Déjà Vu

by Stephen Edger

  She still wasn’t convinced, but rested the book against her handbag on the floor near his feet.

  ‘Will you give it a go?’ he pressed.

  She sighed and nodded. It was probably a waste of time, but nothing else had helped so she might as well try it.

  Dr Patel’s seat remained where it was.

  She fixed him with a confused look. ‘Do you want me to continue?’

  He smiled affectionately towards her. ‘There is nothing I would like more,’ he glanced at the large clock hanging from the wall over his shoulder, ‘but our time is up once again. I wish I could allow you to stay longer, but I have another appointment in five minutes and need time to prepare for it.’

  Megan stared up at the clock disbelievingly. Had an hour passed already? These sessions seemed to fly by each week, even though she would never describe them as fun.

  Her chest and back still felt clammy, but she pushed herself up, relieved when he stood and moved back to his desk, so wouldn’t notice the sweat patch.

  ‘I’d like you to bring the journal with you next Tuesday,’ he said without turning. ‘Do your best to jot down the details of the dreams so we can discuss them when you return.’

  ‘It’ll probably be gibberish,’ she warned as she reached down and slipped the sandals over her feet. ‘I was never much of a writer in school.’

  He turned and frowned empathetically. ‘I told you: it doesn’t need to be literature; just a gist of what you see. At the very least keep a log of how many times you have the dream. Mark a line in the top corner of the first page for every time you have it between now and our next session.’ He paused, seeing her struggling. ‘Do you want some help?’

  ‘No,’ she said firmly without looking up, and pulling the wheelchair up to the sofa. ‘I can manage.’

  She hated it when people – men in particular – offered to help her get in and out of the chair. She knew how to do it, and didn’t need help. Why couldn’t people just be more patient and treat her as an equal instead of looking at her as inferior?

  Taking a deep breath, she lifted her upper body onto the soft cushion, before adjusting her dead legs and positioning her sandals on the metal pedals. ‘See?’ she said triumphantly, catching her breath. ‘Told you I could do it.’

  Dr Patel didn’t reply, but did move across and open the door for her. She wasn’t sure if he’d done it because of the chair, or whether he also showed out all his able-bodied patients too. She let him off without comment, the journal and her handbag resting in her lap as her hands pumped the large wheels either side of her.

  THREE

  It all happened so quickly. One minute, Jake was watching Annie lighting up her cigarette, and then the mid-terrace exploded. And even though he’d been beside his car, some forty or so feet from the barricaded house, he’d felt the sudden increase in temperature as the fireball had ignited the dried bushes and lawn at the front of the property.

  The Kevlar-clad unit had dived for cover, and as Jake rose from his protective position, he saw three of them rolling on the ground, desperately trying to extinguish the flames engulfing them. Nobody had been expecting it, and yet given all they had learned about Logan McGregor over the last six months, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that he would have his and his the neighbouring properties wired to explode. As the orange flames continued to rise and lick the brickwork of the terraced buildings, the immediate air was filled with the cacophony of confused shouts as everyone tried to determine what had happened.

  Against orders, paramedics raced forwards, offering to help those closest to the blast, but the real question was what had happened to the two who’d been inside the building which was no longer barricaded, and in fact didn’t seem to have a front or back wall anymore? Jake didn’t need to wonder about McGregor’s potential demise; instinctively he knew there was no way McGregor had perished in the blast. And as he heard one of his colleagues bellowing, ‘He’s running,’ Jake’s eyes scanned the immediate horizon until he spotted the figure emerging from the house six doors down and just inside the outer perimeter. Their eyes met for the briefest of seconds, and in that moment, Jake would have sworn he saw McGregor wink at him.

  But then he was gone: through the tape before anybody had managed to realise what was happening.

  But one person had noticed, and as Jake tried to call out Annie’s name, time passed as if in slow motion. As if in a vacuum, there was no way she would heed his warning over the surrounding shouts and urgent chatter, and then she was discarding the cigarette and chasing the suspect.

