Lifewatcher
The Lifewatcher
They say your life flashes before your eyes when you die, that’s my job, to watch those lives and see them die.
Limited uncertainty to those poor bastards taken from this world, but cold comfort for those they have left behind.
I am a Lifewatcher, and this is what I do…
Don’t Judge me, I’m just doing my job the same as you.
Fourteen minutes is the time it takes for the images of your memories to die, but I’ve loaded fifteen and still been able to watch most of the Dee-dee’s, those dearl-departed life history, just lost the first ten years or so, nothing too interesting or detailed but the longer you leave it the less chance you have or retriving any thing.
The Po'lice on the other hand like to see the victim’s full story, but I supose it really depends on how the Dee-Dee dies. Murder one, murder most foul is the commonest but they have there own Cisser to do that, Crime Image Specialist. I am a doctor and work for the NHS so I don’t get too many “junctions," or "tanks” as there known around here, mostly RTA and DIS (die in sleep) and ocasinally the odd fucked up coma patient, always interesting those ones.
I’m kitted out with my D.P.A. and visor kit, which i'm ment to keep on me the whole time, St. Bernard’s has three full time watchers - one based at the hospital library, the other is with the Para’s ready to roll at the drop of a hat and one back-up. Today is Tuesday and I enjoy my lie in as I have the home watch and am not due in till eight. Ah, the bliss of the duvet and a warm body to hug, even though the missus ain’t a morning person she still enjoys a hug and a stinky breath kiss in the morning. No kids yet which is a bonus as the days are hard enough as it is.
The alarm clock plays its wake up call, something slow, building gracefully to lift me from my slumber, its 7:00am, an hour to wake up. Hmmm.
I rise from my bed desperately in need of a piss, cock pulsing beneath my pants, stand, stretch and shake off the morning dullness, and autopilot to the upstairs bathroom. As Niagara flows from my body in a dark stream I catch my self in the mirror. Dark bags hang like monkeys under my eyes, my brown skin pale in the mirror light. I look like a junkie-smack head, as usual, and jump in the shower.
The new me glisten in the bathroom mirror as I wipe the mist away with some padded bear shit bog roll. There’s me, ah that’s better. My short brown hair sticks up in tuffs, bordered by slightly greying sides. Not bad for a 42 year old, and going by my younger other half not bad for a 32 year old either. On that cue she bangs the door and tells me to get out, I oblige, with a non-reciprocated hug and a kiss to follow, and head down stairs to the Men’s loo... Here my stuff rules, no almond shampoo, or coconut butter moisturiser, no, no, no.
Just man shit!
A cutthroat razor a Gillette power 10, with ultra glide and a pack of matches to get rid of the stink. In the wooden wall cupboard some hair stuff with a normal smell, some tweezers and a tube of toothpaste – white no stripe.
I shave in the sink and wash the hair down the plughole, when the house phone rings.
“It’s for you” I hear screamed down the stairs.
“How do you know?” I reply but there is no answer and the phone rings on…
Shuffling into the kitchen I grab the receiver off the wall and clip it on my ear. And return to the bathroom
“Hey! Sally is that you?” the voice enquires
“No it’s me Dave… ”
“Oh Nat – cough, cough - Nat, Nat just the man I want to speak to, can you hear me man? – Don’t I sound crook.”
“Forget it” – I say.
“Come on man you owe me – I can’t be out in the balances today mate, it will drive me insane”
“And” – I reply non committal!
“The sicko’s, they’ll all catch cold!”
“Where are you Dave?”
“On watch mate”
“Ok, I’ll be there in ½ an hour “– click, I hang up the phone.
It doesn’t bother me, the job that is, where I do it, how it happens, just the bullshit, can’t be doing with people holding things over me that’s what really gets my goat…
The Missus slides by, toast in mouth and tea in hand, juggles and says I love you before she heads on out of the garage door.
DLR for me today then, once again I don’t care I’m in no rush, and hopefully by the time I get there some poor fool has hurt themselves and Dave’s out on a call. Sounds harsh but that’s just the way things are. Every time you hear an ambulance siren someone somewhere is in pain.
I put on my shoes, black and shiny. Pull my coat over my worn suit and shove my coveralls in a bag.
The kettle boils as I watch the steam on the window. The front door closes with a bang as I enter the 21st-century. Tuesday the 8th of May.
Shit, I still have the house phone in my ear so I switch it off and post it back through the letterbox. That’ll keep her guessing when she gets in I’ll ring at six just to make sure.
