Friday’s Winks

Longer stories in two parts, only on Fridays. No pictures. No thoughts or questions after. (~_*)

ACT of DUTY

“Okay, where’s the person I’m suppose to be protecting?”

“I’m that person,” a man said, as he stepped forward. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“I don’t know why my captain put me on babysitting duty. I’m Officer Conrad, don’t call me anything else.”

“I’m Crane.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be protecting you. Sit right there,” he said, pointing to a chair, “I’m going to talk to my captain for a few minutes.” He would rather be on the streets than watching over a witness for the prosecution in a trial that he was told was two weeks away. He felt his six feet frame should be chasing down criminals, tackling street hoodlums, anything of a physical exertion, instead of watching over someone that people were out to kill. “Okay, let’s go,” he said after returning. “I gave him a piece of my mind.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Kill the modesty will ya. It’s my job; I might not like it, but I have to do it. Let’s go.”

“Thank you Officer Conrad,” he said, as he stood up.

“Don’t thank me now, thank me in two weeks if you’re still alive.”

They left the station, got in the officer’s car and drove off. They did not get very far when a car pulled up on the side of them. Officer Conrad told the person that he was protecting to hold on as he sped off. The car followed. He called for help, and while doing so, a guy in the opposite car rolled down his window and fired a gun, but missed his intended target.

“Go left,” Crane said.

“Who’s driving here?”

“Right, go right,” he told him.

“Do you want me to kick you out of the car?”

“They’re catching up,” he said, looking back. And when they did, they sped off. “Why didn’t they kill us?”

“That was a warning. Whew! What a thrill,” he said. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Not a sweat on your brow. I might be wrong about you.” His cell phone rang. “Hello. Yeah Cap, we’re okay. I’m going to take him someplace else. I know, I’ll be careful. Bye.”

“What other place you’re going to take me to?”

“I don’t know; I’m thinking.”

“How about my place?”

“Right, that’s all I need, an easy target. Your house is a big bull’s-eye.”

“I have another place.”

“Well known?”

“No, nobody knows about this other place.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, positive. I use it when I have to get away.”

“We don’t have a plane to catch, do we?”

“Are you afraid of flying?”

“No.”

“We don’t have a plane to catch.”

“Good. We’ll get rid of this car and then you can drive.”

It was not until six hours later that they arrived to the other place. A sole castle like house near the water. There were other houses and an inn, but they were miles away. It was dark as they walked up to the door; a cool and breezy night, with water rushing up against the rocks. “Come in Conrad.”

“I said call me Officer Conrad and nothing else. I should’ve let you walk.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Turn on some lights will ya.”

“Are you afraid of the dark?”

“What makes you think that I’m afraid of anything?”

“Are you?”

“Lights.”

“Okay, okay.”

Lights turned on and what he saw astonished him. There was a collection of old swords that said hello to anyone coming in through the front door. They were the first things to be noticed. He walked over and started to look at them, and was mesmerized at what he saw; fascinated at the expansive collection.

“What do you think?”

“I’m thinking you don’t need my protection.” Crane smiled. “Why all the swords?”

“I like them.”

“That’s not a reason.”

“It is for me. Want anything to eat?”

“What do you have?”

“Um, I don’t know.”

“Do you use this place a lot?” he asked, as he followed him into the kitchen.

“When I have time. Look and see what’s there; I’m going to change my clothes.” When he rejoined him fourteen minutes later, the kitchen counter was overflowing with all sorts of food stuff. “You were really hungry?” His guest laughed. “I didn’t know you can laugh.”

“Am I wood?”

“The verdict is still out on that.”

“Do you have a TV?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Good, I don’t have to talk to you all night.”

“Are you always this rude?”

“Only when I don’t like someone.”

“And you don’t like me; you don’t know me.”

“You’re a model, not a real job.”

“Hey, I work hard at what I do.”

“What, walking down runways, posing for pictures, flashing that –”

“Never mind, there are movies in there,” he said,  pointing to a cabinet, “I’m going to sleep.”

“Night, night,” he said before biting into a sandwich.

Three days later, he was still protecting him, and with only one phone and a TV in the house, his cell phone having no signal, he was not enjoying himself. There was  no problem with food; Crane always had his kitchen stocked with food when he might be coming out to his second home. When he needed some privacy and a time to relax, he went to that private oasis. The people who lived nearby did not bother him. They knew who he was, and even with that knowledge, they treated him like any other person.

He was a model, that was not his first choice, but that was who he was. Avid reader and lover of classical music. He loved the company of his friends and often invited them over to his house in the city for dinner or a little party. People meeting him for the first time and spending time in his company usually liked him, but Officer Conrad was the complete opposite.

He followed in his father’s footsteps and became a cop. Tough, never wearing his emotions on his sleeves or giving anyone evidence of who he really was. He was a mystery to his friends, and if he did not like you, he would let you know.

“What’s that you’re listening to?” he asked, coming into the library.

Resting his book down Crane said, “It’s classical music. Do you like it?”

“You don’t have anything else to listen to?”

“You don’t have to stay in here, you can go in another room.”

“Touchy, touchy.”

“From since we’ve first met, you’ve been rude and your attitude disgusting. I’ve done nothing wrong. I’ve done nothing to harm you. I didn’t ask for you to protect me.”

“Anything else?”

Crane took a deep breath, closed his eyes  and said, “No, nothing.” Officer Conrad turned to leave. “Wait,” he said, as he stood up, “there’s a song you can listen to.”

“Not one of your classical selections huh?”

“No. I usually listen to this when I’m feeling down and having a bad day.”

“What is it?”

“Lapis.”

“Lapis? I’ll pass.”

“Suit yourself.”

He began to turn to leave again. His body was nearly completely turned around when he noticed something on Crane’s shirt. “Whatever you do,” he began, “don’t move. Don’t panic at what I’m about to say. Don’t look down either. There’s a red dot . . . I said don’t look down. I’m going to walk over to you and– ” He pushed him to the ground and then rushed out the house. Crane stood up and ran after him. “I thought you said nobody knew about this place!” he shouted, as he stopped and then walked briskly towards him.

