by A. A. Bell
Fearing the worst, though, Ben locked the car and stepped over the chain.
Down a gentle slope to his left, the poet trees were still standing untouched; not so the field of wildflowers to his right. The rough scar that he’d seen on his previous visit had doubled in width. Despite the evidence, he still hoped that the noise Mira had heard had come from a neighbouring property. From the direction of the church ruins, she’d said. No noise on the breeze now; at least, none that he could hear.
He jogged along the scar of earth, hoping to find someone who might be able to explain what was going on. Trespassing to do it, he realised, but having served six years for a crime that he hadn’t committed, the minor offence now seemed liberating. Almost justified. Or at least he didn’t feel guilty.
Reaching the jagged entrance to the forest, he discovered that the scarred earth led even deeper into the trees before turning downhill to follow a rocky gully with a trickling creek.
After a brisk five-minute jog, he came to a cleared area beside the bay where two dozers and an excavator sat silently sharing the anaemic shade of the only tree they’d left standing. The doors and windows of the
equipment had all been fitted with vandal-proof covers made of checker-plated steel, each painted with signage for Max Moon’s Earthmovers. No sign of the operators, though. Gone for an early weekend?
Ben jogged around a tall pile of splintered trees and found the charred remains of an old stone church huddled close to the debris. Beside it stood a small field of grey crumbling gravestones, and beyond them, the decaying remains of four other colonial-style buildings — a blacksmith’s shop, general store, schoolhouse and hotel.
‘Huh?’ He staggered back a step. ‘A ghost town!’
Pocket-diving for his mobile phone, he dialled Serenity, hoping to speak to Sanchez again. The phone only bleeped in defiance.
No reception.
EIGHTEEN
After the long drive home Ben slewed the Jag into the garage and hurried into the beachhouse.
‘There’s a message for you near the phone,’ called his mother.
He dropped her keys on the bench, wondering if the message was from Matron Sanchez. He’d tried to contact her several more times since returning to the satellite coverage area, but had achieved nothing more than a brief conversation with her answering machine.
Hearing a footstep above him, he glanced upstairs at the internal balcony in time to see his mother emerging in a fresh nurse’s uniform. She paused at the top of the stairs and stared down at him.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Sure, Ma. Why do you ask?’ He poured himself a glass of milk.
‘The man who called was a doctor; said he wants to see you. Made it sound urgent.’
‘Oh, that’s for work.’
‘Baby, don’t lie to me.’
‘I’m not!’
Broad walls of glass beyond the white piano invited him to watch the moon rise over panoramic views of the ocean. He headed to the deck with his drink so she couldn’t read his face.
Behind him, she scraped her keys off the bench. ‘Did you fuel up for me?’
‘Yeah, and I splashed through a creek so it’s clean now too.’
‘You’d better be kidding! I don’t have time to hose off any salty shit before work. What took you so long anyway?’
‘Just errands. What shift are you working?’
‘Midnight till 5 am.’ She snatched an apple and a bottle of water from the fridge and headed for the door to the garage. ‘I’m surfing when I get home. Join me if you want.’
He nodded and watched her go, before opening the glass door for the dog.
‘Home alone, Killer. What shall we do?’
The Rottweiler barked three times and trotted clumsily to his plush rug beside the sofa, where he eased himself down and stared at the blank TV.
‘Either I need a paw-sized remote or you need smaller feet.’ Ben switched on the TV, pressed play and the screen illuminated with scenes from Extreme-Rescue Dogs.
Returning to the kitchen, Ben looked for the note.
It was written on the back of a shopping docket: a phone number — a local number — for Dr Mitch Van Danik and a request for Ben to call him at his hotel at precisely nine in the morning. Regarding your police record, his mother had noted with those four words underlined.
‘Regarding my police record?’ he echoed. ‘Hey, Killer, did you hear that?’
The dog glanced at him but returned his attention to the TV.
‘I might get a chance to speak to them before Matron Sanchez, and if I do,’ he said, joining his dog on the rug, ‘they’d better confirm that she left a message with their secretary, or else she’s going to have a whole lot more explaining to do.’
