The shower was just what Helen had needed. The fact that her body had been in just as bad shape as her mind throughout most of the day had kind of gotten lost to her. When she had finally been able to sit down after arriving at the apartment she was suddenly aware of just how much her limbs were aching. She guessed that the night her body had the night before was a lot more taxing than the one she remembered having. The dull throbbing at the front of her head, that had grown more persistent over the course of the day, was probably not just down to having to try and take in all these theories on quantum physics and alternate time-lines. She was fairly sure that a significant amount of intoxication must have been involved in the night before that this body had experienced. Not least because it apparently involved hooking up with a completely obnoxious manifestation of her ex-boyfriend. So she was only too glad to have washed away the general odour of that particular encounter.
She couldn't be positive, but she was fairly sure that the marks she noticed on the side of her stomach were actually love bites. She hated that, and was pretty sure she wouldn't have been turned on in any reality by someone doing it down the side of her stomach. On a positive note as least no one would see them there.
The shower itself was actually very nice, as was the entire apartment. It definitely showed it's age, as there was something uniquely eighties about it that Helen couldn't quite put her fingers on. It was the type of place you imagined a Wall Street executive having sometimes during the height of the eighties boom. That thought had made her think of the film Wall Street. Helen could almost imagine a scene from the film playing out there. The long window that spanned the corner of the building, and provided a panoramic view over the city below, would have been perfect for the protagonist of that film to pace back and forward in front of while arguing on the phone with his evil mentor Gordon Gecko. Helen suddenly wondered why was it that you always remembered the name of the memorable villains in cinema but not always the hero. For the life of her she couldn't recall the name of Charlie Sheen's young character, it was going to bug her all evening. She wished she could look it up on the computer but then remembered that she didn't have her computer here. In fact she barely had anything at all here.
Just as Mrs Peabody had advised some of her things, the things she remembered owning, were in the apartment. Whoever had been tasked with finding her things hadn't done a bad job, things were there for sure but it was more like they were close approximations of the things she had owned rather than the actual things. It was almost like the way that you have to go and buy things with the insurance money after you have things stolen. You do get to replace the things, but they aren't the original things. You don't have any real connection to them, they don't quite smell right, or lack the blemishes of the original. Her favourite plant pots were all there, but they weren't quite the same, a colour would be different in one, the shape slightly different in another, the print on the large square one in the corner of the living room was of a white horse rather than a black one. It was if whoever had seen her old apartment and was describing her stuff might have been drunk when they were doing so.
They had managed to replace a good deal of her wardrobe, many of her favourite clothes were there hanging neatly in the large walk wardrobe that dominated the far wall of her new bedroom. They had gotten the colours wrong on a couple of pieces here and there, but she would be able to get dressed tomorrow in something she felt comfortable with, something that felt like she would have picked it out. She was a little perturbed however by the thought that someone who worked for the company, someone that she might get to meet, had been sent to buy her underwear, complete with the frilly sexy stuff that she saved for the special occasions. She rather hoped there were some kind of professional rules about that kind of thing amongst whoever it was that did this job. A code of ethics for the purchasing of underwear and related gossip as it were. Whoever was responsible had though done a decent job at trying to make her feel a little more comfortable in this new space.
The apartment itself was a very open plan design that somehow managed to be somewhat minimalist yet over indulgent at the same time. With large modern art prints on the walls, and black and white zebra print rugs on the floor, it was an apartment clearly decorated in the eighties. Her things didn't really fit with the design at all, she had always lived in older building, places with character. While she was sure that someone, someday, would consider modern designs to have character she most certainly did not, and would have preferred her old Victorian town house style much more, regardless of how run down or dilapidated the one she had been able to afford had been. If she was going to be staying here, she was certainly going to have have to do a little shopping before too long.
The TV however was a different matter altogether. It was shiny, new and very large. The type of TV that Helen would never have even considered buying for herself. It would almost have taken up the entire wall of her bedroom in her old place. This apartment was much bigger and the TV screen didn't look out of place. Helen guessed it must be over fifty inches across. She had never owned one of these new fancy flat screen things and it appeared as if it was already hooked up to a cable system that was piping in a seemingly unending number of channels for her viewing pleasure.
