The iFactor

  Pictures in small plastic frames sat on a tiny bed stand that was built into the apartment wall. Matt focused on the images. Concentrate, he berated himself and focused his attention on the photographs. They were positioned so that images were the first thing he saw in the morning and the last he saw at night. The largest picture was of a young brunette girl, perhaps thirteen or fourteen years of age. In close cluster, other photos lined his bed stand, some of a blond woman and several photos of the three together, a happy family. ‘Most likely his wife and daughter’.

  Matt considered the picture of the girl. She looked familiar. Matt stumbled backward. Before he realized what he was doing, Matt was out into the hall struggling to catch his breath. The girl’s face came back to him vividly, as one of many others strapped to a chair in a small black cell a small light illuminating a face that stared blankly into eternity. Her lips were moving in cadence with the chanting of the others. The unwelcome voices of children flooded his mind.

  ‘Go to sleep and go insane

  Past and future all the same

  See the world turn inside out

  All you’ll do is scream and shout.’

  “Don’t tell me you’re claustrophobic too.” Rishards appraised him from the doorway.

  “I wasn’t expecting the apartment to be so small. How could he live without even a window?” Matt said.

  “You know how it goes; apartments are assigned by need and status. Luckily, we have more status than someone from maintenance does. Look I’ll go in, just tell me what you’re looking for.”

  “I don’t know what I’m looking for. Something that connects.” he straightened up and forced himself to return. “He lived alone.”

  “Yes,” she said. “He had a daughter, she didn’t survive the trip. Cause of death listed as FTL exposure. He survived, and she didn’t.”

  “Shorted?”

  “Nothing was proven,” she said. “But probably.”

  Matt thought for a moment about what that meant. To save Kossman, the doctors had to burn out not only his memories, but also his ability to make any more for the remainder of his life. For his daughter the procedure didn’t take, or she screamed until she choked on her own breathe, suffocating before they could help her. “I wouldn’t call what he does surviving.”

  Across from the bed on the wall, written in large letters were the words “Your memory is gone” This would have been the second thing he saw every morning after he awoke. Next to the message, the word ‘important’ was written on the wall and notes were stuck under it.

  Becky is dead. It was an accident. The man likes his information direct.

  Read book in the top drawer.

  You work in the maintenance quad four, section fifteen, room one ten.

  Your boss is Oliver.

  Get to work at four first shift.

  You get the 5th, 6th, 10th, 11th, 15th and 23rd off, if clock says those dates don’t go to work. Buy food and do laundry.

  Wear grey jumpsuit to work.

  “There is a book in the top drawer?” Matt asked.

  “Yes, a diary.” It is in the evidence vault. “I read it. It was mundane. Just filled with daily encounters. Unfortunately, he filled it in at night. There was nothing of use in it for the day of the murder.”

  “Nothing like: been a boring day, think I’ll something horrific to a complete stranger today.”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  “Too bad, a confession would be useful about now.” Matt looked in the closet. Most of the clothing was hanging neat and tidy. There were a couple of shirts and pants hanging neatly, the rest were all work overalls. “He didn’t have much of a social life.”

  “According to his diary there was no one of note. Not one that he remembered to add to his diary.”

  “Nothing at all of use?” Matt asked.

  “I read every word. Nothing useful at all, a bit of self-pity and some guilt over the death of his daughter.” She said.

  “Typical feelings, he brought her here for a new life in a crime free utopia, instead she died.” Matt grew more anxious, he couldn’t shake the image of the girl. The room closed in around him. “What about the mother?”

  “She died over a year before he left Earth. Killed in a robbery.” She said.

  “Well I think I’d like to see him now.” Matt was feeling couldn’t stand being in the room any longer. He kept his pace normal as he walked into hall.

  By the time the detectives reached the station, the medication had taken full affect. The new prescription felt stronger than the previous one. He could feel the apathy coming upon him. At least it was better than the alternative. His emotions were his worst enemy. If he could, he’d have gotten rid of them permanently.

  They had Kossman moved into an interrogation room. There they watched him grow agitated in apprehension.

  “How long are we going to stand here and watch him?”

  “A few minute longer” Matt responded. “I want him tired and grumpy”

  “Why?”

  “I want to see how he’ll react.”

  “To what?” she asked.

  “You’ll see, Okay. We can go in now.” Matt sauntered in, Rishards close behind him. He slumped down onto the chair and stared down the large man who sat on the opposite side of a large table from them.

  “Do you know why you’re here?” Matt asked.

  “I was told that I’m accused of murder. But it isn’t true.” He said. “I’ve never killed anyone and I’ve never met the woman. Why would I kill her?”

  “We were hoping you’d tell us.” Rishards said.

  “I want a lawyer.” Kossman sat back.

  “You’ve already seen him. He was here yesterday. I can show you the recordings if you wish.” Rishards told him.

  “Oh, yeah right. I’m a burnout. I can’t remember.” Kossman said. “Then I want to see my daughter.”

  “Mr. Kossman, I’m sorry…” Matt started.

