Chapter Twenty-Two - Meaningless Meanings
'You're breaking my arm!'
'Be grateful I don't break your neck. Now shut up. Just concentrate on shining that torch. Drop it and you're dead!'
She had his right arm twisted painfully behind him, half doubling him up, forcing him awkwardly forward. The gun was jammed in his back again. He was holding the torch in his left hand. Its beam picked out ice-streaked corridors, junctions, passageways and crossroads. Where were they? He hadn't a clue. It was a maze and he was hopelessly lost.
He prayed she knew the way out.
She'd got him out before, when he'd first arrived. But there must have been more power then, there'd been some light, not this inky blackness, nor this crippling ice and cold. And she'd had sensors too.
They'd never find the way out.
No, she'd got him out before; she would do it again. He had to believe that. She'd rescued him and Brozmam after they were attacked, shot at by the madman with the gun.
Shot at by him: Mark Fenton. He'd been the man with the gun.
He'd killed Brozmam. Julia had seen his face. He had no reason to doubt her. He'd killed him with the gun he'd fired at Graeme on the recording, the missing Semaaser-Seven, the same gun the figure in the labyrinth had fired at them just after they'd broken in. It was him. It had to be. He was a killer. He would be a killer. He had no choice.
He was still out there, with the gun.
They reached another junction. They stopped. Fenton could sense her doubt, her uncertainty. Fear gripped him. They were moving again, swiftly. Making turns quickly, without hesitation, the result of confidence or just blind panic? They rounded a corner, crossed a crossroads, turned right, then left. The ice was thinning out. It was getting warmer. Left then right. Left again. Through a gateway.
They were in the corridor outside the office. Alizen and Paize were standing there. Both held guns. Paize must have got another from somewhere. From Bainz? Julia propelled him roughly through the doorway back into the office. It was dimly lit again. The doors to the lab were still open. Once more it was shrouded in darkness. Julia shoved him forward, letting him go. He stumbled into Graeme's chair. He turned round, lifting his head, panting. Three gun barrels confronted him.
'Darren's dead,' said Julia, shutting the door. 'He was shot with a Semaaser-Seven by something that looked like Fenton. Another Fenton. Not this one.'
Alizen gasped.
'I'm sorry, I'm sorry.' He was shaking. 'I didn't mean that to happen, I…'
'Sorry's not good enough, Mr Fenton.' Paize was the stern professor once more. 'The power's off again. We may have missed what might have been our only chance to contact Central and it's your fault. I'm afraid you've become a liability to us.' He raised his gun arm.
'No!' shouted Alizen, spinning round, pointing her gun straight at Paize.
Julia reacted instantly, training her pistol on Alizen.
Stand-off. Nobody moved.
'Dr Retta, what is the meaning of this?' Paize's tone was calm but furious.
'You can't just kill him. I won't let you.'
'Who said anything about killing, Dr Retta? I simply propose we isolate him. Lock him up. Free up some resources. We're running out of time.'
There was a dangerous pause. Fenton's heart was pounding. Could he trust Paize? Was he telling the truth? And if he was, would Alizen believe him?
'Dr Retta!' Paize simply raised his voice. The effect was electric. Like a scolded child Alizen lowered the gun.
'Thank you,' said Paize, quietly. He was still aiming his pistol at Fenton. Was he going to shoot? 'Julia, please secure that door then we need a powwow.'
Julia moved to the doorway to the corridor and worked controls, locking it. She walked elegantly back toward them. With a sudden lunge she was on Alizen, twisting her arm, her wrist. Alizen cried out, more in surprise then pain as Julia shoved her away. She fell, landing in one of the other chairs, disarmed.
Julia was pointing both pistols at her. Paize's was trained on Fenton. Alizen nursed her right wrist with her left hand, her face showing surprise, hurt and fury.
Would they kill them both?
'Sorry if I sprained it,' said Julia. It was a dangerous moment. Was it an apology or a jeer?
'It's, it's alright,' Alizen replied, confused.
'Dr Retta,' boomed Paize's authoritative voice, 'I'm afraid I really don't know where your loyalties lie anymore. We're going to have to lock you up too, for a while at least.'
'No.' She was appalled. 'I can help. I want to help. You can trust me.' Her voice trailed off. She knew it was hopeless. Paize had made up his mind.
Paize and Julia were backing away, into the lab. They were imprisoning them together. He would be alone with her. Despite everything that had happened, everything that might happen he couldn't help but feel elated. Elated and terrified.
Paize reached up, touched a control. The great double doors slid shut.
They were alone.
Together again.
Alizen had got up. She walked to the doors, abandoned, lost.
'Darvad!' she screamed in blind rage, punching hard at the wall the doors had become. She was sucking in breath rapidly. Furious. She stood there for a moment then slowly turned round. Her face, normally radiant, was blackened and hardened with anger. He was looking at a stranger.
