Therapy

They stared at each other with that look that dared the other to speak first. The clock moved silently on the wall, almost like it didn't want to make a sound. The dark wood furniture seemed to melt into the wood paneled walls. The diplomas stood out in stark contrast with their gold borders and silver seals. The only color that came from the room was the red couch that he sat on, and even that was a muted burgundy. He knew what the other was doing, but he didn't want to be the first to break the silence. He didn't want to give him the satisfaction of winning. He had a point to prove, and speaking would negate why he remained reticent.

He thought back to the events leading up to this meeting. Why had she left again? He couldn't remember. It was only a few days ago, but it seemed like forever. He relived that moment over and over again, saw her walking out the door and it slamming behind her. He remembered the painting falling off the wall from the force of her anger. Or was it frustration? He didn't know for sure. He just knew that the one thing that had kept his life together was gone.

The other man's glasses glinted with the small amount of sunlight that came through the heavy blinds. The light in the corner was on to add illumination to the dim office, but it being the middle of the day the lamp only caused the room to seem darker than it was. He looked around the office at the shelves of books and wondered if the man with the glasses had even read half of them. He then saw the man start writing on the pad that he had been holding in his lap. The pencil scratched across the surface leaving the carbon markings in its wake. He wondered what caused the man to start writing. Was it because he looked at the books? Or because he still wasn't talking? He then thought how the other might even be doodling, just to pass the time. He didn't care. Let him write or draw whatever he wanted. He wasn't speaking. He was here against his will and no one was going to change that fact.

She was like that. She could hold her own and not back down. He always loved that quality in her and never thought that it would be one of the reasons that she would leave. He remembered at least that much. What lead up to it? That's what he wanted to know. Of course, he knew if he had asked her that she would have retorted that he should have known by now. Mind reading games were not his forte. He always wanted it straight. Don't beat around the bushes. However, whenever he would say that to her she would become more infuriated and hurt that he didn't understand her. The ironic part was that he wanted to - desperately.

The chair creaked beneath the man with the glasses as he repositioned himself. Was he getting restless? Did he want it to end already? The man smiled slightly at the other's discomfort. He hoped his butt hurt from sitting for so long. He hoped he had to go the bathroom, that he was hungry, thirsty, anything that would cause him to end this.

He wasn't naturally a spiteful person. He was usually congenial and friendly. Few were the people that met him and didn't like him. But it had slowly gone downhill. Little things had started to bug him. He began cutting people off in traffic and silently cursing out others. He saw others as moronic and incapable of a logical thought. But she could never do wrong. It wasn't that she never made mistakes, but they were always downplayed in his eyes. He quickly forgave her for any fault or error in judgment. And maybe that was where he went wrong. Maybe it was the fact that he never helped her learn to deal with her own issues that caused their separation. He was doing it again. He was taking the blame onto himself instead of allowing her to be at fault. But he had been doing it for so long that it was ingrained in him.

He looked at the clock and the man in glasses wrote. Maybe he could get the man to write things that didn't mean anything. He reached up, scratched the inside of his ear and then looked at his finger. The man in glasses watched him put the finger to his nose and sniff before wiping it off on his leg. The writing resumed. The man laughed inside at how stupid the man in the glasses was. Why did they think that everything meant something?

That's what she had done. Every little twitch that he had. Everything he said or did she felt had some meaning behind it and she questioned it. Why couldn't she realize that sometimes he did something for no reason at all? It had bugged him so much that he began watching everything he did. No longer could he just answer what was on the top of his head for fear of having to explain himself. And that was something else that frustrated her.

He looked at the man in the glasses. Hours had passed and besides the scratching of the pencil or the creaking of the seats, no sound had been made. Why was he here? Why couldn't he just go home and live his life? What was left of it, at least, now that she was gone.

The door behind him opened and two men in white coats came in.

"Well, Mr. Thompson, perhaps tomorrow we can continue?" said the man in the glasses.

He didn't respond. He didn't even move. All he could think about was her. The men in white came over and helped him up. He stood there staring at the floor. The dark carpet seemed to fit the room perfectly. "I miss her," he finally said.

