Child of Darkness

The medical machine was a cyclone of activity with Agatha Beaven at the epicentre. She was oblivious to all of it. Doctors, nurses and orderlies ran hither and thither; high-tech gadgets beeped furiously. The scene would appear to an outsider as total mayhem and chaos, but each element knew exactly what he or she was doing. They were trying to save an old woman's life.

Agatha Beaven was a strange old lady whose eccentricity had made her a local character, fondly regarded, though by no means understood, by the population of the village of Tempston. Agatha lived, apparently alone, in the last house within the village boundary.

Nobody went near it unless they had business there. Otherwise they'd pass hurriedly by on their way to do their weekly shopping in Darrowburn. One notable thing about the house, as any resident of Tempston would readily relate, was that the curtains were always drawn. Heavy drapes obscured the windows all day in all weathers.

Agatha Beaven didn't display any particular dislike of sunshine. She was often seen sunning herself on the front step or pottering around in her garden, sleeves rolled up, revealing arms tanned to the colour of leather.

She'd venture down into the village every day, cheerily greeting anyone she met. She took an active role on local committees and attended bridge evenings; but on no occasion did she ever invite anyone to her home. Deliveries were left on the front step, no matter how large or heavy they were.

What was hidden behind those curtains? People often wondered, but no-one ever found out. Miraculously, no ugly rumour survived for long. Agatha Beaven was such a charming old lady. She was always friendly; always asked after people's children and addressed them by name. It was hard to believe her secret, assuming she even had one, was anything sinister. Agatha Beaven was like everyone's grandmother. She never spoke of any relatives, though, and evaded any questions people asked her on the subject.

Children are much more likely than adults to fantasise about spooky old houses and the people who live in them. Liam and Bradley Prendergast, no doubt inspired by childhood warnings about the boogie man and watching too many horror movies, decided it would be an exciting challenge to try to get inside Agatha Beaven's house. They wanted to discover what was behind those perpetually closed curtains.

On a particularly bright Autumn day, the boys watched until they saw Agatha leave to go into the village. They crept around the house until they found the loose board in the fence at the back, scrambled through and sneaked up to the back door. Bradley tried the handle; the door was unlocked. In they went.

It took their eyes a few minutes to get used to the gloom after the bright sunlight, but once they had, the boys began to explore.

Everything looked normal enough in the kitchen. Agatha Beaven wasn't a recluse stuck in the last century - she had a washing machine, fridge and cooker like the ones their parents had. The only thing that seemed the least bit odd was the kitchen table.

'Didn't Mum say she never lets anyone into the house?' Liam said.

'Yes, she said as far as she knew, nobody in the village has ever been in here,' Bradley confirmed.

'So why has she set two places at the kitchen table?'

'Perhaps she's a nutcase who thinks her long-dead husband is going to come home for his dinner one day,' Liam speculated.

'No, look, two people have eaten here - the plates haven't been cleared away; and there's two of everything.'

'A secret guest, eh? They're not here now though, are they? Let's see what else is in here.'

They spoke in whispers as they left the kitchen and wandered through the hall into the sitting room. The sitting room was furnished like any other. The only unusual thing the boys noticed was that there was no television. 'How can she live without a telly?' Bradley wondered.

'She must listen to the radio.' Liam nodded towards a huge, cumbersome wireless set which had pride of place on the table.

'Can't work out what station she listens to, though,' he said, peering at the dials. The stations the boys were familiar with didn't appear on them.

'Radio three, I expect,' Bradley said dismissively, scanning the bookshelves, hoping to find something like a book of spells. There was nothing like that; only the encyclopaedias, dictionaries and classic novels they themselves had at home.

There were newspapers and magazines, with the crosswords done, and a half-finished embroidery sampler lying on the settee. 'Nothing here. Let's look upstairs.'

There was more evidence in the bathroom for the existence of a second person in the house. There were two toothbrushes in the glass, two face flannels and two towels. Bradley still held to the theory that the old woman had some kind of imaginary companion, since there didn't seem to be anyone around.

They heard the front door open and close.

'She's back!' Liam hissed. 'We'd better get out of here.'

They tried to sneak down the stairs and out the way they'd come in before Agatha could see them. They didn't manage it. 'Hey!' The old woman shouted. 'What do you think you're doing in here?' Liam and Bradley froze in terror, halfway up stairs. Agatha Beaven was furious. 'Get out! Get out before I call the police! I shall tell your mother about this!' She advanced threateningly towards them. 'Trespassing in my house! You deserve a damned good hiding!' At the mention of a hiding, the boys made their break for freedom. They darted out of the front door, with the old woman in close pursuit, waving her umbrella. She was catching up with them fast. She was sprightly for her age, or so it seemed.

