So when I said it was intense,

I meant it. An excerpt, in which Investigator Lexus Toulouse has a bad work day.

***

The County Coroner team comes and collects the bodies, both techs wearing a perpetual frown. I express my desire to be there at the autopsy tomorrow.

I look over at Scott. I still think this is a bad idea, but he is right. I have a bit of arrogance, but I do not think trying to ease him into the underworld of sex crimes and murder is a bad thing.

From the second locker I get out four projectors and arrange them around the media room. I actually bolt them to the floor, the reenactment can confuse the senses, and tripping on one is not pleasant.

“This is going to feel real,” I warn. “It will use all four of your senses, and if you get close to the actual reenactment, ICDA will take that as a signal that you want to be plugged into the scene as the person you touched. It will give you a full sensory dump and give you touch, too. For you, it will use your armor’s feedback. For me, it will give me a limited wireless Uplink. So do not touch any of the holograms. You need training for that because you will feel everything ICDA thinks the victim felt. I’m serious. No touchie.”

“Wireless Uplink?” His eyes are almost bulging out of his head.

“Z model armor functions.”

“I had no idea Investigator tech was so advanced.”

“Nobody does. And we keep it that way.” I warn.

I give him an even look; think better of asking him to leave again. “You need to put your holster on Level 4 retention.”

“My holster? What… oh.” Finally, it is sinking in that I am serious when I said it was going to be intense. He does not back out, however.

Macho men, indeed. I actually sigh and he actually frowns. I guess that makes us even.

“Sometimes it helps to move around the scene,” I say unceremoniously and start the simulation.

***

The man is menacing and shadowy. No face is visible because the software does not want to make a mistake in identification, and that makes the reenactment more horrific. Jennifer and her daughter, Denise, however, look all too real. They are lying on the floor, feet and hands bound with restraints you can buy at any sex shop, mouths gagged with pink scarves. The software does not know how they got there; otherwise, we would watch that.

They are already wearing lingerie. Interesting, I will need to review the tags associated with that to see how ICDA came to that conclusion. It has not been running thirty seconds and already I have valuable information. Where did he make them put it on?

The man reaches into a duffel bag and pulls out a self-setting eyebolt. He puts it on the floor and presses the set button, and with a pop, the ring sets itself in the floor.

Both the victims’ eyes go wide. It is now, I think, they suspect what is going to happen.

The man grabs Jennifer’s wrists and drags her over to the eyebolt. He connects a cord to the bolt and then to the restraints on her wrists. He unties the pink scarf and tosses it away. He undoes the ankle restraints and places them back in his duffel.

“This doesn’t feel right,” Scott says. I look at him; his face is a strange blankness. He actually looks like he is glowing, a wispy, violet aura surrounding his body. Suddenly he grabs the butt of his autopistol, he yanks on it but it does not come free from the holster.

“You leave my mother alone!” he screams as his helmet forms around his head.

I am a solo Investigator; it has been years since I worked with a partner. Years and years, in fact, so my next stupid action is somewhat understandable. What I should have said was “End Program!” What I did was say, “Scott! It’s not real, take…” and grab his arm, meaning to finish my sentence while yanking him away from the reenactment.

Which was stupid stupid stupid. I may have made fun of Scott’s armor, but it is real armor nevertheless. It was active—the helmet reforming should have been my ultimate clue—and I touched it with my hands. My unarmored hands, wearing only the latex examination gloves.

His armor performs exactly to spec, and shocks the living Hell out of me.

ZAP! Living fire goes through my hands and into my body. I crash backwards onto the floor, banging my head hard enough to see spots, my arms flailing, against my will, on the holographic Jennifer.

—Uplink request acknowledged.

No!

Scott stumbles and seems to snap out of it. “LT, what happened?” Scott reaches out to help me up.

My armor replies in kind but that happens like something at the end of a tunnel filled with water. Dimly I see Scott has taken a jolt through his unarmored hands from my armor. He falls back, and slumps to the floor on the holographic Denise.

I cannot think straight. I try to form words, and cannot. I try to sub-vocalize, and I seem frozen in place. My head is swimming from the shock and the nasty bump, I do not know if I can open a channel. My ears are ringing.

—Uplink established, simulation engaged.

end program end program end program

My vision is going dark.

end end end end

Suddenly I can see, and I am on the floor, bound by my wrists.

No!

I scream in pure, abject terror.

“Scream all you want, Jennifer. No one can hear you,” says the killer, as he moves towards Denise.

“Please, please, don’t hurt my daughter,” I plead.

He laughs.

January 6, 2009 | Categories: The Craft | Tags: Murder Most Foul, Writing | 7 Comments »