Enigma

Chapter 1 Part 3

She was suspended from a rope around her neck and a chair had appeared to be knocked over on the floor. Although, there was something slightly peculiar about the way she looked. Her wrists were a few centimetres deep with soft, dark red with a hint of blue around the outside, so were her hands. More blood seemed to trickle down her right leg and a blood stain was spreading down her top. I lifted a bit of her top delicately up and saw a hole that went straight through. Only a few millimetres in diameter but enough for someone to bleed to death. But then, something even more peculiar; another hole was made in her head. Right between were her greasy dark hair parted to reveal a green and manky skull. A gun on the floor, and that explained it all. It had been made to look like suicide.

So now that I had figured out the cause of her death I looked around the room to see if there was anything to prove.

The gun sat vacant on the floor, that was just below were the victim had seen it; that was the first thing to prove that this wasn’t suicide. Usually when a victim drops a gun it doesn’t directly drop down, it goes forwards slightly. And judging from the way the victim was, she would’ve had to drop it behind her. But why do that? The killer was intelligent enough to not leave his prints over the gun as I put it towards the light. So I then placed it down and looked on a wider scale.

Ash seemed to exist in this room as much as air. It seemed to drift in the air as much as the sickly scent. But it didn’t detract from the lack of light. There was a window that showed nothing but a tree waving in the air, and nothing more. The window had been faded, the glass wasn’t transparent. The killer wanted to remain secret, as any would, but the ash was too far. Why would he want to burn so many things? A burnt settee sat opposite a split television that dominated the room. And the piles of ash showed the killers obsession with fire and burning.  Newspapers, photographs, undiscovered evidence, even old phones, littered the corners of the room. Obviously this is a kind of obsession.

The phone rung.

“Hello.” I said

“So, anything to report?” She asked. She sounded slightly Irish, maybe from Dublin.

“The killer tried to make it look like suicide.”

“Obviously. But what’s different?”

“Well, he’s not here and the body’s recent. So why is he away?”

“Maybe he’s trying to lay low.”

Then it occurred to me. I had no motivation for what I was doing. How could I have known what my code and name was.

“Wait.” I said “How are you helping me when-“

“The phones not plugged in?”

“Yes.” I said. I knew this would be interesting.

“Well…” she said “… I’m calling from the future”

…

“Explain...”

“Well, I am your operator in the year 2031. And things are pretty shit. So, what we’ve do is send people from the future, my now, to you where you are. You are known as a Continuum Agent.”

“How- how do I not remember.”

“its one of the side effects of time travel; you don’t remember anything from the moment we send you back.”

“Then how did I know my own name?”

“Look at your arm.”

I did

“Yeah…-“

“Pull the sleeve up.”

“Oh… yeah I knew that, I was just-“

“Testing me?” As she said that I pulled back my sleeve of both my arms and saw that on the right side there was a tattoo. It read ‘name: Wilson Carmine’ then below that ‘reference: 221096’.

“How did I remember it though?” I asked her

“It was the second to last thing you looked at before you went back.”

“What was the last?” When I asked her this it occurred to me that she felt slightly hurt by this question. Maybe it was something to do with her.

“Nothing. Look on the other hand.” She said. I did and saw more tattoos reading; ‘Why are you here?’ and then it all came flooding back to me. That was the trigger for the bullet shaped memory. My head started to creek and split under the tension and I screeched out with anguish. I dropped the phone and keeled over on the floor. I started to breathe quickly and then I felt my breathe sting my chest. I could do nothing, it wasn’t under my control. I placed both my hands on my chest to calm my breathing. I began to pump. Down. Every now and. Again. Until the breathing. Began. To slow down and. Become. Less frantic. The veins started to pop out of my. Neck.

Then it stopped. I saw nothing but black.

I woke again, in the night and looked out of the window and the trees shadow still peered out of it. The phone was off its holster and had the same deaf, monotone sound. I was alone once more with my thoughts.