Authors: R.W. Van Sant
The iFactor (10 page)
Chapter 19
Matt paced in front of Kossman’s apartment door. The warrant was slow to be approved; but it was an appropriate excuse for him to relieve some nervous tension. The crowds around the murder site had left him agitated. He thought about the new medication and wondered if it was wearing off too quickly. He made a mental note to bring up the matter with his shrink.
Matt paced in front of Kossman’s apartment door. The warrant was slow to be approved; but it was an appropriate excuse for him to relieve some nervous tension. The crowds around the murder site had left him agitated. He thought about the new medication and wondered if it was wearing off too quickly. He made a mental note to bring up the matter with his shrink.
“You’re making me nervous.” Rishards said. “If you want we can break down the door. The ones in this section are not the strongest.”
“No, best we wait for the warrant. We don’t want to taint any potentially useful information, especially if your theory that the burnouts being driven psychotic by the solar flares is correct.” He continued to pace. “I think better when I’m moving.”
“I thought you discounted that theory.” She said.
“It gave me the chills,” Matt stopped. “But it’s way too early to discount anything, even ideas I don’t like. We don’t have enough facts.”
A small box on her belt beeped. She picked it up and looked at it. “We have the warrant. Access to the apartment has been approved.” She walked over and waved her palm in front of the access sensor. The click of the auto lock was audible. She pushed open the door and walked in. Matt took a couple of deep breaths and followed.
“Lights.” Rishards said. The ceiling lights started glowing, illuminating the whole of the apartment. Matt felt better about the size of his own apartment. Kossman was a low-level maintenance worker and as such only warranted an efficiency apartment, and a small one at that. The bed was along the far wall. The kitchen, such as it was along the wall near the entry door. A small table and chair sat before a small vid screen. The only other door let to a tiny bathroom. There wasn’t even a window. Air came in from the ventilators. It was a coffin. Matt involuntarily stepped back into the walkway. He’d seen larger prison cells. The clues would be inside, so he steeled himself and crawled in.
Pictures in small plastic frames sat on a tiny bed stand that was built into the apartment wall. Matt focused on the images.
Concentrate
, he berated himself and focused his attention on the photographs. They were positioned so that images were the first thing he saw in the morning and the last he saw at night. The largest picture was of a young brunette girl, perhaps thirteen or fourteen years of age. In close cluster, other photos lined his bed stand, some of a blond woman and several photos of the three together, a happy family. ‘Most likely his wife and daughter’.
Matt considered the picture of the girl. She looked familiar. Matt stumbled backward. Before he realized what he was doing, Matt was out into the hall struggling to catch his breath. The girl’s face came back to him vividly, as one of many others strapped to a chair in a small black cell a small light illuminating a face that stared blankly into eternity. Her lips were moving in cadence with the chanting of the others. The unwelcome voices of children flooded his mind.
‘Go to sleep and go insane
Past and future all the same
See the world turn inside out
All you’ll do is scream and shout.’
“Don’t tell me you’re claustrophobic too.” Rishards appraised him from the doorway.
“I wasn’t expecting the apartment to be so small. How could he live without even a window?” Matt said.
“You know how it goes; apartments are assigned by need and status. Luckily, we have more status than someone from maintenance does. Look I’ll go in, just tell me what you’re looking for.”
“I don’t know what I’m looking for. Something that connects.” he straightened up and forced himself to return. “He lived alone.”
“Yes,” she said. “He had a daughter, she didn’t survive the trip. Cause of death listed as FTL exposure. He survived, and she didn’t.”
“Shorted?”
“Nothing was proven,” she said. “But probably.”
Matt thought for a moment about what that meant. To save Kossman, the doctors had to burn out not only his memories, but also his ability to make any more for the remainder of his life. For his daughter the procedure didn’t take, or she screamed until she choked on her own breathe, suffocating before they could help her. “I wouldn’t call what he does surviving.”
Across from the bed on the wall, written in large letters were the words “Your memory is gone” This would have been the second thing he saw every morning after he awoke. Next to the message, the word ‘important’ was written on the wall and notes were stuck under it.
Becky is dead. It was an accident.
The man likes his information direct.
