Short Stories
The return of the stranger ...
I stumbled out into the cold morning air - a great contrast from the sauna like heat of The Joint behind me. Barely able to drag my feet, I used what little strength my arms had to haul me along. I felt sick.
Precisely what I had set out to do. Feel sick. Drown myself. In booze. Dance myself silly. I couldn't remember how many I had taken, probably more than I hadn't. "Damn you, ...", I cursed to myself. It never seemed enough these days.
I was dead drunk.
I gave up trying to focus, and, closing my eyes, I concentrated on my throbbing headache. POUND, POUND, POUND. "*****", I cursed again and sank to the ground, waving off a harlot nearby - not now, woman. Not now. All I wanted was booze and ...
My hand disappeared beneath my jacket and came out with a syringe. "YYEESS!!!". I plunged the needle into my thigh, flinching at the momentary stab of pain.... And then the world became a blur, and bliss settled - the headache ebbed away, the noise faded into silence and I lost myself ... "YYEESS!!".
I staggered to my feet and struggled forward, in a far away place ... then a blast of noise intruded upon my sanctuary - like blaring of car horns. I opened my eyes and was blinded by four lights ...!
"****!!!"
And then something hit me.
"Get up!!" an angry voice rang out, and I stood groggily - my body aching all over from the blow. I smelled ash. Where was I? Through reluctant eyes I made out a large stack of boxes and crates, a forklift - I was in a warehouse! And then I made out a figure at the far end of it. A huge hooded figure ...
The Collector!! I knew this place! I knew this place!
An inhumane fear gripped me. The man I was facing was the last man I wanted to see - and the last man most people did. "I know you!!! I know you!!!" I screamed hysterically.
"Do you?!!" he shouted back angrily, and started advancing, slowly, menacingly - like a cat playing with its food.
I collapsed to the ground, crying like a baby. "No!! Please, God No!" I screamed as he advanced, one arm under his trench coat. I knew too well what was gripped in that arm ... "Listen, I have the money, I have ...", he hit me again, in the stomach, with the heel of his boot, and I threw up... The air was filled with the acrid smell of egested alcohol.
He kicked me again, and again ... I peed in my pants ... so much for facing death like a man.
Retching in my own puke, I sobbed, "Please don't ... I've got it ... all of it." I knew it was hopeless, you didn't play Larno Carsio for long, and when he sent the Collector after you, you knew you'd had it. Nevertheless, a drowning man will clutch at a straw, and clutch I did. I groveled, soaked in tears, sputum and puke. I clung to his boot and begged for mercy ... I was too young to die. "Just a day ... just give me a day!" my cries fell on deaf ears, as again and again he raised his boot and kicked me.
"Do you?!!" he asked again.
I promised the world. I promised all I had and all I didn't. I will never do drugs again. I will pay up and get out of town. JUST PLEASE DON'T KILL ME!!!
He bent down, and through salty tears I stared into his hood, into his dark eyes - and I knew all was finished...
"I wish you did!!" He raised his arm and struck the side of my head.
The world exploded, and as I drifted away, I saw him reach again under his coat ... as I drifted away, I heard him say "I am ..." I heard no more, ... I didn't need to ... now I knew the legends about him were true. The Collector's last words - finality. The End ... "I am The End"...
***
"What would you like, Sir?"
I thought a while, "Champagne will suffice, thank you."
"Right away, Sir." The cute waitress waltzed out of the 5-star suite, flirting so obviously.
I smiled - wouldn't she like me to want more than just champagne? I thought as I turned to see two giggling girls come out of the showers. "My, my," I mused softly to myself, "weren't we busy last night - naughty boy!"
I love this life.
The girls advanced, obvious questions in their eyes. I shook my head - anytime later, maybe - and not these two. Some others. I got bored easily. But then, I could afford to.
The girls dressed to leave, still giggling and teasing, and on their way out I threw a mere 1000 dollars to the floor for them. Seeing them kneel at my feet to pick it up - now speechless - elated me.
God, I love this life.
I walked to the letter tray and picked up the new mail.
A letter from my wife, probably asking when I would be back, so that she would throw another of her expensive parties. She didn't love me, nor did I her. Convenience. She lavished in my bounteous estate and I in her advantageous connections. She'd probably leave soon; her bank account would soon assure her it was safe to do so. Not to worry, one could always get another. I threw the letter aside. She could have parties without me.
One from each of my two mistresses; would I be in Paris soon, asked one, and if so, could I remember to purchase the replica of Queen Victoria's jewelry that now sat at the Auction House, for her? The other expressing how long two months apart were and begging that I fly over to Vegas again soon. "Hmm, Vegas?" I thought, putting those two letters aside, "Now there's a thought ..."
