Chapter 1

You could call it fate, or karma, or just being in the wrong place at the wrong time or the right place at the right time depending on your point of view, but although the incident nearly got me killed I couldn't have acted any differently, even if I'd wanted to. Anyway, at that particular moment in time I didn't give a shit whether I lived or died; or so I thought.

I was walking, well, I say walking but I mean limping, down the alleyway to get back to my car which was parked in a Disabled Driver's parking bay close by. I was leaning on a hiking pole; not because I was likely to go far or anywhere rugged, just that I was too damned proud to use a walking stick. So, I was leaning on this pole as I made my way painfully through the litter strewn on the floor of the alley, kicking my way through discarded plastic carrier bags and packaging. The alley, I suppose it was an arcade in its early life, ran from the market place to the car park and was lined with shops, most of which were empty and waiting for redevelopment. As I passed one of the empty shops I heard a woman scream, then the scream was cut off as if someone had clamped their hand over her mouth. I couldn't help but look for the source of the noise, and I noticed the door to one of the shops had recently been forced.

Despite the pain in my back and feet, I pushed open the door and heard scuffling and cursing in the back room of the shop so I headed towards it. As I stepped into the room, it only took one glance to see what was happening. The woman who had managed to scream was stretched out on the littered floor; her right leg pointing towards me, her left leg stretched as far the other way as it would go. Her blouse was torn leaving her breasts bare and her skirt was rucked up to her waist. Her stockings were ripped, and the gusset of her panties was in tatters exposing her shaved vulva (funny what you notice in times of stress). The remnants of her brassiere were stuffed in her mouth forming a crude gag. A man was kneeling between her legs, his erect penis in his hand preparatory to driving it into the woman's unwilling vagina. There were three other men there, one holding her arms above her head while the other two held her legs apart.

In the microseconds it took me to take in the scene, I came to the conclusion I was going to get a beating at best, and, most likely, something worse. Deciding to try and shorten the odds a little and growling with anger, I took the handle of my hiking pole in my left hand, grabbed the rubber ferrule on the bottom and pulled it off, continuing the movement to lash out and strike the nearest rapist across the throat. As he fell back with a gurgle, clutching at his throat, the rapist between the woman's legs reared back and started to push himself to his feet, I pivoted slightly and stabbed him in the ribs with the steel point of the hiking pole I'd exposed when I'd ripped the ferrule off. The rapist holding the other leg had released it and was now on his feet, so I grabbed the pointed end of the hiking pole with both hands and swung a roundhouse hit to the side of his knee with the heavy rubber grip. I heard the bone snap as it connected and felt the light aluminium pole bend.

I was out of breath now and slow to recover, so the piece of shit that had been holding the woman's arms was on me before I could do anything and pain exploded in my kidneys as he caught me in the back with a couple of solid blows. The woman was on her feet by now and I managed to shout at her to run and call the police before the next blow landed. By then it was too late for me, and I found myself at the centre of a maelstrom of flying fists and kicking feet.

I was on the floor, my back felt like fire, I felt some ribs crack, I saw a boot swinging towards my face and suddenly I realised I didn't want to die. Time seemed to slow down and it was as though everything was happening in a giant vat of golden syrup. Somewhere, deep in my mind, something seemed to crack open and blossom like an exploding volcano. I felt power course through my mind like surging, red hot magma and build until I thought my head would explode. I voicelessly shouted, 'No!' All that stored power surged from my mind; then everything went black.

Have you heard those stories about people who stood outside their bodies and looked down on them? 'Out of Body Experiences' they call them don't they? Well, that's how it was for me. I don't recall waking up or moving, but now I was hovering up near the ceiling, with a bird's eye view of what was going on. I could see that I was in the Intensive Therapy Unit of the local teaching hospital; I'd been there before, though as a visitor not as a patient, thank Gaia.

Although my body was comatose, I, the bit that was me and appeared to be on holiday at the moment, was having a good look round; most particularly, I was looking at myself, lying in the high tech bed, covered only by a modesty towel and looking like the remnants of a good meal. Judging by the colouring of the bruises, I'd been there some time and my belly was no longer a rotunda, more like a ruined old church. My hair, what there was of it, that I normally kept sheared off was spiky and unkempt and my beard, apart from where it was shaved off to accommodate the tracheotomy that hooked me up to the ventilator, was equally straggly. I'd lost a hell of a lot of weight; and I looked like shit with skin hanging in folds; far older than my sixty-three years! Somehow, a chicken carcase came to mind.

It was a trussed chicken carcase though, there were wires and tubes everywhere and what seemed to be an inordinate amount of sticky tape was plastered on my hirsute body. I just hoped that when the time came, I would be given a general anaesthetic for its removal!

