The Radical (Unity Vol.1)

by Lynch, S. M.

  My life back home consisted of walking the streets, chasing leads, staking one coffee shop or brothel after another. Just anywhere the bastards of Officium might meet and discuss something I could nail them to a cross with. That was my day: always waiting for a piece of information that might give me something to work with.

  For as long as I could remember, there had been rumors that Officium were responsible for 2023. It had become almost accepted fact depending on whom you were talking to. However, proving it was near-impossible. So until then, I would just do my damn hardest to get them for whatever else they did wrong ‒ illicit affairs, drug running, all those petty things that really amounted to nothing but might one day lead to those so-called keepers of the peace finally unraveling and showing themselves up for what they really were.

  This routine of mine, however, had let me forget who I was, what I wanted. I needed a friend, a real friend, not one like Camille who was acting out of some sort of sense of duty. Someone who might be just as embroiled in this public battle as much as I. Camille was resilient, but she didn’t know what it was like to have everyone know your face and what you stood for. I contemplated that for a moment – what did I stand for? I guess I represented the few “rebels” just trying to fight back. I was the mouthpiece for a different way of thinking – a past belief that democracy and freedom of speech were all for the greater good. Officium had worked damn hard to eradicate that old notion but it was tried and tested. We just needed one person brave enough to stand against them. My victories over them were small and petty, I knew, and sometimes thankless, but someone had to try.

  I was the reporter hell-bent on undermining Officium and showing them up for what they really were. Just mythmakers who used the flu pandemic for their own gains, perhaps even hastened the disease, created it or specifically made themselves immune and everyone else weak. That sent a shudder down my spine. Were all those who survived only living because they were chosen by Officium? The thoughts swimming in my frontal matter were driving me nuts.

  So, I decided to put my time to good use and try to allay all these crazy insinuations. I laid on that pathetic scrap of bed and searched the births, marriages and deaths databases of Yorkshire. The search brought up hundreds of results so I tried to narrow them down with a few key words. Born 1980. Married 2013. Three results presented themselves, all grouped together. The first was Tom’s birth certificate, the second was the marriage record I had already seen and the last was his death certificate. Shit. I took a deep breath as I prepared to open the last file. On the screen, the details stared back. Eve had been the one to file his death and had the term “widow” beneath her name. On the document, she had adopted his surname and was cited as “Eve Bradbury”. She must have reverted back to her maiden name after his death. He died in December 2023 of heart failure. They had 10 years together at least, but why did Eve keep it a secret? Heart failure at 43? Was it flu-related? Was it something else? All these questions I had, and yet there were still no real answers.

  Then a thought cut through my mind. His letter, that one I had found in the bridal house, had told of their painful separation. He hadn’t died then, he couldn’t have. Surely? His letter was clearly written after the flu broke out; the tone of his writing intimated that it had caused them to live apart. Had he been one of the people Officium had targeted? I turned to the marriage certificate and saw Tom’s profession was clearly stated, “University scholar”. He must have posed a threat to Officium, there could be no other reason. It was all starting to make sense. He knew something so Eve made it look as though Tom was dead. Had to be that!

  I heard my stomach grumble and realized it was getting toward evening again. I needed proper sustenance and no protein replacements were going to cut it.

  I would have to face the pub again and hope that nobody there would bother me. Besides, I needed to take my mind off the whole business for a bit. Maybe once I got back to New York, everything would become clear. It was just so frustrating to be trapped there, unable to carry out Eve’s instruction.

  I checked the departure information on my xGen as I made my way back through the corridors of the airport toward the pub.

  I only discovered there was no change; nothing was flying in or out still.

  On entering my new local, I tried not to make eye contact, but my attempt to float in without anyone noticing failed. I sat down at a vacant booth and ordered something ridiculous.

