The Ruling Impulses

by Francesco Portone

  «Now I remember. I remember what happened, Bill. Something dirty is going on here and Leigh Madison Enterprise is involved.»

  Chapter XVI

  Ten days had passed since Dominic Deveux's death and William had not yet received any information from Militia headquarters regarding the return of the body. No news at all. Caroline - who had temporarily moved to her boyfriend's home to help him mourn - continued to suggest him to be patient, to not risk anything that would upset the militiamen. In the meanwhile, William had reluctantly got back to work. As a rookie, he could not take too many days off, so he did his best to be strong and exorcise the pain by diving head first into the daily routine. Caroline waited for him at home everyday, spending her days studying in solitude. She wanted to be a doctor and was working hard to reach her dream, but the silence of those bare rooms made her uncomfortable. A lover of vibrant and dynamic life like her had difficulty concentrating in a place like that. Before the accident, Caroline spent most of her time at the local university, maintaining relationships, collaborating with various departments and studying a lot of hours a day. Being part of that teeming community helped her learning ability and improved her academic performance. The misfortune had brought with it a small twist in her life. She would have to miss a lot of classes at the university and try to study at William's house. She could not leave William at such a time, she wanted him to find someone at home when he got back from work, and have a hot meal and some selfless love. She didn't want to leave him alone in a house which, after the death of both parents, could become some sort of mausoleum.

  Many employees at Leigh Madison Enterprise were baffled to find out that a new colleague - who had been on the job for a few weeks - had to face such a loss. They didn't know how to behave, if it was more appropriate to offer their condolences and ask something about his father's passing or simply let him bear the pain alone, and so, a little selfishly, save themselves the hassle. The two Katherine, Ramos and Spender, who worked on the same floor as William, were the ones who kept up with the news about the new colleague more than everyone else; the cool one, as they had nicknamed him. They certainly seemed the most emotionally involved in that sad event, though they kept themselves at a safe distance.

  For his part, William did his utmost to stay concentrated, to successfully complete the training process and avoid blowing up so much hard work. His father Dominic had been so proud of him when he was employed by Leigh Madison Enterprise that the least he could do at that moment was to give the best of himself and honor his memory. It was tough, really tough, but if only they returned the body to him... if only they allowed him to give his father the final goodbye and make arrangements for a dignified funeral, perhaps he would accept that tragedy with resignation. Unfortunately, everything was too quiet and silent on Militia side, so William couldn't help but wondering where his father's body was in those days, where they had laid his body and if they were taking care of him. As chilling as it was, he could not just ignore the course of nature, the possibility of finding his body transfigured, deteriorated. It certainly was necessary to hurry, but always taking the right precautions. Caroline was completely right about that. His girlfriend had virtually turned into a firefighter right from the start, and tried to cool every desire for revenge, rebellion and protest of her boyfriend. She had shown much more wisdom and pragmatism than William had ever had. In order to maintain a sort of link with his father, William had no other choice but returning every evening to the place of the tragic accident, re-examine the ground to identify even a small stain of blood, an insignificant shred of cloth, anything that could connect him to his parent. He had to hurry all the times, leave the office at the exact end of the working day and arrive at Lowell Street before sunset took away everything and gave way to a dark and shapeless molasses. Unfortunately, with the exception of residual traces left on the ground by the militiamen on the day of the incident, he never found anything precious, neither on the emotional level and nor even as regards the investigations. It obviously was not up to him to investigate, he however did not rely too much on the thoroughness of the Militia officers in charge: they would not lose any sleep over a trivial car accident. Was the culprit identified? Did they already question him? It only remained to wait, hoping that justice would be done.

  Every time he came home, Caroline went to meet him, ask him how was his day and if he returned to that place. William usually just nodded to all those questions, then shut himself in the shower cabin and there he remained for a half hour or more. Caroline took care of asking him what he wanted for dinner and William always answered with a laconic «do as you please».