She hadn't run very far before she stopped, clutched her chest, and sank to the ground. The horrified boys, terrified they'd be in big trouble, ran to the nearest phone box, and called an ambulance.

That was how Agatha Beaven came to be in the hospital emergency room, where the doctor was now shaking his head. The frenetic activity slowed to a halt. 'It's no use,' the doctor said. 'With a massive coronary like that, she didn't stand a chance. We'd better try and trace a next of kin.'

'That won't be easy,' Nurse Frances Muir sighed, tiredly brushing a strand of hair from her face. Frances lived in Tempston, and knew as much about the old woman as anyone. 'She lives alone. She's never mentioned a single relative; though I guess some might come crawling out of the woodwork once it's known she's passed on. The house she lives in must be worth a bit.'

Late that night, Frances got off the last bus to Tempston and walked past the old woman's house. She paused at the gate and looked up at the upstairs windows. The house was in total darkness. It would be empty, yet Frances' eye was caught by a movement. Fleetingly, she fancied she saw a pale face at one of the windows. 'Don't be silly, Frances,' she told herself. 'Nobody's there.' Certain she must have been overtired and imagining things, she headed home.

**

'Hello? Hello? Is there anyone out there, come on? It's Dynamite and Speedy Gonzales calling, is anyone out there, come on?' There was nothing but white noise. 'That's frustrating.' Maria said. 'There's usually somebody out there.'

'I expect they're all watching TV,' Adam suggested, helpfully.

'I was hoping one of our more interesting contacts might come on,' Lizzie said, 'so you can hear how much fun this is. '

'We could try again later, perhaps,' Adam suggested.

'It is fascinating, really, if you find lots of people to talk to,' Maria continued. 'I still can't get over how Judith throws these sort of things together and they just work.'

'Who do you talk to?' Adam asked, intrigued. The idea of CB radio interested him, as Maria had predicted it would. As a genetic variant who looked like a giant granite statue, he didn't get out much. A radio like this could be a way for him to communicate with the world, without strangers actually having to see him.'Tell me about them.'

'Lots of people,' Lizzie said. 'There's 'Old Blue Eyes', for example.'

'What's his real name?'

'We don't know. Everyone uses a 'handle', or a code name. You talk to people but you don't know who they are. They could be anybody.'

'Then there's the woman with the husky voice, what's her handle?' Maria continued.

'Nocturne?'

'Yeah, that's it. She sounds really nice. We've had some interesting conversations with her. Then there was that chap who said he was a trucker, driving up the M1 and talking to us. Dancing Bear, I think he was called.'

'Certainly sounds like you get to talk to a lot of people,' Adam said. 'It sounds good. Perhaps I should try it.'

When he'd gone, Lizzie and Maria had one last try before switching off. It was unusual for nobody to answer at all. A voice came over the airwaves. 'Anybody copy? Is anyone there?'

'Yes!' Lizzie responded with enthusiasm. 'Speedy Gonzales and Dynamite are here.'

'Hello! This is Nocturne, remember me?'

'Yes! In fact, we were just telling our friend about you. We were showing him our CB set and telling him about the people we talk to. Typical, though, there was nobody on air until he left to get a coffee. How are you?'

'Worried.'

'Why?'

'I told you I live with my grandmother. She hasn't been home since yesterday.'

'Perhaps you'd better go out and look for her.'

There was a pause. 'I - I can't...'

'Are you disabled?'

'I suppose you could say that. I can't go out, anyway, and I don't know what to do. Suppose she never comes back?' Lizzie and Maria heard the fear in her voice.

'Where are you? We could come over and...'

'There's no need, really,' Nocturne said, quickly. 'Thanks for the offer, but I don't think it would be a good idea. No, I'm sure she'll come back soon.'

Bryony Beaven turned off her radio, her long, thin fingers trembling. The thought of having to cope without Agatha terrified her. She'd always known a day would come when she'd have to, but she hadn't thought it would be so soon. She shied away from any human contact other than her grandmother and the CB radio. She turned toward the window. It was still daylight. She could see sunlight though the heavy curtain.

