Chapter 26
Testimonies
[Sunday, April 8th, 2040. 11:47 AM. Torque.]
I spent the past couple of days trying to recover, thanks to Jane giving me hope. She brought me in and took care of me after I checked out last Saturday. I didn't want to waste her effort. After a few more conversations she said goal setting was a good way to get off the couch. Nothing too big, start out small. So, I started with eating once a day. Then going on a slither outside. It got me moving, but the emptiness inside of me never left. The food that I ate tasted bland and gave no joy despite Kelly's best efforts. My slither around Downtown felt pointless. Every press forward received a call from my brain to lie down and go home. Eventually when I did circle around to Kelly's apartment I would fall into the couch and let it envelop me. I felt the same, but part of me held onto the fact that I did get up. She told me that's what matters.
Today's goal was to attend his state funeral.
"We're here." Kelly said as she unbuckled herself.
It was easy for Kelly to find a parking spot in Riverside, even one right next to the cemetery. From my passenger seat view I could see the place had been all dressed up. Rows of folding chairs. A big stage rolled out. There were a few groupings of humans, and compared to what they normally wear, everyone's clothes took on darker shades of color.
"Is this how human funerals normally are?" I asked.
Kelly rested her arms on the wheel. "No, no. This is the department's official ceremony. Most of the time it's a private thing. Like the two other officers who died, their families will probably bury them themselves."
"Oh."
I returned my head to my lap, staring at nothing.
Kelly peered ahead at the procession. "Look. Funerals are never enjoyable. They just… a date is set and it approaches and you dread it. It's something you attend because you'll regret it if you don't."
"Why have funerals then?"
"Would you rather be chucked into the ground the moment you passed away?"
"I mean… I'm dead, so…"
Kelly returned her gaze to her window. "It's about accepting that someone is gone."
Hearing those words watered my eyes. Damn, I was doing good the past few days.
She noticed. "Sorry. Let's just… Terminal and Blueblood saved us seats."
"Are they here for Ramirez or for me?"
Kelly opened the door and stepped onto the cement sidewalk, her heels responding with a clack. The afternoon sun was absorbed by her black formal attire. She peered in after me.
"Both. C'mon."
Reluctantly, I reached for the door handle and pressed open the door, my tail lazily roping out of the car. I almost wanted to just stand there, on the asphalt, letting the breeze of passing cars blow over me until the funeral ended. Unfortunately Kelly waited on the sidewalk for me.
The wet grass was easy to slither over. Blueblood and Terminal materialized through the crowd, sitting on the far left somewhere in the middle rows. They looked a little drained, surprisingly. Not typical for them.
A few acknowledgements were passed between the three. I think Terminal considered saying something to me, but I probably looked like a junkie on their second week of withdrawal.
My heart crawled into my throat as I sat down. I closed my eyes and waited for time to pass. I was starting to get good at it. First the police commissioner took the stand and made a speech on sacrifice, courage, words that made the public feel better. Then a few speakers for the first officer slain. Then the second. I could tell where each family sat based on the intensity of sobbing.
Then I heard a familiar voice. Who… how do I know this person?
"Anthony Ramirez always had his eyes set on the department."
I looked up. Standing there with his peppery hair and strong, weary face was Officer Smith. Seeing him for some reason put anxiety into my chest.
His delivery was dry, professional. "In 31PD, we have a junior outreach program. We go to local high schools to explain how the Police Department works and how it could be a good fit for them."
He paused, and nodded.
"Ramirez felt like it was a good fit." Smith's monotone voice wavered. In his hands he swapped a small card.
"It didn't take long for him to find work in our institution, taking the appropriate classes in school to find work once he graduated. I had the opportunity to train him during his rookie year, and I took it. And I could not have been more proud to train him." Another card swap.
"Anthony Ramirez was a man of virtue. He knew what was right and stuck by it. He showed courage when it was necessary. He…" Smith had to stop for a moment as he looked at his hands. He stared through the paper.
"Anthony was a good man. I'll miss him. We'll miss him." His stony face softened.
"Thank you." And just like that, Smith left the stage.
I could feel Kelly's, Terminal's, Blueblood's eyes on me at different times. I wondered what thoughts they had in their heads. Different versions of "I'm sorry."
"You okay Torque?" Terminal was the first to speak.
I wanted to talk to Smith. I stayed quiet, watching him move through the crowd.
Smith's words were the closing ones. I watched as uniformed officers took away each mahogany casket, now draped in flowers. Wonder which one he's in. No one said a word. For a while, the only thing audible were the steps of the pallbearers on grass. I kept my eyes on Smith.
"Is that it, Kelly?" I asked.
"The families are going to watch the deceased be lowered in."
Like clockwork, a few groups of similar-looking humans rose from their chairs, a few sobbing, following the uniformed men deeper into the cemetery. One of the caskets however had a different group: young men and a few women, of all different colors and heights. A few spoke to Smith who sat in his chair. Even when I watched the back of his head, I could tell how he felt.
Another goal presented itself to me. Unlike the others, there was this anxious need to complete it. I stood up, awkwardly slithered by Terminal and Blueblood, and headed toward the man.
