June 23, 2007
01:25 hours
The fog in my head
clears slowly and the masked and suited policemen swim into view. I’m sitting
on the floor of a Piccadilly train car, my back against a blue and yellow seat.
I look around the car in utter confusion, disjointed bits of information registering
in my brain haphazardly: the dot matrix display showing the train was at Finsbury
Park Station; the half a dozen or so ninja-looking coppers in full assault gear
spread around me; the ‘Going to Heathrow?’ Ad on the wall; the spilled fries
that are starting to turn pink from soaking up the blood from the grey linoleum
floor; the cackling of the radio on the shoulder clip of the policeman
crouching a few feet from me; the drawn assault rifles that are trained on me; the
blood that has soaked through my brown coat and navy-blue tweed jacket; the
canary-yellow of the sweater the lady whose head is sitting in my lap is
wearing and how matted with blood her blonde hair is; the bloody kitchen knife
in my hand.
The knife…
“Drop the weapon and put your hands
where I can see them!”
Weapon?
I look at it,
dazed, trying to figure out why it is in my hand and why both it and my hand
are almost completely covered in blood. Then it slips from my numb fingers to
the floor with a clatter.
*
00:34 hours
The lady’s iPhone
fell to the floor with a clatter, missing the edge of the platform by just a
few inches. She was propped up by the crutches under her arms and her right
foot, which was cocooned in a cast, stuck out awkwardly in front of her. She
cursed under her breath and tried to hobble towards the phone.
“Here, I’ve got it.” The man in the
brown trench coat said, picking up the phone and handing it to her.
“Thank you.” She said, giving him a
relieved smile and he nodded at her.
The train arrived
then and he stood aside for her to get on. At that time of the night, the
usually busy Leicester Square Station had quietened down and there was only a
handful of passengers waiting on the platform to board the train. The man took
a seat adjacent to the doors and absently registered the other occupants of the
train car. There was the young kid, who looked no older than 16 or 17, in a
hoodie and with Beats headphones clamped on, two seats away from him. He
wondered what the young boy was doing out that late. Further down on the other
side of the car was an old couple, holding hands. Beside them, a blonde woman
dozed, her head starting to loll towards the man. A quick glance at his wrist
watch told him it was 12:36 a.m. He had just six stops on the train and he
hoped to be home by 1 a.m. He picked up a discarded copy of the Evening
Standard from the seat beside him and started to flip through absently….
*
02:21 hours
….Shhhlapppppp.
The sounds the
papers make as the Police Detective flips through them yanks me to the present.
I shudder, imagining this is what it must feel like to teleport from one
dimension to another; disorienting and utterly confusing.
“Mr. Adewale?”
Her voice sends
another jolt through me and I swallow to push down the bile in my throat. She
pronounces the name as Ah-dee-wally and
it takes a moment to realize she is addressing me. I shake my head, trying to
clear it. My mind feels woozy and I can’t seem to gather my thoughts.
How long have I been sitting here in the hard
plastic chair?
I look down at my
clasped hands on the table. They look raw and grey, like I’d been scrubbing at
them real hard. There are still traces of blood around my finger nails.
How did I get blood on my hands?
The hand cuffs are
cold against my wrists and they look so out of place, like ill-fitting bangles.
I stare at them, unable to find a logical explanation for why they and my hands
have anything at all in common. I’m
wearing a pair of grey joggers and a black sweat shirt. I have no idea whose
they are because they are several sizes too large.
What happened to my clothes? Why am I wearing these
things with someone else’s body odour on them? Why have I been cuffed like a
criminal? What exactly is going on?
I rack my brain
for answers but come up blank.
“Do you want to tell me what happened on
that train?” she says giving me a patient look that I do not trust.
Sarah Burns.
The name jumps out at me. I’m not sure how I know that’s her name. She has
probably mentioned it to me at some point.
Why then don’t I remember her telling me?
I look away from
her and my eyes hit the clock on the wall above her head. It is 2:24 but I have
no idea if it’s afternoon or the middle of the night.
“I….” I started.
What train is she talking about!
I clench my eyes
shut and try to concentrate. Everything is fuzzy.
