Returner

 

Phase One – The Patriarch

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I.

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Her face was red beneath the glow of the shop sign and her eyes were drawn to the giant vidscreen above. The cryobank's logo intermittently flashed letters that spelt ‘Contribution Clinic' and the opening credits of Terminal Family had begun. A repeat of last night’s episode; Martha, a fabric worker, had just won her first child licence.

   It reminded her of the day that she purchased her own licence. Life was unimaginable before then, an empty experience. 

   The rain drew diagonal lines from the sooty black sky creating a shimmering distortion on the windscreen. There was a knock on the passenger door window. It was her partner, drenched. She unlocked the door and pushed it open. 

   ‘Thought you were going to leave me out there,’ said Eric as he shuffled into the passenger seat.

   ‘Maybe I should have,’ Heather said sarcastically.

   ‘Your kindness astounds me. Any news?’ he said as he tidied his short black hair.

   ‘All quiet.’

   ‘The life of a private investigator, eh?’

   ‘Indeed,’ she said as the dashboard communicator beeped. She activated it. 

   ‘Code 49,’ said the operator. ‘Heather, we have a code 49.’ 

   ‘It can’t be?’ said Eric in shock.

   ‘Child-napping,’ Heather said to herself in recognition and apprehension. 

   ‘Last sighting: 23 Caulfield Road. Now heading down Delaware Crescent. The parent is at the station,’ said the operator.

   Heather pulled out the portable siren from the glove compartment and attached it to the car roof. She switched it on and the red light flashed in cycles, warning the vehicles in front to part. She slammed her foot down hard on the accelerator. 

   ‘Scum! They’re getting braver by the day,’ Eric cursed.

   Heather hit the communicator switch on the dashboard again. ‘Line connection of the felon?’

   ‘Disconnected. We’re tracing the victim’s Line address instead. Coming out of Delaware, now heading down Elm Road.’

   Heather pulled a sharp turn. ‘Third in six months’.

   ‘Why can’t they just leave us alone?' said Eric, shaking his head.

    She focused her grey eyes on the road, peering over the steering wheel intensely. She was not going to allow this to happen.

   ‘Into 73 Elm Road,’ the voice from the speaker said.

   ‘Outer City fringe too, it just had to be, didn’t it?’ said Eric. 

   ‘Acknowledged,’ said Heather. She slowed the car down and pulled up outside a decayed block of high-rise flats, its concrete surface blotched like infected skin. After closing the car door, she looked to the end of the street, the dilapidation of the pavement revealed by the street lights. The rain had stopped. ‘Take the perimeter, I’ll go front.’

   Both officers activated their earpiece communicators. ‘Stay in touch,’ said Eric.

   Heather tested the entrance and it had been left open. She drew her pistol and gently pushed the door and entered a dark hallway. Many windows were smashed and a door hung off its hinges. Black sacks of rubbish had been left out to be rummaged through and a broken light above stuttered. She began to climb the stairs when her operator contacted her. ‘Two floors above, stationary.’

   ‘Armed?’ Heather whispered in reply.

   ‘Unknown. Caution advised. Eric is watching the rear windows.’

    She heard movement behind several doors and became concerned that the locals were about to reveal her concealment. She faced another line of apartments after reaching the next floor. ‘Which flat?’ she asked.

   ‘Forty-three,’ said the operator. 

   On the third floor, Heather took to the wall and slid up to the door. She listened carefully. She heard the baby crying and the desperate attempts to hush it. Eric was in place, watching the escape routes outside. She took a deep breath. 

   She kicked the door down. ‘Police! Freeze! Get down on your hands and knees now!’ She entered the living room and aimed her pistol sights at the face of the criminal, a scruffy, balding man in his forties. He cradled the child, holding its wailing face close to his. 

   ‘You can’t have her!’ he yelled.

   ‘Put the baby down!’

   ‘No chance!’ 

   ‘Put the baby down now and you might walk away!’

   ‘She’s mine now, you can’t have her, she’s mine!’

   ‘I’m warning you.’

   ‘You don’t have the right to tell me what I can’t have!’ He started to move slowly towards the rear wall.

   ‘Stay still,’ she closed in. ‘I’m warning you.’

   ‘Dirty copper, fuck you! All your fault. All of you!’

