Alone

Gillian walked into the living room and her heart dropped as she saw that it was empty. There was a blanket crumpled up into a messy ball on one side of the sofa. Hiding behind the ball, was a deflated pillow. She could recognize the outline of her husband’s profile uncomfortably pressed into it. The house was modestly furnished with simple furniture not taking up any more square inches than absolutely necessary. Her slender fingers reached over to feel the warmth from the blanket. A part of her was tempted to fold it up neatly, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Instead she walked over to the kitchen and gently swung the door open. The cool breath of the ice box kissed her aged paper skin as her eyes found the wine bottle. It was nearly empty and seemed to have only been opened once. Tears struggled to amass at the corner of Gillian’s eyes but to no avail. She had enough of crying. Her tired feet carried her back to the sofa, where she dropped her face into her balmy palms. Just then, the door opened.

It was her husband. No words could be spoken. He placed his things on the coffee table and headed to the refrigerator to finish up the bottle that he started on just hours prior to his entry. She did not get up, did not move, just lifted her head. She looked at him in a vain attempt to will her husband to notice her presence. He just past by her, the subtle scent of alcohol and grapes followed him as he sat on the other end of the sofa. Her eyes were fixated on him, pleading for him to acknowledge her presence while his eyes were promptly glued to nothing in particular.

Frustrated, she stood up and went into the bedroom. The linens were untouched and each pillow had been left exactly where she left it. It had been four days since anyone other than herself had been in that bedroom. She ripped the sheets from corner to corner and climbed into the cold bed. Her body curled into fetal position as she pulled the sheets back over her. It was the closest thing to an embrace that she’s felt in some days.

Sleep was as elusive a goal as calling her husband to join her in bed. She could hear him taking his shoes off and adjusting his aching body onto the uneven cushions of the sofa. She tugged the blanket to cover her mouth taking a deep breath hoping there was still the scent of her husband still in the fibers free of the stench of cheap wine. A knock on the door startled her.

She lifted her head to point her ears in the direction of the knocking. First she noticed the sound of her husband’s blanket being slung over and his legs swaying his feet onto the floor. The sound of his argyle-socked foot shoved efficiently into his wool slippers was unmistakable. The rhythmic flip flopping of the slippers on the hardwood floor shuttled toward the knocking door.

“Hang on,” he muttered as the clickety-clacking of the locks and door knob served as a fanfare to welcome the visitor on the other side.

“Hey,” the voice of a young woman greeted him. She emerged from the bed and walked towards the bedroom door, which was slightly ajar and saw her husband embrace the woman. “How are you?”

“I’m doing okay,” he answered. “You didn’t have to come here, Claudia.”

“I know I didn’t,” Claudia replied, “I wanted to.” Claudia walked into the kitchen and placed a bag full of groceries onto the counter. She reached over and squeezed his arm then headed to the living room where she collected the empty wine bottle and neatly folds the blanket. “How long have you been sleeping on the couch, dad?”

“It’s been four days,” he answered. Claudia looked at her father with sympathetic eyes and walked to the bedroom. She opened the door and saw the bed neatly made, linens untouched, and every pillow where they had been four days ago. “I can’t sleep in the bed anymore.”

“I know it’s tough,” Claudia remarked, “She passed away less than a week ago. But sleeping on that sofa is no good for that back of yours. And we both know what a fuss you kick up when I invite you over to our house.”

“I know, honey, and I appreciate it,” he replied, “It’s just- It’s just that it feels so empty in that bed without her.” Gillian reached over and placed a hand on her husband’s arm. There was a subtle curl to his lips trying to become a smile; it was almost as if he felt a warm hand on his arm.

“What are you smiling about?” Claudia asked as a smile started form on her own face.

“I’m not sure,” he chuckled to himself as he took his pillow and blanket into the bedroom that he hadn’t been in for the past four days.

The Driver, The Passenger and The Assassin

He was their boss, but one could not tell the way he got out of the parked car his eyes darting nervously back and forth as he entered the bath house. The car was nothing special, a luxury that this crime lord had to sacrifice for his own safety. Attention was the last thing he wanted to bring upon himself.

“How long did the boss say he was going to take?” the driver asked.

“As long as it takes,” replied the passenger.

“And how long is that supposed to be?”

“It’ll take as long as it takes.” The passenger toyed with a single cigarette with his stubby fingers.

“So you’re just going to sit here and take orders without knowing what’s what?”

“I’ve been in this crew longer than you, and in situations like this, you just follow orders until the whole thing blows over.”

“We’re not at war with nobody. So what’s the big deal?”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s a freaking bath house. What does the old man need all this security for? There were the two guys he went in the building with, and he’s got the two of us waiting in the car.”

