Catching Cameron Ellis
Where am I?
This place. It’s nothing but white space. I see some pulses in the
distance, bright flashing colors, but…
I can’t feel anything. I don’t have a body. I am just here. Floating.
There’s a red light flashing over there. It’s a button, maybe. My
instincts are urging me to press it. I’m going to press it.
Oh damn! These memories. There is too much to handle. I can’t make
sense of it. This is…cyberspace. How can I be here?
I know. I remember. I’ve uploaded my consciousness here. That’s why I
couldn’t recall anything at first. My conscious self had been severed from the
memories stored in my living brain. I only had some basic instincts, which my
former self manipulated to get me to access my memories. Big red button, of
course I’d press it.
But this doesn’t feel like something I would do. There must be a damn
good reason.
I feel strange to be floating here in this sea of white. It’s not how
my memories remember me being. At one time I was…physical. But here, in this
endless space, I am now little more than software. Pressing that button linked
me to a database holding a copy of my memories, my identity. But it’s hard to
comprehend all this new information. I can only cope with bits at a time.
I remember who I am. I am a cop. I was
a cop. A detective for ten years. Most recently with homicide. I’ve cracked a
couple dozen murders in my time. Before that I walked a beat in Hollywood.
And I had a wife and a daughter. I can see my wife, in her white dress.
We are dancing to an old rock ballad. The song was her choice, not mine.
There’s another memory. A birthday party. The birthday girl…my
daughter…wished for a pair of ice skates. I remember that it was strange to
want ice skates in a place that never got snow. She wanted to be a hockey
player. Strange girl. Takes after her
father, people said.
These are my memories, I know this, but they do not feel like mine. I
cannot feel their sensations on my skin, in my bones. Maybe because I no longer
have bones.
Why did I upload myself into cyberspace? I did it because…because I am
dead. He killed me. I knew he was coming, so I made sure I would survive to
take him down. Survive like this. If you call this survival. I did it to stop
him. Cameron Ellis. The serial killer. The Hollywood Hackman.
I had a plan to catch him. I have
a plan. I will hack my way into his digital pacemaker. The brutal slasher
has a weak heart, who would’ve thought? It’s something I had to find out
myself, his doctors always hiding behind their shield of confidentiality. But I
found his file. And I thought, if I could hack the hospital, why not the killer
himself?
That’s the plan. I will hack the Hackman. I will end his reign of
terror on my town. It will be my last act as a cop. Against the rules? Maybe,
but this isn’t Hollywood. The old rules don’t apply here.
How can I find him? My old-self left an address. I can follow it.
Moving through cyberspace is easy, but strange. Traversing at the speed
of light, everything is a blur. At least it should be, my experience tells me
it should. And yet, there is an uncanny clarity to everything at the same time.
I can see the pathways. I can navigate the intersections faster than a thought.
I know where I am going.
Here it is. Pulse Medical.
Serial number: PMX07-345492. That’s his machine. But what to do with it?
There’s a settings option: default,
or deactivate. The second option
should send him straight to hell. I’m sure the devil is waiting.
I remember what you did, Cameron. I remember Candice Smith and Cory
Trudeau and Mila Gibson, and all the others you butchered. Dozens of them. Their
bodies left out on the street for the rats and birds. But we couldn’t pin a
single one on you. You always slipped away, just like the slimy creature you
are. But not this time. You had no respect, no remorse. And I have no pity.
I know it was you, Cameron. I know because you killed me. I got too
close, didn’t I? I’ve always been good at my job. And now I’ve gotten closer
still.
I have my hand around your heart, Cameron. I can see your pulse is
quickening. Are you on the hunt again?
You killed me, Cameron. I am here to return the favor.
Deactivate.
JM Williams
Author, teacher,
historian, veteran. JM Williams is the author of The Nightingale and The
Adventures of Iric and has had more than thirty short fiction pieces published
in in a wide range of venues. He also earned two Honorable Mentions in the
Writers of the Future contest. He lives in Korea with his wife and 10
cats—teaching, writing, and blogging at www.jmwilliams.site.
Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/jmwwriting
Amazon:
www.amazon.com/author/jm_williams
Tags:
Short Fiction