"We all do," replied the man in the glasses. "But we can't get her back. What we need to do is help everyone else that misses her find a way to move on. And only you can do that." He reached out his hand and put in on the man's shoulder. "Do you want to help us?"

His mind went to the hand on his shoulder and the hands of the men in white on his arms. He wondered how easily they could break him if they wanted. He wondered if they cut their nails. He half smiled at his random thought.

The man in glasses seemed to notice this and said, "Tomorrow, then. Have a good night, Mr. Thompson."

The men in white walked him out of the room and down the hall.

"Boughten"

It's not Friday, and this isn't my typical creative short story Free Write. I decided that I could channel my creativity in writing by sharing everyday occurrences in my life. After all, truth is stranger than fiction, right?

Well, yesterday wasn't strange, but as a writer, you tend to remember instances where your English skills are called into question. My excuse is that writers think well while writing, but not in the spoken word. When your fingers are furiously tapping away at a keyboard or your hand is cramped from scribbling your thoughts on paper, you still have time to think. There's no way of telling whether I spent five minutes on this post or five hours. To the reader, it is continuous. However, in conversation, if I were to pause for even ten seconds to selectively choose my words and make sure I said what I wanted, people would think I was dropped a couple of times when I was young.

Ok. Enough foreplay. By now I'm sure you're wondering what the heck I'm talking about. Yesterday I used the word "boughten" in a conversation. Would I ever use that word while writing? Of course not! I know it's not a grammatically correct word. But, as I explained maybe a little bit too much above, writers don't think so well on their feet. Why else do we have spell check, grammar check and such? (By the way, in this post I spelled channel, occurrences, continuous and grammar wrong before using the spell check function to correct my mistakes. See what I mean?)

The Traveler

He held the passport in his hand. The stamps overlaid each other in a collage of ink and color showcasing his various travels.

"Business or pleasure?" asked the immigration agent with no emotion.

"Business," said the traveler in a natural tone.

The agent scanned through the passport quickly and added his stamp to the already existing montage.

"Welcome. Enjoy your stay."

The traveler flashed a wry smile before passing through the gates. He pulled out a small black book from his back pocket and flipped to a page that was earmarked. He read the name and description and then closed the book and returned it to his pocket.

He walked out of the station and onto the street. He had already visited this place many times before and the streets were familiar to him. He quickly flagged down a taxi and got in.

"Where to?" asked the driver.

"Corner of Virgil and Dante."

"Can only take you as far as Middletown St. Not authorized to go further."

The man in the back seat slipped a large bill to the drive and said, "You're authorized."

"Virgil and Dante," said the driver, taking the money and putting the car in drive.

They passed through the city and numerous apartment buildings. People milled around the streets and in and out of shops. As they drove past Middletown, the scenery quickly changed. Large buildings and clean streets became run down shacks and litter covered roads.

Arriving at their destination, the traveler exited the car and paid the driver who instantly sped off back in the direction of the city.

The traveler walked down the street until he stood before a house that barely stood on its own. The roof had gaping holes that were covered with cut pieces of plastic. The walls bled mildew and crusted paint.

He approached the door and knocked. The echo inside indicated that not much furniture occupied the empty space that was someone's living area. He heard footsteps coming to the door and then the latch turn.

The wooden door swung back and a young man stood there. His hair was disheveled and his clothes ragged. He had no shoes on and his teeth looked like they hadn't seen a toothbrush in ages.

He looked at the traveler, but didn't say anything.

Time passed with both of them staring at each other.

Finally, the young man turned and walked back inside. The traveler followed. There were two chairs in the open space besides a small table and a lamp. The young man indicated to the traveler that he could sit with a wave of his hand. He himself took the other chair.

Dust billowed from the faded fabric, but none of it seemed to settle on the traveler.

"I was wondering when you'd get here," said the young man.

"I come when I am called," replied the traveler.

"I would have preferred your visit a little earlier."

"I'm sure I would have found you in better circumstances."

"Yes. You would have. I only moved out here after I waited in the city for five years."

"Why didn't you wait longer?"

"Longer? And continue to go mad among all those hypocrites?"

"Hypocrites?"

"Yeah, you heard me. All of them talking about how they're going to be saved. I know. I used to be the same. But then I woke up and saw reality."

"And what is that?"

"That there is no salvation. There is no there. There is only here."