“I’ve never told anyone about this–”

“Well how did that guy know?”

“I don’t know. Believe me, I don’t know.”

“Back in the house.”

“I’m not a child.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just very angry right now.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Ask me in the house; I have to call my captain.”

“You would have taken that bullet for me?” Crane asked, as they headed back inside.

“It’s my job,” he said, picking up the phone and then slamming it down. “The phone’s dead.”

“What’s going on?”

“Why don’t you tell me?”

“You don’t trust me?”

“I don’t trust anyone.”

“It’s gonna be dark soon; what are we going to do?”

“Let me check the car.” He went outside, checked the car and then went back inside. “All four tires are flat.”

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like everything that’s going on is my fault.”

“My job is to protect you, and there are eleven more days to go; I’m not going to fail. I hate failing. Is there any other place around here that we can go?”

“The inn a few miles away; we can go there.”

“Do you have any other forms of transportation, a motor bike or something?”

“I have two bicycles.”

“What? If no one knows about this place, why do you have two bicycles? Give me your hand.”

“What?”

“Give me your hand.” He handcuffed his right hand to Crane’s left hand.

“What are you doing?”

“Being careful.”

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END OF PART ONE

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ACT OF DUTY #2

“How are we suppose to ride the bicycles and carry what we need with our hands like this? The people at the inn will be suspicious.”

“Not if we put a jacket over our hands. As for what we’re carrying, we won’t be carrying anything. We’ll go to the inn and then come back tomorrow morning. Let’s go.”

“I–”

“Don’t say anything. I bet you’re getting a lot of publicity from this huh? Model in hiding.”

“You don’t– “

“Let’s go,” he said, as he pulled him.

“No, not until you treat me with respect.”

“Respect, is that what you want? Here,” he said, punching him in his stomach, “have some respect.” He fell to the ground and then got back up. He punched Officer Conrad in his face. They started to fight, knocking over things, breaking things. Crane eyes lit up with anger, screaming with a look so deadly, but then he released the officer’s arm. “Why did you stop?” he asked, panting heavily.

“This isn’t accomplishing anything,” he said, as he wiped the blood of his face. “We better go to the inn before it gets dark.”

“Where are the bikes?”

“This way,” he said, yanking him along.

“Hey, not so hard.”

“I didn’t tell you to handcuff my hand to yours.”

“Bikes.”

“Follow me.”

They rode down to the inn, both at the same pace, not distancing themselves from each other. The sun was just setting when they entered and rang the bell at the front desk. Officer Conrad had taken off the handcuff before they went inside.  An old gentleman came to the front desk. “Ah, Crane it’s you.”

“Hi Mr. Perry, do you have room for two?”

“What happened to your face?”

“I was in a fight.”

“Fight? Back in my day we called them squabbles. I remember one time–”

“Um, room Mr. Perry.”

“Why are the young always in a rush? You know when I was young, time was– “

“Hi Mr. Perry, I’m Conrad, is there any room in the inn?”

“Yeah, room 315,” he said, getting and handing a key to him.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“How come you allowed him to call you Conrad?” Crane asked, as they headed to the room.

“Because I like him.”

“He must like you too because he gave you a room and the key for it, me, he would have run on and on with a story. I think he’s lonely.”

“Maybe you can fix him up with someone.”

“Maybe you can,” he said, laughing.

“I don’t know any old ladies except my mother, and she thinks she’s young. If she heard me say that, I’ll probably be getting hit behind the head.”

“You’re afraid of your mother? Tough and strong Officer Conrad is afraid of his mother.”

“Do you want to sleep in pain tonight?”

“Sorry.”

“I’m hungry.”

“Are you ever full?”

“I’m going downstairs to see what Mr. Perry has to eat.”

“Bring me back something.”

He left without answering him. He found that old gentleman at the front desk, reading a newspaper. He looked so compose as his focus was on what was on that news medium. Feeling that someone was watching him, he looked up.

“Ah Conrad, what can I do for you?”

“What do you have to eat?” Mr. Perry got up and then handed him a list to look at. “Not much to choose from. Um, I’ll have two hamburgers with fries and some water.”

“I’ll let the cook know, but she wouldn’t be too happy though; it’s almost time for the kitchen to close.”

“I’m going back upstairs; I’ll send Crane for them.”

“Okay.”

“Where’s the food?” Crane asked, as Officer Conrad came back into the room.

“Unless you want your hamburger raw, I would have brought it with me. I told him you’ll come down for it.”

“Go now?”

“Next fifteen minutes.”

“Some protection.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Why did you become a model?”

“You wanted to ask me that question longtime huh?”

“Well?”

“It wasn’t my first choice; I wanted to be something else. I was shy and modeling became a way to not be shy.”

“What was the something else you wanted to be?”

“A classical musician. Can I ask you something Conrad?”

“If I say no, will you still want to ask me?”

“Why–”

“If you’re going to ask why I became a cop, don’t.”

“No, I wasn’t. Why did you only order two hamburgers?”

“What, you’re that hungry?”

“I’m starving.”

“Well go down and tell the cook to make an extra one, but be careful.”

“Why?”

“According to Mr. Perry, she wouldn’t be in a good mood.”

Crane laughed. “Thanks for the warning. Conrad?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want an extra burger too?”

“No.”

Twenty minutes later, no Crane or hamburgers, so he went downstairs. There’ was no one there in the darkness. He felt something was wrong. He heard a gunshot, and running out the inn, headed towards that sound to a nearby woods. He could hear leaves chattering nosily as if persons were running over them. He turned his face towards the inn, and lights came on. Voices could be heard asking what was going on.

“Crane!” he shouted. “Crane, answer me!”

“Conrad!”

“Where are you?”

“There’s– “

“Crane!” Everything went quiet. Standing there, he listened for any sound that would give him an idea of where Crane or the person chasing Crane might be. All he heard was the wind. A hand touched him, and turning around, he punched whomever it was. Mr. Perry fell to the ground.

