Things on Chairs

 Cheryl cut some half-hearted shapes on the patio as she listened to "Smooth Criminal" for the umpteenth time on her ancient Walkman.  Michael Jackson she most definitely was not.  Neil Armstrong could have done better on the actual Moon in his full astronaut get-up!  But after squeezing Scarlet's glands, she wasn't convinced she could execute a proper Moonwalk without throwing up.  Besides, the tape was crinkled and distorted after having to be painstakingly unravelled from the Walkman's innards on more than one occasion, and the resulting sound distortion played havok with her inner ear which only made things worse.
 So intent was she on not vomming as she awkwardly stumbled around on the faux Yorkstone slabs, all the while trying to avoid the stinkeye from Scarlet at the far end of the garden, that she didn't notice the figure sidling up to her from behind the laurel...

 Iris took off her glasses with one hand, unpinned her severe bun with the other, then shook her head to release her long, dark hair.  It tumbled in waves around her shoulders and halfway down her back as, almost in slow motion, she stepped forward towards the lurching, zombie-like figure.
 "Oof!" she grunted as she recoiled from the impact with the whirligig washing line.  Iris put her glasses back on and flinched.
 "Hullo, Iris."  Cheryl had turned around and was facing Iris with a look on her face that, despite her slightly narrowed eyes, could only be described as gormless.  "Why are there two of you?"
 "What?"  Iris was momentarily flummoxed.  Had Cheryl been at Martharine's cooking sherry again?  The girl was so weird.
 "You're so weird, Iris" Cheryl said matter-of-factly.  "Are you the robot one?"
 "I...  Well...  You see..."  How did she know about the Irisbot?  No one knew about the Irisbot.  Well, except for all the people who knew about it, that is.  And Cheryl was most definitely not people!  Although, the fact that she did know made what Iris was about to say next easier.  "Cheryl, I need your help."
 "Um, no."
 "No?  What?"  The flummox came back to taunt Iris.
 "I've got to show Auntie Tina out.  Bye" Cheryl said, then turned and lumbered across the patio and back into the house.
 "But..."  Iris stood in the middle of the patio for a while before realising that she was on full view should Aubrey or Martharine look out of their dining room window.  Or if Douglas Manning decided to stop doing whatever it was he was doing with the Irisbot and look out of her bedroom window which overlooked the Stoads back garden.  She moved to the side of the house and lurked near the rubbish bins while she pondered her next move.  Who else could she get to help her who was weird enough not to be believed if they blabbed about it?  Her train of thought was derailed by Cheryl's voice coming from the front.  She was saying something about cat biscuits before the front door was slammed and Tina Cruet's distinctive harsh laugh rang out.
 "Hullo, Iris."
 "Eeep!"  Iris jumped, her heart in her mouth, along with a kidney and part of her small intestines.  How had Cheryl managed to sneak up on her?
 "I can help you now."

 Ten minutes later Iris and Cheryl stood in Douglas and Annie Manning's small but spotless study.  Well, it was spotless before Cheryl had walked flakes of dried mud - and possibly dog shit -  from her green, frog-eyed Wellington boots into the pale carpet.
 "She's not here" Cheryl pointed out.
 "She must have rescued herself"  Iris muttered, mainly to herself.  Annie Manning had always struck her as a resourceful, if brassy, woman. "She's not long gone though, as her computer is still warm to the touch."
 "Is it?"  Cheryl reached out impulsively for the computer and knocked over a small vase of past-their-prime flowers with her inelegant sausage-fingers instead.  "Oops."
 "Come on.  Let's go" urged Iris.  "I need to get something from my house before we can move to stage two."
 "Okay."
 Cheryl slammed the door shut after them as they left the Mannings' house.  Neither of them heard the Geordie-accented male voice pleading for HP sauce and a new red felt-tip pen floating down from the attic...

 Five minutes after that in Iris's spacious but dark living room, made darker and more oppressive by the heavy wood beams that crossed the ceiling, Cheryl picked her nose as she slowly turned on the spot as if in a trance.
 "He's still upstairs!"  Iris hissed appearing from the hall.
 "Huh?"  Cheryl continued to turn with her finger up her lightly freckled, round nose.
 "I can't get to my boxes - Douglas Manning is still in my bedroom with the Irisbot!"
 "Huh?"  Cheryl finally withdrew her finger and, after examining the blob on the end, rolled it between her finger and thumb then flicked it off into the darkness.  Iris winced.
 Suddenly, the sound of car tyres aggressively driven on gravel cut through their whispering.  Iris narrowed her eyes in annoyance - Whoever they were had better not be churning up her driveway!  Then rapid footsteps filtered down from above their heads.  Douglas Manning was on the move.  And he was coming down the stairs!
 "Cheryl!  We've got to go!"  Iris bundled Cheryl towards the inglenook fireplace at the far end of the room.  A dull glint of gold amongst the dust on the wine-red carpet in the corner caught Iris's eye as she made a complicated gesture with her right hand.  At the side of the inglenook, an opening appeared.
 "Huh?" said Cheryl.
 "Go!" Iris pushed Cheryl into the door-sized hole and followed her through, the hole closing behind them.  "And wipe your feet."
 Inside, a long corridor stretched off into the distance - far too long to fit within the confines of the mansion, even though it was the largest house on Frigwell Crescent.  Iris began to walk briskly down it.
 Cheryl absentmindedly wiped her wellies on the roughly bristled doormat that lay beneath her as she looked at her surroundings.  The low-lit corridor was lined with ornately carved wooden chairs - a row on either side facing inwards, with a gap of about three metres between each chair.  As Cheryl slowly followed Iris, she noticed that every chair had something on it.  Most contained books of various descriptions: The Visitors by Sally Beauman, neue möbel 6 by Gerd Hatje, The Days Are Just Packed by Bill Watterson, Fucked-up Fondues by Delilah Smythe, to name but a few.  However, as she progessed, she also saw things other than books: a neatly folded towel, a small collection of sea glass, a spindle-shaped vial of irridescent blue liquid impossibly balanced on its tip, a pink fondant fancy, an old clay pot with mould growing inside it, a universe, a bottle of greed, and the most perfect, golden Ferrero Rocher she had ever seen.  Cheryl stopped to gawp at it.  It glimmered and sparkled with every slight turn of her head.  In fact, it practically glowed.
 "Come on, Cheryl!" Iris sounded quite stern.
 The Rocher spell broken, Cheryl trudged after Iris.

