by G. K. Lund
“Because they can’t trace your movements electronically.”
I sighed inside the body. Electronic traces. My existence had certainly changed. “Very well… so why does it seem like this is bad news?”
“Because to her it looks like the phone was left behind on purpose, and while they can’t prove any guilt on your part, you can’t prove your innocence either.”
“Do you think there is a possibility that… I did this?” I asked. I was certain that my washing up next to a dead body was a coincidence, but there was, of course, a chance that Old Ben had been involved. Perhaps that was why he jumped? In that case, it had all been planned. Why else would he have left his things at home?
“God, no,” Walter exclaimed. “You wouldn’t hurt a fly, Ben. Whatever happened to you, you didn’t take a hammer with you to kill a man none of us have ever heard of.” He smiled – reassuringly I assumed – and headed for the kitchen.
“Coffee?”
“Yes.” I smiled with an uplifted mood and followed.
Chapter 10
“How did it go?” Rose asked as we left the hospital later that day. She had taken me to my appointment with the psychologist – a droll session that would ultimately amount to nothing. As I could not tell her that Ben’s memories were lost forever I simply said “fine,” and left it at that.
Rose, on the other hand, did not. “You are trying aren’t you, Ben?”
“Of course,” I assured her, hoping it would stop the asking. I could see her giving me a sideways stare, which I interpreted as disbelief. I wondered why though. Didn’t she trust her friend? Why would they be friends at all then? Or worse… did she know something was amiss with her old friend? That would certainly lead to all kinds of problems, and I figured I had enough by this point. One of them being the body’s incessant need and want of things. The smell of coffee derailed me as soon as I sensed it. I didn’t even know I was headed there before Rose came shouting after me.
“What are you doing?” she said as she caught up.
“You want coffee?” I asked and pointed toward the little coffee cart in a nearby park. At least she gave a smile at that and came with me, as we left the busy street leading away from the hospital and went into the verdant park. The smell changed immediately from exhaust and urine to a freshness I had not experienced before with only the occasional spot of urine smell. The coffee was what I smelled the strongest though, perhaps because the body craved it. Either way, it tasted as delicious as the first time I tried it, and my need for it seemed to make Rose happier, a knowing smile placed on her lips as she watched me.
“Where are we?” I asked after a while as we strolled through the park, watching people enjoy a sunny day – seated on blankets, eating and drinking, kids running around and playing, people walking their dogs. I wondered for a moment if that was what I was to Rose and her friends now. A dog that needed walking and watching over.
“Fairview Park,” Rose answered after swallowing a sip of her coffee. She took it with lots of milk and sugar. I still drank mine black. Should I branch out and try something new? I gave a mental shrug. For now, I preferred it like this, and anyway, I was not staying around to find out if I liked other types of the dark liquid.
“Have I been here before?”
Rose nodded as a soft sigh escaped her. “Often. A lot of things happen here, festivals, concerts, hanging out…”
“Oh,” I managed, realizing too late that she’d likely been a part of that. “Like that?” I added as we emerged from a tree-lined gravel path to find a crowd gathered in front of a stage in an open area below us.
“No,” Rose said as she looked to see what was going on. “That’s Mayor Mcloughlin having a rally.”
“Who?”
“The mayor. You know… head honcho of the city?”
“Yes.”
She sighed again and pointed at an unoccupied bench for us to sit and drink our coffee. As we sat down, I noticed a plaque on it: Mary Bradley. Ashdale memorial society. I shrugged and sat down. I knew nothing of this place. This city, a vibrant living thing on its own. It had little meaning to me.
“Did Ben… I mean, did I grow up here?”
“In Ashdale you mean?”
I nodded as I took a sip of the coffee, the temperature perfect now.
“No. Charlotte Bay. Further up the coast. We all grew up there. You, me, and Peter. Neighbors. We all ended up here because of college and work I guess. That’s usually how it goes.”
“Why?”
“Ashdale is bigger. More opportunities. Especially after WGI set up their headquarters here.”
“Who?”
“Winter Global Industries,” she explained and pointed at the stage with her coffee-cup hand. “See there? The gray-haired guy speaking?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s the mayor. He’s running for reelection. He’s been mayor as long as I’ve lived here. Been reelected before, but this time he’s got some serious competition. A guy named Strand I think. I believe it’s the first time the mayor has felt threatened because I can’t remember him doing this as much the other times.”
We were seated next to a wide dirt path that wound its way through the park. The stage itself was situated below us, not much of a hill exactly, but we had a good vantage point up there. It did of course help that the stage was part of an amphitheater. The seating tiers halfway surrounded the mayor, not obstructing mine and Rose’s view one bit. Behind the stage lay a pond inhabited by birds, and in front of the stage sat an attentive and cheering crowd of hundreds of people, maybe more than a thousand. The mayor seemed a popular man. I couldn’t see all the details, of course, the weak body not providing me with the type of vision I needed for that, but he was a handsome man, graying hair, middle-aged maybe? Dressed in a suit, though the jacket was gone, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up, as he gesticulated energetically, arms emphasizing what he was saying. I didn’t pay much attention to his words. I didn’t care what they were.
