Chapter 9
DO CORPSES DO FACE ID?
I wake and paw the sheet behind me, then turn onto my back, aware that she has left the room and has been absent for a long time.
The sheet where she lay is cold. I picture her in the doorway, hear her footsteps, recall noises as if she’s walking down the stairs but I went back to sleep, like a dumb beast. I had a hard night.
My excuse is good, but still, I’m disappointed in myself.
What skilled assassin falls asleep and fails to detect their hot girlfriend departing?
The house is silent, apart from the odd shift of timbers from its age and the weather making it move.
With ease, I arch and flip onto the floor, landing upright, sheet sent flying and tousled.
The sun rays shine through the thinness of the airborne cloth as it settles onto the bed.
It’s cool in the bedroom but nothing worth worrying about.
Scattered about are her belongings, and I detect only a few things missing she left draped over a backpack.
Shoes, a shirt, coffee-colored leggings, and a green sweater.
Opening the curtain gives me no further information, except that the sky is blue and the storm clouds have been blown away.
Wind sways the tops of the pines that nudge up from the slope below, past the front of the neighbor’s two-story house.
Since these are the only houses this high on the street, vehicle traffic is nil.
A photo on her dresser stops me in my tracks. A man stands beside a young Hailey with his hand in hers. A lover? I know him. Same as Hailey, I just know him. I turn it over and the inscription tucked into the rear of the frame upends my entire view of my current life.
Bless you, Kail. You will live on in my memories.
I undo the back and find the same message on the photo. Driven to keep it, I tuck the folded photo into the back pocket of my pants. What does it mean that I chose that name? Something or nothing?
I scratch my stubbled chin. I can grow hair? Why did I not know this?
Barefoot and dressed only in pants, with the rest of my gear in hand, I pad downstairs as quietly as I can with this cursed burden of muscle the frankenstruct process has given me.
The stair treads squeak in protest. I stop, struck by the notion I may have recalled my past life. Was I less muscular?
No real way to verify that. I continue down.
Leaping straight over the edge of the balcony would have been better if I truly wished for the least noise.
No-one else is here though. The hallway is bare of life.
Papers topple and slide when I push a stack with my toes.
Nothing else stirs. The house is empty except for a white cat that eyes me as I pass its chosen nesting place on the back of Hailey’s sofa.
“Morning.” I nod to it. The unusual black shape emblazoned on its forehead somewhat resembles a squid.
It blinks and jumps to the floor, following my route to the front door.
“You my backup, pussycat?”
It fails to answer. Guess that’s a maybe.
The door is unlocked and sunlight leaks around the frame as I crack the door and slowly pull it open. The shadows say two or three people are out there, nearby. Should I be armed? I can smell Hailey and someone older.
I chance it and step out, braced for action, scanning the scene.
One old lady with a cane, a man in a motorized wheelchair with a shotgun across his lap, and Hailey, aiming the gun’s equally nasty cousin at me.
I nod at them; the cat brushes my ankle as it slinks by. “Morning.” Then I wait. Maybe I should’ve worn all my clothes because everyone else is fully dressed. A pity, in Hailey’s case.
Remembering the groans she made when I made love to her helps me to stay centered. I relax and inhale deeply, sinking into recent memories.
Her softness in my hands and against my cock. The scent of her hair as I bury my face in it.
Gods. That was fucking awesome. Do not do anything and this may sort itself out. You’re Kail not Struct Four.
“What are you?” Hailey’s voice cracks but her eyes remain steadfast behind the length of her shotgun.
A bad beginning.
“A man.” I shrug. Worth a try.
The lady neighbor scoffs.
“Not true,” Hailey says.
“It is.”
“No. It’s not. You’re a frankenstruct.”
How did she get that word? My stare is hard, joining my cock which for some backward reason of its own has decided this is a good time to fuck. I think not.
“A what?” How much does she know?
“Don’t act stupid. You’re a stitched-together monster, a Frankenstein soldier.” She bites her lip, as if rethinking how much to reveal. “Why are you here? To kill me?”
I will answer her slowly. It might help me to not trip myself on facts, because what the hell do I really know about myself? More than her. Less than I need.
“No.” A lie and I hate lying to her, but the truth will only get in the way. I will not be killing her anyway. “I’m not. Never will I harm you, Hailey.”
Now that is the utter truth.
