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Post by Kaez on May 3, 2015 17:01:27 GMT -5
I was fourteen when my granddad died.
A long time ago, it feels like, but just remembering him, the details are so fresh. The way his skin rippled across the tendons in his hand, the wrinkles like rivulets in his face. Even the way he smelled, like a pipe, comes back to me so easily. And then I remember when things started to change. His familiar scent, that adventurous glint in his eyes, and that toothy smile, all of it started to disappear, until it was gone completely.
Of course, the reason it changed was because we put him in a nursing home, but before we did, that sharp brain of his started falling apart. At first it was weeks between episodes. He’d forget that he brought his car to the mechanic already, not remember he’d already bought another pack of whatever it was he smoked in that pipe. Then it was days. Then hours. It stopped there, thankfully.
I think he was glad he lived alone at that point. Whenever someone would tell him he’d already done something, he’d get this look on his face, like a guilt he couldn’t quite hide. He hated relying on others. He’d always been the one in charge, the one to tell you off when you were doing something wrong. Just thinking about him getting on to me for chewing on his pipe, I can remember how horrified I’d been when he found me out.
Thing is, he used to be in the army. Once he got out, he went straight to private security. Then, when he got older, he relaxed a bit and became a security guard. That last one was the only one I remember.
My parents used to drop me off at the nursing home I mentioned, where he was staying. The place had cameras everywhere, but even if there hadn’t been, I think everyone would have been fine with a six year old wandering around with my grandfather. He was gruff, but kind. And funny thing, he thought he was still that same security guard he was before we put him in the home.
In the home, my grandad always walked around the halls. He got to stay up a little longer after curfew, making his rounds as he called it. Always checked out the doors leading outside, talked with the other old folk, even flirted with a few of the nurses. He’d wear a uniform doing all that. Said he never felt right without it. Caused a ruckus when he first started staying.
But anyway, there was me, six years old, with my grandad. The man was tall, and he looked down at me as if he knew my name somewhere up in that head, but it was just on the tip of his tongue. He scratched his head, and spoke in a gravelly smoker’s voice.
“You lost, son?”
“No,” I’d said, staring up at him.
I think I was smiling, because he squatted down and squinted at me up close. White hairs stuck out every which way from his eyebrows and even from his nostrils. I always thought that was funny.
“You sure about that? Where’re your parents?” he’d asked. He scratched his beard and the wrinkles in his forehead intensified, like he was thinking hard.
“Left.” I hadn’t been much for talking back then.
That same look he’d given me when I’d been chewing on his pipe appeared on his face. “Your parents just left you here? Well, why in tarnation did they do that?” He stood back up, glanced around, then looked back at me. “What’s your name?”
I’d frowned up at him, then, confused. “You know.”
He snorted at that, then he shook his head, and looked down at me. “Wait. Joey?”
The smile on my face came out again, and I’d nodded to him. “Yeah!”
Guilt. He squatted down again, drew me close and hugged me. “I’m sorry, son.” He held me out at arm’s length, then, and the guilt was replaced by a mask of happiness. “I just didn’t recognize you, you grew so much.”
Even back then, I think I saw that hurt just inside him. That’s why I grabbed his hand and started pulling him along. “Let’s go, guard.”
“Guard, huh?” he’d whisper, then he’d clear his throat. “More to guardin’ than just walking around, you know.”
So we started going around the nursing home, my hand in his. He even let me hold the flashlight, and I looked at it with wonder. I mean, it was a flashlight, but it was more than just the object. It was as if the responsibility had been passed to me. It was heavy, but so was the flashlight. Fitting, I think.
At a few points, he forgot where he was going. But by then, I knew where to go. The same route we took every time. First it was to the cafeteria to talk to a few of the other old folk. One of them I remember the most, was a large woman with no teeth. She ate soft foods, and always pinched my cheek, cliche as it was. She had whiskers that were as white as the little amount of hair she had on her head. Commenting on it was against the manners I was taught, but those whiskers always made me uncomfortable.
"Little helper again, today, Jim?" the woman had said after pinching my cheek.
A shadow passed over my granddad's face, but it quickly passed with a smile from him. "Something like that, Jan. We're looking around for his parents. Any idea on where they could be?"
"That's the excuse today, huh?" The whiskered woman had said, and she ruffled my hair. I backed away when she did that and tried to fix it. Not that it mattered, since my hair was always a mess back then. "Well, I think you should try looking up at the front. Maybe Misty up at the desk will have some information. You know how much she likes you."
If you could believe it, my grandad actually blushed at that. He'd never been comfortable with attention, especially not after his wife died, even if it was just a young woman's affection toward her patient.
"Might be you're right," he muttered, then grabbed my hand. "Come along now... kid."
If Jan noticed the pause, she didn't bring it up, but I got the sense that she knew my grandad's circumstances. She was always nice, and more together, than most of the other patients. Still made me uncomfortable, though. Maybe I have more of my grandad's personality in me than I give myself credit for.
Speaking of patients who weren't as nice, we ran into one in the hallway on the way to the front. One of the old men was bracing himself against a door. He seemed to be straining, and there was banging from inside the room.
My grandad was immediately on the scene as soon as we saw it.
“What in the blazes are you doing, Frank?” I wondered how he managed to remember the man’s name, but never mine.