“No, best we wait for the warrant. We don’t want to taint any potentially useful information, especially if your theory that the burnouts being driven psychotic by the solar flares is correct.” He continued to pace. “I think better when I’m moving.”
“I thought you discounted that theory.” She said.
“It gave me the chills,” Matt stopped. “But it’s way too early to discount anything, even ideas I don’t like. We don’t have enough facts.”
A small box on her belt beeped. She picked it up and looked at it. “We have the warrant. Access to the apartment has been approved.” She walked over and waved her palm in front of the access sensor. The click of the auto lock was audible. She pushed open the door and walked in. Matt took a couple of deep breaths and followed.
“Lights.” Rishards said. The ceiling lights started glowing, illuminating the whole of the apartment. Matt felt better about the size of his own apartment. Kossman was a low-level maintenance worker and as such only warranted an efficiency apartment, and a small one at that. The bed was along the far wall. The kitchen, such as it was along the wall near the entry door. A small table and chair sat before a small vid screen. The only other door let to a tiny bathroom. There wasn’t even a window. Air came in from the ventilators. It was a coffin. Matt involuntarily stepped back into the walkway. He’d seen larger prison cells. The clues would be inside, so he steeled himself and crawled in.
Pictures in small plastic frames sat on a tiny bed stand that was built into the apartment wall. Matt focused on the images.
Concentrate
, he berated himself and focused his attention on the photographs. They were positioned so that images were the first thing he saw in the morning and the last he saw at night. The largest picture was of a young brunette girl, perhaps thirteen or fourteen years of age. In close cluster, other photos lined his bed stand, some of a blond woman and several photos of the three together, a happy family. ‘Most likely his wife and daughter’.
Matt considered the picture of the girl. She looked familiar. Matt stumbled backward. Before he realized what he was doing, Matt was out into the hall struggling to catch his breath. The girl’s face came back to him vividly, as one of many others strapped to a chair in a small black cell a small light illuminating a face that stared blankly into eternity. Her lips were moving in cadence with the chanting of the others. The unwelcome voices of children flooded his mind.
‘Go to sleep and go insane
Past and future all the same
See the world turn inside out
All you’ll do is scream and shout.’
“Don’t tell me you’re claustrophobic too.” Rishards appraised him from the doorway.
“I wasn’t expecting the apartment to be so small. How could he live without even a window?” Matt said.
“You know how it goes; apartments are assigned by need and status. Luckily, we have more status than someone from maintenance does. Look I’ll go in, just tell me what you’re looking for.”
“I don’t know what I’m looking for. Something that connects.” he straightened up and forced himself to return. “He lived alone.”
“Yes,” she said. “He had a daughter, she didn’t survive the trip. Cause of death listed as FTL exposure. He survived, and she didn’t.”
“Shorted?”
“Nothing was proven,” she said. “But probably.”
Matt thought for a moment about what that meant. To save Kossman, the doctors had to burn out not only his memories, but also his ability to make any more for the remainder of his life. For his daughter the procedure didn’t take, or she screamed until she choked on her own breathe, suffocating before they could help her. “I wouldn’t call what he does surviving.”
Across from the bed on the wall, written in large letters were the words “Your memory is gone” This would have been the second thing he saw every morning after he awoke. Next to the message, the word ‘important’ was written on the wall and notes were stuck under it.
Becky is dead. It was an accident.
The man likes his information direct.
Read book in the top drawer.
You work in the maintenance quad four, section fifteen, room one ten.
Your boss is Oliver.
Get to work at four first shift.
You get the 5th, 6th, 10th, 11th, 15th and 23
rd
off, if clock says those dates don’t go to work. Buy food and do laundry.
Wear grey jumpsuit to work.
Your boss is Oliver.
Get to work at four first shift.
You get the 5th, 6th, 10th, 11th, 15th and 23
rd
off, if clock says those dates don’t go to work. Buy food and do laundry.
Wear grey jumpsuit to work.
“There is a book in the top drawer?” Matt asked.
“Yes, a diary.” It is in the evidence vault. “I read it. It was mundane. Just filled with daily encounters. Unfortunately, he filled it in at night. There was nothing of use in it for the day of the murder.”
“Nothing like: been a boring day, think I’ll something horrific to a complete stranger today.”
“No, nothing like that.”