"I'm going to go talk to Smith."
Kelly asked who that was, but Blueblood answered my question for me.
For the first time in a while I felt my heart pound in my chest. I had no idea what he thought of me. He's only seen me twice: One time professionally for maybe thirty seconds, and the other time I was cussing out Ramirez.
I waited patiently for the people talking to him to leave. I didn't have the mental fortitude to introduce myself, or tell them off. I put my hands together and waited. A few of the humans looked me in the eyes before quickly returning to Smith. The thought of a viper standing tall in the middle of this human crowd was amusing.
It took some time for them to leave. Smith sat alone in his seat, his head slumped.
My tail carried me forward. I reached the front row of chairs, left a seat between him and I, and sat down.
Defeat was all I could see in his face as he stared at the grass. Eventually, his eyes wandered, and noticed me.
"Jesus!" The man flinched backward in his seat.
"Oh, shit—" I put my hands out. "Sorry. I'll just…" I turned.
"No, wait." He called out.
Smith faced me with fright in his eyes, although it was beginning to subside. His arms previously in his lap were now in action, one draped over the top of the chairs and the other resting on his thigh. The man, dressed in jeans and a button-up collared shirt, was not expecting this today.
He put his head in his hand. "Sorry. You caught me off guard."
"Eh, don't worry. I'm used to it."
He looked at the funeral with me. The flowers, the stage, the people. All of it. For a while we stared in silence and listened to the birds chirp. I mean, he doesn't know about our relationship. Or does he? Ramirez probably told him.
I tried to open up. "Anthony was… a nice guy."
"Would you like to go talk over some coffee?" He asked, without paying attention.
Answering a question with a question. I wasn't sure if he actually wanted coffee or if he didn't want to be seen with me. Either way I would only have to deal with him, which works for me.
"Sure."
Smith got up and began walking. I followed.
I felt safe for some reason underneath Riverside's old trees. Occasionally, sun would make it through the puffy clouds, only to be screened by the new leaves of April. It felt warm. Comfortable, even. A lot of new feelings bubbled through the haze that has been over the past week. A little social anxiety. felt it, even if it was muted.
Smith opened up the glass door to the small shop. Immediately the smell of coffee hit me. It was a diner, with booths lined up next to the glass and the interior walls proudly displaying its supporting brickwork. Unlike a lot of newer venues this place was mostly full of earthen tones. Light shined in through its large windows, the overall brightness dependent on the clouds above.
The middle-aged man put a welcoming hand forward once I crossed inside, his eyes directing me to the booths. I get to choose, great. Arbitrarily I chose one in the middle and sat down. I tried to keep my tail out of his way as he sat, the booth barely able to contain my length.
He looked at me almost questioningly, with no words. As if he was measuring me up while he brought out a few sugar packets from the wire basket on the table. I remained quiet. It wasn't a purely judgemental gaze. There was more to it.
Soon our waiter arrived. The woman clicked her pen and positioned her notepad, a well-oiled routine. "What can I get for you guys today?"
"I'll just have a medium americano." Smith rotated one of the packets in his hand, focusing more on it than me.
The waiter scribbled. "And for you dear?"
Coffee. Coffee, right. What do the guys usually get?
"I uh– double espresso. Medium." I switched between the waiter and Smith. Was that something weird to get?
The waiter clicked her pen and walked off. "Out in a minute."
Smith watched the waiter walk away and put down his paper rectangle. "Did you have a rough night?"
I almost laughed. "Several."
He sighed. "Me too."
His hand laid motionless on the table. Neither of us really wanted to start.
"I uh… I haven't apologized for kicking down your door. I'd like to do that now."
I thought he was going to ask how I met Ramirez. My answer was when he was attached to Chimera Squad, but no, that's how I actually met him. Can't believe it. It's been three weeks.
"Oh, that. Right. That happened. Feels like it was years ago."
"It's because we got the numbers wrong. If he had gone one door down, maybe this… all of this wouldn't have happened. Or maybe it would have."
"I mean, I'm glad you messed up." I spit out.
He gave me an odd look before continuing. "You two were in a relationship, right?"
Oh God he didn't know. Or does he? Is he just preparing to grill me? Maybe this was a mistake.
"Yes." My voice was defensive.
"He told me about you. I'll be honest. At first I thought you were another one of his flings. Sure, you have scales, but he can like whatever he likes. But the way he treated you was different. Your name wasn't just a name. It made him giddy. There was this reverence around you, it was obvious he…"
Smith stopped when he realized his kind words were going to have the opposite effect.
"I'm sorry."
As if two words could make me feel any better.
I put my head in my hands. I wanted to close up, form a ball and hide my eyes from the light. I didn't care that Smith could only see the top of my hood.
Eventually I heard the sound of cups on the table. The waiter refrained from saying anything. I didn't hear the cups slide. He didn't grab his cup, he's still paying attention.
Today was about Ramirez. Not me.
"When did you meet Ramirez?" I shot in the dark.
"He was seventeen, in high school. Through our junior program."
I looked up to see Smith, trying to regain my cordial tone. "That's when you met him?"
"I've always been a cop to him."
I straightened my back. "You've known him a long time."