  What the hell, I thought, I am going to be a frickin’ millionaire, and I also selected a pint of Guinness. It cost an ass-load but took me back to a memory of Eve and also settled my soul. Plus, I knew it wouldn’t contain any of the tracers that Officium put in their own brands of drinks, Eco-Boost and Tonic. The robotic bartender could mix these according to your weight, height and physical health, creating just the right quantities to get you happy and pliant – and mildly addicted. Cheap, yet with a hidden price.

  After wolfing the food down in record time and drinking the Guinness like there was no tomorrow, I selected another pint of the black stuff and looked up to see a man staring at me from across the pub. It was the one I had passed on my way out the day before but this time, he seemed to be giving me daggers. I pretended not to have noticed him but his stare was omnipresent. I couldn’t see past the way he was looking at me, like he wanted my attention but for all the wrong reasons.

  He turned his attention back toward the direction of the automated bar service when I realized who he was. This time, I decided to stare in his direction, but when he failed to notice, I made the brave decision to go over myself.

  I cleared my throat and he swung round to meet my confident glare. He seemed startled to see me before him, but I gave him little time to react.

  I tried to seem breezy but I could feel my cheeks twitching with the effort to put on a smile. I spoke through clenched teeth, ‘Doctor Ryken Hardy?’

  His mocking smile revealed a set of unbelievably straight teeth and his expression betrayed arrogance. I was unwillingly reacting to him. He was the most striking man I had ever met. He wasn’t just stocky, he was difficult to describe. It made me wonder whether he had used enhancement drugs to build what was certainly a physique packed with precisely carved musculature. He was a former military man, but there was something about his aura. I really wanted to trash his hopes of me being reasonable.

  ‘The infamous Seraph Maddon,’ he jeered in a gruff voice.

  He turned back to the dimly-lit bar as if to give me the brush-off, forcing me to shout above the synth-jazz blaring out from the nearby speakers.

  ‘Would you like to join me at my table? Perhaps we could both do with some company?’ I tried to convince him. I vainly thought he would agree without argument.

  He mused with drink in hand, tipping the glass calmly to his lips. I guessed he was drinking soda, whereas I found myself at a disadvantage with the Guinness heating my veins and cheeks.

  ‘That’s mighty magnanimous of you,’ he quipped, raising one eyebrow, ‘but I’ll think about it.’

  I looked at the floor and realized he was seeing the woman everyone thought I was. He had no idea what I was going through, who I really was, otherwise he might have treated me better.

  ‘Be an ass then,’ I spitted.

  I walked back to my booth wishing I had never bothered. I played with a napkin as if I didn’t care but inside I was desperate to bolt out of the joint.

  Two minutes later, however, he seemed to have changed his mind and was stood by the side of my table, looking cocky with his drink in hand.

  ‘Sorry I was rude. It was inexcusable. I’ve just had a bad day but I would like to join you, if that’s okay?’

  It felt silly of me but inside, I roiled with relief. I needed someone to talk to. I felt so alone, so I nodded for him to sit down.

  There was silence for a while. Neither of us knew where to start, or if there was even a start. We were just there in that bar, because there was no place better to be. Inside, I felt emotiona
l and weak. I didn’t want to show him that.

  ‘How come we’ve not met before?’ he asked, his deep voice slicing through the ice.

  ‘Guess we are both damn busy,’ I hedged.

  ‘You look sad. What is it?’

  I didn’t think it was obvious but clearly it was. I felt morose and desperate, as if everything was coming apart around me. I looked into his eyes and thought I saw genuine concern. I chose a response close to the truth.

  ‘I just exposed another dark secret,’ I explained. ‘This one was… more difficult than any other.’

  ‘You wanna talk about it?’ he urged me, a hand of his suddenly on the table between us, drumming his fingers.

  ‘Not at all,’ I replied, avoiding his eyes, ‘and I’ll be fucked before I talk about it with you.’

  His jaw ticked, his eyes grew wide, but he said nothing. I held a hand over my mouth and tried to stop my lip trembling. I needed to be held so badly. I felt incredibly disconsolate.

