Madman's Dance (Time Rovers) Page 17

  A nod from Hawkins.

  “Inspector, why did you not bother to verify all aspects of the prisoner’s alibi?”

  “I know a good story when I see one,” Hulme responded with a smirk. “When the Crickland woman couldn’t remember when she saw him in Whitechapel, and no one else had spied him wandering around the streets, I decided it would be wasted effort to go into the middle of the forest hunting some phantom coffin.”

  “So, in essence, you applied your years of experience as a police officer and decided where best to utilize your energies in this investigation.”

  Hulme looked relieved at the barrister’s explanation. “That’s right.”

  “Is it usual for Scotland Yard to intervene in an active investigation?”

  “Doesn’t happen too often.”

  “So perhaps the Yard’s involvement in this case had some other motive?”

  Wescomb sprung to his feet. “I must protest! The motive is good police work, your lordship.”

  “Do you have a genuine question, Mr. Arnett?” Hawkins asked.

  “No, your lordship. I no longer need to examine this witness.”

  Hulme dragged himself out of the witness box as if he were wearing Keats’ chains. He looked up and their eyes met.

  Why are you trying to kill me?

  Chapter 18

  2057 A.D.

  TEM Enterprises

  The one called Morrisey didn’t mind if she sat in the wooden building for hours at a time. In fact, he encouraged it. He’d brought her strange food: raw fish and rice and hot, fragrant teas. Some of it she had to eat with sticks and the cups didn’t have handles. She decided she liked that.

  Sometimes he would join her, but mostly he left her alone. To her delight, she’d discovered a pond behind the building. Fish lived there, pretty gold and white ones. He’d told her they were called koi. She’d watched them swim in lazy circles, going nowhere. They didn’t seem to mind. She tried touching one, but it skidded away, splashing her.

  When she grew bored with the fish, she’d watch the flat expanse of white sand in front of the pagoda. It still wasn’t right. She’d called out to it a couple of times, asking it what was wrong. It didn’t answer. When she’d asked the one called Ralph about that, he said he didn’t understand. She decided not to mention it again.

  Morrisey talked to her of healing. She listened, but it made little sense. It seemed to help him, though, so she let him talk. His voice was calming, unlike the other one.

  Morrisey told her that Ralph was an old friend, though he didn’t look very old to her. One time when Ralph was talking to her, she remembered a silver box that moved on wheels. She asked him about it. He said that was Sigmund, his DomoBot. She asked if this Sigmund could visit her instead. That had made the one called Ralph angry.

  He was that way today, asking questions, telling her things, getting upset when she didn’t remember what he’d just told her. She didn’t want to know things until she asked. Then there seemed to be a way of storing the answer so it wouldn’t get lost so easily.

  “Let’s try this again,” Ralph began, his voice tight as he wiped his glasses on the end of his tee shirt in frustration. “Do you remember how we met?”

  “No.”

  “Sure you do. We were in preschool together. I hit you and then you hit me back.”

  “Sounds good,” she muttered.

  He frowned. “Got us both in a lot of trouble.” He replaced his glasses. “What about your parents? Do you remember them?”

  The sadness almost choked her. Too much sand had fallen out her mind: she couldn’t remember her own family.

  “Go away,” she ordered.

  “What?” Ralph replied, caught off guard.

  “Go away!”

  “But I thought—”

  “Just go away. You’re not right for me. I can’t think when you’re here.”

  As he rose, she could see the hurt in his eyes.

  “I’m not going to give up, Cyn. You can’t stay this way forever.”

  “Why not?” she challenged, confused why he was so angry. Why did he care?

  “Because you just can’t.”

  She didn’t bother to watch him walk away. It didn’t matter. The image of the kitten came again, chasing after the string. She thought maybe that was her, trying to hook her claws into a piece of her old self so it wouldn’t slip away.

