by G. R. Lyons
After six quick targets, the lights all came up at once, and Asenna grinned at the sight of perfect bullseyes in the hearts of each one.
The dummy targets disappeared, and Asenna looked at the panel beside her. She half considered going through the same exercises over again, but there was one remaining that she hadn't tried yet.
Her hand hovered just near the panel, hesitating as she considered the button, flashing green and taunting her.
You can do this, she told herself. This time you'll get it.
Holding her breath, she pressed the button, and took a ready stance as the lights went out again.
She waited, counting each second as it passed, her heart racing as she braced herself for what was coming.
Out of nowhere, the lights flickered chaotically, as though a lightning storm had suddenly erupted inside, and in the blinding flashes of light, Asenna saw a dummy target rapidly darting around, appearing somewhere to her left and then startling her as it rose up out of the dark at her right.
Asenna sucked in a deep breath, flinched and winced against the flashes of light, and rapidly fired any time she was able to see the target.
Thunder crashed, lightning blared, and the sound of gunfire exploded all around her, the war-like simulation bearing down upon her senses, making her cry out and shoot erratically.
Flashing lights…
Searing pain…
Let me out!
The chaos of noise and movement went on for several minutes, until she couldn't stand it any longer and slammed her fist against the kill button, ending the exercise. The lights came on, slowly brightening the space while she braced herself against the table. Trembling and panting, Asenna squeezed her eyes shut before she looked up at her target.
The dummy had only three hits, and none of them even remotely good. Asenna slammed her fist against the wall beside her.
“Why can I never do this?” she yelled.
She set the gun down and braced her hands on the table, hanging her head.
“Fuck. Why?”
But she knew the answer. That other voice, always there just below the surface, screaming to get out. Something about the training exercise teased a memory of flickering lights and pain, but no matter how hard she tried, it never got any more clear than that.
She lifted her hand, her finger hovering near the button that would restart the exercise. It was the closest she ever got to an actual memory from before, and she thought if she could just endure it long enough, maybe she'd actually break through the amnesia.
Of course, the last time she'd pushed herself like that, she'd woken up in restraints and unable to speak for two days because she'd screamed herself raw.
Asenna took a deep breath through her nose, clenching her jaw tight, and glanced up at the target from under her eyelashes. Shaking her head, she pressed a button to end the session, watching the dummy disappear and the table open up to reclaim the gun. As soon as everything was back in place, Asenna turned on her heel and stormed away from the booths. She stopped at the doorway, her fingers twitching as she looked at a sign on the wall that hung just slightly crooked.
Leave it. Just leave it–
She let out a low growl, threw open the door, and started to step out of the room. Before the door could swing shut behind her, she thrust it back open, reached over to straighten the sign, and stormed out.
Chapter 4
CHARLIE CRAWFORD leaned his head back against the wall and held his gun pointed down at the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his partner do the same on the other side of the doorway.
In the darkness of the overgrown backyard, he saw other officers creep forward, guns ready, waiting for Charlie's signal.
He looked down at the ground while he tried to steady himself. His wedding tuxedo was a mess, having been in it for two days straight. Charlie let go of the gun with one shaking hand and rubbed his tired eyes, knowing that he would not sleep until his wife was found.
Charlie adjusted his grip on the gun, turned toward his partner, and nodded.
Together, they spun toward one another, raising their weapons, and kicked the rotting door open. They waited, hearing nothing, and crept forward slowly as they descended the stairs to the basement.
The space was grimy and dank, looking all the worse with the dark shadows filling the corners beyond the scope of their flashlights. Charlie grimaced as he came down off the last step and heard a splash.
Moving his gun and flashlight together, he saw a good inch of water covering all the floor.
Charlie glanced over at his partner, who gave him another encouraging nod, and they slowly continued through the room.
The other officers spread out around them, checking all the corners and storage spaces in the basement, but found nothing. At the other end of the room, another rotting door stood slightly ajar. The officers gathered together, their weapons ready, and waited for Charlie's lead.
Please be there, he thought. Please let her be alive.
Holding his breath, Charlie shoved open the door. It slammed against the wall with a crunch as Charlie swept into the room, his fellow officers fanning out around him.
In the circle of his flashlight, he saw a long metal table along one wall, covered with an assortment of bloody tools, everything from knives and files to saws and pliers. In the middle of the room was another table, splattered with blood and grime and other substances Charlie couldn't readily define.
“Charlie!”
He spun around at the sound of his partner's voice, and noticed all the others staring at the floor, their arms hanging at their sides. Charlie stepped around the bloody table and lurched to a stop.
Lying naked in an inch of water, her hair matted and wrapped partially around her throat, her limbs at odd angles and her skin covered in bloody cuts, was his wife.
Charlie dropped his gun and threw himself on the floor beside her.
“Saira!”
He reached out to touch her, carefully pulling what was left of her hair away from her face, and saw her eyelids flutter.
“Saira, honey? Gods, say something!”
She managed to say his name in the barest hint of a whisper, and curled her fingers slightly as though she were trying to reach for him.