“What are you doing?” Officer Conrad asked.

“I heard a shot fired,” Mr. Perry said, holding his bleeding nose, “and I came to see what’s going on.”

“You . . . Shh, there’s someone moving over there,” he whispered, as he pointed in the direction to where the sound came from. “Stay here, don’t follow me,” he said, rushing away and leaving the old man behind. Another shot was heard. “Crane!”

“I’m over this way!”

Going towards his voice and seeing him, he asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you . . . Shh. Come out whomever you are; I’m armed.” The person came from his hiding place. “Captain?”

“Don’t shoot.”

“What are you doing here?”

“There’s no case.”

“What?”

“I was worried about you. You overwork yourself and you needed a vacation. You weren’t really protecting Crane from any danger.”

“What’s going on?”

“He needed some privacy and so I made up that lie that he was a witness that needed protection.”

“You wanted me to babysit –”

“Not babysit.”

“You wanted me to babysit and keep him away from who, reporters? No one knows about this place right?”

“Yes, but I wanted to give you a vacation. I know this was the closest thing to giving you one without forcing you to take one; the closest thing to getting you to relax. Hey, even after everything was created, the seventh day was a time of rest.”

“And this was my rest? Privacy for him and a vacation for me. You wasted my time. There wasn’t any real danger. The people taking shots at us were all fake? The flat tires, the dead phone, Crane did all that?”

“Conrad,” Crane said, “he only did this to give me a chance for some privacy and to help you.”

“Why? Why does he has to give you a chance for privacy; do you know each other?”

“I’m his son.”

“I didn’t know you had a son,” Officer Conrad said, turning to his captain.

“I don’t like to talk about my private life.”

“And I bet Mr. Perry is Grandpa Perry.”

“No, he’s a family friend,” his captain said.

“So I’m the fool?”

“Conrad,” Crane said.

“It’s Officer Conrad,”  he said, as he walked away.

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THE END

THANK YOU FOR READING (~_*)

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A Brother’s Love

That morning in the advertising agency, as the sun stood as the owner of a beautiful sky, employees got their morning coffee, welcomed each other with bright smiles and frowns that asked, Why did they have to be there? Along with these passing facial expressions, a conversation took place between two individuals before an interruption came.

“Did you hear?” Dalton asked, as he took his seat at his desk, “Emerson is missing.”

“What? When?” Taylor asked.

“Since Friday.”

“It’s Monday.”

“I know. No one has seen him since then; it’s like he vanished, completely vanished.”

“No one completely vanishes; you watch too much TV. He might be on assignment.”

“He would have said something; I’m his brother.”

“Be quiet, here comes the boss.”

“Why aren’t you all working?” their boss with a receding hair-line asked.

“We are sir,” Taylor said.

“It doesn’t look like you are.”

“Have you seen Emerson?” Dalton asked.

“He quit.”

“Quit? He would have told me if he was going to quit.”

“Get back to work.”

“When did he quit?”

“Do you want to loose your job Dalton?”

“No sir.”

“Then get back to work.”

“But when did he quit?”

“I’m not paying you to ask unnecessary questions.”

“But he’s my brother.”

“And?”

“But– “

“Dalton you’re fired.”

“Sir?”

“You heard me.”

“That’s not fair, I did nothing wrong.”

“Will you ask about Emerson again?”

“No.”

He turned around with a smile on his face. “Good,” he said, as he walked away.

Dalton and Taylor got back to work. They were dating.

Emerson never quit at anything; he was a hard worker and always went beyond what he was paid to do. He shot commercials for the advertising agency.

A moon with its fullness replaced the sun as they worked late into the night, and with bodies fatigued, Dalton and Taylor sat in a parked car across the street and waited for their boss to leave. He was always the last to leave. When he did, they followed him to his house.

“I don’t know why I’m going along with this crazy idea,” Taylor said, as she sat in the passenger seat of Dalton’s car.

“Because you’re curious like me; you want to know what does our boss know about Emerson’s disappearance. You’re scared.”

“No. You?”

“A little.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

“Whatever.” Their boss pulled into a driveway as Dalton drove further down the street, but then returned and parked not far away. “Nice house. I wonder if he’s married.”

“Why?”

“Just curious. Do you think he knows he was followed?”

“With your driving skills, maybe.”

“What’s wrong with my driving?”

“Nothing.” She lied. “Why is he just sitting there?”

“Maybe he knows he was followed.” Twenty minutes later and he was still sitting in his car. Dalton grew impatient. “I’m tempted to go up to his car, tap on his window and ask him what’s he doing?”

“My feet are killing me,” Taylor said, as she took of her shoes.

“Why did you wear those heels anyway?”

“Because they’re pretty.”

“Pretty uncomfortable. What is this man doing? Is he going to sleep in his car?”

“If he does, I’m not staying here all night. Wait, I see movement,” she said, noticing their boss coming out of his car and then going into the house.

“Why isn’t he turning on any lights?”

“We’re wasting our time; take me home.”

“Just a few more minutes.”

“You might not need sleep, but I do.”

“Ten more minutes.”

“And then we’ll leave?”

“Yeah.”

“Promise.”

“Uh . . .”

“Promise?”

“Okay, yeah, ten more minutes and then we’ll leave.”

Ten minutes came and they left; lights still not turned on in the house. He dropped his girlfriend home, reported Emerson missing, but was told that nothing much could be done. He had a key to his brother’s apartment and there he went, only thing unusual was that his brother wasn’t there. He looked at the photo of him and Emerson over the fire-place; that friendly smile his older brother had. He spent the night, all the time hoping that silence would be broken by his brother. No phone calls that night, but one the next morning. His girlfriend called to ask where he was.

Hot. Bright. That was the morning. He didn’t get much sleep, and before leaving, he looked at that photo again. Both smiling. He turned away in pain. He went home, took a shower, picked up Taylor and they drove to work. Their boss was there; he was always the first to be there.

“Morning sir,” they both said.

“I hope you two came in to work hard this morning.”

“Don’t we always,” Dalton said.

