Blackout, p.8
Blackout, page 8
“It’s why you think you know him. I’m sure it is. It probably drew you to that address. It’s why the home is so private, why it is only them living there.”
“That’s not true,” Marcus said, refusing to give up on that memory yet, though the longer it all continued, the less fight, less belief he had in himself to keep fighting the inevitable.
Soon, he feared, his mind-fog would lift, and he would remember everything correctly. He didn’t know how alone and vulnerable that revelation might make him feel.
But he would finally see things for how they really were. Like in that playground, with that lava. He knew now that there was no lava. Had never been any lava.
It had all been in his mind.
Did that make him crazy?
Peet reached out an arm, trying to be as sensitive as he could be, but knowing that firmness was needed in such a moment of uncertainty. Responding to Marcus he said. “Yes, Marcus, it is true.”
Whether he timed it like that or otherwise, they arrived at the van at those words. This acted as the natural break in their flow of conversation. Marcus was still processing these thoughts, what he had just been told.
They watched very little television at home, he thought… but then he reminded himself. That was the life he was telling himself he remembered.
Perhaps he watched loads of television?
Perhaps he really knew Andrus Gils from that?
Peet greeted the man standing next to his van. Marcus, from the formal greeting the two men had just given each other, took them to be mere acquaintances.
“Marcus, this is Timo. He works for the city administration in the planning department.”
Marcus took in the van, the insignia on the side of it in keeping with what he had just been told. They didn’t shake hands. It didn’t seem like that kind of encounter.
“Marcus, why don’t you tell Timo what you know about O’Learys,” Peet said, eyes firmly set on Marcus now, encouraging him to speak.
“What do you mean?” Marcus asked, somewhat confused.
“Well, what floor is it on?” Timo said.
“It’s on both floors,” Marcus confirmed confidently.
Even though, the last time he visited the shopping centre, it was on neither.
He left that thought floating, unvoiced, fighting the instinct to shut up and not say anything.
For all Marcus knew, Timo was from the mental hospital, there to assess just how broken and messed up he was. The van, perhaps just a cover, might in fact hold a cage, and they might cart him off at any moment with no one knowing where he was.
Marcus cut those thoughts short.
Timo showed surprise at that last comment, a glance at Peet, who encouraged him to continue.
“Would you mind showing me where it is?”
Timo extended his arm towards the entrance, inviting him forward. Marcus led the way. The location of O’Learys was close to the entrance from the rear car park. If it had still been there. The other two followed.
Just before Marcus rounded the corner, part of him hoped that, as he turned, he would see the restaurant in front of him.
He didn’t.
There was only the little food outlets that were there the last time he visited. Before that, he had never seen them in his life.
Marcus faced the corner of the shopping centre, all three men about ten metres from the outlets situated there.
“The ground floor entrance is right there, leading into the restaurant. Upstairs, the entrance is right above here too. It’s bigger up there. There is bowling, VR gaming, tabletop games like shuffleboard. There’s even a cinema screen, I believe. Downstairs, it’s only for dining, though there are screens on the walls in here too. They even have them in the toilets. So that you never have to miss the game, I imagine.”
Marcus went quiet, thinking he’d said too much. He took in the open-mouthed Timo, who was looking at Marcus, then across to Peet, then back again. He clearly didn’t know what to say.
He finally managed. “Who are you again?”
Marcus was unsure what he meant by this. Right now, opinion was very much divided on who, exactly, he was.
Hell, Marcus wasn’t even totally sure of that now.
It was Peet who broke the silence, looking at Timo, reading into his surprised expression that, perhaps, Marcus wasn’t so far off the mark this time. “Well?”
“Are you in planning?” Timo pressed, only looking at Marcus. “I’ve never seen you before. You aren’t Estonian, either.”
“No, I’m not in planning,” Marcus said. It was obvious that he wasn’t Estonian, so he left that without comment. “Why?”
At least, he didn’t believe that he was in planning.
Perhaps he was?
Perhaps that was his real life, his proper job? Perhaps it was why Peet had brought him there, to prod his memory, to ease him back to reality?
That would mean that Peet actually knew who he really was. So far, he’d given him no sign that this was the case.
Marcus remained silent, looking at them both. Timo also seemed confused, looking at the other two as he spoke.
“They submitted plans for this place only three days ago. There are only a handful of people involved at this stage, and I know none of them would say a word. But it’s exactly as he’s just said... he’s got to have been involved in the project... I just can’t figure out how.”
“The project?” Marcus asked, still not totally sure what Timo was meaning by this.
It was Peet who answered. “Don’t you see, Marcus? I ran the name you gave us for this restaurant through the database. That led me to Timo. He works in planning, on a city scale. O’Learys is a project, one only recently submitted. It’s a long way from being built.”
Marcus was looking at the outlets that were there. There were shops upstairs. He was more confused than ever. “But how’s that… possible? I was here yesterday, wasn’t I?”