I wasn't alone though; my son was sitting at the side of my bed and, believe it or not, was holding my hand! Anyone that knows my son knows that hand-holding and him do not go together! His other hand held a book, and that was when I realised I must have been bad, he was reading David Eddings again! I did notice he was sitting in a position that allowed him to keep an eye on winsome nursie though!

There was a slight rustle through the unit that barely impacted on the noises from the monitors and respirators and I saw the ITU consultant had entered the ward; he had to be a consultant by the way everyone deferred to him and the entourage followed him around at a respectful distance. I didn't really take much notice of him until he came to my bed and looked at my chart. He said something to the nurse and in an effort to hear what he was saying I sharpened my attention on him. Before you could say, 'scalpel, ' (pun intended) I was reading his mind.

I managed to contain my shock and surprise when I realised this poor man really did care, and he was steeling himself to tell Andy, my nearest and dearest, that today was the day, today I was off life support, win, lose or draw! He thought the worst, and he was sure that those two packets of cigarettes I'd been smoking every day for the last fifty years or so were going to finally see me off. I looked at my battered corpse and again I sharpened my attention, but this time on my lungs and I could see them! Better than any X-Ray, CAT or MRI scan, I could see what a pile of shit my lungs really were. Without even thinking about it I looked at the lungs of the young nurse, (and yes, it really was her lungs I looked at) that was sitting at the end of my bed and saw how they differed from mine. With no knowledge of how I did it I rebuilt my lungs to look like those of the nurse; young, fresh and untainted.

I'd just like to say at this point, I still don't know how I do these things; I suppose the best analogy I can come up with is that it's like 'cut-and-paste' on a word processor, I can see how things are, I can see how they should be and I just make it happen. Do you know how your brain stores memories or how the muscles of your hand work to pick something up? Of course you don't, you just remember things or pick things up, and that's how it is with what I do, I just do it. I have to confess I was taken aback a bit at what I'd done, but a glimmer of what might be possible struck me. I lost track of the consultant's conversation with Andy for a few moments as he told him what had to happen and the likely outcome. When I came back to it, Andy was looking stricken, the consultant was looking grave, the nurse's eyes were watering, and I still looked like shit!

I thought maybe it was time to influence things a bit, so I made my body open its eyes (the tape holding them shut had been removed when the consultant examined me) and squeeze Andy's hand. As he turned to look at me I smiled and winked, and I frightened the bastard nearly to death! I still laugh at his expression at that moment! The consultant jumped into action as though he'd been kick-started, doing all the things that a consultant does at such times with the nurses jumping to carry out his orders and his followers trying to look as if they knew what was going on. I managed to let go of Andy's hand, (my other hand was full of IV needles and such) motion to the tracheotomy and get across the idea that it should be out, I closed my eyes and let them get on with it.

While the consultant and the nurses were dealing with my corpse, I skulked up in the corner near the ceiling and watched all the excitement. When they'd finished I was disconnected from all the paraphernalia and sleeping easily. The tracheotomy was history. I took another leisurely look at my corpse and using the same technique I'd used on my lungs I corrected all the problems that had made my life miserable. With knowledge I filched from the mind of a passing consultant endocrinologist, I rejuvenated my pancreas and nervous system to cure my diabetes and get rid of the diabetic neuropathy; I then rebuilt the discs and vertebrae in my spine that caused me such pain. Don't ask me how long it took because I don't know. I was so immersed in what I was doing I didn't think to keep track and anyway, in my current state time meant nothing.

When I eventually started noticing my surroundings again, I saw that Andy had gone and the chair was decorated with the delectable body of my daughter-in-law, Jeanette. Yes, I know she's forty years old, but I'm sure her body's only twenty; it's still taut and athletic with high, firm breasts that can still go braless, shapely hips and long legs. I say long legs, but they were proportionally long to her petite stature; she stood a mere one metre-sixty without her shoes. She was small, but perfectly formed as they say, with auburn, collar length hair, high cheekbones and a square chin. Her mouth was generous and her nose well shaped and exactly the right size. I know that doesn't sound extraordinary when you write it down, but on Jeanette it added up to being strikingly beautiful. If my dick hadn't been held down by the catheter taped to my leg, it could have become embarrassing! As it was it was just painful!

Jeanette was clinging on to my callused paw with her comparatively tiny hand and this new sense of mine was getting some strange signals from her. I could tell she was distressed about the condition I was in; probably more than a good daughter-in-law should be it seemed, and I noted that for later consideration. She also exuded fear for some reason and I decided to see if I could find its cause.

