by Mark Lingane
Croswell struggled against her. “Live! This is hardly living.”
“Be sensible, Theo.”
“Just be quiet a minute, Judy. I want to talk with you just once more.”
“Rest, Theo. You need it.”
“This is not the kind of rest I want. I want to go properly, with grace, not like some old potato stuffed with tubes. Please, give me my dignity.”
Judy let him go and he sat upright slowly. He paused, taking in his thoughts and wishes. Judy was a fantastic lady with so much to give. He had never understood why she loved him so. All he could ever have really given her was the creature comforts, and he knew they weren’t important to her. He needed to let her go. It was a shame it was so hard to breathe; he had so much to say.
“I understand you have a liking for young Damien.”
“Not really.” She looked away.
“I think you do, and I think that’s good. He reminds me of myself when I was younger. I think you could do a lot worse than him.”
“But I don’t want him, I want you.”
“Soon that won’t be an option. Everything has its seasons, and everything must pass.”
Tears started to roll down her cheeks.
“We had great times together. You gave much comfort to an old man and that was kind.”
“But that was because I loved you. And still do,” she cried.
His voice had become shaky and he required several breaths to complete each sentence. “I know, and that makes me even happier. I could’ve had any pretty thing, but I got something better and that’s more than I deserve. I just hope you found something in it too. Too. Too. To. To.” He repeated the word as if trying to remember one final thought. “To live. I want you … to … live.”
She sat there for a very long time. The medics came in and removed the body, and she continued to sit there.
To live, he had said.
Eventually she got up, set her shoulders back and turned to leave. She looked over her shoulder at the empty bed and said out loud, “To live. That I will. But I will never, ever forget.”
In a total waste of a business day, Joshua had actually come up with a plan, as well as several sheets of sickly sweet doodles made up of hearts with arrows sticking out of them. He was sure that this, somehow, was meant to be a happy thing, and he felt like spreading it around. It was a plan, a really stupid, insane plan that could never work even with the best people on the job, i.e. him. What he needed were the worst people on the job and he would hope against hope that the sheer improbability of it all made all the impossibilities balance out, thereby making it possible.
He knew it was a sure sign he was ill even thinking like this, but what was there to lose?
Joshua didn’t often do things that made people happy. Quite often his appearance would cause people distress. In this totally suicidal plan he needed some help and he needed it from one person, the person least capable of helping.
“Damien, it’s Joshua here. I need—” Joshua’s best intentions didn’t get very far as Damien also had something to say.
“You’ll never guess what’s happened. Old man Croswell has died.”
Joshua paused, taking in this new direction in conversation. “Judy’s husband?”
“Yes. His heart gave out, and they couldn’t find a donor even with all his money and he just died. Apparently it was very peaceful and painless.”
“How do you know?”
“Judy called me, and she wants to see me,” he said. “She said stuff about appreciating things I had done for her. I don’t know what they were, but I’m sure glad I did them.”
“Well, I’m very happy for you, and to make your day even better I need your help. I’m breaking into the Department of Personal Information.”
“You’re going to break into the department?” Damien echoed in disbelief.
“Yes, and hack into their main data warehouse. There’s some information I need to make sense of all the ridiculous events going on in my life, and I want you—”
“Me?” squeaked Damien in excitement.
“Yes, you and your diploma with the walrus …”
“Seal.”
“Whatever. We’re going to set the record straight with a few people. And departments,” he added as an afterthought.
“But, isn’t that, like, illegal?”
“Yes. Breaking into a highly secretive organization without their consent is usually seen, especially by the understanding police, as illegal. But I shouldn’t need to tell you that. You’re the hacker.”
“Oo, yes.”
“I’ll come over the day after tomorrow,” Joshua said. “Bring only the equipment we need.”
Damien hung up. He couldn’t believe the sudden turn of events. He started jumping around the room, cheering himself on until the neighbors came and complained.
Joshua hung up and ticked Damien’s name off his list. He sat there trying to piece the bits together. He swiveled around …
[]~$mkdir alt.reality
Joshua knocked on the door. He held the decoy briefcase tightly in his left hand. He removed his hat and shook the rain from it. Something odd seemed to be happening. He watched the drops of water fall from his hat. They fell in slow motion toward the floor as if they were uninterested in this gravity fad going around. Each made the sound of a gunshot as it hit the floor. He wiped his brown coat sleeve across his forehead. He felt very hot and insecure. He hoped this would work. The voice in his head questioned the worth of his loyalty, and asked if it was sane.
A voice said, “Come.”
Joshua placed his hat back on his head and opened the door. The door shushed open across the thick carpet. It was dark inside but some light spilled in via the corridor.
“Hello, Mr. Na’hash. Are you in here?”
“Quick, close the door. THEY will be here sssoon.”
Joshua reluctantly closed the door. “Jeff, is that you?”
“Yesss, Joshua Richardsss.”
“You sound a bit, well, different.”