  A new element intervened on the thirteenth day after the accident. William, on his way back from work, had passed through Lowell Street for his daily search, though being less and less convinced about the usefulness of those efforts. In any case, that time he was not alone. A little farther on - on the corner of Ridge Avenue - a boy barely of age, dressed in rags, was sitting on the floor mumbling something in a fluctuating tone of voice. He let himself fall cyclically backwards with a certain violence, hitting the concrete wall with his back. At first William thought that the boy was trying to play some movie character in his disturbed mind and did not pay much attention to him. Minutes later, William began to get more and more interested in the boy, instead, and put aside his part-time job as a forensic expert. The seemingly disconnected phrases and the sounds he made now and then, repeated several times, ended up intriguing him. In particular, the word 'brioche', as well as the attempt to reproduce with his voice the sound of a roaring engine, induced him to deepen the matter, if only to remove any doubt. William approached the boy cautiously, as far as he knew he could also be dangerous. He stood on the sidewalk some twenty feet away, pretending to scrutinize a point in the distance. From what he managed to intercept, in the boy's mind the roar of the car's engine kept growing and culminated with the impact against something undefined. The thunderous 'boom' he kept repeating didn't give rise to uncertainties: it had to be a collision or an explosion. After that, there were some 'brioches' that 'flew away'. William took a few seconds to reason, then, disappointed by the waste of time, he made the diagnosis, defining the boy's chatter as “rantings of an unfortunate person suffering from mental problems”.

  Dusk was approaching fast, so William thought he had enough and it was time to go home. He was tired of going around in circles, tired of looking for who-knows-what, but it was the only way to not accept the idea that his father was gone; that he would have to hide the memory of him someplace in his mind and bring it back to light only in a distant future, when perhaps the so-called civil society would grant him the consent to reopen the album of memories for a few minutes and taste a drop of nostalgia.

  Caroline Morton, repeating a habit that had been going on for several days, went to meet William as a pet would do. As adorable as she was, William Deveux could not get any comfort out of all that kindness and sincere affection.

  That evening Caroline let him find some olive bread, carefully made with her own hands. It was still warm and William could see the faint cloud of steam rising up and savor its tantalizing scent. He approached the girl - who was still wearing her apron and oven gloves - and squeezed her hand. «I'm so sorry», he said, with tears in his eyes. She didn't understand and hesitated for a few seconds. «For what?», was all that Caroline could say. William hugged her in silence. «You'll take the shower later», she suggested, «let's eat it while it's warm.»

  William especially appreciated the slightly crunchy crust. «Is it good?», the girl asked him. «More than good!», replied the boyfriend, refreshed. «I put in some butter and sugar to give it that sweet taste», Caroline clarified. «True», confirmed William, «it almost feels like eating a...»

  The young man stopped chewing and suddenly fell silent. He stared for a moment at the bitten slice of bread in his hand. A small piece of olive broke off and fell on the plate. He then jumped from his chair, threw his arms aro
und the girl's neck and kissed her on the cheek. «You're a genius», he said, before racing out of the house.

