Thursday, January 19, 2017

Start Like That

Ray couldn't breathe without sucking flan into his nostrils, but it didn't matter, since underwater operations was the *least* of the things he was trained for. That couldn't be an illusory past, because his body was proving it - calmly, steadily, spending no unneeded energy, he swam his way out and plopped a few feet onto the lab-room floor. In a lab locker he found an outfit to hide his sinful body from his eyes. It lacked underwear, but it was enough.

Ray felt good and determined and knew what to do. Oh, *something* felt wrong, like there was a missing letter, like a tracklist was out of sync, like he was overlooking something in his plan to meet up with his subordinate Robert Smith and complete their analysis of Yitchak Jacques. But Ray knew the ways of the Deceiver, the liberals, the secular humanists - always sowing doubt. He just laughed.

He weaved his way out, exercising his skill at passing undetected. One more God-given skill shining through the web of lies. "Is this a secret facility? A secret section in a public facility?" he thought as he walked, then answered his own self as one door he exited melded invisibly with a wall behind him.

He wondered what year it would be now. When did his real history end? He would never have worked in an establishment serving the Devil's weed, that was obvious. But other details were less obviously wrong. It might be tough to find which ones. No matter, Jacques Smith would set him straight; for as much as Ray showed disrespect towards him, Ray respected him, because his words were clear and true. Now to contact him. Ray sighed a little, wishing for the days of plentiful pay phones, before cell phones. Or was that fake history? No, Jacques Smith was real, he was sure of it, and they always communicated on his cell phone.

"Does it matter? Coins or a phone, I'll need to 'acquire' something either way," he thought, frowning inside. The things he had to do in the name of the Lord...

He wasn't in a violent mood today, and violence wouldn't fit in an elegant escape anyway. It would be simple theft. "But which one, coins or a phone? ... This is a hospital. (Hmm. St. Joseph's.) If any place is going to have a pay phone in the current year, it will be here. And I don't seem to be in the far future. And a phone might mean unlocking it, and my call will be logged... Oh, good." He sighed audibly with relief at the sight of a row of phones. Effortlessly relieving a passerby of a wallet they had been stupid enough to carry in their back pocket, he set about calling Frank. It would be good to talk to Frank Smith. He was glad the number was practically branded into his brain.

Frank picked up almost immediately. "Ray! It's good to have you back! I'm in another department now, but I have orders to reestablish our under you should you come back into contact. I'll be your subordinate, but to reinitiate the flow I'll need to give you a few orders first. Ready?"

Ray slumped on the floor. Accursed drugs... what monstrous substances were inside him. Those bastards. But he was stronger, strong enough to stand up. "Excuse me. I'm ready, Harold."

"Great to know, Ray. We're going to start like this..."

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