Sunday, January 9, 2011

Waiting

Last one for now.

Waiting

She’ll be home any minute now. I’m crouched in the dark, out of sight of the front door. It has been silent for a few minutes now all that can be heard is the muffled traffic outside, very quiet zooms of cars passing by.
            I’ve been planning this for weeks. The moment is finally here and she won’t even see it coming. She gets off work at the University at around 4:30pm. It takes about 20 minutes for her to get home most days, depending on the traffic. It’s a Tuesday today so the traffic should be normal.
            It’s dark in the house. The only source of light is a ray shining through the window. I can see dust particles in the ray and a Vanity Fair magazine is visible in the light, on the arm of a chair.
            I feel a tickle in my throat and cough. The sound echoes through the house. I might be coming down with a cold.
            I can’t wait to see the look on her face when she gets home. Weeks of planning will be paid off. I get more and more excited thinking about it. I’ve got a long knife in my hand to be used later.

I can hear the car pull into the driveway. Her muffled music from the car radio gets turned off and the car door shuts. Footsteps coming up the driveway and walkway. I hear a jingling of keys and the key being slid into the lock. It turns and unlocks the door. She opens it and-
            “SURPRISE!” we all yell and jump up, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”
            “Oh my god!” she exclaims and starts laughing and looks around at everyone in the room. “Everyone’s here! Honey, is this what you’ve been so distant for over the weeks?” she asks smiling. “To be honest I was getting kind of worried.” She blushed.
            “Awe, come here,” I say in a sympathetic tone and kiss her on the lips. Yum, strawberry. “Now, come on, sweetie,” I hold the knife up, “let’s cut the cake!”

 



The Cafeteria

The Cafeteria

“Dude, there she is!”
And she was. Sarah Hartman: long brown hair, big brown eyes, cute, petite. I had liked her the whole semester, since September. It was now November and I still hadn’t got the balls to go and have an actual conversation with her. Over the months the only things we said to one another while passing by were “Hi”, “What’s your major?” “What’s up?” or “Nice day, eh?”
“Well what should I do?” I asked. “Should I go pretend to get something to eat and go talk to her?”
Paul and John said “yes” in unison, and then laugh.
            “Alright,” I said and got up and walked towards the food stations.
            I couldn’t seem to find her through the crowd of people. I kept looking but no cigar. I grabbed some fruit and headed back to my seat.
            “Where the fuck did she go!? I can’t find her!” I exclaimed and then we all started laughing.
            “She knew you were coming so she jumped out the window,” John joked.
            “Go back again, she’s obviously back there,” Paul suggested. “Pussy.” They laughed again as I headed back to the stations.
            I made another round around the stations. I still couldn’t find her. She had once again, disappeared. I got back to my seat.
            Paul and John were in stiches. “Dude, she just walked out the other side when you went in the other way!” John exclaimed.
            “Alright then where did she sit?” I asked. I start scanning the room. I spot her at a table by herself near the window. “I see her. I’m going now,” I said nervously.
           
            I grabbed my coat and left my seat. I went to get a drink first and then started toward her table. As I passed by my friends’ table I could see them doing stupid laughs at me, trying to fuck with me. I chuckled and reached her table.
            “Er- Hey, my uh friends are bailing, mind if I sit here?” I managed to get out.
She smiled, “Sure!” so I took a seat. As soon as I sat down her friends arrived and they suggested we move to a less dirty table. We got up and went to the one down from us.
            There was six of us at the table eating. Three girls, three guys. “So, how’s your year going so far?” I asked Sarah. My heart wasn’t pounding as fast at that point.
            “So-so. Midterms are hard. University is so much harder than high school. I didn’t expect it to be this challenging.” She was eating a hotdog with way to much mustard and ketchup on it. I felt gross for a second and recovered. “I hear you, I’m getting all C’s this year. Then again, it’s my fault since I can’t bring myself to study. What’s your major again, Psychology?” Same old small talk, I thought. I need to generate an actual conversation.
            “Yeah, Psych.”
            “You like it?”
            “It’s okay,” she sipped at her juice.
            “What’s yours?” asked the girl next to me.
            “History at the moment. Might switch it up, not sure yet.” I extended my hand, “By the way, I’m Matt.”
            “Erica,” she said.
We all exchanged handshakes: Tiffany, Dan, and Dylan (maybe Dillon?).