"You don't really believe that."

"Maybe you haven't looked around you. I think where I am speaks for my beliefs quite succinctly."

"Perhaps. Or it could be that you want others to think you believe in this."

"Yes. That must be it. I put myself through this hell just so I can convince others that I'm not a believer."

"Be careful what you call hell. You have no idea what that is."

"I don't? Ten years I've been here. Ten years! And nothing! No word, no visit, no indication of what was going to happen. Do you realize what that does to a man? What that does to his mind?"

The young man breathed heavily with his rage. The traveler gauged the man before him and then stood up. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a blank card and handed it over. The young man stood as well and took it. As soon as he did, it turned black.

The traveler turned and walked out of the house.

"Wait!" the young man called after him. "This can't be it!"

The traveler paid no attention to him. He quickly walked down the pathway to the street. The young man ran after him, but as soon as he reached the end of the property, he slammed into an invisible wall and fell backward. His eyes wide with fear he looked up at the traveler who stood on the broken sidewalk.

"It's too late," the traveler said. "Your soul has spoken."

The ground rumbled underneath the young man. He stood up with a wild look and tried to run through the invisible barrier again and again, each time getting more and more panicked. The ground shook so furiously that he could barely stand on his feet. Like a madman, he stumbled back toward the house. He reached the doorway and used it to hold himself up. He looked back at the traveler who stood in serene silence watching the ordeal before him.

The young man screamed when he saw the ground split open before him. Fire erupted out of the earth and soon a chasm was left before him. It continued to open until the house also began to creak and groan under its own weight. He knew now there was nothing to do. The house split and crumbled underneath him. The chasm opened fully and engulfed the entire house and the man inside.

Within a few minutes, the earth had filled itself in so that all that was left was barren dirt.

The traveler pulled out his black book and turned to the page. He checked off a small box next to the young man's name and then placed it back in his pocket.

"Welcome to hell," he said, and then walked back down the street toward the city.

New beginnings

It didn't matter. Jalyn had already taken everything from him that she needed.

She turned back to look at the man laying on the bed, the sheets barely covering his body. She had enjoyed him; she couldn't deny that. It always made the job easier when the man could please her that way.

The door to the hotel room closed softly, the click of the latch silently echoing in the hall. Within seconds of leaving the room, her cell phone rang.

"Yes?" Jalyn answered.

"It is finished?" came the voice from the phone.

"Of course."

"Did you make sure?"

"Don't you trust me? This isn't my first job, you know."

"We don't want any fowl ups."

"Don't worry. He'll be dead before you can end this call." And with that, she hung up the phone.

Her high heels dug into the stiff carpet of the hall, leaving a trail of indentations as she walked. She reached the elevator and pushed the down button. It's soft green glow seemed to stand out against the beige paint on the wall. The ding of the elevator announced the arrival of the car. She looked up to see the doors open and a man inside with a gun raised at the ready.

They stood there for a second, staring at each other. Finally, she spoke.

"Matt, are you going to shoot me?"

"Hadn't planned on it," replied Matt.

"Then can you lower the gun?"

"Not just yet. Head back to the room. I'll follow."

"Really? It's going to be like this, then?"

"That's how he wants it."

She sighed and turned back down the hall. Reaching the door, she took out the key card and opened the lock. Inside, the man still laid on the bed in the same position. Nothing had moved. Matt walked around Jalyn and felt the man's pulse. Satisfied that he didn't feel anything, he opened his cell phone and hit redial.

"He's dead," he said into the phone. "Yeah, I just checked ... Ok. Got it." He hung up the phone and put away his gun.

"See?" she said. "That wasn't necessary at all."

"I trust you," said Matt, with a coy grin.

"Sure you do," she replied, matching his sarcasm. "So, may I go now? I usually don't like to hang around after the job is done."

"Of course," he said, and they walked out the door.

Back at the elevator, Matt turned to Jalyn and asked, "What are you doing tomorrow night?"

"Matt," she sighed. "No offense, but I don't like to mix business and pleasure."

"Really?" he smirked. "Then what do you call that back there?"