“I…Leicester
Square…” I shake my head.
Come on, remember!
“I got on the
train at Leicester Square…”
“Okay. Then what happened?” she asks.
I look from her to
her partner who is leaning against the wall, arms crossed across his chest,
with an open look of mistrust on his face. I reckon he’s the bad cop in this crappy movie that I have
found myself smack in the middle of.
“I…there was a…”
I look at the
little recorder on the table between us. It is making a quiet whirring sound
which is rather distracting to me. I look away from it to DCI Sarah Burns and
try again.
“After I got on the train, I …”
I what?!
I want to tell her
what happened after I got on the train but for the life of me, I can’t
remember. It feels like it is just there, on the periphery of my mind and that
if I can only just stretch far enough, I’ll be able to reach for it!
She raises her
eyebrows and leans in slightly towards me expectantly.
“What happened after you got on the
train?” she asks.
“I got on the train at 12:34 a.m.” I
say, gripping the edge of the table, desperate to remember. “She was asleep, at
the other end of the car, beside the old couple.”
“Who was?”
“The…” dead woman.
My heart starts to
pound.
Oh my God, there is dead woman.
“Who are you referring to Mr. Ah-dee-wally?”
I do not want to
think about the dead woman, I can’t bring myself to.
“We arrived at Covent Garden at 12:37.”
I say instead, ignoring her. I vaguely remember seeing the time on the dot
matrix display as Julie Berry’s voice announced the station.
“Then…”
I hit a brick
wall. There doesn’t seem to be anything else after that point. It is like my
entire existence has been whittled down to those moments between 12:34 and
12:37, an entire lifetime reduced to a mere three-minute window. I grip my face
in my cuffed hands, the metal cold against my lips, and will myself to
remember.
“Tell me about the woman who was asleep
on the train.”
I raise my head
and look at her.
“What woman?” I ask.
“You just said there was a woman asleep
on the train, beside the old couple.”
When did I tell her that?
A frown creases
her brow and I wonder if she thinks I’m crazy. Her partner motions to her and I
look at him, my hands starting to shake. My eyes hit the clock again, and the
long hand is between five and six.
2:28.
What is it about the clock that draws me so much?
I try to think but
everything is a jumble, plus the blasted whirring of the recorder was getting
in my head. Whirrrrrrrrr….
*
00:40 hours
Whirrrrrr
went the motor of the mobility scooter at Holborn Station. The man in the
scooter fidgeted around a bit after getting on before he could get it to rest
against the wall. The lady with the crutches got off through the other set of
doors and just as they were closing, two young men jumped in, bringing the
smell of stale beer and sweat with them. Their football jerseys barely covered
up their sagging denim pants and one of them had a horn which he tried blowing
but was too drunk to.
“Hey matey, care’t gimme a blow?” he slurred thrusting the horn
in Adewale’s face. He had a scraggly ginger beard that looked like it was home
to more than just a few creepy-crawlies.
Adewale turned his
face away from him, ignoring him and the other drunk guffawed.
“Sure he’d love to give you a blow!” he
bellowed, his face and bald head going almost tomato red.
“Shut yer face numpty!” Ginger snapped.
Baldy only laughed
some more and started to sing tunelessly. Ginger put the horn to his lips again
and tried to blow, but he only succeeded in spraying Adewale with his spittle.
Adewale wiped his face in disgust and luckily, Ginger left him alone and stumbled
down the car.
“Care’t help?” Ginger asked the man in
the mobility scooter, trying to push the horn into his hands.
“Get off!” the man snapped, slapping the
horn away.
“Aw come on, don’t be such a Nancy!”
Ginger said, pushing the horn back at him.
“I said get off!”
He slapped at the horn again and it knocked
off his bag of Mac Donald’s fries from the top of the scooter.
“Now see what you’ve done!”
“You’re not gone cry, are ya?” Ginger
sneered and kicked at the fries.
“Idiot!” the man spat at him, really
pissed.
Ginger laughed and
then put the horn to his lips and….
*
02:32 hours
“And?” Sarah Burns asks.
I look up from the
table top at her.
