THE SIGHT

SIGHT

“Time?”
“11:44.”
“Ok, call it.”
I opened my eyes. That disturbing dream again. Darkness muffled by cotton gauze and syringe sharp needles pressed against my forehead from within. Bright sparks ignited every time a needle pricked my brain and slowly the gauze and heavy darkness gave way to early morning gray. I rose. Dragging my feet across the room I found myself staring at a corpse in the mirror. Pale mottled skin and straggled strands of unkempt hair drawn across a sallow face did not hide the sunken eyes or pallid gaunt cheeks that formed the death’s skull illusion before me. I brushed the yellow teeth and ran a washcloth over my face, brushing back the hair. Not much improvement.
4:30 in the morning is not a conversational time. Very few bodies moved silently about the city and those unfortunate to be about at this hour tended to shy from company in general. I was grateful for the solitude as I passed through the door into my office. I stumbled against a leather ottoman and cursed the cleaning crew for rearranging the furniture again then awkwardly found my way to a huge worn mahogany desk and safely deposited my body in an old cushioned office chair. My partner, Leroy Shrugg never graced his presence this early when he was alive, but lounged across the couch opposite me while I checked my phone messages.
I removed my glasses and pinched my eyes closed tightly for a few moments and opened them again. Yes he was still there. Leo was a figment of my imagination of course, but since the accident, figments have been playing a large role in my life. It was still difficult to look back at what happened just a few weeks ago. I never could have imagined how such a routine job could take such a drastic turn that terrible January night.
Rain drummed non-stop against the van, seeping through the rusted hole in the corner of the roof, soaking into a rag I jammed roughly to stop the wind. It was cold - bitterly cold, much too cold for surveillance. Still I watched and I waited. This was the easy part of my job. A few hours stakeout; a few pictures. Keep the clients happy and they pay, fifty-five bucks an hour plus expenses, keeps me happy too. But not that night, that night was different. That night there would be no payment. Sitting there freezing in the middle of winter, this time was different all right.
I had picked the spot carefully. No one would notice another abandoned junk heap rusting amongst the rotting debris and stinking decay strewn everywhere. I remember blowing on my hands, my breath turning to vapor in the icy air. Rubbing them together, trying to encourage blood back into my numbed fingers. I tugged my collar up high around the neck to keep out the draught that was blasting through the taped up window as well as an unconscious act of playing the tough guy as I pulled the rim of my hat down further over my eyes. I shudder at the vivid memories that are all to easy to access.
Looking out through the cracked tinted glass, I could see lights glowing dimly behind closed curtains of the last two inhabited houses. The others were just shells, no windows, no doors, and some with no roofs. Like ghosts from a previous age, haunting only the memories of the few stragglers left behind. Nothing had moved, not since the old guy at the end of the street had taken his mangy dog out for a walk. That was two hours ago. Time was dragging. I remember I looked down at my watch.
Then came the yawn, large and silent and I began to stretch, fighting the cramp creeping into my muscles, pushing myself hard against the armchair bolted in the rear of my ancient Ford Econoline. I decided the night was a bust and began to disentangle myself from the rear of the van, when a feint light appeared as a door cracked open across the street. I reached for my Mark III Panoscan forensic camera and brought it to focus just in time to capture the image of a figure stepping out of the shadows into the street. I continued to snap photos as the shape took form and suddenly I swore to myself, flung the camera down and threw the back doors open.
“What do you think you are doing?” I whispered in incredulous exasperation at the oncoming image. “You will ruin…” at that moment headlights illuminated the dingy street and a loud engine roared around the corner. I looked up and frantically dove for my partner without thinking but before I could reach him, the oncoming car was past me and Leroy lay dead and disfigured fifteen feet away. I looked around and saw that the vehicle stopped down the street. I walked slowly towards the dark sedan. I saw no movement at all as I approached. Only its taillights glared angrily at me, and wisps of smoke escaped the exhaust pipe. I pulled my revolver as I drew near the passenger side door. There appeared to be no one inside as I cautiously peered through the window and then, nothing. Darkness.
“Time?”
“11:44.”
“Ok, call it.”
Dead for two minutes. That’s what they told me, I was officially deceased. Toe tag bound. The attending physician fully expected my autopsy to reveal cause of death as blunt force trauma to the head. He did not expect me to kick death in the crotch and return to the living. And for that matter neither did the attending nurse.
“Excuse me, Doctor? Are you sure he’s dead?”