The Forgetful Man: The Government Rain Mysteries Page 3
‘What the hell is going on?’
The rain had dissipated around Aston Park, though only in the last half hour, which meant there was still a dearth of people in the lush, open green spaces. The rain had sent New Hamptoners scurrying back to their holes. No doubt they’d return for an evening of debauchery once the skies had fully cleared.
The air was fresh, and the vast lake at the centre of the park was calm. On these rare occasions, New Hampton looked picturesque, beautiful in its natural colours and tranquillity. These traits never lasted in the city.
The water by the end of the bank burst into life as a scaled creature leapt clean out of the water.
Pigeons, squirrels, and a few stray ducks all departed the area as fast as their little bodies could carry them. They feared this new presence. Though the forgetful man was the one causing concern in other creatures, he scanned the horizon cautiously. Craning his neck left and then right, he smelt the air. Once appeased, he marched forward on two feet, albeit slightly hunched at the shoulders, giving him more of the appearance of a primate than a human or reptile.
He was drying off and seemed less cautious of his surroundings. The glaucous shade of his skin was fading in the failing evening light. For a time, he just lay there. He seemed to enjoy the faint glimmer of sunshine that the passing clouds were kind enough to let break through.
‘That was a beautiful dream,’ Nathan Fisher muttered to himself as he slowly came to from his dozing.
‘I’m always swimming these days,’ he mumbled, still oblivious to his surroundings. He sighed a deep sigh and shut his eyes once more.
‘Hang on!’ His eyes snapped open, and he looked around, mortified.
‘Why am I naked?’
Thankfully, he was alone in the park. He looked down at his skin to see it still had a strange light blue-grey tinge to it. Right before his eyes, it faded back to its normal pasty whitish-pink tone.
‘What’s going on? Where am I?’ he coughed in a fit of panic, glancing around for anything to cover his modesty. The omnipresent New Hampton wasn’t known for its kindness, there was nothing around. He was left naked as the day he was born.
Running around the park for a good five minutes finally yielded a discarded jumper, strewn across the back of a bench, which someone must have forgotten to take during the day. Mercifully it was large, oversized, and managed just about to cover Nathan’s modesty.
‘That’s who I am, Nathan.’ It wasn’t a question, quite, but neither was he one hundred percent certain.
‘No, that’s right, I’m Nathan. Christ, the kids. I better get home.’ He scanned around getting his bearings and noticed a big park sign.
‘Aston Park, how on earth did I get here? This is insane.’
No, it’s not. It’s who we are.
‘Wait, what? I don’t understand.’ He pleaded with the voice, which was coming from his head.
Stop holding us back. Make the change.
‘What change? What the hell are you talking about? Who are you? How did we get here?’
It doesn’t matter. Let me go.
Nathan was at a loss for words and terrified. The park was getting dark now and the night air carried a chill to it, not that it affected Nathan. Even with just a jumper on he felt warm. He knew he should feel cold but somehow he did not.
‘Hey, you, what do you think you’re doing?’ The voice came from the darkness twenty yards away, towards the northern entrance. Whoever it was had a torchlight shining directly into Nathan’s eyes.
‘Uh... uh... nothing.’ Nathan didn’t think that was a lie.
‘Yeah, well, let me just see about that.’ It was a man’s voice. The figure marched forward with an authoritative stride that revealed an authoritative police uniform to match.
‘Where the hell are your clothes? What are you up to?’ He wasn’t impressed with Nathan’s vacant expression, and that turned out to be a bad thing for both of them. The policeman bounded forward, cuffs out. ‘Right, let’s get you off the streets and see what’s what. Turn around, now.’
He reached out a right hand, cuff open and ready to clamp around Nathan’s wrist, only for Nathan to dart free from the movement and shove the police officer hard in the chest.
Good, now finish him.
Nathan had acted intuitively, on instincts that he didn’t even realise he possessed. It was as if he’d allowed the voice in his head to take over his body while he watched as an innocent bystander.
‘Right, that’s it!’ the police officer snapped as he climbed off the floor and pulled a gun out. Not that it did him any good. Before he could point the weapon in Nathan’s direction, Nathan had already advanced and removed it from the officer’s hand, with great ease.
Pistol-whipping the policeman happened before Nathan even realised he’d done it. The officer hit the floor hard and didn’t get back up.
Nice. Now we’d better leave.
Nathan was already running before the voice in his head instructed him to leave.
Guilt riddled him as he fled the scene.
‘What have I done?’
Nathan ran and ran until his feet were bloodied and sore. It was now totally dark, and he’d managed to get all the way home—although he’d taken a few wrong turns—without being seen, or at least being seen long enough to cause a scene or give someone enough of a look to ID him.
