Beyond Belief

by Mark Lingane

  Pete gave him an odd look, as he hadn’t been studying his Romeo and Juliet lately.

  Joshua spun around, this time without the sound effects, and leaped up after her.

  “Why, Mr. Richards. You are punctual,” Marianne said without turning around.

  Joshua signaled to Pete for some drinks and the two retired to a small table in the depths of the Duck. They both took a swig of the drinks Pete had served.

  Joshua’s eyes started to water. “He certainly pours strong drinks,” he said in an unusually high voice.

  Marianne, who was desperately looking around for somewhere to spit it, nodded and reluctantly swallowed.

  After water started to condense in their throats, Joshua started talking.

  “How long have you been working for Mr. Na’hash?”

  “Years. A long time. Possibly too long. Stupid little prat. God, he is boring and trivial.”

  “You don’t like him, then?”

  “Very perspicacious, Mr. Richards.”

  “Well, detectives are like that.”

  “Really? I’d never have guessed. I thought it was luck.”

  “There is a bit of that, too. God I’d don’t believe we’re talking like this—like a couple of teenagers.”

  “Know a lot of teenagers, do you?”

  “Well, no. But, it’s how I would imagine them talking.”

  “You believe in déjà vu, Mr. Richards?”

  “Gee, I dreamt you said that last night.”

  Marianne didn’t laugh.

  Joshua continued. “It’s odd you should say that, and I don’t mean this as a cheap pick-up line, but I feel like I’ve known you for a long time.”

  “Stranger things have happened at sea, Mr. Richards.”

  “Would you quit with the Mr. Richards?”

  “All right. Richards.”

  He looked at Marianne and drummed his fingers on the table, feeling that he had lost some kind of competition. The drinks came and went and the two chatted amiably enough.

  Then Marianne stretched and stood up. She had ideas. “I’ve had enough of it here. I think I want to go home. Shall we go?”

  “You want me to come along?”

  “Yes. Otherwise why would I ask?”

  “Ah yes, good point. I’ll walk you home.”

  “You can do that if you want.”

  “Where do you live?”

  She smiled at him and moved very close to him.

  “You’re very close,” he said.

  “I need to be shortsighted,” came the reply.

  He thought that was an odd comment.

  They walked along the streets heading toward uptown. Joshua sensed this and felt a little uneasy.

  “I see you live uptown. Have you been in the capital long?” he asked.

  “Not really.”

  “Where were you before here?”

  “Let’s not talk about the past, Mr. Richards. Let’s savor the present.”

  “You can call me Josh. That’s what my friends call me.”

  “You want me to be a friend?”

  “Would that be a great sacrifice?”

  “Who are we to know what a price will be? What we give and what we take are unknown in this life, but define who we are. For tonight we can be friends, as you put it, and I shall say hello to Josh.”

  “You sound like a New Age book. Is this your municipal library?”

  They had stopped in front of the grand building with its Romanesque architecture that had been washed and cleaned within an inch of its grouting. The magnificent trees surrounded them and parklands rolled out in all directions. Small, brightly lit offices occupied by successful creative professionals were sprinkled amongst the foliage.

  “Now this is a good place to think.” She smiled and shivered.

  “You’re cold. Would you like my coat? It’s very nearly clean.”

  “No, but I’d appreciate it if you would hold me.”

  Uncertainly, he placed his arm around her. She pushed herself into his body. She was as cold as ice.

  They walked on, passing beneath the streetlights. The smart offices gave way to the in-town housing. They rounded out of Hobbs Street and entered onto Press Avenue.

  “We’re nearly there,” Marianne said.

  “You live on Press Avenue?” Joshua exclaimed.

  “Only during summer.” They paused in front of the apartment version of a mansion. “This is where I live.”

  “This is a nice place for a secretary.”

  “Yes, it is. Na’hash is kind to me.” She started to walk up the stairs and looked back over her shoulder toward Joshua. “Aren’t you coming in?”

  Her place was very impressive. Not only was it on the fashionable side of town, it was in the fashionable section of the fashionable side of town. Once inside the doorway the world changed. No longer was it a dirty, nasty place full of horrible things, but a clean, peaceful one that was very rich. The porcelain floors gleamed. The furniture gleamed. The rugs were vacuumed and placed neatly on the floor. Everything was immaculate.

  Joshua, who was used to Damien’s apartment, was very impressed. There were very few pizza boxes behind the door.

  Marianne lowered her jacket off her shoulders and trailed it behind her for a few paces. She then dropped it and left it in the middle of the floor. “Would you like some … tea?” she said.

  “Will it be too hot?” Joshua asked.

  “I don’t think so. But then again, maybe it will,” Marianne replied.

  “Maybe?”

  “We shall see.”

  She walked out of the corridor to the kitchen. Halfway she leaned back out and, smiling, said, “I think you’ll find it more interesting in here. With me.”

  They sat at her kitchen table drinking and talking. Well, Joshua, spoke and Marianne sat and listened smiling from ear to ear. When his cup neared emptiness she would take it and fill it again and place a not so small drop of brandy in with it.