            The next few minutes were filled with numerous stories filled with drugs, alcohol, professors, class assignments; normal university stuff. Dan had got high and drunk a few days ago and hit on his professor. We had a good laugh at that.
            “So, wait; you not only hit on her but you tried to kiss her? How didn’t you get kicked out of school?” Dylan or Dillon asked.
            “She likes me, I don’t know. I’m as surprised as you are. Maybe she felt kinda bad cause when I went in to kiss her I tripped and bashed my head on the desk and knocked myself out.”
            We all howled with laughter. “You-fucking-idiot!” Dylan or Dillon said between breaths.
            “Oh yeah, before I forget, Sarah, my mom found-“ Tiffany paused for a second and pulled a tiny bone out of her mouth, “this fish is supposed to be boneless,” she said in an angry tone. “Okay, so, my mom found one of your sweaters in my room when she was cleaning it.” They must know each other from back home. “She’s sending it in the mail along with some of my stuff tomorrow.”
            “I didn’t even know I was missing a sweater. Tell her thanks, anyways.” she responded thankfully. She was in the middle of eating some sort of mixed ice cream. Looked good.

            I felt pretty good. Things were going smoothly. I’d finally broken that barrier and was comfortable talking to her.
            “So where are you from?” I asked her while I ate some ice cream, different than what she had earlier.
            “I’m from- oh my god! There he is!” she exclaimed.
We all looked across the cafeteria and spotted some guy.
            “Ooh, he is cute, you’re right,” said Erica. “So that’s the guy you always talk about?”
            “Yeah…” she let out a dreamy sigh.
            “So, what’s your plan?” Tiffany asked excitedly.

She sat there in thought for a second. I was shocked at the whole situation. After what seemed like ages she looked up at us and said, “What should I do? Should I pretend to get something to eat and go talk to him?”






Morning

Morning

I awoke with a white light burning in my eyes. I rubbed them to see clearly. I was in my bedroom. I could hear the shower running; my wife had gotten up before me. I got out of bed and looked around the room. So many memories attached to everything in the room. I noticed our old wedding invitation was out on one of my dressers and I read it:

You have been invited to share in the celebration
Of the marriage between
Sean Williams and Bridget Kirzner
On the twelfth day of June
Nineteen Ninety One
The ceremony will commence at three in the afternoon
At St. Mary’s Church
Followed by a reception at five in the afternoon
Kindly respond by April tenth
Nineteen Ninety One


I smiled and next to it was a picture of us before we were married; so young, carefree, in love. I still feel the way I did in that picture.
            The bathroom door was open and I walked in. My vision was slightly blurred due to the steam from the shower. She was blurry through the other side of the shower door.
            “Morning, hunny,” I said. No response. “How was your sleep?” Again; no response. I frowned and said, “I’ll see you downstairs for breakfast… love you.”
            I must have done something to piss her off, I thought. I smirked even though I know there was hell to pay later. I exited the bathroom and made my way to the bedroom door. I stopped in my tracks when I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. There was a stack of what looked like invitations on a table near the door. The one on top read:

Yourself and family are invited to attend
The funeral of Sean Williams
At St. Mary’s Church
On Wednesday, December first
Two Thousand Ten
At Three o’clock in the afternoon
 




18 Westview

I've got a few short stories to post, so here goes the first.


18 Westview

My name is Sean. I’m a detective for the NYPD and I’m 34 years old. I was investigating the murders of over 30 people linked to a serial killer that we call “The Optometrist”, because he or she (we don’t know yet) stabs the eyes out of the victim and feeds them to the victim before killing them. The weapon of choice: a gold brooch, always gold.
            We think the Optometrist is a vigilante serial killer because all of the victims have been criminals in crimes ranging from sexual assault to murder. The killer always leaves the brooch at the scene of the crime, probably to taunt us.
            Anyway, the case went cold and I’ve been reassigned to the kidnapping of an 18 year old girl named Sarah Hartman. I have a lead on her whereabouts and am en route at the moment. Hopefully when I find her, I can reopen the Optometrist case, that is, if the FBI doesn’t take over.
    
I’ve arrived at the supposed whereabouts: 18 Westview Street. It’s a dark, damp, run-down looking apartment complex, like something straight out of a movie, very cliché. I get out of the car and shut the door and start down the walkway towards the building. It’s raining out, but relatively warm. I reach the door to the complex, red and faded, and turn the rusty knob and open the door slowly. I walk through the doorway and a musty smell reaches my nostrils.
            The building is drenched in gloom, and I get that bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. The dim light in the lobby adds more to the depressing feel of the place; I already hate it here. I walk past the dirty mailboxes and graffiti covered walls to the elevator, one of those old fashioned ones with the gate you have to slide open. “Out of service”, how nice. I look around to find a stairwell sign; to the right, at the end of the hall. I make it up the dirty stairs to the second floor and begin knocking on doors and questioning people about the kidnapping.

