Kitty Wittgenstein and the Sinister Society of Southpaws (4.6)

4.6 The Return of Orlando

(note: to go to the beginning of the story, go here, to see all Chapter Four posts, go here and to see all Sinister Society of Southpaws posts, go here)


I raced over to Orlando and hugged him. “You’re okay,” I said.

I glanced at his leg. There was no fracture there.

“I’ll call you back,” I said to Bruce. And hung up.

“I am okay,” said Orlando. “But then, I was not the one who tumbled off a frenetic stallion in a misguided attempt to entertain the masses.” He pulled out of the hug. “So, more pertinently, how are you?”

I paused. We could muddle our way through some sort of farcical cross-talk here. But I was ninety percent sure that this version of Orlando hadn’t been privy to my last few days’ antics.

For one thing, the lack of a broken leg. For another, the fact he wasn’t being held by high-tech military researchers or mysterious alliances of lefthanders. And, finally, the fact he was more interested in my short-lived rodeo career than, say, vampire attacks or invisible battle-suited kidnappers.

But best to make sure.

“You’ve been here at the rodeo with me the last few days, haven’t you?” I said.

“Apart from my regularly scheduled bathroom breaks, yes.”

Okay. So, this wasn’t the vampire/battle-suit Orlando. Which meant what, exactly? Were there two of them running around as well? Why would the bad guys be cloning Orlando?

And if they were cloning Orlando, had they been cloning Bruce as well? Was there an evil Bruce, willing to lead me into the path of a bomb blast? And a good Bruce, less willing to do so? If so, who did I have on the phone just before? Had I been needlessly snippy?

Okay. Stop it.

I was speculating carelessly. I had nowhere near enough information to answer these questions. It was time to focus on what I did know. And Orlando would serve as a useful sounding board for doing so.

“Sit down,” I said. “I have quite the story to tell you.”

I filled him in on what I remembered from the past few days. Akira’s kidnapping. The battlesuits. The paralysis. The man in the hat. The vampire attack. His kidnapping. The rescue attempt. Bruce’s betrayal. And, finally, my death.

Orlando listened carefully to my story.

“So, what you’re saying,” he finally said. “Is that when the horse threw you off, you landed square on your head?”

I smiled. “No,” I said. “This is not some elaborate concussive dream.” I wasn’t going to tread down that path again. My senses hadn’t failed me last time. If anything, I’d failed them, not being able to work out what the clown and hog-tying ‘hallucinations’ had meant. Admittedly, it would have been one heck of a deductive leap. But, still, I hadn’t been imagining things then. I was going to assume I wasn’t imagining things now.

I leaned into Orlando and took his hand. “These are my memories of the last two days,” I said. “This all happened.”

Orlando rubbed his chin. “Then, we’d better go rescue me,” he said.

At more or less that point, the lights went out.

(to be continued)