She had wrapped herself in one of the long brown towels she had found in the bathroom. She was fairly sure these towels came with the apartment and weren't supposed to be anything she had owned before but she had to admit they were comfortable. They were the type of towel that you could just feel were expensive rather than the more functional everyday ones she used to buy from Primark. It was almost as if she was staying in a reasonably top class hotel, it had that feel about the place. She wasn't going to get used to this type of a place very quickly.
As she settled down in front of the large TV, having made herself a suitably large mug of hot chocolate, she started to flick aimlessly between the channels. Whatever service they subscribed to it was certainly comprehensive. Helen was fairly sure that they must have a special arrangement for their cable provider as well. It had been some time she lived at home, which was the last time she had lived anywhere with access to a cable subscription, but she was fairly sure that it wasn't normal to have over three thousand channels listed in what appeared to be several dozen languages. It was almost as if they had a combination of all the TV channels the world had to offer. Helen wasn't sure how many TV channels existed in the world, but she was thinking that she now had a good percentage of them at her disposal.
She started to wonder what would happen if she didn't take these people up on their offer. What choices would she have exactly? It might be surreal and strange, but she had to admit to herself that she could get used to having this kind of an apartment if she was allowed to work with the place a little. The credit card, phone and free travel certainly wasn't to be sniffed at either. She wasn't though entirely sure what she was going to be asked to do. She hadn't even decided if she liked the idea of manipulating other people in order to preserve something she wasn't even sure she was willing to accept existed. It struck her that she was being asked to accept a lot of things that would be nigh on impossible for anyone to actually prove to her.
Still, it wasn't as if they were being unreasonable, pushy or pressurising her into anything yet. Although part of her thought that if she was them, she wouldn't want her to feel pressurised either. The whole 'being nice and supportive' thing would probably be a better tactic with most people who found themselves in this situation.
She also couldn't be sure that they hadn't done this to her in the first place. After all they did admit to arranging and organising far more complex and significant things than her appearance here. These people organised everything from a simple accidental meeting to full scale wars. She presumed they wouldn't have too many problems making her disappear, even if she still didn't fully understand all this alternate time-line stuff. It couldn't be that hard for them could it? It would be a great way of recruiting people. Put people in a situation where they don't really have any other option, and then treat them well and appear to be supportive and sympathetic, and they are most likely going to go along with whatever you suggest. It was how she would do it if she was them she thought, but she also hated her cynical side. It just wasn't easy to trust strangers when you have been brought up to be suspicious of all but the closest of friends. People just don't trust each others motives in this day and age, and Helen was suddenly very conscious of being asked to trust in a lot for just one day.
She was also thinking that Japanese TV was every bit as strange as she had heard. She sat there strangely memorised by the sight of skinny bikini clad girls running around blindfolded trying to pin a Velcro tail on a very overweight gentleman that was running around the studio in a nappy. It was more interesting to watch than anything she had found in any of the languages she actually spoke. She guessed that the novelty value would wear off eventually, but there was something strangely compelling about trying to figure out exactly what was going on when you had no knowledge of the language and very little insight into the culture. Helen wondered if Japanese people that sat and watched Eastenders or X-Factor had a similar experience with English television and wondered why such shows had a distinct lack of bikini clad girls performing strange tasks for other people's viewing pleasure. There was a lot to say for cultural differences. Just as the Japanese show cut to what she presumed was an advertising break, Helen heard a noise. She was sure it was an alarm, or a ringtone or a chime of some kind but having not really used any of the appliances or devices in the apartment before she wasn't sure which one it was at first. It was clearly an electronic device demanding her attention.
The noise was coming from the kitchen and given she hadn't tried to cook anything yet she thought it must be that new mobile phone that she had left on the kitchen counter beside the gas burners.
It was indeed the phone and Helen immediately wondered who on earth would be calling her. Tobias had promised that she had the evening to herself and that he would see her in the morning. Was there really something so important that they had to call her now.
“Hello?” Helen answered with a mix of caution and curiosity,”Who is it?”
