|
|
Angel's Medley - Chapter Three Duncan sat on the small ledge overlooking the city, his legs hanging down over the street below. He sat munching on a bag of pistachio nuts, staring out at the neon lights and traffic below him, in contemplative silence. He looked up when Sydney approached. "Hey. Bad trip?" She stared at him, taking a seat beside him on the ledge but keeping her feet on the building side. "You make it sound like its a drug." "Maybe it is. Are you addicted?" She didn't answer. "I don't know what to trust anymore," she said softly. "What's part of my memories and what isn't. What's real and what's fantasy . . ." "Morgan said VR was a blend of two minds, yeah? Anything in your subconscious, and his subconscious, can be pulled in there. But the thing about the subconscious is, you can't study it from a conscious perspective. It only becomes apparent in your dreams . . . or in VR. So what you see in there - who's to tell if what you're seeing is your memory or his, and if it is your memory maybe its from sometime in your life you've forgotten." He paused, considering his own words, then pushed out his hand. "Nut?" She shook her head. There was a long silence. "I took Matthew into VR again. I think that Erin was a member. He never knew, not until he had discovered the computer files and Erin . . ." she fell into abrupt silence, struggled - "Erin was killed." "Woah. So you reckon that's why he's trying to blackmail the Committee. Revanche and all that." "Not blackmail." She studied her hands with apparently deep concentration. "That's not what he's after. There's more, and I'm afraid for him. If he gets too close, if they find him, I'm afraid . . ." she paused, images of Morgan clouding her mind. In her arms, on the open street, in the darkness, alone. It's not what you think . . . "Hey, Syd, if this guy is causing you problems . . ." "No . . ." There was a long silence. "I think . . . I think I'm falling in love with him." There was barely a reaction from Duncan. "When I'm in there, I feel connected to him . . . perhaps it's because we both lost someone to the Committee. Perhaps it's just my imagination - how can I be sure what I'm feeling in VR is my true self and not what the computer has selected?" Another silence. Duncan glanced at her, an invitation, and she allowed him to wrap one arm around her, rested her head against his shoulder. "I dunno, Syd" he confessed. "This is getting pretty heavy . . . and I know I can't answer for you. Maybe this is just a symptom of VR . . . but I don't know how you can tell. You're into this more than I am. As I see it, you only have a few choices left open. Protect him, and risk the Committee, or turn him in." He paused, pistachios forgotten. "So what are you going to do? * The next scene was hard. The car scenario, on the bridge seventeen years ago. Standing in the rain, Matthew Willis beside her, dressed in (for once) her normal jeans and checked shirt. Surreally, neither seemed to be getting the slightest bit damp. Matthew gave a frown, studying the dark shadows beyond. "What is this place?" "My past. I wanted to show you something." She had never chosen to go back to the car crash of her own free will - previously, she had always been pulled there, through some unknown force in her own subconscious. But now, and with him, she did not feel afraid. Then he understood. "This is when your father and sister died, isn't it. Why, Sydney? Why bring us here? I thought you wanted to know about the files." "I do." A car began to approach, only its headlights visible in the darkness, drawing ever closer. The sky began to glow with lightening flashes, and with each one came a flashback into the car. Sydney and Samantha arguing over a teddy bear. Her father in the front, impatient, turning around to scold his squabbling daughters. Unable to see the bridge coming up ahead. Sydney was aware of Matthew taking her hand, squeezing gently. The car swerved violently, crashing though the flimsy wooden railings that served as faulty protection from the fall. There was an enormous splash as the vehicle hit the water, then only the sound of ripples across water. And the flashbacks continues, more intense. "Daddy!" Could she ever forget? Cold water, freezing her fingers as they scrabbled at the window frantically. Paralysing her lungs, turning to reach out to her sister in vain. Their fingers touched, briefly, but Samantha slipped away, and Sydney was left alone, fighting to escape the confines of the car and return to the surface. For freedom. And she succeeded, leaving her father and sister to die . . . "Sydney, stop it!" She was crying, alone in the rain. No longer did VR protect her from its downfall, and she stood in the darkness, soaked to the skin, shivering and afraid. Deja-vu. "Sydney!" A gasp. The scene changed to absolute whiteness. "Sydney." He gripped her arms, and she was