  The one called Morrisey appeared at the edge of the sand. He had someone with him, a man in a black suit. The one called Ralph had called him a spook. She didn’t know what that meant, but he still made her nervous, like she’d done something wrong.

  After some sharp conversation, the man removed his shoes and socks. His feet were white like the sand. Cynda giggled. Maybe he wasn’t so scary after all.

  He refused to sit on one of the pillows, so Morrisey settled himself and made the introductions. “Jacynda, this is Agent Klein. He knows you from before.”

  She angled her eyes upward at the looming figure. He didn’t look happy.

  “I’m here to find out what happened to you,” he announced.

  That again. “I’m not right. Someone did this to me.”

  “Who?”

  She shrugged. Every now and then, she had the answer. Then it would disappear, circling away from her like one of the fish in the pond.

  “What do you remember?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” she said. That wasn’t quite right, but she wasn’t sure she liked this man.

  “Do you remember someone putting something against your head?”

  “No.” Maybe if she kept saying “no,” he’d go away.

  “Is there anything you do remember?”

  “No.” Morrisey gave her a curious look, but held his silence.

  The one named Klein started peppering Morrisey with questions. All of them were about her.

  The noise was getting to be too much. “Go away,” Cynda commanded, pointing. “Talk about me over there.”

  A smirk appeared on Morrisey’s face as he rose to his feet. “She has a point. Let’s leave her to her thoughts.”

  “What thoughts? There’s hardly anything left.”

  “What’s left is hers, and we need to respect that.”

  As they walked across the sand, Morrisey turned and gave her a wink.

  Hours later, after she had napped, the man named Morrisey returned carrying a tray of hot tea. He wasn’t in his suit, but in loose clothes. Maybe he wasn’t important here, but one of the inmates, like her.

  “I’m sorry about Agent Klein,” he told her. “He insisted on talking to you.”

  She sampled the tea. “I like this.”

  “It’s Russian orange spice. Very pleasant.” He took a sip and sighed in appreciation. “What have you been thinking about this afternoon?”

  “Kittens.”

  “And string?”

  She nodded and screwed up her face in thought. “Why does everyone want to know who made me like this?”

  His face grew solemn. “Because it was a very wrong thing to do.”

  “Oh.” She looked down. “I didn’t tell the truth. I remember the fiery tube, the one that made my head hurt.”

  He looked very puzzled. “Why didn’t you tell Klein that?”

  “I don’t know if he’s right or not.”

  “But I am?”

  Cynda thought about it, and then nodded.

  He grinned. “I’m very pleased to hear that.” Another sip of tea. “You’re starting to remember. That’s a good sign.”

  Cynda wasn’t sure about that. It was hard to sort through the memories, know where they belonged, know if she could trust them.

  “Do the…ah…” She worked on the name, but it wouldn’t come. She pointed toward the roof. “Do they ever talk to you?”

  “Oh, the dragons? No.”

  “They won’t talk to me, either. I’ve tried.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Maybe one day.” He took a long sip of tea and fell quiet
.

  “What is your name?”

  “Morrisey,” he replied.

  “No. The other name. Don’t you have one?”

  He hesitated. “Theo. It means divine gift.”

  She rolled that around her mind for a while. She liked that. “Can I stay here tonight?”

  “If you wish. I’ll have more blankets brought to you. It can get quite chilly.”

  When next she looked over, he was gone.

  She struggled and then pulled his name out of the void. “Theee…o.”

  He felt right, like the nice man in the old place, the one who had cried for her. His name was still missing, but she thought she remembered his face. Her shoulders sagged with the effort. Each day brought a little bit more, but not enough.

  ~••~••~••~

  Over the top of the psychiatrist’s bald head, Morrisey caught Fulham’s eyes. His assistant shrugged, which told him he just couldn’t chuck the fellow out the door. At least Jacynda wasn’t around to hear all this, resting after the lengthy psychiatric exam she’d had to endure.