“Hope you guys got enough sleep.”

“What?”

“Sleep is important,” he said, as he walked away.

“He knows,” Taylor whispered. “He knows we followed him last night.”

“No he doesn’t.”

“Then why did he say, ‘I hope you guys got enough sleep.’”

“Now who watches too much TV?”

“If you’re going to follow him tonight, I’m not going.”

“Don’t you want to know where Emerson is?”

“Yeah, but I’m not going to waste my countless nights sitting in a park car and looking at a house where the owner doesn’t turn on the lights.”

“I reported Emerson missing to the police, but they said that there wasn’t much that they can do.”

“Well hire a private detective or something, or continue to look for him yourself. He’s what, thirty something. Coffee?”

“What do you mean coffee? Aren’t you going to help me find him?”

He got his answer when she walked away. She kept her word and didn’t go that night or any other nights. He went by himself, and every night his boss never once turned on the lights. He grew tired of that; and one day on his lunch break, he decided to go to his boss’ house; he was going to break in. He knew that the owner of the house wasn’t going to come home, and so he would have no interruptions. He parked his car a little distance away and walked to the house. The street was quiet as he walked through it, not nervously, not giving any signal that he shouldn’t have been there. When he reached, he unlocked the gate and went to the back door. He knew that there wasn’t an alarm; his boss never turned off any. He couldn’t get in through the door, so he tried a window. Bingo, he went in through that window that was left slightly ajar.

The house was clean and everything looked like they were in their places. If he tried to move stuff, then his boss would know that someone was there. He left his shoes by the window he came through. He went to almost every room and found nothing that would suggest that his boss knew where Emerson was. But there was one room that he could not get in; it was locked. He lightly tapped on the door and quietly said, “Emerson, Emerson, are you in there?” No answer. He tapped again and was about to called his brother’s name when he sensed that someone was standing behind him.

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End of Part One

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A Brother’s Love #2

He slowly and fearfully turned around, and then his body relaxed after he saw who it was.

“I thought you weren’t going to help me?”

“I changed my mind. So this is where the evil one lives,” Taylor said, as she looked around.

“This door’s locked.”

“Well you can wait until he comes to ask him to open it.”

“No smart remarks now please. How can we open it?”

“I don’t know.”

“What are you doing; don’t touch that.”

“I didn’t know he like this song.”

“What is it?” Dalton asked, as he walked over to her and forgot about the locked door for a minute.

“Last Song.”

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s a good song.”

“We don’t have much time so –”

“Where did you park your car?”

“We can worry about that later, help me with this door. How did you know where I was anyway?”

“I just knew,” she said, as she hit him across his head with her heeled shoe. He fell to the ground, unconscious. I knew these heels were good for something other than walking in, she said to herself. She left him there.

When he got up from off the ground, it was dark outside. His boss wasn’t home yet, but he knew he had to get out there fast. He went through the same window that he had entered earlier. He managed to stagger to his car; shoes on feet. He thought about reporting that incident to the police, but he knew that would  be a mistake. He would have  to explain what he was doing in that house in the first place.

He tried to call her, but got no answer. He went to her house and rang the doorbell incessantly until the next door neighbor told him that she was gone. She left with a suitcase. He called his boss at the agency; he was fired. His girlfriend knocked him over the head with her heel; he got fired, and Emerson was still missing. But he began to understand that the reason that his brother was missing was because of her.

He went to his brother’s apartment; the door was slightly open. He silently and cautiously pushed the door completely open. A whirlwind had passed through. Things were scattered all over the place. He went from room to room; that whirlwind didn’t miss a thing. On the bathroom mirror were these words written in lipstick, “Who do you value most?” He stood there and said those words to himself over and over. Had Taylor killed Emerson? He called the police. They came and left with him for the police station. He explained things to them, and an investigation was launched. He went back to the apartment and cleaned it. He was on his way home when his cell phone rang. There was silence and then someone spoke.

“I’m going to give you these directions, follow –”

“Taylor?”

“Don’t interrupt.”

“Where are you? Do you know where Emerson is?”

“Follow these directions, and when you come, because I know you will, come alone.”

She gave him directions, and going alone, followed them, driving in a bleak darkness. Train tracks. Trees in the background. Windy. Not a starry night. He saw Taylor and went towards her.

“Where’s Emerson?”

“Is that the first thing you can say to your girlfriend?”

“Ex-girlfriend. Why are you doing this?”

“Which one of us do you love the most?”

“What?”

“Answer me!”

“Right now, it’s not you. What do you think you’re doing? How can I love someone who knocked me over the head, ransacked my brother’s apartment and maybe know where he is; do you?” He heard someone mumbled. “Emerson?”

She turned around slightly and shouted at him, “Be quiet!” She then turned back to face Dalton. “Your precious brother is over there,” she said.

“You knew where he was all the time? What kind of game are you playing? Have you gone crazy Taylor?”

She laughed. “It’s a game alright, and you have to choose who is gonna be the winner.”

“You’re not making any sense. Let me take Emerson and leave.”

“You can’t take him.”

“Why?”

“He’s a major part in the game.”

“I don’t want to play.”

“Sorry, but not playing isn’t an option. Emerson is over there,” she said, as she pointed, “tied up real tight and taking a little nap on the train track. Sorry, he was sleeping, but you heard him mumbled. He was drugged up pretty good, so he might not know where he is or what’s going on.”

“What is going on?”

“The game is choices, which way would you go? There’s not much time. If you go right, you’ll save Emerson from being run over by a train that’ll be coming in the next seven minutes; if you go left, you’ll save me from the train that’ll be coming in the opposite direction. We’re both wearing black, so they won’t see us.”

“Taylor?”

“Right or left Dalton. Time is wasting away. Which one of us will you choose, your brother or me?”

“Taylor please.”

“Can you hear the trains coming; can you feel their power? Either Emerson or I will survive; the choice is yours.” She sat down on the track.

Dalton stood there not knowing what to do; his body covered with anxious sweat. His hands trembled. Seconds were becoming minutes. He did not want anyone of them to die.

