Klempner - Twenty-Six Years Ago
She’s gone.
What now?
I stare out of the window of the apartment I bought for her, overlooking the harbour with its yachts and pleasure boats, ice-cream kiosks and artsy-craftsy shops. Sunshine glints outside on the water, gleams on fresh paint, blue and white, and on polished timber decks, then spills into the room. But there’s no warmth in it. Tugging my jacket around me, I hiss as pain stabs through my hand. Gashed flesh swollen and heated, seeps blood.
I should dress it…
…
Later…
I thought I had it.
I thought I had her.
I really did.
…
…
It’s so cold.
Walking through to the kitchen, I limp a little where my ankle twisted as I fell…
Would he really have run me down?
… then clumsily, working with one hand, I make coffee, splashing in a hefty measure of whiskey, then more until the cup teeters on overflowing.
You had me fooled, Larry. You really had me going. When you left, I was coming to see you… and then I saw them…
Returning with the drink to stand in the scant heat of the sunshine, I watch holidaymakers and tourists going about their moronic activities. Hot alcohol and caffeine sear a trail down my throat but still, there’s no warmth inside me.
She was coming to see me…
Coming to say she’d be with me…
Shivering, I drain the dregs.
Bitter as bile, churning and toxic, regret wells up inside me…
Enfolds me in its harsh embrace…
Overwhelms me…
There’s not enough air. Pain draws a band around my chest, tighter; ever tighter.
Dropping to my knees, I cover my face.
Hide from the world…
Is this all there is?
Hide from myself…
She ran to him…
and
Conners...
a flame fanning up to burn hot
… Lighting the darkness.
one deep lungful after another, sucking at the air until my head clears and I'm able to stand. Using
against them; small, cold and
?
object. A butterfly dangles from its chain, twinkling silver as it
How…?
?
?
snagging on something which
sliced fingers and palm. Digging into
She was wearing it.
His gift…
inside me. Fists clenching, the pain lances through me, waking me, making me feel
Conners.
*****
James
leaves. Michael considers the slip of paper in his
we tell Charlotte?”
across there tomorrow and see what the area looks like. I don’t want a repeat of last time; going all the way there to find nothing but a car park and a supermarket. It would break
planning on knocking
be right. But I want to check at least that there’s a door
“Fair enough.”
*****
Michael
A classic city edge…
a careful hand, printed capitals, it is
there is no sign of movement, but paintwork is fresh and clean; floral curtains drape
can
*****
Charlotte
the car with me. Michael leans back against the vehicle, arms folded, legs crossed at the ankle. My Master paces up and down a little, then settles, watching as
on at a downstairs window; movement inside, shapes silhouetted
can’t summon up the will to move. My feet drag. My heart
Enough already…
the knocker in one hand, I rap smartly on the door. It rat-tats,
What if she answers?
Will I recognise her?
she know
click of a turning lock, the clunk of a bolt
young man, perhaps thirty. He’s good-looking in an unremarkable way, but quite
I was looking for Michelle?
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