  To his annoyance, Dr. Weber was still warming to his subject. “It is important that we treat her Adrenalin Reactive Disorder now, rather than letting it continue to worsen,” he insisted. “If she recovers, she will be a more balanced individual, a productive member of society.”

  “She was already a productive member of society.”

  “No, she was a Time Rover. That profession is just a dumping ground for untreated Adrenalin Reactives because they can’t get a job anywhere else.”

  Morrisey slowly counted to twenty. TPB’s shill had been pushing for the treatment the moment he’d first arrived, even before he’d examined Jacynda. That smacked of someone else’s agenda.

  “She is already showing increasingly violent tendencies,” Weber continued. “She threatened me during my interview.”

  “You were probably annoying her. She has a low threshold for irritating people.” No doubt, you sailed right past it.

  “I was merely asking her questions,” he persisted.

  Morrisey’s eyes narrowed. “What if your ARD treatment makes her worse?”

  “It won’t. I’ve studied her case, and she’s a good candidate. She should have been treated when it first surfaced at age seventeen.”

  “Why do you think she lost her memories?” Morrisey probed, wondering how he’d spin it.

  “I believe it is a manifestation of accelerated Post Transfer Syndrome, accentuated by the untreated Adrenalin Reactive Disorder.”

  “I disagree. To that end, I refuse to allow the ARD treatment.”

  The shrink gave him a placid smile. “You have no legal right to withhold that treatment.”

  “Actually, I do. I’ve been appointed Miss Lassiter’s legal guardian until such time as she returns to a full state of mental capacity and may determine her own medical care.”

  Weber’s expression went dark. “What game are you playing?” he demanded.

  “This is no game, Doctor. Unlike you, I know Miss Lassiter would refuse your medicine. She’s always done so.”

  “And done herself irreparable harm in the process.”

  “That is your opinion,” Morrisey countered, gesturing toward the door. “I don’t think we need to speak about this any further.”

  “I’ll be filing a challenge. In the meanwhile, I have been asked to follow her case by the Time Protocol Board. That is something your guardianship cannot override.”

  Morrisey’s voice turned cold. “Then issue your reports as you see fit. However, if you attempt to treat her in any fashion without my approval, I’ll see your license revoked.”

  “You are condemning her to a hideous life.”

  Morrisey drew a deep breath. “I accept that responsibility. Good day, Doctor.” Get the hell off my property.

  The moment the door whooshed open, Jacynda peeked out from under the covers. She reminded Morrisey of a small child frightened by a thunderstorm.

  “I don’t like the bald man,” she announced, wiggling around until she sat upright. “Tell him to go away.”

  “I don’t like Dr. Weber either, but he will need to talk to you every now and then.”

  “Will you be there?” she asked.

  Morrisey smiled reassuringly. “If you wish. He will not be allowed to treat you unless I approve.”

  “Will you?”

  “No. You should heal on your own.”

  “Can I have one of those boxes?”

  “What box?” Morrisey asked, puzzled.

  “He touched it and it blinked, then it made a funny noise.”

  “Oh, a computer. Certainly. You can ask it questions, and it will give you answers.”

  She eyed him dubiously. “How do I know if the answers are right?”

  He barely hid the smile. “That’s for you to decide.”

  “Why is…” She worked on the name, her face contorting with the effort. He didn’t hurry her. “Why is…” She mimed a long ponytail.

  “Mr. Hamilton?” She didn’t call him that. “Ralph?”

  She nodded. “Why is Ralph mad at me?”

  Oh dear. “He’s not angry at you.”

  “Then why does he frown all the time?”

  “He remembers the way you used to be, and he wants you to be that way again. He cares very much for you. That’s why he’s pushing so hard.”

  “You don’t push.”

  “I know it’s better not to.”

  She hopped out of bed, pulled on her sandals, then stopped at the door.

  “Is the bald man gone?”

  “For the time being.”

  “Good.” She took a step forward, then turned back toward him. “Who was the man with the flower?”

