«If you were thinking of having to apologize for something, don't do it», William warned her, preventing any justification. Kate nodded silently. She then remembered that her colleague came to see her for a specific reason.
«So, they told you I flopped down to the ground.»
«What are you talking about?», William asked, pretending to be evasive.
«I fainted. Isn't that why you're here?»
«No», William clarified, «I came to admire your beautiful cottage.»
Kate – who almost believed him - replied in kind.
«Come on Deveux, it's Dufour the company joker, we don't need another one!»
They both laughed. William then asked his colleague to explain what had happened. Kate could not avoid being inaccurate in providing her account of the matter. She confided to him that she did not remember much, that she had woken up in Leigh Madison's first aid unit, that she had been taken to Saint Patrick Medical Center and finally taken back home. Not much more than that, just what people told her later on. In answer to William's question if she could at least remember what she was doing before her illness, Kate still had to reply with involuntary superficiality: according to what Malcolm Dietrich had told her, she had just entered her boss' office for reasons yet to be determined; she had barely spoken a few disconnected words, then she had fallen down like a ton of bricks.
«Did they do tests in the clinic?», William inquired. Kate shook her head.
«They only asked me to contact them urgently in the event of experiencing strange sensations or other unusual phenomena, such as fever, excessive fatigue, etc.»
«Didn't they even take a blood sample from you? That seems strange to me», William added, a little upset. «You should dig deeper into this story, take the days you need and do more specific tests.»
«I'll do it», Kate assured him, «but it's complicated, I can't leave home for too long.»
She pointed to her mother's bedroom. William closed his eyes and regretted having forgotten such an important detail. He could not but think about the strange similarity between his amnesia and Kate's and decided to make her aware of that weird episode. He told her he had been at the Garmstein Park for a walk - without mentioning the stormy interlude with Lucinda - and, on the way back, he had stopped by a newly opened pub, the Pilgrim's Refuge. Kate wasn't familiar with the name, but it was no big surprise because, by her own admission, she wasn't at all an expert on bars and dance halls. In any case, William had then taken a drink, met a girl and, because of alcohol, had got physical with a man named Donald. Kate nearly fell off her chair: she couldn't imagine William fighting people in the street! He wasn't a violent guy!
«To cut it short», William continued, «I too must have fainted. But there are two crucial differences from your case: first, I remember almost everything that happened before; second – and this is really puzzling - I found myself at home without knowing how. In my bed! Can you believe that? And the clothes I was wearing were intact.»
«Someone must have brought you back home, it seems pretty clear to me», Kate promptly replied, trying to calm him down.
«Yeah, but who? And why didn't they take me to the hospital? And how did they know where I live? Why wasn't anyone home when I woke up and why didn't anyone leave a message to explain what had happened? Honestly, I would have done so.»
«Woo, hold your horses William!», Kate said, raising her hand. «It's indeed correct what you said, I would have probably behaved the same way too, but maybe someone else wouldn't. Let's analyze it calmly. First, it may well be that the bar owner didn't want any trouble, so he likely asked some employee to take you home without going to the hospital, or they would have had to give explanations to paramedics. A home address can be easily traced via the communicator or in some other way. It's you the computer scientist, you should know it well. Secondly, they must have entered your house using your card, taking care to avoid prying eyes. In my humble opinion, if no one stayed and watched over you, it was precisely because they wanted to avoid any risk of getting involved in something bigger. If, by any chance, you had returned to the pub to complain, they would have denied everything and said they didn't know you or that you were too drunk to remember well. And that wouldn't have been a lie, is that right?»
«No. It's true. I had drunk a few too many glasses», agreed William. Kate then took the opportunity to catch her breath. «But how do you explain the fact that I didn't have blood stains on my shirt, or even a bruise?»
«Who's to say that you had necessarily to have them? Maybe you had some memory issues because of alcohol. You and the other guy may have pushed each other and one of you fell to the ground, but nothing so dramatic.» Kate paused to give William the chance to think about it. «It's natural that you want to understand what happened, you'd better go back to... what's its name? Refuge? And ask for clarification. Don't be too rough, I beg you. You don't have a precise idea of the facts, don't throw accusations. Be discreet.»
After that careful examination, William remained a long while in silence, with his chin resting on the palm of his right hand, reflecting on Kate's arguments. He seemed so absentminded. Every now and then he nodded alone, thinking back to the whole talk. Kate then burst into laughter.
«Deveux, I guess I've really convinced you, didn't I?»
William smiled.
«Yeah, I would say so, damn! And you were the one who was convalescent at home! Hell, you look like a computer. You should work for Guild for the Respect for the Edict, you would have a bright future.»
«In all modesty, over thirty years of passion for movies! These kinds of mysteries don't last very long when I'm around», said Kate triumphantly. She then got up from her chair and - with her face still full of satisfaction - informed William that the time was right to let him taste Maria Gomez's famous artisan liqueur.