“Don't move,” he ordered, and heard his partner call for an ambulance. “Try to relax. It'll be alright, honey. It'll be–”
“Charlie…”
“It'll be alright,” he said, choking back a gasp. “Saira, honey–”
“Charlie,” she choked out, forcing her eyes open. “Charlie, I love y–”
Her breath caught in her throat, and Charlie reached out to rest his hand on her cheek.
“Stay with me,” he whispered urgently. “Please, Saira, just hold on.”
Her eyes fluttered open one more time and then fell shut as her breath whooshed out on a sigh. Charlie called her name, over and over, but she didn't respond.
Saira was gone.
“NOOOO!” Charlie roared, sitting up in bed, panting and sweaty, looking around frantically as he tried to make sense of what was around him.
The basement in his dream faded away, and in its place, he found himself in a dark bedroom, still unfamiliar to him as he'd just taken the apartment that day. Charlie caught his breath, drew his knees up, and hung his head in his hands.
“Get a hold of yourself,” he grumbled. “Just a dream. Just a dream.”
Yet, it had felt so like the real thing that it was an hour before Charlie could find sleep again.
* * *
AFTER HIS alarm went off, Charlie stumbled his way through his morning routine, getting dressed out of a suitcase and making breakfast from the single bag of groceries he'd gotten as an afterthought the day before after finding the available apartment. The small space came partially furnished, but looked otherwise stark and empty, a big change from the house he'd just left in Oaks Pass.
The house he and Saira had bought, right before their wedding, and neve
r gotten to live in together.
Shaking aside his memories and nightmares, Charlie found his way back across town to the Hawkeye office and checked in with the receptionist, Lani, who already had his employee records and passcodes transferred over from the Oaks Pass branch. She directed him back to the conference room, and Charlie weaved his way through neat rows of desks, not seeing a single familiar face as he went.
No wonder Chief came here.
Charlie found the conference room, nodded greetings to a few officers there, and took an empty seat. A few minutes later, the chief and a few others walked in, and everyone sat down around the glass table while the chief went to stand by the screen that dominated an entire wall.
“Alright, alright, alright,” one officer said, clapping his hands together three times to get everyone's attention. “Staff meeting has begun.”
Charlie looked up at Benash and saw him turn away with a grimace, silently mouthing something while he clenched his hands into fists.
Charlie almost laughed. Some things never change. Thirty years on Agoran, and Benash Rothbur still hadn't quite shaken his Tanasian suspicion of threes.
Benash took a deep breath, slowly let it out, and turned to face his men. Charlie gave him a sympathetic look when their eyes met, and Benash drew up to his full height as he began the meeting.
The chief ran through some preliminary business, making sure everyone was up-to-date on company policy, insurance offerings, and case status. Then he introduced Charlie to the group, and pointed out Detective Malrin, who currently had charge of S.P.I.R.I.T. Division.
“We'll try to work something out with split shifts or double duty,” Benash said, “depending on what works best for you both.”
Detective Malrin cleared his throat. “Uh, with all due respect, Chief, I wouldn't be against going back to regular desk or field work, if that's alright with you. Crawford can have the Division as far as I'm concerned.”
Charlie glanced over at the man while Benash raised an eyebrow at him. “You, too?”
Malrin nodded. “The psych evals are driving me crazy. And the whole thing is just…” He made a face, gesturing like he couldn't quite figure out what to say. “It's just so weird.”
A few other officers nodded, looking mildly uncomfortable, and confirming the rumor Charlie had heard about the Division's high turnover rate.
What in seven hells have I gotten myself into?
“Very well,” the chief said. “Talk to Lani and have her reopen your desk. Crawford, it looks like you are S.P.I.R.I.T. Division now.”
Charlie swallowed hard, but nodded. “Yes, sir.”
The chief wrapped up the meeting with a few more pieces of business, then pulled Charlie aside as they left the conference room.
“Are you ready for this?”
Charlie glanced up at the closed door on the balcony, took a deep breath, and nodded again.
“Yes, sir.”
Benash searched his face for a moment, then turned on his heel. “Very well. Come along.”
Charlie followed him upstairs, bracing himself for the horror of all the rumors he'd heard. With his nightmare still fresh in his mind, he half expected to find the room already covered in blood.
The chief knocked on the door, right below lettering that read Security Provision Integrating Real-time Invasive Telepathy, and let himself in. Charlie followed and shut the door behind them, then turned to see a small, comfortable apartment. Not at all what he'd been expecting.
Then he saw the woman.
“Shyth,” Chief said, gesturing at Charlie, “this is Detective Charlysteron Crawford from the Oaks Pass office. He's come over to take Malrin's place. Crawford…” He paused and gave Charlie a direct, pointed look. “This is Asenna Shyth.”
Asenna looked up at him with a blank expression on her face. She wore nothing but a bathrobe, her long legs fully visible as she sat with a casual lack of decorum in a recliner. Scars crisscrossed her skin as far as he could see, and her eyes looked lifeless, as though there were no soul inside her.
She got up and stepped around the coffee table, extending her hand.