I didn't have to search too deeply into her mind to find out she'd received a letter that morning recalling her after a mammogram and she'd immediately thought the worst. Now, I'm not really a tit man, though I like the shape and feel of a warm breast as much as the next man and Jeanette had lovely tits, but to mentally start searching her breasts for abnormalities was weird! I didn't actually find anything, but then again, I wasn't exactly familiar with my abilities as yet, so I decided to keep a mental eye on things. Just to take her mind off her troubles I repeated my squeeze, wink and smile routine, but instead of being happy she started to cry. I can't stand it when women cry, I want to move heaven and earth for them to make things right, but usually have to settle for holding them and letting them wet my shirt.

I said in a very quiet, hoarse voice, 'It's okay Jeanette; it'll be all right, ' at least, that's what I tried to say, it came out more like, 'Unk net ilbrit.'

That was when the police turned up.

By this time Jeanette had stopped crying and I'd returned to my lurking point up near the ceiling, so I was nicely placed to appreciate the female representative from the strong arm of the law; she was a cracker! Have you ever noticed how those trousers cling to their arse like a second skin, and how the anti-stab vest just seems to emphasise it? She was a real beauty, tall and blonde with the grace of an athlete. I couldn't imagine her dealing with pathetic, violent drunks on a Saturday night. She was wearing the uniform though, so I guessed she was able to look after herself. Her partner was another matter. He must have been two metres tall, about twenty centimetres taller than his companion, but where she was beauty, he was the beast. He wasn't exactly ugly, but he'd certainly had a hard time somewhere along the line and he was built like a brick shithouse. I could imagine him stuffing piss artists in the van four at a time, two in each hand. He was in plain clothes, but he was obviously a copper, so I guessed it was a bit serious.

Feeling in a playful mood, I oozed back into my body again, snuggled down, had a mental wriggle or two to get settled, then I opened my eyes. Beauty was still as gorgeous from this angle! I turned my head and looked at Jeanette.

'Immi rink shi?' which roughly translated as, 'Give me a drink chick?'

Before Jeanette could move, the nurse came to my side and offered me a glass of water with a convenient straw; she must have been fluent in Fuckwit! I slurped a couple of mouthfuls and immediately started to feel better. A couple of mouthfuls more and I could feel my body coming back from the brink, especially as the repairs I'd made were feeding my cells with more oxygen than they'd had in years.

I squeezed Jeanette's hand again and looked at the coppers on the other side of the bed.

'Two of you! Beauty and the Beast! I'm honoured!' I was almost completely coherent now, although my voice was still a bit weak and whispery, 'Did you catch the bastards?'

Beast didn't know where to look, but Beauty was smiling when she said, 'No sir, we didn't need to, they were all dead!'

Another little aside here, sometime during my spiritual ceiling lurk, I'd come to the conclusion that it would be morally wrong, for me anyway, to keep reading people's minds willy-nilly. To be honest, I didn't think I could imagine a greater invasion of privacy, so I'd decided not to indulge unless I had good reason; but then again, I got to decide what was 'good reason' didn't I? So, because I'd not been looking the statement came at me out of the blue.

My mind ran through a whole gamut of emotions. How could they be dead? The last I knew they were kicking the shit out of me! Four of them; dead! Did I do that? Had that explosion in my mind done something to them? If I had done it, how did I feel about that? I'm the person who hates to tread on snails, who lifts spiders out of the sink and releases them to run wild in the house (if you put house spiders outside they'll die). The only creatures I'll willingly kill are wasps. On the other hand, they had been trying to rape that lass and in my mind, that put them several rungs below wasps in the scheme of things. I decided I wouldn't worry too much; yet anyway. Irrationally, I also decided I could make an exception for snakes too; I could live with killing the occasional snake as long as it was poisonous.

'Huh?' said I, eloquent as ever.

'Yes sir, dead! As a parrot! Deceased, no longer with us, they are no more; with serious head injuries as the cause of death!' Beauty was being very emphatic about the perpetrators being somewhat poorly, 'We rather hoped you could tell us about that sir? By the way, I'm PC Wrath and this is Detective Sergeant Simion.' She indicated towards her hulking friend.

I was taken aback for a moment, I thought she'd said 'simian' which would have suited our DS down to the ground, and it took me a second or two to catch on. My thoughts must have been reflected in my face because the beautiful PC Wrath grinned at me.

'Well, I'd love to help you but I haven't got a clue, ' I croaked, 'the last thing I knew they were playing football with me.' Suddenly it seemed as if the weight of the world was pushing me into the bed. 'I'm not trying to brush you guys off, but could we talk again tomorrow? I've only just woken up and I feel the need for sleep again.' I closed my eyes. I never saw them leave, I was gone in seconds.

