Meyer-Hofmann AG

43

Michael felt the full force of the shot’s impact with the left side of his chest. He was already moving when the bullet hit him, but the impact had both twisted and lifted him, slamming the back of his head into the cell wall. The lights had gone out at that moment, and he was back in the twilight world of unconsciousness he had been inhabiting for the last month. As usual, he was not alone.

You useless son of a bitch! You have killed us, you know that? You have killed us as surely as if you pulled the trigger yourself!

Michael didn’t know what he had done, but he knew for sure that the death of Hofmann would not be such a bad thing.

If only I could have said goodbye, Michael said, thinking of Lisa.

It seemed Hofmann was privy to even his most intimate thoughts.

You miserable excuse for a German. How could you be a relative of mine? There is far more at stake than your whore! Don’t you understand how long I have been waiting for this? How long I worked for this! This was our dream. Our chance to finish the work of the Führer! And you! You have ruined everything. Everything! And you will pay! Before I go, I will make sure there is nothing left of you!

Michael listened to the tirade without emotion, finding solace in Hofmann’s demise.

You can’t hurt me any more Hofmann, it’s over.

Don’t be so sure!

Michael felt a rush of blood to his head and a moment’s dizziness, followed by the feeling of drunkenness and a loss of memory. Unable to get his bearings, he called out to Hofmann.

What are you doing? The sound of his voice echoed around the inside of his head.

Hofmann’s thoughts were filling his mind. Michael could feel his hatred and bitterness. His memories flashed before Michael’s eyes, as clear as day. Hofmann’s childhood, his first girlfriend, his first job. Michael didn’t understand how Hofmann was making him watch these things, but he could do nothing to stop them.

What is this?

This, my dear Michael, is my past. Can you remember yours?

Of course… But he couldn’t. Michael became panicked, trying to force his mind to wake up and remember. I remember my life. You can’t take that away from me!

Do you? Tell me, what hair colour did your first foster mother have?

Michael knew the answer, he was sure.

She was a young woman. He fought to remember, searching desperately for other memories from the same period of his life. Nothing came. Again he concentrated, determined to prove Hofmann wrong, but nothing came.

You don’t know, do you? What about your first school? You must be able to remember that.

Michael tried again.

This can’t be happening. Please, God, no.

Michael became scared, realising how far he was from himself.

Am I losing it? What will happen when I can’t remember anything of my life?

Then, you will be me! Hofmann’s tone was matter of fact.

That is not possible; you can’t just wipe me out as if I never existed. Michael tried to sound convinced, but he wasn’t, and a cold feeling of fear was growing in the pit of his stomach. Its tentacles pushed through his veins, wrapping themselves around his heart and squeezing the very life out of him.

Lisa watched through the windows of Intensive Care, as more doctors burst through swing doors into the room. Some silent alarm summoned them to save the patient. Desperation filled her as an arm placed gently on her shoulder beckoned her away from the scene.

“They know what they are doing. The doctors here are very good.” Monika did her best to sound convincing. Shrugging her off, Lisa moved back to the window, calling her husband’s name.

“Michael, please! Michael!”

His bed was now moving, a group of doctors and nurses manipulating it between them. Like a swarm of busy green ants, they disappeared beyond the sight of a weeping wife and into the surgery.

It had felt like a fall from a height, the air had left his lungs for a second, and his stomach strained to keep its contents down. But Michael was not falling through air; he was collapsing into himself. Desperate to find something he could identify with, he found only a swamp of putrid memories and the stink of Hofmann’s life all around him.

Where are you, Michael? Are you still here? Hofmann laughed. You are lost, it’s over; you have to submit. My destiny and the destiny of all mankind is at stake. You are just a pawn. Give up and let it go. You have lost!

The sound of Hofmann’s voice was getting weaker, moving farther away. Michael could hardly remember his name, and looking around, he saw nothing but inky blackness. The black hole in his memory was sucking the images, thoughts, and sounds from his mind. All he held dear, replaced by a void of dark space. Bereft of dialogue, sound, and touch, he felt his surroundings narrow around him. Trapped in an invisible funnel that pulled him into nonexistence. He was free falling, unable to influence his speed or direction. Only a pinprick of light below him gave him any sense of his final destination, before he once again heard Hofmann’s faint voice.