  Their suspect.

  As blackened ash slowly fell to the ground like death’s snow, Jake reached for the AR leader, grabbing his shoulder and doing his best to indicate where he’d seen McGregor rushing.

  ‘That way,’ Jake coughed, as the encircling black smoke billowed around them.

  ‘What?’ the AR leader demanded, covering his own face against the all-encompassing toxic air.

  ‘McGregor,’ Jake managed. ‘Running.’ He waved his arm, stretching his finger as far as he could manage, his hand actually disappearing in the thick smoke.

  ‘We need to secure the area,’ the AR leader barked back. ‘We have to get these people to safety. We don’t know what other devices he may have set to detonate.’

  Jake’s vision blurred as his eyes streamed. ‘My colleague,’ he spluttered. ‘Chasing him.’

  The AR leader shielded his eyes. ‘You need to get her back.’

  Jake knew that after an incident like this, Gold Command would never agree to give chase, as it endangered public safety as well as those in pursuit, but he couldn’t leave Annie alone at McGregor’s hands.

  ‘Air support?’ Jake coughed again.

  ‘Twenty minutes out.’

  Jake pushed the Bluetooth headset into his ear. ‘I’ll give updates of our position until they can take over. Agreed?’

  The AR leader considered him briefly before nodding his head, and it was all the acknowledgement Jake needed, peeling away and setting off in the direction he’d seen Annie heading. The cordon was still broken from where McGregor had burst through it, and it was a benefit as Jake didn’t need to slow, as he ducked and weaved through the gathered crowd who’d all taken several voluntary steps further from the perimeter.

  At the end of the road, Jake darted round the corner, searching left and right as he tried to get his bearings. There was no visible road sign, but as his feet pounded against the warm paving slabs, he visualised the map of the area they’d spent the week pouring over as they’d prepared the warrant. He was sure there was an alleyway at the end of the road, which led to a large expanse of green; officially a park, but used more by dealers and vandals than the public. McGregor had connections all over this area, and if he managed to get to the park and beyond, he would soon be gone, and it would take them weeks to re-establish contact, if ever.

  But what was more important was catching up to Annie and stopping her from making the gravest mistake of her short career.

  Naturally athletic, Jake had been a champion long distance runner in his youth, and although he hadn’t maintained the level of training in the twenty-five years that had followed, he was sure he would last longer than both Annie and McGregor.

  ‘Suspect is entering River View Road,’ Jake jabbered into the headset, as he pumped his arms in an effort to eat up the distance between him and the faint outline of Annie.

  The sweat dripping from his forehead stung his eyes, forcing him to wipe it back over his dark, shaved head. His sodden shirt flapped as it peeled and then res-tuck to his skin, but still he drove onwards.

  The alleyway was coming in to view and Annie’s outline disappeared into the gloom to confirm his worst fears: McGregor had an escape plan and was carrying it out to the letter.

  There wasn’t a cloud in the sky overhead, and the midday sun continued to pound down on him, as his body reached a new level of sweat. And now his lungs were starting to burn as well as the lactic
acid built up in his feet and calf muscles.

  Why had he given up running? What had once been daily visits to the gym to batter the treadmills had devolved into weekly and now fortnightly visits. And the treadmills had been replaced with weights and benches.

  But then suddenly he was tumbling forward as his foot struck an uneven slab, and before he could stop himself, his hands were scraping along the unforgiving stone and his knees bashed along behind. His whole body ached as his momentum finally ended, but as tempting as it was to lie there and recover, he didn’t have time.

  Driving his hands hard into the hot slab, he launched himself upwards, even though he instantly felt the sting of his cut leg, and the torn material over his knees. He winced as he tried to put one foot in front of the other, but he bit down through the pain, and forced himself onwards.

  The pace he’d set was now gone, as he hobbled and limped as best he could, reminding himself that the pain would ease if he could get the knee moving again. It was simply a case of mind over matter. If he could push the pain from his mind, it would pass.