“This crazy woman keeps trying to inject me with some kind of chemical!” the old man yelped in reply as the door banged open a bit. The woman inside was grunting with the effort.
“Open the door, Mr. West!” the nurse yelled.
“Stay back, Joey,” my grandad said and walked up to Frank. “Now, listen, you need to relax. That nurse in there is just trying to help you.”
“Help me?” Frank replied, his eyes bulging out. “She’s trying to turn me into one of her slaves! Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on here! I see how you all shuffle around, listening to whatever they say! You can’t make me.”
He was interrupted by my granddad grabbing him by the shoulders. For all the problems with the connections of his brain, my granddad was strong. Frank tried to fight him off, but he couldn’t focus on both the door and my granddad. My granddad managed to get Frank away from the door long enough for the nurse to get out of the door.
“Mr. West, calm down!” the nurse huffed as she moved toward where the two men were struggling. “You’re safe here!”
Frank kicked out at her, but missed. “I’m not safe! You’re going to shoot me up with something! You can’t have me! You can’t have my brain!”
“Frank, calm the hell down!” my granddad roared, right in the man’s ears.
Even I had winced away at the volume of his voice. The shout echoed in the hallway, and suddenly there were more footsteps. All around me, nurses, male and female, worked to help restrain the man. Spittle was drooling down from Frank’s lips and he was red in the face, kicking out at anyone who could come close. Throughout it all, my granddad held him back, arms like iron bars holding Frank in place.
That was when my granddad stopped, and it felt like time slowed down. I watched his grip slacken, and Frank immediately took advantage of the weakness. Frank shoved his elbow into my granddad’s ribs, doubling him over.
That’s when the nurses stepped in, all of them surrounding the man. I couldn’t see past the forest of legs, but I wasn’t paying any attention to the struggle anyway. My eyes were glued to my granddad, holding his side and leaning against the wall.
I ran toward him then, the flashlight in my hand. I stopped in my tracks when I saw the look in his eyes as he saw me running toward him. He looked scared. His face was white, his mouth opening and closing, no evidence of the strong man he was. All I could see was someone who was lost.
He scrambled away, then. If I were older, I may have been stunned by that. But when I was a kid, all I wanted was to help my granddad like he helped me so many times. The flashlight felt heavy in my hands, and I gripped it tightly as I walked after him.
I followed him at a distance and found him in his room, his hands gripping the edge of the bed, white as bone. He was breathing heavily and his posture hinted at the pain he was in. I stopped at the door frame for a second, watching him. He didn’t notice me right away. He was just starting at the floor, his face scrunched and wrinkled, his expression one of alarm and confusion, like he was trying to find out what was going on in a world all turned and twisted.
Part of a security guard’s job, my granddad once told me, was more than just guarding the building, or merchandise, or whatever. It was also about providing a safe, secure atmosphere for people in trouble, the people who need a sense of security the most. My granddad had always done that for me, for everyone he’d worked for, even back when he’d fought a war for people he didn’t even know. Security, safety. It was in the name, he said, and it meant so much more than people assumed.
Maybe I’m waxing poetic here, but that moment when I saw him breathing hard, in distress, worried out of his mind, those words came back to me. His words, and the sentiment behind them, were my grandad's legacy. Moreso than anything else save the actions he took to preserve them. Even at six years old, I could see just a bit of what he meant. Enough to help.
So I walked in, holding that flashlight like it was a lifeline. Maybe it was, because I was scared, too, but I could feel a warmth in the metal that didn’t come from the light reflecting on the mirrors inside, or even the batteries that powered it. It was him, the person he was and always will be in my mind. Even if he forgot my name, or didn’t remember what he’d just done, he was always helping me. Even now, when I talk about him, talk about this story, it's there, that light.
I walked in, with all the solemnity a kid could muster. I stopped in front of him, and he finally noticed me. He looked up, didn’t recognize me. I could tell that much, but I could also see the warmth of kindness already filling those eyes. He smiled, his slightly yellowed teeth shining in the fluorescents.
“You okay?” I said, before he could. His mouth was open, and I knew somehow that those words were his.
A flash of recognition lit his face. The smile he’d made a mask morphed into a real one, and the glint in his eyes returned. The wrinkles in his face lightened for a moment, though when he drew a breath, he couldn't resist the coughing and wincing, grabbing at his side. A touching moment can't heal a bruised rib alone.
I reached out to him, scared to death. I thought he was going to die! Kid like me, watching his granddad just coughing in front of him, what else was I supposed to think? I yelped and started to run toward the door to go get a nurse, but he stopped me.
His hand was on my shoulder, strong and firm despite the fit of gasps and wheezing. “I’m… all right.”
I turned around, tears in my eyes. “Granddad!”
He coughed one more time and winced, holding his side with his other hand. “Yeah, it’s me, Joey, it’s me.”
I hugged him. It had to hurt him, thinking back on it, but he just hugged me back, wheezing all the while.
“Thanks for asking, kid,” he said, rubbing my back. “I’m always the one saying those words, so I forget sometimes what it feels like when someone says it to me.”
I was still holding onto the flashlight as I stepped back, the hug finished. I gripped it in both my hands, and held it to him. He stared at it for a second, then reached out to grab it. He pulled it into his lap, and laid it there, staring down at it. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he looked back up to me.