Goodbye, Jarvis.

Michael had never been a religious man, but he found himself praying, sure he was lost to the world. His last prayer was for Lisa.

Please, God, keep her safe; protect her from him.

The bullet had penetrated Michael’s left chest cavity, between the third and fourth ribs. A light ricochet from the third rib had sent fragments of bone out like darts into his body’s soft tissues, piercing his lungs and heart. The bullet had then continued clear through the left lung, before again ricocheting back off the sixth rib and coming to rest against the seventh and eighth vertebrae of his thoracic spine. Chest injuries end in death in less than ten percent of cases, and the doctors were not overly concerned when he first arrived in A&E. They went through the motions, ventilating him before checking the extent of the damage to his internal organs with a simple radiograph. Three to four hundred millilitres of blood had collected in his left lung, but it was the bullet that caused the most concern. None of the doctors’ present trusted themselves to remove it, and all had agreed to wait for the consultant. They had conducted a tube thoracotomy to suck away any blood and fluid from the chest cavity. Staples had been applied to close the two larger lacerations of the lung caused by the bullet, and Michael had been stitched up and returned to Intensive Care, to wait for his next operation.

Lisa had been at his bedside ever since he arrived back. Sat on a small steel chair next to his bed, she was holding his hand, as if she could somehow keep him with her, if she just held him tight enough.

“Please, darling, you can do it! Come on, fight it, fight him. Don’t let him win.”

Professor Klaus Remboldt had arrived without fanfare. He was wearing a turquoise hospital gown and trousers, along with a long white lab coat and shoes, the standard stethoscope draped around his neck. More doctors in light blue versions of hospital couture milled about behind him. He had a kind smile and a wise, wrinkled face. Lisa struggled to her feet to greet him and offered him her hand.

“Hello, my name is Professor Remboldt. I will be operating on your husband today.” His voice was calm and strong, putting Lisa a little at ease.

“Hello, nice to meet you. He will be okay, won’t he?” she implored.

“Yes, I am sure he will. There is just a small complication with the position of the bullet. It is very close to his spinal column, but I have carried out similar surgery in the past. If you would like to fill out a few forms, I will get to work.”

“Yes, yes, but what are the dangers?”

“In cases like this, the patient has a very good chance of making a complete recovery. But the bullet may have damaged some important nerves, which run through and out of the spinal column. We won’t know the full extent of the injury until we have operated.” He smiled at her, and Lisa tried to put on a brave face. Taking the clipboard from his hand, she looked down at the paperwork and started to read. Interrupted by the high-pitched alarm from the equipment behind her, she watched as Michael’s heart monitor flat-lined.

“Oh my God, oh my God. What’s happening?” Lisa sprang back away from the bed, dropping the clipboard with a clatter. As she moved away from the bed, the others in the room moved towards it.

“AED.” The professor’s voice was calm, as another of the doctors pulled a small trolley from the wall, which held the ‘automated external defibrillator’.

“Clear!” Within less than a minute of his heart stopping, the first blast of electricity surged through it, forcing it back to life.

Michael was now somewhere new. The lights had come on, and he could see an opaque membrane surrounding him. He was suspended within it and still moving gently down the smooth tunnel. Looking around, it was just one of many in a forest of membranes, suspended vertically and horizontally in a milky vapour that hung in the sky like a cloud. The tunnels intersected with their neighbours at different heights along their lengths, forming branches that either stopped or moved directly through their counterparts. Looking up and down his tunnel, he could make out hundreds of connections along its length, above and below him. The membranes fluoresced and pulsed as light moved along their bodies. Michael took a moment to watch as some invisible conductor orchestrated the light show for him. The nearest junction to his column was only a short distance below him, and he became inquisitive to know where it might lead. As he did, he found himself slowing down to a stop at the tube’s the entrance. He could smell her, not her perfume, but that subtle smell she left behind on her clothes. The scent of his wife surrounded and enveloped him, and he was flooded by images, sounds, feelings, and memories of her. It was like a connection to her soul, and he let her wash over him.