The clipping of my good shoes annoys me so I fumble in my pocket for my player. Unscrewing the top and bottom I place the earpieces in place and switch on my music. Tapping the left ear piece I say. Mellow and my play list comes on…
Wagner, hmmm. Too slow, perhaps the radio.
As I enter the station, the radio chatter sooths my ear, Johnny Rum in the morning, think your so funny don’t ya fella but you’re not fooling me.
Running down the escalator the voice fizzes as the player switches antenna and I wait for the next train. The board say three minutes till the train as the little icon pulls away from the previous stop. I fumble in my bag for the newspaper. It takes 30 seconds to download the day’s news, it flashes adverts into my eyeballs until it does so. I sip my tea and turn the panel over to read the sports page. My team’s on top again, go-on you gooners, seven goals against the toons, Mark will be upset, (make a mental note not to ride him too hard when I get in)
Seats are full, so are the aisles so I push in with an “excuse–me” for every movement. Ting! And the doors slide shut as we pull away faces stuck to the glass. I flip the panel back, death, dead, death, murder, rape, and Mc Donald’s - they use real coffee beans you know. Still tastes shit though. I put the panel away after considering a game of solitaire. (I must be trendy, must play the game of gods) what a load of rubbish…
7:45am and the tube pulls into Victoria and I alight at speed in flow with the rats, its three minutes till I hit the open air and breathe in the smog of old London town. Four minutes walk and I can see the A&E. My handy rings and I pop it up from its wrist strap. Its Dave again, I ignore it.
Why do all hospital smell the same, six years I’ve worked here and three year previously in Cambridge, its not the cleaning manufacturers as I checked that out one day with me old mate Mike, and we know different hospital use different suppliers, but the smell is always the same, is that what prolonged death smells like? I sign in with a nod to Katie (the rebuked receptionist) as I head to the library on the forth floor. Never a dull moment in this place!
The lift, big and grey with padding around the sides, lumbers up to the next floor. As the doors slide open Reg, the orderly, tips his invisible hat and says morning to me as he pushes an air-bed into the oversized contraption, I just nod and the lift carries on upwards.
There he stands with his back to me and there’s that smell again! This time it’s coming from the bed and I wonder, if that bed was alive, I wonder what stories it would tell? Grief and happiness, stains and all I imagine. I contemplate this for a moment as the lift reaches the forth floor library level, the doors ting open and I squeeze out, sign’s point this-way and that as the lift voice confirms them, I turn left and walk the couple of hundred yards to the Libraries' entrance and its swing-doors.
There she is, morning Audrey. A middling aged woman is sat behind the Library reception, with bone-framed glasses perched on her long elegant nose, they lift slightly as she wrinkles it in disgust as I pass – I don’t why she hates me, needs to get her pipes cleaned I guess, well I’m certainly not going to do it for her.
Morning I reply to myself in mock tones as she turns her back to me as well, it must be my aftershave.
I push through the barrier and head to the back office; here the smell is less potent masked with the sweet smell of dead trees and worn carpets. I pass the loaded isles of collective knowledge to our small office at the back. The office door is closed so I knock then tentatively push it open.
Here I see Dave, or rather hear him, snoring away with a bag on his head, I kick the desk at his feet and he startles awake.
“God, you DO look bad” I muse, as he removes the cold bag from his head. Pungent – aromas assail my nostrils, lavender, ginger and menthol.
“Yeah I feel it too…” he sniffs,
“You know what mate, I still get flashes of that time I caught you and her downstairs, at it, on the desk.” He smiles a remembrance at this, and then coughs his guts up all over the floor.
“Nice,” I say “that also reminds me of the mess you made.”
He tries to laugh but it come out as more of a gurgle as me moves over to the wash basin in the corner of the room, I take his seat and flick through the mornings’ rota that has been left on the clipboard.
“Jesus I hate feeling like this” Dave snuffles,
Then the bell goes…
“You're so lucky” I state… then grab my things and rush for the opening door to the chute at the back of the room. He just shrugs and say he’s doesn’t feel that lucky and slumps back in his chair.
Go, go, go….
I always feel like a fireman when that damn bell goes! The chute is black and grey all the way down with a slight upwards turn at the end, the bump, always hurts my coxix and leaves me sore and a little trippy for a good half a hour afterwards, must be all the L.S.D stored down there from my youth.
The small annex room at the chutes end is just big enough for me to change into my coverall, which I do in one fluid motion and there I am, the big red fluorescent doctor with a see through bag on his head. Wonderful!
