by I.B. Holder
*****
A large graphics flat screen monitor was brought in especially for the broadcast. Bailey leaned against the back wall like he was waiting in the doctor’s office. His usual casual manner was absent, indicating that maybe he had a heart after all. Wagner sat up front. She had done something to prepare for this event that she almost never did. She put in her contacts. She was very self-conscious of the fact that she was losing her eyesight early in life, but it was more than vanity that kept her hiding the deficiency. It was the fact that sight was considered a critical factor in her work. She had a genetic condition - underproduction of saline solutions -, which she was told that corrective laser surgery could actually accelerate. The thin corrective membrane that covered her pupils caused her to blink, and irritated her eye with every movement. However uncomfortable, it was necessary for the next hour.
People always commented on her eyes, they were perfect. “Obviously not thinking of function,” she thought as her lids batted down like sandpaper.
Legacy was nowhere to be seen.
Wagner found him in the office. “We had a date.”
“I’ll watch the playback. Playback is where we have the whole picture.” The original broadcasts didn’t contain sound. Two purposes were suggested: to keep the participants from saying something incriminating, and secondly the limiting principles of upload bandwidth of Internet broadcast.
“The playback version is over an hour away.” Wagner was dumbfounded. How could he calmly work while the crime was in progress? A chill went through her. Legacy saw the transformation, and chose to explain himself.
“I get too involved.”
“You? Involved. That’s a good one.”
“I put myself into the crime scene, I’m not just watching, I’m there. It’s a side effect of getting lost in the thoughts of others.”
Wagner smirked sardonically, “You’re there? Are you “you” or are you “Super you?” do you have a cape on?”
“I don’t know how to explain it, I am at the crime scene. I walk around in it.”
“You don’t find what you’re saying ridiculous.” Wagner found mordant humor in his words.
“Putting myself into the situation, live, in progress, will make me less effective.” He said, dismissing her. Wagner didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Just when she was beginning to believe in a version of the myth that followed Legacy’s name like the dictionary definition, reality crept in again. The man was delusional.
By the time Wagner got back to the situation room, the initiation was already in progress. The silent interlaced video images flickered. The women were kissing, a deeply disturbing portrait of bondage, spiritual and physical. Perhaps she hadn’t wanted to see the beginning, anyway.