“Good evening Mam,” a very formal voice on the other end of the line replied, “I am the building supervisor, Mr Canning, I just wanted to check that you had settled in ok?”
“Yes thank you, everything is fine so far.”
“Mr Gordon explained everything to you?”
“Enough to get me settled in at least,” Helen answered, “I haven't had any problems yet.”
“Very good to hear. I just wanted to ask which of the newspapers you might like in the morning?”
“We get newspapers?”
“Most of the operatives like to keep up to date with the work of the press. We have a stock of them delivered every morning so if you want some dropped by the door you only have to ask. You can get hold of me by dialling 001 on your mobile. Anything you need in terms of the apartment you just have to ask.”
“Actually,” Helen said a little sheepishly, “do you think I could get a computer of some kind? I know they aren't the cheapest thing you could ask for, but I would miss not having one in my apartment.”
“I am sure we can arrange something once you are signed up and Mr Drewer submits your permanent contract. I'm afraid I can't authorise something like that before you are official and all. I am sure you understand.”
“Yes, yes, of course. That's understandable.” Helen said. At least they weren't all being that presumptive about her accepting their offer she thought. “Thanks for calling, but I think I'd like to get some sleep now.”
“Of course, I am sure that it's been one hell of a day for you. We all remember our first day. Good night.”
No sooner had the call ended then the phone buzzed again, this time with a single short chime, it startled Helen slightly since she still had it in her hands. This time the little envelope icon on the screen lit up indicating she had just received a message. She pushed the green button and the message loaded up on her screen. The sender was 'UNKNOWN' according to the phone, it didn't even display the number that the message had come from.
Helen looked down and read the rest of the message.
It was from the strangest thing that had happened today, but she couldn't shake an odd feeling that there was more to the message than she might be thinking. As she slumped down into the big bed she began to wonder why the sender of the message wouldn't identify herself. She flicked open the phone again and brought the message back up. It could well have been part and parcel of the day she had just experienced, but something told her that whatever these important questions were it was something that hadn't been mentioned yet. As she rolled over and went to close the phone she suddenly remembered that the phone also let her get onto the internet. She would be able to find out what Charlie Sheen's character was called in Wall Street after all.
She couldn't be positive, but she was fairly sure that the marks she noticed on the side of her stomach were actually love bites. She hated that, and was pretty sure she wouldn't have been turned on in any reality by someone doing it down the side of her stomach. On a positive note as least no one would see them there.
The shower itself was actually very nice, as was the entire apartment. It definitely showed it's age, as there was something uniquely eighties about it that Helen couldn't quite put her fingers on. It was the type of place you imagined a Wall Street executive having sometimes during the height of the eighties boom. That thought had made her think of the film Wall Street. Helen could almost imagine a scene from the film playing out there. The long window that spanned the corner of the building, and provided a panoramic view over the city below, would have been perfect for the protagonist of that film to pace back and forward in front of while arguing on the phone with his evil mentor Gordon Gecko. Helen suddenly wondered why was it that you always remembered the name of the memorable villains in cinema but not always the hero. For the life of her she couldn't recall the name of Charlie Sheen's young character, it was going to bug her all evening. She wished she could look it up on the computer but then remembered that she didn't have her computer here. In fact she barely had anything at all here.
Just as Mrs Peabody had advised some of her things, the things she remembered owning, were in the apartment. Whoever had been tasked with finding her things hadn't done a bad job, things were there for sure but it was more like they were close approximations of the things she had owned rather than the actual things. It was almost like the way that you have to go and buy things with the insurance money after you have things stolen. You do get to replace the things, but they aren't the original things. You don't have any real connection to them, they don't quite smell right, or lack the blemishes of the original. Her favourite plant pots were all there, but they weren't quite the same, a colour would be different in one, the shape slightly different in another, the print on the large square one in the corner of the living room was of a white horse rather than a black one. It was if whoever had seen her old apartment and was describing her stuff might have been drunk when they were doing so.
