There are 73,788 hyperlink(s) connecting 'Teresa
Ann Simons' to 'Gerry/Gerald Dean Grove'. Display? Yes/No.
She clicked on No. She typed in her name and Andy's instead, and in almost instant response the computer said:
There are 1 hyperlink(s) connecting 'Teresa Ann Simons' to 'Andy/Andrew Wellman Simons'. Display? Yes/No.
She clicked on Yes, and the name of the scenario in Kingwood City came into view. She cancelled it, knowing that that was not the one she wanted.
She now knew what she had to do. She typed in Andy's name again, and her own. This time, though, she called herself 'Teresa Ann Gravatt/ Simons'. The computer said: There are 23 hyperlink(s) connecting 'Teresa Ann Gravatt/Simons' to 'Andy/Andrew Wellman Simons'. Display? Yes/No.
Teresa clicked on Yes, and with the list in front of her began constructing the remainder of her life.
CHAPTER 38
Theresa came in at night: she had always remembered it
happening during the day. Her memories were exact,
but
apparently in error. The discovery frightened her
because it made her think, inevitably, that what she was
doing had gone wrong from the outset. She paused in the
street, trying to decide whether to abort the scenario before it went any further, go back and check the preparations she had
made, or to go on with it, and see what transpired.
While she stood there undecided, a door opened in the large building behind her, and a shaft of electric light played across the concrete. A young man stepped out, pulling a thick leather jacket round his shoulders. With his fists in his pockets, and his elbows sticking out, he strode past her.
'Good evening, ma'am,' he said, noncommittally, not really looking at her.
'Hi,' Teresa replied, then turned in shock and surprise to stare at him as he walked off into the night. lt was her father, Bob Gravatt.
He passed under a streetlight, and she saw his closeshaved head, his round ears, his thickening neck, the roll of fleece visible at the neck of his Jacket. He walked to a pickup truck, climbed in and drove away.
Teresa went into the barracks building, and climbed a flight of concrete steps. lt was a communal staircase, with doors leading off landings to individual apartments. On the top floor she came to a brownpainted door that faced into the stairwell. A piece of card ' inscribed in her father's square
lettering, carried his name: S/S R.D. Gravatt. Cautiously, she pushed the door open. A short corridor ran towards the kitchen at the far end. Music from a radio could be heard from this, and the sound of kitchen utensils in use.
The temptation to walk down and see her mother was almost impossible to resist, but Teresa knew that it would lead necessarily to her aborting the scenario and having to start again.
She had set up a chain of contiguity, and she was reluctant to break it so early. Instead, then, she turned into the first room on the right of the corridor, which she knew was her parents'
bedroom.
A small girl stood there, next to a plain wooden chair in the centre of the room. An automatic handgun, instantly recognized by Teresa as a .32calibre Smith & Wesson, lay on the chair.
The child was facing a large mirror, the size of a door, attached to the wall opposite the double bed.
A mirror, a real mirror!
The little girl's reflection stared back at hersel£
'Look what I've got,' said sevenyearold Teresa, and she picked up the handgun in both hands, straining to lift it.
Teresa gasped in horror at the speed with which this happened. She had no time to speak, only to make a futile grabbing action towards the gun. The movement distracted the little girl, who jerked around in surprise, and somehow those tiny hands managed to pull the sensitized trigger. Teresa ducked as the gun went off-a shattering explosion in the confines of the room and saw the mirror on the wall smash into a dozen crazed pieces. The gun flew out of the child's hands, crashing on the floor. The pieces of broken mirror slid heavily to the floor, revealing the dirty wooden board that had been behind the glass.
'Tess?!'
From the other end of the apartment there came the sound of something heavy and metallic being dropped, then
footsteps rushing down the corridor towards her.
Little Teresa was staring in disbelief at the shattered mirror, holding her hurting wrist, her face rigid with shock and fear and pain.
The door burst open, but before her mother appeared Teresa recalled the LIVER mnemonic.
She was in Cleveland, 1962. East 55th Street, outside a bank. She knew what was coming, and there was no need to allow it to happen. Six seconds went by, and the door she was standing next to began to open quickly. LIVER. Two hours' wait for Charles Dayton Hunter in the dimly lit interior of a San Antonio bar had no more attraction. LIVER.
She was hiding behind a tollbooth at the northern end of a suspension bridge thrown high across a river. She was wearing a bulletproof vest, a hardened helmet and silvered shades.
Around her were twenty or thirty other cops dressed
Identically. They were all carrying rifles of a make she could not identify. A helicopter was moving snappily overhead.
'Who we waitin' for?' Teresa gritted to the man next to her.
'It's Gerry Grove,' the man snarled, spitting a jet of orange tobacco Juice. 'He's on the rampage in Bulverton, England, and we gotta stop him, and stop him now! There he is, boys!
He's comm' our way!'
With several of the others, Teresa took up position in the narrow roadway that ran between two of the tollbooths. The other cops disposed themselves similarly. A man was running down the centre of the carriageway towards them. At intervals he loosed off a stream of bullets at passing vehicles, causing them to skid and crash. One caught fire, and rolled slowly backwards down the incline towards the booths, leaving a trail of burning oil.
From the helicopter came a loudly amplified voice, screeching down at the gunman from above:
'We know you're in there, Grove! Throw down your weapon or weapons, and come out with your hands up! Let the hostage '
Gerry Grove rolled on his back, took aim, and pumped a dozen bullets into the belly of the helicopter. There was a mighty explosion, and shattered glass, engine housing and rotor blades flew in all directions.
'Let's get him, boys!' yelled the police captain.
With the others, Teresa raised her rifle and started to fire. A deafening fusillade roared out.
Grove stood his ground with a calm expression on his face, firing back with deadly effect. In quick succession, policemen were thrown violently backwards by the impact of his bullets.
Teresa, staring at the man, said aloud, 'That's not Grove!'
She took off her shades to see better, then removed her helmet and shook out her long black tresses. She stepped forward. The man they had called Gerry Grove stared at her in amazement.
He was not Grove but Dave Hartland, Amy's brotherinlaw.
Shit, thought Teresa. I'm wasting a lot of time on this!
LIVER.
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'What?' said Teresa, as darkness abruptly fell.
She was in Bulverton Old Town on a cold winter's morning. It was her first full day in England, and she had gone for a walk to see the place. A frisson of recognition ran through her; recognition not from now, as she returned via the hyperlinked scenario, but from then. Why had she felt so at home here? lt could hardly matter now. She was impatient to get on. LIVER.