  As he galloped back to Lowell Street, William thought it best to slow down and follow a steady pace. Only children were allowed to run around without attracting attention. He found the homeless man in the same corner in which he had left him and, at a guess, he was still blabbering nonsense. He approached him slowly so as not to risk making him nervous, then, once he was sure that the boy would make no sudden movements, William crouched in front of him and asked for his name. He got no answer, so he decided to break the ice by making the formal introductions. «My name is William, nice to meet you. Could you tell me your name?» The homeless guy began to swing as if he needed an energy boost so to be able to speak. TOMMY AND WILLY ARE GOOD FRIENDS, TOMMY AND WILLY ARE GOOD FRIENDS, the young man started to frantically repeat. William Deveux took that answer as good and figured that his name was Tommy. «It's a pleasure to meet you, Tommy. I live near here.» The boy continued to swing and to sing the new hymn of friendship with a gradually more tenuous voice. William smiled. «Tommy, may I ask you a few questions? Do you like brioches?» Tommy seemed to appreciate the subject, he increased the swings, and made sounds of approval, as if he were biting one. William, instinctively, grabbed him by the arm, but without squeezing. «Did you see any brioches recently? Maybe here on the floor?» Tommy, as if he woke up from the trance, resumed singing aloud and, as far as William could tell, a certain Mrs. Tillson usually bought him brioches. «Forget about Mrs. Tillson, Tommy. I wanted to know if you saw someone who dropped some brioches on the floor in the last few days», William asked, squeezing his arm tighter. The boy then got agitated and got stuck on the phrase 'the floor is dirty, the floor is dirty'. William therefore loosened his grip and asked Tommy to make an effort and talk to him about the brioches that flew away. As soon as he listened to that expression, Tommy stopped abruptly, as if someone entered the shutdown code. After a few seconds of complete silence, with his gaze lost in the void, Tommy started back to play that scene that had attracted William's interest an hour before. Again the growing roar of the engine, again the collision and the brioches that flew away.

  The bread prepared by Caroline reminded William of the taste of croissants. That gustatory sensation awakened in him the memory of a fundamental detail: on the day of the tragedy, his father had whispered to him that he would go to the bakery to buy croissants. However, he had found nothing like that on the scene of the incident. The militiamen had likely cleaned up the scene before his arrival. The position of the body and the place where it had been found clearly indicated that his father was returning home and not moving away from it. Coming home empty handed? It seemed quite unlikely to William, Dominic would have never done such thing; he would have rather brought other sweets if the croissants had run out. Why did Tommy's brioches fly away? Because someone or something had obviously hit with extreme violence the one who carried them. Tommy probably witnessed the car accident and started playing that episode in his mind. The problem now was to find a way to pull out something useful from the boy's confused psyche. Unfortunately it was almost dark and he could not take it too long: the more time William spent trying to stimulate Tommy to give some clue, the more he risked panicking him and arousing suspicion. Without forgetting that Caroline had no news of him and could not contact him, since William left his communicator at home. No, he would have to postpone his investigation to the next day, in the hope that the young homeless man would not forget their conversation and force him to start all over.

  Intolerant to that late spring heat, Mitchell Lamontaigne, meanwhile, sat safely, sealed inside his expensive pearl-gray company car, courtesy of Minneman Company. It had been many days now that, to his usual business consultant and fixer activities, he had also added another job: third-party spying. A job he did not consider up to his standards and he could not wait to quit as soon as possible. Minneman Company had received word that Dominic Deveux's son went to the accident site every day to conduct his own analysis. That thing had been judged not negligible by the pharmaceutical company and so they had decided not to take risks and to order Mr. Lamontaigne to monitor the area and, if necessary, to clean up everything once and for all. They knew that William Deveux usually reached Lowell Street late in the afternoon, after work, so Mitchell Lamontaigne got there around 5:00 pm, about half an hour before him. He killed some time by reading stock market news and finding potential speculative opportunities. Behind his sunglasses he had seen William Deveux going up and down Lowell Street several times in the previous days, struggling to trace who knows what. Seeing that naive and pathetic guy striving so hard caused him frequent eruptions of hilarity. That June 15, however, was a less enjoyable day than others. That sort of interview that William Deveux had with that homeless person - for its duration and for the fact that the young man seemed to have come out of it reinvigorated – could not be underestimated. Mitchell Lamontaigne remembered well that the homeless had been present on the scene the day he ran over Dominic Deveux to perform the assigned task. He did not give much importance to that thing because it was obvious that the boy suffered from mental disorders and therefore no way could he become a reliable witness. There was a risk, however, that he could put William Deveux on the right track and encourage him to investigate. He then decided to pull the communicator out of the bag and report to those concerned.

  «It's me. We may have a problem.»

  «What? What happens?»

  «That retarded... the homeless», Lamontaigne alluded, in brutal terms. «Maybe he remembers something. He just talked to Deveux.»

