Identity X Read Free

listen.  “Just waiting for the machines and the
final run.  I’ll be home by ten thirty.  Yes, you too.  See you later.”   He
hung up the telephone and grabbed his briefcase.  He glanced at the piles of
handwritten notes on his desk and considered taking the latest of them with
him.  Instead he agreed with himself that he deserved at least one night off
and so left them undisturbed.  He made for the door and turned off the lights,
and as the air conditioning units slowed to a halt he could hear the rain
louder as it pattered down onto the roof.  He was close to the underground
station but doubted he would make it without getting soaked through.  He
rummaged around in the coat stand for a
would-be luckily left umbrella, but it proved a futile search.  Instead he
grabbed his raincoat from the hook and threw it across his shoulders, wriggling
his arms into the sleeves.   He pressed the button and the entrance door slid
open as a quick shot of air squeezed out from the pneumatic mechanism and he
made his way downstairs towards the chill of the early spring rain.
     

TWO
     
     
    He was right about the weather.   The rain was falling as a
deluge of giant droplets, the biggest that he had seen since the great floods
twenty or so years ago, when the river in his home town had burst its banks in
the early hours one morning, and the water had raced towards the southern end
of the town which sat in a basin like hollow.  The combination of old Victorian
and Georgian homes that lined up proudly alongside each other became swamped
under the rush of water, the cellars swallowing up the cascading tide forming
unwanted indoor pools in a matter of minutes.  The following morning was total
chaos when the townsfolk awoke to find that the water had silently crept its
way into their homes as they slept.  Tonight seemed no different.  A barrage of
water submerged the streets, and the edge of the road where it met the pavement
was flowing fast and purposefully like a swollen river, the car tyres the only
audible sound above the falling rain as they dissected their way through the
surface water.  Through the glare of the headlights from the cars Ben eyed up
the entrance to the underground station.  After making a mental calculation as
to the best route of passage, the variables of distance and pooled surface
water weighed against each other, he pulled his rain coat above his head and
darted out from underneath the shelter of his office entrance door, dashing
across the road . 
    The
entrance of the underground was packed with commuters, people refusing outright
to attempt the final leg of their journey and therefore choosing to shelter
themselves in the tight entrance.  Ben pushed his way past the line of bodies. 
The humidity hung uncomfortably low in the air, courtesy of all the warm damp
clothes as the people huddled together.  Shaking his legs and his jacket behind
him, and after apologising to the innocent bystander who had been showered by
water as it sprayed from his jacket, he inspected the soaked cuffs of his
trousers ,
clinging like
plastic wrapping to the bare skin of his legs.  Swearing to himself at the
likelihood that his expensive leather shoes were ruined, he reached into his
inside coat pocket and pulled out his identity card.  He opened up the small
plastic holder and swiped it against the screen that controlled the movement of
the entrance doors.  The red light immediately changed to green, and underneath
it in small green lettering the words ‘Good evening Mr. Stone’ flashed up to
greet him.  He had never managed to become accustomed to this level of what he
perceived as ridiculousness.  He knew of people that would say how they quite
liked the personal greeting at times like this: getting on the train, paying
for food at the supermarket, when you put petrol in your car.  Some of these
devices, such as this one , would even talk to you and
ask if you had had a nice day.  Ben could easily