by Tim O'Rourke
“Why are you staring at me?” Sally O’Neil asked as she stood at the end of Karl’s’ bed. As if his stare was making her feel uncomfortable, she swiped one hand over the chest of a Medical Bot who stood close by and began to read Karl’s medical notes that appeared in a holographic readout before her.
“Was I staring?” Karl said, easing himself up into a sitting position on the bed. “I didn’t mean to, Sergeant.”
Sally changed the subject as she squinted her perfect blue eyes and scanned Karl’s medical notes that shone from the chest of the faceless Medical Bot. “You seem to be making a speedy recovery.”
“Do you think so?” he said.
Sergeant O’Neil was quick to detect the uncertainty in his voice. She glanced over her shoulder at him, the silver stripes on the collar of her uniform glinting in her eyes. “Don’t you?”
Karl placed one hand to his left temple. The place that throbbed with excruciating pain when he saw the lights behind his eyes. “It’s just…” he trailed off.
“Just what, Officer Potter?” O’Neil said, stepping away from the Medical Bot and approaching the end of the bed again.
“I get headaches,” Karl said, lowering his hand and looking at her with his hazel eyes. “With the headaches come nosebleeds and…” he trailed off again.
“And what?” Sergeant O’Neil asked.
Not wanting to sound stupid or hysterical, Karl swallowed hard before speaking. “I see things.”
“See what?” she asked, her eyes narrowing into little more than slits.
“I’m not sure,” Karl said, searching for the right words. “I see bright white lights and sometimes… sometimes I see Annora… Officer Snow. She looks scared. Maybe she’s even screaming. I can’t be sure.”
Sergeant O’Neil stepped away from the end of the bed. She moved slowly along the edge of it so she was at Karl’s side. “Perhaps you’re remembering the accident,” she said, her voice soft, almost soothing. “It’s nothing to be scared of…”
“Who said I was scared?” Karl said, matching her stare.
“I wouldn’t blame you if you were,” O’Neil said, the tone of her voice supportive. “You were in an accident—you nearly died. Your partner lost her life.” She glanced back at the Medical Bot, before looking once more at Karl. “Your medical readouts state that your lack of memory is caused by trauma. So perhaps what you’re seeing when you close your eyes are memories. Maybe you’re beginning to remember what happened the night of the accident.”
“Perhaps,” Karl said. “I think I will remember a lot quicker if I return to work. You know, get back to normality.”
“Are you sure you’re ready to return to work so soon?” Sally asked with a frown.
“I’m sure,” Karl said, fighting the urge to throw back the blankets that covered him and go in search of his uniform and equipment.
“But you’ve just told me that you’re suffering from headaches, nosebleeds—”
“They’re nothing to worry about,” Karl cut in, wishing now that he hadn’t mentioned them to his sergeant.
O’Neil could sense that Karl was keen to get back to work, but she wasn’t so sure. “I think we should get the medical team to run a few more brain scans just to make sure that everything is as it should be…”
“Then I can return to work?”
“Sure,” Sally said with a faint smile.
Karl sensed that Sally’s weak smile was hiding something. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Sergeant O’Neil took a deep breath, then folded her arms across the front of the black ballistic vest she wore. “When you return to duty, you won’t be patrolling the city…”
Hearing this, Karl sat bolt upright, his back stiff and straight. “What are you saying?”
“All I’m saying is that a decision has been made to send you to an Outpost…”
“An Outpost? What Outpost?!” Karl asked, fearing he was now being side-lined. He knew that only those close to retirement—those who weren’t up to the job and the workshy got posted to Outposts.
“Outpost 71,” O’Neil said, straightening her own back and standing her ground. She was the sergeant, after all. Officer Potter would obey orders whether he liked it or not.
“And where the fuck is that, exactly?”
O’Neil placed her hands to her hips. “I like you, Potter. I think you’re a good officer and I feel bad about the accident and the death of your partner, but don’t ever swear at me again. I’m your sergeant and don’t you ever forget it. You’re too much like your father. He was a smart mouth.”
“Did you know my father?” Karl asked, surprised. He couldn’t ever remember O’Neil mentioning him before. “Did you work with him?”
The sergeant ignored his question. “Look, I’m just trying to help you. We’re all trying to help you.”
“Help me how?” Karl scoffed. “Packing me off to some godforsaken Outpost isn’t going to help…”
“It will give you a chance to get back on your feet again,” she said. “You’re in no fit sate right now to head back into London City. You need go at an easier and slower pace until you’re one hundred percent fit again.”
“But I am fit…”
“Take it or leave it,” Sergeant O’Neil said, turning her back on him and striding away from the bed.
He called after her. “And what does that mean, exactly?”
At the door, she stopped and looked back at him. “You either go to Outpost 71 or face medical retirement. I’m sure the job will arrange a fair settlement. They’ll give you enough credits to live on until you find yourself new employment.”
“It’s not about the money,” Karl said, trying hard to rein in his disappointment, growing frustration, and anger.
“Then what is it about?” she asked him.