“Too bad, a confession would be useful about now.” Matt looked in the closet. Most of the clothing was hanging neat and tidy. There were a couple of shirts and pants hanging neatly, the rest were all work overalls. “He didn’t have much of a social life.”
“According to his diary there was no one of note. Not one that he remembered to add to his diary.”
“Nothing at all of use?” Matt asked.
“I read every word. Nothing useful at all, a bit of self-pity and some guilt over the death of his daughter.” She said.
“Typical feelings, he brought her here for a new life in a crime free utopia, instead she died.” Matt grew more anxious, he couldn’t shake the image of the girl. The room closed in around him. “What about the mother?”
“She died over a year before he left Earth. Killed in a robbery.” She said.
“Well I think I’d like to see him now.” Matt was feeling couldn’t stand being in the room any longer. He kept his pace normal as he walked into hall.
By the time the detectives reached the station, the medication had taken full affect. The new prescription felt stronger than the previous one. He could feel the apathy coming upon him. At least it was better than the alternative. His emotions were his worst enemy. If he could, he’d have gotten rid of them permanently.
They had Kossman moved into an interrogation room. There they watched him grow agitated in apprehension.
“How long are we going to stand here and watch him?”
“A few minute longer” Matt responded. “I want him tired and grumpy”
“Why?”
“I want to see how he’ll react.”
“To what?” she asked.
“You’ll see, Okay. We can go in now.” Matt sauntered in, Rishards close behind him. He slumped down onto the chair and stared down the large man who sat on the opposite side of a large table from them.
“Do you know why you’re here?” Matt asked.
“I was told that I’m accused of murder. But it isn’t true.” He said. “I’ve never killed anyone and I’ve never met the woman. Why would I kill her?”
“We were hoping you’d tell us.” Rishards said.
“I want a lawyer.” Kossman sat back.
“You’ve already seen him. He was here yesterday. I can show you the recordings if you wish.” Rishards told him.
“Oh, yeah right. I’m a burnout. I can’t remember.” Kossman said. “Then I want to see my daughter.”
“Mr. Kossman, I’m sorry…” Matt started.
Rishards cut him off in mid-sentence. “She can’t come in until tomorrow.”
“Is someone looking after her? She’s a child and needs supervision.”
“She’s being looked after.” Rishards continued her ruse.
“Look she’s a good girl, just a little wild that all. It wasn’t easy on her losing her mom. Sometimes a girl just falls in with the wrong crowd you know. It will be all right now that we are here. No crime here, no criminal boyfriends for her to fall in with.” Kossman ranted.
“We’ll keep an eye on her.” Matt lied.
“When’s my trial?” Kossman asked. “My work contract said I’m guaranteed a trial with ten days. They say no crime goes unpunished. You’ll find the killer and I’ll be set free.”
“Not if you are guilty.” Rishards said.
“Look lady, I don’t know why you’re so hot to pin this on me. But I didn’t do it. I couldn’t kill anyone, even if I did lose my memory.”
“How can you be sure?” Matt asked.
“I know who I am, even if I got no memory. I know who I am. I didn’t kill that boy on earth and I won’t kill anyone here.” Kossman said. “You said Becky’d be to see me tomorrow. Promise me you will come in and tell me.”
Matt stood up and looked at the man. “Yeah sure.”
“He loves his daughter.” Rishards said once they left the room. “It is easiest to let her think she’s alive.”
“Would he kill for her do you think?” Matt asked.
“Why would he, she’s dead.”
“You convinced him she was alive. What if someone else did also.” Matt walked back to his office.
“Yes, a diary.” It is in the evidence vault. “I read it. It was mundane. Just filled with daily encounters. Unfortunately, he filled it in at night. There was nothing of use in it for the day of the murder.”
“Nothing like: been a boring day, think I’ll something horrific to a complete stranger today.”
“No, nothing like that.”
“Too bad, a confession would be useful about now.” Matt looked in the closet. Most of the clothing was hanging neat and tidy. There were a couple of shirts and pants hanging neatly, the rest were all work overalls. “He didn’t have much of a social life.”
“According to his diary there was no one of note. Not one that he remembered to add to his diary.”
“Nothing at all of use?” Matt asked.