They had managed to replace a good deal of her wardrobe, many of her favourite clothes were there hanging neatly in the large walk wardrobe that dominated the far wall of her new bedroom. They had gotten the colours wrong on a couple of pieces here and there, but she would be able to get dressed tomorrow in something she felt comfortable with, something that felt like she would have picked it out. She was a little perturbed however by the thought that someone who worked for the company, someone that she might get to meet, had been sent to buy her underwear, complete with the frilly sexy stuff that she saved for the special occasions. She rather hoped there were some kind of professional rules about that kind of thing amongst whoever it was that did this job. A code of ethics for the purchasing of underwear and related gossip as it were. Whoever was responsible had though done a decent job at trying to make her feel a little more comfortable in this new space.
The apartment itself was a very open plan design that somehow managed to be somewhat minimalist yet over indulgent at the same time. With large modern art prints on the walls, and black and white zebra print rugs on the floor, it was an apartment clearly decorated in the eighties. Her things didn't really fit with the design at all, she had always lived in older building, places with character. While she was sure that someone, someday, would consider modern designs to have character she most certainly did not, and would have preferred her old Victorian town house style much more, regardless of how run down or dilapidated the one she had been able to afford had been. If she was going to be staying here, she was certainly going to have have to do a little shopping before too long.
The TV however was a different matter altogether. It was shiny, new and very large. The type of TV that Helen would never have even considered buying for herself. It would almost have taken up the entire wall of her bedroom in her old place. This apartment was much bigger and the TV screen didn't look out of place. Helen guessed it must be over fifty inches across. She had never owned one of these new fancy flat screen things and it appeared as if it was already hooked up to a cable system that was piping in a seemingly unending number of channels for her viewing pleasure.
She had wrapped herself in one of the long brown towels she had found in the bathroom. She was fairly sure these towels came with the apartment and weren't supposed to be anything she had owned before but she had to admit they were comfortable. They were the type of towel that you could just feel were expensive rather than the more functional everyday ones she used to buy from Primark. It was almost as if she was staying in a reasonably top class hotel, it had that feel about the place. She wasn't going to get used to this type of a place very quickly.
As she settled down in front of the large TV, having made herself a suitably large mug of hot chocolate, she started to flick aimlessly between the channels. Whatever service they subscribed to it was certainly comprehensive. Helen was fairly sure that they must have a special arrangement for their cable provider as well. It had been some time she lived at home, which was the last time she had lived anywhere with access to a cable subscription, but she was fairly sure that it wasn't normal to have over three thousand channels listed in what appeared to be several dozen languages. It was almost as if they had a combination of all the TV channels the world had to offer. Helen wasn't sure how many TV channels existed in the world, but she was thinking that she now had a good percentage of them at her disposal.
She started to wonder what would happen if she didn't take these people up on their offer. What choices would she have exactly? It might be surreal and strange, but she had to admit to herself that she could get used to having this kind of an apartment if she was allowed to work with the place a little. The credit card, phone and free travel certainly wasn't to be sniffed at either. She wasn't though entirely sure what she was going to be asked to do. She hadn't even decided if she liked the idea of manipulating other people in order to preserve something she wasn't even sure she was willing to accept existed. It struck her that she was being asked to accept a lot of things that would be nigh on impossible for anyone to actually prove to her.
Still, it wasn't as if they were being unreasonable, pushy or pressurising her into anything yet. Although part of her thought that if she was them, she wouldn't want her to feel pressurised either. The whole 'being nice and supportive' thing would probably be a better tactic with most people who found themselves in this situation.
She also couldn't be sure that they hadn't done this to her in the first place. After all they did admit to arranging and organising far more complex and significant things than her appearance here. These people organised everything from a simple accidental meeting to full scale wars. She presumed they wouldn't have too many problems making her disappear, even if she still didn't fully understand all this alternate time-line stuff. It couldn't be that hard for them could it? It would be a great way of recruiting people. Put people in a situation where they don't really have any other option, and then treat them well and appear to be supportive and sympathetic, and they are most likely going to go along with whatever you suggest. It was how she would do it if she was them she thought, but she also hated her cynical side. It just wasn't easy to trust strangers when you have been brought up to be suspicious of all but the closest of friends. People just don't trust each others motives in this day and age, and Helen was suddenly very conscious of being asked to trust in a lot for just one day.