sobbing into his shoulder, trembling with long-contained grief. "Why do this? Relive it all?" "I have to. I have to show you . . ." She raised her head. "Those files . . . they say something about Daddy and Samantha. About VR, about Daddy's experiments. I need to know what they say. Tell me." "I can't. Believe me Sydney, you don't want to know." "I do. I have to know. It's important." "I know it is. But I can't . . ." The scene changed. A room. No, not a room, merely a space, a mirage of filtered colours, a reminder of the neon lights from the 'Sammy's' sign outside her flat. Except there were no walls, no floor, no ceiling. Only pictures, holograms of memories of episodes of moments from her life. From Matthew's life. And they stood in the centre, still clutched in each other's arms. "Where are we?" he asked. She had not programmed the computer with this scene, but knew all the same. "I think it's a doorway." "Where do they lead?" He reached out to touch one of the suspended holograms, and it rippled gently. "To the past, and the future." She paused, finding it hard to ask what she knew she had to do. "Matthew, why won't you tell me what you know?" "Because if you know, then you'll be in danger. Right now you have no idea of the truth . . ." he paused. "Can't you trust me? Just believe me? I want you to be safe, Sydney. I want you to survive." He glanced around the room, then reached out to take her hand. "I want to remember this" he whispered. "Do you think, maybe, when this ends, I'll remember?" "I don't know. Maybe." "I hope so." He started to smile, then stopped, head tilted to one side. "Do you hear something?" She shook her head, even as the room turned dark, save for the light from the pictures and a flashlight. Then another, and another, a dozen and more spotlights searching the void, and dogs, and shots, and sirens . . . "No . . ." he shuddered, then pulled away. "I have to go." "No!" Sydney grabbed him by the arm. "What's happening?" "They've almost found me . . ." "Through here." Without warning, she pulled him to one of the pictures, and leapt. There was the brief sensation of freefall, before they both slammed into a metal floor and rolled. Sydney was the first to get to her feet, and found herself now dressed in tight leather pants and barely appreciable top. She turned, golden curls whipping around her shoulders, and pulled Matthew to his feet. For his part, he was dressed in tight denim jeans and black vest, blood streaming from a cut on his forehead. "They're following" he gasped, and began to run down the corridor. "Wait, I don't know where this goes . . ." A car park. She caught the name roughly scrawled against the wall, white on concrete. And the floor, level eight, section three. Together they ran, found themselves in amongst cars and space and graffiti. And the noise, almost deafening. Shouts of triumph, of barking dogs and sirens, and the casts of shadows against the wall, people and guns and desire. The walls seemed to be closing in, yet all the cars appeared the same, never changing, never moving, the same colour, style, the same missing third hubcap . . . "Matthew!" He grabbed her, pulled her down into the space between two cars. What's going on?" "They've almost found me." "No, not yet . . ." "They've been hunting me down . . . I knew I couldn't hide for ever, but I never thought I'd meet you . . ." "What will they do when they find you?" Although she already knew. "They'll kill me." "But they can't . . . not if they don't know where the files are!" "That doesn't matter, not if I'm dead." He stroked her hair. "But it doesn't matter. At least I'll be with Erin. It least it will all be over." "Then give them back." The suggestion was out of her lips before she even realised what she was saying. It as his turn to look surprised. "What?" "Give them back. If you've never read the files, you can escape them . . ." "I can't give up!" "You're not giving up, you're surrendering." She twisted her fingers around his, raising his hand to push it gently against his cheek. "They'll kill you if you don't. They'll find you, and kill you. And I . . . I don't want that to happen." "But if I hand the files back, they'll kill me anyway." "I can speak to them, try and explain. Maybe they'll listen." He pulled away slightly. "Sydney - you are from the Committee, aren't you? You're working for them." "I don't want to." She hugged him closer. "If I could break free . . ." A flash of light in the sky above them. A strobe effect, illuminating scenes from her past. Morgan, in her arms, blood on his shirt, on the concrete beneath him. His eyes in hers. "Sydney . . ." Of the car crash, the touch of Samantha's fingers against hers, the feel of the water. The sight of her mother at the bottom of the staircase, pills scattered across the floor. The face of young Syd, stood alone in an empty house, alone . . . "Are