The elevator door opened and Matt entered. He turned around to see Jalyn with her gun drawn. "That was pleasure," she said. "This is business." The silencer on the gun muffled the sound of the shot, making it seem like only a cough. Matt slumped to the floor, leaving a red stain down the elevator wall.

Jalyn rushed back to the room and pulled out a small vial. She poured it into the naked man's mouth. She sat back until he coughed and sputtered. She rolled him over onto his side to help him breathe.

"Thank God," she said. "It worked."

"Of course it did," the man said. "Did he buy it?"

"I sure hope so. The call was made, but he had sent Matt to verify the kill. I didn't expect that."

"And...?"

"He's on his way down in the elevator. I'd say we have only a minute before all hell breaks loose."

"Then I'd better get dressed."

He started to get up, but she grabbed his face and embraced it with a passionate kiss. He returned it and then pulled her away before saying, "It'll work. We'll make it."

She smiled at him and got together a small duffel bag of personals while he dressed. He reached out his hand to hers and led her to the door. Just before opening it he gave her one more kiss and asked, "Ready to make history?"

"I've been ready," she said, and they left the room, headed down the back stairs and into the dark cover of night.

Confession

The match hissed, coming to life and throwing the flame upward. The burning sulfur hung in the air like strong potpourri. She couldn't mistake the smell of it. Suddenly, she felt the warmth of the flame on her leg. She inhaled sharply, trying to hold in her cry of pain. She knew there would be a severe burn there, but it was nothing compared to what waited her.

"Yes, my child. That is what it will feel like all over if you don't confess," the man's voice said. "We know you for what you are, but you must give up your sins and confess to God to save your soul. If you do, we will spare you the torture and end your life quickly."

The blindfold seemed to smother the room in around her. She could have been in the grandest hall and she still would have felt like she was stuffed into a closet. "Either way, I die," she said simply.

"True, true. But one way you have the chance of obtaining forgiveness. The other will have you suffering for eternity."

She could smell the garlic on his breath. It mixed with the sweat in the air, causing her to almost vomit. "How do you know? I doubt you've been there to see."

"I believe, and it is my belief that saves me."

"What you call belief, I call superstition," she smirked.

Though she could not see it, she could feel his face go red as his rage boiled. "Heathen! You blaspheme what you do not understand! I will purge you of your unbelief." He brought the flame to her leg again and held it there. She let out a yelp of pain. The flesh reddened and bubbled under the extreme heat of the match. She tried to move her leg away, but strong cords held her bound to the chair. He removed the match and threw it on the ground. It hit the damp floor causing it to sizzle. Her head rocked forward onto her chest, the pain swelling in her leg.

"You only make this harder for yourself," he said. "Just confess, and this will all be over."

Her breaths came short and labored. "I can't confess if I've done nothing wrong," she finally said.

The back of his hand flew across her face, cutting her lip with his overly ornate ring. "Do not pretend that you are innocent. You know what you have done."

"What?" she asked through the tears. "What have I done?"

She could sense his crude smile. "If I told you, then it wouldn't be your confession. You must come forward with the truth on your own to receive the full pardon of our Lord."

"I ... I don't know," she sobbed.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Maybe I can refresh your memory." The sound of the knife being pulled out of its sheath caused her to flinch. She could feel the cool steel against her cheek. He guided the blade up to her ear and with a careful flick of the wrist cut off her lobe. Her scream filled him with a sense of pleasure. "You remember now? You remember how you did this to those innocent children in your lust for power?"

The blood from her ear flowed down her neck and onto her chest where it was soaked up by the tattered rags they had forced her to dress in.

"It wasn't me," she gasped out.

"Oh, no. Of course not. But having someone else do the dirty work doesn't make you any less guilty. Just tell me what you had them do and we can end your suffering."

Her mind was awhirl. She tried to think of what he wanted to hear. She knew of what he spoke. She had seen those children as well, their ears completely severed off their head in a demonstration of devotion. But she had tried to stop them, hadn't she?

Her mind flashed back to the dimly lit chapel. They stood with stoic faces watching the priest wield his knife and mumble a prayer. The blood that soaked the cloths held by the parents that had finished the ritual with their kids seemed to stand out in her memory. She remembered trying to scream, to stop it. But she had just stood by and watched.

"You were there," he said. "You were telling them what to do."

