The sleeves of his waterproof were angry flags protesting their existence as they whipped noisily around his arms. He glanced at his wrist for what he realised was the eighth time in less than twelve seconds.
Impressively neurotic.
Another scene from his past inked its way slowly across his conscious mind, giving him enough time to contemplate the corniness of such memories, even now just a couple of minutes from his death he was prone to cliché, even . . .
Cut
“Tom?”
“Huh?”
“I asked you, how the fuck are you going to explain this one? This isn’t just a woman you haven’t seen for ages leaving her scent on you as she gives you a hug,. It’s not Loud Linda from accounts giving you an inappropriate kiss with her too red lipstick.
This! This is another woman’s knickers in your jacket pocket Tom, so please, pray tell, do enlighten the fuck out of me as to just what fucked up story you’re going to conjure up to explain. THIS!
Seriously Tom, you better say something soon, because I’m genuinely fucking interested to see how you're going to twist this one to make it seem like I’m the insane one here!”
She was hysterical.
“You’re hysterical.”
“I’m hysterical? I’M FUCKING HYSTERICAL!?!”
The tears would come next, and not the I’m-trying-to-win-the-argument-by-stealth type tears either, those ones actually made her look more attractive.
*No, these ones were the honest-to-goodness tears of sadness and rage, he could tell from the pitch of her voice – if he was musically inclined he would probably be able to name the note, C sharp perhaps – it produced a kind of wail/cry, and they did not make her look attractive, quite the opposite in fact. *
Cut.
“It’s a rabbit.”
“How can you tell?
“Look, that’s it paw, that’s a bit of its head I think, whatever was eating it must have been disturbed.”
Cut.
Only fourteen seconds had passed since he last glanced at his wrist.
He looked over at her, contemplating the iced look of pure hatred etched on her face. Two pale blue diamonds staring into him.
He was definitely going to die, in less than ninety seconds, she wouldn’t save him, she’d watch for as long as she could bear. He half expected her to say something, even though out here her words would be snatched away from him. Still, he thought that underneath that gaze she might have mouthed something to him.
Instead she just watched.
Cut.
A faint whiff of antiseptic and aftershave tickled the hairs at the centre of his nostrils, the starched white coat of the doctor brushed his cheek as he leaned forward to adjust the electrodes.
He hadn’t even bothered to learn his name, even now when his name badge was just inches from his left eye, he couldn’t be bothered to look, instead he simply called him the Fat One.
“That’s better, I’m getting a reading now Doctor.”
That was Prickly One talking, she looked too old to understand the data on the computer screen in front of her. He glanced to his left, he sensed his mother standing behind the end-to-end mirror covering the far wall. The Fat One stepped back and looked down at him, the ready-made-avuncular-grin already in position.
He hated him even more for it.
“OK Tom, I just want you to look at that screen, I’m going to show you a series of words and images, no need to worry this isn’t a test!”
That grin again – ‘God I hate you’.
Cut.
Her friends. Ugh. – ‘Look at them, I even hate the way they stand around, only Katy could bring pretension into something as innocuous as holding a wine glass.’ – The fact they found him charming only infuriated him more, at least Gwinny had the good sense to recognise serious psychological flaws when she saw them.
“Come on Gwinny! You’re usually so good at these things!”
“OK tell me again.”
“Right, so a man is travelling towards the centre of a field, when he gets there he knows for absolute certain he’s going to die. How does he know this?”
He noticed that same little knot in the centre of her brow whenever she was trying to figure out if he was bullshitting her or not. Tarka, or whatever the fuck his name was, stood there with a self-satisfied grin that was way too much for the simple little riddle he’d just given her. The look only intensified when Plain Jane shouted out;
“Ooh is there a man with a gun standing there?”
“I know! There’s a huge hole in the centre.”
Cut.
She was mouthing something at him now, he squinted through his wind induced tears, he couldn’t make it out, as skilled as he was at reading and manipulating human emotion, he simply didn’t have a clue when it came to reading lips.
Even when someone was mouthing something really obvious, it still escaped him. He supposed it might have something to do with being an expert in human emotion even though he possessed none of his own. He was like the engineer of the space shuttle who knew how every component worked, yet would never . . . could never fly it.
She pointed upwards.
He realised what she was saying now, he’d heard somewhere that the latest you could pull a parachute was at five hundred feet, Gwinny obviously was not going to risk such a late pull.
He looked at his wrist again, his altimeter was approaching two thousand feet, about twenty seconds before he hit the ground.
Her mouth stopped moving, her stare never left him for a split second, he watched her hand snake to her side and pull the cord, for a fraction in time it was as if he was still and she had shot into the air, the illusion didn’t last long enough to enjoy.
He briefly wondered if any more of his life would flash before him,
And then,
and then,
and -
Cut.
Cryptogee