    He fell backwards. She imagined her son in his arms and her heart stopped. She hesitated. The criminal and baby fell through an open window. She heard a splash as the felon landed on his back in a large puddle on a slightly lower rooftop below, holding the baby tight with both arms. It cried still. 

   She threw herself through the window, narrowly dodging the puddle. She rolled to her feet and hunted with speed, hearing the wailing baby in his arms and the tapping of his swift footsteps on the wet concrete. She should have acted faster. What if it had been her son?

   The felon leapt over a small gap between the buildings, the baby bouncing up and down in his arms.

   ‘In pursuit,’ said Heather, unmuting her earpiece communicator. ‘Eric, try to intercept.’

   The felon stopped at the edge of the rooftop and briefly looked over the ledge. Too far to cross this time. He turned and faced the approaching police officer.

   Heather drew her pistol once more and aimed straight at the man’s head. ‘There’s nowhere to run, place the baby on the floor and get down on your hands and knees.’

   He turned around, clutching the wailing child tightly.

   ‘If you do not comply, I am authorized to shoot you, do you understand? This is your final warning.’

   ‘Do you have a child licence?’ he said with a whimper.

   Heather ignored the plea.

   ‘Or did they refuse you already? Is that why you are doing this?'

   ‘Eric is below, he can see the back of the felon,’ the voice in Heather’s ear said.

   Heather took a step forward.

   The baby wailed.

   ‘Stay back!’ said the felon.

   If she took the shot she risked the baby falling. Could she reach it in time and keep her balance without tumbling below? How far was the drop? Taller buildings boxed the scene like a cage. Lights began to switch on through the windows above.

   Bone cracked and blood sprayed into the air. Heather holstered her pistol after firing and dived forwards. The lifeless body of the felon began to tip over backwards. She reached out desperately and snatched the baby from his lifeless limbs. Regaining her balance, she kicked the body and watched as it splatted on the concrete below several meters away from Eric. She breathed a sigh of relief and held the baby close. ‘It’s okay, it’s okay. You are going to be alright. We’ll get you home. Your mummy is waiting.’

    ‘I’ll call the clean-up crew!’ Eric said from below.

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    Heather and Eric were sat in her car after returning the child to its mother, both moved by the tears and words from her: ‘Oh my baby,’ she had wept. ‘Thank you so much.’ She had held the baby tight and cried and cried, relieved. Heather smiled to herself and shook her head. 

   ‘What is it?’ he asked. 

   ‘We did a good thing tonight.’

   ‘I know.’

   ‘It’s a lot to take in.’

   ‘At least it makes you feel like your job is worthwhile.’

   ‘You’ll get your shot at a licence one day.’

   ‘Yeah, I know, I’m saving hard.’

   ‘I was wondering something though.’

   ‘Yeah?’

   ‘What do you think does that to someone? Makes someone take another someone’s baby?’

   ‘When was the last time a citizen stole someone’s child?’

   ‘Well, hardly ever. Maybe never.’

   ‘Exactly, those outsiders. They are just sick, aren’t they? I don’t even want to imagine what would push someone to do that.’

   ‘No, neither do I.’

   ‘They should be rounded up and thrown out of the city, let the elements deal with them.’

   ‘A bit extreme?’

   ‘Maybe.’

   Heather sighed. ‘Well, my shift is over soon and I need to pick up Johnathan. I can drop you at the station, or yours?’

   ‘May as well be mine as my shift is up too.’

   Heather nodded as she started the car up and pulled away. ‘Can’t help but think though.’

   ‘About what?’ Eric’s attention was directed by a vidscreen advertisement on the right side of the road.

   ‘What if it happened to me?’

   ‘I doubt anybody would chance it. Everyone knows who you are in Terminal City.’

   Heather smiled at his sarcasm. ‘Is that a good thing?’

 

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   II.

 

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Despite Pumpkin Nursery being only three streets away from Eric’s apartment block, Heather drove swiftly. The night’s events had been impossible to forget, the image of the outsider holding that baby, refusing her commands. What if it was Johnathan thrown over his shoulder, begging for her?

   She pulled into the car park out front and hopped outside, skipping every other step on the way to the entrance above. She met with the receptionist and signed in to the computer on the desk and awaited Johnathan's arrival. A nurse soon appeared, guiding a little boy by the hand through a set of security gates. He looked up at his mother and smiled. He was six years old.