"No," she said, almost trying to convince herself. "I didn't ... I wasn't ..." She tried to see through her blindfold into her memory and grasp what really happened. She saw herself now standing before the priest. She looked down to her own son kneeling before her, waiting with bowed head and listening to the man in robes recite the prayer. The knife glinted in the sunlight that barely streamed through the stained glass windows. Stop him! she shouted to herself, but the memory played out. Before she could grasp fully what she was doing, she saw herself with the bloody rag in her hand. The gaunt image of her child looking at her with a tear-streaked face was ingrained in her memory.

"What have I done?" she sobbed.

"Yes," he said. "Confess your sin."

She didn't even hear him. Her mind was still playing out what she remembered. She wasn't sure if it was her son's face or the feeling that she had just betrayed him that sent her over the edge, but something in her snapped. She could see herself grab the knife from the priest and tackle him to the ground. The blade was swift and before anyone could react, his ear was lying in a pool of blood. A woman screamed and she turned to see others coming at her. She had stabbed one of them before they were able to get the knife from her.

Her memory faded as she felt the tears soak the blindfold. "I didn't stop him," she whispered.

"Do you confess?" asked the man.

"I confess ..." she started.

"Yes?"

"I confess to subjecting my child to torture and not trying to do anything," she finally said. She waited for the slap that she felt for sure was coming, but nothing happened.

Instead, he came close to her and whispered, "You can't stop us." He pulled off the blindfold and she gasped at the priest before her, a white bandage where his ear should be. "Guard!" he yelled. And then, more quietly to her he said, "Never go against the church."

The guard came in and the priest said, "Take this heathen away. She will pay for her sins since she refuses to confess them and let God take them for her." The guard untied her from the chair and roughly led her from the room.

"Our belief saves us," the priest said to her with a wicked smile.

The day was bright and the light hurt her eyes that had become accustomed to the dark. They pushed her forward, causing her to stumble. Rough hands forced her back on her feet and up on the platform. They tied her hands behind the post and placed the stacks of wood around her. The oil dripped from the soaked bundles.

They stood back allowing the guard with the torch to come forward. Without fanfare, he placed the flame on the wood. It instantly ingnited and soon the entire platform was ablaze. The heat beat upon her skin, slowly changing it from red to black. She screamed in pain and writhed in agony.

Then, in what seemed like a moment of sympathy from an unseen power, she could feel no more pain. She looked out through the flames and saw her son standing alone and crying. She wanted to run to him, to comfort him. But it was too late. And just before she gave in to the welcoming darkness, she saw the priest put his hand on her son's shoulder and smile.

There's another

He hadn't gone far before he knew that he was in over his head. The dark street seemed to hold innumerable unseen threats and dangers. As he walked, he looked down the way at the parked cars and the light reflecting off the polished hoods from a single street light. The mist seemed to create a yellow cone just beneath it. In the center stood a figure with a long black trench coat and a black fleece hood covering its head.

He stopped walking. He knew he was there for a meeting, but something caused him to pause. It was a feeling inside that something wasn't right. He looked on either side of the street to see if someone else was there, but in the dark it was hard to tell.

Just then, it all seemed to flash before him in quick succession. He saw himself meet with the figure in black, then someone else came out of a nearby house straight towards them. They ran in opposite directions, but there was another person hiding in a car that jumped out and caught the figure in black. He saw himself turn to see a flash of light and hear a muffled pop in the same instance. The figure in black slumped to the sidewalk as the one from the house grabbed him as he stood there watching. He seemed to see it like a movie as the one from the house raised a silver gun with a silencer attached to his head and said, "We warned you," as he pulled the trigger.

The vision snapped like a dream into reality as his consciousness was brought back to the present. The figure in black still stood beneath the light, waiting.

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number. He listened to the ringing as he watched the one he was to meet with answer.

"They've found us," he said.

"What? How?" came a female voice on the phone.

"I don't know. But it's not safe. Don't look around, but there's one in the house next to you and another in the car just up the street."

The figure beneath the light stole a glance out of the corner of her eye at the window of the house just in time to see a blind flutter back into its position.

"If I run, they'll take me," she said.

"It's too late. They've already noticed that something is up. Run away from the car and the house. Now!"

