’t. I think he’s acting out a dream where he is in charge of all the people that have been bossing him about, or bullying him. Like you, like Emma. He’s got a power now and he’s using it. But if we can make him feel safe, maybe he’ll stop.”
“What are you saying, Samantha?” asked Dr Soames, annoyed that he couldn’t follow her train of thought.
“He needs more food, Dr Soames. And he needs to stop using his power. It’s the only way he’ll get better. Mrs Randerson, you have to let Philip know he’s safe.”
Mrs Randerson didn’t move. Mr Randerson just looked confused.
“Philip, can you hear me?” Sam called out. “We’re all your friends here. You need to stop using your power. If you stop, then you’ll get better.”
“How do you know that?” asked Dr Soames.
“Because it is what happened to me and James.” Sam felt frustrated. What else could she say or do?
“Philip. Can you hear me? If you can, please stop this. It’s not a dream. It’s real. You’re hurting real people.”
“This is nonsense,” asserted Mr Randerson.
“It isn’t.” Sam wanted to scream at him. “Philip. No one is trying to hurt you. We’re all safe. All of us. We’re all your friends.”
Everyone went silent. They all looked at Philip, waiting for some kind of sign that Sam was right and that her words were having an effect.
Everyone jumped when the silence was broken.
“We’re under attack,” called a girl’s voice from the doorway. Anika Ali stood flanked by officers Patel, Loach and Smith.
Sam immediately recognised that they were all sleepwalkers.
“Right,” Harden took up a position in the centre of the room, speaking to everyone. “Time to fight back.”