In the timeless darkness of her room, Mira lay flat on her back in bed, sedated but awake, drifting between consciousness and unconsciousness like a leaf floating on a black ocean under a starless sky. She listened with invisible ears for something real to latch onto, but heard only the distant screams of other clients with night terrors, each sound snagging her mind on a quivering reef until the waves rose to sweep her off again.
A small circle of light spilled in through the observation window in her door. She couldn’t see it, even with her eyelids open, but having found it with her hands another day, it emerged now in her imagination, as round and beautiful as a full moon over Halls Bay.
Then her door creaked.
She heard the sound dimly and distantly, then crisply and closer, then shoes shuffling in with the grim smell of leather.
Don’t move, she told herself, but try as she might, her body continued to drift like a leaf on the ocean. Drugs messing with my head! But they weren’t supposed to use any! Ben said so.
She strained harder to listen — the primary sense she could trust — but heard no one else at the door, even though she knew that the staff were forbidden from entering alone. Yet Leather man was here — wasn’t he? Or am I imagining that too?
Had he switched on the light? No. She couldn’t remember hearing the click, and she couldn’t hear the electronic purr of the surveillance camera that would have woken above her head if he’d triggered its lightsensor. Had he been able to turn it off somehow, before he came in?
His footsteps brought him closer to her bed. She heard metal sliding against metal and recognised the sound as the side-bar they sometimes used to stop her from falling out during the night. Was he fitting it to her bed or taking it off? She couldn’t tell.
She tried to remember how long it had been since she’d last heard that sound, but time ebbed in waves too. It could have been hours. It could have been days.
He touched her cheek and she screamed; screamed so loudly, she thought she’d screamed herself deaf. Then he whispered something close to her ear — something about still being asleep — and she realised in panic that she hadn’t even opened her mouth. Couldn’t open it, no matter how hard she tried.
Nothing worked! Nothing! Not even her eyes!
She willed her arms to move — to strike at him — and her legs to kick, but still nothing moved.
Her bedcovers peeled away from her feet.
‘Get away!’ Still, her traitorous lips failed to retaliate. She recoiled inside from his breath.
‘Got you now,’ he whispered.
Cold air and his fingers touched her toes.
She heard a click, soft like the light switch, only down there, with him. a buckle.
Get away!
‘Oh, yes. A perfect size six.’ Slowly, he began to bind her ankles and legs with long strips that felt like leather.
Ben rose with the sun and with his head still full of thoughts about Mira. It was too early to call her to ask how she’d come through the night so he grabbed his bodyboard from the garage and hit the surf, hoping to burn off some of his frustration and nervous energy before breakfast. He lifted Killer onto the board, where the dog balanced as Ben paddled out.
His mother was alr
eady there beyond the breakers. She leaned forward on her board as he reached her and splashed water over her face, washing tears away.
He glanced at the rising sun and the blood trail it shed over the rippling ocean. ‘I still miss Dad too,’ he said. ‘But I hope you’re not having second thoughts about dating again?’
‘You wouldn’t say that if you knew who was here last night.’
Ben shrugged and paddled alongside her board to clasp her hand. ‘It’s none of my business; just so long as he does right by you and isn’t a cop, a lawyer or a judge.’ He winked and leaned closer. ‘So which is he?’
‘I’ll tell you that if you tell me what that doctor really wants.’
Ben stiffened, remembering his promise to keep their project confidential. ‘Okay, so don’t tell me,’ he quipped and changed the subject. ‘I forgot to mention, I got pulled over by a cop about a week ago — just a random licence check. He said he knew you from high school — Pete Somebody. I don’t remember his last name, something unusual, but his initials were PIG. How funny is that?’
‘Hilarious,’ she replied flatly. ‘Hungry? Come on, Killer.’
She patted her board as an invitation for the dog to switch surfboards. He did and they caught the next wave in, Mellow sparing only a brief glance over her shoulder to her son.
