The Memory Stick Part 3

This is part 3 of this story for the whole story click here

How bad could it be he thought to himself again, but 12 minutes had passed and he still hasn't clicked on the folder. What could she be that would shock Steve? Maybe she was some kind of government assassin or scientist that had details of some kind of cover-up that she was blowing the whistle on. 

Or a plastic surgeon who operated on the rich and famous? No, for those goons to come and take her away like that it had to have something to do with national security. Maybe she was a spy, did they have spies anymore? A terrorist? There was only one way to find out and that was just a click away. 

Steve held his breath and clicked. He looked at the screen with his mouth open. There was a picture gallery of about 100 pictures. He opened a few.

In every picture there was a man and a woman, the woman was always the same, it was the girl from the park. But she was not in the flouncy summer dresses that had occupied his mind all summer but clad head to toe in leather and wearing the highest pointiest heels Steve had ever seen. He lips were painted bright read and were so stern and thin that Steve couldn’t believe they were the same lips that had smiled so gaily all summer.

He blinked to see if he was dreaming, his beautiful, fresh-faced fantasy dressed as a draconian dominatrix. She was certainly right; she certainly wasn’t what she seemed.

Every 6 or so pictures the man in the photo changed, but each time it made Steve’s jaw drop even further. Some were chained, some were on leads, some were dressed as school boys or babies but all of them were faces Steve recognised. They were all public figures, politicians, journalists, senior policemen. It was incredible. It was no wonder those men had come to take her away.

Steve closed the folder and out his head in his hands. What on earth had he let himself in for? Did he want to help this woman now? She certainly wasn’t what she seemed. Steve had imagined her life as being something from a tampon advert, in-line skating, playing with a cat, drinking with her friends, doing a nice sensible office job. But he’d obviously known nothing about her; he’d projected that life on to her and fallen in love with the girl in his imagination. That was not her fault; that was his.

He thought about what might happen next. They could come for him. If they did then they’d know about the memory stick, so no point pretending he didn’t have it. In fact feigning ignorance might be his best bet. He decided to make another copy of the content of the stick.

He had an idea; he burnt the content onto CD-Rom, then he found some cotton and hung the disk from a hook above the window. He’d been in flats with similar adornments and thought they were corny but he reckoned that the police would not figure a tacky decoration would be what they were looking for. He then put the original memory stick back in his pocket and made sure there was no trace of it on his computer.

The rest of the day Steve was restless, like he was waiting for a bus he knew was never going to come. He paced, he channel hopped, he picked at food, but he just couldn’t settle.

It was just before 10 when there was a knock on the door. He jumped, he’d been snoozing in his chair. He listened carefully, had he dreamt the knock? No there it was again, the moment of truth had arrived.

This is part 3 of this story for the whole story click here