by Tariq Saleim
The cab had arrived and she walked out of the lobby. The driver helped her place her luggage in the boot of the car. She told him to take her to the center of the Sub-Sector. While the cab was on its way, she checked a couple of places on her phone and by the time they reached the center she had booked herself into an inexpensive hotel for a week. She gave the cabdriver the complete address and he nodded. It was two thirty in the morning when she managed to check into her room.
During the cab ride, she had decided on something else as well. She wanted to disappear from this town and she could only think of one place to go. As soon as she had settled in her temporary abode, she picked up her phone and dialed a number. The person on the other side answered the call, happy to be talking to her for a second time during the day. He questioned why she was still up as it was late at night in her time zone. She spared him the details and got straight to the point.
“I have decided to accept your offer,” said Coco.
“I am so happy,” Nile replied.
“It will take me a few days to fix things at the office. It is a new job, but I think I can get a few weeks off.”
“Do what you have to do and we shall wait for you.”
“Are you sure your wife is OK with it?”
“She would love to meet you, Doctor.”
They hung up after a few minutes of conversation and Coco wondered if she had done the right thing. Am I trying to run away from this town, or trying to run into him? She questioned the purpose of her planned visit. It is just a change of scenery and nothing more, she managed to convince herself. She checked her phone one last time for any messages before going to bed—there were none. She sighed and retired to bed.
CHAPTER 13
Ken was having coffee at the same café where they had met the last time. Spike was having difficulty looking at his face. “Look at me when I talk to you,” Ken said authoritatively.
Spike raised his head, mustering his nerves to look at his sibling. Ken had a hole in his forehead that was copiously bleeding. His face, shirt, and jacket were drenched in his blood. Oblivious to this, Ken raised his cup to his lips and took a sip. Drops of blood fell into his coffee. Ken noticed them, shook his head, and took another sip. Spike tried to warn Ken about his polluted coffee, but choked. He covered his mouth, attempting to stop from vomiting.
“You are responsible for my death. I came to you and you told me to fuck off.” Ken looked furious.
Spike started crying. “I am sorry, Ken, please forgive me.”
Ken ignored his plea, stood up, and tore open his chest with his bare hands.
“What are you doing, Ken?” shouted Spike.
Ken reached inside his chest and took out his heart. It was bloodied, but still beating.
“Eat this,” ordered Ken.
“I cannot. Please forgive me. I am so sorry.” Spike was weeping loudly.
“You do not deserve my forgiveness,” replied Ken. He then squeezed his heart. It screamed and started beating faster. Spike could feel Ken’s pain, but could do nothing to stop it. It was in Ken’s hands; only he could stop his own pain. He looked at Ken mercifully, aware of how much he was hurting.
Ken’s heart could not take the pressure for long. It began to die, beating slower and slower by the second, and then it stopped. Ken placed his heart in Spike’s coffee and ordered him to drink.
“I cannot do this,” said Spike. He looked at his coffee. Ken’s dead heart was floating in the brew. When he looked up again, Ken was gone. Spike was standing alone in a room now. He recognized this room; he had been there before. Someone grabbed his neck and slammed his face into the wall. He was unable to free himself from his attacker’s grip.
“Let me go,” shouted Spike.
His attacker kept on banging Spike’s face against the wall. His skull began to crack.
“You bloody ORRF agent,” shouted his attacker, slamming his head into the wall again.
Spike’s head burst open; his brain splattered all over the wall. Spike could see himself in a third-person view now. His head had split open and his brain was seeping out. He looked at the wall, then at himself. He reached for the wall and collected his splattered brain in his hands. He attempted to put the gray matter back in his skull, and partially succeeded. He squeezed his skull from both sides, attempting to close his head and stop the brain drain.
Spike’s attacker appeared again, this time with a sword in his hand. He kicked Spike in his stomach and drove the sword through him, vertically splitting his body in two. The halves fell on the floor, one to the left and one to the right.
Somewhere in the background a phone rang. Spike wondered who was calling him now. He ignored the rings, but they kept on getting louder and louder, becoming impossible to ignore. He struggled with the noise a bit and then, with a quick jerk, he woke up.
He was sweating and breathing heavily, a situation he faced regularly these days. He took deep breaths, trying to calm down. It was just a nightmare, he reminded himself. The phone rang again. He looked around surprised. Was the phone not in my dream? The phone rang again and Spike realized that he was awake and the phone was ringing for real. When he noticed who was calling, he hurriedly answered.
“What happened?” Spike asked.
“I broke up with Coco,” replied Hawk.
“It is four in the morning,” Spike snapped.
“She left a few hours ago. I cannot sleep. I felt like talking to you. I am sorry.” Hawk could sense his friend’s irritation.
“It is OK. I am glad you woke me up.”
“Why?”
“I was having a nightmare.”
“About what?”
Spike took a long, deep breath. “Nothing.”
“You can talk to friends. Just now, I called you without considering what time it was.”
“I know.”
“Talk to me, Spike. What is eating you up?”
“Have you called Coco?” Spike made an attempt to change the topic.