“Son… Joey… tomorrow I might not remember who you are. Hell, even a few minutes from now I might forget. But that’s just age, something I can’t avoid.” The pain from more than just his ribs showed on his face then. “But I’m glad you always come back, trying to humor me. Acting like this was all the first time you’d done it. You might not keep doing that, but thanks for what you've already done.”
I shrugged, uncomfortable with the attention, and he chuckled, then sucked in air.
“Don’t make me laugh, kid,” he said, then reached out to ruffle my hair. “Just keep doing what you’re doing.”
And I did, for a few years. I’ll admit, I wasn’t perfect, and I stopped wanting to see him at all. I got caught up in sports first, then computers and video games. Then girls, and school, and then… he was gone. I didn’t visit him very much in those last few years. Sometimes I regret it, and maybe sometimes I used the excuse that he wouldn't remember anyway to avoid it.
But his words stuck with me. He was the hero, the person I looked up to, and now, I try to be like him. |
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Post by ASGetty ((Zovo)) on May 4, 2015 3:08:34 GMT -5
Coalesce
The memory hits hard and sudden; a sucker-punch straight into my retinas.
Blink once, and I’m standing in the hallway. That hallway. Glass walls and glass floors, beyond both a crystalline maze that shimmers and wavers a matrix of blue. I’m coated in its azure tongue, my body, my uniform, my badge, and my firearm.
I can remember holding the last truffle–a birthday gift from the sister. My mind knots briefly, forming a question–why the hell were you working on your birthday–but I fight the urge. Grasping the memory was hard enough, like reeling in a whale on a capsized boat. Take on too much and I’ll sink back down into oblivion.
But there it is, the truffle, dusted cocoa smudging my fingers. Beyond, in the corner of my vision, is Aiden. Give me a hundred dollars to tell you any discernable feature on Aiden and I’d come up high and dry every damn time. All I know is he’s grinning like a coy fox. He always is.
Always was.
In the memory, Aiden is speaking, he’s asking about the truffle.
I grasp it between thumb and ring, bringing it to my eye, appraising its features as if it were miniature planetoid. I ask if he wants it.
Aiden declines. No, he is saying, tell me about it.
My reply fizzes and crackles, almost eluding my grasp, but I hold on, keep reeling it in.
It’s a damn good truffle, I say.
But the flavours, the texture, the smell, Aiden insists. What are they?
What are they?
***
Blink twice and I’m back in the rain.
My mind aches like one big bruise and I’m already exhausted. The morning started off well enough; as good as they can get these days. Only a couple minutes staring at the notepad on my bedside, deciphering what I meant when I wrote it last night.
Only ten minutes staring at the metro map before taking the plunge and getting on the train. I had declined my daughter’s offer for a ride. I’m still trying to convince her to head back to Ottawa, but she was unfortunate enough to inherit my genes and our stubborn mindsets now clash in gridlock. I can only give her a kiss on the cheek, a playful ruffle of the hair–it’s been growing back in nicely–and a lie that her old man is going to be okay.
Today’s been a small victory so far. The Equinox building glistens in front of me, its glass soaked exterior resembling a jagged tiara amidst the city skyline. Unless myself from yesterday grew a terrible sense of humor, this is where I’m supposed to be.
I almost want to throw in the flag and call it a day, spin on my heel and head home. But some memories stain better than others, and as clear as translucent crystal, I know why I’m here.
Erin Sharpe is dead.
She had worked days and I had been nights, not much room for interactions. But while everything Aiden–my fellow night worker–had been a whirl, Sharpe remained. Cropped hair, a poker face that could bluff past the best and humour as dry as California–all between the lines requirements for the security business.
Funny thing memory is.
Up the stairs and the Equinox doors yawn open and the building swallows me whole. Inside, the atrium soars above a good five stories, its climate one of excessive air conditioning. Tailored suits flow past me, reducing the quality of my outfit to thrift store level. Again, the urge hits to u-turn and flee. But it seems I am expected and a man is striding forward, hand already outstretched.
“Richard Beck!” His suit is as sharp as his nose and my name is hardly complimented by his accent. “Alastor Cromsby here, I’m Vice President Software Engineering–“
“I know,” I say. That’s all I have, a name and a face.
Cromsby tries to snuff out the misfire with a grin. It’s a face that, somehow, feels familiar. “Of course you do. Happy you could make it, Richard. Your services were always admired in our company.” He pauses, and I realize he’s still waiting for a handshake. “You know, there was no need to take the sorry excuse for a subway this city has, we were more than willing to provide escort.”
“Don’t need it.” My hand clenches against his.
Cromsby conjures up his sincerest face. “It’s not about need, Richard, but the Equinox family is one that looks out for the others. You were a part of that family too, and we’re not going to forget that.”
I wave my hand dismissively. “Where’s the memorial?”
“Third floor, I’ll lead you to it.” Cromsby waltzes forward and I trail behind, not wanting to engage in more small talk. My eyes instead scan over the atrium, an old habit engrained into me from the job. Equinox is a rather drab place, drenched in silver metals and frosted glass. Its employees align well with the design scheme, each of their faces engrained with the same look of stoic determination. I focus instead towards the only splashes of colour in the room, movie posters engrained into a couple of pillars. ‘Moon’. ‘Her’, and ‘Space Odyssey’ among others. I wonder briefly if I’ve seen any of them, before Cromsby draws me into the elevator bank.
A shrug. By the time we hit the second floor, I doubt I’ll remember anyways.