The darkness crowded in around Joshua. It was thick and horrible, like wet velvet. His back muscles shivered and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Ancient, primeval fears about the dark arose. His senses were screaming at him. Run, they said. Run. Now. Be very, very afraid.
He swallowed and choked back his fear. He was here to protect a man, to save him and his family. There was honor and duty at stake. He breathed in and took a courageous step away from the safety of the wall and into the room.
“We are alone, aren’t we, Jeff?”
“Very much ssso.”
It was impossible for Joshua to tell where the voice was coming from. The room was so dark he couldn’t see anything. He held his hand up in front of himself but couldn’t see it. The darkness was oppressive. There seemed to be no light anywhere. It was like a crypt.
“Did you bring the cassse, Joshua Richardsss?”
The voice was coming from the left somewhere. What was over there? He tried to recall. There was the chair where he had spilt the tea and the mantelpiece. The safe was also on the right, but further down toward the window. The window! Why was there no light coming in from the window?
“Jeff?”
“Yesss?” hissed the voice, a little more to the left.
Joshua knew that in front of the window, straight ahead of him, was the huge desk. Behind that were those big heavy drapes and the …
“Could we turn the lights on?” he said.
“That will not be necessary.”
… chair. It squeaked. The chair squeaked. The voice was to the left of him, but the chair in front of him had just squeaked. I’m worried now, he thought.
“Oh. You know how you said that we were alone?”
“Yesss.”
“Are you sure?”
There was a pause. “Yesss, Joshua Richards. There are only the three of us.”
“Did you say three?”
“Yes?”
“That
being me and you … and someone else?” His mind was on fire. Terror roared around inside of him like an out-of-control train.
“That would be right.”
“Could I inquire as to who the other person is?”
“I think that would be a mossst amusing idea. By the way, don’t try to move clossser to the door.”
He saw me move, Joshua thought in panic. How could he do that? It was totally black in the room. No person could see in this light. His nerves had given up screaming at him to run away and had left on their own accord. He was left feeling numb and pale.
“You don’t look very well, Joshua Richardsss.”
“How can you see me? It is dark in here.”
“We can sssee in the dark. As well as do lotsss of other thingsss.”
There was a click, like a gun being cocked, from the direction of the chair. Joshua was shaking uncontrollably. He had never felt so terrified.
“You’re not going to do anything crazy are you, Jeff?”
“No. We’re jussst following ordersss and doing sssomething very sssensssible.”
The last word was said so close to Joshua’s ear that he could feel the breath of the voice. There was a spark of flint from the other side of the room, and a gunshot.
I’ve been shot, thought Joshua. I’ve been shot in total darkness across a room by someone I know, although not very well, and someone else is standing so close to me that they’re breathing in my ear, and they hit me. They were aiming at me. What am I dealing with!
Then there was another shot, and another and another and several more. They all hit him. As he lay bleeding on the deep carpet, the world rapidly drawing away, a female voice he vaguely recognized said, “I’m not happy about this.”
“Why, my preciousss?”
“It’s going to be hell to clean up.”
And with that Joshua Richards died …
18
[]~$DEL HISTORY
[]~$reality reboot
… and looked out the window. He screamed and jerked to a standing position, tearing at his hair. The sweat poured off him. He was shaking uncontrollably. He collapsed, exhausted, to his knees, his heart and head pounding hard. There was the long, faraway sound of a train screaming. He held his head in his hands and tried to bring his emotions under control as a combination of tears and sweat streamed off his face. He sank lower, resting his forehead on the floor.
He had just been murdered. He knew it. It had just happened. He had been a witness. So why wasn’t he dead? I must be going insane, he thought, but the memory was fading. Again it felt like an echo of a memory that had happened a long way off. Could it have been a premonition? He doubted it. It was the third time it had happened, the third time he had been shot to death, but still he was alive. He now knew for absolute certain that his prospects in the clairvoyant industry were dubious.
He staggered to his feet and stumbled across the room to his wardrobe. He wrenched it open and pulled out all the miserable contents. As he checked each item he let it fall to the floor. As each item fell a manic grin crawled across his tortured face. As the last items fell through his fingers he staggered back to his chair and laughed. It was not a safe laugh. He laughed and laughed until he had all of the fear out. There was no brown jacket.
He staggered back to his desk and collapsed into his chair. He reached for his bottle of bourbon and glass in the bottom drawer. He tried to pour himself a drink but the bottle kept bouncing off the rim of the glass. He eventually gave up and drank dangerously from the bottle. He threw the glass out the window and listened to it smash on the road below and pulled his hair tight behind his head. He reclined and took another long swig from the bottle, nearly finishing it. His nerves started to come under control. Even now the memories had nearly faded.
He sat there trying to piece the bits together. He swiveled around and looked out the window. The sun had set and the night had sprung to life. His gaze wandered and fell on his clock. It said eight-fifteen. He wearily turned his head away and looked back out the window, thinking.
Reaper still had him confused. There was something missing and for the life of him he couldn’t work it out. Who was Reaper? Did he work for The Phone Company or himself?