  ‘I heard you got fired?’ I turned the heat on him, scratching my hands through my loose hair.

  A hint of fury crossed his features but he quickly recovered himself, smiling through gritted teeth. In fact I think I saw him watching my hair tumble over the tabletop.

  ‘I wondered how long it would take for you to have a go.’

  He squirmed so I leapt on my chance, tucking all those strands of chestnut silk to one side to distract him. If that is what he thought of me, I would be the hard bitch he expected. Just a cunning seductress using her charms to get him.

  ‘Have I made you uncomfortable, Doctor Hardy? Don’t be a shrinking violet now. It is only natural to want to know why you got ditched from your position. Doesn’t everyone ask?’

  I peered through slit eyes at his hulking frame. His shoulders were impressively wide and solid, filling his tailored leather jacket to the edges. Like me, he had pockets for everything. He would always be prepared, being ex-military. His hands were large and veiny, with manicured nails and a large Rolex sitting on his brick of a wrist. The bit of neck that poked out of the top of his black polo neck was thick and tense, seeming to bulge with muscles every time he moved. His pronounced Adam’s apple bobbed provokingly as he spoke in deep, cosmopolitan tones resounding of a British man who had traveled and seen something of the world. His form was giant, but his face and limbs were long and sophisticated. His chiseled cheekbones and jaw, large oval dark-brown eyes, tanned olive skin, short but side-parted straight jet-black hair and sharp clothes were overpowering. His appearance didn’t seem to fit the sartorial de rigueur of his profession.

  ‘I was fired for lack of results in my sector, but of course we know the real reason. You already know. Seeing as though you’re always writing drivel about everyone.’

  He was ready to pump for information. Sat opposite him, however, I could do nothing to escape having to look at him. He was riveting and gorgeous, unbelievably handsome, dashing even, but I didn’t want to admit it. His Roman nose, full lips almost purple in color, along with a set of perfect, large ivory teeth, were all of a sudden becoming a point of distraction. I nervously ran my tongue over my own front teeth, which were slightly crooked from years of playing hockey. Instead of turning into a gibbering wreck, I decided to take control.

  ‘Well, if you agreed to give me an interview once in a while, I wouldn’t need to dig shit up on you, would I?’

  He smelt of something. Musky. Just as I was coming down from my remonstration, the hatch blinked into life, delivering my drink.

  ‘Interviews wouldn’t make any difference, the truth would only end up misconstrued, as it always does,’ he replied, sarcasm pouring from him.

  I collected myself and tried not to seem insulted, when that was all I felt. Needless to say, he was still seeing the image I had painted of myself, the one people saw.

  ‘Wanna know how I do this? I mean, you know, why I do this?’

  ‘Hit me with the best you got,’ he demanded.

  I took a deep breath and sat up straight, looking up under my brow to stare into his eyes.

  ‘They killed my parents. So fuck you for your incidental mistrust.’

  I scrubbed my cheek, which was red raw. All I could do was look down at my lap.

  ‘I didn’t know,’ he mumbled, discomfort in his voice.

  ‘Nobody does. I buried it. Long ago. Had a friend scrub it off the database. They never existed as far as the world is concerned.’

  I trembled with self-loathing. I was giving myself away with every moment we spent together. I was totally unable to help myself when he stood and walked to my side of the booth, forcing me to scoot over. His arms encircled me and held me, without words. I closed my eyes and just breathed. I didn’t hold him in return because I physically couldn’t, his arms were so tight around me. I just let my head fall into his chest and I relaxed for a moment.

  ‘Let’s start over shall we? We got off on the wrong foot. I apologize.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I sighed.

  I was so close to breaking down, it was unreal.

  ‘I still have my mum but I know how you feel. My father hasn’t been seen or heard of in years. I don’t know what became of him.’

  I didn’t respond. I had spent so many years telling myself men only wanted one thing and that had made it easier to behave the way I did. Nonetheless I would be the modicum of polite company to probe what I wanted out of Ryken.

