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...
flickers; a flame fanning up to
… Lighting the darkness.
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 again, plunging hands white with
against them; small,
?
stiff and swollen, I pull out the strange object. A butterfly dangles from its
How…?
?
?
something which strains and pops
blood streaming from sliced fingers and palm. Digging into a
She was wearing it.
His gift…
clenching, the pain lances through me,
Conners.
*****
James
slip of paper in his hand. Richard and Beth sit in silence, listening
we tell Charlotte?”
going to drive 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
planning on knocking on the
want to check at least that there’s a door to knock
“Fair enough.”
*****
Michael
A classic city edge…
a careful hand, printed capitals, it is quite
of movement, but paintwork is fresh and clean; floral
I can bring her
*****
Charlotte
out of the car with me. Michael leans back against the vehicle, arms folded, legs
a light on at a downstairs window; movement inside, shapes silhouetted
summon up the will to move. My feet drag. My
Enough already…
in one hand, I rap smartly on the door.
What if she answers?
Will I recognise her?
she know who
the click of a turning lock, the clunk of a bolt being drawn back,
face. A young man, perhaps thirty. He’s good-looking in an
looking for
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