It starts like this.
The wind whistled round, in the cold night air, lifting the last leaves of summer up, and throwing them down, again, creating an ever changing pattern on the sidewalk.
Emma reached into her roomy handbag and pulled out one of her signature, narrow cigarettes, grabbing for her lighter, she
made her way to a less windy doorway and lit up. Her cellphone
shattered the silence of the night with its incessant beeping,
Her jealous boyfriend was calling and was going to demand to know why she had not come over tonight. She decided to let the phone continue beeping, even though the sound was grating to her ears.
A sound from the alley a few feet away startled her. A dark figure emerged, tall, possessed by an air of confidence. He too was smoking. As he spoke, the glowing ember of his cigarrette traced nonsense figures in orange upon the night, figures that lingered in the air unaffected by the wind. "Odd night, this."
Against all reason she opens to the window to get a clearer glimpse of the stranger in the night. Luckily the man happened to walk under a street light, and she noticed he was not a stranger at all. This brooding and sexy man was her poetry instructor she had dated freshman year of college.
Leilani was such an innocent young girl when she first meant Dr. Emerson, who taught her the ways of the world. She actually believed that he loved her and they were to marry, but how naieve she truly was! Every semester Emerson picked a new young protege from his freshman poetry course, and Leilani just happened to be the one that caught his eye.
She was so exotic and different compared to the other students in his course, and he just had to have her. They spent one delightful semester together, until Emerson dumped her for a foreign exchange student from Brazil.
Leilani refused to play the part of a puppy-dog girl that followed a man again. Ever since then men had been following her around because of her do not care attitude, but part of her heart always longed for the innocent naivety of that first love. What was Emerson doing outside of her window after ten long years?
Across the room, the television screen (which she'd left on in her attempt to add some life to the otherwise silent room) caught her eye. With one eye still on the window, she quickly went to the television and turned up the volume. Next to the newscaster's face was a close-up photograph of Emerson. It was then that she realized the situation was more than just mysterious. It was ominous.
She began to laugh, something she remembered that used to really iritate her poetry teacher..... When everyone else in the room was sat with bated breath hanging on his every word, she could not help it she just started to laugh..
She was back once more in the that classroom, the memories of his aftershave, the special way he would look at her, the secret looks they had for each other. It was haunting, but so exciting as well....
She hid behind the curtain, and from where he was standing, she could see the smoke from his cigarette, and longed to make herself known to him.... though something just seemed so wrong about the whole thing
Why, she asked herself, had he decided to appear back in her life now,sure there were problems with Patrick and his increasing jealousy but, she was beginning to find herself at last.. She walked from the window, towards, her PC and switched it on,The screen glowed ominously flickering before her eyes.
when the words Google search appeared she typed in his name, knowing all the while that he was outside her window.
She had expected to see the usual search results, re his Poetry lecturing, but what grabbed her immediate attention, was a header at a the top of the Page.
Mans wife of eight weeks reported missing, Police are reported to be concerned about the safety of Mrs Blackman, wife of Emerson Blackman, a Lecturer at Harvard University, she nervously doubled clicked the page, and jumping from her chair took another look out the window, he had gone, she read the full story in disbelief, she had been totally unaware that Emerson, had married:-
From The Long Journey Home
Lisa Jergenson sat looking around and said, “I’m in town to settle a few of Tamara’s accounts. She had a few things with maturation dates of October first and I decided it was better if I handled their disposal personally. While I was here I thought I’d come by and ask if you might have seen a small silver charm bracelet.”
“Yes,” Jason said, “I have it right here.” Jason got up, pushed an old box of doughnuts out of the way and got to a wicker basket on the refrigerator.
“Here it is,” Jason said, handing it to her.
“Thank you so much,” Lisa Jergenson said, “it’s not that valuable, but it is important to Paul and me. It was a high school graduation present. Money was very tight then, and it was all Paul and I could afford to buy for her.”
“She treasured it,” Jason said, “It was beyond doubt the most favorite thing she owned.”
Lisa held in her hand and almost began to cry, but instead she changed the subject by saying, “Jason, you look like shit.”
“Excuse me?” Jason said, shocked by the older woman’s words.
Lisa began to say what she really came to say, “You don’t think your generation invented the word shit do you? You heard me. You look like shit.”
“Mrs. Jergenson, I’m sorry to greet you like this, but I’m afraid my apartment and I were not expecting visitors.”
Lisa pressed on, “Well, maybe it’s time you should be expecting visitors.”
Jason put up his hands and said, “Oh Mrs. Jergenson, I’m sorry but I don’t think I want to do this now.”
“When then, Lisa asked. “When are you going to stop this?”
Jason was trying to be polite to Tamara’s mother, but he was losing patience, “Excuse me Mrs. Jergenson, I loved your daughter and I mean no disrespect to you, but how I live my life is really only my business.”
“Is that so?” Lisa said challenging.
“I believe so,” Jason said.
“Well, Mr. Monroe, the way you live your life may be your business, but using my daughter and blaming her for your problems is my business, and I want an end to it.”