  I shifted to the edge of the seat, tugging myself out of his arms. I shrugged and whispered, ‘I’m okay, really. Stay, though. The closer you sit the less likely anyone will overhear…’

  ‘What have you got to tell me?’

  ‘First,’ I glanced at him sideways, ‘I’m having trouble placing that accent of yours. From what I’ve gleaned so far it’s verging on Lancashire but there’s a shred of something else, right?’

  ‘The Mancunian is hard to get rid of,’ he smiled at me, making my stomach clench. ‘I moved about a lot with the Army after growing up in Oldham, before settling in New York eight years ago, for work.’

  ‘My lineage is British,’ I revealed.

  ‘Really?’ he raised a brow.

  ‘Uh, yeah,’ I teased, holding my hair out toward him. ‘Pretty Celtic, don’t you think? Plus Maddon, which is I don’t know… Welsh, Scottish, Irish maybe even… I have never had the time to investigate that.’

  He nodded like he knew my meaning. Everything I did was for a cause, a singular purpose, and he understood that now. I had forsaken life outside of work to find out why my parents were mown down in broad daylight, like they were no better than dogs.

  ‘My parents met and married while studying medicine in Leeds, just before moving to New York. They carried on their training at Columbus… and both became leading heart surgeons.’

  ‘Really? Shit. What did they think about you being a reporter? Not following in their footsteps?’

  ‘Hated it,’ I replied sharply, reaching for my drink. ‘I was never good at science, though. I don’t know what it was, but it bored me.’

  He held a hand at his heart like I had wounded him. It had been difficult for my parents too, not being able to really connect with me on an intellectual level. They were so straight and disciplined, whereas I only wanted to live a life of variety.

  ‘You don’t like science, not even a bit? Yet you chase its truths every day? There is irony in that, if nothing else,’ he grinned broadly, his smile sending aches through my heart that I mistrusted.

  I was insatiably attracted to this man. I secretly wondered why we were wasting time talking when all I wanted was to have him inside me. He was so manly.

  I distracted myself with the surroundings; the faux-leather upholstery of the booths we sat in, and the mock-wooden stools, floors, tables and bar that Ryken had just left.

  ‘How were they murdered?’ he dared ask.

  ‘Almost the same way as Mara Dulwich’s father. Go figure.’

  ‘Why…?’

  I shook my head.
‘Honestly? I don’t fuckin’ know. I mean…’ I had to choose my next words carefully. Could I trust him enough to bring him into my innermost confidence? Not right then, no. Not yet. ‘The mystery is one of the things I’ve been chasing my entire career. How exactly they upset Officium, I have no idea.’

  He looked around to check nobody was within earshot, eyeing the few lone pub-goers that were in there with us. ‘Bloody hell, we ought to go somewhere quieter if you’re going to talk so candidly. Don’t mention them here.’

  ‘You talk like someone I used to know. She used to spout the same thing. “Never mention their name. Don’t risk yourself. Only say what you dare say to their face” she used to warn me.’

  I took another swig of stout, staring Ryken directly in the eye with a stern look that could freeze ice.

  ‘You don’t fear them, in spite of all they have done? To others, not just your parents.’

  ‘You obviously don’t know who you’re dealing with here. I don’t give a damn who hears us. How do you think I get the stories I do?’

  He seemed shocked by my bravado and proceeded tentatively, ‘Why do you reckon they were responsible? I mean, how are you so sure? If you don’t know why they died, how do you know anything? Is there something you are holding back?’

  I maintained a tight grip around the vessel containing my drink. Concentrating on that was all that was stopping me reaching across for his arms once more, before asking him back to bed. I had tried to stop myself doing that and in recent years had gotten better at it, but quick assignations sometimes helped calm and settle me.

  That day I was grieving and alone, uncertain what lay ahead. Yes, I was frightened. Deep down, of course I was. A quick fuck would momentarily remedy my brain ache, but at what cost? I settled on telling him some words I felt safe with.