you afraid of death, Sydney Bloom?" "I'm afraid of not knowing" she whispered. "I'm afraid for Duncan, for Oliver . . . for you. I don't want to lose you." "Then you won't" he promised her. "I think . . . I think you and Erin had a lot in common, Sydney. I don't think she would want me to risk everything like this - and I don't know what I want to achieve anymore. I wanted revenge, but they're too big, too powerful. They're going to kill me. They're going to win." "Let them." She raised her head, looked into his eyes through her own tears. "I don't want to lose you, Matthew. No one else. Daddy, Samantha, Morgan . . . I couldn't stand it if I lost you." And she reached up, and pulled his head closer to hers, and tasted his lips . . . The end to VR. And the next time she would see Matthew Willis, it would be for real. * "Oliver." "You called?" He stood in the doorway, dressed in shadowy overcoat and glasses. "I took Matthew into VR again. I think he's ready to give up the files." He looked suitably impressed. "When?" "I'm not sure. Within the next twenty-four hours. And I know where." "But . . ." He could always tell when there was a catch. "But I want him to walk away free." She interrupted him before he could protest. "He's tired, Oliver. He doesn't want to fight anymore. He isn't a threat to them." He shook his head. "Sydney, they're not going to just let him go. You should know that by now." "But they don't want him, they want the files! They don't have to hurt him! Please, Oliver, just ask them. Explain that he's ready to give up, he's ready to leave them alone." "I don't think . . ." "If they don't agree, then I won't tell you where he's going to deposit the files." She stared up at him, eyes unusually hard. He stared back for a moment. "They could force you, Sydney." "I don't think they will." There was a long silence. "Alright," he agreed, eventually. "I'll speak to them." "And I want to be there." "Sydney . . ." "I need to know the Committee will keep their promise. If they harm Matthew - I'll never go into VR again. And they can do what they want to me." She was bluffing - Sydney knew that if the Committee wanted her to do something, to continue in VR, they wouldn't threaten her, but start attacking Duncan, or her mother . . . and she would give in. But Oliver couldn't be sure, and maybe, just maybe, the Committee wouldn't take the risk. * There had been a phonecall. Matthew had apparently called the Committee, informed them that he was ready to give up the files, that he would only inform them of their whereabouts after he had deposited them at their destination. Even though he knew they would trace the call, would be following him as he approached the car park, where Sydney and Oliver were already waiting. She had said little to him over the past hour, watching him organise final details with the small team that surrounded him. Just a precaution, he told her. Just in case you're wrong. She knew Matthew wouldn't try to trick them; there wasn't any chance he would succeed, but it was impossible to explain this to Oliver. Now, with Matthew already approaching the staircase, the various strangers were hidden behind cars and pillars, silent. If she didn't already know, Sydney would have sworn that she and Oliver were alone. He turned to her, eyes serious. "I want you to find somewhere to hide, Sydney." She shook her head. "I want to be here." "You are. I'm not asking you to leave. But he won't know who you are, and he expects only one person." She gave a nod, understanding but clearly not happy. A figure beckoned to her from the shadows, and she went to join him. Oliver now stood alone, a solitary figure amongst steel and brick. His hands were by her sides; no weapons he promised her, at least none that Sydney could see. There was a noise, at the far end of the corridor of cars, and a door opened. A silhouette stepped out, dressed in jacket and tousled hair, stunningly familiar and yet seemingly out of reach. He stopped about seven metres from where Oliver stood, so his figure was cast in the spotlight of one of the overhead lights. "The Committee?" he asked. Oliver gave a nod. "I hope you have what we want." "I want protection. I told you on the phone - no tricks. I've made copies of this disk. Without my code, in a few hours the computer will assume I'm dead and will send copies of this information across the globe." Another gentle nod. "Very sensible." Sydney watched from the darkness, wanting so much to reach out, to touch him. She wondered if he would know who she was, if upon one glance of her face he would cry out joyously and run to her . . . Duncan had warned her. Oliver had warned her. The restraining hand of the man beside her warned her. But Sydney wanted so much to touch him . . . "So where do we go from now?" Oliver was asking. "I guess I give you the disk, And then you let me walk out of here. No