This time I really did sleep, no ceiling lurks, no mind games, just sleep. Just as I drifted off, I realised I'd never had a chance to talk to Jeanette.

When I woke again I felt much better and the chair at the side of my bed was empty. The aches and pains had mostly disappeared, and I felt the urge to get out of bed, though I knew it wasn't going to happen any time soon. The consultant came around, prodded and poked me, asked me a few stupid questions and signed me off to be moved to an ordinary ward, bypassing the high dependency unit. At last! I finally got rid of that fucking catheter!

I was sitting in the chair at the side of my bed at last, wondering how to con some sucker into pushing me outside in a wheelchair so I could visit the smoker's den round the corner from the main entrance; I was dying for a fag! It appeared that after my last meeting with Mr and Mrs Plod, I'd slept for about fourteen hours, moved to an open ward then slept another ten. I was feeling pretty good now; I'd even woken up with a morning woody for the first time in about ten years. As a result, my thoughts turned to illicit cigarettes; I wanted to celebrate! Technically, it was a smoke free site, not just inside the buildings; however, they didn't like patients walking all the way to the road with their drip trolleys and stuff, so they turned a blind eye to the den. Anyway, that's beside the point, because I was sitting by my bed when Beauty and the Beast turned up again. This time Beauty was in plain clothes too.

Beauty took the lead yet again, 'Good afternoon Mr Baratt, how are you feeling?'

'I'm much better, thanks PC Wrath, but please, call me Danny. Drag up a chair; I'm not quite up to furniture moving yet.'

'It's DC Wrath now!' she smiled broadly.

Both she and the enigmatic DS Simion pulled up chairs and sat opposite me.

For the first time in our acquaintance DS Simion spoke, 'Can you tell us what happened Danny? I'm Alun by the way and this isn't Beauty, at least, that isn't her name; this is Daisy, ' he nodded towards his assistant.

Another surprise, Alun not only spoke quietly, his accent was cultured and his eyes shone with intelligence. Yet another reminder that things were rarely as they looked. Again Daisy looked at me with a knowing grin on her face; she'd caught me out again. She knew I'd prejudged Alun as a Neanderthal and was delighted with the briefest flicker of surprise that flashed on my ugly visage when I'd realised he wasn't.

So I told them everything I knew; up to a point. Needless to say, I didn't mention anything about volcanoes in my mind, voiceless shouts or explosions of mental power.

Alun scratched his nose, 'That foot never connected with your face Danny, the man's leg was sheared off below the knee, just as it would have been with a sword strike or an axe. Well, not quite the same, the pathologist tells us he's lost a seven centimetre section of his leg. We still haven't found that section of leg by the way. Both he and his companions died, simultaneously to the best of our knowledge, from terrible head injuries. Can you tell us anything about that?'

'I really don't have a clue Alun; they were all alive when I lost consciousness, 'cos they were beating and kicking the shit out of me. Sorry Daisy.'

'That's OK Danny, I've heard worse, ' she made a deprecating gesture. 'When our lads got to you, there was blood everywhere in that shop and the four rapists were lying around you. The one that had tried to kick you left a line of arterial spray that ran across the boot of his severed foot, across your face and up the wall. If he'd connected he would have killed you. If he hadn't died with the others, he would have bled out pretty quickly.'

'I'm relieved he didn't connect then, I'm perfectly happy with being alive.'

'You very nearly weren't alive Danny; you were hanging by a thread when the ambulance crew got to you; you were a mess.'

'I still am a mess!' I laughed ruefully and Alun shuffled in his seat a little.

'You can't tell us then how the men suffered such additional trauma?' Alun asked and I looked him in the eye.

'No, I'm sorry, I have no idea whatsoever, but whoever did it has my thanks! Truth be told, I didn't think I was going to survive that little ruckus when I started it, ' involuntarily I shuddered. It had been a close run thing.

Alun and Daisy stood, Daisy grabbed my hand, squeezed it briefly and said, 'we'll need to talk to you again Danny, I'm sorry, ' her skin was warm and smooth, but her hand was gone before I could squeeze back.

'No need to be sorry chick, you have a job to do. I'm hoping to be going home soon, but I'll let you know where I am. Can I contact you at the cop shop in town or do I need to ring the city office?'

'Just ring the local number, the switchboard will find us and if they don't, we'll find you.'

Did I tell you? Daisy was wearing black trousers and a bomber jacket; it was a real pleasure to watch her leave. What an arse!