“Should I?”
“Why not?”
“You hated her. You told me to break up with her. Now that I have, you are asking me to call her and apologize.” Hawk tried to pass on the onus of his breakup to Spike.
“I am not asking you to apologize, but I think you should call her.”
“How can you go back on your words?” Hawk was surprised at Spike’s sudden sympathy for Coco.
“Life is too short for this stupidity,” Spike replied in a poignant voice.
It was Hawk’s turn to breathe deeply. He had unintentionally touched upon Spike’s sensitive nerve. Spike was grieving for the loss of a loved one and it was perhaps not the right time to talk to him about breakups.
“I need to go. I have to go to the office tomorrow,” said Hawk.
“OK.”
“You take care.”
“Call Coco.” Spike hung up. He placed his phone on the bed and stood up, feeling bad for Hawk’s breakup. He acknowledged that he was partially responsible for it. Had it not been for his poisonous counseling, Hawk and Coco would be together today. He felt ashamed of himself.
He walked to the window and glanced outside. It was still night, the roads empty and the streetlights on. There was a sense of calm as if all evil was resting. He wanted to go out, but feared being captured again. No one had explained to him why he was beaten up the first time. He was sure no one would explain a second beating. Ken had been officially declared an ORRF operative. Spike believed Militia was keeping an eye on him, probably his parents as well. He had talked to no one about his thrashing, not even his parents. They respected his reluctance to talk and did not question much. They were living in a hell of their own—Ken was dead and Spike was broken, scared, and heading for unemployment.
He decided not to go out at this time of night and walked back to his bed. There was a picture of him and Ken in an antique, wooden photo frame, placed on top of his nightstand. He picked it up. Spike had tossed a baseball in the air and his sibli
ng was trying to catch it. Ken was wearing a big glove on his left hand that was stretched upward. He was running backward, his eyes on the ball, totally unaware of what was behind him. Their father had taken the picture, catching them in the frenzy of the moment. Ken was looking up, determined not to drop the ball, just moments away from hitting the tree behind him. Spike remembered he had been shouting forcefully, “Watch your back, Ken. Watch your back,” trying to warn his brother of the forthcoming danger.
Ken had hit the tree, dropped the ball, and hurt his head. Spike and his father had rushed to the scene. Ken had started bleeding on the back of his head.
Spike moved his hand affectionately over the glass in the photo frame. He remembered how hurt Ken was, only because Spike had tossed the ball in the wrong direction. Had he tossed it away from the tree, Ken would not have had the accident.
“I told you to watch your back,” he spoke softly, fighting his tears. “Watch your back, Ken. Watch your back.” He had goose bumps as he uttered these words.
“Watch your back…Watch your back,” he repeated slowly. He had heard these words before, not too long ago. Someone had said this to him. He remembered wondering what it meant back then. Was it not Ken who said this? He started breathing faster as he thought about their last conversation.
“Watch my back when I am no more,” Ken had said, just before leaving the café.
Is that it? Is this what he meant? Spike was having a panic attack now, thinking about Ken’s words. “Remember my words, Spike, remember my words.” Ken had said.
Did he want me to look at this photo frame? What is so special in this? He looked at the frame for several minutes, wondering where this was leading. Slowly, he flipped it over and opened its back, to reveal the backside of the printed photo—and the words written on it.
He could easily recognize the handwriting. I AM NOT MAD, Ken had written in red ink. A tiny storage card was pasted just below the word mad. Spike picked up the card and looked at it in shock. Ken had left something for him, but it had taken him weeks to decipher the message.
Ken knew that Militia would interrogate Spike after his death. Had he told Spike clearly, he would not be able to lie to Militia. He trusted Spike for decoding his message several weeks after his death. By that time, Spike would have passed through Militia screenings. Spike had a renewed sense of admiration for his brother, and shame for himself.
Whatever was recorded on this small card was responsible for Ken’s death and also for the disappearance of that IT guy who had initially passed this on to Ken. It was probably the reason for Spike’s thrashing as well. He thought about throwing it away without viewing the contents. He was better off not knowing what was on it. He got up from his bed, walked to his bathroom and stood in front of the commode, determined to flush the card. He could put an end to his miseries by doing so. He had seen nothing so far and when Militia interrogated him again, which he was sure would happen, he could still claim that he knew nothing. They wouldn’t catch him lying, because he would not be lying.
Spike held the small card in his right palm, above the open mouth of the commode. He flipped his hand and the card fell in. It floated in the water, refusing to sink. Spike knew that it would not disappear from his life until he flushed it. He looked at the card and suddenly Ken’s face flashed in front of his eyes.
“Watch my back when I am no more.”
“Dammit, Ken!” Spike fished out the card and dried it with a towel, hoping that the water had not erased its contents. Being an IT person, however, he knew that was not the case. These cards were water resistant and the data would be intact. As much as he wanted, he could not flush the card away. Ken had given his life to save this small card and Spike could not betray his trust, again.
