The Secret Diary of Cameron Baum

I am dead.

A single bullet to the skull. John shot me. John shot me with a smile on his face. Revenge. It was his plan all along. My only crime was loving him.

A smile on his face...

Wait.

I am committing a temporal error. I am transcribing events out of their proper sequence.

I will begin again.

THURSDAY

John and I are seated on the couch in the safe house. Eighteen inches of empty space separates us, the personal boundary John insisted upon after I deceived him into kissing me by pretending to be Riley while he was drunk. We are watching a black and white movie on TV starring two humans named Abbot & Costello. We have been watching for 83 minutes and during this time I have deduced three facts:

1) Abbot & Costello are imbeciles.

2) Abbot & Costello aren't funny.

3) Abbot & Costello should be terminated immediately to prevent them contaminating the human gene pool.

"Too late. They've been dead forty years," John explains when I inform him of my conclusions. "And they weren't that bad."

"You laughed only once," I point out.

"It wasn't one of their better movies."

John takes a folded piece of paper from his pocket and scrutinises the contents. On it is written a phone number. Kate Brewster's home number. This is not the original she gave him at Becca Shaughnessy's party; I destroyed that myself. Instead John looked her number up in the telephone directory. He has not yet called.

"Why don't you call her?" I inquire.

"It's complicated."

"Because she is Morris' girlfriend?"

"Because it's a week since the party. I think I missed the window."

"There's a window?"

"A window of opportunity. Too soon and I seem too needy. Too late and it seems I didn't care enough to do it sooner."

"But you want to see her again."

A slight nod, almost imperceptible.

"Then you should call. Future John would not hesitate."

"Future John's got a few years on me."

We sit in silence. My CPU runs combat simulations involving a human female who looks like Kate Brewster. This is probably coincidence. Each time she dies screaming. I relish the decapitations. The blood is most realistic. And the human body holds so much.

John's mother Sarah Connor enters the room.

"Good. You're both here. I want you to watch this."

She stoops to insert a videotape in the VCR.

"If it's the Paris Hilton tape I've already seen it", John smirks.

"I haven't," I announce. John smiles for some reason.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that. This is something I taped off the lunchtime news."

The picture resolves to show a large stone building flanked by a steep row of steps.

"Where is this?"

"County Hall. Downtown."

A naked human male is shown holding a gun to the head of a clothed human female, who looks scared and helpless. The picture is blurred over his groin area.

"There is something wrong with the picture," I point out.

"No. The network blurs out any nudity."

"Why?"

"They just do. Now listen to what he says."

The naked man begins to yell. "You're all going to die! Hear me? Armageddon. Judgement Day. It's here. It's gonna happen. We all burn!"

The woman struggles and manages to break free. Three shots ring out. The man falls. Police surround him. A voiceover states: "The man, who has yet to be formally identified, was taken to Memorial Hospital where he later died from his wounds. Police have not commented on likely motives, though they are not thought to be terrorist related. In other news, President Obama---"

Sarah Connor freezes the picture. She turns to me. "Do you recognise him?"

"He is not on my database."

"You thinks he's from the future?" John asks.

"You heard him. Judgement Day. Armageddon. We all burn."

"It's a little vague. And why take a hostage?"

"He was naked, John. You know how the time portal works."

"Well, he's dead. What can we do?"

Sarah Connor faces me again. "Can you tell if he's from the future if you had access to the body?"

"Yes, it will have elevated levels of radiation. Approximately fifteen percent above the norm."

"Then we go to the hospital and find out."

"The hospital's gonna be crawling with cops," John points out.

"You have a better idea?"

"Actually, I do."

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AFTERNOON

I lie on the sidewalk several blocks from the safe house. Blood runs from the gunshot wound in my temple. It is not my blood. Nor is it human blood. It comes from pigs and was purchased from a nearby butcher's shop. The blood is for appearances. It must appear I'm dead.

I am John's better idea.

My internal thermostat is switched off, reducing the temperature of my outer dermal layer. My pseudo-restpitory system that enables my chest to rise and fall in simulation of breathing is also switched off. I lie as still as possible. My eyes are closed.

Sirens approach.

In infra red as seen through my closed eyes two white blobs loom over me. The paramedics John summoned to my aid in an anonymous phone call.

"What'd we got?"

"Looks like a single GSW to the head. I'm not seeing an exit wound."

"Probably a low caliber weapon. Bullet fragmented on entry. Bad news. Turns the brain to guacamole."

A hand toches my neck.

"No pulse. Bag her. I'll radio in."

A tube is inserted in my mouth and extends down my throat. John warned me this would happen. They are attempting to clear my airway and inflate my lungs.

