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  ANOMALY

  Caitlin Lynagh

  Copyright © 2016 Caitlin Lynagh

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study,

  or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents

  Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in

  any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the

  publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with

  the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries

  concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events

  and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination

  or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons,

  living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Matador

  9 Priory Business Park,

  Wistow Road, Kibworth Beauchamp,

  Leicestershire. LE8 0RX

  Tel: 0116 279 2299

  Email: [email protected]

  Web: www.troubador.co.uk/matador

  Twitter: @matadorbooks

  ISBN 978 1785895 470

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

  about the author

  Caitlin Lynagh was born in Cardiff and has lived (or has relatives) in pretty much every corner of the UK. She graduated from Keele University with an honours degree in Biology and Geology in 2013. Torn between her love for writing and science, a friend suggested that she send her novel ideas to a literary agent, so she did, and Anomaly was born.

  Caitlin enjoys travelling and recently visited Hong Kong and spent time in the Amazon Rainforest. Caitlin recently won a North West Young Writer’s Grant. She has a blog where she writes book reviews (https://thebookigloo.wordpress.com/) and enjoys interacting with fellow readers on social media.

  Anomaly is Caitlin’s first novel. There are more to come in The Soul Prophecies series but other ideas are filling many a notebook, so, hopefully, Anomaly is the first of many.

  www.caitlinlynagh.co.uk

  www.thesoulprophecies.com

  Twitter: @CaitlinLynagh

  Tumblr:thesoulprophecies.tumblr.com

  Facebook:https://www.facebook.com/pages/Caitlin-Lynagh/517590774955283

  All time is now.

  PROLOGUE

  Two years earlier…

  Imagine if you could see glimpses of the past, present and future. Random, unconnected, points in time, converging on your senses alongside your daily routine. Now imagine the thoughts of a stranger, perhaps that homeless man you pass on your way to work every morning or maybe the striking blonde who gets on your train. Imagine the thoughts of an elderly person, strolling along by the seaside as they enjoy their winter years. Or perhaps the thoughts of someone who has recently passed away…

  Sophia had a busy mind, a very busy mind. Just like the rest of her family and the generations before. They had thoughts, emotions and memories, like any other person, but they also experienced thoughts, emotions and memories that were not their own. They could sense the thoughts of different people like echoes alongside their own thoughts – there, but not quite there – lingering in the background, in those shadowy corners of their minds. It felt divine, like a God hearing thousands of prayers or a radio tuned in to every station on Earth. Sophia Leto’s mind was saturated with the thoughts, memories and emotions of other people, those alive, and those who were already dead.

  Sophia and her family had these abilities. Gifts they could never speak about. Every Leto had been born with these gifts, and every Leto had learnt to recognise and control them. Some would consider them a curse, but the Letos had recognised the importance of these other voices, thoughts and memories long ago. There was no other family alive on Earth who understood the afterlife as well as the Letos did. Their gifts had led them into lines of research that only they could carry out and every member had played their part. Generations of Letos had kept meticulous notes, descriptions and drawings of everything significant they saw with their own eyes, and things they saw within their minds.

  It was dangerous, yet it was necessary; the Letos had never been wrong. They had followed the strongest images, the most desperate voices and emotions; they had found the strangers who flashed in their mind like images in an old movie reel. They had helped these people, poor and rich, young and old, male and female. The Letos had watched like guardian angels, guiding from the sidelines. They knew of the hidden energies and science which governed the minds of man, of life and of what lies beyond. They could see these energies working in the very air, swaying humanity like a pendulum. These energies were called Positive and Negative by the Letos, and by every deceased soul. There had always been a struggle between these forces, between good and bad, but the truth was far beyond what had already been written.

  The swinging pendulum was never easy to predict – you never knew how long Positive would reign or Negative. So when Florence Leto cried out from the kitchen and the sound of shattering glass pierced the air, it should have been of little surprise to Sophia and the rest of her family that the pendulum had swayed again. The images that had shocked Flo crashed down on the rest of the family only seconds later; forcing their way through, consuming every other thought and painting pictures none of the Letos had ever wanted to see. Sophia’s mother gasped, her aunt let out a small squeak, the colour drained from her brother’s face and then the phone rang and silence descended upon the household. Sophia’s father picked up the phone and slowly raised it to his ear. They all knew Sophia’s uncle was at the other end, and they all knew what he was going to say.

  ‘Hello?’ Her father’s voice cracked, he listened and his hand shook. Flo appeared under the archway between their dining room and lounge; her wrinkled face was ghastly pale and her lips were slightly parted as she reached out a hand to steady herself against the wall. They knew, even before Sophia’s father had put down the phone. The two people they had been watching, the pair their ancestors had been waiting for all these years, had now become one. Alice was gone.

