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chapter 3
The race downstairs was nothing like how Erik had imagined. In fact, it was actually anti climatic in his eyes. But he could go with some anti climatic, especially after the events from the past few hours. They walked the corridors of the hospital, and he trailed slightly behind the Russian lady, taking short glances towards his surroundings, unease bubbling in his stomach.
The main question that he asked himself was why he wasn't noticed. After all, the woman didn't even bother unlocking the handcuffs and his clothes were splattered with blood. But nobody payed any attention to him, almost to the point where he considered that he didn't exist anymore to them. But what were the chances of that?
'Very likely.' He answered in his mind, as he replayed the impossibility of the whole day. What were the chances of that happening to him? And yet there he was, escaping from the authorities because he was now a convicted murderer.
As they walked, they passed right by what used to be his room. It seemed that they still hadn't cleaned it, and the bright red blood created a sickening contrast against the dull white walls of the room. Before he could get sick, Erik turned away from the room and faced forward again, seeing the long, platinum blonde hair of the woman in front of him. The rise and fall of the hair seemed to take his mind off a bit, a relief of sorts.
The next thing he knew, they were at the front door and he found it almost funny, in a mocking way. He always dreamed of the day that he would leave through the same front doors, girlfriend in hand, parents by his side, his life back to normal. Now he was leaving, but as a fugitive, and he was unsure whether if leaving seemed so good anymore. But was there any other viable option? No. That much is for certain, and because of that, he had to escape with some stranger.
'I'll write a story with all of this. Perfect novel.' Erik couldn't help to give a cheeky grin as he walked out. Though the day was not too cold, to someone without a jacket, any winter day would be cold. But he didn't complain, as he continued on his way, following the Russian to a compact Ford Fiesta.
While the lady got in the car immediately, meaning that whoever was behind the wheel was someone she trusted, he did not know this person. Or either of them, to be honest. Erik's hovered by the door, his hand placed right over the handle. He wondered, what would happen were he to step in? Would he be murdered and dumped on an unknown ally of the city (did that even happen anymore?)? Or could something worse happen? But if he didn't...then he'd be in jail, and he knew that if he chose that option, it didn't matter much if he was alive or dead. He could almost see it on the papers; 'Escaped patient and murderer found dead in the streets of Reykjavik. He trusted two strangers to make his escape, the idiot!'. But the memory of the woman clearing him of the murder seemed to bring some resolution before it was always shot down by that terrifying sensation of the murder scene. The harsh stench of blood, the red on his clothes and hands as he gripped the weapon, and the dying grin of the girl, her empty green eyes mocking him from belo-...
The honk of the car brought him back to reality. Realizing that he had no other good option, he quickly opened the door, stepping inside the car, and he shut the door before common sense could enter and remind him how stupid of an idea this was. Looking at the rearview mirror, the Icelandic teenager could make out a pair of hazel eyes staring at him. The driver also had a messy mop of red hair, and not all that small. Erik idly noted that he was almost two meters himself, and wondered if he was being recruited to some basketball team, and couldn't help but grin at the thought. As the car drove away, he placed his hand on his chin momentarily before he jerked it away as he remembered that he hadn't even bothered to wash his hands.
The window was the second best option to place his head on, as he watched the scenery pass by. The sound of a bad music station blared through the radio, and he wanted to tell them to change it, but decided against it. They seemed to have read his mind though, since it soon was turned off and the two up front started to talk.
"So how was the retrieval?" The driver asked, in a gruff, but nevertheless playful, tone.
"Bothersome." The Russian replied, her voice cut and dry, as always. "Something kept interfering with the electricity and the systems. And those idiots would not even turn to look at me." Erik raised an eyebrow at that comment, though he kept silent. He hadn't noticed any electrical problems during the day. But then again, so much had happened that it wouldn't have been odd if he had missed something. He kept listening.
"Well fuck." The male responded, though he did not sound angry at all. In fact, he was somewhat pleased. "What about the run away?" He then asked, quickly glancing at the passenger's seat and then at the rear view mirror again, where his eyes connected with Erikur's own.
"She is no longer a use to us, you'll be glad to hear." She responded, and he could hear that by the pleased tone in her voice that whoever they lost was someone that they did not want to keep. He couldn't help but wonder who it was though.
There was a moment of silence between the three of them, though Erik didn't mind in the least. Quiet was something he enjoyed for the most part, and he honestly wasn't in a talkative mood. It did not last long, though, since his impatience suddenly got the best of him. Who were these people? "Oi." He managed to croak out, and maybe that wasn't the best introduction ever. It got their attention, though. "Who are you two? Where am I going? And how come I haven't been explained anything?" He continued, his voice rising as his irritation over this situation started to show.