She could do nothing while it was light, not while the sun shone. It hurt her eyes. It would burn her pale skin. Much as she wanted to go looking for Agatha, she couldn't, not until the sun went down.

Bryony could only go out at night. She'd often step out into the garden after dark to fill her lungs with fresh air; but to go into the village, to have people see her - she couldn't do that. Talking to Speedy and Dynamite on the radio had calmed her a little. It was past midday, now, and she needed to sleep. She stood up. Bryony was tall and willowy; her hair was jet black, though her skin was almost white. She looked out on her darkened world through extremely large dark eyes. She was dressed entirely in black, a necessary precaution to protect her delicate skin from any light that might accidentally penetrate her secluded world.

While she could have gone out, wrapped up well and wearing a hat and dark glasses, she could never hide her most unusual feature - a pair of large, black, leathery wings, sprouting from her shoulders, folded flat against her back.

Bryony was the reason Agatha Beaven had never drawn back her curtains nor invited anyone into her house. For years, she'd protected the girl, providing a safe, darkened environment for her; and everything she required. Bryony never needed to go out and face the world, or have to suffer in the sunlight. Her nocturnal physiology meant Bryony's diurnal cycles were at an ebb during the day, as most people's are in the middle of the night. She slept during the day, waking in the early evening, when she'd get up and spend a few hours with Agatha before she retired for the night. Last night, when Bryony rose, she'd found Agatha gone.

At first, she'd assumed the older woman was at a whist drive, or the WI, or something like that, and amused herself with the CB radio, awaiting her return. As the night drew on, Bryony grew increasingly worried. She looked out of the window for Agatha, and had hidden quickly on seeing Frances Muir looking up at her.

Morning found her frantic with worry, when she'd normally be curling up and going to sleep. Now, like any person who'd stayed up all night, she needed her rest. She went to her room and lay down on the bed. She crawled under the quilt, wrapped her wings around her like a blanket, and in spite of her worry, was soon fast asleep.

When she woke, it was dark again. There was still no sign of her grandmother. Bryony felt something closely akin to panic. If Agatha wasn't coming back, how would she survive? She couldn't shop for food; she couldn't go out, and she had no money. Agatha had always taken care of all that. She crept to the front door and peered out. Satisfied no-one was around, she stepped outside. She hadn't noticed the Prendergast boys, hiding in the bushes, watching.

They saw the dark figure emerge from the house. There was only one thing it could be - a vampire! They fled in terror.

'Speedy Gonzales? Dynamite?' The lost little voice came over the airwaves. 'I'm scared. She's not back yet. I'll die here, all alone!'

'Why don't you call the police?' Lizzie asked.

'They might want to see me, and I can't go out! There's nothing I can do!'

'Listen, Nocturne, perhaps we can help. Tell us where you are, tell us about your grandmother, where she might have gone, and we'll look for her for you.'

'Could you? Only, I'd really rather you didn't see me. Don't come to my house. I'm in Tempston. If you find her, you can tell me over the radio. Her name's Agatha Beaven, and she's been missing for two days now.'

**

Peter hurried to answer the persistent ring of the red telephone, the G-Men's special line. Anyone requiring the services of the G-Men superhero team would ring through on the red phone. This would be an emergency of some kind. 'You're through to the G-Men. How may we help you?' he responded.

'I'm calling from Tempston.' A woman's voice crackled down the line. 'I hope you don't mind me calling you like this.'

'Of course not,' Peter assured her. 'We wouldn't advertise the number if we didn't want people to call. What's the problem?'

'That's just it, I don't really know. My name is Alison Prendergast. I have two sons. They came home last night, terrified out of their wits. They're not easily scared, my boys. I can't get anything out of either of them, so I dread to think what's happening here.'

'I see. Well, I can certainly come up and talk to you and your sons, and have a look around. I bet we'll find there's a perfectly logical explanation for their fear, but if not, we'll deal with whatever it might be. Will you be at home this morning?'

Peter, Rosemary and Claire perched on Mrs. Prendergast's plush sofa, eating home-made scones and listening to the boys tell their garbled story. Rosemary had assured their mother it was no childish prank; the boys were certainly genuinely afraid of something. Their fear seemed to centre around 'Old Agatha's House'.

'Old Agatha's place is the very last house in the village,' Mrs. Prendergast explained. 'She died two days ago - she was found by her front gate. Massive heart attack. The boys said they saw something come out of the house last night. They've been too terrified to say what it was. Agatha was a weird old stick. Sociable enough around the village, but she never, ever allowed anyone into that house of hers. God knows what could have been in there.'

