Closure

Some Time in the Future

Task Agent March sat on the edge of the bed, looking out over the flickering, neon lit city landscape. There was a storm coming. Her wounded shoulder was strapped up, but blood had seeped through the gauze. She looked at Declan, her husband, asleep in bed. She ran her fingers tenderly over his back and then toyed with her wedding band.

Declan woke. “Love – come back to bed.” She looked at him and smiled. It was a warm smile. He smiled back, “Rest.”

“I can’t sleep.” She rolled the wedding band around her finger. Declan sat up and yawned, “Do you want to talk about it?”

She shook her head, “I just want it to end.”

“I know.”

Suddenly, she had a thought... a flicker of an idea. She glanced at Declan, who frowned, “What? What is it?”

“Jason Finn,” she said, “I know how to get him.”

The archive room was in darkness. Suddenly, the long row of strobe lights above burst to blinding life and flickered light over a vast wooden chamber laced with rows upon rows of rotting metal filing cabinets.

Like a woman possessed, Task Agent March made her way quickly through the maze and came to a sudden halt at a cabinet marked with a water-bleached tag:

ILLEGALLY SOLVED MURDERS 1925-1926 (H-L)

She dragged open the top drawer and flicked her way through the stack of files inside, worming her fingers to the K section of police folders. She stopped and pulled out a crumpled file and slammed it down on the drawer –

ADAM LOUSE – MURDER DATE: 11/11/1926

Archived crates of numerically ordered BLADES that had been retrieved by Takers made up the back wall of the evidence room.

March sat at a desk and worked her way through the police file on Adam Louse’s unsolved murder. Crime scene photographs of Adam, drenched in blood and lying on the wet floor of a public toilet, scattered the worktop, along with police reports and newspaper clipping from 1926.

March picked up one of the crime scene photographs and stared at the brutality. Discarding the snap, she rubbed her face and then picked up a second document: a photograph of a young man that was half obscured by shadows. Under the picture was written:

NAME: SHAW

VOCATION: ONLOOKER

STATUS: ACTIVE

ILLEGALLY SOLVED MURDER - 11/11/1926

She put down the photograph and looked at her wedding ring. She toyed with it – rolling it around and around her finger – as she read through the field report and wrote down key information on a notepad:

EXIT POINT – 0906 Hrs/Plaza Hotel

Fracture – open

She underlined ‘OPEN’ twice and then looked again at the photograph of Shaw.

An archive crate of Blades tagged 1926. March stepped in and dragged out the crate, dumping it down on the desk. She rooted through the box, checking the dates etched on each Blade. She stopped and examined a Blade, rolling the date into the flickering light –

11/11/1926

March took out her pistol, ripped the sheet from the notepad and left with a steely glint in her eyes.

Green Acre Public Convenience, 1926

She was down on her knees, giving Adam Louse; a scrawny man with pale blue eyes, a blowjob, when her killer stormed into the toilet cubical and violently stabbed her in the back of the neck. Her fresh, crimson blood splattered over his face!

Adam yelled, as his attacker grabbed him by the throat and drove the bloody blade into it, over and over and over again.

Shaw; a seasoned, battle-scarred Murder Witness, drenched from the rain, crashed into the room and snapped the crime taking place on his Red Eye. The attacker, a young kid hungry for cash, dragged himself away from Adam and stepped out of the cubical. He saw Shaw, who took another picture – flash! Lowering the Red Eye, Shaw stared at the kid and then turned to escape. The kid lunged after him and raised the knife to strike. Shaw slipped on the wet tiles and plummeted to the ground, dropping the Red Eye. “Shit!”

The kid stabbed down the blade, as Shaw twisted onto his side and narrowly missed the knife as it stuck the tiles and sparked.

Snatching up the Red Eye, Shaw scrambled to his feet and reached for the exit. The kid lashed out at him again and slashed him down his back. Shaw yelled and fell into a spin – snatching at his pistol and firing blindly. Blam!

The shot struck the kid in his ankle, forcing him to buckle and drop to the ground. He screamed in agony!

Outside, a storm swept across the neon city, smearing light that sparkled in the rain. Steamed up windows distorted the lights inside a scattering of restaurants, clubs and the gleaming Plaza Hotel.

Across the road, Shaw stumbled out of the toilets clutching his back and fell against the wall. He dropped his pistol and struggled to climb the slippery steps. He lifted his head and saw Task Agent March stood over him, her gun locked on him. She was out of uniform and soaked to the bone. Her eyes did not shift or blink.

Shaw knew what was coming, “Fuck!”

Blam!

Shaw’s limp body crashed back down the steps. As blood merged with rain water, March casually walked down the steps and looked at Shaw. He was dead.

His Red Eye had stopped dead at 20:01 minutes.

Marched picked it up and stuffed it into her jacket, before crouching down and taking the crime scene photograph of Adam Louse out of Shaw’s coat. Dragging Shaw over her good shoulder, she staggered into a walk and wormed her way back up the steps. Reaching the top, she unclipped a Wiper Bomb and snapped it.

Boom!

Kipper Tie sat in the corner of the hotel room, nursing a glass of whisky. His neck tie was loose and his jacket hung on the back of the chair. He took a slug and sighed.

Scattered on the mattress were police folders, brown envelopes, crime scene photographs and their ‘related’ Blades.

There was a creak outside the room – a clatter of footsteps pressing against loose floorboards. A shadow spilled through the narrow crack under the door and cast over Kipper Tie, who slowly put down the glass and glanced over at the handgun on the bedside table. He looked back at the door. A police file slid through the gap. The shadow vanished.