  ‘Suspect and DC Lockwood have entered the public footpath leading to Riverside Park,’ he stammered, as he pushed himself around the railings and entered the gloom cast by the tall fences either side of the pathway and the overhanging foliage of the bushes growing wildly beyond them.

  And that’s when Jake spotted them, sixty feet away: Annie curled into the foetal position, and Logan McGregor towering over her, driving his foot into her legs and back, taunting her.

  Jake charged forwards, roaring with all his might in the hope of distracting McGregor long enough to buy Annie a few seconds of safety. But McGregor didn’t notice, until Jake was only five feet away, at which point he looked up, his mouth-dropping as Jake flew through the air, grabbing both of McGregor’s arms and sending the pair of them crashing to the tarmac below.

  Jake made the most of the rest, allowing his full weight to smother McGregor, before flipping the suspect onto his chest and pulling his arms behind his back. Jake reached for the cuffs attached to his belt and smashed them against McGregor’s wrists, allowing himself a small sigh of satisfaction as the metal bracelets clanked together.

  ‘What the fuck ya doin’?’ the native Glaswegian demanded, as Jake remained laid on top of him, sucking in deep lungful’s of breath.

  ‘Shut the fuck up,’ Jake fired back, as he composed himself, before looking back to Annie, and suddenly dragging himself off McGregor. ‘Annie? Annie? Can you hear me? Annie, open your eyes.’

  Her eyelids remained shut, the swelling already apparent in her cheeks, and the lower half of her face covered in the blood streaming from her nose.

  Jake pressed his fingers to her neck, desperately hunting for a pulse, but what he found was faint at best.

  ‘This is Delta-Romeo-Three-Six-Nine-Nine, requesting EMT support,’ he shouted into the headset, before confirming their location. ‘Officer down and in need of treatment.’

  ‘She’s long gone,’ McGregor laughed to himself, his shaved head glistening in the few rays of light that had breached the overgrowth overhead.

  Jake tried to move Annie into the recovery position, and his eyes widened as he saw the small puddle of blood spreading across the lower half of her blouse and across the ground beneath them. Lifting the blouse he saw the puncture wound, and suddenly understood why her skin was growing paler by the second.

  ‘Where’s the knife?’ Jake demanded.

  ‘Chucked it,’ McGregor cackled back, the tattoos on the back of his head and neck entwined. ‘A wound like that, she’s got minutes at best. I’d say your goodbyes now if I was you.’

  The sound of an approaching siren was followed by the thunder of sprinting shoes as Jake pressed his neck tie against the blouse, trying to stem the flow as best as he could.

  ‘She’s been stabbed,’ Jake said, as the paramedics drooped to their knees at his side. ‘You’ve got to save her.’

  McGregor continued to chant his neo-Nazi propaganda, as Jake dragged him to his feet, thoughts of the pain in his own legs now forgotten, and his heart rate finally returning to a more regular rhythm.

  ‘You’re a fucking pussy, mate,’ McGregor sneered at him. ‘Let your girlfriend chase after me, and now she’s gonna die and it’s all your fault. And me? I’ll be out on bail before your shift has even fucking finished.’

  Jake ground his teeth to stop himself from responding, but as he pushed McGregor away from the paramedics who were doing their best to treat Annie, the Scotsman lobbed a loogie of phlegm at her, and in that split second red mist filled Jake’s vision, and without stopping to think, his balled fist flew out, connecting with McGregor’s jaw. It was hard to tell which of them was more surprised, but Jake knew it would be he who regretted it longest.

  FOUR

  It felt like a penance.

  And Megan welcomed the opportunity to show that she was prepared to do whatever was necessary to attain reconciliation. It had taken three bus journeys to get from Dr Patel’s office in Bursledon to the cemetery in Lordswood, and the journey time had been longer than expected due to an incident along the way in Bitterne. The large police presence in the area had at least brightened an otherwise dull journey.