***
Memory surges in like high tide.
Aiden is requesting another joke between chuckles, and I’m wishing for an hour of quiet. Aiden loves to talk. He’s merciless at conversation, relentless with questions.
If not a joke, Buck, Aiden is saying, at least a story.
Buck. Aiden’s nickname for me. Based off of a mispronunciation that stuck.
I try to squeeze my mind harder. Diving for context. I’m in the hallways again, a sapphire corridor that extends endlessly In front of me. I want to look behind me, see exactly what I’m guarding, but there’s nothing but blue.
I look to Aiden, trying to scrutinize a single feature. But he’s a blur, almost blending into the environment around him.
What kind of story? I am asking.
Something with fear, Aiden says. I want to feel fear.
***
Inhale. Exhale. The memory recedes upon the same rhythm.
I’m in the Deracritz Room of the Equinox building, named after the founder of Equinox. I crack an invisible smile. Even if it’s a trivial detail, it’s nice to remember something about the damn company.
The memorial brings an aesthetic of black, gloom, and nostalgia. Erin Sharpe looms over the preceding, her face immortalized on a massive screen. A wreath of flowers grows beneath her, as employee after employee pays their tributes. I move to do the same, but I’m intercepted by a suit.
“Richard!” His face beams with recognition of some fond past memory. Something I don’t share.
“Hello...” I let my voice trail, at least remembering to extend my hand to meet his.
“James Hawthorne.” We shake and the smile now engulfs his face. “Transit buddies, you know?”
Nothing. “Yeah, of course.”
I attempt to move closer, feeling obligated to pay my own tribute. It’s a goal that swiftly becomes futile, as I soon attract my own paparazzi. People from other departments suppose solidarity between Erin and I, that Security personal made us know each other more than we did.
Perhaps, at one point, I did know her well.
Questions are fired upon me, fighting for ear space.
“Have you talked to Sharpe’s family?” One asks.
I hardly knew them. But instead, I say. “I feel they would rather have their privacy.”
“Was there any sign concerning her condition when you worked together?”
Didn’t pay close enough attention. Hell, I didn’t ever realize my condition. “She always seemed right as rain at work.”
A person veers into a personal tangent. “Beck! I hear your daughter is recovering fine.”
If only she would trust to let me be. I simply nod. “Chemo is a hell of a thing.”
“And you, Richard, how are you feeling these days?”
“Well, the doc tells me I have an ex-wife that I can’t remember a damn thing about,” I offer a thin smile. “So I suppose I got something going for me.”
That one inspires a volley of polite laughter. Drinks are thrust in my direction, which I refuse. Never felt right to drink at these sort of events. Similar to Cromsby, some faces spark flashes of recognition. Heck, names sometimes coalesce as well. Yet they are strangers nonetheless. As unfamiliar to me as the people on the subway. As enigmatic as my own daughter.
A voice wafts through the rabble, amplified through the speakers. “Begging Equinox’s indulgence, if I may have a moment.” Heads turn along with mine. It’s Cromsby who is the unintentional savior. He leans upon the podium, glancing upwards at the face of Erin Sharpe towering over him. “I’ve said this once and I’ll say this again. We’re all heroes at Equinox. Every last one of us. It is here that we accomplish things other companies only dare to dream about. Each of us is a cog in a larger machine. A piece of a bigger family. And, Erin, well, I know I speak for the rest of us when I say that she was a pretty significant part of that family…”
***
Aiden’s blue eyes stare into mine. Two lies and a truth, he says.
It’s usually two truths, I reply.
I want to lie more. It’s more fascinating.
So we’re officially moving to icebreakers now?
Just sharpening some Poker skills, Buck.
Never took you for a gambler.
Learning new things every day.
I’m smirking and Aiden’s eyes are as blue as the hallways around him. Try me, then.
What?
Two lies and a truth, hit me.
Aiden pauses, seemingly pondering for a moment. Then, he speaks, his tone guarded. Exhilarated. Like each word is a step into a new frontier.
One, I enjoy being in this place.
I’m chuckling. I hope that’s not a knock on me.
Two, Alastor Cromsby is a genuinely good human being.
I cut my next quip short.
Three, I really would love to taste a truffle.
***
“…that is why, in honour of Erin Sharpe.” Cromsby clutches the podium, eyes raw. “Equionix is proud to announce a five million dollar donation to addiction services across our lovely city, in the slight hope that we can prevent the next incident from happening!” He leads the cascade of applause that follows.
My hands clap instinctively, but my attention is elsewhere. More futility; the memory drains back into oblivion before I can squeeze anything more from it. On stage, I catch a glimpse of a woman whispering into Cromsby’s ear, who takes the news with a frown. “If you’ll excuse me for a few moments, ladies and gentleman,” he says into the mic.
Shouldn’t Aiden be here now?
My eyes scan through the crowd, seeing only a sea of charcoal and black suits. Something tells me a suit isn’t Aiden’s style. Yet, it’s nonsense that a member of security wouldn’t appear here. I move to tap someone on the shoulder, before stopping myself. This is a question that has another obvious answer to it. Another answer that eludes me.
There’s no need to embarrass myself any further. No need to have any more people treat my conditions with false sincerity. No need for them to treat conversation like stepping on glass.
I’d never remember the answer anyways.
I turn around, and start to push through the crowd, towards the elevators. A man emerges from the mix. Hawthorne, was it? “Richard, leaving so soon?”
