Prologue
It didn’t rain that day. In all of the holopics I’d seen as a kid, it always rained at the funeral when there was a death in the family. Watching my wife and son being buried, though, there was not even a cloud in the sky. It was as though the cosmic powers-that-be were mocking me, telling me that the loss of my family didn’t even rate a few waterworks. I wanted to shake my fist at the air and scream until my throat was hoarse about how unfair it all was, but I forced myself to stay composed around all of the guests.
To be honest, I can’t even remember much of the funeral ceremony. My wife’s brother gave the eulogy about how long he had known Becky and all the good times they’d had. The priest gave a long sermon about how my son Steven was going to be so happy in Heaven, which gave my grief-addled brain little comfort. I held my tears in for most of the funeral, but when the caskets were finally set into the ground I wept like a little child, knowing that now they were gone forever.
Some people patted me on the shoulder, trying to comfort me, but their words had no effect. There was nothing anyone could say to ease the pain, even if Becky and Steve’s ghosts had come back to whisper sweet words in my ear, it still wouldn’t have helped. For twenty years Becky had been my life, ten-year-old Steven our greatest accomplishment, and now all of that was gone. Gone, and for no reason at all.
That night is still as vivid today as when it happened. It was just another wintry
There were no witnesses to the murder, no one knew who the intruder was, or what their intention was, but by the time I got home, police were swarming over my house. “Sir, no one is allowed in there,” an officer said flatly when I tried to break through the mobile force field to get into the house to see what was happening.
“This is my house!” I shouted louder than I intended to. I tossed my wallet to the officer and waited impatiently while he scanned my ID card and received confirmation that I was, indeed, the owner of the house.
“I’ll have someone escort you, Mr. Gallowes.” The officer motioned to a female officer, a fresh-faced kid who didn’t even look old enough to be on the police force.
“I’m Officer Vanessa Housley, sir. Follow me, please,” she squeaked. I followed Housley into my house, feeling my stomach turning cold when I saw blood leading up the stairs. I bolted from the stairs, following the trail of blood to the living room, a once-familiar place that now seemed like another world. Police officers were everywhere, scanning for clues in thin plastic suits that would prevent them from leaving any DNA evidence that could contaminate the crime scene. I stared at the spectacle for a moment, until Housley grabbed my arm and tugged me towards the stairs. “Come on, sir,” she said quietly.
We went up the stairs, another mob of police were near the bedroom door, parting like the
“Oh my God!” I shouted, running to the side of the stretcher and pulling back the shroud before anyone could stop me. I saw Becky’s cold, dead face stained with blood, counting almost a dozen gashes along her chest and arms. “What the hell happened?”
A man about my age in a gray suit appeared from the bedroom, extending his hand, which I shook limply. “Mr. Gallowes, I’m Detective Lamont Sedin. I’d like to talk with you privately, if I may.” I nodded, numbly following Sedin into the guest room and sat down on the bed, wringing my hands nervously just to do something with them. “Mr. Gallowes, we only arrived an hour ago, but it looks as though both your wife and son were murdered in what we believe to be a botched robbery attempt.”
“They killed Steve too?” I asked in shock.
Sedin’s eyes were filled with genuine sorrow. “Yes, sir. We found both bodies in the bathroom of the master bedroom. They were both cut up pretty bad.” I could see that Sedin regretted giving me so much information, tears dripping down my face like twin waterfalls as I thought of my little boy. The last time I had seen him was that morning before I went to work, he was still in bed, but I felt him stir when I kissed him on the forehead. Now, I would never be able to kiss him again.
“What happened?” I asked slowly, my mind trying to comprehend what was happening.
“We believe that the initial struggle was in the living room, but then your wife and son retreated up the stairs to the bathroom. Operators received a call from your wife, but before they could get much information the killer entered the bathroom and…” Sedin’s voice trailed off, I could see that he wasn’t quite sure how to finish the sentence without upsetting me.
“It’s OK, I understand,” I whispered. “You…you think it was a robbery?”
“We’ll have to have you inspect the house later, but it appeared as though some electronics were removed.”
“It doesn’t make sense, it wasn’t even nine o’clock…”
“I know, sir, but crime doesn’t have to make sense.” Sedin shook his head sadly, “Whoever did this could have been on drugs, or they may not have been mentally stable to begin with. I’m sorry I can’t give you more answers, but I have officers looking for the perpetrator right now, although it will be hard to find them until we have a description.”
“So you don’t know who did it?” I asked incredulously. On the holopics it was always so easy, the officers would find a hair, part of a footprint, something that would lead them to the killer in just under an hour. It was a rude awakening for me to find out that real life policework was far different. “There must be some clue…”
“I’m sorry, sir, but we’ll keep looking. I have a son of my own, you can rest assured that I will do everything I can to bring whoever did this to justice. Every officer for fifty kilometers will be looking for this person, and it’s going to be hard for them to hide with clothes and a knife stained with blood.”