“I read every word. Nothing useful at all, a bit of self-pity and some guilt over the death of his daughter.” She said.
“Typical feelings, he brought her here for a new life in a crime free utopia, instead she died.” Matt grew more anxious, he couldn’t shake the image of the girl. The room closed in around him. “What about the mother?”
“She died over a year before he left Earth. Killed in a robbery.” She said.
“Well I think I’d like to see him now.” Matt was feeling couldn’t stand being in the room any longer. He kept his pace normal as he walked into hall.
By the time the detectives reached the station, the medication had taken full affect. The new prescription felt stronger than the previous one. He could feel the apathy coming upon him. At least it was better than the alternative. His emotions were his worst enemy. If he could, he’d have gotten rid of them permanently.
They had Kossman moved into an interrogation room. There they watched him grow agitated in apprehension.
“How long are we going to stand here and watch him?”
“A few minute longer” Matt responded. “I want him tired and grumpy”
“Why?”
“I want to see how he’ll react.”
“To what?” she asked.
“You’ll see, Okay. We can go in now.” Matt sauntered in, Rishards close behind him. He slumped down onto the chair and stared down the large man who sat on the opposite side of a large table from them.
“Do you know why you’re here?” Matt asked.
“I was told that I’m accused of murder. But it isn’t true.” He said. “I’ve never killed anyone and I’ve never met the woman. Why would I kill her?”
“We were hoping you’d tell us.” Rishards said.
“I want a lawyer.” Kossman sat back.
“You’ve already seen him. He was here yesterday. I can show you the recordings if you wish.” Rishards told him.
“Oh, yeah right. I’m a burnout. I can’t remember.” Kossman said. “Then I want to see my daughter.”
“Mr. Kossman, I’m sorry…” Matt started.
Rishards cut him off in mid-sentence. “She can’t come in until tomorrow.”
“Is someone looking after her? She’s a child and needs supervision.”
“She’s being looked after.” Rishards continued her ruse.
“Look she’s a good girl, just a little wild that all. It wasn’t easy on her losing her mom. Sometimes a girl just falls in with the wrong crowd you know. It will be all right now that we are here. No crime here, no criminal boyfriends for her to fall in with.” Kossman ranted.
“We’ll keep an eye on her.” Matt lied.
“When’s my trial?” Kossman asked. “My work contract said I’m guaranteed a trial with ten days. They say no crime goes unpunished. You’ll find the killer and I’ll be set free.”
“Not if you are guilty.” Rishards said.
“Look lady, I don’t know why you’re so hot to pin this on me. But I didn’t do it. I couldn’t kill anyone, even if I did lose my memory.”
“How can you be sure?” Matt asked.
“I know who I am, even if I got no memory. I know who I am. I didn’t kill that boy on earth and I won’t kill anyone here.” Kossman said. “You said Becky’d be to see me tomorrow. Promise me you will come in and tell me.”
Matt stood up and looked at the man. “Yeah sure.”
“He loves his daughter.” Rishards said once they left the room. “It is easiest to let her think she’s alive.”
“Would he kill for her do you think?” Matt asked.
“Why would he, she’s dead.”
“You convinced him she was alive. What if someone else did also.” Matt walked back to his office.
The causeways were bustling. There were far more people than was usual for the time of day. Matt departed the station for the office of his psychiatrist. All the excitement had left him overtired. All he really wanted to do was to head to his apartment and lock himself in for the night. Attending his sessions was, however, part of the conditions for his employment. He dare not miss it. After running across the third security patrol in quick succession, he remembered another black-out was imminent. What did they tell the officers he wondered? They had to tell them something or tongues would soon start to wag, that was something the chief said they wanted to avoid at all cost.
The nearest officer was dealing with a woman with short curly hair and dressed in an expensive suit. From several yards away, Matt could hear her complaining about the disruption to her schedule. In a show of solidarity, Matt walked up and presented his chip hand for scanning. His uniform and manner quieted the woman. Executives constantly fuss when forced to endure for a moment what the lower ratings deal with daily.
The growling in his stomach prompted him to stop at ‘Say Soy’ for a quick bite. It would be better not to go into a session hungry. They seemed to last forever as it was. His chronometer told him he still had twenty minutes, and he was in visual distance to the office so he went to eat on to the patio. He quickly located an empty table where he could sit with his back to the building.
