Helpless Panic

What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?

“What do I do?” the frustrated words escaped her mouth in a whisper before she could stop them. Ainsly took a few steps down the crowded walkway of the platform after following the crowd exiting the train. She slowed to wait while the busy patrons rushed off to their next to-do. Once they all disappeared into the belly of the station, Ainsly found a bench in the middle of the railway area and sat down, gazing up at the curved steel beams supporting the massive station around the trains. Each set of tracks was mirrored on the ceiling by three parallel skylights stretching down the length of the depot, like a beast with three spines. Feeling dwarfed in the huge space, a creeping sense of fear threatened to emerge, she pushed it down as she decided to follow the crowd exiting from the most recent train.

While most passengers opted for the escalator, Ainsly took the stairs, hoping that her mind would clear and it would be obvious to her what she was doing here, who she needed to look for, and where she was supposed to go. She knew in her core that she had done this before on her own and that she should know what to do, but as she reached the top of the stairs, she was overwhelmed by the activity of the station.

The spines of that massive creature flowed through the entire space. Again, Ainsly tried to get her bearings. She stopped under the line of screens labeled, “Arrivals” and “Departures” and when she couldn’t make sense of what they were communicating, she nearly wept. Something is wrong, something is definitely wrong. More than the feeling that she didn’t know why she was here or what she was supposed to be doing, was the fear that something was wrong with her brain. Her thoughts were difficult to find, not forgotten just lost. She knew that she had been here before, and that she was scheduled to meet a contact. But she didn’t know how to get from here to there.

Start with what you do know. Deep, calming breath. My name is Ainsly MacKay. I grew up in Bellingham, where my mother tended a beautiful garden. She still lives there with my Pa, who is as Scottish as they come. I live in a flat in London, that’s where I am now. Victoria Station. I just got off a train from Southampton, before that...nearly 2 weeks on a cargo ship from America. I am an SIS officer.

She could barely remember the last two weeks, trekking through a rural neighborhood in the dark somewhere in New York, picking the lock on a study drawer, lifting the false bottom to discover the memory stick. It wasn’t much to go on.

“Can I help you, miss?” a man in uniform approached her, breaking her concentration, reading her face and assuming she was lost. She couldn’t find an answer. After a moment, he gestured to the screens, “Arriving or departing?” behind him she noticed a sign for the lavatory.

Another pause that was too long while her brain struggled to find the answer, she itched her side, right under her arm thinking she needed to find a shower, then finally said, “I can’t answer that right now.” Before she hurried off.

In the safety of the loo stall, she sat down and dug through the solid black rucksack she had been carrying. Two changes of clothes exactly the same as what she was currently wearing – black trousers, a black tank, and a leather zip-up jacket, a cap, an electronic device that felt familiar, only she couldn’t figure out how to use it, and a gun. In the smaller front pocket, she found her SIS officer badge in a leather fold. She ran her fingers over the silver medallion displaying the coat of arms, halting on the unicorn. Ainsly smiled as she remembered the first time her mother showed her the coat of arms.

“The unicorn looks like a boy.” her 5-year-old self giggled.

“He is a boy.” her mother answered.

“But unicorns are girls!” she argued.

“There must be both boy and girl unicorns, don’t you think?” her mother said with a knowing smile.

Her younger self scrunched up her face as she considered, “So they can make more unicorns?”

Her mother just laughed.

Such a peculiar thing, that a seemingly inconsequential conversation between a mother and a child can shape that child’s career. The sociology of perception is something in which Ainsly continues to be interested. It is part of what drew her to this line of work in the first place. From a young age, with that unicorn guiding her, she learned to utilize social cues, identify relationships, and determine trustworthiness based on assumptions. Through intelligence training, she learned to use the perceptions of others to her advantage in the field; she could draw attention to herself, stay hidden, or without speaking, communicate that she is not a threat, rendering herself nearly invisible. Sometimes, on a mission, the image of the unicorn or of her mother’s knowing laugh floats to the surface, and she treasures the lesson her mother taught her first.

She thought she remembered collecting a thumb drive, but she didn’t find it in the bag. She reached down into the hidden pocket under the tongue of her boot. Relief filled her as she realized that she had indeed accomplished her mission, despite whatever she was dealing with now. Some self-preservation instinct kicked in and she knew she couldn’t stay here long, but she did not feel confident she could find her flat or her contact alone. And since her memory was failing her, she didn’t want to take any chances with strangers. But what options did she have?

There were too many cameras at the station, I should get out of here, she thought, maybe something on the street will jog my memory. It was naïve and she knew it as focus was becoming more and more difficult and her mind just kept going blank. One step at a time, what do I need to do first?