Ben watched her surf all the way to the beach, then washed his face to flush the sleep from his eyes. With the water, his thoughts washed back to Mira. She’d be awake by now. He hoped the morning shift would remember to skip her medications at breakfast. Hadshe received the phone promised to her by Matron Sanchez? And would the pizzas arrive hot and on time for her lunch today, as prearranged?
He ached to be there to see the surprise on her face when they came. More than that, he just wanted to see her and know that she needed him; really needed him as much as he needed her to prove to himself that he could rebuild his life into something worthwhile after so long locked away. He couldn’t go to see her now, though. He had to make the call to Van Danik at 9 am about clearing his name — the only opportunity he was ever likely to get. Yet somehow, he had to convince them to visit Mira too. Or instead.
He knew she’d progress so much if she could get just a little confirmation, one way or the other, as to whether her ghostly hallucinations had any basis in truth; perhaps they were the result of something as simple as a childhood nightmare about living near a ghost town? Either way, once they knew more, he could figure out how best to help her — like seeing the fog lift from a fork in the road and finally knowing which path to follow.
In that instant, he also realised what was more important to him out of his past and his future — whether he wanted to reclaim his lost years in jail, or forge a new life that made his own existence worthwhile.
Fresh determination flooded his veins and it dawned on him that waiting until nine didn’t have to be his only option. If the doctors had reserved that specific time to speak to him, then it was likely they’d also be ready a few moments beforehand.
He caught the biggest and best wave of the morning, and overtook his mother as he ran up the beach to the telephone.
NINETEEN
Busy morning for a Friday, Ben thought as he entered the foyer of the Drift Inn. Incoming guests queued four abreast at reception and the air buzzed with a cacophony of different languages. Not bad for an old hotel in the wharf district. He glanced up and noticed the vaulted timber roof that served as its own attraction — much like looking up into the upturned hull of an old ship.
No sign of Zhou or Van Danik yet, but he’d expected that. The ferry had brought him over with twenty minutes to spare. He noticed a gift shop in the foyer and ducked into it to browse, keeping one eye on the elevator. Near the sales counter was a rack of mirrored sunglasses, many of them curved to wrap around the wearer’s temples to protect against peripheral glare. He bought a pair for Mira; purple mirrored lenses were a little too retro for his tastes but they’d suit her nonetheless.
While paying for them, he noticed a pack of fragrant potpourri and a small battery-operated fan with rubber blades that was marked as safe for use by children aged three years and over. He bought both items, as well as a cheap ecoduffle bag to carry them.
He’d just finished the transaction when he spotted Van Danik and his assistant, Lockman, emerging from the elevators. Ben stashed his purchases in the duffle bag and hurried to meet them.
After a brief exchange of greetings including an apology for not calling first, they led him down a corridor to the conference room where they’d set up their equipment. The older assistant, Hawthorn, stood like a broomstick against the wall outside. Lockman acknowledged him with a nod, then went into the room and stationed himself by the window. Dr Zhou was already inside, making final adjustments to the equipment.
‘For assistants, those two don’t seem to do much assisting,’ Ben said as he shook Zhou’s hand.
Zhou winked. ‘They’re not so much assistants as representatives of our financiers to make sure nobody bothers us.’
‘Bodyguards?’
‘Just guards,’ Van Danik said. ‘They’re paid to protect our bags more than us.’
He ushered Ben towards a seat in the centre of a similar U-shaped table arrangement as he’d experienced at the Serenity Centre.
‘Before we get into it,’ Ben said, remaining standing, ‘do you remember Mira Chambers, the young blind woman who came with me to my previous appointment?’
Van Danik handed him a set of sensor pads for his chest. ‘Sure, pushing your wheelchair. Who could forget those eyes stitched shut like that?’
‘Not anymore. She’s still blind, of course, but the stitches are gone. Anyway, she’s now very eager to see you — so to speak. I remember you said it was a pity you couldn’t put her in the hot seat, and I was thinking —’
‘Forget it,’ Van Danik said. ‘We’ve finished the testing stage. We had to spend two days at a school for the blind after we left Serenity to make up our numbers for a full subset, but we’ve achieved all the aims for that stage.’