“So, he is WGI?” I asked, not sure why I had even the slightest interest in how this place was run.
“No, that’s one of the people behind him. Look at the middle, next to the mayor’s wife. She’s dressed in that bright-green dress. The blond guy.”
I did as told, and saw the man she meant, young, dressed in a suit also, sandy colored hair. Difficult to see details as he sat further away from us.
“What about him?”
“He’s the CEO of WGI. After he moved his company from New York to Ashdale, things have been going up for the city. More work for everyone, though God knows why he wanted to come here instead of there. Probably got some incentives.”
“And what has that got to do with the mayor?”
Rose finished her coffee and put the cup down between us on the bench. “It’s funny you know. You used to be the one who knew this stuff. Because of your part-time job as a reporter. And now…” she tilted her head up and seemed to enjoy the warmth from the sun on her face.
“Well?” I prompted, glad she was talking about anything other than me recovering from the memory loss of a man who was dead.
“Well, if Winter is down there it means Mcloughlin is pulling out the big guns. Winter doesn’t usually do these things. He’s a bit reclusive according to the press. And since he also almost died a week ago, you’d think the mayor wouldn’t get him to appear so soon.”
“Almost died?”
Rose shrugged. “A helicopter accident out by his mansion. It was all over the news. At first they thought he died with everyone else in the crash, but apparently not.”
I looked down at the man again. He seemed fine from what I could see. “Maybe he’s attending to prove he’s alive,” I suggested, actually provoking a short laugh from Rose.
“That sure sounds like a reporter,” she clarified when she noticed me looking. “Nevertheless,” she continued, “it says something both about our leader’s influence and fear when you take in all of what’s going o
n down there.”
As far as I could see, the mayor looked at ease talking to the people in front of him, as well as the line of people seated behind him, but then again, I looked like Ben Reed. Everything and everyone could be deceiving.
“Anyway,” Rose said and grabbed her empty cup as she sat up, back straight, a clear sign it was time to leave. “It’s going to rain soon according to the forecast. We should get home. I promised Walter to go with him to some prospective job dinner thing. Will you be all right on your own a while?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Will you though?” she pressed.
I drained the last of my coffee, already thinking about the next cup. Even I, in my new state of being, understood she wasn’t talking about me being alone in Ben’s apartment. I had made a decision on our short walk through the park. I was not going back to the psychologist. There was no point. I understood that she thought there would be. She thought Ben was inside the body sitting next to her, but there was no salvaging that. He was gone. He had to be for me to be in there. Not a trace of his personality or memories left. If nothing else – I was certain of that.
“I’ll be fine,” I repeated, trying for an ensuring tone of voice, even looking her straight in the eyes.
She smiled and nodded, probably reassuring herself of this. I had at least come to understand people like the words they want to hear the most. The truth not necessarily so welcome. So, I decided to hold off on telling her of my decision. I would deal with it when she found out. She was bound to, working in the hospital. If I was lucky, I would be gone by then.
“Okay then,” she said and got up, taking my empty cup from me, and throwing it in the nearest bin with her own. “Let’s go back.”
“Yes. I need to stop by that cart again,” I said as I walked beside her, seeing out the corner of the eye that this did indeed make her smile. I don’t really know why, but the body did the same.
Chapter 11
Back in the apartment, it quickly dawned on me that without anyone else present, I didn’t know what to do. The phone still confused me. The TV was easier, but the programs on it meant nothing to me. I left it on a local news channel but paid it no attention. Rose had told me more than I wanted to know about the mayor anyway. The only thing I knew how to operate was the coffeemaker as I had paid close attention when Walter used it, making sure to learn it myself. It was easier than running down to the coffee shop all the time.
Still, coffee could not keep me entertained for long, and I realized after a couple of hours that I was experiencing boredom. What I didn’t realize at the time was that I had no interests. No likes or dislikes. All I wanted was to find out who I was and then leave this place, leave this chromosome-ridden vessel. I have seen people lose their minds because of isolation and boredom over prolonged time periods. As I sat on the couch, feet on the table, I sat up and looked around. How did I know that? When had I experienced that? And why? Hard as I tried grabbing for memories I needed to put the puzzle together, they were out of my reach. I heard growling from the throat and sank back on the couch. Outside, raindrops began falling.
Why were these things eluding me? Surely, I was more advanced than the thing that I occupied? Was that the problem? What if the brain was unable to cope with whatever it was? The mere thought was disconcerting. I attempted to think realistically on the matter. The psychologist had said that I had been through a trauma, that I needed time to heal to be able to deal with it. He didn’t know what he was talking about. His field of study didn’t include beings like me. But I was trapped in a human body. Maybe what he said pertained to it? A surge went through the chest, making me draw breath and even smile a little. I sat up again, surprised at this. Then I realized this must be what relief and hope feel like. I only needed to rely on it being justified.
