Part 1: The Strangeness of Fredrick Street - Chapter Nine

In Chapter Nine, Mark is plagued by strange visions and secrets not even he knew he had.

9

Mark Fleming strolled down the corridors of the St. Vincent Memorial Hospital with a skip in his stride. He'd had a stellar morning, with a successful liver transplant already under his belt, no paperwork or unread e-mails piling up on his desk or his inbox and a baby scan with Kim to look forward too. The rate he was going at, he could probably even squeeze in enough time for a nap but he thought he best not push it. He didn't want to late for the scan and besides, if Kim found out he had napped without inviting her to join in the siesta, his life wouldn't even be worth living. Still rolling down the hospital hallway, shimmying past the odd gurney going at break neck speed or crash cart being thrown between nurses, he watched as all this life-saving activity roared throughout the hospital. At times like this, being surrounded by so much potential death and horror, Mark never felt so alive. As he skipped out of the way of another gurney, this one hosting a patient with a heavy blood flow from the head, he entered his office thinking how lucky he was; how they all were. The hospital had a fantastic surgical success rate and the lowest mortality rate in the country - 0 deaths from surgery in the entire time Mark Fleming had started working as a doctor here and every person who crashed through those hospital doors in immediate need of medical care was saved. Mark didn't take all the credit, but he knew for one thing though, any first day doubts he had about taking on the job, as Head of General Surgery were completely unfounded. He had a 100% surgical success rate, which had the earned him a lot of fans and admirers throughout the hospital, not to mention the country. He was treated like a hero and he was loving it. 

Sitting down at his desk, he had about 30 minutes to grab some lunch before his scan with Kim. Pulling out the brown paper bag she had packed his lunch in, (crunchy peanut butter with some raspberry conserve, a banana for snacking and – his one luxury item – a can of soda) he sat back in his chair, looking out onto the view his office offered of the city skyline and began to relax. Growing up, when he first decided he wanted to enter the world of medicine, he never thought he'd have the work-life balance that he currently had. It was deemed impossible by his lecturers, mentors and even his friends. But nothing was impossible for Dr. Mark Fleming. Not one thing. Finishing up his lunch, he turned back to the neat pile of files on his desk and noticed the mail from earlier. He had some time on his hands which meant he could go through these now, pay his bills, read any fan mail (admittedly a weird thing for doctors to receive but he was a celebrity in these parts) and save whatever endangered animal he was asked to save. As he had predicted, it was bill after bill after bill (a few new offers which would save them a pretty penny which he filed for later) and a few letters from the families of patients he had operated on and got back on their feet. The last letter in the pile however, was a strange one. He recognized the scrawl on the front of the envelope almost immediately as his own. Although he had no idea why he would be sending himself a letter. There was no earthly reason for it. It was something he used to do in the past, when he was so busy studying or chasing his medical license that if there was a pressing matter (even a reminder of Kim's birthday or his parents anniversary) he would send himself a little letter to remind him. But since striking the perfect work life balance, he had absolutely no need to do this. And he couldn't recall doing so since his student years. An uneasy feeling started to cloud the room, something that Mark wasn't used too and propelled him towards door, closing it quietly. Holding the envelope somewhat gingerly in his hand, he felt his heart start to race, the sweat from his hands cascading into the letter and almost opening it with the moisture. Sitting back down at his desk, Mark stared at the envelope. The strangest feeling was coming over him, like he knew what was inside the letter and didn't want to open it. The strangest feeling of dread and fear was coursing through him, pumping blood through his body so fast it felt like he'd run a marathon from a sitting position. He had the strangest feeling that whatever the words in this letter said, it would change his life forever, and he didn't want to open it. But he had too. Curiosity would kill him eventually, even if what was inside the letter didn't. Having a quiet word with himself to get a grip, he tore open the letter and read. 

Kim, Colleagues, Family & Friends. 

I'm sorry. For cheating. For lying. For not doing my job. For not saving people, for not saving you & for not saving myself. 

I'm sorry. 

Mark Fleming. 

Mark stared at the letter for what felt like an age. His head was swimming, his vision began to blur as the sweat from his forehead began to sting his eyes. But he couldn't shut them. He couldn't tear them away. He couldn't stop staring at the suicide note in front of him, written in his own hand. His own words. But they couldn't be. The letter spoke of infidelity, of not saving people but...what? Killing them? He didn't understand. He couldn't. Searching his memory, he had no recollection of ever putting pen to paper and writing this. He had no recollection of ever cheating on his wife, of ever losing a patient, of ever being the man that was written on this paper. There was nothing he could point to in his mind, in his current life that would suggest this. But all at the same time, he couldn't help but feel it was true. 

"Dr. Fleming?"

The sound came from outside the office door. Knock Knock Knock. "Dr. Fleming your wife is waiting with Dr. O'Brien, we'll be ready for the scan in 5 minutes. Are you in there Dr. Fleming?" 

"I....." He couldn't find his voice, noticing quite suddenly that his throat was dry and his words were coming out in a choked whisper. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I'm just...I'm just finishing up some paperwork and I'll be right there."

Mark waited until he heard the footsteps moving away from the door and disappearing in the distance before tearing himself away from the letter that was stuck to his hand. He had to get rid of it. He had to think straight. It was clearly a prank, a jealous colleague or one of his friends from when he was a student, one of the ones that didn't make the cut, flunked out and was now living in his mother's basement. Of course it was that. Mark had never written the note, he couldn't have. None of it was true. But.....

NO! The word echoed around his head, as if not quite his own. The room was close to spinning; he couldn't think straight and was dangerously close to collapsing. There had to be a reasonable explanation for this letter. It had to be forged in his hand. He and his friends from University, they were always doing shit like this to get out of certain classes or helping with each other's essays. Yes. That absolutely had to be it. He had no idea who would do such a thing, but when he found out...

Still panicking, he yanked open one of his desk drawers to hide it in there when he saw something that made him spin away from the desk and knock the lamp crashing onto the floor. Inside the drawer, there were dozens, if not hundreds of the same letter. He picked them up, flicking through them, each one saying the exact same thing as the one he had opened. Each one written in the same handwriting. Each one a message from him to him. 

