Free Chosen by Lisa Mears Page B

Gilster had
positioned themselves either side of the door, that way they could
grab anyone attempting to enter. There was a scratching sound
around the door handle, slowly the knob turned.
‘Shhh,’ said one of the voices,
‘if anyone is in there we want to take them by surprise.’
The door creaked opened and two
men made their way cautiously into the kitchen. Not a lot of light
came through the one small window, but it was enough to see two,
short, ugly little men creeping in. One had a red, angry scar
running down his left cheek which caused the skin to pucker and
pull the corner of his eye down and what little hair he had on his
head was plastered down across his odd shaped skull. The other one
was fat and squat with a broken nose mashed across his face and
badly bowed legs. As the two men entered the kitchen, Haven and
Gilster leapt forward and grabbed them. There was a short scuffle
but the intruders were no match for the much larger men.
‘What do we have here?’ said
Haven, holding up one of the creatures by the neck of his filthy
jacket, his feet kicking backwards and forwards about two feet off
the floor.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Gilster,
holding the other one at arm’s length, ‘but they certainly
stink.’
‘What are you doing here and
don’t lie because I’ll know,’ growled Haven. The one Gilster was
holding began to talk in a soothing, sing-song voice.
‘You don’t want to hurt us,
we’re nothing, in fact we’re less than nothing, we don’t want any
trouble, we just want to leave.’ Gilster’s eyes began to glaze over
and his grip on the creature slackened, he didn’t notice as the man
began to move his hand inch by inch towards a knife hilt poking
from the waist-band of his jeans.
‘Don’t listen to his words
Gil,’ shouted Haven breaking the spell, ‘I can hear his thoughts
and you don’t want to know what they are going to do to us if they
get free.’ Both of the creatures jerked suddenly, trying to escape
by reaching for the weapons they had secreted about their clothes,
but it was an exercise in futility, Gilster and Haven were far too
strong and they were quickly disarmed. After another short scuffle
the creature Haven was holding hung limp and unresponsive from his
fist.
‘I didn’t mean for that to
happen,’ said Haven, ‘it was an accident.’ The creature Gilster was
holding began to cringe and whimper, not knowing if he was to be
next. Gilster tightened his grip.
‘Can you read any of his
thoughts?’ he asked Haven.
Haven stared intently at the
creature for a few minutes.
‘No, he’s blocking me now he
knows I’m a telepath.’
‘Are you willing to tell us why
you are here,’ said Gilster to the frightened man in his grip.
‘No . . . I can’t, Rast won’t
just kill me, he’ll torture me first. I can tell you nothing.’
Gilster looked across at Haven who shrugged his shoulders.
‘I can’t leave him alive, it’s
just too dangerous, if he tells others about us – ’ he left the
sentence unfinished.
‘I know,’ said Haven, ‘we will
have to . . .’ he couldn’t bring himself to say the words. ‘I don’t
like what this is turning us into but it must be done.’
Gilster began to sing softly,
but unlike the beautiful ethereal songs he usually sang, this one
sounded discordant and harsh to Haven’s ears, like music being
played off key or rusty hinges shrieking in protest, making Haven
feel distinctly uneasy. The man’s eyes suddenly widened in surprise
and he clutched at his chest. His breath came in rapid pants for a
few seconds and then his head fell forward on his chest. He was
dead.
Haven was shocked. ‘I didn’t
know you could do that.’
‘Neither did I,’ said Gilster,
as he placed the limp body on the floor, ‘although I have heard
whispers of it before.’
‘For your sake I hope you don’t
have to do that again, even though I’m glad to know you can do it,
it’s a very effective weapon.’
Gilster shrugged. ‘If it keeps
us alive,