Through Your Eyes Page 8

  The constant whispers following me that I couldn't escape, like parasites attached to my body. Draining me. Drawing me into a darkness that they called home. I could hear their singing and rhymes that didn't make any sense. I had tried to ignore them, almost getting used to them, on occasion finding myself joining in with their ridiculous songs. Where did they fit into all this business?

  Coward or not, I would have to debate that another time, I had to go back to help him. However, by the time I had got back to Siris to save him, I was too late. He was alive, but not for long. The place that used to be a tailor's shop was no more. It resembled a bomb site.

  I remembered what happened when I looked at the burnt out building that was once his shop.

  I shouted his name, but could not see anything amongst the dust and smoke from the burning wreck of a building around me. The smog and mist was choking, and I was worried he was already gone from this world. It was then that I heard a muffled cough over the other side of the shop, near his armchair. As I looked through the noxious gases, I saw him lying flat on his back.

  "Siris, Show me what they've done to you!" I shouted.

  I rushed over to him and stood over his crumpled body, this pitiful figure crouched on the floor was a far cry from the proud man that had only moments before, stood in this place lecturing me. He was shaking and looked wide eyed on the floor. One of his arms had been severed below the elbow. He was losing lots of blood, pulsatile waves of thick red liquid pooling around his waist.

  Ultimately, he would survive this injury, if I could get him to a hospital and stem the bleeding here. I grabbed a shirt, and put pressure over the severed stump. However, it was the deep diagonal laceration across his torso that would shortly kill him. Less of a laceration, as closer inspection showed that someone had tried to cleave him into two pieces. I picked him up and carried him over to the kitchen, to get him away from the choking smoke engulfing us. For a second time, I poured him a glass of water, trying to give him some, but this time he refused it, turning his head away as he spat out a large volume of blood from his mouth.

  I looked nervously around the room. It was completely destroyed. Clothes mixed with wood, swirled into a mix of blood and splinter. The walls had quite literally been sliced into pieces, the smell of burnt plaster and paint overpowering and overwhelming me. The mountains of clothes that were stacked to the ceiling were no more, just scattered piles of burning fabric. I could see the skylights of the building now, the blue sky peering into the dark corners of the room in an eerie fashion. Siris' tape measure, now tangled in a mess of sticky red blood, lay as it had fallen on the floor. Fortunately, there were no signs of our pleasant friends, who it appeared were long gone to the hell they had come from. I was not very good with this sort of thing, but I knew I couldn't be a coward anymore.

  I held him in my hands and spoke to him.

  "It's going to be OK. I'll get you to a hospital," I said.

  I winced as another large amount of blood came pouring out of his mouth. We both knew it was already too late for him, but I had to try and do something for him. I wiped his face with one of the shirts lying on the ground, placing a pillow under his head to make him more comfortable. I didn't know what else I could do for him other than to talk to him.

  "My death is irrelevant," he spluttered, "You must live and fulfil your destiny. These men are irrelevant. I am irrelevant. But you, this is all about you, Garlan."

  He continued slowly, looking at me with mad bulging eyes.

  "Go to when the device is first made and retrieve it. He will understand and he will give it to you. Shake his hand. He will receive your knowledge, and you his. But then don't go without her. Take her! You need her help! She will be in grave danger if you leave her. She is the key! You must promise me, do not leave her behind. You must not let anything happen to her. If she dies, then there will be a cataclysmic chain of events, some of which we have already seen. Their ripples are all around us this very second."

  He paused to cough violently as he spewed up more blood.

  "Who is she? Do I know her? How can I take anyone else with the device? It only has my DNA as you said," I asked, as I stroked his head gently.

  "My boy, the power of multiplication, and she knows, she understands the neural interface, she invented it as well as you did. When the time comes, you will know, you will know..." he said.

  "And you know her already. She is an old friend of yours, I believe. In fact, now that I look at you, she has always been with you. I can see her. She is with you right now. But beware! With all this technology, you cannot challenge death. Once someone is gone, they are gone. Never, ever, speak to the duat."

  He was getting weaker now, and I didn't know how much of this incoherent nonsense I should pay attention to.

  "Search these premises when you can, there is more information here for you. It will help you to understand the device a little better. I thought I had more time to explain it all to you. To perhaps train you," he said weakly.

  He momentarily turned his head to look towards his battered old desk. I looked around to see where he was looking, but abruptly turned back as he started to have another coughing fit.

  Then he continued a little more, "One more thing, the two men, they disappeared when you disappeared. They...disappeared in the same way...you disappeared. They...have technology. They can move…"

  "L-l-like you..." he stuttered.

  He then raised his head and grabbed my arm firmly.

  He said, "But ultimately, they will fail and you will overcome them. You will have to use the cumulative strength of all of your selves. In all of time."

  And then he coughed, an almighty cough and that seemed to take the last remnants of his life.

  And he was gone.

  I sat there looking at him for an eternity. This man who I had only known for a day, who had sacrificed his life for me, was gone.