“I can’t remember.” I whisper.
She shakes her
head in frustration. “You’ve got to help me here.”
“He…he must have blown the horn again
and…”
“I don’t want you guessing.”
“I…I need a trigger.”
“What?” she frowns at me.
“I need to trigger the rest of it.”
“Mr. Ah-dee-wally…”
Acting on a whim,
I push back the plastic chair I’m sitting on and it makes an awful scrapping
noise, almost like an inebriated man depositing a mouthful of spittle in a
horn….
*
00:44 hours
The sound from the
horn made Adewale cringe and he looked up impatiently as the train pulled into
Russel Square Station. The old couple got off hurriedly and he doubted very
much that that was their stop.
“Have a lovely evening!” Ginger called
after them and he blew into the horn again.
Just three more stops he thought to himself.
Baldy went down
the car and took the seat beside the blonde woman.
“Hey Luv, would ya like’t give my friend
here a blow?” he asked her and he laughed at his own dumb joke. She got up and
swapped seats and he whistled at her. Ginger went over to sit beside her.
“Come’n now Darl’n, don’t be like that!”
Ginger said to her and when she attempted to get up from beside him, he grabbed
her arm and pulled her down.
“Hey, leave her alone!” Adewale said.
He’d had enough of the two idiots and to hell with the unwritten ‘mind your own
business’ tube rule. They were taking things too far and it was high time
someone stood up to them.
“What’s it to ya?” Ginger asked.
“Yeah, what’s it to you?” Baldy added, walking
up to where he sat.
“I’m calling the police.” The man in the
scooter said, driving towards the red help button.
Adewale stood up
and Baldy shoved him back into his seat.
“Mind yo damn business Black Boy else,
I’ll mind it for ya.” He said grabbing Adewale’s jaw in one hand and giving him
a shake. Adewale knocked his hand away and they stared each other down, both
breathing heavily. Finally, Baldy sneered at him and started to walk towards
Ginger and the blonde woman. Adewale jumped up then and grabbed Baldy in a
choke hold from behind, putting pressure on Baldy’s carotids with his biceps.
He started to count quietly under his breath.
“Oi!
What you doing?” Ginger said in a shrill voice but he didn’t dare go near
Adewale. Adewale kept a steady gaze on him with his arm still around Baldy’s neck.
Baldy went limp on the count of seven and he let him slip to the floor in an
unceremonious heap. The blonde woman screamed and the kid took off his
headphones and got shakily to his feet.
“Hello!
Can anybody hear me!” the man on the scooter said, jabbing his finger at the
red button over and over.
“What
you done man? You choked him to death!” Ginger gasped, deathly pale.
As if to answer
him, Baldy let out a low groan and started to stir.
“You
crazy man! You crazy nigger!” Ginger screamed.
“Oh
God, oh God!” Scooter man muttered, still jabbing at the red button and the
blonde lady started to whimper.
As soon as the
train pulled into King’s Cross St Pancras Station, Ginger grabbed a hold of
Baldy’s feet and dragged him off the train, yelling obscenities at Adewale.
*
02:38 hours
“So,
you fought off the trouble makers?”
“Yes…I…”
I rub my face wearily.
“What
happened after that?”
“I
don’t remember.” I say. “I need something to trigger the rest of it.”
“What
do you mean?”
“I
don’t know!”
I take a deep
breath. “I don’t know.” I say in a calmer voice. “I’m having these spurts of recollections
and they seem to be triggered by things…” I look at her earnestly, willing her
to understand. “I need to figure out what the next clue is.”
“You
can cut the bullshit!” he partner says, coming to stand beside her and she
holds up a hand.
“So,
you’re saying you’ve got some sort of amnesia that’s dependent on recreating
the events of the evening?” she says.
“No!
I mean yes, it’s not…”
“Stop
with the BS and just tell us why you killed her!” her partner said, leaning
towards me to glare at me, his hand flat on the table.
“I
didn’t kill her!”
“John…”
DCI Sarah Burns tried to interrupt her partner.
“Why
did you do it? What did she do to tick you off that bad?”