“Taylor,” he said, “please, don’t. Come off the track.”

“So you made your choice, and you chose Emerson.”

“You can walk off the track by yourself, Emerson can’t. Please don’t do this.”

“You did this to yourself. You love –”

“I love you Taylor.”

“Too late. The trains are coming.”

He could hear Emerson mumbling again; the sound of the trains closer than they were before. He began to move his feet, his feet in the right direction. He rushed and dragged Emerson off the track. Both trains passed without any of the train conductors knowing what was going on. They were gone and Dalton turned and ran to find Taylor.

“Taylor!” he screamed. “Taylor!”

“I’m right behind you.”

“Taylor, thank goodness. Emerson,” he said, as he noticed his brother standing behind Taylor. “I thought –”

“Sorry Abel, but I’m your Cain.”

“What?”

“I’m not my brother’s keeper,” he said, as he grabbed hold of Dalton and tied him up.

“What are you doing? Taylor? Emerson?”

“I’m in love with Taylor and she’s in love with me. I was never missing, just waiting for this final moment.”

“What are you two going to do?”

“There’s a next train,” Emerson said, “what do you think?”

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The End

Thank you for reading. (~_*)

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Don’t Forget Me

She watched him like she always watched him, every Tuesday at twelve o’clock  from across the street in the music store where she worked. He always came at that time to see his mom at the beauty salon; she was a hairdresser and the owner. For five months she was watched him. She was in love, and it became an obsession.

He had no idea of her existence. He paid no attention to the shops across the street from his mom’s beauty salon; why would he? He got his music from someplace else. The first time she had seen him, he had pulled up in his car one Tuesday afternoon and all five- feet- eleven- inches of him exited; some strands of his brown hair he had moved carelessly from off his forehead. Sunglasses covered his eyes. She had seen all that from the glass window of the music store. Not once did he turn in her direction.

Even then as she thought about it, an excitement in her heart showed up on her face, causing her to blush from ear to ear. He seemed to wear a lot of black; she told herself that she would change that when they started dating. These are silly girl’s dreams, she thought, I’m out of his league. But she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Working in that music store was fun for her at first; she loved music, but the hours before twelve became bland like a plain white sheet of paper. At noon was when that paper got some color; at noon was when she became alive.

Infatuation had turned into love in two months; love had turned into an obsession after that. Photos of her Mr. Right lined the walls in her apartment. She took one of him every time he showed up. Walking over and introducing herself had crossed her mind many times, but the fear of rejection was stronger than the will. She needed to let him know that she existed, but how? Beauty salon; hair. Hair; beauty salon. She made an appointment to get her hair done at the hour he normally showed up. The popularity of that salon made her wait for three months before her wish, her hope in her first meeting with him.

Nervous as she stepped out of the music store, close sign on the door, she walked over to fulfill her appointment  at 12:15pm. The car she had came to love and hoped to ride in was already parked in front. He never parked in the salon’s parking lot. She entered, but no sign of him. The reception area was empty except for the woman at the front desk. She smiled when she looked up and saw her standing there.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

Moving forward, she said, “Yes, I have an appointment for 12:15pm.”

“Your name.”

She gave it and then said, “That’s a nice car up front.”

“Yeah, it belongs to the son of the boss.”

“He works here?” she asked, knowing that he did not.

“No, he just comes here on this day to have lunch with his mom. I’ll buzz you through; just walk down the corridor and then take a second left.”

“Thank you,” she said, smiling as she went through the door that was buzzed for her. She was expecting that place to be small but she was mistaken. She wanted so much to go further, to find out where he was, but she went and got her hair done instead. She gushed with delight in being in the same building  as him.

She needed to see him face to face though. That yearning took over her rationale and after she left, she came up with a plan. She watched the weather report religiously, waiting to hear of a rainy Tuesday. She got her wish. One rainy Tuesday, she did not go to work. He normally drove down the street, and so she waited down the street, in the rain; and when his car approached, she stepped out in front of it. He pressed on his brakes.

He came out of his car. “Are you okay?” he asked, bending down to see if she was hurt.

She looked up at him and even though it was raining, she was mesmerized by his looks. She did not answer him right away, and so he asked her again.

“Yes,” she said, trying to get up.

“It’s raining, can I carry you someplace?” he asked, feeling guilty.

Her plan was working. “I don’t know you, you can be –”

“I’m not what you’re thinking. Look, we’re both getting wet; why don’t I drop you off to where you’re going; that’ll be my payment for almost running you over.”

She agreed. This was too easy, she  thought. Why didn’t I come up with this plan earlier ran through her mind. They went into his car. “In here is so warm,” she said.

“Here, put this on,” he said, handing her his jacket. “Where to?” She gave him a location. “Sorry, I can’t do anything for your hair.”

“That’s okay,” she said, patting down her hair and blushing from cheek to cheek. “What song is that?”

“Mirror.”

“Mirror? Is it new? I work in a music store but I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s not new. We’re here.”

She thought to herself that she should have given him a location much further; the ride would have been longer. “Here,” he said, handing her an umbrella, “I forgot I had one in the car.”

“But what about you?”

“I’m in a car, I’ll be okay.”

“Thanks,” she said, as she opened the car door. “I’ll never forget you.” If only he knew what that meant. Her planned worked up to a certain point. He dropped her home, but her plan called for him to return to her house someday. He did not. Two weeks went by and still no signs of him. She came up with plan B; a plan more sinister.

Same location, but this time no rain. She quit her job because her new plan did not allow her time off from work. She stood the same place and waited for his car to come down the street. Same thing. She stepped out in front of the car, and he stopped.

“This is a habit,” he said, after he saw who it was.

“I think you were born to run me over with your car,” she joked.

“Where are you going?” She gave a location; this time much further. “Do you need a ride? That’s very far.”

“I was going to catch a taxi.”

“I’ll carry you. You can pay me. I’m just kidding about the payment part.”

“Thanks, that’ll save me some cash.”

“You’re not at the music store today?”

“Oh we’re renovating for two weeks, so I have two weeks to do nothing.” She lied; he did not know that.

