The Ability (Ability, The) (33 page)

Sir Bentley opened his mouth to speak, but a glint of silver caught his eye. He looked down at Dulcia’s hands
and saw that she was holding a knife. He watched as she drew her arm back.

“Stop!”
shouted Sir Bentley, but it was too late for reasoning. Dulcia lunged forward just as Sir Bentley threw himself backward. He crashed into the seat behind him and fell to the floor. Everybody around him jumped up, screaming in terror, as Dulcia walked calmly over to exact the revenge she had been planning for so many years.

“NOOOOO!” screamed Daisy as Dulcia raised the knife up with both hands. Dulcia jerked her head round, knife poised, and saw the girl stop suddenly, her eyes completely blank.

Dulcia knew immediately what the girl was doing. Realizing that she only had seconds to do what was needed, she gripped tighter on the knife and tried to force it down, but it was too late. She felt the full force of the Ability focused on her hands, and the next thing she knew, the knife flew out from her grasp and landed on the floor behind her.

Dulcia scrambled backward to grab the knife just as John and Ron appeared, running. Seeing the pair fast approaching, Dulcia grabbed the handle of the knife; then, with crazed eyes and a look of pure determination, Dulcia threw herself forward toward Sir Bentley, who was in the process of getting up. Ron, seeing what was about to happen, jumped up in the air, ninja-like, and spun, his legs kicking out and hitting Sir Bentley with such force as to send him flying to the side and out of harm’s way. Meanwhile John, who lacked the grace but none of the power of Ron, hurled himself forward in Dulcia’s direction and slammed
straight into her. With the full force of John’s weight on top of her, Dulcia fell backward and hit her head on the floor, which knocked her immediately unconscious.

Ron, seeing John lying across Dulcia, leaped over Sir Bentley and ran over as he removed the handcuffs from his belt.

“Ready to secure the target, John.”

Ron looked down at the back of John’s head, waiting for John to move, but John didn’t respond.

“John?”

Ron heard a low moan. He knelt down and pushed John, his legs scrambling against the floor with the effort. Finally, Ron took a deep breath and gave a final push. John’s body rolled over.

“John?”

Ron stepped over the unconscious body of Dulcia and looked down at John, who slowly opened his eyes.

“Ron?”

“You all right, John?”

John lifted his head up and looked down. Ron, following his gaze, saw the handle of the knife sticking out from John’s stomach.

“Somebody call an ambulance!”
shouted Ron.

“It’s all right, Ron, calm down,” said John quietly. “It’s only a scratch.”

John reached down, and then, as the growing group of people gathered around him watched with horrified gasps, he slowly pulled the knife out.

A woman behind John fainted as he placed the bloodied knife on the ground next to him. Slowly he lifted
himself to his feet; then, his hands pressed firmly against the wound to stem the flow of blood, John shuffled away, leaning against Ron for support.

Two policemen pushed their way through the crowd; then, having secured handcuffs to Dulcia, they carried her out to the waiting police van.

Sir Bentley, placing a comforting arm around Daisy, watched them carry Dulcia away. He looked around to see where the rest of the pupils were. It was only then that he saw the fight that was in progress on the other side of the room, and he began to run.

“SOMEBODY STOP THAT BOY!” shouted Sir Bentley, watching as the pale boy, who now stood by the fountain, threw Christopher up in the air like a rag doll.

•  •  •

Chris looked down at the ground far below him as the boy turned and began to run and the force of the boy’s Ability, which had lifted him up, disappeared. A sense of defeat washed over him as he watched the muted chaos far below him. Chris closed his eyes and braced himself as he began to fall and then, suddenly, a familiar sound of ringing filled his head.

“I’ve got you, Chris,” said a voice in his mind. Chris opened his eyes and looked down to see Philip standing below him, staring at him blankly, and his body immediately slowed. Everyone around him gasped as he landed gently on his feet.

Chris didn’t have time to feel relieved. All he knew at that moment was that the boy was getting away and that it was his responsibility to stop him—he needed to prove to
Sir Bentley that his belief in him was justified. Panic swept over him as he realized that the boy was fast approaching the main doors. With all his might he willed the boy back and imagined him landing on the ground below him—but as he did so, he knew that the adrenaline had taken over him. He felt that frighteningly familiar feeling of losing control of his Ability, just as he had done when he had set the dog on Ms. Lamb, but it was too late. He watched the boy fly backward, the boy’s body flailing as he fought the violent force that was lifting him up into the air. There was nothing that Chris could do but watch helplessly as the boy slammed into the enormous ice whale in the center of the fountain, then fall to the ground at his feet, unconscious.

“Watch out, Chris!” shouted Philip.

Chris heard people screaming and looked up to see the full-size whale of ice come crashing down. Chris jumped back as the three tons of ice landed on top of the unconscious boy and smashed to smithereens. The room fell silent.

Chris rushed over to the boy and knelt over him. His eyes were closed, and he was no longer breathing. Chris grabbed the boy’s wrist, but he already knew that it was too late. The boy was dead. He, Christopher Lane, had killed someone, and he knew that it hadn’t been necessary—if he had just managed to stay in control, the boy would have lived, and it would have been for other people to decide how he should pay for his actions. For a moment all Chris could hear was the sound of his own breathing, and then, appearing as if out of nowhere, Chris heard a voice and looked up to see another boy, identical to the one lying on the ground.

“You killed him,” said Ernest Genever in a tight whisper. “You killed my brother.”

Chris looked up at the boy and saw the tears in his eyes.

“I—I didn’t mean to,” said Chris.

“You killed my twin brother!” said Ernest, louder. He looked over at Chris, who was frozen in horror, his hand still holding the dead boy’s wrist, and his eyes glazed over.

Chris heard the ringing start up in his ears and scrambled to his feet.

