Grave Intent

by G. K. Lund

  “Huh?” she said and dropped the remote. That woke her up, and she pulled her legs onto the couch as she halfway sat up, before pulling a red blanket tighter around herself. “I must have fallen asleep. Sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Walter said as he headed into the kitchen.

  “I guess it’s been a couple of busy days, huh?” Peter said as he heard a text alert on his phone. He ignored it and sat down in one of the comfy chairs. After giving their statements, there had been nothing more for Peter and Ben to do after the attack. Except constantly relive it mentally. Rose managed to get her hands out of the blanket so she could run her fingers through her hair and get it away from her face. Despite sharing the same name and father, they looked different as she took after her Korean mother more than their father. Still, she had gotten a few things from the Klein side of the family. She was taller than her mother and her eyes sported a few traces of something Peter knew he shared with her. Thankfully, neither of them had inherited their father’s nose.

  Rose nodded in response to his question and glanced at the muted TV. Flailing shots of the explosions at Cury Square rolled over the screen. Seemed the cell phone cameras had taken better shots than the security cameras. They were always so gray and grainy anyway. Not like this. Only the unsteady hands of those who filmed disturbed the quality which was more than good enough to capture the horror. Rose had been at work in the hospital when it had happened. And she had stayed there afterward. All hands on deck and everything, Peter thought.

  “You’re receiving praise in the press,” he said. Rose yawned, not from boredom though. It was a yawn that challenged her jaw and almost tipped her over again. She wasn’t only tired. She was exhausted.

  “I’m just glad we were able to help,” she said and managed a smile after the yawn-attack, though it vanished with speed. “I’ve never seen anything like it, Peter. Things like that don’t happen here.”

  “No.”

  “Except Dr. Merringham, he said it as they came in. He’s like, sixty, seventy, I don’t know. Anyway, he said it.” The blanket moved as she gesticulated under it. “He said that it looked like the grenade attacks that happened when he was younger.”

  “Yeah, I heard. He got fewer people then.”

  Rose nodded and leaned forward to pick up the remote before turning the sound on, a low steady noise that filled the room.

  “The police are now investigating any possible connections between the attacks that happened on Tuesday as well as thirty years ago by the Grenade-man. The question remains though – did they do everything they could back then? Unless we’re dealing with some kind of copycat, the answer to that is a resounding no. So far fifteen people have been reported dead, and forty-two are in Ashdale Hospital with serious injuries. No matter how we look at it, something went horribly wrong—”

  “There won’t be any more dead,” Rose broke in as the female reporter kept talking into her microphone. The clip was a few hours old by now. Everything was sent in a loop until they had something new and more substantial to report. “But the people who were hurt,” Rose continued, “some of them are maimed for life. Broken.”

  “Yeah, I saw.” Peter sighed. He’d done what he could for the guy who was nearest. Some knowledge of first aid was all he’d had to offer. But he had seen what was further off on that square. Dead staring eyes, body parts, people bleeding and screaming in agony and fear.

  “I’m so glad you and Ben are alright. You came way too close.”

  “Yeah…” Peter pushed at the point between his eyebrows. He could feel a migraine coming on. Hopefully whatever Walter was cooking could help remedy that. At least stave it off for a while. He leaned back and rested his head on the back of the chair.

  “Something wrong?”

  Peter scoffed at the question.

  “Besides the obvious, I mean.”

  Something wrong? He didn’t know. Perhaps wrong wasn’t the right word for it. Ben had known somehow. Not as in being a part of the attack. But he had known seconds before the first grenade went off. How? He was a writer. Sometimes a reporter. Had used to be at least. Now he knew the signs of grenades going off? And he had looked… odd.

  “Ben probably saved me from some injuries from the initial blast.”

  “Really?” A small smile formed on Rose’s lips. She wanted the old Ben back as much as Peter. It had been them as long as he could remember. When they were kids Ben had spent almost as much time in the Klein house as Peter and Rose. Of course, the reason was there wasn’t much good to be had from him being at home. Peter sighed at the thought. They were as much siblings as friends, all of them. Walter had come later, and he was the only outsider who had ever managed to find a place in their little group. And then the accident had happened, and now Ben wasn’t himself anymore. Now, he knew how grenades with tripwires worked.

  “I’m glad he did,” Rose said. “The only good thing besides being able to help was to not see anyone I knew being brought in to the hospital.”

  “But there’s something—”

  “It happened to Allie,” Rose went on, a shadow crossing her face. “Her sister died in one of the blasts. We don’t even know which one yet.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah… well, she stayed at work until we got the reinforcements from Ashport.”

  “That’s tough.”

  “In more than one way.”

  They sat in silence a while. Walter clanged some pots in the kitchen and the TV provided the only sound in the living room. Normal noises. Unfortunately, one of them kept droning on about who was to blame.

  “—and our election headquarters was severely damaged as well. So, I don’t think I would put it quite like that, Robert,” a smooth voice said. The face of William Strand dominated half the screen as the mayoral candidate was interviewed by the local news anchor. “I don’t find it reasonable to expect Mayor McLaughlin to have known about this beforehand. That would be demanding he be psychic and I think that is a little too much don’t you?”

