((This chapter heading was pilfered from the Lacuna Coil song Unspoken. It is hereby the song I have looted the most for chapter headings. There's at least one more line that will one day end up somewhere, I'm almost sure of it.))


Chapter 12

Clawing Up My Eyes

Adam was used to being stared at, for sure. He was a handsome man to begin with, and his augments were bound to draw attention. That, however, didn't count as an argument here. Scotland as a refuge for augmented people remained an insider's tip, so there weren't more of them around. They were just not the red rag they'd become everywhere else. There was no segregation, no air of dread when a man with a metallic left hand entered a shop. Well. That probably did exist, but it wasn't prevalent. So being stared at now, in a waiting area of the hospital, was something Frank wasn't sure he could prepared.

Adam had done him the favour and indeed used his status as an Interpol agent to get permission to see Marcus. They hadn't been questioned, the badge apparently enough to intimidate the poor fool at the front desk. They'd made it all the way to the station, where they'd finally been stopped by the head of the casualty ward, who had insisted on getting Marcus's agreement to meet two perfect strangers. Of course, everyone was a stranger to Marcus, so even if Frank had said they knew each other, it wouldn't have done anyone any good.

To Frank it felt as if they'd been waiting for hours when Adam leaned close to him. 'Pritchard, if you keep staring at that spot on the wall you're going to burn a hole in it.'

'Well, people are staring a hole in our skulls, too. I find that a bit more disconcerting.'

'Yes. Funny. Any idea why?'

Frank buried his face in his hands. 'Honestly, Jensen, sometimes I wonder how you survive a normal day in your kind of work, being so oblivious to your surroundings.'

'My surroundings? This is a hospital. A waiting room, to be precise. There's a mercifully silent TV on the wall and a huge stash of newspapers, and people are staring at us instead.'

'Jensen, did you even glance at the TV?'

'No. I swear, Cassan's face is making me sick.'

'You're not going to see Cassan. You're going to see Dylan Ferry.'

'Who?'

Frank snorted and smiled at Adam. 'An actor. In a show I'm rather … ah … involved in.'

'Oh God. I'm dating a celebrity.' Francis shot him a dirty look that Adam ignored completely. 'You know, people told me in Prague that I look like a guy from the TV? Except of course that he looks like a mix of the two of us.'

'Well, since Picus seemed so fond of that ridiculous ex-cop stereotype, I decided to give them what they want. Where are you going Jensen?'

Adam had walked around their bench and taken a seat facing the TV rather than the opposite wall. 'I'm going to watch this now.'

Frank felt a tight knot somewhere in his gut. 'You've read my script, you have no need to do that, especially since this TV is, as you observed so acutely, silenced.'

'I want to.' A small smile was on Adam's face. 'Are you shy, Francis?'

'Am I … Adam, it's not a secret that this thing is mine, but I'd rather people don't start staring more than they are already. We're trying to … you know.'

'To wait until someone has convinced Marcus that he really doesn't want to see us.' Adam raised his voice enough to be heard by everyone in their row of seats and behind them. 'We're not trying to hide our identities. And if we were, I think we'd be doing a horrible job, Pritchard.'

'Please be a little quieter.'

Of course, he didn't comply. 'Why? If you hadn't wanted me to know what you write you wouldn't have sent me a print of your script to Prague. Signed in your own hand, no less.' The smile on Adam's face grew a bit wider. 'Who knows, maybe that piece of paper is going to become very valuable.'

'Ha, ha. Yes, Jensen, I'm shy. But not because of you. I don't want attention. I never wanted attention. Please.'

And just like that, Adam relented. He reached out and brushed his knuckles over Frank's cheek and lowered his voice again. 'Okay.' It was too late, of course. The staring had reached a peak.

'Thanks,' Frank said quietly. He'd meant it to sound sarcastic, but for some reason he didn't quite succeed.

'What's the future of that series, anyway?'

'I don't know how I do it, but I still find the time to write. I'm back in contact with Picus, I wasn't when I was sick, obviously, and they want more, if you can believe it.'

'I'm glad. I know they refused you a couple of times.'

'You hacked my computer, I know.'

'I hope I didn't do much damage.'

'It was tolerable.'

'Mr Jensen?' the department head called. They both stood.

Adam grinned infuriatingly. 'That would be me. What did Mr Dillinger say?'

'He said he wants to talk to you. But I'd like a word with you first. Please come with me.' They followed her to a small treatment room. It was empty, but she looked uneasy. 'It's like this. Mr Dillinger will be brought to rehab tomorrow in the afternoon. It's only a week before Christmas and we want him transferred before that. It always gets crazy here during Christmas.' She started pacing. 'Anyway, he's been trying to remember, but it is so strange. I don't know how to describe it.'

'As if someone or something doesn't want him to remember anything,' Frank offered.

