Trailing my appendage, or Officer Ellis, as he would probably prefer to be known, I left the ward.
I did remember to turn the wrong way to get to the stairs, hoping my hesitation would get back to Colonel Albay. I had to unremember everything I knew of St Mary’s – its layout and its people. I had no shared experiences with anyone here. No common memories of triumphs or disasters. I had to see everything with new eyes – the eyes of a stranger.
St Mary’s is shabby and battered. As are the inhabitants, although at the moment, none was more shabby and battered than me. There’s very little paint below shoulder level. The lovely oak panelling is gouged and scraped. People have carved their names all over it. The parquet floors are scuffed and loose. Not many windows have both curtains of the same colour. The whole place smells of floor polish, disinfectant, and damp stone, with occasional top-notes of whatever R & D are brewing up that day.
Ellis nudged me and I set off.
I was halfway down the stairs when it suddenly dawned on me. There was one person in this building who knew perfectly well I could speak. I stopped dead and Ellis walked straight past me, realised he’d lost me and turned back. I was two stairs above him, which made us eye to eye.
‘Took you long enough,’ he said, gruffly, and motioned me to continue.
I didn’t allow myself to consider him an ally. He was simply repaying a debt and now it was paid. I couldn’t count on any more favours.
At the bottom of the stairs, I went to turn right to Hawking Hangar, where we keep the pods. I knew he wouldn’t let me, but it did no harm to try. He pointed me left instead, and we set off down the long corridor that joined Hawking to the main building.
The sun was shining through the windows, laying long patches of bright sunshine on the floor. As always, I had the sensation of passing from one world to another. From light to dark. From warm to cool. From then to now.
I stopped at the end of the corridor. The Great Hall lay ahead, with the kitchen and dining room off to the left. The Hall would be full of historians, preparing for their next assignments, writing up their reports, shouting, squabbling, and generally getting through their working day. I felt suddenly … afraid. This had been my world. I had been head of this department. I had been their Chief Operations Officer. And now? What was I now? Prisoner? Outcast? Suspect? Freak?
Why was I here?
Because I had a job to do and I still didn’t know what it was.
No. Why was I here now?
Because the colonel wanted to see what I would do. How I would behave. How people would behave towards me. Which just went to show that he was a bloody sight cleverer than I was, because I screwed everything up in the first ten minutes.
I didn’t recognise him at first, which wasn’t my fault because I’d never actually seen him standing up. I hadn’t realised how tall he had been. I’d only ever known him hunched in his wheelchair, with his bony shoulders and elbows. But his eyes were unchanged. The same bright eyes.
Even as I stared at him, I heard him say, ‘Hey, Prentiss. Knock-knock.’
It was David Sands.
He’d been involved in a car crash that left him paralysed. He’d become my assistant and died shortly afterwards. He died in my arms, fighting for breath and still trying to tell me some stupid knock-knock joke. And here he was, right in front of me. Uninjured, glowing with health and enjoying his life.
He was wearing civilian clothes and dangling a set of car keys. He was about to drive into Rushford. I heard him say, ‘No, I can’t stop. I’m late already.’
He was in a hurry. He was going to Rushford. Was this the day he had his accident? Was this why I was here? Mrs Partridge had been very fond of David Sands. She was distressed when he died. Had she brought me here to prevent his accident?
I looked around for her, but she wasn’t there. I stared at the stone floor, the battered panelling around the walls, and the old oak staircase at one end. The stair carpet was dark red instead of green, but all of it was identical to the Hall I had known. The only exception was that here, at some point, they’d overcome the problem of bad lighting by installing a large glass lantern in the roof. I could see the sky, which was nice, but didn’t solve my immediate problem.
What should I do about David Sands?
The answer to that was – nothing. If I spoke now then I ruined everything and placed God knows how many people in jeopardy. I should let him go. This might not be the day that changed his life for ever. It probably wasn’t the day that changed his life for ever, but could I take that chance? If it was and I said nothing – in a year’s time, he would be dead and I might have been able to prevent it. This wasn’t changing History. It hadn’t happened yet. And I might be able to prevent it ever happening at all.
I looked around again for Mrs Partridge.
Nothing. She wasn’t here. I felt very alone. Even the familiar frosty stare would have been welcome.