CHAPTER TWO
I am walking down the footpath, towards the subway, and turn right to pick up a newspaper from the newsstand. The headlines call out at me; 'MAN SHOT IN DRUNKEN BRAWL' (typical), 'SENATE CONSIDERING HIGHER TAXES' (that'd be right) and 'ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE FOUND ON REMOTE ISLAND' (vaguely interesting). Something clicks in the corner of my mind, but I can't quite figure what it is. I keep on going, and then stop. I turn around.
Nothing. I have the strangest feeling that I am being watched, that I am being followed. It's the most uncomfortable feeling. I feel hairs prickle on the back of my neck (again, a cliched expression, but it's the only way to describe it). I peer out of the corner of my eye, but I see nothing. Only the familiar rushing of people as they make their way to the markets, to the subway, to their homes. I sigh, and keep on walking.
There it is again. That feeling. I stop, and look. I see a dark blur as a figure ducks behind a lamppost.
'Who is that?' I call out. Nothing replies. Maybe I am just going crazy.
Five minutes later, it happens again. This time, I've had enough. 'Bloody hell!'
I step onto the subway platform. It is ten to one. The train is not there yet. It's due at 1:57. Six minutes. I stand there impatiently, tapping my foot on the stony ground. I feel so uneasy. I need a good long rest, I think.
Suddenly, somebody taps me on the shoulder. I whirl around, and am face to face with a tall, extremely slim woman, aged in her early thirties. She has chin-length, rich brown hair, alluring blue eyes, and a severely square jawline. She is harsh-looking, yet beautiful. She has a no-nonsense look about her, yet I can almost see the beauty she would possess if she smiled.
'Neo,' she says, simply.
Startled, I back away. 'Who are you?' How does she know my name? My hacker name?
Now I am just scared. Things are not right. I may have had distorted, emotions I cannot understand in the daytime, displaced dreams at night that I cannot remember, and fragmented sleep, but I can sense that something in the world is amiss. I remember things and yet I don't. I have seen things that I should not be seeing at all. I sense a tension, within me and around me. I want to understand but I can't. I am the spectator of a crazy, chaotic sport. I don't like these feelings that I am not in control. I want to return to the normalcy of my life before all these feelings began to emerge.
She is clearly taken aback. 'You know me, Neo. You must.'
I shake my head, not wanting to get too involved. Incidents like this happen all the time, only not to me. This is the brink of insanity, I can feel it. I don't want to get too close.
'I don't know you,' I say, 'and you know me, but I don't know why.'
She looks crestfallen. 'Neo, please remember.'
'I don't. I'm sorry. You must be thinking of somebody else.' I stride toward the approaching train. 1:55. Two minutes early, but not a moment too soon. The doors pull open, and I hurriedly step on.
'Neo, wait!'
But I don't. I want nothing more to do with this madness.
But madness doesn't like letting go. It has a way of catching up with you, you see. Or at least with me. I tend to attract it, wherever I go.
When I arrived home, there she was, the strange woman, sitting on my doorstep.
That's when I knew something was not right.
I am walking down the footpath, towards the subway, and turn right to pick up a newspaper from the newsstand. The headlines call out at me; 'MAN SHOT IN DRUNKEN BRAWL' (typical), 'SENATE CONSIDERING HIGHER TAXES' (that'd be right) and 'ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE FOUND ON REMOTE ISLAND' (vaguely interesting). Something clicks in the corner of my mind, but I can't quite figure what it is. I keep on going, and then stop. I turn around.
Nothing. I have the strangest feeling that I am being watched, that I am being followed. It's the most uncomfortable feeling. I feel hairs prickle on the back of my neck (again, a cliched expression, but it's the only way to describe it). I peer out of the corner of my eye, but I see nothing. Only the familiar rushing of people as they make their way to the markets, to the subway, to their homes. I sigh, and keep on walking.
There it is again. That feeling. I stop, and look. I see a dark blur as a figure ducks behind a lamppost.
'Who is that?' I call out. Nothing replies. Maybe I am just going crazy.
Five minutes later, it happens again. This time, I've had enough. 'Bloody hell!'
I step onto the subway platform. It is ten to one. The train is not there yet. It's due at 1:57. Six minutes. I stand there impatiently, tapping my foot on the stony ground. I feel so uneasy. I need a good long rest, I think.
Suddenly, somebody taps me on the shoulder. I whirl around, and am face to face with a tall, extremely slim woman, aged in her early thirties. She has chin-length, rich brown hair, alluring blue eyes, and a severely square jawline. She is harsh-looking, yet beautiful. She has a no-nonsense look about her, yet I can almost see the beauty she would possess if she smiled.
'Neo,' she says, simply.
Startled, I back away. 'Who are you?' How does she know my name? My hacker name?
Now I am just scared. Things are not right. I may have had distorted, emotions I cannot understand in the daytime, displaced dreams at night that I cannot remember, and fragmented sleep, but I can sense that something in the world is amiss. I remember things and yet I don't. I have seen things that I should not be seeing at all. I sense a tension, within me and around me. I want to understand but I can't. I am the spectator of a crazy, chaotic sport. I don't like these feelings that I am not in control. I want to return to the normalcy of my life before all these feelings began to emerge.
She is clearly taken aback. 'You know me, Neo. You must.'
I shake my head, not wanting to get too involved. Incidents like this happen all the time, only not to me. This is the brink of insanity, I can feel it. I don't want to get too close.
'I don't know you,' I say, 'and you know me, but I don't know why.'
She looks crestfallen. 'Neo, please remember.'
'I don't. I'm sorry. You must be thinking of somebody else.' I stride toward the approaching train. 1:55. Two minutes early, but not a moment too soon. The doors pull open, and I hurriedly step on.
'Neo, wait!'
But I don't. I want nothing more to do with this madness.
But madness doesn't like letting go. It has a way of catching up with you, you see. Or at least with me. I tend to attract it, wherever I go.
When I arrived home, there she was, the strange woman, sitting on my doorstep.
That's when I knew something was not right.