“How are the headaches, love?”
Darren Macer’s mother, Eileen, had a habit of pestering him at the most inopportune times. While he was backing his car out of the drive into the busy main road was a prime example.
“Watch this car.”
She was also a typical back seat driver.
“They’re a little better, thanks Mum. The new pills Dr Uberman prescribed seem to be help -
The canary yellow Ranger Rover slammed into the side of Darren’s Fiesta killing his mother instantly, and spraying Darren’s face in her blood.
It’s true that in the moments before you die, your life flashes in front of your eyes. But Darren didn’t recognise any of the memories currently playing before him.
The English countryside. A young boy climbing a silver birch tree with a beautiful older women who felt familiar and safe. The smell of fresh laundry. A Sunday afternoon spent taking an Amstrad computer apart with a handsome and distinguished older gentleman. The beautiful woman arguing with the handsome man. The young boy crying, soon consoled by the older couple. A birthday cake with 10 candles on it. When the boy blows them out there’s nothing but darkness, then the blurred image of an operating table. Surgical equipment. The sound of a woman sobbing in the background. Medical pads leaching his body. A scalpel in the talon-like fingers of a Doctor. The woman’s sobs become screams. The scalpel gets closer, the Doctor removes his face mask. He is the only recognisable character. Dr Uberman.
When Darren came to he knew he was in the country. The birds singing in the trees were something the smog ridden cities hadn’t had in years. Darren couldn’t focus, he could only make out shapes of light and dark. But he knew the blur mopping his forehead was female. She smelt of fresh laundry.
“Wh... where, am... I?”
“Sshhh. Don’t speak, sleep. The answers are coming.”
The cottage was quaint, rundown and full of character. The kitchen was small but adequate, arranged around a central Aga and deep porcelain sink. Over it, washing dishes, was a woman with long mahogany hair flowing down her back. She turned as he entered, wearing a smile as much full of grief as it was relief. It was the woman from his near death images.
“Who, who are you? Where are my parents?”
“Pah!”
The non-word was spat out with venom that didn’t fit her serenely beautiful face.
“They weren’t your parents, Cody. They were well paid, highly trained actors.”
A lightning strike of pain flashed through his head. He staggered to the dining table.
“I need, my pills.”
“Those pills are the cause of your headaches, not the cure.”
“They’re migraines. And what do you know?”
“Considerably more than you.”
“Alright then, Oracle. Enlighten me.”
“Your name is Cody Vegas. You’re the most gifted computer scientist on earth. You’ve experienced agonising migraines for as long as you can remember. They are due to the pills suppressing you mental potential, holding your brain back.”
“Why?”
“Because some very powerful idiots believe that one day, you will destroy the world.”