The department head stopped and nodded to him. 'Exactly! Our counsellor tried to give him a nudge, you know … Social Enhancer, and it seemed to work. Until he suddenly had a splitting headache and they had to stop. And when he'd rested, all his success was gone. He had no memory. We've been playing that game for a bit and by now he can't be motivated anymore.'

'Of course not,' Adam said softly. 'Every time he remembers, he's in serious pain, so his brain tells him remembering is bad.'

'We'll try and talk to him. Carefully. Thanks for the heads-up. Where can we find him?'

'Room 205. Please don't vex him. What we'd need is someone who has experience with faulty biochips or something like that. They say they have someone for the rehab, all of a sudden, but still. Damn that Incident way back when. I wish we still had a proper L.I.M.B. clinic to send him to.'

'Me too,' Adam offered. 'Thanks for the help.'

The doctor started to walk out, stopped abruptly, and turned to face them. She seemed to steel herself for something. Her eyes settled on Frank. 'I couldn't help noticing … I mean, I've … The porter announced you as Frank Pritchard?'

'Yes, that's me.'

'I hear you have a security software. Could I arrange that you talk to our manager? We need one that's better than the buggy stuff we've been running for the past three years.'

Frank nodded. 'Sure. He can call me. I'd be happy to help.'

'Thanks. And … This is going to sound weird, but … Can I have your autograph? My cousin will never believe me otherwise that you were here.'

Adam tried and failed to disguise a snort as a cough while heat crept up Frank's cheeks. 'I … oh. My God, sure. Why the hell not?'

Ϡ

Francis hesitated, his hand on the doorknob. Adam covered it with his own. 'Wait. Do you want to do this alone, or do you wish me to go with you? Your call.'

'If you leave me alone with this, I'm going to hit you.'

'No need to hurt yourself. Let's do this. You have a plan?'

Francis nodded. 'I had another brief chat with Soutar, and he told me how to handle certain situations. Pain at the moment of recollection was one, so I should be good.' He took a deep breath. 'Here we go.'

Marcus watched them with wide eyes the moment the door opened. 'Hello,' he said. 'You are Adam Jensen and Frank Pritchard, the doctor said.'

'Yes. And you know me, Marcus.' Francis's voice shook slightly. 'Do you remember me? At all?'

'I … no … sorry. God. I don't know anything.'

'I would like to ask you a few questions,' Francis continued. 'If it hurts to answer, stop talking and I'll guide your thoughts to something else. Okay?'

'O-okay.'

'What's your name?'

'Marcus Dillinger, they tell me.'

'Who is your mother?'

'Miriam Dillinger.'

'Your best friend growing up?'

Marcus shook his head.

Francis's lips tightened, but other that he showed no reaction. Adam wondered when he'd learned to read him so well that he could see his pain so clearly. 'His name is Robert Calvin. Does that ring a bell?' Again, Marcus shook his head. 'What would you expect a Robert Calvin to look like, Marcus?'

He shrugged. 'I don't know. Tall, dark.'

Francis smiled sadly. 'Not quite. Let's try something else. I'd like to know … what happened … ah, December 1773?'

'Boston tea party.'

'Are there non-local phenomena in quantum physics?'

'Let me know if you find out.'

'Can you explain Dijkstra's algorithm to me?'

'Shouldn't that be the other way round?'

For a moment Francis's face lit up. Then Marcus screwed up his face and let out a strangled groan.

Francis was at his side immediately. 'Explain the difference between waves and particles to me, Marcus. Now. Ignore the pain, if you can.'

The other man started to talk, and after a few sentences, his face relaxed. Francis waved him away. 'Thanks, that'll do.' He walked to the window and stared out for a few moments. 'Did the psychologist ask you questions about general education or physics questions?'

'Yes. And I can access that. I remember all of my science, but I just can't remember anything personal.'

'And when you do, like only just, it hurts. Is that right?'

'Yes. Mr Pritchard … Frank … I feel that I know you. But when I think about it, I get this dull ache. And now … for a moment I knew who you are.'

'And you were rewarded by severe pain. I'm sorry, I didn't want that.'

'I don't want to remember if that's what it takes.'

Francis sighed and walked towards Marcus. 'Listen to me. I'm your friend. I have been for a long time. You … don't know that, so you have no reason to trust me. But try. There's going to be a doctor at the rehab clinic who has worked for L.I.M.B. and N-Pro Tech. Work with him. Trust him, even if he's weird. Maybe he can figure this out. And when he has, we'll go for a drink somewhere, I'll make a complete fool of myself because I can't hold my liquor, and you'll go back to annoy your students with your ridiculous physics. Can you do that for me?'

Marcus shrugged, but he looked a little less dejected. 'I'll try. But … I just don't want the pain to come back.'

Francis squeezed his shoulder. 'We're going to visit you at the clinic, if that's all right.'

'Sure. I don't know who you are, not really. But you seem like someone I could like.'

The hacker smiled. 'Well. Here's hoping. Good bye, Marcus. See you soon.'