Her Mind's Eye

by D C Vaughn

  ‘I’ll do what I can,’ Kieran replied, ‘but you know as well as I do that CID will draft in new detectives to work the case. They won’t want us working on this when we’re so closely connected with you.’

  ‘Any idea who they’ll bring in?’

  ‘None,’ Kieran said. ‘Rest easy, okay? We’ll work this out.’

  ‘I couldn’t have shot Sam. I just couldn’t.’

  Kieran nodded but said nothing more as he left the room with Hannah.

  ***

  V

  It was another three days before Rebecca was ready to be discharged from hospital.

  The effects of the drugs that were used to maintain her induced coma took time to be flushed from her system, and over the past twenty–four hours she had begun to feel something like her old self. The mental fog that had clouded her mind began to lift, and despite the extraordinary circumstances she felt at least a little relieved to be back on her feet once again.

  The reflection she’d seen in the mirror of her room on that first day of her recovery period had taken some getting used to, however.

  Her head had been heavily bandaged, and changing those dressings with the nurse’s help had revealed the extent of the injury she had received. Rebecca had been careful to grill the surgeon, Dr Miller, who had operated on her about the details of how she had come to be hit by a bullet, and he had been quite forthcoming, despite the nature of what he described.

  ‘It’s a fairly classic injury,’ Miller reported. ‘The user of the weapon aims the barrel at their lower jaw, facing upward, and pulls the trigger. What they don’t account for is the pistol’s recoil and the awkward angle of their wrist. The pistol jerks back under recoil, their wrist is not strong enough to arrest the movement, and the bullet either misses their face entirely or passes through the lower portion of the mouth and out of one side of the face, usually taking a lot of the bone and muscle tissue with it.’

  Rebecca thought about that now as the dressings were removed for the third time, this time to be reduced to a single bandage around her temple. The surgeon had explained that the bullet had not entered her head or jaw at all, but had skimmed the side of her face and taken a sliver of bone out of her temple.

  ‘Most bullets fold up upon entering the human body, especially if they encounter bones,’ he had explained further. ‘The one that hit you did not, but the impact velocity created a shockwave through your skull sufficient to cause trauma the frontal lobe and right hemisphere of your brain, rupturing blood vessels across that region. We induced a coma to protect you from any brain swelling around the injury, which would likely have killed you or resulted in severe brain damage without treatment.’

  Rebecca’s right temple was marked by a ragged, red and black scab two inches long that extended from the corner of one eye up to her hairline. To her relief, her long dark hair was untouched, but the skin around the wound was purple with heavy bruising, like thunderclouds lined with the sun’s glow. The surgeon’s words came back to her as she watched the nurse work on the dressings.

  ‘Fifty per cent of brain haemorrhage patients deteriorate within the first twenty–four to forty–eight hours. You were lucky, the effects of the near–miss were temporary and what bleeding there was stopped fairly quickly. You’re a lucky girl.’

  She sat now in front of the mirror, her face looking back at her. Her mother always called her a “proper English rose”, although Rebecca saw herself more as a rough–around–the–edges dandelion. She had always been a bit of a tom–boy as a child, less interested in Barbie than in climbing trees and riding horses. A “good bit of outdoors in her”, another of her mother’s favourite descriptions, largely used to cover her mortification whenever Rebecca traipsed through the back door of their house covered in mud and with a big stick in her hand. She knew that her mother would much rather that Rebecca had become a lawyer or a doctor, rather than the policewoman she had for so long desired to be. That said, her parents had supported her through everything and were no less proud when she passed–out of her training course and wore her uniform for the first day on the job.

  That all seemed like a good few years ago now.

  There were dark rings around her eyes, bruised sclera competing on the right side of her face with the bruising around the wound to her temple.

  ‘It’ll heal soon enough,’ the nurse said with confidence. ‘You’re young and strong.’

