Contributor: Dirky Henkel
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The weight of the man was gone, along with that smell of old nicotine. A scurrying sound indicated his exit. She stood, trying hard not to retch, and assembled what was left of her dress. The outline of her body was still embedded in the grass, on that patch where her life had been changed. She climbed out the park corner, left with nothing but a limp. And a secret.
***
They were in the front garden taking pictures, just Nina and her boy as it always had been, preparing for his graduation day. Through the lens, she saw a mirror image, and shut her eyes to rid of the poison, those memories that rendered her a pigeon of a human being. She couldn't let them get to her now. So she breathed in. One last snap was enough. They joined the road.
“You've grown up so fast,” she said and he agreed, and her hands tightened around the wheel. Then she spotted him fidgeting in the compartment. "What are you looking for?"
"Nothing."
"Your camera?"
He sighed. "Yeah. Hope I didn't forget."
"It's in my bag--"
Right then, a piece of paper slipped out from Nina's art portfolio, and so too did their firearm. Thomas went to put the items back, but couldn't help but be compelled by the sketch of a man's face: chiseled features, spiked hair, full lips, enlarged jaw on which was flaunted a petite goatee.
"Put that back," she insisted, snagging it from him, slamming the compartment closed.
He looked at her curiously. "Sorry. Just liked the drawing."
She regretted lashing out, and ruffled his hair. Then she wasn't sure why she made mention of it next and when she did, it was too late to withdraw, "Remember when I told you how daddy left?”
"What about it?”
Maybe it had eaten away for too long. Maybe she just hadn't been open enough with him before. She replied, "Honestly, it's been bugging me a lot. Lately, that is.”
“Doesn't bug me, mom. Anyway, these talks make me agitated.”
“I know but...” Now she almost couldn't bring herself to speak. Her words jumbled. “Thomas, Daddy didn't really walk out. There's more to it. ”
“Like what?”
“I...I don't know your daddy.” She looked away, rueful only when she noticed his surprise, because she wasn't expecting that.
“How is it even--” Thomas laughed incredulously.
“When I said those things about daddy, I was lying. Never had a partner in my life. But back when I told you, you were just a kid, understand?”
“All those stories, meeting daddy at a camp--were those made up?”
She tried to reason, “Yes, but hear me out, okay?”
Thomas stopped her with a hand. “Please don't,” he said softly. “Not now.”
The sky darkened.
***
It was late afternoon, a week day blurred among the rest. As Antonio had done for two decades, he disposed of his day-concluding coffee cup and made notice of his farewell to colleagues with the usual wry tip of the hat. He went to his locker, taking in the time-captured beams of his dead brides, and saw himself in the mirror. Old, sinful. That ugly mug of a face was more of a raisin than ever, he reckoned. But he cropped it down to all the restless nights, to those dreams giving him insomnia as a better option, those unwanted faces being resurrected in his subconscious. Haunting him, his unclean hands.
“Hey,” his supervisor startled him. “What are you doing for the weekend, buddy? There's a rumor about you making the rounds in the upper floors.”
“Really?” Antonio replied. “I hope it's not a bad one, boss.” A nervous laugh escaped him.
“No, not at all. Big heads made mention of promoting you to captain. You're only supposed to find out next week, though." A reassuring pat on the back set Antonio at ease. "Congratulations, Sergeant. Or should I say, Captain.” The supervisor issued a wink and left.
Antonio stopped smiling that fake smile. When the room was empty, when the only company was his thoughts, he gave in to his tears. He wasn't sure why he was crying, but then he started enjoying it, and then he started remembering the crimson of the past.
The ensuing moments blurred.
Antonio started his way home, blue and red blaring in victory over the traffic. In his rear view mirror, a wily grin took shape.
***
If it hadn't been for the presence of the police car pulling up, she wouldn't have braked before the stop sign; it was getting dark, inciting her to haste. She tapped her finger on the wheel while Thomas conversed with someone over the phone. Then she swung her head toward the policeman waiting beside her, just out of interest at first, and saw him. Her heart entered her throat, and she lost wind as if her stomach had been smashed inward. She squinted to make sure, and she knew it was him but kept denying it. She was alone then, just Nina and that man from twenty years ago, and she was focusing in, tracking his movement. The policeman veered forward and she did so as well, and then she banged into him, and again. Until they were both off-kilter, screeching, forced to a halt, both amidst a chaos of neon vulgarities. Chirality.
