It had been a blur- his arms strained against the straps and broke free of them, they had been loosely done with no expectations that this would happen. He’d waited, until the pain had subsided to a dull roar, until his skull had been sown back up, and until it had been trapped inside his head.
His brief scuffle with the “doctor’s”, the frenzied grappling as scalpels and syringes and surgical instruments were grabbed and swung, and thrown around, it was all a haze. He remembered the “timer” the detonator, and lunged for it, and seconds later he stood, back against the wall with it clutched in his hand. They were on the ground, clutching their wounds, bleeding all over.
Looking down, he saw that the screen had been cracked, and it was a mess of red light shining through the tiny black screens.
“When is it set for?”
“We don’t know. We never knew.”
“I don’t even have any meetings planned what do you mean, blowing away half the businesses in America, how can you not know?”
“You don’t ask questions. You never, ever ask questions. You don’t talk about it! There are rul-“
The voices had faded as he walked away.
A warm breeze blew at his back, stinging the wound, ruffling his shirt. Higher in the sky, the sun glinted from the windows, from the cars coasting by, from the sunglasses of people walking past. He wondered why he had bought the house, and remembered the other reasons; remembered imagining loved ones in every room, a home with the curtains pulled up and warm, clean sunlight pouring in.
Richard Gabourel walked down the sidewalk, not knowing where he was going, but knowing what he wanted to do. He had a life that could end any second, and a thousand things to fill it up with.
Friday, October 17, 2008
trois: good morning
Revelation after revelation exploded in his brain clearing away thoughts that had lingered only moments before. His whole life lay open before him, and Richard Gabourel could do anything he wanted, swim an ocean, climb a mountain, start a family.
The playground was already far behind him, but the sounds of children screaming and having fun still echoed in his ears. What would it be like to have one of his own, to love and to care for, to raise up and to teach. Thirty-eight and a highly successful businessman, there had been no time, not for dates that didn’t involve the CEOs of other companies, and not for love, a four-letter word rarely heard, if ever, on the golf course.
“We could have picked anyone. There were at least four other people we could have taken, why this guy?”
“Look at him. What do you see? A man with a life who has never lived- we’re not changing anything here.”
He absentmindedly wondered if there was anything even left of his house, 27 Willow Crescent, three bedrooms two bathrooms, a forty-minute drive from the city, large cherry tree out on the front lawn. The payments on that house were forgotten, but why he had bought it in the first place was beginning to surface.
It was supposed to have been a place away from work- away from that world of suits and good mornings and meetings, where people met and met and met, but never knew each other. It was the place where he had been ready to leave for after three nights of sleeping in his office. 27 Willow Crescent, a place but not a home.
They had known enough about him to catch him as he walked out of those plate glass doors, rough hands grabbing his jacket, a needle frantically plunged into his arm, through his clothing. He could not recall wondering why the security guards stood by and did nothing, could scarcely remember his captors, black shirts, black pants, black shoes.
“That should do it then, operation successful.”
“Did you set up the timer?”
“It’s all ready- we let him go, we watch from a distance, and when the time comes-“
“We blow him and the heads of half the businesses in America to kingdom come.”
The playground was already far behind him, but the sounds of children screaming and having fun still echoed in his ears. What would it be like to have one of his own, to love and to care for, to raise up and to teach. Thirty-eight and a highly successful businessman, there had been no time, not for dates that didn’t involve the CEOs of other companies, and not for love, a four-letter word rarely heard, if ever, on the golf course.
“We could have picked anyone. There were at least four other people we could have taken, why this guy?”
“Look at him. What do you see? A man with a life who has never lived- we’re not changing anything here.”
He absentmindedly wondered if there was anything even left of his house, 27 Willow Crescent, three bedrooms two bathrooms, a forty-minute drive from the city, large cherry tree out on the front lawn. The payments on that house were forgotten, but why he had bought it in the first place was beginning to surface.
It was supposed to have been a place away from work- away from that world of suits and good mornings and meetings, where people met and met and met, but never knew each other. It was the place where he had been ready to leave for after three nights of sleeping in his office. 27 Willow Crescent, a place but not a home.
They had known enough about him to catch him as he walked out of those plate glass doors, rough hands grabbing his jacket, a needle frantically plunged into his arm, through his clothing. He could not recall wondering why the security guards stood by and did nothing, could scarcely remember his captors, black shirts, black pants, black shoes.
“That should do it then, operation successful.”
“Did you set up the timer?”
“It’s all ready- we let him go, we watch from a distance, and when the time comes-“
“We blow him and the heads of half the businesses in America to kingdom come.”
Saturday, October 4, 2008
deux: good morning
Richard had life in his step, an epiphany every time his foot touched the concrete. He felt good, loved the air in his lungs, the body he was in, the beautiful morning.
The immense pain continued to break his head open, and he could almost the cold air flowing in to take up space in his skull. Icy fingers, sheathed in thin latex, gently lay themselves on his temples. They felt like sledgehammers, and he inhaled frigid air through clenched teeth, catching someone’s attention.
“Stevens, what are you doing?”
“Whoa, relax, man. I barely tapped him."
"Looks like the drugs have been doing their work. Knock you out for twelve hours, wake up with a hangover from hell."
The sun had moved up over the apartment buildings. Flexing stiff fingers, Richard grabbed the lapels of his suit jacket, and, pulling them back, eased it off of his shoulders. He was sure that the shirt underneath was stained with last night’s excursions, with panicked sweat and blood, his and other’s, and fear. None of that mattered. He dropped the jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves, letting the morning sunlight warm up his skin.
“Does this mean he’s awake?”
“Who knows? I saw his eyes open, but it’s highly unlikely that can see anything- this lamp must be like a floodlight to him”
Walking past a nightclub, Richard glanced into a car parked right in front. The wasted individual inside was just beginning to react to the newly risen sun beating down on his eyelids. Just before his steps had taken him too far, he saw the young man slump over, not enough energy in his body to turn his head away.
“You’re sure your ‘operation’ isn’t gonna kill the guy?”
“Are you doubting my abilities?”
“No.”
“I’m fairly sure.”
The immense pain continued to break his head open, and he could almost the cold air flowing in to take up space in his skull. Icy fingers, sheathed in thin latex, gently lay themselves on his temples. They felt like sledgehammers, and he inhaled frigid air through clenched teeth, catching someone’s attention.
“Stevens, what are you doing?”
“Whoa, relax, man. I barely tapped him."
"Looks like the drugs have been doing their work. Knock you out for twelve hours, wake up with a hangover from hell."
The sun had moved up over the apartment buildings. Flexing stiff fingers, Richard grabbed the lapels of his suit jacket, and, pulling them back, eased it off of his shoulders. He was sure that the shirt underneath was stained with last night’s excursions, with panicked sweat and blood, his and other’s, and fear. None of that mattered. He dropped the jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves, letting the morning sunlight warm up his skin.
“Does this mean he’s awake?”
“Who knows? I saw his eyes open, but it’s highly unlikely that can see anything- this lamp must be like a floodlight to him”
Walking past a nightclub, Richard glanced into a car parked right in front. The wasted individual inside was just beginning to react to the newly risen sun beating down on his eyelids. Just before his steps had taken him too far, he saw the young man slump over, not enough energy in his body to turn his head away.
“You’re sure your ‘operation’ isn’t gonna kill the guy?”
“Are you doubting my abilities?”
“No.”
“I’m fairly sure.”
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