“Why are you going way out there anyway? I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer that.”

“It’s okay. My family owns a building out there; they’re thinking about selling  it and I’m just going to see what condition it’s in.” She lied; he did not know that.

They drove for two hours out to that so-called family building. There was a building out there, no windows, just a door. The area looked secluded and deserted. Both of them got out of the car.

“Are you gonna be okay here all by yourself?” he asked. “I have to get back to work.”

“What do you do?”

“I work for a fashion magazine. You sure you’ll be okay?”

“Yeah, thanks for asking, but I’m not going to be alone.”

“Someone is coming to join you?”

“Someone has,” she said, as she pulled out a gun. “I know how to use this.”

“What’s going on?”

“Car key.”

“What?”

“Give me your car key.” He did. She threw it away.

“Are you crazy?”

“I can shoot you and nobody will hear a thing.”

“What do you want?”

She smiled. “You.”

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End of Part One

Thank you for reading. (~_*)

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Don’t Forget Me #2

“I–”

“Let’s go. Honey, we’re home,” she mocked. “This will be our home for awhile.” He made an attempt to grab the gun. She fired but missed, intentionally. “Don’t make me end this honeymoon early. Oh, cell phone.”

“What?”

“Give me your cell phone.”

“You’re not going to get away with this,” he said, as he handed it over to her.

“With what my dear? Let’s go.” She gave directions as she followed him with the gun at his back. She took him into the building with no windows. He was expecting the interior to be dirty and shabby; what he saw was a place cleaned and beautified. “I knew you were coming, so I fixed up the place a bit. We have everything we need. There’s no phone, so we won’t be interrupted; no television, so we can talk and get to know each other better. What does that look on your face mean?”

“I don’t want to know you.”

“You must get to know the person you love.”

“But I don’t love you.”

“Don’t try to break my heart by lying.”

“I don’t love you.”

“We’ll sort that out later. Come, I knew you were coming and so I made dinner; I hope it’s something you like.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Suit yourself. That way,” she said, pointing the gun in the direction she wanted him to go. “Have a seat.” He obeyed.

“What are you doing?” he asked, as she handcuffed one of his hands to a pole.

“Making sure you don’t run away.”

“You’re nuts,” he said, jangling the handcuff against the pole.

“I know you don’t mean that. I’ll bring over your dinner.”

“I said I’m not hungry.”

“You might change your mind after you see what I’ve made.”

She put the gun down away from him and brought over a plate of food. He picked up the plate with his only free hand and threw it at her. “I told you I’m not hungry!”

“Now do you think Jesus would like that, you being an abusive husband?”

“Listen, just let me go and I’ll forget about everything that’s happened.”

“You won’t forget me; don’t forget me.”

“I wouldn’t, now let me go.”

“I’m hungry,” she said, ignoring his request. “I’ll eat, even though you don’t want to.”

“They’ll know I’m missing and they’ll come looking for me.”

“Blah, blah, blah. Did you get that of some TV show?”

“Just let me go.”

“Please don’t upset me, I’m trying to eat.”

“Let–”

“Shh,” she said, putting her finger over her mouth. “Be a good husband.”

“Husband!” he said, trying to stand up. “I’ll never be your husband; I’ll never be anyone’s husband.”

“I told you not to upset me. Sit down; you’re not going anywhere. Don’t yank on the pole like that, you’ll only hurt yourself.”

“I’ll pay you.”

“You must be full of yourself and shallow, but I still love you. Keep your money, I’ve saved some.”

“Wouldn’t your family miss you?”

“I have no family,” she told him, and then drank some water.

“Wouldn’t anyone miss you?”

“You didn’t want dinner, how about dessert? I bought a cake.”

“I don’t eat sweets.”

“Suit yourself.” She got up, got the cake and then returned to the table. She opened the box. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

“How did you do all this to this building?”

“It’s nice isn’t it? It took me a long time to get this done right. The cleaning was very hard to do by myself, but now I don’t mind, you’re here now.”

“What are we going to do when it’s dark? I don’t see any lamps or lights.”

“We have candles.”

“What about water?”

“You worry about too much things. Now, you sure you don’t want any cake?”

“Is it bitter?”

“A bitter cake?” She laughed. “My husband has a sense of humor.”

He scoffed. “Where will I sleep?”

“You’re tired? There’s a bed.”

“One bed?”

“No, there are two beds. You’ll have to sleep with your hand handcuff to the bedpost.”

“How did you manage to get all these things in here with nobody noticing?”

“Determination. Now stop with the questions. You can’t sleep now, it’s not your bedtime.”

“What?”

“You’ll sleep when I sleep. I’m so happy.”

“Just one more question.”

“What is it?”

“Where’s the bathroom?”

“Do you have to go?”

“No.”

“Then don’t concern yourself about the bathroom.”

She ate three slices of that cake, all the while watching him and smiling. The look on his face told her that he was not happy about the situation she dragged him into. After she cleared away the dishes, she carried her chair and placed it next to him. He tried to move away but she told him not to. He did not listen and so she raised the gun to convince him. He obeyed. She rattled on with all different kinds of questions and topics. He barely gave answers to her questions and remained mute on the topics she brought up. His head began to droop, that told her he was sleepy. She looked at her watch and told him that bedtime was not until eight o’clock; it was seven-thirty. He had to stay awake for another thirty minutes. When she stopped talking, she got up and headed for the door. She opened it.

“Look, it’s dark,” she said.

“People would be looking for me.”

“There’s a full moon,” she said, ignoring the fact that people were looking for him.

“Let me see.”

“No, just take my word for it.” She looked at her watch again. “It’s bedtime.” She closed the door and walked over to him. “I’m going to take the handcuff off, don’t try anything or this will be the shortest marriage you’ve ever had.”

“For the last time, I’m not your husband!”

“I told you not to upset me; you’ll sleep here tonight.”

“Listen, I –”

“I don’t want to hear your apology.”

“I wasn’t going to apologize; I want to use the bathroom.”

