There were two photographs beneath. One showed Blake looking at the camera, the other, identical in appearance, highlighted a small scar on his left shoulder. The photos were marked with dates and times. The unblemished one bore the legend: December 4th 7.30p.m. The second: December 5th 8.01 a.m.
‘This proved two important things, firstly that it is possible to possess two centres of consciousness simultaneously and also that any injury sustained in the Astral state will manifest itself on the host body. The proof is irrefutable. Tangible
Astral projection is possible, so too is the manipulation of another person’s subconscious m/‘nd.’
Kelly closed the file, got to her feet and replaced it. For long seconds she stood motionless in the silent cellar then she scurried back up the steps, aware of the icy chill which seemed to have enveloped her.
She closed the cellar door behind her, noticing that her hand was shaking.
It was almost 3.15 p.m. when the XJS came to a halt outside the house.
Kelly, watching from the sitting room, peered out and saw Blake lock the vehicle before gathering up his attache case. He headed for the front door and, a moment later, she heard the key turn. As it did she moved across to the sofa and sat down, her eyes on the hall door.
Blake smiled at her as he entered.
She watched as he laid the attache case on the coffee table and flipped it open, removing the Magnum which he placed beside it.
‘Vernon didn’t try anything?’ she said, looking at the gun.
The writer shook his head.
‘If he has acquired some kind of power then he knows how to control it,’ he said, crossing to the drinks cabinet and pouring himself a large measure of Haig. He offered Kelly a drink and she accepted a Campari.
‘Did he say anything at all?’ she wanted to know.
‘Nothing that I found incriminating if that’s what you mean,’ Blake told her.
i mentioned his wife. You were right, he does get touchy about that. He wanted to know how I knew about her, what I knew about her. When I mentioned John Fraser he threatened to have me thrown out or arrested.’ The writer downed a sizeable measure of the fiery liquid.
‘You didn’t accuse him of killing Fraser did you?’
‘Not in so many words. I just told him what you’d told me. He didn’t react very favourably.’
There was a long silence, finally broken by Blake.
i don’t know where we go from here,’ he said.
Kelly didn’t speak for a moment then she sucked in a long breath and looked at Blake.
‘David, how much do you know about Astral projection?’ she asked.
He sipped at his drink, his eyes glinting behind the dark screen of his glasses.
‘Why do you ask?’ he said, his voice low.
‘I was just curious,’ she told him. She opened her mouth to speak again but
couldn’t seem to find the words.
Blake sat beside her on the sofa and placed one arm around her, drawing her to him. He smiled reassuringly. She moved closer to him, aware of an icy chill which surrounded her.
He held her firmly and only when her head was resting on his shoulder did his smile disappear.
He looked across at the Magnum.
Oxford
The strains of ‘God Save the Queen’ died away gradually to be replaced by a rasping hiss of static, so loud that it jolted Dr Stephen Vernon from his uneasy dozing. He moved to get up, almost spilling the mug of cocoa which he held in one hand. He switched off the television and stood silently in the sitting room for a moment. He was alone in his house. Joubert was at the Institute and would be for the remainder of the night, going through reams of notes so far untouched. Vernon gazed down into his mug of cold cocoa and winced as he saw the film of skin which had covered the surface. He put it down and headed for the sitting room door, turning off lights as he went.
He had reached the bottom of the staircase when he heard the noise.
Vernon froze, trying to pinpoint the direction from which it had come. He felt his heart begin to beat a little faster as he heard it once more.
A dull thud followed by what sounded like soft whispering.
He turned, realizing that it came from the study, behind him to the left. The white door was firmly shut however, hiding its secret securely.
Vernon hesitated, waiting for the sound to come again.
He heard nothing and prepared to climb the stairs once more. He’d left the window in the room open. A breeze might well have dislodged something in there, knocked it to the floor, caused …
He heard the sound like whispering again and, this time, turned and approached the door.
Vernon paused outside, his ear close to the wood in an effort to detect any sounds from within. His hand hovered nervously over the knob, finally closing on it, turning it gently.
He tried to control his rapid breathing, afraid that whoever was inside the study would hear his approach. Also, as he stood there waiting for the right moment to strike, he felt suddenly vulnerable. He released the door knob and looked around the darkened hallway for a weapon of some kind.
There was a thick wood walking stick propped up in the umbrella stand nearby; Vernon took it and, for the second time, prepared to enter the study.
Beyond the closed door all was silent once again, not the slightest sound of movement disturbed the solitude. A thought occurred to Vernon.
What if the intruder was aware of his presence and, at this moment, was waiting for him?
He swallowed hard and tried to force the thought from his mind.
He gripped the knob and twisted it, hurling open the door, his free hand slapping for the light switches just inside.
As the study was illuminated, Vernon scanned the area before him, the walking stick brandished like a club.
His mouth dropped open in surprise as he caught sight of the intruder.
Hunkered over the large table, one of the files open before him, was David Blake.
‘You,’ gasped Vernon, lowering his guard.
That lapse of concentration was all that Blake needed. He flung himself across the table, catapulted as if from some gigantic rubber band. He crashed into Vernon, knocking the walking stick from his hand, rolling to one side as the older man lashed out at him. Vernon managed to scramble to his feet, bolting from the room but Blake was younger and quicker and he rugby-tackled the doctor, bringing him down in the hallway. They grappled in the gloom and Vernon found that his fear gave him added strength. He gripped Blake’s wrists
and succeeded in throwing him to one side. The younger man crashed against a nearby wall but the impact seemed only to slow him up for a moment. He scrambled to his feet and set off after the older man again, following him into the kitchen this time.
Vernon tugged open a drawer, the contents spilling across the tiled floor.
Knives, forks, spoons, a ladle — all rained down around his feet with a series of high pitched clangs. He snatched up a long carving knife and brandished it before him.
Blake hesitated as he saw the vicious blade winking at him and, for what seemed like an eternity, the two men faced one another, eyes locked. Like two gladiators, they both waited for the other to move first.
‘What do you want?’ asked Vernon, the knife quivering in his grip.
The younger man didn’t answer, he merely edged forward slightly.
Til kill you, Blake, I swear to God I will,’ Vernon assured him, making a sharp stabbing movement with the blade.
Blake was undeterred. He took another step forward, something on the worktop to his right catching his eye.
It was a sugar bowl.
With lightning speed, he picked it up and hurled the contents into Vernon’s face. The tiny grains showered him, some finding their way into his eyes, and he yelped in pain, momentarily blinded by the stinging shower of particles.