  Rebecca didn’t feel young or particularly strong. She felt bedraggled and weary, aged and without direction. She couldn’t remember how she’d gotten here, and though it was tough to admit to herself, the reason she felt so uncomfortable wasn’t the pain in the wound or the brief, stabbing headaches she’d been getting since the shooting. It was the lack of control that she detested, the not knowing how she got here. There was a three–day wide gap in her knowledge, in her memory, and the desire to do something about it was almost overwhelming.

  ‘Rebecca!’

  She turned as a man entered the room, a huge bunch of flowers in one hand. Tall, broad shouldered, with floppy grey hair parted in the centre and a warm smile, Ashton Kershaw strode into the room and embraced her. She smelled the scent of his neatly pressed suit and sensed the warmth in his embrace before he stepped back, big hands on her shoulders as he appraised her.

  ‘I knew that even being shot couldn’t keep you down. How are you?’

  Ashton Kershaw was the founder of Neuray Solutions and had been Sam’s boss for years until he’d retired, selling the company to an American conglomerate. Rebecca knew him well, as he’d visited their house on occasion for dinner and always spoken highly of Sam’s work and character. Ebbuliant and intelligent in equal measure, he’d made his fortune in neural network technology.

  Rebecca managed a smile as she shrugged her shoulders. ‘I’m okay.’

  ‘I’m so sorry about Sam, has there been any news?’

  The nurse packed away her kit and left the room as Rebecca shook her head. ‘MCIT are onto the case but there’s nothing yet. They say on the television that they dredged the river in both directions but nothing’s been found.’

  Ashton nodded and sighed. ‘I can’t believe what’s happened. Sam was fine, there was nothing that suggested he was in any kind of trouble. Do the police have any idea why you were targeted? Something to do with your work with the police perhaps?’

  Again, Rebecca shook her head.

  ‘Nobody knows. It could have been a mugging gone wrong, anything. I don’t have much memory of what happened.’

  ‘A ghastly business,’ Ashton uttered, his choice of words giving away his Etonion education, a life spent among the elite of society. ‘I hope whoever is behind this is caught soon and punished without mercy by the courts.’

  ‘Speaking of which,’ Rebecca said, slipping back into detective mode as though she’d never left. ‘Do you have any idea at all why Sam might have been targeted?’

  Ashton appeared surprised, as though he hadn’t before considered the possibility.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he replied after a moment’s thought. ‘Sam was working on projects for us that were highly classified, which rather tends to ensure that nobody would have known about them but us. It’s hard to imagine that he would be targeted for his work when there were few people who knew about it, let alone understood it. Besides, in all cases the technology is in its infancy and was not yet ready for market, so there would have been no financial benefit in acquiring it.’

  Rebecca inclined her head. ‘What about co–workers?’

  Ashton smiled. ‘I don’t think his team could muster a bad bone between them. They’re academics, scientists, explorers of the unknown, not killers. I’d have thought that your success in putting away some very unpleasant people would be a far richer source of suspects?’

  ‘Maybe,’ Rebecca replied. ‘I’ll have to look through what we’ve got and see if anyone fits the bill, but the team are already on the case so I’d better get back to it.’

  Ash
ton nodded and placed the flowers on a table next to her.

  ‘I wanted to pop down and tell you that we’re here for you, any time,’ he said. ‘Medical care, financial support, anything that you need Rebecca, just call me and I’ll ensure it gets done.’

  Rebecca smiled as she hugged Ashton one last time.

  ‘Find who did this,’ he whispered to her, ‘and make sure they pay dearly.’

  ‘I will.’

  Ashton turned to leave. Rebecca hesitated, but she knew that she had to ask.

  ‘Ashton, did I file a complaint about Sam with the company?’

  Ashton stopped at the door with his back to her, one hand on the frame. She saw his shoulders sag briefly as he turned to look over his shoulder at her.

  ‘I’m sure that it was just a one–off, Rebecca. Sam was under a lot of stress at work and…’

  ‘I just need to know.’

  Ashton sighed, and nodded.

