by Darrell Pitt
“But you remember now,” he interrupts.
“My name is Axel.”
“Good,” he says. “We have a beginning.”
“But I don’t remember how I got there. There was a man in the room. A dead man -.”
“His name?” the doctor inquires.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I don’t know his name.”
“You see,” he says. “This is where we have a problem. How does one separate the lies from the truth?” He makes a motion with his hands as if panning for gold. “It would seem that a person must be not only willing to tell the truth -.”
“I am willing,” I say. “I am telling you the truth!”
“- but desperate to tell me the truth,” he finishes.
For the first time I realize the man has a slight accent. German, I think. He is reminiscent of one of those death camp doctors during the war. The comparison does nothing to ease my mind.
“Desperate,” he repeats.
I say nothing. The silence in the room yawns between us like the sky at night. Open and endless.
“Desperation is a powerful emotion,” he says again. “It brings things to the surface. It separates the chaff from the grain. You see, it is not enough that you are telling me the truth.”
He leaves the chair, kneels in front of me and places a bony hand on my knee.
“I must believe you are telling me the truth.” He nods, looking down as if confirming the thought in his own mind. “I must believe it.”
“I will tell you the truth -.” I begin, but already Ravana has risen to his feet and crossed to the door. He leaves the room and a moment later I hear the rumble of a trolley. He reappears with a medical trolley and wheels it into the room. An electrical device sits on the upper level. It is a plain, silver box with two lights. One is green. The other is red.
“Do not be fooled by appearances,” he says. “This is a highly sophisticated device. And equally effective.”
The device has a hand held wand made from metal. A lead runs from it to the silver box on the trolley.
“I will ask you questions,” he says. “You will give me answers. The pain from the probe is all consuming. One second of it will seem to last an hour, but fortunately the agony will disappear completely when the probe is removed. In fact, you will feel a strange euphoria. As if you are sitting by the beach on a summer’s day.”
“You don’t have to do this,” I say desperately. “I will tell you the truth.”
“I know you will tell me the truth.” He turns the device on and a low hum fills the room. “They always do.”
Chapter Four
When I awake I find every inch of my body is covered in a lather of sweat. My clothes are drenched. Blood seeps from my bottom lip; I remember biting down on it during the interrogation.
I lift my head slowly. The doctor has left the room.
I want to vomit.
Ravana was right in what he said. When the probe was taken away from my bare skin, the pain instantaneously disappeared, instantly replaced by a sense of relief. Pleasure, even, like being bathed in a tub of warm water.
But when the probe was applied it was like being on fire.
During those minutes the outer world ceased to exist. There was no city. No room. No chair. There was only Ravana and the probe.
And his questions. His voice calmly asking me again and again -
“Where is the headquarters of The Agency?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is The Swan?”
“Please, I don’t know where he is. I don’t even know who he is.”
“What was the name of the dead man in the room?”
“I don’t know.”
“His name? You must know his name?”
“Please, I don’t know.”
Ravana is gone. It is only now I look up at the clock. It is almost seven o’clock. I have been in the room for less than an hour, but he has broken me. I would have condemned my own grandmother to death if he had asked me. Anything to avoid the all consuming pain of the probe. But I could not tell him anything.
I don’t know anything.
Then I remember the book. In the midst of the interrogation there was no mention of the book or any questions about the man giving me anything. I know I will tell Ravana about the book. It is still hidden in the wall in the alley. I will take him to the book, if necessary. Anything to avoid the pain.
A bottomless void fills my stomach. Deep down inside I know that even if I comply with every direction given to me I will probably not survive this experience. Ravana is no amateur. His calm demeanor has convinced me he has tortured many other people and he always gets his way. He did not lose his temper once during the interrogation. Didn’t even raise his voice. He was the picture of calm.
I will tell him about the book.
Footsteps rebound in the hallway outside. He enters with a spring in his step as if he has just returned from taking a stroll outside. His face brightens into a smile.
“Ah, you’ve awoken,” he says. “Wonderful. I was concerned you would sleep for hours.”
“Please,” I say. “I will speak. I don’t know anything, but I’ve just remembered -.”
At that moment I hear a rapid pop, pop, pop.
The smile fades from Ravana’s face. “What is happening?”
He turns back to the door and the sound of a man screaming reverberates along the corridor. Ravana grabs the door and pushes it shut. I derive more than a little pleasure in seeing him stand nervously behind the door, staring at it defensively. He reminds me of a naughty child waiting nervously for punishment from an angry parent.
More screaming comes from beyond the door. More firing of guns. I hear a sound like punches being thrown and then a final crash as a body hits the ground. A full minute passes. Ravana stands fearfully behind the door, clenching his fist.
“This is not possible,” he says. “They cannot -.”
The door is smashed open. Ravana staggers backwards as he defensively raises his fists. A person enters the room. It is a girl. Slowly I recognize her. It is the girl I saw on the motorcycle earlier. The one who ordered me to go with her.