Kipper Tie took a breath and then walked over to the mysterious file. Crouching down, he picked it up... The ‘date’ grabbed his eye –

11/11/1926

A Blade etched with the date, 11/11/1926 had been left on the worn grey carpet outside the hotel door. The door creaked opened and Kipper Tie stepped out. He glanced down the desolate, unlit corridor, before resting his eyes on the Blade. He looked nervous. Picking it up, he read the date, “Nineteen twenty six,” then closed his eyes and sighed, “Jason!”

The Blitz

Finn grabbed some shut eye. His pistol was at his side – always within reach. He was having the nightmare again and stirred uncomfortably in his sleep. His finger nails dug into the mattress and scratched across the fabric. His back arched. Suddenly, his eyes snapped open and he gasped for air.

Kipper Tie opened the retro fridge, took out the whisky bottle and unscrewed the lid. It clattered to the floor.

The police folder and Blade was on the kitchen table.

Kipper Tie poured a large scotch and threw it into the back of his throat, choking on the burn. Shaking it off, he poured another glass. There was a nervous look in his eyes, a look no amount of whisky would ever erase.

He was about to neck it, but felt someone behind him. He stalled and said, “Drink?”

Finn stepped out of the shadows and into the doorway. He lowered the pistol and looked at Kipper Tie, who turned away and bolted the whisky.

Finn was getting curious. He glanced at him, before looking at the police folder and Blade. He walked past them, putting the pistol down on the table and stepping over to the sink in the far corner.

Kipper Tie took another slug of whisky and then looked at Finn take a glass out of the sink. Finn threw him a curious glance, “Bad day?”

Kipper Tie picked up the Blade, then looked at the wedding band on Finn’s finger. “It was for Adam Louse. He and another victim were found hacked to pieces in the cubical of a public toilet. There was blood and guts everywhere.” He looked at Finn, “The room was red.”

Finn looked anxiously back at him and said, “Like the room in my head.” Kipper Tie frowned, as he continued, “For so long now I’ve been trying to find out what really happened in that room. Piece it back together. Believed if I could solve her murder, I could save her. Save myself.”

Kipper Tie glanced again at Finn’s wedding ring and was about to speak, but he got in first. “I’ve looked for the truth, but all I’ve found are lies. Every time I go back, it takes more of me. My memories... My soul... Me.” He then sighed, “All I’ve got are shreds of a life. I have one memory left and it’s murder.”

“It’s a side effect. You know the risks.”

“But it’s all lies. The ring on my finger, the date on my arm... This ‘thing’ in my head that I’ve clung onto for so long...” Finn looked scared. “I’ve been trying to solve a murder I think I committed.”

A distant thud of bombs outside broke the silence. Finn took a breath. “If I killed her... for whatever reason... I need to get back to nineteen twenty six.... get back to that room. I need the truth.”

“Be careful what you wish for.” Kipper Tie shot him a look, “Adam Louse was murdered on the eleventh of November, nineteen twenty six.”

The wind was taken out of Finn. He let go of the glass and it smashed on the ground. He rushed over to the table and snatched the Blade out of Kipper Tie’s grasp –

11/11/1926

Finn couldn’t breathe. He dropped the Blade and staggered back, lifting his arm into a shaft of light that swept over his tattoo: J FINN MURDER 11/11/1926

He stared at his arm and then down at his fingers – at his wedding band glinting in the light. Every bone in his body shook. He closed his eyes and turned away into a shadow.

Kipper Tie looked at him, “It’s what you always wanted.” Finn lifted his head and opened his eyes, “It’s a trap.”

“They want you dead, Finn... history!” Kipper Tie picked a crumb of sleep from his eye. “You can always walk away.”

“I can’t,” Finn sighed, “They know that.” With a look of remorse, Kipper Tie nodded in agreement. Then he stood up. “The Collective...” He picked up Finn’s pistol, “They gave me an order...” He toyed with the gun and then looked at Finn, at his tattoo... his wedding band. “On the day you get your hands on the eleventh of November, nineteen twenty six, I’m to put a bullet in your head.” With shaking hands, he lifted the gun and pointed it as Finn. “This is one murder they don’t want you to solve.”

Finn stared daggers at him, “Why not?”

“Because it has already been solved... Witnessed long ago by an Onlooker a long time dead.”

“You son of a bitch!”

“The mystery of the red room is a masterpiece in unsolved crime! An infamous piece of Death Art collectors would give anything to own.”

Mr Carver admired his collection of Death Art... the three stark canvases capturing scenes from the ‘Red Room’ murder... or Jenna dead on the floor, the Taker stood in the doorway, shrouded by shadows, and young Jason, hidden in the dark in the corner of the room with a gun in his hand.

“Only a handful of people know what really happened in that room – and The Collective will kill to keep it that way.”

Kipper Tie looked at Finn. “If you go back and save her, there will be no ‘Red Room’ murder... No ‘death’ to collect.”

“All these years, you used me?”

“Yes,” He replied, “I’m sorry.”

Finn braced himself for death. Kipper Tie sighed and put down the pistol. Finn frowned, “Why no bullet?”

“You’re dead already.”

Kipper Tie turned to go, but stalled and looked back at his old friend. “Beware the truth, Finn... It will show you things you may not want to see.”

“I’ve spent my whole life being shown things I didn’t want to see.” Finn looked at the Blade, “Fuck it!”

Snatching up the pistol and snapping back the slide, Finn looked at Kipper Tie with a determined glint in his eyes, “Live or die... Win or lose... End of the day... closure!”