"Yes." Smith tried to stay emotionless. Finally he reached for his coffee, ripped open a packet and poured sugar in. He took a sip.
"It's not hot?" I've been burned before by fresh coffee.
"No. I like this place because they serve it drinkable." He wiped his lips. "Coffee's good. It keeps me from drinking."
"I think Anthony would like that."
He smiled. "I think so too."
My coffee warmed my hand. Without thinking, I flicked my tongue out to taste it. As if Smith doesn't think I'm alien enough already. I stopped, and sipped some of the bitter liquid.
He didn't seem bothered. "I've been meaning to ask… what was your hike actually like?"
I stopped drinking. "He didn't tell you?"
He shrugged. "He seemed nervous about the subject."
I leaned back against the seat cushion. That little journey we took. Where we argued, made up… admitted things. I almost didn't want to tell Smith either. But who cares? It's a dead man's tale.
Recounting our story enraptured my brain. I leapt from detail to detail, explaining every decision we made to Smith. I even told him about our arguments and included the ugly parts. It seemed to keep Smith interested. I answered questions, explained who Ophinasa was, even told him who Lissa was without flinching. I explained how Ramirez saved me, in a way. How he stood up for me. Smith was happy to get some answers, something about his rifle. But I continued. I even told him about our dates. The kind of person Ramirez was to me. How he wanted to help me, how he listened, how he cooked me food. The tears remained at bay the entire time as I recalled the story. Because that's how it felt for some reason, a story.
"...And I said I wasn't ready for a relationship. Because of Lissa. I didn't know at the time but that's why. And then I was going to work, and he caught me and said to give him a month."
"I suggested that." Smith pointed out.
I nodded. "It's a good idea on paper. And then it devolved into an argument about his mother. About how we shouldn't… We shouldn't let…"
I halted. The fact that our last conversation was an argument took me.
The shadows had grown longer. It was still day. The coffee cup beside me was empty, and Smith had two empty ones next to him.
"Was that the last time you spoke with him?"
I stared at the table top. "Yes."
"I watched him die." His emotionless voice betrayed every word.
I held my breath. "You did?"
"It was my job to cover him. But those vipers—" He recanted awkwardly. "...Terrorists didn't give a damn about my bullets. They ignored me and kept shooting. The force of the needle should have knocked him over, but he took a few steps before he fell."
"Next thing you know one of them hocked spit right at my position. Of course she was short and splattered the window instead. Then the guys we called earlier rounded the corner and started shooting. If we waited just a few more seconds we would have…" He trailed off. His eyes stayed on his hand.
"Why'd it have to be him, you know? I'm old. I've lived enough life. It's unfair. It's insane. It's bullshit."
Smith brought one fist down on the table with a thump. He stared right into my eyes with disbelief, anger, a whole concoction of feelings until he breathed and closed his eyes.
"I'm sorry."
I took in a lot of air and exhaled. "Don't be. You're right."
Smith kept his head down. There were a few more moments of silence between us.
"Can I confess something to you, agent Torque?"
"I've got nothing better to do." I crossed my arms. Why he would confess to me is a mystery.
"Like I said, I'm old. I remember my time before the war. And like every human I blamed the aliens. Aliens this, aliens that. But somehow through the circumstances I found my beautiful wife. I was content. I was happy. Then she got cancer."
"We lived outside the grid. It was a miracle we were able to get a diagnosis as is. So to save us, we sold ourselves to Advent. Lived in the city so she could get her treatment. A week passed by and I could visit her. Then a month, and they barred me from entering. Then I got the notice of her death. It… destroyed me. I still don't know how I made it out. And I was living a fine life even within an Advent city. Then the truth came out. About Advent, about the experiments. I knew what happened to her and in a way, it was my fault."
Smith stopped for a moment. I could see his eyes glisten.
"And… and now Anthony's gone. And you know what? I feel bad. I feel awful. But I know I'm going to be okay a month from now and that… scares me."
He left the admission hanging in the air, like a noose from a tree's branch. He stared at me with terror in his eyes. My maw was slightly pried open.
"Why did you tell me this?"
His hands came forward. "I don't know. You're a stranger. Sometimes that's the best person you can confide in."
I still didn't know how to respond. I'm sorry? It's good you're moving on?
The silence signaled him to change subjects.
"Thank you for speaking with me. Hearing your story… It's comforting to hear about what kind of man he became. What kind of man he was."
I nodded. "He was a good man. He's helped me. I think he's… he's helped me realize a lot of things."
Smith stood up, and readjusted himself in the walkway beside the booth. He threw some cash out of his wallet onto the table, more than enough to pay for our drinks. His eyes returned to their normal behavior, barely falling onto me.
"Take care." And he walked out.
The sound of the cars outside filled my ears for a while. The conversations between customers, the hisses from coffee machines. I watched with my chin on my palm the daily boringness of people's routines outside. Commuting, talking on the phone. It all felt so meaningless.
I rose from my seat, opened the door and smelled the fresh air. Spring held this crispy anticipation with every breath. It felt strange. Uncomfortable, even. But it was a refreshing change.
I breathed in and slithered forward.