The blonde female turned around, and shot him an impassive look before deciding to talk. "I am Lysa." She finally introduced herself, and pointed to the driver. "The red buffoon is Davi- look at the road!" She yelled sharply when the driver, or now David, turned to wave. Afterwards, Lysa faced the black haired boy again, her expression unreadable once more. "We are going to the airport." And there, she must have seen his shocked expression, for she continued. "We need you out of this country. So you will be leaving."
Even so, that had no effect on him. Erik's expression was unchanged, as his jaw slacked slightly in surprise. Common sense began to knock at his mind's door again, kindly reminding him of the stupidity of his plan. Maybe he should have stayed after all. "Out of this country." He muttered to himself, seeing how those words tasted in his mouth. When it finally registered, he frowned. "Out of this country?! Are you bloody insane?!" He exclaimed, a bit louder than what he had originally intended, but he didn't back down. "Look. I just killed someone, broke out of a hospital, and now I'm leaving the country?! What will my family, my friends, everyone say?!" Afterwards, he slumped back on his seat, his arms crossed as he averted his eyes from Lysa's unblinking gaze.
"You did not kill her. She controlled you." The blonde woman stated, and that brought Erik's attention back to her. She continued. "And you will be safe with us. They will not go looking for you. To them, you are dead. The funeral was last week."
Dead. He couldn't believe that. This could not be happening to him, not at all. There was no way that this was real life. This only happened to people in books, movies, that sort of thing! Not to real people! His ears were buzzing and he had to blink various times to get rid of that stupefied look on his face. "H...how...? How...can you do this...?" He muttered feebly, his eyes frantically searching the Russian's dark brown ones for some sort of emotion. There was none to be found.
"If y' haven't noticed already," It was Dave who spoke up this time, the playful tone gone and replaced with a more serious one. Every once in a while, the hazel eyes would come up on the rearview mirror to look at him. "we're not normal. None of us. I'd explain it t'you but I'm kinda busy making sure I don't kill us all."
"Then give me the abridged version." Erik suddenly demanded, his frown back on his face. "I need answers."
Lysa was the one who answered. "Psychics would be the wrong word for us, though I suppose most will tell you that. We are masters of the nervous system. The group that you are about to join can control it like no normal human has ever been able to do so. You can do this as well, though you do not realize it yet. We call ourselves The Watchers. Welcome."
The main question that he asked himself was why he wasn't noticed. After all, the woman didn't even bother unlocking the handcuffs and his clothes were splattered with blood. But nobody payed any attention to him, almost to the point where he considered that he didn't exist anymore to them. But what were the chances of that?
'Very likely.' He answered in his mind, as he replayed the impossibility of the whole day. What were the chances of that happening to him? And yet there he was, escaping from the authorities because he was now a convicted murderer.
As they walked, they passed right by what used to be his room. It seemed that they still hadn't cleaned it, and the bright red blood created a sickening contrast against the dull white walls of the room. Before he could get sick, Erik turned away from the room and faced forward again, seeing the long, platinum blonde hair of the woman in front of him. The rise and fall of the hair seemed to take his mind off a bit, a relief of sorts.
The next thing he knew, they were at the front door and he found it almost funny, in a mocking way. He always dreamed of the day that he would leave through the same front doors, girlfriend in hand, parents by his side, his life back to normal. Now he was leaving, but as a fugitive, and he was unsure whether if leaving seemed so good anymore. But was there any other viable option? No. That much is for certain, and because of that, he had to escape with some stranger.
'I'll write a story with all of this. Perfect novel.' Erik couldn't help to give a cheeky grin as he walked out. Though the day was not too cold, to someone without a jacket, any winter day would be cold. But he didn't complain, as he continued on his way, following the Russian to a compact Ford Fiesta.
While the lady got in the car immediately, meaning that whoever was behind the wheel was someone she trusted, he did not know this person. Or either of them, to be honest. Erik's hovered by the door, his hand placed right over the handle. He wondered, what would happen were he to step in? Would he be murdered and dumped on an unknown ally of the city (did that even happen anymore?)? Or could something worse happen? But if he didn't...then he'd be in jail, and he knew that if he chose that option, it didn't matter much if he was alive or dead. He could almost see it on the papers; 'Escaped patient and murderer found dead in the streets of Reykjavik. He trusted two strangers to make his escape, the idiot!'. But the memory of the woman clearing him of the murder seemed to bring some resolution before it was always shot down by that terrifying sensation of the murder scene. The harsh stench of blood, the red on his clothes and hands as he gripped the weapon, and the dying grin of the girl, her empty green eyes mocking him from belo-...