My non-existent lungs.

"Suppose they x-ray me? They will know I am not human."

"They won't x-ray you. Just lie back and enjoy the ride to the hospital. You'll be pronounced DOA and taken to the morgue. The other guy will be there. Check him out then call us and we'll come pick you up. Now stand still while I shoot you."

The ride is brief but not enjoyable. The paramedics continue to fuss over me. At one point my eyelids are lifted and a bright light shone in each eye. I prevent my pseudo-iris from reacting. My chest is then pressed repeatedly by one of the men. He is fortunate I allow him to live. I have killed men for less.

I am wheeled out into fresh air then into a building I assume is Memorial hospital.

"Hey, doc, over here!"

"What d'you have, boys?"

"GSW to the head. No pulse. Unresponsive to treatment."

"How long's she been down?"

"Thirtyty minutes since call out."

My wrist is raised and my neck felt.

"Shit, fellas, she's cold as a popsicle. And I can feel rigor's already set in. I'm calling it. Time of death, two fifteen. Wheel her over there out of the way. A bus overturned near Hollywood and Vine. We're expecting multiple casualties ASAP. Perhaps some of them we can actually help."

I am left in silence for seven minutes. Then the gurney I am laid on starts to move. The person doing the pushing is behind me. As he pushes he whistles a tune, adding brief lyrics.

"I kissed a girl and I liked i-i-i-it. Taste of her cherry chapstick."

He repeats this refrain several times.

"I kissed a girl and I liked i-i-i-it. Taste of her cherry chapstick."

Since most of my other sensors are offline my CPU begins to anayse what it is hearing. It is an automatic function I have little control over. I extrapolate the known data.

Known Data

1) He kissed a girl

2) He liked it

3) She tasted of cherry chapstick

I compare this with the unknown variables.

Unknown Variables

1) Who is he? Insufficient data

2) Who is she? Insufficient data

3) Why is he kissing her? Probable sexual motives

4) What is cherry chapstick? Unknown - possibly a food item or type of fruit

I sense I am in a small enclosed room which begins to descend. An elevator. The man pushing me continues to whistle interspersed with:

"I kissed a girl and I liked i-i-i-it. Taste of her cherry chapstick."

The urge to shut him up or terminate him is almost overwhelming.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I am in a small metal cubicle. My clothing has been removed by the singing man. Outside it has been silent for twenty minutes. Time to move.

I reach behind my head and push. The metal door peels back as if it is tinfoil, which in a sense it is. I climb out.

The room is empty, cold and very white. I recall John's instructions.

"They'll take you to the morgue. The place where they keep the dead bodies and conduct autopsies. They won't do yours immediately so don't sweat it."

"I don't sweat."

"I mean, don't panic."

"I don't panic."

"You know what I mean. When the coast is clear get out and find the naked guy's body. It'll probably be marked 'John Doe'."

"Why?"

"It's what they call anyone they can't identify right away."

"Suppose someone whose real name is John Doe dies and is brought there?"

"That won't happen."

"Suppose it does. John is a very common name. Doe less so, but it is possible."

"Cam, don't argue, just do as I say."

I do as John says. There is a drawer marked John Doe as he predicted. I pull it out. Inside is the naked man from the TV news broadcast. He is very dead. I place my forefinger on his cold flesh. Data begins to stream across my HUD in descending green lines. All negative. This human is not from the future. His background radiation levels are within normal parameters for this time period. I close the drawer.

"I kissed a girl and I liked i-i-i-it. Taste of her cherry chapstick."

That was me! Why did I sing this song? I did not intend to. I check my RAM memory for malfunctions. Nothing amiss. I delete all traces of the song.

There is a phone on the wall. I pick it up and dial John's number.

"Cameron?"

"Yes. I have located the body. He is not from the future."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Good work. Go to the loading bay and I'll pick you up in the jeep."

I replace the phone. As I do so the door opens and the whistling/singing man enters. He stops still when he sees me. His mouth drops open. He stares directly at my face, then down at my feet.

Curious. Why my feet?

I look down. There is a cardboard tag wired to my big toe. On it is written:

JANE DOE

I tear it off. "Did you put this there?"

"Uh---"

The man turns to leave, doubtless to raise the alarm. I grab him by the throat and lift him off the floor. John's orders were not to kill anyone. I squeeze his carotid artery. Nine seconds without blood reaching the brain and he will be unconsicous. Any longer and he dies.

At seven seconds a thought occurs to me. I slacken my grip. The man coughs and splutters. His face is very red.

"I have a question," I tell him.