“Where am I?” He had not expected a response, and he wasn’t disappointed.

Turning around and around in his silky prison, he imagined this must be how an unborn infant felt in the womb. Safe, warm, happy, and content.

But where is Hofmann? Hofmann! Silence.

Where are you, Hofmann? Nothing.

Somehow, Michael knew that Hofmann could not answer him here. That he had crossed a boundary that Hofmann could not cross. Only then did he realise that he was most certainly still himself. Michael, intact and safe. This epiphany came with a massive sense of relief, as he realised that Hofmann could never gain complete control over him. He had feared that Hofmann would consume him, rape his soul and toss it away like so many others. Now he knew that was impossible, and a new strength filled him.

HOFMANN!

Light rushed away from him in all directions, leaving his column and moving out into its branches, searching for its quarry. Moments later, he was moving up the shaft towards a distant junction and his prey. As he now expected, Hofmann’s junction went straight through his column. It stank of the man and his past. Hofmann’s memories were back, but Michael knew now he had a choice, and as the voice returned, it was on Michael’s terms.

You are dead, Michael, you know that.

I know, but so are you!

That doesn’t matter. There will be another chance, another Michael.

You disgust me, Hofmann.

Do I? You will have a chance to get to know me now, Michael. Laughter filled Michael’s ears and squeezed his newfound confidence.

We are finished, Hofmann, you are finished. I will be your last victim, the last of your dynasty.

There was silence for a moment as both collected their thoughts.

Goodbye, Hofmann.

That is not your choice, you fool.

You are wrong, Hofmann. Our paths will not cross again. Michael’s voice was calm.

You don’t know what you’re talking about! bellowed Hofmann.

The decision had been made, and Hofmann could sense it.

You can’t. It’s not your choice!

This place is all about choice, and I choose my freedom from you.

With that, Michael urged their detachment with all his strength. Mentally stepping away from the relationship and its toxic dowry, he pushed all that he knew of Hofmann into a distant and final grave. Hofmann’s column started to warp and vibrate, its fabric stretching and straining against Michael’s will power. As the shaking became more violent and the membrane began to break free from its anchor, the sounds grew metallic. The yawning of massive forces created deep notes of complaint. Like a submarine fighting to keep its shape against the overwhelming forces of nature, the tube buckled and bowed, unable to withstand the assault. As the final strands holding the two tubes together broke, Hofmann’s connection was sent twisting into eternity, untethered and tumbling through the forest of membranes.

Michael watched impassively as the tubes distanced themselves from one another. The knowledge that their two destinies were no longer entwined helped him to accept his own fate.

It has been worth it. He sent a last thought into the Universe and closed his eyes.

The group around Michael’s bed became more restless with each attempt to restart his heart. All eyes were on the professor, only Lisa’s remained on her husband. As the professor sent a final charge through Michael’s body, there was a group intake of breath, wishing for it to work. But the monitor above Michael’s bed let out a single tone and resisted the group prayer. The professor looked visibly shocked and confused, staring at the machine in disbelief.

“Okay, let’s call it. Time of death is…”

His words hung in the air, as time stood still for a moment. Lisa staring at her new reality, unable to comprehend what had just happened. Her lips desperately repeating the word “No”, without a sound leaving them. Only when the monotonous burr of the heart monitor was interrupted and time gave the desperate scene a chance to conclude, did she take her eyes off her husband’s body. She was furious that anyone could be so callous as to turn off the machine so soon after his death. The first ping of Michael’s reanimated heart brought not only him, but the whole group back to life. A communal sigh of relief broke the barriers that had held the station in silence. Again and again, the monitor confirmed his heartbeat, becoming stronger and more consistent with every minute.

“Oh, thank God.” Lisa stood, her hands clutched together in prayer. “Thank you, thank you!”