‘I’ve assaulted a policeman.’ Saying it out loud made it even more real. The terror he could feel inside threatened to swallow him whole.
‘It was too dark for him to see me properly,’ he reassured himself as he looked all around his front door. It was late, and he didn’t have any keys, and there didn’t appear to be any lights on inside the house. He was just about to knock, gently, when the front door was flung open.
‘Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick! Where the hell are your clothes? What’s going on with you?’ Nathan’s wife let loose and wasn’t holding back.
Nathan, not knowing what to say, went to move inside the house but his wife wasn’t having that either.
‘No, wait here! I don’t want to wake the kids, and you need to tell me what the fuck is going on! What’s up with you? The last few months you’ve been all over the shop! Honestly, where are your clothes! What have you done?’
As she’d been barraging Nathan, he hadn’t realised that he’d instinctively taken half a dozen paces backwards, out into the open again. The sky was dark, full of clouds, and began to rain just a little. The grass was becoming cold and slick. It felt nice, soothing between his toes. They tingled a little, pleasurably.
His wife’s words had begun to fade out. It wasn’t that what she was saying wasn’t right or fair. She was right, and she certainly should be annoyed at him.
Why? Who is she to us?
‘Shut up,’ Nathan barked at himself, as the rain began to pummel into the grass all around him.
‘Don’t tell me to shut up! You’re out of your mind if you think you’re coming back in this house! Here, take these and get out!’ She cast a pair of trousers at him and stepped back inside the house.
‘I don’t want to see you here—’ She broke off in pure terror. ‘Oh my God, Nathan! Are you alright? What’s happening to your skin?’ She was screaming now, although it all echoed away into a distant bubble for Nathan as he focused on the tingling sensation throughout his body.
Yes. Let go. Let it happen.
His skin was steaming in the night rain. To an outsider, it must look like he was boiling up or melting away, but internally it felt amazing. Pure ecstasy, as his body became stronger, as it became its natural self.
‘NATHAN!’ his wife screeched once more, ‘your skin’s blue! What’s happening? I’ll call an ambulance! Hold on!’ She went to dart back inside but stopped in her tracks once more. She gawped as the rain soaked everything in its destructive path. The forgetful man, who had now taken over and turned a scaled blue-grey colour, spun around to follow her gaze. A giant man bore down on him.
The tall, muscled man wore all black. The only elements of lightness were the white markings on the mask that covered his face from his cheeks down; it resembled a skull. It was a horrific sight. Nathan’s wife was calling for help from all corners with none coming.
The forgetful man was evading the giant man, sniffing the air all the while, intimidated by the larger man. The man in black seemed unperturbed by fighting a scaled monster in the middle of suburban New Hampton. The only source of illumination of this nightmare was the moonlight.
The giant man was stronger, but the forgetful man was quicker and more agile. He kept ducking away, but the stranger blocked his escape route with every swing of his long limbs.
‘Please go away! Please leave! NATHAN, GO!’ pleaded Nathan’s wife, desperately trying to get through to her husband, if he was even in there anymore.
The forgetful man glanced back to Nathan’s wife, with a sliver of recognition, only for a heartbeat, before jumping and narrowly evading another blow; it skimmed his left shoulder.
He yelped in pain like a dog and bolted, at the first opportunity he got, down the street. He was quick, much faster than the giant man who charged after him. Not once did he glance back at the stricken woman or the little boy who had joined her to watch in terror as Nathan Fisher—or what was once Nathan Fisher—ran away down the street in the oppressive rain.
‘Daddy?’ asked Louie as he hugged his mum’s leg.
Exclusive Chapter:
‘The Homeless Man’, from The Rain. The first full-length novel from The Government Rain Mysteries
'Hey you bum, get out of the street,' echoes in his ears before a bone-crunching thud slams into his chest. Dazed, he looks up to see a group of teenage boys surrounding him. Whack, another kick, this time to his leg. Not again, please leave me alone. The man curls up tightly into a ball, hoping forlornly that the ground will open up and take him away from this continual nightmare. At least I think it’s continual.
The man lying on the ground, amidst the group of rowdy teens, is in his early forties. It’s hard to discern an exact age. He has a shaggy unkempt, messy beard. It is straw-brown, with the occasional faint greyish-white wisp. His face is dirty, unwashed and for some time by the looks of him. Various shades of brown are smeared across his face. What they are who knows, he does not. I don’t remember a thing, apart from falling. Why am I always falling?
The youths continue verbally lambasting the homeless man. He has the look of homelessness, what with his shabby overcoat and clothing strewn with holes. His beanie hat is a dark green, thick with dirt and oil stains. On the left temple some shoddy patchwork has occurred, the green wool has been crudely stitched back together with what looks like a thick piece of string. The overcoat that covers him from neck to knee has, or more accurately, had two pockets. The right pocket is long gone, ripped off at the seams, with only loose threading left behind as the only evidence that it ever existed.