“I
didn’t…”
“Were
you afraid she would come forward to accuse you of killing the drunk dude?”
“No!
I didn’t kill anyone!”
“Were
you…”
DCI Sarah Burns
lets out a shrill scream, startling both I and her partner. Then, the…
*
00:46 hours
… blonde woman
screamed and the kid took off his headphones and got shakily to his feet.
“Hello!
Can anybody hear me!” the man on the scooter said, jabbing his finger at the
red button over and over.
“What
you done man? You choked him to death!” Ginger said, deathly pale.
As if to answer
him, Ginger let out a low groan and started to stir.
“You
crazy man! You crazy nigger!” Ginger screamed.
“Oh
God, oh God!” Scooter man muttered, still jabbing at the red button and the
blonde lady started to whimper.
As soon as the
train pulled into King’s Cross St Pancras Station, Ginger grabbed a hold of
Baldy’s feet and dragged him off the train, yelling obscenities at Adewale.
“Is everyone alright?” Adewale asked
shakily, looking around at the bewildered faces around him.
“Oh man, what did you do to him?” the
kid asked.
“He’s gonna be alright.” he replied. “I
just knocked him out is all.”
“Hello?” a voice said through the
microphone above the help button.
“Oh thank God!” Scooter man gasped.
“Is there a problem in there?”
“There was a couple of drunk dudes
messing around with everybody.”
“Okay, please stay calm. I’m going to
make a call for help to the next station. Are they being violent?”
“They were causing a lot of trouble then
this man knocked one of them out, chocked him or something.”
“Did you say choked? Is he…”
“He just went down like that!”
“Sir, do you know if he is still
breathing?”
“He is, I mean he was. He was muttering
when his friend dragged him off the train.”
“They’re off the train?”
“Yeah, the guy was screaming blue
murder!”
“Alright Sir. Is everyone else okay?”
“Yeah, I guess. It was real crazy man!”
“Okay, can everyone please try to stay
calm? I’m going to call the next station so there will be security personnel to
attend to us over there.”
“Alright, cheers mate. So glad all that
is over!”
So much for getting home before one, Adewale thought with a resigned sigh. He sat
quietly while the kid and Scooter man rehashed the events of the evening over
and over. The blonde woman was obviously still in shock. She stared at him with
a dazed expression on her face, her hands clamped over her mouth. He wanted to
say something reassuring to her but couldn’t think of any appropriate words, so
he looked away from the haunted look on her face apologetically.
*
02:50 hours
“We
continued to Caledonian Road without anything else happening.”
“Then
what happened there?” DCI Burns asks.
“The
driver came into the car to speak with us. A guy in a TFL vest joined him. He
must have been security or something.”
“And?”
This from John what’s-his-name. He really is living up to the Bad Cop image.
“They
asked us to go to the station office to give statements. Our train left but we
were promised there was one last train for the night.”
“What
happened afterwards?” John asks.
I look
apologetically at DCI Burns.
“I need something to put me back on the
train.” I say.
“You
can stop wasting our time now, you do know we’ll have the evidence as soon as
we get the coverage from the cameras?” John says and I look at him.
I am both relieved
and terrified at the realization that there will be CCTV footage from both
trains. At least, I will get answers and this nightmare in my head will be
over. But what if I really did kill that woman? I can’t let myself consider
that possibility, so I look back at DCI Burns. Please… my eyes plead.
“This is Caledonian Road….” She begins
in a not so good Julie Berry imitation.
“This is ridiculous!” John says,
throwing up his hands.
DCI Burns clears
her throat and starts again.
“This is Caledonian Road. Please mind
the gap…”
*
01:12 hours
…between the train and the platform. This is a Piccadilly
Line train to Cockfosters.
Adewale got on the
train with just the blonde woman. The kid’s mom had come to pick him up from
the station and Scooter man had called a cab. He said he’d had enough shaking
up for one night. Adewale had just one more stop on the train, so he didn’t
mind getting back on. Besides, he’d seen a whole lot in his eight years of
living in London, so he really didn’t think there was much else that could faze
him. The blonde looked like she had calmed down a bit and he was relieved. He
hated to think that he’d spooked her out the way he’d tackled the drunk guy.
