Watchers

Chapter 3

Chapter 3Adam Fisher turned uneasily in his sleep, caught in one of those strange dreams where he knew he was dreaming, but couldn't seem to wake up. He was in the passenger seat of the RV; trees lined each side of the road, the dark foreboding pines briefly illuminated by the headlights that sliced through the darkness like twin daggers. Rain was pouring down, smacking the window with rhythmic thuds accompanied by the mechanical whine of the wipers as they struggled to keep up with the deluge. Sam was driving; he could see his best friend talking, but no sounds came from his lips. It was like watching TV with the volume down. For some reason he could hear the radio. 'Annie's Song' by John Denver was gently drifting through the cab.

Adam became aware of the RV slowing down, the indicator light blinking bright orange against the night as plump raindrops reflected back, giving a strobe-like effect against the dirty, wet darkness.

Sam swung the lumbering vehicle onto a gravel track. A rest area sign lit up briefly as the headlights cut to the left. Dread swept through his body as the front tyres found the rough surface of the unkempt road. Back in his bedroom he fidgeted uneasily, clutching the covers, small murmurs and whimpering sounds coming from his lips. He wanted to wake up, but the dream held him like a prisoner.

The RV bounced its way slowly down the track, wallowing on soft suspension as the wheels seemed to find every pothole. Without warning, a large stag darted from the bushes. Sam jammed on the brakes and the pressure of the seatbelt bit into his shoulder as it locked, preventing his body from lunging forward. Glancing at Sam, he saw him speaking more words noiselessly, his face fixed with a concerned expression.

The stag, who'd spent a few seconds transfixed by the headlights darted off into the trees, claimed by the forest. The RV started to move again, creeping forward. The lane opened out into a large turning area, a giant redwood standing proud in the middle of the makeshift roundabout.

The melodic and soothing sound of John Denver's voice, and the sweet tune of his acoustic guitar did nothing but fill Adam with dread.

Just as the first chorus ended Adam saw her, and from the depths of his uneasy sleep, he stopped breathing for a few long moments, as if an unseen entity had covered his mouth and nose. Her white clothing juxtaposed against the blackness of the night, and drew his attention completely, as if she were a beacon standing out against the storm. Sam had seen her; he hit the brakes hard for the second time in quick succession. The RV skidded to an abrupt halt, the tyres grinding in protest against the gravel, Sam already reaching for the door.

At the far end of the gravel car park the river rushed by, bubbling and angry from the deluge. She was lying on the bank, on a small gravel beach no doubt popular in the warmer weather with bathers and children. Her legs swept back and forth in the current of the raging water, her tangled blonde hair obstructing her face. Blood flowed freely from a wound in her thigh. The dark red liquid contrasted brightly against the whiteness of her clothes, which despite being wet and dirty, seemed to glow brightly in the headlights.

The scene changed, like a poorly edited movie. They were both out of the RV now; Sam looking back and shouting more silent words urgently. Rushing across the rain-soaked gravel, Sam reached the body first.

Back in the safety of his room, Adam groaned and twisted beneath the covers. “No, no,” he whispered.

Sam's hands were pulling at the girl, dragging her away from the river bank. Adam watched as Sam turned her over. His sandy blond hair was plastered to his face, his clothes soaked with water. When her limp body turned, Adam saw her face, pale, almost lifeless, but so beautiful his heart ached and his head spun. Transfixed, he watched her face start to distort, transform, the skin growing darker, younger. Her whole appearance was changing, right before his eyes. His horror was complete when a bullet hole appeared on her forehead, accompanied by a trickle of blood that seemed to defy the pouring rain. He found himself staring at the young girl he'd seen executed during his time with Sam in Afghanistan, six years ago.

At the time, he'd been following Sam's squad, covering the war for an article he was writing when they'd come under heavy fire from insurgents. Adam got separated from the squad during the attack and ducked into a house. Shaking with fear, he'd managed to hide in a wardrobe. Outside, the sound of the battle raged for what seemed like an eternity, until eventually the soldiers had needed to pull back, leaving Adam stranded. Through a gap in the wardrobe door he watched the rebels drag a family into the house. Forcing them to their knees, with hands tied behind their backs, the insurgents proceeded to execute them, one by one.

Crack! The father's body slumped to the floor.

Crack! The mother followed suit.

Last was the daughter, who couldn't have been more than twelve. Her eyes filled with panic, she spotted Adam in the brief moments before her death. Those eyes, resembling a rabbit caught in the headlights of a fast-approaching car, had pleaded for him to do something. In all his life, Adam had never felt so helpless.

Crack!

