Time of Death

from the dark side.

Ren felt a tap on her elbow – the little boy beside her reached up to offer her some Skittles.

Redemption.

She almost cried. Sometimes strangers could blindside you with simple kindness. It was lonely being bipolar. And once you knew, you knew. Once a word leaves your mouth, you cannot chase it back even with the swiftest horse.

There were times when Ren had expected a call from Helen saying, ‘I’m sorry, I made a mistake, you’re actually fine.’ Or she would come to the end of a session and Helen would rubber-stamp her file in red ink: SANE. And it was embarrassing that, at thirty-seven years of age, Ren still had that fantasy.

Despite any or all signs to the contrary.

She glanced at the screen of the boy’s DS. He was playing Mortal Kombat 3. R-rated. Two fighters were kicking the crap out of each other. The screen flashed Finish Him! Finish Him! The little kid beside her pummeled buttons until he threw his opponent down ten stories and impaled him on metal railings. Comedy blood spurted into the air, followed by an ultra-deep voiceover: ‘Sektor wins. Flawless Victory. Fatality.’

The kid looked up at Ren, beaming.

‘Good job,’ she said.

‘I need to get as many fatalities as I can,’ he explained.

‘That’s cool.’ Some day I might meet you in a professional capacity.

She lay back against the seat and thought again about how much Helen knew about her. And how she would guard that knowledge to the…fatality.

This is not just about the psych 345. Ren had typed it into her own phone after she had met Douglas Hammond, and when she pressed 345, her predictive text gave a first option that was unsurprising under the circumstances: ‘fil’.

This is not just about the psych files. What is it about, then?

Luke Sarvas lay in his hospital bed with the silent television flickering light across him. Ren walked across the room and turned it off. He blinked his eyes with relief. Most of Luke Sarvas’ head was heavily bandaged. His face was destroyed. His right eye socket was impacted, his right jaw shattered and wired shut. Any unbandaged surface area was covered in superficial cuts and bruises. His lips were swollen and cracked, covered in a thick layer of Vaseline. There were bruises all over his neck. He kept his head still, but slid his gaze toward Ren. She introduced herself and sat on the chair by his bed.

‘Do you know how you got here?’

He nodded.

‘What happened?’ She almost didn’t want him to speak, his lips looked so damaged.

He opened his mouth slowly. The corners were dry and white and took time to break apart. It was hard to look at. ‘I…fell,’ he said.

‘From the border wall?’

Luke nodded.

‘No, you didn’t.’

A fleeting frown crossed Luke’s face.

‘I spoke with your doctors,’ said Ren. ‘You have pretty severe crush injuries. Something fell on you.’

Luke closed his eyes slowly. Bingo. But he shook his head slightly to disagree.

‘It’s a medical fact,’ said Ren.

He opened his eyes and looked at her.

‘What fell on you?’ said Ren.

He shook his head again. ‘Nothing.’

‘OK,’ said Ren. ‘I’m going to backtrack. What happened in that SUV eight months ago?’

He waited to answer. ‘I…can’t remember.’

‘You can’t remember anything?’ said Ren.

‘I can remember up to just before it happened.’ Every word came out painfully slowly.

‘So you don’t know who stopped the vehicle, what the chronology of events were, nothing?’

He shook his head. ‘No.’

‘OK,’ said Ren. ‘So your memory was intact right up until that day.’

He nodded.

‘In that case, tell me about Tijuana at spring break.’

Luke’s eyes flashed, but he caught himself before they shot too wide.

Got you, you little shit. Ren watched as his faux-amnesiac brain flashed through what this FBI lady could possibly know about Tijuana.

‘I’m…tired.’

Oh, please.

He pressed his thumb down on the red call button. The challenge in his eyes was extraordinary.

I want to put that pillow over your face, you lying little shit. ‘OK,’ said Ren. ‘I’ll come visit again. And again. And again.’

He turned his head to the wall. ‘Don’t bother.’

‘Excuse me?’ said Ren. ‘What did you just say?’

He turned back toward her. ‘I said, “Don’t bother.”’ His voice had become very clear.

‘OK,’ said Ren. ‘No problem. It was nice to meet you.’ She stood up. ‘Oh – wait. I have to show you something. Where is it? Oh, yeah.’ She slipped her hand into her briefcase and pulled out a photo. ‘Here. Check this out.’ She pushed the photo into his face and pulled it back slowly so he could focus on it. ‘That’s you,’ she said. ‘And that guy with you? He’s your fifteen-year-old brother, Michael, who clearly thinks that the sun shines out of you. But after investigating that possibility, I beg to differ.’

Luke’s mouth twitched. He blinked several times.

‘I’m going to leave this right here,’ said Ren, propping the photo up against his bedside lamp. ‘I know you’re in physical pain. But you’re not the poor little cripple you appear to be. I’ve seen many people with terrible injuries. And no matter how much training I’ve been given, I still find it very upsetting. And I would be very upset right now if I thought you were a one hundred per cent innocent victim. What happened to you, your father and your brother was appalling and you have my sympathy for that. But that sympathy waned just a little, right when I heard you try to deny those crush injuries.’ She picked up her briefcase. ‘I have a job to do.’ Ren walked to the door, but turned back as she opened it. ‘God help your mother and God help Michael.’

She closed the door gently behind her.

Catherine Sarvas stood nervously in the hallway outside the room.

Nervous because she knew he would tell the FBI agent nothing.

‘Luke is saying that he doesn’t remember much of his accident,’ said Ren.

‘No, he didn’t,’ said Catherine. ‘Which is probably a good thing.’

Hello? ‘Catherine – Michael is still missing.’

‘I know that more than anyone,’ said Catherine.

‘Luke is back,’ said Ren. ‘And we need to do everything we can to find out what happened to Michael.’

‘Of course you do,’ said Catherine. ‘So do I.’

‘I think Luke knows more than he is letting on,’ said Ren. ‘I need him to talk to me.’

‘Excuse me?’ said Catherine, her voice rising. ‘Are you telling me that my son is not telling you something that could help his brother be found?’

‘That is a possibility.’ Slash certainty.

‘Maybe in your cynical world it is,’ said Catherine. ‘I have waited eight months to get my son back. You are insane to think that Luke would withhold any information that could be helpful. He has been through a terrible