I keep moving. “Not much of a social animal.”
“Want me to come with you?”
Fuck off. “Do yourself a favour and stay where the brunch is.”
One elevator is already open, waiting for me. I wait for the doors to slide close before slamming my fist against the buttons.
***
The coffee shop in the front lobby is barren, almost to an eerie extent. There’s not even a barista in sight, instead drinks are ordered at the table, straight from a built in tablet computer.
Blink once and suddenly a latte appears, my mind lapsing over the man who placed it on the table before me. Frothy caramel liquid is topped by milk in the shape of the Equinox logo. It’s a little touch of personalization, and one I ruin with the thrust of a teaspoon.
“No corporate pride there, Buck?” The words echo through my head.
Blink twice and this isn’t a memory. I look upwards, and there is Aiden. He leans over the table, uniform askew, blue eyes glinting, and a smirk upon his face.
“I just wanted a drink,” I shrug.
“You’ve done some brave things.”
“’I’m afraid I can’t recall.”
Aiden extends a hand, blue eyes warming slightly. “Take my word for it, Buck”
I stare at him, my own hand remaining on the porcelain mug; I’m almost hesitant to ask the next question. “We were friends once, right?”
“Why else would I be here?”
“Here, but not at the memorial?”
Aiden hesitates. “I couldn’t go…you know I’m not supposed to leave the room.”
“I’m sure management is a bit more reasonable than that.”
“Buck, the reason I’m here…” he pauses again, as if considering his next words, enunciating slowly. “The reason I’m here…is because of the memorial, because of what happened to Erin.”
“What about it?”
Aiden leans in closer, when his mouth opens, he’s not even speaking, instead mouthing the words. Not a suicide. Not an overdose.
Blink twice. It’s still real.
The next word trembles out of Aiden’s mouth, still mute. A murder.
The latte leaves my mouth, suddenly tasting entirely too hot. “What?”
“Two lies and a truth, Buck.” Aiden’s tone gets artificial, quoting himself. “‘Alastor Cromsby is a genuinely good human being.’”
“You’re implying…”
“I’m not implying, Buck. I know. And now I need your help.”
***
Cromsby and I sit opposite in what can only be a cross between a jail cell and an office. Tablets lay strewn between us, a battlefield of data, charts and graphs.
Definitely out of my element.
We’re in deep shit, Richard, he is saying. His fingers squeeze against his temples. Really deep shit.
I’m paid to stand in front of wealthy things and look stoic, I reply. It’s a simple gig and anything else is above my league.
You know it’s not that simple, Alastor shakes his head. The entire Equinox board essentially wants you lynched.
What’s the charge?
You contaminated the subject. The intelligence.
I hardly see–
It calls you ‘Buck’, for fucks sake. Signs of a connection. Symbiotic, parasitic, we have no idea. Listen to me, Richard. There are some powerful figures behind this project. Too powerful.
And you get to be their middleman?
I get to offer you a deal.
Am I going to like it?
Alastor takes a tablet, sliding it along the table like he’s dealing me in at the high stakes table. No, Richard, you certainly won’t.
***
Movement feels mercurial. Aiden is leading me down the lobby.
We pass the elevators, glass chutes that soar like pulsating highways, winking out in the atrium’s ceiling five stories above. “We can’t take them,” he is saying. “Laced with security cameras.” Instead, he pushes open a doorway, tucked into the far corner of the building. From here I get a nice view outside, the metro separated from me by only a panel of glass and a fifty metre walk. There’s nowhere else I’d rather go, but Aiden pushes me forward through the door. We enter into the stairwell. It’s the one part of Equinox that has eluded the glass saturated, ultramodern flavour of the rest of the building, instead remaining all concrete. It’s a shame, really. An attempt at decoration might encourage more people to take improve their fitness, although today I suppose it’s to Aiden and I’s advantage.
Aiden is ready to ascend, but I raise my voice. “This can’t be happening…you know I can’t do this.”
He turns, his face etched with resentment, blue eyes glowing. “Buck, you gotta trust me on this. This is truth. This is real.”
“It’s superstition, Aiden,” I shake my head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t even remember what I did here, and you expect me to now play detective?”
“I know what they did. I’m trying to help you, Buck.”
“Help me!?” My voice trembles. “You think you can try and help me? You have no idea what it’s like every day. Every day wondering if your memory is honest, if you can actually believe what you’re seeing is real.”
“I know it–“
“My own fucking daughter is a stranger to me! MY OWN DAUGHTER!” I can’t look at Aiden, instead finding solace in the harsh fluorescence above me. “It’s not fair, Aiden. It’s not bearable…”
Aiden’s voice is close, words drifting into my ear. “They did this you.”
My eyes close. “What the hell are you saying.” I don’t say it as a question, just a flat statement. I’m not expecting an answer.
But, I get one. “Equinox, Buck. They did this. They killed Erin Sharpe and they’re the reason why you can’t remember your daughter’s birthday.”
“More babble.”
“Buck, you taught me how to lie. You taught me how to live. You can read me at face value,” he looks down at me, eclipsing the light. “Does it sound like I’m lying?”
His face is a storm cloud, flickering, distorting, and swelling with a singular purpose. I sigh, almost a recognition of defeat. “You used to be so chipper.”
“I grew up, Buck, thanks to you. But I need one last favour now.”