He turned to run but was knocked back to the ground by the group of policemen who were running toward the crying boy.

Ernest Genever wiped the tears from his eyes and looked at the men in turn, fixing them with a steely stare. As he did so, each one was thrown backward. Before they had a chance to get back to their feet, he scooped up the body of his brother in his arms and carried him out through the main archway and into the black night.

The mood was somber in the prime minister’s office on Downing Street as Sir Bentley explained the identity of the woman now locked up under tight security in Waterloo to the prime minister, Clarissa Teller, and the Myers Holt pupils.

“Anna Willows . . . I can’t believe it,” said Clarissa Teller, shaking her head. “That poor girl. I just don’t understand—we saw her . . . we saw her fall—there’s no way she could have survived.”

“I’m as baffled as you are, Clarissa, but we can’t alter events of the past, and you must remember, she’s changed; it’s not her anymore,” said Sir Bentley gently. “She’s where she should be now after everything that’s happened.”

“And the boys—do we know who they were?” asked the prime minister.

“No . . . she’s refusing to talk. We’ll find out soon enough from her, but the important thing is that she is behind bars now and you are safe. We are all safe.”

The children all smiled except for Chris, who could only see the body of the boy he had killed.

“Christopher . . . are you okay?” asked Clarissa.

“I . . . It’s just . . . That boy . . . I . . .”

Clarissa put her arm around Chris.

“You did what you had to do; you mustn’t feel bad. This has been a difficult night for everybody, but it could have been so much worse.”

Chris nodded but didn’t look up.

The prime minister walked over to where Chris was sitting. “Clarissa’s right, Christopher. Many people are safe because of you all, not least myself. I can’t thank you enough.”

Chris smiled and then grimaced as the stitches above his eyes were pulled.

“Poor you,” said Daisy, leaning her head on Chris’s shoulder.

“What about me?” asked Rex, rolling up the legs of his dirty white trousers. “I grazed my knee at the police station.”

“Ah, poor Rex,” said Daisy, smiling.

“Thank you!” said Rex, satisfied, and they all laughed quietly, glad to have the mood lightened. Only Chris remained silent, lost deep in thought.

“Right, children,” said Sir Bentley, standing up. “I think we’ve kept the prime minister long enough. It’s getting late.”

The children all thanked the prime minister, who shook hands with each one of them. When he reached Chris, he leaned over and whispered in his ear. “Thank you . . . you saved my life tonight.”

“You’re welcome, sir,” said Chris, his face going red. “I was only doing my job.”

•  •  •

The next morning Chris woke with the sound of birds singing gently, welcoming the morning sun rising over the landscape of rolling hills that Chris had come to know as his bedroom. Despite the successful conclusion of the previous night, Chris had slept fitfully, his dreams filled with the image of the dead boy lying at his feet and the sound of the brother’s grief-stricken cries. Sir Bentley had assured him over and over again that he had done what he had had to do, but deep down Chris knew that the boy needn’t have died: He had lost control of his Ability, and somebody had paid for that mistake with his life. Everything had been so perfect, he thought, and now it turned out that it really had all been too good to be true.

“Are you awake?”

Chris turned to Philip, facing him on the opposite bunk, and nodded in answer.

“You don’t look very well—are you all right?”

It was a simple question, but Chris couldn’t think of what to say in response, and an awkward silence followed until, finally, Philip sat up.

“It’s not your fault, Chris. We were all there last night, and we all made mistakes.”

“Yeah, but my mistake killed that boy.”

“No,
our
mistakes killed that boy. I could have stopped him, so could Daisy or Lexi, but we didn’t—we froze. You were the only one who could even think clearly enough to do anything. If it hadn’t been for you, well, you know what would’ve happened. You had to do what you did because no one else could.”

“I don’t know. Maybe. But I can’t stop thinking about his brother—what do you think he did? Where do you think he went?”

Philip shrugged. “I don’t know . . . but we’ll find out. You heard what Sir Bentley said; they’ll find out from the woman soon enough, and then they can make sure the boy is okay. He’ll be fine—you just have to remember what he was trying to do.”

“I never thought I’d say it, but I’m glad Sir Bentley decided to cut our holiday short last night. At least I won’t have to wait that long to find out what’s happened to him.”

“I know, there’s no rest for the wicked, as they say!”

Chris grimaced.

“Sorry, bad choice of words—you know what I mean. Come on, it’s all over, we did everything that we had to do, everyone’s safe, and that woman is behind bars, so let’s have fun today—it is nearly Christmas after all.”

Chris opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it.

“You’re right; I’ll be fine. Come on, let’s pack and go see the others.”

•  •  •

Chris’s somber mood had lifted by the time they entered the dining room for their early Christmas lunch—a result
of a morning spent playing in the Dome with his classmates. Taking advantage of the warm weather that they were about to exchange for gale-force winds and snow aboveground, they had spent most of the time in the swimming pool, where—once they were sure the coast was clear—they had all levitated each other as high as they dared before letting themselves drop, performing spectacular dives into the sparkling blue waters below. Only Rex, who refused to take part in any voluntary exercise, had chosen not to join them. Instead he sat on the bench under the blossom tree and entertained himself by firing marbles he had borrowed from the Map Room at his levitating classmates. Fortunately for the rest of them, Rex’s telekinesis abilities had only slightly improved in his time at Myers Holt, and he managed only a single, gentle hit on the side of Sebastian’s head, which was success enough to leave Rex in fits of hysterical laughter for the rest of the morning.

“Simple things please simple minds,” said Philip as they exited the changing rooms to find Rex still giggling to himself.

“Come on, Einstein, that was funny. Did you see that, right on the noggin—
bam!
”

“More like
plink
,” said Lexi, rolling her eyes.