  ‘You filed a complaint against him with me, rather than the police, to give him a chance to rethink his ways. The board of Neuray was made aware of the claim at the time.’

  Rebecca swallowed thickly. ‘What did he do?’

  Ashton, visibly uncomfortable, uttered his reply.

  ‘He hit you, Rebecca, more than once.’

  Ashton turned away quickly, as though afraid of continuing the conversation, and ambled away down the corridor outside her room. Rebecca stood alone in the wake of his reply and closed her eyes. She could see Sam in her mind’s eye, walking along the towpath with her. They were arm in arm, not hurrying, chatting away. Had she forgiven him? Had his violent act been a one–off, something that had happened and then been forgotten again in the rush of lives moving ever–forward?

  More than once.

  She turned to her bag to pack the rest of her clothes when a blinding pain seared through one side of her skull. She gasped, doubled over as her hands flew to her head, and she saw Sam again, but this time he was different.

  Angry.

  They were arguing in the apartment, shouting, hurling abuse at each other. Sam was in front of the window, raging, she was pointing at him, shouting something back, and then…

  A single blow than sent her reeling, Sam’s hand across her face, stinging pain.

  The pain in her skull subsided and Rebecca got her balance back as she gingerly touched the dressings on her head. Sparks and whorls of light flickered like phantom fireworks in front of her eyes and she took a few deep breaths as her vision cleared.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  She turned as a nurse hurried into the room and put one hand gently on her shoulder.

  ‘I’m fine, I just keep getting sharp head pains.’

  ‘It’ll pass as the wound heals,’ the nurse assured her. ‘Just take it as easy as you can, okay?’

  ***

  VI

  A taxi paid for by Neuray dropped Rebecca off outside her apartment, and she briefly wondered whether there had been police outside her property after the shooting. There would probably have been media present shortly after the police arrived, and she realised belatedly that she and Sam would probably have been in the local newspapers, maybe even on the television. The thought of her face being shown to hundreds of people she knew around the country made her shudder, images of her public shame bolting through her mind.

  It’s that Kyle woman. I knew she’d end up like that.

  Rebecca Kyle, I went to school with her. What a loser.

  Ha! She thought she was so clever, the big shot detective, look at her now!

  Rebecca tried to force the thoughts from her mind as she made her way to the entrance and walked inside, hoping that none of the other residents were around. Within a minute she was on the top floor and walking toward her apartment. There was nobody else in the corridor as she fumbled for her keys, her heart beating faster with every second. She opened the door and hurried inside, slammed the door shut again with a sigh of relief.

  The apartment overlooked the River Exe, facing south and enjoying a panoramic view over the city’s south side. They had chosen the place because of the views and the spacious nature of the apartment. Rebecca liked the light. Maybe it was something to do with working to hunt suspects within the darkened underbelly of the criminal world, or the long night shifts spent in the office. Sam had liked the light because he spent all day working in a laboratory and craved the outdoor life, fresh air and sunlight. The serene view had been something they had enjoyed on long summer evenings, sitting on their small balcony and sipping sparkling drinks, chatting late as the sun sank into a spreading pool of molten metal across the horizon.

  Rebecca stood and stared out of the windows for a long time, strangely comatose, memories falling through the field of her awareness like petals spilling from lotus blossom. She felt warmth. Comfort. A sense of security and belonging. She could not square what she felt with the memory of Sam screaming at her, striking out, knocking her to the floor.

  Her eyes ached and she felt a faint buzzing around the wound in her head. She reached up instinctively and touched it, felt the dressing beneath her fingertips. Her hair was loose and fell neatly over the large patch, which extended to the edge of her eye socket. She walked across to a mirror on the wall near the front door and checked herself out.

  There was still heavy bruising around the eye which was now touched with unpleasant rainbow hues of purple and yellow. Her right eye was slightly swollen but it was coming down now, making her look less of an angry bulldog on one side of her face. The white of her eye was also a dull blood red in one corner, the muddy sclera slow to clear. She sighed, closed her eyes and tried to assure herself that the damage, along with the demons chasing through her mind, would ease. You can get through this.