**

'So what do you reckon we should do now?' Claire asked as they walked through the village.

'We should take a look at the house,' Peter said.

'There it is,' Rosemary pointed. 'It looks normal enough.'

'Who's that at the gate?' Claire asked. A woman stood there, peering up at the windows.

Frances Muir turned as the three people approached.

'Did you know Agatha Beavan?' Rosemary asked her.

'Are you her relatives?' Frances asked.

'No - just acquaintances.'

'You know she died, don't you? You wouldn't happen to know where her relatives could be? Someone needs to tell them.'

'I'm afraid not.'

'Until they find some relatives, nobody will go in the house,' Frances said. 'Heaven knows what she had in there - she was a funny old thing. It concerns me - she might have had a cat, or a bird in a cage, or some other pet, and there's no-one to feed it. It's funny. I keep thinking I can see someone at the window when I pass by. I'd never seen anything there before, but I did the day she died, and once or twice since. I've tried knocking on the door, but there's no reply. It's a bit spooky. I never used to believe in ghosts, but... Oh, here's my bus, excuse me.' Frances stepped away from the house, signalled for the bus to stop, and climbed on.

The three G-Men exchanged glances. 'There's something in there, then, or someone,' Rosemary said.

'Squatters, perhaps?' Peter suggested. 'Local drug addicts or homeless people who heard the old lady died and moved themselves into the empty house?'

'Could be,' Rosemary mused. 'Well, it's either something sinister, in which case, the G-Men should look into it, or it's like you said, in which case, Social Services should look into it.'

'You never quite leave your job behind you, do you, Rosemary?' Peter said with a smile.

'Let's try knocking,' Claire said, anxious for some action. They walked up the path and tapped on the door. As they suspected, there was no reply. Claire thought she saw a curtain twitch. 'Perhaps whoever's in there is frightened we'll call the police.'

Rosemary pushed at the door. Locked. With a shrug, she removed her wristbands and disappeared. 'Now we wait,' she said. 'As soon as I'm intangible, I'll go in. As a G-Man or as a social worker, whichever's required.'

**

Gladys Baker, Postmistress of Tempston, watched the two customers out of the corner of her eye, particularly the child. Children always had to be watched in her shop, with all the sweets, comics and toys on sale. She felt a little easier about this child as she was accompanied by an adult. They approached the counter. Gladys smoothed her skirt and went to serve them.

For the first time, she got a proper look at them. There was something peculiar about the little girl. Her hair was pure white, but without the extremely pale skin and eyes albino children usually had. Gladys noticed the girl's well-developed figure, and mature face.

'I wonder if you could spare us a few moments?' Lizzie asked, holding out her G-Men identity card. 'We're investigating the disappearance of a woman called Agatha Beaven, do you know her?'

Gladys examined the card. She'd never seen anything like it. She decided it was probably some kind of teenage prank; some craze or fad for pretending to be detectives, inspired, almost certainly, by some TV show or other. It was certainly not to be taken seriously, and with poor old Agatha hardly dead two days, the game these two were playing was not in very good taste.

'The woman isn't missing, she's dead. Any proper investigator would know that simply by checking with the hospital,' Gladys said, shortly.

'She's dead?'

'Why, yes, and don't get any ideas that it was suspicious circumstances, either. Heart attack, that's all it was.'

'I see. What it is, nobody informed her grand daughter, and she's really worried because she hasn't been home.'

'I think you've made some mistake. Agatha Beaven lived alone. I don't know of any relatives. So stop wasting my time with these silly games. G-Men, indeed!'

Lizzie and Maria looked at each other. They thanked Gladys and left the shop. 'At least we know where the woman is,' Maria said.

'What about Nocturne? Why didn't that woman know about her?'

'Obviously old Granny Beaven kept her under wraps - which would explain why no-one told her when the old woman died.'

'Why?'

'It must be something to do with her disability. She must be one of these people who gets panic attacks if they go out of doors.'

'So if nobody's bothered to tell her Agatha's dead, I suppose that means we have to tell her. Ever get the feeling you wish you'd never started something?'

'Yeah,' Lizzie agreed. 'I'd rather hoped we'd have good news. I don't fancy breaking this to her. Perhaps we should get the police.'

'They probably won't believe she's in there any more than the woman in the post office did.'

'Perhaps we should get Rosemary to talk to her.'