Three hours passed, before the allied troops regained the village and rescued him. For three hours he'd been unable to draw his gaze from the girl; her lifeless eyes staring at him the whole time. She'd often haunted his dreams in the years since, but this time, it felt different.

The scream started deep in his body, building like a steam train charging through a tunnel. His eyes snapped open, a scream sounding from between his clenched teeth. His hands gripped the covers like a vice, his whole body paralysed, as if unseen hands held him on the cold, clammy, sweat-drenched bed.

Adam lay motionless for long moments, taking short, sharp breaths, allowing his body to relax. He was back in his bedroom; the house silent apart from the rhythmic ticking of the large clock which had hung on his bedroom wall for more years than he cared to remember. Steeling himself against the residual terror of the nightmare, he rolled to his side and brushed his hand across the screen of the iPhone Mini. 04:45 blinked back at him, the screen light illuminating the room for a second, casting shadows against the walls.

Drawing a deep breath, Adam forced himself out of bed and made his way to the bathroom. In the darkness, he easily found the cord to the small mirror light and clicked it on, bathing the room in a dim, phosphorus-yellow glow. Greeted by his own tired reflection, he ran a hand through his hair, trying to ignore the dark shadows framing his green eyes. He turned on the cold tap and splashed water over his face, the freezing liquid instantly casting out the last vestiges of sleep.

“Oh well,” he muttered, “it was almost time to get up anyway.” Turning off the tap, Adam dried his face on a towel which smelt sweetly of fabric softener, before padding quietly downstairs and into the kitchen.

“Don't you ever sleep?” The groggy voice came from the lounge, as Adam filled the kettle and clicked it on. “What the hell kind of time is this anyway?” added Sam Becker, sitting up on the sofa and peeling back his green, army issue sleeping bag.

“About ten to five, mate,” replied Adam, grabbing two cups from a mug tree on the bench.

Sam had been his best friend since they were six, though after school, they'd taken very different routes in life. Adam had gone off to study media at the local college, then followed on through university before working as a freelance writer, selling his stories and articles to a variety of newspapers and magazines all over the world. Sam had fulfilled his childhood ambition by enlisting in the army. Sometimes, six or seven months would pass before they managed to catch up, but they always came back together, one way or another.

Six years ago, Sam had secured Adam a position as a war reporter, following his squad on manoeuvres in Afghanistan during the second uprising. This had led to the incident in the village, the same incident which had ended Sam's military career.

While Adam had been frozen with fear in that wardrobe, with only the dead family for company, Sam had been shot twice during the push to regain the village; once in the leg and once in the shoulder. The leg wound, unfortunately, had hit an artery, nearly costing Sam his life. He'd been lucky to survive. They had both been just twenty-six then… and it seemed a lifetime ago.

Old habits die hard, and after returning to the UK and spending six months lodging with Adam, Sam had secured a close protection job with a private firm and found himself back in the Middle East, babysitting rich businessmen and construction teams. Sam often joked that his new line of work was a walk in the park compared to army life – not to mention the fact that the money was a damn sight better than the British Government offered for putting your life on the line on a daily basis.

Five more years passed with only fleeting visits home, and Sam always stayed with Adam, since he had no family to speak of. As a child, he'd been taken into care and spent most of his childhood days being passed from pillar to post, living in a variety of foster and care homes. The well paid, close protection work meant he had more than enough cash to buy a small house outright, but Sam refused, saying it was pointless owning a property he wouldn't be living in. Besides, he had good lodgings for free whenever he was back in the UK.

Eventually, as peace began to sweep all the regions of the Middle East, the work had dried up. Sam found himself back in London with no job and no real qualifications he could use on Civvy Street. He eventually got around to buying himself a small flat, but he was rarely there, opting to bunk down at Adam's whenever possible. Adam was fine with the arrangement and enjoyed the company. Following the death of his own parents in a car accident ten years earlier, he'd taken on the family home in Eltham, London, on the promise that he would buy out his younger sister, Lucie's, share of the legacy as soon as he was working and able to obtain a mortgage. She had been just eleven at the time of their parents' death, and while Adam attended university, Lucie had lived with their aunt and uncle in Brighton. In truth, she'd come out of the deal pretty well. At twenty-one, she not only had a tidy sum of money from her share of the house, but she'd moved back in with Adam and lived rent free. Of course, no amount of money or wealth could replace what they'd both lost on that terrible night.

Neither Sam nor Adam had married; Sam's long periods away from home meant he was never around long enough to meet someone and settle down, and Adam had travelled the world for his work. A relationship wasn't something he had the time for; he knew his line of employment was best suited to someone without any emotional ties.