  “I’m going to bed. You can sleep where you want,” Marianne said.

  “You have a couch?”

  “Wouldn’t you prefer to be in my bed?”

  “Well … yes. You’re being forward again.”

  “Sorry. But there’s a time to be coy, and a time not to be. This is the latter. If we’d met at another time then things might have been different.” She stood up. “Are you coming or what?”

  They lay in bed together, she in his arms with her head on his chest and her eyes closed. Her finger traced patterns and images on his chest. She breathed in deeply.

  “Joshua, I have something to say.”

  Joshua, who had been half asleep, woke up.

  “You men are all the same.”

  “Look, I’m tired because it’s four in the morning. Give me a break.”

  Marianne laughed. “I have to say this because tomorrow will be too late.”

  “Why?”

  “Tomorrow will always be too late. All we ever have is this moment.” She brushed back her hair. “These things are never easy to say.” She paused to work out what to say. She looked up at him and into his eyes. “I love you.”

  “Aren’t you going a bit fast?”

  “It’s a fast-moving world and things happen quickly. You only get one chance and when it comes you should grab onto it and never let it go. Even if it does go, you should still remember it so if it ever comes back it will be the same as it once was. All I’m trying to say is that you will always have a place in my heart. You always have.”

  “And you,” he paused, “will always have a place in my kitchen.”

  “Oh, you brute. Can’t you be serious for a minute?” She put on a mock hurt face and pounded his chest.

  He laughed, and so did she. He pulled her close. There was something he had to do, which he hadn’t done in so long that he couldn’t remember the last time he did it. He smiled, and it was a smile that came from deep inside. A smile of joy and happiness. This was it and it didn’t get any better. E
xcept when Marianne smiled. Then that was it. All the rainclouds went away and the world was a better place, if only for a little while.

  “I have loved you and always will, through everything. Please keep that thought safe. It’s all I can give and I must take so much more.” She looked away to hide her tears.

  He didn’t understand her but then maybe he shouldn’t try too hard. She was hiding something deep and dark. It would only be time that freed her. He looked away to hide his tears.

  The morning came and Joshua awoke with a scream. He didn’t know where he was. How did he get here? Then it all came back. He sat up and smiled, but not for long.

  There was a note on the pillow next to him: Food this way. An arrow pointed toward the door. He eased himself from between the sheets, dressed and went down stairs. The apartment was very quiet.

  Got to go to work. Important day today. Enjoy the food. You may need your strength (hint hint). Hope the meeting with Na’hash goes well tonight. He is an idiot and a real snake, you know. Thinking of you. Always yours.

  Your Marianne

  Strange. He didn’t recall telling her about tonight’s meeting. Na’hash must have told her.

  He munched the cooling toast and looked around the kitchen. The clock showed eleven o’clock but that was all right. Clean place. He wondered who her maid was. How on earth could she afford one? Must get paid heaps. He really liked the way her hair smelled. He wondered if he could get a photo of her. He would put it in his wallet.

  What was he talking about? He’d gone soft and stupid. He didn’t have a wallet. She needed to practice her cooking, though. He closed his eyes and remembered, and smiled. His hair fell rakishly across one eye.

  He shook himself from wherever his mind had escaped to, and left for his office.

  What a glorious day, he thought as he walked down the street. It was a pity it was raining and overcast though. Lightning seared across the sky and thunder growled long and hard. The rain drizzled down and poured along the gutters. He walked past a lamppost and paused. He thought better of it and continued.

  17

  JOSHUA SAT IN HIS office. He tried to think but his mind kept flicking back to a certain lady. He would take a pen and try to write something but it usually ended up as a pathetic doodle. In the end he gave up and flicked the pen in the air. He swiveled his chair around and stared out the window. A white bird of some sort swooped past through Joshua’s distracted gaze, and soared off over the buildings and the odd cobbled street, coming to rest on top of an insignificant four-story building plus basement.

  The view followed the fire escape toward the ground, where two men in dark suits squatted patiently outside the only window that was open. The velvet curtains waved faintly in the breeze. The men examined their guns as they sat idle, trying not to listen to what was going on inside.

  The view swept through the curtains, revealing a room that was designed with one specific purpose in mind by someone who had no sense of subtlety. On the left was a small oak table decorated with red tassels. It had a large vanity mirror placed above it with several shelves on each side. Each shelf was packed with small bottles and powder containers.

  There was a sea of red in the room. The carpet was red. The walls were red. Furniture was red, with spots of blood red. Next to the mirror was a well-hidden wardrobe that housed several costumes. Next to the wardrobe was a collection of bondage items for the more specialized client. Further around was a mirrored shower that showed signs of recent use. In the center of the room, placed with some degree of ceremony, was a huge bed. Sheets and cushions sprawled everywhere.

  White netting draped from the mirrored ceiling over the bed, beneath which was a naked body, sitting upright with head nodding forward. As the head shot back, a black mane of hair uncurled and tumbled over the bare shoulders and svelte back. Primal rhythms cascaded through the body. The thin waist gyrated against another body that was wrapped in more red sheets.