There was a long embarrassed pause.
He broke the silence.
'You know, you're beautiful when you're angry,' he lied.
She just glared at him. Rage and anger and resentment burned in her brown eyes. Not for the first time he had completely misjudged the mood, said something crass, made things worse. He would be on the receiving end of her frustration and he deserved it, deserved it all.
Abruptly she smiled. The transformation was miraculous. Her face totally changed, softened, the laughter back in her eyes. She was the girl he'd known at Gadder again, the girl he'd sat next to at dinner that first night there, thrown together at random or by the whim of some faceless administrator, or by fate. They'd had nothing in common, never would. But he'd still fallen in love with her. He would always love her. He couldn't help himself.
But then the smile was gone.
'Can't you take anything seriously?' There was a critical edge to her voice. So, he hadn't built any bridges yet.
'You always said I was far too serious.' He surprised himself; he hadn't meant it to sound so bitter.
'Did I?' She seemed not to remember. He was disappointed. He could remember almost every word of every conversation they had ever had.
Another pause.
'Stupid,' she whispered, shaking her head, 'that was so stupid.'
'Stupid or not I appreciate it. Thank you.' She'd tried to save his life. That meant everything.
'Oh, I'd have done that for anyone.' Would she? She was moving back to the desk, sitting down in one of the chairs in front of it. Instinctively he was rising from the chair behind the table, moving round it, taking a seat in front, beside her.
'Stupid. Darvad would never have shot you out of hand. He's too intelligent for that.'
So, as far as she was concerned Paize's hand had been stayed by intellect, not compassion. It just confirmed what he already knew. Reason not emotion ruled her world.
'Oh well, that's the end of that. I bet pulling a gun on your boss is a career hiccup you don't get over. It's more than just a blip on the CV.' There was laughter in her voice. Wonderful. The old Alizen was back.
'I wouldn't worry. I've got a three year gap on mine. Besides, that's the least of our problems, isn't it?'
'Yes.' A pause. 'What were you trying to achieve, Mark?'
That was a loaded question. It could apply to everything, to his whole life.
'You mean going down there?'
'Yes.'
'I was trying to find Graeme. We don't have much time. I thought he'd have the answers. I still do. Graeme seems to have planned it all, be controlling things. I think Paize t
hinks so too.'
'Why Graeme?' She was angry with him again. 'We both know him. He's not going to go round killing people, it's not his style, he's got no motive. Besides, Darvad suspects everyone. He's even more paranoid than you are. He's got me down as killing Danielle. You should have seen his face just now when I told him there were no fingerprints or other evidence. He thinks I'm making it up. He must have suspected me for a while otherwise he wouldn't have cooked up that ''powwow'' code-word with Julia. If it wasn't for the power drain he'd be bugging us now.'
'I'm sure that's not true,' he lied, unconvincingly. 'What do you know about them? Paize? Julia? Peerman? Do you think any of them are involved?'
'Jemmie's dead,' she said.
'I'm not so sure. Something's wrong with the computer. You know Graeme. He's good at a lot of things but he was never a computer man, even Phil knew more about them then he did. Jemmie could be helping him. He could be the other man I keep seeing.'
Alizen shrugged. 'I don't know. I don't know any of them that well. It's not that sort of organisation. I thought Julia was my friend, aah,' she flexed her hand awkwardly.
'I thought she was mine too,' said Fenton, both arms throbbing. But then he had just got Brozmam killed. He was lucky to be alive.
'Julia and Paul were old lags, the regulars on Paize's team. The three of them went back a long way. Darren was a more recent recruit. Poor Darren.' She looked at Fenton oddly, remembering it had been him that had killed him, would kill him.
Another embarrassed pause.
'You don't know anything about this? Anything you're not letting on? You'd tell me, wouldn't you?'
'Of course I would,' he responded, too quickly. 'But I don't know anything. I don't have a clue.'
Another pause.
'What would you have done if you'd found Graeme?' she asked coldly.
Another loaded question.
'I'd have talked to him. Tried to get some sense out of him.' That was hard enough at the best of times. 'I want some answers and I wanted to get them myself. I'm sorry, I don't trust your friends. It's nothing personal, it's on principle. I need to know what's going on, if there's any way out of this. Find out if I have to die or not. And if I do I at least want to know why.'
'That's a big question. Why does anyone have to die?'
'I thought you were the doctor, Dr Retta. You should know that if anyone does.'
'I deal in the how, Mark, not the why. We're going to die here aren't we?' That surprised him. She'd always been the vibrant, impossibly optimistic one.
'Not if I can help it. There must be some way out.'
'I don't remember you ever being so positive.'
'No, neither do I.' He had surprised himself. 'You must be a good influence on me. I won't let anything happen to you.'