'Good idea.'

Lizzie set down the bag which had their portable radio inside it and pulled the microphone out. 'Nocturne, Nocturne, do you copy?' At first there was nothing. Lizzie tried again. 

'Speedy Gonzales calling, do you copy?'

'Yes, yes, I copy,' came the voice. Nocturne spoke quickly, with fear and apprehension.

'We're in Tempston,' Lizzie went on. 'Dynamite and me...'

'Are you outside my house? Have you been knocking?'

'No. You told us not to, so we didn't. We're in the village; we've been talking to the woman in the post office.'

'Please, wait a minute. I can hear something. I think there's someone in the house!' 

Nocturne's voice was edged with panic. 'I'm going to see.' Lizzie and Maria heard her place the microphone on the table. There was nothing for a while, then they heard someone scream in blood-curdling terror. 'Oh, my God - she's being attacked!' Lizzie dropped the receiver and sprinted towards the house.

'Hey, wait for me!' Maria yelled after her, in vain. 'Rats,' she said under her breath, and set off as fast as her short legs would carry her, after her colleague.

**

Rosemary finally gained the power she needed - intangibility. She slipped through the door, and having done so, put her neutralising wrist bands back on, enabling her to open the door for Peter and Claire. 'I can't see anything out of the ordinary yet,' she said. 'Peter may be right, in which case, you'd better leave this to me - I know how to deal with these things. If I need you, I'll shout.'

'Be careful,' Peter called after her as she disappeared into the darkness.

Rosemary tried a light switch, but nothing happened. She was considering summoning Claire to provide some light, when she heard a movement on the landing above her. 'Hello? Is anyone there?' she called. No response. 'I won't hurt you, whoever you are, I just want to speak to you. Won't you come down?'

Bryony stood motionless on the landing. Bryony could see Rosemary clearly, and tried to ascertain whether she was likely to be a threat.

'I want to help you,' Rosemary continued. 'Please come down.'

Bryony was lonely and hungry; she needed help from someone if she was going to survive. At the same time, she didn't want to put herself at risk. She came to a decision. I'll go down, but I'll keep out of reach, just in case. Over the years, she'd taught herself to fly. That skill would finally come in useful.

Rosemary whirled around as she heard the flapping of giant wings behind her. Her eyes were sufficiently used to the darkness now to enable her to make out what was launching itself from the bannisters and flying towards her; the shape of a giant bat.

Rosemary wasn't afraid of many things. She coped, calmly and coolly, with most things her dual career could throw at her: dangerous criminals, some with super-powers; hostile aliens; crazed, desperate drug users; she'd faced them all with an unshakeable courage which astounded all those who witnessed it. Even Peter often looked on with his heart in his mouth, fearing for her safety.

There was one thing alone which could shake that courage to its very foundation, making it crumble and collapse like a skyscraper in a disaster movie. That thing was bats; and heading straight for her was the largest bat she'd ever seen.

All resolve, logic and sensibility deserted her. Face to face with her greatest fear, Rosemary stumbled back, screaming in terror. Peter felt a prickly shiver run up his spine when he heard it. His only thought was to save her from whatever evil was lurking inside that house. He burst through the door, closely followed by Claire.

Their eyes could make out nothing in the darkness. Claire acted instinctively to remedy the situation. She mustered her power, and generated a bright light to allow them to see what was happening. From Bryony's point of view, it was the worst thing she could have done. The flare blinded her and burned her skin. With a strangled cry, Bryony fell to the ground and lay there, like a bird with a broken wing, whimpering in pain and trying to cover her face with her wings.

Peter hesitated, torn between investigating the creature, which looked perfectly harmless now, and comforting Rosemary, who crouched in a corner, hysterical with fear. Claire stood in the doorway, staring at Rosemary in disbelief. Rosemary, her role model, reduced to a gibbering wreck? She'd never seen that happen.

Lizzie reached the house, breathless and fearful for Nocturne. The door was open; it was obvious it had been forced. The only sound Lizzie could hear from inside was a soft whimpering.

Gingerly, she stepped through the door. She could just make out the stricken, bat-like form on the floor, and three human figures, one clearly in severe shock. 'Nocturne? Where are you?'

'Lizzie?' Peter recognised her at once. Although surprised to see her, he wasn't so taken aback that he couldn't put her to good use. 'Check out the bat-thing, will you? It may be injured.'

