“Where the hell is your father?” Mrs Baxter frantically searched the house for her husband.

“Dad, are you here?” Audrey called out.

Hugo Fletcher ushered Dr Mortlock, Rachel and Flynn into the Baxters’ house. Mrs Baxter had barely finished checking all the rooms when her husband flung through the front door.

“Jean? Jessa? What on Earth…?” Mrs Baxter flew into his arms and smacked a grateful kiss onto his mouth.

“We’re all fine,” she assured him.

“I was at the pub, and this emergency news report flashed up. Jessa was on the screen! What on Earth is going on?”

“Please sit down, Mr and Mrs Baxter,” Dr Mortlock urged. “We’ll explain everything we know.”

“You!” Jessa said, looking directly at Dr Mortlock. “You’re working with him!”

“No, that’s not the case.”

“Wait, what’s going on?” said Hugo.

“They know each other! I heard it! He called her Lissy?!”

Dr Mortlock perched on the arm of the sofa and her face fell into her hands. “I knew him,” she said sadly. “But I haven’t seen him since the night they tried to execute him.”

“Liar!” Jessa shouted.

Dr Mortlock shook her head. “I’m telling the truth.”

“Are you telling us you were in that cult?” said Hugo.

She nodded. “I’m ashamed to say it, but yes.”

“Shit, Felicia, why didn’t you say anything sooner?” Rachel said. “You might have been able to help the investigation—”

“I’ve been working on my own time to see if anything I might know could have helped, Rachel, and I was not able to uncover anything beneficial. I hope you all understand—this was a very dark part of my past, and I couldn’t simply tell you all about it. It would risk my position as headteacher, and it could put Winsbury in danger. I moved on a long time ago.”

“Why were you involved with him in the first place?!” said Hugo.

“In short, because I was naive and I always saw the best in people. Believe it or not, he made some good points. He talked about teaching people how to increase their parabilities, and about making life better for parapsychs. I was young, and he was honest. He made a few turns for the worst, and I did my best to talk him out of it. Eventually, his other followers planned their mutiny, and while I tried to warn him, he wasn’t willing to change, so I had to leave.”

“And you really haven’t seen him since?”

“Not once. It wasn’t until I saw him tonight that I truly believed he could evade death. But he was right. He is just as powerful as he always claimed, and I am a fool for doubting it. I’m thoroughly ashamed.”

“Would someone, anyone, please tell me what on Earth is going on?” Mr Baxter grieved.

“Where do we start?” Jessa said.

#

“I don’t believe it,” Jean Baxter shook her head. “You’re telling me that this man is some kind of supervillain?”

“I’m not saying that at all, Mrs Baxter. He’s just an incredibly angry and powerful man—”

“And you exposed my teenage daughter to him? What kind of teachers are you?” her raised voiced turned to a stern yell. “We parents put our trust in you to take care of our children, and now I’m learning that the headteacher is an ex-cult member and that you’ve been taking my child to some nutty parapsych free-for-all where you got her involved in what, some kind of secret service? She’s fourteen years old! What were you thinking?!”

“Jean, please understand—” Hugo tried to speak.

“No, you shut up and sit down!” Mrs Baxter spat back at him. “You did this. You came along with all your secrets and you upset my Audrey and you got my baby involved in all of this… this…” she broke down in tears and flopped back onto the sofa.

“They didn’t do it, Mum. It was me. I insisted that I wanted to be included. I honestly didn’t give them a choice.”

“Mum, these people wouldn’t have even known about Silas Lynch if it weren’t for Jessa,” Audrey added.

“It’s true, Jean. Jessa’s proven herself to have abilities far beyond any parapsych I’ve ever seen from someone her age.”

“Agreed,” said Dr Mortlock.

“And what good has it done?” Michael Baxter asked sadly, cradling his sobbing wife. “You knew about it, but it happened anyway? We welcomed you into this family, Hugo, and treated you like one of our own. So tell me, honestly: what good has it done?”

Hugo Fletcher opened his mouth as if to speak and then shut it promptly, looking down at the carpet. “I’m sorry,” was all he could muster.

They were interrupted by the shrill ring of the house videophone.

“It’s Maggie,” Jessa plucked the cordless handset from the glowing blue box. “Hey.”

“THERE YOU ARE!” Everyone in the room heard Maggie Turner’s relieved words. “I’ve been trying to call you!”

“You’re not the only one. We have forty-eight missed calls. Looks like there were so many calls coming in at once that nobody could even get through.”

“You were on the news! He was there!” Maggie blurted. “What’s going on? Can I come over? What should we do?”

“Maggie, hi, it’s Hugo Fletcher. Don’t come here. Stay inside, okay? Are your parents there?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, good. Just… stay inside,” he tried to sound sensible and authoritative, but Jessa had a feeling he was as worried and confused as everyone else. At least Audrey seemed calmed by his words.

“Okay, I will. Is Flynn there?”

“Yeah. His mum’s on her way home from work, and she’ll be here soon,” Jessa answered.

“All right,” Maggie sighed quietly. “Please keep in touch, my parents are flipping out. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

“We will. Love you, Mags,” said Jessa.

“Love you guys,” and Maggie hung up the phone leaving everyone at the Baxter house in silence again.

Mr Baxter switched on the television with a swipe of the remote control. Newsflash reports showed on every channel. Headlines ticker-taped at the bottom of each screen, words of horror that hinted at revolt and screamed of chaos.

“From Dawn ’til Doom?” Audrey scoffed. “Trust Channel 5 to come up with something sensationalist like that. Go back to BBC1, Dad.”

He took his daughter’s suggestion but muted the television. They all watched the unnaturally attractive young news anchor silently reiterating a tale of the evening’s events as a small box in the corner played clips of footage on repeat.

