Tuesday, 30 June 2009

Regretfully Yours

The crunch of the gravel wakes me. I reach automatically for the pad from the side of the settee and try to recall what I can of the fading dream but I may as well be grasping at smoke. I guess it’s about time I fixed that. With a sigh, I lift myself off the battered orange monstrosity, my knee grumbling at winter’s incessant approach. A dark shape peers inside from the window, rapping on the glass with a “Helloooooooo?” and so yet again it begins.

“It's you! Well, yeah of course it's you but, God I'm nervous. I've been wandering round for all weekend trying to find you. Those woods are huge!” Somebody had been most helpful in approximating my location a couple of years back deep within the tangle of wires people sift through for information nowadays. Once again, one of them had found me. “Would you like something cold to drink?” I offer as I open the door wider. He bounces in with wide eyes darting left and right. “Just like the photos” he murmurs. “Even the orange sofa; It was the first thing you bought with the book money right? Wow, sorry to go on like this it's just” here it is folks “well I'm your number one fan. I know everything about you“. At least he has the courtesy to lower his eyes at that. “I've read everything you've written and everything written about you. Sounds weird when I say it out loud huh?” He knows everything about me? I smile and go to get some of the lemonade my publisher sends out for me.

We chat for a while. Him asking the same things they always do. Will they get away from them? Does she have a sister? Until finally to the big one; the sixty four thousand dollar, quiet please audience question. How did it happen so quickly? A series of books this successful by an unknown author just isn’t normal. “Let’s go for a walk and I’ll tell you about it” I say grabbing my coat from the stand.


“Do you miss her” he asks warily as we head into the forest. “Every single day” I reply, deciding it was only fair to let him know the truth of it. “I miss a lot of things from those days before the first book broke I guess. I miss the simplicity of it all. Writing for writings sake; no deadlines, no agent on the phone every week, just words. I miss being able to walk along the road unnoticed, I miss being able to live as others do, among real people with real lives, but most of all, I miss her. I’d come home to find her standing in the tiny kitchen we had, wondering what to make for dinner. The contents of the fridge arranged neatly in front of her. She’d push them round and around waiting for a recipe to announce itself. I’d come up behind her, wrap my arms around her waist and whisper ‘Pizza honey?’ as I kissed her soft white neck. Cold beer and pizza, sat on plastic chairs watching a DVD and discarding the worries of tomorrow along with today’s empties. What more could I possibly want?”


We walk on in silence for a while. I don’t tell him about the deal I’d made; I can’t. That was the thread that unraveled it all. I couldn’t leave it alone. All I needed was there in that little flat, yet I was blind. Always that little voice, whispering; just one book, one would be enough. Enough to get us away from the drunks huddled in our doorway, enough so she didn’t have to go back to the shop fearful of another attack; just enough. When the offer arrived I couldn’t say no. Sure I was scared, who wouldn’t be faced with something that dark; that ancient. I just wanted to make her happy.


When the book was released it was as though a wave of noise broke across our bows. Interviews, photos, invitations and always she was pushed aside. At first I tried to include her but was swept along with the smiles, the handshakes and the money; so much money. I didn’t notice the disappointment in her eyes at each missed opportunity to be together. There was always something else to be done, people to see, always someone there for me until at last, she wasn’t. At first I’m ashamed to say, I didn’t notice. Perhaps it was the drink, the drugs or simply the adrenaline of it all that pulled her finally from the outskirts of my vision to the wastelands beyond. Fame and fortune I’d requested and sure enough it had delivered. Love I’d taken simply as read.


The absence of birdsong tends to make them jumpy so I ask his thoughts on where my next book might go. The astonishment on his face quickly turns to delight and he barely breathes as his dreams of my characters turn into words. I see him truly for the first time; innocent, effervescent and happy; not a care in the World. I should have been happy with all that I had. If I wanted more, I should have worked harder. My father always told me that the short cuts always have the toughest hurdles to climb, but this? This was always too much for me. To renege however would cost me more than I was willing to give.


Arriving at the tree, I insert the needle below his left ear. His hand automatically rises to swat away the pain and at once he falls. I tie his arms behind him and my knife opens a small gash below his throat. The scent of the soul drifting through the cool air will call it to feed and tomorrow when I wake I won’t need my pad.
I pin the note on his chest and walk slowly away.

Regretfully, yours.

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