dead pulse

chapter three part two

The steel table dug into her back. She stared up into a band of blinding light above her head. As her eyes focused, the band separated into six individual lights, in a circle. They flickered slightly.

"Died approximately seven o'clock this morning" A voice mused thoughtfully, breaking the silence. There was a scratching sound."Poor girl"

"Shame"

A face loomed over her, cold and calculating. Grey eyes. They crinkled up, the sickening smile hidden from her underneath the green surgical mask. He winked. Withdrew his head. Tutted.

"In a bit of a state, too. Look at her throat!"

Another face loomed over her from the other side of the metal table. Grey eyes again. Crinkled up from the cheshire grin concealed behind the mask. A latex glove stroked the side of her face, almost lovingly. "Beautiful" He murmured, turning his head to the side and leering at her with a malovent, sidelong glance. Dead? No. It can't be. She tried to scream, but her mouth was frozen. However much she willed it to, her body wouldn't move. She was paralysed here, on this metal table. And they thought she was dead.

"Slashed... Lack of professionalism here... Her head's almost severed" There was a small silence. "But it's been cleaned well. Someone's done our job for us"

"Oh... What a Wreck..." His voice cracked slightly. Their conversation was taking on a bizarre edge, And so were their voices, becoming mechanical.

"I see. Recall. Every last word the...Coroner... Told me."

"Oh. Really?"

"Yes"

They laughed. She felt her stomach sinking as it grew louder, insane, depraved laughing. Then the one with grey eyes loomed over her again, still laughing. He raised his hand, brandishing a mirror, and held it up to her.

The woman in the reflection, laying frozen on the metal table had purple hair spread out evenly around her face. Pale, waxy white skin. A brown-yellow bruise on her cheekbone. Wide, staring grey eyes.

Not her.

Victoria Briggs.

Cole screamed, flying up from her bed.  Her nightdress was soaked through with sweat. She raised the back of her hand to her face, to see that she was shaking.

"Hey! Hey, cool it, man! I was only checking!" Cried Jackson, flying up from the chair in the corner of the room.

"How the fuck did you get into my house? Checking what?" She groaned angrily, pounding her head.

"Uh, nothin'. And I just came to see if you were okay, seeing as you're one of my colleagues" He sounded taken aback and hurt.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well you have been out cold for the best part of two days, Cole"

She blinked, a dull ache blotting her mind. Two days?

"Two days?" She said finally.

"Yeah"

"Am I still dreaming?" She whispered, looking down at her hands.

"Wut?"

Cole sighed heavily. "Never mind"

He shifted awkwardly, sitting back down in the chair. "I don't know what happened before you ask" He told her seriously, leaning back into the chair. "Man, this chair is comfortable. Where'd you buy it?"

She could see through his half hearted attempts to start up conversation easily, but felt bad for her  reaction. He was only trying to help. She could see from where she was sitting the grey streaks coming into his thinning hair. This job was taking it's toll on him.

He hung around a little more, trying to start up conversation, offering to make coffee, but after many rejections, he eventually left, much to Cole's relief.

She collected herself, and sat up from her bed. The curtains were drawn, and the room was in semi darkness. She got up and sloped to the bathroom, running her fingers through her hair. When her hair wasn't in it's usual spiked up 'do, it flopped down, making her look like a young boy. Her face was pale, and she had mottled  purple crescents under her eyes . She looked bad. She let out a low whistle. Fucking bad.

Thirsty.

She began rapidly walking toward the kitchen, her head still thudding maddeningly.

She grabbed a glass from the side, and rammed it in the sink, wrenching up the handle brutally, filling it up. Her headache was agonising. She chucked it back, spilling most of it on herself. She filled up the cup again, and tipped it over her back. The cold was bracing and painful, but it was the perfect wakeup. She hadn't slept that long in months.

chink

Cole froze. Heard the postbox open, and the letter fall to the floor, patting gently on the doormat. Only post. She felt so paranoid all of a sudden. Vulnerable, and small. Just post. She took a deep breath.

Junk, most likely.

Nevertheless she walked over to the front door, using the wall to guide her. She was still a little shaky. A letter addressed to her lay solitary on the carpet. She considered it for a second. Plain, brown envelope. Her name had been stamped on the front in individual parts. The letters sloped down slightly, stamped far apart and slightly lower or higher than they should be.

Collette Armstrong.

There was no postage stamp on the letter. She fell to her knees, scrabbling to pick it up.  She tore it open, gasping a little as she gave herself a papercut. She unfolded the paper, her heart in her throat.

Cole,

Photographic memory is a useful trait.

How many people have you entrusted yourself to, cole?

Or is it yourself that is your guardian, though I do know, you seem to be letting your guard slip.

Where were you, Cole? Where were you last night? Or two days ago?

Cole, do you recall my last letter? Oh, I am enjoying this. It's like having a pen-pal.

Well if you do, I hope for some people's sake, you do not forget. The traitor. The traitor's traits.

Remember Every Collected Trait, Or Remember Yours.

Photographs.

I remember you, Cole.

She didn't even stop to think, throwing open the door, and flying out. She stopped on the door step, looking around wildly. Where was that mother fucker?

The street was empty, except for Mervin Loland, who was standing in his front garden watering his flowers. He sat up at the sound of the door opening, and looked at her. "Alright Collette?"  He called, a friendly smile blooming.

"Yes, thank you, listen, did you see who put this letter into my letter box?" She called back, waving the letter in the air. She felt her heart sink as she was met with a sceptical look.

"No, I haven't seen anybody dear, why?" He looked positively puzzled, scratching at his balding head. "Somebody causing you trouble? Those knock down ginger kids need to be taught a thing or two, i'll tell you that. Is anybody causing you trouble, dear?"

"No, I- No, I was just wondering, I-"

"Secret admirer?" There was a twinkle in his aged eyes."I'd say it was probably that nice chap, the one with the daughter. Keane, or something. I'd say he had a thing for you" He added a small wink on the end, and went back to watering his flowers. Ah, no! She felt a blush coming on, and hurriedly looked down to conceal it. At this point, she suddenly was aware of the fact that the only thing she was wearing was a  pink nightgown.