A feeling of Déjà -vu
washed over him when he noticed the spilled fries on the floor.
Can this night end already!
He closed his eyes
and let out a breath. It had been a long day at the University and he couldn’t
wait to get home and zone out. His Graduate Research Team had had some huge
breakthroughs with their work on Goldfish and they were gearing up to present
their Paper to the Faculty.
“You killed him.”
His eyes snapped
open and he gasped when he saw she was standing over him. He wondered how he
had not heard her approaching.
Crap, maybe she isn’t so calm after all.
“No, he’s not dead.” he said gently,
sitting up straight.
He imagined Chen,
his Chinese housemate who’d taught him the move, having a good laugh when he
recounted the events of the evening to him. Chen was the kind of guy who would
find something like that funny.
“I simply knocked him out. I’m sure he’s
at some Pub getting even more wasted right now.”
“I knew this would happen, I just knew
it!” she muttered, swaying on her feet.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
“I knew it! I should have taken the dog
out, but I never listen. This is all my fault! I’m such an idiot…”
“Hey, do you want to…” he reached out a
hand towards her.
She slapped the
hand away and started to cry, still muttering incoherently.
Oh God, please help me!
“You leave me no choice.” She said,
swiping at her running nose.
“What?”
“I don’t have a choice, I have to do it
now.” She said.
“Do what!”
“I have to…”
*
02:54 hours
“Damn it!” I mutter in frustration.
Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Why can’t this bloody
nightmare just end already!
“Have to what?” DCI Burns asks
earnestly.
I can feel her
frustrations too. So close, yet so far.
“This is a waste of time.” John says.
“I’m gonna go check on the status of the videos.” He says and leaves the room.
“What else was on the train?” Sarah
Burns asks.
“There wasn’t anyone else, it was just
the two of us…”
“Anything you can remember, a poster, a
soda bottle, anything!”
“Err… there was a diet coke can wedged
between two seats….” I clench my eyes shut and try to think. “Her sneakers
squeaked….I…there was a Tesco AD on the wall and…”
“Tell me about the research.”
“Huh?”
I open my eyes and
stare at her.
“The research you’re doing with the
fish, tell me about it.”
What on earth is she on about? What has that got to
do with anything?
“What exactly were you working on?”
“The memory span of Goldfish.” I say and
she prompts me on with a nod.
“We
performed a series of experiments where we exposed Goldfish to different
stimuli over a period of time and then we took away the stimuli. We separated
the fish into different batches and then re-introduced them to the stimuli at
different times, some after just a few days and others up to six months.”
I look at her,
wondering if I’m making any sense. She nods again and I continue.
“We discovered that fish that had been
trained to respond to certain sounds while in captivity were still able to
respond to those sounds up to about five months after being released into the
wild. Further study also showed that they can distinguish shapes and colour as
well.”
“So, basically, you debunked the
three-second Goldfish memory myth?”
“Yes, but not just that. We proved that
fish are more intelligent than they’re given credit for. This could have huge
implications for …”
“The fish were able to respond to
sounds, months after they’d been exposed to it?”
“Yes…”
“A particular sound that they associate
with an activity?”
“Yeah, usually feeding times, lights out…”
She leans in
close.
“That means if we can reproduce a sound
associated with that exact moment when she died, you’ll be able to remember all
of it, not just a few minutes’ worth.”
I go cold all
over. Is she saying I have somehow become a metaphorical goldfish with a three-minute
memory span? But that doesn’t even make sense!
“What else was on that train!” she asks
again, emphasizing each word with a light thump on the table with her fist.
Oh God, help me…
“Err… there was… I… the train jolted and
the soda can fell to the floor…”
She flies out of
her seat and goes to the waste bin in the corner. She fishes out an empty
Sprite can and tosses it to the floor…
*
01:15 hours
The soda can
hitting the floor startled him and he took his eyes off her for just a moment.
That was when she whipped out the kitchen knife from her hand bag.
What the hell…
He dodged as she
lunged at him with the knife.
“What is wrong with you!” he shouted, terrified
out of his mind.