Just as he spoke and she turned to run toward him, the door to the house flew open as the man he had seen in his vision came running down the walkway with a gun in his hand. The car that held the other man spun around in the street and started speeding toward everyone else.

As she ran away from the men, he ran toward her, pulling a gun from his jacket.

"Duck!" he yelled. She dove to the ground as he fired at the man from the house. His shot hit the man's right arm, causing him to drop his gun. She immediately jumped up and looked back as the man from the house held his bleeding arm.

"Come on!" her friend called to her as he grabbed her hand. They ran down an alley between two houses just as the man in the car drove up, almost hitting them but instead plowing into a white picket fence. He jumped out of the car and looked to his partner who waved his arm as a signal to follow them.

The dew from the evening mist lay on the ground like a thin wet blanket that would splash up from puddles as they ran. In and out of alleyways and cars they evaded their pursuer who kept right on their heels. Their lungs burned for oxygen as they breathed harder and harder, but they couldn't stop. It had been ten years that they had lived in that hell-hole and they weren't about to go back without a fight.

Turning the corner around the edge of a wood fence, he saw a loose board which he quickly picked up. Stopping just beyond the corner he listened as the agent following them came closer. Just as he saw him make the turn he swung with all the strength he had left at the man's head. The agent quickly ducked backwards, causing him to slide forward feet first. Like a baseball player coming into second, he quickly popped up and turned back around only to find the loose board coming straight at his head again. This time the agent didn't react as quickly and the force of the wood on his skull caused him to black out as his body fell against the fence.

The man dropped the board and the pair quickly left the scene. Looking around them and not finding anyone else following, they slowed down to a regular walking speed.

They were winded and their muscles hurt from so much running.

"My name is Chris," said the man. "I assume you are Desiree from the phone?"

"Yes," she said. "How did they find us?"

"They must have traced the call. I thought we were on a secure line, but it looks like they have feelers into almost every network."

"Have you found any others?"

"Not yet. You are the first, but I know there are more. There has to be."

"How long has it been since you've escaped?"

"Six months. You?"

"Four. I was about to give up on finding anyone else when you called. How did you find me?"

"I noticed you walking to the market the other day. When you bought an apple, I followed you home to see if you actually ate it."

"Damn. I thought I was more careful, but I'm almost glad I wasn't. I've always wondered why they didn't eat the apples."

"It's the pectin. It's poisonous to them."

Desiree looked at the apartment buildings looming before them on the skyline as the day was starting to break. Lights started flickering on in different units as people began to rise.

"They try so hard to look and act like us. They even keep the same night and day patterns even though they don't sleep. Look at them turning on the lights like a normal human as if they just woke up. Damn tweeters."

She spat on the ground as she said the slang term for the aliens.

"Well, we'd better get off the streets before they start coming out," Chris said. "My place is over on 5th. If we hurry, we should be able to make it. Then we can talk and figure out our next move."

"I'm just glad to have found someone else like me," she sighed.

Even though he didn't know her that well, he put his arm around her and let her lean on him as they walked. As far as they knew, they were the only two humans left on the planet that weren't in work farms. And, like her, he was just as happy to have someone else to share the day with.

"I'll make up some apple cider and we can have a piece of apple pie," he said with a smile. She smiled back at his attempt to keep the moment light.

"Sounds good," she said as they hurried into the dawn.

Unspoken words

He had red hair.

It was that shade of red that causes people to turn and stare. No one really knew who he was, only that he came with Kelly. And everyone knew Kelly.

Kelly Magnolia had that type of personality that people gravitated towards. Being a famous singer and model helped, of course, but her genuine care for those around her made her even more popular. What set her apart from the other populars was that she didn't look for the publicity and paparazzi that naturally followed the altruistic deeds of the stars. She was content to silently give of her means and time without regard for public recognition.

When she had first met him, he was sitting at a coffee shop, reading the daily newspaper. She had ordered her coffee and was looking at a display of musical CD's that aired over the shops speakers. She wasn't really interested in any of them. She was just occupying her mind while she waited for her coffee.

The young man behind the counter called out her order and she stepped over to the counter to grab it. As she did, she quickly turned around and let out a small yelp of surprise as a man in a winter coat was standing right behind her. She dropped the cup of coffee and it spilled over both of their legs as the top popped off.