bugs, no shadows, no tricks. And I'll leave you alone." "You expect us to believe that?" He shrugged. "I told you. Without the correct code . . ." "Of course." Oliver watched in silence as Matthew reached into his pocket, then reached out with one hand wrapped around the hard edges of a metallic compact disk. In return, Oliver reached into his own pocket, for the envelope of cash, plane ticket and passport provided by the Committee at Sydney's request. As insurance, she told him. Except something went wrong. The next few seconds were almost VR, in slow motion, time paused. As Oliver reached into his pocket, there was the flicker of metal caught in the light from the overhead lights. A pen, or a pinbadge, it didn't matter. What mattered was Matthew's reaction. He panicked, and in one flash second there was a gun in his hand, there was an explosion and Oliver was falling to the floor . . . Then everything exploded. The walls, the ceiling, echoed with the ricochet of dozens of bullets, like a miniature Battle of the Somme, Matthew surrounded and without a hope in hell. His body seemed to shudder, once, twice, a horrible rictus of death, and Sydney's scream over it all, as she broke free from the arm of her captor and bolted from her hole, ran towards him even as his knees thudded to the floor, even as he fell and was submerged in bodies, in the silent figures of the shooters, the Committee team. And still she screamed, and wept, and cried out for them to stop. Too late. Something grabbed her arm with iron strength, and anchored her in place. She struggled but was held firm, then turned in anguish to bury her face in the shoulder of the man beside her. "No . . ." Oliver embraced her, hugging her close to his chest and pressing one hand to the back of her head. "Don't," he whispered, and she sank into his arms, and wept. "He panicked, he thought you were going to shoot him. He never wanted this . . ." "Neither did I." "You killed him," she screamed, trying vainly to pull away. "I need to go to him, I need to see him, I need to touch him, to feel him before . . ." "No, Sydney . . ." She turned, but could not see through tears and blurred vision, and the wall of strangers who surrounded him. It was over . . . "You killed him," she wept, though it was nobody's fault, and she would not fight. "They promised he would be free, I promised him . . ." "I'm sorry," Oliver whispered, and without warning he suddenly collapsed into Sydney's arms, blood staining his left shoulder. She fell with him, and knelt on the concrete floor with tears in her eyes, with Oliver in her arms, calling out for help. And it was all over. * Watching old black and white movies, curled up in a blanket and Duncan's lap. They sat together on Sydney's couch, he with one hand stroking her hair almost subconsciously. As the end titles rolled up, she was no longer crying, had no more tears to shed. With the sound turned down, he felt her stir under his touch and settle deeper into his hold. "Are you okay?" "I don't know." It was the first few words she had spoken to him, ever since she had returned from the car park, accompanied by a stranger in overcoat and an aura of grief. He didn't need to ask her what happened, her face was enough; but she had explained anyway. "What happened to the files? Matthew said he had them on timed trigger . . ." He dreaded telling her this. "They traced his car, found his hideout. He wasn't the expert on computers his wife was." She said nothing for a moment. "How's Oliver?" He had been the one to answer the phonecall, a few hours after her return. Sydney had been upstairs, lying on her bed staring silently at the ceiling. No tears. "He'll be fine," he told her. "No serious damage." "He was in my arms . . ." she said softly, then fell silent. Duncan was unsure of what to say. He longed to comfort her, to hold her in his arms and reassure her that it would all be alright, but he didn't have the words, or the belief. "Look," he began awkwardly, "if you want to talk about this, then Syd, you're my friend and I . . ." He felt the gentle squeeze of her hand against his. "Closer than that," she whispered, then lapsed back into a long silence. As they watched, another film began to roll its way onto the small set, titles flickering from age and poor reception. "Duncan . . ." and her voice was tired from silent grief, "what do you think goes into VR? Do you think I really knew who Matthew was, through all this?" Honestly, he didn't know. But that wasn't the right answer. "I think so." "And even though he couldn't remember me . . ." There was another silence, then a question. And hope. "Do you think it's possible to fall in love through VR?" And this time he had no answer. THE END Yeah, like that wasn't obvious. Anyway, if you feel like mailing me to tell me how crap that was, then please do. As long as its constructive criticsm. |