  Rishards cut him off in mid-sentence. “She can’t come in until tomorrow.”

  “Is someone looking after her? She’s a child and needs supervision.”

  “She’s being looked after.” Rishards continued her ruse.

  “Look she’s a good girl, just a little wild that all. It wasn’t easy on her losing her mom. Sometimes a girl just falls in with the wrong crowd you know. It will be all right now that we are here. No crime here, no criminal boyfriends for her to fall in with.” Kossman ranted.

  “We’ll keep an eye on her.” Matt lied.

  “When’s my trial?” Kossman asked. “My work contract said I’m guaranteed a trial with ten days. They say no crime goes unpunished. You’ll find the killer and I’ll be set free.”

  “Not if you are guilty.” Rishards said.

  “Look lady, I don’t know why you’re so hot to pin this on me. But I didn’t do it. I couldn’t kill anyone, even if I did lose my memory.”

  “How can you be sure?” Matt asked.

  “I know who I am, even if I got no memory. I know who I am. I didn’t kill that boy on earth and I won’t kill anyone here.” Kossman said. “You said Becky’d be to see me tomorrow. Promise me you will come in and tell me.”

  Matt stood up and looked at the man. “Yeah sure.”

  “He loves his daughter.” Rishards said once they left the room. “It is easiest to let her think she’s alive.”

  “Would he kill for her do you think?” Matt asked.

  “Why would he, she’s dead.”

  “You convinced him she was alive. What if someone else did also.” Matt walked back to his office.

  Chapter 20

  The causeways were bustling. There were far more people than was usual for the time of day. Matt departed the station for the office of his psychiatrist. All the excitement had left him overtired. All he really wanted to do was to head to his apartment and lock himself in for the night. Attending his sessions was, however, part of the conditions for his employment. He dare not miss it. Aft
er running across the third security patrol in quick succession, he remembered another black-out was imminent. What did they tell the officers he wondered? They had to tell them something or tongues would soon start to wag, that was something the chief said they wanted to avoid at all cost.

  The nearest officer was dealing with a woman with short curly hair and dressed in an expensive suit. From several yards away, Matt could hear her complaining about the disruption to her schedule. In a show of solidarity, Matt walked up and presented his chip hand for scanning. His uniform and manner quieted the woman. Executives constantly fuss when forced to endure for a moment what the lower ratings deal with daily.

  The growling in his stomach prompted him to stop at ‘Say Soy’ for a quick bite. It would be better not to go into a session hungry. They seemed to last forever as it was. His chronometer told him he still had twenty minutes, and he was in visual distance to the office so he went to eat on to the patio. He quickly located an empty table where he could sit with his back to the building.

  The soy burger was particularly tasteless as his mind flew around all the facts of the case so he turned his attention to his French fries with only slightly better results.

  He watched the colonists walk by and wondered if any of them were the killer. What kind of person could this killer be? No, he berated himself, he was getting tunnel vision. There was no indication that these acts were a single killer, except of course for the apology. I am sorry, singular. It argued against Rishards’ psychotic burnout theory. What else then? The Trust, an underground organization who kidnapped latent psychics? It would explain the killings during black-out and even the apologies could be a ruse to keep the police from looking in the right places.

  The Trust, he reminded himself, was a fairy tale, fodder for conspiracy theorists and people who wore tin foil hats to prevent from having their minds read. The public nature and display of the killing could have been a warning, as the gangs did on Earth when someone violated their codes. His head went fuzzy. It was all guesswork, he needed more info. He didn’t even have a good hunch to go on.

  A shrill familiar voice drew his attention to a shop next to the restaurant. The woman with the short blond hair was arguing with a shop owner over the price of a hat. A hat for Christ’s sake, in a dome city. The light for the entire city was carefully controlled. If there were a trust, it would be run by people like her, people who’d have a hat shipped eight light years to make a fashion statement.

  The remainder of his meal went into the bin to process into fertilizer for the farm as he went to his appointment.

  Matt lounged in the marginally reclined chair; he supposed it was a holdout from the days of the large padded couch. Whatever its origin, he was uncomfortable with the inferior station that it implied. Perhaps that was the point. In any case, as ordered he obediently showed up at the meeting, reclined in the chair, and listened to inquiries of his therapist.

  “How are you feeling today? Is the new program helping?” Doctor Garcia asked.

  “I’ve been a bit too busy with my new duties to do more that peruse it.” Matt replied.

  “You need to make the time, these programs are more than just games, and they are designed to help you work through your issues. They are as vital to your treatment as these sessions are.” The doctor shifted in his chair. “How is your new position? Are the additional demands causing you any additional stress?”

  “I’m not sure about the new meds. They seem to wear off quickly.”

  “Just give it a chance; it has to build up in your system. Otherwise, how are you feeling about your new duties?”

  Matt knew better than answer that question honestly. His superiors would get reports of his progress and the last thing he wanted was to be sent back to patrol. Still some additional stress would be expected and an absolute denial would seem to be what it was, an obvious lie. “It’s a lot of work, but I’m handling it. It feels great, empowering to be back doing what I love.”

