Inside Man | ONC2023

9. Interviewed

(Author's Note: this chapter is dedicated to SilviaKrpatova and her angelic paranormal romance for the ONC2023, Finding Heathcliff!)

Paul was feeling considerably more alert after his visit to the Medic Centre.

The treating medic had checked his pulse and his blood pressure, shone a bright light into his eyes and taken more samples of various bodily fluids, before announcing that he'd been a victim of the latest street drug, Crash.

"You're in luck," she told him. "The vomiting attacks you've described were actually helpful. You've managed to purge yourself of a fair bit of the drug, but I can give you a shot to help things along. Okay?"

"Thank you," Paul answered gratefully. He still felt queasy and brain-fogged. "Will it bring back my memory?"

She pursed her lips. "Now that's something I can't help you with, I'm afraid. To be honest, I don't know, we haven't seen many cases here where people are still conscious. It's a very dangerous drug. I'm surprised it's continuing to circulate."

"Not a lot of repeat customers, I suspect!" said Paul drily, as he rolled up his sleeve.

"No," agreed the medic, as she injected a syringe into Paul's arm. "There. You should start to feel better in the next ten minutes or so. I'd like to see you again tomorrow, to monitor your progress. Make an appointment with Reception on your way out, would you?"

"Sure," agreed Paul, shooting a sideways glance at Keeve, who was standing near the doorway, watching the proceedings with an inscrutable expression.

Paul made the appointment, just in case he was able to keep it, and obediently allowed himself to be escorted from the Medic Centre by the two officers. It wasn't as if he had any other plans at present. Perhaps the Patrol would be able to shed some light on his situation. He hoped by now they would have discovered his name and address, at the least.

They entered the station as a trio and Paul studied the interior with interest. In a matter of seconds, he had identified the entry and exit points and assessed the likely capability of everyone inside, all without consciously being aware of it.

There were six adult males present, not counting the two with him. Five were uniformed Patrol Officers and the sixth was a handsome young man in civilian clothes, who was staring at him, Paul, with a curious expression on his face. He turned away after a moment to talk to the officer interviewing him.

Paul took a second look. The young man's hair was the colour of polished hemnuts, just curling over the top of his shirt collar, and his eyes had been golden brown to match. His shirt looked expensive, made of fine cream cloth with green embroidery on the collar. Paul wondered whether the skin underneath would be taut and firm, or smooth and soft...

Well, that was one thing he just learned about himself, thought Paul, with an inward smile. He had suspected as much when he woke this morning next to a naked man, but now he was certain—he fancied men. He assumed he must have had some sort of relationship with the dead man, but he couldn't remember what, exactly. He hadn't felt anything other than consternation when he saw the body, so perhaps he had just been a one-night stand, as he had first thought.

As he watched, the stranger's back stiffened with tension and he lent forward to peer at something on the console unit. Evidently, he was being given bad news. Paul sympathized.

At that moment, Keeve tapped Paul's arm to gain his attention, and steered him toward a cubicle on the other side of the room.

"How's your memory coming along?" asked Keeve, as he seated himself.

"Nothing yet," Paul answered. "I mean, I can remember how to do things, like walking and talking, but I have no memory of what I did, before this morning. I still don't even know who I am."

"Okay, we should be able to help you with some of that," Keeve said, opening up the console unit. "Your legal name is Paul Finn. Ring any bells?"

Paul shook his head. "No. Not so far."

"And the address we found you at, apartment 312B, is registered in your name. You are the legal owner."

"Huh," said Paul. That was unexpected. "So all the clothes and everything inside belong to me?"

"I assume so."

"That's a relief. At least I'm not homeless. Perhaps if I spend time there, things will begin to feel familiar. What about the dead man? Do you know who he is?"

"Well, that's where things get a little complicated." Keeve brought up another screen on his console unit.

"His legal name is Michael Braun, but he also went by Mikel Byron and Mike Bannon. Do any of those names mean anything to you?"

"Sorry, no."

Keeve persisted. "He was employed at a night club in the city called the Black Hole. Could that be where you met?"

Paul shrugged. "It's possible, I guess. I don't know. The money in that bag, was it his?"

"Why do you say that? The money could just as easily belong to you, couldn't it?" Keeve's gaze sharpened.

"No, I don't think so," said Paul, thoughtfully. "If it were mine, I would have put it away somewhere safe immediately, not left it lying around on the floor."

"Well, it's true that we haven't found any traces of your DNA on either the money or the bag, so it's most likely Braun brought the lot with him. We're still investigating that side of things."

Paul felt suddenly impatient. He thought that meant they didn't have any real reason to keep him here. "Am I free to go then?"

"For the moment," agreed Keeve, reluctantly, Paul thought. "But please don't leave Syden without notifying us. We may have more questions for you."

"Of course. I'll be at my apartment if you need to contact me, I'm going to catch up on some sleep."

When Paul heard a chime from his entrance panel later that night, he couldn't help swearing. Until he got his memory back, he couldn't help Keeve any more than he had. Still muttering crossly, he pulled on some trousers and a shirt and went to see who was bothering him at this time of night.

The last person he expected to see outside his door was the young man from the Patrol Station.