“No. That’s your punishment for saying that you weren’t going to apologize. I’m going to sleep in a nice warm bed.” She picked up the lit candle. “Don’t try anything, I can see you from where the beds are.” They slept.

Seven o’clock the next morning, he woke up, gun in his hand. He had dreamed about what his hostage had asked him at the beginning of the ordeal. That question of what if someone was doing to him what he was doing to her, holding her hostage against her will because he was obsessed with her. How would he feel if that was happening to him? He dreamed that it was him being held hostage by her; in his mind he had switched places with her, but reality hit him.

He had taken her away from precious hours by keeping her there in that building with no windows, only lit candles as lights. His conscience weighed heavily, convicting him. He got up from out of the bed he slept in and walked over to the bed where she was still sleeping. He shook her, trying to wake her up. She moaned and slowly opened her eyes. It hit her when she saw his face that her ordeal was not over.

“What do you want?” she asked.

He took a key out of his pants pocket and took off the handcuff. Her hand fell to the bed. She rubbed her painful wrist.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I never should have kidnapped you and held you against your will, but I’m really in love with you. I thought it was the right thing to do.”

“What are you trying to tell me,” she said, trying to sit up in the bed.

“You can go.”

“What?”

“Leave. Leave before I change my mind.”

She hustled out that bed and was heading towards the door. She stopped and turned around. “How?”

He stood up and reached in his other pants pocket and took out another key. “I always carry a spare car key in my pocket; take the car and go.”

She did not hesitate in grabbing that key from his hand. She was again heading towards the door but stopped and turned around.

“What about you?” she asked.

“What about me? You can report this to the police.”

“I’m not going to.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. How are you going to get back?”

He walked over to where he had left the gun and picked it up. “I’m not going back.”

“You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?”

“Leave!” he shouted, as he pointed the gun at her. “Leave now!”

She headed towards the door and did not stop, turn around or say anything. She was gone. He was in the building by himself, regret and shame running through his mind. But there was no sound of a car starting.

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The End

Thank you for reading. (~_*)

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After Dinner

One last look in the mirror, trademark glasses on, recently shaven, hair perfectly in place–he was ready. Calmly he headed towards his bedroom door, opened it and walked out. He headed down the stairs, slowly gliding his hand on the banister with every step taken. At the bottom was his bodyguard who asked, “Ready sir?”

“Don’t call me sir,” he said, as he casually made his way to another mirror.

“I’m sorry,  Mr. –”

“No, no.”

“Camus, are you ready?”

“That’s better. Is the car up front?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m ready. Did he call?”

“No.”

“He still wants to see me though?”

“I guess so.”

That morning started with the celestial ball of orange glow smiling sweetly down upon the earth; its rays of beautiful light like a warm blanket. But by the time he was near to where he was going, the sky darkened, and the rain began to dance upon the car, providing a cool air. He stared out the window, seeing nothing; what was on his mind had his full attention. He had not spoken to his ex-friend in eight years, but all of a sudden, a phone call. His ex-friend called and invited him to dinner, and that was where he was going.

“Camus, we’re here,” his bodyguard said, as he drove up to a house.

“Is there an umbrella in the car?”

“No. I can see someone standing at the door.”

Neither of them had made any effort during that time to mend their friendship, but there he was, standing  with an umbrella, wearing a smile on his face that had more than a normal meaning. His visitor rolled down the window, and bending down, he said, “Camus.”

“Darrow.”

“Tell your bodyguard not to wait, you’re safe here.”

He gave that request and exited the car. “It’s been a longtime.”

“Why are you all dress up; it’s only a dinner.”

“I always try to look my best.”

“Yes you always tried, you manipulator. Have you manipulated anyone lately?”

“I’ve come to try my skill on you.”

“I’ve learned.”

“Good. Are we going to stand out here all night?”

“I thought we could enjoy the beauty of the rain.”

“Still the nature lover?”

“You bet. This way,” Darrow said, as they walked into his house.

“You haven’t change it a bit,” he said, as he began looking around.

“I have, I’ve added a little here, a little there. But there are two new paintings I got yesterday; you’ll see them at dinner. Wine?”

“If you have the best.”

“Still the snobbish brat I see.”

“Sorry to hear about your divorce.”

“Sure you are. Still hiding the windows of your soul behind those glasses.”

“Are you telling me to take them off?”

“You’re a guest, you can do what you want. Follow me into the  living room.”

“We got along, why did our friendship end?”

“Because you didn’t know what that word meant; do you now?”

“Ask me after dinner.”

“I made a French meal,” Darrow said, as he reached for the bottle of wine, “hope you like it.”

“You know it’s my favorite.”

“Sit down, don’t be a statue.”

Camus took a seat on the leather couch and crossed his legs. “What’s that playing?”

“Cube, have you heard it before?”

“No.”

“I forgot your taste in music sucked. How’s acting going?”

“Good. Saw any of my movies?”

“No I haven’t.”

“I forgot your taste in movies was terrible; I guess it still is.”

“How’s the wine?”

“Good.”

“It’s expensive.”

“Do you want me to pay for it?”

“Always the joker,” Darrow said, as he leisurely walked over and took a seat on the leather couch. He turned to him  and asked, “You do know why you’re here?”

“I do. Why did it take eight years?”

“I had other things to do.”

“You’re not drinking any wine?”

“You know I don’t drink.”

“Haven’t changed.”

“Neither have you. Come, you can finish your wine in the dining room.”

Darrow led, Camus followed. The first thing that caught his eyes were the two large paintings; they were the only things that adorned the walls.

“Are these the two paintings you were talking about?”

“Yes.”

Two large paintings of the Last Supper were hanging on the walls of the dining room, each behind the only two chairs at the heads of a dining table.

“Why so large?”

“I didn’t want you to miss them,” he began, as he pulled his chair out. “It’ll be either you or I that’ll be alive at the end of this dinner.”

“Yes, one of us will die,” he said, pulling out his chair and taking a seat.

Raising his glass of green tea, he said, “To the survivor.”