  “Good to hear it,” the doctor said. “You will let me know if you experience any increases in anxiety, so we can modify your treatment.”

  “Will do,” Matt lied.

  “Well then, how are things in your social life?” The doctor asked.

  Matt could tell no reason not to answer that question, as it seemed to have no bearing on his job. “The woman I was seeing dumped me a few days ago.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it. Do you know why?”

  “I missed her birthday.” Matt confessed.

  “It is hard to keep relationships when one works in law enforcement.”

  “Well they say there’s someone for everyone. I’ll find mine some day?” As the words left Matt’s lips, he had a strong feeling that he would indeed find his soul mate, soon.

  “What then for the detective, a wife and family?” the doctor probed.

  “You and I both know I’m too screwed up to be a father.”

  “Don’t you like children?”

  “No, I like children. They haven’t had a chance to get themselves damaged yet” Matt didn’t feel comfortable with the new direction of the conversation, but that was perhaps the point. The doctor was probing him, feeling for his limits.”

  “Can you elaborate?”

  “Perhaps I don’t want children because I do like them. I like them well enough to understand that some people just shouldn’t have the responsibility of raising them. Parents make bad decisions and children get…” He thought of the Kossman girl. Her father’s choice to move them to Sirius cost the girl her life. Then the fleeting image of the girl running into the street during the Dallas riot entered into his mind, followed by the sound of a weapon discharge and the image of a child's head exploding before his eyes. “…disobedient and unruly.”

  Chapter 21

  The excitement and horror of the murder investigation, augmented by the feeling he was being followed, the disturbing note he found at his door, and the medications wearing off all conspired to wreck another night’s sleep. Matt tossed turned as nightmares struck like ringing hammers.

  They started with long, seemingly endless corridors with continual side branches each leading back to the place where the woman's body hung from the ceiling blood pouring from her soaked clothing and dripping in a steady procession from her toes. Around him people walked, oblivious to the death hanging before them. The thongs moved in around him crushing and smothering him until he screamed. The crowd dissipated leaving Matt in a plain police interview room.

  “What? You mean you hit her.” Mr. Kossman behind an interview table rose to his feet.

  “She left me no choice,” Matt heard himself saying. “The cosmetic surgeons say they can repair most of the damage.”

  “You bastard, I'll kill you.” Kossman lunged at him and was gone.

  “It's really too bad the dome blocks the stars.” Jill walked beside him under the artificial lights of the dome. He noticed that some of the brightest stars were visible through the protective glass.

  “The cameras on the dome provide a pretty clear feed if you are interested.”

  “I show them to my students all the time, it’s not the same,” she said.

  On the path before them, Matt saw two men in technician uniforms passing each other. They nodded in a cordial greeting as they passed. One man stumbled a bit toward the other growing opaque as he did so. As the men became translucent, Matt could see that one held roll of paper that he handed off to the other. Inside the small roll, he could see several vials of the drug Fantasia.

  Hatred swelled within him and he charged at the men. The world turned into a corridor leading to his door and the sign. “They know where you are.”

  A soft droning, childlike chanting greeted his ears as he stared at his door.

  Go to sleep and go instant

  Past and future all the same

  He rushed into his apartment found himself in a long dark room lined with rows of chanting people, strapped into medical chairs. Each one staring forwar
d, unseeing. Catatonic, but for the movement of their lips. To his right a light grew brightly around one of the patients and he approached the nearly familiar face of a young woman, an older version of the girl he'd seen at Kossman's apartment. Becky.

  “Dales.” She said.

  The detective was awake sitting up in his bed, his heart beating painfully in his chest, fighting to comprehend his surroundings. He stumbled around the room, double-checking every lock and crevasse. Once sure that all was secure, he ventured out and into his shower.

  Cold water flowed over his head, clearing his mind. After the residue of the dreams flowed down the drain, an idea came to Matt and he rushed out of the shower dripping.

  “Activate message system, voice only. Detective Rishards. Urgent.” While he retrieved a towel from his closet and started to dry off, Matt listened to the tell tail being of the connection.

  “Dales?” A sleepy feminine voice responded.

  “I had an idea.”

  “No.” Her voice grew irate. “It’s the middle of my sleep shift. Call me in a few hours.”

  “I'm going to interview Kossman again.” Matt explained. “This time I want him clear. No one is to tell him anything, not even that he's a burnout.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to see his reaction to specific stimuli.” Matt felt sure he was on to something. His dreams were telling him something and he would find out if they were right: they usually were.

  “Whatever, Dales. I'll see you in the morning.”

  “Okay, I'll call the night shift supervisor and give him instructions.”

  “Yeah, okay.” the disconnection sounded irate. She said she wanted to see how a real detective operated. That you never let a hunch or a lead grows cold. It was still late however, and Matt would need a clear head for the morning. He downed a few sleeping pills before he went back to bed. They did their job well and he was quickly in a dreamless sleep.