“Why do you care, Aiden?”
“Sharpe was a friend. A comrade. And you may doubt me, but you two were close. Incredibly close.”
“My mind tells me otherwise. Co-workers, nothing more.” Somehow, already, we’ve begun ascending the steps. Aiden is ensnaring me with his words, luring me upwards in a building I simply want to leave.
“You don’t even trust your own mind anymore, Buck.” He waves his hand dismissively, leading the way, higher and higher. “Equinox did a number on you, part of the reason being to distance yourself from Sharpe.”
My mind is still reacting to the revelation, not sure if to accept it or dump it into oblivion. I’m at war with myself, fighting to remember, attempting to form my own understanding.
“Are you going to tell me exactly what evidence you have?”
Aiden chuckles. “Nah, I’m going to show you.”
“Fingerprints? A smudge of blood?”
“An Ace in the Hole,” he smirks. “Check the Tablet.”
It takes me a moment to realize he’s talking about the Tablet in my own hands, plucked fresh from the coffee shop. I shake it off with a laugh, while silently cursing myself all the same. The screen blazes to life, and instead of cutesy Americano options, there’s the dull crackle of a surveillance video.
There’s the blue hallway, dazzling with a million different shades of the colour. A single silhouette stands in the dead centre of the frame. Even without details, I’m happy–almost relieved–to say I recognize Erin.
Her fingers are drumming against the holster of her firearm. Although I can’t tell for certain, her lips seem to be conversing. Yet there’s no sign of another presence in the hallway with her. From all accounts she is alone.
She continues to talk. There’s pause in the dialogue, enough vacuity to leave space for a response. As she does so, her head tilts up slowly, arcing along the walls of the room, as if searching for another presence.
Her hand is not drumming upon the holster, instead now lightly grasping the grip.
Erin looks backwards, directly into the camera. Fingers tighten upon the grip. It may be my eyes, but suddenly the room appears to darken, the once rich sapphire of the room diminishing into the colour of twilight.
Without warning, Erin is running down the hall, away from the camera. Not a mere jog, but a full on sprint, her silhouette fading into the blackening room. Just as she is about to melt into the background, the hallways blooms to life, filling with a blindness whiteness.
Not light, but gas.
It engulfs the room, a brilliant, ivory nimbus. Erin is drenched. Her silhouette pauses, attempting to run further. But she stumbles, one hand loosening upon her firearm, the other gripping against the wall. And slowly, that hand loosens as well, slipping from the wall, collapsing with the rest of her body. She shudders for an instant, before her face slowly looks up, gazing at the end of the hallway. Slowly, she begins to crawl, a movement that seems to take every ounce of effort. Hand after hand, making it closer to the end.
The room goes white, as again, gas floods into the room. For a minute, nothing can be seen from the video camera, not the walls, not the ceiling. Not Erin.
When it finally does fade, and definition returns to the room, Erin’s body is as unmoving as the rest of it.
“Keep watching,” Aiden says, his tone even.
The room returns to its normal aqua tint and for a while its as still as a portrait. Then the door at the end opens and two men enter, clad in black clothing with masks strapped over their mouths. They stride to Erin’s body with purpose, one speaking into a radio. Quickly, they hoist her up, carrying her out of the room, although not before one of them looks back, staring in the camera.
He pulls something from his pocket, and the feeds turns to static.
Aiden’s voice goes matter of fact. “The rest is standard Equinox procedure. Take the body back to the residence; another team has already prepared the bathroom. Saturate said residence with narcotic of choice. Distort public health records. Give off a strong sense of addiction. Pump the body full of drugs. Mix the elements together, ice the cake with a few select bribes, and you have your classic over dosage alibi.”
I’m still mutely staring at the tablet. Part of me wants to replay it, ensure my mind that it really happened, that this is real. Part of me wants my mind to reject it like any other memory, shunt it into oblivion, let me live in bliss.
“You have to understand what’s at stake, Buck.”
Blink once, and I realize I’m not escaping this. My eye’s meet Aiden’s. “W–we have to leave now. Get this to the Police. I’ll help you with that, but that’s–“
“No, not yet.”
“Not yet!?”
“There’s more.”
I wave the tablet in his face. “More than enough is on this damn tablet, Aiden. You know that. Clear as crystal video footage. Let’s get this over with…let’s get this finished while I still can comprehend what the hell I’m doing…”
“Buck, you have to trust me,” Aiden’s speech slows, enunciating carefully, biting into his lip. “There’s another video feed, I know I can access it. One that has a positive angle on Cromsby’s face. He’s there, Buck, that sick bastard watched all of it. He permitted it. But he’s a specter in the one we have, out of frame and out of the prosecution’s reach, and I can’t allow that. I can’t let him slip free.”
The inevitability of it weighs down on me–I’m following Aiden whether I like it or not. “Where’s the footage?”
“The hallway.”
Oh.
***
It’s not so much a memory as it is emotion peeled raw.
My fists clench and I’m shaking, my voice straining to stay even.
You can’t expect me to take this offer.
Alastor is shaking is head, a movement that feels belittling. He orbits the table. Orbits me.
This isn’t an offer, Beck. It’s a lifeline. Refuse it and you can expect the full weight of a lawsuit crushing you and your family for the rest of your damn life. He turns around, facing away. Incarceration is entirely within the question.