  Then the tears came for a man I barely knew. I stayed with him for what may have been ten minutes, talking to him, asking him questions that he would never be able to answer, stroking his head as if that would make him feel better. He stared at me. I was having déjà vu with so many sightless eyes. I couldn't leave him like this, could I? Should I not bury him somewhere, or did he have any family nearby? Wasn't he a Muslim, and wasn't there a rule that he had to be buried or cremated before a certain length of time? Or maybe that was Judaism? I honestly and astonishingly couldn't tell them apart.

  After a while, I stood up and thought to myself. I had to rationalise what had happened so far and come up with some kind of plan. I really didn't have much time to formulate my next actions, but it was vital that I did the right thing. What should I do? I had to order it in my head, as I had to do something.

  'A list,' that is what my old tutor would tell me. Put it in an ordered list in your head. Think about all that happened in the last four days and prioritise. I had no guide anymore, so I had to be organised. Regroup. Calculate. Make a plan. And then tick each one off as I did them.

  So I tried, and looked at the pros and cons of each great task that stood before me:

  Number 1.

  Steal the device at its conception.

  Easy. Just travel in time, and tell myself that I would need to steal my life's work. The other version of Sam was bound to agree with me immediately, and would be happy to do anything I asked of him.

  Number 2.

  Find and convince Abby, or was it Gemma, who was critical to everything, to come with me.

  Me, who can't pick up a girl in a bar, would invite a woman who I had never met before, and to hitch a ride with me on my pimped up time bitch wagon.

  Number 3.

  She would somehow be able to come with me with a device only linked to my DNA. How I would do this, I did not know. By a piggy back, I presumed.

  Number 4.

  Find the future me and give him the device to save mass destruction. Save the world. Be a hero.

  Me, the coward would do thi
s, and I would then ride off into the sunset, with a giant swagger, probably on a horse, even though I couldn't ride anything.

  Easy.

  Now if you had told me all of that first, I wouldn't have worried so much, I said to myself sarcastically. As I continued my moment of self-depreciation, I heard police and fire engine sirens outside. They couldn't find me here, and I couldn't stay for much longer. I placed my finger in the device as if it was now second nature, moving away from the place for the second time, but on this occasion I did not have the same feeling of cowardice I had previously.

  I moved to find myself, and save Gemma.

  Or was it Abby?

  I get to save the girl and 'find myself,' I thought.

  Hip, new age, romantic adventure of a movie.

  Just the kind I hated.

  I wondered what the twist would be at the end of this story.

  14.

  The boss.

  The Chief Executive.

  The leader of the senior partners.

  All these names and other more unsavoury ones were rightly reserved for the grey haired, balding, fat, middle aged man, sitting in his three thousand pound chair, looking out over a wall of glass and steel over the city. He was so powerful that the city was his city, or at least that was what his ego allowed him to feel about himself.

  This was the 28th floor. Only the board of directors were allowed up here. Only those people with special access could even dream of coming up to this particular level, billions of pounds of assets were sitting under these offices.

  The price of failure was colossal.

  A bit like the boss.

  The fat boss lit his fine, fat cigar, sitting back on his fine, fat arse. He took a swig from his crystal cut glass of top quality thirty year old Russian brandy, and let out a small but pungent belch. He turned in his chair to speak to the man standing on the other side of the desk. A small, bald headed man, with a face like a piglet, lips like the cauliflower ears of a seasoned rugby pro.

  "What have you got out of him?" he asked.

  He tapped his cigar on to the floor. After all, he was so wealthy, why should he be bothered about putting his ash into the ash tray but twelve inches to his left? Let someone else pick it up. Cleaner's work, he thought to himself.

  "Nothing yet, but he will talk eventually. We just need to up the stakes for him," said Woakes, wiping away a blood stain from his finger.

  "He knows something, and we will get it out of him. He has information about what happened in that chamber. He saw something. So far he has been quite impressive, and hasn't told us a thing," he continued.

  "And the device is it really not at our facility anymore? Have your teams scoured everywhere?" the boss asked.

  As he said this, he removed some non-existent dirt from his perfectly manicured fingernails at the ends of his chubby little hands.

  "No sign at all. It looks almost like a magic trick, but I really don't know. We have it all on CCTV. He entered the chamber with it, and when we got him out it was gone. The item was either hidden somewhere or taken by someone. One way or another, we'll get to the bottom of this business, it’s just a matter of time," said Woakes, nodding confidently.

  "All right then, Woakes, bring her to me. She knows something and I intend to find out what it is. There are other ways of getting the information we require. Did you manage to get anything out of Kleinmann?"

  "Right away, boss, I'll get her. Kleinmann didn't talk, Smithwick killed him before he could say anything," he said, as he scampered off towards the lift.

  "Jesus, that guy is a bloody liability," raged the fat man.

  This had happened before with Smithwick. He thought about what he was going to tell his own boss, as this was another failure. What terrible retribution would he have for his minion, and more importantly for himself? It was time to try and get the big oaf into everyone's good books.

  "Oh, and Woakes?"