Trying to think, trying to get his head clear and stop the flurry of activity and voices rushing through his head, he let the letters slip from his hand as he noticed something blinking on the computer in front of him. Rushing forward, pressing his face up against the screen he watched as all his case files, every single one of the patients he had operated on flashing up on the screen. He watched in silent horror as their status turned from the green success to the words written in blood red DECEASED. Clicking at the computer furiously, he pressed as many buttons as he could, trying to stop the cases changing status. Trying to stop everything. But nothing worked. They kept flashing up, they kept changing, and they kept dying. He had to do something. He had to get out. He had too. But as soon as it had started it stopped. The computer screen went blank. The messages in the drawer disappeared. The door to his office swung open, the doorway empty. Breathing heavily, transfixed by whatever was going on around him, Mark started to move toward the door. Walking through it, the hospital corridor seemed different. It was a different place. There wasn't the same flurry of activity. There was nothing. There was nobody. Nothing and nobody except the different sounds coming from the rooms that lined the corridor. Slowly, as if hypnotised, he started to walk down the corridor, looking into the rooms as he passed each one. Seeing what he did not want to see, and hearing what he did not want to hear. In one room, he was standing over a patient, covered in blood while they lay on the table the shrill beep of the heart having flat lined reaching out and puncturing his ear drums. In another room, there was Mark with his trousers round his ankles thrusting against a woman who was bent over a hospital bed, a woman who wasn't Kim, the sounds agonizing to listen, to seeping out of each room. Every room was the same. Mark stood over a dead patient, Mark with a woman who wasn't Kim. Dead patients. Fucking strangers. Every room the same. So many of them. He walked past them all and looked in every one, until it all blended together in a tornado of noise. Sex and death. Death and sex. Reaching a crescendo, a fever pitch screaming and crying and flat lining all mashing together until—

--It all stopped. Everything disappeared and the real world came flooding back in. Mark found himself standing in the middle of the hospital corridor as the usual gurneys and crash carts, doctors and nurses, families and patients whirled past him. He felt his shirt and found it to be soaked through with sweat. Catching sight of himself in the reflection, he was as white as the coat he wore and his hand was trembling. Nothing made sense. He was frozen, unable to move. Unable to forget everything he just saw. Unable to clear everything from his mind. Unable to do anything. He stood there for what felt like forever, until he felt a hand on his back. 

"Dr. Fleming? Are you OK?" He turned around; it was one of the nurses. One of the nurses who just moments ago he had seen lying on a hospital bed with him lying over her. 

"I'm...I'm fine. Where is....Kim? The scan."

"She's just in Dr. O'Brien's office. You can go in now. They're waiting for you."

Mark nodded. "Thank you."

The nurse looked at him. He didn't even know her name. And she didn't look at him like she remembered what he had just seen. "Are you sure you are OK Dr. Fleming? You look a little, shaken."

Mark shook his head, wiping his palms on his head. "I'm fine. I just had a bad lunch. Thank you."

She hovered for a moment longer before nodding and leaving Mark to stand there alone. Kim was waiting on him. His beautiful Kim. How would he look her in the face after what he just saw?

Thinking fast, he headed back to his office, changed quickly into a fresh shirt (a second change of clothes was always needed in this profession) and splashed his face with some water. As he looked at himself in the mirror, some of the colour started to come back to him. 

"None of it was real." He heard his voice for the first time in what felt like forever. "None of it was real."

With that, he buttoned up his coat, left his office (locking the door behind him) and headed to Dr. O'Brien's office to find Kim. Knocking first, he entered, with Kim lying there on the table, waiting for the gel. He looked at her, everything he saw almost falling out of his mind. She smiled at him. But there was something off about her, like she'd had a day not unlike his. 

"Hey sorry I'm late. Got caught up." Mark strode across the room and planted a big kiss on her. 

"It's OK. I was running late myself." She stared at him. " You OK? You seem a little off."

Mark plastered a big smile on his face and shook his head. "I'm fine. Just busy. Hardly had a moment to myself. What about you? You seem—"

--"I'm fine too. Had a nap. Bad dream. That's all." Kim looked away. 

"You know what? I think that's what happened to me too. Serves us right for napping without each other right?"

Kim gave a weak laugh and smiled. "I guess so."

They stared at each other for a few moments in silence before Dr. O'Brien entered the room and shattered it. 

"Well then, sorry to keep you waiting. Let's see how our little one is doing then huh?" Dr. O'Brien rolled up her sleeves as Mark squeezed Kim's hand. Neither saying a word. 

Part 1: The Strangeness of Fredrick Street - Chapter Eight

In Chapter 8, Betty disappears from Albert, sending him into a blind panic. Where did she go?

8

Albert pulled into the car park of the local supermarket, and fought hard to find a space, finally threading the car into a tight spot between a black Range Rover and a White Sedan with the precision of an Olympic diver. Settling the car of the main road diving board and into his concrete pool, he looked to Betty sat in the passenger seat who had taken the 20 minute journey to carry on with some knitting of a tiny jumper. A pang of sadness shot through Albert there as he took in the miniature winter-wear that Betty was holding for an imaginary grandchild, both of them unable to have children of their own. But no sooner had that thought took place than it left his mind again and he forgot to feel sad and instead smiled at his wife's skill with a knitting needle. Of course it was for the kids, they had a four with children on their own. Why had he thought otherwise?

"You want to wait here while I go in and get the bread?" said Albert. The supermarket was handily placed right next to the local duck pond park where the two old timers had decided to embrace the cliché and have a weekly walking date while feeding the ducks. 

Betty folded away her wooly work in progress and stepped out of the car, popping her head back in before shutting the door. "I'll come with, I reckon you'll end up picking out some Gluten Free bread just to see what happens to the poor bastards if they eat that instead of some trusty white bread."

