Free The Mind's Eye by K.C. Finn Page B

downstairs.” He paused a moment, scratching his
chin. “Can you see everything I see?”
    Yes , I answered, whatever you look at, I can see it too.
Everything
suddenly went black.
    “ What can you see now?” Henri asked. I could feel a smile
growing on his face.
    You’ve closed your eyes, haven’t you? I answered.
He laughed,
opening them again. Then he held up his hand in front of his face,
still chuckling.
    “ How many fingers?” he demanded.
    Five, four, none, two. I followed
his movements and answered as quickly as he made them.
    “ This is amazing,” he remarked, shaking his head. He looked
down at himself, revealing a brown waistcoat over a black shirt.
“So what am I wearing?” he tested again.
I was about
to answer when a sharp banging sound alerted us both. Henri snapped
his gaze to the door where we both saw the horrific sight of big
black boots kicking it open and marching into the room. A tall man
with curly black hair stepped in wearing the German uniform. He had
a thick moustache that emphasized his sneering lip as he approached
Henri in the centre of the room. A half dozen more soldiers in
their circular helmets followed him inside, gathering around the
great dark man like a pack of wolves. Henri got to his feet as the
German approached; all his merriment from a moment since was
gone.
    “ You speak English, boy?” demanded the German. He was carrying
some kind of officer’s hat under his arm.
    “ Yes sir,” Henri answered, his usually deep voice quivering a
little, “I have a teacher. I am a student of Mr
Bavistock.”
    The sneer turned into a horrid yellow grin under that huge
ugly moustache. “Ah yes. He is an Englishman, no?” the German
asked. Henri didn’t reply; I could feel his muscles tensing. “We
are… talking with
him, at the moment.”
I had a
pretty good idea of what he meant having seen the awful newsreel.
That poor teacher would be one of the people dragged out of their
lives by the grey-green uniformed mass of invaders. Henri stood
firm, his face reactionless. The German’s dark eyes scanned the
empty room.
    “ Who were you talking to just now?” he demanded.
    “ Nobody sir,” Henri stammered, his stoicism starting to fail,
“I was practising my English. I always practice out loud when I am
alone. It is good for pronunciation.” All the words came tumbling
out in a nervous mess; I could feel his heart starting to thump in
his ears, his blood rushing in anxious circuits to flush into his
face. He felt hot suddenly, his breath was sharp.
The officer
barked something in German at his men, who then descended on the
room, overturning huge piles of fabric, clothes, patterns, even
machinery. They hurricaned through the large, empty room in pairs,
uprooting everything in sight. Henri spun on the spot as he watched
them until his focus came back to their superior. It was then that
I noticed the officer’s great hairy hands folded in front of him
and the clipped cigar perched in his pocket ready to be lit. I
recognised them all too well, horrified to look into the ugly, dark
face and realise I had been inside the mind attached to it.
    “ Just a little inspection,” the officer explained with a
horrible smile, “it is within the law.”
    “ Whose law?” Henri asked. He seemed shocked with himself for
even asking it.
    “ Your law, by next week,” the officer answered, “things are
about to change around here, Herr…?”
    “ Haugen,” Henri answered, “Henri Haugen.”
The officer
approached with definite strides of his huge boots. He was at least
half a foot taller than Henri, his dark eyes boring down on him. He
took Henri’s chin in his hairy hand roughly; I felt the force as
though he’d grabbed me too. The German’s yellow teeth were bared in
another wicked grin.
    “ We could use some boys like you who know their English well,”
he mused cruelly.
Henri was
shaking, but the fire of his anger and injustice had returned. He
took the German’s hand away from