Lizzie did a double take, wondering what Peter was doing there, but didn't ask questions. She gingerly approached the creature. It was a human female, trying vainly to cover herself with her giant, leathery wings, and whimpering in pain. Lizzie gasped. So this was why Nocturne could never go outside. Lizzie crouched down and placed her hand gently on Bryony's arm.

'The light! The light! I can't stand the light!' Bryony moaned, covering her eyes with her hands. 'It hurts!'

'Nocturne?' Lizzie whispered. Bryony squinted up at her, trying to make out who was talking to her. 'It's me, Speedy Gonzales. We heard someone scream. What happened?'

'Light... I can't see... It hurts... help me!'

'I will if I can,' Lizzie said, gently.

Peter was beginning to understand the situation and quietly asked Claire to take Rosemary outside. 'Nocturne, is it?' he asked, gently, kneeling beside Lizzie.

Lizzie explained about the CB radio, Nocturne's fear for her grandmother. Peter nodded gravely and spoke softly to Bryony. 'Come with us, Nocturne. We can help you.' Bryony struggled to a sitting position and with her face in her hands, sobbed, 'I can't. The light...'

'Go find a blanket or something, Lizzie. We can't leave her here all alone, not in the state she's in.' Peter spoke gently to Bryony. 'The light's gone. We'll protect you from the light outside. Come with us. We can help you.'

Lizzie returned with a blanket. 'It's okay,' she said. 'He's my friend. You can't stay here on your own.' Peter wrapped Bryony in the blanket, lifted her effortlessly and carried her out to his car. Lizzie and Maria climbed in beside her. Maria reached under the blanket to grasp Bryony's hand. Bryony held on with a grip like iron.

Claire got in, too, but said nothing. Her power was responsible for Nocturne's pain, and she didn't know what to say. Peter left them, to go and find Rosemary. She stood staring wide-eyed at the car, as a child woken by a nightmare stares into the dark. Peter slipped his arm around her and she buried her face in his shoulder. She was still trembling.

'Rosemary.' He stood with her for some time, stroking her arm until she seemed calmer. He'd all but forgotten her terror of bats until now. 'It's all right. It's not a bat. It's a very young and frightened, genetic variant girl. She's in a much worse state than you are. She's lost her grandmother, her lifeline. She needs our help. Come on. You can't stay here.' He guided her to the car. She got in, but stared doggedly out of the window for the entire drive, refusing to look at the shrouded bundle in the back seat. She got out of the car first when they arrived at Peter's huge, Gothic mansion, and hurried inside. She went into the study and closed the door as the others helped Bryony up the stairs to a small bedroom which had only a tiny window and thick, dark curtains.

**

Twenty-four hours later, Bryony sat on her temporary bed, collecting her thoughts. On the plus side, now she knew her condition had a name. Even though she had a hitherto unknown form of it, she was by no means alone - genetic variants came in all shapes and sizes. She'd met Adam, a young man as cursed as she was. He lived in the mansion and rarely left it. Her new friends Lizzie and Maria lived there too.

Peter was so kind. He'd told her she was welcome to stay at his mansion for as long as she wished, and even become one of the G-Men. It was a tempting proposition, in some ways. She'd never be alone; the grounds of the mansion were large enough for her to roam around at night, getting more exercise and fresh air than she ever could in the garden of her grandmother's house. She could have a bigger room once the windows of whichever vacant room she chose had been measured up for blackout curtains. Adam, Lizzie, Maria and several others resident in the house would give her more social contact than she'd ever enjoyed. Most of all, her unusual physiology would be celebrated.

However, in her heart, Bryony knew she didn't really belong there, no matter what Lizzie and Maria might say. How could she ever be part of a team with Claire, whose power was the ability to generate searing bright light, which she knew from bitter experience she couldn't tolerate?

Ann, too, was a source of irritation. Her power was based on sound waves; Bryony's ears were highly sensitive, too. Ann's voice jarred on them. Even her normal speaking voice was too much for Bryony, and her taste for loud music didn't help, either.

The hardest thing to accept was Rosemary's reaction to her. The older woman's obvious repugnance had made Bryony feel wretched from the start. She didn't know Rosemary felt wretched, too. She'd failed to conquer her fear. She felt her failure keenly; her inability to befriend and help this variant as she had so many others. It wasn't through want of trying. Rosemary had, so many times, stood in front of her mirror in the morning and spoken to herself firmly, as she might one of her clients who was suffering from an irrational fear. There was nothing to be afraid of. Bryony wouldn't harm her. She wasn't a bat, but a human, and every inch the beautiful person the rest of them could see; but somehow it never worked. She longed to overcome her feelings of repulsion and give Bryony a big hug. But she couldn't.