  One

  The present day

  It was night in the garden and Ahrl stood by the fountain like a white marbled angel. He did not move, he did not breathe, and his sapphire blue eyes did not blink. A faint breeze whispered through his white robes and picked at the midnight strands of his long hair, and every few seconds the underside of his pointed jaw, nose, cheeks and brow would be awash with a warm glow. He was gazing into the fountain again, the fountain of memories. It wasn’t much to look at, a simple, grey, crenulated column of stone, with a bronzed bowl holding a small pool of water, yet it contained all the clues to the mysterious future. It was the only guide The Thirteen had.

  Images painted themselves across the surface, sometimes highlighted by a Positive golden glow and at other times a Negative void-like darkness. The fountain showed every critical thought, emotion, decision and event taking place all over the Earth. Ahrl could see the past, the present, and every possible pathway for the future. The most likely scenarios flashed across the pool’s surface frequently whereas the less likely appeared less often. Ahrl knew everything and felt everything; he could see individuals of the human species and he knew which ones would have important decisions and choic
es to make that would affect the planet’s future. However, the future was constantly changing, humanity had freewill and they did not always make Positive decisions. There was also nature to add in to the chaos; the deceased could not control nor predict nature any more than the living could.

  The images changed again. There were so many people, so many lives and decisions tangled together in great webs of energy; it was a specialist task to study the fountain. Yet Ahrl continued to search; there was a calm and tranquillity to the garden. He felt at ease, despite searching for hours, days, weeks. For Ahrl, time was more complicated and he was never certain anymore. Ahrl and many others had gazed into this timeless pool; he had seen the good effects of Positive decisions, lives saved, laws passed, freedom and equality for all. He had also seen the disastrous effects of Negative decisions; lives taken, wars started, futures reduced to despair. It was a continuous battle between the two forces, one that had been there from the very beginning and one that would continue and evolve to the very end.

  The fountain fell silent briefly; it did this every so often. The images would fade, the water would become still and the stars above would reflect upon its smooth surface. Ahrl blinked once as his mind digested everything he had learnt, then suddenly, a tiny depression formed in the centre of the pool. The water dipped down sharply and then jumped back into place. A small drop broke away from the pool and flew a couple of inches up into the air, then fell back down again with a soft plop.

  And so it began, like a rare raindrop heading for a cosmic ocean – an ocean swelling with uncertainty. A seemingly insignificant event charged into the chaos of the universe, creating a ripple in the dimensions of time. Its energy was small, but it would expand outwards, swinging life’s pendulum into the Positive force. It had happened before and it would happen again. This single moment would change everything.

  Ahrl’s ancient consciousness prickled, jolting his seven senses. He felt the murmur of Positive energy as it danced across his illusive synapses. Each shock and tiny vibration, each pulse and movement, was amplified along the Positive scale. This was new and unexpected, yet desperately needed. The pool’s surface rippled and shone brightly; he let his thoughts slow down with the patience of a well-practised Buddhist. Images formed and passed over the fountain, imparting their knowledge. Her sister, a book. This was potentially dangerous. There had been books before – words from the wise, fatally misconstrued. However, the smallest decisions were often the foundations for the biggest changes. He felt the tremors of clarity, shaking through the core of his soul. An anomaly was about to shake the Earth. He stepped back from the fountain and gazed upwards at the universe. The remaining Thirteen and all of the deceased felt and learned the same things he had learned just moments before.

  Two

  ‘Next please?’ Kyle shouted into the throngs of fresher students on the other side of the bar, their faces highlighted in a cold blue from the neon sign above them. He looked expectantly at a drunken student, a girl struggling to stand in her high-heeled shoes. She leant forward and he mirrored her actions – it was the only way to hear her over the loud, blaring bass. He worked part-time at ‘Blue Bar’, one of the three bars open tonight in the large three-storey, Students’ Union. The main venue, ‘The Ballroom’, was little more than a large hall on the first floor, with sticky wooden floors and a massive stage located at the back, complete with speakers, DJ deck and strobe lights. Despite Blue Bar being tucked away in its furthest corner, the floor still shook as though it was in the middle of an earthquake.

  ‘I’d like a Sambuca and Coke, please,’ she said, trying hard to pronounce her words correctly and then bursting into a fit of intoxicated giggles. Kyle nodded and turned around to the back wall, quickly scooping up a shot measure and a large plastic glass. ‘Make that a double!’ he heard her yell and reluctantly he poured another shot. He’d been working all week; freshers’ week was the most popular week of the year for the first year students. For most of them, it was the first time they’d left home for any considerable period, and they liked to spread their new wings of freedom by bathing their throats, livers and stomachs in alcohol. He glanced towards the other end of the bar. His flatmate and team leader, Dani, was pummelling a cash register and shouting orders to a couple of newbies. She was tall and thin, with long, dark hair. Tonight she wore tight jeans with chunky, black, buckled boots and a red top that hung off one shoulder; not technically their staff uniform, but in keeping with their colour theme. Kyle gazed down at his black t-shirt, emblazoned with a large red oak tree; this was the staff uniform. He swung back round with the drink and then swiped his work identification card over the cash register.