Albert laughed hard as the door shut. She was not wrong, he did have a slightly warped sense of humour and it wouldn't have been that out of the question if he were to do that. Although, it was more likely he would try out the Tippex on bread trick his friends in school had once boasted about, just to see if they could indeed turn their feathered friends into a feathered firework. But no, Betty would never allow it, and quite rightly so. She was never a fan of "fowl play". Chuckling again at his own pun, Albert got out of the car and took Betty by the arm as they headed into the supermarket, picked up a loaf of bread, a few snacks and drinks for themselves and then made their way over to the park. 

As they wound their way round the duck pond, stopping occasionally to throw in a few chunks of bread, Albert sucked at the air generously, favouring the cold nip of the October air. Winter had always been his favourite season. He loved it as a boy, staring out at the falling leaves making way for the falling snow from the warmth of his high chair. He even loved it from his judge's chair, glancing out in between presiding and ruling over court proceedings. Albert Molineaux simply loved watching as the year changed from warm hands to cold, from long bright summer nights, to dark cosy winter ones. Swimming trunks off, knitting gloves on. It was the time of the year he had most fondness for; duvet days in front of the fire & cosying up to his Mum as a boy and now Betty as a boy-grown. The season when the cold ran the roost, to Albert's mind, brought you closer to the ones you loved, emotionally, physically and geographically. When you had memories as warm as this, Albert thought, it was damn near impossible to feel cold.

Betty gave his hand a little squeeze just then, as the bag of bread's short life drew to a close. "What are you smiling about?" 

Albert raised an eyebrow, smiling. "Wouldn't you like to know, Mrs. Molineaux?"

Betty smiled back, meeting Albert's single eyebrow with a double eyebrow bluff (both raised to the top of her head and her head tilted slightly meant Albert's defense was broken). "Keeping secrets from me now are we Albert?"

Laughing, Albert shook his head. "Secrets are for those with no stories to tell. I've got plenty."

"Good answer."

"Always."

"What were you smiling for?"

"I was just thinking, about winter. I think it's my favourite season after all."

Betty laughed. "Do you? What's brought this on?"

Albert shrugged. "I don't know. I just think, I have a lot of happy memories from there. The scarf my Mum made me one Christmas, cosying up with you to keep heat, making snow angels and snowmen with the kids and—what are you laughing at?"

Betty gave him a peck on the cheek and screwed up his face in that way he liked, smiling that smile that made her eyes sparkle and she laughed. "Because you, Albert Molineaux, change your mind with the changing of the wind."

Albert eyed her quizzically, scrunching up the bread wrapper in preparation for the bin. "What do you mean?" he said. 

"I mean yesterday your favourite season was Autumn. The day before that, it was Summer and before that Spring. Pick one and stick to it will you!" She laughed. 

"Ah leave me be. I'm a happy guy, that's all." Albert, laughing now too, spun away as fast as his hips would carry and tossed the wrapper into the bin. Just as he was about to turn back round to take Betty by the hand, he heard a voice in his head that wasn't quite his own.

"How does she remember that? She shouldn't remember that detail." 

Holding the bin to steady himself, he shook his head, shaking the thought away. What did that mean? It was the strangest sensation. It felt like somebody else's voice inside his head and not one he altogether understood. Was he thinking about how she never had a good memory? No, Betty's memory had always been terrific – one that managed to keep him out of many a quarrel by ensuring he never forgot birthdays, anniversaries or any such event in his life. What was happening? Were the white hairs finally starting to become a burden? 

As Albert stood there, all of these thoughts racing through his head at an alarming rate, he felt a hand on his back. It was Betty's coming to make sure he was OK. He hated her having to see him in any signs of weakness no matter how many times she had given him a stern look in the eye and reminded him that what burden he carried she would carry also and he could be whoever he was going to be; even if that person was strong on some days and crying the next. Regaining his composure, filling his lungs with that cold air he loved so much, he turned to Betty, kissing her on the check. "I'm fine. Nothing but a little slip is all."

Then something strange happened. As he kissed Betty and pulled back from her to look her in the eye, to convince her he was OK, the face in front of him wasn't his Betty. He didn't know who it was. 

"Are you OK sir?" smiled the stranger, concern etched all over her face. Albert staggered back, crashing into the bin and falling over, the world starting to spin around him. The stranger he just kissed moved towards him to help him to his feet, other strangers started to descend upon him to give a helping hand while the ducks quacked a crescendo in Albert's ear. He pushed away the outstretched hands, violently, jerking out of their reach. 

"I'm fine. I'm FINE. Leave me alone," he shouted, anger twisting inside him like a black snake writhing. 

Dusting himself off, he tried to get up and look around the park for his Betty, but his legs wouldn't budge. He tried to breath and looked around for Betty. She was nowhere to be seen. Nowhere in sight. And he couldn't get up. The stranger he had mistaken for Betty had started to back off now but was eyeing him cautiously. Albert gave her one last look, the face so unfamiliar he could cry inside and die with the shame. His lips felt like they were burning, set alight by fire and poison all because the lips he kissed weren't his wife's. 

He tried again to get up, and this time his legs worked. Spinning away, Albert moved quickly through the park, limping and panicked, calling out his wife's name, scrubbing hard at his lips trying to wipe the poison off, trying to douse the flames, trying to stop the memory taking hold. He was running now, and his eyes had begun to sting; he realized he was crying now, the tears flooding his vision as he desperately searched every face in the park for signs of his Betty.

"BETTY! BETTY WHERE ARE YOU?! BETTY?!" he was screaming her name now, yelling it as loud as he could before his voice would become a hoarse whisper. He was shouting and crying and lost, hopelessly lost. And there was a voice in his head again, his but not his. Bring her back, where the fuck did she go? What's happening? We're not going to fucking lose another one in the same day fix this. Fucking find her god damn it! It sounded like someone else was looking for Betty too, or maybe it was just him. Maybe it was just his thoughts whirling around his mind as he searched frantically for the woman he'd loved for over 40 years but couldn't find. She'd always been by his side. Always. And now she was nowhere to be seen.

Reaching the park entrance, he stopped. If she were anywhere she'd still be in the park somewhere. Maybe she'd nipped off to get something from the shop. More bread for the ducks perhaps. Maybe. As he stood there, lost to his thoughts and in his panic, a man approached him. He wore a baseball cap, sunglasses and a scruffy beard. He had a friendly face, Albert thought, though fleetingly. 