‘Without needing any further modifications or retesting,’ Zhou added. ‘Which is great news for you, since it’s the reason we’re ready for you so soon.’
‘Mira’s special, though,’ Ben persisted. ‘I can guarantee she’s not like anyone you’ve tested before.’
‘Statistically speaking,’ Van Danik argued, ‘once you’ve seen fifty blind eyes, you’ve seen fifty thousand.’
‘Did any of your blind subjects have hallucinations?’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Zhou said. ‘Did you say she’s blind but she thinks she can still see?’
‘Delirious,’ Van Danik said. ‘She’s confusing sight with dreams or memories.’
‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you? However, Mira can use the things she sees in order to navigate around furniture and other obstacles.’
‘You could say the same about dreams and memories,’ Zhou said. ‘They’re all functions of the imagination; just a saner face of delirium.’
Ben shook his head. ‘It can’t be that simple. She sees the world differently to us, and yes, I know that’s another way of saying she’s delusional, but delusions, dreams and imagination can’t be used to navigate a room as well as a sighted person — and she can do that... sometimes.’
‘Memory then,’ Zhou said. ‘Have you tested her with music and board games?’
‘Of course, and her memory’s certainly exceptional. She plays the saddest rendition of “Ode to Joy” on the guitar or piano, and she beat me at chess. But she could also trace the horizon. Trace the horizon! Nomatter how many times I spun her around to disorient her — and that can’t be memory. If you saw her, you’d be able to confirm — or perhaps overturn — her current diagnosis in only a few minutes.’
Zhou shook his head. ‘Sorry, Bennet, we’re not here to discuss a diagnosis for your friend.’
‘I know. You’re here to put your gear to the ultimate test in a court case. But I�
�m talking about infallibility too. What test could be more challenging than testing a blind girl who can’t tell the difference between dreams, memories and delusions?’
‘He makes an interesting point,’ Van Danik conceded. ‘We’ve surveyed schizophrenics from both blind and sighted populations, but none of the blind subjects had delusions relating to sight.’
Zhou rubbed his brow as if massaging a headache. ‘Even so, she’s only one person, Mitch. It was you who set the minimum demographic for population subsets at ten people.’
Van Danik shrugged. ‘Can you give us nine more like her?’ he asked Ben.
‘Sure. I can run her through a Xerox machine. Seriously, gentlemen — do you want to test the one person who can make your case fall over now, while there’s still time to work out the bugs? Or would you prefer your financiers to find out about possible flaws after they’ve started mass production?’
‘Another good point,’ Van Danik said. ‘And you know it’s usually me, Zan, who’s first to slam the gate on a sidetrack. But it occurs to me that if we can contribute to the diagnosis of a rare condition, or overturn an existing diagnosis, we’d have a lot to gain and nothing to lose. We already know the gear is infallible.’
‘We’re on a timeline,’ Zhou argued. ‘You’ve already tabulated all the data and —’
‘Not an issue. I can redo the math in my sleep — you know I can. The last thing I want is to screw four years of my life because I skipped one last test on a freak at a nuthouse. No offence,’ he added to Ben.
‘Hey, I’ve got fifteen years of my life invested in this,’ Zhou reminded him. ‘But you said it yourself — we’ve already achieved our perfect success rate. There’s no need to risk it — and I don’t mean with a negative test result, because I’m confident our equipment is infallible too. I mean by missing our deadline. That’s all that matters now.’
‘Technically, since we finished early at Serenity, we’ve still got a week up our sleeve,’ Van Danik said. ‘Also, the financiers only need a few test cases to discuss and we’ve got a long list to choose from already. We don’t need ten of her to satisfy the demographic guidelines for a population subset if we use her as a one-off cross-check. assuming,’ he added, turning to Ben, ‘that she’s also intellectually and/or mentally ill and therefore able to contribute data to those other subsets?’