  One hand reached out almost of its own accord to touch a small brass statue of Buddha on the shelf beneath the mirror.

  Rebecca opened her eyes. The movement had been almost autonomous, part of a ritual that she recalled she had undertaken every morning. Pat the Buddha. She was sure that it gave her good luck, and equally certain that if she failed to pat the Buddha before leaving for work then bad luck would come her way.

  In a flurry of recollections, the apartment suddenly became a miasma of duties. The mirror must always be clean, because she didn’t like marks on the surface. Rebecca didn’t like clutter; things needed to be orderly and aligned, although she wasn’t so far gone that all lines needed to be parallel or perpendicular. She never left the apartment with the bed unmade or the sink full of incomplete washing up. Balcony door locks would be checked, at least twice, probably three times – it wasn’t hard to do on the way to or from the kitchen. Lights always off, no cell phones or laptops or e–readers left on charge or chargers left plugged in. Nothing left on stand–by.

  Rebecca felt an oddly conflicting sense of relief and anger. She’d recalled her comforting rituals and could now enact them once again. However, she now had to enact them again. She pressed one hand onto the Buddha again and recalled Sam’s words.

  ‘Challenge it,’ he had said. ‘Until you bought that Buddha there was no need to touch it, right?’

  ‘Well, yeah, but…’

  ‘And the world did not end. The sky did not fall. Your knickers didn’t burst into flames.’

  ‘No,’ she had replied with a giggle, a sparkling glass of Chardonnay in one hand, a warm summer breeze caressing her face as they sat on the balcony. ‘But it’s not as simple as that.’

  ‘I know it’s not, but you’ve got to start somewhere. Guess what? When I was a kid, I used to feel like I couldn’t walk on the cracks between slabs on the pavement when I was walking home.’

  ‘Really?’ Sam had never said anything like that before to her, and as an academic she was shocked to hear it. He seemed like the last person in the world to suffer from a similar malady to hers.

  ‘Honest,’ he replied. ‘I didn’t care all that much about it, but somehow I also didn’t quite feel right if I didn’t place each footstep
in the middle of each slab, all the way along.’

  ‘Okay,’ she had replied. ‘So, what changed? Did you conquer the need somehow?’

  Sam had shrugged.

  ‘Nah, changed schools so I had to walk a different way home.’

  She had rolled her eyes but Sam had grinned at her. ‘See my point though, right? It was a pointless exercise.’

  ‘Ah, but as the change of school wasn’t of your doing, therefore you were excused the duty of walking between the cracks and karma did not pursue you.’

  Sam shook his head, his own drink forgotten beside him.

  ‘The truth is simple. The moment I stopped walking home that way I didn’t suddenly wake up with a debilitating disease or my arse where my head once was.’

  She’d peered at him over her glass. ‘Well, actually…’

  ‘Up yours.’

  ‘Charmed.’

  ‘Just try it,’ he’d persisted. ‘Try going to work without patting the Buddha. Checking locks is fine, that’s just common sense but do it once, not five times. Checking that nothing’s been left on charge is common sense too, but believe in yourself that one check is enough.’

  ‘But the check I don’t do is the one that could burn the place down.’

  Sam had sighed, but he was still smiling. ‘And the place could be hit by a meteor or something. There’s only so much that you can do. Why don’t we put all the chargers in one place? If we have five and all five are there, you wouldn’t have to check everywhere else, right?’

  ‘Mmmm,’ Rebecca had mmm’d, unconvinced that she would be able to resist just making sure.

  ‘And start with the Buddha. Trust that Buddha is watching over you whether you pat him on the head or not.’

  ‘Maybe he’ll take offence?’

  ‘Maybe he’ll be thankful you’re not whacking him over the head every morning. He’s only four inches high.’

  ‘He’s sitting down.’