Grave Intent

by G. K. Lund

  “You may claim to have reliable sources, but at this moment I cannot comment on whether we have more than one suspect,” a gray-haired and lean policeman was stating through a video feed.

  “But, Captain Costa, we know from the case thirty years ago that there was never any suspicion of there being more than one person.”

  “That’s not quite accurate, Robert, and besides we need to take the present situation into account, not just look backward. I assure you we have our best people on the case. The FBI is also—”

  Peter tuned them out. The media had nothing to report at the moment, that was clear, so they made large stories out of crumbs, only to have something to report. Who cared if there was one or several guys as long as the police got them all?

  The minutes ticked by and Peter managed to pull a blanket over himself. The medicine always made him a little drowsy, but at least that meant it had begun to work. He stared blankly as the mayor was interviewed yet again.

  “Is it even responsible to arrange a function on this scale at this time?” a female reporter out in the field asked him. The field looked like the lobby in City Hall.

  The mayor looked as put together as always, gray hair slicked back, though his suit was traded in for a shirt and a simple blazer. “I think it’s important to show ourselves and the world that we will not be scared to silence. So yes, I think it’s not only responsible, but our duty to go on, and help those of us who need it.”

  “And what about the fact that we do have the person responsible for the explosions still running free on our streets?”

  “We will have all security manners in place for the event. There is nothing for anyone to worry about. Everyone is safe, and we encourage every Ashdale citizen to participate and show their support. We will show our unity in this difficult time.”

  Great, Peter thought. Security was well and good considering everything, but if he knew Winter, and he was beginning to see what precautions the man would take now, the tightened security would have Ben on their list. The charity event was the best place to get a hold of Winter, to get a word with the guy. There would be too many people there to keep an eye out for everyone, but if you couldn’t get in in the first place? Peter needed to find another solution. He was going to get his friend’s memory back, and that was that. Maybe then all the madness could end. Was it even possible to intercept Winter outside the library?

  A shift on the news drew Peter’s attention again, as a picture of Cathedral Bridge showed in the left-hand corner of the screen above Smythe’s shoulder.

  “In other news, we shortly go to Curtain Fields. The three bodies that washed up from the river last night have been identified. Two of the three were of foreign nationalities. The third man was not an Ashdale resident. The police suspect foul play, but have no suspects at this time.”

  Peter was surprised they even bothered with other news stories at this point when three driver’s license photos showed up on screen. The police needed help from witnesses who could shed light on these men’s whereabouts over the last few days. Peter stared in shock as he recognized the men. The very same men that had chased Evy into a restroom to abduct her. The same men that had chased them all through the streets. One of them who had been in a panic when Evy touched him.

  Peter winced and shook his head. What the hell? These were big guys. Big threatening guys who no doubt could and would have made their threats real. Ben had only taken them by surprise.

  This was not good. They were supposedly hired by a big company to abduct someone… and they had failed.

  Peter sat up and ran his hands through his hair, and then over his face as he tried collecting his thoughts. It could be a coincidence, sure. But really? He didn’t think so. If these guys had been taken out, that meant someone worse was behind it. And those people were still likely to be after Evy, a person Peter hardly knew but now feared for. With a flood of expletives, he fell back on the couch as the throbbing behind his eye intensified again.

  Chapter 14

  The day before the big charity event I found myself outside Current Magazine which was Old Ben’s now-and-then employer. The magazine occupied a large brick building that looked to occupy an entire block, though that wasn’t truly the case. At least four stories high, it dominated the neighborhood with its ocher-colored walls, and the wide and rounded arches framing the windows were impressive in their simplicity. At the bottom level, the arches reached up two floors, while there were an additional two rows of smaller ones above, framing the last two floors. Honestly, it reminded me of a train station more than a publishing house.

  “Are you sure about this?” I asked Peter as he checked my e-mail again, before handing me the phone back.

  “More or less,” he said. He had sent an e-mail to Old Ben’s boss to set up a meeting, going through old ones to see how we had communicated in the past. Unfortunately, he couldn’t accompany me into the meeting itself. If the boss got a whiff of my amnesia, he would likely not give me any job or help.

  “You have nothing to lose in trying at least.”

  “Fine.” I sighed. I had even shaved and put on some decent clothes for a respectable appearance. And so, I walked into the building which reminded me even more of a train station as I entered a large open space. Half the first floor had been removed, leaving the rest as a giant mezzanine, with office spaces up there. At least that was what it looked like from down where I stood by the door. A sort of reception area was closest to me, but there were plenty desks as cubicle walls that spread out further in.

  A helpful receptionist that kept calling me Mr. Reed like she knew me, confirmed my appointment and guided me through the myriad of desks toward the nearest stairs that would lead up to the boss’ office.

  Edmund Sear was a middle-aged and short man with an impressive head of red hair that had barely faded in color throughout his years. A smile met me as I entered and my guide left.

  “Ben, good to see you.”

  “Ed,” I responded having learned this from the old e-mail correspondence. He came toward me, hand extended, which I took, landing me in a strong enthusiastic handshake.