His head was hurting. Timo didn’t know what to say to this, just looking them both in the face, from one to the other, as he spoke. “Well, I’m sorry to report, but this place, assuming it gets the required backing, isn’t due to open for a while, perhaps not until 2018.”
Marcus laughed at this. “But it’s 2023... it’s been open for five years.”
Peet looked more concerned at this than he had about anything said in the last ten minutes.
“Marcus, it’s 2016, has been all year. This is your trauma playing tricks on you again.”
Marcus was backing away slowly. Shaking his head. Waiting for them to tell him they were messing with him, making this up.
That it was all some big prank, some joke that had gone too far.
They were only staring at him, faces blank, expressionless.
“No, no way... it isn’t true. It can’t be true.”
Peet came alongside Marcus, part supportive, part keeping him from running away again. He pulled out his phone from his pocket, switching on the screen. He showed the phone to Marcus. The date displayed as Thursday 18th August, 2016.
Marcus nearly collapsed, Peet grabbing an arm, Timo stepping forward to help him sit down on a bench, which thankfully wasn’t too far away. The monitor around Marcus’s neck sounded an alarm.
Marcus had gone very white.
“It can’t be,” he finally said. He was rubbing his head, pressing hard into his temples.
Peet asked. “What’s wrong, Marcus?”
“I can’t be here... this can’t be real.”
“It’s okay. And you are safe. There’s nothing to be worried about.”
Marcus closed his eyes, trying to control his breathing. The beeping from his monitor, which had not stopped its persistent warning for a while, soon went silent again. He remained there, eyes closed, almost dreamlike.
This was a dream.
No, he quickly reminded himself, this was a nightmare.
Marcus opened his eyes suddenly. A fresh thought had flashed through his mind. A crazy thought.
An insane thought.
“Wait, what date is it again?”
“It’s Thursday, the 18th.”
“August?” Marcus pressed, mind racing. Peet nodded. “August 2016?”
“Yes, Marcus, why? When do you think it is?”
Marcus couldn’t speak for a while. His eyes were wide, looking around, looking for clues, for evidence that this was real.
That this was now.
“It’s impossible... it can’t be,” was all he managed to say, not the response Peet was hoping for. He placed his hands on each of Marcus’s shoulders, so that they were now face to face.
“Do you mind telling me what’s going through your head right now?”
Marcus didn’t know what to say, which was immediately clear. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, as if attempting to say something and then backing out. As if what he might say would prove something of his insanity.
Maybe it would?
Finally, he spoke. “On 17th August 2016, on my thirty-third birthday, I blacked out. I went into a coma, something that I didn’t come out of, not properly, for two entire months... that was seven years ago.”
“But it wasn’t, Marcus, was it,” Peet said.
However, Marcus was nodding in defiance now, appearing crazier the more he talked.
“Don’t you see... that’s why I remember it all? That’s how I know about O’Learys.” He turned to Timo, the silent part of the trio in recent minutes. “I’m right, aren’t I, about this place?”
Marcus knew he was, given the shock from minutes before on Timo’s face, a secret that few knew about, and yet there he was, a stranger, but someone who knew everything.
Timo was nodding. He didn’t know how else to react.
Marcus’s mind focused back to the day after his thirty-third birthday, a time he didn’t remember because he was in a coma. “Oh God... this means I’m lying in some hospital bed right now, in England... Tiffany…”
He went silent... the emotion was too strong. The connotation was too impossible.
Yet, looking at Peet now, he saw only doubt on his face.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” Marcus snapped.
“No, Marcus, I don’t... do you blame me? I mean, come on!”
Peet pulled out his phone from his pocket again, finally taking his hands off Marcus, which had been keeping him in place until then.
“I’m getting you the help you need,” Peet said, the last minute of their conversation the final straw in his resolve.
He should have made the call hours ago. However, he thought he could help Marcus understand.
Fear took hold of him again, Marcus bolting, dashing into the shopping centre, Peet swearing after him.
Pocketing his phone, he gave chase.
Chapter
Thirteen
Marcus ran as fast as his legs would take him, ignoring the frantic calls of Peet, who was fast on his tail.
He ignored the ever-increasing warning sounds coming from his monitor.
He took the escalator upstairs, getting away from the lower floor that was busier, with more people in his way to slow him down. Still, Peet was following, as Marcus rounded a corner, skidding on the tiled floor, desperate to find somewhere to lose his pursuer.
Peet was calling after him, shoppers and shop workers alike straining their necks to see what all the fuss was about, what all the noise was.
Estonians didn’t make a noise in public. Didn’t these two men know that?
Marcus ran through a large clothes store, one he knew had an exit on the other side. He was frantic to not run himself into a corner, into a dead end. Marcus didn’t want a confrontation.
He just wanted to get away.
His heart rate was up. He ignored the monitor, though he ducked down soon after behind a rack of clothes to catch some breath.
Outside in the corridor in front of the store, Marcus saw Peet, who was glancing around. He didn’t enter, instead carrying on. Marcus wasn’t sure if he should double back and leave the way he had just entered, or stick to his original plan and head for the other exit. An exit that, if Peet kept running ahead, he would also surely reach soon.