Feeling a little better, I got up to make some more coffee when a shout stopped me short. I looked around in confusion but was alone in the light and clean apartment. The sound on the TV was low and I discounted it as the source. Then it came again. Louder and lasting longer this time. Not used to ears and pinpointing sound, it took me another moment to realize the noise came from outside the apartment, from out in the hallway. With nothing better to do, and in retrospect, probably the common sense of a teenage boy instead of a grown man, I went to the door to see what was going on.
The usually billowing robes of Bullfinch Sophie where hanging heavily as she clung to her door frame further down the hall. A man kept shouting at her.
“You’re a fraud, you hear me?” he bellowed at the terrified woman. He was holding her door open as well as placing his foot between it and the threshold, effectively stopping her from shutting it.
“My wife would never say such a thing. Have you no shame?”
“Mr. Barnes,” Sophie tried weakly, but he didn’t hear her.
“I’m not paying for this. No one should. You horrible woman.”
“Is everything okay?” I asked, raising the voice to be heard. Stupid question, I know. Obviously, things were not okay. For some reason, I especially didn’t like the frightened stance of Sophie. Maybe she was a bit all over the place, but despite that, she had been nice to me the day I came back from the hospital. I don’t know why, but that seemed to matter to me. The man, on the other hand, did not seem to think it should matter to me at all.
“What the hell do you want?” he shouted in my direction. “Can’t you see we’re busy?”
I did see that. Knew it wasn’t my business either, and yet the body walked a little closer without me thinking about it. Just like when it spoke before I thought things through.
“Stay out of this, you moron,” the man shouted, spittle spraying from his mouth.
“No,” the voice came out. “Look at her. She’s afraid. I don’t like it.”
“Who gives a shit about what you like?” he said, and let go of the door, turning toward me. I was about ten feet away from them now, and as he turned he stopped and looked closer. I was not sure what was happening, but he seemed to assess the body, considering his options. His chances, it has to be said, were very good. I had never, in my few days as a human, been in any violent situation. Excepting Old Ben’s death of course. Somehow, I feel that doesn’t count. Anyway, the man in front of me looked to be in his sixties if I were to guess. Steel-gray hair and beard, a fair beer-belly, and about four or five inches shorter than the body. The body was also more than three decades younger. I probably looked like I could be a threat. It was also a good thing I didn’t quite grasp the situation. The thought of physical pain still repulsed me after waking up from it by the river. Luckily, the size and youth of the body spared me that.
“I don’t need this,” the man said. He almost sounded like he hissed the words, before shooting Sophie a poisonous look. As he left he made a point of bumping his shoulder into the arm for some reason, unbalancing me a little.
Sophie and I stared after him in silence until we couldn’t hear his footsteps down the stairs anymore.
“Thank you, Ben,” she said, and I turned back to her. She looked relieved, but still small, still clutching at the door frame. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“No, I didn’t,” I agreed. “You looked scared though. Why was he so angry with you?”
She sighed, forcing fear at bay I thought. “You want some coffee?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said and smiled at her, it seemed contagious. Her lips went from a short tight line to a small warm smile.
I was led into an apartment that was different to Ben’s, to say the least. The layout was about the same, though it looked mirrored. Thick curtains prevented the sun from lighting up the place. The color scheme seemed to be different shades of red and purple, both on the walls and the furniture. Paintings of wood nymphs and sprites decorated the walls, and on every shelf and surface, there were knickknacks following the same fashion. I could see no TV in the living room. It would have clashed with everything else. If she had one, she kept it in ano
ther room. The lighting came from a chandelier, though there had to be few watts in the bulbs as it gave off an eerie weak golden light. It was helped by lit candles around the place, fat and conjoined streaks of tallow at the base of every candlestick. Somehow it all seemed to fit well with Bullfinch Sophie to me.
I sat down on a soft couch that made me sink a little into the cushions as I waited for Sophie to come out of the kitchen. A cat made itself known, fat and gray with black stripes. It meowed and rubbed itself on my pant leg before jumping into a nearby chair where it lay down to stare at me.
“Is that how you say hello?” I asked it, but two yellow and slit eyes just kept on looking at me.
“Pay no heed to Mishka,” Sophie said as she came into the living room, her long red garments now flowing around her again. She had visibly pulled herself together in the kitchen.
Something clicked together in the brain. “You named your cat Bear?”
She looked at me with surprise and then smiled. Wider than earlier. That was good I assumed.
“The cat is like bear. Strong and stubborn. The name suits him.”
I nodded as she set down a tray with some cookies, sugar cubes and a tiny mug of milk. She didn’t have the paper cups from the coffee vendors, nor the large mugs Ben had in his apartment either. No, this was a proper china set, saucers and all. Red of course. She went back to the kitchen, and I realized she had also gotten her accent back now. I thought Peter was onto something about her. Like so much else though, it didn’t matter much to me.
Mishka began purring, the sound oddly soothing, but he did not take his eyes off me. I wondered if he did this to all his owner’s visitors.
Sophie returned with a coffee pot, her movements controlled and calm now. No more shaking. Her face, which I assumed to be on the north side of forty, a mask of hospitality. Like everything was all right.
I didn’t understand that.
“Why was that man so angry?” I asked as she poured coffee into a cup for me. The comforting smell wafted toward me before I could taste it.
