Alex Barclay - Time of Death

‘So,’ she said. ‘Why am I here?’

‘I am highly recommending that you give up your psych files,’ said Hammond.

Ren stared at him. ‘How do you know-’

‘Just do it,’ said Hammond. ‘Just back down.’

‘Why would I do that?’

‘Because I am meeting you on a dark road in the middle of the night to tell you to.’

‘You don’t even know me,’ said Ren.

‘I asked around.’

‘And?’

‘You don’t back down,’ said Hammond.

‘When I have no reason to, no,’ said Ren.

‘Trust me, you have every reason to.’

‘What are you talking about? What could possibly interest you in those files?’

Hammond looked at her. ‘You’re shivering,’ he said. ‘Are you cold?’

Ren frowned. ‘Yes.’

He glanced at the heating dial, but didn’t move. Ren turned on the heating, blasting hot air from a loud fan.

For a moment, they sat in silence.

‘I didn’t just hear that you wouldn’t back down…There was a lot more to hear about Agent Ren Bryce.’

Ren’s anger was spiking, but she held her hands still and she kept her breathing under control. And it didn’t quite work. ‘I am sorry,’ said Ren, her voice quickly rising, ‘but I have no clue what the point of all this is. It is passive/aggressive bullshit. You have power, Your Honor, you don’t need to get cryptic with me. You shouldn’t need something to get an extra little kick. I’ve driven all the way out here in the pitch dark.’

Hammond was staring straight ahead.

You smug prick. She turned and grabbed the door handle.

‘Agent Bryce, please.’

She looked back at him. Holy shit. The fear in his eyes was stunning. Before Ren had time to react, he gripped her forearm and pulled her close. She could feel his hot breath in her ear. ‘You,’ he said, his voice barely audible, ‘you don’t know what you’re getting involved in.’

‘What the hell?’ said Ren, pulling her arm from his grip.

Hammond let out a breath. ‘I’m getting the sense that within twenty-four hours, your file will be turned over to the taint team.’

‘Don’t trust your senses.’

‘Do it, Agent Bryce. Or maybe I’ll get your boss to back off. He might be interested in taking a look at your file.’ He was half-turned away from her, as if trying to physically end the conversation. She realized Hammond was shaking, and it had nothing to do with being cold.

‘Why didn’t you just call me instead of bringing me all the way out here?’ said Ren.

Headlights struck up on the road behind them. Hammond jumped. His left arm seemed to spasm. Ren glanced down at it. He was holding his cell phone. He jerked it quickly toward her. There was a text message on the screen:

this is not just about the psych 345

He hit delete. Ren opened her mouth to speak, but when she looked into Hammond’s eyes — black with fear — she stopped dead.

This is not just about the psych 345? WTF?

Ren sat in a window seat on the flight to Nogales. Ren liked aisle seats, but today she was wedged in by a skinny child with a giant backpack at his feet. He was playing a Nintendo DS with the sound on. Every beep was Chinese water torture. Ren glanced down at him. He gave her an adorable smile and raised the console a little to show he was doing well.

Bless your heart.

A wave of sadness swept over her — the boy was about eight years old, the same age Ren had been when she had the only childhood memory of not feeling quite right. In the middle of a burst of wonderful, uninhibited laughter with Matt, a thought had flashed into Ren’s mind: ‘But are you really laughing?’

At the time, that thought had frightened her. And she buried it away. Every now and then, she would remember it and it still creeped her out. ‘But are you really laughing?’ It was like a voice from the dark side.

Ren felt a tap on her elbow — the little boy beside her reached up to offer her some Skittles.

Redemption.

She almost cried. Sometimes strangers could blindside you with simple kindness. It was lonely being bipolar. And once you knew, you knew. Once a word leaves your mouth, you cannot chase it back even with the swiftest horse .

There were times when Ren had expected a call from Helen saying, ‘I’m sorry, I made a mistake, you’re actually fine.’ Or she would come to the end of a session and Helen would rubber-stamp her file in red ink: SANE. And it was embarrassing that, at thirty-seven years of age, Ren still had that fantasy.

Despite any or all signs to the contrary.

She glanced at the screen of the boy’s DS. He was playing Mortal Kombat 3. R-rated. Two fighters were kicking the crap out of each other. The screen flashed Finish Him! Finish Him! The little kid beside her pummeled buttons until he threw his opponent down ten stories and impaled him on metal railings. Comedy blood spurted into the air, followed by an ultra-deep voiceover: ‘Sektor wins. Flawless Victory. Fatality.’

The kid looked up at Ren, beaming.

‘Good job,’ she said.

‘I need to get as many fatalities as I can,’ he explained.

‘That’s cool.’ Some day I might meet you in a professional capacity.

She lay back against the seat and thought again about how much Helen knew about her. And how she would guard that knowledge to the…fatality.

This is not just about the psych 345 . Ren had typed it into her own phone after she had met Douglas Hammond, and when she pressed 345, her predictive text gave a first option that was unsurprising under the circumstances: ‘fil’.

This is not just about the psych files. What is it about, then?

Luke Sarvas lay in his hospital bed with the silent television flickering light across him. Ren walked across the room and turned it off. He blinked his eyes with relief. Most of Luke Sarvas’ head was heavily bandaged. His face was destroyed. His right eye socket was impacted, his right jaw shattered and wired shut. Any unbandaged surface area was covered in superficial cuts and bruises. His lips were swollen and cracked, covered in a thick layer of Vaseline. There were bruises all over his neck. He kept his head still, but slid his gaze toward Ren. She introduced herself and sat on the chair by his bed.

‘Do you know how you got here?’

He nodded.

‘What happened?’ She almost didn’t want him to speak, his lips looked so damaged.

He opened his mouth slowly. The corners were dry and white and took time to break apart. It was hard to look at. ‘I…fell,’ he said.

‘From the border wall?’

Luke nodded.

‘No, you didn’t.’

A fleeting frown crossed Luke’s face.

‘I spoke with your doctors,’ said Ren. ‘You have pretty severe crush injuries. Something fell on you.’

Luke closed his eyes slowly. Bingo. But he shook his head slightly to disagree.

‘It’s a medical fact,’ said Ren.

He opened his eyes and looked at her.

‘What fell on you?’ said Ren.

He shook his head again. ‘Nothing.’

‘OK,’ said Ren. ‘I’m going to backtrack. What happened in that SUV eight months ago?’

He waited to answer. ‘I…can’t remember.’

‘You can’t remember anything?’ said Ren.

‘I can remember up to just before it happened.’ Every word came out painfully slowly.

‘So you don’t know who stopped the vehicle, what the chronology of events were, nothing?’

He shook his head. ‘No.’

‘OK,’ said Ren. ‘So your memory was intact right up until that day.’

He nodded.

‘In that case, tell me about Tijuana at spring break.’