“s**t!” Sam grumbled, rubbing his eyes and stretching. “Ten to five! My alarm doesn't go off until half five! You know I hate getting up before the alarm. It's like cheating yourself.”

“Sorry, bud, bad dream,” Adam said, staring blankly at the kettle as it began to boil.

“Was it the village again?” asked Sam, reaching for a tee-shirt that had been folded with military precision and left on the pine coffee table.

“Kind of,” Adam replied. “It was different though, we were— Never mind.” He decided to drop the subject; the dream still had him shaken and in truth, he didn't want to talk about it.

“I told ya, mate, you need to learn to block that s**t out, it will eat you up.” Sam pulled on his shirt, sliding it over the scar on his shoulder.

“Yeah, well that's easy for you to say, that kind of thing was your life for over ten years!” Adam grumbled, picking up the kettle.“Tea or coffee?”

“It would still be my life,” Sam began. “Don't get me wrong, all this peace in the area is great – it's just bad for business.” He shook out the sleeping bag and began to roll it back into its pack. “Tea please.”

Adam dropped a teabag into each of the mugs and filled them with boiling water.

“Make that a third,” came a voice from the hall. Lucie staggered into the lounge still half asleep, closely followed by Jinx, her well-groomed and slightly overfed tabby cat. She flopped into one of the large leather chairs as Jinx busied himself, weaving in and out of her legs, no doubt sensing the opportunity for an earlier than normal breakfast. “You guys really need to keep it down. I never even knew this time existed,” she groaned, sliding a scrunchie off her wrist and pulling her shoulder length brown hair expertly into a ponytail. “I didn't think your taxi was coming until seven? I know you kids must be excited, you've had this trip planned for ages, but I thought you'd be past waking up at silly o'clock.” She grinned at them as Adam passed her a steaming mug of tea. Taking the hot beverage, she tucked her legs up under herself. Jinx stared up at her disapprovingly, clearly annoyed by the lack of attention.

“Well, Sam needed to do his makeup and straighten his hair. You know how long he takes to get ready,” joked Adam. The company of his friend and his sister was a welcome distraction from the nightmare.

He had to admit, the early start meant it was going to be a long day; they had two hours still until the taxi was due to pick them up. The trip to Heathrow should only take an hour this early on a Sunday morning, but it was the flight to Denver Adam wasn't looking forward to. Despite the fact the trip across North America to take in the Rockies had been in the planning for the past two years, Adam felt drained. He'd only been back in the country for twelve days, after being hired by the Financial Times to cover the World Summit in Malaysia, and what an event that had turned out to be. The day after the summit, President John Remy had been found dead in the bathroom of his suite at the Marriott. The press was reporting that he'd suffered a massive coronary. The strangest thing, was the disappearance of the head of his security detail the night he'd died, not to mention the fact that during the same night, three of the delegates had also vanished without a trace. The American government was holding their cards close to the chest in regard to President Remy and the Secret Service Agent, some guy named Finch. The conspiracy theorists were already having a field day. Many people strongly believed the President had been assassinated, but over the last week or so, it became clear that no toxins had been found in his system. As usual, it had done nothing to silence the suspicions. Whatever had happened that night had caused a hell of a stir. Kuala Lumpur International had been on its highest level of security. Notices had been sent to all press travelling home in the days after the summit, warning that check-in times were as much as six hours before flights. Unfortunately for Adam, he'd been booked to fly back to London on the morning the whole mess started. He'd spent twenty hours at the airport, before finally getting airborne. Many of the media workers had opted to stay on and cover the story as it developed, but the Financial Times had no interest in conspiracies and manhunts and consequently, Adam had no reason to stay. He was sure there was a good story to be had out of the whole situation, but he'd missed out. Besides, with the passing of almost two weeks, there had been no further developments and no one seemed to know anything. From Adam's perspective, the press was just scratching about, reporting the same old stories repeatedly.

Whatever the truth, it probably wasn't going to be the happiest time to be in the States. The country had been in a state of official mourning for the past twelve days. The memorial for President Remy was due to be held later that day. By the time they landed it would just about be finished, no doubt leaving the entire country in a sombre mood.

“Well, I'm heading back to bed!” Lucie announced, draining the last of her tea before placing the empty mug on the table. “You guys have fun; don't do anything I wouldn't do.” She giggled. “See you in three weeks.” She got up and crossed the room, stopping to give her brother a farewell peck on the cheek.

“Hey where's my kiss?” called Sam as she left the room. Lucie slipped her hand around the door frame and flipped him the bird.

“Yeah, love you too, Luce,” he laughed.

Adam watched her disappear up the stairs, leaving a rather frustrated-looking Jinx to wonder where his breakfast was coming from.