Marcus stayed where he was for another five seconds, though his presence there was now drawing the attention of the cashier, for whom a man crouching down low and hiding could never be a good sign. Not wanting to cause anyone else reason to sound the alarm, he straightened up. He headed back to the door through which he had just come, checking the corridor outside. There was no sign of Peet.
However, Peet had reached the other exit by then, and looking back, he saw Marcus across the store. Peet called out and came charging towards him. Marcus, thirty metres ahead of him, and with a fresh batch of oxygen in his lungs, set off at speed, getting out of sight. He had about ten seconds before Peet could clear the store, and therefore about eight seconds until he could be spotted by Peet.
He opted for the restrooms, the corridor for these coming after a few metres, enough time to slip into it without Peet seeing. He kept going, deciding against hiding in either toilet—no way out if he was tracked entering either one—and instead he tried the door marked Staff Only. It was locked, a keypad on one side showing he would need a code.
There was nowhere else to hide, so waiting for someone to come out was not an option either.
Peet might pass the corridor any second.
Marcus opted for the only other door, the one marked Väljapääs—the green sign with a figure of a man running through an open doorway enough to tell him that it was the fire-escape, even if he didn’t understand the language.
Marcus pushed it open and found it led into another small corridor.
A siren sounded, the exit obviously alarmed. He swore, pressing through the next door, which led out onto the roof. Given that it was an emergency exit, Marcus knew there had to be stairs leading down from somewhere. He spotted them before too long.
He also knew that the alarm going off would have told Peet, and all the other security types who were no doubt all on his tail now, exactly where he was.
He had to get away from there, and fast.
As he reached the ladder leading down to the ground, he spotted Peet emerging onto the roof, further back than he thought he might have been. Evidently, he had gone a different way.
Perhaps hiding in the toilet might have been enough, after all?
Marcus didn’t dwell on that thought, nearly missing a tread. This was enough to make sure his mind was fully on what he was doing. It was a long way to drop, and he didn’t fancy hitting the concrete below with any more speed than was entirely necessary.
Getting to the ground, he looked both ways. Cars were passing him, as he had come down by one of the entrances to the carpark. If he went left, it would take him to the front of the shopping centre, where there was a petrol station and a busy road. It was too far before the streets and houses began again, meaning anyone watching for him on that side of the complex would see him easily.
He went right, bringing him to the main carpark at the rear, though there was also another multi-storey car park on the other side of the compound.
A train line ran parallel to the shopping centre, which was on his left, as he jogged towards it. A stadium was in the distance, though that was too far to reach, too exposed on the way.
As Marcus climbed the stairs leading up towards the station, Peet had made it down the ladder, and was giving chase across the car park. The detective had no need to delay in deciding which way to go.
As Marcus got close, passengers crowded the platform on the other side of the line. The noise of the approaching train coming from the direction of Tallinn’s primary station informed him why the platform was so full.
It gave him his next idea.
Running full pelt now, he made it across the tracks seconds before the front of the train passed him, the brakes on, the driver screaming, though he was already slowing for the stop at the station.
Peet, still thirty metres behind, saw what Marcus had just done. When the train, which had blocked his pursuit for the time being, did finally move again, there was no sign of Marcus anywhere. Peet threw his arms up in defeat, his lungs screaming for air, and he put his hands on his hips, bending over, out of breath.
Marcus was several streets away from the station by now, having decided to use the train as a barrier. He had kept running for the time being. Soon he spotted a coffee shop, giving a last couple of looks over his shoulder as he entered it, though he was fairly certain that he had lost Peet back at the station.
His monitor had moved from its calm beeping to its more serious warning sound.
Inside, the café had a cosy, homely feel. Of the people seated around the dozen or so tables available, no one had taken any notice of his arrival. He took a seat at a free table, one a little further back, though it offered him a good look out of the window.
Marcus was watching the street.
He noticed the newspapers hanging from a handmade wooded peg. Confident that Peet had not followed him that far, and with no sign of cop cars about to appear, Marcus got up and went over to them. He took one of the newspapers, these all in Estonian, but he needed to look the part. Needed to fit in. He poured himself a glass of water. The queue at the counter of customers who were actually placing orders was enough of a distraction to allow him to be left alone.
He still didn’t have any means of paying for anything.
Taking the glass of water and the newspaper, he returned to his table. He didn’t need to be fluent in Estonian, as he looked at the front page of the newspaper, to understand the date. It was the same as what Peet had shown him on his phone.
The day after his birthday, year still 2016.
He downed his glass of water in one go, not realising until that moment how thirsty he was.
He was looking utterly dumbfounded.
Marcus remained in the café for a while, the evening drawing in outside, the streets much darker than they were earlier.
He had remained hidden behind the newspaper for as long as possible, several glasses of water consumed. Soon, as the place emptied, the rush from earlier dying down, it was impossible to remain unnoticed. He wanted nothing else than to be left alone.
