Déjà Vu

Chapter Thirty-Three

Snick.

Ute opened her eyes. The gun had misfired, and she let it slip, dead, to the ground. Memories crowded her. She remembered her first kiss. It had been on tiptoe behind the local supermarket. She saw the face of her best friend at school, Katrin, and some fellow schoolchildren, and the faces of her foster parents. Spending hours learning to hula hoop. A school trip to France. Dinner for One on New Year’s Eve. Her foster mother’s name was Fride. They had lived in Cologne. Her Uncle Manni had once saved her from drowning. He had died within the year from skin cancer.

A whole life returned to her. Ute Schmidt’s ghostly passenger—the digital Saskia Brandt—was gone.

She felt David’s breath on her face. Her knowledge of him was once removed. She knew that his words were English but she could not understand him.

‘Your ability to comprehend English, as well other recently-acquired skills, will return in a few minutes,’ said a voice. It spoke flawless German. ‘David just claimed that you are a “bloody idiot”.’

‘Who are you?’ asked Ute.

‘I am Ego, David’s personal computer. But I was once in your possession. I have a message for you.’

‘Tell me.’

‘Ute, you must understand that it is a message from Saskia.’

The name stirred something in Ute. It carried a sisterly feeling, one of protection. And one of loss. It was comparable to the death of a twin. ‘The message reads, “Look in the envelope”.’

‘Which envelope?’

‘The one you found in the West Lothian Centre.’

‘I…I remember. But I can’t see to read it.’

A tile of pale light appeared on the floor. It grew brighter until the faces of Jennifer and David appeared. With their concerned expressions, the connection between them and Ute deepened. She accepted they were her friends.

Ute knelt and shrugged off her shoulder bag. As she opened it, she noticed the dark polish on her nails. She did not like the shade. Her long hair cascaded over her face. She found the transparent wallet that contained the white envelope. It was fastened with a metal popper. She opened it and withdrew the envelope. Once white, it was now yellow and spotted with mould. On the front it read: ‘Do not

She ripped the seal and shook out a laminated ID card in the name of Saskia Brandt, FIB. The photo was her, Ute. On the reverse was written one word: ‘Munin.’

‘Munin,’ repeated Ute. ‘David, didn’t Hartfield use that word?’

The professor’s reply was gibberish.

‘I shall act as translator,’ said Ego.

She heard Ego repeating her words in English and, as David and Jennifer replied, Ego gave the German equivalent.

‘Saskia,’ David said, ‘I’m afraid that you have to follow Hartfield. You have no choice.’

Hartfield. The name conjured the image of a business-like man. Beckmann.

‘It’s true,’ said Jennifer. ‘You are destined to follow him. When Hartfield shot at you just now, he fired point-blank but he missed. When you tried to shoot yourself, the gun didn’t fire. It couldn’t fire.’

‘You built a time machine,’ Ute said as the memory returned.

‘Saskia -’

‘My name is Ute,’ she snapped. But even as she spoke, she felt the gap in her mind: a jagged hole shaped like Saskia Brandt, whose body had been dumped at sea, or in building foundations, or fed to pigs. Hartfield was getting away. He had killed another woman to capture her ghost. That ghost wanted revenge.

Revenge was something that Ute understood.

‘Ego,’ she said. ‘Can you reactivate the chip?’

‘No. It requires a password.’

Ute looked once more at the handwritten word on the reverse of her ID card. ‘Try “munin”.’

‘The chip has accepted the password. Your mind construct been reactivated.’

Nothing happened.

David said, ‘Listen, we need to get after him. We don’t know whether he will make it or not. That’s not certain.’

The English made sense.

‘Hör zu—’

‘I understand him,’ said Saskia, her implanted skills returning. She crouched to retrieve the gun. Three bullets remained. ‘Let’s go.’

You will return, the witch had said, as you have returned before.