  “Well, yes. But in the aftermath, we can surely criticize the lack of progress in the investigation?” The anchor looked almost bored as he asked the question. Like he’d been at his job too long after the attack.

  “The investigation should be left to the police. I’m sure Captain Costa of the second—”

  “Do you think Robert Smythe is wearing pants under that desk at this point?” Rose asked. It made Peter laugh hard at the absurdity of it all.

  Another text alert sounded from his phone. When he didn’t check it, his sister’s curious stare made him do it anyway. Better than getting questions. The first one was from Ben who was wondering how to use the damn printer. Peter sighed doubly loud, proceeding into groaning.

  “What?”

  “It’s Ben. He doesn’t know how to make the text-printing machine work.”

  “What?”

  “No, really. That is what he’s calling it.”

  “Oh my God.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s become an old man. Actually, I take that back. Most old people know how to use these things by now.”

  “Yeah, it’s a really weird and selective kind of memory loss.”

  “Well, I miss him, you know?” Rose said. She suddenly looked tiny under the blanket. Peter nodded in response and glanced at his phone again. The other text was from George. He managed not to draw breath audibly. She was checking in to see if he was okay. Peter hadn’t thought about her in any special way until Ben, of all people, had alerted him to her apparent interest. Ben, the guy who had crashed to the ground with a beautiful woman and not seemed to notice, had seen George’s interest. George, who Peter had seen as a friend he met now and then. Now he was noticing things, like her eyes and how they always smiled with her mouth. How her heavy blond curls bounced when she walked. How she always responded to texts quick, but not too quick. How they were at all texting and meeting more than before.

  “Still…” Rose continued in their previous train
of thought. “Maybe it’s for the best that he doesn’t remember it.”

  “Wait, what?” Peter said, phone forgotten. “Did you just say that?”

  Rose pressed her lips together a moment. “I want him back, Peter. I really do. But there are things that might be best left somewhere where it can’t cause any more p—”

  “No. Stop.” Peter almost got out of the chair but forced himself down again.

  “I’m saying he seems well… despite the other issues.”

  “I’m trying to help him get his memory back, so don’t start with crap like that.”

  “Exactly how are you helping with that?” Walter’s voice broke in behind Peter as he had reemerged, a forgotten spoon in his hand now.

  “Just…” Peter sighed. He couldn’t tell them they were trying to find out something helpful about Ward Winter. That in itself was insane. The fact that the CEO of the largest company in the city refused to see Ben was either an indication his friend was insane, or he was onto something. Either way, if it could help retrieve his memories then it was worth it.

  “Ben remembers stuff about the city now and then. Places, right?”

  Rose and Walter nodded. Ben had said as much. He even remembered that they called Peter by his childhood nickname – Peter Pan. He had hated that name. They had called him Pan because he was the youngest by two years. As they had grown older it became a small joke amongst them. The only thing, as far as Peter could see, that Ben now remembered about his friends. It was a promising step forward.

  “He also remembers people now and then, no not us,” he hurriedly added at the oncoming question from Walter. “We’re trying to figure out if any of these people might have some information.”

  “Information about what?” Walter asked.

  “To restore his memory or remember the accident.” Peter saw Rose’s eyes narrow at this, but she didn’t say anything.

  “Well,” Walter said, “you need to work harder at that. He has clearly forgotten he was supposed to be here for dinner.”

  “Oh, he’s busy with a text-printing machine,” Rose said.

  Walter rolled his eyes and suppressed a smile. “Fine, but sooner or later, you’re both going have to come to terms with this maybe not being reversible.”

  Both Peter and Rose kept quiet at that. Despite their differences, that was a hard truth to swallow. Of course, Walter with his analytical mind was prepared to see the dire possibilities. It was how he faced the world, wasn’t it? They all stared at each other a moment.

  “But Mr. Mayor, surely we should have seen some results by now? Or are we at the same level as thirty years ago?”

  “Come now, Robert. I have every faith in our police force. Both now and then. But we have more methods available to us today.”

  “And what about the wounded who will now have to live the rest of their lives with injuries that should never have been there in the first place?”

  “The citizens of Ashdale are resilient and resourceful people, who help each other in a time of crisis. Of that I am sure. We are currently planning an event with WGI to raise funds to help every one of the forty-two and the loved ones of the fifteen in the oncoming time.”

  “Could you elaborate on that, Mr. Mayor?”

  “Sure. We plan to—”

  “Ugh, I’m so tired of them immediately criticizing the police. At least let them fail first,” Walter said as he sent Rose a questioning look. She muted the news and dropped the remote on the couch. “Anyway. The food’s ready. Oh, and I have to warn you, there might be a teeny tiny microscopic bit of burned onion.”

  “No kidding?” came Rose’s amused voice with obvious feigned surprise.

  “Just barely singed really.”

  “I. Am. Shocked.”