“Crawford,” she said, greeting him in an even tone while she gave his hand a firm shake.
Charlie cleared his throat. “Shyth. Nice to meet you.”
She gave him an almost dismissive nod and stepped back, looking at the chief.
“So Malrin wimped out, huh?” she asked.
“He opted to return to desk work and give Crawford the Division,” the chief explained.
“Good,” she said, returning to the recliner and falling into it. “I was about to have to kick him out anyway. Kept coming on to me.”
Chief straightened up. “You never told me that.”
Asenna waved her hand. “They all do, sooner or later. Can't look at a naked woman every day and not be tempted, now, can they?”
Charlie took a half step back.
Asenna noticed and raised an eyebrow, looking amused. “Oh, Chief didn't tell you that part, did he? Very well, then, let's get this over with.”
Benash cleared his throat and turned toward the door. “I must be getting back to work.”
He left in a hurry, leaving Charlie alone with Asenna. Charlie swallowed hard and turned to look at the woman.
She stood in the middle of the room, looking mildly impatient, and reached for the sash on her robe.
Charlie whipped his head around, staring intently at the wall while he saw the robe open in his peripheral vision.
“Might as well look, Crawford,” she said. “You're going to be seeing a lot of this. Now's the time to get it out of your system so it's not a distraction later.”
Charlie shook his head, keeping his eyes locked on a flaw in the paint on the wall above the couch.
Asenna snorted a laugh. “You're not gay, are you?”
“What?” he asked, almost looking over at her then snapping his head back to the side again.
“Afraid to see a naked woman?”
“No, just…”
“Any time this year, Crawford. I'm not going to stand here all day.”
Charlie shook his head again.
“I'm married,” he told her, holding up his left hand.
“Pfff, never stopped any of the others.”
Charlie clenched his hands into fists, trying to keep his breath steady.
“Alright, suit yourself,” Asenna said, loosely retying the sash and flopping back into the chair. “It's on you, though, if the next vision goes wrong because you were too distracted to do your job.”
Charlie took a deep breath and finally looked at her. She was looking down at her hands, idly examining her close-cropped fingernails, and shifted into a more comfortable position. As she did so, the robe slipped down her right shoulder, revealing a ragged scar where a breast used to be.
Asenna glanced up at him from under her eyelashes, smirking as he quickly shifted his glance away.
“They're both gone, if you want to know,” she said. “Got the other one removed too since there was nothing left of this one.”
Charlie cleared his throat and gestured at the couch, waiting for Asenna's nod before he sat down.
“What…uh…happened? If you don't mind me asking, that is.”
Asenna shrugged. “Haven't got a clue. Woke up that way in the hospital.”
She went back to picking at the edges of her nails, and Charlie watched her for a moment before he asked, “That doesn't bother you?”
Asenna looked up at him, shrugged again, and focused on her hands. “I mean, obviously somebody did a number on me, but I can't remember a thing, so it's hard to be afraid of it.” She paused, then added, “I don't even recognize this body. Obviously it's mine, I can see it and feel it, but it seems somehow foreign in a way. Sometimes I think I ought to miss having breasts or feel less like a woman because they're nothing but scars but…I don't know. I just don't.”
“And you don't even want to know how it happened?”
“Oh, fuck yes,” she said, laughing bitterly. “But nobody is allowed to tell me anything. So, sometimes I amuse myself by imagining different things. Most likely, someone used me for some sick game. There's been a lot of that going on the past few years. Lots of women being tortured, just like me, except they were all killed. But, then again, considering how many psychologists have been forced on me, maybe it was something I did to myself? Maybe I had breast cancer and got desperate because I couldn't afford the surgery? Maybe I was transgender and just couldn't stand the sight of the things? Maybe I'm just flat insane? Who knows? All I know is that nobody will tell me what really happened, and they keep insisting on me having psych evals all the time. So annoying.”
Charlie fidgeted in his seat. “You don't seem insane to me.”
Asenna snorted a laugh. “You haven't seen the visions yet. We'll see how long you last once you start witnessing those.” She paused, tilting her head to one side and looking him over. “I give you two months. Haven't yet had a detective last more than three.”
Charlie crossed his arms and leaned back on the couch. “Maybe I'll prove you wrong.”
“Is that so?” she said, looking amused. She dropped her hands to the armrests and settled back in the chair. “Alright, hot shot. What's your story, then? Who is Charlysteron Crawford?” She paused, giving him a funny look. “What kind of name is that, anyway?”
He rolled his eyes. “Something old-fashioned my mother apparently picked out. That's why I usually go by Charlie.”
He waited, expecting her to say something more, but she just looked at him, half expectant and half bored.
“Alright, so…my dad was always in and out of the picture when I was a kid, then just disappeared,” Charlie said, “and my mom died when I was twelve. We were poor, behind on the rent, and I didn't have a job, so the landlord kicked me out. I hit the streets, tried to find work, stopped going to school because I couldn't afford it. Then I broke a store window one night to steal some bread, and after Chief questioned me about it, he took me to his house, gave me food and a bed and a change of clothes.”