***
Nina began dragging her feet along the ground outside, feeling glass fragments beneath her soles. She heard a familiar voice--Thomas. But he wasn't in the car. Through a crack in the window, she saw him splayed on the pavement, and her eyes went wide at the sight of his ruin of a face. She tried to get out, but a hand pushed her back. A shadow swallowed her. There he was.
“What the fuck did you think you were doing?” the policeman bellowed as she stared at the compartment, waiting for the right moment. Then she made eye contact, meeting his rotten hazel, and immediately he clamped her shoulders, went to undo her garb, and this wasn't part of her plan. It was happening again. She loosed a yell that went nowhere.
"Shut the fuck up," he whispered a warning, pressing his nicotine palm against her mouth. Her kicking grew torpid against his catch. He went to his buckle, and all she could do was mutter prayers. An icy breeze whipped her loath skin. The man laid the cold steel of his glock against her head, readying. Slyly, her hand was already inside the compartment, out of his sight, scrambling for what she needed.
But it wasn't there. And a shot fired off.
Antonio wrung a crude smile, satisfied. He turned, and his smile went, because the boy was behind him, holding a gun too. And there was a hell of a pain in Antonio's back, so bad it was obvious what it was. And he was losing feeling. And then he wasn't on his feet anymore.
***
When Antonio came to, he wasn't sure if it was night or day, why he was in an unlit room, why he could only budge his head. Looking down, he saw he was tied up, stuck on a wooden chair. Kidnapped. Light squeezed through a door ahead. There sounded a creaking of floorboards then footsteps. The door opened. A hand smacked a light switch. At first it appeared to be help but then--
Nina rolled her wheelchair-bound son inside, passing Antonio a smile that would forever haunt, a smile that was kept there for a minute of eternity. She said to the ear of the still boy, “Thomas, meet your father. You'll have forever to be acquainted.”
***
- - -
Dirky Henkel is a daughter of the dark, a fledgling writer of erotica and horror, hailing from the sewers of Berlin, Germany. Twitter: @DirkyHenkel.
Read more »
- -
The weight of the man was gone, along with that smell of old nicotine. A scurrying sound indicated his exit. She stood, trying hard not to retch, and assembled what was left of her dress. The outline of her body was still embedded in the grass, on that patch where her life had been changed. She climbed out the park corner, left with nothing but a limp. And a secret.
***
They were in the front garden taking pictures, just Nina and her boy as it always had been, preparing for his graduation day. Through the lens, she saw a mirror image, and shut her eyes to rid of the poison, those memories that rendered her a pigeon of a human being. She couldn't let them get to her now. So she breathed in. One last snap was enough. They joined the road.
“You've grown up so fast,” she said and he agreed, and her hands tightened around the wheel. Then she spotted him fidgeting in the compartment. "What are you looking for?"
"Nothing."
"Your camera?"
He sighed. "Yeah. Hope I didn't forget."
"It's in my bag--"
Right then, a piece of paper slipped out from Nina's art portfolio, and so too did their firearm. Thomas went to put the items back, but couldn't help but be compelled by the sketch of a man's face: chiseled features, spiked hair, full lips, enlarged jaw on which was flaunted a petite goatee.
"Put that back," she insisted, snagging it from him, slamming the compartment closed.
He looked at her curiously. "Sorry. Just liked the drawing."
She regretted lashing out, and ruffled his hair. Then she wasn't sure why she made mention of it next and when she did, it was too late to withdraw, "Remember when I told you how daddy left?”
"What about it?”
Maybe it had eaten away for too long. Maybe she just hadn't been open enough with him before. She replied, "Honestly, it's been bugging me a lot. Lately, that is.”
“Doesn't bug me, mom. Anyway, these talks make me agitated.”
“I know but...” Now she almost couldn't bring herself to speak. Her words jumbled. “Thomas, Daddy didn't really walk out. There's more to it. ”
“Like what?”
“I...I don't know your daddy.” She looked away, rueful only when she noticed his surprise, because she wasn't expecting that.
“How is it even--” Thomas laughed incredulously.
“When I said those things about daddy, I was lying. Never had a partner in my life. But back when I told you, you were just a kid, understand?”