Karl didn’t want to open up to her. He didn’t want to tell her about how he hoped to one day track down his parents’ killer. He didn’t want to explain how cut-up and confused he felt about Annora Snow’s death. He didn’t want to tell O’Neil that he hoped that by staying in the city, he might remember what he and Annora had once shared and what they had meant to each other. To do so would leave him feeling vulnerable. And he felt vulnerable enough lying weak in the hospital bed. He swallowed hard. “How long do I have to go for?”
“Six months, or until you’re feeling fully recovered,” O’Neil said. “It won’t be forever, I promise. So you’ll go then?”
“It doesn’t look like I have much of a choice,” Karl said, with a petulant scowl.
“Oh cheer up, Potter,” she said, a smile forming on her lips.
“What’s there to cheer up about?”
“This,” she said, reaching into one of the pockets on the front of her ballistic vest. “I bought you a get-well present.”
Whatever she had pulled from the front of her vest she tossed it at Karl.
Closing his fist about it, Karl snatched it out of the air. Somewhat mystified, he glanced down at the metal container he now held in his hand. He read the markings embossed across the lid. “Black hair dye?” he said, glancing up at her. “What kind of get-well gift is this?”
“I thought you might want it to cover up that silver streak in your hair,” she said.
Karl looked at her agog. “What silver streak?”
O’Neil looked at him somewhat perplexed. “Haven’t you looked in a mirror recently?”
“There aren’t any mirrors in this place—not that I’ve seen,” Karl said, scratching his chin. “One of the Service Bots shaves me and there aren’t any mirrors in the bathroom, not even a holographic one.”
Standing in the open doorway of the room, O’Neil looked at Karl and at the white line that threaded its way through his jet-black hair. It travelled from his fringe to the back of his head like a silver lightning bolt.
Wanting to know what it was that his sergeant was staring at so intently, Karl angled the metallic tin that he held in his hands. He caught sight of himself
in its reflective lid. For the first time since waking, he could see that the coma had not only sucked up his memories of the accident, but had left a white streak of hair. It was like the coma, or perhaps the accident, had wanted to leave a permanent mark on him.
“What the fuck?” Karl said, glancing up to look at O’Neil. But she was no longer standing in the doorway to his room. She had gone, leaving him alone once more.
Chapter Three
The present day…
With a new enthusiasm for life, Annora walked into the town of Rock Shore, rucksack thrown over her shoulder, and long, ash-blonde hair jostling in the cold wind that swept about the narrow and cobbled streets. She paid little attention to the town itself or the people on the streets as she continually glanced down at the phone, which she had purchased the day before. The map app was open so Annora could follow the directions to the house where she had rented a room. The little blue dot that slowly drifted across the screen of her phone directed her through the town square, where locals were gathered around a towering Christmas tree. A small brass band played Christmas carols, while children held their parents’ hands and looked on in wonder and delight.
Leaving the town square, with the sound of the band and the excited chatter of children fading behind her, she made her way along a street that was lined with tall, narrow houses with black slate roofs and latticed windows. Many of the windows glowed bright with twinkling Christmas lights. For the first time in years, Annora felt a sudden twinge of wonder at the approaching festive season.
The blue dot on her phone came to a sudden stop and began to throb like a heartbeat. She glanced up and could see the house where she intended to stay until she’d found herself a job and could afford to pay rent on a place of her own. A place of her own was a luxury she could ill afford if she didn’t want to spend the little money she had managed to save before escaping her old life and her old self.
Annora stood in the drifting flakes of snow and faced her new home. The house that stood before her looked older than the pictures she had seen on the Internet. Annora now suspected those pictures had been heavily Photoshopped. The paint, that had once been white, was now grey. It had fallen away in chunks to reveal the old brickwork beneath. The windows looked like they could do with a good clean, and the curtains that hung at them were sun-faded and dreary. The front gate screeched on rusty hinges as she set off up the path that was overgrown with weeds and nettles. The front door was green, and just like the paint that covered the house, it was weatherworn and flaking away in places. As she stood at the front door, she fought the urge to turn away and find someplace else to stay. The house had an oppressive and intimidating feel about it. Annora didn’t want anything to dampen her newfound spirits or the excitement that her first Christmas free of her past might bring. But it was mid-afternoon already and she doubted she would find more suitable accommodations in a town that was unfamiliar to her and so close to Christmas. With a deep sigh, Annora knew she would have to stay for the time being. So, reaching out with one hand, she pulled on the bell rope that hung by the front door.
From deep within the house a bell clanged. The sound almost seemed to reverberate all about her. She waited for a moment or two, then pulled the bell again. A shuffling sound came from behind the front door. Annora took an instinctive step backwards. The front door swung slowly open to reveal a slice of darkness. She peered into it.
“Hello?” she said. Annora swallowed hard before speaking again. “Is anyone there?”
In answer to her question, a face appeared in the narrow gap. It was round and pale like the moon. Two beady eyes peered at her from behind a pair of spectacles.
