Read Online Tangled Intersections by Eva LeFoy - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Eva LeFoy
Tags: Science-Fiction, Space Opera, serial killer, Aliens, insanity and madness, horror science fiction, psychological drama, identity switch, outer space thriller, marvin the martian
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his after all.
At least it claimed to be. “How silly of me.” His fingers trembled ever so
slightly as they unzipped the top. But of course one never knew
what they’d find inside such a contraption after it had been out of
one’s own hands for any length of time. “Wild dogs,” he muttered.
“Man-eating Prana Snakes.” When the bag was fully open, its
contents exposed and bleeding like an open cadaver, he felt both
relieved and disappointed at the sight. He gingerly reached in and
picked up one of the items using only the tips of his fingers,
drawing it out for inspection. A white, safari-style
hat.
Frowning, he tossed it
aside. What good is such a hat
here?
The next object was a
tan-colored shirt with a collar. Then a pair of black trousers in a
silky space-age material. Next were various pens and styluses and
four pairs of sunglasses. “Hmpf.” Those were flung aside, one after
another, with no concern for where they landed. This stuff isn’t useful to me. I don’t need any of
this.
He tore through the rest of the bag
furiously, ending with shaking it upside down so that it spilled
its remaining contents at his feet. Thump, went a watch, calendar
and shaving kit. He glared at them angrily. “For hell’s sake! Isn’t
there anything worthwhile in here?”
But every item he’d
inspected either didn’t matter to him or hadn’t registered as
belonging to him. They should have felt
like his, but they didn’t. The imposter
bag was full of foreign objects that sat on the floor defying him,
taunting him with their uselessness. Beside himself, he punched the
button on the comm. panel and re-dialed C35374.
“ Where are my things?” he
screeched. “These aren’t my things!” Shaking, he sat on the couch
and put his head in his hands. More sweat poured off him, and he’d
just had a shower. His stomach churned with the sensation he was
small, like a speck in space. Alone. Adrift. Vulnerable. He hated
that feeling more than anything. Made him feel sick, like he hadn’t
eaten in days.
A soft ping sounded above him. The
intercom again.
“ Dr. Grison. Incoming
call. Source, Nidi Station Security, block 5.”
He lifted his head and
raised his eyebrows. Here? For me? They had Rister in custody, so they certainly had
no reason to contact him. What more could they possibly want? “Uh,
hello?” When there was no response and the unit pinged again, he
tersely barked, “Answer!”
The call came through.
“ Dr. Grison, this is first
medical psychiatric nurse Ballantine. Can you make time to stop by
security in about an hour Earth measurement? We’d like to get your
recommendation on Rister.”
“ Regarding
what?”
“ His treatment
plan.”
He sat up straight, back muscles tense
as stone. Treatment plan? Nobody had ever said anything about a
treatment plan. In the best case scenario, the on Grison had pinned
all his hopes on, Rister was to be executed. His lips fumbled over
words before he managed to spit out, “I-of course-I’ll…. Be
there.”
“ Perfect, doctor. See you
then. Ballantine out.”
One soft tone ended the
call. The line dead, the room was awash once more in silence.
Grison stood and stoically picked a few items off the floor. A tan
shirt two sizes too big. A pair of plain brown slacks that only
came to his ankles. Biting his lips, he headed into the small
bedroom and dressed. When he was done he looked at his reflection
in the mirror and frowned. This won’t do.
This just won’t do.
Four floors and two hallways later, he
arrived at the security deck. The station, one of the originals
built during the enthusiastically and often fatally naive initial
we’ll-all-live-in-space-harmoniously phase of humanity, harbored,
by today’s standards, serious operational flaws. Environmentals
weren’t shielded, nor far enough away from the power core to
satisfy modern safety regulations. There was a total lack of system
redundancy as well. Back-up generators were tethered to the
At least it claimed to be. “How silly of me.” His fingers trembled ever so
slightly as they unzipped the top. But of course one never knew
what they’d find inside such a contraption after it had been out of
one’s own hands for any length of time. “Wild dogs,” he muttered.
“Man-eating Prana Snakes.” When the bag was fully open, its
contents exposed and bleeding like an open cadaver, he felt both
relieved and disappointed at the sight. He gingerly reached in and
picked up one of the items using only the tips of his fingers,
drawing it out for inspection. A white, safari-style
hat.
Frowning, he tossed it
aside. What good is such a hat
here?
The next object was a
tan-colored shirt with a collar. Then a pair of black trousers in a
silky space-age material. Next were various pens and styluses and
four pairs of sunglasses. “Hmpf.” Those were flung aside, one after
another, with no concern for where they landed. This stuff isn’t useful to me. I don’t need any of
this.
He tore through the rest of the bag
furiously, ending with shaking it upside down so that it spilled
its remaining contents at his feet. Thump, went a watch, calendar
and shaving kit. He glared at them angrily. “For hell’s sake! Isn’t
there anything worthwhile in here?”
But every item he’d
inspected either didn’t matter to him or hadn’t registered as
belonging to him. They should have felt
like his, but they didn’t. The imposter
bag was full of foreign objects that sat on the floor defying him,
taunting him with their uselessness. Beside himself, he punched the
button on the comm. panel and re-dialed C35374.
“ Where are my things?” he
screeched. “These aren’t my things!” Shaking, he sat on the couch
and put his head in his hands. More sweat poured off him, and he’d
just had a shower. His stomach churned with the sensation he was
small, like a speck in space. Alone. Adrift. Vulnerable. He hated
that feeling more than anything. Made him feel sick, like he hadn’t
eaten in days.
A soft ping sounded above him. The
intercom again.
“ Dr. Grison. Incoming
call. Source, Nidi Station Security, block 5.”
He lifted his head and
raised his eyebrows. Here? For me? They had Rister in custody, so they certainly had
no reason to contact him. What more could they possibly want? “Uh,
hello?” When there was no response and the unit pinged again, he
tersely barked, “Answer!”
The call came through.
“ Dr. Grison, this is first
medical psychiatric nurse Ballantine. Can you make time to stop by
security in about an hour Earth measurement? We’d like to get your
recommendation on Rister.”
“ Regarding
what?”
“ His treatment
plan.”
He sat up straight, back muscles tense
as stone. Treatment plan? Nobody had ever said anything about a
treatment plan. In the best case scenario, the on Grison had pinned
all his hopes on, Rister was to be executed. His lips fumbled over
words before he managed to spit out, “I-of course-I’ll…. Be
there.”
“ Perfect, doctor. See you
then. Ballantine out.”
One soft tone ended the
call. The line dead, the room was awash once more in silence.
Grison stood and stoically picked a few items off the floor. A tan
shirt two sizes too big. A pair of plain brown slacks that only
came to his ankles. Biting his lips, he headed into the small
bedroom and dressed. When he was done he looked at his reflection
in the mirror and frowned. This won’t do.
This just won’t do.
Four floors and two hallways later, he
arrived at the security deck. The station, one of the originals
built during the enthusiastically and often fatally naive initial
we’ll-all-live-in-space-harmoniously phase of humanity, harbored,
by today’s standards, serious operational flaws. Environmentals
weren’t shielded, nor far enough away from the power core to
satisfy modern safety regulations. There was a total lack of system
redundancy as well. Back-up generators were tethered to the
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