The soy burger was particularly tasteless as his mind flew around all the facts of the case so he turned his attention to his French fries with only slightly better results.
He watched the colonists walk by and wondered if any of them were the killer. What kind of person could this killer be?
No
, he berated himself, he was getting tunnel vision. There was no indication that these acts were a single killer, except of course for the apology.
I am sorry, singular.
It
argued against Rishards’ psychotic burnout theory. What else then? The Trust, an underground organization who kidnapped latent psychics? It would explain the killings during black-out and even the apologies could be a ruse to keep the police from looking in the right places.
The Trust, he reminded himself, was a fairy tale, fodder for conspiracy theorists and people who wore tin foil hats to prevent from having their minds read. The public nature and display of the killing could have been a warning, as the gangs did on Earth when someone violated their codes. His head went fuzzy. It was all guesswork, he needed more info. He didn’t even have a good hunch to go on.
A shrill familiar voice drew his attention to a shop next to the restaurant. The woman with the short blond hair was arguing with a shop owner over the price of a hat. A hat for Christ’s sake, in a dome city. The light for the entire city was carefully controlled. If there were a trust, it would be run by people like her, people who’d have a hat shipped eight light years to make a fashion statement.
The remainder of his meal went into the bin to process into fertilizer for the farm as he went to his appointment.
Matt lounged in the marginally reclined chair; he supposed it was a holdout from the days of the large padded couch. Whatever its origin, he was uncomfortable with the inferior station that it implied. Perhaps that was the point. In any case, as ordered he obediently showed up at the meeting, reclined in the chair, and listened to inquiries of his therapist.
“How are you feeling today? Is the new program helping?” Doctor Garcia asked.
“I’ve been a bit too busy with my new duties to do more that peruse it.” Matt replied.
“You need to make the time, these programs are more than just games, and they are designed to help you work through your issues. They are as vital to your treatment as these sessions are.” The doctor shifted in his chair. “How is your new position? Are the additional demands causing you any additional stress?”
“I’m not sure about the new meds. They seem to wear off quickly.”
“Just give it a chance; it has to build up in your system. Otherwise, how are you feeling about your new duties?”
Matt knew better than answer that question honestly. His superiors would get reports of his progress and the last thing he wanted was to be sent back to patrol. Still some additional stress would be expected and an absolute denial would seem to be what it was, an obvious lie. “It’s a lot of work, but I’m handling it. It feels great, empowering to be back doing what I love.”
“Good to hear it,” the doctor said. “You will let me know if you experience any increases in anxiety, so we can modify your treatment.”
“Will do,” Matt lied.
“Well then, how are things in your social life?” The doctor asked.
Matt could tell no reason not to answer that question, as it seemed to have no bearing on his job. “The woman I was seeing dumped me a few days ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear it. Do you know why?”
“I missed her birthday.” Matt confessed.
“It is hard to keep relationships when one works in law enforcement.”
“Well they say there’s someone for everyone. I’ll find mine some day?” As the words left Matt’s lips, he had a strong feeling that he would indeed find his soul mate, soon.
“What then for the detective, a wife and family?” the doctor probed.
“You and I both know I’m too screwed up to be a father.”
“Don’t you like children?”
“No, I like children. They haven’t had a chance to get themselves damaged yet” Matt didn’t feel comfortable with the new direction of the conversation, but that was perhaps the point. The doctor was probing him, feeling for his limits.”
“Can you elaborate?”
“Perhaps I don’t want children because I do like them. I like them well enough to understand that some people just shouldn’t have the responsibility of raising them. Parents make bad decisions and children get…” He thought of the Kossman girl. Her father’s choice to move them to Sirius cost the girl her life. Then the fleeting image of the girl running into the street during the Dallas riot entered into his mind, followed by the sound of a weapon discharge and the image of a child's head exploding before his eyes. “…disobedient and unruly.”
The nearest officer was dealing with a woman with short curly hair and dressed in an expensive suit. From several yards away, Matt could hear her complaining about the disruption to her schedule. In a show of solidarity, Matt walked up and presented his chip hand for scanning. His uniform and manner quieted the woman. Executives constantly fuss when forced to endure for a moment what the lower ratings deal with daily.