"I am so sorry!" she said as they both raised their hands up as if that would keep the coffee from getting on them.

"That's quite all right," he said. "I should be apologizing for standing so close to you."

He grabbed some napkins off the counter and stooped down to wipe up some of the spilled coffee. It was then that she had first noticed his vibrant red hair.

"Why were you standing so close?" she asked as he stood back up.

"Well, I thought I would be debonair and strike up a conversation about the rain in Spain and hopefully lead into asking you out for dinner, but I think I just blew the opportunity."

He smiled one of those infectious smiles that immediately intrigued her. Before she had a chance to really respond, he bid his farewells and turned to leave.

"Wait," she called to him. "I think we could work out something for dinner. As long as you promise not to be so close to me during."

He turned back around and smiled again as he said, "Agreed, as long as you don't spill anything on me."

They both laughed, and that was how their relationship had started. By the time of the gala event for the debut of her new album, they had spent the past few months acting much like any normal couple would. They enjoyed their dates and late nights in front of the fire. Except for the cameras that would follow them once in a while, they enjoyed relative solitude.

The red carpet that led up to the banquet hall seemed to match his hair perfectly. As the invited turned to watch them arrive, it almost seemed like Kelly was the guest and he the star. Everyone stared as he waved and smiled, almost seeming to fit in like he had been there before.

Kelly welcomed the change in focus. Even though she had experienced a fair share of success, she still remained humble and didn't particularly enjoy all the glitz and glamour. She loved to sing. That was it. The fact that she was beautiful was just a bonus. She would give it all up for a quiet life where she could raise a family and focus on her singing.

The night of the event went as any other. A lot of mingling and a lot of drinking. Kelly never went overboard with her liquor. She was what you might call a social drinker. As they left the party, Kelly was glad that he was similar in his consumption of alcohol. They were both in good spirits and enjoying the evening.

The limo that had brought them drove peacefully through the downtown streets. Kelly looked out the window at the passing buildings and sighed deeply, content and happy.

Suddenly, the driver turned down an alley that Kelly wasn't familiar with.

"Where are we going?" she asked the driver with a hint of worry in her voice.

"Stay calm," her companion said.

Kelly turned her head toward him with a scared look. But then her look went from scared to frightened as she saw the gun in his hand.

"What ..." she started, but he cut her off.

"Please, don't talk," he said. "You'll ruin the moment." He put a handkerchief over her mouth as she started to inhale sharply to scream. The chemical soaked into the cloth quickly entered her lungs and knocked her out. As she slumped, he bound her hands and legs and gagged her mouth. A sleeping mask was next to cover her eyes, just in case she awoke during the ride.

Having finished, he looked up to the driver and said, "To the docks."

The driver nodded and turned back onto a main street.

As they pulled onto the wharf, the wooden dock creeked under the weight of the car. The driver stopped and got out of the car. Kelly's companion followed suit and said, "Bring her into the warehouse."

The driver lifted Kelly out of the car and carried her inside, placing her onto a small cot.

As he stood up, a shot echoed through the building and the driver fell to the floor, blood coming out of the wound in his head.

The man with the red hair dragged the body to the dock and tied several weights around his ankles before dropping it into the water. He gave a small salute as it quickly sank below the surface.

After driving the limo into the warehouse and closing the door behind him, he walked over to Kelly and took off the mask. Her eyes were wide with terror as she stared at him.

"Hello, my dear. I'm going to take this nasty thing out of your mouth, but you have to promise not to scream. Not that anyone would hear you if you did. I just really don't want to hear it, ok?"

He gently untied the gag and pulled it off her mouth.

After a few seconds of waiting to see if she would make a sound, he said, "There, that's better. I'd hate to have to keep you quiet. You have such a lovely voice."

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I'm sorry. I thought it was obvious. I'm kidnapping you."

"Where's the driver?"

"His services were no longer required."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Ahh! There's the million dollar question. Why. I'd love to explain it to you, but I think it's much more dramatic to show you."

He reached up to his face and pulled off his hair, exposing a bald head underneath. This he dropped to the ground and then with both hands peeled off a rubber mask. Residue of the adhesive stuck to his face which he wiped off with a rag.