“All those stories, meeting daddy at a camp--were those made up?”
She tried to reason, “Yes, but hear me out, okay?”
Thomas stopped her with a hand. “Please don't,” he said softly. “Not now.”
The sky darkened.
***
It was late afternoon, a week day blurred among the rest. As Antonio had done for two decades, he disposed of his day-concluding coffee cup and made notice of his farewell to colleagues with the usual wry tip of the hat. He went to his locker, taking in the time-captured beams of his dead brides, and saw himself in the mirror. Old, sinful. That ugly mug of a face was more of a raisin than ever, he reckoned. But he cropped it down to all the restless nights, to those dreams giving him insomnia as a better option, those unwanted faces being resurrected in his subconscious. Haunting him, his unclean hands.
“Hey,” his supervisor startled him. “What are you doing for the weekend, buddy? There's a rumor about you making the rounds in the upper floors.”
“Really?” Antonio replied. “I hope it's not a bad one, boss.” A nervous laugh escaped him.
“No, not at all. Big heads made mention of promoting you to captain. You're only supposed to find out next week, though." A reassuring pat on the back set Antonio at ease. "Congratulations, Sergeant. Or should I say, Captain.” The supervisor issued a wink and left.
Antonio stopped smiling that fake smile. When the room was empty, when the only company was his thoughts, he gave in to his tears. He wasn't sure why he was crying, but then he started enjoying it, and then he started remembering the crimson of the past.
The ensuing moments blurred.
Antonio started his way home, blue and red blaring in victory over the traffic. In his rear view mirror, a wily grin took shape.
***
If it hadn't been for the presence of the police car pulling up, she wouldn't have braked before the stop sign; it was getting dark, inciting her to haste. She tapped her finger on the wheel while Thomas conversed with someone over the phone. Then she swung her head toward the policeman waiting beside her, just out of interest at first, and saw him. Her heart entered her throat, and she lost wind as if her stomach had been smashed inward. She squinted to make sure, and she knew it was him but kept denying it. She was alone then, just Nina and that man from twenty years ago, and she was focusing in, tracking his movement. The policeman veered forward and she did so as well, and then she banged into him, and again. Until they were both off-kilter, screeching, forced to a halt, both amidst a chaos of neon vulgarities. Chirality.
***
Nina began dragging her feet along the ground outside, feeling glass fragments beneath her soles. She heard a familiar voice--Thomas. But he wasn't in the car. Through a crack in the window, she saw him splayed on the pavement, and her eyes went wide at the sight of his ruin of a face. She tried to get out, but a hand pushed her back. A shadow swallowed her. There he was.
“What the fuck did you think you were doing?” the policeman bellowed as she stared at the compartment, waiting for the right moment. Then she made eye contact, meeting his rotten hazel, and immediately he clamped her shoulders, went to undo her garb, and this wasn't part of her plan. It was happening again. She loosed a yell that went nowhere.
"Shut the fuck up," he whispered a warning, pressing his nicotine palm against her mouth. Her kicking grew torpid against his catch. He went to his buckle, and all she could do was mutter prayers. An icy breeze whipped her loath skin. The man laid the cold steel of his glock against her head, readying. Slyly, her hand was already inside the compartment, out of his sight, scrambling for what she needed.
But it wasn't there. And a shot fired off.
Antonio wrung a crude smile, satisfied. He turned, and his smile went, because the boy was behind him, holding a gun too. And there was a hell of a pain in Antonio's back, so bad it was obvious what it was. And he was losing feeling. And then he wasn't on his feet anymore.
***
When Antonio came to, he wasn't sure if it was night or day, why he was in an unlit room, why he could only budge his head. Looking down, he saw he was tied up, stuck on a wooden chair. Kidnapped. Light squeezed through a door ahead. There sounded a creaking of floorboards then footsteps. The door opened. A hand smacked a light switch. At first it appeared to be help but then--
Nina rolled her wheelchair-bound son inside, passing Antonio a smile that would forever haunt, a smile that was kept there for a minute of eternity. She said to the ear of the still boy, “Thomas, meet your father. You'll have forever to be acquainted.”
***
- - -
Dirky Henkel is a daughter of the dark, a fledgling writer of erotica and horror, hailing from the sewers of Berlin, Germany. Twitter: @DirkyHenkel.
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Author:
Dirky Henkel