She glances at me. “Bet you wish you’d accepted the ride.”
I nod dumbly.
The girl turns back to Ravana. The torturer suddenly looks like a cornered rat. His eyes dart around the room as if willing the walls to grow another door. Finally his gaze settles on the girl.
“Hurting me would be an enormous mistake,” he says.
“Not hurting you would be a bigger one,” she replies.
Faster than the eye could see, her fist snakes out and hits Ravana across the chin. He hits the ground like a sack of potatoes. My mouth falls open. I’ve never seen anyone move so fast.
The girl examines the chair. An instant later she has broken the arm rest on one side and my hand is free. I am wearing the handcuff like a bracelet, but my arm is free. She repeats the action on the other arm rest and for a finale breaks the legs with a couple of kicks. Producing a small piece of metal she quickly and efficiently picks the locks of the cuffs. They fall free.
“Let’s get out of here,” she says.
“You’ll get no arguments from me.” I follow her. “Can you at least tell me your name?”
“It’s Brodie,” she says.
I notice something about the way she says it. I realize she has an accent. I decide to ask about her country of origin later.
In the hallway there are groaning and bleeding men all over the floor. I vaguely recognize some of them from when I was grabbed. To my surprise, we start to head upstairs. I don’t argue. It’s when we reach the roof of the building that I look around in confusion.
“What’re we doing up here?”
“I’m pretty sure more reinforcements are arriving,” Brodie says. “I can handle a lot of them by myself, but I can’t protect you at the same time.”
“So how do we get off here?”
�
�We jump.”
“Jump?”
“Sure. It’s only to the next roof.” She starts across the roof. “It’s not too far.”
Okay, time for a reality check. Jumping from building to building might be something Mrs Bruce Lee does on a daily basis, but it’s a little out of my league. We reach the edge of the roof. With every step my legs shake a little more. By the time we can see the streets below they’re quivering like jelly. There is a building next to us, but it’s not simply a small step. It must be at least eight feet away.
I can’t do it. I still can’t remember my past, but I do realize something about myself that I didn’t know before now.
I’m terrified of heights.
“You’ll have to trust me,” she says. “We’re going to take a long run up and then jump across.”
“There’s part of that I don’t understand.”
“Which part?”
“Everything after, ‘you’ll have to trust me’.” I look down at the alley below. “Have you lost your mind? Jumping? Are we talking the same language? I’m going down via the stairs. I’m not jumping anywhere.”
She starts to argue with me, but I’m already making my way back to the stairwell. I’m about to enter when I hear the hammering of steps on the stairs below. Someone – correction – a lot of someones are racing up the stairs.
Hell.
I turn around just in time to see Brodie in mid flight. Obviously she has decided to shame me into jumping from one building to the next, but she has failed to inspire me with her bravado. I see her land and roll. A second later she’s back on her feet, waving to me.
Come on!
I glance down the stairwell. The cacophony of feet is drawing closer. I can try to jump or I can remain here to be interrogated again by Ravana.
I run towards the edge of the roof on shaking legs. I pick up speed quickly, though and accelerate. It’s not such a big distance and I will be across before I know it. The one thing I don’t notice is the small lip on the edge of the roof. It’s only a few inches high. I only see it out of the corner of my eye it at the last second. By then it’s too late.
My foot catches on it and instead of a graceful leap, I trip and sprawl out into space. Brodie’s mouth opens in horror. My arms stretch out. Brodie screams. The roof of the building opposite disappears from view.
I fall between the buildings.
Chapter Five
My forward momentum takes me as far as the opposite wall. I hit it with both hands. My nails rake the brick work, but don’t find purchase. My lower body collides a moment later.
Then gravity takes hold.
To make matters worse, for every action there’s an equal and opposite reaction, so my impact against the wall results in a slight rebound. As I fall I see something a few feet below my hands.
I reach out with everything I’ve got and one hand grabs the top of a window frame. My body swings in towards the building and then -.
Crash!
I hurtle through a window and into someone’s living room. It isn’t a graceful landing. Far from it. But it’s a landing. And I’ve only fallen a few feet as opposed to a hundred feet, so it’s a win as far as I’m concerned.
I’m covered in glass, timber and shredded curtain. Picking myself up, I find I’ve destroyed someone’s flower pot and knocked over their television set. An elderly black woman is sitting on her lounge looking at me with open mouthed astonishment. I can’t blame her. It’s not every day a teenage boy comes smashing through her window.
Bang!
A bullet thuds into the carpet next to my face.
Someone’s shooting at me!
“Sorry about this,” I climb to my feet.
She stands up, waving a finger at me and yelling something unintelligible.
I charge through her apartment and, more by chance than design, find the front door. Just as I struggle to open the lock something hits me from behind. Hard. I turn around and a broom smacks me in the face. Grabbing hold of the old lady’s weapon, I get the door open and stumble into the hallway.
“And don’t come back!” she yells.
Those words I understand.