  Morrisey hesitated. It would be best that he not give her a name. She might accidentally tell the wrong person that Defoe had been in residence.

  “He is a friend of mine,” he replied.

  “I don’t remember his name.” With that, she scooted out the door.

  This time, Morrisey allowed the smile free rein.

  But you remembered he wore a flower.

  ~••~••~••~

  The following morning, Cynda found a box underneath the pagoda. It was low and black. She sat next to it for a long time, wondering why it wasn’t making any noise. Finally, she touched it. There was a beep and an image flashed into the air above it, causing her to rear back in fright. When nothing else happened, she tapped one of the colorful keys projected onto the wooden platform. Another beep.

  If all it did was beep, that wasn’t going to help her. She grew restless. Perhaps she should go back to her room and stare at the line on the machine. It was all blue now. Morrisey had told her that was a good thing.

  Instead, she concentrated on her name.

  “Jacynda…Lassiter.” She felt proud that she didn’t have to look at the tattered piece of paper in her pocket anymore. Maybe if she said it enough times, it’d feel right.

  “Query?” a melodic voice asked. It came from the box.

  “What is a query?” she asked.

  “A question, inquiry, or quiz,” the box answered.

  “Question.” What kind of question should she ask? “Who is Jacynda Lassiter?”

  “Jacynda Alice Lassiter, born 9 December 2028, second child and only daughter of Dr. Harvey Lassiter and Alice Lassiter, née Jenkins.” The voice droned on, telling her of illnesses and education, of experiences and lovers she could not remember.

  While the box spoke of someone named Christopher Stone, an image appeared on the screen. His face made her throat tighten and her chest ache. She had no idea why. By the time the voice ended, Cynda was in tears, floods of them washing down her face and tumbling onto her lap.

  “Miss Lassiter?” She blinked to see the somber man standing near the edge of the sand. He looked worried. “What has upset you?”

  She didn’t respond immediately, wiping away the tears with the back of her fist. He stripped off hi
s shoes with more haste than usual and then hurried across the sand. When he sat on the pillow next to her, he offered a comforting smile.

  “If you want to talk about what has distressed you, I’d be happy to listen. If you prefer silence, I will respect that.”

  She sniffled. “I was asking the…” she pointed at the box, unsure of what to call it, “and it was telling me about Jacynda Lassiter.”

  “That’s what made you sad?” he asked.

  “Yes. I don’t remember any of it.” Another tear tracked down her cheek.

  Her companion’s stiff posture eased. “Right now, the computer remembers it all for you. In time, you won’t need to ask it about Jacynda Lassiter because you’ll know who you are.”

  Maybe he was right. The voice had gone on for a long time, telling of cities she’d visited and people she’d met. People she couldn’t remember.

  “You’ve been all over the world in so many centuries. I envy you that.”

  “What’s envy?” she asked.

  “It means I wish I could have had a life as rich as yours.”

  She pointed at the box. “Can I ask it another question?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Who is Theo…” She frowned, the name gone.

  “Morrisey,” her companion completed with a chuckle.

  The box answered instantly, spewing out information like a volcano. The voice kept going on and on.

  “Too much,” she said. The box kept talking. “Stop!” It didn’t.

  “End query,” Morrisey ordered. The voice halted. He chuckled. “You were testing me, weren’t you?”

  She nodded. “I don’t know who to trust.”

  “That is wise. Judge for yourself.”

  She gave him a sidelong glance. She’d expected him to say she should trust him.

  As if he knew what she was thinking, he explained, “You are rebuilding your mind. It is up to you to form your own opinions. It would be too easy for me to tell you what to believe, but then you wouldn’t be Jacynda Lassiter.”

  That seemed right. “Can I have some more of the spicy orange tea?”

  “That can be arranged.” He thought for a moment and then added, “I’ll put something on the computer for you. It’ll be like a game. You can look at a picture and match it with a word or a name.”