Ainsly took one of the clean shirts she just discovered and replaced her old one, she was starting to itch all over her left side and a clean shirt would have to do until she could shower. She shrugged on the leather jacket, carefully packed everything back into the rucksack and shouldered it as she stepped out of the stall. She took her time washing her hands as she studied herself in the mirror. Her freckles on her nose and cheekbones stood out in stark contrast to the fair skin beneath, from being in the sun on that boat she realized.

Another memory sparked: trailing a mark through the wetlands of Greenport ending near a cove. The sun was bright and hot on her skin, and she realized maybe she was outside before being on the cargo ship. She begged her mind to remember but all she came up with was a memory from years ago, sitting with her Pa on the wooden bench in their garden quietly whispering as they watched her mum prune the petunias. Despite her current situation, a small smile graced her lips at the memory. Surrounded by maroon, violet, and white blooms she remembered sitting in the evenings breathing in the sweet smell of the flowers the lilt of her father’s accent in her ear.

She finished drying her hands and ran them through her shoulder-length brown hair. Although her Pa sported the stereotypical red hair of a Scot, she was content to have the understated, brown-with-a-hint-of-red hair. Finding a bobble on her wrist, Ainsly expertly pulled her hair back into a low ponytail before donning the cap. Looking at her image in the mirror, her intense brown eyes are the only indication that something is off. They didn’t carry their usual focus, even as she observed herself closely, her eyes seemed distant, unfocused, like her brain felt. Definitely not fitting an SIS officer. She knew she could do this, there was just a block. Sticky situations were a part of every mission, and she would get herself out of this one too. You’ve got this MacKay. With a deep breath, she turned away from her reflection.

Stepping out of the lavatory, Ainsly discreetly checked the cameras in the area and waited for a group of people to walk by before slipping in amongst them, one thing her small stature was good for. She stayed with them until she spied doors to the street which she conspicuously darted for, forgetting any discretion.

Panic began to set in as she realized that it wasn’t not any better on the street. Nothing looked familiar, she didn’t know which way to go.

Just as she started to walk away from the station, a car with darkly tinted windows pulled up. The back door opened, and someone called her name, “MacKay!”

She stood there for a minute trying to take in what was happening, but all she found was hollow space in her mind.

“Ainsly. Get in!” The car itself commanded.

“I-” she started to form an answer, but at that moment a face poked out, and she recognized Dan, another officer from, well, she couldn’t place it, but she recognized his face, and got into the car. He reached across her to close the door.

“Headquarters.” Dan said to the driver before turning to her, “What happened? You look shit and everyone is in a panic since you didn’t make your drop.” He looks her over.

Ainsly can’t even make eye contact as she tries to make sense of what he’s saying. She knows how to answer, knows it is somewhere in her now desolate mind, but her thoughts are crawling. She covers her face with her hands thinking, this is a nightmare. Dan just looked at her, patiently awaiting an answer. She eventually opted for the same thing she said to the station attendant, “I can’t answer that right now.”

“Look at me.” He said seriously as he searched her eyes.

“Dan.” she responded with warning and embarrassment.

He continued to observe her and not seeing anything of interest in her eyes, he scanned the rest of her. She turned away at his look, scratching under her left arm as she shifted.

“What is that?” he asked, pausing for a moment in which he realized he’s not going to get a reply. He continued, “Take off your jacket.” He seemed to be on to something, so Ainsly obliged. As he reached for her arm, he looked to her for confirmation that he’s going to touch her and there is no threat in it. She just looked back. He lifted her arm to reveal a specific rash at the edge of her armpit on the left side, disappearing under the black of her tank. His eyes went wide, and he turned back to the driver, “Hurry!” A nod from the driver as he increased his speed. She is vaguely aware of Dan rifling through her rucksack and then her shoe. Dan picked up his phone to make a call as Ainsly sat back and closed her eyes. As the sounds around her start to fade, she hears Dan’s voice, calm despite what he just realized, “Have a doctor ready with doxycycline, it’s a bullseye rash under her left arm.” A pause as he listens, then, “Yes, I have the memory stick.” A much shorter pause, “Her symptoms are severe: inability to focus, she’s having difficulty recalling information, she looks dazed. I don’t know how long it’s been and from what I can see, the rash is at least 10 centimeters in diameter.” Pause again, “We’ll arrive in less than 5 minutes. Thank you.”

As he ends the call, Dan puts a hand on her shoulder. “You’re going to be okay now.” The last thing Ainsly hears before slipping into unconsciousness is Dan whispering with no small amount of fear, “Thank god I found you.”