Reaching into her coat pocket, she retrieved the booking slip she had printed from the net. Annora glanced down at it to remind herself of the landlord’s name. Looking back at the pale face, she forced a smile and said, “Are you Mr. Parker?”
“Yes,” a voice said.
The door opened a little further to afford her a clear view of the man who stood behind it. Now that he was bathed in the fading wintery sunlight, Annora could clearly see him. The man looked to be in his late eighties—perhaps even his early nineties. He was stooped forward, one gnarled hand gripping a walking stick that kept him barely upright. His hair was silver and thinning. His face was a mask of wrinkles and he wore a blue threadbare cardigan and baggy grey trousers. On his feet were a thick pair of black socks.
Annora offered the old man another smile and said, “My name is Annora Snow and I’ve booked one of your vacant rooms for the Christmas season.”
Mr. Parker looked at her with his watery blue eyes for a long moment as if processing what she had just said to him. Then, nodding his head, he said, in a cheerful voice, “Ah, yes. I got an email from the booking agent.”
This old man uses email? Annora thought, staring down at his fingers that were pinched together like claws about his walking stick. Were those fingers really nimble enough to work a keyboard? Perhaps he had a son or a daughter who dealt with his correspondence?
Mr. Parker shuffled back into the hallway and away from the front door. “Please come in, Miss Snow, you are most very welcome.”
Despite the dilapidated appearance of the house, Mr. Parker seemed pleasant enough. What could possibly go wrong? Annora thought to herself, swinging her rucksack over her shoulder and stepping into the house.
The landlord, despite his need for a walking stick, wasted no time in hurriedly closing the door shut behind her.
Chapter Four
The year 2067…
After several more brain scans, and another three weeks in the convalescent apartment, Karl Potter was given the all clear to return back to his duties, but on the condition that he took up his new posting at the far-flung Outpost 71. Knowing that it was pointless to argue the decision with Sergeant O’Neil, Karl left his rented room in London City. Before leaving, he worked some of the waxy black hair dye O’Neil had given to him between his fingers. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror in his apartment, he rubbed the black dye over the white streak of hair he had been left with since waking from the near fatal accident he had been in. But to his disbelief and frustration, the dye O’Neil had given to him as a gift didn’t turn the blaze of white hair black, but a dark navy blue.
Annoyed and confused, he looked down at the black wax that covered his fingers, then back at his reflection. He couldn’t understand why the black hair dye had turned the streak of white, blue.
“Oh Christ, I look like a freak,” he cursed, trying desperately to work more of the dye into his hair. But regardless of how much of the thick, waxy paste he added, the streak of white hair remained stubbornly dark blue. Giving up on the idea of eradicating the white stripe of hair, Karl got into the shower. Yet, it didn’t seem to matter how long he stood under the running hot water, the dye he had added to his hair just wouldn’t run clear. Cursing Sally O’Neil for the gift, Karl stepped from the shower. Wiping steam from the mirror with the flat of his hand, he stared at his reflection. To his relief, the navy blue streak had darkened a little and appeared to blend better with the rest of his black hair. It was only now at certain angles in the glare of the strip lighting overhead that his hair looked like it had a navy blue tinge to it.
“It’s not perfect, but I’ll have to put up with it until it grows out,” Karl grumbled to himself. Glancing sidelong into the mirror, he thought that perhaps he looked eerily like his mother. In a certain kind of light, her raven black hair had sometimes looked blue.
He turned away from the mirror and padded naked into his bedroom. After packing his uniform, he threw on a dark T-shirt, leather jacket, and jeans. Under his jacket, attached to a harness, was his gun. Before having to leave his apartment, for the next six months at least, he snatched up a framed photograph of Annora that sat on the cabinet beside his bed. He took the photo out of the frame. Holding the picture in his hands, he sensed that perhaps his relationship with Annora had been deeper that he could remember. Why e
lse had he gone to the trouble of framing a picture of her and setting it beside his bed? Only people who were in love did that kind of thing, didn’t they? It was the only picture that he had of her. His mobile comlink hadn’t been amongst his personal belongings recovered from the crash. If he had stored pictures of Annora on it, they had been lost forever. He had bought a new mobile comlink as soon as he’d been discharged from the hospital.
He looked down at the picture. Had he been in love with her? He studied her pretty smiling face. It was as if she was staring right out of the picture at him…
Staring in at him…
Staring through a broken window at him…
Blood covered her face. She placed a hand against the cracked window. Her fingers were covered in blood, too.
The images of Annora flashed before Karl’s eyes. They slammed into him like repeated punches to the face. He staggered backwards, closing his fist about the picture of Annora. But unlike the other times when the blinding images had come, Karl’s eyes had been wide open. He hadn’t seen those images blazing bright across his closed eyelids. The flashing snapshot pictures of Annora he had just seen had sparked and fizzled like lightning right before him. They had been so real and lifelike, it was like he had been dreaming but while wide awake.
“Karl… Karl…”
He heard her voice calling out to him. Karl spun around in the middle of his apartment, neon lights from outside that filled the air space bled through the shutters that covered his widows and covered the walls of the room in pink and purple stripes.