Five Years Ago - Chad
Chad checks the door number against the address on the letter, then knocks. It’s a good building in a good area. An apartment here would not be cheap.
The door opens, and he strides across to the concierge, a tall, slender man of perhaps twenty-five or so. He has golden-brown skin, eyes like rich, dark coffee, framed by long lashes and a well-formed expressive mouth.
“Yes, sir. What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for Jennifer Bennett. Is she in?”
The concierge shakes his head. “I’m sorry, we have no-one of that name here.” His gaze travels up and down Chad; tall, well-muscled, with corn-blond hair and cornflower-blue eyes.
“How about Jenny Conners?”
“Oh, that Jenny, the red-haired girl. Yes, I know her. She's a stunner that one, isn't she?” He hesitates. “If you go for that type of course…?” The question hangs in the air.
Chad isn’t sure how to reply, and after a moment, the concierge, sounding slightly disappointed, continues. “No, she's not here, sir. She moved out a few weeks ago. She said she'd found a cheaper place.”
“Did she leave a forwarding address?”
“I’m sorry, no she didn’t. It’s a nuisance because I have some post for her, a letter.”
“Just one letter?”
“Yes, she was only here a few days. The letter arrived a week or so later.”
With a sinking feeling, Chad says, “Could I see the letter please.”
The concierge blinks large, liquid eyes. “I’m sorry, sir but I can’t just give you someone else’s post.”
“I only want to see the handwriting. I think it might be from a mutual friend. If his letter didn’t reach her, he will want to know.”
“Well…. I suppose that’s alright.”
The envelope is addressed in a firm careful hand, a hand that Chad has known from boyhood.
“Is it from your friend?”
“Yes, it is. He’ll be upset that it didn’t reach her.”
The concierge pulls a face then, “Look, I’m only supposed to keep uncollected mail for a couple of weeks, then throw it away. Why don’t I give this to you? If you find your friend, you can give it to her.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.”
As Chad turns to leave, the concierge calls after him. “If there’s anything else, just ask for me. My name’s Kristoff.”
Chad pauses on the thresh-hold, then turns back. “Thank you, Kristoff. I might do that.”
*****
James
There is a voice….
…. A female voice….
I should know who you are….
…. Darling, a true lady takes off her dignity with her clothes and does her whorish best. At other times you can be as modest and dignified as your person requires….
Or am I listening to my own thoughts?
Who are you?
and there is
*****
echoing out of
building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyse a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization
or try to. But it’s hard. My thinking is
…. I hurt….
Why do I hurt?
Never try to out-stubborn
Why would I try…???
*****
little, blinking
Where am I?
?
?
Who am I?
Michael!” The voice
I do know you….
…. I think….
voice. “What? Charlotte?
his eyes.
and darkens
*****
they are utterly different. Duty is a debt you owe to yourself to fulfil obligations you have assumed voluntarily. Paying that debt can entail anything from years of patient work to instant willingness to die. Difficult it
*****
to live a long time—oh, a thousand years or more—is something between the way a child does it and the way a mature man does it. Give the future enough thought to be ready for it—but don’t worry about
lightens
White….
Everything is white….
Thirsty….
returns, but almost immediately
Whiteness….
it comes
A ceiling….
around gummy
Ah, jeez…. My head….
Thirsty….
again. “Master? Master? Can
I do know you….
the whiteness, blurred, indistinct,
try to see more clearly. Something cool and comforting pats at the fire, dampness on lips puffy with desiccation. Then, my head lifting, supported from behind, the coolth penetrates, water trickling over my
“Master? Is that better?”
my vision makes sense. The orange and green blur
Jade….
is only a whisper. I wonder if
lacing her fingers with
good, Charlotte.
thumbs hooked into his
My friend….
?
?
Where am I?
can barely move. The smallest effort, even turning my head, saps me. But I try to
Screens….
…. Medical equipment….
down my arm, a drip, taped into
in a
Have I been ill?
me. “Back in a minute.”
*****