"You OK sir?" The man asked. 

Albert looked at him, lost. "I've...I've lost my wife."

"OK. Why don't you just sit here and I'll go try and find her for you, huh?"

Albert sat.

"You got a picture?"

"Y...yes." He fumbled in his pocket and handed him a photo out of his wallet. "That's her there," Albert said as he jabbed the picture. 

"OK. You sit tight sir and I'll go find him." And with that the stranger was off looking for her, leaving Albert sitting there with no hope the man would ever return and he'd just lost his favourite picture.

Time ticked by and no sign. Albert didn't know what to do. Maybe if he just sat here on the park bench long enough and waited she'd turn up. Or maybe she wouldn't. Maybe she never would. Giving in, Albert started to sob. He put his head in his hands and sobbed hard. Part of him knew why he was crying, but the other part didn't, because she'd be along any minute now. She had to be. So he didn't know why he was crying. He never really knew why he cried, even as a boy growing up in Canada. Thinking back to his youth, waiting for Betty, he tried to remember if he cried a lot and why. Maybe it was because he was a pussy like the Old Lady Jane next door called him after she caught him pissing in her yard when he was 5 and he started pissing tears then. Or maybe it was because he was still the little boy inside not grown up a whole lot. Or maybe it was because someone once told him that your demons die in the rain and he liked the sound of it. If that's the case then he was going to sit here and cry good, cry hard and cry long until Betty came back. Because he was afraid. He was afraid that if he stopped crying and looked up then he would realized some of the demons survived and Betty wasn't coming back and he was going to cry all over again until he dried up dead and—

"Albert? Albert? Look at me."

Albert slowly, taking his head from his hands and wiping away the tears, looked up. Betty was standing over him, holding a carrier bag. "What's the matter? What happened?"

Taking a moment to find his voice, as croaked and grieved as it was, Albert answered. "I thought I'd lost you. I staggered and felt a hand on my back and thought it was you and turned round and kissed you but it wasn't you and I couldn't find you and I thought I thought.....I thought I'd lost you."

Betty sat beside him and pulled his hand in hers and brought it against her chest. "Feel that, you feel that?"

Albert nodded. "Yes."

Betty pulled it tight, letting the beat of her heart pulse through Albert's hand. "As strong as the day I was born. I'm right here Albert Molineaux. Stop being crazy."

"OK. Where'd you go?"

"I saw you stagger and told you I was going to get you a bottle of water and the nice girl that came to see if you were OK would look after you when I got back."

Albert searched his memory. "I'm....I'm sorry. I can't remember...I don't remember this." 

Betty gave him a concerned look. "Well, maybe your over-tired. You didn't sleep well last night did you?"

"I didn't."

"Well there you go. Nothing to go worrying about. You just got a little tired and took a tumble. You're OK now. Thankfully that nice man found me with the photo and took care of you."

Albert nodded, glancing up and seeing the man in question walking away giving Albert a little nod with his hat. Calmed almost immediately by Betty's re-appearance. Something was still niggling him though, yet he couldn't think to what it was. Not yet anyway. 

Betty stood up. "Now come on. Up you get. Let's get you home and rested. You don't have to go tonight if you don't want too."

"No no. It's fine. I'll go. Just need a little sleep before hand that's all."

Betty smiled. "Good." Then she nudged him. "And we'll address the fact of you kissing another woman later by the way. Little tiredness and you go all Casanova on me. Poor girl will never look after an old man again."

She laughed, her sense of humour as wicked as always and Albert did his best to do the same, but he still felt shaken. All he wanted was to lie down, and sleep and forgot today ever happened when tomorrow came around. 

Usually he did.

Part 1: The Strangeness of Fredrick Street - Chapter Seven

In Chapter Seven, a routine day turns into a nightmare for Sarah. Are those her memories? Who placed this order?

7

With the school run over and done with, Sarah's day opened up ahead of her like a California highway (or at least the way she pictured it due to the movies), but without the relative freedom that journey provides. She had much more menial tasks causing her a pit stop every half hour or so on her imaginary road trip down the coast. Driving into town, her To Do list for the day pinned to the dashboard in front of her, Dry Cleaners, Doctors, Butchers and Snacks - not listed in order of importance. Sarah permitted herself a few moments to bask in the intermittent silence afforded the car now that she'd dropped off the kids before the basking would turn to wallowing in the quiet and eventually the surge of guilt that she was enjoying a few moments alone of peace and quiet without the kids or her husband. Sarah was a creature of habit, who liked the idea of alone time more than actually being alone from her loved ones and whenever she was left in silence for too long her mind began to spiral, attempting to open doors to doomsday thinking. Quickly (trained in the art of quick distraction) she flicked on the radio and let the songs of the day fill the sullen and silent atmosphere of the car and push her thoughts of loneliness from her mind. 

Now that she'd planned the day, she was looking forward to the night's event more than she had been that morning. Maybe it was just over-exhaustion, her mental faculties and positive attitude run down with the lack of sleep and busy lifestyle. Despite her commitment to the early morning rise and run, she had found herself of recent nights tossing and turning, waking from strange dreams, the odd disturbing one, that ranged from round rooms, drowning in a tank of water and one particularly horrible nightmare wherein she seemed to be catching sight of her reflection in the bottom of glasses and in bar windows – the reflection a haggard, skeleton thin woman with skin the color of yellow pastel. It was perhaps this particular nightmare that made her push even further into her early morning routine and commitment to her self imposed healthy eating programme – the fear of becoming that woman gripped her all too strong. Although why the fear felt so prescient, she didn't know. She had no cause to worry that she was on that path or indeed ever had been. She never drank. She didn't do drugs. She didn't even eat fast food. But no matter how many times she told herself this, reassured herself about how fit and healthy she was, she couldn't shake that image she saw when she closed her eyes. And to make this fear even worse, the strangest thing had happened the day before which she had pushed to the back of her mind until now. 

