The psychic detective: an original science fiction story pp2.5-4

The sunny weather always filled Brooke with sweet content, especially now as she sat in her office next to the window and felt the sun’s warm rays on her face. It was unseasonably hot. She smiled to herself. She had heard the receptionist excitedly greet Honda at the front desk.
Honda beaming with outstretched hand spoke first:
“It’s so nice to meet you” Her voice carried a slight accent/unusual accent as she spoke.
Brooke elated shook her hand warmly:
“I hope the journey here wasn’t too problematic”.
She could not help but notice her new guest had the strangest fashion sense she had ever witnessed, she wore green socks and shoes that were unmatched in colour barely hiding green socks, a green summer dress that was meant to be fitted but was actually 2 or 3 sizes bigger than its wearer, with a woollen floppy hat. In addition, she had heavy makeup and grey hair; an uncommon colour choice for someone with such a young face. Brooke liked her immediately.
They made their way to the crime scene. Brooke had to coax her car into starting up. Each time she turned the ignition, the engine made an asthmatic wheezing sound. It took four attempts before the car finally jolted into submission.
There were police check points everywhere at least every quarter mile or so. Every single vehicle was being searched for potential riot style material or even too much food. Every boot was opened and every back seat and glove compartment explored. The police looked as though they were intoxicated by their own power. They bellowed numerous questions at their victims with one hand clutching a rifle and baton dangling from the hip; they walked with an arrogant swagger that instilled fear even in the innocent. Several cars ahead a rough looking individual was being manhandled; handcuffed and bundled into a nearby police van. A daily occurrence. Brooke wondered what his crime was and how many were now incarcerated.
It was now our turn, an officer had signalled for us to come to a halt. He was strong, burlesque, greedy looking with an ill fitting uniform that stretched and struggled to keep him fully and adequately covered. Bits of his bare belly were showing at the most volumous part of his midriff.
He fit perfectly the profile of the new government police, Brooke felt nervous and intimidated, these guys were best kept at arms length.
“Show me your papers”, he barked.
Brooke (heart rate quickened) reached towards the glove compartment, pulled out all the necessary paperwork and handed it to the officer who was staring at them both critically. Honda stared ahead not wanting to make eye contact. Another officer had joined him and was opening the boot to the car. He grabbed the papers and gave them a cursory glance.
“Your licence plates are not securely attached, that’s a 10 Silver bit fine” he then said stiffly.
Brooke slightly nervous and knowing this was untrue took only a few seconds to assess the situation. The best strategy was the one that offered the least resistance. She handed over the money and they were waved on. Brooke was seething at life for not being able to fight back but financially she was more able than most to appease her oppressors (this took the edge off her inner anger).
The journey to Cranbrook Park was to be a painfully slow undertaking.
The pair travelled in silence each in her thoughts. Honda was having mixed feelings of guilt and relief; her plan had worked to secure this, her first post through deception and cleverly placed rumour in a foreign land with no legitimate credentials. A land in which she struggled not to draw attention to herself.
BROOKE’S MEMORIES
Brooke’s fiancé was tall, slim, handsome, educated and politically driven. When he smiled it was broad and infectious. This warmed Brooke’s heart from the moment they met.
“You know if you want to move ahead, you really ought to put in more hours, than just the barest minimum”
This made Brooke angry “you do not have to kind of boss that I have, he feeds off every great inspiration I have and I never get the credit! He’s a parasite!”
He took one long look at Brooke and as if something clicked, he walked off. Brooke fuming headed straight for the couch and lunged onto it landing prostrate with her head and arms hugging the cushions for comfort. In the meantime Tarquin had returned with some tea.
“Here, drink this, there’s a little honey in it to make it nicer”.
It was chamomile tea. He always knew when she was menstruating; it had a tendency to turn a once peaceful soul into an angry demon. Brooke on the other hand wondered how he could read her so well, she was not aware that she was overreacting, in fact she felt quite justified in her anger. She sat up and started to sip the hot drink slowly, allowing herself to regain some peace. He sat next to her and slid his right arm around her waist. With his left hand he peeled back her shirt collar and kissed her gently on the neck.
That was the last time she saw him alive, she missed those moments of comfort. Still, she felt optimistic for the future without really knowing why.

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