“So?”

“So? Who or what is the guy afraid of?”

“Don’t give me that. You know exactly who he’s afraid of.”

“Who? The Skull?”

“The Skull.” The passenger tucked the cigarette behind his ear and laid his head back on the car seat.

“Oh, don’t give me that crap. Do you actually believe in The Skull?” The driver took off his hat and slicked his hair back before putting it back on in frustration.

“What’s not to believe?”

“So, you’re telling me that there’s this guy- an assassin- who’s been picking up high level guys with such deadly accuracy? And he runs around calling himself The Skull?”

“He don’t call himself that. We call him that.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Enlighten me. What’s the point?”

“We control all the crime in this city. We even have some key people in the police force in ever district, not to mention some very influential politicians in our pocket.”

“And?”

“And you’re telling me that there’s a single guy picking off the heads of the organization? A single, lone gunman is running this organization that has been around for centuries into the ground. It has to be a setup.”

“Are you saying it’s all a conspiracy?”

“There isn’t a single person who could bring down this entire system. It just doesn’t add up. It’s a n urban legend made up by the cops to scare us out of doing business.”

“That doesn’t explain the bodies.”

“The cops did it. If you tell the press the boogey man did it, that’s what the public will believe.”

“You can believe what you will, but I know The Skull is for real.”

“How would you know that?”

“I’ve seen the man.”

“No kidding? When was this?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Well, it looks like we might be here for a while the way things are going.” The driver was getting restless. He was young and wasn’t used to staying in one place for sustained periods of time.

“I was on a job. It was supposed to be a simple shakedown. Some low level pimp was skimming. Boss asked me to finish him off but there was no way I was going to dig a hole, kill the guy, and fill the hole again. I brought these two new guys with me.”

“Yeah? So did The Skull take your guys out?”

“Not exactly. The other guys were messy, nearly took out the guy out in the open- in the park.”

“Yeah? I’ve done some stupid things on jobs before, but I’m nowhere that stupid.”

“That ain’t the worst of it. These two kids that were playing hide and seek found us just as I pulled the trigger on the little prick.”

“Did you take them out?”

“Kids? Are you kidding me? I took off, but those two morons decided to scare the crap out of the little ones. That’s when we got another visitor.”

“The Skull crash the party?”

“Nope. The kids’ mom came looking for them. I looked back and saw that they shot all three of them. Point blank.”

“There are some sick people out there, man.”

“I wanted to go back and get them the hell out of there, but as soon as I got there the dad showed up.”

“I thought The Skull would be in this story.”

“That’s who the dad was. He took out those two idiots with his bare hands. Obviously I just kept running, but I’m pretty sure he got a good look at me. I never looked back but I heard the guy scream… It’s the kind of scream that’d give you nightmares.” The passenger took the cigarette and examined it thoughtfully.

“That’s some crazy stuff, man,” the driver commented, “Hey do you got anymore of those cigarettes?” The sun had ducked beneath the horizon leaving the sky bathing in a sickly blue light. The street lights buzzed one, emanating a weak yellow into the air.

“This is my last one,” the passenger answered, gesturing to the cigarette.

“Are you going to smoke it anytime soon?”

“Hopefully not.”

“Well, then can I have it? All this waiting is making me jittery.” There was no response from the passenger. He looked intently at the side view mirror. “Hey! Can I have the smoke?” Still, the driver got no answer. The passenger looked at the building behind them, looking for something but ultimately not finding anything.

“No,” the passenger finally answered.

“Why not?” The driver was more reckless than angry. There was a long pause before a response.

“This is the last cigarette I’ll ever smoke. I gave up smoking ever since that day in the park.”

“Congratulations, now give me the cigarette.”

“I promised myself that if I ever got into a corner, where I knew that I was going to die, then I’d save this smoke as my last one.” The driver wasn’t paying attention. He was tapping on the wheel and even reached over and pushed in the car’s electric lighter.

“That’s sweet. I’m going to that liquor store for a pack then.”

“Hey, the boss said to stay put.”

“I won’t be long. I just need something to do while waiting is all; especially since you won’t give me that damned cigarette.” The driver reached for the keys and began to pull it out of ignition.

“Don’t!” The passenger yelled. As the key was pulled out, the light in the car turned on, allowing everyone in the area to see everything inside the car. Before the driver had a chance to make a quip, there was a quick explosion in the driver’s chest. The pink cloud of blood rained on the passenger’s face. He saw a grappling hook holding the body back to the seat. This way, after killing the driver, the body wouldn’t slump over, lean on the horn, and give fair warning to the boss inside.