Coming back from her morning run, there was a large delivery truck parked outside her house. Jogging toward the driver, leaning against the wheel wearing a fedora and a duster jacket (in this impossible heat no less), she unplugged her earphones and waited as he pushed himself away from the truck and moved toward her, breaking into a smile and taking off the hat. If it hadn't been for the slightly greying hair she would have sworn it was Idris Elba straight off the set of filming The Dark Tower (a fact she only knew because her son was such a huge fan of both King and Elba) complete with Gunslinger costume. He had a friendly face, startling blue eyes looking out from his dark skin. He took his hat off and checked his clipboard, still with that smile. 

"Sarah Barr?" he said, looking up at her from his clipboard. 

"That's me. What's all this?" Sarah asked, taking a swig of her water. 

"Looks to me like one hell of a party is what it is," he said, taking out a pen and passing over the clipboard. "Just give me a signature here and here and I'll get unloading all this party juice."

Sarah didn't take the pen, instead looked past him into the truck, confused. "Party juice?"

"My little word for it. Booze. Drink. Moonshine. You must be having the whole neighbourhood round."

Her heart had started to race, (which she accounted to the run) but nevertheless she started to feel a little woozy. "I didn't order any alcohol."

The man looked at her, taken aback. "You didn't?"

"I didn't. I don't drink. And the people coming to the party bring their own if they're so inclined."

The man scratched his head, looking back at the clipboard. "You are Sarah Barr though, right?"

"I am but I'm not the right one you're looking for."

He glanced back and forth at the clipboard and Sarah a couple of times and clicked his tongue. "Must be a mix up at the warehouse again. Mrs. Barr, I've very sorry to have troubled you with all this. I'll head back and find out what's what."

"It's alright. These things happen. I'm sure I'm not the only Sarah Barr."

He smiled wide then, in a way that made her a little uncomfortable. "I'm sure you aren't." He then leaned in conspiratorially. "You want one off the back of the truck? Nobody's going to miss one, see it as a token for all this inconvenience."

Stepping back a little, Sarah shook her head. "I'm fine honestly. Unless it's water you have back there, I'm not interested."

The man nodded and flipped his hat back on. "Right you are. You're a good woman Mrs. Barr. Apologies again."

And with that, he hopped back in his truck and drove off, leaving Sarah standing there, confused as all hell. It had been the strangest thing, the delivery turning up like that, right after those dreams had started. And even stranger was how thirsty she felt looking into the back of that truck, a thirst that, no matter how much water she drank couldn't quite be quenched. 

Her dream-like reverie on her nights of broken sleeps, the jaundiced food deprived version of her in the mirror & her weird moment with the delivery driver was interrupted slowly by the sound coming from the radio. As she pulled into the next lane and stopped at the red light, Sarah looked toward the speakers of the car and listened. Something about the song, the lyrics, stirred her into a hypnotic state. 

Bohemian Rhapsody. Queen. She'd been a fan in her youth. Had even cried when Freddie died.

All of a sudden, like a switch was flicked, images begun to flash through Sarah's mind, quick and violent, pulsing to the front of her brain and into the minds eye. Empty bottles. Syringes. Music loud. Powder on the table. A room full of pallid and paper-thin people. Cars. Traffic. An accident.

MMMMEEEEEHHHH.

Snapping out of her hypnosis, Sarah's mind rushed back to the present to the sound of pamping cars and angry drivers behind her. 

Driving quickly through the green light she'd been sitting idle at while the cars behind got angrier and angrier, she pulled over into the shopping centre car park and stopped the car, her breathing a little ragged and heart beating a touch too fast for someone who was only sitting in a car. What was that? She thought. She sat there for a few moments, wracking her brain as to what just happened inside her head. It was like scenes from a thousand broken movies, a film edit that was cut badly and jumped in places. Images, and scenes, playing in her mind like a memory. But from where? And who's? They're not my memories, she told herself, adamant. But was that true? The only way she could think to describe the experience was that it was like she was sitting down to watch a movie for the first time but as the opening credits started to roll, she realized she had already seen it. The empty bottles? Sarah didn't drink. And the syringes? She grimaced at the thought of a few painkillers and couldn't even bear to take a nasal spray, so why was she suddenly seeing scenes of excessive drug use in her head? And the accident, or whatever that was at the end. She had never had so much a parking ticket never mind being involved in any accident involving a motor vehicle. The whole thing happened so quickly and was so strange she couldn't wrap her head around it. One minute she had been sitting there, quite the thing thinking about the day ahead, about missing her kids and listening to a Queen classic. Then all of a sudden, it was like she was thrust into somebody else's mind to take an unwanted and unheeded trip down a particularly dark side street of memory lane. It made no sense to her. No whatsoever. 

Giving herself a quick glance in the mirror, Sarah touched her face. Healthy. Tanned. Just as it was supposed to be. Perhaps she was just fatigued. And, come to think of it, perhaps she'd not drank nearly enough water since her run that morning. Those two things combined with the fact she was filling her non-sleeping time with watching the 2am movies on the TV probably was filling her head with all sorts of images and her brain just was getting to sluggish about separating what was the truth from reality. She'd read about that in plenty of articles online about sleep deprivation and dehydration. That's itshe thought. That's the reason. No need to panic or run to Dr. Wyatt...no wait Fleming. She didn't have a Dr. Wyatt.

Popping open the glove compartment, Sarah took out a bottle of water and started to drink, trying to push that little wobble out of her mind. She was satisfied with her self-diagnosis and non-googled answers that she chalked it down to something that was nothing worth worrying about. She just needed more sleep and more water in her system. Nothing more. Nothing less. Stepping out of the car to the packed shopping centre car park, Sarah looked and saw that she was, somehow one of the lucky few to get a space so close to the door, despite the mid morning rush and the packed car park. Picking up her shopping list and locking the car, she headed toward the shopping centre, thinking no more of the images she saw and no more about the opening to that Queen classic that had started it all in the first place. She had a party to prepare for after all. 

Part 1: The Strangeness of Fredrick Street - Chapter Six

In Chapter Six, life begins to unravel on Fredrick Street, with Kim experiencing something strange.