My banker, announcing that with the closing of the Berkley Corporate merger, my wealth had doubled over night and would I please consider opening up yet another Swiss account? And get back to him before nightfall? I tossed this one aside, business later.
Suddenly bored, I flipped through the rest ... proposals, deeds, reminders, a health report, two bank statements and an invitation to have dinner tomorrow night in Honk Kong with a prospective business associate. Nothing important.
I drifted into thought as I stared at the letterhead of my stationary. I was personally worth more than anyone else in this building, even worth more than the building, thrown in along with all of them. Presidents, Kings, economies, they waited on me, upon my every word. I had hobbled out of that warehouse, the morning after that memorable night surprised to have found myself alive, and then I had walked out of that life - for good. I had not smoked a stick or sniffed a whiff since.
And I had worked my way up. Sure, I had stepped on not too few toes in order to get here, but that was the game, the stakes where high, that was how the game was played. I had played well, and I had won big. Oh, don't let's for a single moment think luck had anything to do with it - I had had to fight, fight with brain and brawn. And the better man had won every time ...
There was a short knock and in walked the cute waitress again - with the champagne. Had it not been for the fact that I had to get ready to be met by the President, I'd have asked her to stay. But what was the hurry?
I poured a glass as I watched her leave, and slowly raised it to my nose - a custom I had picked up over the years - and then let the drink seep slowly down my throat, savoring the rich, warm feeling ...
Suddenly my sixth sense kicked in, a moment too late. I should have detected the slightly heightened odor, or the minute increase in the tingling sensation. I let the glass crash to the ground and groped around, panicking. "The Bastards!!!"
The numbing started as I stumbled towards the phone. It started in my belly and by the time I was dialing frantically, it had spread to my chest. "NO!!!" the Reception's desk was busy; what was that silly operator's number?!! I had left it lying somewhere ... 074?
Sorry, you have dialed a number that is not in service ...
I flung the phone against the wall, shattering a Mona Lisa, and made clumsily for the door. I couldn't feel my self from neck to crouch now. "The Bastards!!!" I tried to scream. Only a shriek came out.
My legs gave way yards from the door.
I would not die like this, not now ...
If only I could reach the door ...
I tried to drag myself forward with my arms, but could not get a grip on the expensively polished floor. NOT NOW!!!
I couldn't feel my fingers, my jaw felt numb against the cold floor ... and my vision started to blur. I could see the door just ahead, and I remember thinking to myself as I slipped further - to die just seconds from the door ... just seconds from salvation.
Through my blurred eyes, I was seeing the last of my world. A cold lavishly tiled floor and an oak door ...
Then the door was flung open from without, and a mammoth of a man charged in clad in black, and looking all too familiar. A hoodlum had been sent to finish me off!
With renewed strength, from God knows where, I screamed, struggling to get away, "Bastards!!! Murderers!!!"
He picked me up like a leaf and tossed me against the wall, knocking whatever little wind I had left out of me, then picked me up again and held me there, my feet 5 inches above the ground, and with a resounding blow that brought back a lot of memories, he hit me on the side of my head. I felt blood trickle down.
"I know you! I..."
Another blow silenced me.
He stared into my eyes, and I into his dark ones and he said, "Do you?!!"
And he kept on staring. I could barely keep my eyes open, the numbness was gone, but the blow to my head was now taking effect. Why didn't he just kill me and get it over with?
He held me a second longer, and as he lowered me, he said, "Follow me ..." and turned towards the door. It dawned on me that maybe he was here to rescue me, not to kill me; he might be a bodyguard or something. Thinking was too painful, and so I staggered after him, barely able to make my own feet obey me.
It took me a while to make it to the door, and by the time I had struggled through it, he had disappeared round the corner. I hobbled to the lift, just in time to see the numbers register that it was now two floors below mine.
I gave up and collapsed to the ground, too weak to follow any further ...
***
Now I hobbled back to my seat amid a thunderous applause, thankful that at ninety-nine years of age, I was able to walk, let alone hobble. As the applause died down, I sat and waited ...
This time I knew he was coming.
This time he was smiling.
This time he was clothed in white robes.
He came up to me and I smiled, squinting out of my old eyes. "I know you," I said.
He held out his hand. "I'm glad you do."
I took the hand and stood easily up.
And as I walked away with him, hand in hand, I looked back. Back at my body slumped forward in the preacher's seat. Back at the congregation, now being led in prayer by a young parishioner.
I had just preached my last sermon.
I turned back and smiled. The first time HE had come, he'd told me his name. "I am ..." The second time he'd told me the reason, "Follow me ..." Now as we walked away together, I smiled yet again. It was not every day that a man got a second chance. I had gotten three ...
The return of the stranger ...
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-- luke
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Whoa! Though a bit too graphic for me, this is a tale well told! Keep it up & God bless, Melody
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