  Peter made to follow them as he noticed a clip from the square again. It was a glimpse, but he recognized himself helping the wounded man, while Ben held his jacket in place at the man’s throat. Peter hadn’t gotten the man’s name. He hadn’t been able to talk after all. Ben had seemed uninterested because he was so sure the man was not going to die. So strange. So unlike him. But Ben was unlike Ben, wasn’t he? And yet… something had happened. Peter had been busy with the man’s bleeding leg-wound and he hadn’t heard it, but he knew Ben had said something to the man. Something that had helped. Really helped. It had taken the panic from the man. Peter shook his head and stopped walking again, as the thought of panic made him remember. Ben’s eyes. Right before the first explosion. Had they looked different? No, that wasn’t possible. But his voice as well. Of course, he had then proceeded to take Peter with him to the ground, effectively avoiding being hurt by anything flying through the air. No. Peter shook his head again and this time followed the other two. There might be something different about Ben, but that was because he couldn’t remember how to be himself. They needed to remedy that.

  Chapter 6

  The car to Harrow took Peter from the suburbs east of Northwater and through that newer part of the city, filled with shops and restaurants. It hadn’t been able to achieve the quaint and historic feel of Charton yet. With time that would change, like it had for all the other parts of Ashdale. Peter was not a native, as he had been raised in the nearby town of Charlotte Bay, but he loved the city and his life there. This was where he’d gone to, and dropped out of college. Where he had lived in his first crappy apartment, gotten his first horrible job. Now things were better as he was doing what he wanted instead of what was expected. Testing and sometimes even developing video games might seem a childish venture to some, but the money and freedom were awesome. Even better, Peter thought, he got to spend his time in stories where everything was possible, sometimes even stopping assholes like the Grenade-man. He scoffed too quietly for the Uber driver to hear. What an apt and utterly stupid name.

  The car kept on driving over the Ashdale River where it flowed onward under them, always searching for the coast, the final release from the confines of its own banks. Peter relaxed as he looked out the window, the railings flying past, almost melding together as his eyes couldn’t track them one by one at that speed. The railings… he sat up a little. They were driving across Central Bridge, the quickest way to get to Harrow. What the hell had happened here? Ben had been suspected of murder of all things. Found together with the murder victim. And now he was friends with the cop who had wanted to arrest him. Peter had seen Detective Jones at the square. She had been genuinely concerned for Ben. That hadn’t been the case when she suspected him of one of the worst things a person could do. No, he wouldn’t do that. Not Ben. Not even this weird version of him. Of that Peter was certain, and he had been proven right hadn’t he? Turned out the real murderer had been an employee of WGI. She had ended her own life when confronted by police, and then things had been hushed up. There had been enough information to avoid questions. Ugh, he sounded like a conspiracy nut now, didn’t he?

  The drive slowed down a bit as they left Central Bridge behind and entered Harrow. The streets were more crowded here, that was not unusual, but the increased police presence was. So were the flags at half-mast. Those were everywhere though. It had been a blow to the whole city. Cury Square was now an open wound that they would work hard to turn into a scar at the very least.

  Ben was at home, busy at work in front of the laptop. As Peter walked into the apartment he noticed ripped, torn and curled-up paper strewn around the printer that was set up on one of the bookshelves. It made him smile despite himself.

  “You forgot dinner,” he said as a way of greeting.

  “Huh?” Ben uttered and glanced up before continuing with the laptop, full on index-finger typing. “Oh,” he added as an afterthought and looked up again. “Was that today?”

  “No, it was yesterday when Rose was busy working her ass off in the hospital.”

  At least Ben had the ability to look contrite at that. “Sorry.”

  “Yeah. So, what are you doing that’s so important?”

  “Searching… reading.
”

  “About what, smartass?”

  “Did I do something?” Ben asked, looking genuinely curious.

  “Nope.”

  “Okay then.”

  Peter couldn’t help roll his eyes as he grabbed the laptop and turned it to have a look. He could instantly feel his eyebrows furrowing. “The WGI helicopter accident?”

  Ben nodded and turned the screen back to facing himself. “There is something weird about it.”

  “There is always something strange about helicopters and planes that fall out of the sky,” Peter said and walked around the table before sitting down next to Ben. “So tell me. What’s so odd about this one?”

  “Not an accident for one thing.”

  Peter raised an eyebrow. “And how would you know that?”

  Ben stopped his infernally slow typing a moment, before continuing. “Just do.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Ben stopped typing again. “Are you sure everything’s okay? Because you look suspicious or… angry? Eyes way too narrowed for anything good.”

  “I’m considering whether or not to keep helping you, Ben.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What I mean is…” he paused. What did he mean? Of course, he was going to help. You always helped friends when they needed it. But this? Something didn’t make sense, and Peter couldn’t see what it was. “Weird things keep happening. Why on earth is the richest guy in town scared of you? You never used to scare people. And then there’s that guy Param. What the hell happened there?”

  “Why are you asking this now all of a sudden?”

  Peter scratched his beard and glared at the laptop a moment. Sudden? He had asked after it had happened, and then? He’d let it slide, hadn’t he? “Because with recent… happenings, I realize I can’t follow blindly along.”

  “Yes.”

  “Old Ben would have a better response than that.”

  “I’m not Old Ben.”