6

The high pitched drone of the dishwasher as it finished it's cleaning cycle nudged Kim out of her mid-morning nap; a treat she'd grew accustomed to since falling pregnant. Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she sifted through the pile of scripts on the coffee table for her phone to check the time. It was reading the scripts that had put her to sleep in the first place, the majority of them B-Movie slush that made Plan 9 From Outer Space look like Schindler's List in comparison. She didn't mind that she wasn't necessarily an A-List star strolling up red carpets with flashing lights and adoring fans. It was work and it paid the bills. But, with motherhood beckoning, she felt it was high time she made her way closer into the big leagues. Perhaps the wisdom, the inevitable adornment of crows feet and a few wrinkles that would be a result of impending motherhood could elevate her from straight to DVD-fare to more cinematic outings. Most mother's wailed about how their babies took away their youth, their looks and their figure but Kim was hoping that it'd take away from her almost Barbie doll sculpted features and let her get taken as a serious dramatic actor. She'd never tell the rest of the mothers this though; she liked them and liked that they liked her, which wasn't easy for Kim. She'd always found it hard to be friends with women, part of it was because they usually made an emotional bee-line straight to jealousy of Kim's looks and career but mainly because they probably found it hard to make friends with the woman who was on a poster in their teenage boys room wearing nothing but a bra and panties in her most popular film Even Zombies And Werewolves Like Strippers. As you could imagine, it wouldn't be easy welcoming the woman their husbands, fathers, sons and brothers fantasied about round for Sunday dinner. But hopefully, all of that was about to change. She had resolved never to do a film like that again, not with a baby on the way and certainly not after. 

Sliding off the couch, Kim left the living room and plodded into the kitchen to check on the dishes. After she gave birth, she should probably think about investing in a pair of sweats and some baggy t-shirts to walk about the house in, rather than in her underwear as she did currently. That kind of thing couldn't be good for a child's upbringing. Or perhaps it promoted a healthy body image and perspective on the human body? Kim wasn't sure, but she resolved to Google it later as soon as she got back from the hospital and pinned her new baby scan to the fridge, something that had become the favourite part of her day over the past few months. She glanced over at the 12 week scan that took pride of place in the centre of the fridge door and grinned so much she put the Cheshire Cat in Alice In Wonderland to shame. Kim couldn't quite believe it. All Kim and Mark had ever wanted was to start a family, build a life together and be with each other; everything she asked for was coming true and more with her high school sweetheart in tow. It was almost too good to be true. Almost. 

She popped the hood of the dishwasher and had a peek inside, pulling her head back as the steam billowed out like she'd been keeping a Steam Engine train hostage in close quarters and it was now voicing it's protest. Once the steam cleared, she poked her head in to inspect what she hoped was a treasure chest of clean dishes sparkling back and for the most part it was, barring the odd straggling bit of food debris clinging onto the plate for dear life. It would appear that, no matter how expensive their dishwasher or how many times they put on the cycle, they just couldn't get every piece of dirt washed away. Sighing, she flicked on the radio pulled out the trays and emptied the dishwasher, whistling while she worked like a modern day Snow White. Putting the clean dishes and cutlery back into their cupboards she took out the still dirty ones, filled the sink basin with hot soapy water, grabbed the scrubber and got to work. For all the griping, moaning and arguing that she and Mark did over whose responsibility it was that the dishes got so dirty and whose turn it was to clean them (one of the reasons they bought the damn dishwasher in the first place was to bring a certain level of peace to the household, although they still argued about who should fill it and who should empty it) Kim rather enjoyed the process of washing them by hand. It was cleansing, almost meditative. It allowed her to disconnect from the world around her, all the white noise that the world had become and allowed her to focus on just one thing. Of course, there wasn't a chance in hell she'd tell Mark this or she'd find herself chief dishwasher for life and she wasn't ready to give him the satisfaction, no matter how much she loved him. It was much more fun to see him squirm just a little bit.

Dipping her hands into the water, she started to clean the dishes and let her mind switch into a trance. Thinking about the baby, their own little bundle of joy that was just a few months away, a gift that was so close to unwrapping she ticked off the mental check list of things they needed to do before the baby was born. The nursery needed done, that was the main thing. Baby clothes needed bought (Kim was going to take up knitting but she couldn't get the hang of it – perhaps another problem motherhood would solve) and of course, the most important thing – the name. That was her favourite thing about this experience so far (even more than the scans) was lying in bed late at night with Mark, hand on her tummy and flicking through the book of baby names, or trolling the internet for ideas. Mark had found one he liked on a website for Greek mythology and near resolute that this was what the baby was going to be called. Even thinking about it now made her laugh. He'd sat bolt upright, and snapped his fingers. 

Mark. "I got it."

Kim laughed. "I bet you don't. But OK, go on then. I'll indulge you."

Mark. "I'm telling you, I 100% have it. You're going to hear it and think 'Mark, my god. You are right. You should be in charge of naming all the babies in the world from now. You should be Chief Baby Namer."

Smiling, Kim gave her best fake supportive stare. "Of course you will. Now are you going to continue to pontificate or are you going to tell me the name?"

"Pontificate? That's a big word for such a dainty little lady like you," Mark teased.

She hit him with a pillow then, knowing that he liked to wind her up like this. "Anymore of that and I'll pontificate you. Now are you going to tell me the name?"

He shifted, faced her straight on the bed and stared her in the eyes. "OK. You ready?"

"I'm sure I am."

Mark smiled. "OK. We're going to name our baby, wait for it, Andromeda. Andi for short."

The name hung in the air. Kim just looked at her husband, his big eyes pleading. "Well?"

Kim reached over and took the laptop from him. "Yeah I think you've had enough googling tonight."

"Come on. We can have a little Greek mythology set. Andromeda, Medusa and little Zeus."

She laughed so hard then that she thought she might break into early labour as he grabbed her and threw her back on the bed laughing and kissed her. It was a nice memory and she looked at those moments with such fondness that it was almost enough to convince her to name the baby Andromeda in order to remember the laughter and the kisses every time she called on her child. Common sense prevailed of course. Mark was always a little left field with names.