She sucks in a breath, and I watch as swallowing moves her throat. Nervous. I want to make her do that while I’m inside her, want to watch all her little movements, and the chances of that happening are fading by the second.
This situation is completely screwed up, but I’m lost as to what to say or do. Killing people is not the answer, no matter what my handler believed.
“Did you have anything to do with the murder of my father?” Her voice is shaking. Her hand shifts on the shotgun.
“When?” This does not make sense? Did someone else get here before us. “How?”
“How? That’s a… Six months ago.” She looks puzzled, maybe annoyed, as if my question is stupid.
“No. I did not, and I’m sorry that happened.” More than sorry. Her obvious devastation and the shine of tears in her eyes make me wish I could bring her to me and hug her. That I cannot do this makes me sad.
“Go. Leave my house.” She twitches the shotgun sideways then retrains it on me.
I open my hands, raise them. Am I pleading? I guess. If I can’t change her mind, my future seems meaningless. Her and this place are a pin stuck in my map. This could have been a place to start anew.
“Go!”
“Ron,” instructs the old woman. She holds up a phone and seems to take my picture.
Ron aims his weapon at me, and his hold on the gun has zero shake. I’m impressed.
Fixing this, right now, is impossible.
I lock onto a new aim—convincing her I am an asset and a friend and not a monster. Bedding her again, that aim can wait, a little.
“Okay. I’m going.” Carefully, I step down onto the ground and off the paved pathway, then go a few yards further onto the front lawn before I speak again. “I don’t hold this against you.”
I back away then head for the opposite fence that borders the forest leading up into the mountains.
If they shoot me in the back, I’m dead.
That they don’t shoot gives me hope. The photo taken of me could be dangerous, depending on how things evolve. Her father is already dead? That doesn’t make sense. Either my memory is completely fucked and making stuff up or it’s true. And another Kail existed and is also dead.
Not until I reach the tree line do I stop to dress and haul on my shirt and boots. I still have that photo in my pocket. I will ask her who that other Kail is, another day, whenever I can corner her without a gun between us. Where do I have the best chance of doing this?
The town of Revenant. It is the most obvious place to begin exploring Hailey’s world.
That photo the neighbor took worries me. It was taken with a phone. I used to have my own cell phone. I did. The heft of it magically comes to me. Once upon a time, I held one, used it, talked into it, and texted.
It’s another fact that installs me solidly me into reality.
As Pinocchio said, I’m a real boy. I study my palms, remembering my phone’s the hard rectangular case, trying to feel and see colors, size, the weight, and how I used it.
Those things hold the worldwide web inside them.
Everything connects to everything else. Type in a phrase, do a search, the result appears.
Data cascades into my brain: scams, phishing, pirates, and hackers. Those I could do without. Apps, discords…the dark web.
If I want more information, I should steal a phone.
Hands on hips, I tilt my head to look through the circuitry-like maze of branches and leaves at the bright sky. “My handler had one!”
All I have to do is return to the mineshaft and pray I can get the device to work. Northwest from here and the climb might take an hour. He never intended for anyone to easily find Simon Tarrant’s body. First thing I’m yahooing? The date of Simon’s death.
If what Hailey said is true, if he is already dead, am I even in the same world as I was, or the same time?
Damn. Eww. The wallet was cleaner. I have to extract the phone from his bloody pocket that is stiff and stinking.
I’m not keen on smelly fingers but it has to be done.
A mask and gloves would’ve been sensible.
Or something stuffed up my nose. The light reflecting into the tunnel is enough for me to see his face is distorted but not badly, and I’m muttering curses as I try to move him enough so that the phone can view his face.
Doesn’t work.
I end up dragging his body onto the mineshaft rubble and positioning him so the meagre light from above catches his features. It also illuminates the knife holes in his clothes, reminding me of the act of killing.
The thuds. The giving thrusts.
His squeals and cries.
Like sex, but not as good.
Murder has a certain thrill to it.
This seems an epiphany. For a few seconds I stop what I’m doing, with the passing of time measured by the drift of dust motes in the slanting rays.
It’s quiet down here. Enjoying murder is not normal.
I’m not normal. At least, I don’t think I am, but I’m only guessing.
My handler lies, propped on the dirt heap, still, head angled sharply left, his mouth closed.
“No opinion on this?”
He’s annoyingly silent.