After a minute the significance of the time sank in. He leaped up, grabbed his coat and made a dash for the door. He was fifteen minutes late.
He ran hard along the streets, breathing heavily, the frost billowing out in front of him. Time slowed as he rounded the corner into the street that housed Jeff Na’hash’s business. He saw it full of police cars and personnel, and his heart sank into his boots.
He pushed through the doors. Some young officers tried to bar his way, but his sheer determination was too much for them. He stormed up the stairs and burst through the yellow tape stuck across the doorway like some madman finishing a race. Various police staff were milling around Marianne’s reception. He whisked past them and through to Na’hash’s office. Na’hash was lying face down in a pool of blood with Harman kneeling over him examining the gunshot wounds. One constable was taping the outline of Na’hash’s body on the floor.
Harman looked up. “Ah, Richards, just the man to whom I wish to talk.” He stood up straight and motioned for Joshua to join him. “You know this guy?” he said, prodding the body with his foot.
The constable looked up at him sharply and moved Na’hash’s leg back between the taped lines.
“He was a client of mine,” Joshua said. His eyes ran over the prone form. He felt pretty bad, although not as bad as Na’hash possibly felt.
“Got a name, has he?” said Harman.
“Yeah. Most people do.”
Harman’s hand slammed down on Na’hash’s elaborate desk. “Don’t play games with me, Richards. We’re talking about a murder here, and it seems a little odd to me that you happen to turn up. Were you on your way to see him?” Harman put his hands on his hips and tried to impersonate a sugar bowl.
“No!” Joshua declared.
“So what are you doing here then?”
“I … I just happened to be passing and saw all the police cars. I thought I’d see what was going on. We all know you need all the help you can get when it comes to thinking, breathing and working things out.”
“I don’t need any of your smart lip, Richards.” Harman stabbed his finger toward Joshua’s chest.
“That’s true. You need my smart brain.”
“Unless you have any input that might be of some use to someone then I suggest you leave.”
“All right.” Joshua waved Harman’s finger away from his body. “Were there any witnesses?”
“No wonder you’re a detective. With initiative like that I bet you solve a lot of cases.”
“Just answer the question, Harman. Or is that too much to ask?”
The officers who had nothing to do stood around taking in the entertainment. They didn’t like Harman either but were in no position to say anything.
“No one saw anything.” Harman folded his arms.
Without batting an eyelid Joshua retorted. “So who heard what?”
Harman knew it wasn’t a stretch, but he doubted if his juniors would think that quickly. “The cleaning lady was upstairs when she heard the shots.”
“You’re too easy, Harman. What time did she hear them?”
“About eight.”
“No, not about. Exactly. When?”
“Seven fifty-three. Why?”
Joshua collapsed into Na’hash’s high-backed chair with his mouth open. “I don’t believe it.”
“What don’t you believe, Richards?”
“Oh, it’s nothing. I had an eight o’clock appointment with him.”
“I thought you said you were just passing.”
“Yes, all right. I had a meeting with him. He was under pressure from the Collection or someone else, and we had a plan, but it involved me getting here before eight.”
Harman looked at his watch, then moved next to Joshua. He placed his
boot on the leg rest and leaned in toward Joshua. “You know anything about this secretary?”
Joshua looked up at Harman sharply. “No. Why?”
“Strange. The cleaning lady says the secretary knew you. Or something.”
“No. I only met her once, here, when I met Na’hash. She made some tea.”
“Are you sure you don’t know anything about this secretary?”
“Why?”
“Well, it seems she didn’t turn up today. But she was seen in the vicinity around eight. Sorry, at exactly seven fifty-three.”
“That can’t be. Not … that I would know any better, mind you.”
“It looks like she was coming to rob the place and was caught by Na’hash. So she shot him. We’ll soon know once we dust the gun.”
Joshua stood up, furious. “That’s a load of rubbish.”
“Possibly. Looks like she got scared and ran, leaving behind the goodies and the weapon.”
Some of the officers were fussing around a table, which housed the fabled and thoroughly locked brief case.
“He was killed in the process of being robbed,” Harman said smugly.
“What?” Joshua’s jaw dropped open at the stupidity of the statement. “No, he wasn’t. He was killed in the process of being murdered. Just look at the facts around you.” He waved his arm wildly around the room. “She knew we were both coming here at eight so she would hardly come along at the same time to rob the place, would she?”
Harman pulled a cigarette pack out of his jacket pocket and stuffed a cigarette in the corner of his mouth. “Hey. It doesn’t have to make sense. It just needs to add up.”
“Harman, take a look around you. This is a set-up.”
“All right. Then she’s a murderer,” stated Harman. He patted his pockets for some matches.
Joshua threw his hands into the air in exasperation. “Now you’re being stupid. She’s not a murderer.”
“And how would you know, Mr. I’ve Only Met Her Once?’”
“I’m good at character judgments,” he said, quickly looking from side to side. “Look, the same logic follows. She knew people would be here, so why make it obvious? To me it looks like a perfect set-up.”