  "Yes, boss," asked Woakes, turning to his great leader.

  "Get Smithwick for me, now. I have a job for him that I am sure he is going to enjoy," said the boss.

  He was cackling and laughing, although it sounded like his fat blubbery mound was choking him with all the wobbling.

  ***

  Abby was looking around the room.

  What had just happened? Everything had been going perfectly well and they had reached the climax, the pinnacle of their achievements. This day was supposed to be the icing on the cake.

  Sam had entered the open containment unit, and was simply checking up on the interior of the chamber. They had all heard something coming from within it, and he had entered its confines many, many times before. And then, well it was impossible to understand what had happened at the time. He was banging on the door like a madman, locked inside of the machine, running out of oxygen, and then the most mysterious thing happened. The gas momentarily appeared to be outside the chamber, hovering around the locking mechanism.

  And this point was the crazy part, for when she looked into the gas, she could swear she saw something.

  A figure, a spectre, a person, more specifically, a man was visible to her eyes, but apparently to no one else.

  It was only for a split second and she thought she was the only one that saw anything. Then the doors opened, and Sam staggered out. He had then straightened himself up, and a strange calm look had appeared on his face.

  He then walked over to her and simply said the following:

  "I haven't got much time to explain. Get your separtacle fitted, and don't tell anyone about our conversation. You designed the damn thing, so you know more about it than any of us!"

  "The device is gone as it is needed for a higher purpose. Time manipulation is possible, and I have just received the greatest warning of all, sent by recorded delivery through history. You and I are in grave danger. When he appears to you, you must go with him without question. I know that you saw him with your own eyes, so believe what I am telling you. In the meantime, tell no one. They are coming for me now, so be brave, my love," he said.

  She touched his face and he smiled at her, but only briefly because the lift doors re-opened, and the goons with their cronies were already there. She tried to speak to him, but was bundled out of the way by the thugs. They manhandled Sam into the lift, and that was the last time she saw him.

  One man remained. Mr. Woakes.

  "Would madam please accompany me downstairs? We have a lovely room waiting for you," he said.

  Her flesh crawled at his stinking breath and acidic smile.

  And here she was.

  Confinement room 4.

  It was a bare room about ten feet by ten feet, with a moulded metal chair positioned on one wall. There was no window, just a single light in the centre of the room. It smelled of disinfectant and fear. She calculated that she had been here for about two hours, and there had been no news about Sam. The separtacle she had secretly fitted was working well, and this was the first time it had been used when the device was being used in vivo. She had been getting very strange sensations, like an old style short wave radio, picking up random stations, but had not been able to understand what was being said. Perhaps it was a language barrier? She knew that she was in danger, and she needed to escape. Somebody would come to help her, but who was it? Was there not something she herself could do now; Sam was in trouble.

  She had to be able to do something?

  Maybe, it was all an enormous misunderstanding. They had worked with the company for goodness knows how many years now. Surely, they hadn't misjudged them this badly? Or perhaps, the company had duped them so beautifully all these years? What right did they have to lock them up in this fashion? They were the heartbeat of Novertium, and without them, the stinking company was absolutely nothing. Had Sam made a big mistake, and what on earth was he talking about someone coming to help her, to save her? She was not in the business of being saved by anyone; Sam knew that by now, so why say all that nonsense to her?

  Noises
were coming from down the corridor. Abby readied herself by walking to the far side of the room, and turning her back to the rear wall. She had to try and at least appear to give off the air of confidence. She took several deep breaths in and waited impatiently for the approaching person. Then, for no obvious reason, she started to automatically walk towards the front of her prison. The noises were getting louder, footsteps, which eventually stopped without warning outside her confinement cell.

  A meek voice said, "I'm sorry Professor, but I have orders to take you upstairs to see the big boss. I'm very sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you to step away from the door."

  She turned and looked to see a familiar face. A middle aged man in an ill-fitting security guard’s uniform was cowering outside her cell.

  She said, "It's Turner isn't it? How long have you known me here, Andrew? What is going on and where is Sam?"

  "I can't say anything more," he replied. "Please come with me without a fight. I don't want them to hurt you. I'm just following my orders; I can't do anything for you. I'm so sorry."

  He looked like he was about to cry.

  "Sam, just tell me where Sam is!" she pleaded.

  "I can't, they will kill me," he said.

  He was more scared than she was; a terrified look on his face. He then looked at Abby again; this woman was the only person that had ever been kind to him, when the rest either ignored him, or viewed him as something they had just trodden in.

  He continued, "Maybe I heard something about him being taken to D-block?"

  She paused, momentarily, and then looked at him.

  "D-block!" she screamed. "D-block is for prisoners or terrorists. You've sent him to D-block, you total moron, you..."

  She was scared and felt like she was losing it, but then stopped speaking when she saw the giant shadow of a familiar person appear at the end of the corridor.

  She then heard that horrible, rasping laugh, echo down the building; deep and disgusting.

  "And, you'll, be, joining, him, if, you, don't, talk, sweet, heart," chuckled a voice from the darkness.