Bryony knew Rosemary could hardly bring herself to even look at her. That hurt her as much as Claire's light had done. This sat uneasily beside what the others said about Rosemary. Maria, particularly, couldn't speak too highly of the woman. They all said she was kind, courageous, caring; they all admired her, even loved her. All Bryony had ever seen in her was fear and reticence.

Bryony saw clearly the dynamics of the G-Men; Peter and Rosemary were the supporting pillars, complementing and supporting each other. Each had a vital role in maintaining the whole. Bryony's presence in the house weakened the whole team.

She'd been there just over a week when Lizzie came to see her with exciting news. 'We told you about Judith,' she said. 'She's back from her holiday you're going to meet her, and her friend Wil. You'll like them.'

'I hope so.' Bryony sighed.

Wil's car drew to a halt outside the mansion and he and Judith got out. They made a striking pair, both with bright red hair, which had attracted much comment in the old days, when they'd been lovers. Finally, they'd negotiated the choppy waters from passion to friendship.

Judith was disturbed to see Wil hesitate as he stepped inside, as if sniffing the air. 

'Something's not right here,' he observed.

Judith felt her blood run cold. Everything looked the same as it always did, but Wil's words filled her with dread. Wil's feelings about such things were always accurate. 'What is it, Wil? Is there danger?'

'No, Jude, no danger; but there's something strained about the atmosphere, like there's been an argument, and people won't, or can't, resolve it.'

'Judith! Wil! Welcome back! I hope you had a good time. Would you like some tea?' Peter appeared from his study, smiling.

'We'd love some,' Judith said, and glanced at Wil. He shook his head slightly, as if to assure Judith Peter wasn't the source of the problem. Did he even know about it? she wondered.

'Judy!' Maria dashed across the hall. 'There's such a lot to tell you! You'll never guess what, we've got a new member! You must meet her, when you've had some tea.'

'Really? That is exciting. Can Wil meet her too? Where is she? Is she coming down for tea?'

'Not just yet,' Peter said. 'She's a classic case of dark-dependency so she sleeps during the day. It's starting to get dark, so she'll wake up soon and you can meet her.'

'Great. I'll look forward to it,' Judith said.

When Rosemary entered the room, Judith saw immediately how strained she looked, despite her smile of welcome. Wil bent and whispered in her ear, 'If I knew what was eating at her, I'd have the answer. She's hiding it reasonably well, but she's nervous as hell; and she's not happy with herself. That's a fair part of what I was picking up.'

Judith sipped her tea, answered questions about her holiday politely but briefly, all the time looking sidelong at Rosemary. She wasn't sure how much she'd have worked out for herself without Wil's emotion-sensing power, but she could see he was right. It was disconcerting. Rosemary was the last person to be nervous and ill-at-ease with herself as a rule. Was the new person's power causing unease? If so, why was nobody else affected?

'Bryony should be awake now,' Maria said. 'I'll take you to meet her.'

Bryony felt a little apprehensive when Maria knocked and told her Judith wanted to meet her. Judith, she'd worked out, was Rosemary's understudy, the next in superiority. Perhaps she'd turn out to be kind and calm like Peter, or they might instantly dislike each other. That would shake the foundations of the G-Men still further. It was with more than a little trepidation that Bryony greeted Judith and Wil.

Judith seemed to be perfectly at ease, and Bryony began to feel they could be friends. She felt the same way about Wil, and was happy to answer his questions about her condition.

'So, are you going to join us, Bryony?' Judith asked.

Bryony's expression clouded. 'I-I don't know. Probably; but I wish I knew what else I could do.'

'Don't you like us?'

'I like - most of you; but you don't all like me. I suppose I'll stay because I guess as a genetic variant I belong here. It's not like I can live out there on my own; but my presence is bad for the G-Men.'

'That's silly,' Judith said, kindly.

'No, it's not, Jude. She's right.' Wil said, quietly. 'She doesn't want to harm the G-Men in any way, but she is harming them in ways she has no control over.'

'How? Tell me, Bryony. Tell me what makes you unhappy about staying here. Perhaps we can do something to help you feel more comfortable with us.'

Bryony paused. Eventually, she said, 'How can I join a group where one of the leaders is so afraid of me she can't even look at me?'