Jessa realised how surreal it was to see the evening through the screen. The video showed the man called Mr Downton being lifted up into the air as if attached to invisible strings.

The camera-people had managed to get some shaky close-ups of other people in the audience, so Jessa was now able to see details she had missed in person. Husbands, wives, friends, clutching each other’s hands in fright; mouths gaping in horror; people trying to subtly call the police but their phones showing an unexpected ‘No Signal’ message.

“This isn’t helping,” Rachel stood in front of the television. “They don’t know anything.”

“If anyone can stop Lynch,” said Hugo, “it’s the people in this room.”

“But how?” Rachel replied.

“I’m not sure. Jessa?” he turned to face the young girl. “You’ve been right about everything. What do you think?”

Jessa saw the furrowed brows of her parents, and the expectant expression on Flynn’s face, and the concern on Audrey’s. Hugo, Dr Mortlock, and Rachel looked to Jessa imploringly.

Not long ago I had to fight to convince them Silas Lynch was alive.

Now look at them.

“Well. I think he was being honest. He told us exactly what he was going to do and why he wanted to do it.”

“You think there are really one hundred kids out there who have been brainwashed into committing suicide at his command?” Flynn questioned.

“Not quite. I think there’s ninety-nine left. Annora must have been one of them.”

“What about the other victims, the first ones?” Flynn asked quickly.

Jessa shook her head thoughtfully. “No, those were different. I think they must have been practice attempts. Prototypes. He tried a few times before figuring it out.”

“Look,” Mr Baxter pointed to the television. The replaying footage from the night’s event had gone away and been replaced by a reporter holding a microphone, talking directly to the camera with a crowd of people marching behind. The word “live” hung in the top corner of the screen, fixed atop a silent scene of unrest. He pinched outward on the glass remote and brought the sound of disquiet into their living room.

“…and the crowd continues to grow as more families descend upon the streets of London. You can see across the river behind me, the Houses of Parliament, where this particular march is heading right now.”

The reporter’s voice was slightly distorted as he spoke a little too loudly into his puffy microphone.

“I’d estimate there are roughly four, maybe five hundred people here already, with no sign of quiet yet. These people want answers, and they won’t rest until they get them.”

“Thank you, Aaron,” the news anchor brought the attention back to himself for a moment before throwing it back out to another street reporter. “Now we’re going to Peter, reporting live from 10 Downing Street, where another group of angry citizens have gathered this evening.”

“That’s right, Bill,” said a peppy reporter who seemed cheerful enough that it might have actually been the first time he was allowed to report live. “As you can see here, there’s a lot of police arriving now to keep the crowd back. A few people have thrown things at the Prime Minister’s house, but so far this does seem to be a relatively peaceful protest.”

The shaky camera panned across a scene of people chanting for answers and truth, as a team of riot police gathered in front of 10 Downing Street with their perspex shields and noticeable truncheons.

“And has there been any sighting of the Prime Minister himself?”

“Not yet, Bill. We’ve seen a few people escorted into the building, though their identity was hidden from the crowd, but this has led to speculation that the Prime Minister is inside and we can only assume that at this time, he’s preparing his plan of action. Back to you in the studio.”

“Thank you, Peter. And we have with us in the studio a professor of Parapsych Politics at UCL, who thinks this should be regarded as an act of terrorism, isn’t that right, Professor?”

“That’s exactly right. By all definitions of the word, the actions of Silas Lynch are absolutely an act of terrorism. I have no idea what—”

Mr Baxter muted the sound once more so his wife could answer the ringing telephone. She was assuring someone on the other end that she and Jessa were fine, and she urged the other person to please be the one to contact the rest of the family to tell them so.

“I’m turning the ringer off, I can’t handle more calls right now,” she said.

“Look, if we’re going to stop him, we have to find him first,” Rachel said to the group. “Jessa, any ideas?”

They all looked at her again.

“I don’t know why you all suddenly think I know everything about him.”

“I just mean, if anyone has any suggestions, it would be you.”

“Well, I don’t know!” Jessa snapped, looking back at the television screen which was once again showing the live feed of the crowd outside the Prime Minister’s house. “I saw him disappear like you all did, that’s as much as I know. He’s been hiding for over two decades, so I’m pretty sure he’s not going to be easy to find. I just need to think.” She let out a frustrated grunt.

“Maybe we should go out,” said Flynn. “There’s nothing we can do from here, right?”

“Perhaps,” said Hugo. “Given what we know, we must have the upper hand. If we can get out there, see what’s really going on, maybe we can start to make sense of it and put together some kind of…” he shrugged, “some kind of plan. So let’s think logically. Here’s what we know: One - Silas is out there somewhere. Two - he’s given us a deadline, so we know what he’s planning and when.”

“We don’t know where, though,” said Rachel. “What if we don’t find out where he’s going to be?”

“We’ll know,” Jessa said quietly. “He’ll find a way to show us. He wants this to be public. But we shouldn’t all go. Mum and Dad, I think you two should stay here—”

“Damn right we’re staying here, and so are you, Jessa.”

“No, I have to go!”

Her parents both blew up into a wild disapproval.

“You don’t understand!”

“I understand fully, Jessamine,” said Mr Baxter. “I understand that you’re fourteen years old, and you are forbidden to leave this house.”

“You can’t tell me what to do, when you don’t even—”

“This is my house, young lady, and I most certainly can tell you what to do. I’ve had enough of all this funny-business.”

“But Dad—”

“No buts! You’re not going out, and that’s final. So if you must, you can help concoct a plan, and then your friends here can go out and execute it, but you are not going anywhere.”