  Sweat dripped down her neck and through her breasts. Her lower body tingled and she ground harder against her client. The meta-bios were kicking in and she was really enjoying this. She had to admit she had never really liked Mr. “R” but he did have the best drugs.

  “Set yourself free, hon. Let it go.”

  She dragged her hand against the back of her neck and smeared the blood over her left breast and down to her waist. The bio-packs always left a little damage but when she felt like this the blood made it more … intense. She stared … intensely at her client and gritted her teeth, her mouth forming a snarl. She dragged her claws across his chest. The cyber-nails extended fully and took as much skin with them as possible.

  A thought tried to make itself known through the red haze that hung over her mind.

  “Hey, hon, aren’t you one of those … big … powerful … men from the DoI?”

  The client’s head moved.

  “Do you …” Her body fell to the floor, mouth open and eyes staring straight ahead. A trickle of blood came from the side of her mouth and pooled onto the carpet, immediately lost in the stain of blood from her neck.

  The men outside did their best not to listen, but the sounds ripped through any internal strength they had and made them feel sick to the stomach. They looked desperately around at the surrounding buildings, which might offer any unfortunate witnesses. One lone tear stuttered down the face of one guard, and as the view tightened on his glasses, all gave way to the impenetrable black.

  The dark was shattered by a blinding white light that eventually resolved into figures resting on their haunches looking down. The perspective made them look elongated and arched, but these details went unnoticed; the blank eyes registered nothing. The two figures stood up and stepped back from the stretcher.

  “Wasn’t this one of Richards’ friends?” Harman said.

  “Have to check the file, inspector,” said the sergeant.

  Harman pulled the sheet over what remained of the body. This really hurt Harman. Miriam was one of the girls who tried to do the right thing and avoided any trouble. She was making her own way through a diseased world in the best way she knew how. She didn’t deserve this. Why would it happen to her? For what reason? What could she possibly know? Did people talk during their encounters with her? What would they say? “Stocks up thirty-seven points. Be sure to get plenty of orange juice shares.” Unlikely. Yet this wasn’t a drug-crazed loon attack. It had been too precise and too neat in a manic sort of way. Someone knew exactly what they were doing.

  When Harman next spoke, it was through clenched teeth. “I can’t believe that there were no witnesses.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. There are not many people here during the day. The girl on the door’s been given trio-cal cut with rush so her brain ain’t coming back. You can try and talk to her if you want.”

  Harman shook his head. Someone whose brain had been fried on that stuff would never say anything coherent again.

  “And whoever else was in here had been put out by rush,” said the sergeant, reading off his notepad.

  “What, all of them?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “Could possibly have been in the water. They could’ve drunk it or absorbed it through their skin in the shower.”

  “I imagine you’d need a lot of rush for that.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So why wasn’t Miri drugged?” Harman pondered.

  The sergeant shrugged. “My guess, sir, would be that she was called in.”

  “Good thinking. Are there any records here?”

  The sergeant rolled his eyes and shook his head. “You’ll like this, sir. The chain of events occurred like this: One: Water drugged. Two: No record of Miri being on call today so someone called her personally. Three: Power not cut but disconnected this morning, disabling all alarms. Four: Phones not cut but disconnected this morning, and, of course, it’s all automated so no one knows who did it. Five: Person turns up here, gives receptionist trio-cal and rush. Rush delays
effect until Miri turns up. Six: Miri turns up and gets it.”

  “I think you could’ve used a more suitable term, sergeant.”

  “Sorry, sir. Where was I? Oh, seven: Receptionist gets fried. Eight: Person leaves, with no witnesses to anyone being here.”

  “Did you check other buildings near or overlooking this area?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Get someone onto it right now and get back to me with the results.”

  The two men stood in thoughtful silence for some moments.

  Harman tipped his hat back and scratched his head. “You know what I see, sergeant?” he said. “I see someone who has access to a year’s supply of rush and access to the individual control of this building’s water, electricity and phone facilities. That person drugged the building’s water supply, called Miri on her private—not forgetting unlisted—number, cut the power to the building, cut all communications to the building, fried anyone who could be a witness, and left without a trace. Now, sergeant, who, I ask you, could do that?”

  The sergeant shrugged again.

  “I don’t know either.” Harman put his hands deep into his pockets and looked up at the graying sky. “But it’s got to be someone big.”

  The stretcher was lifted up into the back of the ambulance and the doors, with little grace, slammed shut. The vehicle pulled slowly away from the building along the cobbled streets. It didn’t need to rush. It wound its way through the city streets and out through the nicer suburbs. The dirty and unattractive buildings gave way to pleasant overhanging oaks that cried for all the good girls everywhere.

  The ambulance turned left off the street and headed through the hospital gates. The hospital was white and very modern. So much so that it still had people in it. It was even run by people.

  Theo Croswell lay in the bed, his face covered with an oxygen mask. His body was covered in a light sheet. He struggled upright and took off his mask.

  Judy leaned over and tried to stop him. “Don’t be silly. The doctor said you were to rest if you wanted to live.”