There was a steel cable attached to the hook. The passenger followed it to the building that was behind them; the same building that had caught his eye in the side view mirror. He sighed to himself and opened the passenger door. Click! The lighter popped out. He took the cigarette and pinched the filter gently between his lips. With a twist, he took the lighter and looked meditatively at the glowing orange coil before gently kissing its fiery metal to the cigarette. He drew in the flame and sucked the smoke into his lungs, letting it crawl slowly out of his nose.

The passenger stepped out of the car, the cigarette still smoldering as he drew in another puff. He could not see The Skull, but knew he was there… watching. The whizzing bullet struck him in the head and his body fell lifeless in a pile where he stood. The cigarette had burned slowly to the filter before the blood trickled down from the wound to extinguish it.

War Hero

Patient Name: John Doe

Physician: Dr. Charles Beaumont

Notes: The patient was in possession of a journal (attached) to be submitted for Dr. Beaumont in the hopes that it would assist in diagnosis of John Doe.

Journal Entry I:

Raindrops fell, screaming from the gray sky then collected into little cherry colored puddles as they streaked down the pavement. This was supposed to be the battle that ended the war that ended all wars, but banality was hardly a quality of any war. I didn’t know where the flash came from, just that it came and was followed by a searing heat that burned any skin that was exposed. I was blinded for an instant, but didn’t hear anything, not even an explosion. Several moments passed, my vision had not yet returned. The sparse screams for God came only as a muffled cacophony to my ears.

It would be days before my men (the ones that survived, anyway) and I figured out that the flash was a bomb that had detonated about 16 klicks from where we were. One moment we were on our feet on a simple reconnaissance mission, and on our faces in the dirt the next. All lines of communications were down, so we decided to venture out of enemy territory. There was a word that had lost its meaning. We had no idea who our “enemy” was anymore… not after that flash.

Journal Entry II:

We had set up camp far outside the reaches of civilization. The night air above us was freezing and pressing down upon our weary bodies. We huddled next to each other, clumped up together in a ball of broken soldiers to keep warm. As the fire died down, the embers grew dim under the charred bits of wood and leaves. The air was the color of pitch.

Amongst the silent chaos, the image of my wife flashed in the recesses of my mind. Her face was faded, hidden behind a veil that grew less transparent with time. But her eyes stayed with me. I could feel the warmth of her arms embracing me and the sweet smell of her hair lingered just beyond my nose. The moment was fleeting, but would be the last happy one that night. A single streak of fire darted past my ear. We were taking fire from an unseen enemy.

The shots seemed to be coming out of the east. I ordered my men to take cover and before I could think up a strategy to escape unscathed, we were taking fire from behind in the west. My voice went hoarse after giving the order to fire. There was a hailstorm of bullets coming from all directions. I could not imagine how we were surrounded. Nor could I fathom what would happen next.

Amidst the gunfire, there was a single explosion in a tree to the north of our position. The fire had consumed all the leaves with such ease, leaving behind a gigantic burned out matchstick in its wake. A metallic contraption had fallen to the ground. I approached it carefully, as it was not shaped like any weapon that I had ever seen. It was the skeleton of what seemed to be a mechanical spider. It had a single round eye, pulsing with a red light. The eight legs were stiff and crooked; its body riddled with burns and bullet holes. With each step towards it, my heart rate increased.

The red eye faded out with a buzz before flashing a bright red and turning towards me. It was almost as if it was looking at me. Of its eight mechanical legs, two were completely blown off by the explosion, four were irreparably broken, and the remaining two wiggled about before pointing towards me. I moved to one side and the other, and the two followed. I soon realized that the legs resembled the barrels of pistols, and they were pointed directly towards my head. The red eye of the robotic beast glowed like a hot coal and grew brighter with each passing second.

It let out a mechanical screech that shook me to my bones. I jumped for cover and as it unleashed a flurry of rounds its eye exploded with a small but violent burst. I could not get up, could not feel anything on my right leg below the knee. Fatigue had superseded any shred of will I had to get out of the area. I woke up in this hospital. The enemy now has a name. The robots are going to put up a hell of a fight.

Journal Entry III:

I woke up in a place where the walls were white and tall. The ceiling seemed too high up and the sterility in the air stung my nostrils. The floors were made of cold green linoleum, might as well have sculpted them out of ice. The windows were narrow and let in the sickly blue light of the moon through crooked gratings. The glass of the windows was frosted, so I could not see where I was. Grating on the window didn’t help my cause, but one could appreciate its necessity. The enemy would have a difficult time getting in here. I think I can finally rest for now.

