Pongo #32

Casenotes
(Found playing in subject's room on night of disappearance. Song is "Pickstar by The Dentellas)

Hey, hello! You seen my name?
It's hanging off the gallows and it's running in the rain.
Swipe my card and say I look familiar
But it's not enough. I want a deal and a stalker

Baby, here's the thing:
I want the trees to sing out my name.
I want the kids to scream, the phone to ring.
Hey! Pick me. I'm never the same.

What's that you say? You have enough?
A full house, you're all out and fully booked?
Well you ain't seen me doll, seen me defend
The universe. You can be my best best friend.

Baby, here's the thing:
You haven't heard me sing yet.
You haven't seen dance like a ribbon in the wind
Hey! Pick me, damnit. Place your bet.

Ooh,Baby, pick me Baby, pick me, pick my name.
Pick it from a hat or from a dice-determined game.
Choose me over supernovas, I can fly much straighter.
Take my photo with you when you go, go, go
But bring it back later.

Insa

I try dialing. She's engaged. I try over a few times, punching the numbers deliberately and carefully, then swearing as the beep beep echoes through my ear canal.
Wait a second. I'm still sat, part-dumbfounded, in the café, when a look at Andaw's face trips the recognition switch in my head. That birthmark ' I've seen it somewhere before.
"No, no, I tuck the phone in my pocket, push my chair out and stand up groggily. "Oh no, Andaw.
"Insa, he puts a hand on my arm, but I shake my head and tug the limb away from him.
"Why did you do it? Why did you sign a contract saying you would keep that woman impossibly young, so people like Cadderine ' stupid people like Cadderine ' would¦Was it the money?
"Partly, he confesses. Andaw shrinks before me, like footage of a butterfly emerging from a cocoon reversed, the tenant retreating into the whorled brown folds once more. I don't know whether to be furious, relieved at the release of his secret, afraid of what it means, or what. I think of Cadderine's room, of its layers and layers of old glossies, of the photos, some of which contained captions insinuating Ms Gilligan's involvement in 'umbrella' treatments. Libel, Cadderine would sing out, defensive to the hilt of her idol. I think of her clothes, her new diet, the way the psychiatrists tried with soggy techniques and treatments for months to mould her mind the way her shape and look was moulded without a thought by that one woman.
"Insa. He holds out a patchily gnarled hand. "I'm so sorry. I didn't realise I was hurting anybody by doing what I do. If anybody was the victim in this arrangement, I was always sure it was me, and that it didn't matter because I could take it. I'm scared, though. Not just for me, although I'm sorry, but I am, even if I have no right to be. I'm honestly shit-scared about what Maren is next going to send me.
I just stare at him.
"But I'm scared for your sister too. This has gotten out of control, and you can call her stupid as often as you like and claim she's just attention-seeking, but you know full well that you love her very much and want to help her.
"How, Andaw? I ask, helpless. "How can we save her from something she has voluntarily given herself? Even if I got her to a doctor other than those medical research quacks she's been working for, I wouldn't get her consent to begin treatment, which you need in any event. Not while Maren Gilligan is still ill.
"Well then, he says, drawing a deep breath, "leave it with me.
"Andaw, I begin, suspicious.
"Insa, this is my fault, and it's tangled, but we can help Cadderine. Maybe we can even help her out of this whole thing. Then, if you want, you never have to see me again.
"I don't understand.
"I don't either, he says. "Not fully, anyway, but I'm willing to give it a go. With that, he shrugs, rises and pays up at the counter. "Walk me to the bus stop, please?

1771.1 Longwave radio

One for all you lovers out there, that was "Bug Rush by Snapheart Jat. And now an exclusive for the Simiantics Show, the debut single of none other than your favourite Hollywoodette and mine, Cen Steppery! That's right folks, the star of "Dive Like They're Paying You and the Mostar movies is trying his hand at a pop career and we're the first to get our grubby mitts on it. A little information about it ' produced by Brassworld, the team behind Kanal Trip's recent hit "Monk Glitter ' it's out on February 6th and features Steppery's musician girlfriend Nilla Mans on backing vocals. If that isn't enough to whet your appetite, there's a chance to win a ticket to the next Steppery film premiere with every purchase of the track. So here without further ado, invading your ears as well as your eyes, is Cen Steppery with "Fluid Exchange.

Pila

I don't look behind me. There is no light by which to see who the intruder is, and I just need to give him what he wants and get him gone. I try to picture the details of the room, locate in my memory any objects that might serve to knock the man out.

"Who is this? I ask. I don't recognise the voice.
"Come on, comes the mocking reply. The direction from which it is coming indicates a man of average height and the timbre suggests someone neither old nor desperately young. "Well to be fair, I suppose it has been a while, but really. Did you think it had all just gone away? Did you think we would just go away?
"What do you mean? I ask, my heart in my gullet. Something yawns within my gut, but I am still none the wiser for concrete facts.
"And I suppose it is fair to say, says the intruder, "if the files are correct, that you have taken quite extensive steps to ensure that you don't remember us too clearly.

Us? A second set of footsteps click quietly into place behind my chair. Same weight, roughly, so I am presuming a similar height.