My kits already charged and I slot the current battery into my D.P.A while replacing the old one on the charge pad. I can hear the sirens of the ambulance coming down the ramp outside and watch the door go up as it arrives. I swing my self into the back seat compartment, where all my storage equipment is held, and peak through the small window to the front to say hi to the Paramedics when I notice a new face in the mirror.
“Oh, hi!” I exclaim.
“Hello sir,” comes the thick Indian accent in return, “my name is Rubel, I am glad to make you acquaintance, Sir.”
“Call me Nathan and you can drop the Sir shit!” I reply, “sorry to be rude but where’s Bob and Mark?”
“They are currently on a training course and I am their stand in for today Sirrr….” He trails off.
What a fcuking stitch up, bet Dave’s sitting up stairs laughing his arse off. Leaving me down here with this blood Stanley to work with for the day, just typical, I should have told him to stick his f’n cold up his rear.
Note to self, I must remember to punch him on my return.
“Hi Rubel, no worries mate, I shouldn’t be here either,” what’s the Sid-rep?” I try to act chirpy but it hurts.
“Ok, my friend, we have a D.D. on Hurst Street; they can’t initially see how long he’s been gone, but, its standard procedure to see if we can get anything from him.”
You don’t say, what a waste of time, some old guy in a room somewhere, wallowing in his own faeces, oh what joy, I cant wait to hit him up and sit around in the smell for ten minutes. Now where are my smelling salts? What a day!
You should be a Wine tester with that nose, that’s what my old man used to say, he’d laugh now if the booze hadn’t had got to him first, but I’ve al ways had a good sense of smell even when I was a kid. I could smell the period on a girl miles away, blood is such a distinct smell. Kept me out of a lot of trouble through my courting year I can tell yah, as I always new when to be the “submissive partner.” No good to me now though as the missus is always on, must be my aftershave.
The ambulance pulls in to a cluttered road lined with cars on both sides; several street urchins hang around the street-sign. It’s a tight squeeze, but good old Stanley a competent driver so we back down slowly with rumbles and bleeps. It ends in a cull-de-sac and we both jump out too mumbling from a gabble of local peering over the next doors neighbour’s short wooden fence.
I found him shouts a voice from the crowd, good on you I reply as we walk in, what do you want a golden cookie? I mumble this to myself and then the smell hits…
Cats, I would say three of them, been here for about ten years, hairs and a flap confirm this, the hallway is dark I smell perfume, AnA the old women’s type, light scent possibly left over from the weekend. Not our Dee, Dee I would have thought, probably not one of his acquaintance, daughter perhaps or the real person who found him. Dirt an inch think lines the skirting boards and the room to the living room is closed.
“I’ll take the first floor,” Rubel says and continues along the hallway. I already know, as he does the deedee not up there, but sitting in his front room festering. I hold my breath wipe the “salts” beneath my nose and enter.
Whoa! Now that some kind of smell, phew, he’s been gone a good while I can already tell. The room is small and opens up to a hatch to the kitchen, the UTV is new looking 40 incherer must have been a pressie from that smelly middle aged daughter. He doesn’t look too bad as it goes and I’ve defiantly seen a lot worse, he looks kind of serene in his passing and I’m not so worried about the time now, more mildly interested in the daughter. I quickly undo my kit and fit it over his eyes and switch it on.
What a remarkable device, patented earlier in the decade, by one Dr Slufhousen a German doctor, who was in his nineties when the first model was produced. Poor guy never got to reap the benefits of the wonder gadget and his Neanderthal son got to bask all his glory.
The Visor kit – consisted of the viewfinder which was adjustable and fits snuggle over the eyes – on its back like a tiny rider was the brains, the little computer that scanned the irises over a million times a second and constructed the pictures that we are able to download to our vision software machines. Once the download is complete, the system will take over night to produce the images of the deedee life and then we can scroll through them at our leisure and pull out any information we need, including the stuff listed in the deedee will to show sibling and also anything needed for police reports.
The visor-kit ting’s to let me know it’s finished and I pull it from dead mans face with a short suck of air.
Rubel returns,” Ah, yes, I see you found him!”
Yeah, whatever Stanley - “I’m just going to wash the seals off ok!”
Rubel nods and start to examine the old mans body. We won’t need to take him In with us the cleaners will see to that.
I need to move quickly so I collect my gear and make a judgement call and head upstairs to the bathroom, Rubel is to involve too notice why I didn’t use the kitchen sink for the clean up and I hurry upstairs.