From the Desk of Dr. Beaumont:

The patient seems to be aware that he is within the confines of a hospital, but has not come to terms with the fact that it is one for the mentally unstable. He suffers from paranoid delusions that manifest themselves as cybernetic beings attempting to destroy the planet. From what can be deduced from the journal entries, he may be suffering from post traumatic stress.

There is no way of knowing whether or not it stems from experiences on the battlefield, or if this was a condition he had lived with for years. I suggest that the patient be medicated regularly until further assessment can be made as he may still be a threat to others.

Just Trust Me

Her hair had long since lost the bounce and shine it once had since she first met him. The luster in her eyes had dulled except on the rare occasion they were coated with tears. Only a cool shadow remained where once there was a warm smile to greet her husband. There was a glow about her whenever she entered the room. But it was gone now. And she knew it.

The thought of her glory days danced teasingly on the edges of her mind as her hands marinated in dishwater and her ears remained pert only for her baby’s cries. She was a little girl once with little girl dreams and in her naiveté believed that she would one day fall madly in love with a man and they would live happily ever after. This housewife realized that she may no longer have enough fairy tale charm to keep Prince Charming around much longer.

She began to suspect her husband’s waning interest just six weeks prior to that very moment she scrubbed pots and pans in the kitchen. There was no smoking gun of the man’s infidelity, but most women never needed more than the tingle of their intuition to tell them that something was wrong. It was the little things that triggered her suspicion.

Just a few days ago, he started to come home late. It wasn’t that big a deal at first; five to ten minutes. But he was suspiciously apologetic. What was he hiding? When he came in, he hugged her and pressed his lips to her cheek. She noticed that his face was ice cold as if he had been standing in the cold longer than he had to. And he smelled different. There was no smell of a woman’s perfume, but the strength of his aftershave had been stronger than usual. Who was he trying to impress?

It’s the weekend, and she wanted to use this opportunity to look through his car and dirty clothes for more concrete evidence. Then there was the hair. It was a singular hair that so carelessly rested on the shoulder of her husband’s overcoat. The hair was light brown, like hers. But it was somehow lighter and a tad shorter than any follicle on her head. Oddly, there was no hair on his shirts, or in the car. Apparently, he’s only having an affair with the overcoat on. But then the most compelling evidence presented itself in three simple words. He took his overcoat and headed to the front door.

“Honey? I’m going out for a little bit,” he smiled a smile that she thought was too sincere. Why was he being so nice?

“On a Saturday night?” she asked, not knowing if she wanted to cry or punch him in the face. “And without me?”

“I’ll be right back,” he said, “I promise.” And he leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. She wanted to strangle him but instead wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight, as if she would no longer be able to.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Just trust me.” There were the three words. “It’s for work.”

And that brings her to the dishwater. Her thoughts meandered about yesterday, hoping to find where things had gone so sour. The cooing of the baby drew her away from the scrubbing of the pots and pans. As she held the infant in her hands, her thoughts of nostalgia grew into realizations of rage. She realized that all this had come into fruition so close to their anniversary. It was to be their tenth year of bliss together. Upon realizing this, she ran to the wastebasket and scattered its contents on the floor. There was a small, crumpled bit of paper that had been forced to the bottom of the bin. She unraveled it in her palm. There was a price for something written on it. The letterhead did not reveal a name, but it did have an unfamiliar address. She picked up her baby and ran to the car.

The car rushed with urgency down the streets, taking careful precaution as to bend the traffic laws without breaking them completely. She weaved the vehicle over the asphalt maneuvering it like a maniacal boat skimming over not so calm seas. The automobile’s rear wheels left two rubber streaks behind it as it screeched to the side of the curb in front of a brick building. The baby, however, didn’t seem to be fazed by the rush. In fact, it seemed to lull him into sleep.

It was unclear whether this building was commercial or residential, but she didn’t care. She took the baby out of the car and ran inside the front door. Her eyes darted to and fro around the lobby until finally honing in on that now infamous overcoat. He ducked into a small office at the end of the hallway and she followed quietly behind.

“How could you?” she asked him.

“Honey, what are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” the baby rubbed his eyes and yawned and went back to his nap, “You said you were going to work.”

“I didn’t want you to find out like this.” Just then a woman came from around the corner who tried to hide her shock with a smile. She was holding a small box in her hands, which he took from her.

“How did you want me to find out?” Her husband opened the box and revealed two diamond earrings.

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” he answered as he took the baby and handed her the box, “Tenth anniversary is diamonds.” His beet-faced wife wiped a tear from her cheek and hugged him tight. She kissed him on the lips and the baby’s drool crept onto the shoulder of his overcoat. And they lived happily ever after.