William left Kate's cottage early in the evening. Fortunately the social carrier stop was just a few steps away, so he could easily continue his journey to the Pilgrim's Refuge. In order not to upset Kate, he had agreed to seal that moment of joy with a sip of Maria's nectar, a killer liqueur, but then he began to feel a little dazed and sleepy. He certainly could not give up the investigation and go back home, so he rubbed his eyes hard and decided to move on. Kate's arguments had just partially persuaded him. So many things still failed to convince him, he could not be completely sincere, after all, and tell her everything in detail: that he had seen Donald again the next day, unharmed; that the bartender - what was her name? - seemed not to know her colleague who had been at the counter the day before; of his overreaction, the fact that he had fought like a beast; lastly, why no one had warned Militia, considering that there were so many people outside the pub.
After a fifteen minutes trip and a last stretch on foot, William returned to visit Pilgrim's Refuge for the third time. The place wasn't very lively, almost silent. Many vacant tables and there was no live music, just a little background music coming from the centralized sound system. Except for a couple who was talking excitedly, nobody seemed to enjoy the evening too much. William identified the corner of the room where the customers presumably performed and chose to keep away so as not to draw attention. He sat aside, without ordering a drink: he would do it only when necessary, if a waiter came to take his order. He had to stay sharp as long as possible, otherwise he would risk wasting more time and get nothing done.
He waited for about half an hour, then checked the time on the communicator: ten p.m. had just passed and, as a rule, all venues had to close by midnight. There were no traces of Cassie, but not only of her: no one was performing, there was no live music, no karaoke. During the wait, the influx of customers had not even increased and no waiter, among other things, had asked him if he wanted a drink. He began to grow impatient, but preferred to avoid going to ask for information at the bar: better to preserve his anonymity. He pulled the communicator out again and typed in random sequences on the keyboard, just to let people see he was busy, in ca
se some client looked in his direction. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed that the only couple who was barely enlivening the place had started to gesture, pointing to the music corner. He therefore leaned forward to better hear their conversation, with the hope of getting some useful information. From what he gathered, there had been a sound system failure, so they was forced to cancel the planned program. The most loyal customers had been evidently warned via the global network and he certainly was not among them. He clenched his fists to control his anger. He had been feeling under pressure for weeks, maybe months, and he couldn't really bear it anymore. He absolutely had to cross at least one item off his list of weird things: he could not let the flood of misadventures and oddities overwhelm him. He would stay in his seat until closing time, at any cost. He motioned to a waiter to bring him a dark beer, and screw sobriety! After the third beer he got up and went to the toilet to urgently empty the bladder and upon his return he found an unexpected surprise: there was a girl at the music corner who was fiddling with the technical equipment. She had his back to him, so he did not see her well, however her short black hair didn't quite match Cassie's. William sat back in his place and waited to find out more. The girl was mainly focused on checking the functionality of the microphone, she tapped it with her forefinger and so it produced an annoying noise that came out amplified by the speakers. To judge it from afar, the equipment had to be very old, however, he had read somewhere that in the music sector the old stuff was always the best. William followed her step by step with his eyes, waiting for her to turn around, so he would look at her a little better. The girl eventually pleased him, she turned her gaze to the people in the venue and verified that none of the few customers was paying attention to her, except for a man sitting alone at a table, who was intensely staring at her. She looked at him too and held his gaze for a while: maybe someone she knew? The place was a bit dark, she could not say for sure. At that very moment William let out a gasp. Those eyes, that face: she looked just like Cassie. The hair was obviously different, yet it had to be her. He approached her calmly and the girl - who was about to return to minding her business - decided to stop working and go meet him.
«Have we met before? I'm sorry but I have a bad memory, I'm just terrible with things like that!», she apologized. William scanned her well from a short distance and convinced himself that she was precisely who she was supposed to be.
«Cassie? We met a few days ago, do you remember?»
The girl held back a laugh: he had mistaken her for someone else.
«Oh, that's why I felt like I was being watched. I'm sorry, but you must have mistaken. My name is Laura, nice to meet you.»
She politely held out her hand, William shook it, yet he was still amazed and continued to meticulously analyze her.
«But does that... Cassie look so much like me?», she added, laughing.
«It's not possible. It is you. It must be you. The hair was blond, and long, but apart from that... it's you. It is absolutely you.»
William, while describing his Cassie, touched Laura's hair. She instinctively drew back a little: she didn't like intrusive people, even more if perfect strangers.
«Is she your sister? Are you twins?», William insisted.
«Look, I have no idea who's that girl you're looking for. My name is Laura and sometimes I pop here to sing. Now, if you don't mind, I should try to make this stuff work again», she said, referring to the equipment at her feet. «You sound sincere to me, maybe I really look like her», she concluded, «so if you want my advice, try asking the barman at the counter if he knows her.»
William grabbed her arm and squeezed it hard.
«It's the second time that people try to send me back and forth, now you must explain to me what's going on!», he shouted, shaking her arm. Laura got frightened and moaned for pain. Her eyes went searching for someone, whether employee or customer, who could come to her rescue.
«Leave me, you're hurting me!»
