The bar holds its breath. Bogeyed people keep a secure distance to the fight. Smashed bottles and blood glisten on the counter and the tile floor. Someone urges words into their phone.
The emptiness in Jack’s chest is drilling ache. The skin feels numb under his bloody shirt. His fingertips trace the long scar on his breastbone.
The surgeons take his heart and soul. They strip him bare of his past, of all who he was, and hoped to be. The doctors call it amnesia.
Continue reading “Heartless Jack”
Dirt rained from the ceiling of the dome. A deep rumble went through the cave. The Carpathians woke up. “Did you feel that?” Farnsworth couldn’t keep the scare out of his voice. Pathetic. A tiny earthquake was enough to get the man terrified. My flashlight illuminated the ancient pictograms on the basalt slab. This must be Ostra. “Let’s take some pictures, and go back!” His breath made little vapor clouds. Continue reading “Black Door”
First time I met consul Niishima, I was preparing tea for the European diplomats. I had that part of the embassy, the guest wing, and the lower common kitchen to myself, so I din’t bother to close any of the doors. The meeting was scheduled that early afternoon.
A tall handsome man manifested in the doorway. I nearly dropped the tray with the cups and napkins. Back then, I didn’t know who he was. I threatened to call security on him. He smirked and said he was going to steal some cakes. Continue reading “Consul”
Five a.m. and I’m in an empty bar. The exit sign over the door hums and goes out. “Always loved prophetic signs.” The bottle of bourbon on the counter is half empty. I look at the heap of misery behind the bar. That body used to be a sad excuse for a human, a criminal, a rat. Until someone orders him ended.
“That. Was. Sweet!” A hooded figure peels from the shadow, gloved hands clapping. “Too bad nobody appreciates a good craftsman.” He hands me a card. It only says, Reaper. “But I do. I’m Grim.”
I slide two golden coins over to the barman. He gives me a cool green bottle. “The good stuff,” he grins and pockets the money, like the bad seed that he is. The mere thought of work tomorrow, makes me irritable.
I melt to the back of the bar, to my kind.
“Wicked day?” Morningstar smiles and invites me to his table. I nod. “You have it?” I pull out his commissioned sword. As it touches his table, the wood smokes. The bottle on top explodes. “Man! My drink!”
“Buy you another one, if you don’t use the sword.” I grin. ” Until I get back at my dear brother, and my wife.”
Your coffee cup waits on the kitchen table. The red of your lips stays on it’s edge, till we meet again. Your brand of property, I’ll never wipe off.
“Love, you’re safe with me.” I whisper vows into your hair, but you’re asleep. You never hear me.
Why did you go, where I can’t follow? Your funeral cuts, and I lose count of the terrors these nights bleed.
I stop waking up from them.
I’m a woodsy guy. Look, I stick out, like a grizzly in a daycare center. Just how you’d expect me. Big, tattooed, dark clothed, the obligatory beard, the hunting knife, the observing. You call it lurking, I know.
People are dumb like sheep, but they can tell for once. They jump, as I appear on street corners, in front of their doors, beside their cars, in their bedrooms.
I give them reason to.