“I’m sorry, Detective, I just…I just can’t believe this…” I stopped, breaking down into uncontrollable sobs, the loss only now fully hitting me. Sedin left me on the bed, and eventually Officer Housley came to take me to a hotel to stay in while my house was a crime scene.
Despite what Sedin had said, the killer never was found, nor was the murder weapon ever recovered. It burned me every morning to think that while I was planning to bury the two most important people to me, the one who had performed the horrible deed was walking free. It was the first time I had to look reality in the face and realize how utterly cold and harsh life was. As cold as the bodies being laid into the ground…
After the funeral, things become hazy, but I remember a little bit of what happened over the next nine months. I stayed in the hotel room provided by the police for another two weeks, then somehow I found my way back to my house. I never went back to work at Kovalchuk, Spezza, and Weiss, eventually the senior partners stopped calling and co-workers stopped trying to come by the house. I was inevitably fired in absentia, but I didn’t care, I only sat in the guest room of my house, drinking and staring blankly at the walls, hoping for some kind of release from all the pain I felt.
I was probably a good month into my drunken stupor when Officer Housley stopped by the house. Apparently my friends and neighbors thought that I’d committed suicide and called the police to come in and check, since I’d scramble-locked every door and window so that only I, or emergency personnel, could have access. I heard her footsteps coming up the stairs, but I didn’t try to clean up or hide the disgusting state I was in. I simply sat on the bed, nursing a bottle of scotch and staring at the wall. I barely even turned my head when the door opened and Housley called softly, “Mr. Gallowes?”
I didn’t reply, I just took another pull from the bottle, giving Housley a brief once-over. She was a pretty girl with a thin, well-built body, long auburn hair, and sparkling hazel eyes, a woman much too beautiful to be wasting her life with such a dangerous, low-paying career. “You come to arrest me?” I slurred.
Housley took a look around the room, shaking her head. “Your neighbors were worried about you, sir. They thought that something might have happened to you. Why don’t you get dressed and we can get you some help…”
“Help? If you want to help, why don’t you find who killed my wife and son!” I roared, jumping up from the bed to stand only inches from Housley. I could see her eyes go wide, one arm scrambling to her hip to take out her pistol.
“I’m sorry, sir, but we’re doing all we can,” Housley stammered.
“Well it’s not enough, damn it!” Spittle flew from my mouth as I shouted, drops of it pasting onto Housley’s face, but she appeared too shaken to even wipe it off.
“Please, Mr. Gallowes, just come with me. I’m sure we can find someone you can talk to about this.”
I threw my bottle of scotch against the wall, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. I reared up to my full height, my entire body pulsing with rage. “I don’t need someone to talk to! I don’t need your fucking pity or your fucking counselors, I need justice for my family!”
Housley took a step backward, I could see the fear on her young face. “Mr. Gallowes, if you don’t come with me then I’ll have to…”
“You’ll have to what?” I demanded, laughing mockingly. “Arrest me? For what, drinking in my guest bedroom? The windows are closed, no one can see me, and I haven’t done anything dangerous to myself or anyone else, so why don’t you get the fuck out of my house already!”
For a moment it seemed that Housley would protest further, but she stopped. There were no charges that she could book me on, I hadn’t done anything wrong. Until I became drunk publicly or showed that I was a danger to myself or others, her hands were tied. Finally, she whispered, “I’m sorry, sir.” Housley disappeared out of the room, her footsteps slowly echoing down the stairs. She was the last guest I would entertain in my home.
The great thing about digital commerce was that for nine months I could just sit in my underwear stone-drunk. Bills were automatically deducted from my credit account, my fifteen years as a certified public accountant building up more than enough of a nest egg to cover my expenses until I was sixty. I did not even have to go out to buy alcohol, I simply pressed a few buttons and after waiting a couple of minutes, a bottle would shoot through the requisition tube and appear in my kitchen. I could just waste away in my home with nothing to snap me out of it.
Eventually, though, I did come to my senses. It would be nice to say what exactly brought me around, what had penetrated my alcohol-glazed brain to give me a renewed sense of purpose, but I have no idea. Maybe I got sick of the smell of my own vomit on the guest room carpet, maybe I got tired of seeing my haggard reflection in the mirror, maybe I could not longer stand the cold feeling I got when I looked down the hall to where I knew my wife and son had been slain, maybe it was simply divine intervention, but one day I got dressed, packed a suitcase, and sold the house to a realty agent who would eventually resell the fully-furnished home to some other happy couple. Before I had even given it any thought, I was on a liner bound for Mars and the Fischer Galactic Transport Company.
I enrolled immediately in their training program to become a cargo hauler captain. I was old at forty-three, out of shape, and had no training in space travel or piloting, but I had money and that was all that really mattered. After a two-month training course I went from Brent Gallowes, PhD to Brent Gallowes, starship captain. It was the start of a whole new life, but a life still filled with the pain of what had happened one winter night, every time I looked at that shiny blue beacon called Earth.
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