She took another
stab at him and he caught her wrist, wrestling with her for control of the
knife. He marvelled at her strength, considering how slight and frail she
looked.
“You killed him!” she said through
clenched teeth. “You killed him and I need to make it right.”
Up close, he
noticed her wild and glassy eyes, and her dilated pupils. Her lips were pulled
back into thin, white lines which contrasted the red sores around her mouth.
The train went
around a bend and they both lost their balance and went sprawling to the floor.
The blade hit a pole with a teeth chattering clang and flew out of her hand. They
both sprang for the knife at the same time but the train’s momentum pushed it
down the car, out of reach.
“You killed him and it’s all my fault. I
have to make it right!” she said, clawing at his face and digging bloody
furrows in his cheeks.
“Stop it!” He grabbed her shoulders and
tried to shake some sense into her. The sleeve of her sweater rode up to the
elbow to reveal needle track marks on the inside of her wrist.
Oh dear God! How much longer to the stupid station?
As soon as the
train stopped, he thrust her away from him and lunged for the doors. She made a
grab for his foot but he kicked her off and jumped off the train.
Her blood curling
scream made him whip around and he looked on in horror as her whole face
contorted into an unearthly mask of rage. She raised her hands and pulled at
her hair, like she wanted to yank her head right off! Before he could even
recover from the frightening sight, the bum, who’d appeared to have been asleep
all the while, dug the knife into the side of her neck. The bum looked at a
stunned Adewale and gave him a wide smile, displaying brown, toothless gums.
Adewale didn’t think, he jumped back onto the train and caught her falling body.
He tried to clamp his hands over the gash in her neck to stem the bleeding but
the blade sliced through his palm instead. The pressure of his fingers caused
her flesh to relax against the knife and it slid out, causing the bleeding to
increase.
“’Ave
a nice night.” The bum said, forcing the closing doors open with his hands and
getting off.
Adewale pushed his
fist against her neck, an irrational part of him hoping to save her life. Even
as blood spilled from the gash, she still continued to let out that nightmarish
scream, blood frothing out of her mouth, as if possessed by some unworldly
force. The sound filled the air and his ears and his head until it felt like it
was ringing in every last cell in his body, spilling into every pore. Just when
he thought it would burst his head right open, everything went black.
*
03:00 hours
I try to clamp my
hands over my ears to shut out the sound, but the cuffs won’t let me.
“Are you alright!” DCI Burns asks, her
voice alarmed.
I hear her voice
as if from a great distance. My chest tightens and I start to gasp for breath.
I feel the pressure building in my head and my chest as my mind is assaulted by
a myriad of emotions and sounds and smells and feelings, each one piercing
through me, each one threatening to tear my mind apart:
the deafening chug-chug-chugging of the train on
the tracks;
the flowery scent of the old lady’s perfume;
the wetness of Ginger’s saliva on my face;
the police swarming down on me, pushing me down to
the floor;
the thumping of the crutches on the linoleum floor;
the kid’s high pitched voice and his Irish accent;
the bum sitting by the entrance of Leicester Square
Station;
the knee in my back as my hands are cuffed behind
my back;
Baldy’s tuneless rendition of ‘God Save The Queen’;
the blinding flash of the camera as picture after
picture was taken;
the flecks of green in the blonde’s blue eyes;
the ride to the police station, sirens blaring; my
clothes being bagged;
the horrified look on the train driver’s face when
he found us;
the tweezers picking hairs from the scratches on my
face;
DCI Burns asking me if I want my lawyer present;
the bum slipping off the train after the drunks;
the over-powering smell of blood and how I can
still feel its coppery taste in my mouth; the bum asleep at the other end of
the train car when the woman and I got on;
that last violent shudder as the blonde woman
breathed her last;
the deafening silence as her scream is cut off
abruptly, like someone flicked a switch.
The chaos in my
head dies out finally, its red-hot intensity fading out slowly until all that
is left is the faint coppery-gold of a lone goldfish in the dark.
I wrote this for the 2017 Commonwealth Short Story Prize. I'm bummed I didn't make the shortlist but I thought I'd share all the same! ;)