  «Talked? What d'you mean 'talked'? You said he was a lunatic and there was nothing to worry about!»

  «Brake, brake», said Lamontaigne, warning his interlocutor, «that boy is a complete lunatic, there's no doubt about it. However...»

  «However?»

  «He may have unintentionally provided some details. Deveux looked - how to say - more motivated after that conversation.»

  «That's great!», shouted the mysterious interlocutor. «We just found out that who we believed to be a poor demented until a few minutes ago, not only he is able to speak, but he's also capable of having a conversation. Great job, no kidding.»

  Mitchell Lamontaigne let his interlocutor curse without objecting. When he realized he had vented enough, he spoke again and gave his opinion on how to proceed.

  «Listen up, nothing is compromised. I'll try to remove the homeless. In the meantime, you tell them to return the body of Dominic Deveux. You'll see that, once he gets the body back, Deveux's son will calm down. He's just a young man who lost his father after all. Not a guerrilla fighter.»

  «Ah!», said the voice from the other side, «now you're getting cheesy too! We wouldn't be in this mess if...»

  «Give me a break», Lamontaigne stopped him, «and do as I told you, if you don't want to have serious problems.»

  «Hmm, I have to check if they are progressing with that... work», the mysterious interlocutor explained. «They are slow... and arrogant. I don't understand why it's taking so long to clean a corpse from every... traces.»

  «Don't ask me, and tell them to hurry. It's urgent.»

  Mitchell Lamontaigne then broke off the call and rocketed off again, under cover of the darkness that had arrived in the meantime.

  After having decided to postpone his investigations until the following day - and having said goodbye to Tommy the homeless - William made his way home, thoughtful. The steps were initially quick, but then got slower and slower, as his brain tried to elaborate some strategy that would allow him to extract some useful fragment or frame from Tommy's map of memories. Getting to know the model of the car and its serial number might have been too much to ask, as well as getting an accurate description of the driver, yet trying would certainly not hurt. Another good idea could be to find out if there was any footage covering the area of the accident at that time. In his opinion, the militiamen would not surel
y work hard to do justice to a pedestrian hit by a vehicle. Too trivial for them. He had to think about it himself.

  When William finally returned home, he found Caroline waiting for him with wild eyes. The young woman had spent almost two hours worrying about him and wondering where he was gone, without being able to contact him because of the communicator. William had seemed more relieved when he had escaped and she could not understand why. She soon started to fear he might get into some trouble, do something crazy, have a fight with some militiaman and that swept away her initial optimism. «Where have you been?», she asked him with a mixture of anger and despair, like a wife who reproaches her husband for his gambling habit. William avoided the question, begging her not to worry. He was anxious to explain to her in detail the intuition he had had, to tell her about the olive bread - which was now sadly lying on the kitchen table - and how he connected it to the croissants. Caroline's expression, however, did not give rise to justifications and stopped his desire to provide clarifications. «I'm sorry. I was so caught up in that search that I forgot everything else», was all that William hardly managed to whisper. Caroline, still visibly upset, took a deep, shivering breath and, in a broken voice, told him that she got worried, that she feared some reaction and, above all, that she had already lost Dominic and had no intention of crying over him too. William therefore tried to get close to reassure her, but Caroline blocked him with an eloquent wave of her hand, like a militiaman on patrol would do. «Let's finish dinner. It's surely cold now», the girl said as a reproach, and the two settled down at the table to silently chew damp cabbage, a chicken breast that got as hard as a shoe sole, and olive bread, which, fortunately, had retained a certain fragrance. «If you don't like dinner, there's a pizza in the fridge, go heat it up», she added again, frustrated. William let her vent without saying a word, chewing slowly and trying to find the right words to ask for forgiveness. Caroline finished the meal in just a few bites and, without delay, went to put the dishes into the sink and wash them, leaving William to turn the last boring cabbages in his plate.