«I want the truth!», William shouted again. Just a few moments later he saw someone putting an arm under his armpit and grabbing his stomach tight. One of the Pilgrim's Refuge's bartenders dragged him away from the girl and then threw him to the ground.
«Get lost!», the barman commanded. William stood up slowly. He stayed crouched for a few seconds to think it over, to reflect on where his life was going. He'd never been a violent man. He hated himself.
«I just want to understand... I have to...», he said, gasping.
«You'll understand whatever you need to understand tomorrow morning. Now please, go away», the bartender interrupted him.
Everyone remained at his post, waiting for William to leave. Laura, who was still scared, touched her aching arm. William got back on his feet and glanced at the entire room: they were all staring at him, holding their breath. He turned and walked to the exit of the venue, kicking out the stools on his trajectory.
It was raining outside, but it was the least of his concern. He didn't like umbrellas, they were just a nuisance. And that night they would be even more. He felt more and more dejected and empty inside. He reached the social carrier stop in small steps, letting himself be enveloped by the rain which was falling down copiously. He felt neither hot nor cold, everything was now irrelevant. He took the decision to not give a damn about anything and anyone, he would no longer investigate, he would no longer care about anything or worry about the opinions of others. He just wanted to take refuge in his bed and forget everything.
The coach of the social carrier he entered in was empty, so he took off his shoes and laid down, occupying three seats in a row. The motion and the vibrations relaxed him and he got caught by a slight numbness, until he arrived at the stop near Numbered District and the driver woke him up, shouting something through the microphone. William moved abruptly and turned his head in all directions, as if he had awakened from a bad dream. The driver screamed again: he asked his passenger whether he wanted to get off or continue. William didn't answer and left the coach, receiving more insults. He took a few steps, then stopped because of nausea, and bent over to vomit. Disgusted by his own regurgitation, he wiped his mouth with a handkerchief and looked for the nearest public fountain to wash away that unpleasant taste. He was a little disoriented, but he still remembered precisely that they had mounted two water dispensers at both ends of the Quarter. He found the one closest to his position, cleaned himself up and - not satisfied with the rain coming down - rubbed his face and scalp with the cold jet of the fountain. When he had enough, he resumed his journey home, staggering a couple of times due to some irregularities in the pavement. Only when he was close to him, he noticed that a militiaman all alone, standing in the middle of the square with his arms folded, carefully monitored him. He had to be on patrol - and there was nothing strange about it - yet the fact that he was alone was rather unusual. William was surprised, he slowed down a little, just to look at him sideways without making him suspicious. The militiaman let him pass by without doing anything, then followed him, staying at a constant distance of about fifty feet. William avoided turning around, but the sound of footsteps made him nervous and his gait became unnatural, frequently varying his speed and deviating from the path leading home. He was close to Building 12 and his mysterious pursuer showed no sign of surrender. If he wanted to charge him with something, William reflected, he would do it without too many scruples, instead of merely following him. There was not much road left to the entrance of Building 16, it was unlikely that the militiaman would follow him into his attic, without having previously warned him to stop. The adrenaline had now cleared any trace of fogginess from his mind and the cool of the night reminded him that it hadn't been a brilliant idea to get his hair wet at that time.
Once he faced the entrance of the building, he saw, in the dim light, another figure who was leaning against the wall as if waiting for someone. He had no idea who it was, the rain - which meanwhile had intensified again - prevented him from getting a clear look. He slowed d
own the pace of his strides until he walked like a tourist on vacation, then he stopped completely. The unknown subject seemed to notice him and walked towards him, showing no hurry. William was seized by a sudden fear: it was an ambush, without a shadow of a doubt. That's why the other militiaman had moved cautiously, keeping his distance - he reasoned: he knew his colleague would block him off on the opposite side of the street. He backed off a little, then made a 360-degree rotation to track down the first militiaman, whom he had forgotten for a moment. He looked in all directions, but he seemed to have disappeared into thin air. He had a wide view of the area, if he was close he would certainly not go unnoticed. No, the easiest explanation was that he was hiding, perhaps to leave the first move to his colleague and intervene at a later time. Although he was following that reasoning, he didn't understand the need for all those precautions: they were two against one and obviously armed; they would subdue him without even having to struggle too much. William then decided to focus his attention on the guy who had seen near Building 16 and went to meet him, vigorously protesting.
«What the hell do you want from me? Let's finish this once and for all, I'm ready!»
The alleged militiaman stopped immediately. The next few seconds left William stunned.
«Bill? What's happening?»
«Who is it?», William Deveux roared again.
«Bill, it's me... Lucinda.»
In the light of the street lamps, William could at least dismantle part of the plot he had hastily fabricated in his mind. Lucinda's features became increasingly clear as he approached, until he found her right in front of him, soaked with rain and with her hair all messed up.
«Lucinda, what are you doing here?», he asked worriedly, placing both hands on her shoulders. Then he looked back again: there was still a militiaman missing, he had solved only half of the riddle. Once he made sure that there was nothing or no one in sight, he put an end to that record-breaking apnea, breathing deeply into his lungs.
The Ruling Impulses Page 19