"Nevertheless, comes the second voice, "such processes are not irreversible, given the right conditions.
"You see, it's imperative you understand who we are, why we're here and what is going to happen to you, and that you do so off your own bat, says the first. "There's no satisfaction for us in simply telling you, when you won't be able to understand your part in the story.
"That part's crucial.
"You have no idea what it's like, said one, leaning hotly into my ear, "to be locked in a body you hate with no hope of change.

I am tempted to answer that yes, I do, but decide it is perhaps wiser to stay silent. I do not yet know if either of the men have weapons. I do know that they could overpower me quite easily if I tried to run for the door. The boys in the alley, who have never left my mind completely, swim to the surface right now and their faces are sewn onto the blank ovals of the intruders.

"Are you even listening to us? said one. Their voices were blurring together. I feel dizzy.

"Why do you think we turned the lights and the power off?
I don't know, I mumble. So I can't see you?
"Not at all. In fact, you're welcome to have a good look at us. It might refresh your memory.
The lights suddenly flick on and my eyelids slam together in shock, before attempting to open once more.

Fuzzy at first, I see that my guesses were fairly close. Both men are of average height and weight. One has dark brown hair, cheaply cut, and is dressed in a battered leather jacket and blue jeans. His companion, who I believe to be the second speaker, wears a sheepskin jacket and cords. Neither have a visible weapon, but it would still be foolish to dash at this point. They want to be heard, hence the theatrics. They want me to be scared.

"We turned off the lights because that's what was done to us back then. Come on, you must remember something. Take a good look at the faces.
I peer, then shake my head weakly. Nothing.
"If you don't at least try to remember, we may have to hurt you. How about now? One musses his hair and sticks out his tongue. A jolt shakes my chest.
"You go by a different name now, says the other, gentle as a rape therapist, "but you used to be called Ms Q.
"We weren't yours to take, Ms Q.

We weren't yours to take. At that moment, years of careful and supervised memory repression at the hands of the top hypnotists in the country are slashed to ribbons.

"I remember, I whisper, an uncoiling feeling taking over my head.
"She remembers, says one. "Come on. What else do you remember?
"Your mother was a junkie, I tell the brown haired man. "She slept in bus stations, stole, track lines all down her arms. She gave you to us in a moment of clarity.
"LIAR! A backhand slap catches me off guard.
"It's true. We asked, she gave. We told her you'd be well provided for, that we had the money to give you a good life. All we asked was that she make no contact with you.
"A good life? A good life? So you just took me.
"No, we didn't just take -
"What else? asks the other impatiently. "My mother?
"Your mother told us she had caught herself endangering you on purpose. She was not a well woman, and had a great many bills to pay. I suppose it seemed to make sense to her. Oh lord¦

An invisible pincer grips me.

"What?
"I ' I know why you're here. I know now what I've done.
"The Institute.
"The Institute. We needed three subjects for pre-pubescent research. Oh no, no.
"So you remember? asks Sheepskin. "You remember what you set in motion?
"Yes, yes I do. At least, I remember the plan. We needed to see if we could suspend the most rapid period of growth in the physical stages. I -
"So you took us from our mothers, Brown Hair repeats.
"Oh, we paid well, I tell him mournfully. "Believe me, we paid well.
"Perhaps you remember our names now, Sheepskin's eyes are almost pleading.
"Fembs, I say, without a second thought. "And you, I turn to Brown Hair, whose expression is still one of bullish rage, "you must be Danver.

"Ten points, he says, and pulls from his coat pocket a wicked looking blade. "And before I cut you open, you can tell me one more thing. Where's Saren?
"I don't know, I plead. Though now I know at last who they mean, I still can't answer their question.
"Don't piss me off, Ms Q, warns Danver. "Say, isn't it amazing how GOOD she's looking for her age, Fembs?
His colleague hms.

A perk of my job, I think, but one that I was unable to cancel. A lifetime's subscription thrown in with the pension.

"Not really fair on other people, is it? Why, she should have a few lines at least. One here -
He swings the blade across my right cheek. A smeared lipstick line of blood bubbles up.
"And maybe one -
"I see her around town sometimes! She's always running! You'll see her if you go to the centre, around Byrillion Street. Please believe me, until you came here, I didn't know her name.
"Any other information?
"She's still eight. Physically, I mean. I forget the hovering knife for a moment and my head lolls with the realisation. "I don't know her to speak to.
"Still eight, Fembs chews this over.
"Anything else? Come on, we need to find her. We won't hurt her, but I have no qualms about hurting you, after what you did to us.
"She works -

It's too late to play dumb. My cheek drools red, a droplet sliding into my mouth.

"Where?
"In, oh God, in films.

Danver pulls my hair until my throat, blood pumping frantically, is all of the world. Places the knife against it.

"What kind of films?
"She won't remember you, I whisper, because I am certain now that they will kill me before leaving. "Just before I went into amnesia therapy myself, I made her undergo it. I imagine she sleeps better for not knowing.
"What fucking films, Ms Q?
"Fucking films! Fucking films! I answer, and as I giggle hysterically, my jugular bobs onto the blade, letting out all of the bad blood that has poisoned me for years in one dark splash.

Two pairs of feet run heavily out of the room and I pass out, as telepathic sirens scream into soundshot.