"Please don't kill me," he beseeches.

"I won't kill you if you answer my question. It is a very important question. I must have an answer. Nod if you agree."

He nods.

"What," I ask, "is cherry chapstick?"

-----------------------------------------------------------------

I find my clothing torn and ruined, cut from my body while I was pretending to be dead. I presume they thought I would no longer have any need for it.

They were mistaken.

I search around and find a white lab coat. I put it on. A pair of rubber sandals. I put these on also. There is a mirror on the wall. I check my appearance. The bullet wound in my forehead is starting to heal but is still noticeable. I brush my hair forward to disguise it. I leave the morgue.

"I kissed a girl and I liked i-i-i-it. Taste of her cherry chapstick."

The song again! I thought I had deleted all trace of it. I do so again. I will run a full diagnostic scan later.

I walk down a long corridor and board an elevator, perhaps the same one that brought me down here. There is a human inside. Tall, wearing a blue uniform and a holstered gun at his waist. A policeman. He smiles and nods. I do likewise.

"Going up?" he enquires.

"Yes."

"Me too."

We ride up together. I run combat simulations that involve putting his head through the wall if he should suddenly get suspicious.

"I kissed a girl and I liked i-i-i-it. Taste of her cherry chapstick."

Again! I thought I had deleted all lingering traces but still it remains. Perhaps it is a type of nano-virus. Perhaps I have been infected. Perhaps I will require a reboot.

"Catchy song, isn't it." The policeman smiles. "My daughter listens to it all the time."

"Cherry chapstick is a type of balm or salve," I explain. "Normally applied to chafed, sore or cracked lips. It comes in many flavours, cherry amongst them."

This is information I gleaned from the whistling/singing man. My companion frowns.

"Uh - yeah, I knew that."

"I will purchase some cherry chapstick at the earliest opportunity."

"Okay...Good for you."

The doors open. The policeman waves his hand indicating I should leave first. "After you, Miss...?"

"Doe. Jane Doe."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I reach the loading bay without further incident and join John in the jeep. Sarah Connor is not present.

"Doctor Baum, I presume." John grins.

"I don't understand."

"The lab coat. Makes you look like a doctor."

"Oh."

We head home.

"I could not find my boots," I inform John. "And my clothes were sliced to ribbons."

"I'll buy you a new pair of boots. Or mom will. It's the least she can do. This whole thing's been a wild goose chase. That creep was just a regular run of the mill nutjob who'd escaped from a mental unit. There was a later news report but we couldn't contact you in time. Still, no harm no foul."

"I kissed a girl and I liked i-i-i-it. Taste of her cherry chapstick."

John stares at me. "What did you say?"

I explain about the whistling/singing man and the song which I cannot seem to delete from my RAM.

John smiles. "Yeah, that happens sometimes. You hear a song, or just a melody, and it gets stuck in your head for ages."

"It happens to humans? I assumed it was a software glitch."

"No. You're okay. Happens to us all. It'll wear off soon."

"How soon?"

"Just soon."

On the drive home I sing the song three more times, all involuntary.

Each time John laughs.

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EVENING

I sit on a chair in the yard. The grass is long beneath my bare feet, the blades protruding between my toes. John comes out of the house and joins me.

"Not wearing your new boots? They cost enough. Mom'll bitch like crazy when she sees the credit statement."

"I like to feel the grass with my feet. The different textures are stimulating."

"Against your sensors?"

"Yes. You also have sensors in the soles of your feet, only you call them nerve endings. We are not so different."

"Oh I wouldn't say that..."

John reaches across, parts my hair and examines the wound in my forehead.

"It's healing nicely."

"It was a small caliber weapon."

John stares down at the grass. "I'm sorry I shot you."

"It was a good plan. You weren't in any danger."

"I know, but---"

"You punished me. For taking advantage of you while you were drunk. I could tell from your expression."

"That's not how I see it. It was a solution to a problem."

"I've learnt my lesson."

"You've stopped singing that stupid song."

"Apparently there is an expiration limit. Would you care to use my cherry chapstick?"

"I think it's more of a girl thing."

"Oh."

"You did good today. Well done."

John leans over and kisses me softly, briefly, on the lips. He is gone before I can respond.

I kissed a boy. I liked it. I taste of cherry chapstick.

-000-

The song is 'I Kissed a Girl' by Katy Perry. It's always the crap songs that stick in your head like that, isn't it?

The naked nutter was just that - a naked nutter. He was also a red herring, a McGuffin, a plot device, whatever you want to call it. A hook to hang the story on.

No idea what the reaction to this will be. Either you get it or think I've lost the plot entirely, Lol.