A scuffling, squawking and thumping noise from the porch distracted her from her trance and put her hazy eyed trip down memory lane to and end as she went to investigate. She knew it would be the cat, (it always was) and he started scratching on front of the door. From the sound of it, he had decided to bring them home a present, which usually came in the form of a field mouse or a robin red breast and always prompted the same response from Mark. "I wish he'd just get us a gift card." Not a joke that was all that funny but he'd worn her down with it that she couldn't help but giggle just a little whenever he said it. Approaching the front door, she could see through the frosted glass the outline of their cat standing over something that lay still, confirming her suspicions that it was indeed a little bird. However, opening the door, Kim took a step back and yelped out. In place of where she expected to see a robin or a mouse was a single, dead magpie. It lay there, it's black and white plumage stained with red and the blue green gloss of its tail feathers surrounded the dead bird in tatters. The cat looked from Kim to the bird curiously, wondering if she was happy with his gift. Kim simply stood and stared, her hand moving like a reflex to her baby-bearing belly. She wasn't the superstitious sort but even a tableau of this nature on her doorstep made her feel a little nauseous. It's just the pregnancy. Delayed morning sickness. She tried to convince herself. Pushing her worries to the back of her mind, Kim knew she had to clean it up before Mark got home, because he was the superstitious type. Pulling on a pair of yellow marigolds, Kim bent down to pick up the bird but before she could wrap her hand over the dead creature the cat had pounced forward, picked the bird up in his mouth and bounding off and out of sight. Kim watched him go and continued to stare as he found a little shading under the bush and plunged his teeth into the bird's chest and tore out the innards before ripping off the head. Tearing her gaze away, Kim shut the door and stepped back into the house, feeling a damn sight less calm than she had been moments ago. Throwing the marigolds into the cupboard, she returned to the kitchen, plunging her hands into the hot soapy water to soak off the bird, despite not having laid a finger on it she felt like the poor things blood was on her hands. As she washed, she tried to shake it out of her mind, the surrounding cloud of dark thoughts and worries. She wasn't superstitious but for some reason, this had shaken her a little. Was it a bad omen? About the baby? Something else? No. It couldn't be and it wasn't. It was just a cat being a cat, that's all. Nothing more than—

"Ow!" Kim retreated her hand from the basin as the water turned red. She'd slit her hand on a piece of broken glass, not that she remembered any glasses or mugs smashing as she washed them. Quickly, she ran it under the tap and wrapped it in a towel as she found the first aid kit and patched herself up. Emptying the basin into the sink, she gingerly picked up the piece of glass and tossed it in the bin. What a strange morning. She thought. But she could dwell on the thought no longer as she looked at the time and realized she had to leave for the hospital to make the scan in time.

Giving the sink a quick rinse, Kim put the rest of the dishes away and turned to give the baby scan on the picture one last look and a good luck kiss as she had developed a habit of doing. But it wasn't there. Frantic, she searched the kitchen high and low for the picture of her little baby. It had been there just seconds before, just before the whole incident with the magpie and the broken glass. Breathing, Kim forced herself to be calm. The picture would be there somewhere. And that's when she saw the corner of it poking out from under the fridge. It probably slipped under there in her commotion to patch up her cut. Bending down, Kim picked the baby scan back up and put it back in its place and gave it a little kiss. But before she turned to leave the kitchen, the sight of something out of the window staring back at her caused her to pause and look out. There, perched on the garden fence and staring into the kitchen was one, single magpie. Kim let her gaze fix on it for a few moments. There was something about the way it looked at her, like it was looking at her. After a minute, Kim forced herself to break eye contact with the bird and shake herself back into reality. She was being crazy. Maybe it was the hormones. Or maybe it was something else. No. It was the hormones. Her anxiety levels had increased due to the pregnancy that was probably it. She was looking for signs of things that weren't there. She'd ask the Doctor about it during the scan. Grabbing her jacket and keys from the kitchen's table, Kim started to head out of the kitchen and make her way out of the house to head to the hospital. Before leaving the kitchen though, she took one last look out of the kitchen window to see the magpie on the garden fence. But where the magpie had been moments before, perched on the wood and staring back at her, was nothing but thin air. Shaking any thoughts from her mind, Kim stepped out of the kitchen, out of the house and into the car, not giving the very strange events of her morning a single, second thought. 

Part 1: The Strangeness of Fredrick Street - Chapter Three

In Chapter Three, we meet Mark and Kim. Do you notice the change, that not even they notice?

3

The crackle of fat in the pan, accompanied by the smell of French toast and bacon wafting up the stairs, woke Mark Fleming from his sleep that Wednesday morning as it tended to most mornings when his wife Kim rose before he did. A quick swipe out with his left arm confirmed that she had indeed stepped out of bed before him this morning and was the conductor of the breakfast band playing downstairs. Mark lay there for a few minutes, letting the warm rays shoot through the slats of the blinds, giving him a few gentle slaps into the land of the living. Turning over, he opened his eyes and smiled as he looked at the alarm clock, which read 7:59. If there was anything he loved more than waking up to the smell of bacon or the sound of his wife singing downstairs it was beating the sound of his alarm. It had been his sworn enemy throughout his teenage years and now, approaching 40 as Mark was, he took a real pleasure in beating the little wake-up box to the punch and not giving the snooze button the satisfaction of that early morning control over him. It was the small things Mark lived for. 

Waiting till the digits turned to 8.00 and turning the alarm off before it had the chance to bleat, Mark rose out of bed, his feet hitting cold on the wooden flooring (sometimes he wished they were carpeted, particularly this current moment) and threw on his dressing gown. Stretching, he opened the blinds and squinted outside at the rest of the houses in Fredrick Street. It was quiet, always had been but recently it had been more so. The only other families he had seen was Sarah Barr's across the street, Albert Molineaux and his wife Betty and the Young's, although he only ever spoke to the youngest Jessica, purely because she was interested in following in Mark's footsteps for a career in medicine. He was just a surgeon at the small hospital in the city but he had promised he'd do his best to give her all the advice and help he could, and his best was what he was going to do. As for the rest of Fredrick Street, he hadn't seen The Guthries, The Hendricks, The Murphy's or any of the other residents for a while, not since Albert's 70th a few months ago and even then, some he hadn't seen since they all moved in precisely a year ago. 