I still have no leads by the 4th floor. I hate this place even more. Most of the residents are assholes, junkies, or senile, like the old man on the 3rd floor who thought I was here to erase his memory and do scientific research on him. I knock on apartment number 78.
            “This is the NYPD, I’m here to ask you some questions about a recent kidnapping,” I say.
I hear the clinking of the chain being undone and the door unlocking. The door opens to a man in his 30’s, average looking, short hair, 5 o’clock shadow with a little bit of grey in it.
            “Thank you. Hi, I’m Detective Sean Williams, NYPD,” I flash my badge, “I just have a few questions about Sarah Hartman. She was kidnapped 4 days ago and we have reason to believe that she and the kidnapper are residing here. She’s 18, Caucasian, blonde hair, brown eyes. Here’s a picture,” I hand him a picture of the victim.
            “Oh, yeah, I heard about that on the news,” he looks at the picture, frowns, and says, “Nope, never seen her before. But, please, do come in,” he says, and gestures for me to come inside.
            “Thank you.”
            I’m a bit taken aback by the man’s politeness compared to some of the other residents from tonight. I’m still a bit nervous, all those cop shows and movies come to mind now. Like there’s going to be a bunch of thugs inside and I’ll get into a huge shootout. I have thought of the exact same thing in every apartment I’ve been in tonight. Fuck if I know if that has ever happened in real life. I keep telling myself that that is very unrealistic, but still, the mind does wander.
            His apartment is nice compared to most; clean, smells okay. There’s a clock on the wall that’s an hour ahead, guess he forgot to set it back. Right next to the clock is a nude calendar. Classy. There’s an aroma of beef or pork or something of the like in the air. The door closes with a click.
            “I’m John, by the way, John Smith,” he says to me and shakes my hand, “make yourself at home, I’ll make some coffee,” he says.
            Just water, thanks,” I say, and he nods and disappears into the kitchen.
            I walk into the living room to two chairs, a couch, and a TV set that’s playing a re-run of some sitcom. There really isn’t much to look at; the walls are mostly bare, with bland yellowish wallpaper and stained with what looks like tobacco smoke residue. Now that I think of it, the place does smell like cigarettes. Smells like heaven compared to the rest of the complex.
            “Coming down hard out there?” he calls from the kitchen.                                                   “Yeah, kinda,” I respond, “Took me longer than expected to drive here.”
            “Forecast calls for sunny tomorrow, keep your fingers crossed,” he says. I hear the clang of something being dropped in the sink.
            “We can only hope,” I say.
            I can hear his footsteps from the kitchen. Drinks must be done. I say, “So, have you lived here long–”

I shoot the cop in the back of the head. Blood and brain spray on the wall in front of him and he crumples with a loud thud on the floor. Blood pools from his head. I feel a rush of excitement through my veins. I’m examining the spot where the blood and brains hit the wall, blood trickling down. I now watch as more blood pools out of his head onto the floor. I replay the killing in my head over and over. The way he fell lifeless to the floor, the blood spraying like someone splashed a bucket of red paint on the wall. I want to rewind and redo the killing, maybe at different angles to see how he would fall or how the blood would hit the wall. Maybe try to pop a few shots before he hit the ground, each shot spraying more and more blood– I shake my head back to my senses.
            I flick safety on and throw my pistol on the chair. I can hear a dog barking on another floor, must have heard the gunshot. Need to clean up quick. I rummage through his pockets: I find keys, some change, a notepad and pen, a pistol, and a wallet. I open the wallet and find an I.D – Sean Williams, a police badge, and some cash. I pocket the cash, put the wallet back in his pocket, and chuck his pistol onto the couch.
            I’ll make her clean it up. I go to the bathroom and open the door. She’s sitting there, calm and quiet; surprising, seeing as how you’d think a rich girl would be the noisiest hostage.
            “What was that?” she asks. She winces from the cuts and bruises on her face.
            “None of your fucking business,” I say, and I punch her in the face, “now, shut the fuck up.” I pause for a second, “You know what; I might as well tell you since you’re cleaning up the mess. It was a cop coming to save you! I killed him though, don’t worry.” I laugh.
            There are tears coming down her face, from the punch or maybe because I killed that cop; or maybe both. She stares at me for what seems like minutes. I backhand her to get her attention. This time her lip starts bleeding. She wipes it off and then runs towards me and grabs me.
            I’m about 2 seconds away from punching her again when she kisses me on the lips. I’m confused but I quickly assess the situation and rip her blouse off. I hear a cling when it hits the floor; must be the buttons. I undo her bra and throw it and it lands on the sink. Her nice, round tits (C-cup, small pink nipples, perky) are gleaming with sweat. She moans as I grab her tits and slide my other hand down her stomach and up her skirt. I start to finger her wet pussy (fairly tight) and she grabs my cock through my jeans. She moans as she comes then she stops rubbing my cock. I say, “Don’t fucking stop yet,” and I unbuckle my belt and unzip my pants. I push her down to her knees.

She looks up and me and smiles, “You have very nice eyes.”

I look down and in her hand is a gold brooch.