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 to

Conners...

a flame fanning up to burn hot and

… Lighting the darkness.

breathe again. Inhaling, I draw one deep lungful after another, sucking at the air until my head clears and I'm able to stand. Using the window ledge to support myself, I pull myself upright

something brushes against them; small,

?

strange object. A butterfly dangles from its

How…?

?

?

something which strains and pops to

blood streaming from sliced fingers and

She was wearing it.

His gift…

the pain lances through me, waking me, making me

Conners.

*****

James

in his hand. Richard and Beth sit

what do we tell Charlotte?” I

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

not planning on

to check at least

“Fair enough.”

*****

Michael

A classic city edge…

careful hand, printed capitals, it is quite clear.

of movement, but paintwork is fresh and clean; floral curtains drape inside, the door-knocker is of brightly polished

I can bring

*****

Charlotte

car with me. Michael leans back against the vehicle, arms folded, legs crossed at the ankle. My Master paces up and

downstairs window; movement inside,

timid, I can’t summon up the will to move. My feet drag. My heart flutters and my

Enough already…

on the door. It rat-tats, echoing through

What if she answers?

Will I recognise her?

know who

click of a turning lock, the clunk of a bolt

to a man’s face. A young man, perhaps thirty. He’s good-looking in an unremarkable way, but quite

I was looking for Michelle? Is she

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