  “I haven’t seen you in ages,” Ed said as he gestured to one of the chairs placed around a meeting table. “What have you been up to?”

  And for the love of God, don’t say amnesia, Peter’s voice sounded in the head. It had become a mantra of his by this point.

  “Working on different projects,” I said, per our practicing being a normal human being.

  “New book then?” Ed said as he poured some coffee into a couple of cups and handed me one. I liked him already.

  “Something like that.”

  “Are you going to let me publish the next one then?” he said as a half-joke.

  “Sure,” I said distracted, and noticed him almost choking on his coffee. He had not expected that. “But I do have a request,” I continued, not wanting to talk about things that could make him money, yet would never come to fruition.

  “A job?”

  “Yep.”

  “Well, you know I take your suggestions seriously,” he said with a look like he still didn’t quite believe what I had agreed to.

  “I know press credentials are not enough on their own what with all the security at the charity event tomorrow, but I would like to gain access to the press area.”

  “You wanna write a story on that? Really?”

  “Yes,” I said, throwing the big punches with the best word there is.

  “Not your typical kind of story, is it?”

  I honestly had no idea, but judging by the books in Old Ben’s home I guessed that he was into self-help themes. Still, Ed’s question led me to the right answer at least. “No. But this is not a normal situation, is it? I was at Cury Square when it happened, and—”

  “Shit, Ben. I’m sorry. That must have been awful.”

  “Yes, well…”

  “Alright. I can get you on the list. We have a couple of reporters attending, but one more
is fine.”

  I smiled at that, hoping Winter hadn’t banked on me getting in that way. So, I listened politely to Ed’s small talk because I hoped this was going to help me. I even managed following along, not alerting him to the truth that Ben Reed was in fact not sitting in front of him. In the end, he let me go though, as he was, thankfully, a busy man. I followed him down the stairs again as he wanted to personally make sure Ben’s name ended up on that list. Or my name, as Olivia had pointed out. It wouldn’t matter for long, I thought with rising hope.

  “Just wait here a sec, I’ll get Belinda to get you on the list,” Ed said before vanishing between his own employees. I remained where I was, noting the hectic activities around me. People were clicking away at their keyboards, talking on phones, chatting together over their thin walls, walking back and forth, taking breaks in the snack areas to the sides of the room. All the low sounds made for quite the noisy area. It had to be annoying, and yet they got things done.

  And then the sensation of tingling pressure came back to the head so suddenly it startled me. I felt despair a moment. This uncontrolled physical sensation intruded on me again and I couldn’t do anything to stop it. I didn’t want this, and yet I felt myself drawn to the middle of the room, a wheezing sound boring itself through the general noise of the space, luring me in.

  It was a man, dressed a little different from the others. White shirt, black west, arm garters, glasses with small lenses and a thin metal frame. The haircut was different as well, short around the head, a little longer on top, slicked back and looking wet from whatever product he used. He was wheezing because he was clutching at his chest. Heart attack? That was my guess. A few people around him noticed and began coming to his aid, not that they could do anything. I knew that, and I also knew, as I saw them dressed mostly in the same manner, that this was a memory again. There were few women in the room, and the air felt thicker, harder to breathe in. Small clouds of smoke were rising from ashtrays and the cigarettes in people’s hands.

  And the man continued his solitary journey of pain. He didn’t respond to those trying to talk to him. He continued clutching at his chest, then a man’s arm as he slid out of his chair and to the floor, halfway dragging the man with him, terror in his eyes. He knew. He knew, and he didn’t welcome it. So few do.

  And then the sensation subsided in the head as a shade of darkness fell before the eyes. Strange, I thought, for that hadn’t happened before. But I had little time to think of it as the space around me changed. It was almost like watching burning paper singe away to reveal something behind a thin screen. The same large hall, fewer desks, but the same purpose for the room. Not the same name though. Large letters on the wall told me that this was the headquarters of the Ashdale Daily Post. Not that I read much news, but I couldn’t remember that name from any newspaper. Underneath the large letters I was informed in smaller, yet still big ones, that I should buy bonds.

  And then the sensation of tingling uneasiness, well known, yet unknown, returned. My attention again drawn to someone, to the people around me in general. Lots of women this time. Almost only women. They worked, much in the same manner as Ed’s employees, though they were hammering out their texts on typewriters, bringing paper copies with them around the space. They were dressed differently as well, shorter curly hair, colorful makeup. Narrow skirts went below their knees, though some were sporting pants as well. The few men around seemed to hold the management positions, one of them being the one I was drawn toward, the sensations growing stronger as I did. He had been reading, a piece of paper still clutched in his hand, as he stared straight ahead, eyes blank. Or was that frozen fear? Perhaps it was confusion? Regardless – it would not matter how he reacted. The outcome was set.

  The paper curled in his hand and I barely noticed the picture of an old, flying Spitfire crumble before the paper showed no more details. His face began changing as well, the left side of it losing muscle control and drooping.

