The Soul Consortium Read Online Free PDF Page A

cursed my poor choice of words. Tried to pull him out by his neck? By his
neck?
If ever there was an admission of guilt handed on a plate, there it was. Even a soft touch like Thurlston couldn’t help but be suspicious after an image of my hands around Graham’s throat had been put in his mind. And sure enough I saw the flicker in his eye. The flicker that said something didn’t add up. Inside I kept my cool, though, placed my trust in Fate.
    Thurlston laid me on the couch with a blanket over me as I shivered, staring into space. With any luck I’d have my story perfected by the time the police arrived.
    Thurlston waited with me for the next hour, and not a word was spoken. Every few minutes I’d sneak a look at him. His gaze was blank, but a light sheen of sweat moistened his top lip, and I was certain his brain was almost at the point of seizure trying to work out what should be done. With the headmaster on holiday and the deputy out sick, Thurlston was in charge. No wonder he was soiling his pants.
    When the nurse came back I was surprised to see that she was not accompanied by the police. It was two weeks later, after I had received a particularly ruthless torrent of abuse from some of the other pupils’ parents, when I found out why I hadn’t been arrested.
    Thurlston took me aside in his office and offered a sympathetic smile as he spoke very quietly. “The abuse will pass. Graham’s death was a tragedy … and we know you two were fighting, but there was really nothing you could have done. Some of us know that now.”
    I looked into the man’s eyes, unable to hide the surprise in my own. I regretted the moment of vulnerability, but he must have read the question in my face because then he said, “I shouldn’t be telling you this before they do. I have contacts in the police, and I’ve been shown the press reports they drafted, and I know the evidence corroborates your story.
    “Graham’s foot was caught between the bars of a shopping trolley at the bottom of the pond. He couldn’t possibly have escaped, no matter how hard you pulled, so you see, all this persecution will fade in time. You just have to hold on for now … okay?”
    And then I really did go into shock. I knew exactly what happened at the pond. I remembered Graham’s legs thrashing in the water as my hands clamped around his trachea; there was no way his foot was trapped. Somebody must have done that afterwards—for me. Fate had revealed herself again in one of those rare moments of passion, but to me only this time, and somehow I knew it would not be the last time. She gave me license to continue, and I was grateful because Graham Adams robbed me of the pleasure I sought since birth. I wanted—needed—to see the boy’s eyes as his life slipped away. I needed to see that mystical moment of transition when the sum of all his experiences snapped into oblivion. But it was denied me.
    I decided I would give no more place to chance. I planned the next death in meticulous detail and the next with even greater care, and so on until I realized my skill was an art that grew more and more refined with each killing. And with each new indulgence, Fate played her part too, but it wasn’t until kill number thirty-two, when I met my mysterious sentinel, that things changed.

FOUR
     
    K riefan Mack was a nice guy, a popular guy. At least, that’s the impression I had when I went through his personal effects. His wallet contained a list of phone numbers as long as the DHS council house waiting list, a faded photo of him at the center of a group of smiling Africans on a missionary visit, a donor card, membership cards to the Samaritans, Round Table, and at least two other charitable organizations I had not heard of before. Pity he met me. Especially under such fateful circumstances.
    I slipped the wallet back into his jacket pocket and cupped his chin in my hand, gave his head a shake. The rivulet of blood snaking across his forehead took a new