A pause. He hoped he hadn't overstepped the mark. But what if she was right and they were going to die here? There were things that needed to be said.
'You still love him, don't you?'
'Mark, I went out with him for less than twelve months, six years ago. I'd be pretty pathetic if I was still hung up about him,' she hotly retorted. Too quickly. Too angrily.
What was it Graeme used to say? The lady doth protest too much. He'd had a quotation for every occasion.
'What's so wrong about that? You never even went out with me and I still love you.'
He'd expected an explosion. Nothing came. She reached and took his hand, leaned forward, kissed him gently on the lips. Unexpected bliss.
'Poor Mark,' she whispered. That had ruined everything. Sympathy. Just sympathy. Sympathy and pity. That's all he ever got. It wasn't enough. He snatched his hand away, angry.
'Mark!' She was stung, surprised.
'It's not a joke, it's not a game. I love you. Always loved you. I loved you before you went out with him.' He had, he just hadn't realised it before it was too late to do anything about it. 'Can you imagine what that's like? Seeing you all the time, wanting you, wanting you more than anything. And you keeping me at arm's length, smiling and smiling but unreachable, untouchable. Friends but not friends. And the worst of it was knowing there's no hope, that we had nothing in common, we had no future, knowing I should forget you, move on, but I couldn't, I couldn't do it. Why do you think I ran?'
'I knew why you ran, Mark. I was sorry, so sorry. I missed you. But it was your decision. I hoped it would do you some good. Give you some space. I thought you'd get back in touch when you were ready. And when you didn't I thought you'd forgotten me.'
'Forgotten you! I can't forget you. You're everything, you're the only thing that matters, the only thing that makes sense.' His eyes were filling with tears. None of it made sense.
'It's not got any better?'
'No.' He could barely talk. He was overwhelmed.
'I'm sorry, Mark. I'm grateful, always was. I'm very fond of you. I was devastated when we found that body. I'm glad you're alive. I'm pleased to see you again. You mean a lot to me. I know that's not enough. But caring about someone doesn't give you any rights. Believe me, I know that.'
He was looking at her through a mist. A teardrop was trickling down her cheek.
'Graeme?'
'Yes Mark, Graeme. You always knew.'
'But he left you, abandoned you. I wouldn't, couldn't.'
'You know it doesn't work like that, Mark. It's not rational. Love isn't rational. It just happens. We were both in the wrong place at the wrong time; fell in love with the wrong people. It's biology, fate. It happens a lot. You can't make someone love you, no matter how much you want it, no matter how hard you try. If they don't want you then you just have to try to forget them. Forget them and remember it doesn't mean anything.' Tears were streaming from her eyes.
'Don't say that. It does mean something. You may not be able to explain it but that doesn't rob it of meaning. Feelings and memories are what make us who we are. Deny them and you may as well not exist, you may as well give up. Some things are too important to forget. I don't want to forget you. I can't cope with you but I don't want to forget that. I've never forgotten you and I never will.'
He'd said it at last. It was the speech he'd rehearsed in his head a thousand times. Now he'd said it.
But he'd never rehearsed her reaction.
For a moment there was silence.
Then she spoke.
'Of course it means something, Mark. It means everything. I know what it's like. But there's nothing you can do about it to make it right. And you know there's no reason for it, no real basis, so you know it means nothing too. It means everything and nothing. It's a meaningless meaning.' She paused, eyes glistening, smiling that ironic little smile he loved so much. 'That should be the title to a song or something.'
She cried. She sat there alone, sobbing gently. He loved her. After all this time he still loved her so much. He couldn't be angry with her no matter how angry he was with himself. He had lost himself over her time and time again. Always would do. He could taste the salt of his own tears. He leaned forward, opening his arms.
'Come here.' She accepted the invitation wordlessly. They both rose, holding each other, crushing their bodies against one another for comfort, for support, united and divided by a common fate. She was so solid, so warm, so real. It had been so long since he had held her, held anyone. He closed his eyes, lost in rapture. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else could matter. He had forgotten everything, all the dangers they were facing, all of his fear. He was protected by her arms; cushioned by her embrace. He had never felt safer, never felt more secure.
She was gone. He was hugging nothing, empty air.
He spun round in alarm, eyes wide open. The room was empty, deserted. Colder.
'Alizen!' He ran to the door to the corridor, hit the release. Nothing happened.
'Alizen!' He ran to the wall that was the double doors. There was no sign of any control. He clawed at the wall, pounding it.
'Alizen!' He ducked his head under the desk.
There was no sig
n of her. There was nowhere she could be.
He stood in the centre of the room, alone, bereft. Lost.
Then he felt it.
He went cold all over at the sensation, at the touch.
It was a gun barrel.
It was pressing into the base of his skull.
Part Four - Ordeal