I click the light on and immediately look for the electricity socket; I find one just beside the mirror, perfect place. I pull out my visor kit and stick it to the wall and switch it on, I pull up the toilet seat and stuff some paper down the bowl. Here I wait, shit I can’t judge this one, the little devil on my shoulder says I shouldn’t be doing this as I don’t understand old Stanley’s attention span so I sit here wishing the time to go faster, five minutes that’s all I need.. Just five!
I stand pull a towel of the rails and hold it over the kit to dull the sound of the ting of when It’s finished. Fold the towel neatly back and pull the kit from the wall and head down stairs.
Rubel is sitting on the bottom steps, all done I say as he looks up – “number two” he says and I smile “and you think it smells bad down here…” I say as we leave the house and head back to the am-van.
My heart beats drops slightly as Rubel backs out of the street.
I’m in the front seat now and can see him clearly, his thin moustache would look odd on anyone else but suits him, his orange suit rustles as he drives and he pull out on to a duel carriage way. The visor kit in my pocket feels heavy and wrong as though it knows I’m a bad man.
“So,” he says, “Get everything you need,”
“Sure” I reply “all sorted,”
“Do you mind – if I,”
“What” I say
“Have a look at you kit – is it the new one, version four I think?”
“No I’m afraid not” - I like the older models – there easier for me to erase, if you know what I mean!
“Can I see?” he says?
Reluctantly I pull out the kit from my pocket and show him the worn visor shield with its miniature rider.
“Ah, yes this is an old classic, version one I think, had one of these for my exam, very exciting at the time but rather obsolete now!”
Bloody cheek, my face shows it but I say nothing as he switches between driving and looking a MY visor kit – obsolete what a cheek.
This reconfirms my dislike of Stanley’s.
I put my hand out, he makes a nonchalant sound and hands it back.
“Why use such an out of date piece of kit?” he asks,
“That’s the N.H.S for yah my dear Stan - Rubel, cut-backs and all.”
He nods and pulls off the carriageway,
That was a close one. My old man used to hate the Indians and Pakistani’s from the local comer shop days, we got a real bollocking calling them “Packies” when we where young so we used to call them Stanley’s instead, as you can see somethings your parents give you never change, prejudices usually.
We are silent for most of the rest of the journey home and I wish I’d sat in the back now; we pull up to the hospital front entrance.
“It’s been very nice meetings you” he says as I get out, like wise I’m sure I mutter and he zooms off back up the ramp. Here we are at the main hospital entrance and once again I have to traverse the lifts and hallways to get back to the library on the forth floor all the time my kit burning a hole in my pocket. This time I rush past the old bats at both entrances and to my joy find the little back office vacant. I’m not one to take chances so I pull out my handy and ring Dave, it’s the bloody answer phone; I leave a short message.
The “Orac- BC” is build into the unit that sits along the wall of the office where there is a little slot that fits the Visor-kit; I slot it in and wait. This is the most crucial time, as the kit downloads I can do nothing. I secure the room and sit and write my report. It could be another day, hour or minute before I get the next call so I wait. The download completes in a few minutes then the system gets to work with sorting the images. Thousands of images link together not to dissimilar to a film, once complete the FPP is astounding, like watching a HD film. The quality gets better as the DD gets older although it’s still susceptible to image degradation due to glasses, contact lenses etc. The more recent life history in usually perfect as NHS eye surgery is now common and cheap.
I watch a little of the old man life as it downloads and then turn it off, I hate this part. Because I’d taken the old mans life first I have to wait for my reading to download… but hopefully it will complete before my shift ends and I can wipe the drive and cover my tracks… I won’t view it here, I’m not that daft, and try to keep my addiction down to one a day, but its getting harder and harder each time.
Six more runs are made through out the day each one making the first a little more difficult to track. Dave pops in and out all day, and I punch him. I monitor the OBC and to be quiet honest wish I’d waited for the last callout to use my daily allocation as that was such a nice posh smelling place.
Twelve hours is a long, long shift. It’s eight pm and the system is still downloading, I can’t wait today as I have to meet the missus for a dinner date, boring – laugh, laugh ha, ha and pretend to be interested, I just want to get home and view yesterday finding, its like a treasure hunt to me, who know what joys or horrors the wall will bring… time goes so slow…
The date is the usual affair, friends not with benefits, social clammer and a clap on the back for services well done. I itch all night, till 10, make my excuses and take the little, tipsy-lady home. She’ll expect a good seeing too tonight so I’ll have to delay my viewing until tomorrow now. Shit!
Snore…
The alarm clock plays its wake up call, something slow, building gracefully to lift me from my slumber, its 7:00am, an hour to wake up. Hmmm.
