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brick and twisted loops of razor wire as we got closer.
    San Quentin is one of the largest maximum-security prisons in the US. Inside, held on death row, awaiting execution, was my old colleague, fellow anti-establishmentarian and loyal friend, Harvey. Telekinetic, with a similar skillset to Bill, he was currently known as prisoner 18974, sentenced to life imprisonment for armed robbery and murder (technically it was manslaughter, the security guard just happened to be standing in the wrong place at the wrong time – gold bars are heavy). I would have rescued him sooner but Melissa happened to re-enter my life before I could get to it.
    She had called me up out of the blue two months previously, begging for my help. I hadn’t spoken to her in over seventeen years, not since college, but the minute I picked up the phone and heard her voice those seventeen years vanished like smoke on the breeze. I couldn’t believe what a fool I was to believe I had ever got over her. One word, my name on her lips, and just like that, the love I felt for her was back, shiny and bright and just as slaying as one of the gold bars Harvey and I had rescued from the Federal Reserve. But remember what I said about love? It doesn’t redeem. I speak from experience. In those seventeen years I’d become the very man she’d feared I would become. A man with no morals, few scruples and a list of crimes to my name so long I can’t even remember half of them. You’ve seen the list I’m sure. And I’m not going to try denying it. I’m pretty sure I’m guilty of most of what they say; bank robbery, treason, breaking and entering definitely, and yes, even murder.
    His name was Senator Burns. You’ve heard of him I think. He was the man Melissa worked for. The man who ordered her murder to cover up his own crimes. I killed him.
    I’d happily do it again.
    A prison, even a maximum security one with guards armed with sub-machine guns stationed at every turn, isn’t that hard to break into or out of. They’re built to withstand infiltration and escape attempts by humans without our kind of DNA advantages. When I told Amber not to worry, I meant it. I had a background in robbing banks, to the point where even walking past a bank I had to forcefully remind myself not to stroll on in, freeze the cashier, force the guard to hand over his gun and convince the manager to open the safe. I wasn’t breaking a sweat about breaking Harvey out of San Quentin. Perhaps this was in part due to how I’d been since Melissa’s death, my mind that of a sniper’s – coldly focused, with killing the only end point.
    Just two days after she called asking for my help she was dead.
    I was the one that found her. How do you scrub an image like that from your mind? Answer: you don’t. I’m just glad you weren’t there to witness it. But by now, no doubt they’ve shown you the photographs anyway.
    Lila was there though. She did witness it, and I often wonder how that’s affected her. I knew Melissa had children but seeing Lila standing there, her mouth falling open as she took in the trail of blood and her mother’s body lying on the stairs, it was like seeing a ghost, a vision of Melissa as a girl. I did the only thing I could think of doing. I snatched her up, wanting to shield her from the horror.
    They were still in the house – the people who murdered Melissa – and they came at us. I have no doubt if I hadn’t turned up when I did they would have killed Lila too. Did you know that? I saved Lila’s life. I’m sorry I was too late to save Melissa’s but I did save Lila. I doubt that would be enough to buy your forgiveness, but a man can hope.
    Bill glanced over at me as we drove up to the first prison checkpoint. I nodded at him and he wound down the window. Before the guard could motion us to slow down I had a hold of his mind. It was sodden as a damp sponge. He waved us through without a question.
    We parked up and got out of the car, all eyes pinned