White Light
Page 16
I let him bustle around, adjusting the seat, picking up the empty whisky glass from the table, handing me my tablet which had slipped onto the floor. I sat up properly. I felt strange, disconnected somehow, like a déjà vue. I looked round the unfamiliar business class cabin, glanced down at the tailored suit I was wearing, and examined the Patek Phillipe Nautilus on my wrist as if this was the first time I'd ever seen it. I pinched the bridge of my nose to try to clear the feeling.
The plane was making its descent and I could feel my ears popping as we dropped below the cloud bank and I could see the grey expanse of Heathrow beneath me. I remembered now, I was coming back from California where I'd been having talks with a couple of start-ups in Mountain View about licensing the new solid state memory technology that my company been working on. But I also remembered darkness and rain, and the sound of a car smashing into a tree, the recoil of a heavy gun in my hand, a woman in an old-fashioned dress slumping to the floor... I shook my head, the two memories jostling inside, painfully.
The wheels bit the tarmac and the deceleration threw us all against the seat belts, and then another pleasant chime released us to rummage for our hand baggage, find our passports and disembark. As a business-class passenger I was able to get out of the plane amongst the first, and I walked down the corrugated tube towards the arrivals area thinking about the phone call to Pasha back at the office that I needed to make as soon as I got through customs. The strange half-memories of someone else's life rattled in my head as I collected my bag and wheeled it through security towards the exit; some strange loser on a motorbike, something about a heavy element that I'd never heard of – I impatiently shook the thoughts away and walked out of the archway and into Arrivals. Annoyingly, a muzak version of 'What a Wonderful World' by Louis Armstrong was playing over the speakers.
Sarah, my wife, was waiting for me at the gate, a huge smile lifting her beautiful face as she saw me. I raised my hand and waved, an inexplicable feeling gripping me, filling my whole chest and squeezing my heart, as if I hadn't seen her in twenty years. I felt tears in my eyes.
'Sarah!' I waved, and she looked delighted but slightly surprised, as if she wasn't used to me displaying so much emotion.
And then another woman stepped up and smiled towards me, her hand resting lightly on Sarah's shoulder. It was Helen, my brain told me, but it was as if I'd never seen her before. Sarah, the airport, the double set of memories in my mind, all dropped away, leaving only Helen, and I knew I needed to possess her, make her mine. My eye slid to Sarah, sweet and passive, unaware that I wasn't the same man that she'd waved off on my trip a week earlier.
I remembered the smell of gun oil and the feeling of aiming and firing, the power of ending a life. I had – somehow – done it before, and I could do it again. An idea like a time bomb started ticking in my head.
ABOUT THIS BOOK
Although residents of Oxford will recognise many of the locations and settings for this novel, I have also taken several geographical liberties with the placement of buildings and so on – it is not possible to look down Hockmore Street from Cowley's Castle Car Park, for example.
This story and its characters are purely fictional and any similarity to any real events or people is just a coincidence.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Alex Marks is not a native of Oxford but has lived in the city since 2000. A compulsive reader and writer of fantasy, sci-fi, thrillers and counter-factual fiction, this is Alex' first published novel.
If you've enjoyed this book, please leave a review on Amazon.
KEEP IN TOUCH
Find out more about Alex and learn about forthcoming projects by visiting the blog at alexmarksblog.wordpress.com
Or follow Alex on Twitter: @IamAlexMarks