The growling in his stomach prompted him to stop at ‘Say Soy’ for a quick bite. It would be better not to go into a session hungry. They seemed to last forever as it was. His chronometer told him he still had twenty minutes, and he was in visual distance to the office so he went to eat on to the patio. He quickly located an empty table where he could sit with his back to the building.
The soy burger was particularly tasteless as his mind flew around all the facts of the case so he turned his attention to his French fries with only slightly better results.
He watched the colonists walk by and wondered if any of them were the killer. What kind of person could this killer be?
No
, he berated himself, he was getting tunnel vision. There was no indication that these acts were a single killer, except of course for the apology.
I am sorry, singular.
It
argued against Rishards’ psychotic burnout theory. What else then? The Trust, an underground organization who kidnapped latent psychics? It would explain the killings during black-out and even the apologies could be a ruse to keep the police from looking in the right places.
The Trust, he reminded himself, was a fairy tale, fodder for conspiracy theorists and people who wore tin foil hats to prevent from having their minds read. The public nature and display of the killing could have been a warning, as the gangs did on Earth when someone violated their codes. His head went fuzzy. It was all guesswork, he needed more info. He didn’t even have a good hunch to go on.
A shrill familiar voice drew his attention to a shop next to the restaurant. The woman with the short blond hair was arguing with a shop owner over the price of a hat. A hat for Christ’s sake, in a dome city. The light for the entire city was carefully controlled. If there were a trust, it would be run by people like her, people who’d have a hat shipped eight light years to make a fashion statement.
The remainder of his meal went into the bin to process into fertilizer for the farm as he went to his appointment.
Matt lounged in the marginally reclined chair; he supposed it was a holdout from the days of the large padded couch. Whatever its origin, he was uncomfortable with the inferior station that it implied. Perhaps that was the point. In any case, as ordered he obediently showed up at the meeting, reclined in the chair, and listened to inquiries of his therapist.
“How are you feeling today? Is the new program helping?” Doctor Garcia asked.
“I’ve been a bit too busy with my new duties to do more that peruse it.” Matt replied.
“You need to make the time, these programs are more than just games, and they are designed to help you work through your issues. They are as vital to your treatment as these sessions are.” The doctor shifted in his chair. “How is your new position? Are the additional demands causing you any additional stress?”
“I’m not sure about the new meds. They seem to wear off quickly.”
“Just give it a chance; it has to build up in your system. Otherwise, how are you feeling about your new duties?”
Matt knew better than answer that question honestly. His superiors would get reports of his progress and the last thing he wanted was to be sent back to patrol. Still some additional stress would be expected and an absolute denial would seem to be what it was, an obvious lie. “It’s a lot of work, but I’m handling it. It feels great, empowering to be back doing what I love.”
“Good to hear it,” the doctor said. “You will let me know if you experience any increases in anxiety, so we can modify your treatment.”
“Will do,” Matt lied.
“Well then, how are things in your social life?” The doctor asked.
Matt could tell no reason not to answer that question, as it seemed to have no bearing on his job. “The woman I was seeing dumped me a few days ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear it. Do you know why?”
“I missed her birthday.” Matt confessed.
“It is hard to keep relationships when one works in law enforcement.”
“Well they say there’s someone for everyone. I’ll find mine some day?” As the words left Matt’s lips, he had a strong feeling that he would indeed find his soul mate, soon.
“What then for the detective, a wife and family?” the doctor probed.
“You and I both know I’m too screwed up to be a father.”
“Don’t you like children?”
“No, I like children. They haven’t had a chance to get themselves damaged yet” Matt didn’t feel comfortable with the new direction of the conversation, but that was perhaps the point. The doctor was probing him, feeling for his limits.”
“Can you elaborate?”
“Perhaps I don’t want children because I do like them. I like them well enough to understand that some people just shouldn’t have the responsibility of raising them. Parents make bad decisions and children get…” He thought of the Kossman girl. Her father’s choice to move them to Sirius cost the girl her life. Then the fleeting image of the girl running into the street during the Dallas riot entered into his mind, followed by the sound of a weapon discharge and the image of a child's head exploding before his eyes. “…disobedient and unruly.”
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