I rise from my bed desperately in need of a piss, cock pulsing beneath my pants, stand, stretch and shake off the morning dullness.
Same shit different day…
I’m on the day shift today – my proper day shift, the journey to work as uneventful as the last the bitch on the library counter as bitter as ever and the door to the office, open.
“Good mornings are you Dr Nathaniel Young?” asks a voice from inside.
“Maybe I am may be I’m not – depends who’s asking” I reply with a little concern.
A man is hunched over the OBC, viewing the screen, when I panic….
“Hey what you doing that system is classified,”
“Not to me,” comes the reply, “Ds Pickerton, Sun Valley police station, Sherlock branch, I’m here to view you life histories.” The panic swells
“We’ll it would be polite if you asked before you enter someone’s working space and tamper with their stuff, can I see some I.D. please”
The Policeman rises to his full height, several inches above me, turns and stares me in the eyes.
"You make good eye contact Dr. I like that in a man." he says as he moves away from the OBC and flips his holo-badge from its holder around his neck.
I check it and my heart beat rises – a bead of sweat drips from my brow, I wipe it away as inconspicuously as I can and cross to the OBC.
“These histories have not been checked yet officer, as you can see.”
“I’m interested in your methods Dr .Do you have time to go through one with me?” My heart skips a beat, just then Dave walks in.
“Morning me old mucker… Oh, I see we have guests”,
I must think quick, need to stall I need to know what’s going on this is most out of the ordinary.
“Morning Dave, let me introduce you to DC Pickerton”
“Its DS Pickerton actually, it’s taken seven year to get this title, Mr Young so I’d be glad if you used it correctly.”
“It’s DR Young and your points taken.”
Touché, I hate him already a new blue suit just what I need today.
“Your in late aren’t you Nat, you over sleep, or was it the trains”
Horror what day is it, what’s the time, did some one mention we lose an hour last night? No, no, no … this is most unlike me.”
“What” I startle and they both can see it, but to my relief stares turn to laugher as they both know now that I’m unaware of t he clocks going forward, even the master of time is against me, must be my after shave.
I laugh too although what I really want to do it kick them both in the shin, an easy mistake to make, but it’s put me on the back foot, so I lean in.
“Right Mr Dave, I see you’re ok today! So I think its payback time...”
“Yeah, Yeah thought you’d say that, the balances are all mine today then!”
No argument, perfect I nod my head, now for the clean up part two I switch to the plod,
“Seem as though I’m all yours then sergeant? What do you need, in fact what I need is a coffee, would you mind while I check the system, you can grab a donut while your there if you want.” – I smile, its what I’m good at and then my senses kick in, I smell the fear coming from me but I’m a Dr I can hold myself and breath slowly, I can feel it rise and fall as the copper leaves the room, then rise again as he pokes his head back in to say:-
“One or two sugars?”
“Two,” I reply and then he’s gone.
I must work quick now so as Dave mutter some shite from the news I bang away at the OBC, now what’s he done what’s he seen, I check his login, seems legit, full access, shit, download history, first and shit he’s seen the first and second logs, arse, I’ve got to wipe it, I need to wipe it but I also need to see it, shite, I’ll do it now. I’ll say it’s a system clean or something, an echo I’ll say, old system you see, if he asks that is… shite.
It takes a few minutes to download the file to my memory recorder, but it seem like hours, it completes and I wipe the drive and records well in time for pc plods’ return, Dave has been mumbling on now for quite some time and now I begin to listen again.
“Obama, now that’s what I call a real president, not Arnie, what with the “States” changing the constitution and they elect another actor – an Austrian actor – don’t they read history, what about Hitler, can’t they see it coming “coconut grove” and all that.”
Blah, blah, blah…
Then the bell goes… And he’s gone.
We are alone, I shiver, and the plod ask if I’m ok, I blurt something about Dave’s cold and the cold bag and he’s satisfied, I look closely at him.
Thin goatee, bordered by long sideburn, frame his plump face, late thirties figure, kept in trim by the police gym. I bet he’s married I can tell by the perfume that linger on his jacket lapels, police standard polyester suit and the slight dogged look in his eyes. He’s clean cut and intelligent, note to self don’t let you guard down on this one. Hair, forces cut and hands worn and knarled, he’s definitely an action man, more of a bulldog, need to watch this one, but thankfully he’s hasn’t got a clue when it come to the older version of the Visor unit so I delete away the evidence. My heart rate returns to normal and the smell of fear drifts away.
He make me itch, I hate that I don’t know why, some people just have this effect on m
