Spider in the Corner of the Room (The Project Trilogy) (36 page)

I stand, everything suddenly seeming clear, obvious, and, ignoring Balthus’s calls to me, rush over to where Kurt’s body lies. Alive one minute, dead the next. So easy. I shiver, gaze at his smooth skin, his splayed limbs, the man who made me doubt myself, who drugged me to get a result he wanted, that the Project wanted. Bending, hesitant at first, I pick up Kurt’s phone and turn it over in my hand. Switching it on, recalling the same passcode I used when I accessed the voicemail in the therapy room, I scan the messages. There. The one giving the green light for the MI5 intel on my death.

‘What are you doing?’ Balthus says, as I hurry back over.

‘He said he was going to send a message to confirm our arrival time at the private airstrip. So, if I send that message from his phone, from him to his contact, leading them to think all is as planned and that I am on my way to them, that will give me time to run, to get away.’ I think of the commercial airport surveillance. ‘I will have to change my appearance. Can you access a passport under a different name so I can get out of the UK?”

‘I have a contact. Where will you go?’

‘Somewhere no one knows about. I will require that contact.’

I grip the phone and, thinking of Papa, of Harry, of all the needless deaths, I write the message and hit the send
button. Exhaling one long, deep breath, I throw the phone to the floor. It spins then comes to a halt by Kurt’s legs.

Pressing my lips together at the sight, I close my eyes, think of Papa, then run to Balthus and help him up. ‘Can you walk?’

‘Yes. Just,’ he says, and together we hobble to the main road, blinking as the sudden sunshine hits our faces.

Balthus stops. ‘Maria, I can help you.’ He winces. ‘I can always help you.’

My eyes feel wet. I blink back the tears, because I don’t want them, no longer wanting to feel weak or vulnerable or at the mercy of others. Swallowing hard, I focus on the road ahead, focus, now, on what needs to be done. ‘I will have to dye my hair. And I will get some coloured contact lenses, perhaps some clear glasses, too. I will have to change how I look if I am going to travel. I cannot let them see me ever again and—’

I stop. Balthus is staring at me, the corners of his eyes creased, just as Harry’s used to be when he smiled. A lump swells in my throat.

‘It’s going to be okay,’ Balthus says.

But I cannot believe that. I may have killed people, hurt them, may have instigated covert crimes, and I need to know, need to understand what I have done. The Project is still out there. Once they realise Kurt is dead, once they know I have fled, they will be after me. So I will always have to hide, run, get away and never surface again, cut, sever any contact with my previous life. With people, with my family, with my…my friend.

‘Can you—?’ I stop, clear my throat. ‘Can you get a message to Patricia O’Hanlon? Can you tell her I am okay, even
though I cannot see her? Harry was going to contact her, but now he’s…” I trail off, the words too hard for me to say.

Balthus nods. ‘Of course.’

Once we are further along the road, I raise my arm to hail a taxi. A cab pulls over, and, as I start to help Balthus into his seat, something ahead catches my eye.

I squint. On the tarmac, by the front wheel of the taxi, is a small, black metal spider like the device from the counselling room. Kurt must have been carrying it as he ran after me, must have dropped it from his jacket. I stare at it for two more seconds, then staying as steady as I can, slide in beside Balthus.

As we set off, I turn and peer out of the window.

The metal spider lies crushed on the road, flattened, in pieces ready to be mended, ready to be put back together, refashioned anew. The taxi speeds forward and, slowly at first then faster still, the spider fades into the distance until it completely disappears.

As if it were never there at all.

Sometimes we are too quick to judge people. We see someone and if they are even slightly different, we label them as odd or a freak or weird. An outcast. It starts from early childhood and remains with us as adults. But why?

Writing the character Dr Maria Martinez helped me to challenge the perceptions of what we class as normal, of how we judge. Because, when you think about it, really, there is no ‘normal’; there is just me, you. Us.

As I researched Maria’s character for this book, I realised this more and more. It’s what makes the world fascinating—and what can sometimes, through the misconceptions of others, drag it down.

But one thing alone remains true, one phrase that, no matter what happens in this ever-changing globe of ours, stands tall in the test of time: we are all different, yet all the same.

ISBN: 9781474024587

THE SPIDER IN THE CORNER OF THE ROOM

© 2015 Nikki Owen

Published in Great Britain 2015
by Harlequin MIRA, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited,
Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR

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