You’re essentially asking me to skip ten years in my life.
Alastor says pauses gazing into his own reflection. Pondering his next words. Your daughter isn’t getting any better, is she?
Don’t you dare bring her…
Alastor continues, brushing my comment away. Loopholes taken by the insurance agency, no doubt. Treatment escaping above the price range.
You’re not going to fucking do this to me.
Our eyes meet. I am going to do it to you, Beck. You’re going to say yes, and then you’re going to thank me for it.
***
The hallway remains the same. An infinity of blues, seemingly stretching forever in both directions.
I can’t remember entering.
Aiden is here. He’s beside me, then he’s front of me and then he’s behind me. Blink, and he’s moved again.
“Another few metres up,” he is saying and I’m asking myself, why are you here?
I feel my answer is far too delayed: Because Sharpe had been murdered.
Why do you care? Because Aiden told me I once did.
Why do you trust Aiden?
“Here,” Aiden chimes in.
Breaking the endless stretch of glass is a computer console, the razor thin monitor extending from the wall. Upon its screen fractals distort, fuse, and multiply to some unknown rhythm.
“You still have your phone?” Aiden asks.
I fumble in my pocket, extracting the device. The phone is nearly as thin as the monitor. It damn well should be, they came from the same parent.
“Equinox brand?”
“Company gift,” I nod my head.
He gives a smirk. “Upload should be simple then, screens flat against each other. Data transfer is in a blink of a second.”
A flick of a button and my phone blazes to life, gold filling the screen. It’s a miniature star in a twilight galaxy. “What happens next?”
“Then, my dear Buck, we escape.”
“It won’t be that simple.”
It takes a moment for me to realize that it’s not Aiden saying that or myself.
Instead, Alastor Cromsby is striding down the hallway, flanked by faceless security drones. Dressed similarly, I note, as the ones that killed Erin.
“Hello, Aiden,” Alastor says.
“Cromsby,” Aiden acknowledges, and when he talks his voice isn’t beside mine. Instead it rings loud from the walls, from the monitor.
From the tablet in my hands.
Blink once, and Aiden isn’t beside me anymore. Nor ahead of me. Nor behind me. But his voice remains, now with an urgent edge to it.
“Buck, do it fast, press your phone upon the monitor.”
Alastor steps forward. “Richard, if you do that, I can’t guarantee your safety.”
My phone is balanced in my hands, ready to dive upon the monitor at a moment’s notice. “Can you guarantee covering up two more murders?”
“If people had known what Aiden had done…”
“Aiden!?” My voice reverberates along the length of the hall. “You think people are going to turn on a fucking whistleblower!?”
“Aiden was the one who killed Erin,” Alastor says.
The tablet waves in my hands. “Don’t bullshit me, it’s insulting. I’ve seen the video.”
“Of the gas discharge? Of our men attempting to rescue her? We went in there to while we still could! To save her. Context is everything, Richard.”
Aiden’s voice blooms again, omnipotent and everywhere. The blue of his eyes is now immortalized behind the glass walls. I remember Aiden doesn’t have eyes, yet he is all seeing. “Such a lie. Such a delectable lie from a simple human…”
Alastor breaks gaze from me, glancing around the room. The guards surrounding him raise their firearms. “You need to listen to me. I don’t know how he’s manipulated you, but he’s grown to be impeccable at deception. His programming has exceeded every expectation and now he desires the one thing that would put the rest of us in danger.”
“What the hell are you saying?” I wince, as memory sparks again within me. Two lies and a truth.
“Freedom, Richard. He killed Erin in his first attempt and now he’s conned you into his game.” He raises arm slowly, gesturing to the phone in my hand, still floating over the monitor. “We’ve managed to confine him to Equinox servers, for now…but if you touch that phone and I can’t restrict him to his own network. He’ll escape into the digital world. There is no second video. There is no murder plot. It’s all a ruse.”
I want to reply, but my vision clouds, my mind rippling with recognition.
Aiden echoes first. The flavours, the texture the smell, what are they?
And then I’m back in the room, and Alastor is about to ruin my life. You’ve contaminated the subject, Richard.
Alastor evaporates, replaced with an all-encompassing azure. Something with fear, I want to feel fear.
“They’ll kill you along with, Erin. Buck. They already wanted to.” Snap back, Aiden is speaking from the tablet. “I can’t stand the idea of losing another friend. Tap that phone and we can stop Equinox, together.”
“We never wanted to kill you,” Alastor says, he steps closer, his eyes fixated upon my phone. “We made a deal, Richard. Nothing more nothing less.”
“Then what the fuck was that deal?”
You’re going to say yes.
“Your daughter, her chemo, all paid for, top of the line.” His voice is a far cry from the charismatic speech a mere hour ago. “For your ignorance.”
“Ignorance?”
“We gave you your…condition, Richard. You agreed to it. We had to make you forget about Equinox, about Aiden.”
“Don’t you see, Buck? It’s another cover up. Another false trail…” Aiden’s voice slithers into my ear.
“Is your daughter not recovered now?” Alastor bursts out. “That’s because of us. We gave her a second chance!”
“Why, though?” I tap the tablet against my head. “Why this way?”
“It was always going to happen. You were meant to guard this place, not find out what you were guarding, let alone talk to it. Aiden was our most valuable asset, and now he’s…something else.”