Kelly gasped as she recognized the man before her.

"Jerry?"

"You know," he said. "I debated whether or not you would remember me. I'm so glad you do."

"But, I still don't understand why you would do this?" she said, almost exasperated.

"Do I really have to spell it out for you? But, I guess I shouldn't have expected less from someone like you. You appear so nice to the public. You donate to charities, you help the poor, you never say a bad word about anyone. At least, that's what everyone is led to believe. What they don't realize is that deep down you're just like all the other stars that will stop at nothing to get ahead."

"I've never done anything like that!"

"Don't lie to me!" he screamed. "I'm done with your lies! Let me take you back 5 years to the beginning of your career. A small girl in the big city looking to make it. You didn't know anyone or anything, but you knew you wanted to be a star.

"You walked into my office, and I saw potential. Not the normal song and dance potential that everyone else has. No. I saw a simple, untainted girl that wanted to do what was right. That was such a refreshing find in a dirty business that I couldn't pass it up.

"I took you by the hand and helped you. I put you in touch with the right people. I made sure you were known. And what did you do to repay me? You anihilate my career as an agent."

"How? I don't remember."

"Of course you don't," he sneered. "You people never do. Let me refresh your memory." He stepped over to a nearby desk and grabbed a notebook. He opened it to a page with a newspaper article pasted onto it and set the book on her lap.

"Recognize this?" he asked.

The headline read, "New Star Rises - Look out Rita Hayworth, Kelly Magnolia's in town."

"Go ahead and skip down to paragraph seven."

Her eyes quickly darted down to the mentioned part. She began to read when he said, "Please. Aloud. I'd like to hear it from your own lips."

"When asked about her start into the music world Kelly said, 'I never thought I would make it like I did. I really owe it all to my agent, Jerry.'"

"What's so bad about what I said?" she asked.

"Nothing!" he said. "It's what you didn't say in the future." He turned page after page of newspaper clippings as he said, "Not one interview in the future mentioned my name. Not once did you give me any more credit. And then, July 21st." He turned to another clipping that had a paragraph highlighted in yellow. "Read!"

"After signing her largest contract to date, Ms. Magnolia commented, "This so amazing for me. The Lehman brothers really made this all possible."

"The Lehman brothers!" he spat. "I pushed through the mud for you and never got even a second glance. Then the Lehman brothers come in with their big pockets and fancy things and you jump ship. Not only that, you give them the credit for my success! No one would work with me after that. No one!" His faced was flushed and his eyes bulging. "They all wanted to know why the famous Kelly Magnolia wouldn't work with me. They all wondered if there was something wrong with the way I treated my clients. I couldn't even be the agent for a dog!"

"I'm so sorry," she said.

He regained his composure and said, "Yes. Now you're sorry. Now when it is too late."

"So what do I do? How can I fix this?"

"You can't," he said matter-of-factly. "But that doesn't mean I can't get my revenge."

"Are you going to kill me?"

"Kill you? Heavens no! What good would that do? I'd much rather make you suffer for a lot longer. I've fooled you once, and I can do it again. You'll never be able to trust anyone you don't know, and even the ones you think you do.

"If you tell anyone, I'll be there. If you don't give every person that has helped you credit, I'll be there. Every moment of your life from now on you'll be wondering if I'm around the corner, ready to take you on another ride. And, my dear, the next time won't be as nice."

He chuckled a little as he picked up his notebook. "I wish you the best of luck. And, so that you have something to remember this little experience ..." He pulled out a knife and slowly drew it across her arm. The blood flowed easily around her skin and started soaking into the cot. Her stiffled cry did little to affect his emotions.

"And now, my love, I leave you."

He started walking out when she cried, "What am I supposed to do?"

He turned back and smiled that infectious smile. "Survive," was all he said. The closing of the metal door sent a loud echo through the warehouse, giving a finality to his words.

As he walked down the dock and got into a boat, he pulled out his cell phone and placed a call.

"Hello, yes, I have an emergency. I heard a lady screaming from one of the warehouses down on Pier 29. Please send help."

The engine roared to life as he sped away over the water, leaving Kelly Magnolia to live forever with the fear of meeting again the man with the red hair.