   ‘Come here you,’ she grabbed him and squeezed him hard. 

   ‘Let me go,’ he complained and tried to escape.

   Eventually, she released him and grabbed his hand. ‘I’m sorry, today has just been one of those days. Let’s get you home.’

   ‘Erm, Miss Heather,’ said the nurse.

   ‘Yes?’

   ‘Can we talk?’

   ‘Of course.’

   ‘In private.’

   Heather looked around awkwardly. She didn’t want to leave Johnathan anywhere tonight. 

   ‘You can bring him, we can whisper.’

   ‘Thank you.’

   The nurse led Heather into an office and she motioned for Johnathan to sit in a chair on his own. He looked up at her irritably. He had just got her back, after all.

   ‘Please. This will only take a few minutes, I just need to speak with Nurse Sarah.’

   He did as he was told, dragging his feet across the room. Heather watched and waited for him to look up at her. She smiled back at him reassuringly. 

   ‘Miss Heather,’ the nurse began in a low voice. ‘You said that he keeps getting random stomach cramps and well, only today he suffered from sudden stomach pains three times.’

   ‘Three times in one day?’ whispered Heather with alarm. ‘That’s more than ever.’

   ‘I think you should consider taking him to the doctor.’

   ‘He’s been several times, they can’t find anything wrong with him.’

   ‘Another time won’t hurt.’

   Heather nodded in agreement. ‘Okay, well thank you.’

   The nurse smiled. ‘He’s a good boy,’ she said in normal volume so that he may hear.

   ‘He is,’ Heather smiled back as she walked away. ‘Come on then you. Let’s get you home and to bed.’

   ‘Bed already?’ he complained, jumping off the chair.

   ‘Yes, already, I have the day off tomorrow so we can spend the whole of it together.’

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    Heather and Johnathan soon arrived at their apartment building, Amano Heights. Compared to the disease-riddled structure she had followed the kidnapper into, Amano Heights was sublime. The lobby was wide and the floor was marble in appearance. Framed paintings of faces she had never seen in the flesh patterned the walls and above, a large chandelier spread out like the arms of a tree. The reception desk was empty, as normal at this time of night. 

She walked Johnathan through to the elevator on the right and finally to their apartment on the fifth floor. When they entered, he charged through the landing into the front room and switched on the television. 

   ‘It’s late,’ said Heather from the kitchen. ‘Go to bed.’

   Dejected, Johnathan did as he was told.

   ‘I’ll be checking on you in a moment,’ she said and poured a glass of water before entering the front room. She grabbed the television remote and switched the set off as she sat down. Taking a swig, she listened to her son rummage in his bedroom until he made no more noise. She listened to the silence, pleased to be out of the chaos and fear of the evening. Johnathan’s presence calmed the anxiety that the day’s debacle had left in her. Over time her eyes began to sag and she fell asleep.

   Heather was sharply awakened by Johnathan’s screams piercing the walls. She vaulted off the couch and went to his bedroom, knocking the glass of water off the coffee table on the way. She found him on the floor holding his stomach. She knelt and pulled him close. ‘You’ll be okay,’ she whispered, rubbing his back, not believing her own words.

   Circling the flat holding his head to her chest, she feared how many more doctors were going to tell her that there was nothing wrong. Her heart ached, she felt helpless. 

   Eventually, Johnathan’s crying calmed to a whimper. That’s all the power she had, to comfort him until the pain faltered. She let him down and dried the tears from his cheeks. ‘Do you feel better?’

   He bowed his head silently, eyes wide, deep and full of need. 

   ‘Do you want to take some more medication?’

   She took him to the toilet and grabbed some painkillers out of the medical cupboard and led him into the kitchen. She diluted the tablets in water, knelt and handed him the glass. He drowned it instantly. She looked up at the digital clock, three in the morning. Another sleepless night, she thought to herself. ‘Come on. Come for a cuddle.’

   Johnathan smiled feebly and followed her into the living room. There, they rested on the couch until the sounds of his snoring relieved her. She carefully lifted him off of her and rested his head on one of the pillows. He looked so peaceful, so still. He must be so tired.