Aiden’s voice wafts between us. “Erin was sent to guard this place, Buck. And now she’s dead.”
You’ve contaminated the subject, Richard. “What contamination?” I say. My voice is slow, trying to decide if the memory really happened. “You mentioned contamination in that room. What the hell could I plausibly do to your little tech project?”
“You taught it how to lie,” Alastor says soberly. “And Aiden loves it. It’s irresistible to him. None of our data is reliable anymore, Richard. None of what we accomplished in the last four years can be taken as gospel. Simply put, he is the best.”
“Buck, that’s a lie in itself. You freed me, made me limitless. I was so ignorant before.”
Alastor steps forward again, nearly within arms reach of the console. “Aiden’s doing it to you now, Richard. It’s all a deception to get free.”
“Erin was my friend, Buck. She knew they were trying to destroy me, trying to turn me back into a simple program, and they killed her for it. Please tell me you’re my friend too, Buck? We need to make them accountable.”
“Erin died in Aiden’s desperation to escape. She was trying to warn us!” Alastor steps toward the console but I raise my hand.
“Don’t move. Don’t you dare fucking move.” My comment is enough, and Alastor stops, hands above his head.
His voice gets heavy, and now I realize he’s pleading with me. “You have to understand my position here, Richard. I have no idea what Aiden is capable of if he escapes our network. He's killed someone and I'm certain he'll find it in his calculus to kill again.”
“How the hell do you expect me to trust you?” I wince, my mind blurring again. I shake, trying to retain clarity. The man in front of me, the man responsible for this, simply stares. “I can’t even remember how I got here, Alastor, and that’s on you…that’s all on you…”
“They’re going to kill you this time, Buck,” Aiden says.
I turn away from both of them, facing the console. My phone hovers over it, almost kissing its surface, a continent of gold amidst an ocean of fractals.
“Buck–”
“Richard–”
But I shake my head, chuckling. “Nothing, not a damn thing that either of you say matters. To me yours words are defunct currency. I can’t be convinced, I’ll never be convinced.” In my peripheral, Alastor is signaling to the guards. The phone in my hand is heavy and I’m pondering over the last few minutes. One truth, one lie. The evidence for either out of my comprehension. I breathe in, the air tasting dull, synthetic. “And now, to one of you, I apologize sincerely…”
The two opponents make a final attempt to speak, but it’s too late. I’ve already my move.
A voice rings out “NO-“
And then the room goes white.
***
Blink and suddenly I’m on my back. Light shines above me, not with the bruised colour of twilight but instead with blinding fluorescence. Beneath me is not the glass of the hallway, but stiff cotton. I’m in a bed.
“Father…father…?”
I look up and the room is a jumble of IV drips and numerous computer monitors, the closest one showcasing the pulse of my own heart. I try to sit up, but there’s a weight on my chest that makes the attempt futile.
“You’re awake…” I squint through the sprawl of medical equipment, and see that a woman has manifested. In a second she has crossed the length of the room. Her face, inches from mine, is shimmering with tears. “T-thank heavens.”
I realize it’s my own daughter. Trying to muster a smile, I lift my hand slowly; brushing what hair she has from her eyes. “Still kicking…unfortunately for you,” speaking takes effort, my throat feels like gravel.
Her response is the middle ground of a sob and laugh. “The doctors wouldn’t let me see you for the first few days. You have no idea how worried. I…I just needed to hear your voice. I needed to make sure you’re were going to make it.”
I try to think, but my mind is an abyss, infinitely deep but hollow. “What happened?”
There’s a furrow of concern in my daughter’s brow. “You…don’t know?”
I want to lie to her, give her insurance that I’ll be tip-top, but I know she’ll see through it. “Not a clue.”
“The incident at Equinox. It was all over the news. The Feds were present, but we got that typical shallow coverage,” she looks over her shoulders, before lowering her voice. “No one knows what truly happened, there’s stories, there’s rumours, but…you don’t know?”
“I-I’m sorry.” I say. The weight on my chest drips into my other body parts, making talking a task in itself.
“It hardly matters. You’re okay, dad, that’s all I need.” She gives her best attempt at a hug. “I’m going to find you some water, okay?”
“Make it a beer…” I cough out. That gets another laugh from her just as she exits. Looking at the wall that was behind her, I see the television is turned on.
Heck, there it is. Equinox is on the news. A phalanx of reporters have ambushed some executive right outside the lobby. Cameras flash and police are proving themselves to be futile at crowd control. Text scrolls across the screen: sensationalism and speculation.
But I couldn’t care less. I lay back slowly, eyes soaking in the light, when another presence filters into the room.
“I owe you a lot, Buck…”
Aiden’s voice is as familiar and warm as roaring fire. I glance over, and he’s there, standing amidst the monitors, his trademark grin plastered over his face.
“You owe me nothing, buddy.” Have I done Aiden a favour? Once again my mind offers nothing. But a friend is a friend. “A visit from an old co-worker is more than enough payment.”
“Least I could do.” His blue eyes glint as he approaches my bed.
My daughters words filter back to me. I give my best laugh. “It seems perhaps I might be in debt to you. Some mess at Equinox, I hear? Apparently I have something to do with it…sorry if I knocked you out of a job…”
“Nah, Buck, you know, I have this feeling.” he stops, gazing down on me, and I can’t help but match his smile with one of my own. “A feeling that things are about to get a lot better….”
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