“OK,” Jason said, “I think you should leave now. You clearly have no idea of what you’re talking about, or what I’m going through.”
“Bullshit,” Lisa said, “I wasn’t born yesterday. Where do you think Tamara got her feistiness from? It took a long time for Paul to settle me down, and I’m not now and never will be docile. I know exactly what you’re doing; I’ve seen it before. You wonder around here moaning and groaning about if you hadn’t done this or if you hadn’t done that, Tamara would be alive.”
Jason started getting nervous. There was something happening here that he couldn’t control. Someplace deep inside a voice was begging this woman to tell him what to do, but he fought it. “How is that blaming Tamara? You don’t know what I did, how I treated her, what actions I had done to bring that biker there that day.”
“Yes I do,” Lisa said, “I agonized over every detail, every scrap of information in Tamara’s e-mails. I beat myself with them trying to find everything I could about my baby’s last days on this Earth. I know about your first encounter with Lockjaw, and how you stood up to him. Are you saying that you should have let him beat the crap out of you and take Tamara? Are you nuts?”
“Well. . .,” that’s all Jason got out.
“Now I’m going to tell you your real problem. You may not believe this but you are not the only one suffering. Paul and I haven’t been exactly normal ourselves. I’ve been obsessed with finding out every, and I mean every bit, of information about her last minutes. I got the list of witnesses, and read their testimonies. Here’s your problem. You’re mad at Tamara.”
“What?” Jason eyes popped out. “Are you crazy? I don’t have to put up with this.”
“Yes go ahead, throw me out, wallow in your little prison and pretend it’s a noble effort. Damn, she got in your way. You were waiting for that moment, the ultimate test. All of your training was for that moment. All that sweat, all those hours, you were ready, and Tamara screwed it up, didn’t she?”
“How can you say that?” Jason raised his voice, “How dare you come in here and say these things to me.”
“DIDN’T SHE,” Lisa yelled.
“I don’t have. . .”
“YES!!” Jason screamed red faced. “She got in the goddamn way. What a stupid goddamn thing to do. I had him. I told her to get the hell out of the way. I had his ass. I had him, I had Fernando, I had all the sleazy bastards that walk the Earth, right there and she screwed it up, Damn it. SHE SCREWED IT UP!!”
Jason was gasping for air looking at this fifty something woman in awe of her power. “How,” he asked, “how could you have possibly known what I wouldn’t tell myself?
[The narrator breaks in suddenly - half news caster, half Monty Python skit - and says, "Terribly sorry about that. Sorry everyone. Sorry. Technical difficulties and all that. We now return you to the story originally underway:"]
Emerson had married . . .
Marianne Hagborne, a world famous spiritual advisor and sex therapist. Such an odd match that, and yet, perhaps not really. She went back to the window and look out, scanning the street both ways. He was really gone, right? Then she noticed, dimly, a dull glimmer on the ground at mouth of the alley, like a ruby flashing in the ghostly light of the street lamp. She leaned further through the window and squinted into the darkness and the wind. The crimson glimmer was growing as she watched, becoming rounder, beading, the liquid head of a serpentine rivulet of blood.
This reminds me of "Naked Came the Manatee," a novel where a bunch of writers (including Dave Barry and Carl Hiaasen) wrote a chapter each. Here goes my little bit...
Emma kept leaning out the window to find out what the crimson glimmer was, until she fell, hit her head on the ground and coked herself.
She woke up, slowly, her sight hazy, in a white room with a white clad nurse standing over her.
"Where am I?" she asked.
The nurse replied "Room 4510, east wing," in a dry, almost caustic tone.
"What happened to me? Why am I here?" Emma asked, alarm in her voice.
"You had an accident--you fell out a window and landed on your head," replied the handsome young doctor as he entered Emma's room. Turning to the nurse, he added: "You can go now."
The nurse shrugged and left the room.
"So how are you feeling?" asked the doctor.
Emma stared at the doctor's name tag, squinting to make out his name when she gasped suddenly. It was Dr. Blackman.
Before she could think, Emma blurted out "You're Profesor Blackman's son!"
Dr. Blackman smiled and said, "Yes, Emma, and he told me all about you."
O.K. Was worried where the story was going for a while,
She wanted to ask Dr Blackman so many questions, she knew that he knew more than she could ever know, and that he held the answer to her, many questions, As she focussed on the Red Biro clipped into his white coat, she felt small memories floating back, memories of that night, Hell it must have just been a day ago, but it felt as though Emma had been in this place for weeks. The red, she knew she had seen something red, then she lay back, and in a sudden rush of horror she remembered the blood she had seen just before she had passed out.
Where had it come from?
Why was it so important?
Had she really seen it?
Her mind was racing, as the nurse came in, a large matronly woman, in her late forties, "My, my she retorted Look at you Missy we'll see if we can give you something to make you sleep.
Sleep came easily, and yet Emma dreamt the most vivid dreams that night.
I think I may end up writing the novel on my own Writers block. Please add your ideas.
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