  ‘That will be three pounds eighty,’ he yelled over the noise and then he turned his face to the side and coughed into his hand; his throat was killing him already. The girl paid and Kyle handed over her change. She squeezed back out of the crowd, disappearing with her drink, and then he was serving the next drunken student. The night continued like this, as students forced their way to the bars, elbowing and sliding past each other. It was the last Saturday of freshers’ week there was no way any of the staff would be finishing early.

  This was the beginning of Kyle’s second year as a business student at Red Oak University. It wasn’t a bad university but it wasn’t rated particularly highly either – not as high as his father would have liked. It was situated in the heart of England, just outside the town of Rediff, in a little village called Red Oak. It was a campus university with several acres of woodland, positioned conveniently next to a motorway. He lived on campus in a small, self-contained flat, which he shared with Dani and Stuart, whom he had known since his first year, and Cameron, a childhood friend from his secondary school.

  As the early hours wore on, the thought of the end of his shift teased his stiff body; he could sleep in tomorrow, although he mustn’t forget to read up on the module content for the new semester. He could almost imagine his father, Matthew, nodding in agreement. He had drilled into Kyle at an early age the importance of work and study. ‘There’s nothing wrong with a little extra work,’ he would say. ‘Employers these days want more than just a first class degree.’ He lowered his gaze to the floor. Kyle’s father wanted him to take over the family business eventually. His plan was for Kyle to work at the company for a year or so and then job hop to gain experience elsewhere before coming back to run the company. It was a logical and sound plan, Kyle knew that, but he couldn’t help but feel his hands were tied.

  He made his way outside to the beer garden to collect the empty glasses; a heavy fog had settled around the campus. He ran a hand backwards through his sweaty hair and sighed. There was definitely something bugging him today and he wasn’t sure how to describe it, let alone identify it. He had felt it all day, something odd, something unsettling. A shiver ran through his shoulders and tingled into his shoulder blades. He shuddered, shaking the feeling from his body. He was overtired, the night had been long and unrelenting; he needed to recharge his batteries and then everything would be back to the same boring routine tomorrow.

  Eventually, the drunken students drifted back to their accommodation blocks, their legs wobbling like new-born fawns. Kyle was finally collecting the glasses faster than they were being used and Dani let the exhausted newbies go. He dumped the last basket on the bar as a couple of staff ran around the hall with mops. Dani hefted two black sacks; the tell-tale clinking sound of glass bottles told him where she was heading. He picked up the remaining two sacks and followed her towards a fire exit and down a flight of gridded metal stairs.

  ‘God, what a night,’ she said in her soft northern accent. ‘My feet are killing me.’

  ‘It was busy.’ Kyle’s eyes scanned the horizon; the fog from earlier had lifted considerably, only faint, misty, yellow cones of light could be seen under the lampposts in the near distance.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen it that busy before,’ Dani said
. Kyle nodded in silence, their footsteps echoing heavily as they reached the bottom step. Six large plastic bins were positioned against the brick walls, enclosed in a tall wooden fence, right next to the now vacant beer garden. They emptied the sacks one by one into the nearest bin. Dani sat down at the bottom of the stairs and stretched out her long legs in front of her. ‘I’m really sorry I kept you on, you must be tired.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ he said, turning to face her. He didn’t mind staying on and he didn’t want Dani to walk back to their flat alone. As he moved, something glinted like a flame in the corner of his eye. He turned back to the bin. There, half hidden behind one of the bin’s giant wheels, was a coin. The red lighting of the exit sign above them bounced off its metallic surface. He scooped it up, and ran the curve between his thumb and forefinger; it was a penny, with the date, 1991, stamped on the side.

  ‘I still don’t know why you collect discarded pennies,’ Dani said, watching as he straightened up and slipped the penny into one of his pockets. ‘Oh!’ she interrupted herself, a devilish grin breaking onto her face. She fished out a piece of paper from the pocket of her jeans. ‘I believe,’ she said, offering him the paper, ‘that this is the third phone number this week, Mr Hot Stuff.’ She winked at him. Kyle groaned as he accepted the small scrap of torn paper.

  ‘Please don’t call me that,’ he said as he unfolded the note. Whoever had written this had been more artistic than the others – they had dotted their number with little hearts. He sighed and crumpled the number into a ball before tossing it in the bin.

  ‘Why don’t you call any of them?’ Dani asked, her eyes boring into him as he rocked uncomfortably on his heels. The doors in his mind had been shut long ago, but he still felt the whisperings of old memories pressing against them. He lifted his shoulders, and felt the muscles in his chest tighten. He couldn’t explain to Dani the thoughts or feelings in his mind, hell, he didn’t even want to feel them. Kyle grimaced as one of his mental doors opened and he forcefully pushed it shut again. He looked upwards to clear his thoughts and regain his control; he thought about work and his upcoming modules and the studying he would have to do. He recited a handful of facts, and slowly he felt strength returning to his system. If he isolated the memories, if he separated the reality and detached the emotions, he could speak about her again, even if it was only for a few risky moments.