Recursion

“Try behind the wall next to the gate that had the dart stuck in it.”

“What if I’m seen?”

“Don’t worry. We’re distracting people in the immediate vicinity. Phone calls, overheating frying pans, malfunctioning electrical appliances…They’ll all be looking the other way.”

Eva sucked at her bottom lip nervously. She glanced up and down the street and then pushed open the gate. There was a narrow gap between the wall and the bay-fronted house, mainly filled with old gravel and weeds. A tortoiseshell cat slept in a corner, partially sheltered behind a stack of window glass that leaned against the wall. Eva saw one of the darts straight away, lying at the foot of the rain-streaked panes. She picked it up and looked frantically around. The last dart could be hidden anywhere in the weeds that sprang from the old gravel. She needed to find it quickly: she had a train to miss.

She glanced around the empty street again. Cracked red bricks and grey pebbledash, blind windows reflecting the April sky. Nobody was coming, but she still felt incredibly exposed. She bent down and began to run her hands through the weeds, parting the stalks to search the gravel beneath. Nothing.

She paused, her arms folded tight against her chest. Her phone vibrated again.

“Hurry up. We can’t keep this street clear forever.”

“I’m looking,” Eva snapped. “Are you sure the last dart didn’t get stuck higher in the tree?”

“Positive. We’re detecting its signature at ground level. About half a meter from your left foot.”

Eva looked around again and realization dawned. The cat behind the glass wasn’t asleep: it was dead.

“It’s in the cat,” she said.

“Where?”

“I don’t know. I’m not looking. Get someone else to do your dirty work.”

There was a moment’s pause and then the voice spoke again.

“Fine, fine. Get out of there quickly. Your payment will be reduced to four hundred credits. Go to Mehta’s Information Shop.”

“I’m going.”

Eva pushed her way through the gate and walked quickly down the street. Across the road a curtain twitched and, out of the corner of her eye, Eva caught sight of an old woman, watching. Eva dodged left and headed down a side street. A man in his slippers stood on the sidewalk talking to a woman in a dressing gown. A front door stood open behind them, an untidy cluster of doorbells screwed haphazardly into its frame. As she walked past, Eva overheard a snatch of their conversation.

“He went running out of the house just after midnight last night. Kept shouting ‘my eyes,’ sounded as if he was in pain. Disappeared around the corner and then collapsed. Heart attack, the doctor said.”

“What are you going to do with his things?”

Eva continued down the road, as the reason for her contract took shape in her head. What price her part in the concealment of a murder? Four hundred credits.

The world was slipping down into Hell, and everyone was helping it on its way. Everyone accepted a little bit of money, and a little bit of blame, and that way they could all walk around with a conscience that was just a little bit off-color. Just a little bit, but add all those bits together…

Another reason why Eva had to escape.

If Eva had believed in fate, she would have had to admit it was finally coming round to her side. Her headache had almost cleared, and the diversion to pick up the darts had resulted in her arriving at the place she had been aiming for all along. She walked into Mehta’s Information Shop deep in thought and headed to the back of the retail area. First deal with the darts, then lose her card, then finally back home. After that, she would begin her escape in earnest.

A stack of blue mail tubes lay on a shelf near the back. Eva picked one up and reached in her pocket for the four darts. She examined one before dropping it into the plastic container. A short fat needle, the red “feathers” at the back sliding smoothly into the metal barrel for concealment. Her phone vibrated once more.

“Hello.”

“Drop them in quickly. You’re drawing attention to yourself.”

“Do the red feathers pop out at your signal, to help make them visible to collectors?” said Eva.

“Classified information, Eva.”

“Why don’t you just make them disintegrate?”

“That’s not technically feasible. I think you’ve been listening to too many conspiracy theories. Just drop them in the tube and address it to 4A53.FF91.2E22.B7C2.”

Eva scrawled the figures on the tube with a black marker pen that had been thoughtfully left on a nearby shelf.

“Okay. Deposit the tube in the secure slot. We would like to thank you for your efficiency. Your account has been credited with four hundred credits, plus seventeen credits for the postage. Good-bye, Eva.” The line went dead.

Eva dropped the tube in the correct slot to a faint popping sound and then made her way to the front of the shop. It was time to resume her intended schedule.

She picked up five magazines from the shelves near the entrance doors and carried them to the checkout, pulling her e-card from a pocket as she did so. The young girl behind the counter scanned the card and the magazines. She recited each purchase as it appeared on the screen.

“Literary Examiner, Women’s Things and Research Scientist. You know you have bought these three magazines here every week for the past five years? If you took out a subscription you could save forty percent of the cover price and have them delivered direct to your door.”

“Do you know you have told me that same thing every week for the past four years and nine months?”

“Sorry, Eva.”

“Call me Ms. Rye. You don’t know who I am.”

“As you wish. That will be five credits for the magazines and seventeen credits for the postage. That makes twenty-two credits.”

Eva placed her e-card on top of Women’s Things, her heartbeat accelerating. This was the crucial moment. The young girl scanned the card, Eva picked it up, together with the magazines. Then, trying her best to keep her voice natural…“Oh.” She held up a copy of Women’s Things apologetically. “I’ve picked up three copies of this magazine by mistake. I’ll just take the other two back to the shelf.”

She picked up the two unwanted magazines, doing her best to appear flustered, and carried them back to the shelf where she slotted them back into place, the e-card sandwiched securely between them. After that she returned to the counter and picked up her purchases before escaping from the shop. Eva walked down the road as casually as she could, her nervousness gradually receding. Maybe she was actually going to get away with it. No. Think positively. She was going to get away with it.

Back at her apartment Eva looked around its shabby rooms for what she hoped would be the final time. Her suitcase was already packed: some clothes, her makeup bag, a swimsuit she would never use, but when your every move was monitored by lifeless eyes, you had to go through the pretenses. She placed Brewster on top of the case, his lumpy body flopping forward to roll off the bed. She picked up the threadbare toy and balanced it carefully in place.

“I’ll put you in a shopping bag, Brewster,” she decided out loud, and headed into the kitchen.

The clock on the convector read 10:15. Twelve minutes until she would leave. Timing was of the essence. Eva had walked the distance to the Lite Station many times, while surreptitiously timing herself. She knew the exact duration of the journey to the International Station. She would arrive there at exactly the right time. Now if only some busybody didn’t discover her e-card too soon…

She took a bag from the cupboard under the sink and pushed Brewster inside it, then sat him back on the bed, his eyes peeping over the top of the bag at the picture of the horses that hung on the wall. She had forgotten about it, barely noticed it anymore. Eva’s father had bought her the picture when she was a little girl. She felt a wrench at the thought of leaving it behind, but then, who took pictures on vacation with them?