Beauty (and Bananas) are only Skin Deep...

 Douglas squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to concentrate on the many questions brought into being from the situation he found himself in.  He had to whittle them down to just the three important ones, but Iris's staring eyes were putting him off.  How was he supposed to think?!

 After a minute or two of fruitless reasoning, Douglas still hadn't decided if "Should he play Iris's favourite Beatles tune?" was an important question or not - and he really fancied a banana which didn't help matters.  He was dithering between including the question or not because a) he wasn't sure if he knew for definite which Beatles tune was her favourite - despite her singing "Hey Jude" somewhat incessantly in that underwater cave to take her mind off not having a toaster, and b) the fact that the question had cropped up surely meant that it was a plot point to be remembered at a later time, so it had to be important.  Right?  He didn't know so he opened his eyes.  Iris seemed to be staring even more intently, even though, from her recumbent position on the bed, her line of sight was directed at the ceiling.  He looked at his watch - time was escaping him.  All thoughts of bananas evaporated.

 "Sorry, Iris" Douglas muttered as he stooped down, brushed an errant chocolate raisin off the bed, then slid his forearms between Iris's unconscious form and the rather old fashioned candlewick bedspread, and turned her on to her side to face the wall.  "What the hells...?"

 A faint, blinking light behind Iris's right ear caught his attention.  He gently brushed aside a lock of her dark hair to get a better look.  It was probably a bluetooth earpiece, he told himself as he moved closer.  Or a hearing aid?  Although, Iris never had any hearing problems as far as he knew?  But there was nothing there.  No audio technology, no medical devices, nothing.  Except for the light that continued to blink once every second or so.  A light that was flashing under her skin!

 Douglas was momentarily stunned.  After a second or two that felt like hours, he gathered his wits and looked as his watch again.  Then at Iris.  The light was still blinking and, from his new position amongst the shoeboxes and notebooks, he noticed that the light was reflecting off a small, white triangle jutting out from her skin next to her hairline.  He moved in for a closer look.  The triangle looked like the corner of a label.  There was even something printed on it - a letter, by the look of it, but only part of it was showing above the skin's surface.  Gingerly (Douglas was proud of being a red-head), he gripped the label betwixt finger and thumb and gently pulled it out.  One centimetre, two, three, then it stopped - clearly fixed to something within Iris.

 Douglas read the fine, block-cap text: MADE IN TAIWAN

Chapter 3: Rennie Awakens

Rennie quickly messaged Iris back, asking what was the matter. Almost immediately her response came, and it was rather long.

"That's weird", thought Rennie, "She couldn't possibly have written all this in a few seconds."  He read on, however, and became more puzzled. Her message was a reprint of yet another boring diatribe by one of the more annoying members of their P.G. Wodehouse fan group on Facebook.

As Rennie tried to make sense of the passage, and figure out how this seemed so important to Iris, his eyes kept being drawn back to the first word in the each of the first six lines of the paragraph. What seemed significant about those words? Taken in order of appearance, they didn't make any kind of coherent sentence, nor did they if rearranged in every possible combination. Rennie felt a vague sense of surprise that he was performing this mental exercise. Puzzles and brain challenges weren't really his cup of tea. Or...were they? Then something clicked in Rennie's brain.

And Rennie wasn't Rennie anymore. He couldn't say for sure who he was. That wasn't important. But he suddenly knew what he was, and what he needed to do. He clicked a sequence of keys on his Chromebook, and a secret function buried deep within this particular device wiped away all traces of everything he had ever done on it. Then the function removed any trace of itself, but not before initiating a sequence which would remove any public or private record of Rennie Hightower.

Rennie (for that name will do as well as any other) stood up. No grunting or difficulty this time, but he was now much more aware of his body and the effects that an unknown period of relative inactivity had wrought upon a formerly fine-tuned physique. He wondered idly how long he had been dormant. Oh, well, no matter. He'd quickly sort that out.

He walked to his closet and knelt and moved aside shoes and pulled back the carpeting, then worked loose one of the floorboards. From the cavity underneath he withdrew a lock box. From memory he punched the 32 digit pass code into the electronic lock's keypad. Inside the box were passports from several nations. All had his picture. Each had a different name. Also in the box were credit cards, with names to match the passports. Lastly he took out a phone and powered it on. This unremarkable-looking "smart" phone was connected to a very exclusive network, operated by a super-computer that actually was smart, in the sense that it was capable of highly intelligent thought.

Rennie selected one pair of passport and credit card and put them in the pocket of his jacket, the phone in another. He put the other items in a backpack and walked outside, where an Uber was waiting to take him to the airport.