  Megan had overheard a woman with a purple rinse and a bag of knitting tell the driver something about a bomb exploding, but Megan had paid it little attention. More likely an abandoned bag had been called in as a threat, and the pensioner had put two and two together and got it horribly wrong.

  After an impromptu detour around some of Bitterne’s less eloquent residential streets, the bus had arrived in Portswood where she waited fifteen minutes for the final ride to the cemetery.

  Rob had always been happy to ferry her around from one appointment to another, and most days she had been happy to catch the bus to and from work. How she wished Rob was here now.

  The grass on the approach from the cemetery’s gates to the small car park looked dry and brown, another symptom of the apparent heat wave the city was experiencing. The last time she had visited, the grass had looked fresh and a brilliant green. How quickly things seemed to dry out and decay at this place, reminding visitors that death loomed large.

  A frail-looking woman dressed head-to-toe in black was knelt down at the side of one of the first gravestones Megan wheeled past. The woman was muttering something that she couldn’t quite hear, and didn’t wish to intrude upon. The woman had to be scorching under the sun’s early afternoon heat, but her skin looked as pale as snow, as she rested a gaunt and wrinkled hand on the top of the gravestone, and leveraged herself up, wobbling as she went.

  Megan wanted to offer her a hand, but by the time she’d maneuvered the chair, she was already upright, and preparing to leave.

  The woman smiled as she spotted Megan, bowing her head slightly, before nodding at the sky. ‘My James would have loved this weather,’ she offered.

  Megan glanced at the gravestone, skimming the dates, before calculating that James must have been this woman’s son or younger brother.

  ‘Do you need any help getting to wherever you’re headed?’ the woman asked, eyeing the frame of the wheelchair.

  Megan forced her lips to smile in acknowledgement, but politely declined the offer. She wasn’t sure the older woman would have the strength to push, and besides, the strain to wheel herself up the hill to Rob’s grave was part of her penance.

  ‘I’ll be fine, but thank you,’ Megan replied, straightening the front wheels once more.

  ‘They reckon there’ll be restrictions placed on hosepipes again,’ the older woman continued, keen to sustain a conversation with anyone who would listen.

  Megan considered the woman for a moment, applying the chair’s brake to keep herself from rolling back down the slope. She knew better than anyone how lonely life could be when loved ones departed, but it had to be even tougher for the generation who had been born too soon for the digital age, but whose bodies continued to keep them trapped in a virtual
limbo.

  ‘After all the rain we had at the start of the year, I’m amazed they can be running short again,’ the woman continued. ‘You’d think they’d have figured out a way to collect it all and better manage water supplies.’

  Megan didn’t wish to be rude, but she was keen to continue on her way to Rob, and she didn’t want company. She was about to say as much when the woman suddenly looked at her watch and raised her hand to wave goodbye.

  ‘I must be off,’ she said, turning to face the steady slope back to the gates. ‘My bus should be along in a moment.’

  Megan waited for the woman to leave, before releasing the brake and gripping the chair’s tyres through the leather fingerless gloves which had become part of her daily wardrobe.

  The flowers she had left last week were still in their transparent cellophane wrapper but looked as though they had been sucked dry of any trace of liquid. Reaching down she scooped up the packet and placed them face down in the carrier bag hanging from one of the chair’s handles, removing a fresh bunch and laying them back in place. The rich purple and yellow petals looked even brighter than they had done in the supermarket, as the sun glistened off the packet.

  The grass had yet to grow back from where the earth had been placed over his coffin, and it looked dry and cracked, yet another reminder of what had befallen the only man who had ever made her laugh raucously. He’d always managed to find humour in any given situation. They say when life gives you lemons, to turn them into lemonade. Well Rob, didn’t just make a refreshing drink, he somehow managed to create a range of beverages, always finding positivity.

  How she could do with his eternal optimism now.

  ‘I miss you,’ she said, relieved that there was nobody close who would hear her ramblings. She started this way every time she visited, on the off-chance that his spirit had happened to stop by and would hear her words.