Reluctantly, he walked back to his room and picked up his briefcase from the couch where it had been lying unattended for several weeks. He pulled out a small notebook-like thing and opened it into a seventeen-inch screen. He then attached a small L-shaped docking station to the lower left edge of the screen, which lit up as soon as it was inserted in the docking station. He then placed the card in the docking station’s slot.
“Do you wish to play all videos?” asked the notebook’s computerized voice.
“Yes,” Spike replied.
***
For the next eight hours, Spike watched in disgust as the recordings were played to him. Ken was right—this material was worth killing for. However, Ken was wrong in assuming that these were recorded by mistake. These were surveillance videos, captured on purpose with the intent of using them in the future. These did not cover one meeting, but several. There were recordings of personal and professional lives of the CEOs, including the chairman of the UPF. Judging from the extent of coverage, and the professional editing, he concluded that this was done on the orders of one person: the CEO of Technology. Incidentally, he was the only one missing from the recordings.
It was not every day that you discovered your life had been a big, fat lie. What did Ken say? “A sly pretense.” Spike was shivering with anger, fear, and shame: angry at living a lie and not being able to figure it out; frustrated to know that there was no way out of it; afraid because he knew he would meet the same end as his sibling. He was ashamed of himself—Ken had been right all along. It was difficult to say if Ken would be alive today, had Spike listened to him, but at least he would have died knowing that someone trusted him.
Spike looked at the clock on the nightstand. It was past noon. Earlier this morning, Hawk had said that one should talk to friends when in trouble. Spike intended to do just that. With trembling hands, he picked up his cell phone.
***
Hawk had just walked into a restaurant for an early lunch when his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He looked at his phone and was happy to see that Spike was calling.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“I just wanted to say good-bye,” replied Spike.
“What the hell? What are you doing?” shouted Hawk, sensing trouble.
“Thanks for everything, dear friend.” Spike disconnected the call.
Hawk was taken aback. What the hell just happened? What is he planning to do? Oh shit, he is going to kill himself. Hawk rushed out of the restaurant. Spike’s apartment was not that far and he could get to him quickly. He hailed a cab and as soon as it started moving, he dialed Spike’s number. There was no answer. He quickly typed a message to Spike: ON MY WAY, DO NOT DO ANYTHING STUPID. The message was delivered instantly, but there was no reply from Spike.
“I really need to get there quickly,” Hawk told the cabdriver.
“I am not driving a rocket,” the driver replied rudely. Hawk decided to ignore his poor etiquette for now.
***
In his bedroom, Spike waited for Hawk to appear at his doorsteps. He knew his friend would come running, thinking Spike was about to commit suicide. However, he had no such plans. He had given this impression because he assumed his calls were monitored. Had he told Hawk that he had found something sensitive, Militia would be at his house before Hawk. This way, Militia would think that he was committing suicide and not interfere.
Spike looked at his wristwatch. Five minutes had passed since his call to Hawk. Another ten to fifteen minutes, he told himself.
Hawk frantically knocked on the door, totally forgetting that there was a doorbell as well. No one came to welcome him. He knocked again. Then, he noticed the doorbell and pressed it several times. Moments later, Spike’s father opened the door of the apartment.
“What happened?” asked the old man.
“Where is Spike?” shouted Hawk.
“In his room—that way.” The old man pointed to a door on the left of the entrance. “Is everything OK?”
“I hope so,” replied Hawk. He rushed to the door and opened it.
“It took you twenty minutes to get here,” said Spike, smiling at his friend.
Hawk stood at the door, still holding the knob in his hand, breathing heavily a
nd totally puzzled. Spike was sitting on his bed and looked fine.
“Are you all right?” Hawk asked.
“Not really.”
“What happened?”
“Come in, close the door. I want to show you something.” Spike got up from the bed and walked to the bedroom door. He placed his hand on Hawk’s shoulder and politely nudged him to move in. Then he locked the bedroom door.
“Sit down,” said Spike.
“What is going on? Why did you say good-bye?”
“I wanted you to come and see me immediately.”
“Why did you not say so?”
“Because I could not.”
“What does that mean? What the fuck is wrong with you? I had meetings this afternoon. I was at the office. Is this a joke?” Hawk was angry now.
Spike ignored his friend’s anger. “Listen to me very carefully. What I am going to show you now must stay between us.”
“You are spooking me out, Spike.”
“Cancel all your meetings first. You will be here until late.”
“I have already done that. Now, please tell me what is going on.”
“Ken left a message for me. It took me weeks to decipher it, but when I finally did, I found a small storage card.”
“What is on that card?”
“You have to see for yourself.”
Spike played the recordings for Hawk.
Later that night, when the playback was completed, Hawk wished he had not seen any of this. “What the hell was that?” he asked.
“That is what got Ken killed.”
“And it will take our lives too,” Hawk said.
CHAPTER 14
“How did you get this?” Hawk was astounded by what he had just seen.
“I told you, Ken left it for me,” replied Spike.
“Can this be true?” Hawk was having difficulty believing.
“How can this be false? You have seen it yourself.”
“Who could have done this?”