  A woman came by to ask him something, and then he was finally noticed. Not quite alone in his final moments any longer. As he fell forward so his upper body rested on the desk, I did notice in the growing crowd around him, that some of the women looked… not happy exactly, but a little relieved. Small facial expressions carefully hidden; a few shared. The man might not have been alone in the end, but he would not be missed. Surely that had to be worse?

  The room shifted around me again, and I had no time to think about it, as the fabric of the hall crumbled before the eyes. Yet I felt no fear. Only despair at the lack of control. Anger at my lack of understanding.

  The large brick building vanished around me leaving me standing in a small room near a window. I glanced outside to see the street one story down. It was a rundown wooden building if I was to judge by the room I was in. Thick layers of dust covered surfaces not in daily use, and I saw various kinds of insects scurrying under a carpet and into the faded green wallpaper that was peeling off the wall on its own accord. A woman lay on the floor. By the looks of her, she had been there a couple of days. Her skin was pale and clammy, her eyes distant. Long and filthy gray skirts lay flowing around her legs, the bustle looking grotesquely huge now as she was wasting away underneath. She looked thin enough to snap in two. How long had she been there? I could see she had fallen while trying to reach something on the top shelf in her tiny kitchenette. A jar of pickled fruit, too far for her to reach now, as it had rolled away from her. She must have broken something to render her immobile like that, but broken bones were not what would take her now. Lack of water would. Her breathing only got more and more shallow as she finally gave up, her eyes still open, seeing no one there to neither help nor care. How long before someone would find her?

  When she was gone, it all shifted again, as I knew it would. My hopes of returning to wherever I was, it was getting hard to remember, was stepped on. The house I was in disappeared altogether now. I stood in a small barley field, a tiny crop for anyone, but important nonetheless. No more buildings covered my view in any direction, and I saw a small farmhouse and what constituted a barn close by. A young boy ran toward the barley field, shouting in anger at the dark birds that tried eating from the crops. It was clear this farm had little to spare. His abrupt entry to the field and shooing of the birds scared up a wild dog, big, gray and brown, long fur in twists and knots. The large animal was startled into blind anger, a sudden and imagined need to defend itself.

  The boy’s cries of despair before the dog ripped his throat out, was only enough to bring his parents out of their little home. The mother stumbled in her hindering long skirts. There was nothing but nightmares to meet them in their life-saving patch of grains now. The birds were scared off by the noise and flew eastward, low over the Ashdale River that sparkled in the sunshine.

  I felt something behind me then. Something familiar; a presence I recognized, yet couldn’t remember. I turned and startled at the sight between the barley sheaves.

  Eight figures stood in a row, watching me. I saw no eyes but still knew with certainty that they were watching me closely. They were near humanoid in shape but mere shadows in form. Dark and unmoving, the sun not interfering with their existence in the middle of an open field, empty of anything but the barley.

  “Who are you?” I asked. They didn’t fill me with fear, only a longing for an answer I realized they had. Something I couldn’t see. I moved to walk toward them, and the world spun around me.

  Shacks shot up across the field before I again was enveloped by the wooden house, and then the familiar brick building rose around me and brought me back.

  A hand fell on the left shoulder. “Hey, I lost sight of you there a sec.”

  Startled, I turned to see Ed’s friendly face smiling at me. I hadn’t moved far, thirty feet maybe? The large hall surrounding me was again filled with people working for Current Magazine. The logo hung on the wall of the mezzanine, clearly stating that I was where I was supposed to be.

  “Sorry…” I said and shook the
head in an attempt to clear the confusion away. “I thought I saw someone.” Since the lying abilities were back, I took that as a small victory.

  “Well, you’re on the list. Eight hundred words would be great.”

  “Sure.”

  “Are you alright? You seem a little different?”

  “I’m fine,” I insisted, not wanting him to stop me from getting into the library during the charity. “Thought I saw someone I can’t quite remember.”

  “Yeah, I hate it when that happens. I just smile and avoid mentioning names. That usually works.”

  I smiled at the thought of things being that easy as I said goodbye, and headed back outside into a city that for a little while at least would stay the same.

  Chapter 15

  “Looks like the whole city is attending,” Rose said as they all stopped and took the building in. Peter had to agree. The lights were on in every room in there, the archives as well, though from what he could see from the windows, only the archives’ lobby was in use for this night. Music streamed outside joined by the voices of thousands as they came together to comfort and support each other. And there were people everywhere, out the front of the building, and inside as they could see in the large windows. Everyone was dressed in colorful clothes per the request of the mayor. This was not a funeral, but a celebration of life.

  “Let’s see if we can get in,” Walter said as he put his arm around Rose’s shoulders and they headed toward the entrance.

  “I’m gonna go look for the alternative,” Ben excused himself.

  “I’m glad to see he’s begun thinking about work again,” Walter said as he had to let go of Rose to manage to navigate through the throng of people surrounding the long line. The security check in front of the doors was holding the line up, and Peter could see more security guards and police in the crowd as well. It made him relax a little. It would be a catastrophe if the Grenade-man tried anything there.