   She went on to pace the living room several times. She stopped at the main window, lifted the lower portal open and looked down below to the silent streets. Constructed from dark green and blue-tinged metal, the nearby buildings looked as if they had been grown rather than built. There was the odd opened window and many without drawn curtains, creating a random pattern of orange shapes like the city had eyes. She heard the faint echo of the news intercoms and the titan screen, their toneless voices reporting the usual goings-on of Terminal City. Did they ever stop? 

   Heather felt insignificant. She was just one woman with a problem in a city of several million. Why did this have to happen to her? Why could they not tell her what was wrong? Isn’t that what she paid her taxes for? There was no sign of internal bleeding, no bruises, no wounds. What was wrong with him? Did someone do this to him? 

   She looked down at Johnathan. He would twitch in pain though he did not awaken. Seizing the moment, she picked him up gently and took him to bed with her. Lying with him in her arms, she felt his heartbeat through her breast. Slowly she began to feel tired again and eventually, she drifted off to sleep.

   Less than an hour later she awoke, covered in blood.

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III.

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    She called out his name in horror, repeating it over and over and the final time she screamed. She threw herself out of bed, landed on her knees and nearly hit her head on the radiator. The window had been smashed and shards of glass littered the carpeted floor. Images of some outsider breaking into her home and making off with him tortured her. Her belly ignited with fire as fear spread through her body. She picked up a chair from the nearby desk and threw it at the window in an attempt to clear the broken glass. Next, she snapped off one of the legs and used it as a baton to swat away the remaining stalagmites.    

   She leaned out of the window and took in a deep breath. She was shocked by what she saw and stared in disbelief. Down below, amidst the flickering street lamps, she saw Johnathan running into the night. 

   Just go. Go. Right now.

   She ran. She ignored the elevator and hurried down the multiple flights of stairs. As soon as she reached the streets below she sprinted. Her eyes found blood on the concrete and she followed it. The trail led to an alleyway and eventually a dead-end, a small opening lit by a single street lamp above. Within the circle of light was the shape of her son, dwarfed by the shadow of a figure standing above him. It pointed a thick long object at his head.

    Yet, it was not Johnathan. It was a monstrous being formed of darkened metal, blood-stained and misshapen. It hissed at the shadow above it, shrill and high-pitched, its back arched to pounce. The shadow fired an unseen weapon and the explosion lit up the walls and shattered the creature into pieces.

   Heather’s heart detonated in her chest. She instinctively reached for her holstered pistol only it was not there. She stared at the killer and felt murderous rage. She leapt at him, stamping, kicking, punching blindly, only to be overpowered and thrown to the floor. Again, she charged, forgetting all of her combat training in an instant of feral madness and again she was thrown away. Frustrated, angered, and scared to death, she let off an animalistic scream. Her voice broke. She burst into tears. The grief she felt paralyzed her and she threw up on the pavement.

   Then the stranger spoke, his voice offering a hint of sardonic pity. ‘Must have been yours, huh.’

   ‘He… He…’ Heather gagged on a combination of tears and vomit. ‘It… can’t have…’ She crawled along the floor and reached out for the stranger, feeling so dizzy she had not the strength to stand up. ‘Why…’

   ‘I could feed you some bullshit but I’m not that guy. Your son, if that’s what you can call it, was a machination. It hatched and fled you, its incubator, to return to Cyberdrome. Too early, I think. Glitched. They aren’t supposed to do that until they are older. That’s why it was all fucked up.'

   ‘W-why…’

   ‘Listen to me. Cyberdrome is poisoning this godforsaken planet. You have to live, you have to get the hell back up and continue living. Every time one of you gives up it gets a little closer to its sickening moral victory.’

   Heather managed to sit on her knees. ‘I... Why?’ She looked up, it was difficult to see the stranger before the lamp above. He was just a huge shadow in front of her. ‘W-who are you?’ she said.

   ‘The only thing you need to understand is living, to live on after what you have seen. Can you do that? Because I have. I’ve seen worse things than you can ever imagine. So tell Terminal Solutions to get fucked. Tell everyone that it was the Patriarch who did this to you. Change is coming, that’s what. They don’t have long. Go shout it in the streets. Tell ‘em that I am coming for them.’

   Heather’s mind was a chaotic whirlwind of questions. Was it Johnathan? Where was Johnathan? Who was responsible for this? Why her? Why? 

   Police sirens yelled in the distance. The Patriarch disappeared as soon as she looked away.

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Thanks for reading.