Tim nodded. “I have an auntie who’s really into New Age stuff. She’s got a pair of these glasses.”
Where was Tim going with this?
“The lens is indigo. New Agers believe it acts as a kind of filter, allowing you to see ultraviolet light and energy fields. They also believe once you get good at seeing the energy fields, you don’t need the glasses.”
Tim unzipped the bag and lifted the glasses out. He held them in front of his eyes, ensuring the frame didn’t come in contact with his nose—not that his DNA on evidence would be a problem, but the less complexities in a court case, the better.
He stared at Jack through the glasses, and turned to Cath.
“Your aura is green, Cath. Jack, yours is amber.” Tim handed the glasses to Jack. “Keep them off your nose.”
Jack lifted the glasses up and viewed Cath through them. Something glowed around her, a fuzzy greenish light or energy field. That kind of made sense. He’d often wondered about the human body and its lack of an obvious power source like an engine or battery. He figured cells generated the energy that kept people alive and moving. Someone must have had a hand in creating the human body. Or something. He swallowed and pushed the thoughts as far back as he could.
He shifted the glasses to bring Tim into focus. He also had a fuzzy light around him but his was more of a red colour. Was this a male/female thing?
Tim said Jack’s aura was an amber colour. He was an amber person.
It hit him like a sledgehammer. I’m an amber person.
Part Two – The fugitive
Run, but you cannot hide.
Seek and you will find.
I have no pleasure in the death of the lost. I would rather people turn from their way and live.
My sheep are doing their work. They have brought the lost into their fold.
I am the good shepherd.
11 - Becoming a fugitive
Wiley sat at the small kitchen table and smiled as he watched the video clip doing the rounds on social media courtesy of the Queensland Police Service. Then it dawned on him—people were looking for him. Of course they would be looking for him. Boy, was he thick. It was like he’d just returned to Earth from another planet. Where had his mind been? Yes, people were looking for him. He was a killer.
It wouldn’t be easy for someone to recognise him from the picture the police were using. The camouflaged khaki shorts and orange polo shirt were now packed away in his backpack, along with the orange baseball cap and dark glasses. Maybe they were hoping someone would remember the cap. He knew how they worked. They would build up a profile from the bits of info they collected. Then bingo, they’d get him. Well, that wasn’t going to work.
He needed to brush his teeth. He grabbed his toiletry bag out of the backpack and headed to the bathroom. The bathroom mirror had a crack in it. Maybe someone hadn’t liked their reflection. His wasn’t much better. He moved in closer and pulled the skin below his puffy eyes. Red bloodshot eyes told him he’d drunk too much, but he knew that anyway.
He was hungry. There were some breakfast bars in his backpack, but he wasn’t ready to kill himself yet. He best get rid of them just in case he accidently ate one. The apartment was quiet, too quiet. He walked over to the fridge and opened the door. Nothing. It wasn’t even turned on. He opened a few cupboard doors before he found a glass. The pipes groaned as if waking from a great slumber as water made its way out through the tap. His body tightened up at a noise at the door. He walked over to the door and placed his ears against it. The noise was receding and so was his heart rate. Strategy. He needed a strategy.
He had only a short time to get his act together. They would be coming. He needed to stay clear of places that might know him, might recognise him. The nightclub last night was a bad move, but then darkness and spaced-out people would’ve helped. But the bartenders and bouncers were sober. That wouldn’t help.
His phone rang. He hesitated but answered.
“Hello.”
“You better get out of there soon. They’re ramping up the search in the valley.”
“I understand.” It sounded like Sarge.
“Contact us with your new location in the next day or so. May I suggest a transient place a few hours away.”
“Transient place?” He was sure he heard a heavy sigh.
“Yep, a place where people come and go. A holiday place up north or something.”
“Got ya.”
“And stay at a high-end place, at least for the first few days. The authorities will go to the lower end places first. Use a different name.”
“Got ya, again.”
“Get rid of the phone. Touch base in a few days.”
The call ended. He didn’t have the money for a high-end place and doubted he could use a different name. High-end places tended to want credit cards or some other proof of identity. Sarge wasn’t as clever as he thought he was. Wiley filled up the glass and drank more water. That should alleviate the hunger pains— for now.
He walked over to the window and looked down at the busy streets. Buses, taxis, Uber, scooters, bikes—none of those transport modes would work. They were all trackable, and a location a few hours away was a long, long walk. How was he going to get away? He hadn’t owned a car in years. Never bothered to get a licence. At least that would make it harder for the police to identify him.
There was another window. He walked over and looked down at a narrow lane. A car pulled up, a couple got out, and the car drove off. It was silver, but not a cab. Maybe it belonged to a friend. Maybe it was a private limousine. That was an option—they probably wouldn’t have the same strict security measures as an Uber or taxi. Maybe he could steal one.
He sat on the bed and placed the toiletry bag next to him. Yes, he needed a strategy. He ran his fingers through his goatee, something he did when he was thinking. Not for much longer. The goatee had to go. There was a razor in the toiletry bag. Yes, the lovely toiletry bag, a gift from his ex.
And yes, he needed a strategy. One popped into his head.
He used his phone to find the number and ordered a silver private limousine. They were hesitant about the long trip at first, but he gave them some false credit card details as security but advising his intention was to pay cash. The money was just about shot but he had a plan. They wouldn’t be long, so he got organised and made his way down to the lane.
The silver limousine pulled up. Wiley gave the driver a nod as he jumped in the back seat. His cologne filled the enclosed space. He wore his jeans and shirt from the previous night, and he’d saturated his shirt with his favourite body fragrance.