I’m in the middle of a long hallway in a rundown apartment building. A door has opened down the passage and a young mother and her son peer out in astonishment. I realize part of the curtain is still hanging off my shoulder. Knocking it to the ground I try to wave reassuringly.
“It’s okay,” I tell them. “Knocked over a vase.”
I hurry in the opposite direction and arrive at a set of elevators. I’m about to hit the button for them when I notice they’re already ascending. But is this good news? This could be Ravana’s men. Could they be that fast?
I spot a set of fire stairs to my left. Dragging open the door, I start down them. There is a gap I can look down and see all the way to the bottom. It looks to be about ten stories. I hurry down one set of winding stairs and pass the door leading from that level. That’s one floor gone. Only about nine to go. Racing down another two floors I suddenly notice a sound and stop.
Footsteps.
Or am I just imagining it?
Is it just the reverberation of my own feet? Silence fills the stairwell. Regardless, I have to keep going. I continue down another floor, slow down and listen. Sounds okay. I rush down another floor and hurry past the entry door from that level.
The door flies open.
The guy catches me from the side, throwing me towards the railing and knocks the air out of me. He is tall and thin with a cruel face. He gets an arm around my throat and drags me backwards.
“We’re not finished with you, kid,” he says. “The doctor’s got a long night of fun planned for you.”
It’s the reminder of Doctor Ravana that does it. I see the doctor’s face in my mind and his patient expression as he applies the probe to my hand. If there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that I never want to return to that room again.
Bringing my elbow up into his stomach I hear a satisfying oomph and his grip loosens. Slightly. But not enough to escape. So I repeat the action three or four times more just to get the point across. All the while we’re sliding and stumbling down the steps. I swing around and brace him against the railing while I slam my elbow into his diaphragm.
I turn around and blindly swing a fist into his jaw.
It happens suddenly. The railing is not that high. Probably some building inspector looked at it thirty years ago and gave it a green light without a second thought. Little did he think this little piece of building design would become the stage of a life and death battle.
Because at that instant the thin man falls backwards. If it weren’t so horrifying it would be funny because he actually flips back like some sort of character in a comedy show. I make a grab for him, but the angle is bad and all I grab is a part of his jacket. It tears out of my grasp and he disappears from sight.
I watch him fall down the gap between the stairs. It seems to take forever. He gives an inarticulate cry. Makes a sound that has no meaning. At some stage his eyes meet mine during that endless fall. It’s almost an expression of disbelief.
How can you be responsible for my death?
Then he hits the ground floor with a terrible splat. Open mouthed, I stare down at his motionless form. Maybe he’s not dead.
Please God, let him not be dead.
I stumble down the remaining flights of stairs in a daze. I slip over twice, but barely notice. All I can think of are the man’s eyes. Such sheer disbelief. He must be alive. He can’t be dead. People survive falls worse than that and survive.
Finally I reach the final turn in the stairs. The thin man lies in a growing pool of blood. The shape of his body is like some sort of crooked swastika. His disbelieving eyes are dull with death.
I have killed him.
I have just killed a man.
Chapter Six
It is evening. The air grows cooler by the minute. Shops and apartment buildings slide past my gaze.
Cars beep at each other. Someone practices opera from an open window. A man sweeps his front step with a straw broom.
I see and hear it all, but it is as if I am deaf and blind.
I have killed a man.
I am a murderer.
It was self defense. That goes without saying. There is no doubt in my mind the man would have dragged me back to the room with Doctor Ravana and I would have been tortured and eventually killed. My body would have probably been buried in an unmarked grave or disposed of in a river. My parents, whoever they are, would never know what had happened to me. My own death would have been a foregone conclusion if I had been recaptured.
Still, I have killed a man and I will carry that knowledge with me for as long as I live. This is what soldiers must go through. They must experience similar feelings of guilt and horror. Once a person passes through that door they can never return. I have taken a human life and there will never be a time when that can be undone.
Every time I close my eyes I see the event in some sort of stop motion sequence. I try to grab him. He falls. His eyes meet mine. His body lies motionless on the floor. His neck lies at an unnatural angle.
Shivering, I wrap my arms around myself. I realize I am cold. Freezing. I stop at a street corner and the city slowly comes to life around me. A man is walking a dog. A woman is playing with her two small children on the sidewalk. A bus stops and passengers exit. It seems inconceivable that people are still carrying out their everyday lives.
I have to start thinking about where to go from here. My eyes randomly search the street and settle on a dimly lit vertical sign.
LIBRARY
Such places often stay open later than many retail shops. Crossing the road, I mount the steps and a moment later the warm interior embraces me. It’s not a large library. More of a local community centre. Still, it is better than nothing. An idea is forming in my mind. The woman at the desk smiles at me pleasantly. She is middle aged with brown hair and eyes. Probably even if you saw her on the street, you would still pick her profession. They must make all librarians from the same cookie mold.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” I say. “I’m very lost. I was on the tourist bus and I’ve gotten out at the wrong place.”