He was still looking out onto the street when he saw Albert come out of his house to pick up the paper from his grass and looked up. Mark gave him a little wave, which Albert returned with a wave of the paper before returning into the house. He watched Albert go, thinking of how he'd quite like to be as happy, agile and nimble as Albert was when he himself reached 70. And he'd love a good head of hair like the man himself with all his mental faculties in tact. 

Moving away from the window, Mark made his way into the bathroom for a quick shower. Catching his reflection in the mirror, he couldn't help but give himself a little smile. He'd been a fat kid, from what he remembered, with a bad case of bacne but now, he had skin fit to feature in an advert for L'Oreal and a slender physique that wouldn't go a miss on the cover of Men's Health. The first flecks of grey were starting to threaten the deep black that currently crowned his head but he wasn't bothered. I'll just let this bit of stubble grow into a bushel and that'll distract the world from the grey. Not that anyone was as bothered about his hair as he was; even Kim wasn't bothered – she was looking forward to him becoming a silver fox. And by the looks of it, he was on track to being just that. Still smiling, he jumped in for a quick shower and started to get ready for the day.

Wrapping a towel around his waist, and picking up a small one to dry his hair, Mark headed back into the bedroom. As he finished drying himself off, and threw on his work shirt, suit and tie, he stopped. Looking around, he couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right; something was different. Pulling on his socks, he sat on the edge of the bed and listened as Kim entered the room with a plate. 

"Don't get used to this honey. It won't happen every day. You want any sauce?" Kim said.

"Hmm?" Mark was distracted, he still wasn't sure what it was that was bothering him so much. It felt like something in the room had changed in the time it took him to go for a shower. "Have you been tidying?"

Kim raised an eyebrow. "You think I'm you're cook and you're cleaner?"

Mark shook his head. "No, no. It's....nothing."

"What's the matter?" said Kim. "I know that look and that is not a good look."

Shaking off the feeling, Mark smiled at Kim and took the plate. "It's nothing, there's no look."

Kim yanked the plate out of his reach. "There is, there is a look. It's a something's wrong, look. It's an I'm thinking look. That's always dangerous for you."

Mark laughed. "Kim, I'm a surgeon, thinking is part of my job. I can't just pick up the scalpel and go to town."

"Yeah, work thinking is fine. Any other thinking is just bad for you. Fess up, what's on your mind? Why were you giving me the my spider sense is tingling look?"

"I wish I never told you about those comics."

"Well too late, ya did. I can swing with Spidey, I like him. What I don't like is when you come over all Peter Parker on me."

Mark stood up and gave Kim a kiss. "It's fine. I just had this weird feeling is all. Like something had changed but I don't know what it was. Maybe I stood up too fast from picking up my socks, I don't know. It's nothing, trust me."

"Hmmm. OK then."

She gave Mark a little smile and a nose wrinkle that he just loved. She was a bona-fide movie star and she was happy to stay at home every weekend with him when she could be out on the town. Mark took the plate and sat down with Kim as she started to look out her clothes. 

"How come you were up so early this morning?" Mark asked.

"I wanted to catch Sarah before work to find out about tonight." Kim said.

Mark thought for a moment then remembered. "The BBQ?"

"Yeah. Poor soul's worried nobody's going to turn up."

"I'd be too, I haven't seen half the street in a few months." He finished his breakfast and put the plate on Kim's dressing table before she gave him a "Get that the fuck off of there" look and he moved it back onto the bed. 

"Good boy. And I know. Sarah and I were saying how we hadn't seen anyone in a while."

"Think we should go over and check on them?"

"I've a free day, just a scan and I was going to go round the doors and make sure everyone's coming tonight."

Mark smiled. The scan. They'd been trying ever since they had gotten married but as soon as they moved in but it had taken just 1 week before they found out and now they were expecting their first. "What times the scan at?" asked Mark. "I'll make sure I'm there."

"12. I'll give you a text when I arrive at the hospital."

"Make sure you do. I can't wait to add another picture of baby Skywalker to the fridge." 

Grinning Mark looked up as Kim stood shaking her head, with her eyebrow raised. "Yeah keeping dream Jake. But we are not naming our child Skywalker."

"Just you wait. I'll change your mind."

"Oh yeah? How you gonna do that?"

"I convinced you to marry me didn't I?"

Kim laughed, a real hearty one but the one where Mark knew it meant she had the upper hand. "That you did Marky, but you had a secret weapon then. Lots of wine. No dice here baby." She patted her tummy.

They looked at each other and laughed. Mark got up and gave her a kiss. He then held her and they had a little a slow dance. "Yeah, I'll think of something."

Kim glanced at the clock behind Mark and gave his bum a little squeeze and his lips a little peck. "Move and get to work or you'll be late."

Mark straightened his back, brought his feet together and threw his hand into a sharp salute. "Yes ma'am."

Kim raised an eyebrow at Mark. "You know I'm glad this baby isn't yours because then at least he won't think he's funny like you do."

Laughing Mark gave her a kiss on the cheek. "You know you think that's funny now but in about two days time I'm going to come bitching to you about how mean that was."

"I know. Now move."

"OK." Giving the room a quick survey, Mark turned back to Kim. "Have you seen my shoes anywhere?"

"By the front door. I don't want you ruining our nice new carpet now do I?"

"I wouldn't dream of it" said Mark, not realizing his question from a few moments ago had just been answered. "See you later." 

"See you later. Oh, and this came for you. I nearly forgot."

She handed him a small envelope from her back pocket, and Mark took it without looking at his name and address handwritten on the front of the envelope. 

"Who's writing to you then?"

It was Mark's turn to haze. "Oh it'll probably from one of my many other lovers, you know how old fashioned they get."

"Oh you're gonna pay for that one later too."

"I call it even. Don't you?"

She laughed and nodded. "OK. Even. Have a good day, you son of a bitch."

And with that he gave her tummy a quick pat, a kiss and he whirled out of the bedroom door and made his way to work, smiling, thinking of how lucky he was.