The tweed brown has faded on the elbows and around the groin; there are dark patches, which look suspiciously, like urine stains. Water, I always fall into water, why water? Crash, another kick, this time into his back. By now he is used to the kicks and the taunts, he doesn’t feel them anymore. He doesn’t feel anything anymore. It wasn’t always this way. He used to feel something. He used to feel everything. Now it's just the dream, falling, water. Falling, water, always into water. Why water?
The abuse continues, passers-by continue to ignore the problem. They always do in the city. After a while, the teens get bored and leave the forgetful man to himself, alone with his mind and lack of memories.
The memories flood back, but then something, something always gets in the way. Clouding his mind and stopping him remembering who he is, who he was, what he is, what he was. It is there he can remember it, he knows he can. Think and it'll come back to you. He tells himself repeatedly. He tells himself this well into the day, as the sun rises high into the sky. Still he searches for the answers in his mind.
His home, or least his home now, the alleyway is a dank cold environment. Have I always been here? The memories are there. He knows they are, but does not know how to access them again. He accessed them recently. Didn't I? 'What was my name?’ he mutters aloud.
‘I had a name. I know I did. John. It was John, or wait, was it Nathan, it was Nathan.' He deliberates with himself furiously over his name, each rebuttal clouded with confusion and uncertainty.
Then it hits him, like a wave breaking the beach, becoming clear as day. Clarity in a sea of mystery, one hundred percent, 'I HAVE A FAMILY!' he exclaims. He shoots to his feet, finding a new resolve, to remember all, not just part of his life. He strides off down the alleyway and ventures out in the vast city, searching for a family. He knows their faces, remembers their smells, he remembers everything but their names.
As he walks through the bustling crowds of the city, he has to squint to protect his eyes from the piercing sunlight. He is jostled from pillar to post as he walks down the pavement, hand raised to shield his puffy eyes from the blazing sunshine. The street is warm and sweat runs down his forehead. A black fingerless glove swipes over his head smearing dirt across his face, he needs a shower. That does not matter right now, he is searching for his family, and his focus is on every face he sees.
'I'm looking for my son, have you seen him?' he mumbles, almost incoherently at a smartly dressed woman. Startled she walks away as if her life depended on it. He tries again, 'Excuse me. I'm looking for my daughter. Have you seen her?' He lacks the eloquence, the clarity. His choice of words is poor and the busy people stare at him as if he were a crazed psychopath.
Still he wanders, asking pedestrians if they have seen his family. He lacks descriptive skills, he rambles. I must find them, I know who they are, why will no one help me? Even if his mind is unaware of his ensuing exhaustion, his body has full comprehension and buckles beneath him. He stumbles to the ground. Starving. Thirsty. He is slipping away. He lies on the side of the street, people stare as they pass but do not help. The city never helps.
On his hands and knees, his body in autopilot, he struggles to the nearest alleyway, desperate for help, desperate for an end. As he lies, in a heap on the filthy alley floor, at rock bottom, with no hope or saviour, his mind fights. His mind strives for life, to adapt, evolve, and survive. You know who you are. You know where to go. You know more than you think. Fight. Fight! Live. Lying face up he stares at the forming clouds above, they assault the sun, attacking from all angles.
It is not a fair fight, and the sun’s power diminishes. Bright light is blotted out by darkness. Its warmth is stolen. The clouds commandeer the sky. Raindrops begin to fall. Always falling, water always falling, I'm always falling.
The man's eyes bulge with revelation as a drop splashes onto his cheek, 'I'm Nathan Fisher, I live at 86 Wilmore Road, and I have a son, a boy of six Louie, and a daughter, Maggie, beautiful Maggie and a wife. A beautiful wife.' He fought the mystery, he remembers. The rain starts to fall with more vigour, drenching the ground and Nathan alike.
He struggles to his feet. 'I've got to get home.' The rain is falling, bouncing off the hard concrete street with echoing thumps. Why am I always falling, why always water? Again, the question plagues his mind. He staggers further down the darkening alley, each raindrop a brutal blow to his back, to his brain. Every step becomes harder, as does the rain. The ground puddles profusely.
Rain soaks into his skin, steam emanates from his pores, stinging his eyes. Burning his skin, he lets out a yelp of discomfort. 'Must keep going.' He takes one more step before his left foot buckles underneath him and he falls hard
into water. Always falling.
He lays watching the rain hammer down from pitch-black clouds, glancing down the alley he sees people running away to seek shelter. All except one monumental black figure who stands motionless. He stares at Nathan, the forgetful homeless man, with jet black eyes. As the rain takes hold of Nathan, he closes his eyes, his final thought before the darkness. Who am I?
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