The Elites

Chapter Five

I only snapped back to reality when Mr Hetley grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the sea of surrounding 'admirers.' I'd somehow managed to stay out of the spotlight for the night, and I hadn't showed up to a party in five years. Suddenly, I was standing alone after saving a kid from a falling chandelier, and had just finished a face-to-face with Ashton. If that didn't make the papers, I don't know what will.

If it were anyone else, I would've punched them in the face. But Mr Hetley was okay. He started to pull me back towards the door, pausing at the door handle.

"Everyone just calm down," he yelled, simply out of conduct. Everyone was surprisingly calm. "We're going to take a look outside."

"We?" someone nearest us called. She was old and chubby and had her nostrils flared as if she had smelled something fowl. Probably some wife of an ex-average Agent. "You mean Eastbourne is actually going to do something for us?"

Mr Hetley instinctively put his hand on my arm to calm me, but there was nothing to calm. I couldn't blame him - I was hot headed. But I'd like to think I'd learned a bit more etiquette than to charge up to some snooty woman with the most obvious wig in the world and yell in her face. I could break Dexter Everett's nose, ribs and fingers in a bathroom, but I wasn't going to make a scene here. I was smarter than that.

I lightly tugged my arm free from Mr Hetley's grasp and opened the door into the short corridor between the hall exit and the main exit - or entrance, however you look at it. To me, it was mainly the exit.

All the lights that had been lit before were extinguished. The expensive bulbs were smashed into tiny pieces, the rock hard centrepieces cracked on the floor. The tiles were split in all directions, and the walls were covered in dust - or what was left of the walls.

Turns out somewhat of a bomb had gone off. Go figure.

The left wall was almost completely blown apart; a perfect circle gap where the brick should have been. It was as if someone had sliced it rather than blasted it apart.

"Well," was all Mr Hetley said as he followed me through into the corridor.

"Yes, because using the door is too easy," I sighed, starting to inspect the hole in the wall. I wasn't exactly looking for anything in particular, but I was completely stumped.

"But no one came in," Mr Hetley said, coming up behind me. "What's the point?"

"What's the point in putting three cats, two hamsters, a puppy and a chameleon in a hamper and dumping them in a river?"

"You what?"

"That actually happened. 2008. Looking for clues on the Marsden Murder. Will passed out when he opened it."

"Can I be of any help?"

Possibly the most annoying thing about Chase Gordon was his act. He was crap at it, but for some reason everyone working for the Agency - apart from the actual Agents - thought he was some saint (despite being the only one in his family not to become an Elite since it began.) He knew that none of the Agents were bothered to expose him as an asshole fraud, so no one ever knew otherwise. It wouldn't have been as bad if he didn't act so god damn saint-like. Can I take your coat, ma'am? Can I assist you on that filing, sir? Can I shove myself up your ass, Mr Paxley? Will and I liked to call him Resident Douche bag.

Thankfully, Mr Hetley saw through it.

"No, that's quite all right, Chase," Mr Hetley said in mock sweetness. "I have a fine Elite helping me here. I think my wife may need her dress hem straightened, however."