The honk of the car brought him back to reality. Realizing that he had no other good option, he quickly opened the door, stepping inside the car, and he shut the door before common sense could enter and remind him how stupid of an idea this was. Looking at the rearview mirror, the Icelandic teenager could make out a pair of hazel eyes staring at him. The driver also had a messy mop of red hair, and not all that small. Erik idly noted that he was almost two meters himself, and wondered if he was being recruited to some basketball team, and couldn't help but grin at the thought. As the car drove away, he placed his hand on his chin momentarily before he jerked it away as he remembered that he hadn't even bothered to wash his hands.
The window was the second best option to place his head on, as he watched the scenery pass by. The sound of a bad music station blared through the radio, and he wanted to tell them to change it, but decided against it. They seemed to have read his mind though, since it soon was turned off and the two up front started to talk.
"So how was the retrieval?" The driver asked, in a gruff, but nevertheless playful, tone.
"Bothersome." The Russian replied, her voice cut and dry, as always. "Something kept interfering with the electricity and the systems. And those idiots would not even turn to look at me." Erik raised an eyebrow at that comment, though he kept silent. He hadn't noticed any electrical problems during the day. But then again, so much had happened that it wouldn't have been odd if he had missed something. He kept listening.
"Well fuck." The male responded, though he did not sound angry at all. In fact, he was somewhat pleased. "What about the run away?" He then asked, quickly glancing at the passenger's seat and then at the rear view mirror again, where his eyes connected with Erikur's own.
"She is no longer a use to us, you'll be glad to hear." She responded, and he could hear that by the pleased tone in her voice that whoever they lost was someone that they did not want to keep. He couldn't help but wonder who it was though.
There was a moment of silence between the three of them, though Erik didn't mind in the least. Quiet was something he enjoyed for the most part, and he honestly wasn't in a talkative mood. It did not last long, though, since his impatience suddenly got the best of him. Who were these people? "Oi." He managed to croak out, and maybe that wasn't the best introduction ever. It got their attention, though. "Who are you two? Where am I going? And how come I haven't been explained anything?" He continued, his voice rising as his irritation over this situation started to show.
The blonde female turned around, and shot him an impassive look before deciding to talk. "I am Lysa." She finally introduced herself, and pointed to the driver. "The red buffoon is Davi- look at the road!" She yelled sharply when the driver, or now David, turned to wave. Afterwards, Lysa faced the black haired boy again, her expression unreadable once more. "We are going to the airport." And there, she must have seen his shocked expression, for she continued. "We need you out of this country. So you will be leaving."
Even so, that had no effect on him. Erik's expression was unchanged, as his jaw slacked slightly in surprise. Common sense began to knock at his mind's door again, kindly reminding him of the stupidity of his plan. Maybe he should have stayed after all. "Out of this country." He muttered to himself, seeing how those words tasted in his mouth. When it finally registered, he frowned. "Out of this country?! Are you bloody insane?!" He exclaimed, a bit louder than what he had originally intended, but he didn't back down. "Look. I just killed someone, broke out of a hospital, and now I'm leaving the country?! What will my family, my friends, everyone say?!" Afterwards, he slumped back on his seat, his arms crossed as he averted his eyes from Lysa's unblinking gaze.
"You did not kill her. She controlled you." The blonde woman stated, and that brought Erik's attention back to her. She continued. "And you will be safe with us. They will not go looking for you. To them, you are dead. The funeral was last week."
Dead. He couldn't believe that. This could not be happening to him, not at all. There was no way that this was real life. This only happened to people in books, movies, that sort of thing! Not to real people! His ears were buzzing and he had to blink various times to get rid of that stupefied look on his face. "H...how...? How...can you do this...?" He muttered feebly, his eyes frantically searching the Russian's dark brown ones for some sort of emotion. There was none to be found.
"If y' haven't noticed already," It was Dave who spoke up this time, the playful tone gone and replaced with a more serious one. Every once in a while, the hazel eyes would come up on the rearview mirror to look at him. "we're not normal. None of us. I'd explain it t'you but I'm kinda busy making sure I don't kill us all."
"Then give me the abridged version." Erik suddenly demanded, his frown back on his face. "I need answers."
Lysa was the one who answered. "Psychics would be the wrong word for us, though I suppose most will tell you that. We are masters of the nervous system. The group that you are about to join can control it like no normal human has ever been able to do so. You can do this as well, though you do not realize it yet. We call ourselves The Watchers. Welcome."
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