“Yes,” Camus said, as he raised his glass as well, “to the survivor. Smells good. What will we have for dessert?”

“There’s no dessert.”

“I hope you told your family goodbye.”

“I hope you did the same. Come, less talk, the dinner’s getting cold.”

After ending their friendship and before going their separate ways, they had made a promise that if they should ever meet again, then one of them will not survive. Maybe that’s why they had avoided each other for so long.

But when Camus received that invitation to dinner, he knew he had to accept. He tried to be a man of his words, although sometimes he failed. That wasn’t one of those times. He accepted that conclusion yet to be realized; death would be holding one of their hands before the night was over. One of them will die.

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End of Part One

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After Dinner #2

Complete opposites, like oil and water, but they mixed well–for awhile. Slowly like air being released from a balloon, their relationship began to deflate, until one day, it sagged.

Darrow was younger, much more outgoing, while Camus was more reserved. Elegance was his style; jeans and T-shirts suited Darrow’s taste.

They sat at the table enjoying the dinner like nothing bad was coming.

“You haven’t lost your cooking skills.”

“More wine?”

“Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“The thought did cross my mind, but I prefer you to be sober.”

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“Why the rush?”

“No rush.”

“Maybe I should’ve made dessert.”

“You were never good at baking.”

“It has already started.”

Camus slowly put his glass of wine down. “What?”

“I poisoned the wine.”

“With what?”

“You don’t need to know that.”

“I poisoned your tea.”

“So it has begun.”

“You’ll feel sick,” he said in a hypnotic tone. “You’ll feel sick very soon; your body will become hot, your stomach would be crying out for help and you screaming out for relief.”

“Always the storyteller.”

Both smiled. He enjoyed his glass of wine anyway as the other sat there in silence. Each paying close attention to one another. The rain had died down as if holding its breath to see what both of them were going to do next. He finished his wine, got up and stood before his dinner host.

“You still have a lovely backyard; still large.”

“You want to know where it is, don’t you?”

“What?”

“The antidote.”

“Do you want to know where your antidote is?”

“Is this a game? I know how you love games.”

“I can still read you like a book.”

“Well what are you waiting for?”

“How long do I have?”

“Is that important?”

“Don’t you want to know how long you have?” he asked, after he sat down on the couch again.

“I can also read you like a book; my antidote is in my backyard,” Darrow said, ignoring his question.

“But do you know where?”

“I want to know how you got on my property in the first place to be in my backyard.”

“Use your imagination.”

“We’re both wasting time,” Darrow said, as he stood up and then fell down.

“What, you’re feeling sick?” Camus teased. “Only one of us will live, and it’ll be me.”

“You still don’t know what the word friendship means.”

“Friendship,” he scoffed, “you poisoned my wine!”

“You poisoned my tea!”

“We made a promise remember; we’re just honoring it.” He tried to get up but quickly fell back down, hands wrapped around his stomach that was in pain. “To be fair, we’ll leave at the same time; we’ll go in the backyard together,” he said, as if out of breath.

“You’re so kind,” Darrow murmured, “but I don’t need your fairness. Your time is running out.”

“No Darrow, our time is running out. See you at your funeral,” he said, as he put on his jacket and headed out to the backyard to look for the antidote.

“I’ll see you at yours,” he said, as he managed to stand up and staggering forward, began to also make his way to the backyard.

The earth’s floor soaked, the air cool, both men tried to find the thing that they needed to save their lives. Darrow seemed to be in worse shape than his guest; he could barely stand or walk.

The backyard was very large, bosky and had many walkways that went in different directions. Yeah, the thing that was needed to keep them alive was there, but the question was where?

Camus shoes were announcing where he was with every step he took, and if he took them off, he would be walking around with just his socks. He made the choice to take them off and laid them under a tree. He was no closer in finding what he was looking for, and he too started to feel bad. His body became warm, so he sat down for a few minutes, hoping the air would banish that feeling.

Darrow had the same problem; he was no closer in finding what he was looking for either. What children we are, he said to himself, as he wrapped his arms around himself. He started to feel cold. Eight years came to this stupidity? he thought. For a few minutes he started to regret that promise, but pride crept in and overshadowed that regret. His heart filled with anger once again and he regained a second strength as he got up from the ground, clutching at some wet grass as he did.

Thunder came from the sky, flash of lightning sparked the darkness and the rain came down once again. They were accomplishing nothing by staying out there in that backyard. Getting wet only made matters worse, and so, unknown to each other, they both attempted to get back to the house. Camus arrived first and he crawled his way to the couch; he took off his wet jacket and socks and rested it on the tiled floor. A few minutes later, Darrow came into the house; he was soaked. He crawled on his stomach into his living room. He saw him.

“You’re dead already?” he asked.

“Only in your dreams.”

“Why we made that promise?”

“Because we were young, angry, and foolish.”

“What now?”

“We wait.”

“If you die first, I’ll be happy.”

“Do you hate me that much?” Darrow didn’t answer. “You’re not going to die.”

“What?”

“You asked before if I had manipulated anyone lately; yes I have, you.”

“What?”

“I didn’t poison your tea.”

“You didn’t? Then why do I feel this way?”

“It’s all in your mind. I told you I did and you–”

“Believed it? I was fooling you all the time. I knew you put nothing in my tea. Looks like I should be an actor too.”

“You should.”

“But I really did poison you.”

“And you’re going to watch me die?”

“You didn’t find the antidote?”

“If I had, do you think I would be here, lying on this couch in pain, slowly wasting away and talking to you?”

“You have it.”

“No I don’t,” he said, as his voice trailed off to a whisper.

“Yes you do; you always had it. I put it in the pocket of your jacket. You were carrying the one thing that can keep you alive all the while. Camus?” No answer. Darrow moved closer to the couch. “Camus?” He shook him. “You’re acting right?” No answer. He rushed over, picked up Camus’ jacket from off the ground, took out the syringe and injected it into the person lying on the couch. And he waited.

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The End

Thank you for reading. (~_*)

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This page is officially close. Thanks for stopping by and reading. (~ _*)