Judith stared at her. 'Rosemary? Surely not!'

'You can't accept that either, can you?' Bryony cried, 'that your perfect Rosemary could be inadequate in any way.'

Judith exhaled. 'I'm sorry.'

'Everyone's inadequate in some way,' Wil said. 'It's part of being human. Having superhuman powers doesn't make you immune from human weaknesses.'

'She's afraid of bats.' Bryony said, wretchedly.

Judith groped for a half forgotten memory of Rosemary leaving the room when a documentary about bats was being shown on TV. 'Oh, yes - now I remember. She is... but you're not...'

'Of course she isn't,' Wil said, 'but there's enough likeness between Bryony and a bat to freak Rosemary out. I don't doubt, from what I know about Rosemary, that she finds it as hard to deal with as Bryony does. That's why she's not a happy bear at the moment. She feels she's letting the side down, unable to do what she's usually so good at, helping young variants come to terms with themselves. It's shaken her confidence.

'Through no fault of anybody's, certainly not yours, Bryony, Rosemary isn't quite firing on all cylinders; the longer it goes on, the worse she feels. It's a vicious circle. The rest of you have always looked up to Rosemary, as a linchpin of the group. It's undermining the strength of the G-Men to see her unable to cope. You're used to having her sort you all out. That's what I felt when I came in.'

'It's my fault,' Bryony wailed. 'If it wasn't for me, it would be all right. I wish I had somewhere else to go. I wish I didn't have to stay here and see the damage I'm doing.'

'You could come with me to London,' Wil said. 'I have a group of my own there, not unlike this one, except I'm pretty sure there aren't any bat-phobics in it. Why not give us a try? My house isn't as big, but the garden's a fair size and my basement tenant has moved upstairs. The basement flat would be perfect for you. Your own kitchen and bathroom - what do you think?'

'We still have the CB radio,' Lizzie said, 'and we can come and see you sometimes. London isn't so far away.'

'If it doesn't work out, we'll think of something else,' Wil said, 'but I'm sure it will.'

'I'd like to try,' Bryony said.

'Take care of Rosemary,' Wil said to Peter as they stood at the mansion's heavy front door. 'You're the only one who can give her the support she needs right now. The others are too used to depending on her. You know what it's like to have her depend on you.'

Peter went into his study, where Rosemary was absently browsing through a copy of New Scientist.

'Rosemary.'

'Yes, Peter?'

'Bryony's gone.'

'I thought she'd choose to go. I failed her, didn't I? I feel terrible.'

'I think you're wonderful.' He sat beside her on the leather sofa.

'How could you? I've been behaving like an idiot.'

'I thought you were wonderful the first day I met you, when Alan put a bat in your room. That was before I knew how brave you could be about other things. In any case, it wasn't just you. She couldn't tolerate Ann's voice or Claire's light. So stop blaming yourself, and put your coat on.'

'Why?'

'Because, to prove to you that I still like you, I'm taking you out to dinner.'

**

Bryony fell in love with the basement flat straight away. While the garden wasn't as big as Peter's, it was big enough; and the other tenants welcomed her warmly. It would take a while to get to know them, but with Wil's help, she soon had her CB radio set up; Lizzie and Maria chatted to her often, as did Adam and Judith. Bryony had a new forever home.

*******

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Running in the Family

An alien craft approaches Earth. The alien on board is a fugitive, fleeing from an arranged marriage to freedom on our world. She befriends James, a genetics student, and shares her knowledge about the future of the human race with him. 

A science experiment gone wrong gifts James with superhuman abilities; but they come at a price, leading him to mentor others like himself. He founds a group of amateur heroes called the Freedom League.

The Freedom League suffers a string of losses and tragedies; it seems doomed to failure; but one of its members, Peter Mayfield, has vowed to form a group of his own. He is determined to keep his vow, despite having lost Rosemary, the one person he wanted by his side to help him.

Lizzie Hopkins is a talented young athlete and dancer. Peter sees her in action and guesses her exceptional abilities are far more than they seem. He offers to train and mentor Lizzie - but her mother is violently opposed to his suggestion.

As soon as she is old enough, Lizzie takes matters into her own hands; she seeks out Peter and his group for herself. She soon makes a discovery which shakes her world at its very foundations. Her search for the truth will resolve many unanswered questions, but it will also stir up old heartbreaks dating back to the Freedom League's early days.

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