She was also thinking that Japanese TV was every bit as strange as she had heard. She sat there strangely memorised by the sight of skinny bikini clad girls running around blindfolded trying to pin a Velcro tail on a very overweight gentleman that was running around the studio in a nappy. It was more interesting to watch than anything she had found in any of the languages she actually spoke. She guessed that the novelty value would wear off eventually, but there was something strangely compelling about trying to figure out exactly what was going on when you had no knowledge of the language and very little insight into the culture. Helen wondered if Japanese people that sat and watched Eastenders or X-Factor had a similar experience with English television and wondered why such shows had a distinct lack of bikini clad girls performing strange tasks for other people's viewing pleasure. There was a lot to say for cultural differences. Just as the Japanese show cut to what she presumed was an advertising break, Helen heard a noise. She was sure it was an alarm, or a ringtone or a chime of some kind but having not really used any of the appliances or devices in the apartment before she wasn't sure which one it was at first. It was clearly an electronic device demanding her attention.
The noise was coming from the kitchen and given she hadn't tried to cook anything yet she thought it must be that new mobile phone that she had left on the kitchen counter beside the gas burners.
It was indeed the phone and Helen immediately wondered who on earth would be calling her. Tobias had promised that she had the evening to herself and that he would see her in the morning. Was there really something so important that they had to call her now.
“Hello?” Helen answered with a mix of caution and curiosity,”Who is it?”
“Good evening Mam,” a very formal voice on the other end of the line replied, “I am the building supervisor, Mr Canning, I just wanted to check that you had settled in ok?”
“Yes thank you, everything is fine so far.”
“Mr Gordon explained everything to you?”
“Enough to get me settled in at least,” Helen answered, “I haven't had any problems yet.”
“Very good to hear. I just wanted to ask which of the newspapers you might like in the morning?”
“We get newspapers?”
“Most of the operatives like to keep up to date with the work of the press. We have a stock of them delivered every morning so if you want some dropped by the door you only have to ask. You can get hold of me by dialling 001 on your mobile. Anything you need in terms of the apartment you just have to ask.”
“Actually,” Helen said a little sheepishly, “do you think I could get a computer of some kind? I know they aren't the cheapest thing you could ask for, but I would miss not having one in my apartment.”
“I am sure we can arrange something once you are signed up and Mr Drewer submits your permanent contract. I'm afraid I can't authorise something like that before you are official and all. I am sure you understand.”
“Yes, yes, of course. That's understandable.” Helen said. At least they weren't all being that presumptive about her accepting their offer she thought. “Thanks for calling, but I think I'd like to get some sleep now.”
“Of course, I am sure that it's been one hell of a day for you. We all remember our first day. Good night.”
No sooner had the call ended then the phone buzzed again, this time with a single short chime, it startled Helen slightly since she still had it in her hands. This time the little envelope icon on the screen lit up indicating she had just received a message. She pushed the green button and the message loaded up on her screen. The sender was 'UNKNOWN' according to the phone, it didn't even display the number that the message had come from.
Helen looked down and read the rest of the message.
Greetings Helen. Important questions are going to be asked of you very soon. All we ask is that you keep an open mind.The message wasn't signed. After everything that had happened today Helen thought it was quite an odd message. She presumed it was part of the process, maybe an automated message of some description that all new arrivals received. She did wonder why no-one had mentioned it before though. It seemed a little odd, even for these people to send a message like that just before most people would be going to sleep. It was after all just after midnight.
It was from the strangest thing that had happened today, but she couldn't shake an odd feeling that there was more to the message than she might be thinking. As she slumped down into the big bed she began to wonder why the sender of the message wouldn't identify herself. She flicked open the phone again and brought the message back up. It could well have been part and parcel of the day she had just experienced, but something told her that whatever these important questions were it was something that hadn't been mentioned yet. As she rolled over and went to close the phone she suddenly remembered that the phone also let her get onto the internet. She would be able to find out what Charlie Sheen's character was called in Wall Street after all.
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